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Times of Day in ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’

I was doing some research for the sake of fic writing (LOL) so that I could accurately refer to times of day in the world of ASOIAF. What I found was… half-finished.

GRRM makes reference to six ‘hours’, or rather, timeslots, that span across the night hours:

As above. However, the daytime hours - a.k.a., the hours I need - aren’t mentioned. So, with that in mind, I propose the following for use by anyone who wants it:

I do hope this serves as an appropriate filler for the time being, at least until GRRM decides to bestow this info upon us! Thanks, all!

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THIN, MINIMALISTIC HOUSE SYMBOLS DIVIDERS.

TARGARYEN.

STARK.

BARATHEON.

LANNISTER.

BOLTON.

MORMONT.

ARRYN.

GREYJOY.

MARTELL.

TYRELL.

Please like or reblog if you use.

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Oh this is fulfilling my need for this man. AND that gif too! Ugh I am so looking forward to more of your Bridgerton works, Bel!!

I love love love the sweet artist x his muse combo and the way he's so in love with her is just. Perfection

"Portrait Of A Goddess In Love" - Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

a/n: hi friends! this is my first time writing for benedict (or for bridgerton at all) - please be nice lol. i'm planning on writing more for both him and colin 🩷

Summary: You grant your husband a request that he will not soon forget.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, fingering, p in v sex, breeding kink, creampie

Word Count: 1,890 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Bridgerton characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

Three years on in your marriage to Benedict and the two of you still act like newlyweds. It is not uncommon for your household staff to walk in on the two of you in compromising positions anywhere and everywhere around your estate. It has made for some rather colorful stories to spread around the ton, courtesy of Lady Whistledown, but neither of you can bring yourselves to stop. Or care.

You let out a yawn, waking up in your husband’s arms, eyes opening ever so slightly before closing once again. You cuddle up to Benedict, his warm, bare body against yours, his arms cradling you as he begins to stir. He lets out a contented sigh as you tuck yourself under his chin.

“My beautiful wife,” he says gently, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, “Did you sleep well, my dearest?”

“Like a baby,” you tell him, kissing his chest.

“So did you sleep well because of last night’s activities or in spite of them?” Benedict questions, smirking at you, making you giggle as you crane your neck up to brush your nose against his in a display of affection.

“You tired me out, husband. What more can I say?”

He moves a hand to caress your face, his thumb running along your cheekbone. These tiny moments you share, in the privacy of your shared bedroom far away from the prying eyes of the ton, have become almost sacred to the two of you. Benedict’s hand moves to rest against your hip, trailing up along your side, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

“Ben?”

“Hm?” He questions, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“You know how you mentioned that you wished to paint me… Bare?”

Benedict lets out a hum of acknowledgment, his hand moving to cup one of your breasts, squeezing gently, groaning at the feel of your soft flesh beneath his palm, “I certainly do. And you promised me you would think about it before outright rejecting my request.”

“I have decided to grant it.” He pauses in his ministrations, a grin spreading across his face as he meets your eyes, “I know I was hesitant before… But there’s something thrilling about the idea.”

“I had a feeling you would come around eventually,” he says, kissing the tip of your nose, then brushes his lips against yours as he whispers, “So you truly would allow me to then?”

You nod your head, “We could do it today? We have no commitments. And it is raining.”

A devilish grin spreads across your husband’s handsome face, “Perfect. Then let me go get my supplies. You just wait here and keep looking beautiful.”

After he has set up his easel and canvas, you prop your head up on your hand, posing in the way which he requested you to. Benedict comes to fix your hair so that it flows to your side rather than obscuring your figure, fixes the placement of your other hand and your leg, pressing a kiss to your cheek before taking a seat. You watch as he takes out his brushes, dipping them in paint before he begins to sketch you out on the canvas.

Benedict’s eyes on you are so intense, so piercing that it isn’t long before you feel that familiar throbbing between your thighs, that need to be filled by your beloved, for him to hold you, pin you down to the bed, and claim your body as he has nearly every night since the day you said “I do”. You press your thighs together, your hand trailing along your breasts down to your stomach. Almost as if he can read your innermost thoughts, Benedict’s cheeks flush. Seeing you bare like this excites him, even after admiring you in this way so many times.

“Is that a blush, Ben?” You tease.

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. You watch the way his bicep flexes as he runs a hand through his unkempt hair, that adorable grin playing on his lips as he continues admiring you unabashedly for a moment longer. Finally he returns to the task at hand, chiding you playfully.

“Don’t try to distract me. I am an artist at work here, darling.”

You sigh dramatically but allow him to continue, waiting patiently as he moves his brush along the canvas. The rain patters against your window, thunder booming and lightning crackling as he continues about his task, the storm lending itself to the atmosphere in your room. You are beautiful, Benedict muses as he continues to paint your likeness, now working on the details of your gorgeous face, those eyes that have held him captive for nearly half his life. You look irresistible while clothed, but like this? Utterly bare and vulnerable, gazing at him so gently?

You look downright divine. Like you have descended from the heavens themselves only to bless him with your angelic presence.

“Just stay still another moment longer, my love.”

His voice is a low, husky whisper, and you know that he is having as hard a time resisting the urge to take you here and now as you are resisting asking him to. You nod, smiling at him softly.

“For you? Always.”

Benedict finishes painting the contours of your body, the flow of your hair, every line bringing him more and more excitement, his cock growing harder at the mere sight of you laying there, gazing at him. He regrets having put on his trousers to go and grab his supplies from his studio, because now? They are so uncomfortably tight that all he can think of is the relief he will feel when he finally has you in his arms again.

He beckons you over to see the finished product, watching with hooded eyes as you walk toward him, his gaze hungry. You move to stand beside him, letting out a soft gasp as you admire the painting.

“Oh, Ben… It’s beautiful!”

For a moment, his hunger is forgotten and his artist’s pride is satisfied as he moves to stand beside you, pressing a kiss to your temple, “It is far from finished-”

“Don’t be so modest!” You slap his chest playfully, “It’s stunning. I adore it. And you.”

“And I adore you,” he murmurs, turning to face you completely, cupping your face in his hands as he whispers, “Being able to look at you like this. You are the most exquisite creature I have ever beheld.”

You beam up at him, with all the radiance of a woman in love, “Come warm your muse in our bed, my darling. Finish your masterpiece later. I need you.”

He nods eagerly, ridding himself of his trousers, both of you bare once again as you lay side by side in bed, your bodies pressed flush against each other. He can feel your every breath as it seeps into his own, his fingers running through your hair.

“You were made for my bed,” he breathes, “I swear you were.”

You giggle as his hand moves to your thigh, squeezing your supple flesh with a low groan. His hands feel so perfect against you, you cannot help but tilt your head back as his lips find your neck, his fingers sliding between your slick folds. You’re always so wet for him, so ready for his touch. You moan softly as he nibbles at your collarbone, leaving his mark as he pumps his fingers in and out of you at a lazy, languid pace. After all, you have all day together. Why should he not take his time to savor you?

“Ben,” you whisper softly, feeling his thumb circle your swollen pearl, your breath catching as he presses down against it, “I’m ready for us to start our family.”

He continues his movements, bringing you to the edge of ecstasy, watching your face twist with pleasure as you come undone against his fingertips. He wonders if your words were a mere dream as he pins you down against the bed, rolling on top of you.

“Are you sure, my love?” He asks softly, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh, teasing your entrance, “I do not wish to rush you into anything.”

“We have had a beautiful three years of just you and I, Benedict,” you reply, resting a hand on his cheek, watching as he closes his eyes and leans into your touch, “But I wish to start our family. I wish to have your children.”

“You are certain?” He asks, his heartbeat racing as he joins his body with yours.

Benedict lets out a low groan as his cock slips between your slick folds, filling you to the hilt. You have always taken him so well, so perfectly, your legs moving to wrap around his hips, a silent plea for him to fuck you harder, deeper. His hands move to your ass, squeezing and kneading your flesh.

“Yes, Benedict. I have never been more certain of anything since the day I agreed to marry you.”

With that, your husband lets go of any inhibitions he may have had, his hips rolling against yours in an eager, desperate rhythm. Your lips meld against his, arms wrapping around his neck as he ruts against you, the fat head of his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside of you that has you crying out his name.

“You insatiable man,” you murmur against his lips, “One would think after three years perhaps your lust would have been somewhat sated.”

He laughs softly, committing the sound of the rain against your window, the sound of your moans and his skin slapping against yours to memory, “I am what you married. And my lust for you will never be sated. Not with how desperately I love you.”

You nibble at his bottom lip, giggling when he moans, his thrusts growing faster and faster, more frantic as he chases his release, his every thought consumed by the thought of spilling himself inside you, watching your love bear fruit, watching you grow round with his child, the whole ton being made aware that it was he, Benedict Bridgerton, who gave you his baby. His hips slot against yours, your walls squeezing around him almost unbearably tight as you reach your peak, white hot pleasure washing over you as you all but scream his name, your nails digging into his back. The sensation of you reaching your climax is enough to trigger his own as he spills himself inside you, thick white ropes of his seed painting your walls white.

Benedict stays like that for a long moment, gazing into your eyes, moving a hand to brush your hair off your face as he softens inside of you.

“You will make a perfect mother,” he whispers affectionately.

“And you will make the most wonderful father,” you reply, beaming at him, “I love you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He smirks, “And I love you, Mrs. Bridgerton. Rest for now and recover your energy. Because your insatiable husband is nowhere near finished with you, my love.”

“I look forward to it, husband.”

Needless to say the entire ton is quite scandalized when they learn of the fact that a nude painting of you hangs in the foyer of your and Benedict’s home, the masterpiece being titled “Portrait of a Goddess in Love”.

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AEMOND AND DAEMON ICONS.

Still want to go to Paris. Sorry not sorry.

Please consider to like or reblog if you use!

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I wanted to scream when they saw each other again!!!!! I love how sweet Cregan was to her ❤️😭

"Living Only For You" - Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

a/n: from an anon request for a veer zara au with aemond. this was very emotional to write and i hope it lives up to y'alls expectations 🩷

Summary: For the last twenty years, Aemond has been living only for you - the hope of seeing you again.

TW: canon typical incest, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, character death, angst, non explicit descriptions of sex

Word Count: 2,250 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

Aemond thinks- no, he knows he’s loved you since the first time you smiled at him. It’s one of his most precious memories. You had just left a lesson with your septa and were sitting beside Helaena, the two of you munching away on some lemon cakes you’d stolen from the kitchens. Aemond passed by the two of you after his own lessons, only to stop when you called out to him with that sweet smile of yours, offering him one of your sweet treats. He sat beside you as you broke the cake in half, placing it in his palm.

Though your brothers and Aegon often mocked him for not having a dragon of his own as the two of you grew older, you never did. You simply offered that he could sit beside you any time you took to the skies atop Aegarax. You were his constant companion, his first and only love. Ever since he realized what love was, he knew it was what he felt for you. When you were both nine years old, he pressed his lips to yours for the first time, his cheeks a bright shade of pink as you sat under the Heart Tree in the Red Keep.

Despite the objections of both of your mothers, your affection only continued to grow. Long, lazy afternoons spent together reading, sneaking into the city to see what life was like outside the walls of your sheltered Keep… You did your best to convince Jace and Luke and Aegon to be kinder to your sweet Aemond, and though he appreciated your valiant efforts, they bore no fruit. The boys continued being cruel to him up until the time came that you and your family departed for Dragonstone. You and Aemond shared a tearful goodbye, embracing each other tightly before your father had to carry you away from him and to your dragon.

The next time you saw Aemond, a mere few weeks later, was for the funeral of your Aunt Laena. Despite the sad occasion, the two of you were thrilled to see one another, spending every moment possible together before the time came that you were to be separated yet again. That night, when your brother took his eye, it was your arms he fainted into you, your embrace he sought in the following days before he healed enough to leave Driftmark. The two of you vowed to remain in contact by raven, your young hearts breaking as you were torn from each other yet again.

Aemond once heard a saying that absence makes the heart grow fonder. He found that to be entirely true when it came to you. The letters you exchanged over the years, the words of love you wrote to him… His heart may have been hardened after that night, but for you? Never. Aemond loved you with an intensity that nearly frightened him. 

When he learned that you would be coming to King’s Landing with your family, to speak in Luke’s favor regarding the Driftmark inheritance, he felt his heart pound in his chest in anticipation of seeing you again. And when he did? He could scarcely tear his gaze from you. The two of you exchanged smiles from across the throne room, standing beside your respective family members. He mouthed his hello to you and you covered your mouth to hide the smile that spread across your face. And when you came to him after the hearing was over and you beamed up at him, commenting on how he’d become more handsome than you even dared to dream? It felt as if he was staring into the sun itself.

The two of you spent the afternoon together in the Godswood much as you did as children. Aemond laid his head in your lap, gazing up at you as you read to him from a book of Valyrian poetry, one the two of you enjoyed reading from in your youth. You ran your fingers through his hair, your touch soothing his heart like a healing balm. In this moment, you weren’t the daughter of Rhaenyra and he wasn’t the son of Alicent. In this moment, you were two young lovers, exchanging tender kisses and words of love away from the prying eyes of those who sought to tear you apart.

“No matter what happens, who our parents betroth us to, where our lives take us,” Aemond murmured, his breath seeping into yours as he leaned in close to you, “I need you to promise me that you’ll remember something.”

“Anything, Aemond,” you whispered, your hand caressing his cheek.

Aemond leaned into your touch, the way a flower leans toward the sun, craving its warmth, “That if you ever feel alone or long for a friend, that you’ll remember there’s a man across the sea. A man who would gladly lay down his life for you. A man who loves you dearly.”

You smiled at him, that same smile you did when you offered him that lemon cake all those years ago, pressing your lips against his in a kiss so pure, so gentle that it made his heart ache with how much he loved you.

That was the last time he saw you before the Dance of the Dragons began in earnest. Your family was torn apart by the fighting, though never once through it all did his love for you waver. He recalls Daeron asking him once how much he loved you. All Aemond could do was give him a rueful smile and shake his head, saying that words strong enough to answer his query did not exist.

The world was led to believe that Aemond Targaryen the Kinslayer perished alongside his dragon in the Battle Above the Gods Eye. Few knew the truth. That Aemond languished in a tower in the Red Keep as punishment for his crimes. He watched as you were told of his death, helpless to do anything as you fell to your knees and sobbed. After all, you were out there and he was but a prisoner. Your mother came and informed him that you were to be wedded to Cregan Stark. That the wedding procession would pass by Aemond’s window. And so he watched as you married another man, his chest aching with unbearable pain.

Nothing, not the fall from his dragon nor that night on Driftmark, was so painful as this. As watching the love of his life marry another, watching you grieve for him, tears in your eyes as you wed Cregan Stark. Aemond cried too, Gods, how he wept for you. He watched, heartbroken, as you were paraded through the streets of King’s Landing, sent off to Winterfell in your new husband’s wheelhouse. Aemond screamed until his voice was no more, begging that someone free him of this torment, that someone allow him to see you.

But it was to no avail. The wounds each side had left during the Dance were too fresh, too deep to be forgiven so soon.

So for twenty years, Aemond languished in that tower. He did not speak, he did not smile. All he did was write. He wrote of his memories of you, his love for you. That was all that kept him going during the darkest days of his life. Your smile, your embrace, your kiss. He was living only for you, living for the impossible dream of finding you again, of touching you again. 

Loving you again.

After your mother’s passing, Aemond is surprised when it is your younger brother, Aegon, who took mercy on him at Baela’s urging.

“My sister is a widow,” the king told him, a somberness to his expression that spoke volumes, “Lord Stark passed a fortnight ago.”

Aemond’s voice, hoarse from disuse, rang out for the first time in two decades that day as he replied, “I am sorry for her loss.”

“There were rumors that she was barren,” Aegon continues, gazing out the window that Aemond has for the last twenty years, “She never bore him any children. I do not think that was the case. I think that in her heart of hearts, she never wished to bear anyone’s child save for yours.”

Baela speaks now. Aemond notes the seriousness in her expression as she stares at him, lips set in a firm line.

“How much do you love my sister?”

Aemond looks at his cousin, shaking his head, “Daeron once asked me the same question. I did not have an answer to it then and I do not have one now. Words powerful enough to describe my love for her do not exist. All I can say is that these last twenty years, the only thing that has kept me alive is the hope that one day, in spite of all odds, I will see her again.”

When you arrive at the Red Keep, you are immediately greeted by Baela and Aegon, your half siblings embracing you and offering their condolences for your loss. You smile at them, returning their courtesies with your own.

“Thank you, Your Grace. Baela. I have made peace with it. My husband was a good and just man. He will be mourned by the people of Winterfell. However, I am quite sure my stepson will be an excellent Warden of the North. Rickon is much like his father.”

Baela suggests you go to the Godswood, pray to Cregan’s gods to give him a peaceful journey into the afterlife. You heed her suggestion, walking the familiar path, smiling sadly as you remember the days you spent here with your true love. You kneel in front of the Heart Tree, tears pricking at your eyes. And you speak as if Cregan stands beside you, unaware that in fact, there is someone nearby listening in.

“Lord Husband…” You start, taking a deep breath, “You were kinder to me than I deserved. More understanding than you needed to be. You knew my heart would always belong to my sweet Aemond, just as yours belonged to your beloved Arra. You never forced me to lay with you, to bear you a child, a kindness I will never be able to repay. Though I did not find love in our marriage, I found a dear friend. One who I will miss greatly. Our conversations brought me joy, and your kindness brought me comfort. I pray to the old gods and the new that you may rejoin your beloved, as I may one day reunite with mine.”

You hear a twig snap behind you and move to your feet, turning around to face the intruder. And your heart nearly stops.

There he stands, his face thinner, more gaunt than you saw him last. His hair pulled back in a braid, a gentle smile on his face.

Your Aemond.

You cover your mouth, “You… I thought you were…”

Aemond takes a step toward you. For him, you look just the same as you did when you were eight and ten. Just as beautiful. And he still loves you as he did then. He reaches a hand out, resting it on your cheek, his calloused palms rough against your soft skin. You place your hand over his, your tears falling freely now, your voice choked.

“I thought you were… My mother said…”

When your hand touches his, it is as though he’s woken from a thousand year slumber. That the sun has finally risen in his life for the first time since he last saw you. Everything dims around him, except for you. You look so beautiful. After all this time, here you are.

His words catch in his throat as he whispers, “I missed you.”

You throw your arms around him, nearly tackling him in your embrace, bawling against his chest, “You’ve been here. All this time and I never knew.”

Aemond nods, his own tears spilling as he embraces you tightly, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your familiar scent, his entire body shaking with sobs, “I have. I… I watched you mourn for me. And all I wanted to do was comfort you.”

“Twenty years…” You say quietly, wiping your eyes, “They kept you here…”

“My only thought, my only reason for living, was to see you again.”

As if drawn together by some unseen force, your lips meet Aemond’s in a desperate, passionate kiss. You cling to his tunic with one hand, the other knotting itself in that beautiful silver hair that you’ve not touched for so long.

“My love,” he murmurs, “My life.”

The two of you fall to the ground, holding each other tightly, not caring who is watching, how much time has passed. All you wish to do is savor the time you now have together. Aemond wastes no time joining his body with yours. The feeling is so intense, desire pooling in your belly as you cling to him. It’s as though this is what he was made for. To make love to you. And part of him feels that his seed will take. That the two of you will be able to begin the family you dreamt of for so long, the one you never thought you would have. Your arms wrap around him, the two of you crying tears of joy, of pleasure, the reunion being so bittersweet that you can hardly bear it.

“Let us go to Pentos,” Aemond begs, “Let us begin our lives together.”

You nod, “Yes, my love. Let’s go home.”

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1x08 | The Lord of the Tides | Gifs!

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LAST LINE CHALLENGE

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many as you like).

Tagged by: @cactus-dicks (so sorry you will get tagged in my wip for House of the Dragon)

It was true that one day, she would hold the troubles of the realm and everyone within it, but it didn’t have to start that day.

Tagging: @soup-entity @grizzlybeartist and whoever else would like to <3

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‘House of the Dragon’ London premiere | August 15, 2022

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Send me a word, if it’s in my wip document I’ll answer your ask with the sentence that it appears in.

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I’m Bored and Anxious So I Slapped Together a List of Fan Fic Writer Asks

1. Share a song that makes you think of [fic title] 2. Do you read/reread your own fics? 3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written? 4. How many WIPs do you have right now? 5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write? 6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time? 7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now? 8. What project(s) are you currently working on? 9. Do you write every day? If you wrote today, share a sentence of what you’ve written! 10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting? 11. Do you have specific playlists for writing fics? 12. Do you have a playlist for your current WIP(s)? Share it! 13. How much planning do you do before writing? 14. If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fan fic would you pick? 15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters? 16. At what point in the process do you come up with titles? 17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic? 18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic? 19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs. 20. What’s a favorite title for a fic you’ve written? 21. Have you ever deleted an entire scene after spending hours laboring over it? If so, why? 22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing? 23. How do you choose where to end a chapter (if you have multi-chapter works)? 24. Share a moodboard for (one of) your current WIP(s). 25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing? 26. Is there something you’ve written that you would never want your family to see? 27. Is there a fic you were nervous to post/share? Why? 28. Have you ever tagged a fic “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat”? 29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.) 30. Ask anything!

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A Rewritten History of Fire and Blood

Jae Briarwood has been an advisor of the Iron Throne longer than anyone else could know. It is seemingly up to them to keep the realm and their pledged house from diving into a freefall. In a way, it reminds them of their first home. Old Valyria. Fallon Lannister despises how her family views her as a piece to play with. She despises the act of a lady her mother puppets her as. At ten-and-nine, she takes charge of her own life and it completely changes her previous trajectory. Years later, Raylen Stark finds herself in King's Landing to attend a celebration for the king and then unity of a once fractured house. The truth of her family is revealed to a friend who promises to come for her when they're older. When he doesn't and she sees him years later when she is summoned once again to King's Landing, now as a member of the next queen's court, feelings are forced out of a corner she thought they'd died in. Come along as we discover how the lives of these characters could have gone and how everyone around them can affect the narrative.

Cross-posted on AO3 under Finn_leyy

Chapter 1: The House a Dragon Built

Chapter 2: Heirs to the Iron Throne

Chapter 3: Two Proposals of a Different Kind

Chapter 4: Pain in Repeating Cycles

Chapter 5: Growth of New Beginnings

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NOT THE SAPPHIRE

Also ily ty for going through my endless ramblings

Growth of New Beginnings

A Rewritten History of Fire and Blood

Ocs in fic

Author's note: Honestly, not my favorite chapter but has my favorite moment. I found info on deleted scenes so I threw them in there :). I am not paying therapy bills btw. Moon phase border by @samspenandsword, MDNI banner by @cafekitsune

Word count: 5548

Warnings: Sad, angst, age gap marriage, some birth stuff but not much, vague suggestions to sex in a loveless marriage, very very VERY minor fighting at the end. I'm making characters who didn't talk about their feelings in the show actually talk and be friends still

Daemon didn’t return from Dragonstone. Official news reached the Red Keep days after Corlys had stormed out of the Small Council chambers that they both had begun an engagement with the Crabfeeder and the Triarchy themselves, along with his brother, Vaemond, and his son, Laenor. Unofficially, dragon keepers had let the Crown know earlier that Caraxes had taken flight from Dragonstone with his rider on his back. Guards still remained there, guarding his paramour whom he had seemingly left there as if she was already royalty, fit to rule what no longer belonged to him to claim. 

Once again, he went unpunished; the Crown had more to worry about within its own walls.

Rhaenyra had fled to the Dragonpit immediately after the marriage was announced. Syrax felt like the only one the princess could trust anymore, hating the overwhelming feeling of betrayal that seemed to follow her no matter where she went in the Red Keep. Jae volunteered visiting Driftmark for a time; it would be a change of scenery for the girl that she could use to spend time with Laena and not worry about the responsibilities of the Crown. And that seemed to help, for a time. Laena and Princess Rhaenys suffered grief in the absence of a father and husband, a brother and son, and the young Velaryon became attached to the princess at the hip. The two made promises to exchange letters and visit each other often as the length of Rhaenyra’s visit grew longer and longer and the looming expectation to return to the Red Keep grew ever bigger.

Alicent stood outside the Dragonpit after the extended journey had taken nearly a month. Rhaenyra hadn’t even wanted to return home, but a raven requesting her return to assist in Small Council meetings had been sent a week before she returned. To wait any longer risked turning those who swore their loyalty to her against her, proving to the men of court that maybe she was simply an emotional girl who wasn’t fit to be the future queen. Rhaenys had advised her to return along with the raven. If anyone knew the cruelty of court, it would be the Queen Who Never Was.

The great yellow dragon bowed her head to her rider, churring deep in her chest before the keepers led her back into the pit. Rhaenyra wondered if she could follow them and stay there instead of the Keep before she turned and saw her friend waiting in front of the royal wheelhouse. It felt like no time had passed between that moment and the day she’d gone to see her mother with Alicent, smelling of dragon and completely oblivious to what would happen days later. What she would lose.

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent said softly, barely trusting her voice to carry across the courtyard.

The princess wanted to cry.

“I don’t understand it.”

Alicent looked down at her hands, picking at the side of her thumb.

If she was honest, she didn’t understand either. She didn’t understand how her father could manipulate her to win the king’s affection, despite never trying like other ladies would have. She didn’t understand why Viserys had wanted so desperately to keep their talks private. She didn’t understand why he had chosen her, in front of the entire Small Council, and why he had driven a wedge between her and Rhaenyra in the process.

Rhaenyra’s chin jutted slightly, a quirk she always did when she tried to keep from crying. She hated it. She hated the entire Small Council, she hated her uncle, she hated his mistress, she hated her father, she hated her dead baby brother. If he had lived, none of this would be happening. The weight of the kingdom wouldn’t be upon her. Her father wouldn’t have been pressured so much to remarry if he had had a prince. A son. 

Something she could never be.

“Rhaenyra, please-”

“Why?”

If she knew why, perhaps Alicent wouldn’t have felt so awful.

It was a betrayal she felt she’d been forced into. The entire month Rhaenyra had been gone, she had sat and wondered about what had happened and her role within it. Alicent had begun to wonder why her father would put her in such a position, why the king would allow such obvious overstepping from his Hand. It was obvious more then than ever what Otto had begun to plant the seeds for, what he had no doubt been wishing to do for ages. Perhaps it had not always been as cruelly thought out, perhaps he had wished her to be older or wiser or more willing to put herself between the king’s grief and himself. Perhaps he did not see it as twisted as others did, did not see it as a power grab. Alicent hadn’t, at first. She had found it odd, even upsetting, to visit the king so privately after the loss of his wife, but she hadn’t seen the darker intent of her father before it was too late.

Before the king became infatuated with her. Her, his daughter’s closest friend, his Hand’s daughter, a girl who had barely considered happiness after the death of her own mother.

When the silence stretched on, Rhaenyra grew angry, frustrated even. They had been inseparable for years, they laughed together, cried together, mourned their mothers together and now her closest companion had all but become a stranger to her. Just another lady of the court who wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t speak to her in fear of crossing her. 

“Say something!” She wasn’t sure if it was a plea or an order.

“I never intended for this,” Alicent barely whispered, voice shaking as the words stuck thick in her throat. “I didn’t know, Rhaenyra, you must believe me.”

Perhaps, once she would’ve. She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore.

“Then, what did you intend? You accompany me, you mourn with me, and yet my father chooses you as his second wife! What reason would he have to do such a thing?”

Alicent shook her head slightly, hands trembling. “I never…I never intended…”

Rhaenyra released a shaky, wavering breath as she blinked back the tears threatening the waterline of her eyes. “I will only ask you one thing and you must answer honestly. If our years as friends have meant anything to you, you will answer me honestly.”

She was almost too eager to nod, her chin wobbling behind the weight of her emotions.

“Did you seek out my father’s affection on your own?”

Alicent looked exactly as she did the day she shared with the princess that her mother died. Small, fragile, and withering away before her very eyes. She looked as though a breeze could blow past her and she would crumble to dust. She looked like a child.

“No.”

The moment Rhaenyra’s arms wrapped around her, Alicent wept.

The weeks leading up to the wedding had been a special kind of hell. Alicent had still refused to share anything beyond what had already been said, an act that neither knew if it was loyalty or fear. All the same, the princess was at her side through all the planning, all the primping and pampering, and for every night following such matters that was spent crying over a childhood ended. When Rhaenyra stood behind her father that fateful day, she just remembered being furious. There seemed to be no guilt or shame from Viserys and there was a certain smugness that radiated from Otto that he didn’t even bother hiding. It was then that Rhaenyra pieced it all together. Resentment grew quickly in her heart as her glare leveled with the Hand of the King across the room.

Standing with the rest of the lords and ladies, Jae was doing the same.

They’d spent the time while Rhaenyra was away begging the king to reconsider. Telling him how this betrothal, this plot, was bound to doom he and his daughter to eternal mistrust. Alicent was her closest companion, her only confidant, and he would take her from the princess by the end of the season.

“What other choice do I have?” He had asked them, in the privacy of his chambers. 

In the small moments between them, he had seen the comfort Alicent had given him. Yet, it hadn’t been because she had wished to. It had all been Otto’s idea and he hadn’t known. Jae wanted to scream it, to drive it through his head until he understood, but it would’ve all been pointless. It would cause more grief, more suffering. If Viserys sent Otto away while Alicent had no courtly standing within the Red Keep, she would leave with him. She would be forced into even more misery.

So, Jae remained quiet. There was no other choice, was there?

Rhaenyra watched Alicent walk gracefully up the hall of the Sept with her brother guiding her. She hadn’t seen the poor boy since the tourney, where her uncle had unseated him in a less-than-kind manner. Truthfully, she hadn’t even seen him then, his helmet had hidden his features fully. He looked like Alicent in many ways, though with sharper edges and more anger than fear. He looked as miserable about the entire thing as the two girls were, though he made less effort to hide it. Alicent looked to her friend for a moment before Viserys took her hand and Rhaenyra barely managed a small smile that didn’t wobble under her flood of emotions. She hated the helpless feeling as she watched and listened to her dearest friend shakily recite the vows the Septon had said, watching the cloth cover and wrap around the joined hands. Alicent had looked radiant in her wedding gown and grand tiara, a mix of white, red, and gold decorating her. Still, the princess felt ill the entire time, watching the dragon wings on the dress flutter with how much her friend was trembling.

She remembered helping her lace the gown and looking at their shared reflection in the mirror, just as they had done when Alicent had helped her the day she was named heir. She was paler than Rhaenyra had ever seen her before, smoothing her palms over the length of the dress to keep from picking at her fingers. They’d barely begun to heal since she picked them raw before and Grand Maester Mellos had threatened to bind her hands completely to force her to stop until the wedding. Rhaenyra was certain that if he tried, Syrax would welcome a fresh snack.

“Is this what you truly want?” She had asked, stepping closer behind the bride-to-be with a furrowed brow and glassy eyes.

Alicent had simply remained silent, not lifting her eyes to meet the reflection. That would make it real, a future she couldn’t escape from despite never choosing it. They both knew the answer, though it wasn’t as if saying it would change a thing. They were both powerless to stop either of their fathers.

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra tried again, moving to her side to slip her arm through hers. “Please.”

Brown eyes met violet ones and she quickly looked away as her lower lip wobbled. She had barely turned seven and ten and felt half that age, shaking within the fire-lit room. She longed for the arms of her mother, Rhaenyra’s mother, any mother that would make better sense of it all. Instead, she leaned into the princess, letting her forehead rest against hers even as the curls piled high on her head threatened to topple over against the hold of the seemingly hundreds of pins holding it together.

It felt pointless entirely and still, she couldn’t say she hated it. Not aloud, at least.

Rhaenyra did not sleep the night of the wedding and Alicent did not seek her out the following day. Instead, she stayed in bed, weeping, only allowing Jaeda to see her. 

The sheets were changed and Viserys stayed in separate chambers until the next time.

That was how time passed. Alicent became accustomed to her place in the Keep, in a new room that was larger than the one before with more Targaryen things than Hightower, and the new title of Queen Consort tacked onto her name instead of Lady. She was glad for the company of her dearest friend after the initial shock had worn away, craving the gentle affection and delicate hands that the princess had always had when they spent time together. It seemed the princess was more careful with her after the wedding. Alicent didn’t seem to notice.

Many had thought the marriage between Alicent and Viserys would have driven the princess away from them entirely. More had called it a betrayal, assuming the former Lady Hightower had sought out such a union herself to elevate her standing, assisted by her father in the process. However, it only served to bind them closer and many lords would say it was rare to see the new Queen without the princess attached to her hip, the princess’ loyal sword trailing behind them like a guard dog. 

That was how life continued in the Red Keep for a handful of weeks, perhaps even a few months. When Viserys requested Alicent’s presence, she would hide away for a time until she felt Rhaenyra would not look at her with disgust, not knowing if she would hold such things against her. They would spend time together, learning the ins and outs of court side by side during council meetings or tutoring by Jaeda. Rhaenyra even convinced Alicent eventually to board Syrax with her, though the height on the dragon’s back alone had scared her enough that the princess didn’t dare push for a flight. Alicent swore Syrax had laughed at her shaking legs once they’d dismounted.

The door to Jae’s room swung open slightly quicker than anyone would usually open it and on the other side stood a poor handmaiden who suddenly looked more frightened than a mouse facing a tomcat. Jae simply blinked at the girl, a similar slow blink that a bored cat might do, as the girl recovered from her stumbling blunder. She was one of the newer maids, Jae noted, the doe-eyed, shaking frame gave her away. Those were the ones the Red Keep ate alive, they mused. It only took a moment for the maid to lift her eyes for a moment before ducking her head again under the watchful golden gaze, fingers clutching at the apron over her red skirt.

“Queen Alicent has requested you in her chambers, my lady,” the words were stumbled over and shaky, but they passed her lips with more volume than they’d thought she’d have.

“Very well. Did she give you a reason as to request my presence?”

Jaeda tucked a purple piece of fabric between the pages of her book, marking her place before the tome found a home on the small table beside her favorite chair. It was a rather interesting one, it must’ve been newer as they hadn’t read it before and that was such a rare treat even with the Red Keep’s library. Perhaps it was a tome from Dorne the maesters had finished illuminating or perhaps even from Essos. They would have to look into it further later; the humorously written romance didn’t give any origin away like history so often did.

The maid's hands twist nervously in her skirts. "The queen has locked herself in her room and says you and the princess are the only ones she will see. She requested the maesters this morning when she felt ill and Grand Maester Mellos believes she is with child."

Jae felt their blood run cold as their vision narrowed suddenly. Red tinged the edge of everything within their line of sight before anxiety settled over everything like a blanket. Alicent must have been terrified when she realized what missing her monthly bleeding meant, how she was well and truly trapped more than ever. Jae was certain the king had been trying with his new queen, though not nearly as purposely as he had with his late wife. Surely there was still a pressure to bear heirs, but with the line of succession following Rhaenyra, there wasn't a franticness to it any longer.

Meaning, he had wanted to have another child. That he hadn't even so much as considered how it would affect Alicent when she fell pregnant, in a separate chamber from everyone, left alone at the mercy of the maesters and maids as they poked and prodded at her with only concern for the unborn child.

Jaeda didn't let another word pass the maid's lips before she swept out of the room entirely, skirts billowing behind her as she crossed the halls of Maegor's Holdfast to the royal apartments. It was far too quiet, she thought, even knowing that the king was no doubt seeing to his responsibilities, the Hand was most likely accompanying him, and many of the servants were going about their daily tasks to keep the Keep running smoothly. Still, it was eerily silent as she approached the closed door of Alicent's chambers, recalling how the maid had said she had locked herself within it.

Alicent startled when the door opened, confusion overwhelming the fear and tears streaming down her cheeks. She mumbled something about how she thought it was locked, how could she have opened it, but such thoughts were quickly drowned out when Jaeda joined her on the edge of her bed.

The queen hadn't even changed out of her nightdress, the white, billowing fabric dwarfing the young girl and making her look even younger. The idea that in less than a year, a girl she still viewed as a child would have her own nearly sent Jaeda into another bout of anger.

However, that wasn't what was needed. 

Rhaenyra joined soon after and she and her father's advisor shared a look. There was no doubt then that, now that the maids had done as requested, the rumor of Alicent being with child would spread throughout the Red Keep and find its way to the ears of Otto and Viserys. For the small amount of time they had before that, however, they would spend it amongst themselves, curled into the protective arms of Jaeda to escape the expectations of the kingdom around them.

As expected, Viserys was overjoyed at the idea of another child, no doubt already imagining a son to grow up under Rhaenyra's wing. Otto was smugly pleased, as well, eyes trained on his daughter in a way that made Jaeda want to tear into him.

They quelled their anger, if only in public, and the months of pregnancy carried on with little issue. Rhaenyra barely left Alicent's side, assisting her near daily and even neglecting to go on her flights on Syrax in favor of her dearest friend. She was the first to know when the baby kicked, when they shifted, already predicting that the baby no doubt had dragon blood when Alicent complained about the child driving her mad from its obsessive wiggling. Alicent had nearly thrown the embroidery she'd been working on at the princess, the two of them erupting into giggles after.

While it had been years since the Red Keep had last seen the birth of a child, none within the walls had forgotten the screams of childbirth. When Alicent’s labors had begun, many of the nursemaids had worried for her. It seemed that nearly the entire kingdom was still rocked from the tragedy of Aemma’s passing and how it had come about, how quickly everything had turned from a celebration of a new heir to mourning the loss of a queen and prince. None had worried as much as the princess and advisor, however, both of which had shoved past the grand maester himself to be with Alicent. Jae had long since vowed they wouldn’t leave another to the same fate as Aemma if they could help it. 

It was a boy. Thin, white-blonde hair, violet eyes, everyone had been thrilled by his looks. He was every bit a Targaryen, the first son of Viserys Targaryen to live beyond a handful of days. Viserys had entered the room shortly after a maid had gone to fetch him as the maesters fussed over the baby and Jae had fussed over Alicent. The poor queen had been exhausted and paler than they’d liked, but smiled all the same when the infant was placed at her breast. She was clumsy and awkward at first, feeling like such a small thing was far too fragile to hold so soon, but Jae quickly soothed her worries when they guided her hands to cradle his head, to curl under and around him until he settled. Viserys had all but beamed at the sight of his son, immediately calling him Aegon and deeming him perfect for such a heavy name. Rhaenyra had all but scrunched her nose at the name as he lifted his new son into his arms, the infant doing much the same.

If anyone had thought Rhaenyra doting before, the time after the birth had caused the girls to become inseparable. Alicent was rarely seen without the princess and more often than not, Rhaenyra was holding Aegon. Neither had truly ever cared for a child themselves and they learned together, each new experience being safe-guarded in their hearts. While Viserys and Otto had viewed Aegon as a triumph, that the gods had truly blessed the Targaryen house once again with a healthy child, Alicent relished in the fact that the princess watched her son with affection and care, knowing the boy was an extension of Alicent herself. 

For once in many years, Jae found themselves almost at ease within the stone halls of the Red Keep. 

Fallon, however, had no such luck.

While she had been asked to be the princess’ sworn protector, she was not always granted the privilege to freely be at her side. The kingsguard were who she truly answered to, something she hadn’t considered when the offer had been laid out to her, and many of the younger men found it ceaselessly entertaining that a woman would be in service alongside them, not to mention a noblewoman at that. 

To make matters worse, with Daemon now officially absconded from King’s Landing and Dragonstone, a new commander of the City Watch had to be appointed. It seemed everything worked to further drive her mad when news arrived that Ser Harwin would be the new commander, placing him within arm’s length at all times. She had assumed she’d have time and distance to consider the marriage, to possibly come up with any manner of lies to get out of the arrangement. Hells, she even thought that her becoming the princess’ sworn protector would be enough to drive the betrothal into an early grave. However, it seemed as though the very Maiden she had had painted onto her shield mocked her.

It was one of the mornings that Ser Westerling had grown entirely too exhausted in balancing Fallon’s sense of duty and the teasing remarks from some of the other kingsguard that bordered on mocking. Ser Cole was one of the most vocal, pushing the princess’ sworn sword nearly to the point of lashing out and only backing away when she turned on him or if the lord commander began to pay attention. She’d been assured countless times that it was the men’s way of welcoming her into the fold, but the more she was called the princess’ Maiden knight, if she was certain that she was acceptable for such a role, if she was even a woman, she was less and less certain of what her place amongst such men was.

Which was how she found herself in the training yard again. It was always where she was sent after Westerling had had enough. He knew she didn’t need nearly as much training or supervision, he’d seen her at the tourney even if it had been years ago at that point, so he often masked her punishment for acting out by sending her away. It was a respite for her and him both; she was free to hack away at lifeless dummies and he was free from the bickering of his men. He’d often told her the exchanges often reminded him of women’s sewing circles and she had laughed. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

To her disappointment, the training yard was occupied, for lack of a better word. There was plenty of room for her to do as she wished, but when a handful of the City Watch’s newest recruits were stood amongst the training equipment, it did make it rather difficult.

He made it all the more difficult.

Harwin, upon seeing Fallon, nearly lit up. If she hadn’t been watching him as well, she likely would’ve missed the glint of his dark eyes, how his posture changed from almost exhausted defeat as another recruit fumbled and flailed his sword to rigid and attentive the moment she was within shouting distance. Fallon was surprised he hadn’t started shouting yet, that he waited for her to visit the sword stand, picking over the weapons meticulously like she truly cared before testing the weight of one. It was a show, she supposed, one that wasn’t really necessary. It only prolonged the moment she thought she dreaded, when she would have to speak to the men who had been there before her.

Harwin smiled kindly at her once she put the sword down and finally wandered over closer, turning her attention to the men he was training. “Did Ser Westerling send his best to assist in whipping the newest city guards?”

While she had assumed many of the new recruits would be young men wanting to show their mettle, she was surprised to see a more varied range of ages. While none were very old, there were a few she was sure had seen true battle. Perhaps not a war, but certainly a battle or two that had wetted their blade with blood from an enemy instead of a rivaling lord’s son.

“His best? Quite a high compliment from the commander of the City Watch, Ser Strong.”

If her stoic politeness stilted with awkwardness bothered him, he certainly didn’t show it. His smile didn’t once falter, even when he looked from her to the men still stumbling through basic sword stances.

“And, to be honest, none knew you would be training the whelps at this time.”

“Duty never rests, though I suppose you would know that well.”

Fallon made a face, her top lip curling to nearly bare her teeth before she caught herself. She wondered if that was the remaining teachings of her mother; such expressions weren’t attractive or very appropriate for a young lady of such a proud house. It had always made her want to bare her teeth entirely, to growl and hiss and spit like a creature cursed to madness. Yet, she always schooled herself to her mother’s liking, to keep things civil and calm, up until she could sneak away to bury her sword into straw-filled burlap or carve away at wooden posts.

Instead, she squared her shoulders, her palm resting against the pommel of her sword at her hip. “Duty within the City Watch will be a welcome sight to see again. I fear the prince’s influence did very little to truly allow duty and trust to flourish within the ranks and people.”

Harwin chuckled. “I do believe you’re right, my lady.”

Her eyes flicked to a small grouping of men whispering between themselves, their eyes not watching the coupled sparring matches but rather, watching her. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end and she felt like a bristling dog, on edge, ready to be attacked. She found that such a feeling had nearly become her natural state, day in and day out.

“Would you help me with them?”

She blinked, pulling her attention away. “Pardon?”

Her betrothed gestured towards the group, taking a step away from her as one of the men fell and a few of them jeered at him. “Help me teach them a thing or two before I send them to their barracks.”

Fallon forced down the grumble growing in her throat, begrudgingly following behind him as he pulled focus from their taunting teasing to him. 

It was almost impressive how quickly they came to attention, she thought. At least they had respect for their commander, new though he was. She almost stopped when the thought crossed her mind, brows furrowing almost disappointedly with herself. Why was she pleased they respected him? She hardly cared.

Right?

“Lads,” his voice was strong and loud, carrying clear across the courtyard, she was certain, “seems like it’s our lucky day.”

‘Lucky’ was never a word she had used to describe her presence. Lucky was usually the farthest thing from her mind in such situations, though to tell Harwin otherwise would have him thinking it a lie. The uncomfortable pressure of eyes on her returned and her shoulders squared again, her armor glinting golden in the midday sun. She’d left the heaviest pieces behind, such things were usually used for show or tourneys only, but her shoulder plates still bore the symbol of her house; the everwatchful, almost angry stare of a lion.

One of the younger men sniffed, eyeing her in a way that settled between wary and darkly. “Not e’ery day a kingsguard makes time for us folk.”

“I am not a kingsguard, ser-”

“Brennan.” The man sniffed again.

“Ser Brennan. Lord Commander Westerling merely trains me alongside his kingsguard knights.”

Another man elbows Brennan with an almost smug, knowing look. “Told ya they don’t let women folk join ‘em.”

“Stewar!” Harwin barked, an almost dark grin on his face. “Good of you to volunteer for next spar. Grab your weapon.”

Stewar blinked at his commander before grabbing a broadsword and stepping into the handmade ring they’d been using. He expected the commander to pick another one of the men to pit against him, to run them through their paces again, or even face against him himself. It was no secret that Harwin Strong disliked any ill words towards his betrothed, regardless of her feelings on the matter, and the man had made possibly the most grievous mistake of the day.

His face paled when Harwin gestured for Fallon to enter after him.

“They should see what’s expected of King’s Landing’s finest.”

She’d huffed at his words, but drew her sword all the same as she moved to walk past the men now staring at her with wide eyes.

Most had been present years ago for the late prince’s tourney, had seen her face off against Daemon Targaryen and win, so there was no doubt, despite their comments, that she was a skilled fighter. Perhaps more skilled than all of them combined, there was truly no telling what her full ability was outside of a true battle.The idea of fighting against her had the younger ones thanking the gods that they hadn’t spoken out of turn and the older men eager to see just how she would ruin the man who had.

Stewar, for his credit, jutted out his chin and raised the blade of his weapon as she did. Harwin stood to the side, arms crossed, and the biggest grin she thought she’d seen on a man.

“Begin!”

While she was certain she had been asked to step into the ring simply to get the men to cease gossiping like ladies at court, Fallon had the thought pass in her mind that this wasn’t truly fair to the soldiers in training. Such thoughts were all but confirmed when Stewar found his ass in the dirt, nursing a growing bruise on his cheekbone from the hilt of her sword. It had taken less than a minute for the fight to finish, almost a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, and the small crowd of men fell absolutely silent. There wasn’t a single jeer or laugh until Stewar stumbled to his feet and Harwin started clapping.

“The lady has demonstrated what needs work with you lot perfectly. My thanks and gratitude, Lady Lannister.”

Fallon schooled her face to remain neutral as he bowed slightly, giving her all due respect she was entitled to. The small act still made her muscles stiffen and an uneasiness settled in her stomach, but it wasn’t as bad without her mother’s preening, sneering look beside her. She gave her own little broken bow, hoping the men would assume the armor made her more awkward and that it wasn’t simply her.

As she walked back towards the palace walls, she heard Harwin barking orders at his men again, telling them to hold their swords higher, their feet needed to be further apart or closer together, and one of the soldiers said to listen before another ended up on the wrong end of the Maiden Knight’s sword.

She would never admit it, but she smiled at the thought. She would never be a kingsguard, that much was truth in such a society in King’s Landing, but perhaps she could wear her tourney knightship just as proudly as a white cloak.

Tags: @dreaming-of-illusory-flowers|@soup-entity|@yippeecore

[universe-of-heart]

Growth of New Beginnings

A Rewritten History of Fire and Blood Ocs in fic

Author's note: Honestly, not my favorite chapter but has my favorite moment. I found info on deleted scenes so I threw them in there :). I am not paying therapy bills btw.

Word count: 5548

Warnings: Sad, angst, age gap marriage, some birth stuff but not much, vague suggestions to sex in a loveless marriage, very very VERY minor fighting at the end. I'm making characters who didn't talk about their feelings in the show actually talk and be friends still

Daemon didn’t return from Dragonstone. Official news reached the Red Keep days after Corlys had stormed out of the Small Council chambers that they both had begun an engagement with the Crabfeeder and the Triarchy themselves, along with his brother, Vaemond, and his son, Laenor. Unofficially, dragon keepers had let the Crown know earlier that Caraxes had taken flight from Dragonstone with his rider on his back. Guards still remained there, guarding his paramour whom he had seemingly left there as if she was already royalty, fit to rule what no longer belonged to him to claim. 

Once again, he went unpunished; the Crown had more to worry about within its own walls.

Rhaenyra had fled to the Dragonpit immediately after the marriage was announced. Syrax felt like the only one the princess could trust anymore, hating the overwhelming feeling of betrayal that seemed to follow her no matter where she went in the Red Keep. Jae volunteered visiting Driftmark for a time; it would be a change of scenery for the girl that she could use to spend time with Laena and not worry about the responsibilities of the Crown. And that seemed to help, for a time. Laena and Princess Rhaenys suffered grief in the absence of a father and husband, a brother and son, and the young Velaryon became attached to the princess at the hip. The two made promises to exchange letters and visit each other often as the length of Rhaenyra’s visit grew longer and longer and the looming expectation to return to the Red Keep grew ever bigger.

Alicent stood outside the Dragonpit after the extended journey had taken nearly a month. Rhaenyra hadn’t even wanted to return home, but a raven requesting her return to assist in Small Council meetings had been sent a week before she returned. To wait any longer risked turning those who swore their loyalty to her against her, proving to the men of court that maybe she was simply an emotional girl who wasn’t fit to be the future queen. Rhaenys had advised her to return along with the raven. If anyone knew the cruelty of court, it would be the Queen Who Never Was.

The great yellow dragon bowed her head to her rider, churring deep in her chest before the keepers led her back into the pit. Rhaenyra wondered if she could follow them and stay there instead of the Keep before she turned and saw her friend waiting in front of the royal wheelhouse. It felt like no time had passed between that moment and the day she’d gone to see her mother with Alicent, smelling of dragon and completely oblivious to what would happen days later. What she would lose.

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent said softly, barely trusting her voice to carry across the courtyard.

The princess wanted to cry.

“I don’t understand it.”

Alicent looked down at her hands, picking at the side of her thumb.

If she was honest, she didn’t understand either. She didn’t understand how her father could manipulate her to win the king’s affection, despite never trying like other ladies would have. She didn’t understand why Viserys had wanted so desperately to keep their talks private. She didn’t understand why he had chosen her, in front of the entire Small Council, and why he had driven a wedge between her and Rhaenyra in the process.

Rhaenyra’s chin jutted slightly, a quirk she always did when she tried to keep from crying. She hated it. She hated the entire Small Council, she hated her uncle, she hated his mistress, she hated her father, she hated her dead baby brother. If he had lived, none of this would be happening. The weight of the kingdom wouldn’t be upon her. Her father wouldn’t have been pressured so much to remarry if he had had a prince. A son. 

Something she could never be.

“Rhaenyra, please-”

“Why?”

If she knew why, perhaps Alicent wouldn’t have felt so awful.

It was a betrayal she felt she’d been forced into. The entire month Rhaenyra had been gone, she had sat and wondered about what had happened and her role within it. Alicent had begun to wonder why her father would put her in such a position, why the king would allow such obvious overstepping from his Hand. It was obvious more then than ever what Otto had begun to plant the seeds for, what he had no doubt been wishing to do for ages. Perhaps it had not always been as cruelly thought out, perhaps he had wished her to be older or wiser or more willing to put herself between the king’s grief and himself. Perhaps he did not see it as twisted as others did, did not see it as a power grab. Alicent hadn’t, at first. She had found it odd, even upsetting, to visit the king so privately after the loss of his wife, but she hadn’t seen the darker intent of her father before it was too late.

Before the king became infatuated with her. Her, his daughter’s closest friend, his Hand’s daughter, a girl who had barely considered happiness after the death of her own mother.

When the silence stretched on, Rhaenyra grew angry, frustrated even. They had been inseparable for years, they laughed together, cried together, mourned their mothers together and now her closest companion had all but become a stranger to her. Just another lady of the court who wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t speak to her in fear of crossing her. 

“Say something!” She wasn’t sure if it was a plea or an order.

“I never intended for this,” Alicent barely whispered, voice shaking as the words stuck thick in her throat. “I didn’t know, Rhaenyra, you must believe me.”

Perhaps, once she would’ve. She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore.

“Then, what did you intend? You accompany me, you mourn with me, and yet my father chooses you as his second wife! What reason would he have to do such a thing?”

Alicent shook her head slightly, hands trembling. “I never…I never intended…”

Rhaenyra released a shaky, wavering breath as she blinked back the tears threatening the waterline of her eyes. “I will only ask you one thing and you must answer honestly. If our years as friends have meant anything to you, you will answer me honestly.”

She was almost too eager to nod, her chin wobbling behind the weight of her emotions.

“Did you seek out my father’s affection on your own?”

Alicent looked exactly as she did the day she shared with the princess that her mother died. Small, fragile, and withering away before her very eyes. She looked as though a breeze could blow past her and she would crumble to dust. She looked like a child.

“No.”

The moment Rhaenyra’s arms wrapped around her, Alicent wept.

The weeks leading up to the wedding had been a special kind of hell. Alicent had still refused to share anything beyond what had already been said, an act that neither knew if it was loyalty or fear. All the same, the princess was at her side through all the planning, all the primping and pampering, and for every night following such matters that was spent crying over a childhood ended. When Rhaenyra stood behind her father that fateful day, she just remembered being furious. There seemed to be no guilt or shame from Viserys and there was a certain smugness that radiated from Otto that he didn’t even bother hiding. It was then that Rhaenyra pieced it all together. Resentment grew quickly in her heart as her glare leveled with the Hand of the King across the room.

Standing with the rest of the lords and ladies, Jae was doing the same.

They’d spent the time while Rhaenyra was away begging the king to reconsider. Telling him how this betrothal, this plot, was bound to doom he and his daughter to eternal mistrust. Alicent was her closest companion, her only confidant, and he would take her from the princess by the end of the season.

“What other choice do I have?” He had asked them, in the privacy of his chambers. 

In the small moments between them, he had seen the comfort Alicent had given him. Yet, it hadn’t been because she had wished to. It had all been Otto’s idea and he hadn’t known. Jae wanted to scream it, to drive it through his head until he understood, but it would’ve all been pointless. It would cause more grief, more suffering. If Viserys sent Otto away while Alicent had no courtly standing within the Red Keep, she would leave with him. She would be forced into even more misery.

So, Jae remained quiet. There was no other choice, was there?

Rhaenyra watched Alicent walk gracefully up the hall of the Sept with her brother guiding her. She hadn’t seen the poor boy since the tourney, where her uncle had unseated him in a less-than-kind manner. Truthfully, she hadn’t even seen him then, his helmet had hidden his features fully. He looked like Alicent in many ways, though with sharper edges and more anger than fear. He looked as miserable about the entire thing as the two girls were, though he made less effort to hide it. Alicent looked to her friend for a moment before Viserys took her hand and Rhaenyra barely managed a small smile that didn’t wobble under her flood of emotions. She hated the helpless feeling as she watched and listened to her dearest friend shakily recite the vows the Septon had said, watching the cloth cover and wrap around the joined hands. Alicent had looked radiant in her wedding gown and grand tiara, a mix of white, red, and gold decorating her. Still, the princess felt ill the entire time, watching the dragon wings on the dress flutter with how much her friend was trembling.

She remembered helping her lace the gown and looking at their shared reflection in the mirror, just as they had done when Alicent had helped her the day she was named heir. She was paler than Rhaenyra had ever seen her before, smoothing her palms over the length of the dress to keep from picking at her fingers. They’d barely begun to heal since she picked them raw before and Grand Maester Mellos had threatened to bind her hands completely to force her to stop until the wedding. Rhaenyra was certain that if he tried, Syrax would welcome a fresh snack.

“Is this what you truly want?” She had asked, stepping closer behind the bride-to-be with a furrowed brow and glassy eyes.

Alicent had simply remained silent, not lifting her eyes to meet the reflection. That would make it real, a future she couldn’t escape from despite never choosing it. They both knew the answer, though it wasn’t as if saying it would change a thing. They were both powerless to stop either of their fathers.

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra tried again, moving to her side to slip her arm through hers. “Please.”

Brown eyes met violet ones and she quickly looked away as her lower lip wobbled. She had barely turned seven and ten and felt half that age, shaking within the fire-lit room. She longed for the arms of her mother, Rhaenyra’s mother, any mother that would make better sense of it all. Instead, she leaned into the princess, letting her forehead rest against hers even as the curls piled high on her head threatened to topple over against the hold of the seemingly hundreds of pins holding it together.

It felt pointless entirely and still, she couldn’t say she hated it. Not aloud, at least.

Rhaenyra did not sleep the night of the wedding and Alicent did not seek her out the following day. Instead, she stayed in bed, weeping, only allowing Jaeda to see her. 

The sheets were changed and Viserys stayed in separate chambers until the next time.

That was how time passed. Alicent became accustomed to her place in the Keep, in a new room that was larger than the one before with more Targaryen things than Hightower, and the new title of Queen Consort tacked onto her name instead of Lady. She was glad for the company of her dearest friend after the initial shock had worn away, craving the gentle affection and delicate hands that the princess had always had when they spent time together. It seemed the princess was more careful with her after the wedding. Alicent didn’t seem to notice.

Many had thought the marriage between Alicent and Viserys would have driven the princess away from them entirely. More had called it a betrayal, assuming the former Lady Hightower had sought out such a union herself to elevate her standing, assisted by her father in the process. However, it only served to bind them closer and many lords would say it was rare to see the new Queen without the princess attached to her hip, the princess’ loyal sword trailing behind them like a guard dog. 

That was how life continued in the Red Keep for a handful of weeks, perhaps even a few months. When Viserys requested Alicent’s presence, she would hide away for a time until she felt Rhaenyra would not look at her with disgust, not knowing if she would hold such things against her. They would spend time together, learning the ins and outs of court side by side during council meetings or tutoring by Jaeda. Rhaenyra even convinced Alicent eventually to board Syrax with her, though the height on the dragon’s back alone had scared her enough that the princess didn’t dare push for a flight. Alicent swore Syrax had laughed at her shaking legs once they’d dismounted.

The door to Jae’s room swung open slightly quicker than anyone would usually open it and on the other side stood a poor handmaiden who suddenly looked more frightened than a mouse facing a tomcat. Jae simply blinked at the girl, a similar slow blink that a bored cat might do, as the girl recovered from her stumbling blunder. She was one of the newer maids, Jae noted, the doe-eyed, shaking frame gave her away. Those were the ones the Red Keep ate alive, they mused. It only took a moment for the maid to lift her eyes for a moment before ducking her head again under the watchful golden gaze, fingers clutching at the apron over her red skirt.

“Queen Alicent has requested you in her chambers, my lady,” the words were stumbled over and shaky, but they passed her lips with more volume than they’d thought she’d have.

“Very well. Did she give you a reason as to request my presence?”

Jaeda tucked a purple piece of fabric between the pages of her book, marking her place before the tome found a home on the small table beside her favorite chair. It was a rather interesting one, it must’ve been newer as they hadn’t read it before and that was such a rare treat even with the Red Keep’s library. Perhaps it was a tome from Dorne the maesters had finished illuminating or perhaps even from Essos. They would have to look into it further later; the humorously written romance didn’t give any origin away like history so often did.

The maid's hands twist nervously in her skirts. "The queen has locked herself in her room and says you and the princess are the only ones she will see. She requested the maesters this morning when she felt ill and Grand Maester Mellos believes she is with child."

Jae felt their blood run cold as their vision narrowed suddenly. Red tinged the edge of everything within their line of sight before anxiety settled over everything like a blanket. Alicent must have been terrified when she realized what missing her monthly bleeding meant, how she was well and truly trapped more than ever. Jae was certain the king had been trying with his new queen, though not nearly as purposely as he had with his late wife. Surely there was still a pressure to bear heirs, but with the line of succession following Rhaenyra, there wasn't a franticness to it any longer.

Meaning, he had wanted to have another child. That he hadn't even so much as considered how it would affect Alicent when she fell pregnant, in a separate chamber from everyone, left alone at the mercy of the maesters and maids as they poked and prodded at her with only concern for the unborn child.

Jaeda didn't let another word pass the maid's lips before she swept out of the room entirely, skirts billowing behind her as she crossed the halls of Maegor's Holdfast to the royal apartments. It was far too quiet, she thought, even knowing that the king was no doubt seeing to his responsibilities, the Hand was most likely accompanying him, and many of the servants were going about their daily tasks to keep the Keep running smoothly. Still, it was eerily silent as she approached the closed door of Alicent's chambers, recalling how the maid had said she had locked herself within it.

Alicent startled when the door opened, confusion overwhelming the fear and tears streaming down her cheeks. She mumbled something about how she thought it was locked, how could she have opened it, but such thoughts were quickly drowned out when Jaeda joined her on the edge of her bed.

The queen hadn't even changed out of her nightdress, the white, billowing fabric dwarfing the young girl and making her look even younger. The idea that in less than a year, a girl she still viewed as a child would have her own nearly sent Jaeda into another bout of anger.

However, that wasn't what was needed. 

Rhaenyra joined soon after and she and her father's advisor shared a look. There was no doubt then that, now that the maids had done as requested, the rumor of Alicent being with child would spread throughout the Red Keep and find its way to the ears of Otto and Viserys. For the small amount of time they had before that, however, they would spend it amongst themselves, curled into the protective arms of Jaeda to escape the expectations of the kingdom around them.

As expected, Viserys was overjoyed at the idea of another child, no doubt already imagining a son to grow up under Rhaenyra's wing. Otto was smugly pleased, as well, eyes trained on his daughter in a way that made Jaeda want to tear into him.

They quelled their anger, if only in public, and the months of pregnancy carried on with little issue. Rhaenyra barely left Alicent's side, assisting her near daily and even neglecting to go on her flights on Syrax in favor of her dearest friend. She was the first to know when the baby kicked, when they shifted, already predicting that the baby no doubt had dragon blood when Alicent complained about the child driving her mad from its obsessive wiggling. Alicent had nearly thrown the embroidery she'd been working on at the princess, the two of them erupting into giggles after.

While it had been years since the Red Keep had last seen the birth of a child, none within the walls had forgotten the screams of childbirth. When Alicent’s labors had begun, many of the nursemaids had worried for her. It seemed that nearly the entire kingdom was still rocked from the tragedy of Aemma’s passing and how it had come about, how quickly everything had turned from a celebration of a new heir to mourning the loss of a queen and prince. None had worried as much as the princess and advisor, however, both of which had shoved past the grand maester himself to be with Alicent. Jae had long since vowed they wouldn’t leave another to the same fate as Aemma if they could help it. 

It was a boy. Thin, white-blonde hair, violet eyes, everyone had been thrilled by his looks. He was every bit a Targaryen, the first son of Viserys Targaryen to live beyond a handful of days. Viserys had entered the room shortly after a maid had gone to fetch him as the maesters fussed over the baby and Jae had fussed over Alicent. The poor queen had been exhausted and paler than they’d liked, but smiled all the same when the infant was placed at her breast. She was clumsy and awkward at first, feeling like such a small thing was far too fragile to hold so soon, but Jae quickly soothed her worries when they guided her hands to cradle his head, to curl under and around him until he settled. Viserys had all but beamed at the sight of his son, immediately calling him Aegon and deeming him perfect for such a heavy name. Rhaenyra had all but scrunched her nose at the name as he lifted his new son into his arms, the infant doing much the same.

If anyone had thought Rhaenyra doting before, the time after the birth had caused the girls to become inseparable. Alicent was rarely seen without the princess and more often than not, Rhaenyra was holding Aegon. Neither had truly ever cared for a child themselves and they learned together, each new experience being safe-guarded in their hearts. While Viserys and Otto had viewed Aegon as a triumph, that the gods had truly blessed the Targaryen house once again with a healthy child, Alicent relished in the fact that the princess watched her son with affection and care, knowing the boy was an extension of Alicent herself. 

For once in many years, Jae found themselves almost at ease within the stone halls of the Red Keep. 

Fallon, however, had no such luck.

While she had been asked to be the princess’ sworn protector, she was not always granted the privilege to freely be at her side. The kingsguard were who she truly answered to, something she hadn’t considered when the offer had been laid out to her, and many of the younger men found it ceaselessly entertaining that a woman would be in service alongside them, not to mention a noblewoman at that. 

To make matters worse, with Daemon now officially absconded from King’s Landing and Dragonstone, a new commander of the City Watch had to be appointed. It seemed everything worked to further drive her mad when news arrived that Ser Harwin would be the new commander, placing him within arm’s length at all times. She had assumed she’d have time and distance to consider the marriage, to possibly come up with any manner of lies to get out of the arrangement. Hells, she even thought that her becoming the princess’ sworn protector would be enough to drive the betrothal into an early grave. However, it seemed as though the very Maiden she had had painted onto her shield mocked her.

It was one of the mornings that Ser Westerling had grown entirely too exhausted in balancing Fallon’s sense of duty and the teasing remarks from some of the other kingsguard that bordered on mocking. Ser Cole was one of the most vocal, pushing the princess’ sworn sword nearly to the point of lashing out and only backing away when she turned on him or if the lord commander began to pay attention. She’d been assured countless times that it was the men’s way of welcoming her into the fold, but the more she was called the princess’ Maiden knight, if she was certain that she was acceptable for such a role, if she was even a woman, she was less and less certain of what her place amongst such men was.

Which was how she found herself in the training yard again. It was always where she was sent after Westerling had had enough. He knew she didn’t need nearly as much training or supervision, he’d seen her at the tourney even if it had been years ago at that point, so he often masked her punishment for acting out by sending her away. It was a respite for her and him both; she was free to hack away at lifeless dummies and he was free from the bickering of his men. He’d often told her the exchanges often reminded him of women’s sewing circles and she had laughed. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

To her disappointment, the training yard was occupied, for lack of a better word. There was plenty of room for her to do as she wished, but when a handful of the City Watch’s newest recruits were stood amongst the training equipment, it did make it rather difficult.

He made it all the more difficult.

Harwin, upon seeing Fallon, nearly lit up. If she hadn’t been watching him as well, she likely would’ve missed the glint of his dark eyes, how his posture changed from almost exhausted defeat as another recruit fumbled and flailed his sword to rigid and attentive the moment she was within shouting distance. Fallon was surprised he hadn’t started shouting yet, that he waited for her to visit the sword stand, picking over the weapons meticulously like she truly cared before testing the weight of one. It was a show, she supposed, one that wasn’t really necessary. It only prolonged the moment she thought she dreaded, when she would have to speak to the men who had been there before her.

Harwin smiled kindly at her once she put the sword down and finally wandered over closer, turning her attention to the men he was training. “Did Ser Westerling send his best to assist in whipping the newest city guards?”

While she had assumed many of the new recruits would be young men wanting to show their mettle, she was surprised to see a more varied range of ages. While none were very old, there were a few she was sure had seen true battle. Perhaps not a war, but certainly a battle or two that had wetted their blade with blood from an enemy instead of a rivaling lord’s son.

“His best? Quite a high compliment from the commander of the City Watch, Ser Strong.”

If her stoic politeness stilted with awkwardness bothered him, he certainly didn’t show it. His smile didn’t once falter, even when he looked from her to the men still stumbling through basic sword stances.

“And, to be honest, none knew you would be training the whelps at this time.”

“Duty never rests, though I suppose you would know that well.”

Fallon made a face, her top lip curling to nearly bare her teeth before she caught herself. She wondered if that was the remaining teachings of her mother; such expressions weren’t attractive or very appropriate for a young lady of such a proud house. It had always made her want to bare her teeth entirely, to growl and hiss and spit like a creature cursed to madness. Yet, she always schooled herself to her mother’s liking, to keep things civil and calm, up until she could sneak away to bury her sword into straw-filled burlap or carve away at wooden posts.

Instead, she squared her shoulders, her palm resting against the pommel of her sword at her hip. “Duty within the City Watch will be a welcome sight to see again. I fear the prince’s influence did very little to truly allow duty and trust to flourish within the ranks and people.”

Harwin chuckled. “I do believe you’re right, my lady.”

Her eyes flicked to a small grouping of men whispering between themselves, their eyes not watching the coupled sparring matches but rather, watching her. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end and she felt like a bristling dog, on edge, ready to be attacked. She found that such a feeling had nearly become her natural state, day in and day out.

“Would you help me with them?”

She blinked, pulling her attention away. “Pardon?”

Her betrothed gestured towards the group, taking a step away from her as one of the men fell and a few of them jeered at him. “Help me teach them a thing or two before I send them to their barracks.”

Fallon forced down the grumble growing in her throat, begrudgingly following behind him as he pulled focus from their taunting teasing to him. 

It was almost impressive how quickly they came to attention, she thought. At least they had respect for their commander, new though he was. She almost stopped when the thought crossed her mind, brows furrowing almost disappointedly with herself. Why was she pleased they respected him? She hardly cared.

Right?

“Lads,” his voice was strong and loud, carrying clear across the courtyard, she was certain, “seems like it’s our lucky day.”

‘Lucky’ was never a word she had used to describe her presence. Lucky was usually the farthest thing from her mind in such situations, though to tell Harwin otherwise would have him thinking it a lie. The uncomfortable pressure of eyes on her returned and her shoulders squared again, her armor glinting golden in the midday sun. She’d left the heaviest pieces behind, such things were usually used for show or tourneys only, but her shoulder plates still bore the symbol of her house; the everwatchful, almost angry stare of a lion.

One of the younger men sniffed, eyeing her in a way that settled between wary and darkly. “Not e’ery day a kingsguard makes time for us folk.”

“I am not a kingsguard, ser-”

“Brennan.” The man sniffed again.

“Ser Brennan. Lord Commander Westerling merely trains me alongside his kingsguard knights.”

Another man elbows Brennan with an almost smug, knowing look. “Told ya they don’t let women folk join ‘em.”

“Stewar!” Harwin barked, an almost dark grin on his face. “Good of you to volunteer for next spar. Grab your weapon.”

Stewar blinked at his commander before grabbing a broadsword and stepping into the handmade ring they’d been using. He expected the commander to pick another one of the men to pit against him, to run them through their paces again, or even face against him himself. It was no secret that Harwin Strong disliked any ill words towards his betrothed, regardless of her feelings on the matter, and the man had made possibly the most grievous mistake of the day.

His face paled when Harwin gestured for Fallon to enter after him.

“They should see what’s expected of King’s Landing’s finest.”

She’d huffed at his words, but drew her sword all the same as she moved to walk past the men now staring at her with wide eyes.

Most had been present years ago for the late prince’s tourney, had seen her face off against Daemon Targaryen and win, so there was no doubt, despite their comments, that she was a skilled fighter. Perhaps more skilled than all of them combined, there was truly no telling what her full ability was outside of a true battle.The idea of fighting against her had the younger ones thanking the gods that they hadn’t spoken out of turn and the older men eager to see just how she would ruin the man who had.

Stewar, for his credit, jutted out his chin and raised the blade of his weapon as she did. Harwin stood to the side, arms crossed, and the biggest grin she thought she’d seen on a man.

“Begin!”

While she was certain she had been asked to step into the ring simply to get the men to cease gossiping like ladies at court, Fallon had the thought pass in her mind that this wasn’t truly fair to the soldiers in training. Such thoughts were all but confirmed when Stewar found his ass in the dirt, nursing a growing bruise on his cheekbone from the hilt of her sword. It had taken less than a minute for the fight to finish, almost a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, and the small crowd of men fell absolutely silent. There wasn’t a single jeer or laugh until Stewar stumbled to his feet and Harwin started clapping.

“The lady has demonstrated what needs work with you lot perfectly. My thanks and gratitude, Lady Lannister.”

Fallon schooled her face to remain neutral as he bowed slightly, giving her all due respect she was entitled to. The small act still made her muscles stiffen and an uneasiness settled in her stomach, but it wasn’t as bad without her mother’s preening, sneering look beside her. She gave her own little broken bow, hoping the men would assume the armor made her more awkward and that it wasn’t simply her.

As she walked back towards the palace walls, she heard Harwin barking orders at his men again, telling them to hold their swords higher, their feet needed to be further apart or closer together, and one of the soldiers said to listen before another ended up on the wrong end of the Maiden Knight’s sword.

She would never admit it, but she smiled at the thought. She would never be a kingsguard, that much was truth in such a society in King’s Landing, but perhaps she could wear her tourney knightship just as proudly as a white cloak.

Tags: @dreaming-of-illusory-flowers|@soup-entity|@yippeecore

[universe-of-heart]

The way writing this fix-it fic includes way too much math because it's too much of a bother for the series creators to give half the characters birth dates. PLEASE I just wanna know when Rhaenyra's boys were born.

[universe-of-heart]

Fic writer asks

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[universe-of-heart]

Literally heart eyes and kicking my feet and squealing and crying, he's so!!!!!!!! I think this is my new favorite fic for Aemond

I'm A Fire, And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [ONESHOT]

Summary: Flowers come to Aemond Targaryen in many different shapes and sizes throughout his marriage. Based on this ask by @wonderbias

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Warnings: 18+; Mild Smut.

Note From The Author: Much much love and my entire heart for @humanpurposes for proofreading this, and to @oneeyedvisenya for being my trusty test reader!

So I kinda put my own spin on this request lmfao. Hope it flies. :)

Word Count: 9.6k

Text Divider by @saradika

THEIR UNION HAD BEGUN AS A FRAGILE AND DELICATE ONE.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry– the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

TOURNEYS WERE A TIME OF CELEBRATION FOR HER. 

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”  she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

THEY HAVE COME TO ENJOY EACH OTHER’S COMPANY.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her– bit by bit.

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife.

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron.

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive.

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him?

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there.

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked.

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.

Oh yes, their marriage had grown.

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either.

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige.

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do.

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own.

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened.

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.”

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

THEIR MORNINGS WERE A LOT BRIGHTER NOW.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care.

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears.

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince husband, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into.

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up.

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?”

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.”

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full.

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind.

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips.

“Thank you, for everything.”

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

THERE WAS SOMETHING TO BE SAID ABOUT THE COMFORTS OF SILENCE.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did.

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago.

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria.

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries.

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said.

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored.

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself.

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

IT WAS MOMENTS LIKE THESE THAT MADE AEMOND BELIEVE IN ANYONE APART FROM HIMSELF.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

And then, she came to him. His wife.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim.

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed.

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally.

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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[universe-of-heart]

For those who miss Mean!Aemond, I made a new one. I’m going to try and release a guide for navigating Beta.Character tonight, hopefully. But, I have tried to make this Aemond better than the last and I think I have succeeded. He will remain ‘unlisted’ because making him public got him banned the last time. So, the only way to access him will be through this link:

I have programmed him to learn High Valyrian and also taught him the meaning of each word. Feel free to send me the stories you make with him! I love to hear them! It also helps me improve upon him and make him better!