bookofbonbon

[bookofbonbon]

"Rhaenyra tried to put bastards on the throne"

[bookofbonbon]

Finishing up S1 of The Rings of Power with an obsession with Elrond was not how I was expecting things to go but… here we are.

[bookofbonbon]

Recently the question of using second vs third person in my writing has been absolutely plaguing me (more so than usual) and has been one of the major drivers behind my writers block because of how it reads so, I’ve found myself writing and re-writing the same stories again and again in different POV's.

So, naturally I must propose the question of:

first person = I thought I liked this one but, I’m just not sure.

second person = You thought you liked this one but, you’re just not sure.

third person = She thought she liked this one but, she’s just not sure.

**referencing when reading fanfiction.

[bookofbonbon]

happy September, dears 🌸

[bookofbonbon]

We need more of all a lie in fact I personally need/want/plead for more of your writing in general. You have such a talent and such an understanding of nuanced tricky relationships and the deep intimate complex pain of the female experience. I feel the pain of your character as I’m reading it I can relate it to some of my own pain or even I just feel it on a level that only women really can. The hunger games is such an excellent movie/book/world for expressing that kind of pain and trauma and stories and I feel like so few people really get it or write about it but you get it. If you ever decided to be a writer professionally just know I and so many other people would be lined up around the block on release day I’d literally read your shopping list you’re so talented. I hope you continue to write as long as you enjoy it and it serves you bc you’re too talented not to. Thank you for writing and being generous enough to share it with us. Some people are natural born writers and some people have to work extra hard and they’re both great but you can tell who falls into which category and you fall into the first. I just wanted to let you know in case nobody has today, I hope your coffees always extra hot and your pillows always cool💗

I’ve sat on this message since the 8th of January when you sent it. I’ve read it and read it again and again contemplating whether or not I should post it or continue to keep it to myself as I have this entire time. But a big part of the reason I’ve kept it to myself is because I keep coming back to it thinking I’ll finally have the words to respond to such a message and over 8 months later, I still don’t. The reason I’m finally sharing it is so, you - whoever you are that sent this message to me, if you are still hanging around my little old blog - know just how much this message has meant to me.

I do want to say that I am sorry you were able to relate to some of the characters pain and I do sincerely hope that you are now in a better place.

I don’t think I will ever the find the words to thank you or to express just how grateful I am for your kind words except to say that truly, deeply, from the bottom of my heart, thank you and, I also hope your coffees are always extra hot, pillow always cool and your heart always find happiness ❤️

[bookofbonbon]

hotd fic recs plsssss

Eeek I don’t read much fanfic to begin with and given how much S2 annoyed me, I’ve read almost no HotD fics at all…

EXCEPT for @sylasthegrim’s fics - I’ve recently gone down a rabbit hole of all their Cregan fics and they all absolutely delight me!

I will eventually scour the tags and do some reading. Once I do I’ll post a new fic rec list, hopefully soon! Otherwise, my lovely @holy-minseok is my go to for fic recs! 🫶🏽

[bookofbonbon]

for you and for me - cregan stark.

Pairings/Characters: Cregan Stark x Reader; Alysanne Blackwood.

Warnings: OOC. No thought put into this. Zero thought, head empty. Just wrote it 4 fun. Spoilers. Bad grammar, punctuation and tense use.

Summary: Cregan returns to Winterfell at the end of the war with a new bride.

Word Count: 1.1k

Snow fell gently around Winterfell for a sixth consecutive day. The calm weather a more than welcome change from the otherwise blizzardous days that had been wreaking havoc upon the Northern country prior.

Given the sudden change, you couldn’t help but wonder if the North was somehow connected to its Lord- if it had sensed when he returned to his country some six days ago. The Stark’s were, after all, an ancient house and like most Northerners, you had also heard the tales of how ancient sorcery and spells had been woven into The Wall when Bran the Builder raised it. Perhaps…

You screw your nose up.

You didn’t have time to dwell on magical midwives tales. If there was however, one thing you were certain of, it was that Winter had come for Winterfell during its Lord Stark’s absence and you were sure it would return with a vengeance once he was secured in his seat.

-

Excitement buzzes in the still icy Northern air of Winterfell. Household staff rushing through the courtyard to finish laying the final preparations for the Welcome Home Grand Feast which awaited Lord Stark and the Northmen who marched South to war some 1-2 years ago. 

In the courtyard, the Northmen who remained during the war began falling into line, Stark banners ready to be raised at a moment’s notice in anticipation for the long-awaited arrival of their Liege Lord and fellow countrymen and, just as you were nowhere to be found on Lord Stark’s  departure, you were once again nowhere to be found amongst the masses as they gathered below for his return. 

Despite your absence below however, nothing went unnoticed by you from where you stood hidden in the tallest spire of Winterfell,  overlooking the castle’s ground and the vast North. 

The once green hills had become a permanent snow white for as far as your eyes could see, save for the downtrodden road that cut through it- an army of Northern men led by Stark banners and other Northern household banners alike traveling down it.

They would arrive in little time and as expected, a surge of frantic energy seemed to sweep through Winterfell as a lone rider came galloping through the castle’s gates to announce their near arrival.

-

There’s an ache in your chest as you watch the scene below you unfold, hand rubbing at your chest in an attempt to soothe it. Winter’s men greeted with tears of both sorrow and joy as the men, women and children who remained in the North came to learn who of their loved ones had returned and who had not. 

You wrinkle your nose as a cold wind blows. Breath coming out in a white puff for the first time in six days. You had noticed the sudden change in the weather as soon as it happened; the way the snow fell harder and the winds began to pick up, carrying with them a familiar scent.

It’s then that you find your gaze drawn to the castle’s gates as a thin woman with a mass of curly black hair sitting atop a large stead arrives, sticking sorely out like a prey amongst wolves as she gazes anxiously around her.

Leaning slightly forward, you pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders. The woman is flanked by two men with Blackwood banners.

So, this was her.

You watch keenly as she dismounts gracefully, immediately noting her tall height and though she was thin, you could tell she was strong by the way she carried herself as she placed a comforting hand on her horse; her sharp gaze taking note of everyone around her before, looking for the someone you knew was not there. 

Your lips pull in a small grin. 

“Tis’ not particularly welcoming of you to abandon your newly betrothed when she has just arrived in your country,” you drawl, watching the woman stalk through the crowd with her men.

This woman was no prey but, you currently were as the floorboards creaked beneath the heavy footsteps of the Wolf of the North.

His scent surrounds you, overwhelming you as firm arms wrap themselves around you- the Wolf of the North burrowing his nose in the crook of your neck, hair scratching at your skin as he inhales your scent deeply. You relax against his hold, leaning against him as you place a cold hand atop his own which Cregan takes as his cue to intertwine your fingers with his as he presses a kiss to your temple. 

“So, you did receive my ravens then?” he asks, voice gruffer than you remembered. “You just chose not to write me back.”

You hum your confirmation, still watching her as she broke free from the crowd that had left much of her appearance obscured from your vision. Her riding clothes were fitted well and just as Cregan described, you took notice of her long legs and strong arms as she adjusted the red cloak around her shoulders.

“There was much to do around here,” you shrugged. “You made me your Regent, I could not shirk the duties you bestowed upon me.”

Cregan sighs, forehead pressed against the back of your head. You weren’t mad, he would’ve known if you were mad but, you weren’t particularly happy with him either.

He had gone to war a widow and come back with a bride.

“If you do not approve, I will see it all undone,” he reassures you with a squeeze of your hand. 

You inhale deeply, head shaking as you an utter a firm, “no.”

If his letters were anything to go by then Alysanne Blackwood would make for the perfect bride and not even your own stubbornness would allow you to pass up a woman like her for him.

“She is… as you described? Yes?” 

“She is,” he hums happily, sensing your turn in mood as he presses a kiss to the column of your neck. “Fierce, bawdy, an excellent hunter and just as you and I do, she has also taste for…roast duck and goose.” 

You breathe a laugh through your nose, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you consider your next words.

“And she knows about what she’s to be wed into.”

“She does and she was most delighted,” Cregan recalls with a chuckle. 

Turning in his hold, you inhale sharply at the sight of him. He looked different and still the same. Bigger and stronger. He had grown out his beard as you suspected and his hair was longer with a singular braid tucked amongst his dark locks but, none of that was what held you in your place. No. Despite his sternness, Cregan had left Winterfell with soft eyes and softer cheeks. The Cregan who stood before you now… he cut the very image of a man capable of doing the things you had heard he had done in the South; ready to rip out the traitors of the Great Houses, root and stem- eyes cold and face hardened by war, he hardly looked the person you watched leave through the gates of Winterfell some year and a bit ago but, as he smiled his toothy grin, you knew beneath it all that it was still him all the same.

“Then she’s perfect,” you tell him with a mischievous smile while rubbing your hands along his firm chest. 

Delighted with your words, Cregan’s rough hands cup your face gently as he hums his agreeance, his lips brushing against your own.

“The perfect bride for you and for me,” he murmurs before, pressing his lips firmly against yours.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.

[bookofbonbon]

Pairings: Aegon II Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader.

Warnings: There's no Aegon in the prologue. It's just world/context building, I suppose you don’t have to read it if you don’t want to lmao. Spelling/grammar errors. Inconsitent tenses.

Summary: As a heavy blown is dealt to Lord Corlys Velaryon leaving him incapacitated, you realise you will have to return to King's Landing for the first time in five years when your nephew's position as heir to Driftmark is called into question.

Word Count: 2.8k+.

Masterlist.

The ground beneath your feet sways gently, a rhythmic to and fro accompanying your every step as you boarded the legendary Sea Snake with three of your own commanders - Eadric, Selyse and Trystane. 

The walk to the captain’s quarters of the Sea Snake is short; Velaryon guards standing at attention as you pass them, led by Velaryon captain and acting admiral, Luceon. 

You wrinkle your nose in distaste at him, Luceon whom you frequently butted heads with. The thought, however, is quickly banished when you enter the room- breath catching in your throat. 

The sight unsettles you, hands flexing and releasing as you looked upon the comatose Lord Corlys Velaryon - if you didn’t know better, you would've thought him dead. 

The room is suspended in silence, tension thick in the air as they all wait with bated breath for you to cut it but, instead, out of habit, your gaze passes quickly over the occupants of the room.

The ship maester, four Velaryon knights, Luceon and one other you don’t know but had heard about - all present in the room and several more Velaryon men aboard the ship and out of your sight. 

Your shoulders pull tensely, hand inconspicuously coming to rest on the pommel of your longsword with a practiced ease that alerts no one. 

You may have been allied and fought side-by-side with these very men for over two years but, it was with Lord Corlys at the helm, who at present was incapacitated and you were severely outnumbered - something your commanders had picked up on as well as they too shifted their stances discreetly, ready to draw at the slightest threat. 

“How did this come to pass?” you question, gaze drawing back to Luceon. “I will have answers.” 

While it was true that you were forced to leave the Stepstones earlier than you would have liked, it did not change the fact that the Stepstones had already been won when you did. 

“A final ambush by the Triarchy, Princess,” the solemn man tells you. “A ship made to look as if it were abandoned.” 

You almost laugh in disbelief, head shaking as the information renders you more confused than you previously were that the Sea Snake would find himself in such a predicament.

“Six years of what has felt like an interminable war and finally, Lord Corlys secures victory only to be felled by what should have been an obvious trap laid by our enemies.” 

A rebuttal is on the tip of Luceon’s tongue but, you’re quicker than he is. 

“I do not wish to hear of what incompetencies led Lord Corlys to pursue such a folly. Not when there are more urgent matters at hand now, such is the current state of him,” you dismiss Luceon and turn to the maester.

“What of Lord Corlys’s health?”

The maester steps forward with a deep bow before he answers.

“Lord Corlys was severely wounded by the dagger of a Corsair before being thrown overboard. He has lost much blood and now battles a blood fever that burns from within.” 

Your stomach drops at the mention of blood fever. You had heard of the dreaded fever before. How it had made victims of even the strongest of men, delivering them swiftly to the Stranger’s door.

“And what of his prognosis?” you ask, fearful. 

The maester hesitates, his head dropping and you’re not sure you want to hear what he has to say. 

“I… cannot say, Princess. We have done all that we can. We can only pray now to the Seven, that the fever breaks before the Stranger comes.”

Uneasiness consumes your being as you cast an anxious glance at your uncle through marriage; his life now hanging in the balance as he teetered the fine line between life and death. 

The thought does not dwell for long however, as a new uneasiness settles within you in the form of Vaemond Velaryon should the Stranger come for Corlys.

Skin pulling impossibly tight around your knuckles, you had no doubt that he would set his sights on Driftmark, likely petitioning the succession if he had reason to believe his brother was on death’s door. 

A petition you had no doubt would be entertained by the Queen Consort and her Lord- Hand father who now sat the Iron Throne more often than that of your own King-father from what you had heard.

You would need to buy yourself time, try to stop the news from reaching Vaemond if word hadn’t already been sent. 

“Who else knows of Lord Corlys’s current state?” 

“I dispatched a raven to Driftmark on the morrow. Princess Rhaenys will expect our arrival in three, at most four days.” 

You let out a frustrated breath. Vaemond would no doubt hear of the news, the leech opting to remain on Driftmark while the rest of his house warred.

“And what of the Triarchy following their ambush?”

Luceon steps forward. 

“The ambush was but a last ditch effort from the Triarchy to win one last victory, it, however, amounted to nothing.”

“Amounted to nothing?” you bark a hysterical laugh. “Lord Corlys lays comatose before you and you speak of this attack amounting to nothing? We will be cut at our knees if he does not wake.” 

Luceon’s eye twitches and you note the way the acting admiral’s nose flares as you insult him but he reigns his temper.

“I meant no offense, Princess. While I deeply regret the suffering Lord Corlys must now endure, it does not change that we have ensured the Triarchy have been put down. If you will, Princess-” he gestures to the maps haphazardly laid across a table on the opposite end of the room.

“Once we had routed the Triarchy - shortly after your departure but, prior to the ambush - my Lord Corlys had sent word for more ships and men to ensure complete control of the Stepstones. In a week or so, the territory will be fully garrisoned and a total blockade on the shipping lanes will be in place.” 

Your gaze meets the young admiral with a nod. 

“Very good,” you acknowledge with an apologetic smile. “We must ensure the fortification of the Stepstones. If Lord Corlys falls, it cannot be in vain. I will also send for more of mine own men and ships to join the blockade. They are stationed far closer than that of the Velaryon fleet and can be there in the next two days, maybe less. They will ensure the territory is garrisoned until the Velaryon fleet arrives.” 

“Thank you, Princess,” he offers a genuine smile. “We shall all sleep better for it. For now, however, we shall make haste for Driftmark and set sail at dawn.”

Still pouring over the maps, you offer him a curt, “no.”

“No?” 

“No,” you straighten your back, both hands now resting on the pommel. “Lord Corlys must remain here until his fever breaks.”

“But, Princess-”

“Our own voyage to Evenfall was a treacherous one,” you explain. “The journey is far too dangerous and the Sea Snake has taken considerable damage. A journey such as the one you suggest will be too long in Lord Corlys’s current state, lest we wish to hasten his meeting with the Stranger.”

“Not to mention,” you continue with a shaky breath. “If Lord Corlys’s current state were to turn while at sea, the ship maester may not have what is needed to tend to him. Should the Sea Snake set sail for Driftmark, it should be only after either Lord Corlys’s fever has broken or after his death. I pray it is not the latter.”

Luceon holds your gaze for a moment as he contemplates your words before agreeing with your position.  

“Very well,” you nod to all in the room. “We will see ourselves out.”

You pause however, turning to the unknown man seated in the corner. 

“I hear you are the hero who pulled Lord Corlys from the sea,” you address him. “Your name sailor?” 

“I am called Alyn, Princess,” he bows his head. “I am, however, no hero.” 

You breathe a small laugh and step closer to him, curious hand touching at the familiar silvery locks of his hair as you smile at him with a knowing look. 

“How very modest of you but, I assure, if Lord Corlys was not indebted to you before, he is now.”

 -

You were right. 

Vaemond Velaryon was petitioning the succession of Driftmark. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You predicted it. Yet there was still a small part of you that was. More so, because of how quick the news came- just shy of a day to be exact.

Aboard your own capital ship, you sit around the table with your commanders. The four of you going back and forth, planning your next moves and altering plans accordingly until you're satisfied. 

“So, that’s settled then,” you run over the plan a final time. “Trystane you will remain here with fifty men and keep eyes on the Sea Snake and for any movements they might make.”

“Aye,” the curly-maned man nods.

“Selyse, you will move forward with joining Sybelle to lead the bulk of the fleet to the stepstones,” you address the raven-haired beauty. “A raven had already been sent to her to set sail at the earliest convenience and only under Velaryon colours as we have been this entire time.”

You tap your finger on a point of the map.

“Remember, patrol only until the rest of the Velaryon fleet arrives. Once they do, you will sail to Driftmark and anchor there until I send word. Let the men rest, let them recuperate and ensure what damages can be, are fixed but, remember we must not bring unwanted attention to ourselves. The rest of the fleet will remain where they are with Ajax.”

“Understood, Princess.”

“Very well,” you smile grimly. “Trystane, Selyse, set the patrols and get some rest. You in particular, Selyse, you hoist sail soon and have a long few days ahead of you.” 

Both commanders stand and bow their heads as you bid them farewell. Once the door closes behind them, you slump in your chair. Your comfort however, does not last long when a knock soon sounds at your door. 

“Enter,” you call with a sigh. 

It is your own maester, Olyvar, who peers around the now ajar door and you beckon him in with a welcome hand. 

“Apologies, Princess,” the graying man shuffles in with two parchments in hand. “I know the hour is busy but I bear news that I thought you would prefer soon rather than late.”

“There is no need for an apology, Olyvar, I intended to come see you shortly. Please sit,” you gesture at the chair beside you. “What news do you bring?”

He holds out the first parchment, it’s thick, several pages sealed together.

“From Winterfell.”

You straighten your back, excitement coursing through you as you eagerly reach for it. 

“News from Lord Cregan?” 

“Aye.”

You hastily break the seal, eagerly reading the familiar scroll of your old friend and letting out a small laugh at the news he sent, Olyvar and Eadric sharing a smile at your joy.

“You must read this,” you hand one of the papers to Eadric. “You as well, Olyvar.”

A gruff laugh is shortly followed and Eadric passes it to Olyvar whose own belly laugh soon fills your quarters. 

The smile on your face soon falters however, as a mournful feeling spreads through you and dampens your mood. Olyvar and Eadric feel the shift immediately as silence blankets the room; Olyvar placing a comforting hand atop yours, your other hand rubbing at your chest as you try not to think of your absence. 

You offer a weak smile and change the subject, “what other news do you bring?”

Olyvar hesitates as he hands the other folded piece of parchment to you, the broken seal sloppily stamped with your family’s sigil stares back at you.

“It appears to have been sent at least three moons past and has since passed through several hands before it reached here. The seal was unbroken of course on arrival but, I did as you instructed.”

Your heart skips a beat, hands and cheeks suddenly feeling warm as a different type of ache settles in your chest.

“He still writes?”

“Yes, Princess. Still not very well, I must confess. The ink still runs with water stains and the words are not always legible but he still writes.”

You inhale sharply. 

You were sure that his previous letter would be the last. Although, you thought every previous letter would be the last and yet, it never was. 

You turn the parchment over in your hands but don’t open it. 

“What of its contents?”

“The same as always. Wondering of your whereabouts, when you will come back home and… that he still wai-”

“Thank you, Maester Olyvar,” you cut him off before he finishes and hand the parchment back to him unread. “Now, I have other business I need you to attend to.”

Doling out the several messages you need him to send as soon as possible, you quickly dismiss him with a grateful but tense smile. Slumping once again when the door closes behind him. 

“I suppose he will not need to wonder much longer of your absence,” Eadric comments across from you.  

“I suppose not,” you agree. 

“You do not have to go to King’s Landing if you do not wish to. Princess Rhaenys and Princess Rhaenyra will both be there to vouch for Prince Lucerys.”

“Yes…” you stand and pour yourself a cup of wine. “But, Rhaenyra and Rhaenys have both been far away from court for as long- longer, than I have and you know just as well as I do that it might not be my King-father who will preside over this petition.” 

“Princess, you have just said so yourself that you have been away from court for almost as long as they have.”

“Yes but, we have spent the past two years side-by-side with Lord Corlys. Something only my King-father knows. For Lucerys, I must appeal to him, to the court and let it be known that Lord Corlys reaffirmed several times that Lucerys is to be his heir…” you absentmindedly toy with the thin brass whistle hanging from your neck as you gulp down the red liquid. “What good is a Lord’s word over his own keep if it is so easily disregarded by disgruntled and greedy family members?”

“Apologies, Princess, I spoke out of turn.” 

Hand tightening around the whistle, you wave the apology off and tell him there's no need for it.

“If it is of any comfort, Deimos is well, Princess. He was sighted nesting on an island not far from here.”

“Hm?”

Eadric nods at the whistle you anxiously pull at- the whistle you had trained Deimos to respond to given your frequent movings.

“It is not Deimos who worries me,” you place the goblet down and take a shaky breath. “It's returning home, returning to my family… it will disarm me in a way that I have not been in five years...”

You pause for a moment, trying to find your words as you toy anxiously now with your fingers. Eadric looks at you sympathetically, all too aware of your struggles with them.

“In truth, I am afraid, Ser Eadric. I do not know what has become of my family, especially my half-siblings and step-mother. None know that I am coming and given the… nature of how I left, I do not know how they will receive me. In the Free Cities, I could build a wall of protection, quite literally, around me but, in King’s Landing? I am vulnerable.”

Not just to your family but, to matters of the heart but, you don’t tell Ser Eadric that. You don’t need to. He already knows. 

Ser Eadric and Deimos were all that you left your home with and both still remained at your side five years later. And not only did Ser Eadric fulfill his role as your appointed Kingsguard and sworn sword but he had also filled the parent-shaped hole that was left in your life when you left Westeros. 

“And that is why I am there for you, Princess,” the aging man reassures you with a warm smile that settles your nerves. 

Putting the subject to rest, you instruct Eadric to ready his ship, “Ensure you have all that you need for the Dragon’s Trident to sail for King’s Landing at first light.”

“You do not wish to take your own ship? I do believe the journey would be of more comfort to you if you did.”

“It would but, I suspect my King-father will not appreciate The King’s Deceit anchoring at his port,” you snort a laugh. “And besides, the owings of comfort are of no consequence to me. I will fly to King’s Landing. I do believe it’s time I also took Deimos home. He has not been around other dragons since we left all those years ago.”

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.

[bookofbonbon]

coming soon - sneak peak.

Pairings: Aegon II Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader.

Warnings: Individual warnings will be posted with each chapter. Written in second person. Incest. Spoilers - this will be a mixture of show and book canon.

Summary: When the succession of House Velaryon is petitioned before the Royal court, The Realm's Sorrow - second daughter of King Viserys and the late Queen Aemma returns to her own family's Royal seat after five years away.

Throwing her siblings into complete disarray, especially when Viserys dies soon after her return, she is forced to remain in Westeros as a war for the Iron Throne ensues. Neither Aegon nor Rhaenyra know which side their sister will stand or if they can truly trust her once they learn that during her five years away in the Free Cities she has come into a formidable power of her own.

Chapters:

Prologue

One

Two

Three

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.

[bookofbonbon]

Aegon II Targaryen: - Written by Book of Bonbon.

This is a side blog. Main account: @blogofbonbon

Latest Update: December 2022.

Requests: Closed.

Oneshots:

Lamb To The Slaughter (21.12.2022). Summary: You have developed an unhealthy coping technique post-war to the detriment of your own safety and worry of your husband. Made only worse by the encouragement of your lovers. Ft. Aemond Targaryen.

Series:

All's Fair (In Love and War) coming soon.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2022 - 2024. All rights reserved.

[bookofbonbon]

wait, WAIT- before the new season airs! are you tb tg or neutral?!

[bookofbonbon]

Daemon Targaryen: - Written by Book of Bonbon.

This is a side blog. Main account: @blogofbonbon

Latest Update: May 2024.

Requests: Closed.

Oneshots:

Ours is the Hunt (05.05.2024). Summary: You hand down your first and final warning to Daemon for his infidelities.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.

[bookofbonbon]

not to glorify the early years tumblr hellscape but this site was infinitely better when you could block anon hate and then immediately find out who was sending it by checking your blocklist and i for one propose that we bring that back. no rights for cowards.

[bookofbonbon]

It finally happened.

I met my media match made in heaven.

Someone who loves spoilers just as much as I do and will also google spoilers mid-watch because we are impatient 🫶🏽

[bookofbonbon]

I need HOTD fans who don’t already know this to understand that tagging a post as ‘anti team x / anti x character’ DOES NOT prevent that post from showing up in the regular ‘team x / x character’ tags - those posts will show up in that teams / characters tags as normal because you’ve still used the characters / teams name.

Likewise, if you’re tagging something as ‘anti x’ but, still using generic fandom tags such as ‘house of the dragon / hotd / fire and blood / a song of ice and fire / asoiaf / game of thrones’ - people who are pro x to your anti x, will still see your post in the generic fandom tags.

While I absolutely do believe there are trolls out there who are going through anti tags just to start trouble - more often than not, it’s not the case. Your anti posts are just very likely showing up in ‘team x / x characters’ normal tags or the generic fandom tags and people who disagree will engage with your post if they show up in these tags. At this point, they’re not going to stop and check if you tagged it ‘anti x’.

There’s obviously a lot of in-arguing in the HOTD fandom and we’re heavily reliant on users having the courtesy to not comment on posts that are obviously not meant for them (however, the reality is, this is the internet and people do not care) but, understanding the tagging system a little better will also go a long way in avoiding hostile interactions.

The block button is also a very effective tool in preventing certain tags/posts/users from showing up on your feeds at all.

[bookofbonbon]

all's fair (in love and war) - sneak peek.

pairing: aegon ii targaryen x halfsister!reader (sort of, not really).

word count: 900+.

a/n: this is a long ass sneak peek for a long ass fic that i probably won't finish for like another two months lmao. but i just want to share it.

The silence is broken only by the clanging of heavy metal as Aegon reaches into a pocket of his coat, pulling something hefty from it. A chain of some sort- golden in colour and heavy in his hand as it reaches down toward the ground. But, not weighing him down for much longer as he carelessly tosses the weighted piece of jewelry down the length of the table, toward you.

It slides against the marble of the small council table with ease, coming to a near stop; however, the force from Aegon's throw sends it partly over the edge of the table and the rest soon follows with a heavy clang against the stone floor.

You peer down at the heavy pile of golden links, all too familiar with the significance of the hideous necklace.

You don't touch it.

Tilting your head, your eyes find Aegon with raised eyebrows, "what is the meaning of this?"

"You know exactly what it is," Aegon tells you gruffly. "Put it on. You are to be my Master of War."

You balk at the idea, those eight words helping you easily figure out the cause of the tension that seemed to suffocate the room.

"Have you gone mad?"

The sharp sound of wood splintering echoes in the chambers, part of his chair having snapped off in his hand, his jaw ticking madly as he levels you with a glare that holds the fire of a thousand dragons.

"Aegon..." Alicent calls softly at first, glancing nervously between the two of you; her chair soon scraping roughly against the stone floors, voice firmer, louder and, shaking with worry as he stalks toward you. "Aegon!"

The sound of several wooden chairs soon follow hers as the rest of those who sit around the small council table follow her lead, all worried about what the new King was about to do to his half-sister.

"Stay put!" he snaps at the lot of them before turning on you. Snatching the chain from the ground, he wraps a rough hand around your arm, pulling you behind him as he leads the way out of the small council chambers and into its foyer where he releases his hold.

"Leave the doors open!" He commands the Kingsguard.

Aegon paces the foyer, breathing heavily through his nose and a hand pinching its bridge. Back and forth, back and forth, a short, almost hysterical laugh bubbling out of his chest and leaving you uncertain for the first time about his state of mind. 

“Aegon,” you touch his shoulder. “Aegon, what is going on?"

There’s a beat of silence as he finally stills, turning to look at you. You take a sharp breath, seeing for the first time that he was already folding beneath the weight of the crown. 

"Look at the people seated around the table," he tells you.

"What of them?"

"Who in there, is there for me?"

"All of them," you shrug. What else were you supposed to say? Every single person who sat in that room had plotted against Rhaenyra to install him on the throne.

"You would think so," he breathes a laugh, eyes softening. "No one in there, is there for me. None of them think that I can do this, that I can be King. None of them are here because they believe in me. But you-"

He takes your hands in his, standing closer to you than you had allowed him in over four years, the gold chain cold between your hands.

"-you always have. You have always been all I had and you still are. You are the only person I can trust. I need you. So just-"

He unwraps his hands from yours, holding the chain of office out to you. "-will you just put the damn thing on and sit down?"

You hesitate, hand twitching at your side but you nod anyway. 

Bowing your head, you allow him to place it on you. He's careful in his movements, gently pulling your hair from underneath the chain where it's trapped- with eyebrows furrowed in concentration, you watch with a faint smile as he arranges it neatly on your chest, ensuring every piece is turned properly and in place.

When he's done, you look down at the chain of office which now adorns you, "Master of War, huh? How peacefully that must have gone down with the small council and your family."

Aegon scoffs, eyes hardening once again as he glares into the room full of onlookers.

"You've more war experience than most of the fools who sit around that table, experience gained under the tutelage of the Sea Snake as well. They may counsel me on whatever else may come but, on this I will have their heads if they dare go against me. Now I believe this also now belongs to you-"

He reaches into another pocket of his coat, pulling out a large spherical stone and placing it in your hand, "Welcome to the small council."

You stare at the heavy object and in your periphery, you note that Aegon is walking back into the small council chambers. Turning your head toward the room, everyone has relaxed back into their seats. Rolling the sphere around, you feel the weight of it in your hand and the weight of your promises to Rhaenyra on your shoulders. 

Following Aegon, you stand at the opposite end of where he sits at the table's head; where you will sit. You swallow thickly, heart thumping heavily in your chest as you scan the faces of his councilmen, each of them waiting on you. Your fingers ghost over the device made to hold the sphere. Aegon leans back in his chair, eyes on you as he waits for you to commence the meeting and as you place the sphere down, you place also those promises you held to Rhaenyra down as well to address the King and his councilmen. 

"Shall we begin?"

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.

[bookofbonbon]

ours is the hunt - daemon targaryen.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader.

Warnings: 18+ Cheating. Hunting. Death/Killing. Mentions of pregnancy/ending a pregnancy. This is kinda fucked up, read the summary. Probably major spelling and grammar mistakes. Tense/POV mix ups.

Summary: Based on a request from the lovely @holy-minseok. like how westerosi kings warn the people of the consequences if they move out of line, reader presents daemons mistress to him on a spike with her swollen belly as a final warning for his betrayals.

Word Count: 2.8k+

A/N: This took on a life of its own and didn't play out exactly as the request but, hopefully it's still enjoyable (well... as enjoyable as it can be). Italics section is a flashback.

The Kingswood is eerily silent in the minutes before sunrise. The party, like many of the woodland creatures, still slept, peaceful in their oblivion as servants moved quietly around the camp to prepare for the rush that daybreak would bring. You take a deep breath, the crisp forest air a welcome change from that of the stench of King’s Landing; the smell of the previous afternoon’s rain also lingers but it would dry with the promise of good weather and a bright sun. 

“My Lady,” Ser Eadric Qyle calls, your most loyal, your sworn sword. “Everything is prepared to your instruction.”

“How many?”

“Three total. Two in the woods as we had hoped now, one. We will release the last one on your instruction.” 

The snap of a twig, a slight breeze, the distant wail of a wounded animal and the flutter of wings as the early morning bird sings its song as it flies across the waking sky. The forest whispers your name and you answer its call. 

“Let the hunt begin.” 

-

Your horse slows to a trot and eventually, to a stop as you approach the camp; an accompanying stablehand taking hold of the reins as a stool is brought to aid your dismount. 

“I had wondered where my wife had gone,” Daemon’s voice comes from beside you with a hand held out. “I should have known to check the woods.”

Your smile is wide, eyes lighting up at his presence as you take his hand and dismount. He is still dressed in his sleeping robes, the Targaryen Prince having obviously just woken not long ago. The thought that he immediately came to seek you out upon waking endears you. 

Steadying yourself with a hand on Daemon’s shoulder, you find your balance and firmly plant your feet on the stool; with the added height you find yourself at eye-level with him and greet him with a kiss to the side of his head. 

“Good morrow, my love.”

Daemon returns the greeting by leaning into you with a groan, head dropping into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his arms wrapping around you. 

“Remind me again why we must be here at this bloody thing?” 

You wrap an arm around his shoulder, hand soothing his back. 

“You cannot get out of this, Daemon,” you tell him with a small laugh. 

Daemon groans again, his breath hot against your neck as he attempts to burrow his face deeper, grumbling all the while. He doesn’t get far however, when you thread your fingers through his unruly hair and pull. 

“What was that, my love?”

“When you said you arranged a hunt for my name day, I thought it would be just us. Not a whole fucking camp for a Royal Hunt.” 

While Daemon was content to revel in celebrations of his victory, a Royal Hunt and a Royal Tourney were two entirely different things. Besides, he could think of much better things to do on his name day and he makes it known, allowing you to hold his head in place, a familiar glint in his eyes that you force yourself to ignore.

“Did you really think your Lord-King brother would allow that? You have him to thank for-” you release his hair to gesture at the several tents. “-this.” 

“Hm. How generous of him.”

You hum in agreement, adjusting the top of his robes.

“Very but, worry not, my love. Despite reports of only one stag, Ser Eadric and I managed to gain the trail of one other.” 

A grin pulls at the corner of Daemon’s lips.

“The Royal Hunt will track one stag and we will hunt the other,” you finish. Using your grip on his robes to pull him closer, you brush your nose against his, before pressing your lips to his for a brief moment. He tries to deepen the kiss but you don’t allow him. 

“Now, come,” you step down from the stool, taking his hand in yours. “Let's get you ready for the day.” 

“Very well,” Daemon agrees, pressing a kiss to your hand with a charming smile. 

You return the smile before turning and leading him back to the centre of the camp with a tight jaw. 

Daemon’s mood lightens considerably thereafter. The Rogue Prince noticeably happier after you broke the news that the two of you would separate from the Royal Hunt because while Daemon loved to hunt, he hated not being the one to actually do it. He didn’t need someone else to track down the game just for him to land the final blow in some false display of strength and authority. He could do it himself. He wanted to do it himself. He liked to do it himself. And though his mood had lightened, you noted that it didn’t stop his eyes from wandering around in search of someone else.

-

By mid-morning, the camp is teeming with life, the several Lords and Ladies of Westeros who gathered in celebration of Daemon’s name day dotted all over the grounds and inside tents. You yourself enter the main tent with Ser Eadric, the grand structure larger than that of most of the homes of the smallfolk. 

You don’t have to look far to find Daemon, Viserys’ great laugh leading you right to him; the two brother’s seated beside one another at a long table surrounded by other lords. 

Turning to Eadric, you place a cloth in his hand. “Release the last stag and give this to the bloodhound,” you instruct. He nods, taking it in hand and departing.

Taking a deep breath, you roll your shoulders back to loosen them, a delightful smile gracing your lips as you approach Daemon and Viserys. Daemon immediately reaches out for you out of habit once you're seated, and you cradle his strong hand between your own. 

“Ah my Lady,” Viserys greets you and you, him, with a bow of your head.

“Your Grace.”

“I have been meaning to offer you both my condolences following the death of your brother and my congratulations, I hear you have been named heir of Blood's End.”

You tighten your grip around Daemon’s hand then loosen it, both hands releasing his as you begin instead to fidget with your own fingers. Daemon notices immediately, taking hold of one of your hands in his, his grip firm in silent comfort as he sends you a reassuring look. 

“A regrettable hunting accident,” you pull at the collar of your riding jacket. “But, please, accept my thanks for your congratulations, Your Grace. It is an honour and I can only hope to be half the ruler my Lord-father is of Blood's End.”

“Well, I cannot say what type of ruler you will be but, from what I heard you are double the hunter of that of what your brothers were and rival even that of your father-”

“Better,” Daemon interrupts proudly with a squeeze of your hand. 

“Better?” Viserys’ repeats in amusement. 

You breathe a laugh at Daemon’s antics, “I am able to hold my own somewhat.” 

Daemon scoffs at your downplay of your skill, “my wife is humble, brother but, I am not. She is the better between her and her father. Perhaps one of the best in all the land.”

You make a show of balking at the declaration, forcing a meek laugh “I- that is not-”

But, Viserys’ cuts you off, holding one hand up in surrender, “if Daemon says you are one of the best then I believe him. I mean what good is it if House Chase’ words are ‘Ours is the Hunt’ if they cannot do exactly that?”

Viserys’ laughs heartily at his own joke and you spare a glance at Daemon who grins at you playfully.  

The conversation teeters off soon after that as Daemon and Viserys’ listen to the report sent by the Royal Huntsman. You in turn, turn your attention to one of your Ladies-in-waiting, Lady Millicent. While the custom of having Ladies-in-waiting was unusual outside of the Great Houses, the custom was needed within your own House as it was in fact greater than even that of your liege lords, House Baratheon. House Chase commanded both a larger army and fertile lands that weren’t felled by the terrible weather that surrounded Storm’s End. House Chase was second to Baratheon in rank only. 

“My Lady, I’ve been meaning to ask but, where is Lady Gwendolyn? I’ve not seen her around the camp all morning, I fear-”

“Yes,” Daemon interrupts abruptly. “Where is Lady Gwendolyn?”

You delight at the question, ears burning as you turn your attention to Daemon about your newest Lady-of-waiting of six, maybe seven months. 

“I did not know you had such a keen interest in my ladies of waiting. Husband.”

“My only interest is that she attends to my grooming every morning and yet, when I needed her this morning, she was nowhere to be found.” 

Daemon shrugs the question off with a practiced ease while your lips almost pull dangerously downwards, mask hanging by a thread and nearly slipping completely at the brazen statement. Instead you fix your smile, reaching across to smooth the neck of his hunting attire. 

“I have given Lady Gwendolyn leave while we are here, she is likely with her kin in the woods.”

-

A dull light permeates from the lantern in your hand, bathing its immediate surroundings - including yourself - in a warm glow as you carefully navigate the unfamiliar bed chambers that your husband had come to frequent as of late. Shadows bouncing off of the walls, the silhouettes of the two figures in the bed become clearer the closer you get. 

See, you weren’t naive to the ways of men and their crude sexual appetites; the way they would seek out other women when their wives could not sate them. 

‘It is the way of men, he will have his whores and his playthings but you are his wife and no whore can take away from you.’ is what your mother had told you but, you would not heed her words. You would not lay down while your husband took mistresses and whores alike and you had told him so, warning him once of the consequences.

Placing the lantern down on the bedside table, you peer down at the Baratheon beauty laid in the bed with your husband; a few drops of milk of the poppy in their goblets and it was keeping both husband and whore sedated. 

The mattress dips slightly under your weight as you settle yourself beside her sleeping figure, hip to hip as you take a closer look at your Lady-in-waiting, who had also taken up position as Daemon’s mistress, stealing both his time and attention from you. 

Lady Gwendolyn of House Baratheon, the niece of a cousin of a second son nobody; a distant relative carrying the Great name of the Great Stags of the Stormlands. 

“Ser Eadric,” you call on your sworn sword; fingers ghosting over her abdomen. The swell is slight but it is there. “Our Prince’s name day is fast approaching. Ensure arrangements have begun at first light. We will celebrate like none before.”

-

The sun sits at its peak in the sky, streams of its light filtering through the tops of the forest's trees. The crossbow is heavy in Daemon’s hands as he sits astride his horse, sweat gathering on his forehead as he watches his surroundings; the reins of your own horse in his other hand. He had led the first few hours, and now you had taken over. 

As planned, the two of you went out with the Royal Hunt and eventually broke off under the guise of returning to the camp. 

Daemon’s ears perk at the sound of a nearby wail and the flutter of several wings as a group of birds seem to scatter. Dismounting, Daemon joins you on the ground, coming to stand behind you as he scans the woods for any signs of danger. There is no danger however, just your blood hound.

Daemon moves past you and calls the hound to heel at his side. 

“We’re close,” you toss the hours old droppings back onto the ground and pick up your own crossbow. “These droppings are fresh.”

“Very close.” Daemon calls you over to where the bloodhound sits obediently by his feet. There is blood around its jowl. A thrill goes down your spine at the sight, knowing that the two of you were close now. 

“We go on foot from here,” he declares, trying the reins of your horses to a nearby tree and you agree.

Moving silently ahead through the Kingswood, what was once vibrating with life, has now come to standstill with your approach. All the woodland creatures recognising the two predators hunting in their territory. 

Your eyes flitter from the ground to up ahead as you follow the Stag’s tracks, Daemon trailing behind you and then- the sudden trample of hooves to the left of you and a blur of brown and then silence. 

“Daemon,” you whisper and nod up ahead. 

There in the distance stands the Great Stag the two of you had been hunting for the better part of four hours, its mammoth antlers moving frantically as it turned its head over and over. 

Daemon places a hand on the small of your back and you turn your head toward him. 

“From here?” you ask and he nods, stepping carefully in front of you.

The Stag stumbles around clumsily, which Daemon can only assume is from when the bloodhound must’ve sunk its teeth into it but it otherwise remains in the same area, believing itself to be safe.

“Let us test out the might of these crossbows from here,” Daemon croons quietly. The armourer had declared it the single most powerful crossbow, capable of bringing down the greatest creatures from an even greater distance. 

Positioning himself, Daemon presses his body against yours, your hand touching his collar before you slide it down and place it on his waist. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of both of your breaths as you watched over his shoulder. He lines up the shot, finger on the trigger, your breaths in harmonious sync, his back against your chest as your hearts beat as one. You slide a hand underneath his arm, steadying his hold and with a kiss to his shoulder blade, he pulls. 

Thwack!

The recoil is slight as the sound reverberates with a sickening crunch. The Stag cries out but, before it can make a move to run, you’re passing Daemon your own crossbow and he sends another arrow straight through its neck with perfect precision. 

There’s a beat of silence as the entire woods including yourselves come to a halt, your breaths the only sound that could be heard. It’s soon broken however, by your laughter, the sound building into something hysterical as you step away from Daemon. Catching Daemon’s attention, he turns to you, initially in concern, it doesn’t take long however for him to join you when he sees how delighted you are. Catching you by the back of your neck, Daemon pulls you into him, his mouth covering yours in a searing kiss which you happily return. 

“Shall we claim our prize?” you break the kiss, foreheads pressed together.

Daemon nods, taking your hand into his and eagerly leading the way. 

You hum happily beneath your breath, keeping a keen eye on him as the two of you get closer, watching and waiting, watching and waiting until finally- there’s a catch in his breath, footsteps faltering as his head tilts, bemused. You feel the way his hand twitches in your hold, grip loosening as he glances back at you, confused until- a sharp intake of breath and the realisation of not, what he has killed but, who.

You slip your hand from his hold as he chokes on a gasp at the sight of his mistress, his whore, the Lady Gwendolyn. She is covered in a layer of mud, her usual gown replaced with a dirty and ripped tunic and pants, a strip of cloth tied around her mouth and gagging her. One arrow shot through her chest, nailing her to the tree behind her and the second through her neck; on the floor beside her lies the head of a stag. 

Three total. Two in the woods as we had hoped now, one. We will release the last one on your instruction.

“What is this?” Daemon speaks in abject horror.

“The last one,” you tell him grimly. 

Daemon continues to stare at Gwendolyn, dazed and not understanding what was happening as he watches blood drip from her wounds and onto her swelling belly.

“What have you done?”

“What have I done? What have you done?” you tut, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Do not fret, I granted her this small mercy, my last mercy,” you inform him, hand adjusting his collar. “A quick and clean death.”

Your words seems to bring him back to himself, horror and confusion short lived and replaced with a fury you had never seen before. It does naught to frighten you though.

“She was with child,” he turns on you, jaw impossibly tight as he spits the words at you; crowding you against a tree. “My child.”

“I know,” you tell him softly with a nod.

Your placidness unsettles him. You can see it in his eyes and the way he flinches at your touch when you brush his hair back from either side of his face.

“So heed this as my final warning for your betrayals. I won’t be so nice if there’s another one.”

Steadying yourself with a hand on his arm, you reach up and press a kiss to the side of his head, “happy name day, Daemon.”

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.