#&syndor

[flygefisk]

i will not ask you where you came from i will not ask and neither would you

syndor (he/they), who lives a humble life. he seems content, with his garden and his chickens, but there's something behind his eyes. maybe he's running from something.

howl (any pronouns), who has a second chance. it died with blood under its nails and came back different in some ways- but the wildness is still part of him.

(tw for blood, death mentions under the cut)

once, long ago, there was a god. it was a wild, ancient god, one of blood and lust and life. a forest god.

the god scented blood on the air, dragon blood. it cared little for the civilized folks, as most gods do. it cared little whether they lived or died. but it was a curious god, so it tracked the scent, bounding on deer's hooves to its source.

the god's paws left no tracks in the blood-soaked earth around the dragon's remains. the god considered the creature for a moment: the blade buried in its stomach, hands and coverings stained dark, its face contorted in rage. there was another scent here, under the obvious blood and rot, one even more familiar to the god.

a wild something, indescribable even to the god of such things, coiled around the body that was once its own. it stared up at the god, its teeth bared. the god raised its head and howled in its many voices, joined soon by the wolves and coyotes and hawks and hares of the forest, a mournful harmony of all wild things.

the something howled too, until its song became a scream, letting loose all the sorrow and love and rage of a life that would never have been enough.

the forest went silent. the god lowered its head and nuzzled the something, like a doe to her fawn, like a bear to her cub. wild things understand each other. they don't need words. the god heard the something's quiet plea:

another chance.

-----

once, not so long ago, there was a man. he walked through an overgrown forest, dirt on his hands and his shovel. he loved walking in the forest, listening to the sounds of nature. it was calming.

he paused near a burbling creek to wash the sweat from his face. he sighed in grim satisfaction- tired, sore, numb. but it was over, at last.

the man realized, after staring into the water for long minutes, that something was different. wrong. the forest was silent here. his eye was drawn to a large stone behind him- half his height or more, veined with black and glittering white patches. on its face, a hand print painted with something dark.

a strange impulse took over, something wild within him, and he began to dig.

-----

once, now. a scraping sound. crumbling earth. cracking twigs. then, light. sunlight. warm and bright and so welcome after so long in the dirt.

the creature reached out from its grave. its hands- long, clawed, discolored- shook as it pulled itself up. it blinked against the morning light, yawned as though waking from a long nap.

it almost didn't notice the man with the shovel. he stared at it, his expression unreadable. it ignored him, letting the world wash over it: a cool breeze on its face, the sound of the water, of birds and insects, of wind through the leaves, the cloying scent of dark earth giving way to flowers and trees.

finally, the man held out a hand- blistered, rough, covered in soil- and the creature let him pull it from the earth.

the man removed his cloak, wrapping it around the creature's broad shoulders. it rubbed the fabric between its clawed fingers- soft, warm, dark like good soil- and smiled. it should have been frightening, with its sharp claws and sharper teeth, but the man just smiled back.

wild things understand each other.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Syndor

Prince Thomaryon Targaryen's dragon. Syndor was huge, with pitch black scales, curved horns, a spiny back, and crimson red eyes and flames. Named for the word meaning 'shadow' in High Valyrian, Syndor was practically invisible at night thanks to his black scales.

Known to be temperamental and solitary, Syndor rarely let anyone save for his rider even touch him, with the exception of Tommy's wife, Lucy, whom he adored and would often nuzzle whenever she was near. He was very protective of both Tommy and Lucy. His bond with Tommy was one of the strongest ever recorded, with Tommy not even having to verbally speak commands for Syndor to respond.

Tommy loved flying on Syndor, and would often take him out when he longed to be alone or needed time to think. He would also often take Lucy out on rides during and after their courtship.

Syndor was very quick and surprisingly nimble for his size, and would often make growling sounds, and had a deep, bellowing roar. He was also known to make a sound almost like purring on occasion when with Tommy or Lucy.

Tagging @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark @shelbydelrey @peakyswritings @evita-shelby

@cillmequick

[absolventiia]

AURANE AND SYNDOR'S RELATIONSHIP is a complicated one, i think. not only does aurane not gain syndor until he's fifteen ( YEARS after all of his siblings get their dragons ), syndor is a younger dragon, and definitely shows it in personality. i like to think of it as breaking in a wild stallion -- young and willful and even argumentative at times, syndor, upon first taking to the skies with aurane, almost shook him off high above the red keep. there was no doubt aurane would have fallen to his death had he not been already clinging to the reins of the saddle. 

every targaryen takes a decent amount of risk when attempting to bond with a dragon, which was one of the reasons that aurane was hesitatnt to even attempt to do so. he had done so when he and aegon were younger -- that same year that aegon bonded with sunfyre, aurane had actually attempted to bond with syndor earlier, and had almost gotten burned alive, had he not backed away. since that day, aurane was certain he just wasn't meant to be a dragon rider ( another point of contention, given his dark hair also others him from the rest of his family ). 

it is years later, and aurane finally coming to terms with the fact that while he was truly a TARGARYEN, he was not  given the same respect as his siblings commanded, just due to looks alone. he was happy to remain in shadow, biding his time in brothels, or drinking a secret stash of wine that aegon had hidden from the kitchens. aurane gains syndor ( or, rather, SYNDOR APPROACHES AURANE ) that same year. 

as mentioned, syndor is not an easy mount. not to say that other dragons are, but even if syndor had actively chosen aurane as his rider, he was still very temperamental. the minute they got too high or too low, syndor would adjust their height forcibly, ignoring aurane's calls to obey. syndor made it very clear to aurane that this was a RELATIONSHIP, and aurane would have to earn syndor's respect. aurane takes to that challenge, but also does not fly very often. truthfully, he doesn't quite have the stomach for it -- while his brother gets addicted to flying his golden beast, aurane lets syndor out of the dragon pit just for the dark - winged dragon to go hunt on his own while aurane goes to practice his combat with ser criston cole. SURPRISINGLY, when aurane flies syndor later on, he has seemed to pass some sort of test. syndor slowly reacts to him more, listens to his command, or a tap against his scales. 

this lasts through the entire war, until the battle above the god's eye. SYNDOR GLADLY FOLLOWS AURANE INTO DEATH.

[yellow-faerie]

Sorry, I can't find an OC list, but if you have Star Wars OCs, pick from them? 17, 21, 25, 27 and 28 from the OC Ask Game.

Ah thank you for the ask anon!! Unfortunately I do not have an oc list anymore haha as I have been remiss in not keeping mine updated (though I am currently working on a new one!)

I shall answer these questions for my oldest oc, Syndor Ferra (the version of her who exists in the Prequels era, alas not my swtor character haha - I loved the name too much to not use it several times) who is a Mandalorian pilot and mechanic who finds herself working with the Jedi more than is entirely reasonable

(From this list of questions)

17 - how does your OC feel about their siblings?

Syndor has an older sister! She used to look up to Kora a great deal when they were young but that relationship was caused to be strained when Kora ran off to join a group of pirates when Syndor was around 13 - it never fully recovered from this, even after Kora ran away from the pirates when she realised it wasn't as good as she had thought it would and returned to her family.

21 - hobbies your OC enjoys?

Ooh Syndor loves to try new things out but she has always been a big fan of playing music (she has some skill with a besbev but mostly prefers singing); she also likes tinkering with droids, and stalking people on the holonet (she admittedly spends more time working than doing hobbies haha)

25 - favourite food and colour for your OC?

Her favourite food is a very spicy curry her mother used to make her when she was younger, served with rice and flatbread; her favourite colour is dark blue!

27 - your OCs zodiac sign?

She definitely does not have one lol but tangentially (as she is Mandalorian), she does have quite a close connection to the Ka'ra (the closest Mandalorian idea of what the Jedi know as the Force).

28 - is your OC a cat or a dog person?

Absolutely a car person lol - she has always wanted to have a Space Cat of some description but never lived a safe enough life to do so :(

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my sweet angel babies! Thank you all for the love and kind words! Here is another chapter, now there are going to be two perspectives in this, so when you get to the end, you will see what I am talking about hehe. Enjoy ! <3

Chapter 87: The Other Woman

Days float by as your anger continued to simmer.

Your visits to the Gardens became frequent, irritated energy bouncing through your body, leaving your nights to be restless. And yet to your surprise, Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

You had thought that with his sudden dismissal of his brother to Harrenhal at the news of your pregnancy, that he would make himself present. 

And yet, he hadn't. 

And when Aemond had returned a few short days later to the Red Keep, you had been just as surprised once more. 

Was this a test? 

The two brothers working in tandem to see what you would do?

Or was Aemond's visit truly shortened by his desire to come back to you?

When Aemond arrived back to Kings Landing, his demeanour had shifted once again. He walked around you carefully, chose his words with even more care, and had even refrained from touching you. It was as though he was waiting for you to make the first move. Or maybe he was waiting to you to strike him.

Or perhaps the Prince was waiting for you to respond to the letter you had not read.

When the Prince had returned, you had been seated at the Gardens, nibbling upon a honey drizzled slice of pear, the sweet nectar coating your mouth thickly as you gazed out at the water, concentrating hard to see if you could see any speck of Dragonstone or Driftmark. 

A large shadow moved across the water, and you had craned your head to look up, spotting your husbands large, green, war dragon flying atop the Keep. Her mossy wings, torn in some places, and a deep scar along her side shining in the sun, curtesy of Syndor.

Your resentment bubbled at the sight of his return, and you suddenly felt no desire to continue munching upon the many sweets and treats that your maids had insisted upon giving you. You stood, dusting the crumbs that had settled into your lap onto the stone floor and moved with little haste, knowing that Aemond would most likely seek you out as soon as he landed.

You let yourself begin to walk down towards the beach of Kings Landing, brushing your fingertips atop the many different flowers that you passed. It was not until you came across the fragrant rose bushes that you paused in thought. 

Reaching forward, you grasped a large, blooming, blood-red rose, and snapped it from the bush, bringing it up to your nose to inhale deeply. It was a beautiful colour, and from the exact same bush that Aegon had plucked one for you from. 

You smirked.

You continued on your walk, winding down the path until you reached the stone jetty, finding yourself standing deathly still, rose in hand, as you looked out at the water.

You were waiting for the inevitable.

Waiting for him.

For your shadow.

To come seek you out. To speak to you. To see you.

To beg. To plead. To apologise.

Or perhaps, punish you for your temper.

It was not until you heard soft, steady steps behind you, that you knew he had come, just as you had anticipated. 

Aemond had come to straight to you. 

Not to his King. Not the the Lords. Nor the Small Council. Not even to your shared chambers to disrobe. 

The One-Eyed Prince came straight to you from the back of his dragon.

Bringing the rose to your nose, you inhaled again deeply, and hummed. With a cool breath, your voice flitted towards him, not bothering to turn around.

“Didn’t expect to have you back so soon, Aegon. What did Otto want with you?” And with your last word, you spun, rose still raised up to your face to look at your husband that you knew was behind you.

At the sight of him, you dropped the rose limply to your side, “Oh. Aemond.” You sniffed, “You’re back.” 

His brows were already furrowed, “What did Aegon want with you?”

Those were the first words from his lips.

His first words after coming back from his whore.

You saw red. 

Gritting your teeth you spun away, moving to walk back up the path to the Keep and away from the steady rolling waves of the beach. 

“How was the Whore of Harrenhal?” You snipped, taking the steps in lazy strides, unhurried to get away from him as you twirled the rose in view as you passed.

Aemond’s eye flicked to the flower, then back at your face, his jaw tensed.

You continued up on your path, letting your uncle stew in the possibility of you and his brother having spent time together in his absence. The possibility of Aegon courting you with another rose.

And whilst you had expected it, the Prince did not follow you.

Instead, he stayed rooted in his spot at the bottom of the stairs, watching as you slowly walked up them, singular red rose in hand that you brought intermittently up to your nose to smell.

Aemond found you a while later in the Library, clearly desperate to speak to you, his own insecurities about his brother racing in his mind.

He found you seated on one of the armchairs before the fire, tome in lap with the rose tucked behind your ear. The red atop your hair stood out starkly, and brought out the subtle blush of your lips that you nibbled on gently. 

To Aemond, you looked as though you were engrossed in the story, or perhaps your mind was wondering to a certain older uncle as your fingers danced over the long, thorned stem. His approach did not rouse your gaze, for you knew it was him, choosing to ignore his presence all together.

The One-Eyed Prince stood in front of you, his height doubled yours, as you sat primly in the chair. The air in the Library was tense, and you played upon it, a finger tracing the petals of the flower absentmindedly as you continued to ignore him. 

“Y/n.” Aemond spoke lowly, trying to gage your attention, “I didn’t see her. I attended to my duties, and that was all.”

You hummed boredly, before lifting your gaze to him, the Prince’s jaw locked, hand on the pummel of his sword as he looked at you. You let your gaze drop pointedly at the hand, and to your surprise, he released it, dropping his arm down by his side.

“Aemond.” You sighed, standing, shutting the book in your hands as you stepped forward towards him. You thrust the book against his chest, “I don’t believe you.” 

His hand came to grasp the book, ‘The Loves of Queen Nymeria’, as you brushed past him, making your exit from the library as swiftly as possible. Not hearing his footsteps behind you. 

You found your way to the Godswood, where you always found yourself in troubling times, still holding the rose in your hand as you looked up through its branches. 

You hoped that your parents received the raven.

And even prayed to the Gods that they did. 

What would happened?

Would it be done?

Would she be killed?

How would you know if it had happened?

What if they didn’t get your raven?

You swallowed and sat amongst the roots as you always did, needing to clear your mind, your back against the trunk of the tree as you looked up at the light that shone through the leaves. The tree vibrated with the wind, and in that moment, and as through the wind swept away your doubts, you knew they had gotten your raven.

When the sun had begun to lower in the sky, you took yourself back to your chambers, knowing that your husband would be there waiting, and you would have little place to run.

He would talk to you, and you would listen. 

For a time. 

Aemond was just as you had expected him to be, a creature of habit, sitting in his armchair before the fire, goblet of wine in hand. When you entered the chambers, his head had lazily turned to look at you, eye grazing up and down your body before pausing on the rose you held in your hands. You moved across the chambers and placed it on the small table beside your bed, sighing. 

With contagious irritation, you moved to the side of the room and poured yourself a goblet of wine, sitting opposite Aemond on the chaise as you rose the cup to your lips, sipping the strong spiced red, anger simmering beneath your skin. 

Though, it seemed as though Aemond had bitten off his tongue, and the two of you sat in silence before the warmth of the fire, words unspoken, until the maids entered to light the candles of the chambers, and shortly after, bring your dinner.

You both moved to eat together, a tension filled silence engulfing the room. The quiet chewing and sipping was drowned out by the ever rising beat of your heart in your ears as you looked at him.

You were furious, and angry at the little part of yourself that was relieved to have him back.

Aemond placed his cutlery down onto his plate politely, sensing your heated gaze upon his face. How you wished you punch him in the side of his mouth. To dig your fingers into the cavity where his eye once sat. If only you ha-

“I did not see her.” His voice cut through the tension, and you swallowed thickly, placing your own cutlery atop your plate as you reached forward to grasp your wine. You took a gulping sip as you watched him from over the rim, waiting for him to undoubtedly continue. 

“Kīvin zijo va se Jaes Uēpys se se Sīkuda.” I swear it on the Old Gods and the Seven.

You huffed, taking the goblet from your lips, "Nyke jorepagon pōnta pryjagon ao ilagon syt aōha pirtra.” I pray they strike you down for your lies.

Aemond sneered, "Gaoman daor pirtir. Daor naejot ao. Dōrī naejot ao.” I do not lie. Not to you. Never to you.

You hummed, sipping again, “Pār īlon kessa ūndegon lo iksā pryjatan ilagon iā daor.” Then we shall see if you are struck down or not.

Aemond’s hand on the table twitched, “Kesan daor ūndegon zirȳla arlī, nyke teptan ao ñuha udir.” I will not see her again, I gave you my word.

You pressed the smile away from your lips with a frown. You nodded in agreement, picking up your cutlery again and moved to cut through a steaming piece of meat, dark gravy poured over the top, “Se kostan kivio ao, bona kesā daor.” And I can promise you, you won’t.

You will never see that whore or your bastard child again. 

And it will be because of me.

Aemond nodded, but not because he knew, which made you all the more smug, “Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys, iksā emare ñuha riña. Ñuha jorrāelagon iksis syt ao, se ao mērī.” You are my wife, you are having my child. My love is for you, and you only.

You let out a bitter laugh, “Should have thought about that before you fucked a child into her, shouldn’t you?”

The Prince stayed silent and went back to his eating, cheek twitching with words to say, but none passed his lips.

"Has the bastard been born yet?" You hummed, stabbing another piece of meat and bringing it to your lips as you chewed, Aemond's gaze darkening.

"No."

"Then how would you know that if you had not seen her?" You blinked at the Prince, biting the inside of your cheeks.

"It would be hard to not notice a chil-"

"A bastard of silver hair in a place where Strong blood once resided. I often think on it," You cut another piece of meat with your knife and fork as you felt Aemond's eye burning a hole in your face, "Would the child look like you, or would it come out resembling a Strong boy."

Aemond did not speak, and so you continued, "For years, my brothers and I, despite my obvious parentage, faced the sharp whispers and gossip fuelled by your mother. Exacerbated by you. And now, you are to have another bastard of your own. And not one that you can easily pass off as Aegon's, if she is truly a Strong."

Resting your chin on your palm, you tilted your head looking at him, "Do you even know if Helaena's children are yours? Or at least one of them? I suspected the twins, but Maelor has Aegon's soft face." You paused, watching anger fall over his face, "I wonder if mine will have it."

Aemond's hands slammed on the table as he looked down at his plate, anger radiating off of him.

"Would it not be a cruel joke from the Gods for you to have sired the King's heirs, and he to have sired yours?"

"That child is mine." He growled.

"I suppose time will tell. The bastard certainly is."

"You mean to provoke me. I have performed my duty as well as I can."

"And yet, your whore is pregnant. Who's duty was that? Certainly not that of a Prince."

Silence moved across the table as he stared at you down his nose.

In disgust.

In anger.

In rage.

"I left you a letter." His voice was impatient, as though the piece of parchment would have explained all.

"What letter?" You cocked your head, feigning ignorance.

His brow was drawn, "I left it on the table."

You raised your eyebrows in mock remembrance, opening your mouth, "Oh." Aemond's face seemed, as though the letter would soothe your only rising resentment.

"I burnt it." You smiled at him widely, and resumed your eating.

Aemond's lips twitched as he looked at you, tongue pressing on the bottom of his lip in agitation.

"Sorry, was it something important?"

Aemond did not respond, hands tightening around his knife and fork, his eye narrowed.

You hummed, chewing a piece of potato slowly before you swallowed, "Anything of importance can surely be spoken to me, and not written down on some parchment like a child writes an apology to his mother."

Aemond tossed his knife and fork onto the table angrily, standing from his chair, hands in fists as he looked at you. You looked up at your uncle, and daintily placed your cutlery atop your plate.

"What are you going to do, Aemond? Hit me? When I am with child?" He blinked down at you, eye flickering to your stomach and back up at your face again, shoulders still tensed.

"I told you when you left, when you broke your word to me. I would never forgive you. You did this. Not me." Your hand pressed to your chest angrily, "I am owed this anger. The Gods will surely forgive me, but will they forgive you?"

Sorrow burrowed its way down your throat as anger crawled up it, you looked at him, and the two met in the middle. A thick and heavy stone that was lodged in your throat that you desperately tried to swallow.

Tears stung your eyes, and you watched as Aemond's anger simmered at the sight of it. Any response that was on the tip of his tongue was lost, and Aemond moved away from you to sit at the fire, singular eye staring into the flames, leaving you to sit at the table alone.

Before long, your meal was over, and your two maids came to clear the table, and ready you for bed, slipping a silk chemise over the top of your head, unbraiding your hair, and letting the thick waves cascade down your back.

Aemond had crawled into bed before you, and you had fluttered about the chambers, delaying the inevitable, and enjoying the way he shifted beneath the sheets watching you as he waited. 

When you went to bed, and settled beneath the sheets, you rolled and turned your back to him, tucking your hands beneath your chin as you fought the urge to not laugh. It was all too much. Too much anger. Too much joy. It got all twisted and mixed together, turning your chest alight. 

You could feel the heat of his gaze from behind you and chose to ignore it, closing your eyes as Aemond blew the remaining candles out beside your bed. The chambers were basked in darkness, and eventually Aemond rolled away from you in a huff. 

A grin peaked through on your lips, hidden in the dark, and soon you fell to sleep.

DRAGONSTONE POV

A few short hours away from the shores of Kings Landing, a raven had finally arrived to Dragonstone. The small, black corvid had made its way across the sea to deliver a message to the Queen.

Queen Rhaenyra had been in her chambers, robe wrapped tightly around her body as Daemon leant his head against the front of her stomach. The once Rogue Prince, seated on an armchair by the fire, his wife standing before him, carding gentle and soft hands through his silver white hair.

"Come to bed, my love." Rhaenyra whispered, hand cupping the older mans cheek.

Daemon lifted his head to look up at the woman he adored, her violet eyes glowing in the light of the fire. She was ethereal. Beautiful. And he loved her more than anything in the world.

His large hands came to grasp at her hips, pulling her forward and into his lap, Rhaenyra straddling her uncle on the large chair. Her hands came to the tops of his shoulders, before skimming up to cradle his face.

"The hour is late." She argued, with no true argument on her lips.

"I did not know there were certain hours in which I could love you." The man smirked, hands rubbing against the flesh of her hips.

As Rhaenyra smiled, she dipped her head to catch Daemon's lips, and a knock came at the door.

Both silver heads turned sharply.

It was late.

And there would be only one reason for such a disturbance.

The pair shared a look before Rhaenyra climbed off the King Consorts lap, moving quickly as she called out to the knight to enter.

Ser Erryk Cargyll pushed through the door, bowing and apologising for the intrusion, his helm off, light brown hair pulled back and away from his face. Daemon came to stand behind his wife, always behind or beside her, to show strength, to show unity.

To be there and support her.

As one.

"There was a raven." The pale hand of the knight moved forward, parchment in his open palm as he gave it to the Queen, who all but snatched it from him.

There was no seal, and the parchment was scrunched and bent. As Rhaenyra opened it, and Daemon moved to stand beside her, they read the short message from their daughter, the Queen's hands tightening on the page.

Rhaenyra stiffened, posture straightening as she looked at the knight before her, "Wake the Maester and the Lords. We have word from the Princess."

The knight bowed, swiftly slipping out of the chambers as Rhaenyra turned to face her husband, who's eyes glinted with a dangerous rage. She could feel the fury that curled around him, and she felt her own burn her just as hotly.

"Go," Came the steady voice of the Queen, her hands dropping to her side, parchment still in one tight fist.

Daemon tilted his head, silver hair shimmering in the chamber light, as though he was unsure of what his wife had said.

Before he could open his mouth to respond, the Queen spoke again, tone final, and anger crackling just beneath.

"Before the Council can talk me out of it."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

[fanficapologist]

aemara and syndor (the color is wrong but i thought of them instantly when i saw this lol)

This is so sweet 😭 I hope we see more dragons and their lil riders in the next season!

[call-sign-shark]

House Targaryen || Peaky Blinders x GoT

[Programmed post]

After gathering all the information created about the Targ!Shelby I felt like I had to make a little moodboard to recap what has been created around them by @justrainandcoffee, @mischievouslittlecreature @darklydeliciousdesires & myself.

In order:

King Aerthurys Targaryen II → Dragon: Nyraxor, the Fury of the Night.

Queen Heavenerys Targaryen → Dragon: Kairaxès.

Prince Thomaryon Targaryen → Dragon: Syndor.

Lady Pollyanna Targaryen → Dragon: Haegar.

Princess Aeda Targaryen → Dragon: Mele.

@justrainandcoffee @cillmequick @evita-shelby @peakyswritings @wonderlanddreamer @darklydeliciousdesires @novashelby @shelbydelrey

[corviids]

no one asked but this is what syndor looks like

[writingsofwesteros]

I feel like Visenya would name The Cannibal once she claimed him as a teen in siren on the beach, that being his nickname among the smallfolk still, of course, and moniker among the black council later on. Maybe she named him Syndor? It means Shadow in Valyrian.

Imagine The Cannibal is an old grouch like Vermithor, but he loves his human. She's his as far as he's concerned, he's still be wild, but he listens only to her, calms his temper only for her, and maybe her children later on. The other dragons don't like him for obvious reasons, so he's more on a loner. He quite liked Storm's End, and the wild temperament of the weather.

Imagine Vaemonds reaction to him deciding to size him up one day, to see why his girl seems taken with this man 😳😂😭

Just flying down too near his ship like Daemon and Caraxes did to Rhaenyra in s1, nearly making them capsize, screeching in what Vaemond swears sounded like a dragons rumbling laugh as he flew back up into the clouds. Then him swooping down one day and landing in the shipyard, positively terrifying the workers and sailors, but ignoring them as he shook the ground as broke wood as he walked closer to Vaemond, stopping beside his ship, peering over the side at him, then reaching his head over and sniffing him, puffing smoke through his nose at him. Pushing him down multiple times like Silverwing did Ulf.

Vaemond doesn't know what to do with this Addam calling out and calming an agitated Seasmoke from nearby is what finally makes Syndor leave and take flight again. Visenya cackled like far too mad a woman for his liking along with her sister, much to his aggravation, when they found out about it that night while they're all drinking together in the library.

HOW ADORABLE !!

then reaching his head over and sniffing him, puffing smoke through his nose at him. Pushing him down multiple times like Silverwing did Ulf.

that was the cutest sight ! I can't deal!

Oh but they would laugh at him, poor Vaemond truly.

[cataschism]

✦ @absolventiia prompted: writing sample! + aurane

Aurane had always found himself at the BEHEST OF THE COURTS. He found himself attuned to his family’s legacy, their beasts. A bastard in looks if not in heart, &. maybe it was his own undoing, an anger he festered &. righted &. honed. If he tipped a coin to the light of the sun &. saw only darkness, is it the fault of the SUN to be eclipsed by what is SMALL &. insignificant?

Not unlike a shadow.

Aurane has had nothing but love in his heart for his siblings. It was not them that made the world turn but the urge to keep turning with it. &. it was not them that made the crown so heavy or the throne so tall, but the world itself changing all the while. Aurane had known his whole life he never wanted to be king. &. yet the separation between boy &. king was a coin’s throw, eclipsing the sun in its arc. Sometimes his choice made no sense in the darkness.

Syndor was one of the only things Aurane did not doubt. HIS BEAST &. though it took so long for him to find, there was never any uncertainty. He always thought to himself that silver was more Syndor’s color than Aurane’s, &. he’d never trade the color of his hair for a bit of snobbish quiet. Aurane would never bow his head.

Except to Aegon, who didn’t count, &. only a little. AURANE WAS REAL, wasn’t he? &. existing as both Targaryen &. Hightower, his hair color was allowed to be dark. AURANE WAS REAL, he didn’t have to cower. NO COURT COULD MAKE HIM AFRAID. NO MOTHER —

AURANE WAS REAL. Do you see? &. he existed.

Syndor nudges his hand, making Aurane blink. ❛ Sorry about that, ❜ he whispers. Aurane was real.

[thpsd]

[flygefisk]

🍇 for the ask meme!

🍇 Share the "villain" or main antagonist of your clan and talk about them! (Note: Doesn't need to be a cackling supervillain, it can also be an annoying trickster, etc!)

so. the character that is actually a villain does not exist on site, but he appears in a few dragons' stories. delphi's father, the leader of the cult that culminated in coyote's death, havok being orphaned, shrike's whole deal, and syndor's issues. (haven't explored all of these yet) i want him to stay a shadowy figure tbh- he's a light-flight imperial, but most memories of him are as a silhouette against flames, which i feel is a more accurate depiction than describing his coloration or outfits or anything

as for "villains" that i actually have:

shrike, a necromancer- more just a nuisance, but if she knew...

dustdevil, a bounty hunter- kinda just an asshole, but who knows who she's looking for next? clan flygefisk is a sanctuary for those on the run...

scratch, who is uh.. the devil

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Game of Thrones AU - Lucy x Tommy

As with The Hunger Games AU, it'll be awhile until I am able to actually turn this into a full fledged fic. So I'm gonna give you all some of my ideas here instead. Obviously if you don't want to be spoiled for when I do eventually write a full thing out of this for them, don't read ahead.

Lucy Bolton

Firstborn of Victor Bolton and Genevieve Tully, the eldest sister of Theodore, Elliot, Patrick, and William Bolton.

Despite her father's best attempts, Lucy maintained a tomboyish spirit.

A lover of horseback riding and archery, she could often be found riding amongst the woods surrounding their castle of Dreadfort, with her several trusty dogs in tow.

She showed an interest in ruling from an early age, but was mostly shut out from anything to do with it by her father.

During the particularly cold seasons, her mother would take her on trips with her to Riverrun, hoping that the influence of her family would help to lessen the damage her father's cruelty would have on her.

Lucy became close with her Tully family members, to the point that she identifies more as a Tully than a Bolton.

Tommy Targaryen

The second Targaryen son

Tommy was often treated as a black sheep, both by some of his family and the common people, due to him lacking traditional Targaryen looks.

Rumors often circulated about him being a bastard.

Often butts heads with others at court.

Despite this, he and Arthur are close, with Arthur giving him a significant position at court.

I feel like Arthur would likely make him hand of the king at some point.

Tommy often makes a habit of visiting other places in the kingdom to check in on things.

His dragon's name is Syndor (meaning shadow in High Valyrian). He is huge and fearsome looking, with pitch black scales that make him almost invisible at night. He has lots of sharp spines all over particularly his back. Tommy claimed him at a young age.

Tommy has the strongest bond with his dragon out of all of his siblings.

Tommy loves dragons and would have liked to have worked with them had he not had his princely duties.

Tommy loves flying on Syndor and will often take him out flying when he needs to think or just wants to be alone.

Lucy x Tommy

During one of his annual visits to the north, Lucy caught the eye of Prince Thomas Targaryen.

It did not take long for Tommy to start to court her, and he began to make more and more visits to the north in order to see her.

They managed to keep their relationship a secret, despite Lucy's constant nighttime visits to Tommy's bedchambers when he stayed at Dreadfort, or the moon tea she would consume afterwards.

Her fascination with his dragon (not a euphemism) made Tommy fall even harder for her. Syndor adores her and will often try to nuzzle at her.

Tommy would take Lucy out flying on Syndor often, both during and after their courtship.

Just as Tommy was preparing to convince his family to allow him to marry Lucy, her father promised her away to Matthew Lannister, the cruel heir to Casterly Rock.

Despite Genevieve's attempts to dissuade him from the match, Victor was against Lucy marrying Tommy due to his status as a second son, and questions that had been raised about his legitimacy as a Targaryen.

Genevieve wrote to Tommy informing him of Victor and Matthew's plans, and he flew to Dreadfort, arriving but a day before the wedding was to take place.

He and Lucy were married hastily that night by the heart tree, with Genevieve as a witness and Lucy's brother Teddy taking the place of her father as the one to give her away.

A fight nearly broke out the next day once Victor and Matthew were made aware of what happened.

Victor tried to disown Lucy.

She flew with Tommy back to King's Landing.

Victor would continue to cause problems. Every time he does so, Tommy suggests (only half joking) that they feed him to Syndor.

Polly nearly had an aneurysm when she found out that Tommy had gotten married, since she had been scheming to marry him off to a noblewoman at court.

This caused some issues and original awkwardness with Lucy and the rest of the family, but Arthur warmed to her fast and Tommy advocated for her to have a place on the council alongside him.

Okay that's probably more than enough for now! I might post more later and I've got some moodboards I'll share with you all soon as well.

Tagging my moots how have been playing in this AU with me!

@justrainandcoffee, @call-sign-shark, @evita-shelby, @peakyswritings

[absolventiia]

THE IDEA OF AURANE BEING MISUNDERSTOOD THROUGHOUT TARGARYEN HISTORY is very interesting to me. consider, in the eyes of the historians century later, aurane's outward personality. a willful prince, arrogant and egotistical and selfish, a targaryen who gains his dragon at fifteen when all of his siblings had theirs for years before him. known as a womanizer and one who was more partial to drink than his own family, gladly sacrificing himself for that same family years later ? i like to think that for the historians, for those maesters with their eyes tuned to story, it seems almost a nonsensical jump, because a lot of aurane's character development is internal. only some of it heard in servant's halls, second or third hand accounts of what may have been said between aurane and his mother, his siblings.

AURANE IS CALLED THE PRINCE'S SHADOW not only due to his looks, his general attitude, but also because he is almost an enigma to those after him, to those studying the targaryen civil war. he's such a small player. he seems inconsequential until the very end, until the god's eye. he gains his spotlight, though begrudgingly, and far too late. sure, aurane is mentioned before his " grand death ", but only in sentence fragments. re: " king aegon and his twin brother ", " aemond one - eye rode vhagar and his elder brother rode a much younger dragon, syndor ". he is not given his own recognition except in small pieces. in shadow, alone. 

on top of his physical presence, aurane is never really shown to be anything other than selfish and angry and drunk and, in some circles, a horrible husband to his poor lannister wife. any fragments of aurane's true personality comes after his death. only years later do servants recount his kind nature towards his sister, the way he was cautious upon approaching his wife and only lay with her when she agrees ( as said by one of her handmaidens ) , the way, after rook's rest especially, aurane is soft - spoken and serious. the way aurane would always be with his brothers not out of obligation, but out of choice. a shadow is always loyal to their source of light, and for aurane, regardless of the way he himself was treated and found to be, that light source was his family, and in particular his siblings.

history views aurane as overall negative because they simply had no sources understanding him and his true self behind closed doors. i like to think aurane takes that as a compliment. a shadow should have some mystery, after all. 

[mischievouslittlecreature]

@justrainandcoffee Lucy is obsessed with dragons. I based Syndor a lot off of Wraith in Love Me, so he's a grump who doesn't like much of anyone except for Tommy and later Lucy. Part of how Tommy knew she was special was when Syndor immediately took to her 🤭.

girls only want one thing (wild animals to see them as friends)

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: HELLO, wow. Thank you for all the love as per usual! It makes me giggle and kick my little feet reading your messages ! I know I probably sound like a broken record at this point but this is a DARK FIC, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE WARNINGS. Please do not expect fluff and romance...

Without further adieu, enjoy <3

51: The Return to Kings Landing

You had walked quickly up to Dragonmont, finding Vermithor before mounting him, brushing his bronze scales as you looked about the island, to commit it to your memory. Footsteps of another had interrupted your gazing, as Aemond rounded a cliff and came to stop, looking at you atop the Bronze Fury. 

You could have sworn you saw your husband smirked, but paid no mind to it, commanding the large bronze dragon into the sky to fly back to what you used to call home. Not too long after, the sound of familiar grumble came from behind and your heart had skipped a beat, looking back to see Vhagar and your uncle seated atop.

This time she was not chasing you.

This time she flew with you.

The flight to Kings Landing was not too long of a journey, and you had allowed yourself to silently cry atop the dragon as Dragonstone became smaller, and smaller behind you. It was something you could do alone on your dragon, despite the burning presence of Aemond, who now flew ahead of you.

As King’s Landing came closer, the sun had begun to set, casting a rusty glow across the vast stone structures. Vermithor landed down near the entrance to the Dragon Pit, where Syndor had once waited for you. Letting you slide from his back, your fingers stroked the ropes Jacaerys had put on him before he took off to the skies again, leaving you at the mouth of the cave. 

You let your feet carry you through the pit, walking into the Keep alone. Not waiting for Aemond, and wherever he was, to escort you inside.

If this was to be your home, then you would act like it.

Although, it was odd to be back in truth.

To be back in a place where you had not long ago escaped from. To be back where so much had happened. To willingly walk yourself right back into the vipers nest. To where so many horrors had been witnessed and committed in the name of the crown. 

In the name of the Targaryen legacy.

And whilst you let yourself walk without purpose, you found your feet had led you somewhere you had always sought solace in times of need. 

The Godswood stood tall, and exactly where it had before. Its dark ruby leaves moved gently in the breeze and night began to fall over the realm. Its bark was still rough to the touch as you let your fingers graze over it.

It was the one thing in the Keep that had remained the same.

The one thing that had stayed true.

As you rested your cut palm against the bark, you watched as a small part of coagulated blood pulled away from the skin, causing new blood to flow. The dark, red liquid dripped gently onto the bark of the tree, starkly standing out against the brown of the bark.

You looked at the face of the tree, staring at it as you dug your palm sharply into its surface, feeling the sharp edges of wood dig into the open cut of your hand.

It was grounding, that pain.

Made you focus on one thing, instead of the racing thoughts inside of your head.

Servants walked through the halls and corridors, and passed through the courtyard where you stood. None stopping to greet you, nor stopping to report you. It seemed that they were all aware of the reasoning to your presence, and to your return.

You closed your eyes, praying to the old Gods to hear you. To save you. To take mercy upon you. To forgive you of your sins. Of your wrongdoings. 

To protect you from what was to come. 

And as you prayed, you felt someones gaze upon you, skin prickling with unease. You ignored it and kept on, lips softly moving as you begged for mercy and forgiveness.

“The God’s won’t hear your prayers.” Came the soft voice of your husband.

You balled your hand by your side into a fist as you were pulled from your prayers, attempting to desperately start again.

Please Gods, let me survive thi-

“Come. I will show you to our chambers.” 

Our chambers.

Our.

You let your hand slide from the bark of the tree, taking one last glance at the red leaves above you before you turned to face Aemond. He stood not too far way, in his riding leathers, hands held behind his back and posture stiff. His lips were pulled into a soft smile and it made you nervous. 

Why was he smiling at you like that?

What was wrong with him?

You lifted an unsure foot over the roots, and began to walk down the grass towards him, watching as your husbands smile grew wider. The blood on his lips had mostly gone, from flaking away or perhaps the gentle lapping of his own tongue.

Though the blood on his forehead was untouched. It had dried a darker shade, almost a deep brown like the bark of the tree.

His posture was so similar to how he had been at Storm’s End. Leg lazily jutted out with his arms behind his back. That smile you realised, was most likely a smug one. 

The cat who got the cream. 

The man who finally got the wife he wanted.

“I wish to return to my old chambers.” You spoke, and you watched as Aemond’s head tilted to the side, as he lazily looked you up and down.

“No.” Was all he said before he turned, not waiting for you to follow him. 

You stood unmoving as you watched him leave, feet carrying him swiftly across the grass to the cobblestones. You thought of not following him, and returning to your own chambers. But you did not know if it would be locked or guarded, nor did you know of how he would react. 

Now was not the time to be a steadfast fool. 

And so you let your feet carry you towards him, following the man like a dutiful wife, albeit ten to fifteen paces behind him. Watching his legs work, and his hands that were clutched tightly behind his back. Hands that were now permitted to touch you. Hands that would undoubtedly bring you pain and suffering. 

One hand gripped the others wrist, the cut hand on display as dried blood had begun to settle on his palm and finger tips. You watched it flex and tighten, fingers digging into the cut at random as he continued onwards to his wing of the Red Keep.

You wondered if it would be his chambers, or new ones. If you were to return to the chambers you had been in, not so long ago, makeshift dagger in hand as you plunged it into the soft flesh of his shoulder. You wondered if he would disrobe himself before he took you. If you would get to see with your own eyes the damage you had done to him. 

Not unlike how he would see the scars he had given to you upon your body. Almost too many to count during such a short period of time. He had truly put his mark on you in every way possible. 

Your body.

Your heart. 

Your mind.

Every piece of you now belonged to him.

The castle began to darken from the setting sun, and the torches along the corridor served to light the path ahead. Aemond did not pause, nor did he slow down as he approached his chambers. 

The chambers you had been in before. 

So there was no new chambers for you. Just the haunting memory of the old one. You wondered if it kept him awake at night? Or if he stayed there to serve as a reminder of what you had done to him.

As he approached, a knight pulled open the doors for him, nodding his head to you both. You watched as his silver hair disappeared into the chambers and you slowed your step. You could not make a run for it. You know you couldn’t, but your body wanted to. 

Your mind wished for you to run, to escape the inevitable of what was to come. 

You knew what was expected of you the moment you entered those chambers. Now that you were man and wife, it needed to be consummated. But this did not mean that despite knowing, that you would ever be ready for it. 

You had always thought it would be different.

Perhaps loving and gentle, shared with someone you loved. Perhaps if Aemond hadn’t grown into the man he was now, you would have willingly given it to him. The thought made your heart rise into your throat as you palms began to feel cold and clammy. 

Step after step, you slowly moved forward to seal your doom. 

When you reached the knight at the door, he waited for you to enter, not looking at you, instead looking over your head as though you weren’t even there. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back and held your head high, before swiftly walking into the dark green chambers. 

It was as you had remembered, though this time, brighter. The fire place raged with flames, and candles were lit upon every surface to light the room. Your eyes flitted to the side of the bed, and the passage in which you had snuck through to get him.

It was still there, and he had not blocked, nor barricaded it. 

“You wouldn’t be able to leave that way, if that’s what you are thinking of.” His voice called across the room.

Aemond stood to the side, filling two cups full of spiced wine, not even looking at you. He must have sensed or known that your eyes would flit straight there. As his large hands grasped the wine, he made his way towards you, holding a cup out.

It was almost like an offering of peace.

A treaty.

You timidly grasped the wine from him, and he watched you with a hum, before he pulled his goblet up to his lips and sipped deeply, turning to go sit in an armchair by the fire. You stood where you were, in the middle of the room, near a large round table that was surrounded by six chairs. Books sat atop the table, and one in particular caught your eye. 

Atop the table, in a pile, was your book. 

Faded red cover, golden lettering and all.

How?

“Sit.” Your uncle beckonned, eye not having left the fireplace. 

Slowly you walked towards him, before sitting in the chaise opposite, letting your eyes roam over his form. 

Aemond sat lazily, and comfortably in his large green armchair. Hand holding the goblet as he sipped, whilst the other rested upon the arm of the chair. It reminded you of the first night he had snuck into your chambers.

“Drink.” He commanded, and you obeyed. 

You would not argue with that.

You would surely need wine for what was to come. 

Would it be painful? Would he enjoy hurting you? Would you bleed as you had been told you would?

You pulled the goblet up to your lips and emptied it, resting the cup in your lap as your fingers trailer over the rim, waiting for his next command to strip and lay on the bed for him.

To lay spread for him.

To be ready for his brutality.

But he didn’t.

And instead, your husband continued to sip the wine, not talking, nor moving, until his cup was empty too. Once his goblet was dry, and he had sat for many moments more, he turned his face to look at you.

The light from the fire cast a sharp shadow across his face, causing his already pointed features to look more defined. He was hauntingly beautiful you mused.

A shame.

And a waste.

“The King wishes for us to dine with him this evening. To celebrate our union.” Aemond told you, eye roaming to where your hands had stilled at the lip of the cup.

Aegon.

You were to dine with Aegon this evening. 

Memories of your last meeting in the dungeon flashed through your mind. His hands on your throat, the feeling of his cock brushing roughly against your sex. Nausea began to roll through your body, and your heart ran a marathon within your chest. 

“He will not touch you.” 

Aemond’s voice pulled you from the dark memories of your mind. You blinked at him uncertain. 

Aegon may not touch you, but Aemond surely would.

And you did not know who would be worse.

For all of Aegon’s devious desires, they were laid bare to the world. He did not hide himself nor his actions. Where as Aemond held his close to him. He did not let anyone know of the man he truly was, nor what he truly desired. 

What was worse?

The knowing of such cruelty, or the unknown of what cruelty lies before you.

Aemond watched as you spiralled with your thoughts before he abruptly stood. He stalked towards you, looking down as you clutched harder at the cup in your lap. A large hand came towards you and you could not help but flinch at the movement. 

If he noticed you jump, it did not stop him, as he plucked the goblet from your hand, moving to the side of the room, to place both of your empty cups back where the decanter was. 

“I will have the maids come and dress you for the evening.” 

Aemond swiftly walked across the room, opening the door before exiting, leaving you in the vast emptiness of the space of the chambers that you would now call yours. 

Chambers that you would now live and breathe in for Gods knew how long. Chambers that you would eat, and sleep and bathe in. Chambers in which you would share a bed with your husband, and have him put his seed in you.

Chambers where you may begin to swell with a child. 

It was all so much, that you found you could not even cry at the thought. You do not know how long you spent sitting where you sat, eyes still on the fire, that when the maids came to pull the heavy riding leathers from your body, and replace them with robes for dinner, you did not resist. 

Nor did you resist when the familiar gaze of your now husband watched on as they stripped you. Nor did you resist when he crowded you so suddenly, hand on the small of your back, as he moved to lead you out of your chambers towards the dining room you had all dined in before. 

It was not until you were halfway there did you come back to yourself.

It was not until your feet had begun to feel heavy, and the scarring on your side began to feel tight, did you realise you stood in the corridor, with Aemond standing beside you, eye half lidded as he looked at you. 

It was not until then you realised you had stopped walking, and noticed your surroundings. 

“Zaldristos.” Aemond uttered, as he looked down at you. 

That was what broke the spell.

You swallowed thickly and looked down at yourself.

You wore a deep red dress, almost the colour of your combined blood. It was tight, but not too tight, the sleeves were soft, and upon each wrist were embroidered dragons.

One the left side, a black dragon, embroidered scales shimmering in the light of the torches. 

One the right, a green dragon.

A dress you had not seen before.

As you looked at the gown, Aemond hummed, moving forward again, neither touching you nor waiting for you to follow. You were left to trail behind him towards the familiar wooden doors, with their soft rounded tops.

He waited at the entrance for you, as the two knights held each side, only when you stood beside him did the doors open, and the room was revealed to you. 

It had changed. 

There were no familiar curtains or tapestry on the walls. The table had been replaced and the chairs reupholstered. The room had no sigils of the House Targaryen, and instead were replaced with gaudy green tapestry, and symbols of the Seven Faith.

What was left of the small reminder of home was now gone. 

Alicent had been busy.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen, and his Lady Wife, the Princess Y/n Velaryon.” Came the low timber of Ser Criston Cole. 

Lady Wife. 

His.

It felt so strange.

Your eyes settled to the table. 

Aegon sat where your Grandsire once had.

It was wrong.

Unnatural.

To see the seat where Viserys had sat, and laughed, and smiled with vigour, to now be replaced with someone who sneered, and drank, and whored, was blasphemous.

The conquerors crown sat heavily atop his wavy hair, and deep green robes were upon his person. On his right sat his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, and his left, Ser Otto Hightower. 

Further along the table sat Lord Larys Strong.

And as you looked at him, you could scarcely see any resemblance to his brother, Ser Harwin Strong. You wondered what he thought of Aemond slaying his entire House?

But he was most likely just as vicious, having become the Master of Whispers to the Queen, and now your uncle, the King. His face held an odd look to it. He had sad brown eyes, and was built thinly.

A lean man with no strength of his body, only his mind. 

A dangerous man indeed.

You had heard and only witnessed once yourself that the man had a clubbed foot. Perhaps his family gave him grievances like yours had to Aemond.

Perhaps he was relived to be rid of them.

Lord Jasper Wilde, and a familiar blond head of Lord Tyland Lannister sat at the table, watching you silently as you walked up the few small stairs to the table. 

You were in the presence of the Kings Small Council. 

They had all been invited to witness the proof of your union, and proof of your despair.

“There they are!” Came the sickening boom of Aegon’s voice as he roughly pushed himself up to stand, palms opening out widely as he smiled smugly at you.

“The newly weds! Congratulations on your union brother,” Aegon kept his eyes on you as he spoke, “And welcome back to the Keep, Princess. You left without so much as a goodbye last time you were here.”

He was goading you. 

As you reached the level ground, Aemond stepped forth and pulled a chair back for you, looking at you expectantly to sit in it. You hesitated, before coming forth and sitting in the chair as he pulled out his own and seated himself.

Alicent’s watchful gaze did not leave yours.

Her face was unreadable, but the same sour, downturned lips you had gotten used to as a child was ever present. You felt the gaze of everyone at the table upon you. You held your fingers in your lap, digging your nails into the cut of your palm, which was now bandaged from the maids. 

You had not even felt them do it.

“Apologies that I could not make it to witness such a beautiful union. But now we can celebrate together.” The Usurper King continued, clapping his hands loudly together.

You did not take your eyes from Alicent, keeping your gaze locked on her as he spoke.

This is what you have done.

You started this.

Your only solace was knowing that you had taken one of her sons, the way she had taken Lucerys from you and your mother. 

You heard the giggle of Aegon as his hands clapped together again in excitement.

“I don’t think I’ve heard my niece be so quiet before. Have you broken her already, Aemond?” 

You grit your teeth, and pushed your finger deeper into your palm, feeling the bandages wet, and still, you kept your eye on the woman who started it all.

Aemond simply hummed, before acknowledging his mother who sat opposite him.

“Don't tell me she has snatched your voice too, brother? One minute in her cunt and already you’ve gone soft.” Aegon snickered.

“Aegon.” Came the warning voice of Otto Hightower. 

The energy at the table was so tense, that even the guards and knights stationed about the room shifted uncomfortably on their feet.

“It is good to have you back in King's Landing,” Otto began, “I am sure that you and Aemond shall settle in together in no time.” He gave you a warm smile, and it made you more uncomfortable than Aegon’s comments. 

Aegon let out a high pitched laugh though his nose, before clicking his fingers out beside his head. The noise and movement made you stiffen.

Alicent witnessed the reaction.

And soon the table was being filled with foods and more wine, your own goblet being filled, which you snatched from the table and emptied rapidly. Aegon watching, smile widening. 

As the Usurper King sat back in his large chair and drank from his cup, he kept his eyes on you as he told you of plans for the treaty and how it would work. Insisting that the North would surely love to have your mother as their Queen, which the both of you knew; they wouldn’t. 

In fact, it seemed that everyone at the table knew.

Just as you had expected.

When your plate was filled with foods, you found that you had no appetite for it, instead turning to your cup, which you drank from heavily, having it refilled by the cup bearers more than thrice. 

And before long, conversation flittered around the table stiffly about the union, and expectation for children, much to Aegon’s delight, and your disgust. And so you let yourself retreat back into your mind, letting their words become a distant hum as you stared at Alicent, drinking from your cup.

The Dowager Queen did not sit still as you stared at her. Her eyes would meet yours and flit away to look at the three Lords at the table and her sons, before she would gaze back at you, finding that you had not moved her from your sights. 

“Tell me brother, have you bed her yet?” Aegon’s voice pulled you from your numb haze.

No reply came.

“Do you remember how it is done? I’d be happy to show you.” He snickered, and the Lannister let out an uneasy laugh.

Alicent growled Aegon’s name again and Otto began to speak before Aegon interrupted him. 

“We should hold a bedding ceremony, to ensure that the deed is done properly. I can talk you through it.”

You let your gaze leave Alicent for the first time, and turned your head to look at your husband beside you, who sat straight in his chair, hands bunched in balls by his side.

His jaw was tight and tensed, and his brow was furrowed. 

“Come now brother, surely you have not forgotten what I showed you on your thirteenth name day.” Aegon laughed, pulling his goblet up to his lips. 

You watched as Aemond’s mouth pulled into a sneer.

“The King is merely joking with you, My Prince. We are all in good spirits for this union.” Otto tried, and failed to cover for the King.

“You heard the old bat, we are all in good spirits! You are finally wed to the one woman who had given you any attention at all. Sure, she is a bastard-“

“Watch your tongue.” You sneered at the King, resolve disappearing.

“So she speaks!” Aegon declared proudly to the table, looking at the Lords as they all smiled unsurely, “Finally. There is my niece who I know and love. Though I fear if you are able to speak, perhaps my brother did not fuc-“

Aemond shot up from his seat at the table, fists tight on the wood near his plate as he stared down at his hands. You looked up at your husband who breathed deeply, knuckles white as he fisted them.

“Aem, brother.” Aegon mock cooed, “You know I am only teasing. Come,” He looked across the table, picking up his goblet, “Lets raise our cups to this fine union!” 

The Lord’s and the Dowager Queen picked up their cups, holding them towards you both.

You kept your gaze on Aemond, whose head slowly turned to you to meet your eyes, his violet orb half lidded and scowl upon his lips. He looked full of rage, just barely controlled beneath the surface of his bristling posture. 

Your hand came up on its own, to reach out to touch him, to calm him, but as soon as your hand moved, you found that Aemond looked down at in in disgust before he seated himself, no longer looking at you, instead stiffly grabbing his goblet before him. 

You mirrored his action, trying to push down your budding fear and anxiety, now that Aegon and riled him up. 

He had done it on purpose.

“To my brother, may she warm your heart and your cock, and may you make me a grand-uncle soon enough.” He smirked, before turning his gaze on you, “And to my wonderful niece, may you warm his bed, and birth his heirs, and feel the warmth of his love.”

“Hear, Hear!” Came the confident voice of Tyland Lannister, followed by everyone else, seemingly ignoring his crude remarks.

Or perhaps, they had gotten used to it by now.

He was their King, whether they liked it or not.

Neither you nor Aemond spoke, but drank deeply from your cups, before placing them down. 

A beat passed before Aemond spoke.

“Excuse us,” His voice cut across the table, stilling the King in his excitement, “I wish to spend time with my wife.” 

Your husband stood from his seat, moving to stand beside yours waiting. He did not hold out his hand, nor offer to assist you in any way, simply stood and expected you to follow as he bid the table a good night, bowing stiffly to his brother, anger rolling from him in waves. 

Standing you stared once more at Alicent, before turning on your heel to follow Aemond out of the dining hall, and back to your shared chambers. You did not spare a glance to Aegon, nor the other Lord’s, nor did you spare a glance at your husbands face.

You let Aemond lead you to the chambers, his strides quick and purposeful, until finally you reached the room, and you were inside, and the door behind you was shut softly with a thud by the knights. 

And then you were alone, with your husband Aemond, on the night of your wedding.

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