#[ abrogail / interactions ]

[clutchofmuses]

continued [finally!!] from here!

Toes scrape across the floor where her feet swing in the chair beside her brother's bed. Harwin's been asleep for days, and the Maester swears that he is alright, that as long as he continues to cough up the thick, sticky black, it means that he will heal and not choke on it.

Abrogail is not so sure.

Ravens have been sent. To Larys. To the small council. She does not know if they've heard back yet - the Maester tells her, when she asks in her very best Lady's voice - that a raven to king's landing takes time to get there and return, but he promises to inform her as soon as they hear back.

Uncle Simon approves of her help, giving her things to do when she does not sit with Harwin. She sends a raven to the Princess Rhaenyra on her own with the Maester's help. Harwin is fond of her, her sworn shield, or at least, he once was. Even if the Queen does not like her very much, and they all say mean things about one another.

The raven has not returned from Dragonstone either.

They found Papa the day before. Uncle Simon did not let her see, but held her when she cried. Still, Harwin slept, and they said they'd wait to send him on the boat because it was Harwin's duty to launch the arrow for the funeral, she insisted, coughing up her own black stickiness but it was not nearly as bad.

So now she sits, still by her brother's bed, praying to the Old Gods and the Seven to please let him wake up. Wake up and be her brother, and to not leave too. To not let the fire claim him. When he jerks upon the bed, gasping and coughing as he looks around, Abrogail jerks out of her own chair, reaching for his arm before stopping herself. She was not to touch - his arms were bandaged as he was inured.

"Harwin?" she asks, in a shaky voice that carries, for she hears Uncle Simon out in the hall, ordering the guards to retrieve the maester. She clears her throat, remembers that she must be the Lady now, and be calm, even when she just wants to throw herself back in his arms. "You're alright now, they're getting the Maester. They said you breathed in too much smoke and hurt yourself."

[clutchofmuses]

Abby did not blink in the face of Aemond's frustration nor take the bitterness clinging to him personally. She would not have survived a friendship this long with him had she done so. Instead, her hand reached out to curl over his shoulder in a comforting gesture for he seemed like he needed it.

"Then I shall deal with them," the girl said simply and with all a child's conviction. "I don't like the way they push and tease you so, and they should be so lucky that I'd ever help any of them." Her smile was a sweet one and she nudged him over so she could sit on the chair beside him. "I'll make sure Aegon doesn't get any more desserts at dinner, and I'll..." she hummed thoughtfully. "I'll tell Harwin about Jace and Luke's behavior and how it made me cry." Yes, that seemed to be a good thing, for telling Princess Rhaenyra never quite seemed to do anything.

It was true that once a dragon was claimed, no one could break that bond. Aemond could not simply steal Vhagar away from Lady Laena. "They said Maegor refused to bond with any dragon while he waited to claim Balerion. I'm not saying that it would be good for..." Her belly twisted up uncomfortably at even trying to use the idea of someone's passing to bolster Aemond's courage at getting his dragon and so she stopped. Abby bit at her lower lip and looked back at the sketching of Vhagar and Visenya riding into battle.

Eventually, she offered, "We could go see the hatchery and the kitlings. There must be one there to love. How lonely without a rider." Blue eyes large in the dark. "Is it very lonely without a dragon?" she asked softly. "We're friends, I don't... I don't want you to be lonely." Loneliness was such a terrifying thought and it made her shiver.

𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐄.   at every turn,  his attempts had been thwarted to gain a dragon he could call his own.  his elder siblings had already already claimed theirs.  on the other side of his family the three strong bastards were given their dragon while he was left with none.  his family,  especially his two cousins and older brother found it funny to ridicule him for it at every turn.  the worst of all was the realization that they spoke the truth.  for what is a targaryen without a dragon :  no one at all. 

   ❝     i do not want anyone's pity.     ❞     he says,  bitterness  clinging to those words.  in his mind he can hear them laughing again and he balling his fists,  holding back tears of shame at their relentless teasing.  however, princeling has to remind himself that not everyone is a waste of oxygen like they are and that she meant well.   ❝     sorry.     ❞   aemond says,   ❝     i know you mean well @clutchofmuses.     ❞   and he does, he really does.   ❝     it is just   —   if they find out i had help they will never let me hear the end of it.     ❞   though that is only half true for they wouldn't let him hear the end of it regardless if they knew or not. 

looking back at the book he cannot help but look at the illustrations fondly.  if there was any dragon in the world that he could claim as his own it would be her.  out of all tales from the conquest, visenya and vhagar would remain his favourite one.   ❝     they are, she asked father about her once.     ❞   aemond leans back in his chair with a sigh.   ❝     so claiming her would be impossible.     ❞

[clutchofmuses]

🎲 ( from aemond, to abby! ) - @hamcrtia

43. a bloody kiss

salt and iron filled abrogail's mouth, teeth sharp and gnashing, and she felt the fragile skin of her mouth break between aemond's touch. she didn't care, she never cared. her own teeth tugged and bit into his own, and she could feel his growl vibrate through him, and her own answering mewl.

"aemond," she gasped, pulling at his hair, his eyepatch discarded away somewhere forgotten. her head tilts back, and the red streaked across their mouths is visceral, feral. blue eyes search his own lavender, and she bumps her nose against his in something soft compared to the needy violence of the kiss.

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy Rating: Explicit Chapters: 20 (give or take) Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong, Aemond Targaryen x Helaena Targaryen, Eventual Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Read on AO3

CHAPTER FOUR- Solace In Being Heard

Her fingers tugged at the loose braid, curls and frizz coming out of it like the frills along Dreamfyre’s neck. Now that her dragon was settled with her clutch, Helaena's restlessness over the previous week had eased. She felt more in the present than pulled elsewhere, as it always was when these things happened; it was as if a haze went over everything, and Helaena felt wrapped in cotton wool, her senses focused on the smell of brimstone and the low glow of the dark nests inside the dragon pit. Of the need to protect, of the need to be in herself, but not herself. Helaena could only describe it as if she leant Dreamfyre her strength during these times. Like she could lend her senses to her soulmate to ensure she felt safe when giving birth. She’d never spoken a word of it to Aegon in their years together, for Sunfyre did not lay eggs or roost with any other dragon in such a way, and Vhagar didn’t seem to lay eggs either. Helaena supposed she could ask Aemond about it, for he had read far more about dragons than she, but Helaena didn’t. There were some things that could not be learned from books. There were things one instinctively knew and Helaena knew, somewhere, that her dragon’s strength was her own, and her own was her dragon’s.

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Tag List Behind the Cut!

@fyeahgotocs, @fyeahhotdocs, @ocappreciation, @stannisfactions, @fragilestorm, @starcrossedjedis, @darkwolf76, @arrthurpendragon, @dopedaegus, @hiddenqveendom, @mantillon, @lightofthearrow, @songsonacliffside, @acrossthesestars, @insabecs, @bagginsends, @prosemoireia, @dragonsbone, @corporalicent, @jadore-andor, @selfproclaimedunicorn, @vulpinespectacle, @gwenllian-in-the-abbey, @notbloodraven

[somewhere-in-the-dungeon]

That... basically did happen without a single trope getting invoked at any point, as near as Keltham can figure it.  He's relieved, honestly.  There aren't even any signs of subversion or deconstruction, the whole thing happened with basically no complications or plot conflicts or unanswered questions or open plot arcs left at the end, unless you count the actual Carissa-Abrogail interaction which the viewpoint character doesn't get to see anyways.

-Mad Investor Chaos and the Woman of Asmodeus

Okay who else is reading along with this because I want to share my exclamations of laugher with someone

[clutchofmuses]

🎲 from aegon to abby - @dragynfire

38. a kiss while one party is carried

a feast fit for a king's coronation. a celebration fit for a wedding. there was no opportunity for a bedding ceremony, for aegon swept her into his arms as soon as possible, hoisting her over his shoulder like the spoils of war and glaring at any of the men who had dare think to approach her.

her hair was a mess of undone curls, shining copper in the torchlight as he took them to their chambers. not the king's chambers - not yet, for he was tearing those apart - but other chambers - decadent holdings better for the king.

with only a slight grunt, aegon shifted her and cradled her against his chest, regarding the doors before them as the guards hastened to open them and swept her in. as soon as he kicked the door shut behind them, her fingers were in his hair, and aegon's mouth was on hers as if they hadn't seen each other in years. decades. the hunger, the relief, the utter incandescent satisfaction of having all they wanted now.

[clutchofmuses]

🩸 (Larys and Abrogail) @asoulunbound

The creak of the door opening startled Abrogail. The young woman gasped, hair flickering copper and flame in the firelight as she looked up at Larys. It was not usual for her to be in their apartments. Her duties kept her in Helaena's rooms more often than not.

The white linen pressed to her palm was soaking red and she swallowed. "I'm so sorry, I... I picked something up and it cut me... I don't feel very well."

[clutchofmuses]

From here @helbroth

She ached. She'd ached since they brought him broken and screaming from Rook's Rest. She'd tended at his bedside, comforted him as Sunfyre's presence waned, as his legs struggled to heal, exhausting him. As the war tore through her own heart, chipping away at all she loved and held dear. All the more, she knew, to hold tighter to Aegon, to what they still had.

"To ask me not to look at you is to have me blinded," she told him softly, her hand gentle, pressed against his heart beat as if she could reach in and soothe the ache. Abrogail shook her head, her molten curls a mess about her head, falling from the braid that held them back. Her skin was pale, her eyes circled from her own pains, her own injuries laying beneath the skin and only with Aegon did they ease at all. "Do not take yourself away from me too, not after all of this. I know you did not lose all your sense." There is a gentle bite to her tone, a look of warning that she would not be pushed away to leave him in his misery, but that he was not the only one to feel such pain.

[clutchofmuses]

Abrogail nods again at his warning, the little smile crossing her tear stained face not so bright, but there and grateful. Uncle Otto could be frightening, more frightening than kind for she'd seen the way he'd treated the boys, had spoken to the Queen. He had only ever been truly gentle with Helaena, and on occasion her, although she had her Papa and did not need to seek the Hand.

She is still and compliant as he dries her tears, and the tenderness of the affection almost makes her cry even more. Instead, she takes a deep breath, sniffling and steadying and squaring her slim shoulders and nods again with hands clasped like the Queen does. Abby doesn't quite understand what he means at first but then hums, softly. "It would be nice. The septa says that marriage is a duty, and that hopefully the Lord I wed would be kind at best, or leave me well enough alone at worst." Abby recites in her clearest voice to show her understanding of such grown up things. She is nearly a woman grown, for she will flower soon. She fidgets only just. Another furrow of her brow. "Won't Larys have to decide who I marry? He's... he's the Lord of our House now." Yet Uncle Simon took care of Harrenhal, while her brother remained here to serve the queen and... tend to prisoners in the cells.

"words spoken cannot be unspoken," he warns softly, lips tugging down into a slight frown, the truth that had cost him his position as the hand of the king all too fresh in his mind, "but just this once, i shall pretend i have not heard them." another rare display of kindness towards her and his grandson both, a softness he has not displayed for anyone for some time, he does not know what brings it forth now. "you are far from misbehaving, there has been much on your mind, and aegon has tendencies to make promises to things he cannot hold."

the press of her hand against his own surprises him, and his hand jerks back slightly before he relaxes, settling back against her neck again. a small part of him wishes to apologise for his reaction to her touch, but there is an explanation that comes with it that he does not want to face. was he kind for saying so? he certainly did not feel kind for it; instead, it weighed there as another failure against him as father and uncle. duty before family was a painstakingly awful thing, something he carried alone as the king refused to put his duty to the realm above all else.

"there are others eligible to marry," he murmurs, voice hushed as if they might be overheard. he should not speak to her of this nor put the idea in her head when he has not spoken to alicent about it; he hates to see her so broken. "other lords in the realm, other princes." he wipes the remainder of the tears from her cheeks before he pulls his touch away completely, hand falling back to his side as he deems his words will be enough for her now. "i believe it would be acceptable for you to have a say in who you marry, to meet your possible suitors and choose from them."

[clutchofmuses]

There were passages that ran the whole of Maegor's Holdfast, and over time they had discovered many of them. The one Abrogail Strong used that night to creep into Prince Aegon's bedroom was the one that went behind the statue outside of Aemond's bedroom.

She shivered with anticipation, with nervous energy, with the arousal that coursed through her with each hammering thud of her heart and every footstep closer to Aegon's bedroom.

It had been weeks of them dancing around one another. It had been weeks of lingering glances and touches, weeks... weeks...

It had been years of wanting. Years of yearning. Years of restlessly tossing in her little bed wishing that things had been different.

Her hair was a glow of molten copper down her back, the soft waves of her hair falling to her waist. The nightgown was thin in the way southern gowns were, and she'd left behind her dressing gown. She was a girl on a mission, and the less between her and her quarry, the better.

The door to Aegon's bedroom was behind a tapestry of Sunfyre and quietly she undid the door, wincing as the hinges whined in the quiet. The fire was the sole illumination in the Prince's chambers, the bed a haphazard wreck as the rest of the room was. Goblets littered the surfaces, parchment scattered about, other things that Abby didn't know what they were. None of them mattered. Aegon was sprawled across his bed facing the fireplace and she could only make out the line of his back.

She exhaled, setting her little candle on the side table and approached the bed.

He was so good with her. He was patient, and kind, and refused to take more even when she thought she made clear that he could take what she was giving him. And instead, Aegon pulled away, an agony in his red rimmed, lilac eyes.

Tonight, she would show him exactly what she meant. She knew that he wanted this too, and it was something she wanted to give him.

Her nipples ached from the cold, from arousal, from want and need, the linen of her nightgown as light as moth wings leaving little to the imagination. It was so exposed, so indecent, but she was beyond caring. She had no experience in seduction, but she knew Aegon, and she knew what she wanted.

"Aegon," she said, her voice low, the slightest tremble of nerves in the lilt of her Riverlands accent. She crawled up on the bed, bracing a hand down as she climbed up. Her hair glowed like Sunfyre's flame in the firelight, her eyes, blue as the sky, shone at him, pupils blown, heart shaped mouth plump and red from how she'd bitten it on her way to the room. Abby sat back on her heels, the gown gathered around her thighs, and with a more bossy tone, said, "Aegon, I want you. Desperately. And I'm going mad with it and I would like you to make it better. Please."

@helbroth

[clutchofmuses]

💭 ( for Abby )

Abby watches him from across the deck of the ship, where he laughs with the bosun - an older, grizzled looking man with a jagged and ropey scar along his right cheek. Maron’s eyes crinkle with mirth, the flash of his sharp teeth, all signs of his genuine amusement. The bosun leaves and Abby continued to watch him, his features relaxing and for a moment, she wonders, Does he know how sad he is in the inbetween? Is that where it hides? In the space between heartbeats?

She crosses to him, only stumbling a little with the roll of the ship and he smiles at her when he catches her gaze. Abby says nothing, but wraps her arms around his waist, tucking beneath his arm and resting her head against him.

I’ve got you.

[clutchofmuses]

"Do you think so?" Abrogail asked, drawing her legs up beneath her skirt. They sat in front of the fire in the family solar, Jaehaera and Maelor had been long tucked in bed after bedtime stories and songs and reassurances of safety. Helaena had even managed to sit with them and eat, even if her words were gone.

It was not often her optimism fell. Abby always had hope, held onto it like a guiding star. In the quiet, however, when it was only the two of them trying to hold the family together... it felt like she could voice the concern, and that Aemond would understand. "You are taking the role admirably, Aemond. We are all grateful. The realm will be grateful." Her mouth quirked softly. "I'm proud of you."

“I’m waiting for the night to fall when everything is bearable.” For Prince Regent Aemond

Aemond was simply waiting for the crown not to be so heavy on his brow. He had longed for it when he was younger and knew he was better suited for the role, but now, the feeling was different when he wore it. However, Aemond still believed this role was meant for him but the thought never left his lips. Aegon needed to heal and when he was returned, he would make sure that he had done all that he could for him. Had made some difference.

"It will be here soon. The days are becoming more and more bearable. "

For now, Criston and his mothers were the only ones to see Aegon. To speak for him. Aemond wished he could talk to his brother to inform him of everything he had intended.

[clutchofmuses]

🎲 ( from aegon, to abby! ) - @hamcrtia

26. A kiss while one or both parties are crying

"i have to, you have to let me go," she whispered, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, aegon's own large and as shining as hers. the carriage was waiting, the cart of belongings already set off ahead. "You will get through this without me. this whole driftmark situation is nothing more than plays between those who do not concern us." the bigger issue was that Rhaenyra and her family would come, and she was being sent away to harrenhal. out of the way, for aegon to be the dutiful husband, the doting son.

her little hands reached to cup his face and she drew him close, slanting her soft little mouth, trembling from her tears, to slide against his. A hope and promise that she would see him again. That they would be back in each other's arms soon.

[clutchofmuses]

The children were asleep, piled onto the pillows in a patch of sun in the sitting room more like puppies than a clutch of dragons. The shafts of light had turn Alyssa and Aenar's silver heads a warm, strawberry gold, while Harwin's dark curls glimmered with hints of red. The young queen smiled at her children, and hoped that her belly would quicken once more now that the twins were nearing their second nameday.

"I should only ever tell the king what he ought to do, not what he could do," @withouthonor said from his chair. He had come to read to the children only to find them asleep but it was no matter. Tea and small finger foods sat on the table between them and Abrogail looked at her uncle with a raised brow.

"He is not his father," she reminded him, defensive of her Aegon even though her tone was easy. "And he sees far more than him as well. He should know what he can do, so that he may more optimally weigh the stakes."

Worry tugged low in her gut but she could not pinpoint the reason as to why. Not that it was difficult - not since Luke's death, not since Rhaenyra and Daemon moved into the Riverlands, and the fleet sought to blockade the Blackwater.

[clutchofmuses]

abrogail would haul wylla in her lap if she could. instead, she's got the mormont hauled half against her like wylla is but a little girl. fingers stroke through her hair, tugging away the tie that holds it back to stroke her fingertips gently against wylla's scalp. "shhh, little bear... shhh..." she hums against her forehead. her heart positively breaks for wylla, so full of anger and fear and pain. dragons and bear cubs are not so different, she thinks. they all fear and rage and fight and cry.

softly, abrogail begins to sing. a song of the riverlands, the tongue foreign from common, melodic and soft. the song her early memories held from her own mother, in hopes to comfort and soothe wylla the way it had soothed her when she was small.

perhaps the anger and upset she displayed wasn't completely from the loss of her abilities, from the loss of her dominant forearm and hand, but the years and years of pent up aggression and trauma - like a bucket of stones overflowing and spilling out across the cold harsh ground of reality. wylla had rarely shown her true emotions, even to warrick, she was a book unopened and dusty on the shelf, and yet here she was crying out into the fabric of abbie's shoulder. single hand gripping tightly to ground herself, to bring her back from the chaos threatening to push down upon her frail form.

after all of the threats and insults she had spat towards the red head in her time since arriving at the keep, the maimed cub could not understand the kindness and selflessness being pushed into her direction - she was a VILLAIN in the eyes of everyone, how could anyone be so compassionate towards her? the thought causes her to cry more, hoarse voice hiccuping apologies between wracking sobs.

[clutchofmuses]

"Everyday, I ask myself why someone like you would choose to stay with someone like me. And everyday, I come up empty." @azmenka's hands are covered in engine grease as he comes up from the hatch of The Kingfisher, arms crossed along the edge with his chin resting on his equally grease streaked arms. Blue eyes, deep and vibrant as the ocean, stare back at her looking almost unnatural with how dark his tan has gotten.

Abby's sitting next to the toolbox with a wrench in hand that she was preparing to hand down to him when his lovely head came popping back up. It's chilly, and she's snuggled in one of his old hoodies, the cuffs of the soft, grey material frayed and stained from use. Copper curls are bundled back in a messy bun on the top of her head, and she's quite happy to nuzzle her nose along the collar and catch the scent of him and the laundry soap that clings to the fabric.

The water is calm that day, and he graciously allowed her to poke her nose into the maintenance that his vessel - his home, truly -- needed. She'd wanted to learn, and understand, to love it from bolts and bilge to the sails as he did because this is important to you, and you're important to me as if the answer had been obvious. It was obvious, to Abby anyway.

She cared about Maron, more than she thought she could. People only ever fell this fast, this hard, in movies or books. The connection between them was undeniable since that moment he'd whispered in her ear and laughed in delight at the felt kraken she'd bought him.

"You sound like you might be complaining," she smiles at him, only teasing him a little and reaches out to brush some of the stray hair off his forehead, tracing her finger down the bridge of his nose before leaning down the short distance to kiss the tip of it. "I'm sorry that the answers are so difficult when they're so easy for me." He raises a challenging eyebrow at her and she slides down so she's reclined on her side, to properly meet his eyes.

Abby's the sappy one, but Maron's romantic heart lurks beneath the sharp, ever present grin that she adores so much. "You treat me like I'm capable. You make me laugh. Your tongue pokes out between your teeth when you're trying not to giggle like a little kid. Hmmm..."

She taps his nose twice as she thinks. "I love how readily you take my hand when I'm feeling too shy sometimes to do it myself. You're not afraid of looking dumb or silly when you're trying to cheer me up - I've noticed that foolishness of yours and it's quite a good act. Let's see... The way you take me under your arm and hold me against your chest and point out the stars and how to navigate by them. The way you let me hang the Kraken up on your rear view mirror even though I know Rodrik ended up teasing you about it. You make me breakfast in bed even when my brains haven't been thoroughly fucked out." A smirk this time as she pauses in her list. "Would you like me to keep going?" she asks, voice in that soft, far away sort of tone she gets when she's thinking about kissing him.