#'could i ever be a hero?' for aemond

[pendragora]

bestie, my single braincell is again wreaking havoc on my brain.

BUT, as I know you are a fellow enjoyer of jason todd, I'd like to say that he is the better man between him and aemond.

why? I shall illustrate it quickly.

his attempt at kinslaying didn't end up well (if you don't consider all the aus in which he does succeed, but hey...).

he has an actual code of ethics which involve never involving minors in his murder sprees, don't you think that's charming?

in conclusion, considering I loved jason since I was 18 my taste in men has grown worse.

alright, alright I am off, but babe I hope you are doing alright and having a lovely life!

If we do put them on a scale, I would say that Jason is a better man than Aemond due to his stable morals. I MUST ARGUE THO, they are completely different when it comes to the type of character they both are:

Jason is a tragic hero, a survivor, a very classic Greek Tragedy type. He is the by-product of what happened to him, of his trauma - the ressurection, the death by Joker's hand and receiving no justice whatsoever. The main motive for him is mainly in the fact that his death, his suffering was pointless and devalued because Bruce never took action Jason expected to be taken, which makes him take the action into his own hands. He does what he does for the sake of others, not for the personal gain, but because he does not want anyone to go through the things he went;

Aemond is... moraly grey perhaps? He cannot be called a hero at all. He also comes from a place of trauma, of neglect, of mishandling, of the harsh realities the world and society around him is shaped and shapes him. But he is not a righteous hero type. He is heroic, sure, in his own way, in the way he does what he does for his family, but there is so much boiling rage that breeds violence, and the more he allows himself down this path - the more he likes it and revels in the way he is. Aemond is a fallen angel that was corrupted by dark things that he learned from people around him and he learned to enjoy them (unlike Jason, who is neutral to what he does).

What they have in common is killing people, being a second son to a high-moral character, having a tragic fate, being a nerd and being doomed by the narrative. It's technicalities that make draw them out as different characters completely (tho Jason was Aemond-like piece of shit not so long ago ^^)

I personally like the tragedy and trauma aspect to both, but in my own mind I can't put them together because I enjoy them very differently (they are both hot tho. they are both so hot in all that dramatic tragedy-driven meow meow type of way)

ANYWAYS I WENT OFF THaNK YOU FOR THE ASK LOVE YOU SM BBY 💖🌹🥺

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

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

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 10

The wind was blowing as Ysilla sat by the window, a book about the conquest in her hands, reading about Aegon the Conquerer and his sister-wives, Visenya and Rhaenys, for the umpteenth time. She knew those words by the heart; she did not need to read them, but she did not care. She loved those heroes from her family. Her fingers touched the drawing of Balerion the Black Dread, the biggest dragon that had ever been seen in Westeros. Ysilla wondered what he could have looked like, how fierce some he must have looked. She knew that his last rider had been her Uncle Viserys before the giant dragon passed. Ysilla had never laid upon the Black Dread; he died before she could. He must have been beautiful.

“My Darysyr is more beautiful,” she said proudly to herself. In her eyes, there was no dragon as beautiful as Darysir and his dark purple scales and violet eyes.

“This is all so boring,” She heard Aegon say. He was standing across the chamber, his arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head. Ysilla noticed Aemon next to him, glaring at his brother.

“Mother wants for us to take this lesson,” she heard her younger cousin say as she set her book aside, “It’s our duty.” Aegon did not answer. He just gave a sigh of boredom.

“Aemond is right, Aegon,” she spoke from where she was sitting. Fixing the skirts of her red gown with elegance.

“Dancing is for girls,” Aegon answered. His tone was always so dramatic every time he didn’t enjoy one of their lessons.

“Lords dance with ladies,” Ysilla said, “It is called courting.”

“Dance of fire,” Helaena muttered from next to Ysilla.

“Courting I like,” Aegon answered, ignoring his sister. Aemond scoffed from behind him.

“And what is your courting strategy, my prince?” Ysilla asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You do not wish to know, Ysilla,” Aemond answered before his brother could.

“Shut that mouth!” Aegon yelled. Ysilla stood up, walking towards her cousins.

“Lusting after servants and whores is not courting,” she stated, glaring at Aegon, “Those are interests not fit for a prince, sadly though they are common among men.” She saw Aegon look away, on his cheeks appeared a faint blush, more due to irritation than embarrassment. “You two are princes, sons of a king, members of the most powerful House in the world,” her eyes went from one boy to the other, “You need to find a woman fit for a prince. She has to know courtesy and manners. And she deserves someone who shares the same costumes.”

Aegon's hand moved to touch the white hair that brushed the side of her face. "You seem rather fit for a prince," he said with an allusive smirk that made Ysilla roll her eyes. She moved her hand so that she could free her hair from his grip.

"Will we ever be able to have a serious conversation?" She exclaimed, glaring at the prince. But he seemed to enjoy her reaction more than anything.

"I don't think I want to." He answered with a shrug as the doors opened to reveal Jacaerys and Lucaerys Velaryon. That was one of the few lessons Ysilla and Helaena shared with the four princes, usually divided to learn what was most fit for a lady and lord. Ysilla wondered how that day would have gone by, and her eyes moved to look for Aemond, hoping he was feeling better from what had happened in the Dragonpit the last time they went.

Her cousin looked stiff and uneasy as the two Velaryons shared words with Aegon. She knew that they were talking about the last lesson in the yard with Ser Criston, but Ysilla was afraid to hear a jest against Aemond sooner or later. So she decided to walk towards her cousin; his hands were behind his back as he looked at the ground.

"My prince," she spoke softly so as not to startle him. Aemond looked surprised at hearing her voice, and he moved his gaze to her with a frown.

"Ysilla?" He muttered.

She smiled, reaching out a hand for him, "May I dance with you?" She asked, trying to sound reassuring.

"I-" he muttered, looking over at where Aegon and his cousins were standing.

"Are you not dancing with me?" Aegon asked with a pout, and Ysilla shook her head.

"Later," she answered, "I'd like to have this dance with Prince Aemond." Aegon scoffed at her words while Aemond looked at her with wide eyes.

"Do you?" He asked, still unsure.

Ysilla let out a sigh. "Of course," she said, moving forward to take his hand so that she could lead him to the center of the room. Soon, the Septa told Helaena to move next to them with Jacaerys.

The light music started so that the princes could learn the steps of that dance. Ysilla smiled at Aemond, whose eyes were fixed on the ground.

"You're not going to step on me," she assured him, who gave her a shy glance.

"I still don't know the steps." He muttered, embarrassed.

"Confidence is the key, my prince," she said, gently leafting his head so that they could meet gaze. His eyes observed her as they kept dancing.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked suspiciously. Aemond was young, but he was a proud soul. And yet none of the other boys seemed to take him in account. Helaena wouldn’t do much to ease her brother’s pain, but Ysilla knew solitude. And she knew what it meant to feel like when people underestimated her. Like her father.

“Raise your head high,” she said touching his chin with her fingers, “Targaryens are proud and strong.”

“Targaryens have dragons,” Aemond answered with sadness in his eyes, but Ysilla noticed that he kept his posture.

“And you will, my prince,” she assured, “Do not think any less of yourself because you have not one yet.”

Aemond moved his gaze to the other boys, but she was quick to make him turn to her.

“Forget them,” she said with steady voice, “You don’t need their approval. Focus on yourself, on what you can become.” His eyes grew larger at her words, and she could see that he was not sure on how to answer. But he didn’t have time to figure it out, since the Septa wanted for Ysilla to dance with Jacaerys.

Ysilla was about to move, when Aemond took her hand to give it a kiss. Ysilla had not expected the gesture, and she was even more surprised by the words her cousin spoke as he raised his gaze to look at her. “This is how a lord thanks a lady for her attentions.”

He then let go of her hand and walked towards the side of the room, under the gaze of his brother. Aegon wore an irritated frown as Aemond stopped next to him. But he did not say anything.

Ysilla stood still for a moment, surprised by the sudden boldness of her cousin, but then she cleared her voice before gesturing for Jace to come closer.

Jacaerys was younger than Aemond. He was the same age as Daeron, even if the last son of Alicent had been sent to Oldtown not so long before. Ysilla found herself wondering how the boy was doing there. If he was alright. She knew how unsettling it was to change place from a day to another.

“The bow is important,” the Septa said to the boy that had a shy expression on his face, “It shows your posture, your grace.”

Jace nodded before trying to bow, but the septa was not convinced so she made him do it again. In the mean time, Ysilla observed the boy. He had no trace of lord Laenor in him. Nothing. And yet nobody addressed the two Velaryon’s with their proper status. Ysilla felt a peck of envy, because she knew that the only reason was the shield that the King had built around them. Was it possible?

Was it even possible that someone could love someone else so much?

Why did Viserys loved Rhaenyra that much? How did she manage to made her father have so deep emotions in his heart for her?

Where did I fail? She found herself wondering.

“Do not look so pensive,” Aegon’s voice came so close as a whisper, making her turn her head in surprise to find her cousin inches apart from her face. Ysilla felt like blushing at the proximity. Aegon had always been eager in touching her hair and sharing compliments, but getting closer was something he had started to do recently, and it had the power of flush the girl.

On his face appeared a little smirk, “What’s with the blush?” He asked, but she was quick to shook her head.

“It is just hot in here,” she answered, looking away from him, but she could feel his hand on her waist and the blush on her face would not disappear.

“So nothing to do with me?” Ysilla shot a glare to Aegon, that chuckled before stepping away. “I’m just jesting.”

“I see you’re getting bolder with ladies,” Ysilla said eyeing her cousin.

“There’s nothing more delighting than pleasures?” He asked with a smug expression on his face. And Ysilla found herself shook her head.

“Duties?” she said crossing her arms, looking at Jacaerys that was still talking with the Septa.

“You are my mother’s favorite,” Aegon said from behind her. Ysilla turned to him with a frown, not quite catching what he was getting at. “You are not Hightower though, and sooner or later duties will bore you as much as me.”

Duties had been something that Ysilla found getting drag into more and more as she grew up. She had become accostumed on what people expected on her. It become like a shield. Be a proper lady, doing everything it was asked of her was what she felt was the best way of getting less associated with her father. Daemon Targaryen was famous for his endeavors. He was a man impossible to tame. Ysilla had found herself clutching to duties and on what was expected of her, like her mother, lady Rhea Royce, had always wanted.

“And Vermax will be ready to fly, in a year or two,” Jace was saying as Ysilla and the two Velaryons walked through the corridors of the Red Keep. Alicent had summoned the young lady, there were important matters to discuss, that was what she had told her. And since the chambers of the King and the Queen where right above Rhaenyra’s. So Ysilla found herself listening to the lively brothers telling her about their day and news.

“When will Arrax be ready?” Lucaerys asked, looking at her with curious eyes.

“It really depends on the dragon,” Ysilla answered bowing with courtesy at some lords that walked nearby.

“When did you fly Darysyr for the first time?” Jace asked with a little frown, “Mother said you were my age.”

“Your mother is not lying.” She was not lying on this topic at least, “But Darysyr was larger at that age.” According to her studies, dark dragons, especially black, grew larger than other dragons. Darysyr was growing everyday more, and Ysilla could not wait to see what he would become. She surely would not have lived long enough to see if he would have grew as large as Vhagar, or Balerion, but she sure hoped he would have. No one was sure he would have survived, due to his legs, but Darysyr was truly a resilient dragon.

When they arrived to Rhaenyra’s chambers, Luke was quick to open the door to run to his mother. Ysilla immediately noticed that Ser Harwin Strong was there, with little Joffrey in his arms. Both Jace and Luke were to busy running around, but both adults had seen her on the door. Rhaenyra was not subtle at all. Inviting that man in the middle of the day, when anyone could walk in. Decency was not something that the future Queen was acostumed to, it seemed.

Ysilla shared a look with her cousin, before bowing to take her leave. The two Velaryons waved at her, but when she was walking in the corridor, Ysilla heard steps coming from behind her.

“Dear, cousin,” Rhaenyra’s voice made Ysilla stop on her tracks, feeling her lips turn up into a knowing smirk.

“Princess,” she said turning to look at her cousin. The woman was looking at her with a smile. But it was not that genuine, she could hide it well, but Ysilla did not miss the worry in her eyes. The young lady knew she had seen something compromising, especially because Ysilla was so close to Alicent.

“I see you are feeling well, after Joffrey,” Ysilla said with a polite tone, “With such an impressive health, you’re surely will deliver more heirs soon.”

Rhaenyra showed her best smile, yet not truthful, “If the gods are good.”

Ysilla found herself let out a chuckle. The gods had never answered to Ysilla’s prayers. She had tried, both her mother’s and the Queen’s, but Ysilla was not a devoted person. She attended the rituals, as a lady should have, but she much rather think about flying on Darysyr, or study about Valyria. That was a place she would have liked to see. With all that ancient magic and knowledge. That would have been fascinating. But the gods… the gods seemed to mock everyone. They stood high looking down at all of them, but never dared to move a hand for justice. The mother had not brought back Rhea from her hunt, and the Father had not made justice on Daemon for his actions. As he was not bringing justice to Rhaenyra’s behavior.

“I wish that we could spend more time with one another,” Rhaenyra said taking a step towards Ysilla, “We’ve been living so long under the same roof, and yet we never have time to get to know each other like two cousins should.”

“Duties takes all of our time I’m afraid,” Ysilla answered crossing her arms over her chest.

Then her cousin cocked her head to the side, observing the young lady, “You know. You look like me at your age.”

She was quite skeptical that the two of them looked anything alike at her age. Ysilla observed the woman, tilting her head, “Mayhaps we share some likeness,” she answered with a deep breath, “Very few, though. Or I’m sure my father would accept my presence more, even too much.”

She saw Rhaenyra frown at her words, “What do you mean?” Ysilla observed her silently; what she had saw at Rhaenyra’s wedding was a sight Ysilla had difficulties to forget. That had changed her liking of Rhaenyra. It was because of her father interest in Rhaenyra that her mother had been murdered, and her cousin unawareness angered Ysilla even more. But she did not indulge in such feeling, so she just laughed.

“The Realm’s Delight,” she said forcing a light tone, “If the rumours are true, it was my father who gave such a name,” she could not stop a bitter laugh to pass her lips, “He has quite the imagination with names, you’ve probably heard how he used to call me.”

The goat’s daughter…

“Ysilla…” Rhaenyra was about to talk, but the girl shook her head.

“Forgive me, cousin,” she said looking down, “I can be quite unpleasant sometimes. I know it is not fit for a lady, but if I recall my sisters name day had just passed. That makes me quite bitter.”

That was always a strange day to her. Her sisters in Quaart with their father, having the attentions he had never given to his first born. There was always someone better than Ysilla in her father’s eyes. Rhaenyra, now her sisters. Would have made any difference to him that she was fluent in Old Valyrian? That she was an excellent dragon-rider, and that all the noble men and ladies kept complimenting her on her perfect behavior? That she was studying history, politics and philosophy? Would Daemon Targaryen take Ysilla of any account if he knew?

No… she knew nothing would have changed. And still she kept pushing herself to be perfect in hopes that maybe she was wrong, that maybe her father would have cared for her sooner or later.

Stop wanting to please him, Ysilla. The girl repeated to herself. She did not need her father approval or affection. She was nearly a woman grown, she would not allow her father to hold any power over her.

Rhaenyra took a step towards Ysilla, “I just wish for us to become friends, not just relatives.”

Ysilla observed her cousin, “I think I found another likeness,” the girl said, “We’re both quite stubborn.” Then she bowed with courtesy and her best smile, “The Queen awaits. And your sons need you, they’re both quite strong in their will.” Then she looked at Rhaenyra with a smirk, before turning to make her way towards the Queen’s chambers.

Just a corridor and few steps of a staircase was between the Princess’ chambers and the monarch’s. So it didn’t take Ysilla long to meet with Ser Criston, the sworn shield of Alicent Hightower. The handsome Dornishman was taking his guard in front of the door, and he greeted Ysilla bowing his head.

“My lady,” he said, “The Queen’s waiting for you.”

“I thank you, Ser Criston,” she answered politely, then she pushed open the heavy wood door. As she stepped inside, Ysilla was surprised to see the King in the chamber. His skin was always pale and his hair had became thinner during those hears. And on his face the tiredness was visible, but he was sharing words with his wife, trying not to show.

“My King, my Queen,” Ysilla greeted the couple with a deep bow and she heard her uncle let out a happy laugh.

“Such good manner, my dear niece.” He said taking some steps towards the girl. Ysilla smiled before standing again.

“Anything that makes you happy, Your Grace,” Ysilla answered looking at her uncle.

“Come,” he said politely, “Sit with me, I really wanted to share words.” Ysilla’s lips turned up, but her eyes searched the Queen. She was not expecting for her uncle, the King, to be there that day. She thought Alicent wanted to gave her some duties.

The woman looked at her with an encouraging expression before she followed her husband to sit next to him on the couch, fixing the cushions behind Viserys, so that he could sit more comfortably. Ysilla was set last to take a sit, on the couch opposite from them. It felt a different type of encounter from the ones she was used to. Did something happen?

“I cannot express how happy I am to have you here in my court,” her uncle started to speak, on his face the smile never faded.

“And I’m grateful for your kind hospitality,” Ysilla answered.

“You are much more than a guest,” the King said with a shook of his head, “We are family.”

Ysilla felt a peck of happiness in hearing those words. The King, his wife and their children were indeed her family, and she was glad that they shared the same feeling as her. When she lost her mother and her father abandoned her, she was afraid that she would have felt lonely and afraid. She had been lucky.

“And we are very proud of the lady you are becoming,” Viserys said sharing a look with his wife. “You are almost a woman, and a discussion is needed, my dear.”

Ysilla waited for her uncle to keep with his speech. It sounded serious, and she could think of some reasons why a discussion among them was needed. One was more frightening than the other. She knew that she was the heir to Runestone, and that soon she’ll have to take her place as the lady of that castle, but she had no intention of going back. She loved her mother dearly, and her memory gave her strength and porpoise, but Ysilla was a Targaryen. She did not want to be closed in a castle in the mountains. She belonged with the House of the Dragon, with the royalty. She was not less than anyone. Her place was in King’s Landing. She wanted to stay in the Crownlands.

“Alicent and I are beginning to think that it is time for you to find a proper husband,” Ysilla took a breath at the King’s words. They did not want to send her away.

“Since your father is not present at the moment,” Alicent spoke and the young girl felt her own fingers grip at her gown as she did her best to keep a smile on her face, waiting for the Queen to continue. “We will look for the most fit union for you.”

“We think you are ready, dear,” Viserys spoke again with a kind tone, “It is most fit for a lady such as yourself to begin to think to your future.”

Ysilla knew that was what it was expected of her, and she knew that day would have come sooner than later. They had been preparing her for all this time, she was not afraid to find an husband. “As my King wishes.” She answered with a bow of her head.

Viserys chuckled, “That is good to hear,” he said with joy, “I remember how difficoult it had been with Rhaenyra when it was her time.” He searched for his wife approval, but the woman looked down with a forced smile.

Ysilla did not know about Rhaenyra, not that she cared that much. But it was not use to fight their destiny. Nobles did not wed for love, that she knew, her parents had showed it very well. But for no reason she would let her future husband to treat her as Daemon Targaryen did to her mother. They all shared the same path. But the epilogue would have been different. That she promised to herself.

*****************

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[daenysx]

Hey! Id love to request something for Modern!Aemond fluff/ hurt comfort. If you're not interested no worries at all! But maybe something where you're not together but you're also not 'just friends' and reader is kinda insecure bc they don't have a lot of experience with partners and Aemond starts to notice them acting weird and then it goes from there. But yeah idk if this is a good request or not lol, if you don't feel like writing this no worries at all! Love your writing!

thank you so much for requesting!! i hope you like it ♡ requests are open

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader, hurt/comfort

"what's wrong?"

sometimes you think aemond has super hero senses, how can he feel your distress when you're standing behind his chair? he can't see you but he somehow knows you are fiddling with your fingers, something eats you up inside.

he turns, still sitting on the chair in his room. he looks up to your face, still questioning what's gotten you so nervous.

"um- nothing's wrong, it's just-"

he holds your hands when he realizes your nails are hard on your skin. he separates them and keeps them in his huge palms on each side. "come on."

you take a breath. "do you remember the guy i told you about last week? he was a friend of-"

"rhaena." he completes. "yes, i remember."

"i was thinking- i don't know it sounds stupid now that i think about it but-" you start. you feel close to aemond, you're not ashamed of telling him a story about other guys. "he was acting like we're flirting you know? he was really nice and- i don't know maybe i was expecting him to ask me out after all that flirt."

your voice feels so small. "what happened?" aemond asks, he sounds like he could kill the guy for upsetting you.

"i saw him kissing a girl today." you say. "i don't know if she's his girlfriend but no matter who she is, it means i was hoping for nothing."

it's just a guy. nothing to be upset over. you're not in love with him, he could kiss anyone he wants. still, this is only a little piece of a bigger disappointment. you think no one will ever want you.

"i'm not sad, but i feel bad." you say. "why is it always someone else?"

aemond looks at your curled lips, he always thought you look cute with the frown. he keeps holding your hands, not quite knowing what to say. he's never been the best person to comfort someone but he cares. he cares about you. he doesn't want you to think you're unworthy of anything, he can see the walls of sadness and disappointment you build in your mind.

you straighten your posture when you see him say nothing. what were you thinking anyway? maybe you're looking for some reassurance from a man you're close to, you think he'll tell you you're pretty and smart, that guy should go to hell for making you feel like this. you close your eyes to take a proper breath, pull your hands back to your sides. aemond has an unreadable expression on his face.

"you know what?" you start, trying for a smile. "forget it. i mean, it doesn't mean anything right? there's nothing we can do."

aemond sees you blushing. "i'm sorry, i was just-"

"it's okay, aemond." you say gently. "i wasn't looking for pity or anything else, i'm sorry for overwhelming you with my insecurity."

you're being too honest. you don't care. it's no secret most of the guys you like don't like you back, even when they do, you don't know how to keep them. you have too little experience, the only guy you feel comfortable around is probably aemond. one of your friends said you look like a couple once and you were so surprised at her words you couldn't look at aemond for a week. you can't bring yourself to have romantic feelings for aemond even though there's a potential. you can't lose him.

"your insecurity?" aemond asks with a disbelieving voice. "i don't understand."

so he wants to hear all of it. he can deal with it then, you don't mind telling him.

"i don't think i'll ever be loved by someone i love. it's just- i'm full of half finished stories about that, i'm so sick of feeling like this." you say, taking another deep breath. "i'm not saying this because i expect anything from you. we're close and- you asked."

aemond's lips part open. you're so clearly blind to yourself, you don't even know how you make people feel. you don't know how pretty he thinks you are, how kind and sweet. he doesn't want to ruin his relationship with you- he doesn't even know what to call this thing between you two. friends? friends who secretly like each other but being too afraid of losing one another because how inexperienced you both are in relationships?

he holds your hand again, squeezes your fingers in an attempt to comfort you just one bit. you let him do that, you close your eyes when he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. he brings your hand to his lips, brushes a tiny kiss on your skin. is that what affection feels like? you're a stranger but you could love it.

"aemond, what-"

"i know how much you hate being wrong but- you are in fact wrong, sweetheart."

he kisses your hand again, it feels nice. "you think you're unloveable? do you even see yourself?"

you can't help a tear escape. "i'm-"

"no, you don't." he answers his own question. "you don't know how pretty you are. you don't know your effect on people. your effect on me."

you try to pull your hand back. "you don't have to prove anything. i didn't tell all these to get something in return, i don't want your pity."

he is strong as he holds your hand. he looks up to you, gives you a smile. "i'm not pitying you. if there's anyone who needs pity it's me."

he promises himself that he's not gonna ruin anything. he will not mess this up. he can't. aemond targaryen's life is full of ruined relationships and sad stories, he'd be damned if you'd be one of them.

"aemond, we shouldn't-"

"no, i know." he stands up. "i know exactly what you think. i've been thinking the same things since i met you."

you look unsure. this is a dangerous game to play, you don't know if you're brave enough.

"tell me about them." you say, can't control your thoughts or your words. "tell me what we think."

aemond takes a deep breath, he places your hand on his heart. "we both think this is too fucked up. we don't want to lose each other but-"

you look deep into his eye, consequences be damned. "but?"

"we are losing the chance of a perfect pairing." he says with a low voice. "i can be better than all those guys who made you upset. you really don't know how i see you."

it feels exciting, your heartbeat goes into madness. can you let yourself accept buried feelings for him? his look is promising and confident. your brain stops thinking when you rise on your tiptoes to kiss him.

the kiss feels like true insanity. you don't know if you'll feel satisfied or regret what you did minutes later. aemond kisses you back and the clouds of madness disappear. he holds the back of your neck, a possessive kind of touch that you've never felt before.

"we still have a lot to talk about." you say, breaking the kiss.

aemond presses his forehead against yours softly. "i know." he says. "just let me kiss you one more time."

[justanoasisimagines]

Blurb (1)

Hey my lovelies, welcome to my heroes and villian event to celebrate Halloween! All month I'll be posting for a Hero and a Villian every single day! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

Summary; Aemond and you play a game of hide and seek! Warnings; The ending is slightly suggestive but nothing explicit.

"Come out love. You can't hide from me." You planted yourself firmly against the Oaktree. A hand pressed against your mouth, A branch snaps in the distance. You turned your head searching for a new location to hide. The attempt was futile, eventually, Aemond would find you. Yet it was the thrill of the anticipation knowing he'd catch you. It was all about the chase. It was a question of when. With a quickened pace, you attempted to sneak through the woods like a mouse. Light on your feet scurrying away from the unbeatable prey. "You should give up now Aemond taunted, yet you were determined not to be caught out so soon. Changing your direction, you began to zig-zag changing your direction. If Aemond were to catch you, you refused to make it easy, In a haste decision, you found a nearby tree, thick and wide appearing safe enough to climb. You grabbed hold of the branches, pulling yourself up and climbing as high as you could. You settled on a branch sturdy enough to perch yourself. Now all you had to do was wait. "You waited for some time until you saw Aemond sauntering underneath you, his head turning left and right, Once more you placed your hand over your mouth, this time to muffle your laughter. Perhaps you'd finally outsmarted Aemond. A branch snapped underneath you as if the gods decided to curse you once more. Would they ever allow you to win? Aemond snapped his head up seeing you sitting above him. A smile curled upon his lips. "Well done my love. Yet it appears I have found you." With slumped shoulders, you climbed down. The moment you were close enough Aemond lifted you into his arms. "Do not worry, I suspect my reward will be pleasurable for the both of us."

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Masterlist

The Hunger Games

Finnick Odair

You’re Losing Me

Inspired by Taylor Swift’s “You’re Losing Me.” How Finnick loses the best thing he’s ever had.

Haymitch Abernathy

Capitol Punishment Masterlist

A story in which Haymitch’s lover is a plaything for the Capitol

I'm Sorry

Moments of Haymitch having to mentor his ex-girlfriend

Percy Jackson and the Olympians/Heroes of Olympus

Luke Castellan

Follow Me

Luke's girlfriend is excited to finally become a year-round camper so she can spend it with him. But Luke has other plans for them.

Delicate

"Is it chill that you're in my head? / Cause I know that it’s delicate"

Competing With Gods

When Apollo is sent to camp as a punishment, he sets his sights on Luke's girlfriend.

The Way I Loved You

"But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain / And it's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name / So in love that you act insane"

The Final Quest

How a quest with the love of Luke's life turned him away from the gods

Asshole Instructor

Luke has been an asshole but he can't help it until he realizes the girl he likes could be gone any minute

Mine

"You are the best thing that's ever been mine"

Apollo

Immortal Danger

Apollo marries a half-blood without realizing how dangerous it can be

Immortal Danger II

Despite an extravagant wedding, Apollo is still confronted by those who want to end his marriage

John Wick

Forced Love Masterlist

Arranged marriages aren't uncommon in the crime world but John Wick never expected to be forced into one with his boss' daughter.

Criminal Minds

Aaron Hotchner

Undercover in a Skin Tight Skirt

The BAU Chief isn’t fond of sending his scantily clad wife in as bait

That Skirt

Smutty follow up to Undercover in a Skin Tight Skirt

I Can’t Leave

When the reader is forced into hiding, she’s desperate to inform her fiancé and his son

Move On

Rossi tells Aaron he should move on

Moving on to You

Aaron finally tells his longtime crush about his feelings when he almost loses her (Sequel to Move On)

Sparring Matches

The BAU undergoes PT evaluations, that includes sparring matches. And in the ring will be the secret couple, tipping off the rest of the team

Home Sweet Home

Sometimes going home isn’t always a good thing. Especially when your hometown is obsessed with marriage and you have a secret boyfriend.

Spencer Reid

Erotomania

Spencer’s girlfriend has a stalker

Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon

Sandor Clegane/Robb Stark

Between a Wolf and a Hound I

Sandor Clegane was never naïve enough to think he could marry the king's daughter but it doesn't make it any easier to see her married off.

Between a Wolf and a Hound II

The new Lady of the North tries to cope with the fact that she is now married and has a responsibility to her husband.

Robb Stark

The Godswood

When the newest Lady of the North is chased into the woods, the lords of the north search for Robb Stark's wife

Cregan Stark

Wrong Person (College AU!)

Aemond's girlfriend has a group project with the man he hates the most, Cregan Stark.

Grey’s Anatomy

Mark Sloan

Haunted

Mark finally finds where his wife has been hiding

Twilight

Carlisle Cullen

Sorry to Meet You

The moral dilemma of the patriarch of the Cullen clan finally meeting his mate after 350 years

Attack on Titan

Levi Ackerman

Amnesia

When the Levi Squad goes out on a mission with a few rookies, accidents happen

Favoritism

Captain Levi wouldn't let his feelings for a scout under him get in the way of his professionalism, right?

Reiner Braun

Guard

When Reiner returns from his ten year long mission, he is assigned to protect the the woman he could never have.

[rynnthefangirl]

Is it character assassination for Aemond to try to kill his brother? Lots of TGs seem to think so, arguing that Aemond loved his brother and was fiercely loyal to him in the book.

So let’s look at the evidence TG has for Aegon and Aemond having a close loving loyal brotherly bond:

1. Aemond fighting and killing Aegon’s enemies — which are also his enemies. If Nyra takes the throne Aemond’s head is the first on the chopping block, so he has a vested interest in fighting for Aegon to keep the throne and maintain a united front against Team Black.

2. Aemond not styling himself as King and only as Prince Regent when Aegon is incapacitated— he literally cannot be the king while the king still lives. By law he can only be Prince regent.

3. Aemond not murdering his brother and usurping the throne— the bar is in Hell. Maybe he didn’t do that bc Aegon was guarded, and he could’nt kill him undetected. Maybe he came very close to, but decided not to at the last minute. You know who also never murdered their brother? Aegon IV and Aemon. Who canonically despised each other.

4. Aegon building a statue of Aemond— which is something that could be argued towards Aegon loving his brother, but not the other way around. And even then, the statues could also be interpreted as Aegon emphasizing his victory and rightful kingship by celebrating those who died for TG as war heroes.

None of these are explicit evidence of love. You can certainly headcanon that dynamic between them, but it’s just that— a headcanon. If GRRM wanted to write them as close and loving, he could have and would have. Don’t believe me? Look at how he writes Aegon III and Viserys II:

[Upon Viserys’ return to Kings Landing] “King Aegon III began to weep, throwing himself upon the boy in a fierce embrace”

“The return of his brother from the dead worked a wondrous change in Aegon III. His Grace had never truly forgiven himself for leaving Viserys to his fate… deep down, the Broken King felt himself unworthy to sit the Iron Throne. He had not been able to save his little brother…”

“As a boy, Aegon had worshipped his three elder half brothers, but it was Viserys who shared his bedchamber, his lessons, and his games. ‘Some part of the King had died with his brother in the Gullet… it is plain to see that Aegon’s affection for Gaemon Palehair was born of his desire to replace the little brother he had lost, but only when Viserys was restored to him did Aegon seem once more alive and whole.’”

“Prince Viserys once again became King Aegon’s constant companion… whilst Gaemon Palehair was cast aside and forgotten, and even Queen Daenaera was ignored.”

“Viserys [after Gaemon’s death] broke his stubborn silence to comfort His Grace in his grief, and sat with him by the Queens bedside.”

“For the rest of his days, [Viserys] was the only person Aegon ever fully trusted.”

George paints an explicit and undeniable dynamic between Aegon and Viserys— one of love, trust, and joy. George could have written such a dynamic between Aegon and Aemond. There was ample opportunity. He could have spoke of a close shared childhood, had Aegon comfort Aemond when he lost an eye, had Aemond display distress/guilt/grief when he nearly killed Aegon. But George doesn’t. Instead, what is Aemond’s only recorded response to nearly killing his own brother? “[The Crown] looks better on me than it ever did him.” Could you imagine either Aegon III or Viserys II ever responding that way to the other nearly dying. Nope.

You can certainly headcanon Aegon and Aemond as having a deep and loving brotherly bond, but George does not explicitly write them as having that dynamic. Their book dynamic is under explored and ambiguous. Comparing them to Aegon III and Viserys II, a brotherly bond that IS explicitly written to be loving, makes that apparent. GRRM had ample opportunity to add moments/quotes like the ones I showed for Aegon and Viserys, but he chose not to. The show interpreting Aemond as hateful towards his brother is not a wild deviation from his book counterpart, and is clearly based upon his recorded response to Aegon’s near death.

TLDR: Aegon and Aemond do not have a canonically loving relationship. You can interpret it that way, but looking at the text, considering authorial intent, and comparing them to an explicitly written close brother duo shows the ambiguity of their dynamic and the openness for interpretation that HOTD has fairly capitalized on.

[humanpurposes]

Karma is a God, Chapter 17: Blood is Unambiguous

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood.

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Warnings for this chapter: 18+, spoilers for F&B and future seasons of HotD, canon divergence, descriptions of violence, angst, mentions of death and war

A/n: Realised I copy pasted the whole chapter rather than a snippet, and because I am that lazy, have the whole chapter.

Full chapter is on AO3

A white raven arrives from the Citadel at Oldtown; winter has begun. Luke has felt the shift of the season, the cold mornings in the training yard when she watches Joffrey swing a wooden sword under the guidance of Ser Lorent, the gloomy grey skies and piercing winds. Sometimes she can convince herself she is back at Dragonstone. Blackwater Bay roars as it tosses fishing boats and the ships of the Velaryon fleet on its surface, as it sends waves crashing against the cliff faces along the shore below the Red Keep.

In the early mornings, before she is due to rise for meetings of the Small Council, Luke watches through the eyes of her dragon as he dives for fish and eels. She feels that he is content with the familiarity of the mist and the harsher weather, and she knows that this is not merely a dream.

She’s found books in the library detailing legends from ages long gone by, of the First Men and the Age of Heroes, warring Kings, whispers of demons from the North, the children of the forest, skinchangers, greenseers, men who could see through the eyes of birds, rodents and wolves. She knows these tales from childhood; Harwin Strong knew all sorts of stories and saw lots of strange things growing up at Harrenhal, trees with faces and bleeding eyes, ghosts and living, breathing memories.

She feels the spray of the sea against her scales, the taste of fresh fish on her tongue, her wings steady through the wind as the Red Keep comes back into view…

In her moments of curiosity she hears the delicate voice of Alys Rivers in the back of her head. “Blood is unambiguous.” 

When she sits before her mirror and watches her handmaiden twist her dark curls into braids, she tries to imagine herself with her mother’s silver hair, with Ser Leanor’s warm brown eyes and his sailor’s hands. When she looks at herself she sees Jace and Joffrey. She sees the man they were told not to mourn when he perished in his father’s castle. Blood of the dragon, blood of the Riverlands. A bastard in the eyes of some, a Princess in the eyes of others, now heir to the Iron Throne.

Jace had always said their parentage was of no consequence, but he had sounded unsure in that himself. Simply as a consequence of age he knew Harwin Strong better than she did and had clearer memories of him. He knew of the rumours whispered amongst the courtiers when they resided at the Red Keep. “It doesn’t matter what they think,” so long as they had their dragons, so long as they had the protection of the crown.

She’s searched the history books, mythologies and legends. Dragons are a different kind of magic, so maester Geradys says, bound to the Dragon Lords of Old Valyria with ancient blood magic, the likes of which Westeros may never know. Rhaenyra says dragons are a power men should never have trifled with, that they are not to be controlled outright. Yet Luke had been able to tell Grey Ghost to dive into the God’s Eye and pluck a body from the water. No command, no tug on his reins. She hadn’t even been sitting in the saddle, it was as if she was the dragon itself, acting on her own will.

Is that proof then? If she asked Rhaenyra if she has ever lived through the mind of Syrax would she understand? Or would she think she was mad? If she asked maester Geradys if the greenmen had ever seen through the eyes of dragons… it would be an impossibility.

Dressed in a black gown, rubies dripping from a silver necklace like splatters of blood against her skin, she determines she is ready to face the Small Council, Corlys, Geradys, Lord Bar Eammon, Lord Masey, Lord Celtigar, the Manderlys, and standing along the left side of the room, the Dragonseeds, Hugh, Ulf, Addam, Nettles.

She takes her place at the head of the table, standing above her mother’s seat. “Well met,” she says. “What news from the Reach?”

Vermithor and Silverwing had flown over King’s Landing this morning, returning from their errand.

Hugh takes a small step forward. “The Hightowers have Bitterbridge.”

The Lords murmur in concern. 

“What of the Caswells?” 

“Lord Caswell’s widow surrendered her castle easily enough; her children have been sent to Oldtown as captives.”

“And what of their army?”

“Some have gathered at Tumbleton, along with the Footlys. Our force there is little over half the size of the Hightower host.”

“But you did not fight?” Corlys asks.

“No,” Hugh says.

“I would have thought Silvering and Vermithor would be more than enough to match the strength of one young dragon?”

Ulf scowls. “And if the Northmen had marched when they were summoned, we might have a sizeable army by now.”

With a sharp look from Luke he is silenced. 

Jace trusted Lord Cregan enough to think she would be safe with him when her body was still broken, enough to protect her. They swore oaths to each other sealed in blood. She must also trust he will come to her when the time is right. 

Master Geradys speaks next. “Rather crucially, Princess, this morning I received a raven from Winterfell. Cregan Stark has begun the march south, with twenty thousand Northmen at his back.”

“At long last,” she says. It will take them a month at the very least, assuming they do not meet any resistance on their journey, which could be very well if the Riverlands are not secured. When Cregan makes it south their fates will be sealed. Armies will collide, the fields of the Crownlands will be watered with blood. The war will be won or lost. And in time she will be made his wife– the thought weighs heavily in her stomach. A month. Can we hold King’s Landing for another month?

“You will be grateful for our Lord’s support when his army comes,” Torrehn Manderly says with a pointed look to Ulf.

Luke turns to a map, upright, carved with the landscape of the continent. It marks King’s Landing, Bitterbridge, Tumbleton, Harrenhal, Casterly Rock, The Twins, Winterfell.”

“What footing are we left with in the Riverlands? Does Sabitha Frey continue to besiege The Twins?”

“She will make quick work of it now,” Lord Celtigar says, “Jason Lannister will receive no relief from the Westerlands now that the Greyjoys are attacking from the sea. By all accounts, Lady Joanna has locked the gates of Casterly Rock and will wait out the raids.”

“The path through the Riverlands should be clear then,” Luke says. While the Lannisters are overwhelmed and Criston Cole’s men are scattered, the Blackwoods and the surviving men of the Riverlands are regrouping, readying to march south. 

“We’ll send a raven to Dalton Greyjoy and tell him that Queen Rhaenyra is thankful for his efforts,” Lord Corlys says.

“For raiding innocents at Lannisport?” Luke says.

“For keeping the Lannisters occupied, and so that we may focus our efforts where they are needed most.”

Her chest sinks. She cannot deny that the Greyjoy’s are doing them a service, and it surely cannot be worse than what the Triarchy did to Hull and Hightide. Fire for fire, blood for blood, an endless exchange. 

She moves to the map. Her fingers ghost over Storm’s End and Bitterbridge. “Our efforts must go towards ensuring the city’s defence,” she says.

“So we will sit and wait to anticipate an attack?” Lord Celtigar asks.

Doing otherwise was Aemond’s mistake when he held King’s Landing. Without Vhagar, the city was theirs to take. She will not repeat his shortcomings. She cannot afford to. “The throne is ours to defend. We keep our strength here.”

“The dragons,” Hugh says. The eyes of the lords fall upon him as if he has stated some sort of insult.

One dragon remains against their own and armies will burn easily enough.

“Ulf and Hugh, you will go to Tumbleton and ensure the town is defended. Daeron is a capable dragonrider, but he will not make the mistake to challenge Vermithor and Silverwing together now that he is vulnerable.”

The men exchange a curious look.

“If I may be so bold, Princess,” Hugh says, keeping his hands clasped in front of him, still wearing his riding leathers from his flight on Vermithor, his silver hair pulled out of his face. “As Queen Rhaenyra now holds King’s Landing, and we all have valiantly continued to defend her throne, one cannot help but wonder about his own standing.”

“Your standing?” Luke says.

Ulf takes a step forward now. “The realm is full of traitors, Princess; Hightowers, Baratheons, Lannisters. Did Prince Daemon not say he would see an end to their lines?”

“Do you fancy yourself a new Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Ser Ulf? And you?” she says to Hugh.

His face is not so severe, a little hesitant, but he finds his boldness. “I would have Highgarden.”

“Highgarden!” Lord Celtigar cries. “Now that is an ambition, when the Tyrells have sworn to take no part in this war?”

“The Lord of Highgarden is a boy, and his mother has sat idly while her bannermen have taken up arms against the true Queen,” Hugh says, only ever looking at Luke. “Would it not serve you better to have Lords who are loyal to you?”

Now she feels the eyes of the council upon her, men who need to respect her orders, her authority, her legitimacy. She slowly traces her steps back to the head of the table. “It would disturb the order of the world,” she says.

“And is that not precisely what we are?” Hugh says, letting his insinuation linger for just a moment too long, “us Dragonseeds? The Queen has established a new order, she did the moment she called upon us to claim the dragons.”

“You would do well to remember your place nevertheless,” Corlys says.

Ulf scoffs. “What of the place of your own bastards, my Lord? Would you remind them of their place?”

Addam shifts on his feet, a man with a gentle enough disposition, a fighter nonetheless. Nettles meets his eyes and shakes her head softly. All the men at the table are getting restless.

“Only the Queen has the power to grant you what you seek,” Luke says, “and alas, I am not the Queen.”

Hugh is a man of formidable strength, a blacksmith, with well worn hands that have bent metal to his will. He rides what is now the largest dragon in the world, he has the silver hair of his mother’s house, some might say the image of a King. 

Luke remains steadfast. She cannot afford to be anything less. If they all share the same blood then what distinguishes them? She is the daughter of the Queen. Out of right or circumstance, the gods, in their strange workings, have placed her at the head of this council.

Hugh’s shoulders soften. “When would you have us fly to Tumbleton, Princess?” he asks.

Luke ensures that he holds her gaze. “On the morrow. Perhaps the morning will be best.”

“Very well,” he says and strides from the room, Ulf trailing behind him like a dog.

Their business continues in a solemn quiet, as if they are gathered around a grave that no one dares to mention. 

Once the council has dispersed, Corlys remains seated and catches his granddaughter’s eye. “I do not trust those men,” he says. “They will keep pushing to see their demands met.”

“They command dragons,” Luke says. He knows as well as her, this cannot be undone.

After breakfast, Luke leads Joffrey down to the entrance yard. He takes up a small wooden sword and puts all his might into swinging at a stack of straw, occasionally corrected by Ser Lorent. He often makes the promise to himself that he’ll be as fierce a fighter as Jacaerys or Daemon. 

“You fight well, little knight,” Luke says when he has finally exhausted himself.

He frowns, knowing he’ll be wanted inside for his lessons, a venture he finds far more tedious than swordsmanship. “Couldn’t we stay out a while longer?”

“A Prince has other duties than battle,” she says.

“Couldn’t we go to the Dragonpit? Tyraxes must miss me terribly.”

The thought makes her heart sink. Tyraxes has spent his life on Dragonstone, by his rider’s side or roaming the Dragonmount. He is still young, grieved to be alone as all children are. 

“Perhaps another time.”

“Why not now?”

It can be heard in the sounds of the city. The markets are desolate. No food has come from the Reach since the outbreak of war. The Velaryon blockade has been lifted and allowed trade in from Essos, but the sea is depleted of fish and many in King’s Landing do not have the coin to pay for food. Ser Luthor Largent of the City Watch says the people of the city are becoming like dogs tearing each other apart for scraps.

Luke leads her brother back towards the Keep. “It is safer for us inside the castle walls. These are dangerous times.”

“But you still get to ride Grey Ghost.”

“Grey Ghost is wild. I do not think I could command him to go to the Dragon Pit if I tried.”

Joffrey’s head hangs as they climb the steps to the entrance hall. “Tyraxes doesn’t like to be apart from me.”

“You’ll be returned to him soon enough, I swear it.”

A distant roar pierces the air. On the battlements and beyond the walls are cries of “dragon!”

Joffrey clings to Luke’s side. She turns her gaze to the sky, unsure of what to expect.

“It is Vermithor and Silverwing!” a voice cries from the castle walls.

There is a sense of relief amongst the men, the scorpions positioned towards the sky are eased in their aim. The panic has dispersed but Luke’s grip on Joffrey’s hand tightens. On the morrow, she said, but Hugh and Ulf have brazenly disobeyed her orders. 

The doors open twice a day, once as Geradys enters, and again when he leaves. The guards watch Aemond from within their armour, hands on their swords. He stares back as if he knows he could kill them with his bare hands. At least they fear him.

Geradys sees to his wounds, brings him broth boiled from bones and gritty, dry bread. He has asked for proper meat only to be old there is none for him. He might as well starve, at least he would not have to have such a poor excuse for food pass his lips.

He is restless, pacing the room, lying in his bed, sitting on the edge of it and staring down at his hands. Sometimes he stands by the window to remind himself that there is life beyond the walls of this chamber. He counts the tiled roofs and watches people moving through the streets like Helaena watches her pets through the bars of their cages. By the time he left King’s Landing he was hated by the smallfolk. What of it? They are made to obey, to revere Kings and Princes. What sort of life can Rhaenyra offer them that he could not when he wore the crown?

Otherwise he has taken to tormenting himself to pass his hours of isolation, because all he can think of is Lucerra.

She is in the same castle as him, wandering the halls, making commands of those around her, her mother’s heir. Every time he hears footsteps outside his door he holds his breath, waiting to see if the door will open and if she will enter his room.

Days pass since that first night and she does not come.

At night, when he tells himself the gods will turn their eyes from him, he clutches his hand over his throat, imagining it is hers. He feels the weight of her on top of him and pictures her legs straddled on either side of his body. He traces his fingertips along the same path down his chest, over the array of bruises around his ribs, stomach and navel.

She had been so delicate, ghosting over his skin like a gentle breath. His lips had been so close to her. If he had not been so startled he might have kissed her. An unusual impulse, one he had entertained the night his father died, and then some.

He can picture that less clearly with time, her sighs of pleasure as she slowly gave into him, the heat of her tight, wet cunt around his fingers. It made sense, didn’t it? Everything she had taken from him, wasn’t he owed something from her? He supposes now they are far past the constant exchanging.

“How many dead?” Rhaenyra asks from her throne. She keeps her hands in her lap, shrinking into herself so no part of her skin can touch the blades she sits upon.

A matter of days into winter and the violence has already begun.

“We lost at least twenty men,” Ser Luthor says, helm under his arm and his gold cloak splattered with blood. “We anticipate perhaps a hundred smallfolk have lost their lives, either in the crush or at the hands of the city watch. There may be many more injured.”

Rhaenyra remains unchanged in the face of the tragedy, beautiful and cold.

The crown’s coffers were empty when they took the capital at the orders of Tyland Lannister, as he confessed under sharp questioning. He sent the gold to a number of Green strongholds and he is yet to admit exactly which. What does it matter where the gold is? If it is in the Reach or the Westerlands, they have no hope of retrieving it.

Daemon said from the outset, the city cannot be held without gold. The war cannot be fought without gold. 

Under Rhaenyra’s orders, tithes have been taken from the people of King’s Landing and the rest of the Crownlands, gold, weapons and armour, food, livestock for the dragons, all in the name of protecting the realm, ending the war, defending the throne.

This is what it has come to. A cart containing stores of grain and enough gold to pay Rhaenyra’s men-at-arms had been brought through the city and the people descended upon it like vultures to a carcass, only there were more than scraps to be had, more than slivers of rotten flesh clinging to bones. Not even the horses had been spared, ripped apart for their meat in the frenzy.

“How can the captains of the city watch have allowed this to happen?” Corlys demands, standing at the foot of the throne. Luke stands beside him.

“My Lord, we are commanded to bring order to the city. Those who attacked the cart were not deterred by our threats. Something had to be done.”

“And you chose to deal them death,” Corlys says.

“We did what we could to protect the crown’s property.”

Corlys brings his hands in front of him in defeat and disgust. He turns to the Queen and says with no amount of subtlety, “this cannot go unanswered.”

Rhaenyra turns her head, her eyes full of fire. “I will put this right by ending the war.”

As the court is dismissed and disperses, Corlys leans into Luke’s ear and hisses, “a war she herself refuses to fight.”

An uncertain feeling flashes through her heart. Corlys’ doubt feels like a betrayal. “You would not suggest our Queen put her own life at risk, I hope,” she says gravely, carrying a warning in her voice.

He gives her a questioning look. “My ships still defend the city, my men are sworn to the true Queen.”

“And with your support, we shall prevail,” she says.

Rhaenyra descends the steps of the throne, the crown set upon her head, her gown heavy and scaled like the hide of a dragon, save for a cut of red fabric in the skirts, like a tear through flesh. “Come, daughter,” she says solemnly, reaching out her hand for Luke to take.

With a final look to her grandfather, and a check to make sure Ser Lorent was indeed out of earshot of their musings, Luke obeys her mother.

They walk through the castle and return to the Queen’s chambers. A handmaiden waits to remove Rhaenyra’s crown. She cannot get it off fast enough, nor her gold rings and her heavy necklace while Luke waits by the door.

“You sent Vermithor and Silverwing from King’s Landing,” Rhaenyra says.

“The Hightowers took Bitterbridge. They could be weeks way. Hugh and Ulf will hold Tumbleton and deter the approaching army.”

Rhaenyra says nothing, taking a seat at a desk by the window, facing the daylight.

“Seasmoke and Grey Ghost will defend the city well enough if Daeron tries to attack, but he will not risk it I think, not without an army.”

“What of our army?”

Luke hesitates, unsure of what Rhaenyra will know, how far she has been briefed by Corlys or maester Geradys. “Cregan Stark has left Winterfell, the Rivermen are regrouping. I thought I might send Nettles and Sheepstealer north to encourage our allies.”

Her mother has been silent for days, even a simple hum of agreement feels like a victory.

“And Baela remains on Dragonstone, we could easily summon her should we need another dragon.” In her mind it all comes together easily, as long as their allies do not delay, as long as the Baratheons continue to wait, as long as they have the dragons, as long as the city holds.

There’s a nauseating feeling in her stomach, the scent of blood lingering in her nose. Blood on a golden cloak. Blood stains at the foot of the Iron Throne. 

“You are so like your brother,”

Something inside of her shatters, crumbling foundations. The space behind her eyes burns but her hands are cold and the grip she has learned to have on her own mourning slips through her fingers like water.

“He was like this too. When you were gone he knew what to do. How did he know what to do? He was scarcely a man, he had seen no battles or wars.” When Rhaenyra looks over her shoulder, the dying daylight burns like a fire behind her, catching in her silver hair. “The two of you, so pragmatic.”

Luke took no fall for Jace, no sword in her gut. No fire burned her to charred remains. Her skin was not left bruised after he died, but the pain has lingered for far longer than any other she has known. She can’t stand it, the anger it fuels. Why remind me? Why remind me he is dead?

“You should meet with the Small Council on the morrow, mother. Your Lords may begin to rue your absence.” They already have.

Rhaenyra’s silhouette against the light does not seem to shift. 

Geradys comes as he always does. Aemond drinks the vile bone broth and forces stale bread down his throat. His bandages are changed, some strong smelling oil placed on his temples, honey lathered over the cut on his lip.

Then he is instructed to stand, to raise his arms as though a squire is about to dress him in armour. Instead he winces at the aching in his chest. Geradys pats his hands around the bandages. “You are making progress, I think. How is the pain?”

It is easing, little by little. “Tolerable,” Aemond says.

When night comes and he is alone, he waits for sleep to claim him so he can see the faces of his family, but even his dreams have abandoned him now. He is restless for hours, fading in and out of darkness until the first glimpses of sunrise.

What would Alys say to that, dreamless sleep? She might say the gods have forsaken him. She might say he is nothing now, a being of purely organic existence, mechanical like the life of an insect, an animal kept captive.

But what did any of his dreams mean to her? “Retribution will come with fire and fury,” she said, but in the end she meant it to come at the point of a knife wielded by her own hands. Why? Why taunt him with her visions? Why had he allowed himself to be tempted?

He had thought it meant Lucerra. If anyone should claim retribution in the ending of his life, surely it would be her.

He is not absolved and he knows this, but perhaps he has outlived his usefulness. Helaena and his mother are in the same castle as him and now their enduring lives are a matter of strategy, as Lucerra had made clear. In a silent prayer to the Seven, he wishes– begs that his brother can stay hidden, dead or alive. Just until Aemond can regain his strength, until he can fight his way out of this room, or to find some other advantage.

Since when did a locked door render him powerless?

There are two people left in the Red Keep who may know where Aegon is. 

Alicent Hightower stays in her chambers. Rhaenyra allows her to keep a Septa in her company and the guards say she does nothing but weep and pray. Maester Geradys says her knees are bloody and bruised where she kneels on the stone floor, clutching a pendant of the seven pointed star until that too pricks at the flesh of her palms. 

When Luke enters Helaena’s chambers the air is stone cold. No fire is lit despite the turning weather. Helaena sits on the floor amongst a collection of pillows and furs, deeply concentrated on a piece of embroidery. When she hears footsteps, her head lifts to the door, eyes are wide and more alert than they have been for months. “You’ve come to ask something of me,” she says.

The air of the room is fragile. Luke’s heart races in her chest knowing what her question will bring. She steps towards Helaena cautiously, smiling as kindly as she can, lowering herself to sit beside her.

Helaena’s hands are frozen in her work, sewing black thread into green and gold fabric, in a pattern like winged insects.

“I wish to know how you are,” Luke says.

Helaena tilts her head. Her lips are fallen and her brow is focused. Luke had never thought there was much of a resemblance between her mother and her aunt, and now she sees it. “Last night I dreamt that my son was in my arms. I rocked him though he was already sleeping and when I placed my fingers against his cheek, his skin was cold.”

“Do you know where Maelor is?”

Helaena presses her lips together. Her eyes have dropped to the fabric in her hands and she shakes her head.

“Did someone take him from you?”

“I cannot say,” she picks up her embroidery with trembling hands, tracing her fingers over the black thread. “He wasn’t with me. I couldn’t bear to look at him, not after– all I’d see when I looked at him was blood.”

After the twins, after she watched them die.

“Rhaenyra has called for his return to the Red Keep. It is our hope he will be returned to you.”

Helaena snatches her hand around Luke’s wrist. Her grip is fierce and unrelenting. It hurts and all Luke can do is look at her reddened, glistening eyes. “You’re lying.”

“Helaena, If it is in my power, I will see your son kept safe.”

“But I saw…” she frowns to herself, dragging her hands over her eyes to dry them. “Perhaps I have been mistaken.”

“Your dreams,” Luke says. Blood and water, green and black, blue and green, dragons and ghosts. The trail of blood.

“I cannot make sense of them sometimes. I saw the rats, I knew they’d want the boy but they took both.”

“When you dreamt of Maelor, where were you?”

“I saw Aemond’s death, I saw him swallowed up in the God’s Eye, and yet you tell me he is alive. I saw you at the Weirwood, with that woman, the Rivers woman.”

“Heleana please,”

“Do you think I would direct you to him even if I knew where he was?” she says sadly, sharply.

It takes Luke by surprise. “I swear, I would never wish harm upon him.”

“His life is a threat to your mother’s rule. Perhaps you would not seek to hurt him, he is only a child, he is your kin, but Rhaenyra has claimed the lives of two of my children already.”

“She never meant for them to die.”

“Should I not grieve them then?”

Luke can hardly find breath to speak. “Yes, yes of course you should. They were children.”

“But you didn’t come here to mourn Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. And if you seek Maelor then you seek his father.”

Luke knows she shouldn’t press her. She loathes herself, her own cruelty to torment her aunt in the face of her grief.

Helaena frowns, but then all the rage and sadness fades from her face. She looks to Luke with such honesty and sincerity. Her voice is a harsh whisper. “Aegon will be King again. He is yet to see victory.” 

Luke had not thought Helaena capable of bluffing. She could be lying. Her dreams could have misled her. She could have said it in a moment of anger, of desperation. What does she have left? She doesn't even know where her last remaining child is, if he is safe, if he is dead or alive. 

She leaves Helaena to her embroidery. The winged insects were flies, she realises.

What Helaena said cannot be true. Rhaenyra has seven fighting dragons at her disposal. Their allies are marching. The Hightowers may be inching closer to King’s Landing but the rest of the Green forces are scattered. Their King is missing, their Regent is her prisoner…

Her skin tightens at the very thought of seeing him again, braving that confining little chamber once more. To feel his eye burning into her.

But who would be able to make sense of Helaena’s musings better than her brother?

No taglist, follow @ficsbygee and turn on post notifs for updates <3

[atopvisenyashill]

Do Aegon and Aemond show/have any personal interest in Rhaenyra because she exudes a nurturing presence, given that both seem to seek that type of comfort in their lives?

hmmmmmmmm.

For Aemond, in both books and show, i think the answer is no. I think Aemond is very just massively bogged down in this very black and white view of the world and unwilling to see shades of gray. Things that are part of the natural order and tradition are right and you must do anything and everything to keep things right; any wrong you do is forgiven because you are attempting to get back to The Correct Order. Any deviance from that order should be swiftly punished. And of course, he sees himself as the sole arbitrator of what is good and what is bad. This is why he's so fixated on Daemon; I think he sees Daemon's ability to be confident, to rise high, to remain influential despite being second born as incredibly impressive and wants to emulate it, but in The Good Way because Daemon Is Bad.

Aemond is play-acting at a story where he's the hero and Daemon is his shadow self and has tunnel vision; I genuinely don't think he thinks about Rhaenyra much at all beyond thinking of her as the Whore to his mother (and helaena's) Madonna. He doesn't think her of a mother any more than he thinks of her as a woman, really. She's simply The Enemy, simply Rhaenyra the Whore, the Cunny Queen.

For Aegon that's a bit more complicated. In the books, I think there's an implication there that Aegon has a bit of a latent fascination there. Most of his ire is directed at her sons and not Rhaenyra himself - he takes issue with Jacaerys dancing with Helaena, he fights with the boys during practice, etc - and the few bits of dialogue we get are often Aegon speaking about Rhaenyra:

Moreover, the prince at first refused to be a part of his mother’s plans. “My sister is the heir, not me,” he says in Eustace’s account. “What sort of brother steals his sister’s birthright?” Only when Ser Criston convinced him that the princess must surely execute him and his brothers should she don the crown did Aegon waver. “Whilst any trueborn Targaryen yet lives, no Strong can ever hope to sit the Iron Throne,” Cole said. “Rhaenyra has no choice but to take your heads if she wishes her bastards to rule after her.” It was this, and only this, that persuaded Aegon to accept the crown that the small council was offering him, insists our gentle septon.

Aegon II was two-and-twenty, quick to anger and slow to forgive. Rhaenyra’s refusal to accept his rule enraged him. “I offered her an honorable peace, and the whore spat in my face,” he declared. “What happens next is on her own head.”

“Sister,” he called down from a balcony. Unable to walk, or even stand, he had been carried there in a chair. The hip shattered at Rook’s Rest had left Aegon bent and twisted, his once-handsome features had grown puffy from milk of the poppy, and burn scars covered half his body. Yet Rhaenyra knew him at once, and said, “Dear brother. I had hoped that you were dead.” “After you,” Aegon answered. “You are the elder.” “I am pleased to know that you remember that,” Rhaenyra answered.

There's something here I think. An even more twisted version of Daemon's issues with Viserys, a sort of mirror to Viserys III and Dany. A fascination with her, at what might have been between them if they were a bit closer in age, if Viserys had been less stubborn and short sighted. There's a hatred here that I think is rooted in the fact that they could have married, that she could have been his. I suppose it's more of an implication than anything, but I do think that yes, Aegon is fascinated with Rhaenyra, drawn to her a bit, and some of his hostility towards her sons is this sort of "if she had married me they'd be trueborn and we wouldn't have this problem" idea, as a bit of a mirror to Daemon and Viserys being very aware that if Daemon was a girl they could have married.

The show is where, imo, you get into Aegon being attracted to her because Rhaenyra very much identifies herself as a Loving Mother to the outside world; she even specifically points to the rumors about her sons when she's talking to Mysaria as one of the points against her. The whole show is very focused on motherhood, especially (imo) on mothers and their sons; and again while Aemond's story is more preoccupied with his own mother, there's this implication between Rhaenyra and Aegon here. He feels like he can never measure up to Rhaenyra, who is perfect in every way - Viserys loved her more and of course he did because Rhaenyra is a kind mother to all her children, has a loyal husband willing to go batshit insane for her at a moment's notice, has this sort of easiness about her that he is incapable of emulating. During the dinner scene in season 1, there's several points where you can see Aegon clearly staring at her and Daemon. In the carriage scene with Alicent, he is very fixated on the fact that Viserys never liked him. Then, in season 2, a lot of his crumbling comes when he is unable to measure up to that Kingly Ideal (while Rhaenyra is in the middle of rising to it). There's that conversation with Larys where Aegon calls himself the realm's delight, which was what Rhaenyra is called.

I think not dissimilar to Daemon, Aegon has an incredibly hard time sorting through his feelings and drawing lines between different sorts of emotions. Married to one sister and deeply aware that he almost married the other. Constantly reaching out emotionally to a mother that is incapable of connecting to him despite her clear connection to Helaena (the sister he didn't want to marry) and her fondness for Rhaenyra (the sister he almost married). I think he looks at the way Rhaenyra's children and stepchildren all seemingly get along and support each other and feels like That Should Have Been Him. His longing is not for power but emotional intimacy, yet he is incapable of connecting to and understanding the vulnerabilities of the people he wants to be emotionally intimate with; he doesn't understand why his mother hates him for raping Dyana, he doesn't understand why Aemond hates him for all the teasing, he can't bring himself to connect to Helaena because he resents their marriage, he can barely bring himself to connect to his own kids! I think this deep longing for love really manifests itself as hatred towards Rhaenyra; the line between passion and hate is very thin after all!

[therealslimshakespeare]

My Mother’s Child

Fandom: House of the Dragon, GRRM’s Fire and Blood

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: im a sucker for any GRRM universe and setting but after the recent release of the trailer for House of the Dragon’s second season I can’t quite contain the muses. So here is my self indulgent spillage of thoughts i entertained while watching the first. Perhaps growing up obsessed with Greek Myths, Shakespeare Anti-heroes and Renaissance families took its toll on my moral fascinations but the minute I see a codependent dynamic in a brutally restricted society I go a little nutty on the psycho-analysis and then it turns to feelings and then it turns to fiction.

Timeline: I’ve entirely had my wicked way with events and outcomes, nothing is critically pertinent but Aemond’s time in the Riverlands is changed, the time of Maelor’s birth is fudged, Aemond doesn’t die but is recalled to be regent again after Aegon’s demise, I’ve really no clue which of the Blacks are alive but the gist of it is the war has gone in favor of the Greens for the most part and now Aemond can come into his Crafty Uncle Richard III Regent era while obsessing over his pretty mom. Cheers.

Authors Note: im in no way romanticizing or advocating for the universe typical incest, warped relationships, casual murder, deranged intentions or the dire outcome portrayed of a stunted mother’s dependence on her worrisomely dependable son. Not proof read, have mercy on my tired eyes. Specific warnings below the cut:

Warnings: 18+, dead dove do not eat -thematically disturbing. An exploration of Alicent’s dependence on Aemond during his regency and beyond, undertones of attraction on Aemond’s part and submission to him on Alicent’s, combined with their delusional domesticity by coparenting little Maelor may disturb some. There is some physical touch that Aemond makes weird, his impure thoughts that are blamed on Targaryen tendencies, his recollections of sleeping in her bed as a child, him fucking Alys Rivers and imagining his mom sorta? along with sending Alicent his cum stained letters, calling Maelor “their boy” as if they are his parents, open ending suggesting a potential escalation in the dynamic. I tried to keep this as in character as possible so these warnings sound far more stark and crass than I hope the actual fic reads

It was Aemond sent to fetch his wayward brother, it was Aemond relied upon to soothe his sister, it was Aemond who absorbed Ser Criston Cole’s teaching, it was Aemond who stood any chance of gaining Otto Hightower’s commendation and through it some crumb of praise for the produce of poor, weary, teary eyed Alicent Hightower.

It was little more responsibility for Aemond Targaryen to quickly become the closest thing his mother had to a bosom friend by the time of his maturity, easily adding so weighty a role to those he already held as Lord Regent, terror of the realm, kinslayer and learned heir. It came as naturally to him as had filling each of its predecessors.

Whatever hopeless compulsion, dragon bound and magic made, to be loyal to his family that already ran in his poisoned blood, it was only ever magnified by the sight of his mother’s dutiful martyrdom, year after year bleeding herself out -and all the while not a soul to staunch the wound but him. Surely her husband the King only made it larger with each neglect or attention he paid her, and Aegon had long since been the sour fruit of a painful initiation. Helaena for reasons as gentle as they were cruel could not bear her own mother’s company -nor was the realm that sweet daughter lived in that of the Seven Kingdoms, where Alicent spent her every waking moment dwelling on and maneuvering for her boy King. Helaena lived in dreams and lived to avoid dreams and all Alicent had were harsh realities and dreams so trodden under the march of time that they resembled very little to their former selves by the retelling.

Aemond lived in the bridge between the two women of his house. There were dear to him the cherished traditions of Old Valyria and also, there were crucial to him the pressing matters of harvest and uprising and famine and the throne of Westeros.

He too lived in the Seven Kingdoms, he was practically their king, and like the manner in which he had long led this family by innate authority, such a role came naturally to him, as did sitting by the hearth in his mother's antechamber each evening, a recreation of the way he had stayed with her night after night in the wake of Driftmark, and discussing with her the petitions of the day, outcomes whose decisions needed making before dawn and hopes for the future.

Aemond felt close to her then, and dismal though the Kingdom’s prospects often felt, between the two of them there was calm in these moments. For once in his life Aemond did not find himself chafing under its soothing influence, but instead he would match her in her reclining, legs spread wide in his chair and silver head tilted to rest on the gilt chair, their hands near to brushing and let the connection grow until he wondered if he too were a dreamer and could know her inner thoughts, know her bewilderment and also her relief when he took from her the weight of the day with his sober companionship.

It felt odd parting in the evenings after these talks, what had once been a ritual of her comforting his painful wound in his youth and holding him close through the nighttime terror now felt necessary to be repeated as cure from her own dejection. Only her last remaining grandson Maelor provided some support to Alicent, she herself a child grown old using her own children to soothe herself.

Aemond saw to it that Maelor was brought often to their evening chats, a docile boy with an intense interest in blocks, he was no distraction from their more weighty discussions but when the evening grew late and the moon high and Aemond’s better judgment waned at the soft sight of his mother’s tender form and unguarded appreciation for his presence by her side, there was Maelor to place in her arms in instead of himself, and there was Maelor to pat her arms and lay upon her breast and enjoy the uncomplicated devotion of a mother that Aemond had never known.

Perhaps if his father the King had even once played the role of father, Aemond would not have spent his childhood clasped to that soft bosom while pretending he were the one being comforted by it and not her. He was older now and he had read of such dynamics, he had read of myths and scandals, Maester’s studies of the codependent phenomenon that blurs the line between each familial role. Childlike herself, his mother deserved not another man to have designs on her but a child, a true child she could dote upon and cuddle at night and a good son to tell her,

“You are weary, come, I’ll walk you to bed. Nevermind his blanket, I have it.”

and so it was Maelor who lay with her, Maelor who delighted her, Maelor who took up the space that had last been Aemond’s under her left arm. Only Aemond now allowed himself the task of tucking the furs about them both and stroking the tear tracks off her cheek, leaning down to kiss her forehead as she had dreamed of her own father doing. And then, Aemond betook himself to his own chambers laden with her burdens and his own and fell into the bedding with pleasure in his heart at having been entrusted with the wearisome load.

It continued thus in a pleasurable routine until the Riverlands called for his attention. Aegon was propped up, scarred and dim, on his neglected throne and Alicent was made Protector of the Realm and immediately thereafter Aemond found himself in the courtyard, Vhaegar waiting for him to mount and lead the reinforcements.

As Aemond pressed his thin lips to mother’s forehead in farewell for the duration of a long campaign, little Maelor who was in her arms laid hold of Aemond’s silver locks and seized them tightly during the moment between mother and son, holding the prince hostage a bit longer, for a moment nearer,

“dada.” -the infant nephew babbled to his uncle Aemond for a kiss of his own and to judge by Alicent’s alarmed expression, Aemond’s enforced separation from this little family they had made of a year’s evenings could not have come a moment too soon.

It haunted him, that flash of horror on his mother’s face at an infant’s small confusion. It brought back a seething reproach against her for all the times she’d never understood him, all the times she had raged against his very nature as a Dragon, holding him up with disgust and pride all at once until his head spun with it and he had learned to dance to her every whim, now the devout follower of Old Town and now the noble Dragon whose rights were being denied.

But woe to him should he be one or the other when it did not suit her. She thought his innate longing for a dragon to be imbecilic when he was young and yet she glowed with pride when he called out those Strong bastards for being anything but pure blooded dragons themselves.

As always with her duty, she hated herself for its outcome yet chose to cloak herself in pride for her sacrifices. His very existence, those of his siblings too, was sacrifice, his very bloodline and nature was an abomination against her faith, his impulses were beastly however much he took her principles to heart, and his tastes remained strange no matter how stifled her own had long remained.

But she had made him. How dare she be repulsed by her own creation.

Prince Aemond’s ire burned through him and suited the needs of war far better than kinder feelings of pining for hearth and home, so he stayed angry with his mother at each hack and hewing of his blade, each swath of farmland he burnt and every ill organized column of traitor levys he annihilated.

Capable, he is the capable son and his mother writes to him thanking him for it and he crushes the missive in his hand before regret surges after and he strokes the parchment flat again on his desk with all the revernace of a lover for his beloved’s skin.

He is kinder the parchment than he is to Alys Rivers.

Alys who is older and smart and wicked, who never once flinches at his nature, who accepts the ruthless pace of his hips and the mauling of his mouth with her own vigor, Alys who he swears to himself is a wartime necessity, the humors most flow somewhere and if he is to bleed he must also spill and she is there and trustworthy and her aura reminds in the moments after pain, warm arms holding him tight on his right side lest he roll on his wounded eye in sleep. The eye does not throb in that raw way any longer, it is a dull and perpetual ache he can expect to remain with him for all time, but the longing for such comfort remains and he lays atop Alys’ matronly breast often for longer than his daylight-sobered self can countenance.

He writes of her to his mother, to grieve her with his sin as much as not to withhold anything from her, he has not before and why should he now? Her reply is stifled and terse in regards to his admission, barely even a line and he must squint to decipher wether it pertains to the subject he is most anxious to hear from her about. But as he thumbs the well familiar scrawl of her pen he can imagine the set of her mouth and the pleading of her eyes, so different from true distress, no, instead it is the girlish patheticness she plays at, despite its lack of success all these years and how the same years have robbed her of the youthful vulnerability that once made men take notice of it.

Only Aemond remains affected by it, and he finds it so deliciously false that he teases it out of her as a treat for himself on occasion. Aegon may have it whenever he sees fit, though being a fool he thinks every crease to her forehead is that of genuine concern. Aemond’s knows her better than that, and sees her pouting eyes come through the written admonition to “keep himself in good company”.

He smirks at Alys when she enters his tent and finds him rolling up the motherly advice. He ploughs her atop the volumes of communication his dear mother has sent him during this campaign and the parchment he sends back to her with his report next morning is stained.

Aemond doesn’t need to hope that she smells his letters for sweat and smoke the same way he smells hers for rosewater and thyme. He knows she does, he has caught them under her pillow and in her pockets when returning to the Keep, time and again, without warning. He knows she prays for him to outlive them all and he knows she will kiss the stains she mistakes for tears. A holy horror fills him at the satisfaction that thought brings, and after it has taken root he cannot find it in himself to enjoy Alys’ cheerful vigor any longer or the dark appetites they once shared. She is too eager, she is too unabashed, there is too little shame for his taste.

Alys is a whore and Aemond longs for the droopy eyed piety of his mother’s face when he tucks her abed, the melancholy contentment of his dutiful care for her and the mislaid trust that she has domesticated her little dragonling to the faith of the seven, her plaint limbed trust that the Warrior and Mother would never meet in the throes of burning want that consume him.

When his task is done, or near to done in these rebellious lands, and a call comes of his brother’s failing health, Aegon mounts Vheagar a disillusioned man, flying high and away above the wreckage he has committed and leaving behind the last Strong bastard dead as promised.

Alicent’s son is a man fully grown when he alights in the courtyard, long limbed and toned from his wartime deprivations, the set of his jaw remains firm but his gait is looser, there is a confidence in bloom now that was only budding before he left. Alicent cannot hide her joy at seeing him again, her pace is faster than is strictly proper as she breaks ranks of the welcoming party to greet him -it is her right as reigning regent.

As his mother.

She clasps his hands and feels his strong fingers engulf her forearms, tugging her nearer in an almost playful fashion -the action suits his new demeanor of confidence but it hardly suits the action of a son greeting his mother.

“Muña,” his rich voice murmurs to her as he stares down at her with not a bit of the usual softening in his sharp features, his lips quirk and his eyes sharply plumb through the depths of her own, “I am come home, as you asked.”

Unnerved by his intensity, Alicent gives him a trembling smile, watery eyes darting from one dear feature in that ethereal face to the next -it is the war terrors, perhaps, that have him so ardent in his tone and grip, men often come back from battle strung taut.

“Then we are safe.” she sighs, meaning it for their family even as her own heart quickens in vague misgiving.

“Maelor?” he questions, not even bothering to ask after the current king, his blood brother, it is the infant he has already fashioned into a surrogate son that interests him now.

“Is well.” his mother glows at the mention of the babe, “Growing and talking more each week.”

“And his mother?” Aemond asks with a soft light in his face as he ducks to meet her eye to eye, and Alicent knows he does not mean the poor Helaena gone mad in the tower, he means Alicent.

“Well enough.” She insists with all the age-old weariness that suggests, and is meant to inform him, otherwise.

Aemond’s jaw ticks in recognition of the old habit, his mother lies often for so pious a woman and she manipulates even more frequently for so devout a defender of the truth. It is a child’s tactic and he knows it, and that fury over it that had filled him in his days in the Riverlands surges back in another form, he feels a superiority in that moment even as he is being played by her weary pout and soft hands.

It is a woman’s way of asking a man to carry her load, to disarm her of her duties, to take from her the pretense of capability and taste for ruling.

Aemond’s conflict for such a role died somewhere with Alys in the Riverlands, by his own hand, in his own bed, his mother’s last letter dancing before his sightless eye. It is with confidence and entitlement that he glides his hands down her shapely arms and takes her hands in his, weighing them between them as she watches in surprise. He thumbs over the knuckles before splaying them out in his much larger palms and running a forefinger over the mangled cuticles.

“Mmm, not well enough for my liking, judging by this.” he remarks and when she goes to snatch the evidence of her worry away he clasps them stronger until it is an undeniable struggle for her to take them back -one he denies with an iron grip and a patronizing smile that she has only ever seen Aegon receive from him. “Those days are over, munta, we will have peace and plenty now.” he drags her stiff arm through his own and turns them towards the entrance of the Keep, patting the sore fingers laying on his arm, “And I’ll have no more of…this.”

Dazed, Alicent allows him to lead her through the great doors and into the colossal tomb that has been her children's home, she stares up at the familiar face of her third born in the light of the grand hall’s torches and marvels at the comfort one existence can bring another. Just as she fears the firm hold on her hand and heeds the temptation she feels to obey a man child she should be governing. These thoughts are put to flight when Aemond halts and turns to her warmly, no sneer remaining and no cold authority left when he whispers excitedly,

“Will you take me to our boy?”

The instant awareness of his meaning, that he means his nephew, that he means her grandson, that he means the future king, that he means Maelor -it sickens her how natural her impulse is to smile back at Aemond’s oddly paternal expression, to lead him back to her antechambers and reunite the little family they made before the war called him and that witch possessed the son Alicent had so lovingly made pure and noble in her belly. It is balm to hear him grown and saying that they are one again, that she is paramount in his life once more, that together they have made something gentler and better than any bastard lovechild conceived in wartime.

“Come.” Alicent urges her son, taking his scarred hand in her soft one as she had a million times before to lead him to the Sept. Yet this time, Alicent leads Aemond to her rooms and the cradle of their future King.

[collegeboysam]

i'm OBSESSED with ur lucemond fic i loveeee it! please please PLEASE tell me cregan and dalton will be in the list of prospects that will be courting luke. ur jealous aemond is my favorite and can imagine it so well :)

AHHH 🥰🥰 Thank you so so much for reading my fic and for the lovely ask, I'm happy you're enjoying the story <3 getting Aemond right feels like the best compliment ever AND a relief at the same time.

Jealous Aemond is sooooo fun to write, since he's obviosly half in denial about his attraction for Luke, thinks he's better than everyone else, terrible at sharing in general and too competitive to see the betrothing season as anything but a challenge he must out-smart to get what he's "owed". Perfect mix to have the guy chewing glass at the idea of Lucerys marrying some fucker.

I actually got asked the same thing on ao3, particullarly about Dalton, so I'll give you a bit of a spoiler (I guess you could call it that.)

Dalton appears and he 100% has plans to be added to the poll of suitors. His situation is particular, since they practice polygamy in the Iron Islands and marrying Lucerys would not affect his line of succession, he has saltwives for that. And there's something in particular he gains out of tying himself to Lucerys, much to Aemond's annoyance, since he has dealt with Dalton's ass before as Master of Law (since, you know...Dalton, raids, kidnapping women...the two of them have had issues before) and he knows Dalton is different from other highborns, he doesn't play by the rules, harder to deal with (impossible to get rid of, etc.)

Luke sure has a talent to be a magnet for blood-thirsty psychos. Good for him, since he's obviosly lowkey into it.

Cregan appears in the story but he cannot be one of Lucery's suitors. He's the head of House Stark at this point in time, he needs to produce heirs and so on. In this AU him and Jace have the same arrangement they initially strike in the book, where one of Cregan's eventual kids will marry one of Jace and Baela's. Lucerys has been to the North before a couple of times since Cregan and Jacaerys are such good friends, etc. So, does Cregan appear in later chapters anyway? YES lmao. Mostly to piss Aemond off, even if he has no intention to pursuit Luke, since his pressence annoys Aemond regardless (as most men who appear will annoy him). He knows well Cregan cannot marry Lucerys, but it irks him deeply that Luke behaves almost like a puppy with Cregan (old habits die hard, he always wanted to tag along with Jacaerys when he went to Winterfell when they were younger, bit of a hero complex there.)

Now if I might give you a hint, since Cregan cannot be...perhaps Martell? Dorne is quite accepting of same sex relationships after all 😏😈

[blakeswritingimagines]

Stupid Cupid

Summary: Happy Reader ending with different boys from Burn The House Down

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

Jacaerys:

He would start off by trying to gain your trust, as a friend. He would take a keen interest in your hobbies, while subtly insinuating that he has an interest in you romantically. Over time, he would begin to shower you with compliments, make you feel special, and gradually erode your Aemond's influence over you. He would be patient, waiting for the right moment to make his move. Once he has sufficiently weakened your relationship with Aemond, he will begin to undermine your faith in him and encourage you to leave him. He would make you want him and want to be with him. He would exploit your weaknesses and use your vulnerabilities against you. Once you are sufficiently isolated and emotionally dependent on him, he will make his move. Once you were firmly under his control, he would convince you to leave Aemond for him. He would promise to give you everything you could ever want or need and would offer you a life of luxury and privilege. He would make you dependent on him, creating a situation where it would be impossible for you to leave him. He would make you his, and his alone.

Harwin:

Knowing that Aemond Targaryen was a man with a strange attachment to you. Even though you no longer hold his affection, he refuses to rid himself of that burden, for reasons unknown. In order to steal you, the first step would be to find some leverage. This could be a scandal, blackmail, or a simple show of affection. Once there is a weakness, he exploits it. Making himself seem like a better option than Aemond. Slowly, you will have no choice but to abandon him, Once you have been wooed, the next step is to find a way to remove Aemond. This could be arranged in a myriad of ways, but preferably one that does not directly involve you knowing he's behind it. Poison, a fall, or a convenient outbreak of a plague, are all viable options. This will cement him as the only man in your life, and you can enjoy his affection unimpeded.

Daemon:

He would start by gaining your trust and being a shoulder to cry on. He would be there to comfort you when you are at your most vulnerable and use that time to plant seeds of doubt about the validity of your relationship with Aemond. He would continue to slowly isolate you from him and gaslight you into believing that Aemond is the source of all your problems. If you didn't wise up he would start to create false evidence of an infidelity and feed it to the appropriate sources. Then, when all is said and done he would make his move to "rescue" you from him. Once he has you in his clutches he would gradually start to alienate you from any friends and family you might have, as well as convince you to drop any social commitments that you have outside of him. He would create a scenario where he would be the only one you could rely on and thus you would have no choice but to put all your trust in him. Then, once he has completely isolated you from other people and activities he would start to subtly manipulate you into believing that your life and the things you know and love are meaningless apart from him and that you are not capable of being happy without him.

Cregan:

He will first befriend you and your circle of friends, and then he will gain their trust and manipulate them into believing that Aemond is an abusive neglectful husband and father. He will start a campaign of rumors that the children are not actually his own flesh and blood but have been conceived through other men and he will plant evidence to make these allegations seem true. Once he has fully isolated you, he will swoop in as the hero who is there to save you and your children from Aemond’s abuse, leading you to embrace him as your only true love. He will convince you that your life with him will be a romantic wonderland where you get to live happily ever after and escape all of the terrible things happening in Westeros. He will assure you that his love is all you need to make you truly happy and that you will never have to worry about anything again.

Criston:

As a yandere who has been obsessing over Aemond's wife ever since he was turned down by Rhaenyra, one possible way to steal you could be through a slow, calculated, and strategic plan. Perhaps you could begin by secretly sending small gifts or even letters to you, slowly but subtly hinting that he would be a much better husband and partner than Aemond. Once he's gained your trust, there are several schemes he could potentially use to finally convince you to leave Aemond and accept him as your rightful husband.

[eternallytired17]

Find the Word

Rules: Share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

Thank you @johnslittlespoon for the tag!

My Words: heart, choke, teeth, sun

Your Words: glass, ache, chest, voice

Heart:

“Did I not do everything in my power to ensure that you were cared for? Did I not give you every aspect of my being, my heart, only for you to throw it to the wayside and leave with Rhaenyra at the first opportunity? What could she give you that I could not?” “The love I deserved!” Viserra exclaimed as she rounded on her mother, fire burning in her eyes. “She loves her children unconditionally. She loves me unconditionally. I tried so hard to please you, to make you love me, but you were so preoccupied with rumours of Rhaenyra’s children’s legitimacy that you failed to see that your own children were in need of your attention.” House of the Dragon Aemond/OC wip (that I haven't touched in almost a year, but wrote tons for)

Choke:

“I’m not so sure. You behaved in such a poor manner earlier.” Gale said, having to roughly jostle John when the man let out a choked out cry and struggled hard against his bonds at the prospect of being denied. John was so tightly strung, balancing on the precipice, the only thing holding him back was the desire to please the beautiful angel holding him captive. Amongst the Vines - ao3

Teeth:

Gale mouthed at John’s collarbone, his teeth biting down on the taut skin. He wished to leave a lasting mark. Even though the rest of the Ton would never see the marks he left, their very existence would nevertheless signal to the universe that John was his, and his alone. Quill and Ink - Upcoming Masters of the Air/Bridgerton wip

Sun:

Now able to see him properly under the light of the moon, John’s heart beat faster against his ribcage. He knew if he ever said it aloud, Gale would turn red and brush him off, but Gale truly was beautiful. His full and soft lips that curled up subtly at the corners; the freckles dotted upon his cheek, even more defined against his skin after his time in the sun; and those baby blue eyes… Under Gale’s piercing gaze, John’s legs felt about ready to give up beneath him. Amongst the Vines - ao3

I'm nervous about this, but whatever.

Tagging @swifty-fox @sig-nifier and @hogans-heroes if you'd like, and anyone else who'd like to participate.

[ceoofhelaegon]

Idc how popular/unpopular this opinion is but Helaegon in the show deserves to be portrayed as a complex relationship and not as Aegon/Naerys 2.0 that this fandom desperately want.

Not to be offensive to anyone but saying that A*mond/Helaena are the original Naerys and Aemon is a braindead take

Received similar asks and I thought it was better to reply to both at the same time…so here we go:

Aegon IV:

Aenys was weak and Maegor was cruel and Aegon II was grasping, but no king before or after that would practice so much willful misrule.

—writings of Kaeth in Lives of Four Kings

'Fire and Blood' were the words of House Targaryen, but Dunk once heard Ser Arlan say that Aegon's should have been, 'Wash Her and Bring Her to My Bed'.

—thoughts of Duncan the Tall

Naerys: I have done my duty by you, and given you an heir. I beg you, let us live henceforth as brother and sister.

Aegon: That is what we are doing.

—Naerys and Aegon IV Targaryen

Nine mistresses:

Falena Stokeworth

Megette

Cassella Vaith

Bellegere Otherys

Barba Bracken

Melissa Blackwood

Bethany Bracken

Jeyne Lothston

Serenei of Lys

Other:

Daena Targaryen

Elaena Targaryen (rumored)

Daughters of Lord Butterwell (rumored)

Many others

Aegon II:

“When his grief had passed, King Aegon Il summoned his loyalists and made plans for his return to King's Landing, to reclaim the Iron Throne and be reunited once again with his lady mother, the Queen Dowager, who had at last emerged triumphant over her great rival, if only by outliving her. "Rhaenyra was never a queen," the king declared, insisting that henceforth, in all chronicles and court records, his half sister be referred to only as "princess," the title of queen being reserved only for his mother Alicent and his late wife and sister Helena, the "true queens." And so it was decreed.”

“Though Blood and Cheese spared her life, Queen Helaena cannot be said to have survived that fateful dusk. Afterward she would not eat, nor bathe, nor leave her chambers, and she could no longer stand to look upon her son Maelor, knowing that she had named him to die. The king had no recourse but to take the boy from her and give him over to their mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, to raise as if he were her own. Aegon and his wife slept separately thereafter, and Queen Helaena sank deeper and deeper into madness, whilst the king raged, and drank, and raged."

I was going to put Aegon II’s lovers here but we don’t know them, he’s alleged to have 3 bastards, and none of them are confirmed.

Aemon:

Arianne: And the Dragonknight? The noblest knight who ever lived, you said, and he took his queen to bed and got her with child.

Arys: I will not believe that. The tale of Prince Aemon's treason with Queen Naerys was only that, a tale, a lie his brother told when he wished to set his trueborn son aside in favor of his bastard. Aegon was not called the Unworthy without cause.

—Arianne Martell and Arys Oakheart

Not every man has it in him to be Prince Aemon the Dragonknight or Symeon Star-Eyes...

—Wyman Manderly to Davos Seaworth

When he was born they named him for a hero who had died too young.

—Samwell Tarly recalling Aemon's namesake

Aemond:

Prince Aemond Targaryen, also known as Aemond One-Eye and Aemond the Kinslayer…

One-eyed Prince Aemond, nineteen, was found in the armory, donning plate and mail for his morning practice in the castle yard. "Is Aegon king?" he asked Ser Willis Fell, "or must we kneel and kiss the old whore's cunny?"

Helaena:

"Helaena was a pleasant, happy girl, and all agreed she would make a fine mother. And so she did, and quickly."

Naerys:

She almost died in the cradle and was sickly for most of her life, finding most physical activity to be very taxing. She ate but little and was painfully thin, almost emaciated.

She was also devout in her faith, and often found solace in the pages of The Seven-Pointed Star. She would have become a septa, had her father allowed it.

Aegon IV DESPISED Naerys, he disrespected her and by extent his own trueborn son because of that.

No matter what gaslighting the show tries to do, or other greenies that hate our Aegon…Aegon/Naerys/Aemon will NEVER be Aegon/Helaena/Aemond and in the words of Tywin Lannister:

Is not an opinion, it’s a fact!

[lizzie-queenofmeigas]

“Ex: I like Homelander and Damon Salvatore and they are both confirmed rapists”

Difference is Homelander and Daemon are characters you can enjoy watching onscreen, Aegon is as dull as dishwater.

Homelander is evil Superman on steroids, but his actor and script brings him to life. You love watching him, you don’t like him as a person but as a fictional character he’s absolutely brilliant. It’s the same for Daemon, Ian brought in his A game and it showed.

It’s the same reason Aemond’s a fan favourite, he’s deliciously evil and Ewan pulls out all the stops.

Tom was never given the same opportunity with Aegon II, all we see is a drunk rapist who likes watching kids fight to the death. There’s nothing to like, his actor doesn’t shine onscreen, he’s not memorable nor are people instantly drawn to him as an antagonist. He’s boring and TG are forcing themselves to like him.

Personally I don't like how they make Aemond in the show. Ewan would have done great as the psychotics maniac that is Aemond in the books instead of the "accidental killer–dutiful boy" they are pushing for in the show.

In terms of John (Homelander) and Damon it's also that they are actually complex and their backstory is actually sad. John was raised in a lab like a product and tortured as a child, Damon was raised by an abusive father and had to raise his little brother not to mention the Augustine thing. Aegon is a prince. Aegon is a prince with an absent father and a mother who wants him to be king (which is literally just a generic prince) Aegon was raise in privilege and became a rapist for the funsies, because he could, and no one ever said anything against it. His mother covered it all up. As child he was loved and revired (we see in episode 2) as a teenager his half dying father dragged himself to see him train with his brothers and nephews. As an adult he complains about doing everything (he hasn't) and cries, after his mother had to face one of his victims. He runs away, leaving his whole family to die (because that is what he thought) and later just liked the applause. He doesn't give a shit about anyone. His relationships are meaningless because he doesn't really care. He is a leech. That's it. He doesn't want to be loved, he wants to be adored, because that's what he was a child and that's what he thinks he deserves as the first-born son of the king.

Relationships between characters are very interesting and important but Aegon doesn't have this, because he doesn't really care. When he reacts about something that's happened to his family, it's his pride that is hurt. He doesn't really care about anyone. Even about his dragon, he was ready to change him for a new and bettered version.

And all of this could be very interesting to watch if they didn't try to put him as some wounded soul and lost puppy. He isn't.

On the other hand John has conflict, he does want to be loved. He is adored, but that's not what he truly wants, he wants love. He wants what he never had as a child which we see in his conversation with his mirror version. He is an actual product, he went through torture and was treated as a thing his whole life, even before he was evil. He was a sweet child and a sweet kid who just wanted to make his "father" happy. We even see this with Soldier Boy, how he is nearly crying when he thinks he finally found a father. He genuinely never had anyone at his side until Black Noir and by the time they met I think he was twenty and majority of the damage was done. During the episode of Diabolical we see that when he first was introduced to the public he was wide-eyed, he was like Annie, he genuinely wanted to be a hero. He is tired of people lying to him (what he sees as a betrayal) and actually kills people he cares about because he feels betrayed (Madelyn, Earving). And his mind is so fucking broken, it's really just shattered and it's heartbreaking to watch at times, he gathers sympathy for that. Then we have Ryan. John actually cares about his son, even when he doesn't know how to be a father. He doesn't want him to go through the things he went through as a child. He wants him to be happy. He turned his back on Soldier Boy attacking him (something he knew would kill him) because Ryan was hurt. He stopped himself from killing people because of Ryan. There is genuine love there. I'm actually scared of how they are going to adapt their relationship in season 4 because I hate the agenda that awful people can't love, they can. John is also incredibly unstable, he needs help from a professional, but he won't ever get it.

He is awful, but you can see why. You can empathize with him.

Damon is another example. Daemon loves with intensity. He loves Stefan, he loves Elena, he loves Bonnie and Alaric and even Enzo. He loved Katherine so profoundly he waited over a century to get her out of a place he thought she was in, he looked the other way while knowing she was with Stefan. Damon wants be loved, he wants to be chosen first, which he never was in his life until Elena (and Stefan but that was non-romantically). He always came second to Stefan. He is unstable, he fucks up, pretends he doesn't care and then tries to make it right before fucking up again. As a vampire your emotions are magnified and he was already intense as a human. He lives for love, he lived for his love of Katherine, then for his love of Elena and Stefan and he will die living for his love of Elena and Bonnie and Stefan's sacrifice.

He is terrible, has done horrible things, but he has a soul to him.

As characters, Damon and John have a soul. Aegon feels like a black hole they are trying to paint as a hurt soul.

[witchofhimring]

Hello there.

First off, I'd like to start off by saying Congratulations are in order on completing "🌹Loyalty🥀"👏👏👏🎉🎉🎉🥳🥳🥳. This story, it's writing and characters are so absorbing and with such detailed scenarios that they just pop into your head instantly. The characters created, from our main hero to one of the princess's ladies in waiting, are so distinct and unique that you can recollect them even if they only appeared in a single chapter. There are so many characters that are either morally grey, down right evil or just too good to a fault. This story really invokes you too feel grief, joy, vexation, calmness, fury and heartache for the cast in any situation that they are in. I know I've said it before but I have to repeat myself, this is a gripping and enthralling tale. The wait for the next series is going to have me on edge, especially to wait and see what steps Lady Lannister will take next. Now, I was wondering if I could share a perspective I have on one of your stories themes, if that wouls be alright with your?. ( PLEASE BE WARNED: this post is going to be an extremely long rant and may contain some spoilers of the last few chapters😋. You've been warned 😆😁)

🗡️🌹🥀🐲🖤💚♥️🗡️🌹🥀🐲🖤💚♥️🗡️🌹🥀

In your response to one of my earlier questions to you, I recall you mentioning that one of the main themes to your book is how our wreckless actions and decisions have serious consequences on our lives, as well as on the lives of those around us. In the beginning, I could clearly see this with Aemond. He was careless with his approach to the rumours surrounding him and Lady Lannister, as well as how he handled Ellyn's abusive attitude towards our hero. Now as a result, he's as good as destroyed the only genuine friendship he's ever and will ever have. However, now that I've finished the first novel, I'm starting to see this theme arise in several other characters in the story: the Lady Tyshara, Lady Elinor and even in our hero, Lady Lannister.

🦁👸♥️💰⚜️🏵️🦁👸♥️💰⚜️🏵️🦁💰⚜️👸🏵️

Firstly, Tyshara. Her sole reason for her strong dislike to Lady Lannister is of her marrying Jason Lannister and becoming the new Lady of Casterly Rock. But in Tyshara's young 'naive' eyes, our hero was replacing her mother. With this vexatious reason, she justifies her decision to join and aid Cerilla and the Snake Lady Jenna 🐍 in orchestrating the trial to get Lady Lannister falsely convicted of murder. The consequences of this indefensible act not only affect our hero, who gets ostracised by the court and society, but Tyshara herself. She has entangled herself with the company of Cerilla and Jenna. After spending some time in their company, she starts to grasp that they do not truly value her or her aid. They soon cut her off and discard her solely to cover their tracks. Ironically, Tyshara's fate is similar to Lady L's tale. Another consequence of her actions of that she left Eowyn in Jenna's clutches.

✨⚜️🌹☀️✨☀️🌹⚜️✨🌹⚜️☀️✨🌹⚜️☀️🌹

Next we have Lady Elinor. My heart truly breaks for this character as I found her to be very much the sole backbone and support for Lady Lannister when she was under suspicion in Kings Landing and when all had turn their backs to her. She was the sole person to boldly call out Ellyn for her disrespectful and shameful behaviour on the day of Lady Lannister's nuptials. While noble and satisfying to see, this was a very thoughtless action on Elinor's part. The consequences were dire as I feel that it gave Ellyn an opportunity to not only physically punish Elinor but to emotionally punish and torture Lady Lannister. Elinor's actions led to Lady Lannister losing the only family like member she has at a time where she needed support and kindness. But all it did was cause our hero to lose another supporter and leaving her more isolated than before.

🌹🥀🗡️🖤♥️🥀🗡️🖤♥️🌹🥀🗡️🌹♥️🖤🌹🥀

Finally, the next character who I believe displays this theme is non other than our hero, Lady Y/N Lannister. From start to finish, Lady Lannister's tale is tragic, with all her ill-fortunes and fate being the result of the actions and schemes of those around her. From Aemond and Ellyn to Cerilla and the 'Weed' Lady Jenna. Yet, after completing the story, I can't help but recognise that there were a few incidences where Lady Lannister had a hand in her own down fall as a result of the decisions and actions she made. The first incidence I took note of was her close encounters with Jacerion. It's understandable that Lady L would faintly fall for Jacerion as he was one of the very few people who still cared for our hero in Kings Landing. But their close encounters, their conversations behind closed doors at Harrenhall and High Garden, were enough to draw suspicion or grab people's attention. Especially for Lady L who was the subject and main receiver of the consequences of the previous rumour regarding her as Aemond's lover. Next are her encounters with the Mad Stag Princess Ellyn. Over the course of the book, Lady Lannister has had to put up with Ellyn's abuse but there were times when she spoke back in retaliation. These were when she regarded Ellyn being infertile or when our hero boldly professed how she can easily poison Ellyn to render her infertile. Unfortunately, these bold declarations were what cost our hero her freedom. While I understand our hero's anger, Lady Lannister was still a status lower than Ellyn who was a princess. And so there would be serious repercussions for these words. And even though she was unaware of their schemes at the time, Jenna and Cerilla happily used these statements as well as our heros encounters with Ellyn and Jacerion as hard evidence to convict her of her charges. I would also like to include that I found our hero was recklessness with the letters she was sending to Jacerion, especially with Cerilla being one of the few asked to "send" them. For any woman of her status in that era, whatever Lady Lannister wrote down could have been passed to someone else or interpreted differently. Our hero's rash and injudicious decisions and actions not only cost her her name, dignity and freedom, but it also cost her her little boy. Sadly, I felt that Lady L virtually provided her enemies with the perfect tools to destroy her life 😢😞😢.

🌹🗡️🥀🗡️🌹🗡️🌹🥀🗡️🥀🌹🗡️🥀🌹🥀🗡️🌹

Phew, finished😅. I'm sorry if it's such a long rant but I just had to ask and get your opinion on this, if your ever get the chance. I hope this is an interesting read. I want to say congratulations again on completing your story "Loyalty" and for putting it out there to read. Looking forward to your reply.

🌹⚔️"JUSTICE FOR LADY LANNISTER AND LORD EOWYN AND DOWN WITH JENNA😁🗡️🌹

Hi! Good to see you in my inbox again!😁😊

The theme of self destruction is, as you said, highly prevalent through the story. We see it in Aemond's destructive behavior and in the reader. The readers inability to take control and follow others through unbending loyalty to people who do not have her best interest at heart. The reader does not always think before she acts when angry. Tyshara is another prominent example. She acted with hate through her anger at the reader and in the end she looses her brother. Book two will showcase the readers destructive tendencies. What can I say, I love my messy female characters. 😁

Tyshara is a younger example of the reader. Jenna preys on young girls who do not have anyone else. There is no coincidence that the two girls (reader and Tyshara) had no parents who could protect them. Jenna sets herself up as the one who makes commands. Their tale ends the same, both getting spat out when their purpose is served.😔

Elinor's story is sad indeed. Her desire to support the reader cost Y/n much needed moral support. (Sorry this bit is short, you summed up her story very well.)

Your description of Jenna as a weed is very apt. Actually got a chuckle out of that, maybe it should be her new symbol lol. Sadly the reader gave her enemies just the evidence needed to convict her. Although she could not have seen what the future would bring, many of her actions were reckless. Another aspect is her loyalty, which does the reader more ill than good. She puts herself in danger with blind loyalty. the readers journey will have her confront who, or what, she should be loyal to. Otherwise she is lost.

Thank you for the long rant, I enjoyed reading it.💕

[l1ttlelucy]

Purple eye wide, staring down at the heavy clouds below, the clapping of thunder dulled as Aemond gripped the reins tighter– until knuckles paled, drained from blood at the force of his hold, leather squeaking.

The encounter repeated itself in his mind.

His laughter.

Lucery's pleads.

Rain.

Fire.

Loss of control.

Blood.

So much blood.

Aemond hunched over and heaved. Vomiting until nothing is left except stomach acid that burned his throat, belly gurgling in pain as food from the feast at Storms End brought itself up.

And then he gasped– wet, heavy and broken. Unnaturally pale, more so than he usually was, sickly even as the black leather stuck uncomfortably.

Aemond could feel the burn behind his lone eye, blinking away and blaming the liquid on the rain that had long dried due to flight. His empty socket throbbed, pounding more than it ever had, pain like the day he'd lost it bore down on him as he wailed.

Vhagars roar rattled him, confusion and concern thrumming through their bond as the she-dragon struggled to comfort her rider.

It was not her fault.

She had been following her own instincts.

He had ridden her out, a dragon born from war and death, to chase his Nephew in a game of cat and mouse.

There was no one but Aemond Targaryen to blame for what happened this day.

The man leaned back in his seat, eye sliding shut as he tore the eye patch off, constricted as he struggled to grasp anything through the agony.

Whether that be from the emptiness in his chest or socket, he did not know.

He had murdered his nephew.

He had started this war.

He had spilt first blood.

Rhaenyra and Daemon would not allow such to stand, to have their sweet boy torn so brutally– as an Envoy no less.

Aemomd had murdered his nephew.

Had he not already emptied his stomach, he would once again be bent at the waist, throwing it back up. All his stomach could do was churn nauseously.

Aemond had not meant to kill the boy. Truly. Scare him? Yes. Kill him? Never.

He was not a kin slayer– or at least, hadn't intended to be.

He had just wanted justice, for both himself and his mother. Yet, none had offered it. Instead, Little Lucerys had been let free, all crimes he'd committed pardoned, all because his mother was his father's beloved child– just as Luke was to Rhaenyra.

Once, they had been friends. Soft giggles falling from children too young to delve into the hatred between families, sneaking into a library unused, if only to read books and joke around with one another– the former Aemond, whilst the latter would naturally fall onto Luke.

How ironic it was that his very first friend was the first one to fall in this war, by his own hand no less.

Aemond hated Lucerys.

And yet, his death left the silver haired prince hollow.

No one would believe it to be an accident– perhaps if it had been anyone but Aemond or Lucerys on this mission, it could have been overlooked. But the death of the boy who had torn Aemonds eye out would not be seen as a coincidence.

His head would be demanded, no matter what.

Aemond sat up in the saddle, inhaling sharply to calm himself.

'It was a fair deal. My eye for his life. I wanted him dead. I ordered his death. I wanted this.'

Aemond told himself, forced himself into a role that would win wars, not bow to them.

For it was then that Aemond decided.

That if he could not be the hero that all would remember.

He would be the villain none would forget.

I love making men grieve 🥰