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emilykaldwen · 3 months

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Nineteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: It's been a really hard month, ya'll, but here we are! We made it. Agonizing over this chapter positively drove me mad, but so many thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend and @darkwolf76 for their love, support, and eyes on this to help me feel a little less insane. Go give them both some love!

CHAPTER NINETEEN - When It's Pulling Me Under

Alicent breaks and tries to mend. Jace tries to find Helaena. A twist within the thread.

“Cassandra Baratheon has bled.”

The queen’s rooms were quiet. Rich green and black drapes hung open as wide as they could to allow the light in, but the panes were closed to the cool fall breeze. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, dancing along the decorative stone swirls along the mantle. The usual gaggle of women that occupied the room had been absent these past few days - her court having dispersed to deal with multiple assignments for the daily running of the castle and the wedding. Alicent looked up from the parchment before her, releasing her lower lip from the intensity of her gnawing teeth. Her gaze met Lady Lysa’s from where the elder woman looked up from her own sheaf of parchment.

“I will go and speak with Lord Beesbury on these matters, Your Grace,” she said softly, rising in a whisper of apple red silk, her usual caul replaced by a barbette and veil given the cooler weather. The way the woman turned her head, reaching for her papers, reminded Alicent of her own mother in such a swift and sharply unexpected moment, that Alicent’s chest clenched and stole her breath. Lysa Fossoway was her beacon of normalcy over the past years, but she was not her mother.

How desperately she wished her mother was here. How keenly that feeling sharpened as the other woman left and Alicent remained here, alone, with Lord Larys Strong.

His firefly-handled cane thumped softly against the rich rugs scattered about her solar and he took a seat on the chaise, settling himself down like a vulture, waiting to feast. On her secrets, on her thoughts, on wherever his tightly guarded whims struck him. Yet, she had few that she could call confidant, even if she dare not call him friend.

“Good.” The snap of the wooden pen box punctuated the single word as Alicent put away her ink and tucked away the parchments that Larys so curiously watched. “Lord Borros insisted that we have this engagement sealed before the new year and the wedding.”

It felt like when Viserys dragged himself to High Tide to present himself to Lord Corlys to beg his heir’s hand in marriage for a sullied Rhaenyra . It was beneath him, it was unbecoming, and it was exactly why, Alicent felt, Lord Borros felt he could demand the way he did.

‘I am not beholden to my father’s oaths, but I will not be taken for a fool’, the man had said. No sons of his own yet, Alicent knew that it was not his fear of being taken for a fool that had brought him blustering and demanding, but the fact that his sister, his only sibling, had sons. Both, to Alicent’s knowledge, were unwed. There existed a possibility for Helaena, one she would have to revisit later.

For now, her attention focused on the fact that it appeared Borros Baratheon thought that Vhagar would be enough of a deterrent for his sister’s sons to claim the Storm Throne from his own children.

“So that is what is to be then? Aemond to the storm, to match the tempest inside of him.” Larys tilted his head in the thoughtful way he had, his hands folded along the top of his cane. “Better, maybe, than risk quenching his fire in the snows perhaps.”

Alicent furrowed her brow. “Snows?”

“Only a turn of phrase, Your Grace. There are many eligible women in the realm to tie our Prince to. The Stormlands keep him close, rather than the cliffs of Casterly Rock or even the isolated northern houses. Northern houses, such as House Karstark offer little, while Storm’s End grants you a realm. Better than his sister as well, although I have not heard Prince Aemond express those wishes in some time.”

Alicent rolled her eyes and went to pour herself some of the mulled wine from the carafe by her window. “House Karstark, or any of the other Northern Houses, would do little for Aemond.” As for Helaena, she too had noticed her son’s waning insistence over the past few months in regards to such a betrothal. She hoped that he too realized the futility of such an endeavor.

“And it isn’t as if Lord Borros could not take another wife should-”

The clatter of her goblet on the table cut off the direction of Larys’ ponderings, and she turned on him, a sick and ugly feeling in his chest. “It is unseemly to speculate or wish for such things, my Lord Confessor,” she said tightly. “My son will marry Lady Floris. Aemond will have a position and income here at court, regardless of what the future holds,” she whispered. “He will make a fine Hand.” When her father could no longer be Hand to Aegon, Aemond would be an ideal successor.

“And Daeron could serve the crown much like Ser Criston. Now everyone is taken care of.” A soft chuckle filtered into the room and sent a shiver up Alicent’s spine. “You have done well for your children, Your Grace. It is good that they at least have a mother who cares for them so.”

“Someone has to. If my son is not his father’s heir, then he should be taken care of. The realm knows too well the idleness of second sons and unhappy brothers.” She shook her head, unflinchingly meeting Larys’ disquieting gaze and the amused curl of his mouth. “If the king would not even be amenable to the idea of Aegon being his sister’s heir, then something must be done.”

A pulse of a headache thrummed behind her eye. Aemond chafed already beneath his brother, beneath the duty that had spurred him to his lessons, to his training, but she knew Aemond would want more. He hungered for more and she could not give it to him. Would her ambitious boy be content with his child married to Cassandra’s heir? ‘He would have to,’ she thought, though her fear persisted. This was the cost of duty.

“Have you only come to speak of Lady Cassandra’s state of non-pregnancy, or have you come to drop news that Helaena is with child.” The pointed non-question was sharper than she might have normally intended but the onset of having to tell Aemond, her angry, precious son, would give her a fit the way anything difficult aggravated her husband and king.

“All goes accordingly, my Queen,” Larys said, nonplussed, and if anything, the amusement was lingering there. Alicent hated the small feeling it gave her. No, not small, she realized; not small as how her father or even Viserys made her feel.

Larys made her feel trapped.

“Very good then. If there’s nothing else, Lord Larys-” The sharp, heavy knock on the door mercifully broke into the tension and Alicent could barely contain her desperate tone. “Enter!”

Gwayne was the most welcome sight behind the door, his doublet so deep green as to be almost black, the fabric of his gray shirt poking between the ties of his sleeves. The silver buttons were stamped with the High Tower and the flames atop it. The angles of his face reminded her so much of Aemond, but she could see all of her boys in that face. The sharpening of Aegon’s jaw, Daeron’s nose. Warm, brown eyes took her in before looking over her shoulder as Larys scraped his way to standing.

“Ser Gwayne,” the lord greeted and she felt, more than saw, her brother stiffen slightly. Gwayne had not been here long, but his dislike of the Master of Whispers had been a decisive one. Her brother was firm in his manner, much like their father; once lost, no good favor could be regained.

“Lord Larys. I’ve come to pull our Queen from these shady interiors to take a turn in the fresh air. I’m sure you also have much to attend to.” Not that the solar itself wasn’t brightly illuminated, stained glass windows sending streaks of colored light about the room, and Theraxis, Abby’s cat, was sprawled in a patch of warm light that the stained glass windows turned his gray fur purple and orange.

“Who would I be if I kept her Grace from spending time with her much missed brother,” Larys said, inclined slightly to Alicent. “I shall take my leave then. Good day to you both.”

As soon as the door shut, Gwayne’s blue eyes, their mother’s eyes, pinned her.

“I mislike you having private conference with that man. Where is Lady Lysa? Or Cole?”

Alicent raised an eyebrow. “You mislike.”

“I do.” He seized an apple from the basket on the table. Brown hair, once sandy blonde as Daeron’s in youth, fell into his eyes. He kept it short, as Aegon, and the sight of him had her wonder if things would be easier had her eldest looked more like her. “He is a foul man, and I do not like the way he watches you.”

She rolled her eyes at her brother’s protestation. Touched as she was by his protectiveness, it was too many years too late. “Well, Lord Larys is the Master of Whispers for a reason. There is a certain unsettling that comes with the position.”

Gwayne rolled his eyes this time and bit into the apple, the fruit crunching loudly. “I still do not like it.”

“You do not have permission to pass judgment and disapproval as you made the choice to leave.” Resentment rose ugly in her throat, her voice not her own; a fragile thing, a girlish cry. Her nails scraped along her wrist as she turned away from him to her desk, eyes unseeing as she reached for the first paper. “I had to make my own protection.”

“Ali-”

“No,” she snapped, shaking her head. “You left.” Then I lost Rhaenyra. “And do not claim it was your injury. You couldn’t wait to flee back to Uncle Rodrik. How sad it must have been for you to instead be sent back to the Tower.” Instead of staying there, with her, so she would not be alone, so their father would not be so bold as to push and press and bear down upon her. Bitterness dripped from her voice and the sound of tearing filled her ears. Alicent looked down to see how she’d torn the acceptance from Dragonstone for their presence at the wedding.

She felt like she would be sick.

A strange sound escaped her throat. It sounded like a growl or a wounded whine. Alicent could not be certain. What she was certain of was Gwayne’s arms wrapping around her from behind, holding her bones together as she felt like she would shatter. Her brother said nothing and for that she was grateful.

Fear tangled between her ribs, pulling them apart and compressing them just as tightly so she felt like she couldn’t breathe no matter what. Gwayne held her tightly, held her bones together, kept her body from bursting into a thousand shards. She gasped for air, tears hot in her eyes but refusing to fall. At some point, they ended up on the floor, the deep green of her skirts pooled around them as she leaned into her brother and he rocked her much as he did when she was young, when they would play knights and dragonriders in the gardens, when mother was there, and she’d fall and scrape her knee, or he had whacked her too hard with the stick, or Rhaenyra was angry when her moods got the better of her.

“I’m sorry,” Gwayne said softly, so softly she could barely hear it and her nails bit into the thick fabric of his doublet.

“You could have stayed,” she cried, her fist hitting his bicep. “You could have stayed, I needed you!” Her brother had nothing to say to that, he only squeezed her tighter as she finally wept, her fears tumbling out of her. “Why did he do this to me if they do not matter to him? They’re his blood too and he never cared, he never cared. He begged for sons! He begged for them and I gave him sons and it didn’t matter so what was it for?”

Alicent wept bitter tears, pushing and biting her fingers into her brother, who sat there, quiet and unmoving as she tore into him. The months, the years bubbled up in her, all the shattered dreams and the fear and the confusion, the immeasurable pain that had stripped away everything inside of her until she was whatever she was now, a stranger to herself. “They’ll kill them, Daemon or whomever seeks to curry favor with Rhaneyra, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care and they treat me as if I’m mad.”

She wasn’t mad. She knew that she wasn’t, everyone knew that she wasn’t, but much like the king never put Lord Corlys in his place all the times the man stormed out of the Small Council, Daemon perched as a vulture on Dragonstone for months without recourse until he stole an egg, Rhaenyra escaping recourse and being covered for her indiscretions. Had Alicent’s own children be fathered by Ser Criston, to pass off as trueborn children, her own fate would not be so kind.

Why had no one sought to protect her, the way the king, mercurial in his affections towards his eldest child to begin with, still protected Rhaenyra?

Alicent did not know how long they sat there, the gasping and the tears, the undulating pressure around her middle ebbing and increasing until it finally started to fade. Gwayne’s hand slowly stroked her back in soothing motions, his cheek resting upon her head. As the silence grew and her sobbing eased, her brother finally spoke.

“I’m here now,” he said. “And if you wish me to stay with you instead of accompanying the boys to Harrenhal, I will.”

She shook her head. “Aegon will need you. Guide him, help him. He’s doing so well, I’m so afraid that he will slip…”

“You are afraid of everything, aren’t you?”

Alicent scoffed, wet and stuffy nosed. “I am being realistic. I need someone there who will tell me if I need to intervene-”

“Alicent.” Gwayne shifted, his voice sharp enough to draw her attention and she looked up at her brother, meeting his blue eyes with her own brown. Gwayne had their mother’s eyes, the Reyne eyes. Would her grandchildren hold those eyes as well? Or would Aegon’s Valryian gaze overpower them? “Let him grow. Let him have a chance away from here.”

“And if something happens to him?” Her lower lip trembled and she bit down on it so hard it hurt. Her brother’s mouth twitched in a smile. Sad, fond.

“He cannot thrive if you are tangled around him like a choke vine.”

“And what of father?” she whispered, harsh and unnerved.

“I’ll handle father,” Gwayne reassured, or attempted to do so, but Alicent felt the fear pulse inside of her, the uncertainty at what felt like a foolish promise. His eyes searched her face for several moments and Alicent, unnerved, reached up to wipe her eyes with her handkerchief and tried to gather her wits. “Alicent? Do… do you want your son to be king?”

Alicent’s heartbeat thundered in her ears and she pulled back from her brother to stare at him. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out and she shut it with a click of her teeth that longed to nash and rend those around her. A fresh wave of tears burned in her eyes but did not fall this time. She pressed her handkerchief into her eyes, took a deep breath, and felt in her bones.

“Aegon may not want it, but it is the only way to protect us. Viserys will not. Rhaenyra will not. I tried. I did, and I never thought she would hurt the children but…” Alicent shook her head, the fear still there, still acrid and painful. “Her callous disregard of my son, her brother’s maiming. And what they did to Laenor?” Her voice was a whisper, the fear, the shock of it that still stuck with her. “It was Daemon, to be sure, but Rhaenyra knew. And it’s that which terrifies me. Rhaenyra doesn’t have to give the command, or even raise the blade or-or bring Syrax to exact her justice. Daemon and whatever other lords seek to curry her favor will do what they think needs to be done, and that is to keep my children from being a threat, from being beacons of rebellion regardless of them being part of it or not. And if none do it for her, she will be forced to do it.”

Aegon may not want his sister’s throne, but Aemond? Her precious boy had received a grievous injury, but his sire, his father and king meant to protect him, had not cared. That night on Driftmark showed the court how utterly vulnerable Alicent and her children were, and her father had been right. She had to fight for them in a way she never had before. Aemond had risen to the challenge beside his mother, a protector, but also quiet and feral in ways that frightened her, in ways that sometimes reminded her of the way Daemon Targaryen used to stride about - a siren song of strength compared to his elder brother.

If to truly protect them meant putting her first boy, precious in his own ways, her little Aegon who was finally smiling again, on the throne? To protect them? Then so be it.

Let all they’d been through, let all she had been through, be worth it, let it mean something. Mother and Father above, please just let it have been for something.

“They speak of the great insults done to our House,” Gwayne said softly, leaning against the foot of her bed, one long leg sprawled out before him, the other bent to lean his arm on. “To not name your son heir, then why take his Hightower bride?”

“I wonder, had he married Laena Velaryon, if he would have named her son heir,” Alicent said, frustration edging into her voice. “Corlys Velaryon would not tolerate his grandson not on the Iron Throne-”

“Which is why House Velaryon has not broken with Rhaenyra,” Gwayne finished with a snort, but there was no amusement in it. “The Sea Snake wants to make a name for his house. These Valyrian politics - but what man doesn’t?”

“Viserys doesn’t,” Alicent rolled her eyes and Gwayne met her gaze, the pair of them snickering like children. She felt the tension in her chest ease with the laughter, better than tears, and pushed at her brother’s knee. “It’s guilt over Aemma Arryn’s death and the king is a stubborn man. He is easily run roughshod but when his mind is made…” She shook her head. “Had father not pushed, maybe it would have changed. But father made him feel like a fool, and Viserys cannot abide that.”

“It was not just father, though,” Gwayne pointed out. “Our house pushed for it, yes, but whispers and confusion have run rampant through this realm since Aegon was born. Women do not sit the Iron Throne. Seven Hells, Jaehaerys held a council because he could not decide between a granddaughter or grandson. What power does House Targaryen truly have if they must beg the lords of the realm to decide their succession when it should be clear, the way the rest of the realm does?”

“Dragons,” Alicent pointed out softly. There were so many dragons now, many from Vhagar, a few from eggs that Meraxes had laid - she recalled from Aemond’s excited speeches, a thick tome of dragon lineages clutched in his arms. “They have dragons.”

Gwayne’s hand reached up, fingers warm against her forehead as he pushed away a loose curl. “You are just as fierce,” he told her. “If not more.”

“Stop,” she muttered and pushed at his knee before they rose and she smoothed the wrinkles of her skirt.

The children were scattered that morning. Helaena was in the gardens with little Floris and likely Jacaerys skulking after her as he’d taken to doing when council meetings weren’t in session. He had behaved well enough, from what she had seen and what had been reported to her. Bastard born he may truly be, Jacaerys had always treated her daughter kindly. There was frustratingly little she could do with the boy now, for word would trickle back to Viserys, who would feel like he needed to roar to make himself feel in control before retreating back to his lair.

She knew that Aemond kept watch, although her boy as of late had been distracted. When not in his studies or the training yard, he was hardly to be found. Which left Aegon and Abrogail, and at least she knew precisely where they would be then.

The weeks following the festivities had seen a change in her son, and one that Alicent wasn’t sure how to feel. The dalliance with the Lefford girl aside (no bastard had taken root, and the girl had been given a place in her household until such a time a match could be made), as well as whatever foolishness he’d engaged in with Cassandra Baratheon, Aegon had performed admirably. His spectacle making tried her patience, but won admiration through the court. No longer her little boy, her first son, Aegon had come into himself in a way that Alicent had not thought him capable of, and feared that it would not last.

For all the pain that ached and clawed inside her ribs at the sight of them, the displays of affection between her son and Abrogail had also proven fruitful, and she did not sense any facet of artifice between them. When her son smiled down at his betrothed, an easing sensation coursed through her, as if the tightly spooled coil inside of her was able to release gently.

Relief. Relief that this might, in fact, work out better than she hoped.

Perhaps the girl had been right in defending Aegon, yet Alicent still held her breath, did not let her relief grow unbound. Aegon often threw himself into new pursuits, at least once upon a time. He’d let it consume him and just as she thought she found what he needed to truly take responsibility, the novelty wore off and then there they were, back where things began, her son drunk and dunked in a horse trough to sober him up.

They found the children in the small, family dining hall. Abrogail’s ladies were clustered on a set of low chairs and chaises that had been brought in. Lady Desmara Crane and Lady Merei Thorne sat on either side of Lady Wylla, silk and lace across all their laps as they worked on Abrogail’s trousseau. The Riverlands girls that Abby had taken for ladies had returned home in order to get their own things and order, and would meet the wedding party at Harrenhal. Alicent regarded their dresses - all different, and made a mental note to ensure that uniforms denoting their statuses as ladies-in-waiting were taken care of when the seamstress came for the next wedding gown fitting.

The dancing master stood at the edge of the parquet floor where her son and cousin stood, the minstrels in the corner with the Targaryen drum and other instruments. The room was cool in the early afternoon, the torches out, the curtains fluttering gently in the fall breeze. Samwell was sweet voiced, and had been in court since her wedding a score ago. He was not a particularly tall man, still plump, but the years had sharpened the roundness of his face. He still composed, but now served as a dance master, leading the court in new dances. Samwell had taught the children as well, and as Alicent watched him, his feathered cap of red and black striping bobbing in time with the music, it felt as if she were transported to a godswood and a song she never wanted to hear again.

Samwell’s exasperation was palpable, and Alicent could see the pink flushed along Abrogail’s face all the way up to her hairline.

“You go left,” he instructed her sharply, the cane he held to keep the tempo cracking loud enough to cause the children and herself to jump. “The prince turns right, as the flow of air. You are receiving him, my lady.”

“Left,” Abrogail repeated, fingers twitching in the pale blue damask of her gown. Aegon gestured in the direction she was meant to go in and the music resumed. Aegon had the steps down, but Abrogail struggled to follow the beat that was so different to the normal court dances. Alicent wondered if it was some memory of Old Valyria that thumped through her son’s veins, for she recalled that Rhaenyra and Laenor’s rehearsals had gone quickly. Alicent had mercifully been saved from such a dance, for the king had not wanted to perform it again.

A short ‘Ow!’ escaped Aegon and he jumped away as Abby apologized for stepping on his feet. Alicent sucked in her lips to hold in a laugh as Abby glared at him, snipping at him, “You are ridiculous.” Alicent clapped her hands and the music stopped, bows and curtsies from those gathered before her.

“Thank you, Master Samwell. I think that’s enough for today,” she said, watching Abrogail’s shoulders sag in relief. “You may resume on the morrow. No progress can be made when one is so frustrated.” She watched the girl open her mouth and then shut it quickly, eyes downcast. As the minstrels gathered their instruments, Alicent released her brother and approached the pair. Aegon had moved closer to Abrogail, curling a long, red curl around his finger.

Whatever her son was saying to her, Alicent could not hear, but she took the time to appreciate their closeness in a way she had not allowed herself to before. They had behaved themselves admirably in the weeks of festivities. Even as jealousy curled in her gut from the shattered dreams of her girlhood, the worries that had plagued Alicent’s days had eased as she saw how well they had gotten on, how favorably many in the realm looked upon them. Many had come to her, speaking highly of the match, how clear the pair were fond of one another.

How rare that very thing was in so many unions across the realm.

Alicent feared. She feared from the moment her eyes opened to past the time her eyes closed, feared for the safety of her children, and their happiness, unfairly, she knew, was not at the top of her concerns. To know that this might keep her son safe, to know that for the first time in years too many to count on her own hands, her son looked happy…

“I am half convinced the dance only makes sense to those with Valyrian blood,” Alicent said, a small smile crossing her face as she attempted to reassure her cousin. Abrogail’s features scrunched up uncertainty.

“Should we also not do a Riverlands dance as well?” The uncertainty left her, a small curl of a mischievous smile crossed the girl’s face as she eyed Aegon. “I’d like to see how well you perform that.”

Alicent pursed her lips at her son’s indignant look. Abrogail was not pregnant, there had been no scandals, no whispers. Whatever the girl had done to influence her son appeared to be working, the words she had said in such anger had taken root as Alicent had hoped. Aegon had thrown himself into good presentation, regardless of whatever dalliances her son had engaged in with Lady Cassandra.

“You are marrying a Targaryen, and with that comes certain expectations and obligations,” Alicent said carefully, her fingers running along the deep sleeves of her deep green gown, fingers tracing along the golden embroidery of the cuffs. “The might of the Targaryen House will be on display.” The girl nodded, eyes averted respectfully and Alicent watched her son continue to wind one of the long, red curls around his finger. He tugged on it, drawing her attention.

Alicent looked away to watch the minstrels leave the hall, the door closing with a soft thud behind them, the ladies continuing to work on their sewing. “Your brother is not here? Nor Helaena?”

“Daeron is with Helaena in the gardens. He has no interest in dancing,” Aegon rolled his eyes as Gwayne did. “He’s twelve.”

“Aemond is in the training yard with Ser Criston,” came Abrogail’s soft addition, reaching up to bat Aegon’s hand away from her hair. “He’s training for the wedding tourney.”

Aegon snorted. “Even though he complains how tourneys are nothing to real war.”

“Do not think you’ll escape the training yard with me,” Gwayne teased him. “Just be grateful I won’t have you out at sunup, given your newlywed status.”

Abrogail flushed. “Is-is everything alright, your Grace? Did something happen?” Aegon’s eyes swiveled curiously from the girl to her and Alicent smoothed her hands over her skirt.

“We would announce it at dinner, but I had hoped to speak to Floris.” she shook her head. “Lord Borros has agreed to the betrothal between Aemond and her. Obviously not for a few years - she is only a girl, but it will at least give time for her and Aemond to get to know one another.”

‘You had been only a girl’, Alicent thought. It was why she had fought so hard against her father to wait just a little longer before betrothing Aegon and Abrogail. To give the girl more time, the way her mother would have wanted, the way that it had not been afforded to her. She would do what she could for Floris.

And hopefully give Aemond time to come around to the idea.

Alicent sighed. Hopefully, her second son would be in a more receptive mood after hours having Ser Criston exhaust him with drills. “I shall go find your brother and hopefully catch him before he flees for Vhagar. Floris will be easy enough to speak to, if her sister hasn’t found her already.” She reached out, stroking Aegon’s hair, pushing the silver strands out of his eyes. The way he stiffened did not go unnoticed, and her heart ached with guilt. Her hand dropped, her smile tight and Aegon gave her a slight bow, Abrogail bobbing her own curtsy, a murmured ‘Your Grace’ whisper soft.

The moment Jace saw Aemond dominating the training yard, he felt his stomach drop and promptly went right and through the tunnel towards the gardens. While things with his uncle had been only filled with tension, Jace knew when to pick his battles and that was one he did not need to dive into.

The terraced gardens of King’s Landing featured in some of his earliest memories, when things were simpler, when the animosity and the tension hadn’t suffocated them all. In the gardens, the rest of the world fell away, much like how he felt when he rode Vermax, his jade wings skimming the waves of the sea, the salt wind in his face. The suffocating stench of King’s Landing was not so bad here, and while one was never alone - too many servants, too many lingering lords and ladies, all to ever truly be hidden - it was still a reprieve and Jace made his way down to the third terrace where the fountains were. With the fountains were mud, and he knew that Helaena would be there with her jar to dig up little things to feed her collection.

The first thing Jace heard was the laughter of children, and he spied Floris Baratheon swinging a stick rather aggressively at Daeron, whose eyes were wide in shock at the battle cry she let out. A grin broke out across his face as he gathered himself, and swung his stick back with equal fervor. Baela’s ladies - minus his step-sister who was still at High Tide - were gathered on the stone terrace along with Helaena’s new lady, eating cakes and gossiping.

Helaena herself crouched beside some of the large stones, a jar beside her as she rolled over one of the stones. Her hair was bound in a simple silver braid hung over one shoulder, her deep green gown embroidered with silver moths turned muddy and damp from the wet ground. Jace watched her pick a worm from where it clung to the stone and set it carefully away.

“Fish with feathered fins,” she said as Jace approached and he noticed her gaze was focused on her work, fingers twitching, the words nonsensical. He had not seen the expression on her face in years, had thought, mayhaps, her moments had abated over time as she grew older.

It was not the case. It was not something the princess had grown out of, and he remembered with clarity of a frantic, sobbing fit she’d had when they were children. Helaena was meant to be handled gently - Jace remembered his mother saying as much when they were young, not long after Daeron had been born. He should treat Helaena kindly, and respect when she did not want to be touched, and be mindful of loud noises. And so he did, stern with Luke when he would screech in excitement or indignation, snap at Aegon when he raised his voice. It had been the two of them playing in the halls of the Red Keep, playing a game of hide and seek, and he’d found Helaena, frozen in the hallway to his mother’s room, tears streaking down her face, clutching something to her. It had been nothing, but she would not drop her arms, and not knowing what to do, Jace had gotten his mother. Belly round with Joffrey, she’d come out, concern etched on her features and together they sat on the ground with Helaena, his mother not touching her but speaking to her in calm tones.

“The rats, the rats, the rats are coming,” Helaena had whispered in a frantic mantra.

“The rats will not hurt you, hāedus. I will go to Lord Lyonel and we will ensure there are more ratcatchers employed. I promise.” His mother said firmly and clearly, not dismissing the concern, her gaze towards him.

“And if we find a rat, we will get Abby’s cat to help catch them,” Jace had promised with a nod.

She was not crying here. She was distant from the world around them, and focused on something that wasn’t the little bugs she was dropping into the jar. Helaena was so far away and Jace kneeled beside her. The ground was wet and cold and promptly began soaking into the wool of his trousers. He ignored the uncomfortable sensation and remained beside her, curls in his eyes and reached for the scurrying little bugs to drop in the jar.

“Fish with feathered fins and storms of ivy,” she whispered. “Not that one. The red ones get ignored.”

Jace started when he realized she had addressed him in the middle of her whispers and dropped the red pill bug back onto the soft earth. It eagerly burrowed back into the soil, vanishing without a trace.

“Shall we find you a fish with feathered fins?” he asked her softly, a slight jest in his voice as he attempted to draw her back into the present moment. Helaena did not reply to him but shifted the jar better between them and he went about pulling up the next large stone to pull the bugs from beneath it.

“Promises shatter in ice,” Helaena said.

“What?”

Heleana drew back to sit on her heels, the rock falling back in place and her hands covered in mud. Her gaze appeared to fix on them and Jace watched her quietly, the sounds of Daeron and Floris’ laughter filling the garden. It felt ominous to him, the feeling rushing in like water behind a broken dam.

Tentatively, Jace lifted a hand to rest on her shoulder. “Helaena, come back to me,” he urged gently, thumb stroking against the soft wool. “You’re going somewhere and I haven’t any idea how to follow you.” He would if he could, for he knew that whatever plagued Helaea was a frightening place that she should not traverse alone, even tethered to Dreamfyre as she was.

All he could do was reach for her, and hope that she heard him.

Helaena slowly blinked, as if the act itself was something she had to remind herself or force herself to do. Jace swallowed and chanced a glance over his shoulder. Daeron and Floris were still chasing one another with their sticks, and the ladies were occupied with their chatting. He frowned with an uncertain feeling. Should her ladies not be attending her? Or did they think it best to leave her be? A sharp inhale of breath drew his focus back to Helaena. She pulled away awkwardly, hands fluttering and fingers flexing.

“I…” Helaena looked lost, confused, and she stared at him but did not meet his eyes, mouth opening and closing, words unable to escape her. Jace shook his head and kept his hand to himself in her clarity of not wanting the touch.

“You’re alright. You’re safe here.”

“Helaena?”

Abrogail’s voice carried past the hedge and she came around the bed, mouth tight, gripping tightly to Wylla Karstark’s hand. The dark haired woman looked pale, face tense as she followed.

“See?” Jace said, hoping it would comfort the princess. “Abrogail’s here.” Would that help? He felt impotent, helpless, useless in the worst possible way.

Abrogail and Wylla dropped to the other side of Helaena, the mud and damp soaking into the hems of their skirts. “How long has she been like this?” Abrogail asked, voice quiet but firm, blue eyes searching the princess’ face before looking at him.

“Since before I came.” Abrogail reached for one of Helaena’s hands, spreading her fingers out and gently stroking each of them to keep them from bending back into the anxious claws they had been. The ease of the motion spoke to how often they’d done it, Abrogail pressing her thumb gently into Helaena’s palm to ease the rigidity.

“Helaena? What is the matter?” Abrogail leaned in and Helaena did not meet her gaze but drew back, pulling her hand away and clutching both to her chest. A sound escaped her throat, small, a growl perhaps? Or a whimper? Helaena’s silver braid swung and she sharply changed direction, shifting to her knees to grab Wylla’s hand.

“Silence doesn’t mean the grave,” Helaena hissed. Wylla’s gray eyes were wide, brow furrowed in confusion as Helaena leaned in, pinning Wylla in place like a moth on one of her boards. Jace could see how tightly she gripped the other’s hand.

“Your Grace?” Wylla whispered and Helaena grabbed her now with both hands, shaking her head. Abrogail met Jace’s eyes, confused, before her gaze went to the ladies sitting on the terrace. The confusion turned to incredulity.

“Have they been sitting here this whole time?” she asked him in a calm voice, and the familiarity of it hit him in the chest. Her voice was calm, but there was nothing calm in the words. There was a quiet anger simmering beneath those words, brightening her gaze, and it reminded him so much of Ser Harwin that it took his breath away. Gentle and fierce.

Jace knew immediately that she meant, and he felt his own jaw tick as his understanding of the situation shifted. He nodded, holding her gaze, feeling a tempest inside of his chest. “I’ll stay here,” he promised and Abrogail’s gaze softened along the edges, her hand reaching out as if she meant to cup his cheek before she stopped herself. Hand still in the air, her fingers curled and with another nod, she gathered herself up to do whatever it was she meant to do.

“Don’t.”

Abrogail stilled, awkwardly half standing, Helaena’s fingers gripping her wrist. “What?”

The princess dropped a hand from Wylla to reach for Abrogail’s wrist. “Don’t,” she repeated, her head tilting, her mouth pursed in annoyance. “Don’t do that.”

“But, Helaena-”

Helaena yanked Abrogail’s arm hard enough that the unbalanced girl toppled over with a wet slap and Abrogail grimaced as the mud and wet soaked into her more uncomfortably. “They are supposed to be tending you.”

“And they are. I sent Margaery away before Jace came by.” Helaena sounded more exasperated than the annoyance that filled her actions and she gestured for Jace to hand her the jar of bugs. “You mustn’t lecture them.”

“I-” Helaena gave her a look and Abrogail shut her mouth, chastened. “I’m sorry.” In the quiet after the words, Daeron gave a shout and Jace saw him hit the ground hard, his stick sword flung out of his hand as Floris Baratheon stood over him, her own sword pointing right into his face. The ladies cheered and clapped for Floris, and offered their sympathies to Daeron. Helaena huffed and let go of Abrogail’s wrist.

“Jace was here and I was fine. Thank you, Jacaerys.” His cheeks flushed beneath her unblinking gaze, chest warm, even as the confusion of what had all happened still stormed inside of him. “He came exactly when I needed. Not too early, nor too late. I am capable of expressing my own needs.” Abrogail flushed for different reasons, fingers twisting. “What is it?”

Abrogail looked to Wylla. “The queen came to our dancing lessons-”

“Was it about how you keep stepping on Aegon’s feet?”

“I didn’t step - No!” Abrogail’s nose wrinkled with annoyance. “‘Tis not my fault dances are so complicated and that my feet do not behave. No.” A deep breath, another look, this time in the direction of Floris and Daeron. “She said that Aemond and Floris are now betrothed, she was going to find Aemond and then you.”

The silence held. Then, “Even though Wylla and Aemond have been kissing everywhere?” Helaena asked.

“But she’s eleven,” Jace protested.

The words hung in the air while it was Wylla’s turns for her cheeks to flush and Abrogail to stare at her. Jace also looked at her, surprised that Lady Wylla would even want to voluntarily get that close to Aemond, let alone kiss him.

“You’ve been kissing Aemond? And you didn’t tell me?” Abrogail’s incredulous voice was hushed so as not to pull the attention of the others.

Wylla shrugged helplessly. “It hasn’t been everywhere,” she muttered beneath the attention. “And this isn’t the point. I…” Wylla shook her head. “Prince Jacaerys is right, Floris is a little girl, does she mean to send them both to Storm’s End?”

“At least it isn’t Cassandra,” Helaena said with a frown. “No, they will not be sent to Storm’s End. Floris is my ward. She will stay with me for as long as I can keep her.” A sigh. “Floris has many years before she is to be married. Who's to say the betrothal will even last?”

Wylla looked uncertain. “You sound sure of yourself.”

Helaena looked at her. “I’m not. But Lord Borros is feckless and mercurial, he may change his mind if it means he cannot betroth Cassandra, or if he has a son.” Jace did not know if those were truly Helaena’s opinions on the matter, or if she was mimicking what her mother had said.

“Can you not break it as you did yours?” Abrogail asked. Helaena shook her head.

“Breaking my betrothal to Aegon should never have worked, and it was because our grandfather already found it distasteful that he convinced our father to break it on the eventual promise that Aemond and I might marry, and that also isn’t happening. Obviously.”

The look on Wylla’s face was one of confused near-disgust, one that Jace had seen in many outside of their family. Most found it objectionable to imagine kissing their own siblings, and Jace himself could not imagine kissing Luke if his brother had been born a girl, so he perhaps understood that.

Besides, none would find it strange if Helaena was only his cousin, for the blood they shared was the same in that regard.

“Floris will not mind if you keep kissing Aemond, Wylla, do not fear that,” Helaena continued, tightening the lid on her jar.

Wylla sputtered, glaring at Helaena. “Respectfully, Helaena,” she said, not even giving her the proper title, and Helaena looked up from her jar. “I do mind. I will not be some paramour, or continue some ill-fated dalliance with your brother just because Floris doesn’t mind. Floris is eleven and she deserves to be treated respectfully, not to mention I deserve it. I will not be shamed, or the newest subject for court gossip.” She sniffed, and Jace could not tell if she was trying not to cry, or if she was so angry she could spit. Abrogail rested a hand on Wylla’s back, lower lip caught between her teeth. Helaena shut her mouth, brow furrowed, and looked at her jar of bugs. “If Aemond suggests such a thing, I will cease everything. I will not allow him to do that to me, nor anyone else. I will push him out of a window for such a thing.”

Jace smothered his laugh into a cough at the imagery of such a threat, and had to keep from offering to assist the lady.

Helaena pressed her lips together, a little snort escaping her. “I would like to see that. He does need it sometimes,” she allowed. “I will see what mother says when she comes.” Her fingers drummed against the jar, and still, Helaena did not meet anyone’s eyes, still caught in whatever in between space that plagued her, but her words were more present, and that was truly what mattered.

Sitting there on the cold, wet ground, Jace wondered what his mother would say about all this. He had been sent to King’s Landing not just to serve on grandfather’s small council, but to be her eyes and ears amongst the viper’s nest. Any piece of information, no matter how small, could possibly become crucial to her cause. But as he sat there, Helaena’s hand drifting to rest near him, it felt like a further betrayal to reveal the conversation, even though he had, more or less, been a part of this. It wasn’t as if it had been overheard and none of the women knew he was there. They had none, and spoken openly regardless.

He could put off writing. At least for now.

AND WITH THAT! We are on our way to Harrenhal! I'd love to know what you loved about this chapter, and what you're looking forward to! Any questions or curiosities? ALSO! WE are sooooo taking bets on what (if anything?) is going to go wrong at this epic Westerosi Royal Wedding. And if you aren't sure what to say, drop a dragon emoji in the comments so I know you were here <3 and as always, thank you for being here. I appreciate each and every one of you.

[Next Chapter]

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killerhybrid · 5 months

Text

Make sure you all have your sunglasses, it'll help in case Sun gets excited.

Sun: I'll try my best to keep calm!

Thank you Sun, here is Sun in his actual form. Much like Moon, he's very wyvern-like in design. His wings are longer though with no split ends. He relies on Soaring/Gliding flight, this means he doesn't flap a lot to stay in the air. This does come with a set back, he can't take off immediately like Moon does. He and other stars alike have to get a running start to get the wind speed up enough to create lift. With a powerful jump at the end to get them in the air. To stay in the air, he relies on vents of hot air that are produced in particular spots on land or sea. Much like vultures and other gliding birds do. This means he can stay in the air far longer than Moon as well as use less energy to do so.

He doesn't have any barbs but his body is covered in flames that he controls for the most part. This is usually seen emotion wise. That's why it's best for Sun to stay calm during this example. He can increase the heat of his body to that of an actual star, and get brighter as well. His body will always feel warm and his skin will be like poprocks. Sizzling with occasional pops here and there. You may see a small flame pop out from his head, wings or tail occasionally. Those would be solar flares and those are common. These are very hot and will catch things on fire, he must stay away from any area that's flammable.

He has spikes that rear upwards for defense but he can also breathe fire. This is incredibly effective as it leaves a lasting radiation poisoning on the victim or area. In fact, being in a certain radius of an angry star for a long period of time will leave you exposed to radiation. You will die slowly and painfully, that is why it's best to leave as soon as you see signs of this emotion. This alone is what makes stars so deadly. They don't even have to move to kill something. Many would consider it a blessing for a star to eat you rather than let you live to suffer the effects of radiation.

Sun: b-but I always do my best to keep calm and happy! Unless someone really...REALLY deserves it. Then I won't hesitate to do what is necessary for the benefit of others or myself.

Yeah, it's best to be careful around stars as they are far worse than a nuclear bomb. Some are friendly however! The best way that I've seen to earn one's trust is with food. Stars need to eat constantly to keep their energy up that they always burn. So feed, feed and feed, even if it's burnt. They can't really taste much as everything they consume is quickly incinerated. Liquids are rapidly evaporated, this means they also can't get drunk. Never enter a drinking contest with a star, it won't go well for ya.

Sun:*chuckles* I remember drinking the hidden stash of one of the imperial lords with Moon. He couldn't fly!

Hehe, alrighty Sun. I think I covered everything, if anyone has any questions. Don't hesitate to ask! Sun and I are here to answer.

Sun:*nods* Please ask! I always enjoy a good conversation!

#fnaf dca #fnaf sun #dca sun #dca fandom #dca fanart #dca au #Celestial Beasts

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inhuman-obey-me · 9 months

Note

👻 | Lucifer | No MC, please

"I'm the creature that haunts your mind." - Lucifer

“P-please, Lord Lucifer, c’mon – you know I didn’t mean anything by it! This is just a big misunderstanding! We’re buds, aren’t we?” With a toothy yet nervous grin, Casbriel looks up and tries to catch the gaze of his soon-to-be tormenter. The moment he does, however, he feels his heart leap into his throat as cruel crimson bores into his very soul.

“Buds?” The word is spit out in disgust, though soon a sinister smirk graces Lucifer’s lips. “Oh, silly me. I guess I must have forgotten. Why don’t you remind me?”

“Oh, uh, well – yes. R-remember at His Highness’ party the other week?” Casbriel begins to sweat, grasping at whatever memory he could to hopelessly convince the other. “How we were just having a grand ole’ chat over some Demonus? You remember that, don’t you?”

“Ah, yes!” The Avatar of Pride feigns surprise, eyes widening slightly as a gloved hand comes to hold his chin as if in thought. “I think that must have been after you and Buriel had your little chat, hm?”

Casbriel’s nervous smile falters.

“I believe you two were talking about what a disgrace it was, that Lord Diavolo had a fallen angel right by his side as his closest aide. How you couldn’t wait to enact your plan to be rid of those despicable beings and, what was it?” Lucifer pauses, taking in the sinking features of his prey. “Get a proper ruler in place.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about! We said no such thing, surely you wouldn’t believe we would discuss something so t-treasonous!” With a hysterical laugh, Casbriel waggles his head.

“Oh? Then what about three weeks ago, when you were meeting at Buriel’s to discuss the intricacies of your plan? You sure had quite a bit of Demonus there as well, didn’t you?” Lucifer’s brow raises. “A favorite vintage of mine, actually. I’m sure it must have been delicious. In fact, it seems you certainly did find it to be absolutely delectable.”

Dread sinks into the lesser demon’s belly as realization dawns.

Lucifer was reading his memories.

“Caught on, have you?” It was chilling, the way Lucifer’s voice could hold joy and ire at once. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you have a rather unhealthy obsession with me, with how you think of me so often.”

Casbriel shifts in his restraints, deciding that all attempts at pleasantries were now futile. So he glowers, hissing at the demon towering over him, “You deserve every bit of contempt. Creatures like you don’t deserve to be here, and that damn prince is a fool for welcoming you with such open arms!”

“There it is.” Lucifer snickers, though his demeanor quickly turns cold. His wings whip out, extending to a frightening degree – as if they are about to eclipse the room and swallow it in shadow. “You really are pitiful. Is that all it took to get you to confess so willingly?”

The defiant fire that momentarily took over Casbriel was quickly extinguished, fear beginning to creep into his eyes as Lucifer circled him once again, like a vulture ready to feast.

“Oh, Casbriel.” The Avatar sneered, coming to a stop right behind the other and lowering himself so that his breath could be felt on the lesser’s ear. “Us creatures don’t deserve to be here, hm?”

He places one hand on each of Casbriel’s shoulders, his gloves transforming to reveal long, sharp claws that begin to pierce flesh. “I suppose I’m the creature that haunts your mind most of all. Though, don’t worry,” Another menacing chuckle as his claws sink deeper, earning a pained cry.

“I’ll make sure to make all of that haunting a reality for you tonight.”

#fun fact apparently casbriel and buriel are some demons that like all other demons/spirits hate lmao #obey me #obey me!#obey me swd #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me lucifer #obey me fic #obey me drabble #writings #4000 follower celebration #the all encompassing [mod] cosmos

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bucknastysbabe · 9 months

Text

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Loss of virginity, Criston is champ (who likes to be a bit puppy), Lady Dondarrion is a plus sized queen who doesn’t play around, pnv!sex, begging, set before HOTD, He learns alot that year Lmfao, pwp-ish, this is actually super soft

You stared from a high walkway, your companion next to you. Serena Caron was your closest friend and cousin. She was sent to Blackhaven as a girl. She tilted her head down at the training yard, eyeing a familiar yet changed face.

The newly knighted Ser Criston, the son of Blackhaven’s steward. Your uncle Arlan had knighted him since they returned from the last skirmish over the Boneway. He had grown into his gangly body, a man grown now. The dark haired knight was fearless with a Morningstar.

Serena noted, “He burned two water towers on the Boneway. Ser Criston was knighted soon after. He’s eight and ten now. Quite handsome you think?”

“Very much so. Much more handsome than the boy who stuttered and blushed to his ears when I spoke to him. When Cole was a squire still. Arlan’s ‘cole-black shadow’.” You snickered with Serena, clasping her arm, eyes catching the dark orbs of the steward’s son. You gave a smile and he nodded briskly, returning to training.

Your nightingale giggled, “He had to have gotten his cock wet by now. You know those camp whores flock to knights like flies to shit.”

Scoffing as you traveled down basalt steps, you replied, “Definitely not. He’s still green as the Mistwood. I’d imagine young Cole is like his father Wilhelm, all duty no fun.”

Serena’s dark eyes sparkled as she taunted, “Are you afraid your little childish flight of fancy has turned into a big handsome knight? Can’t moon over the highborn girl when his title can get many a pretty girl.”

Your cousin knew the jealous streak of yours. In your younger years, Criston was the cutest boy in the keep. You’d playfully tease and flirt with him, getting his stutter riled up and face darkened. You still wanted a piece.

You pinched her, snarking, “Oh don’t rile me up, you conniving songbird. He’s green and I can prove it. Make those pretty eyes wet with tears from my cunt alone.” The matter of your maidenhead was pointless— your husband Benjamin Tarly laid dead. Too soon for any seed to take.

Eventually some other lord’s wife would die in childbirth and you’d fill in. You were merely wedded and bedded at the tender age of 16 and now approached 22. The heir of Harvest Hall’s wife was rumored to have difficult births. Marcher to marcher, Selmy’s were not bad.

Whatever. You’d seduce this handsome knight and make him whine like a pretty maiden, doleful eyes begging you for relief. Serena interrupted your lustful thoughts and laughed, “Alright. If I’m correct, you get to brush my hair for a month.”

You sighed in annoyance regarding Serena’s thick curls.

“If I’m correct, you have to finally ask my brother for a dance,” you stated with a sniff.

Serena sputtered and blushed, slapping your shoulder. The Caron lady hissed, “Oh you witch! Beron thinks I’m a silly little girl.” Those two were so oblivious the Vulture King could spy their chemistry from Dorne. You shooed off your best friend.

“I’m off to seduce a maiden, wish me luck!”

She cursed you with a laugh, turning to her quarters.

Criston sat lower at the table for dinner, moved up above the castle guard and lowborn workers, bastards. Knighted now, he still retained a solemn disposition. There was fire underneath, not any soldier took initiative like he did near the horrid lands of House Wyl. Ambition lay underneath his puppy-ish face, baby fat all gone. Striking, with those deep eyes and tousled curls.

Wilhelm seemed to be preening, he boldly claimed his son would easily find his way to glory. Just needed some tourneys to get his name and skill out there. Criston gave a shy smile, sculpted lips curling up, tan skin darkening a shade.

You sipped on wonderfully bitter wine, eyeing him shamelessly. Serena snickered from your side. The young knight met your gaze and held it, brows furrowing in confusion. Placing the goblet down on the dark wood of the table, you licked your wine-stained lips, tossing your hair.

Criston averted his gaze, suddenly finding his supper very interesting. Shy little pup. You murmured, “Green. Green as the Queen’s dress.” Serena shrugged, “A highborn lady of the house he’s sworn to is much more intimidating than a whore.”

Supper was finished, servants coming to clear the plates. Abruptly standing up, you left to wait in a dark corner, eyes peeled for his fine frame. Ser Criston was clad in the familiar faded red of his small house. Annoyed as others filtered out, Arlan had cornered the object of your desire with your father.

Likely talking about horseshit and the upcoming tourney in Ashford. You waited and waited until they split, passing you by. Your Lord Father questioned, “What are you doing dear? Skulking like a ghost.”

Feigning innocence and batting wide eyes you simpered, casting a look to Ser Criston, “I simply wished to ask our valiant new knight about his adventures!” Arlan grinned and pushed the lad forward, “Go ahead, he’s too damn humble. Night my lovely niece.”

“Thank you nuncle, night to you.”

They strode off and Criston seemed like a fish out of water, eyes wide with uncertainty. He furrowed those dark brows again and asked, “What would you like to know about?” You hummed, “Walk with me and tell me all about it, before you get carted off again, Blackhaven’s new wonder!”

He gently took your arm and the pair of you strode around the basalt stones of Blackhaven. He seemed to ease up after some conversation, describing the bleak circumstances of the lands. You shuddered at the descriptions of the men lost and mutilated as a warning.

He asked a couple questions of his own, how your were holding up. What marriage offers may lay on the horizon. Chivalrous talk, but he seemed to be genuinely interested in the banal affairs of a Lord’s daughter. It warmed your heart some, your late husband was more concerned with hunting around Horn Hill.

You stopped the knight, conveniently at the doors to your chambers. He looked at them, back to you, and back to the door. Criston stuttered, “O-oh uh- it seems our walk has come to an e-end.” You smiled in a feline manner, placed a hand on his chest, felt his rapidly beating heart.

He inhaled sharply, unsure, murmuring nervously, “Lady Dondarrion, T-Tarly, wh-what’s going on here? This is unseemly for me.”

You shrugged, “Dondarrion. My maidenhead is gone and I desire you,” plastering your body to his you purred, “Since coming back on that black gelding looking like a maiden’s fantasy.”

He made a soft noise, eyelids fluttering, hands clenched at his sides. You murmured into his ear, so close your lips grazed the shell, the poor thing shivering, “If you desire to have me, the offer is standing now. Take it or leave it, Ser Criston.”

His hands wrapped around your waist, the pair of your stepping backwards into the door, lips meeting feverishly. He’d had some experience kissing, pretty lips easily moving with yours. He opened the door, more awkward stepping, then the dark haired man sealed the room shut.

His big hands wrapped around your corseted waist, gripping with a delightful force. Need emanated off the man, his broken noises slipping out between increasingly wet kisses. Your nimble fingers began to unbutton his doublet, exposing a pale undershirt and his lightly haired chest. He had a gorgeous golden chain upon tanned skin.

You pulled back, Criston softly whining and chasing your lips. He panted as you purred, “I’m a big girl sweet Criston, can you take it?” He nodded eagerly, seeking to get back to lapping your plush lips. Obviously he didn’t care of your curvy body, soft places that bothered you. Your mother passed down that.

Serena’s slim frame and busty chest oft drew the attention of most. You weren’t frumpy by any means, just thicker of waist and plumper thighs and ass, an overlarge bust you tried to bind down. Criston’s fuzzy brain seemed to catch up with him, praising, “You are beautiful, no amount of extra flesh is deterring me.”

You began to unbutton his breeches and he paused, indicating you to turn around. Thankfully the heat from the fire kept the room warm. You moved your hair aside as Criston’s hands undid your jewelry, carefully placing them on the nearest surface.

There was a stagnant pause. Criston’s hands hovering on the top button of your dress. You had already moved your hair, what was the hold up? Then it hit you, the green boy had no clue on how to undress a lady. Which granted, was a complicated ordeal.

“Unbutton that gold one,” you instructed.

He did so, pushing the dress down to reveal the next layer. The stiff corset, verdingal and bum roll. You untied the latter two yourself and teased, “Never seen a lady’s undergarments Cole?” He whispered, fingers faltering on the laces of the corset, “No, not of a highborn.”

The fire crackled as he released the garment, you breathing a sigh of relief, breasts and waist free of the restrictive garment. Only your thin shift remained, Criston making a weak noise as he jerked up the linen, groaning again at your soft frame.

It was your turn to be abashed, it had been a bit since anything but a primal rut in the dark at a tourney or feast from a visiting lord. He breathed, “Gods, oh, my lady.” You turned gently, unlacing his own breeches, tented by his cock. The knight’s thighs trembled, nervous hands roving your plush hips and ass.

You looked up at his doleful eyes, wide and needy. He’d bitten his lip bloody while you had been turned around. You asked, “Have you bedded a lady before?” He choked on an answer, gasping as you pumped his gorgeous prick.

He strained out, “No, fuck, fuck, my lady, I’ll be good for you, please.”

You thumbed around the tip, his mouth now fallen open.

“You’ll be good for me? Fuck your lord’s daughter, it’s almost your duty to be good. It’s okay, you’re a stud, I’ll let you eat my cunt if you blow early.” Criston made the sluttiest little whimper of your name, begging again, “Oh please, please.”

“Please what?”

He mournfully whimpered, “Pleeeease.”

You’d rendered the darling of Blackhaven to mush, begging for a treat like a sweet little hound, not even aware of what he was begging for. You let go of his leaky cock, leading him to the bed, pushing the tanned man down with a smirk. Your own cunt was aching, the power trip intoxicating.

Criston’s sweet face looked so innocent, panting heavily, hair already a sweaty mess. You straddled strong thighs, hands sliding up his lean torso. You asked sweetly, hands retreating to hold your breasts, “Do you want to touch them sweet knight? They’re so sore.”

He nodded, eyes growing teary with need. Criston warbled, “Yes, yes, may I?”

You nodded in assent, throwing your head back with a smile and throaty moan. Criston’s calloused hands felt good on the tender flesh, squeezing and experimentally thumbing your peaked nipples. The man groaned in pleasure, gasping out, “You’re so soft, feels good.”

You leaned over his frame, flesh to flesh gently coming together. Your paler skin against his tanned. His thighs trembled, mouth hanging open again as your body laid atop his stiff prick. You caressed a lightly stubbled cheek, smiling, “You’re just the sweetest thing, Ser Criston.”

He blushed, face screwing up when you laid kisses along his jaw and pulsing neck, nipping here and there. At the same time you rutted your swollen slick folds against him, sighing in pleasure. His big hands groped at your ass, voice strained, “Fuh-fuck me, fuck me please, oh gods m’lady, I’ll do anything, it- it hurts I swear it.”

Kissing his trembling lips, you cooed, “I’ve got you, relax, deep breaths sweetheart.” He nodded, frantic hands stilling, Criston’s staccato breath winding down a bit. Reaching under your body, you nestled the blunt tip of his cock against your sopping entrance. Cole cried out softly, hands clenching back down into your plush hips.’

He was doing his best to keep his breathing in line, exhaling sharply from his nose. You slowly sat onto the thick member, eyes fluttering from the feeling of fullness, the familiar stretch of your walls. You pressed your forehead to his cheek, hands planted on his muscled chest.

Criston seemed to be holding on for dear life, fingertips digging into you, leaving sweet bruises to cherish later. His cock twitched and throbbed, the knight babbling, “I, I, I, can’t m’lady oh seven hells!” You stroked his curls and shushed his frantic whining.

“I know, feels so good, just hold on, it’ll pass sweet boy.”

His teary eyes gazed at you intensely, nodding, you coddling him through the intense new sensations. Stroking back a sweaty piece of hair you asked, “Better sweet boy? Such a pretty pup with a pretty cock. Want me to ride you now?”

Criston managed a weak moan of ‘yes’, hips already twitching upwards. You began to raise your hips, riding his thick cock in slow movements. His back arched a bit, planting his feet down to thrust into your wet pussy. You praised, “Yesss, yes, that’s it!”

Soon the slow rolls sped up with each collision of your ass to his lean hips. What had once looked like gentle lovemaking had turned into fucking— loud, lurid, sloppy. Your mouth mashed against his, the pair of you whining and carrying on accompanied by the sound of your cunt being pounded.

Criston warbled, “So good so good, my lady, gods!” You nibbled on his lips, angling your hips to graze your sensitive bud against his body. The knight’s noises were getting more frequent. He thrust harder, hitting that good spot, you involuntarily tightening around him with a cry. You watched as the man stiffened with a whimper, eyes going wide, cock swelling up.

You immediately pulled up and off his cock, Criston too lost in the throes of his sudden orgasm to register the loss of your warm cunt. In a frenzy you ground yourself against his body, cumming as his seed spurted against your back and ass. He moaned dazedly, eyes watching you get off, rasping, “On me, my lady, on me, beautiful. Shall I get down on my knees and lap at you?”

His utter adoration and sweet voice, big hands at your sides accompanied the heightening sensitivity to your bundle, you grunting and moaning deeply, grabbing a handful of dark curls. The image of the pretty knight with a collar between your legs sent you over the edge with a raspy keen. Slick covered his lower belly coarse curls, Criston seeking out your lips desperately.

He shuddered underneath you, cute little ‘thank you’ leaving his lips. You rolled off of him, uncaring of the seed dirtying the bed. Criston immediately pulled you into his frame, tucking a stubbled chin into your neck. You rubbed his arm around your belly and hummed, “Not bad for your first time. I can teach you many a thing before off your pretty ass goes to tourneys and I get sent to Harvest Hall.”

“I would quite enjoy that,” came his soft voice.

Ser Criston Cole always sought out the banners of House Selmy during Royal tourneys later on. She was beautiful as ever, holding a babe and nodding at him with a dazzling smile. He’d always be fond of his times in Blackhaven, especially with her.

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #ser criston cole x reader #ser criston cole #criston cole x reader #criston x reader #pre canon

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ask-the-koopa-kingdom · 4 months

Note

can we get a bit of info about each kid?

[YAPPING TIME, LETS GO!!! - OP]

In addition to the info presented here:

Larry has the least amount of abilities in comparison to his siblings. With only fire breathing and magic blasts, Larry has to get creative in battle. He'd actively practice to get better at magic... if he had the level of commitment required. As mentioned in the first post, he started the ask blog to avoid problems with press - but it's also because he adores any attention he can get. Makes him feel special (T▽T)

Lemmy and Larry are birds of a feather.

Larry could be considered the weakest of the seven, but Lemmy is undoubtedly the smallest. The two hang out more than anything, and can always rely on each other when they need company.

In addition to fire breathing and magic blasts, Lemmy is capable of casting illusions and summoning those silly circus balls he can run over opponents with. A feat achievable with an enhanced balance and acrobatic support in comparison to the others.

Morton is more complicated than he seems. What he lacks in intelligence he makes up for in compassion and perception. Streets smarts rather than book smarts. He can tell when something is wrong much faster than the others and is quick to act on it. He's even quicker to put himself in between those he loves and any trouble.

At the moment, he's struggling with anxiety surrounding that specifically. A hunch that there's a danger lurking, ready to attack if he doesn't keep an eye out. (It's not exactly an unfounded one, it's come up after the events of Bowser Jr's Journey where he and his siblings were forced under mind control... that'd make anybody a little worried.)

Only time will tell if he's actually right on this hunch.

(There was this sighting, but... not really reliable)

Similar to Roy, he's one of the strongest Koopalings (he knows this), as such, barely needs to use magic in battle instead of his brute force. So, he thinks learning to use it is a waste of time.

Iggy is EXTREMELY hyperactive, and loud. If there's one thing he doesn't have, it's any lack of intelligence. He's the fastest Koopaling, and prides himself on being a genius (though mad genius is a better way to put it).

His impulsivity can bar him from making the BEST decisions, but his own unpredictability gives him a leg up when required.

Owns a pet Chain Chomp named Chompi, who he treats like a pitbull named Princess. (Most accurate description of that thing as he is GLAD to sic on either unsuspecting plumber).

Wendy is sweet, but extremely cunning. She uses that sweetness to get whatever she wants out of someone, almost imperceptively, whether that be a chat, sweets, or information. (She understands the saying "You'll catch more flies with honey rather than vinegar" and by god does she USE IT.)

She does use magic, moreso for convenience rather than a true desire to learn. She's content with what she knows already. (Sometimes she wishes she could use hypnosis though...)

Good Lord, Roy. On the outside, a tough guy. On the inside, reasons upon reasons to be that way. Dude has layers.

He's a believer in tough love, as such, isn't as outwardly affectionate towards any of his siblings - however, he will still defend them just as fiercely in the event of an emergency.

One of his most important dislikes is the dislike of press

(This one's actually shown up from as far back as the intro post!)

He considers news reporters to be vultures waiting to use something against him and his family. (This is due to a past experience out of canon that's kind of tainted his view on all sorts of press entirely. And makes his relationship with this ask blog pretty complicated too...)

Ludwig has similar beliefs to Roy (Tough love and all that) but he can't help but be a BIT affectionate here and there. However, he's barely had the time due to what he's been doing on his day to day. He keeps a very tight schedule, training at every opportunity he gets, whether it be magic, or hand-to-hand combat, and as mentioned previously, barely sleeps. Not for the best reasons, either. He doesn't have the same anxiety Morton does that something bad's coming their way. He just wants to prove to someone (and himself) that he's the best at what he does.

[If you guys need more specific info, pls ask, these are practically the basics - OP]

#koopalings #ask the koopa kingdom #larry koopa #lemmy koopa #morton koopa jr #iggy koopa #wendy koopa #roy koopa #ludwig von koopa #super mario #LORE DUMP!!!

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chibsandchill · 8 months

Text

A turn of events

Fandom: HOTD (House of the Dragon)

Summary: What if Alicent was not the only one to defend Aemond the night he lost his eye? Would justice be served?

Pairing: None

Warnings: Toxic family dynamics, brief mentions of injury, grammatical and spelling errors

Italics = Valyrian

Masterlist

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Aemond had never known such pain before. While cruel, Aegon’s torment took the form of barbed jibes and constant humiliation, and his father’s neglect had started to lose the sting it once had.

No, the pain of losing an eye was wholly unfamiliar to him.

The whole of Viserys’ court regarded him with their breaths held as the maester tried to salvage what he could. His skin was stretched, patched together by a ragged thread in an uneven line across the plains of his face. Still, he could barely feel the needle plunging through the blooded flaps for the aching gap in his soul was at last filled.

The Queen of Dragons lingered in the edges of his mind. Warm, flickering flames of affection so unfamiliar to him that he had flinched away from her touch.

So focused on his dragon as he was, he could almost forget about the pack of bastards whimpering for their mother at the front of the enemy lines. Lucerys, the youngest, hadn’t stopped sniveling once. Red blotchy cheeks and snot dripping down the collar of his tunic, he cried for Rhaenyra, but where amusement would have once filled him at such a sight he felt only hatred. He would never be whole again, but Lucerys would be swept up and cradled into his half-sister’s bosom, his pitiful cries muffled and wayward hairs smoothed by an affectionate hand.

Aemond turned his one remaining eye to the fire to his left. His own lady mother stood frozen by the maester’s side. She had gasped with horror when he had been carried into the hall and the wide frenzied look had not left her eyes since.

Eyes.

Eye.

One-eyed.

How strange that he would now have to make such a distinction. Had the maester not pulled at his skin with reckless abandon he would have scoffed. But as such, a low whimper was pulled from the back of his throat though he tried to hide it from the onlookers.

Vultures searching for any sign of weakness in him. Any advantage with which they could claw their way up the ladder. Even in his state he was worth more than any two-eyed lord of a lesser house.

He thought of the sweet maid who often brought him an extra sweet roll when word of Aegon’s pranks reached even that corner of the Keep. He imagined that luxury was a thing of the past for he could not imagine she would look at him with anything but fear, horror and pity.

Pity.

Perhaps he would receive two extra sweets instead so that she would not have to look at him. A fair deal, he thought, for he imagined he would not be able to look at her either and see that the previous softness had been replaced with something so familiar.

“A shame.” A velvety voice cooed from the shadows of the hall. “It seems that in my absence your guards have grown… incompetent, brother.”

“Sister.” His father sighed. “I-”

“Let me look.” The voice was much closer now.

Soft, calloused hands cupped his jaw before she turned his face. He wanted to avert his eye, to hide the shame that now marred his face.

“Hm.” She hummed. Eyes the same color as his regarded him carefully. “How does it feel, zaldritsos, to be the bonded of one such as she.”

“Beyond words,” he muttered in the common tongue so that his mother might also be included. He felt her eyes burning into the side of his head, the one not sullied by his blood. He had not seen her move.

“Speak to me in the language of dragons or speak not at all.” She said. “With Vhagar there shall be no half-measures. You are either a dragon or not. So decide, sweet one.”

“Mother-”

“Will never understand. Is it not with coldness that she has regarded our heritage. All symbols torn from our home to be replaced with lies. She does not possess the fire it takes to raise a dragon. Is it not I who have taught you all you know?” His aunt got up from her kneeled position. “Is it not I who taught you history? Our language? Our philosophy? Is it not I who have dried your tears and soothed your worries?”

Even though his mother could not understand the hissed words, he ducked his head to avoid looking at her as he forced out a soft “it is”. The softness he found on her face chased away some of the shame that hung heavy in him.

It was true that all that which he excelled in, the very things he had found himself in– defined himself by – were subjects she had taught him. Her knowledge was the pillars of his entire being. He found comfort in the books she gifted him from whatever corner of the world she and Daemon had found themselves in, and in her absence he would sleep on one of the blankets from her room; one he would return when whispers of her return reached him so that she may leave her scent on it again to carry him over when her brother inevitably whisked her away again.

What of him was his Mother?

His faith. The Seven. That was her. When Aemond thought of it his mother his mind conjured the image of the seven pointed star. Where did the faith end and his mother start? Time had blurred them together. She would beam at him when he recited a verse or prayer right, and scowl before leaving him to the mercy of the cruel Septa when he got it wrong.

But she was warm, his mother, and she stayed, whereas his aunt did not. His aunt could not protect him from Aegon’s cruelty, but his mother would kiss his wounds and hold his face against her as he sobbed.

His aunt gave him a smile as she smoothed his hair back from his bruised face.

She did not shy away from looking at him, but fire burned in her eyes as she did. A small part of him wanted her to turn back to him when she turned away to speak to her twin, one that still cared for his nephews. But Lucerys had cut out that small part of him along with his eye – carved out the pieces of him that were not dragon, the part of him that was Hightower. And so he turned his eye to look at his tormentor with a kind of bravery he had never shown them before.

“Rhaenyra,” she called out to his sister whilst ignoring his father’s harsh whisper of her name, “niece.”

“Aunt.” Rhaenyra's voice shook as she brought Lucerys further into the folds of her skirt, if that was even possible, Aemond mused, for the pup’s face had long since disappeared in the black.

“Hm. I had not thought you to raise cowards,” his aunt raised a brow, “will Lucerys not look me in the eye when we discuss his punishment?”

“Punishment?” Echoed Rhaenyra with a scowl. “They were defending themselves against vile slanders.”

“Perhaps.”

“It is treason-”

“To attack a member of the royal family. Yes. Though what is one to do when one member of the family attacks another? An eye for an eye will leave us all blind, and tis a small comfort to a suffering soul.”

Rhaenyra’s beautiful face twisted into an ugly scowl. “Father, this is ludicrous. He levied vile insults against my sons.”

His aunt was not deterred by her niece dragging his father, the king, back into the conversation he so desperately sought to avoid. Coward.

“Yes, Viserys,” she put an emphasis on his name, “the pup cut out your son’s eye. Have you nothing to say? I have insulted you many times and yet here I stand with two eyes. Is it not a greater crime to call the king a bastard? Bastard. Will you take my eye? Come, come, brother, there is a knife right there.”

“This is insanity!” Viserys barked, an angry blush crawling up his neck.

Aemond had plenty of heroes growing up, a new one for every book he read, but he had never admired them (or anyone else) as he did his aunt in that moment. It was an unfamiliar feeling to have someone defy the king for him, though he wished she did not offer her eye to him. He would not have her suffer.

“Yes! Yes it is! And yet you sat and said nothing. Look at him. I said look at him! Damnit, Viserys, look!”

His aunt dragged his father over to where he sat and forced him to the floor. The guards who came to help him were held in place by Daemon, a man he had never thought would stand on his side of the line.

“Look at your son.”

His father’s eyes met his,

for the first time in years the two locked eyes.

He waited for the realization to show in his eyes, but he saw nothing but his own reflection in the vast blue of his father’s eyes. He would throw himself in them if that meant he would show him but a sliver of understanding, even a word to acknowledge that he had been wrong. But Aemond knew that he would only drown.

And his father wouldn’t care.

Seconds ticked by and his aunt’s grip on the scarce strands of his father’s hair tightened to the point that some of them remained twisted around her fingers even when she let go.

But his father never spoke.

He looked,

but he didn’t see.

His father had two eyes and yet he was blind.

“Pathetic,” his aunt whispered before letting go of her brother. “I see now where the weakness in them came from. No matter. I will fix this.”

The sight of Viserys forced onto his knees jarred his mother.

“Enough of this.” She protested. “My son has been maimed and her son is responsible. I demand there be justice. Viserys, he’s your son!”

"Your son-"

"Rhaenyra, look at him," Alicent directly acknowledged his sister for the first time that night, pleading with her. "What if it was Lucerys sitting in this chair, would you not demand his attacker be punished?" His mother's hand scratched at the skin over her heart, head shaking. "This isn't right. All this over some training yard insults? Lucerys cut out his eye! He meant to kill my son. This isn't- This is too- Rhaenyra you must see reason, for... for me."

Rhaenyra's face softened but her words did not. "No, step-mother," she spit out the word, malice coating her voice, "what Aemond said is treason. It is a regretful accident, but Lucerys had every right-"

Every right.

The words echoed in his head.

Every right. Every right.

His fault. His fault. His fault.

“This infighting must cease. We are a family-” Viserys groaned, hands clutching his head.

“You are a coward, Viserys.” His aunt shook her head just as his mother found her voice again,

“No amount of goodwill or false apologies will make him whole again. His eye is forever lost. Viserys, please. He’s your son.”

Aemond had not ever heard his mother beg before. She would ask and his father would say no and that would be the end of the matter, but not now. His mother did not back down. Her back straightened and a snarl twisted her face.

He felt unworthy of her protection.

But his father turned away.

Away from him.

Away from his mother.

Alicent wiped at the wetness under her eyes, her shoulders slumped in defeat, but a fire worthy of her husband's name burned inside her. She no longer glanced at his sister with despair, with utter heartbreak, but with contempt, disgust even. “Very well. If the king will not have justice then the Queen will. I will have Lucerys’ eye in return. Ser Criston-”

The Knight moved through the lines of shiny armor, but then,

chaos.

Everyone shouted and crowded together. In waves they shouted with outrage and horror. Aemond closed his one remaining eye with a whimper stuck in his throat. Goblets were being thrown, doors slammed both open and shut until every noise blended together into one.

His father shouted but it was lost in the endless ‘mother!’, ‘no!’, ‘Alicent!’.

Until,

“Shut up!”

Common tongue,

his aunt shouted in the common tongue.

The room fell quiet. Aemond heard a rat scutter across the floor.

“Alicent,” his aunt whispered and placed a… soft hand on his mother’s arm. She leant down and whispered something in the other woman’s ear, to which his mother nodded, the tears that had been pooling in her eyes finally started to fall down her pale cheeks.

Aemond hated seeing her cry.

It was his fault.

If only he had kept his mouth shut.

His aunt had never spoken to Alicent in the common tongue before, but now she looked at his mother with a new… softness in her eyes. Almost as if she was impressed.

It was not only him that saw a different side to his devout mother that night.

He wondered what his aunt said to his mother. Reassurances? Condolences?

He was useless now. He would never be the knight he had dreamt of. He would never be able to protect his family like he had sworn before the gods.

He would be cast out of the light of the gods.

Cursed.

One-eyed.

Ruined.

No maiden would look at him now.

His mother would always be alone.

“When Daemon and I… misbehaved,” a curl of her lips, “we would be sent away from King’s Landing. Banished indefinitely. Alicent is… right. There needs to be a punishment. Aemond has been wronged. Ah, ah, Rhaenyra.” His aunt tutted. “I am showing you kindness, dear niece. Lucerys… Velaryon will be stripped of his titles and is forbidden from leaving Dragonstone until the Queen deems differently, so that he may think about what he has done.”

“Father, surely-”

“Viserys is not in the right of mind to decide such things,” his aunt interjected. “There has to be consequences, Rhaenyra. Lucerys brought a knife and cut out his uncle’s eye. He cannot go unpunished.”

“I see your blood runs green now.”

His aunt snorted. “Dragons do not bleed. Lucerys will not return to King’s Landing.”

“And what of him? Will his crimes be swept under the rug so that the Hightowers can snake even further into the cracks in our house?”

“Hardly.”

Aemond’s blood turned to ice.

He tried to catch her eye, and he wished that his voice would work so that he could protest.

He needed to say something.

She wouldn’t turn against him, would she?

His mother bristled, ready to raise hell.

The King still avoided looking at any of them, surrounded by his entourage of Maesters who fussed over him.

“Aemond will be studying under the tutelage of the Martells so that he may unlearn his… hatred, until the Prince is satisfied with his progress.”

He sunk into his chair.

Is this what justice felt like?

It was a small balm to his wounds, like a cloth swept over a missing limb so as to hide it. Yet he knew his aunt had demanded what she could. She was not to blame for the King's blindness.

It was enough for now.

Rhaenyra’s angry huff, the slamming of a door and his mother’s hurried steps rushing after her childhood friend, fell into the background of the warmth that spread in him. He hardly noticed as the room emptied until it was only he, the Maester and the twins left.

“Hm.” Daemon spoke for the first time that night. His eyes didn’t stray from his stitched up wound. “Perhaps there is more dragon than hightower in you after all.”

Aemond ducked his head. He did not know how to react to his words. Was it praise?

He didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

He may have lost an eye but he gained two more, and together they would learn to unleash fire and blood on their enemies.

#aemond imagine #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon imagines #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targeryan

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zeus-favorite-child · 2 months

Text

WIP

Trying to clear some of my drafts and found this, still thinking if I should continue so here's a sort of Sokkla fic.

As the others at their table excused themselves to mingle and dance, the music grew louder, the bass thumping a rhythm that seemed to echo the racing of her heart. They were left in relative solitude, the din of the party a backdrop to their tense conversation. The candles on the table flickered, casting a warm glow across their faces. Sokka's hand rested on the table, his thumb idly stroking the condensation on his wine glass.

"Looks like you're in demand as always," Azula said, her voice a smoky whisper that seemed to resonate in the quiet space between them. She nodded towards the trio of young women who had approached, only to be dismissed with a polite smile and a wave of his hand.

"It's the tuxedo," Sokka said with a self-deprecating grin. "Makes me look like a gentleman."

"Or maybe it's the reputation," Azula shot back, a smirk playing on her lips. "They're probably hoping to be the next conquest of the great Southern playboy."

Sokka chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mirth. "Conquest is a strong word. I prefer 'charming company'."

Azula rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upwards. "Sure you do," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "But let's not forget the rumors about you and your 'charming company'."

Sokka shrugged, his grin widening. "It's all in good fun," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "But, speaking of rumors, I'm surprised none of these vultures have approached you yet. Thought you had them all scared off with your 'taken' status."

Azula's smirk grew, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Ah, the perks of being the Fire Lord's sister," she said, her voice a sweet mockery. "But it seems the news of my singlehood has yet to spread."

Sokka leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Give it time," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Once word gets out, I suspect you'll have a line of suitors longer than the queue for Zuko's autograph."

The words had barely left his mouth when a figure approached, a young nobleman's daughter named Dina, her eyes sparkling with interest as she swayed closer. She had always had a soft spot for the famous war hero, and now that the opportunity presented itself, she was eager to make her move.

"Sokka!" she exclaimed, her voice a delightful trill that was music to his ears. "How utterly charming to see you here!"

Dina swayed closer, her eyes wide with excitement as she placed a delicate hand on his shoulder. She was a vision in a flowing gown of emerald silk that matched the vibrancy of her eyes, her hair piled in an elaborate updo adorned with precious gems. Her smile was genuine, her intentions clear as day. Sokka offered her a polite nod, his own smile tightening slightly as he felt Azula's gaze on him.

"Dina," he said, his voice smooth as velvet. "It's always a pleasure to see you."

Dina's gaze darted to Azula before returning to Sokka, her smile faltering for a moment. She couldn't help but feel a stab of jealousy as she took in the other woman's outfit, the dress that clung to her like a second skin, revealing just enough to make every man in the room take notice. And yet, despite the obvious allure, Azula wore it with an air of detachment, as if daring anyone to approach. And the way she's seem at ease to be in a close proximity with guy, such as Sokka, it was infuriating, really.

"Councilwoman Azula," Dina said sweetly, her voice a hair too bright. "You're looking… radiant tonight."

The tension around the table thickened as Azula's eyes narrowed slightly, she can smell the jealousy from the woman miles away. She can't help but laugh inwardly. "Thank you, Miss Dina," she replied, her tone polite but laced with the barest hint of a challenge. "I see you've become quite friendly with our Southern ambassador."

Dina's smile was forced as she replied, "Oh, we've had the pleasure of crossing paths before. But I had no idea you two were so… close."

Sokka felt the weight of Azula's gaze on him, her amusement palpable as she took another sip of her wine, the liquid leaving a shimmering trail on her upper lip. He cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving Song's. "We're just colleagues," he said, his voice casual. "Councilwoman Azula and I have had our share of… interesting negotiations."

The air grew thick with unspoken words, the tension coiling tighter as Song's hand slid down his arm, her eyes flicking to Azula and back. "I was hoping to steal Sokka for a dance," she said, her voice light. "If you don't mind, of course."

Azula's smile was a cat playing with a mouse. "Not at all," she purred, her hand reaching out to toy with a lock of Sokka's hair. "After all, it's not like I have any authority over him."

The girl's eyes widened slightly at Azula's action, and Sokka felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as Azula's fingers lingered, the touch intimate and deliberate. He knew she was baiting the other woman, the same way she had baited him so many times before. He couldn't help but feel a thrill at the power play, a reminder of the old days when their rivalry had been as fiery as their battles.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Azula withdrew her hand, her smile never wavering. "By all means," she said, her voice like honeyed venom. "Take him for a dance. He does enjoy the company of a pretty face."

Song's eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth to protest, but Sokka was quick to interject. "Umm Dina, I'm afraid I must decline," he said, his tone firm but polite. "As you can see Councilwoman here, has had quite a bit drink tonight. I feel it's my duty to ensure she doesn't overindulge."

The room seemed to hold its breath as Dina's gaze darted from Sokka to Azula and back again. The unspoken challenge in Azula's eyes was clear, and with a huff, Dina turned on her heel and walked away, the train of her gown whispering against the marble floor. Sokka watched her go, his jaw tightening slightly before he turned back to Azula.

"What was that about?" he asked, his voice low.

"Just wanted to see her reaction," Azula said with a smug chuckle, setting her glass down with a delicate clink. "It's always entertaining to watch the little fish try to swim with the sharks."

Sokka raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "And you're the shark in this scenario?"

"Always," Azula replied, her voice a purr.

Her hand trembled slightly as she raised her wine glass to her lips again, the plunging neckline of her dress revealing the smooth column of her throat as she swallowed. Sokka's gaze followed the movement, his own pulse quickening. The dress had been a deliberate choice, his eyes tracing the line of her neck, the exposed swell of her breasts, and the curve of her leg revealed by the high slit. She's being dangerously tempting all night and he's a minute away from giving in.

#sokkla #sokka x azula #fanfic idea #councilwoman azula and councilman sokka #this should end up with a smut

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astra-ravana · 22 days

Text

Working With Loki

Lord of Mischief

Colors: Black, orange, yellow, green, red, purple

Herbs: Mistletoe, yellow rattle, mint, patchouli, tobacco, cinnamon, clove, rue, holly, cedar, juniper, elder, ivy, mandrake, wormwood, canabis, mayflower, marigold, alkanet, sandalwood, allspice, ginger, rose

Crystals: Obsidian, serpentine, jade, black tourmaline, danburite, rutilated quartz, onyx, garnet, citrine, carnelian, fire opal, moss agate, emerald, pyrite, hematite, ruby, mookaite, herkimer diamond

Element: Fire/air

Planet: Saturn/Uranus

Zodiac: Aries/Gemini

Metal: Silver, lead, uranium, white gold

Tarot: The Fool, the Hanged Man, the World

Direction: South

Dates: Friday the 13th, the 13th of each month, Autumn Equinox, Samhain, Yule, April Fool's Day

Day: Saturday

Animals: Snakes, falcons, spiders, flies, fleas, salmon, horses, vultures, wolves, foxes

Domains: Mischief, chaos, cunning, flames, destruction, creation, creativity, shape-shifting, blacksmithing, cooking, discovery, trickery, protection, paradox, taboo, catalysts, seduction, passion, breaking tradition, primal instinct

Offerings: Whiskey, canabis, tobacco, candy, sweets, soda, toys, blades and weapons, items from nature, found objects and trinkets, representations of his animals, hand made creations, fire, showing love/kindness to outcasts and misunderstood

Symbols:

#satanic witch #satanism #withcraft #demons #magick #witch #demonolatry #lefthandpath #dark #witchcraft #loki deity #Loki #norse pagan #norse paganism #norse polytheism #eclectic witch

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kckt88 · 11 months

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Petitions & Final Tributes.

Summary:

Rhaenyra returns to Kings Landing to defend Luke's claim to Driftmark and Aemond delivers a tribute to his nephews.

Warning(s): Anger, Swearing, Violence, Death & Mentions of Sexual Actions.

Word Count: 2605

Author Note: A companion piece to Wedding & Consummation/Arrival(s)/Mother & Father/The Hand, The King & The Dragon/Dragonstone/A Time for Grief/The Gullet & Harrenhal and the Rivers, but can be read as a one-shot.

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“Vaemond Velaryon is coming to Kings Landing to petition for his right to claim Driftmark”.

“Lord Corlys isn’t even dead yet, and the vultures already circle” muttered Vaera.

“He means to challenge Lucerys’ claim as heir,” said Otto.

A young squire entered the room, nervously wringing his hands.

"Apologise Lord Hand, but the dragons Meleys, and Moondancer have landed at the dragon pit."

"Oh, Do you suppose she has come to petition herself or claim Baela as heir?" asked Alicent.

It was a good question. Rhaenys has ruled in the absence of her husband with Baela as her ward, so if anyone had a claim, it could be Rhaenys. And Baela was the true born daughter of a Velaryon. But Vaemond would no doubt argue against both of them as they were women.

"Rhaenys is smart, she knows that Vaemond has more of a claim than her” said Aemond.

"Baela is her ward, and she is the trueborn daughter of Lady Laena. Baela would be a good option to rule” said Vaera.

“I doubt Vaemond would accept Baela being named heir,” said Otto.

“What of Rhaenyra?” asked Aemond.

“No doubt she will fight for Luke’s claim. What choice does she have” replied Vaera.

“What of Viserys?” asked Alicent.

“The King is far too ill to sit the Iron Throne. As Queen it shall be you who sits in judgement over who shall claim Driftmark” said Otto firmly.

In the last two years, Viserys health had seriously declined. He appeared almost skeletal, his flesh decaying at a rapid rate. He’d lost his right eye and most of his cheek, he spent his days in bed so dosed up on milk of the poppy that he was barely coherent.

He had no idea who he was, or where he was. He also had no idea who anyone else was either. Several times he’d mistaken Vaera for his beloved Rhaenyra. He’d even grasped her hand once and breathed ‘Rhaenyra. My only child’. Vaera stopped visiting him after that, and she certainly never told Aemond what he’d said.

Later that day, Vaera was pacing around the nursery she really didn’t want to see her mother or Daemon, but she had no choice, no doubt they’d heard of Vaemond’s plan to petition for the right to Driftmark which would essentially call Luke’s legitimacy into question as it was announced earlier in the day that they were on their way to Kings Landing.

“I hate feeling like this” muttered Vaera.

“How do you feel?” asked Aemond.

“Upset. Confused. Angry. Pick one”.

“Try not to worry Issa jorrāelagon” replied Aemond (My love).

“Easier said than done I’m afraid”.

“I know things with your mother and Daemon were never easy. But the petition tomorrow is important. We have to be there” said Aemond.

“I know we do, that was never in doubt. I just hope they don’t stay too long. This is our home. Our children’s home and I don’t want them spoiling our happiness”.

“I can assure you that won’t happen and if they even try, I’ll see their tongues ripped from their mouths” said Aemond.

“So violent” muttered Vaera as she pressed a kiss to her husband’s lips.

“Oh, you have no idea. But for now, let’s just focus on getting the petition out of the way and not worrying about anything or anyone that comes along with it” said Aemond.

“With you by my side. I’ll try” said Vaera.

“I’ll always be by your side” exclaimed Aemond.

“You are joking right?” asked Vaera stunned.

“I’m afraid not Princess. Your mother has requested to see you, she has also asked that you bring the children”.

“Apologise but you can tell my mother that I do not wish to see her, and she will not be seeing my sons” said Vaera firmly as she gently brushed Aemon’s hair.

“Princess” said the maid bowing respectfully before she left.

“She requests to see you now?” snarked Aemond as he lifted Rhaegar onto his knee.

“I have not seen or heard from my mother since our wedding. She didn’t even come to see her grandsons when they were born, but she can come to Kings Landing to defend Luke’s claim to Driftmark” snapped Vaera as she started braiding Aemon’s hair.

“She’s up to something” replied Aemond as he bounded Rhaegar on his knee, his son squealing gleefully.

“No doubt she wants to see me and the boys, so she can pretend to be the doting mother and grandmother to sweet talk me into standing by her at the petition as a show of support”.

“A pointless endeavour if I ever saw one” muttered Aemond.

“Not a chance will I give in to her whims. I mean can you imagine the trouble it would cause if I was to stand by her” snapped Vaera.

“It would definitely keep the court gossips busy” said Aemond.

"Amongst other things" muttered Vaera.

Vaera could feel the cold glare of Daemon as she stood next to Aemond, Helaena and Aegon in the Throne room.

“Looks like he’s about to piss himself” muttered Aegon as he nodded towards Luke.

Vaera tutted at Aegon’s comment, but now it was time for the petitions to begin.

Vaemond spoke first. When Rhaenyra interrupted him, Vaera was actually pleased that Alicent put her in her place. Did she really think she could just interrupt him? If he had interrupted her, she would have raised hell.

But he was done, and it was her turn.

“If I am to answer this farce with any sort of grace, then I should start by reminding the court that almost twenty years-“

“-King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm" said Ser Erryk loudly.

Vaera shook her head in disbelief.

It was over.

Vaemond was never going to win against Rhaenyra, not now Viserys had miraculously roused himself from his medicated stupor to come to the defence of his favourite child.

It took an age for the ailing King to reach the Irone Throne, but he made it, albeit with some help from Daemon.

"I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys' wishes is the Princess Rhaenys" said Viserys between pants and gasps for air.

"It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark passes through Ser Laenor to his, trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry Jace, and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree" said Rhaenys.

Naturally, Vaemond was furious at his failure to seize control of Driftmark.

“You break law and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it."

"'Allow it'? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond. Lucerys is my trueborn grandson, and you are no more than a second son of Driftmark" snapped Viserys.

Vaemond was aghast at the King’s words.

"That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine!" yelled Vaemond as he pointed towards Luke.

Vaera reached for Aemond's hand.

"Go to your chambers. You have said enough," ordered Rhaenyra frowning.

In all her faults, Rhaenyra never tolerated anyone for calling her children bastards, not even Vaera. But that was then, this is now, and much had changed.

"You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom, and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned, I will not see it ended on the account of this-"

Vaemond paused.

"Say it” urged Daemon smirking.

"Her children. ARE BASTARDS! Even the one standing over there that calls herself Targaryen, they are the products of their WHORE mother!" screamed Vaemond.

Aemond squeezed Vaera’s hand.

"I will have your tongue for this!" hissed Viserys.

But it was too late.

Daemon sliced Dark Sister through Vaemond's skull like it was jelly. Alicent, Helaena and Aegon all back up in horror as Vaemond's lifeless body hit the stone floor, but Vaera and Aemond stayed put, staring down at Vaemond’s decapitated corpse as the blood pooled across the stone floor.

Vaera looked at Daemon who smirked at her.

"Disarm him!" yelled Otto.

"No need," said Daemon as he turned away and cleaned his blade.

Viserys soon fell back onto the throne groaning and Alicent ran to him.

"Call the maesters! Please, my love, you must take something for the pain” urged Alicent as she helped Viserys to his feet.

"I will not cloud my mind. I must make things right" gasped Viserys as he was escorted out of the Throne room by a maester and Ser Erryk.

“You look beautiful” muttered Aemond.

“What are you after?” asked Vaera smiling as she placed a gentle kiss on Aemond’s jaw.

“My wife. Moaning my name as I fuck her. Hard” whispered Aemond as he nuzzled the side of Vaera’s face, ignoring the gaze of his mother.

“Mērī lo nyke kostagon bībagon aōha orvorta ēlī” (Only if I can suck your cock first).

“Nyke kostagon rȳbagon ao” said Aegon grimacing slightly (I can hear you).

Vaera blushes as Aemond presses his lips against her cheek just as Rhaenyra entered, with Daemon and the children following.

Soon the King entered, and everyone rose from their seats as Viserys was carried to the table.

"How good it is to see you all tonight together" wheezed Viserys once everyone was seated.

"Prayer before we begin. May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest”.

Vaera hadn't closed her eyes, but Aemond had. So, he hadn't noticed Daemon's smirk when Alicent prayed for Vaemond.

"This is a cause for celebration. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, shall marry their cousins, Rhaena and Baela, to further strengthen the bond between our families. A toast to the young princes, and their betrothed" said Viserys.

Vaera saw Aegon lean over to Jace and whisper something to him. By the reaction Jace had, Vaera could only imagine how lewd Aegon had been.

"And to Lucerys Velaryon, future Lord of the Tides!"

"Hear, hear!" said Daemon loudly.

More whispering before Jace snapped.

"You can play the jester if you wish but hold your tongue before my betrothed"

Aegon looked over at his brother with a smirk and Vaera tried to hide her smirk.

Viserys seemed keen to start another speech. "It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world yet grown so distant from each other in the years past. My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am”.

The mask came off, and Vaera was still horrified by the sight of his disintegrated cheek and hallowed out eye socket. Rather poetic though, to be missing an eye. Given his lack of reaction to Aemond losing an eye.

"Not just a king, but your father. Your brother. Your husband, and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems, walk much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown ... then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly" said Viserys.

Quite ironic coming from the man who divided the house in the first place, by marrying Alicent Hightower instead of Laena Velaryon. But then again if he didn’t, Aemond wouldn’t exist, and neither would their sons.

Rhaenyra stood and made a toast for Alicent, which earned an eye roll from Vaera, then she had the audacity to make another toast.

“A toast to my daughter Vaera and my grandsons Aemon and Rhaegar, whom I have yet to meet, I wish them health and happiness” Rhaenyra.

“Who’s fault is that?” muttered Aemond.

“My love, leave it” begged Vaera.

Aegon seemed to have unfished business. For he whispered something else to Jace and he stood, angered. Aemond quickly stood in defence of his brother.

"Jace, no," whispered Rhaenyra.

So Jace raised his cup, looking at his two uncles.

"To Prince Aegon, Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles. And my sweet sister of course"

Vaera noticed that Aemond seemed somewhere else. Fond memories? He couldn't think of a single one with Jace involved.

But Helaena stood to make a toast, and his attention was now on her.

"I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They'll soon be married. If they don't fall in love like Vaera and Aemond did, it won't be too bad. Not every relationship can be that wonderful. But it isn't so bad, mostly he ignores you. Except sometimes when he's drunk,” said Helaena.

“Apologise for the interruption. But Prince Rhaegar is calling for his mother,” said Mayla.

“If you’ll excuse me Your Grace” said Vaera as she gave Aemond a kiss on the cheek and swiftly left the dining room.

Having little to no idea of the chaos that would soon erupt in her absence.

“Jēda syt ēdrugon issa dōna byka zaldrīzes” whispered Vaera as she tucked Rhaegar in his bed, making sure that he had his stuffed dragon teddy within his reach (Time for sleep my sweet little dragon).

“Avy jorrāelan muña” muttered Rhaegar as he closed his eyes (I love you mother).

“Avy jorrāelan tolī” replied Vaera smiling (I love you too).

Vaera checked on Aemon who was fast asleep, his hands clutching his favourite blue blanket to his chest.

“Don’t forget to keep the fire going. Aemon doesn’t like the dark” said Vaera.

“Yes Princess” replied Myla.

“Goodnight Myla” said Vaera quietly.

“Goodnight Princess”.

Vaera closed the door to the nursery and crossed the corridor to her shared chambers with Aemond.

Deciding to forgo bathing until the morning, Vaera had barely changed into her shift before her husband came storming in.

“A-Aemond. What’s wrong?” asked Vaera.

“Tell me you love me” muttered Aemond as he pulled Vaera too him.

“I love you”.

“Tell me you need me” begged Aemond as he lowered his head and pressed his face into Vaera’s shoulder.

“I need you”.

“Tell me you want me” whispered Aemond placing gentle kisses along the column of Vaera’s neck.

“I want you”.

“Hm” muttered Aemond as his fingers began untying the laces of her shift.

“I-I haven’t bathed tonight” said Vaera shivering as the shift slipped from her body, leaving her standing naked.

“I don’t care. I need you. Please” muttered Aemond as he began pulling off his own clothes.

Vaera nodded wordlessly as Aemond kissed her, walking them backwards towards the bed.

As Viserys lay on his bed wheezing into the darkness, he knew his time had come.

His family was finally united, and he could leave this world with the knowledge that House Targaryen would continue. The blood of old Valyria would live on.

“A-Aemma. I-I’m coming”

She’s here. She’s come for me. I’m ready. Take me with you.

“M-My love” whispered Viserys his hand stretched into the darkness.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x oc #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond fic

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star-girl69 · 2 years

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this was requested to me in a pm but this is the gist of it-

aemond x f!reader who is the daughter of a high ranking lord who is close friends with helaena and the rest of the royal family, but has a particularly close relationship with aemond. he comes to her for comfort after the pink dread joke, she goes to him when she has nightmares about the day he lost eye, and they basically just slowly fall in love with each other throughout their childhood. later, it is revealed that reader is bethrothed to someone else. aemond freaks out and then typical aemond-ness ensues.

this is so ooc but it’s cute so whatever also i apologize for it being so long i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: violence, kissing, swearing, mentions of sex, reader cries a lot, parental neglect (kinda?), tell me if i missed anything!

You Have Always Been Mine

—-

The fire crackles as you stare into it. Fire has always transfixed you, which was probably why you were so intwined in the family of fire and blood.

You were the fourth daughter of a powerful lord, only good for being a bargaining chip in a marriage. Your parents had been chasing a son, but only daughters came to them.

When you first visited King’s Landing, you were utterly lost. By chance, you stumbled upon Helaena in the gardens, a spider weaving between her fingers. You were fascinated by her bravery, and she was fascinated by yours. No one would ever approach her like this- so boldly ask what she is doing. Everyone walks on eggshells around her. But you were not like that, and she found herself not wanting to leave your side.

At Alicent’s request, you became a part of the family. Your parents agreed to it, seeing as it was one less worthless daughter to feed. Helaena told everyone you were her sister, and it was Alicent who held you when you got your first bleed.

Until the day you died, you would always be inexplicably tied with the Targaryens.

The sun has long since set, and your handmaidens has retired shortly after. You had tried to find sleep, but it would not come for you. You figured some needlepoint would help your mind to calm, your body to lull itself into a state of sleep.

So, at this late hour, when you hear a knock upon your door, there could only be one person on the other side.

“Come in,” You call, and the door opens to the sight of Aemond Targaryen. He bars the door, walking over to your sitting area quickly. “What troubles you, Aemond?”

He always came to you for comfort- and you were all too happy to provide it. You were too young to truly understand what was happening, but your stomach clenched each time you saw Aemond, each time you heard his name, or even thought about him.

“They gave me a pig.” He settles down on the couch, pushing his head into your lap. You quickly move your needlepoint, afraid of accidentally injuring him.

“What do you mean?”

“Jace, Luke, and Aegon. Today, during our dragon riding lesson. They put fake wings on a pig.” Your heart twisted for him.

“Oh, Aemond.” Your fingers wound into his hair, softly scratching his scalp. He sighed into your touch. “I’m sorry. They are so cruel to you… I- I do not know why.” He keeps his eyes closed, and you don’t cease your scratching. “If I could change it, I would. In a heartbeat, Aemond.” He opens his eyes, and you move your hand to caress the side of his face.

“Sometimes I think you are the only one who truly loves me, Y/N.” He grabs your hand with his own, holding it there as if he is scared you will pull away. You would never, not unless he asked.

“You speak lies. Helaena loves you, and your mother does.”

“Yes, but not truly. Not as you do. You love me like you can look into my soul and see every bad thing I will ever do- and yet you still love me.”

“I doubt I could ever not love you, Aemond.” He turns his face, pressing a kiss to your palm.

“Promise you won’t leave me to the vultures.”

You smile. “I promise, Aemond.”

—-

The worst day of your life was when Aemond lost his eye. The fear- not knowing if you would lose him. You knew even then that you could not bear losing him.

Even weeks after that day, you found yourself having nightmares.

They would start similar to the actual events, a servant telling you to go the hall- that Prince Aemond had been injured.

You were not sure if you would ever forget the fear you felt when the servant told you that.

You would run to the hall, tripping over your skirts and worry snaking around your throat like a hand, choking you.

You would open the doors with a bang, look around frantically until you caught sight of him sitting by the fire. You would be relieved, and run over.

But when you were only a few feet away you wouldn’t see the gash over his eye. Oh, he was fine. You would grab his hand, notice how it was cold and limp in your hands. Then you would look up, see a knife sticking out of his heart.

And you would wake up screaming.

Tonight was no different.

It was the last night of your journey back to the Red Keep, leaving behind that horrible Driftmark.

But tonight, you could not bear it. You needed to see him- remind yourself that he was still alive.

So, with shaky legs and a teary face, you climbed out of bed, feet padding against the cold wooden floor. The door creaked as you opened it, and you flinched, but no one came.

You crossed the hallway, opening his door as softly as you could. His did not creak, and you sent a silent thank-you to the gods.

You shut the door behind you, turning around.

You had just wanted to come in while he was sleeping, see that he was okay, see the rise and fall of his chest, and leave. But he was sitting up in bed, waiting for you.

“I heard you scream.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone could hear.”

“I would always hear you if you were in trouble, Y/N.” He seems almost bored, stating that as if it was a fact.

You smirked. “Even if I was a million miles away?”

He gulps and doesn’t answer. “What was your nightmare about?”

“It- I shouldn’t burden you with it.” You walk forward, standing next to his bed. “I’m sorry for coming.”

“Don’t be. Tell me, Y/N.”

“I-” You feel the tears fall again at even just the memory. “Instead of your eye- there was a knife in your heart. You were dead, Aemond, and I could not bear it.”

He looks at you almost placidly.

“I just came to remind myself that you’re alive.” You place a hand on his face, the side closest to you that was maimed. “I’m so sorry, Aemond.”

“Lay with me.”

You take a step back, and he lets you. Your hand falls.

“Aemond- I can’t… It would be improper.”

He scoffed. “That is nothing. I am prince and you are a princess.” You open your mouth to speak but he stops you. “Alicent thinks of you her daughter, Helaena thinks you her sister. And you are mine. My best friend, and no one will take that from us.”

Your tears multiply at his words, but they are grateful tears.

“Lay with me,” He repeats, and you climb into his bed. He shuffles over, and you press your head against his chest. Feel his heartbeat. Remind yourself that he is here, he is alive, and he is yours.

The moon comes in through the window, shining off of the wall you are facing. You tilt your head up, look him in the eyes.

“I wish I could give you your eye back.”

“I know you would if you could.” You smile, and something ignites in his stomach.

When he said you were his, something had ignited in his stomach. But you were here, you were next to him, and you were his. You were his in a way that ran much deeper than blood, than marriages. You were his by cosmic right, by some way that your soul’s were tethered together.

If he lost you, he would not be able to live.

But he pushes that away, because you were here now, you were next to him, and you were his. At least for now.

—-

You knew that the years had been kind to you. Men stared at you in halls, asked for your hand in marriage. But you did not have your eye on them. You had your eye on your family.

You did not want to think about marriage, about being taken away from them. It loomed over you, growing closer everyday.

You confided in Helaena, and she told you that you would always be sisters.

The stars have demanded it, that we be sisters.

Of course, you never quite were able to decode Helaena’s riddles. But you took comfort in it.

When you told Aemond of your fears, he had gripped his sword handle as if he could bend it in half.

You will always be mine. Don’t dirty your mouth with talk of another man.

If you were being truthful, the years had been kind on Aemond as well. He trained all the time, his body lean muscle. He was much taller than you, and his sharp features and eyepatch inspired fear.

Not in you.

He was still your Aemond, the one who held you when you had nightmares, who came to you when he was hurt by his nephews and brother.

You entertained the thought of marrying him in your most private moments. It would be a dream, you would stay with your family, and be married to Aemond. No one would be able to take you away from each other.

But your parents still had the final say, and you figured this was why they were coming today.

You stood with the royal family, in between Aemond and Alicent.

Perhaps he knew what their coming meant, because you could feel his eyes on you, tracing over your face.

You wish he could think you were beautiful like you thought him to be, but you would always just be his best friend. But, to even have a little piece of him was better than none of him. Even if you both married other people- you could never love someone like you love him.

The carriage pulled to a stop in the courtyard, and your parents exited. Their wish had been granted, and a 5 year old boy raced out of the carriage, rambunctious and entitled. Your parents gave him everything, but alas, you hoped they had softened now that they had their son.

“Daughter!” Your father exclaimed, and you stepped forward. Your had been in the same etiquette lessons as Helaena, the etiquette for a princess was all you knew. Your mother eyed you, picking up your brother, whose name you knew to be Thomas.

Your father grabbed your hands, looking you over, nodding to himself.

Your mother stepped forward as well, Thomas pulling at her hair. She ignored it.

“You will make the most beautiful bride, soon.”

You hoped it was never.

“Oh,” Your father spoke up again, putting an arm around your mother. “I cannot bear to wait any longer. We have betrothed you. A Tyrell son- the first son, heir to Highgarden! I guess he saw you at court, and came to us for your hand.”

You could not see straight.

“You will be the Lady of Highgarden!” Your mother seemed to be ecstatic, and you felt your heart break.

You could not. You would not.

You were frozen. You did not know what to do, what to say. Behind you, you could feel the tension from the royal family roll off in waves.

You heard Helaena’s soft cries, Alicent trying to comfort her. You turned away from your parents. although your father was mid-sentence.

“Helaena-” You rushed forward, taking her into your arms. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” It was all you could repeat as your own tears fell.

“Have we caused some upset?” Your father was confused, you could tell.

“Yes.” Aemond’s voice. Oh, Aemond. You could not beat to leave him. You were not sure how to gather your thoughts, how to deal with this new information.

“Aemond,” Alicent scolded, but you heard the tightness in her voice. “I’m very sorry. My Lord, My Lady. We have just been taking care of Y/N for so long- this transition will be tough.”

“I see.” Now your fathers voice was tight.

“We are meant to be sisters. The stars demand it.” Helaena’s prophecies have always worked her into a frenzy, and you squeeze her tight, trying to bring her back to what was happening. Although you wanted to fade away with her as well.

“Y/N, come. We have much to discuss.” Your mother comes up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Please,” And it is a whimper, a plea, said into Helaena’s hair as you bury yourself in her arms, trying to ignore what is happening.

“Y/N, I know this is difficult. But you will be married. The Tyrell boy is nice, and he will treat you well. Do not delay the inevitable.” Your mother’s counsel only makes you cry more, until she grabs you by the shoulder and rips you away from Helaena. “Insolent girl,” She mutters, keeping a death grip on your shoulder. She follows your father, and you look back.

Helaena is crying into Alicent’s neck, and Aemond’s jaw is clenched, face turning red in anger. He had not done that since you were young children.

“I’m sorry.” You mouth, and he does not answer.

—-

This is the longest you had gone without seeing them.

You had been with your parents, being prepared for life as a Lady.

But you were not a Lady- you were a Princess. Not in title, but in practice, and in your family’s eyes.

Your parents had told you to stay away from Helaena and Aemond, make the transition easier. It only hurt you all more. You wished you didn’t have to listen to them- that Alicent was your mother and she would protect you from this cruel fate.

Your felt horrible for thinking this way, but you could not help it.

The gardens were beautiful, and as you walked with Lord Tyrell, you came across the place you had first met Helaena. Tears threatened to spill, but you pushed them back.

“You are most beautiful. I am surprised no one has taken your hand yet.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” Would it be improper to throw up on him?

“Of course, everyone thought you would marry Prince Aemond. But he gets everything. You know, even after he lost his eye, he beat me in a tourney.”

You remembered that. The only tourney he has competed it, before deciding he hated them. He had won, of course, and you weren’t sure why he hated them. But you would support him, always.

“Spoiled boy.” He muttered and you turned. He turned to you, a victorious smile on his face. “But, justice has prevailed. I get his woman. Tell me, has he taken your maidenhead yet?”

“My Lord, I-” Was he questioning your virtue?

“Well, has he?” You were too shocked to form an answer as quick as he wanted you too, so he grabbed your chin harshly. “Did he?”

His fingers dug into your skin, and it hurt.

“N-n-no,” You were scared out of your mind, and tears threatened to spill. He just looked at you like you were his meal.

“Shame. You will never get to know how much more of a man I am.”

—-

You aren’t quite sure what time it is when you leave your chambers, but it’s dark and the halls are devoid of servants.

You look up at the door in front of you. Aemond’s. Behind that door holds so many memories- and you think about leaving him again. You truly cannot bear it.

You knock, hoping that he is inside.

The door opens quickly, and he is out of breath. Lose pants, and a linen t-shirt, he looks like your Aemond. You feel tears well. You are leaving him.

“Y/N. I knew you would come.”

“Aemond.”

He notices your tears, and he draws you inside his chambers, barring the door. He holds you against him as his hand fumbles with the lock.

“What’s wrong, dōna mēre?” Your heart squeezes at the nickname even through everything. He teases you, refuses to tell you what it means. And you are leaving him, so now you will never know.

He draws you to the couch, sitting side by side and he pulls you to his chest. Oh, how perfect this moment is. But then you remember what Lord Tyrell has done- why you are here, looking for comfort.

“T-that man, Aemond. He is horrible. He only wants me to fulfill some grudge against you. He questioned by virtue- when I didn’t answer- he- he grabbed by chin, so roughly, and it h-hurt…” You can feel him tense.

But he just shushes you and lays you down on the pillows, wraps a blanket around you. He pulls his hands away and you realize he is leaving.

“What are you doing?” Your voice is small, and Aemond’s anger only grows.

“I’m going to kill him.” You shoot up, faster than lightening. He whips around, getting on his knees to calm you down. “It’s alright,” He whispers. You can still feel the anger radiating off of him, but he pushes it down for your sake. You grab at his collar, trying to keep him from making a grave mistake.

“Y-you cannot throw your life away for me.”

“You are my life.”

The ferocity of his words hit you, as he grabs one of your wrist’s holding onto his collar.

“Aemond… do not say things like that.”

“Why?” His expression is hard. He is glaring at you, but you cannot find it in yourself to shy away.

“Because I am to be married, Aemond. And when you say that…” It seems like you might love me back.

“What? Tell me, Y/N.” He takes one of your hands, places it on his face.

“Because it gives me hope. That you might feel the same way I feel about you.” And you cannot lie to him, so it all comes pouring out. “Do not say things like that unless you can back it up, Aemond. Unless you love me.”

He presses a kiss to your palm. He speaks quickly, needing you to believe him. “I do love you. More than anything. You torture me, haunt me with just the thought of you. I need you. I cannot… You said you would not leave me. Don’t.”

You almost do not believe him, it seems too good to be true. But he speaks with such conviction you know it must be true.

Aemond Targaryen loves you more than anything.

Oh, this is all you have ever wanted. All you ever needed. And now you are being teared away from him.

“It’s not my choice. I would stay if I could. I would.”

He leans forward, breathes you in. He knows you speak the truth, but he does not want to believe it.

“I love you.” It is barely above a whisper, and your voice cracks with the emotion your pour into those three words, but he hears it all the same. You think it is the most true thing that has ever been spoken.

“How can I keep you?” He places his face next to yours, trailing your jawline with his nose. You wind your hands around his neck, if only to keep him close to you.

“I don’t know,” And you are lost in him, and you cannot think. He is the most addictive substance, and you will need him again and again after this. “Aemond…” You feel his breath, heavy on your cheek. It is heavenly. “Make me yours.”

“You always were.”

And he draws you in for the sweetest kiss, and you are lost.

—-

When you wake, it is to the sun shining on your face. You remember last night, your confessions, and how Aemond had kissed you. You press your fingertips to your lips, suppressing a smile.

An arm winds around your waist, and you recognize it immediately.

“Are you awake, dōna mēre?” His voice is rough as he whispers into your ear, and you find yourself wanting to drown in it.

You place you arm over his, sighing. “Aemond.”

“Y/N.”

You turn to your other side, to find Aemond facing you. His shirt is discarded, and you trace the indents of his stomach and chest with your finger. You lay on his arm, his hand cupping the back of your head, lips pressing into your hairline. You could truly stay like this forever.

“I love you.” He whispers, and it is the sweetest sound. His other hand trails down, caressing your thigh and drawing soft circles there.

“I love you too.” You whisper, and a cloud hangs over this moment. “Lord Tyrell intends for us to marry, tomorrow. He says that he is entranced with me, that he cannot wait.”

He seems unbothered. “His name does not deserve to be in your pretty mouth.”

“They will take me from you.” At this, his arm moves from your thigh to your waist, tugging you closer.

“I won’t let them take you, Y/N. I swear this to you.”

Your parents might come looking for you, but you don’t care. “Can we just stay together, today? Stay in here?”

“If it is what you wish, dōna mēre.”

—-

The sun has rolled behind a cloud, giving the room some much needed darkness. You have done nothing but reminisce, talk aimlessly. If you marry Lord Tyrell, it is possibly the last you will ever see of him.

You have moved to the couch, and you are in between his legs. His arms wrap around you from behind, and you are at peace.

You wish to be with him, for today. It is all you have, and it is not enough, but better than nothing.

Aemond leans forward, presses a bare kiss to your shoulder. You have been sitting in silence.

“I can’t marry him.”

“I know, dōna mēre.”

“Can you not do something? Can your mother not?”

“I don’t think so,” He places his chin on the top of your head. “But I will think of something.”

You want nothing more than to believe him.

—-

A few hours later, you leave him and lock yourself in your chambers. You cannot sleep without him, so you toss and turn as you think of Lord Tyrell- and your approaching wedding.

—-

The next morning, you awake to your mother. She is singing praises, telling you that your dress looks wonderful, the gardens are decorated for the ceremony. You ask if Helaena and Alicent can help you get ready, and she tells you not to be stupid.

“They have more important things to do, my dear.”

“They are my family. I want them here.”

Her eyes narrow toward you. “I am your family. Your father is. And soon, Lord Tyrell will be. You will belong to him, and you will be most happy.”

“I love Aemond, Mother. I belong to him. I always have.” She purses her lips, setting a white dress onto your bed.

“It will pass.” Is all she says, and you cry while she helps you into your dress.

—-

Your eyes are still bloodshot, your tears have not stopped. No matter how much your mother scolds you, you do not stop.

You are crying as you are lead down to the gardens, as you sit there waiting for the Septon to get settled. You are crying as your father takes your arm, and you are crying as you walk down the aisle.

You pass by Helaena and Alicent. Helaena looks at you with so much longing, and you wish to fade into her embrace. Alicent smiles softly at you, as if to say: I’m sorry.

You notice Aemond’s absence, and do not blame him.

Your father lets go of your hand at the front of the altar, and you cannot look Lord Tyrell in the eyes.

“Why do you cry?” He asks, voice devoid of genuine concern.

You do not answer.

—-

The Septon is a old man, grey hair and bad posture. He sinks in front of you, looking sickly. It seems neither of you want to be here.

“And do you, Lady Y/N, take Lord Tyrell to be your husband?”

You do not answer.

“Say it.” Lord Tyrell whispers, and you feel physically sick.

“She does not.” You turn at the sound of his voice.

Aemond.

He is yours, and you are his, and he would never let you be taken.

“Aemond,” You whisper, and before Lord Tyrell can react, you are running to him.

“Y/N,” He says as you reach him, and you long to feel the press of his lips upon yours. You miss him, and it has been only a single night. You run past his extended sword, into his arms.

You press your ear against his chest. One palm laid flat over his heart, the other on his shoulder. He wraps his free arm around your waist, and you are reminded of the painting in the library.

Aegon the Conquerer, holding Queen Rhaenys just like this, sword extended.

“Lord Tyrell,” You can feel his voice reverberate through his chest. “I challenge you to a duel for Lady Y/N’s hand.”

“What is the meaning of this insolence?” Your father is shouting, walking towards you with a dangerous look in his eyes.

Aemond extends his wrist, so the tip of his sword is pointed straight at your father’s chest. Even from feet away, he stops. He realizes then, that this man would kill him for you, and you would let him.

“It’s alright, My Lord.” Lord Tyrell is smirking, as if he knew this would happen. You do not pay attention to anyone else, only staring into his eyes with a venom.

With Aemond here, you are not afraid anymore.

“I accept this duel.”

Aemond does not smirk, does not let anything be betrayed in his voice or face. He is only unbridled rage, barely concealed under a thin layer of calm.

“To the death of first bleed?”

“First bleed. I would like to see your jealousy when her stomach swells with my seed.” Aemond does not react.

He kisses the top of your heads, and pushes you over to Alicent and Helaena.

You look over your shoulder as you walk towards his mother and sister.

He is looking at you, and you know that even if he does not win, it will not matter. You are his by divine right, by the stars. You understand Helaena’s prophecy now, and she wraps you in her arms. Alicent embraces the both of you, letting out a breath of fear for her son.

Lord Tyrell takes his sword from it’s holster, mimicking Aemond.

They circle each other, and at first, it is silent.

The Septon has disappeared, you notice, probably thinking that this wedding is disgrace to the gods.

Your mother glares at you from across the aisle, your father watching the fight. You do not care.

“Maybe I’ll let you watch as I fuck her. You can imagine it is your name she’s screaming instead of mine.”

“Maybe I’ll let you live.”

His face drops, and is suddenly replaced with anger. He rushes forward, sword swinging overhead. Aemond blocks it easily with his sword, moving to the side. He crouches, foot swinging out to sweep Lord Tyrell off of his feet.

He falls, and breathes heavily. Aemond stands above him.

Lord Tyrell grunts, throwing dirt into Aemond’s face. He is disoriented for a second, and Lord Tyrell kicks him back, not being able to resist pushing him around.

But Aemond does not fall, and keeps on his feet.

Lord Tyrell chuckles. “You are a good fighter, Prince Aemond. A true dragon. But I know how to play with fire.”

“You would not know fire if it burned your face off.”

And then Aemond is leaping forward, engaging in a whirl of parleys and dodging, dirt being kicked up into the wind.

You can barely keep up, and realize you have been holding your breath. You let it out, feeling air refill your lungs. You imagine it was fire, and that you could use it to burn Lord Tyrell’s face off, and see if he can recognize it.

You almost laugh at the look of fear on Lord Tyrell’s face when his sword is knocked out of his hands.

He stands there, looking around desperately for some sort of plan. His sword is too far to run too, and his fists wouldn’t do much.

He looks up at Aemond, true fear in his eyes. You hold your breath. He could have another trick up his sleeve, but you doubt he is smart enough for that.

Aemond flips his sword around, using the butt of it to drive into Lord Tyrell’s sternum. He falls back, wind knocked out of him. He hits the ground with a thump, and you barely hear his next word.

“Please…”

Aemond lines his sword up at Lord Tyrell’s throat.

Then, he flicks his sword up and a small cut appears on Lord Tyrell’s chin, welling blood immediately.

“First bleed.” He whispers, and for a second, you are too stunned to believe it. He sticks his sword back into his holster. “Y/N.” You watch Lord Tyrell as he stands up, grabbing his sword and running away with his tail between his legs.

You run over, and he embraces you, and it is how it’s meant to be.

“I wish to marry Lady Y/N, as soon as possible.” Alicent comes over, bringing you both into a hug.

“We can start the preparations immediately.”

Helaena grabs your hand.

“The stars demand it, that we be sisters.” Her eyes widen and she nods, knowing that you understand now.

You mother and father walk over.

“We arrange this nice marriage for you,” Your mother is in tears, holding onto your father. “And you trample it under your foot. You are no daughter of ours.”

They stand there, wait for some sort of reaction.

Alicent wraps her arms around your neck, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You will always have a mother in me, sweetling.” You thank her, and your mother seems appalled, but your father tugs her away.

Aemond kisses the top of your head.

—-

It is later in the evening, and you are flat on your back, sweating and panting. Aemond rolls off of you, breathing heavily as well.

He puts a hand on your face, so you’re facing him as he lays on his side.

“You were truly made me for me.”

“Dōna mēre.” Your High Valyrian is horrible. “What does it mean?”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Sweet one,” He whispers against you.

—-

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon

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