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irenadel · 6 months ago

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And if the devil...... 7/10

TW: Blood, domestic violence, talk of SA, miscarriages (this is HotD after all) This chapter is short on Aemond but I promise he'll be back on his bullshit next chapter. Also it turns out I am an absolute idiot and erased this chapter so here I am publishing again. Once more beautiful banner courtsey of @barbieaemond's gorgeous gifs and we have now ten chapters instead of 9

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

The moment he sees you, bag in one hand, jaw clenched so tight your teeth hurt, your uncle orders you close to his chair. He can move, but not well and will not risk it for the likes of you. He demands the truth, and slaps you when you dare withhold it from him. It isn’t a particularly good slap, but nothing ever erases the sting of humiliation. When he rails and grabs for your wrist, twisting it painfully in his slack grip, you still refuse to answer. Your eyes fixed back on the floor, your back having lost its rigid posture. You don’t look stubborn. Just defeated. He does not insist.

Your cousin Angus is white as a sheet, home for a brief holiday, wondering if he’ll be able to go back to his apprenticeship after this is done. The little ones are hushed up by their mother and you sit at the table, eating nothing, feeling nauseous with anger and dread.

Your aunt does not shout, does not ask what happened. She waits for a quiet, private moment. Looks at you with a tired, pinched face and says, “Did you get a recommendation?”

You do not answer this either. You look away, too ashamed and heartbroken to face her.

“I’ll earn the coin somehow,” you promise, cold dread already spreading through your limbs, fear so terrible that your heart seems to have caught in your throat and you are choking on the stupid, wretched thing. “Don’t fret.”

And for a time you keep your word.

It’s grueling work. A miserly merchant’s house that you take on, because a noble house would have required the letter of recommendation you had refused with your fist and your spit on the prince’s face. The sort of merchant who hires only a couple of girls and expects his wife to direct it all, no steward to be had and enough work for a staff of thrice that number. But that is also the kind of merchant who will not care if you worked at the Red Keep or not. It is the butcher’s on rest days, in spite of the neighbors talking about hours sacred to the Seven, and laundry taken in at night because you still can’t manage sewing.

Even then it’s just barely enough.

Your aunt suggests the butcher, over sixty and with bad gout and a house full of children might need a strong, young wife he would pay a good bride price for. It would be enough to pay for Angus’ apprenticeship. You would have a place near them, an allowance of your own and less work. You had done enough, she told you. You deserved some rest from all this toil.

She could not know how you recoiled inwardly at this thought. She could not know that when there had been no laundry to take in, and the miser’s wife had been particularly scathing with you and you were feeling desperate enough to do anything, if only you could ensure there would be enough of everything for your family tomorrow and the day after and all the days after… only then had you considered going to find a man who would buy the only thing of value you possessed.

But you couldn’t. Not now. Not ever again. Thrice had been thrice too many times. And you had known without a shadow of a doubt that if you had to touch a man you did not want, after knowing the taste of flesh, love and blood of the dragon… then you would begin to scream and never stop again, until you had driven the whole world mad with you.

Not even for a butcher and a fat bride price.

You are half thankful you are too miserable and tired to eat much and try not to miss the room and board you got at the Red Keep. All you want to do is sleep and forget. Instead you are awake at dawn, haggard and full of worries. It would be easier to endure misery again if only you could forget happiness. You turn away from talk of the castle. You cannot bear the sight of babes in arms, thinking that the princess’ time will come and go and there is nothing you can do to help her.

At night you go to bed so exhausted you do not dream. When you see his face before you, twisted in a grimace of hatred, you are always wide awake and scrubbing floors, bent down over bread or under buckets of water or heavy gaudy furniture. You wash other people’s filth so hard your hands bleed because all you want to do is work and work and work… work until you are too tired to remember Prince Aemond’s beautiful, wounded expression.

You hadn’t wanted to hurt him further then, but had had no words of comfort for him. No words to explain the ways of the world to a prince, born over gold and silver and dragon eggs, who looked at you as furious as he was heartbroken.

“Aegon is less than a worm,” he had hissed in defeat. “You could’ve broken every bone in his body before you let him touch you.”

You had not known who the anger in his face had been for. You or his brother or himself.

You do your best not to think of him. Even when food tastes like ashes in your mouth and you cannot even be bothered with anger and shame of your own when your uncle throws a laden plate at you, reminding you he is tired of dumplings and turnips, and it is all your fault for managing to ruin the one good chance you had ever known in your life. If you had had any tears left in you, you would have wept until your throat bled. But Princess Helaena had been right. A dragon’s love leaves nothing but devastation in its wake.

Your aunt watches you like a hawk. You can feel her worried eyes drilling a hole in the back of your neck. You avoid her as best as you can but even toil relents after months of careful vigilance. She catches you at night when you are boiling white shirts and scrubbing small clothes by the light of the sputtering, old castle lamp. No one else is awake at this time and you know she has sought you out to give you your privacy. She has always been kind like that, for the small things if not for the big ones.

You are prepared to fend her off, claim you are too tired to talk, but her question catches you off guard.

“Whose is it? That lad who didn’t marry you?”

It takes you a moment to understand it fully. You gape at her and immediately prepare to deny it but the words die on your lips. The truth is you don’t know. Hadn’t even thought of the possibility. Had been too miserable and heartsick to realize it had been over two months since…

Your aunt takes the lamp off its perch and gives you a handful of seed wheat and tells you to go plant it in the yard and piss on it. Better to be sure, she had said. You could not know that Dothraki women had done the same thing for centuries. You had not known any Dothraki women. Just her. Just the woman who had never been a mother to you but always there at least. Even now.

Even when you know, a week after, from the first little seedlings sprouting. Even when you throw up what little food you have managed to eat and sit with her, at night again, too stunned to think, too scared to move.

All you can hear is Aemond’s recriminations. That he should have known from the start the snake he had allowed in his bed. Fool. Thrice damned fool. Blinder than a man with both his eyes gouged out. Telling you, you were to be banished from his and the princess’ presence lest your lechery infect her and everything around her too. You would have begged in that moment. You would have fallen on your knees and tried to explain the world you inhabited, the one where you do not dare say no to princes, even when you know full well you could break their noses.

But you hadn’t been able to look at Aemond Targaryen and lie to him. You had no words to tell him the truth you lived. You couldn’t tell him you had not wanted his brother, or how hard you had tried to keep wanting him even after he spoke to you, if only for a second, before you realized the futility of it. Before you had realized how drunk he was and that only jesting boldness could have ever brought about his interest in you. Because he was beautiful too. A king’s son too. No lice. All his teeth. Hands soft as silk. And he wanted you when no one did. Wanted you before Aemond or Helaena had deigned to notice you existed at all. When all you knew was the small, meanness of the world and endless work without thanks.

But then he had spoken and you had felt your heart die. Because they all had to speak in the end. Prince Aegon and the rancid sea captain and that one drunk, old lecher who had backhanded you and almost refused to pay, when you had been only fifteen and desperate to get your family the things they needed from you. It was as if they could not help but ruin your simple, pitiful illusion that this was anything but animal filth. The knowledge that you had carried every day of your life after you had left the Dothraki Sea: that a man would sooner piss on you than fuck you.

And then you had wanted to rip that silver hair off his head, his eyes from their sockets, knock in each one of his perfect teeth. Because he hadn’t even dignified you with desire. None of them ever did. And you had shredded your nails to pieces against the stone floor, willing it to be over soon, willing yourself not to enjoy it, because it had been so long since someone, anyone, had touched you.

And then Aemond had come into your life and changed it all. With his daggers and his insane, impossible demands. Blood and desire mixed inextricably together for the both of you, so much that love would forever more taste of copper to your tongue. Because that had been his gift to you. Leave to lay hands on him as easily as men had ever laid hands on you. You had used it then, one last time, when he had said, venom overflowing his lips, that he should have known your falseness when you had been kind to Helaena.

And that had been the end of it. You swinging at Prince Aemond one last time. Spitting on his face after splitting his lip open, because there was no more love for you on his sharp, cruel mouth. And because you had had nothing to lose, no further thing to be taken from you, you had said to him you would rather walk the rest of your days, like the old and infirm of a khalasar, before you ever laid eyes on him again.

And Aemond, fierce Valyrian purple eye fixed on both your red ones, looking more regal and perfect than any man with a bleeding mouth had the right to, had cursed you in a single breath, “That is exactly what you’ll do.”

You had left with nothing because you had wanted nothing of him, or his blood. You had refused to look for the steward or Princess Helaena or the queen. And now here you were, staring at your aunt, feeling sick again, with your heart torn from your breast and a belly full of prince.

Your aunt holds you, even when you still cannot find your tears. All you can think of is that the gods had known. From Stranger to Mother of Mountains, to the gods of Old Valyria you had once known the names of because Aemond had taught them to you. The gods had known who you were, stupid, eager girl. Because when you had laid with Prince Aegon you had washed his seed out of you as quick as you could and used honey and prayed. There had been no money for moontea and the terror that you might lose your position had been too great to ask anyone for help. So you had prayed to any god who would listen to you until your blood had come but now… You hadn’t prayed hard or often enough for Aemond. The gods could tell what you had truly wanted.

So when your aunt, face as pale and frightened as yours, had suggested you could go to the Street of Silk to find a way to flush this problem out, or you could marry the butcher, quickly enough that he would not suspect the babe to not be his, you had pushed her away so fast she had nearly fallen and you had stood straight as a spear to tell her you would not.

“He is Blood of the Dragon.”

And your aunt had looked as broken and defeated as you knew you should’ve felt. Had been too horrified by the certainty and conviction in your face to notice your cousin Angus, lumbering as he was, trying to wedge his ungainly big-boned frame closer to the staircase so he could hear you both and remain unseen. Home and awake at this hour because you had finally been unable to continue paying his master.

“The… king?” Your aunt had guessed breathlessly, not knowing the blow she had dealt you when doubting, quite naturally, that you could have caught the eye of a prince. Let alone two. You do not think about it. Refuse to linger on Prince Aegon when you know you carry a babe in your belly.

Your babe.

You do not know what you are thinking, merely shake your head in denial and murmur furtively,

“The prince. Aemond One-Eye.”

And you do not blame your aunt that her knees buckle under her and she sits down, her hand on her mouth holding in her fear. She knows next to nothing of the royal family, except what little she has pried from you. But this she knows.

She looks at you in something close to awe. Her savage girl. The one born of horses and spite.

“Gods save us all.”

And that was exactly what she had screamed, when your uncle had hauled you out of bed in the morning, after she had let you sleep in while she made breakfast alone, having begged you already to reconsider dignity and heartbreak, to go back to the Red Keep and inform someone, anyone, of the danger you carried in your belly. Because a royal bastard, no matter the mud on its mother’s feet, was an entirely different beast.

But there had been no time. No accounting for her husband’s newfound strength, aided by Angus on his bad side, as shocked and horrified as any of them, but still unable to let his old father falter, as he dragged you out of bed and house.

“I’ll not have you in my home,” he had panted, hard at work dragging you behind him, tripping on his own weak leg, his useless arm all but forgotten in his scorn. “I’ll not have a harlot carrying on like this! With my daughters here!”

You can hear Bree and Delma comforting the younger ones. You can hear your aunt crying and begging and doing nothing. You catch a glimpse of Angus’ stricken face, sick with shock, but still holding up his father’s mangled body.

Always there, never a part of them, you had told Prince Aemond. And he had known exactly what you meant. Had devoured your lips with hunger and urgency and kissed your hands, angry thoughts full of Luke and Jace, Baela and Rhaena.

The worst part. The hardest to swallow. The most painful thought. That you loved them, all of them, sleepless nights and resentment and enduring silence… but still you had loved them.

And there might have been some love left for you in your uncle’s rage. It was the hidden truth behind every man who had ever called a woman he loved a whore. There might have been tears still left in him for the little orphan child he had taken in, his sister’s wild girl, a little ghost of a thing he had sent to work for strangers and been unable to protect.

But it was not enough. It had not been enough for Aemond to hear whatever words you had been unable to speak to him. And it was not enough to stop your uncle, exhausted from the effort of dragging his strong, young niece out the house, and unable to haul you further. It wasn’t enough to stop him from feeling the shame of his aching and weakened body, and of taking that shame out on you, one gnarled hand with a handful of your hair, finding no strength to keep moving, but finding enough anger to slam your face against the door frame again and again and again.

And you would have let him. If you had been nought but the resigned, lonely girl Prince Aegon had shoved against the stone floor, then you would have closed your eyes and prayed it would be over soon.

But you weren’t that anymore and it had been foolish to think you ever would be again. You had tasted fire from Aemond One-Eye’s lips. You had tasted steel and sulfur and hatred. And you had tasted love. You were growing a dragon inside you and you would broker no disrespect for him or yourself.

It’s one swift motion, one even a prince could be proud of. Your right hand grabbing a hold of your uncle’s left and your left using your momentum to swing. You hear a sickening crunch and feel something breaking under your knuckles. Good. You almost don’t feel sorry.

Your aunt and cousins are sobbing and you can barely see through the film of blood seeping from your forehead and the ringing of your abused ear. You want to spit on the floor of this place you had thought a home. You want to say something proud like your father would have, something fierce and scornful like Aemond.

You don’t get the chance.

Angus is a big lad now, a big hurt lad, who had never understood you but had always looked up to you. You don’t want to blame him for knocking you into the floor with the awkward, hulking launch of his body for your midsection.

He’s only a boy. Your boy. Whose hurts you have patched. Whose food you have paid for, in tears and sweat and hate. He’s only a boy defending his father… but you can’t afford pity today. Today your coin’s all spent.

You knee him in the groin, and he does not laugh like Aemond. There are tears of pain and humiliation at the corners of his eyes. A penniless boy’s dignity much dearer to him than to a prince. And you don’t flee him as you had fled Aemond, a lifetime ago, because you know, instinctively, the danger of pursuit. You climb on top of him and grab a hold of his head, hitting it once, twice for good measure, so he will know to stay down.

He does not. For a second you are proud.

Then you feel his fist knock the air out of you, but you do not falter. You do not back down. You find his nose with your left hand because you do not trust your exhausted sight, and ram the heel of your right between his eyes, breaking one more thing in this house before you leave it forever.

Angus does not try to hit you again, just lays on the floor, clutching his face, moaning in pain. You grab a handful of his hair so you can haul him up to you, so he can hear you. Shout it so the rest can hear it too.

“I am fucking done with all of you!”

You don’t want to look at your aunt. You don’t want to try to discern her expression behind the veil of sweat and tears and hate. But your eyes are as treacherous as they are dead and you seek her out anyway. You do not know if it is rage or hurt or grief on her, but you know something is wrong.

She is crying, unmoving but crying, her older girls in her arms are looking at you with something close to horror. And through your pain and nausea and heartbreak you can hear her say it again.

“Gods save us all.”

When you look down at where she’s looking, you see your skirts blooming red with blood.

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #asoiaf fanart #asoaif #a song of ice and fire #maid reader #dothraki reader #my writing #and if the devil...#tw: blood #tw: miscarriage #tw: domestic violence

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mermaidslabyrinth · 20 days ago

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I would LOVE to hear about your lil guys

Thank you for taking interest in something that I have cared for and put so much thought into for almost a good year.

Right now I have one (1) guy I am beyond obsessed with. I honestly could write/talk about everything about my HotD OMC. At the same time I really don’t know how to. Bc ever since I created my first OCs (like age 12) I’ve kept them to myself. So knowing that other ppl want to hear about them is foreign to me. But at the same time so validating and nice. It’s just scary to put oneself out there with someone/thing they cherish. Especially my guy bc…one of his relationships is one I honestly have not seen yet. And I can only put forth Targaryen incest and it’s fiction as a reason to a point. But I love it so and I love writing them.

His story came to me as all good stories do: lying in bed with no access to a computer. The phrase “He has a rage in his heart.” Came to my mind and here I am about 10 1/2 months later.

So, under the cut I will finally feel brave enough to talk a little about him.

The story takes place between 115 AC up to my character’s death. I’ve changed some birth dates, Viserys stays healthy longer, there is no Dance of Dragons. Most of my writing has been centered around 131 AC-146ish AC. That’s where the juiciest parts happen.

Daemon had a brief marriage between Rhea Royce and Laena Velaryon (less than a year). My OMC came from that short time.

Anyway…

My HotD OMC’s name is:

Rhagerys {Rage-air-es} ‘Rhage’ Targaryen. (His mother thought she was naming him the way of the Targaryen family does. Daemon wanted/was going to change it but tragedy happened and Daemon kept the name to honor Rhagerys’s mother).

Looks:

His left eye is green. His right eye is brown. Platinum white-blond hair. From age 15 on he always has a braid or braids in his hair in some way.

(The two ages listed are what I think the most when I picture him)

Age 15-16: He has just below shoulder length hair. He stands 6’4”. Delicate features.

Age 18 (and onward): His hair is just above hip length. He stands at 6’6” (but he definitely doesn’t act it. Especially around his father). His features are a bit sharper but softer than his father’s.

Personality (a small taste):

His personality is a mess. He can be calm one moment, full of rage the next. He's snide, sarcastic, and spiteful to a lot of people (he gets his sharp tongue from his father). But gentle and patient with children and some women. He has taught himself to act as if nothing bothers him. To look stoic in front of others.

It stems from his father, Daemon.

Daemon was able to get his heir and he was going to make sure his son was everything he wanted him to be. Everything he made him to be. But Rhagerys does have a fun, kind, protective side. Just only for people he has deemed ‘worthy’ of that side.

I don’t have a true pinpoint of Rhagerys’s sexuality. I feel it’s something in that time where it wouldn’t be thought on much. If asked Rhagerys would just shrug his shoulders and walk away or ignore the person.

His mother/her House:

I chose to have his mother, Igreyn Belmore (I created), be from/heir to House Belmore of the Vale. Not too much is known about that House so I ran with it. The only thing I that I made up about them was that their men are never shorter than 6’2” and their women are rarely shorter than 5’8”.

Rhagerys is also related to Rhaenyra through his maternal side. Rhagerys’s great grandsire was the third son (I created) of Rodrik Arryn. So the third Arryn boy was Aemma’s older half brother. Making Rhagerys and Rhaenyra double cousins.

Dragon:

He has a female dragon that is black/blue/purple named Starsong. She hatched the same day he was born. (There’s some sort of blood magic surrounding her. She grows quicker than a normal dragon [I needed her to for my story])

Plot Snippets (The bare bones):

Rhagerys had a normal/average childhood. He was very chivalrous and kind. Then his little family (Daemon, Rhaena, and himself [Baela is at Driftmark]) moved to Dragonstone when Daemon married Rhaenyra. Rhagerys was 12 (I bumped up/moved ages of the younger generation around).

From ages 13-15 Rhagerys was sent on progress to certain places in Westeros, see the realm that his ancestors conquered (He was sent away at the suggestion of Rhaenyra. They have a strained but amicable relationship).

He came back at age 15 changed, physically (he was around 5’0” at age 12 and when he returned to Dragonstone he was 6’4”) and mentally.

Daemon found out something about his son he did not care for (Rhagerys’s slight aversion/indifference to sex) and took matters into his own hands. Because Daemon was not going to let his heir, heir to Strongsong of House Belmore in the Vale, reject sex.

(If I was to describe Rhagerys’s view of sex it would be along the lines of: I don’t care. I just want the other person to be happy.)

~This is where it turns dark (Daemon is very manipulative and wicked at times in my story)~

Daemon teaches Rhagerys about sex. Hands on (won’t go fully into it). So, from ages 15-(I won’t give it away), father and son have a very secret/hidden sexual relationship. Rhagerys doesn’t hate it (most of the time), welcomes it at times. He sees it as a way to keep his father’s love and attention for him. If he pushes back, he gets set ‘right’ real quick. During those years Daemon manipulates and emotionally/mentally/physically beats Rhagerys down until he is what Daemon wants him to be. His. Daemon’s creation of the perfect Targaryen.

Then in the late spring of 134 AC the family from Dragonstone goes to King’s Landing (to put a stop Vaemond’s claim). Celebrate the defeat of the Triarchy in the Stepstones. Stay for three months.

There Rhagerys meets Aemond after 6 years. Both most definitely changed from when they were 12. A lot happens. Rhagerys finds a new purpose in life. Aemond. Doing anything and everything for Aemond.

The two of them become unhealthily committed to each other. Rhagerys will burn the world to the ground if Aemond deemed it so. While Aemond tries to cultivate, project himself upon how he sees/thinks Rhagerys is. How Rhagerys would want him (Rhagerys does the same).

At the same time Rhagerys has to balance his relationship with Daemon.

And that’s where I’ll stop with the plot points. I have more but I don’t want to give too much away or lay it all bare. I’ve written/created so much more. So much more happens before/in between/after. But I’m still trying to fully write those points. I have entire timelines for each decade/family trees/future generation planned/created and ready to go.

Right now I write mostly about Rhagerys between the ages 15-20. That time period has captured my attention for a while now.

So, that’s the basics of my HotD OMC. I will at some point around the new year (fingers crossed) have a pinned post about him. A little layout of who he is. With links to Pinterest/music list of my story.

I'll be real, idk if I’ll ever put the story on the internet, in any form, but to be able to talk about him, put him out into the world. By making tags, Pinterest boards, and writing for myself has really brought me such joy.

I apologize if this was too long. But it’s been marinating in my mind for a long time. Thank you, again, for asking me a question I thought I’d never be asked. 🌈 @emilykaldwen you are too kind to ask. I do hope it wasn't too long winded or too much.

#I am nervous but grateful #I have been on this website for over 11 years (lurked for a good year before I joined)#And this is the first time I have felt part of tumblr #The HotD fandom for all its flaws has given me an opportunity to feel accepted #So many great ppl are here and I have followed (been followed back [to my surprise] by such wondrous ppl)#So many ppl I have interacted with are so kind and really caring #I may sound a bit sappy but I never had this kind of community growing up. No one I was friends with was into anything I was #And I was beyond shy to reach out to others via the internet. But now I’ve grown (mentally/emotionally) and realized I have to take chances #And it’s all thanks to the HotD fandom #It’s all thanks to Ewan Mitchell and how he portrayed Aemond Targaryen that I know so many ppl that I will remember for years to come #Aemond Targaryen my little war criminal #Daemon Targaryen certified war criminal #HotD #My HotD OMC #Fandoms #Happy Moments #Sweet Moments

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feyhunter78 · 1 year ago

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20 Fanfic Questions

Thank you for the tag @cchickki this was so fun!!!!

1.) How many works do you have in AO3?

I have 22!

2.) What's your total AO3 words count?

My total is 509,650 words

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

You can find the link here!!!

4.) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

In order, it is 1.) Pink Pastels 2.) The Dowager Queen 3.) Orange Blossoms 4.) Among the Sun 5.) Trials of Tributes

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes!!! I love getting comments, they literally make my day, encourage me, and one or two have almost made me cry from how sweet they were🥺

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It would be my only angst fic, But Darling (I’d Still Die For You)

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oooooo so this is a tie between Moonflowers and the ending I’m thinking about for Pink Pastels

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

I have before, usually it’s super dumb, and I screenshot it and send it to @celestialsolstice, so we can tear it apart together

9.) Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Y’all know I dooooo, but I write sweet smut! Nothing too harsh, no degradation or violence, just two people who care about each other

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I do not and have not

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, but I live in constant fear that someone has put Pink Pastels in an AI somewhere

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

In the very beginning when my only fic was Poisoned Tears and Scorched Tongues someone asked if they could, but I was super new to AO3 and thought it was a scam, so I never responded💀

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Lollll nothing that’s been published, but back in the day me and @celestialsolstice started writing a “sister of Markiplier” fic. It was not that good for what I remember, we’re both much better writers now😂

14.) What's your all-time favourite ship?

Honestly it used to be Nalu, but now it’s Dani x Pelle from Midsommer every fic I’ve read about them is a fucking masterpiece😭

15.) What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Definitely Hold My Heart (Between Your Teeth), and Turn of the Tide, Call of the Sea. They both had such a good premises, but I just lost their plots entirely and cannot muster up the energy to finish them

16.) What are your writing strengths?

I think it’s my prose, and my ability to switch between writing styles, aka modern for Pink Pastels and “old English” for HOTD and Among the Sun. People compliment me on the flow and word usage in my writing, which always make so, so happy!!!!

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

I don’t plan and if I do, it’s so messy, I just sit and write. Also, thigh riding, dirty talk from reader’s perspective (IMO) and descriptions of objects and/or places. I’m not good at describing settings, y’all😭

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

For Spanish, I use Spanish Dictionary, my shitty public school Spanish education and my readers. I double-check the translation by running it through twice and sometimes breaking the sentence down to make sure I’m using the right word😂

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

First one I put something out publicly for was HOTD, first fic I ever wrote was for DC Legends of Tomorrow

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

Honestly as chaotic as it was Targaryen Inc was so much fun to write, it was off the rails batshit crazy, but I loved it

I’ll no pressure tag @celestialsolstice, @dilf-superiority and @dapper-zappa

#meg talks #tag game!!!#the amount of words I had on AO3 SHOCKED ME

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redahlia-writes · 2 years ago

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dark sonnet. (part two) | aemond targaryen

part 1

Abstract: During his studies, Aemond had come across countless stories of love and passion, both salvation and ruin of men and women and empires as well. He’d never paid it too much mind, never really cared because he’d never known what it meant. And then he’d realised - it meant don’t leave me alone.

Words: 9.5K

Content: f!reader (can be read as oc, no use of y/n / her hair is dyed red, no mentions of natural hair colour); canon typical everything - allusions to rape and an abusive family, hands, a lot of imagery and flowery language, scars, characters are aged up, smut, canon? we don’t know her, blood ritual, some odd family dynamics but it’s hotd so what can you do

A/N: i will admit i feel like there’s a lot more i could write about these two, some situations left unanswered and incomplete that just won’t fit in the narrative - i doubt i’ll turn this into a series (life is a bitch and i have so little time) but i am always willing to talk about my darlings. loosely based on neil gaiman’s poem dark sonnet. translation for high valyrian will be at the end

also on AO3 - masterlist

feedback is always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

He began dreaming of roses.

When she was in his bed - trapped by his arms, no matter her weak protests and reprimands - he buried his nose in her hair, or the crook of her neck; when she managed to escape him, or convinced him Helaena would call - she always did, he wasn’t sure how she knew with absolute certainty - her scent lingered on his covers. His beautiful rose, he said - ñuha gevie rēko, whispered on her skin, murmured between her thighs.

So he began dreaming of roses, and seek her out in his sleep, too, because in those moments she was his and his only, and she wouldn’t worry as much if it was just the two of them in his room. Outside those walls, she was Helaena’s - outside, they lived of stolen moments, nights tucked away.

“Do you believe Helaena would not understand?” the Weirwood tree was their only shelter when the sun was still out, sitting side by side with the Gods watching their backs. She was always more guarded than him, more careful and aware of their surroundings, and though their hands would touch at times - a brush, a stroke, locking fingers before parting again - she mostly kept hers into her lap. He watched her pick at her fingers nervously whenever someone walked by, even though they were hidden enough, and he was never able to stop himself from reaching over, taking her hand in his. “That she would not like this?”

“This?” she smiled almost slyly, though her eyes darted past his shoulder, past her shoulder. “Do not tease,” he warned quietly, bringing her hand up to his mouth - that was when her gaze lingered, enraptured by the movement, the softness of it.

“I was led to believe you liked when I teased, my prince,” always my prince when out of the shelter of his room - never his name. He longed to hear it all day long, waited for the safety of the night to draw it out of her, over and over and over.

“Not when I cannot have you, no,” he hummed, turning her arm to kiss her wrist, right underneath where her sleeve ended. She sighed, eyes fluttering shut at the warmth of his lips. “Do you truly wish to hear me say it?” he shifted closer, trailing kisses up her arm from above her dress. He did not wait for an answer, reaching up her shoulder to whisper close to her ear, “Would my sister not like knowing I desire no other person but you?”

“My prince,” she warned, her voice a little breathy, struggling to open her eyes again. “We’re outside - anyone could walk by.” “Let them,” he shrugged, and before she could protest again he’d kissed her.

Her body betrayed her, softening beneath his touch, mellowing at his kiss - she sighed against his lips, the hand she’d been keeping in her lap moving up towards his face. She cupped his cheek, a gentle caress across his jaw as he pushed himself closer, so close their thighs were pressed together, his torso twisted to an almost uncomfortable degree.

Uncaring, he prodded her mouth with the tip of his tongue, tasting sugar on her lips - from the cakes Helaena had shared with her, he knew - before she parted them, relenting. As he deepened the kiss, he let his hand fall to her leg, kneading the flesh of her thigh when she locked her knees together.

“Don’t,” she murmured against his mouth, hand on his shoulder as if to push him back but not quite. With a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, he slid his fingers between her legs, the skirt of her dress wrinkling under his touch. “Not here.”

“Why not?” he pulled away from the kiss fully, glanced down at her reddened lips. He remained close enough the tip of her nose brushed his, still letting his hand travel up to her core, even through her layers of clothing. “I could take you in front of the entire court,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Claim you as my own - let every person know who you belong to.”

“Claim me?” she scoffed, though it came out a little breathless, shifting beneath his touch as her cheeks grew bright with colour. “Have you mistaken me for one of your dragons, my prince?” she sighed when he curled his fingers into the folds of her skirt, applying pressure to her centre, tipping her head back as her eyes fluttered shut.

“My jorrāeliarza,” he uttered the words, lips finding home on her neck, over the sweet spot that made her heart race.”My beloved, for all to witness, to know.”

She guarded his name like a secret, had never dared saying it out loud around others ever since their first night together - it carried too much, tasted too sweet on the tip of her tongue. So she kept it tucked away, a pocket of her heart only he could reach for, every night, drawing it out of her like a God with his prayers.

“Aemond,” no one had ever said his name so softly, never had it carried such tenderness.

It was not his voice that responded, calling out for her from the other side of the tree, but Helaena’s. She gasped, the spell broken, eyes widening as the prince reluctantly pulled back, quick to get on his feet and put some distance between the two of them - if he remained too close, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to not reach for her again. Just as she smoothed her skirt down, the princess came up from behind the tree, and took in her brother with a surprised look in her eyes.

“There you are, sister,” he forced himself to not look down towards her, focusing only on Helaena. “I was wondering where you’d gone, leaving your companion behind on such a lovely day.”

“I was with mother,” he knew, had watched her walk into the queen’s room and reached the gardens immediately, knowing he’d find the other woman there. “And she is not a pet, I am not leaving her,” those were the few times the princess would get defensive - he had seen her silence lords, ladies, Aegon himself, just for an unfavourable word said against her friend.

“Princess, it’s all right,” she said, her voice still a little breathy. Helaena turned her gaze to her and frowned slightly, getting closer and crouching down.

“Your face is burning,” she commented quietly, reaching for her cheek with the back of her hand. “Have you stayed in the sun for too long?” Aemond was quick to mask his snort with a cough, clearing his throat right after. “I must have, surely,” she shook her head lightly, then smiled up at her. “I’m fine, Helaena, just a little flushed.”

“Hm,” she said, a proper imitation of her brother - her brother, still standing a few steps behind. He understood why she was so worried of Helaena finding them out - why she would sacrifice them if it meant not losing the princess, and he couldn’t fault her for it. “Let’s get you inside then, it is too warm for me in any case.”

He watched her get up, brushing her skirt with one hand while with the other she helped Helaena - never touching her first, always waiting for the princess to do it on her own accord, to initiate it. She was so preoccupied with her, she did not even notice the spider crawling up her side, onto her hand and arm.

“You have a -” he took a step in her direction, then thought better of it, and when she turned her head to look at him, a perplexed look in her eyes, he gestured to her arm, the animal still making its way across her dress.

“Oh,” she disentangled herself from Helaena, moving her hand in front of the creature - it crawled on her hand, back to palm and back again, past her fingertips and down again before she moved it in the princess’ direction, unfazed as it crawled onto the other’s awaiting palm. “Shall we?” enthralled by the spider, Helaena only nodded, turning in Aemond’s direction.

“Mind the fall with her,” she said, to no one in particular, and then began walking in the direction she’d come from, back towards the entrance. Aemond’s mouth parted to say goodbye, but cut himself off when she met his gaze one last time, already walking away as well.

A look - it was all they needed, all they’d learned to need. A glance, eyes meeting across a room for the briefest of moments to convey a message of a thousand words. The hint of a smile, perhaps, never too much, never too obvious, always easy to mask. One look to say it all, one look to say things they would never be able to express out loud. They didn’t need to.

During his studies, Aemond had come across countless stories of love and passion, both salvation and ruin of men and women and empires as well. He’d never paid it too much mind, never really cared because he’d never known what it meant. And then he’d realised - it meant don’t leave me alone.

Worse than the nights he had to spend alone were the days with her just out of reach - always there, always so close but never enough. He would try to make the most of the nights they did spend together, holding her always a little tighter, but it never felt enough. Not when she bowed her head each time he walked by and everybody else was around. Not when he noticed Aegon’s gaze wandering - a remark when it was just the four of them, rage flickering in her eyes even though she did not reply. He wished to be the one comforting her, not see Helaena be the one.

At night he would try to soothe the anger still coursing through her veins - she always kissed him back with a little more intensity on those nights, tried to burn the feeling away, tried to lose herself in him instead. He could only love her a little harder then, hold her a little tighter. She would not let him pity her, had made that abundantly clear. She would not let his brother come between them, nor ruin the perfect moments they cut out for themselves.

Aemond couldn’t bear it - that feeling of helplessness whenever her jaw locked, her gaze lowered. He wanted to walk around court and see her keep her head up, that defiant look in her eyes he’d been met with over and over, the same look he’d fallen for.

Fallen for her, his fearless goddess with flaming hair.

“Marry me,” he whispered into the crook of her neck as he held her close, arms caging her frame on top of him. She stilled with a gasp, fingers digging a little harder in his shoulders as she steadied herself after stopping the rocking of her hips.

“What?” she was panting a little, pulling her head back to look down at him. Her walls fluttered around his length when he shifted a little, a throaty sound stuck in her chest.

“Marry me,” he repeated, bringing one hand up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear - a gentle touch only she had known. A touch he wished for no one else to know. “Be my lady wife - aren’t you tired of sneaking around?”

“I am,” she seemed surprised by her own answer, and her gaze flickered away from him. Any other time it would’ve felt ironic - him, buried deep inside her and her not being able to hold his gaze. This time, however, Aemond’s heart stuttered. “But I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“Why not?” can’t he thought, not don’t want to - could he cling to hope, he wondered? Could he be a fool for a while longer?

“I have no name, Aemond,” she said his name with tenderness, one hand moving to the back of his head, a soothing, gentle touch. “It is one thing for me to be Helaena’s companion, another to spend the nights with you - she chose me, and -”

She was cut off by his arms locking around her again, flipping them over - the motion made her eyes flutter shut as a heavy sigh fell from her lips. He pushed her with her back fully against the bed, canting his hips into hers.

“I choose you,” he retorted, one arm at the side of her head to hold himself slightly lifted. “I don’t want just nights with you - and I don’t care about your name, or titles, ot whatever the fuck people might think or say.” “I know you don’t,” she brushed her hand through his unbound hair, slow and gentle and still soothing. “But you’re still a prince - you can’t marry someone like me.”

“You’re right, I am a prince,” he bowed his head to kiss her jaw, shifting his hips again flush against hers - she held back a cry, head tipped back. “Which means I can do what I want,” another thrust, another kiss to her throat. “Marry whomever I wish to marry.”

“Aemond,” she heaved, nails scratching his scalp, lingering on the strap of his eyepatch. They’d fallen into each other so quickly that night he hadn’t even stopped to take it off as he’d grown used to when in her presence.

“Say you don’t want to marry me, and I’ll understand,” he let his hand move down her side, a butterfly touch that almost tickled her, down to her thigh, hitching her leg against his side. With the motion, he pushed himself deeper, and she stuttered a moan - the beginning of his name as he rocked into her, slow and deep. “I’ll keep you like this, or let you go completely, whatever it is you desire,” she arched up to meet him. “Just say the word.”

“I can’t,” her breath caught as he snapped his hips back into hers. “I can’t say that. I can’t say I don’t want to,” it felt easier to admit her desires with her eyes closed, arm locking behind his shoulders as his head fell back to the crook of her neck, lips brushing her pulse. “But it’s a fantasy, my love.”

Had she ever said it before? My love. Had she ever said it out loud? Love - what an odd concept for the reality they lived in. And yet, how else to describe the aching in his ribs when he could not touch her, hold her, kiss her as the sun kissed her, too? How else to justify the strength it took her to keep her eyes down, keep herself quiet, never reach for him when she needed him the most?

“’Tis not,” he argued, fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh - there’d be marks later, there always were, carefully hidden in places where his sister or mother would not see, and it would drive him insane, not being able to show it off. He looked up to her, her eyes still closed, and shifting most of his weight on his elbow he brushed the side of her jaw. “Not if you tell me you want it, too. Because I do - so desperately.”

“Aemond,” her whisper turned into a cry, head tilting to lean into his touch.

“I want you to be my wife,” he went on, each sentence a roll of his hips against hers, a pressure so blissful it made her legs lock at his sides. “I want everyone to know whom I belong to. To have you by my side, always, and be able to touch you whenever I wish to,” she shuddered underneath him, biting her lip to keep the noises at bay. “If you want to, say it. Just say it. Please.”

“I do,” she opened her eyes, rapidly blinking as she slipped one finger underneath the strap of his eyepatch. “Seven Hells - you won’t even let me catch my breath?” the prince grinned, shaking his head a little, kissing her with the smile still on his lips - sloppy, all teeth and tongue as he thrust into her again, a little stronger than before.

She moaned into his mouth, arching up to meet him as she slipped the eyepatch from his head, letting it fall at their side before burying her hand back into his hair, pulling on his roots as he rocked into her again, and again, and again. She gasped when he pulled away from her lips, latching onto her neck right away, lips pressed to her pulse. Always so careful to hide his signs on her body, her words pushed him over the line he had not crossed yet, sucking onto the soft skin - harsh, until he knew a purple mark would stick, where it could not be hidden.

“Ñuhon,” whispered, over and over again through quick pecks down her throat, her chest as she cried out again, gripping him tightly and holding him close, riding her high with trembling thighs until she went limp beneath him, still panting. Mine, mine, mine as he came after her with a groan of his own.

“How am I supposed to explain this to your mother?” there was a hazy look in her eyes when she tilted her head to expose her neck, the skin raw and red, bruise already blossoming beneath. Aemond chuckled, the vibration travelling down her body where they were still locked together, making her hiss softly.

Holding himself over her with one arm, purposefully canting his hips into her, still sensitive, she clenched around him, and he took hold of her chin, turning her head until she was looking up at him again with her eyes wide open, that wild look in her eye that always got him reeling. He brought his thumb to her bottom lip, dragging it down a little.

“I will speak to her first thing in the morning,” her breath fanned hot across the pad of his finger, a quiet exhale at his words. “Tell her you will be my wife,” he brushed his thumb from one corner of her mouth to the other as he slipped out of her. Her lips parted furthermore at the movement, the friction making her groan softly. “Ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

“Aemond, you’re -” “Yours,” he moved his hand from her face, down her neck, chest, between the valley of her breasts, touches that made goosebumps raise across her skin, her legs falling at each of her sides. “You worry too much, jorrāeliarza,” he said then, shifting to her side.

She followed him, turning to face him, one hand falling to his chest and curling above his heart while the other reached up to his face, her ring finger brushing the edge of his scar lightly as he rubbed her side, the sore spots on her hips.

“And you, not enough,” she retorted, her voice soft. “It is all nice in theory, but your mother might not like the idea - it is very likely she will not,” he turned his head, kissing her wrist. “And what about Helaena? What if she -” her words were muffled by his mouth pressing on hers again. “No, do not try to fuck me out of thinking -” he kissed her again, a little chuckle against her lips before pulling back, grinning at her glare.

“Do you wish to marry me?” she went to reply right away, and he was quick to put his hand over her mouth, gaining another annoyed look. “Yes or no, I won’t hear anything else,” he warned, slowly moving his fingers from her lips.

“Yes,” she said quietly, and he smiled, bowing his head towards hers. “But -” “Enough fussing, litse mēre,” he kissed her shoulder, quickly glancing at the mark getting darker on her neck with a self-satisfied grin. “I have something for you.”

“What?” she frowned, watching him get up from her side. She reached for the covers, pulling them up to her chest as she sat on the edge of the bed with a little groan, the soreness spreading to her limbs. She rolled her shoulders, her neck, still keeping an eye on him.

Aemond had reached the table by the fireplace, usually occupied with books, and was already making his way back with his hands behind his back - she tilted her head, curiosity shimmering in her eyes. He kept his gaze on her as he moved back in front of her, then knelt by the bed, movements graceful before placing himself between her knees covered by the sheets. Her eyes danced from his shoulder - still attempting to get a peek - to his face, expectantly.

“Give me your hand,” he said softly, moving just one hand from behind his back, palm facing up towards the ceiling. She frowned at him again, and his smile only widened, amused. “You trusted me with Vhagar, have a little faith now, will you?”

“A dragon is less unpredictable than you are,” she scoffed, but rested her hand on his, palm against palm, her skin already colder than his. He snorted, bowing his head to kiss her ring finger before producing, from behind his back, a circlet.

He felt her hold her breath as he slowly put it on her, the thin band fitting smoothly past her knuckles, shining brightly against her skin. Her eyes were fixed on it, fingers flexing lightly over his palm and making the light hit the small violet and blue stones with each movement.

“It’s Valyrian steel,” he spoke in a low voice, thumb brushing her fingertips as silence enveloped them. She hadn’t as much as breathed again, gaze unwavering on their joined hands. “You know I am partial to sapphires, but you mentioned amethysts that first night, and I thought -” he shrugged lightly, running his thumb quickly over the ring, making it twist a little around her finger. Still, she remained silent, and the prince sighed. “Do not leave me in agony - say something.”

“You have actually thought about this,” her voice was unbelievably small, and she let her gaze flicker up, then back down to her hand. “You - have you truly been thinking about marriage?” she sounded baffled, and Aemond arched his eyebrows a little.

“Of course,” he reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, head tilting slightly to the side. “Haven’t you?” she leaned into his touch, a motion so familiar to him.

“I never dared,” her confession held a note of sadness that he wished to wipe away desperately, his hand cradling her cheek as she kept her gaze low. “Had I allowed myself to entertain the thought, it would’ve destroyed me, and I couldn’t -” she shook her head, bringing the un-ringed hand over his on her face. “You think me unafraid for facing a dragon, for looking at you when no one else would - but this terrifies me. Desiring you was bold enough, but to be your wife?” she lingered on the word, eyes widening as it turned in her mouth, unfamiliar yet warm. “The mere thought makes me ache.”

“You told me there’s more to me - to us - than blood and bone. More than mere physical needs, and I -” his pinky brushed the side of her neck, tracing the edge of the bruise in the shape of his lips, words sitting on the tip of his tongue. “You were meant for more than the shadows, and I want to give you that. Not as my paramour, but as my bride,” he brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing where the ring sat with a whisper. “Ñuha ābrazȳrys.”

“You want an awful lot, my prince,” a timid smile made its way across her lips, and he did not even try to hold back his. He let go of his hand to wrap his arm around her, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed - she let both her arms fall to his shoulders, head slightly bowed to look at him. “My love,” whispered, as her fingers ran through the tips of his hair.

“Say you do,” a kiss to her chest, covers falling from her body. “Say you will,�� a kiss to her shoulder, head tilting back to meet her eyes. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I do,” she didn’t hesitate again, though her heart stuttered with fear and excitement alike. “I will marry you.”

Alicent knew her son - for years, the closest relationship she’d had was with Aemond.

He was far from being an open book to her, she could rarely tell what he thought or felt. But she knew when he was mulling over something, could see it on his face, playing out as silence enveloped them - it wasn’t bothersome, wasn’t resentful, but it carried a weight that could linger only so much before starting to feel too much.

“Alright,” she sighed, leaning towards him, breaking the quiet. “Out with it, what is it?” he looked at her, and for the first time he seemed worried - immediately, it started gnawing at Alicent’s insides, the absence of reply from her son only worsening the feeling. “Aemond?”

“It’s about Helaena’s companion,” he kept his voice low and even, hand wrapping around the armrest of the chair once, twice, a drumming as he said her name, voice so soft Alicent had to sit back with a frown across her brow.

“Alright,” she repeated, tone measured. “What happened?” “Well, we - I -” he exhaled, turning his head a little and drumming his fingers again. She watched him carefully - Aemond had never stuttered, never hesitated with his speech, Gods knew his bluntness had caused enough problems.

“Is she alright?” Alicent asked, the nail of her middle finger digging into the pad of her thumb before she got up. “I won’t send her away, Aemond. She’s been too precious for us, for Helaena, I cannot -” she moved towards the door, back towards him, to the door again. “If anything happened, just -”

“No, mother, it’s not like that,” he said suddenly, urgently, and a flicker of panic crossed his face as he stood as well. Alicent brought one hand to her chest, relieved and regretful equally - because she’d grown too used to think the worst of every situation, yet whatever it was still weighed on Aemond, so much so he could not look at her. “I -” he stood in front of her, his head slightly lowered as he hesitated again. “I love her.”

The words were odd and heavy in his mouth, as realisation that that was the first time he said it out loud settled on him, and the truth of it made his shoulders sag, even as his mother stared up at him, wide eyes unblinking with stupor.

“I have no intention of making her a side figure in my life,” he went on. “Nor to hide her.”

“What are you saying?” she shook herself a little, though the sentence alone was enough to ricochet through her bones for days to come. Such sincerity, such feeling she’d never heard him - or anyone else, for the matter - express.

“I intend to marry her - with or without your blessing,” he said, more like the usual Aemond, chin raised and back straight, as if taking pride in his statement - all the while, his gaze softened. “Though I would very much prefer it if you did approve.”

“You -” Alicent arched her eyebrows, stepping back towards her chair with hesitant steps. “Oh, dear,” she sat down, leaning back and lifting her hand to her head, as if to hold it up.

“We have been otherwise intertwined for the past few months,” his mother scrunched up her nose at his words, pressing her middle finger between her eyebrows with a sigh.

“I know, you needn’t say more about that,” she waved her hand as if dismissively, and it was the prince’s turn to frown. “You know?”

“I am not blind, Aemond. And I’m your mother,” she dropped both hands in her lap, tilting her head to look up at him. “I knew there was something between the two of you already. I just did not expect it’d come to marriage,” she almost muttered the last phrase, turning her head a little before her face lit up again with worry. “Does she know you’re asking this?”

“She does,” that seemed to relieve the queen a little, shoulders sagging with her exhale. “But you knew? And you said nothing?”

“She came to me once - very early on her days here, terrified, because -” Aemond sat down slowly, and she followed the movement of his hands wrapping around the armrests, knuckles turning white. “Aegon had ripped part of her dress trying to grab her, and she’d hit him back,” surprisingly, a little smile caught on his mother’s lips, though she was quick to mask it. “She wanted to apologise for doing so, said she’d understand if we’d send her away, or anything else that might come her way.”

“I don’t understand where -” she lifted her hand to quieten him, Aemond sealing his lips shut.

“She was not afraid of Aegon’s reaction, nor mine - she did not want to leave Helaena alone,” at that, Alicent lowered her gaze, twisting her hands a little. “At first I let her stay because Helaena adored her. And then because it was nice having someone to talk to, and I like her. And I know Aegon hasn’t let go of it.”

“That still doesn’t explain how you knew, mother,” he pointed out, carefully, keeping his anger in check. Alicent’s eyes were on his hands, still tightly holding the armrests.

“I know because I know you,” she said softly, giving him a tentative smile. “You haven’t been subtle, Aemond, not with the way you look at her,” his lips parted, as if to argue, but when he met his mother’s gaze he bit his tongue. “She hasn’t said a single ill word about you - she’s kept you like a secret, just as you have tried. But marriage? How did it get to this?”

Suddenly, Aemond was a child again, unsure of what was the right thing to say - he shrugged lightly, tapping his fingers. He wasn’t sure he could explain it, that that was the only thing that had made sense in a few months; that had she refused him he would’ve understood, but wouldn’t have known how to move on; that he wanted it so much it was burning him from inside out.

“I feel about her the same way I felt after claiming Vhagar,” he said carefully, and the smile on Alicent’s lips widened a bit. “This constant euphoria that makes my heart race. But at the same time,” he tilted his head a little, fingers curling, “as if I can just be.”

His mother did not reply - she leaned over the armrest of her chair, reaching for him with her eyes shimmering slightly. It was a look he thought he’d never seen on her face, and it puzzled him as she took his hand and squeezed, hard, her ring pushing into his knuckles.

“I’m happy for you, my darling,” her voice was gentle, head slightly tilted. Aemond did not remember the last time his mother had looked serene, if ever. He watched her prepare to speak again, only to be interrupted by a knocking on the door - she frowned, ever so lightly, and pulled her hand back from him. He knew she’d done it for his sake, wished she hadn’t as she called, “Come on in.”

She stepped inside, hair unbound except for two small braids connected at the back of her head, the neckline of her dress high - to which Aemond grinned, thinking about her fussing over the mark on her neck in the morning in front of his mirror, sending him a glare when he’d said how much it suited her. Her gaze was lowered to a bundle of letters in her hands.

“My queen, I was -” she looked up, temporarily triumphant with the paper she intended to find in her hand, only for her gaze to settle on Aemond - a split second, nothing longer, then back to the queen, then down again. “Apologies, your highness, I shall come back later.”

“Jorrāeliarza,” Aemond called, unable to keep the amusement in his voice. There was a softness to the word which told Alicent more than what knowing the meaning of it would’ve - he watched them look at each other a moment too long, Aemond with glee, the woman with a hint of worry. “I told her.”

“You -” she stammered, eyes widening a little. He watched her pick at her fingers, just as Alicent watched the new ring on her, eyebrows arching a little. She rocked a little side to side, flinching when she pulled too hard on the skin and drew blood around her fingernail, just as she met the queen’s gaze. “Oh.”

“Come sit,” Alicent told her softly, and before she could gesture to the empty chair, Aemond had gotten up, leaving the spot for her. She hesitated for a moment, then reached the chair with a single glance in the prince’s direction - his expression had softened as he followed her with his gaze, standing by the chair. “You have nothing to worry about, darling girl. I don’t think I could oppose your union even if I wanted to,” she smiled as she said it.

“Then there is something I must tell you, my queen,” she said slowly, her hands clasped on her lap, thumb pushing and turning the ring on her finger. “Though I do hope my past insincerity won’t change your judgement as it is now.”

Alicent’s eyes flickered to Aemond - but he was only looking at her, eye locked on the side of her face. He kept one arm behind his back, while slowly, ever so carefully, reaching for her shoulder with his other one. She leaned towards his touch, so rapidly and on instinct the queen believed she did not even realise, though some tension seemed to leave her posture.

“Alright, then,” she nodded in encouragement, brow pinched.

And she told her everything - her family, her betrothal, her almost wedding, the man’s illness, the beatings, the abuse, the scars, all the reasons why she’d reacted the way she had at Aegon’s touch, at his insistence. As she spoke, Aemond’s hand travelled upwards, caressing the back of her neck, brushing her hair gently, soothingly. He’d heard it all before, scattered through sleepless nights and stolen moments of the days, had wished to hunt down all the people that had touched her, hurt her, wronged her. Alicent saw it all on his face, a lingering rage brought forth by nothing but the affections he had for the girl.

By the time she was done, she’d leaned almost fully into Aemond’s support, his body standing straight at the side of the chair, his hand now resting on her opposite shoulder, holding her to him in a half hug. As Alicent got up, she wondered if they even realised they’d been seeking each other out for consolation. The queen crouched in front of her, watched her eyes widen slightly as she took her hands gently.

“I have always thought you were an extraordinary woman,” she told her, thumbs tracing her maimed fingertips. “I’m glad my Aemond has found you - but this won’t be easy.”

“I didn’t expect it to be,” she replied right away, Aemond’s grip tightening for a moment. “Good,” she nodded, just once, squeezing her hands before standing. “You’ve been at court long enough to know you’ll be watched, and studied - don’t let them win.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, a little tearful, the queen’s touch lingering on her skin. “I have just one request,” she said after a moment, looking first at her, then turning to Aemond - a request for them both. Frowning a little, he nodded, and watched as her hand rose to his, gently brushing the tip of her fingers to his knuckles. “Could I be the one to tell Helaena? Alone? I believe she’s expecting me.”

“Are you -” Alicent began to ask, but noticed the determination in her eyes right away - so similar to Aemond’s, two flames from the same fire, burning brighter together. She sighed, nodded again. “Of course.”

She stood at last, gratefulness in her eyes as she held the queen’s hands again - just a moment, a silent thank you that words could not express. Aemond’s touch lingered on her, an odd sense of peace settling in his bones. Even as he watched her turn her head towards him, say nothing else, escape his touch; even as he watched the door close behind her; even as he wished he’d held her a while longer. She was no longer his secret, he was no longer hers.

“She has quick steps,” Alicent said, bringing his attention to her. “What?” he frowned, unsure he’d heard her correctly.

“She walks fast - she’ll be to Helaena’s room quickly, and who knows when they’ll come out,” the queen shrugged, her son still looking at her perplexed - she sighed, shaking her head a little. Young love, she thought, how she wished she’d known it properly. “Go on then, go after her,” she waved her hand with a scoff.

Aemond grinned, wide and unabashed, unrestrained joy that shimmered in his eye and made Alicent’s heart swell. How could he ever think he’d deny him this? He moved towards the door, long and quick steps to reach it hurriedly, but stopped midway - turned, moved back to his mother with the same haste. He kissed her cheek, hands on her elbows, so abruptly she yelped in surprise - before she could say more he was outside, the silent thanking like a mark on the woman’s face.

Uncaring of questions or raised brows, he ran after her, cutting a corridor or two to get to Helaena’s rooms faster - he expected to catch her on the last step, have to argue with her about getting just one kiss in broad daylight now that his mother knew. Instead, she stood perfectly still in front of the door, and the tension in her shoulders told him of her hesitancy.

“I do hope you’re not having second thoughts now,” he called, softly enough she did not startle, reaching her side. His hand found the small of her back, head tilting to look at her expression - while she twisted her hands again, her brow was pinched, cheeks hollowed. “I believe my mother is already planning the event. I would tell her to keep it small, but I doubt that’d be of any use,” he smiled, hand travelling up to in between her shoulders, rubbing soothing circles on her tense muscles. When she didn’t reply, he stepped a little closer, pressing against her side. “What is it, litse mēre?”

“What if Helaena isn’t happy?” she blurted out, fingers flexing in front of her, taking half a step back and bumping into him, then immediately forward, face falling in defeat. “What if she doesn’t like the idea of us being together? Of us being married? What if -” she groaned a little, frustrated, lowering her gaze to her hands.

With his free hand, Aemond hooked his finger under her chin, tilting her head back enough that she was looking up at him, her nostrils flaring, eyelids trembling. He leaned in a little, waited for her to pull back - when she did not move, the prince kissed her softly, just once, then rested his forehead against hers.

“She’ll understand,” he reassured in a whisper, and the woman sighed, eyes screwed shut. “I just don’t want her to be unhappy,” she admitted, hand finding purchase on Aemond’s arm, tucking it against her chest. “I don’t think I could bear it.”

For a moment, Aemond found it almost funny that she feared the princess’ reaction more than she’d feared the queen’s judgement. He thought about what she’d told him - I have no title, all my possessions come from my work. From Helaena. - yet knew that was not the reason: she adored the princess deeply, and it was not gratitude that moved her and kept her at her side. It was love, profound and somewhat both different and the same to the one they shared in quiet.

“I keep thinking you’d give up life itself if it meant not having Helaena come in harm’s way,” he murmured, dropping a kiss to the bridge of her nose. She scoffed a little, shaking her head before he cupped her cheeks with both hands, gazes unfaltering. “She’ll understand,” he repeated, “she adores you - and if not for your sake, then definitely for mine,” he said with a grin, to which she responded with a pout. “Nothing has ever made me as happy as this.”

“This?” the teasing fell from her lips on instinct, making the prince chuckle. He kissed her again, a little rougher than the previous time, and her hand clasped tightly around his wrist - more and stop equal commands in her touch. When he pulled back, he saw her gaze flicker to the door and he laughed again.

“I’ll be waiting for you here,” she seemed about to argue, but stopped herself as her lips moved, biting down on her lip before nodding, squeezing his wrist just once before he let her go. She didn’t look back after knocking, Helaena’s voice beckoning her forward, but felt the back of her neck burn under the prince’s gaze.

“Helaena?” she called softly, the door closing behind her back. The princess sat with her embroidery on her lap, the beginning of a new spider on the piece of fabric - she smiled at her friend as she came in, scooting a little to the side as she always did. “May we speak for a moment?” there was no point stalling, no point hesitating.

“Of course,” she nodded, putting the embroidery aside and looking up at her as she approached. “Are you not hot in that dress? Is everything alright?”

She reached at the neckline of her neck, the small ruffles tickling underneath her jaw - in truth, it was a dress made for the snowy months, when the air was cold and cruel. It was also the only thing that could cover Aemond’s work on her neck for the time being. She then touched her cheeks with the back of her hand, still warm from the prince’s kiss and his words.

“Everything’s fine,” she said, shaking her head rapidly as she approached the couch, sitting by her. “Do you remember the ball thrown by the king a few months back? Lord Jason Lannister got too drunk, Ser Criston almost got punched when trying to escort him out,” Helaena’s smile flashed amused, nodding.

“I remember Aemond, too,” she replied, making the other woman inhale sharply - of course she’d remember. “He’d been looking at you the whole night - I believe he really did want to dance with you, not me.”

“I think so, too,” the prince had admitted it, one night in his rooms as she tried to get him to dance - she’d been the one leading that time, too, though he hadn’t minded, not if it meant getting more and more of her laughter. “That night, the prince and I talked - he brought me to the dragon pit, showed me Vhagar,” surprise registered on Helaena’s face, piecing together her friend’s words. “It - I don’t know how to describe it, nor how it made me feel, and he -” she closed her eyes, because it was always easier to voice her feelings when the world was dark, it kept the fears at bay. “He’s been so gentle with me, and lately - a few months, actually - when I wasn’t with you I ended up spending some time with him,” she dug her nails into the palm of her hands, fists held so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Some nights, too. Mostly nights, really.”

She cursed herself for babbling on, nerves on edge that made her forget the whole speech she had prepared in her head - she should’ve practised it, thought about it longer, made sure she began talking and not linger on sentences for too long, let the princess know how things were and apologise for not telling her. But truly, how to say it properly?

The prince has asked me to marry him, which sounds insane to me, too - what’s even more absurd is that I said yes, even though I’m terrified, even though anything could go wrong, even though I am scared you might despise the idea and not want to have anything to do with me anymore, and that would break my heart.

“Does he love you?” the question caught her so by surprise her eyes shot open as a little hiccup trapped in her throat. When she looked at the princess, Helaena wasn’t looking at her but at her hands, still fisted tightly, almost numb. Not her hands, she thought, the ring.

“I -” she frowned, almost tucking the ring away to not let her see but thinking better of it. “I think so? Hope so,” she scoffed lightly, shaking her head.

Love was not a thing that Aemond said, yet she realised she’d never doubted the truth of his affections. He’d shown her, time and time again, holding her at night and searching for her during the day, with kisses and glances, soft reassurances while hidden underneath his covers and quiet promises by the Weirwood tree. He’d shown her with trust, given and gained. He’d shown her with the night sky, and arms securely wrapped around her.

“He does,” she said then, surprising herself with a smile blossoming on her face.

Helaena brought her hand over her friend’s lap, brushing the tip of her fingers to her knuckles - she eased her fists right away, the soothing touch so similar to the one she’d done countless times on herself, on the princess, too. She picked her hand up, palm against palm, and craned her neck a little to study the ring, sapphires and amethyst shimmering.

“I told him to mind the fall,” the princess pointed out, voice a little distant, still drawing circles across the back of her hand with her other one as she frowned - words she remembered her saying twice, mind the fall, mind the fall with her. “Has he asked you to marry him, then?” she nodded slowly, glad it had been her saying the words.

“He has,” she said, and Helaena took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Good,” was her only reply, and she glanced up at her with eyes open wide, lips parted, startled. At her silence, Helaena too looked up, tilting her head to the other side.

“You’re not… cross?” she asked quietly, limbs so heavy she didn’t think she’d be able to pick them up again. It was the princess’ turn to frown. “Why would I be?” she asked, face softening in a smile as she leaned forward. “You’ll be my sister then.”

Relief washed over her so abruptly she could not help the sob escaping her, frame bending forward as she reached for Helaena. She wrapped both her arms around her, the princess remaining tense for just a moment before returning the hug, a tangle of arms and skirts as they held onto the other tightly. She thought she was crying as she buried her head against Helaena’s shoulder, but the princess just kept rubbing her back - how often she’d done the same at night, soothing her from dreams she did not like.

“I must tell Aemond to not steal you away from me too often, even if you are to be his wife,” Helaena murmured and, unable to help herself, she laughed.

“You mustn’t worry about that, princess,” she sniffled, pulling back from the hug - there was a rosy hue to Helaena’s cheeks, and she brushed it quickly with her thumb, as if taking it away. “I have no intention of letting my affections for him get in the way of us.”

“Perhaps then you’ll sneak out of his rooms to get to mine instead,” Helaena grinned and, leaving her to her bafflement, returned to her embroidery.

The crowd made her dizzy - she could not remember the last time so many eyes were on her, and though years had passed from her previous life, there was a constant, terrifying alarm in her head. If someone recognised her, it might be over, not even Queen Alicent could help her. The cloak felt heavy on her shoulders, the colours not belonging to her family - anonymous, unworthy of notice. That would’ve been, if not for the fact she was marrying a prince.

The godswood was silent as she walked along the path, blissful quiet interrupted only by her steps, and Helaena’s behind her. She wasn’t sure she still believed the Gods, old or new, but she could trust the sense of safety that enveloped her as she made her way towards the prince, waiting for her by the Weirwood tree. The white and red robes wrapped around her were comfortable, warm, safe - to see Aemond don the same colours, so different from his usual black attire, made her smile. The headpiece carefully balanced on top of her braided hair chimed with her steps, like a song welcoming her home.

Their eyes were burning the back of her head - the queen and princess stood by her, no man accompanying her towards the septon, but her protectors during her new life, leading her to the man that had set her free. She forced herself to focus on that, gaze fixed on the one-eyed prince - not the King, who hadn’t said a single word about the whole ordeal, uncaring; not the older prince, his head slightly bowed. Her attention was for Aemond only - it had to. And in return, he smiled.

The flames kissed the planes of Aemond’s face, lights dancing around him from candles lit precariously close to the trees - it didn’t seem to matter, not with the way the prince smiled, not with the thundering of her own heart trapped behind her ribcage louder and louder with each step. That was the moment, she thought, the moment everything would change: it didn’t matter that the people would witness a ceremony the following day, it didn’t matter that the King and Queen would see them, two people getting married in the eyes of the Seven, too.

It was Helaena removing the cloak from her shoulders - passing from a sister to a brother, the closest thing to tradition the situation would allow. If anyone had had anything to say on the matter, they’d either kept it for themselves or had been silenced - she couldn’t find it in her to care. It was all a show, for the people to know it had happened. They were bound already, even before he wrapped his cloak on her shoulders, hands lingering about her throat, gaze cast towards the binding around the palm of his left hand, matching her own.

“Blood of two joined as one,” Helaena recited as she closed her eyes, offering her mouth to the small weapon in Aemond’s grip. “Ghostly flame and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers forged in fourteen fires,” she didn’t flinch when he cut her, instead fixed her gaze on him, lingering on the missing eyepatch that had left a red mark on his temple. “A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.”

“We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife,” the septon began wrapping the ribbon around their uncut hands, slowly binding them to the other, “one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

The dragonglass was cold in the palm of her hand, her grip temporarily unsure as she held it to Aemond’s lip. The sapphire shimmered when he shifted, eyelids trembling slightly.

“Not having second thoughts now, are you?” it was meant jokingly, an amused whisper between the two of them, even with Helaena still present, their only witness besides the Gods.

“No,” was her quick reply, gaze flickering towards his. “Of course not,” she cupped her free hand to his cheek. “It’ll scar,” she said then, softer. Unable to help himself, he chuckled, brushing the pad of his thumb to her bottom lip.

She licked her bottom lip, the fresh, linear cut left uncovered still visible, the taste of blood still lingering. Already bound by fire and blood, they stood before the Seven with their hands joined as the septon began the prayer, leading the people with them, their heads bowed accompanied by stolen glances.

Her blood smudged on his thumb, a sharp hiss leaving her when he pressed the thumb gently into the fresh cut on her lip, her eyes shimmering making him grin.

“It will,” he replied, and his smile widened, euphoria overtaking them both as her lips parted with a light hiss. “I don’t care - it’ll be a reminder of you, of us,” the tip of her tongue darted out, tasting herself on her mouth, on his finger as he leaned his head closer. “Of this.”

“I believe sneaking out in the middle of the night to perform a secret wedding is quite worthy of remembrance in and of itself, my love,” she whispered, and before he could reply she cut his lip, pain setting his eye ablaze.

The ribbon was soft, a strand of silk singing with the intertwining movements, one turn around the hands over the other.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words:”

He traced the symbol on her forehead slowly, blood warm and thick running over her skin - Fire, burning bright like the red of her hair still capturing the flames. She did the same with the symbol they’d taught her just mere minutes before - Blood, dark and shimmering on his pale skin.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” they spoke in unison, looking at each other, and she couldn’t help the smile on her mouth, making her lip tingle with the movement, the threat of the wound reopening sending shivers down her spine.

“I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days,” Aemond said, each word clear, audible, echoing throughout the full Sept, echoing in her own words -

“I am his and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

“It’ll scar,” he said, a little amused, cutting his palm above the cup she was holding, letting it drip into it for one, two, three, seven seconds before Helaena wrapped his palm for him, quiet and with eyes filled with mirth. “Do you want me to do it?” he asked softly, holding his hand slightly up. She shook her head, handing him the goblet instead and taking the dragonglass from him. She was resolute, decided, the cut firm, red dripping down the tip of her fingers right away for one, two, three -

Aemond, fingers wrapped around hers to tighten the binding, leaned in slowly. “With this kiss, I pledge my love,” he announced, keeping his voice just a little lower - my love, words spoken in the middle of the night they held onto desperately, almost fearful they would disappear, almost afraid it would be but a dream.

The dream did not end, but bled into their first public kiss, with cheers she stopped caring whether they were truthful or not.

As Helaena wrapped her hand as well, she met Aemond’s eye, lifting the cup to her own lips, bloods dark and showing the reflection of the creature she’d become - something unnatural, someone he could love, someone who loved him just as fiercely, forged in dragonfire, made of the same substance. She drank almost greedily, the tip of his fingers guiding the goblet, hungry gaze watching her, the bob of her throat and, when they moved it back, the smear of blood across her mouth - he fought the urge to lean in and drink from her instead, taste their union directly from her lips, take it all and more.

The kiss stung, skin pulling and burning as she squeezed his hand within the bindings, letting her eyes flutter shut fully so the rest of the world could vanish and, even there, even then, it could be just them, their union all that mattered, foregoing titles and roles until all was left was the taste of copper and the feeling of the prince’s body closing the gap. When Aemond pulled back - only partially concerned with propriety as his arm slid about her waist underneath his own cloak - his lips were stained red, pulled in a smirk, and she could feel the single drop of blood falling slowly towards her chin.

“Old Gods, New Gods, Fire and Blood,” she whispered, only faintly aware of the crowd awaiting them. “You’re stuck with me now, my prince, in the eyes of them all.”

He emptied the cup, and she smiled. She smiled and smiled and then leaned in to kiss him at last, sealing the whole ordeal, ending the ceremony with that immortal bond on the tip of their tongues - blood and blood, fire and fire, within and outside, two people made one.

“Good,” he replied, kissing the wound one last time before turning her towards the people. Their new princess, his bride, his love.

A goddess made of fire, forged in blood.

jorrāeliarza - dear/beloved ñuha gevie rēko - my beautiful rose ñuhon - mine ñuha ābrazȳrys - my wife

#dark sonnet #redahlia #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen #aemond x original character #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x original character #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond fanfiction

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kazz-brekker · 2 years ago

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hotd episode 8 thoughts

boy! this family really never can have a funky good time together without something happening, can they? (i say as a distraction from my immense emotional pain)

rhaenys you may never have been queen of westeros but you are queen to ME.

really liked the bits of daemon and rhaenyra’s life married that we got to see and how comfortable they were with each other. hbo, i’m just saying, but it’s not too late to abandon this whole “adapting the dance of the dragons” idea and just do a 5 season sitcom about the dragonstone household.

wow alicent really has become the westerosi equivalent of a christian housewife but also with girlboss ambitions.

the scenes with the dying viserys made me so sad. rhaenyra trying to talk to her father but he’s too incoherent to understand … introducing him to the grandkids … daemon helping him climb the iron throne … god it really got to me see how much they care about him and how much he was hurting :(

baby aegon iii and viserys ii were really cute though!

no … alicent … please don’t uphold the patriarchy and become complicity in the oppression of women … don’t continue the cycle of abuse begun by others that you now perpetuate…

i am impressed by how quickly this show made my opinion on aegon ii go from “annoying yet entertaining” to “die in a hole you rat bastard.”

congrats to daemon and rhaenyra (and rhaenys!) for raising some much better-adjusted teenagers, definitely liked what we saw of the older versions of the kids.

adult aemond is an absolute menace and i am going to enjoy every single second of his screen time.

jesus christ rhaenyra it’s been SIX YEARS and you still haven’t told rhaenys and corlys their son isn’t dead? please get on that! did love that those two had another scene together at last, though.

the scene where viserys dragged himself to court to sit judgement over the inheritance case was pretty powerful.

damn vaemond velaryon was kind of an ambitious asshole but he really didn’t deserve to die like that. kind of love that daemon was like “talk shit about my wife and you get a sword to the face” though, very in character.

those 30 seconds at the dinner party where everyone was getting along were so bittersweet, it did such a good job of establishing that the whole impending tragedy COULD have been averted if things went differently.

viserys really did need to put his foot down more often and be a stronger king, but it’s also so sad that he just wants his family to get along and love each other and it’s just not going to happen.

helaena honey i am going to rescue you and your ominous prophecies from your terrible husband, you deserve so much better.

the fact that viserys left the room and things immediately went to shit and the younger generation got into a fistfight was peak black comedy, not gonna lie.

the dramatic pause before aemond finished his “strong boys” toast … yeah i love him.

mentally chanting kiss! kiss! kiss! at rhaenyra and alicent as if this could someone how avert all the impending doom.

god, that last scene with alicent and viserys was so good and i am obsessed with how viserys’s obsession with prophecy and the future of his house is actually what dooms it.

PEAK asoiaf vibes to have the prophecy that was supposed to be the duty of the house instead lead to its downfall!

i’m really going to miss paddy considine as viserys, he brought so much depth and complexity to a character who was pretty flat in the book.

i know this whole show has been building up to the dance of the dragons but ohhhhh man am i not ready to see things actually begin in earnest now that the king is dead.

if anyone needs me i will be sitting here trying to process the hour of television i just watched!

#pie says stuff #pie watches hotd #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd spoilers #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #viserys targaryen #alicent hightower #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #vaemond velaryon #helaena targaryen

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horizon-verizon · 2 years ago

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Aemond is a child. Alicent did plant the seeds of hatred for his sister Rhaenyra and her children, but Rhaenyra didn’t exactly do anything to stop it from growing. Aemond may be smart but he is still a child and thus impressionable. If Rhaenyra had tried to build a relationship with her siblings, they likely wouldn’t believe what Alicent says. Aegon in particular actually seemed to like his nephews. Rhaenyra may not have ever shown hostility towards her siblings, but she never showed that she cared for them either.

When Aemond lost his eye, her reaction to it told him that he could not trust the Blacks. She showed that she would gladly throw him, her brother, under the bus for her children. Before that incident, the Black and Green children used to play together. After the eye incident, that is when the line is really drawn officially between the Blacks and the Greens. Rhaenyra as the adult and the eldest should have approached her siblings and spent time with them. But she just let those seeds of hatred and paranoia grow in her siblings.

So were Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Rhaena, and Baela. All younger than Aemond.

Anon is referring to my thoughts HERE. Yet I suspect anon didn’t read my post carefully, or knew it even existed.

I don’t know, anon, if you read Fire and Blood either, or just its section on the Dance. It seems like you you just watched the show. And because both HotD and F&B still tell of the rivalry between Rhaenyra and Alicent, what I point out about the book's account of what Alicent did ro Rhaenyra concerning her children still applies.

When Viserys refuses and even dismisses Otto for talking against his decision, Alicent immediately begins to antagonize and plot against Rhaenyra:

Why does Rhaenyra have to be the one to sacrifice her own childhood--whatever is left of it by being a princess mosly alone (emotionally) at court--and some of her adulthood, to devote herself to a fruitless endeavour? Why does she have to be the one to give up her time away from her own life and bridge the gap between her and her siblings, when Alicent is the one responsible for that gap and is higher authority here? In both book and show?

You know who else was a child, anon? Book!Rhaenyra.

In the book, by canon AsoIaF lore/history, Rhaenyra is 9 years old when Alicent marries Viserys. Alicent is 18. A year later, Alicent gives birth to Aegon, and she immediately expects Viserys to appoint Aegon as his heir and replace Rhaenyra, who at this point is 9-10.

Still, questions persisted, not the least from Queen Alicent herself. Loudest amongst her supporters was her father, Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King. Pushed too far on the matter, in 109 AC Viserys stripped Ser Otto of his chain of office and named in his place the taciturn Lord of Harrenhal, Lyonel Strong. “This Hand will not hector me,” His Grace proclaimed.

Even after Ser Otto had returned to Oldtown, a “queen’s party” still existed at court; a group of powerful lords friendly to Queen Alicent and supportive of the rights of her sons. Against them was pitted the “party of the princess.”

(Fire and Blood; A Question of Succession)

Alicent also has much more authority over her own kids than Rhaenyra because she is their mother, the Queen Consort, and a full grown adult. And in HotD, Alicent is still their mother and Queen Consort. In episode 6, we see how she outright refuses to marry Helaena to Jacaerys, showing that she has and uses much more power over her children and Rhaenyra.

18 is an adult by both our modern Western (U.S.) standards and these feudal, Westerosi noblepeople. Rhaenyra, while being the heir apparent, is a child of 9-10. Alicent also has more family members (not Otto, her brother was part of the City Watch) to plot with at court.

I want you to imagine the events at court in the book/canon history, but also those in HotD. Especially HotD where the writer didn't bother to show us how these people interacted between episode 5 & 6.

Alicent can’t openly say that her kids can’t hang out with Rhaenyra, especially in front of Viserys. So how does she stop Rhaenyra from interacting with her kids? She subtly sends them to bed early, she tells them behind the closed door of her apartments that they should stay with their nurses or Alicent’s ladies-in-waiting more than they should Rhaenyra, she distracts them from possible conversations with Rhaenyra, etc. She may interrupt Rhaenyra’s talking in ways that seem like they could just be accidents but are actually contrived. She’d seat them as far away from Rhaenyra as much as possible.

From all of these moments, her own kids pick up that Rhaenyra is not a person worth their attention, even someone to be wary of, even if she is their sister.

For the book, what power does a 9 or 10 year old Rhaenyra have in the face of all of that? Years of social separating? Please tell me anon, would you have that sort of miraculous patience, attention span, or complex thought/long term/years-ahead planning at 9?

By the time book!Rhaenyra was considered an adult by Westerosi standards (14-15)--which is 4-5 years later--the 24-25 year old Alicent garnered a lot of power. Alicent was definitely not going to encourage much interaction between her kids and Rhaenyra, because she has been against Rhaenyra and is plotting her deposing since she birthed Aegon.

So, there was little to no real hope for a relationship between siblings, anon. Alicent made certain of that. And book!her will continue to do so, making sure that her kids do not see Rhaenyra as a real sister but an enemy and an inferior human. Show!her is trying after how many years later, when the damage is irrevocably done? Show!Alicent is a different type of delusional, the type without a brain or any cunning. But she is still the real person responsible for her kids emotionally separated from Rhaenyra and willing to fight openly with Rhaenyra's kids.

Teen/adult Rhaenyra sees and feels this and she knows that even if she tried, Alicent has her claws in. There’s no point. Who would these kids listen to, anyway? Their mom or their sister? Why do you think that a sister’s authority would trump a mother’s, anon? A EU/Westerosi Queen Consort vs an heir?