#Ryan Corr

[simpingland]

Heyy beauty!

Can i request a Harwin break my back Strong x wife Targaryen reader fic where he beats the shit out of someone who disrespects her. He gets out of it with no consequences, reader looks after him & it ends in smut💋

(I'd appreciate it if u could do more Harwin fics cause lord knows I'm thirsty for it😭)

How to fix an aching nose.// Ser Harwin Strong x Targ!Wife!Reader. Smut.

Summary: Harwin cant believe his luck, married to a targaryan princess, being completely in love with her, her being madly in love with him...Not many believe his luck neither. Only his wife can prove him that its all real.

Warnings: p in v, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), a Lannister being punch.

Harwin was more than anxious to have you, his dearest wife, alone for more than the few moments you were allowed, to what extent could he reminisce about your wedding night? His mind was elsewhere during the hunt, listening only to his father's instructions, and ignoring the lords. Ever since he married you, he had felt the looks they gave him, full of envy of course. Few dared little more than stare, the stupidest could dare to vocalise it. And Lord Tyland Lannister was one of those fools.

"I see you are distracted, Ser Harwin," said the Lord with a mocking laugh as he watched the stag slip away from him at close range. "Marriage...always has the same effect on men."

He chuckled, a few laughed with him, but most gave him a dirty look, and Harwin set his spear aside.

"What effect do you mean, Ser Tyland?" he asked dryly.

"Well, the effect of women. They are a constant headache."

"I don't think you should speak so of wives when you haven't managed to marry a single woman since you've been at court, my lord." He wanted to leave it at that, but Tyland had taken offense.

"When one wields so much fortune, choosing a wife to entrust to him is a different task. I suppose you don't know what I'm talking about now, Ser Harwin."

Harwin walked toward him, towering over him. It clearly frightened him.

"I don't need to brag about money to show my wealth. And that I think if you are able to understand."

Tyland was silent for a second. Everyone had turned to watch the scene, except your father, the King, who was too sore to pay attention. None of them listened as your father asked for your presence to escort him to his tent without making a fuss. So Harwin turned to continue the hunt without being aware that his own wife was walking towards the scene. Neither was Lord Lannister.

"You certainly took a treasure for the little price you must have paid...you took a very possible wife from me." Tyland was whispering it to Harwin now, purposely irritating him. "Though...perhaps you did me a favor. A princess who chooses someone like you should not be driven by anything but lust and madness. Maybe your wife is a lot cheaper than we all thought."

Then Harwin exploded. With the first fist he knocked out two of Tyland's molars, and with the second he buried him in the mud. None of Ser Lyonel's orders were heard as he tore Tyland apart, only the insults towards you, raging. They tried to pull him away, but he was still there. And there you found him.

"HARWIN!" You shouted, running towards him. It took him a while to notice you, he looked at you, a little frightened that you had seen him be so savage.

"He insulted you" he said quietly, then looked at Tyland "YOU INSULTED THE PRINCESS!"

And he gave him one last kick before he was pushed away by the guards. He had to be pushed away until he was led out of the hunt, and he only looked at you, begging your forgiveness for the disturbance. Your father was disoriented, and only understood what was happening from the words of one of the guards. And you had to wait to get your father to his bed before you met Harwin.

"What happened?" you asked as you entered your tent. Harwin was waiting for you, on his back and standing. When he turned around you saw his nose was bleeding. You ran to wipe it. "Gods! Did Tyland do that to you?"

"He wishes it was him, my love...it was one of the guards."

"I suppose it's because you've hit him first, isn't it?"

He smiled, because he knew you as well as you knew him. And he watched your concern disappear with every second, seeing your smile again.

"I'm not going to let anyone walk all over me. Not me, not you," he said, kissing your neck as he hugged you, lifting you off the ground and pressing you against his chest.

"Oh, Harwin, and why do you say that?"

You wiped the blood from him as he told you the story. It was starting to bruise a little, but had stopped bleeding after he put a cold cloth on it, holding it patiently and letting it play with the ties of your dress.

"I don't want you to think I'm just a... a beast too. I hold my anger a lot more than you think. Only you make me feel at peace, wife." He ran his hand through your hair.

It certainly hadn't been easy to convince your father. The Strongs were beloved at court, but Harrenhal was not a place of good repute, and marrying the King's second daughter to a notorious brute like Harwin "Breakbones" Strong had caused much controversy. You succeeded after years of hiding in the corridors, and every night Harwin could only draw on his imagination to do more than kiss you, for he had always put your reputation and honour before his desires.

You had only been married a short time, but it had been a season since you two had spent time alone. Your elder sister Rhaenyra was keeping you by her side at night, uncomfortable with her first pregnancy, and in the mornings, Harwin was too busy catching up on his duties as heir to Harrenhal.

Still, it didn't take away a single ounce of excitement, you craved each other throughout the day, and Harwin always managed to pull you aside to talk or kiss you. Either was enough for him, but he really wanted you back in his bed.

"You don't look like a beast to me." You put your hands on his neck, sat on his lap, you could feel his bulge on your leg. "And even if you had looked like one, you forget I've never been the person who holds his reputation in the highest regard, remember?"

They smiled, Harwin remembered in fact, more than once he had had to push you out of his sight because you had guided his hand where maidens should not be touched, all before you were married. You kissed him first, and when he was training you watched him from your window, catching his eye and "accidentally" showing your breasts. In the dark of night he had to pick you up off the floor because you had knelt before him. And in between all those moments Harwin couldn't help but be captivated by you, begging the King for your hand.

"I remember everything. You are far more beastly than I, my wife..." His member began to grow as he remembered, your scent right there, he captured your lips.

"You have offended me," you faltered, pulling away from the kiss. "Show me who the beast is here, Ser Breakbones."

One swift movement and he unfastened the bodice of your dress, freeing your breasts, and brought one to his lips. And as it sank to your chest you giggled at his eagerness, enjoying the tingle that formed on your legs as you felt Harwin's saliva run over your tits.

"Do you find this amusing, my princess? Having me sit here?" He ran his hands under your skirt, stroking your pearl as if by accident, but you knew he wasn't, that he was doing it to ravish you.

"I do find it a bit funny, I'm afraid..."

He stilled your laughter by throwing you onto the bed they had set up for you. Remarkably smaller than the one in your room back in the Keep, but Harwin didn't plan to use it much. He removed what was left of your dress, leaving you now completely naked. Your body being a spectacle for him.

"Well I'm no clown, of the many tricks they know how to do, I doubt very much they know how to do this."

He rested one hand on the bed, circling you on top of you, and the other he used to turn you, your back, your ass facing the outside. He caressed your back, stroke both cheeck of your ass and finally touching your cunt. One finger entered first, stirring your discharge with your clitoris and eliciting a soft moan from you. He watched you watching him, mouth half open. He was so handsome, with his smooth coat but rugged features, Harwin was all man. He inserted a second finger, and the third was not long in coming. Then he began to shake his hand rapidly, lifting your entire pelvis to his rhythm. You couldn't help but cry out as you felt such continuous pleasure.

"No..." whispered Harwin, pulling his face closer to yours, "no one knows how to do this to you like I do..."

Pleasure engulfed you, and Harwin could see you come to orgasm, you moaned millimetres from his lips, which he felt as if it was feeding him. He let you rest, and before he could lick his fingers with your arousal, you took his hand to lick them for him. If he was already excited before, Harwin had to hold back a moan when he felt the friction of his own pants squeezing his erection.

"Now let me reward you, my Lord, for defending my honour..." you removed his shirt, and kissed his big abs. But you made him suffer as you reached for his trousers, unbuttoning them bit by bit, not until you had removed them completely did you focus on his member.

Fat and in proportion to your husband, his cock needed two hands to massage it well. First you gave him a little kiss on the tip, as if in greeting, and looked up at Harwin, who seemed impatient but loved your gaze as you knelt before him. You were beautiful from every angle, and your eyes sharpened from that perspective. He pushed your silver hair aside as an excuse to touch it, and he never pushed your head, you always managed to make him enjoy at your own pace. You licked the tip for a while, but before he could cum, you took as much of his cock into your mouth as you could, knowing which way to guide it so you wouldn't gag. You sucked slowly but intensely, using your cheeks to make your mouth tighter. You were just about to make him cum when Harwin decided to take the reins again.

He caught you by surprise when he pulled away from you to pick you up off the floor, placing you in his arms as he did when he rescued you from troubles you usually got yourself into. One arm around your back and the other around your legs, your hands resting on his shoulders and with the opportunity to kiss him right there. Indeed, you didn't need the bed very much. You didn't quite understand what Harwin was up to, but when you felt the tip of his cock at your entrance, your hair stood on end. He was moving slowly up and down you, preparing to bury himself all the way in.

"I am convinced that there is no better pussy than yours in all of Westeros, Princess..." his voice was husky, his scent captivated you, and he kissed you tenderly when he wasn't kissing you with tongue.

"So what are you waiting for to enjoy it?"

He lured you to his lips to distract you, but you finally felt him enter. Gently, but creating that special fraction you'd longed for for years before you were married. Harwin broke the kiss to moan, of course this was his favourite part of fucking. He didn't usually do it fast, he liked to pace himself, and for such a big, rough man, he liked to sink into your pussy delicately, whether it was his instinct to protect you, or his instinct to enjoy it. His hips set the pace, as he raised them, his arms lowered, and you felt his full length fill you. He began to speed up the rhythm, he had plenty of strength left, and when he increased you could hear him enjoying himself, making you enjoy yourself.

"I'm going to cum...I'm going to cum..." he announced.

Then he laid you back down on the bed. You had no plans to have children yet, so you liked to experiment a little. Harwin positioned your legs apart, and took out his cock to rub it against your clit, fucking your vaginal lips and causing you unparalleled pleasure. You had your second orgasm seconds before you felt Harwin's semen spilling out of your pelvis, with a sweet moan leaving your husbands lips.

He rested his forehead on yours, and you kissed his aching nose.

"Wow...you sure made me feel better, wife." He moved to your side, pulling a blanket over you both, cuddeling you in his arms.

"Yeah...I've missed you too."

"I meant the kiss on the nose...but the rest was good too."

You laughed before threatening to make it bleed again. Harwin was willing to take a million punches as long as his princess was there to kiss his wounds afterwards.

[daenysthedreamer101]

The Iron Throne is the most dangerous seat in the Realm

masterlist

[gameofthronesdaily]

Ryan Corr as Ser Harwin Stong (aka "Breakbones") House of the Dragon | 1.06 "The Princess and the Queen"

[theforgottenmcrmy]

For the Love of Candied Lemons (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: absolutely none, this is purely fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Summary: Princess Rhaenyra's latest craving results in a rather embarrassing incident for you, and a frightening one for Harwin.

A/N: I most fucking embarrassingly am a citizen of the “democracy” that is the US. I hope you can find some enjoyment in this product of my coping, however small. I put enough context in here that you hopefully don’t need to have read it, but this is a one shot idea from a larger story of mine called Growing Strong, the master list of which can be found HERE.

“Seven hells- Princess Rhaenyra’s message said I would find you here.”

Feeling slightly betrayed, but mostly embarrassed, you let out a frustrated huff. “I did not mean for her to send for you.”

“I have no doubt that the Princess’s intent was genuine. She only wants to ensure that you are well,” Harwin placated soothingly. He took another slow step in your direction, glancing about your shared chambers with a look of mild interest as he did so. “Though I am curious as to why you were brought here. Wouldn’t the Maester’s chambers have been more sufficient?”

“Grand Maester Mellos was a rather unfortunate witness to the … incident,” you replied carefully. “He rushed to assist me at once, and our chambers were far closer than his office.”

The maester in question, who had been gathering up the last of his supplies, hummed thoughtfully to himself. Sparing you a small smile, he chimed in, “All things considered, Lady Tyrell, the injuries you sustained could have been far, far worse.”

“But?” you prodded with a smile of your own, not bothering to hide the hopefulness in your tone.

“But, apply this salve a few times a day, ensure the cuts are kept clean, and all shall heal just fine.”

“Thank you, Maester,” Harwin thanked him sincerely. Sneaking in a teasing glance your way, your husband added, “I shall personally ensure that the Lady Tyrell heeds your advice faithfully.”

Grand Maester Mellos bobbed his head in silent acknowledgement, before rising to his feet and leaving the room. As soon as the door your shared chambers closed, Harwin was upon you at once.

“Let me see,” he pleaded, though you knew it was not a demand, but rather a request for your permission. Whenever it came to you, Harwin never acted without it.

You begrudgingly met his inquisitive gaze, and allowed yourself to be subject to his thorough scrutinization of your current state. His careful hand slowly rose alongside your face, and you allowed your head to tilt backward with his gentle guiding, giving him full visibility of the multitude of scrapes that now marred your chin.

After a moment, Harwin dropped his hand, and turned his attention to yours. You presented your palms openly towards him, allowing him to pour his eyes over the additional cuts that littered the otherwise smooth skin. 

Your husband slowly traced one of the more visibly angry gashes, and you flinched involuntarily.

Harwin immediately offered a hushed apology. “What happened, My Love?”

You broke away from his loving gaze, looking down at your palms with shame. “It’s all rather embarrassing… And the truth of it is, I’m still not precisely sure what happened.”

Harwin reached for your hands once more, mindfully grasping at the uninjured sides of them. As you allowed yourself to take some comfort from the gesture, he suggested, “Perhaps it is best you start at the beginning, then?”

“Your sisters and I were strolling the gardens with Princess Rhaenyra,” you recalled. “Suddenly, she wished for some candied lemons.”

Harwin’s expression shifted from one of curiosity to sudden understanding.

As a lady in waiting for Princess Rhaenyra, who had recently discovered herself to be with her first child, you had been adamant in seeing to her every need and whim. While it would have been expected of you, given your official position, Harwin knew that you had placed additional pressure upon yourself to see that Princess Rhaenyra was well looked after. Though your time in King’s Landing had been short in comparison to others, in that time you had quickly developed a genuine kinship with and affection for Rhaenyra, sentiments that Harwin believed were reciprocated.

“The kitchens are so far away from the gardens, as you know,” you continued to explain. “By the time we would have sent word, and then waited for the candies to be prepared… I thought it would have been futile. I volunteered to go to the kitchens myself.”

“And so you did.”

“And so I did,” you confirmed, forcing yourself to meet his eyes once more. “I was on my way from the kitchens, headed back to the gardens. And as I was descending the stairs outside of the Small Council Chambers, I could not see my feet. I think my skirts may have gotten twisted perhaps, and…”

“...And?”

“Before I knew it, my feet were above my head, candied lemons went flying through the air, and I went tumbling down the stairs.”

Despite the situation, you could have sworn the corners of Harwin’s pursed lips flinched upwards.

“I managed to break my fall on the very bottom step with my hands, but not before my chin got a good go of it. Grand Maester Mellos saw everything, naturally. The Seven weren’t so kind as to spare me an audience for this grand mishap. He whisked me away at once to see to these cuts… And, now that things have calmed and some clarity has returned, I believe he also sent a page to inform Princess Rhaenyra of what had transpired. Given your presence now, I assume she in turn sent for you.” You paused briefly, feeling embarrassment overcome you once more. “I still cannot believe you rushed all the way back to the Red Keep from Flea Bottom solely on my account.”

Harwin’s patrols as a Gold Cloak of the City Watch kept him busier more often than not. You had never faulted him for it; copious amounts of your own time was spent carrying out your duties to Princess Rhaenyra.

“Judging by the ominous look on the messenger boy’s face, I did not feel as though I had much of a choice.” Your husband sighed tiredly, his eyes flickering over your various abrasions once more.

Suddenly, he placed a quick, firm kiss on your cheek. You felt them grow hot once more, although this time it was not with embarrassment.

“It pains me to see you injured, even in these small ways,” Harwin confessed. “Though I cannot deny that it brings me great relief to see that these cuts are all you have to show for a ‘tumble down the stairs’... It did not take great effort on my part to imagine the worst.”

You reached for his hands then, ignoring the stinging sensations in them that rapidly followed. “Truly, I shall be quite alright, Dearest. The only thing that was gravely injured today was my pride. A lady of House Tyrell, tripping and bumbling down a staircase like a waddling child? … Gods, I hope my brother never hears of this. He will not let me live this down.”

Harwin rolled his eyes, but the gesture was without annoyance or malice. “Between jousting and tournaments or simply training out in the yard, I am certain Lord Tyrell has taken more than a few falls of his own. An accident was all that this was, My Love. And an accident is certainly nothing to be ashamed of.”

You blushed. “You are kind- too kind, perhaps. While I appreciate your concern, I truly did not wish for you to permanently abandon your post for the day. I will not keep you to myself; go on and return to the city. I shall see you later tonight.”

Harwin scoffed. “Surely you jest. The Commander gave me leave to see to it that you are well. It seems only fair that I should ensure your wellness continues for the duration of the day.”

You smiled. “You wish to spend the day with me?”

Between Harwin’s patrols with the City Watch, and your own duties to Princess Rhaenyra, the opportunity to spend any significant time with one another during the day was seldom found.

You shook your head, attempting to quell your rising hopes. “As much as I love the thought, Dearest, I did promise Princess Rhaenyra those candied lemons…”

“I would not keep you from your duties, either.” Harwin held out a hand to you, standing fast; he was not going anywhere. “Mayhaps you will allow me to accompany my Lady Wife to retrieve more candied lemons from the kitchens?” 

Grinning, you took his hand. As you carefully rose to your feet, you offered him a teasing smile. “How could I ever refuse such a generous and noble offer?”

Harwin winked. “I was hoping you’d be agreeable to it.”

“And why is that, Dearest?”

You intertwined your arm with his, daintily resting your scraped hand on the crook of his elbow. As you leaned into him, and rested your head on his upper arm, Harwin gently turned and began to lead the two of you over to the door. The pace was leisurely, the moment calm and intimate. The realm existed outside the closed chamber door, but for now, the world was comprised entirely of just the two of you.

As Harwin reached for the door handle, he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Lemon candies are replaceable. But you, My Love, are not.”

[aemondsbabe]

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! i will write for pretty much any of ewan mitchell's characters (aemond targaryen, tom bennett, michael gavey, osferth, billy washington), other house of the dragon characters like aegon, daemon, harwin, helaena, alicent, & rhaenyra! i'm also open to writing for stranger things (eddie, steve, & billy), saltburn (felix catton & oliver quick), and dune (feyd-rautha only)

🌟 add yourself to my tag list!

🦋 find me on ao3 as well!

all dividers are from @firefly-graphics & @saradika!

icon by the lovely & talented @zaldritzosrose

MINORS DNI! 18+ only!

‼️ do NOT re-upload my fics or use them to train AIs!

𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫

gevie | aegon x reader

little love | aegon x reader x aemond

claimant | dark!aemond x sister!reader

duty & sacrifice | claimant pt 2; dark!aemond x sister!reader

from ashes, fire | claimant pt 3; dark!aemond x sister!reader

the gods and everyone | aemond x reader

hour of the owl | harwin x reader x daemon

come what may | aemond x baratheon!reader

what is owed | harwin x lyseni!reader x daemon

licking wounds | daemon x niece!reader

deliverance | aemond x sister!reader

oathkeeper | aemond x stark!reader

care & keeping | aegon x reader x aemond

𝔤𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰

a kindness | ramsay bolton x reader

𝔰𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫

taunt | michael gavey x reader

praise | taunt part 2; michael gavey x reader

stick it out to the end | michael gavey x bimbo!reader

𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰

give me an o! | billy hargrove x cheerleader!reader

𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔠

12 days of smuff | multi character/fandom

billy washington bot | spicy chat

emperor caracalla bot | spicy chat

emperor geta bot | spicy chat

[dragondreamers]

EMMA D'ARCY & RYAN CORR as RHAENYRA TARGARYEN & HARWIN STRONG in HOUSE OF THE DRAGON | S1E06 - "The Princess and the Queen"

[fleurbies]

saw someone say jace cut his hair to hide his curls so he looked less like harwin strong nd i have not know peace since

[pintadraw]

Ryan Corr as Harwin Strong.

[runegifs]

click the source link to find 160 [268x150] gifs of ryan corr as ethan in sting (2024). all gifs were made from scratch, do not edit, repost or claim as your own. a like or reblog would be appreciated if you use them, and consider supporting me on ko-fi <3

find my commission info here

potential triggers: emetophobia*, bugs*, blood, physical violence, resuscitation, flashing lights

*triggers spoilered on page

[simpingland]

Ooohhhh okie so;

Can I get a Harwin x Fem!Reader

Major fluff, I’m thinking Harwin either wining or losing to Daemon at a tourney and reader like cleans him up as they share a bath.

The idea is really vague.

(Feel free to ignore!!)

Crown of Soap.// Ser Harwin Strong x fem!reader.

Summary: Ser Harwin only wants to crown his wife as the Queen of Love and Beauty. And the problem is not that Daemon is his opponent, but that his wife does not want Harwin to win the tournament.

A/N: sorry if this was too much introduction till the bath. I LOVED THIS IDEA. Thank you for reaching, hope you like it❤️gif not mine.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Days at King Viserys's court were quiet considering the presence of Prince Daemon. Daemon's marriage to his beloved niece Rhaenyra had brought happiness to the family, though it was a difficult decision for the King. But the Princess radiated joy and quickly outgrown your reputation as a happy bride. Whenever Rhaenyra appeared in your room, your husband Harwin left politely but hurriedly. You could see him roll his eyes when your attention was taken from him, and you could only smile at his politeness, knowing full well that he was not irritated, and that he was exaggerating just to amuse you. You, on the other hand, were deeply happy for your dear friend Rhaenyra, who had trusted you from the first day you sat beside her. And of course, the Crown Princess's wedding deserved something grand, something to entertain the nobles, a tournament.

"No, Harwin, there is no need for you to participate," you told him at dinner. Your refusal took him by surprise.

"And why not? It will be fun. Besides, who can beat me?"

Ser Harwin "Breakbones," of course, and his confident smile appeared at that nickname. And the breadth of his shoulders and the strength of his arms would never deny it, but not everything lasts forever. Daemon was a proud, competitive man, and besides, Harwin was more clumsy, strong, but clumsy.

"Well, I just don't want you to get hurt too badly."

"I'll take my chances. I want to crown you Queen of love and beauty."

"That's very sweet..." you saw him take your hand, pleased with himself. "But I wouldn't want you to."

"I'm not understanding anything."

Poor thing, you stroked his hand, big and rough but so manly and tender.

"It's a tournament in honour of Daemon and Rhaenyra. And Daemon will want to win to crown Rhaenyra. And honestly, she deserves to be crowned, even if Daemon doesn't deserve to win. You don't know how many times the Princess has cried on my shoulder for Daemon. She doesn't deserve that man either...but since she's got him, it would be fitting to give them a nice start to their marriage. Do you understand, my love?"

You watched as he processed the information, his sweet eyes looking into yours. And he nodded, smiling and stroking your hand back.

"All right...but I'm not going to make a fool of myself."

"Harwin..." you chided him.

"You deserve crowns too, and it is my duty to honour you. So I won't let them laugh at me or you. And I will fight as hard as the Prince fights." His tone was serious, but not strong or stern.

"I don't want a crown!"

"Then you shall have it!"

"You are disgustingly stubborn."

"You cannot prevent me from winning fairly. It is dishonourable."

"Harwin, please..." he got up to get into bed, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to win you that crown." He pointed his finger at you and began to undress.

"Then I'll flush it down the toilet," you lied, crossing your arms.

You could see the smile creeping back on his face, and you couldn't hide it much longer either. And the 'discussion' went on until Harwin fell asleep.

The tournament was not long in coming. Of course, while you were putting on one of your best dresses, Harwin was putting on one of his best suits of armour. He sat obediently for you to put his long, curly hair up in a ponytail. You offered to be late for the tournament while you frolicked in bed, but he declined.

"We'll enjoy tonight, where I can see you happy and beautiful with your new crown. Only with your crown."

"That's if you come in one piece, my love."

Of course, he never took such remarks with offence. A man as great as he was did not doubt his manliness in the face of words, and his dear wife was the first with whom he could be vulnerable and who truly knew his ways. And to hurt Harwin's spirit it took more than that, and that was what you loved most about him, that he was so much more than 'the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms'. He gave you a tantalising kiss before parting from you, a kiss that could have gone further, but Harwin broke away, leaving you wanting more. As you sat down next to Rhaenyra, you could see him smile sympathetically at his squire, happy and nervous. The bride looked with his same emotions, her eyes searching energetically for Daemon, touching her necklace.

"Who are you going to bet on, Princess?" you asked jokingly.

"For my husband, just as you will bet on yours..." she replied, smiling.

"Oh, don't think I'm so convinced. Prince Daemon will do everything he can to crown you. He'd be willing to finish off the brute of Harwin to win a kiss from you."

You watched as Rhaenyra laughed, blushing. She reminded you of yourself when you were newly wed. A young lady, who travelled with her father to King's Landing to gain a place among the King's court. And of course, you were given the duty of marriage. The Princess and now Queen Alicent were kind, and kept you company during the exhausting courtships of the lords. Rhaenyra was only bent on marrying Daemon, Alicent was already married, but you couldn't find anyone you liked at all. Until the hunt in honour of Aegon. Ser Harwin Strong hadn't said a word to you since you arrived, and it was understandable since you were a girl in the shadow of a princess and liked to watch him from afar. When the whole court moved to spend three days hunting, the Strongs offered to take you and your father in the carriage, for yours had broken down in the middle of the road. And it was during those days that Harwin truly saw you. He gave up riding on his own horse to keep talking to you on the road, gave you his cloak at night when it was cool, and sat beside you at suppers, listening to your gossip while he told you what he had seen on the hunt. And though Harwin was a candidate to be the Princess's husband, he was quick to ask your father for your hand, but not before asking you first. Your betrothal was so simple and so happy that Rhaenyra had to hide her jealousy, but it was soon noticed and you and Harwin planned dinners with Ser Lyonel, where you convinced him that Daemon would be the best choice and conveyed it to the king. You triumphed.

The jousting began, and as expected, the final three were Daemon, Harwin and Criston. Your husband winked at you every time his opponent fell to the ground. And it was he who defeated Criston, making both you and Rhaenyra chuckle a bit too much. When it was his and Daemon's turn, they both approached the stand where you were standing. Daemon asked his wife for her favour, while Harwin asked for yours. You chose the most beautiful and simple ribbon, with small purple flowers and colourful dark green leaves. When you put it on Harwin, you looked into his eyes.

"I would wish you luck, my lord, but if you do the right thing, you will always come out on top." That was your last request.

And you watched as they both clung tightly to your horses. Difficult to overthrow, Daemon and Harwin were beginning to grow frustrated, as were you and Rhaenyra. And when Harwin broke Daemon's shield, it was all but settled for the knight to win, not the prince. Before they made the final turn, Harwin looked at you, without the smile, and you nodded for him to look at Rhaenyra. She was holding your hands, her face was one of disappointment as she saw her husband angry at the situation. And you saw how he himself struggled. On the last blow, Harwin again galloped with impetus, as did the Prince, and before he could strike the blow, the Prince was able to push him off his horse. It was harsh, and a resounding fall. Everyone held their breath a little before bursting into applause as Harwin removed his helmet in defeat. You clapped as you watched your husband, being lifted up by Daemon. They shook hands and then he reached for his squire. And from a distance he could see the smile on your face as Rhaenyra was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by her husband. Then, he waited for you to arrive at his tent so that you would feel sorry for him.

"Are you all right?" You asked, genuinely dismayed.

"I think I need to wait in bed for a month and a half. In the company of my wife, naked if possible. The masters so indicate." He exaggerated a tired tone that made you laugh.

"You are perfectly fine, I see. Though you reek of sweat."

"A crown of flowers would have taken away this stench."

"Soap and water is also a good option."

And you walked towards the castle, but Harwin was not at your side, and when you turned you saw that he was limping. The sight made you tender, for he was so big, he made so much noise in that armour, and he walked like a little boy with that smile framed by a beard. You had to let him rest his arm on your shoulders.

"Come on, 'old-bones', we haven't got all day."

You smiled at him when he rolled his eyes at his nickname. Harwin didn't have that many years on you, you were always amused by the nickname, pointing out his very limited grey hair as if it was the beginning of the end, and watched as he proceeded to try to impress you with his talents. And you loved those displays, him picking you up, practising with his sword in front of you, or helping to fix things around the castle. In time, Harwin began to enjoy your "pity" for him when he fell asleep on your chest, or when you read aloud to him. When he was drowsy he always let you fill his face with little kisses. The maidens prepared a large bath for you, with refreshing water after the hot day, and the squire brought into the room the cloak, shield and crown with which you had wished Harwin luck.

You helped him take off his armour, one of your favourite hobbies, and your husband always enjoyed watching your concentration. He had bruises when you undressed him completely, and one that was sure to get worse on his abdomen, where Daemon had struck to get him to throw it off. He was sweaty, incredibly handsome, but his injuries worried you.

"Don't worry," he said, voice low and caressing your face, making you stare at him. "I'm fine."

"It's a good bump."

"That's what happens when you raise your arm too high, you find a weak spot."

You could tell by the smile. Harwin had done it on purpose, he'd let himself get hit. It made sense, he had the advantage, and he was too easy to beat even when Daemon had been hurt worse.

"You let him win..."

"No..." he lied. "I'm old, that's all."

He climbed into the tub by himself, sinking down to wet his head. Meanwhile, you stood outside, watching him, your brave knight. Grabbing an ointment, you sat beside the tub and carefully spread the cream over those bruises. You could feel Harwin's eyes following you. And when you reached the big one, the pain made him pull away.

"I'm sorry," you said, "I can't quite reach, turn around a bit."

"No," he replied. "Get in with me. You smell like sweat too."

"But I have to put the ointment on you."

"Put it on later. Take a bath with me."

At your refusal, Harwin splashed the water on you, soaking much of your dress and hair. So, wanting to kill him, you gasped and shed your clothes. Your husband couldn't take his eyes off you, and immediately made room for you.

"This bathtub isn't that big..." you said as you settled in.

"I know, and that's what I like the most."

You were in front of him. You had to pull your knees up to your chest to get in, and Harwin grabbed your foot and made you straighten your leg. When he kissed you on the sole, his beard tickled you.

"Harwin, stop!"

"I can't hear you, wife, you're too far away." And he tugged at the hand you'd thrown to pull your foot away from his lips, and pulled you down to lie in his lap. Your faces close and his hands resting on your waist. Then already Harwin let you clean him. With the washcloth and a bar of soap, he closed his eyes as you ran it gently over his armpits, over his shoulders, always leaving a path of caresses.

"It's a shame you didn't win, my lord..."

"More's my pity you didn't get a crown."

"You're obsessed with the crown," you joked. Harwin opened his eyes to focus on you. "Honestly, I don't need you to win tournaments or be a great fighter to prove anything. I like the humble, good man I have for a husband."

As you washed his face, Harwin moved his hand along the curve of your back.

"I just wanted to see you shine," he confessed.

"What do you mean?"

"Ever since you came to the palace, you've been in the Princess's shadow forever. And I only dared to speak to you when I could find you apart from her. You are more than a lady-in-waiting to Rhaenyra, and I feel that the life I give you does not take you away from that. I feel that...I need to bring you pride and honour. I need them to see you, as I see you."

"Oh, Harwin..." you threw yourself on his mouth, and you kissed each other so passionately that you felt like you could melt right there, on top of your husband, with his flowery scent and warm from sweat. And as you kissed, Harwin's hand caressed your thighs, drawing you even closer to him. When you broke apart, your smile was irrepressible.

"I adore you... I adore you for what you have done for Rhaenyra. And I adore you for thinking of me. And I love you, Harwin, I love you for being the gentle knight as sweet as you are stubborn."

You saw him blush, smiling. And you kept bathing him until all that was left to do was to wash his hair. Then you stood behind him, all that back holding your upperbody.

"I can't wait to be an old man so you have to bathe me all the time." You felt him relax with your massage.

"In a month you'll be fulfilling that dream, you little elder."

You heard his laughter as you removed the soap from his hair. And then all that was left to do was relax. With Harwin between your legs and his head on your chest, his hands caressed the hands resting on his chest and you stared into nothingness. Then you began to talk about your favourite subject.

"I saw Criston tripping before the joust began," Harwin said. "He thought no one saw him, but he saw me looking at him."

"And you laughed, didn't you?"

"And I laughed..." and Harwin burst into laughter again, laughing and making you laugh as well. "Well, though in fairness, I don't think there's anyone in the kingdom who could wear a crown of flowers better than Criston, he's a handsome mother fucker..."

"I don't agree. He's very handsome...but he doesn't deserve it."

Your arm reached for the small crown from before, Harwin looked over to see what you were doing. When you took the little crown, he thought he understood everything.

"True, you are a better candidate for..." when he went to take it from you to crown you, you pushed it away from him.

"No, my dear Harwin. I don't deserve it either..." you put on an exaggerated solemn tone. "The true king of love and beauty is the sweet knight Ser Harwin 'Breakbones' Strong."

And he let you put the crown on him, his hair wet and clean. You watched as he clasped his hands together and placed them tenderly near his cheeks, lifting one shoulder flirtatiously. He forced you to kiss his hand, which you did as you laughed. But his appreciation was shown when he plunged you back into one of those kisses that only he knew how to give you, the kiss he had promised before the joust began.

And you knew he was truly honoured because he spent the rest of the day with that wreath on, and took one of the flowers in his suit the next day. No one else could know even if they saw it on his shirt. But only you needed to know, because when you got close to his chest you could smell not just a flower, but the love and beauty it represented.

[daenysthedreamer101]

HOTD Masterlist

General Masterlist

~ Daughter of Steel and Bronze (Targaryen!OC x Harwin Strong)

This is the story of Princess Daena Targaryen - daughter of the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. What role will she play in the impending doom of House Targaryen?

Follow along as she learns to navigate the complex life of the Red Keep, uncovers treacherous plots, falls victim to dangerous lies, and falls in love with the heir of Harrenhal.

Will she survive the Game of Thrones or perish as so many others did?

Moodboard

Character profile

Daena x Harwin

Prologue

Ch 1 - To King's Landing

Ch 2 - Claiming your birthright

Ch 3 - Dragonstone

Ch 4 - Blood of the Dragon

Ch 5 - Victory

Ch 6 - Gone with the Wind

Ch 7 - Loss of Innocence

Ch 8 - Crossroads

Ch 9 - Child no more

Ch 10 - Signs and Portents

Ch 11 - The comforts of home

Ch 12 - Hidden secrets

Ch 13 - Daughter's anguish

Ch 14 - Total Eclipse of the Heart

Ch 15 - To Mend a Broken Heart

Ch 16 - Succession

To be continued...

Depictions of Daena

Pt 1/ Pt 2 / Pt 3

Pt 4 / Pt 5 / Pt 6

Pt 7 / Pt 8 / Pt 9

Pt 10 / Pt 11

Secondary characters

Lady Amanda Royce

Ladies Joy and Hanna Strong

Lady Rowena Redfort

Rowena's reaction to Rhea's death

Daena's outfits

Pt 1

Pt 2

Headcanons

Daena's style

How Vermithor bonded to Daena

Daena's style during mourning

[asoiaffan]

Ryan Corr as Harwin Strong

Behind the scenes of House of the Dragon

[theforgottenmcrmy]

Second Sons (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 25 to the series Growing Strong. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, a couple curses, canon typical violence, canonical character death, a couple people rip off Olenna Tyrell's lines because she's an icon

Summary:

A short flight, and he would return to his mother. To his siblings, except for Jace, who was hopefully safe and probably still in the Vale. To his cousins, and his betrothed. To his friends. And to the man who had offered him more fatherly guidance than probably any other had in his life, regardless of the personal cost to himself.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy reading this one as much as I did writing it. I have one more tentative part planned to connect the events of s1 to s2, but depending on how episode 1 on Sunday plays out, I may tie it into the plot of that episode. I'm not sure yet if I'll keep writing this story into s2 while its airing, or wait until after it's out. But if I do end up waiting until it's out in its entirety, I can almost guarantee I'll at least have one shots or related hand canons posted since those are fairly easier to whip up.

Prince Daemon Targaryen was well on his way to speak with the dragonkeepers to ensure Caraxes was adequately prepared for a flight to Riverlands.

The queen had yet to grant him her permission to depart Dragonstone- as Maester Gerardys had so kindly informed him the day prior - but her lack of approval would not change the inevitable. The Riverlands were essential territory to the war that was all but upon them, and Prince Daemon was of the belief that the arrival of a dragon upon his doorstep would be most efficient in swaying Lord Grover Tully to remember his oath.

The same notion had sent the eldest Velaryon princes, Crown Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys, to the Eerie, then the North, and to Storms End respectively. The princes, and their dragons, had left Dragonstone the evening prior. As Daemon strode through the halls of his family’s ancestral keep, shadows from the rising sun filtered in from windows throughout. It was near midday, and not a word had been received yet from either prince.

Fortunately, not enough time had passed for such a fact to become a concern, even for Rhaenyra. Jacaerys, if he’d been wise, would have flown on Vermax to Claw Isle, where the loyal Lord Bartimos Celtigar’s household would have offered him shelter for the evening, before braving the rest of the flight to the Eerie the next day. Any raven he might have sent the evening prior would not have been received so soon. The same could be said for Lucerys, who had most likely been taken in by Lord Borros Baratheon and treated to a feast that would have lasted well into the night.

Prince Daemon - or was he Prince Consort now? - did not know exactly what compelled him to travel through Dragonstone’s training yard on his way to speak with the dragonkeepers. Perhaps it was the dreadful reminder in the back of his mind that once his business was finished with them, he was expected to return to the Chamber of the Painted Table, to the grueling politics that did not cease despite the Velaryon princes’ departure.

But what Prince Consort Daemon Targaryen did know was that Dark Sister hung heavy at his side with every step he took. The blade sang to him, even now, calling for the spilling of blood. Green blood. It had been quite some time since Daemon felt drawn to the alluring chaos and thrill of battle. The past few years on Dragonstone had been some of the most peaceful years of his life. Perhaps he might have grown content with such tranquility, given his rather tumultuous youth. But all thoughts of that had been swiftly set aside upon the slaying of his brother - most likely by the efforts of that scheming Hightower bitch of a queen - and the loss of another daughter.

The precious life lost was the first casualty of the Green’s treason, and was not likely to be the last. But for their Visenya, for Viserys, Prince Daemon would see all of the Hightowers to a just end. And, if said ends occurred between Caraxes’ maw, or by the sweep of Dark Sister, all the better.

Given the time of day, Prince Daemon had not expected the Dragonstone’s training yard to be occupied. If he had, he might have chosen another route to achieve his means. But as he entered the cavernous room, the familiar sound of a blade meeting a stiff bag of hay filled his ears. The usual guards, a pair each, posted by the entrances on either side of the room watched in silence as a lone figure sparred with a training dummy in the middle of the yard.

The young Lord Selwin Tyrell-Strong wielded not a wooden practice sword, but a real one. Each slice that tore through the air resulted in straw leaking from the dummy and drifting slowly to the floor.

Prince Daemon knew he ought to have ignored the boy and continued on his way, but something gave him pause. He watched with scrutiny as the young lord, who was so focused he had yet to become aware of the prince’s arrival, went through his motions. The confident, smooth movements, a varying but ultimately repeating set of strikes and blocking imaginary blows, were clearly more muscle memory than any conscious thought. The preciseness of the strikes, despite the target being stationary, were decently placed and well informed, the lordling having aimed for weak spots that would exist in an opponent's armor, and, of course, the heart. It was apparent that Lord Strong and whatever various masters at arms had instructed the boy thoroughly.

Though there was still room for improvement, even Prince Daemon was forced to admit the boy held decent promise, particularly for his age. Perhaps the bold show at dinner two nights past was not merely an isolated spectacle at all, but rather an indication of something more.

But Prince Daemon was wise enough not to always speak the thoughts that came to his mind. He had no duty to compliment the boy’s form, and certainly no desire to inflate a young lord’s ego.

So instead, Prince Daemon called out, “You seem to be in the wrong place, My Lord.”

With a small jump, Selwin halted his movements at once. To his credit, his grip on the blade remained firm as he slowly brought it down to his side. “My Prince?”

Daemon walked towards him slowly. His gaze was appraising as the young lord turned to him as he approached.

“I am told many of our guests are in the Chamber of the Painted Table, undoubtedly eager to take advantage of every moment they can obtain with our new queen,” Daemon explained simply.

Selwin took a steadying breath, visibly regaining composure from the exercise. “I shall leave them to it, then.”

Daemon’s brows raised. “You are not one for politics?”

“If I need to be,” the boy answered carefully, his focus flitting back to the training dummy.

“But it is not what compels you to rise for the day.”

It was not a question, but still, Selwin answered.

“That has always been my mother’s area of expertise. And my brother Derrik is a far better student of hers in that subject than I could ever hope to be.”

Daemon did not fail to notice how Harwin Strong went unmentioned. The Lord of Harrenhal might have been born to inherit it, but Daemon knew Harwin had little desire for ruling and even less patience for courtly designs. Harwin Strong was Lord of Harrenhal solely because his honor and sense of duty bound him to be. Daemon Targaryen enjoyed the luxuries his title and residence at court had brought him, but even he could not deny that, at some level, he and Lord Harwin Strong were cut of the same cloth. They were men both far more at ease in the training yard, if not the battlefield, then in a ballroom gallivanting about solely for society’s amusement.

And as Prince Daemon sized up the Lord of Harrenhal’s youngest son before him, he surmised that perhaps the apple had not fallen far from the tree.

“Ah yes, Derrik Strong- your late uncle’s namesake.” However, Daemon had spoken his truth at the dinner two evenings past: it truly was younger, not the older, of the Tyrell-Strong boys that resembled their late uncle, Ser Derron Tyrell. Unable to refuse the urge, Daemon gently goaded, “Our queen, on the word of your mother Lady Tyrell, I am sure, has told me he is quite intelligent for his age.”

Selwin said nothing.

“It must be heard, living in his shadow,” Prince Daemon prodded.

Lifting his sword, as though to inspect the blade, Selwin refused to take the bait. “I do not believe that I do. We are merely… different. We possess different strengths. He is more knowledgeable about court and politics, and I am more comfortable here, training.”

“But it is said that you are to inherit either Higharden or Harrenhal someday- and your brother is to inherit the other. You will rule somewhere, someday.” They might not have been the Iron Throne, but neither of the boy’s potential inheritances were anything to scoff at.

“Then I shall. It is my duty, and I will endure it, as my father does.”

Daemon did not doubt that. The Strong sense of stubbornness runs true. “And what if your brother challenges your succession?” he posed then. “He could, as you well know. Regardless of what Lady Tyrell and Lord Strong have decided, he is the eldest. When your mother and father are gone, by all laws of the land, he could pursue both seats of power, and the realm at large would not find fault in him for doing so.”

“I do not believe Derrik would go against our parents wishes,” the young lord asserted calmly. He lowered his blade once more, and fully turned to the prince. As Selwin met the Rogue Prince’s critical eye, his jaw tightened. “But even so, if that is what my brother desires, I would not stand in his way.”

“You would truly stand aside?”

“He is my brother, Your Highness. I would sooner fall on my own sword than willingly spill his blood.”

“You care for him.”

Selwin repeated, “He is my brother, Your Highness.”

They were seemingly at an impasse in the conversation, and yet, Prince Daemon felt surprisingly satisfied with the boy’s response. A few moments of silence passed between them, the Rogue Prince looking upon the youngest Tyrell-Strpng boy thoughtfully.

Eventually, Prince Daemon recalled what he had originally set out to do. The dragonkeepers would start to wonder where he was, even if they didn’t dare to ask after him.

So Daemon conceded, “Very well then, My Lord. I shall leave you to your practice now.”

Selwin bowed his head, but said nothing in response to his departure.

Prince Daemon turned to continue on his way, but hesitated. Quietly, so as not to be overheard by the guards dutifully keeping watch, he advised, “Mind your stature while blocking. Your left flank is a bit too exposed- you might stave off your opponent's blade, but anyone with merely half their wits about them will take advantage of it and deal you a nasty blow to the ribs.”

Selwin nodded appreciatively.

Prince Daemon finally did as he had announced, and continued across the yard. Not bothering to turn his head entirely, he called back to the young lord some final parting advice.

“Do keep practicing though, Lordling. One never knows when they may be called upon to lift a sword for their queen."

Lord Larys Strong, recently reaffirmed Master of Whisperers to King Aegon, Second of His Name, unrolled his most recently received correspondence with care.

Faint screaming echoed off the stone halls and walls surrounding him. Such was the consequence of having his office in dungeons of the Red Keep. All prisoners who ended up on this particular floor, the one just below the Black Cells, never rose above it again, but Larys was able to come and go as he pleased. And he would be lying if he denied that he derived a bit of pleasure from the fact.

Of course, he had his living quarters elsewhere, in a more socially acceptable part of the Red Keep. But for his official workspace, he had chosen this.

The King - both Viserys, and then Aegon, thought Larys’s choice of office, which was little more than a rooted out cell with a desk and chair, was rather peculiar. But Larys had been quick to remind each of them that such a location was extremely practical for his profession. And the convenience of being so close to those he was entrusted with wringing out information from, no matter the cost, could not be overstated when considering his physical limitations.

Larys scanned the letter briefly. It was from Harrenhal. Ser Simon Strong was more than happy to heed Larys’s request to provide him information from within the keep’s walls, and to relay information Larys provided to him back to others in return. Slowly, but surely, doubt was being sewed into Harrenhal’s soil. Doubts of its lord, who had been physically absent for years, and doubts of the credibility of the Targaryen princess who the Lord of Harrenhal would undoubtedly support in the upcoming war of succession.

Not too much longer now, and his brother’s steward, Lord Dannis Chambers, might have a mutiny on his hands.

Just as Larys had intended.

Larys smiled to himself as he retrieved some parchment and a fresh quill from the desk drawer. As he penned his response to his uncle’s letter, the candle’s throughout the room flickered.

He could not afford another failure. Not now, with the Hand of the King watching and scrutinizing his every move. 

To say that Lord Otto Hightower had been more than displeased with Larys after Lady Tyrell had failed to be eliminated from the political landscape would be a severe understatement. Not only had Lady Tyrell reunited with Larys’s insufferable brother, her husband Harwin, but the pair had already reached Dragonstone with their children. And from Dragonstone, they had begun to communicate with Harrenhal, Highgarden, and other reliable allies, Larys assumed, to begin coordinating aid for Rhaenyra’s cause.

But now that the cow had been milked, there was no squirting the cream back up its udders. And all Larys could do, and what he had been moderately successful in doing thus far, was mitigating the situation he had found himself in. Controlling what he could control.

That was not a new mantra to him, having been born a crippled second son. He owed the life he currently enjoyed entirely to his particular talent of making the most of what he was given, and using it to his advantage.

Larys faintly heard himself idly humming along as he finished his letter, rolled it up, and sealed it. He set it aside to be sent out by raven the next morning. Then, he reached into the desk drawer and withdrew another piece of parchment.

There were so many relations Larys had to tend to these days. But tend to, he would. The Dowager Queen, the Hand, the new King... It did not matter that Larys was not truly loyal to any one of them, so long as they each believed him to be.

Their belief in him directly correlated to more power. More power meant more control. And what had Larys always exceeded at?

Controlling what he could control.

Sewing seeds of doubt. Cultivating the crops of chaos.

And watching as the realm in the name of Hightower Greens, in the name of the Targaryen Blacks, in the name of whoever found themselves in power- burned.

The humming continued as Larys penned his next correspondence.

To My Dear Cousin, Alys…

“Tell me, Your Highness, what exactly does Vhagar eat?”

Prince Aemond Targaryen credited the countless etiquette lessons his mother subjected him to throughout his youth for his strength in resisting snapping back a sarcastic response.

This one- was it Ella? Elle? …Either way, she was polite with her questioning at least. Shy, almost.

“Whatever she likes,” Aemond replied, giving her a small smile that made the poor girl flush as red as the tomato on her plate. Ellyn, that was her name. “She still enjoys hunting for her own food, on occasion. However, most of the time, I ensure she is provided with only the most exquisite quality of pork and beef.”

For almost three full days, Aemond had been hosted at Storm’s End. He’d allowed himself to be swooned over by the majority of Lord Borros Baratheon’s daughters, all while assuring the Lord of Storm’s End of the heaping rewards he was to receive should he pledge himself to Aegon’s cause. Privately, Aemond was a bit cross at having such a large part of his future- his godsdamned wife- decided for him, but when his mother put the proposal before the small council, he knew he could not, would not, voice his disapproval.

For Aemond was nothing if not a dutiful son. His mother’s lack of empathy for his position, the infuriating care she still held for Rhaenyra, and her insulting unwavering loyalty to his oaf of an older brother aside.

For his mother, Aemond would give up his own choice of a wife. And though he knew in his heart that he deserved nothing less than a true Targaryen for a bride, being a true Targaryen himself, he would settle for a Baratheon girl. For his mother, Aemond would play envoy, remain polite, mind his tongue, and secure Baratheon’s allegiance. For his mother, Aemond might have been willing to give up all semblance of himself, if only to save her and their family.

“Hm,” another of Lord Borros’s daughters, Maris, chimed in, and most unwelcomed at that. “It would seem the dragons eat better than some of the small folk these days.”

Aemond only remembered her name due to the alarmingly large number of times the young woman had managed to vex him thus far.

He bit his tongue. Again. “A sad reality King Aegon wishes to rectify, My Lady.”

Maris’s attention fell back down to her plate. But under her breath, she muttered, “Doubtful.”

Another sister- whose name also escaped Aemond, but he knew her to be the eldest- gave Maris a stern look from across the table. “Maris!” she reprimanded in a hushed voice.

Maris did not look apologetic in the slightest. Instead, she looked rather determined. It was a small wonder where her stubbornness came from, given her sire. “What? ‘Tis true. You know the small folk are always the ones who suffer the greatest when the realm goes to war. Nobility may suffer financial losses, or political standing. But it won’t be us out there, going hungry. Spilling our own blood in the name of others.”

“I will not assume that you plan to grace any battlefield with your presence, My Lady,” Aemond replied, his tone clipped. “But you may rest assured that should my half-sister refuse to acknowledge Aegon as our king, I will meet any army she may gather head on.”

Maris’s eyes hardened. “The odds would be in your favor though, wouldn’t they? Why, what is a thousand men versus the likes of Vhagar?”

“Maris, please,” Ellyn begged her. To Aemond, she inquired sweetly, “All of this talk is futile, is it not, My Prince? Surely there will be no war. Princess Rhaenyra will see reason.”

“We can only hope,” Aemond said placatingly.

Perhaps his half-sister would see reason. But Aemond doubted Rhaenyra to come to terms with her situation whilst Daemon was beside her, filling her head with incendiary thoughts. Even if Rhaenyra yielded to Aegon, Daemon would need to be dealt with.

It was a good thing Aemond was more than up to the task.

“I do hope you are engaging in appropriate topics of conversation with His Highness,” Lord Borros said from the opposite end of the table.

His lordship had been distant, seldom engaging in conversation throughout Aemond’s stay. Nay, it was mostly his daughters and wife that had attempted to get within his good graces. Not to say that Lord Borros had been rude in a sense- but he had not been very welcoming, either. But that was just as well with Aemond; he was not in Storm’s End to make new friendships. He was simply to sway Lord Borros to support Aegon, and to ensure his continued loyalty to the crown, select one of his daughters to be his bride.

“Of course, Father,” the youngest daughter replied quietly.

Aemond did a double take. The girl had said no more than five words in his presence the entire stay thus far. Seldom had she even made eye contact with him.

Her name was Floris, Aemond recalled. Of the four, Lord Borros’s youngest daughter was indisputably the most attractive, a fact of which was obviously a source of pride for Lord Borros. But she was the youngest, not yet flowered. She was rather soft spoken, too. The girl was still innocent to the true nature of the world in which she would be expected to thrive. In a peculiar way, the youngest Baratheon girl reminded Aemond of his sister, Helaena.

Aemond had yet to formally choose which one of the girls was to be his future bride. But he knew he would not be choosing Floris.

“His Highness was merely enlightening us of the many ways King Aegon intends to help the less fortunate in the realm,” Maris shared with her father, smiling sweetly at the man whilst sarcasm dripped with her every word. Once Lord Borros looked appeased, Maris dared to shoot Aemond a challenging smirk.

Aemond would most certainly not be choosing Maris as his bride, either.

Before he could contemplate a witty response, the doors to the dining hall were thrown open hastily. A visibly fatigued servant rushed in.

Lord Borros rose from his seat at once, his dark brows furrowed deeply. He bellowed, “What is the meaning of this?”

“My Lord,” the servant boy bowed. “A visitor just arrived. He is in the courtyard now.”

“A visitor?” Lord Borros echoed, still frowning. “At this hour? Well, who in the Seven Hells is it?”

Though the messenger did not address him, Aemond did not miss the wary glance the boy threw in his direction before he answered his lord.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon, My Lord. He comes bearing a message from Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

…

For his mother, Aemond had agreed to be civil.

But as for himself, Aemond knew he could not let the opportunity before him slip through his fingers. And as the intoxicatingly wicked ideas filled his head as to how he might turn this chain of events in his favor, all thoughts of the Dowager Queen, his sweet sister Helaena, and her young, vulnerable children faded far into the recesses of his mind.

Prince Lucerys Velaryon, newly reaffirmed heir to Driftmark, and future Lord of the Tides, followed the soldiers escorting him though Storm’s End with his back straight, and his head held high.

He knew very well what- who- was waiting for him when he would arrive in whatever hall Lord Borros welcomed him in. The mountain of a dragon lurking beyond Storm’s End upon his arrival with Arrax was enough of an indication of who awaited him inside.

But his mother had sent him to Storm’s End with a purpose, and a message to deliver. He would not let nerves break his composure, nor deter him from his task.

The guards finally parted before him, opening the doors to the hall within. Lucerys clung to his resolve as he stepped forward. Thoughts of his purpose gave him courage, despite his daring to wonder whether Aemond would be the only Targaryen he would soon come face to face with.

Lord Borros Baratheon sat upon the Storm’s End throne up ahead. Various soldiers and nobles lined the room. Closest to Lord Borros were three younger women, who Lucerys assumed could only be his daughters. Amongst them, with long pale hair that contrasted against the waves of dark hair so similar to Lucerys’s own, was his uncle, Aemond.

Aemond, who looked far too smug with Lucerys’s current predicament. It was such a shame that Lucerys did not plan to grant him any further satisfaction from it.

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled from the windows and ceiling above. But Lucerys pushed onwards, and forced himself to take a few more steps into the room.

“Lord Borros,” Lucerys called to him, “I’ve brought you a message from my mother, the queen.”

Lord Borros’s expression as he beheld him was a rather peculiar one. The lighting was a bit poor in the hall, but Lucerys could have sworn the Lord of Storm’s End looked particularly pale.

However, the words that came out of Lord Borros’s mouth were anything but meek.

“Yet a few days ago, I received an envoy from the king. Which is it? King, or queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.”

The Lord of Storm’s End found his own joke rather funny. The shoulders of one of his daughters, the fourth one standing beside Aemond, shook with silent laughter. Lucerys did not deem the observation worthy of a response.

“What is your mother’s message?” Lord Borros eventually bid him.

Aemond still smirked at him, but Lucerys refused to meet his eye. Instead, he wordlessly held out his hand. One of the guards who had escorted him stepped forward, grabbed the sealed parchment from his gloved hand, and walked forward towards the throne. He deposited the scroll in Lord Borros’s awaiting hand, but despite the message finally being within his grasp, the recipient still looked frustrated.

“Where’s the bloody maester?!”

An awkward silence filled the air as the maester in question shuffled through the crowd. As he did so, Lucerys took a moment to properly assess Lord Borros Baratheon. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d hoped to find in such an angry face- perhaps a trace of his grandmother, Princess Rhaenys. A familial resemblance was plainly evident in their shared shade of dark brown hair, at the very least. However, there certainly was no shared similarity between Lord Borros and that of his father, Ser Laenor Velaryon. His father had always taken after the Velaryon complexion, and Lucerys could not recall his father frowning enough times for him to deduce whether it resembled Lord Borros’s currently gruff expression.

All the while, he felt Aemond’s eye boring into the side of his face.

The maester had finally appeared and taken the scroll from his lord’s hand. While the maester read over his mother’s message, and subsequently relayed the contents to Lord Borros, Lucerys took the moment to calm his gradually rising nerves.

Lucerys tightened his jaw. What precisely was Aemond hoping to accomplish by staring at him so? He would not be goaded into engaging with him, for nothing beneficial could possibly result from that. Not but a little over a week ago, Jace and his uncles had been unable to make it through a mere family dinner without blows being exchanged.

Lucerys gripped the pommel of his sword with a tightly clenched fist. Granted, it was the same sword that Selwin and Lord Harwin had determined was not the most suitable for him, but it was a sword nonetheless. Lucerys could only pray to the Seven that he would not have cause to draw it- he had promised his mother as much, after all.

The maester excused himself, and it was as though all eyes, even Aemond’s, fell upon the Lord of Storm’s end as they eagerly awaited his reaction.

“Remind me of my father’s oath?” Lord Borros scoffed. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact.”

That was news to Lucerys, and information he planned to pass on to his mother when he returned to Dragonstone. But he would not let his surprise show.

“My Uncle Aegon has cause to want to buy your allegiance with such a promise, My Lord,” Lucerys replied carefully. “The price of honor is high, but it is always one worth paying.”

Lord Borros scoffed. “Honor… I do not know if your mother can define such a word, boy.”

Lucerys fought the immediate urge to rise to her defense. But Lord Borros’s comment was a peculiar one. Aemond must have thought so too, as he finally tore his eye off of him and looked towards the Lord of Storm’s End inquisitively instead.

“Nevertheless,” Lord Borros continued on, his increasing irritation evident with each word, “Let’s say I do as your mother bids… Which one of my daughters will you marry, boy?”

Lucerys could not bring himself to even steal a glance at the daughters in question as Lord Borros gestured to them. “My Lord, I am not free to marry. I am already betrothed to my cousin Rhaena Velaryon.”

Lord Borros looked over at Aemond. “I’d heard as much… So you come with empty hands?”

Was upholding an oath and maintaining honor not enough motivation to support the realm’s rightful queen? Was loyalty so easily able to be bought?

Lucerys’s gut sank, but he refused to let it show. He might have been young, with plenty still to learn, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one. The atmosphere of the room shifted, churning faster and steadily brewing into a storm.

“Go home, pup. And tell the bitch your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

Lucerys’s jaw tightened once more. He managed to ease up on the tension just enough to get out, “I shall take your answer to the queen, My Lord.”

He had turned and taken two steps when another voice called out.

“Wait!”

Lucerys let out a small sigh, but forced himself to turn back around.

“My Lord Strong,” Aemond crooned mockingly at him.

Nearly all rational thoughts fled from him as the insult hit his ears. Lucerys took several steps forward back into the room, but instead of Lord Borros, it was Aemond that he approached.

“The lighting in here is poor, Uncle,” he said to him. “So I will forgive the mistake your remaining good eye has made. But Lord Harwin Strong is far from here, and both of his sons as well.”

One side of Aemond’s lip threatened to curl up into an angry snarl. Unfortunately, he did not yet take the bait. “Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

“Your brother’s throne?” Lucerys echoed with disbelief. At that moment, he was unsure of whether he held anger or pity for Aemond, who sounded so certain of his brother’s claim to the Iron Throne. “I will not discuss such gross accusations with the likes of you, Uncle, for you can hardly be considered an unbiased party. And I will not fight you. I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge. I’d rather you pay the debt you owe me.”

Aemond reached upwards and removed the patch that covered what remained of his left eye. Even with the poor lighting, Lucerys could see the blue gleam of the sapphire that had taken the injured eye's place some years ago. Lowering his hand, Aemond threw his overcoat aside, and unsheathed a dagger from his hip.

“Here is a knife, just as the one you had that night. Put out your eye, and I will let you leave.”

Aemond threw the dagger downwards, and it skittered across the stone floor. It came to a still at the halfway point between him and Lucerys.

“One eye will do,” Aemond prattled on. “I would not blind you. I plan to make a gift of it to my mother, actually.”

Lucerys wasn’t entirely sure whether the Dowager Queen would be pleased with such a gruesome gift. Regardless, his answer to his uncle would have been the same.

“No.”

Aemond’s smirk faltered. “Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”

“Not here,” Lord Borros warned.

Instinct alone forced Lucerys to retreat a few steps backwards when Aemond suddenly stalked towards him.

“Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!”

Aemond scooped up the knife he had thrown onto the floor with an obviously practiced ease. With similar swiftness, Lucerys unsheathed the sword at his side, holding it out before him defensively.

“Not in my hall!” Lord Borros roared, rising to his feet. “I want no blood shed beneath my roof. The boy came as an envoy, and he shall leave as one.”

Aemond’s nostril twitched.

To the men who had escorted Lucerys into Storm’s End, Lord Borros commanded, “Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon. Now.”

As the guards moved about him, Lucerys held Aemond’s eye as long as he dared. Eventually, he relented, sheathing his sword and following the escort out of the hall.

By the time he was returned to the yard, the rain had begun to pour. Arrax, spotting him despite the sheets of water, cried out to him. Lucerys approached him with a determined pace. Once he had reached the dragon, he looked over his shoulder.

Vhagar was nowhere to be seen.

Lucerys closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he turned back to Arrax. As he commanded his mount to remain calm, to focus, and to listen to him, he allowed himself to think of their destination.

It was a short flight back to Dragonstone, just as it had been to Storm’s End. The poor weather, which was not ideal, would most likely add some additional delay to the flight. But if Lucerys remained centered, and if Arrax obeyed him, they would make it back safely.

Lucerys would return back to Dragonstone. He did not know what Lord Borros’s refusal meant for the queen’s cause, but he knew beyond a doubt that his mother would not be angry with him for his failure. If he knew anything at all in those harrowing moments, he at least knew that.

His heart pounded madly, betraying everything he had just asked of Arrax, as he saddled up, and the pair ascended into the stormy sky.

Steam filled Aemond’s eye and ears as he watched Lucerys be escorted out of the hall.

He might have taken the moment to allow himself to recompose, and excuse himself to his guest chambers to clear his head before he did something foolish. He might have taken the high road and walked away, had he not been incensed beyond the brink of sanity by a single childish remark.

A snicker came from beside him.

“Was it one of your eyes he took, or one of your balls?” Maris taunted, raising a mocking brow at him. She shrugged nonchalantly. “I suppose I should be glad you shall be choosing one of my sisters to wed. I want a husband with all his parts.”

A blood red haze carried Aemond out of the hall and into the stormy night.

With a careful hand, and an even more cautious step forward, Selwin opened the door to the library at Dragonstone.

He stuck his head inside the chamber, just past the doorway. He did not dare to breathe as he patiently waited a moment and listened. Nothing but the sounds of the softly flickering flames and the cracking of wood met his ears, until-

A faint crinkle of a page, as a page was turned.

“My Lord?”

Selwin stood up straight, and his eyes were wide as they landed upon the source of the noise.

Lady Rhaena Targaryen, who was seated in a red plush chair beside the flames contained in a rather grand stone-carved fireplace, beheld him with a befuddled expression.

“Lady Rhaena,” Selwin all but blubbered, his cheeks feeling a bit warm from being caught in such a poor state of decorum. “Forgive me, My Lady. The queen granted me permission to peruse the library earlier this afternoon, but I did not anticipate it already being occupied.”

Lady Rhaena’s expression shifted seamlessly from curiosity to one of slight amusement. She gestured vaguely around the room. “No trouble at all, My Lord. ‘Tis hardly as though there is not plenty enough room for the both of us.”

With her blessing, Selwin took another step into the room and allowed himself to fully take it in. It was far grander than he had imagined it to be. Although, that ought not to have been  too surprising. The Tagaryens weren’t exactly known for doing anything on less than a grand scale.  Rows and rows of books and scrolls comprised many aisles, with each aisle running the length of the room on either side. Beyond the shelves, the warm orange rays of the setting sun bled into the room.

In the very center of the room, to his immediate left, was a large stone table. Various books and scrolls were piled atop of it, as though they had been recently browsed, or perhaps were awaiting the return to their respective places upon the surrounding shelves.

Lady Rhaena, who had been watching Selwin with a keen eye, had an open book resting on her palms. Still a few paces away, Selwin could not make out exactly what the contents of the pages pertained to, but he did not believe the words to be of the common tongue.

 “Are you particularly fond of reading, Lord Selwin?” she inquired politely, rising to her feet.

As she moved to approach the table beside him, Selwin suddenly found his boots to be alarmingly intriguing. “Not particularly,” he mumbled. “My older brother is far more inclined to take to scholarly pursuits than I.”

Lady Rhaena placed her book, the pages still open to where she had paused in her reading, upon the stone table. “...But?”

“I must admit, I do enjoy a bit of history, My Lady.”

“Truly?”

At the sound of her genuine surprise, Selwin mustered enough courage to meet Lady Rhaena’s eyes once more and nodded. “Our maester in Highgarden used to tell me all about the histories recorded and housed in the Citadel. And while those sound fascinating, I was always far more interested to hear about the accounts kept here, in Dragonstone. Is it true there are texts here from Old Valyria?”

“A few,” Lady Rhaena confirmed. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed the pages of the open book before her. “Since the queen has given you her permission, you would be more than welcome to read some of them, as well as whatever else you are able to find in here…. However, might I make a recommendation for you to start with?”

“Please do.”

Selwin watched as Lady Rhaena disappeared momentarily down an aisle of shelves on the right hand side of the room. She returned a moment later with another book in her hands. As she resumed her place before the stone table, Selwin turned to mirror her stance.

Lady Rhaena carefully opened the book. Her eyes skimmed the text rather quickly as she turned its pages. Then, she abruptly stopped. As she looked back up at Selwin, she offered him a smile. “Perhaps this may satiate your interest. For a little while, at least.”

Selwin read over the first couple of lines.

… In the year 73 AC, Harrenhal was without a master once more. Queen Rhaena Targaryen, who had resided within its walls for many years, had finally passed, and King Jaehaerys found himself tasked with appointing its new lord. The task proved to be challenging, as the rumors surrounding Harrenhal had only grown in number and validity over time…

“It’s an account from the Old King’s reign, and the events that led to your ancestor, Ser Bywin Strong, being named as the Lord of Harrenhal,” Lady Rhaena explained helpfully.

Selwin tore his eyes away from the page. “Thank you, My Lady. This was a very thoughtful recommendation.”

“I hope you enjoy it. When you are through, you shall have to let me know what you made of it. It was written by Grand Maester Elysar during King Jahaerys’s reign.”

“And it recounts the king’s actions,” Selwin repeated plainly as another thought struck him. “Should this not be kept in the library within the Red Keep?”

Lady Rhaena tilted her head as she glanced back down at the book with a pensive look. “Mayhaps. But the maesters keep so many texts, it would not be possible to keep them all on hand for the king- or queen.”

“A point I did not consider,” Selwin admitted sheepishly. “Besides, ‘tis hard to imagine this accounting holds any particular weight when compared to others of more import.”

Lady Rhaena paused. “I respect your opinion my lord, but I cannot agree with it. House Strong may be young when compared to some of the other houses in Westeros, but there is no foretelling of what may yet come to pass. Perhaps Ser Bywin’s inheritance of Harrenhal is only the first part of what will be the larger history of House Strong… Why, it is said that Lord Harwin is the strongest man in all the Seven Kingdoms. Surely that would at least be of a small note?”

Selwin did not bother to stop his chuckle. Maybe that still rang true. But his father, while still relatively young, had begun to pass what most men considered to be their prime. However, so as to not insult the lady beside him, Selwin acquiesced, “A small note, perhaps.”

“And what of you? Do you not think yourself likely to do anything of note? You are to be the next Lord Strong, or even the next Lord Tyrell, are you not?”

“I do not know.”

Lady Rhaena was particularly perceptive, Selwin would later deduce. “You would let your brother claim the lordships of both your parents’ houses?”

Selwin managed to hold in his chuckle this time. Hadn’t Prince Daemon inquired about exactly the same topic not but a day before? Now that he thought about it, Lady Rhaena, though said to physically resemble her late mother, emulated her father in more ways than one might initially suspect. Selwin believed as much, particularly at that moment; both Rhaena and Daemon had managed to pry thoughts from him he had not been comfortable enough to share with even his own family.

“I do not know,” he repeated once more, feeling a bit foolish and more like his age than he could recall in recent memory.

Most mercifully, Lady Rhaena was not one to take joy in his discomfort. It was not difficult at all for Selwin to believe Lucerys found himself a bit ‘smitten’- as his mother often put it- with his betrothed. Any young man would be, would they be so fortunate to be betrothed to the kind-hearted Rhaena Targaryen.

“What do you know?” she gently prodded.

Selwin refused to meet her eyes. Had he not been so conflicted within himself, he might have been concerned with burning a hole through the text before him with the sheer focus he placed upon it.

“I know that Aegon’s treachery means war is likely to ensue. I have read enough history to know that usurping a throne does not tend to end in peaceful terms, let alone terms in which no blood was spilled at all. I know war is coming, and I know my family is in danger because of it. But I have nothing to offer. My father, as you put it, may be the strongest man in all the Seven Kingdoms. My mother is the Lady of Highgarden. My brother is intelligent beyond his years, and when the time comes, there is no doubt in my mind that he will make a fine lord- of whatever inheritance that may be. But as for myself? I am…”

He felt Lady Rhaena’s intense gaze upon him as he searched for his next words.

“I am naught but a second son. I am nothing. I can do nothing. My family could be in peril, and I am powerless to help them.”

It was silent for a long while.

Lady Rhaena confessed, “I believe I might be able to sympathize with you. I know what it is like to feel like nothing I do truly matters. I know what it is like to be able to do nothing, to feel powerless.”

Disbelief had Selwin snapping his head up in her direction. “With the utmost respect, Lady Rhaena, that is a bit difficult to fathom.”

She gave him a challenging look. “Really? Tell me then, My Lord, what would I do if the Greens surrounded Dragonstone on the morrow? Would I rally our sparse number of men to battle? Would I lead my grandfather’s fleet, engaging the enemy upon the waters of Blackwater Bay? Would I mount a dragon, and meet Vhagar and Sunfyre head on in the skies?”

Selwin mulled over her words. “Forgive me, My Lady. I did not mean to give insult.”

“No forgiveness is needed, My Lord, for no insult was taken.”

The text before him still laid open, and despite the heavy topic of conversation, the words seemed to call to him.

“I will not sell myself short just yet,” Selwin vowed then. “But if there is still room in the histories for my story, then there shall be plenty of room in them for your own.”

Lady Rhaena frowned. “I am not certain I follow your meaning.”

Selwin’s attention shifted towards the book to his right, the one Lady Rhaena had been reading. Valyrian, he realized, now close enough to plainly see the words on the page. He did not know the language, but he could deduce the topic based on the page’s illustration. Scales of various colors bordered the yellowing parchment.

“You are no less a Targaryen because you have yet to claim a dragon of your own. And those who harbor that opinion of you are of no consequence. What good do the opinions of sheep serve a dragon? Because that is what you are- a dragon.”

Lady Rhaena merely looked at him for a long while, her expression plain. Just when Selwin began to fear he may overstepped, she suddenly grinned.

“Prince Lucerys is most fortunate to have a friend like you, Lord Selwin. And any friend of Prince Lucerys can consider themselves a friend of mine.”

Selwin’s face warmed, but he could not pinpoint precisely why. “I shall strive to remain worthy of your friendship then, My Lady.”

Lady Rhaena plucked the book up from the stone table and closed it gently. She then offered it to him. “I have no doubt that you will.”

To what end did Aemond pursue him?

Lucerys wracked his brain for all logical explanations as to why Aemond stalked him. This was not merely the exchanging blows in the training yard, or coming to an impasse during a family dinner. His damn uncle was using Vhagar to actively hunt him, and Arrax, sizeable though he was for his age, was no match in size.

Finally, up ahead- there was a break in the clouds. As Arrax emerged through the cover, they were both freed from the storms roaring below. The sun kissed Lucerys’s face, providing a bit of warmth that offset the coolness of his drenched clothes and cloak.

Lucerys looked around, and attempted to gather his bearings. Vhaegar was nowhere to be seen.

In that moment, he thanked every single one of the Seven; they had finally gotten Aemond off their trail.

Lucerys urged Arrax forward at a more relaxed pace. Once he was able to find a landmark, he could determine which way was home. And once he knew where Dragonstone lay, nothing but a short flight home remained.

A short flight, and he would return to his mother. To his siblings, except for Jace, who was hopefully safe and probably still in the Vale. To his cousins, and his betrothed. To his friends. And to the man who had offered him more fatherly guidance than probably any other had in his life, regardless of the personal cost to himself.

The war may yet come, but Lucerys would be there to witness it. He would be a squire, he would learn anything and everything he would need to be a lord that Driftmark’s people could respect, a lord that they could trust. And he would continue doing everything in his power to make his mother, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, proud.

The thought of what was yet to come gave Lucerys hope.

So much hope, he had not realized the sun had abruptly disappeared.

  …

  ……

  …

Lord Otto Hightower had been roused by a frantic messenger. Thankfully, he’d already been dressed, having fallen asleep at his desk. Still, the trek from the Tower of the Hand to the small council chambers, where he’d been summoned to by the king, felt far too long.

He entered the room without delay and made sure the doors were closed tightly behind him before he turned to face those within. Quite an assortment of the king’s council and advisors were present already.

As was his second eldest grandson, who stood a few paces away, dripping water from his clothes and long hair.

Alicent sat at the table, her head in her hands. Even from a distance, Otto could tell her complexion was far paler than it should have been. Ser Criston stood closely behind her, his focus shifting between her, the king, and Aemond.

“Grandsire, you’re here at last,” Aegon said by way of greeting. “We have news.”

Otto knew he would regret asking, but he did so nonetheless. “And what news might that be, Your Grace?”

“Lucerys Verlayron has been slain!”

Though it was Aegon who had answered, and eerily cheerfully at that, Otto was quickly able to deduce the true source of the news. He whirled to Aemond, gripping the young man by his overcoat in his fists. The fabric was still damp. “What have you done, boy?”

Aemond’s eyes were void of emotion. He did not even make an attempt to remove himself from Otto’s firm grasp.

His daughter pleaded, from beneath her fingers, “Mother have mercy on us all.”

At her proclamation, some semblance of life finally returned to Aemond’s eyes. He turned his head, still in Otto’s hold, and looked over towards his mother. The look he gave her was one of shock, and- rather surprisingly, Otto noted- betrayal.

“You only lost one eye,” Otto beseeched him, shaking him mildly to garner his attention. “How could you be so blind?”

“Release him at once, Grandsire,” Aegon commanded with a firm tone, an authority to his voice that Otto did not know he possessed.

Otto had little choice but to heed a command given by the king. He released Aemond’s overcoat, but still, Aemond did not step away. Instead, his focus remained on his mother.

“Prince Aemond is the true blood of the dragon,” Aegon praised him with a grin, sounding more proud of his brother than Otto had ever recalled him to be. “He has made a good beginning of things. He returns from Storm’s End a betrothed man, and he has demonstrated to Rhaenyra what will happen if she continues this senseless pursuit of a throne that is not hers for the taking.”

“Your Grace, do you truly believe the death of her son will dissuade Rhaenyra from her pursuit of the Iron Throne?” Otto demanded of him. “Do you think Daemon will be dissuaded?!”

Aegon waved him off nonchalantly, and it took every ounce of control in Otto’s being to stop himself from grabbing his eldest grandson in the matter he had just handled his young brother.

“Those are matters to be dealt with on the morrow. As is the planning of a feast.”

“A feast?”

“Aye, a feast,” Aegon confirmed. “We shall have a feast in Aemond’s name. But, as I said, that can wait til the morrow. But there is another matter that cannot. Will someone fetch me a quill and parchment? I wish to write to my dear sister and inform her of the news myself.”

...

......

…

Prince Daemon Targaryen had been the one to intercept the messenger. The queen was lucky to have been spared reading the filth of a message herself. Aegon, whose provoking words were permanently embedded in Daemon’s mind, would not be so lucky in the end.

His oaf of a nephew and his kinslayer of a brother could enjoy their feast while it lasted. They would not be the only ones to enjoy splendors in the days to come, Daemon would make certain of that.

Still, Daemon did not doubt his nephew’s vile message to be anything less than the truth. After all, he had been the one called down to the shore. Lady Tyrell, after calling her children back inside the castle walls, had directed him towards what had washed up. It had been an immediate recognition, and was unmistakable for any other beast.

Daemon knew the reality of what the day's harsh developments meant. He knew the reality of what was yet to come had been set in stone the moment his brother Viserys had gasped his last breath. But he anguished to know that this would be the event that would cement the severity of the situation for Rhaenyra.

She looked at him curiously as he approached. That was no surprise; they had not spoken to one another since their latest disagreement.

He pulled her aside, away from her advisors, and he gave her the truth as plainly and honestly as she was owed. When she pulled away from him, processing the devastation his news had wrought upon her, he fought the urge to look away, if not leave outright.

And as Daemon stood there, something resonated within him.

To many within the realm, second born sons might have been considered to be little more than a spare. But to have described Prince Lucerys Velaryon as such in the eyes of his mother… that would have been more egregious a crime than the manner of the young lord’s demise itself.

A/N: 🖤

[craftingmad]

The only thing missing from HOTD season 2

And now we all know why Rhaenyra chose him

Crispy Cole was worthless

[ladybeesbury]

ryan corr as ser harwin strong with cute clips in his hair

[noirrose21-blog]

I just found this petition to put Harwin Strong in BRIDGERTON! BRIDGRRTON! Imagine the fanfics for this man if he landed Bridgerton!

Petition · Cast Harwin Strong (Aka Ryan Corr) in Bridgerton, CUS HOTD LET US DOWN - United States · Change.org