#Tyrell’s wines

[izzy140105]

I suddenly got a burst of energy and started writing - which I haven't done in a good few years 😔👊

[adreamofsilk]

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[randomdragonfires]

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”  she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit. 

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife. 

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right. 

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron. 

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive. 

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him? 

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there. 

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked. 

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.  

Oh yes, their marriage had grown. 

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either. 

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige. 

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do. 

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own. 

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened. 

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place  a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.” 

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care. 

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears. 

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into. 

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up. 

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?” 

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.” 

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full. 

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind. 

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did. 

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago. 

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria. 

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries. 

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said. 

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored. 

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself. 

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim. 

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such  reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed. 

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally. 

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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MASTERLIST

[draczrys]

Would you write something about Cregan Stark getting married to a reader of a house of your choice and thus sealing alliances and being fluffy?

WINTER ROSE. ❨ cregan stark x tyrell!reader ❩

since your birth, the third child and only daughter of highgarden’s lord, your fate had always been a marriage for political means. your elder brother would inherit the title, the other set for life as a knight of the seven kingdoms. you were a girl and your purpose was to marry well and secure a strong alliance for your family.

it didn’t take long to come to terms with what your life would look like. you would come of age and be sent away to the lord that would benefit you most. for your family, you would do it. but, every night, you would kneel by your pillow and pray that your husband would at least be kind —- it needn’t be true love, like the stories you often read. as long as he wasn’t cruel.

“cregan stark has been named the new lord of winterfell and is in need of a wife,” your father announced one morning, amidst the feasting hall. “i have sent a raven to offer your hand and he has accepted.”

your mother beamed, grasping your shoulders proudly. “my daughter, lady of winterfell.”

“we are in need of his banners and he needs our grain and cloths for the winter,” lord tyrell explains, shrugging as though it were simply a swap of goods and not the life of his daughter. “it is a fair exchange.”

by the next moon, you were departing the green and gold covered fields of highgarden and journeying north on the roseroad. the colder it became, the more you missed the sweet sun and elegant surroundings of your home. northerners were rough and unforgiving to outsiders, each one you met along the way adding to the dreaded image of your husband.

the first time you laid eyes on cregan stark was when you were taken along the path to the godswood. he was handsome, you couldn’t deny that. but his tall build, stoic features and steady gaze made you shiver —- even under the furs you’d been given. he had the look of a northerner, but did he have the heart of one too?

“by the old gods and the new, i name you man and wife,” the septon concluded the ceremony, unbinding the cloth wrapped around your hands. expectant eyes looked on, forcing a blush upon your face as you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to cregan’s cheek.

if you were to confess under the eyes of the godswood, you were afraid of cregan stark. his eyes were unwavering, lips fixed in a permanent frown. other than his vows of marriage, he hadn't said a word. neither of you were elated to be trapped into a marriage of convenience, but you knew you hadn't any choice in the matter. at the least, he could look like he was enduring it.

sat now at the top table in winterfell's great feast hall, your new husband at your side, the celebrations were growing louder the longer the wine was being poured. you sat quietly, barely sipping at your cup. only when the loud, booming voice of cregan's men rang out did you come back to the present.

"a toast, to the new lady of winterfell! may she be as beautiful under our lord as she is beside him."

the laughs that emulated from it made you grimace, so used to being treated as the perfect lady, protected from all things becoming to a man. you knew of sex, the people of the reach having always been open about their bodies and pleasures, but the northern aggression that came with it was foreign to you.

"to the bedding ceremony!"

the ladies at highgarden had warned you of the tradition that came at weddings, the entire party parading around the newlyweds as they stripped and consummated the bond. it was daunting enough to take your new husband to bed, but to be watched by tens of strangers? it had your heart suddenly hammering out of your chest, every muscle tensing in a cold shock.

"enough!" the commanding voice of the man by your side cut through the cheers, silencing the hall in an instant. it was the first time he had spoken since the ceremony, current volume making up for the silence. "there will be no bedding ceremony. anyone who protests will meet the sword at once."

whilst everyone else cowered under the threat, you felt yourself relax with a warm relief. cregan turns to meet your surprise, both his eyes and tongue turning soft as he speaks just to you now.

"you may retire, if you wish."

nodding gratefully, you follow the gentle hand of your lady-in-waiting out of the busy feast and along the strange halls of the cold castle. even your chambers are cold, the climate seeming to cling to the stone around the bed. the silk nightdresses you had brought with you do nothing to shield you from it, so once your lady departs you begin to forage through the chests for something to keep you warm. eventually finding a smaller set of furs amongst the others, you drape it around your shoulders and relish in the heat that comes with it.

"is everything to your liking?"

jumping in shock, you turn on your heels to find cregan stood at the doorway, just about filling the whole space. his eyes flicker down to the furs -- his furs, covering you and a small smirk pulls at the corner of his lips.

"i'm sorry," you stumble quickly. "it was cold and it was all i could find."

cregan's head shakes, dismissing your apologies. "it's alright. everything here is as much yours as it is mine, now."

you smile, head falling bashfully to glance at the floor. "i hadn't expected everything to be so... different here. it will take some time to adjust, i think."

nodding in understanding, cregan crosses the room to stand in front of you. you feel yourself shiver under his gaze, watching him study you amongst his territory. hesitantly, his hand slips from under his own furs to reach for your own. you let him, both of you treading new water as your learn each other's touch; the smoothness of your palms, the rough pads of his thumbs, the heat that encompassed your chilled knuckles. the sensation is wonderful, like two puzzle pieces slotting together.

"whatever you need to help you enjoy your new life here, no matter the extent, it will be my honour to find it for you," cregan tells you, the kindness in his voice a pleasant welcome. "you are my wife now, it is my duty to make you comfortable."

feeling your cheeks warm, rounding with the first genuine smile in days. your heart swells and the feeling that this marriage might just be okay fills you, so much so that you find yourself reaching up to kiss cregan's cheek once more. unlike the bonding of the vows, this one is genuine and of your own volition, expressing the gratitude you could not find words for.

"i can sleep elsewhere for the night, if you would wish..." cregan continues, clearing his throat to distract from the small blush that creeps past his skin.

"no, stay," you tell him, squeezing his hand. "perhaps we could talk, learn more about each other."

the suggestion eases you both. cregan agrees, using your hand to guide you towards the bed, only leaving for a moment to fetch you more furs for the night. he potters around, changing for sleep, and the domestic scene lets you relax into the pillows.

it wasn't a marriage for love - yet. but perhaps it could be, with time.

[say-al0e]

Want You

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Aegon had no desire to ruin you, so he buried himself in his favorite wine and favorite whores to keep his blossoming feelings at bay. Only, his efforts seemed to work too well and he has to convince you that you’re all he needs. Warnings: No Dance AU, inaccurate use of some characters (Tyrell was an infant during this time but here he's in his early 30s), two smut scenes (Aegon is a dick in the first, much better in the second), infidelity (Aegon), Targcest (Aemond x Helaena), nice guy Criston Cole, unprotected PinV, oral (f!receiving), miscommunication. Anything else, let me know and I'll tag. Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x fem!Reader (Manderly!Reader - no features mentioned) Word Count: 22.8k (....I'm so sorry) HotD Taglist | HotD Masterlist

The Red Keep was rarely, if ever, silent.

There were moments - fleeting, few and far between - where a hush befell the Keep with only the quiet noise of servants and guards dutifully moving about to shatter the illusion of solitude. But, no matter the hour, it was rare to find a silence so unbroken that it teetered on the edge of maddening.

However, as Aegon sat in your chambers for the first time in weeks, slouched in a chair adjacent to the couch you lounged on, you found the silence drawing on long enough to surpass discomfort and edge into pain.

Aegon - sobriquet still undecided, though he’d dismissed ‘The Magnanimous’ the moment you frowned as he spoke it, the moment Aemond snickered - sat with a cup of wine in one hand as he used the other to flip the pages of a book. It was one you’d left on the table, brought to you by Aemond and next on your list to read, and you hoped Aegon couldn’t see the way you winced every time wine sloshed a bit too close to the text for comfort.

As silence persisted, there was little doubt that the reason for his presence was his mother’s insistence.

Alicent, as well intentioned as you imagined her to be - and, where you and Helaena were concerned, she seemed to be truly well intentioned - chided him relentlessly these days. Since he became king, there was no end to her and Otto’s lectures. They urged him to play his part as faithfully as you played your own, to act as your husband and try to keep from embarrassing you. Time and again, you heard Alicent’s furious whispers, instructing her eldest son to think of the shame he continued to bring upon you, but you knew as well as she did that the time for his acquiescence had passed.

Everyone knew the kind of husband Aegon was, the kind of man he’d grown to be.

Though there was little chance he might, it he would have thought to ask you for your opinion -  as he once did in the earliest days of your marriage - you wondered if you would’ve been able to stop yourself from sharing the sobriquet you chose but did not dare speak aloud; Aegon the Shameless.

Despite becoming Queen Consort, looks of awe and excitement had shifted into looks of pity that burned into your skin each time you found yourself in court. There were few who did not know where your husband spent his nights - in the throne room, deep in his cups and surrounded by idiot guards and naive squires; or, perhaps, lost in the streets of silk, deep inside one of his favorite whores. The only boundary he seemed to respect was that now his trysts were kept from the Keep, his whores bedded elsewhere.

Though eleven moons had passed since you were married, he’d shared your bed only a handful of times. Once, on your wedding night, to consummate the marriage; a drunken attempt or two at creating the heir the realm demanded; and once, not long ago, when he stumbled into your chambers by mistake and couldn’t be roused to move until morning.

Yet, as much as you hated to admit it and as unbelievably foolish as it made you feel, you’d somehow grown to love him.

In the very beginning, you had hope that your marriage might be a happy one.

Aegon was not perfect, you knew that. But for all his faults, he was kind to you in the light of day. The cruelty you caught glimpses of, the derision and bursts of anger, was never leveled at you. In fact, it often seemed that you were the only person he deemed worthy of sparing his unpredictable moods. He softened whenever you entered a room and made an attempt at levity. Though there were whispers of his sharp tongue and quick temper, you saw little of it.

The words he leveled at you were often kind - compliments, jests - and, if not kind, at least cordial. He gifted you beautiful gowns, glittering jewelry, perfumed soaps and oils, and allowed your youngest sister and a cousin to serve as your companions, all the while remaining very far from them himself.

When you chose to eat your meals outside of your own chambers, he kept you near and included you in the conversation at hand, no matter how little attention you paid. When decisions were made, he seemed to take your counsel more seriously than anyone else’s - save, perhaps, Aemond’s. When you took your daily walk around the gardens, he joined as often as he could, though he typically fell behind you and your companions and departed halfway through to return to the small council.

During the early days of your marriage, you spent a great deal of time seeking him out. Whatever moments he could spare for you were cherished and you treated them as gifts worth more than anything gold could buy. As far as you were concerned, Aegon was trying his best. You knew that his reign was young, that he was young, and took no offense to his frequent absences.

Though much and more of your time was spent with others - your companions, Helaena, Alicent, even Aemond - Aegon was present. Time alone with him, however, was scarce. And, despite Alicent’s repeated assurances that his absence was merely a matter of his duty to the Realm, you began to believe the truth was much simpler.

Aegon simply did not wish to be alone with you.

Of all the things Aegon had done to, according to Alicent, bring shame upon you, none hurt quite so much as the realization that you were nothing more than an accessory to his reign.

Much like his crown, you were only there to solidify his status as king.

Despite the fondness you sometimes felt from him, you realized very quickly that Aegon did not want to be married. He had been forced to wed and you were the least offensive choice. You were nothing more than a pawn chosen by his grandsire for the strength of your house, and meant to be nothing more than an acceptable queen to stand beside the king.

Still, the realization was one you struggled to make sense of.

Affection was, at least in the beginning, a somewhat regular occurrence. Though you did not lie together, he never turned down a kiss or a soft caress of your hand. If anything, he sought those fleeting gestures out. He also seemed to favor the soft press of your hand to his thigh beneath the table - a calming gesture, offered whenever his grandsire or another council member undermined his authority - or a gentle squeeze of his hand more than anything.  And, for a while, even initiated the gestures himself.

There were moments when Aegon seemed to make an honest attempt at being a husband.

Though he did not spend much time with you alone, he sometimes sat with you in the evenings as you and your ladies sipped tea. He sought your company when settled amongst a crowd, standing close and smiling every time you caught his eye. He remembered the little details you shared with him and asked about things you’d only mentioned in passing as a thousand other conversations carried on around you.

The first time you wore the green of his house, he complimented your gown and granted you a brilliant smile with each green gown that followed. When you passed him in the halls, one of you rushing to someplace else, he would always catch your eye and allow his hand to graze yours.

Thus, for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe the hollow reassurances.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe that you truly meant something to Aegon. The bitter sting of rejection, of humiliation, that accompanied his lack of desire to see you alone - his near refusal to bed you, unless he’d drowned in his cups and found himself on the receiving end of a lecture from his mother - was rationalized away.

It was easy, for a time, for you to believe that you simply meant more to him. Whores were meant to be bedded, a way for men to rid themselves of frustration - something a king had in spades. You told yourself that Aegon’s distance was a kindness, a form of respect. Your affection meant more to him than your ability to warm his bed. And for longer than you cared to admit, you allowed yourself to believe it; to love him, despite it.

Only, the lie grew harder to believe with each moon that passed.

Gradually, the little affection Aegon seemed to hold for you began to fade and the distance between you grew. While his visits to the streets of silk were few and far between in the early days of your marriage, the longer you were wed, the louder the whispers that he’d resumed his trips grew.

With every whisper came a lecture from Alicent, from Otto, from Aemond. And with every lecture, the more eager Aegon seemed to disappear into the deepest corner of his favored brothel.

One by one, every ounce of Aegon’s affection and attention seemed to disappear. The lingering glances he’d once spared in the halls, the brilliant smiles he leveled you with when you opted to join the family for dinner, the soft caresses of your hand when he passed you in the halls; they were no more and your heart ached with each disappearance.

Soon came the day of realization; if you did not offer affection, you received none.

After the passage of seven moons, it became obvious that Aegon merely tolerated. While he may once have even  liked you, with the passage of each moon, you came to realize and accept that he did not love you.

While you found yourself grateful he was not unkind to you, that he did not seem to loathe being married to you, the realization that he did not love you was one that shattered the glittering illusion you’d been clinging to so desperately. You’d hoped that he would settle, that with time he would grow to love you as you were growing to love him, but there was no use.

Every day that passed, he seemed to drift farther from you and only proved there was no sense in waiting for him to love you back. There was no point in inserting yourself into places you weren’t wanted or making gestures that went unnoticed. So, you stopped trying.

And, if Aegon noticed that you’d stopped putting in the effort he’d grown accustomed to, he did not mention it.

In the beginning of your marriage, you rarely went more than a few hours without seeking Aegon out. Even if he could only spare a moment, even if you were only at the periphery of his attention, you accepted it happily. Now, it had been two days since you last saw him.

A simple change in your routine kept you from seeing Aegon much at all these days.

Whereas you would normally walk the gardens at midday, your companions in tow and occasionally accompanied by Helaena or Alicent, you chose to spend that time perfecting your needlework instead. The walk was pushed to either early morning or afternoon - when Aegon was busy with the small council. And, as for dinner, more often than not, you ate along in your chambers. Your sister and cousin joined you occasionally, even sometimes Helaena, but your goal was to avoid Aegon and that you did.

Still, you played your part dutifully when called upon.

As requested, you stood beside him to welcome the first of the lords arriving in King’s Landing for Daeron’s six-and-tenth nameday tourney. There were a handful of lords from the Reach accompanying the Hightower host and Aegon pulled you close, standing tall with pride as they all complimented what a beautiful couple you made.

Though your heart was no longer in it, you put on your happiest face - thanking the lords whose names you would doubtlessly spend the rest of the tournament whispering to your husband before he could ask - and resisted the urge to step away from him before you were granted leave.

Embarrassment and shame now burned in the pit of your stomach, heated your skin and left an acrid taste in the back of your throat, each time you stood at his side. The glances shared between the ladies of the court, the whispers you knew would inevitably follow - blaming you for not yet giving him an heir, for not being enough to keep him from straying - needed at your already frayed nerves.

Believing that he ever loved you was foolish and you were reminded of your delusion with every pitying glance you were spared.

Now, despite the silence that stretched unbroken for nearly an hour, instead of pitying glances, you felt the weight of Aegon’s gaze upon your skin intermittently. Violet eyes observed your stillness, watching with an uncharacteristic intensity you’d never seen directed at you before, and you wondered if that was worse. However, before you could wish for an interruption - someone to step in and save you - Aegon finally placed his cup onto the table.

“What troubles you, dear wife?” Though his words were beginning to slur, there was still a coherence to his speech that sometimes surprised you. “I’ve been here a while and you’ve yet to turn a page.”

“I believe I chose the wrong volume,” you sighed. The lie fell from your lips easily - unwilling to confess that it was the weight of his attention that distracted you, his very presence that left you unable to concentrate on the words you wanted desperately to read - as you lifted your head to meet his intense gaze. His attention remained on your face, eyes searching for something, as you placed a ribbon between the pages and placed the book onto the table, far from his glass. “This one is… dull.”

“They’re all histories written by maesters,” he reminded you with a laugh that rang a touch hollow, a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Dull is expected, is it not?”

Though Aegon could be kind to you - when he so desired - and once took an interest in what interested you, you were often reminded that you had little in common. Aemond was the studious brother, well-versed in the histories and philosophy, while Aegon found it all dreadful. Where Aemond could spend days locked away in the library and never grow bored, Aegon had only read what was required of him as a boy - sometimes - and only occasionally listened when you read aloud to him in the early days of your marriage.

“Perhaps,” you allowed, after a moment of thought. “Some of the stories about the Conqueror have been interesting,” you defended, “but Aemond assured me this was a favorite of his.” With a shrug, you leaned back into the cushion of the couch and admitted, “We must have different tastes.”

Aegon laughed, a derisive sound that made you frown as his eyes flashed with an emotion you couldn’t place so quickly you almost considered it a trick of the light. He reached for his glass once more and swallowed a scoff. “Of course you do,” he exclaimed, with a touch of venom you were unused to, “you are married to me and he can barely stand to be in the same room these days.”

With a sigh, you reached for your own glass. “That’s not true,” you reminded him, though not as gently as you supposed you should have. “Aemond’s part of the small council and plans with you, not over you. He’s loyal to you.”

“All one could ask of a guard dog,” he declared, lifting his cup, though there was little bite to the insult - as if it were spoken reflexively, rather than intentionally.

“I wish you wouldn’t antagonize Aemond,” you chided, almost wincing as you heard an echo of Alicent in your words. “He means well. He’s trying to help. All of your family is.”

The moment the words left your lips, you regretted them. Though you had grown uncomfortable in his presence, you did not wish for him to leave - not really. But you could see the flicker of warmth that lingered in Aegon’s gaze, the slight fondness he still regarded you with, cool completely as you uttered your admonishment. However, before you could apologize, blame the comment on your exhaustion, Aegon stood.

“As I’m often reminded,” he scoffed, though he attempted to cover it with a smile. “I’ll leave you to your dull volume, then. Goodnight, my queen,” he bade, smile tight and not reaching his eyes.

“Goodnight, Your Grace.”

Aegon bristled at the formal title - one you’d taken to calling him earnestly, no longer in jest as it had been the first few moons of your marriage - but paused only for a moment before striding out of the room. Behind him, the doors to your chambers fell shut with a heavy noise and you were, once again, alone with your thoughts.

For a few long moments, you sat with only the crackling of the hearth to fill the quiet. Somehow, the silence felt more overwhelming without Aegon’s presence, more oppressive, and you hated that you missed him.

Though you now felt a pinprick of bitter shame in his presence, you still felt guilty any time you pushed him away. Aegon was the one who began to pull away from, to place a wall between you and dismiss your attempts at affection, but you loved him. Despite realizing the few precious moments he spent with you alone were forced upon him, you cherished them, just the same - regardless of how ill they now made you feel.

To be the center of his attention, if only for a moment, still filled you with an awful, overwhelming, lovesick feeling. It once was the highlight of your day, the bright spot in an otherwise dull pattern of needlework and gossip. Now, however, the once bright light only served to further illuminate your own foolishness.

The giddy feeling was now replaced entirely by a roiling in the pit of your stomach, a bitter nausea that heated your skin and made your head spin, and you couldn’t help yourself as you stood to pull on a heavy cloak.

Despite being queen, you often felt an afterthought. There were only a handful of guards lingering near your chambers - none directly in front of your door - as most were keeping an eye on Aegon, Helaena, Helaena and Aemond’s children, or Alicent. It was easy to slip past them undetected and trace a familiar path through the halls.

At night, the Keep was almost peaceful.

Though a few lords lingered about, and others were on their way, there always seemed to be less pressure at night. Most were too deep in their cups or too weary from a long day to pay you any mind. The guards who kept watch at night were often less steadfast than their day-shift counterparts and most ladies who sent you pitying looks - or openly lusted after your husband - were locked away in their rooms.

Wandering about the Keep under the cover of darkness had become something of a routine for you and, with practiced ease, you made your way through the labyrinthine halls to the riverwalk.

Standing in the cool night air, the breeze surrounding you and filling your lungs with the familiar salt scent of the sea, soothed a touch of the homesickness you sometimes felt. King’s Landing was not White Harbor, not even close, but standing atop the riverwalk, you were able to pretend and felt your heart begin to calm. It was the hour of ghosts, a quiet time where the full moon shed bright white light over the bay and illuminated the water below just enough for you to watch it crash onto the shore.

There was no way of knowing how long you stood there. The only real measure of the passage of time was how cold your hands had grown. However, you realized that it had been long enough for your absence to be noticed as the clink of armor approached.

“Your Grace,” Criston began, voice carrying on the cool breeze as he stopped a few steps from where you stood, “the hour grows late and the night grows cold. You should return to your chambers.”

The question was no longer where you’d gone. Criston himself was the first to find you on the riverwalk one night, shortly after Aegon summoned you to his chambers in a drunken attempt to produce an heir that left you wondering why he would willingly bed everyone but you. The question was now how long you would remain.

Despite being from the North and used to far colder nights - longing for them, even - as winter began to creep into King’s Landing, Criston seemed to allow you less and less time in the cool night air.

“Why?”

If the question was unexpected, or confusing, Criston did not let on. Instead, he stepped closer - moonlight glinting off the silver of his armor with every step - and sighed as he watched your fingers trace the smooth edge of the stone barrier. “You are the queen,” he reminded you, simply, as if it were answer enough.

“I am the queen,” you agreed, voice quiet amidst the crashing of waves. A rueful smile twisted your lips as you shook your head. “Though, it is easy to forget.”

With a quiet sigh, Criston turned to face the water and watched the waves crash silently for a long moment. There was an affinity you shared with Criston, an understanding as he knew Aegon better than most - and regarded you with an affection similar to the one Alicent held for you. He seemed to share your disenchantment with life in King’s Landing, life in the Red Keep, and did not turn to face you as he asked, “Trouble sleeping again?”

“Mm. I do not wish to rely on the maester’s dreamwine to find sleep. The cool air helps. I apologize if I’ve caused worry.” A small part of you doubted anyone else knew you were missing - certainly not Aegon, for he was likely half-conscious in the throne room or already hidden inside the walls of a brothel by now - but you felt obliged to apologize, anyway.

Criston nodded, remained silent for a beat, and then pressed for another answer - the one he truly wanted. “What troubles you, Your Grace?”

Despite yourself, you found it easy to admit your upset to Criston. If anyone understood, you supposed it was him.

“I was excited to marry Aegon,” you admitted, a mirthless laugh escaping as you lifted your gaze to the moon. “I knew little of him but when we met, I found him charming. He made me laugh and he’s handsome. When he chooses to be, he can be good. Upon meeting, I forgot why I was afraid to marry, and my mother gave me reason to believe it would be… joyous, I suppose, too marry someone like him, to live in a place like this. I imagined a life that, looking back, could have never been mine.”

“Life rarely happens the way we imagine it will,” Criston reminded you, though it was gentler than you were used to. “We live the lives the gods see fit to allow us.” Those words, though spilling from his lips, were Alicent Hightower’s and you struggled to bite back a laugh as you recognized that you both pined for someone whose love eluded you. You wondered if this was the life he imagined for himself - a Kingsguard, hopelessly in love with someone who would never love him back.

“In that case,” you began, shoulders rounding as you wrapped your arms around yourself, “I can’t help but wonder what I’ve done wrong, what I’ve done to anger the gods so.” Your voice faded to a near whisper, lost in the wind, and Criston stepped closer to hear you as you continued. “I have no children to attend to, though if I did, there would be a nurse dedicated to them. They would not being to me, but to the realm.”

Another sigh escaped your lips as you blinked back the tears stinging at the backs of your eyes. “My only friends are two members of my own family. The rest of the ladies at court all cower in fear of my goodbrother or regard me with pity because of my husband’s reputation. And my husband…” Another laugh, this one bitter and harsher than you intended, escaped as you shook your head. “My husband drowns in his cups or remains too lost in the streets of silk to even consider wanting for an heir.”

With a hand brought to your cheek, brushing away traitorous tears that fell despite your best efforts, you felt a lump of emotion form in your throat. “Why does he seem so eager to bed every woman in King’s Landing, save his own wife?” Your voice broke, betraying your hurt, and you could see Criston tense beside you - uncertain, though hurting for you. The comment lingered for a moment before you shook your head once more and cleared your throat. “I apologize, Ser Criston,” you sighed, as the realization sank in. “Please forgive my outburst. It was inappropriate and I did not mean to… Perhaps you’re right, it is time for me to retire.”

“Your Grace,” Criston began, hesitant as he always seemed to be where matters of Aegon’s indiscretions were concerned, “it is understandable that you feel this way. Your patience has been impressive. Aegon is… he is young, but he will settle. Just give him time.”

“I’ve given him nearly a year,” you declared, suddenly angry as you turned to face him. “I knew, entering into this marriage, that it was little more than a political arrangement. I am but a pawn in the games of men. But I thought I might at least find a companion in Aegon. Now, I wish it did not feel so obvious that he cares little for me. I don’t want a husband to settle for me,” you declared, stronger than you intended. “I want a husband to want me, to desire me, to care about me. Aegon, I fear, barely knows I exist.”

A moment passed in which you sought to regain control of your own temper, your own tongue, and just as quickly as your anger arrived, it began to ebb. Exhaustion replaced it and you wrapped your cloak tighter around your body as you gave Criston a rueful smile. “Some in the realm consider that a blessing.”

Without waiting for his reply, you turned and set off in the direction of your chambers.

Criston followed close behind, remaining silent as you stepped through the halls much quicker than you had earlier in the night. It was only when you approached the door of your chambers that he spoke.

“For all your concerns,” Criston began, voice low and wide brown eyes meeting yours as he held the door open for you, “know that Aegon loves you deeply. It may not be visible in the way you wish, but it is there, in his heart.”

It struck you how deeply, how truly, Criston seemed to believe the words himself. There was an earnestness in his tone, a hope that you might believe him, and you desperately wanted to. But the best you could do was offer him a sad smile. “If only that were true,” you hummed. “Goodnight, Ser Criston.”

With the heavy, wooden thud of your door closing, you found yourself blinking back tears and hoping that the coming days would distract your husband enough to give you time to gather yourself. Every whisper convinced you of something different - that Aegon could someday love you, that he had no use for you, that he meant well, that he wished he was married to anyone else - but falling apart would do you no good.

The swirling thoughts in your head, the bitterness gathering in the pit of your stomach, had you on edge but it would only hurt you in the long run. You would have time to try and make sense of it all later, after the tourney ended and the Keep once again returned to its normal state of being.

For the moment, you could only hope that Aegon himself would remain distant.

Aegon was certainly distracted by his responsibility as king. Council meetings, petitions, private meetings; all took up valuable moments he once might’ve spared for you. He wasn’t fond of any of it, though he suffered through at the behest of his mother and grandsire. Like his father, however, he found a certain joy in hosting. Feasts, tourneys, dances; Aegon enjoyed them all in a way that you and his siblings did not. Merriment pleased him as he found himself at the center of attention, amidst happy revelers and praise directed at him.

Though the tourney was being held to celebrate Daeron’s nameday, Aegon still found himself at the center of every conversation. And his youngest brother, like Aemond, allow him to do so without complaint.

And while you would have preferred engaging in conversation with the other Targaryen siblings - or, perhaps, Aegon’s Velaryon nephews, or even the ladies who pitied you - you dutifully remained at Aegon’s side as he drank and laughed and feasted with lords whose names he could barely remember.

The few ladies surrounding you remained polite, though you could see their shared glances every time Aegon’s attention drifted from you. Regardless, he remained as close to his best behavior as he could and kept his hand in yours as Lady Redwyne offered you a smile that even he could see through. Aegon squeezed your hand - in comfort, you supposed, though you refused to read into it, even as your heart leapt - as she opened her mouth.

“How are you faring in the South, Your Grace? I imagine King’s Landing is wholly different from White Harbor,” she declared, taking a sip from her glass as she awaited your answer.

“It has been an adjustment, to be sure,” you returned, as polite and pleasant as you found yourself capable after hours of cordiality with women who openly snickered at your marriage. “But it is nice to experience a change of scenery. There is no shortage of excitement in King’s Landing.”

“An understatement,” Lord Tyrell declared, laughing as he shared a conspiratorial look with Aegon that you didn’t very much like. “Though, one can assume you’re glad of the coming winter,” he continued, gesturing to the gown you wore - a lighter fabric, compared to the warmer gowns the other ladies had opted for in response to the biting chill that settled into the air.

“An understatement,” Aegon parroted, tipping his cup for a cupbearer to fill. “She’d spend all night out in the cold, staring out the water, if she could,” he revealed. “Cole has to drag her in at night,” he continued, and you felt a sharp pang of disappointment as you realized Criston had informed him of your whereabouts.

“A reprieve from the warmth of the Keep,” you agreed, smiling politely - even as you couldn’t help but wonder what else Criston had shared with your husband. “And a marvelous view of the Bay,” you continued, pulling your hand as naturally from Aegon’s grasp as you were able, unwilling to spark any questioning looks.

“A marvelous view, indeed,” Lord Tyrell agreed, a salacious smile curving his lips as his gaze dipped to the curved neckline of your gown. Though your stomach roiled at the way he glanced at you, you kept your expression neutral as he continued. “And a wondrous place to share with a child, if the gods should allow it.” A few heads turned, then, all certain of the direction Lord Tyrell intended to steer the conversation as you reached for your wine. “We are all thankful to be celebrating Prince Daeron’s nameday, but cannot help wondering when we might convene to celebrate the birth of the crown’s heir.”

Luckily, before you were forced to offer a polite response to the inquiry made countless times in such a short timespan, Daeron appeared at your side and offered a brilliant smile. “I would be honored if the queen would grant me a dance,” he declared, glancing first at Aegon for permission before offering a hand when he was granted it.

Eagerly, you grasped Daeron’s outstretched hand and allowed him to lead you into the throng of people - still within reach of the guards and within Aegon’s line of sight. “Thank you,” you sighed, allowing Daeron to take the lead with a practiced ease. “While I’ve enjoyed having so much excitement around the Keep, I’m not quire sure how you deal with all the fine people in the Reach regularly.”

Daeron laughed, violet eyes glimmering in the light and untroubled by life in King’s Landing as he moved gracefully in time with the music. You almost envied his weightlessness, his freedom, as he revealed, “Thank the Seven, my days are spent training. Conveniently, I am exhausted any time there is to be a dinner.”

With a hum, you asked, “Do you think one of the guards might train me, so I could have the same excuse?”

“No.” He twirled you, smile bright as he watched the soft green fabric of your gown shift with each motion, and kept pace with the other dancers easily. “But you’re the queen. You can do as you please.”

“If only that were true, my prince.” Despite your best efforts at levity, the statement sounded as disheartened as you felt, a note of bitterness - acrid and biting in a way you had no desire to be with the youngest of Aegon’s siblings - laced every word. However, before you could apologize, Daeron’s smile softened into something understanding.

“If only,” he agreed with a wistful shake of his head. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what life is like here,” he admitted, not bothering to pay any attention to the others hoping to cut in. “But I do hope you can find joy in it someday.”

“Tell Aemond and I will adamantly deny I said anything,” you began, smiling conspiratorially at Daeron, “but I do believe you’re my favorite goodbrother.” When he grinned, smile bright and boyish in a way that reminded you of Aegon - painfully similar to the way he smiled at you so early in your courtship when you complimented him - you returned it with a soft smile of your own. “I’m happy Oldtown has treated you so well but very glad you’re here to celebrate with us.”

“I suggested a progress to mother and grandsire,” he announced, grin brightening when you blinked. “Aegon’s never visited the Hightower and grandsire was inclined to agree that he should. While my brother entertains Lord Tyrell and the other fine people of the Reach,” he parroted, laughing as you rolled your eyes at him, “I’ll give you a tour. Perhaps we’ll even find a few new volumes for you to bring back to King’s Landing.”

That anyone - let alone the youngest of your husband’s siblings who’d only been at court a few short days - could see that you needed a respite from the halls of the Red Keep and would advocate for it pressed a weight to your chest in a way that might’ve concerned you had Aegon not become so oblivious to your distress.

For a brief moment, the time it took for the music to change and you both to begin the new routine with practiced ease, you wondered if anyone else could see what he saw so easily or if his distance from the Keep gave him clarity others did not have.

Idly, you wondered if your husband’s family had all become so blinded by the mundane - by their own gilded cages - that your growing discomfort was simply regarded as part of the life you now lead. There was nothing anyone could do about your discomfort, nothing that could be said to Aegon that hadn’t been repeated a thousand times over. This was now your life, as it had always been their’s, so they simply allowed you to suffer in silence, as they did.

Though they tried to placate you, it was often confined to the Keep. They never gave you the freedom to wander, to disappear when the walls of your gilded cage began to close in on you, and you wondered if it was because they never considered leaving.

Regardless, you were touched by Daeron’s considerations. “I no longer believe you are my favorite goodbrother,” you announced, trying and failing to hide the emotion in your voice. “I know it for a fact.”

Daeron’s gaze softened for a moment, violet eyes alight with an understanding wise beyond his years - a kindness, an empathy ingrained in him by Gwayne, you realized - before he leaned in conspiratorially. “Let me further establish my place in your heart by promising to share word that the queen regrets her absence but fell ill with a sudden headache and decided to retire for much needed rest before the tourney begins,” he offered, and it was only then that you realized how close to the door he’d managed to guide you both.

“Well, now you’re just unabashedly courting the favor of the queen,” you teased, the words weak though the smile you offered him was genuine. “Thank you, Daeron,” you whispered, squeezing his arm in a gesture of appreciation.

“I hope your rest revitalizes you, my queen,” he bade, “so that you might attend the tourney.” His voice carried just far enough to attract the attention of the few lords and ladies surrounding you and, with a nod of acknowledgement, he allowed you to slip through the small group near the door before turning to pass along your regrets to Aegon.

Despite how exhausted you suddenly felt as you left the feast - the noise from the hall fading into a muffled cacophony with every step you took - sleep was the last thing on your mind. Since the arrival of the first lord, your days had suddenly become filled with noise, an endless, mindless stream of sound that deeply unsettled you. Though the Keep was never silent, it was mostly tolerable.

Now, however, you knew that every place you sought solace was like to be filled with lords and ladies from every corner of the realm. The gardens, the courtyard, the entire Keep swarmed with people. There was no solace to be found in your usual perch atop the riverwalk, not tonight - not after Aegon’s laughter - so you opted for a place you knew few would venture.

The library was, even in the bright light of day, usually deserted.

Very few people, aside from the maesters - and a septa or two - set foot in the dim room. Even when the Keep was filled to the brim with people, it was rare to find anyone in the darkness sifting through volumes kept in the royal collection.

As such, you were pleased to find yourself alone for the first time in hours as you lowered yourself into one of the chairs scattered about the room.

For a few long moments, you were left alone with your thoughts. There were very few that many any sense, all jumbled into a cacophony of noise that did, unfortunately, cause an ache to form at your temples. It felt as if each thought was made of smoke, impossible to catch and examine in the way you often felt necessary to make sense of them all, and you released a heavy sigh as you sank deeper into the chair and closed your eyes.

“Quite concerning how quickly your headache appeared, Your Grace. Though this is not the place to sleep it off.”

With a start, your eyes flew open and a hand lifted to your chest as you inhaled sharply.

Aemond stood in the doorway, illuminated by the dim orange glow of candlelight, and studied you with an intense understanding you’d started to grow used to. The green leather he wore looked black in the low light and you sighed as you settled.

“By the gods, Aemond,” you huffed, shooting him a look that might’ve caused anyone else to wither but seemed to have no effect on him, “you frightened me.” As he stepped into the room, moving to sink into one of the chairs across from you, you sighed. “I do have a headache,” you defended, lifting the hand from your chest to your aching temple, “and I did not intend to sleep here. I just needed a moment alone. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to check on my goodsister,” he declared, lips curving into a smirk as you rolled your eyes. “I only wanted to see that you were alright, my queen. And remind you that you shouldn’t leave accompanied. There’s no telling who might be lurking in the darkness.”

“I’m afraid you’re the only one who worries about such things. I doubt anyone else would notice my absence,” you declared, tipping your head to rest on the edge of the chair. “What are you really doing here, Aemond?”

Though your comment earned a frown, thoughtful and calculating, Aemond ignored it for the moment. “The same thing you are; escaping the mindless, drunken chatter of our king and his esteemed guests,” he declared wearily, tipping his head to study you - daring you to deny your true reason for leaving the feast.

There was nothing you could say that would convince him otherwise and, besides, you made it a habit not to lie to Aemond. He always seemed to find the truth in the end; it was easier this way. So, instead of playing coy, you simply asked, “How did you know where to find me?” When he raised a brow, you barely refrained from rolling your eyes once more. “Stupid question,” you admitted, sighing as you raked a hand over the intricate fabric of your gown in an attempt to distract yourself.

“Your absence is noticed, by more than me,” he declared, voice quiet in the still of the room.

When he offered no elaboration, you heaved a heavier sigh and asked, “Is Aegon still entertaining Lord Tyrell?”

Pursed lips served as your only indicator of Aemond’s contempt as he hummed. “Hatching a plan to escape the Keep and explore the streets of silk, no doubt,” he declared casually, only pausing to gauge your reaction. When you swallowed, he continued. “Lord Tyrell’s appetites are… notorious.”

“No more so than Aegon’s, I’d wager.” Aemond tipped his head in silent agreement as you sighed and stood. As you began to pace, a slow back and forth across the stone floor, your goodbrother’s violet eye tracked your every step as he waited for you to continue.

“I try,” you began, with a shake of your head, “relentlessly, it sometimes feels, but it all seems so pointless. I heard the whispers before we were married, there is no woman in the real that hasn’t. But I hoped, naively, that he might change when we were wed. Foolish, I now realize, but I still don’t understand why he seems so particularly… displeased with me.”

As you paused, inhaling a shaking breath, Aemond sighed. “Aegon is a fool,” he declared, strong and certain in a way you only wished you could be, “though I believe you knew that when you were wed.” Despite yourself, you cut your eyes at him - discouraging the insult, though you knew it to be true - and he repented with a tip of his head. “But you are as much a fool as he if you think he is displeased with you.”

With a frown, you continued your pacing. “What other explanation is there? I care, more deeply than I suppose I should, that he continues to spend his nights haunting the streets of silk. But it is more painful to hear the whispers at court. Those women who denigrate me, claim it is some fault of mine own that he strays - that there is no heir yet… I know I shouldn’t care, but by the gods, I do. We have lain together only a handful of times while he’s bedded every whore in King’s Landing thrice over by now. Eleven moons have passed and we have no child. I tried, in the beginning, but he’s turned me away at every chance lately.”

Another moment, another beat of silence, as you blinked back the traitorous tears that you refused to allow Aemond to see. You swallowed the emotion settling at the back of your throat and shook your head. “Do you know how humiliating it is, to know that my own husband would rather lie with every whore on the streets of silk than take me to bed? I just wish he would tell me what it is he dislikes, what displeases him, so that I might try and change it.”

Aemond sighed heavily and you could feel his intense gaze burning into your skin. You knew that if you looked at him, you would break - the dam keeping your emotion at bay would burst and tears would flood your eyes - so you kept your gaze cast to your shoes and waited, with an anxious need, for his response.

If there was anyone who might understand, anyone who might offer you the truth, it was Aemond.

As he stood, your breath caught in your throat. With only a few steps, Aemond met you in the center of the room and urged you to lift your head. “There is nothing wrong with you. If anyone needs to change, it is Aegon. You are… formidable,” he declared, unflinching as he took in the way your eyes shimmered in the dim light. “That is a compliment I do not spare lightly. Aegon, despite his foolishness, has never wanted for anything. Except, I believe, to be worthy of you."

The declaration settled over the library with a finality only Aemond seemed to possess, a certainty that nearly made you believe him without question, and the words reverberated in your mind for a long moment. Aemond granted you silence, understanding as your jumbled thoughts began to make even less sense in a desperate bid to make something of his certainty, and you inhaled sharply as you tried to follow a single train of thought for longer than a moment.

However, before you could beg for clarity - for him to speak plainly, as if he were explaining the concept to one of his children - your sister’s voice interrupted. “Apologies,” she began, sparing a glance between you and Aemond with a look you recognized as something akin to regret. “The king has asked for you to visit him in his chambers, sister. He was told you did not feel well,” she announced with a sigh, “but he insists.”

“Very well,” you acquiesced with a sigh of your own. “I can see myself to his chambers. If you could make sure a bath will be waiting for me when I return to my own, you can retire for the night.”

With a pitying look you did not much care for - especially not from your youngest sister - she nodded. “Of course. Goodnight, sister."

As she took her leave, Aemond hummed once more. “And here you thought him displeased,” he teased, lips twitch with the ghost of a smirk. “He could be perusing the streets of silk with Lord Tyrell but he wants for his wife. How touching.”

“You are insufferable,” you declared, turning to make the journey to Aegon’s chambers, though there was no heat - save for a fond warmth - in the statement.

“Yet you seek my counsel and company,” he reminded you. “If I am insufferable, it is a burden you willingly bear.”

“Gladly,” you corrected, easily. “A burden,” you confirmed, though Aemond knew you did not truly consider him one, “but one I gladly bear. Goodnight, Aemond. Bid Helaena goodnight for me, as well.”

Despite the growing resentment you felt toward Aegon, the bitter sadness that started to fill your heart, your found a sort of comfort in his family. They all seemed determined that yours would be a happy marriage, no matter the doubt you now felt, and you appreciated their efforts. Though it seemed to be something of a coping mechanism for them, brushing truth aside for something happier - something lighter, even if it was unrealistic - it brightened your considerably gloomy outlook in a way you needed.

Though you were not a Targaryen by blood, they all stood with you - sheltered you from the outside world, even if they could not shelter you from one of their own.

And as you stepped through the halls in the only vaguely familiar direction of Aegon’s chambers, you wondered if he would even be awake to greet you - a cynical thought that once would’ve never crossed your mind as you rushed to Aegon as soon as he asked.

Much to your surprise, however, he was wide awake and waiting near the foot of his bed for your arrival.

“My queen of ice,” Aegon slurred, grinning at you as you entered his chambers. The doors fell closed behind you, the hall and the guard disappearing, and you bit back a sigh as you stepped deeper into the dimly lit room. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight? Green suits you,” he complimented, though the words were broken by a hiccup and a scrutiny that you believed to be his curiosity as to whether the gown was one he’d given you.

“You have,” you assured him, though not a word of compliment had been uttered in longer than you cared to admit - the sentiment in his words now unsettling your stomach rather than setting your skin alight. You also did not bother to remind him that the green you wore was the color of your own house, not Hightower green, as you watched him pour himself another cup. “Perhaps you should rest, Your Grace. It has been a long day, filled with excitement. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

“Not until I have done my duty as your husband,” he declared, before downing the contents of the cup in a long gulp. “Lost count of how many times I was asked when there might be a feast welcoming an heir to the throne.”

A small sense of satisfaction lingered for a moment - at least you were not the only one facing the repeated question. However, the satisfaction was short lived as conflicting emotions surrounding lying with Aegon began to cloud your mind.

For nearly a year, all you wanted was for him to want you. With each day that passed, you hoped - despite yourself - that he might seek you out and offer some of the affection you once received. You hoped that he might spare you the most fleeting glance, the softest touch, the smallest smile. It made you feel pathetic, but you wanted it so desperately.

Anything Aegon wished to give you, you realized you would gladly take.

However, now that he was offering you something of the affection you dreamt of each night you spent alone, the throbbing in your temples grew greater and the churning in the pit of your stomach nearly overwhelmed you. Thoughts - wondering if he would lay with you and then depart the Keep with Lord Tyrell, anyway; wondering if he might someday slip up, call you the name of one of his favored whores; wondering what might happen if you did fall pregnant, if he no longer had a reason to call for you - swirled so quickly that they stole the air from your lungs.

The room felt as if it were spinning around you and, for a moment, you felt drunker than Aegon seemed. Regardless, you could not bring yourself to deny him.

As pathetic as it made you feel, you grasped the opportunity to be closed to him with both hands.

“As you wish, Your Grace.” The acquiescence was soft, spoken in a breathless whisper to keep your voice from breaking, as you stepped deeper into his chambers. Despite the glassy sheen to his violet eyes, a flash of something dark - something angry, all too aware - flashed in them.

“I wish for you to call me anything else,” he sighed, pouring himself another cup of wine. The words were sharper than you imagined he intended, exhausted in a way you’d never heard him sound, and you felt yourself falter.

Breathing his name had once been your greatest joy. Calling him ‘Aegon’ or ‘husband,’ where others addressed him so formally, made you feel as if you had at least one piece of him others did not. Now, however, it brought you little comfort as you knew there was nothing you had others wanted for. You wondered, only for a moment, what the other women called him, before you bit the inside of your cheek to anchor yourself to the present.

There was no longer anything you possessed that was solely yours. No matter how badly your heart ached at the thought, no matter how angry it made you, there was nothing left. The only thing you could even hope for was a child born from your own body, though you knew even that would belong to the realm first, as Aegon’s heir.

With a swallow, you reminded yourself there was no sense losing the moment. Aegon wanted you, if only because he had to, and you would take it. You steeled yourself, willed yourself to remain upright and calm, and resumed your path.

“Very well, my king,” you agreed, stepping closer to the bed - unable to make yourself call him anything but. The possessive ‘my’ seemed to soften the title some, deemed it appropriate somewhere in the recess of his wine-muddled mind, and those violet eyes cooled some. They were beginning to glaze over, beginning to lose their focus, as he beckoned you closer.

Aegon drank deep from the cup, a few drops of wine escaping down his chin, and you sighed quietly as your fingers tugged at the intricate laces of your gown to keep from reaching for him. You wanted to, wanted nothing more than to reach out and brush the deep red from his pale skin, but you were uncertain how he would react.

However, before you could make much progress, Aegon pushed himself away from the bed and closed the distance between you.

Standing so close to Aegon left your heart beating wildly in your chest. You could feel it throbbing in your temples,  in the balls of your feet that ached after spending the day standing to receive guests, thudding heavily against your ribcage. The scent of him filled your nose - the soaps and oils used earlier to prepare him for guests, the heady combination of wine and dragon fire that lingered on his skin - and it brought an ache to your chest.

Though it once might’ve made you swoon, brought a girlish warmth to your skin and sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach, it was now almost entirely unpleasant. As badly as you wanted this, wanted him, you also wanted to turn and run. But you kept yourself standing and schooled your face into an impassive mask as his fingers tugged at the laces.

Even drowning in his cups, he managed to make quick work of the ties that held your gown together - and, bitterly, the only thought you found yourself capable of forming was a question of how much practice that had taken.

Long ago, the first few times he’d taken you, there was some semblance of effort. Though you knew he did not want you, did not yet love you - though you still had hope then that he someday might - he tried. He kissed you softly, caressed your skin, whispered compliments in the dim of the room.

Now, he could barely keep himself upright as he helped you out of your gown.

Despite his drunkenness, Aegon still managed to remove the gown easily. The laces came undone quickly and it fell to the floor, piled into a heap around your feet. He stepped away, just enough for you to step out of the fabric and climb into his bed, before placing a knee onto the bed to follow.

Only then did he pause, seeming to remember himself. He stepped away for a moment, searching the small table near the privacy screen, and grabbed the oil the maesters had given you in hopes that it might aid the process.

A small part of you resented it - it hadn’t been necessary, in the beginning - while the larger part was thankful. It made the act more tolerable, easier to withstand, easier to pretend that the want was mutual and Aegon was not simply ‘doing his duty.’ 

Aegon tossed the vial onto the bed and peeled himself out of his clothes. The undershirt and breeches were tossed away, along with his small clothes, before he returned his weight to the mattress. He was half-hard, another surprise with how much he drank, and you contented yourself with watching as he reached for the vial and poured a few drops into his palm.

You were conflicted as to whether his refusal to glance at your face should be seen as an insult or a kindness as he worked himself to full hardness.

The man above you was somewhat unsteady, wobbling precariously as he climbed over you, and you had half a mind to reach out and steady him. However, you kept your hands fisted tightly in the sheets as he absentmindedly reached for your thigh with a slick hand and settled between your now spread legs.

Aegon’s eyes closed as he situated the head of his cock at your entrance, brows furrowing, and you followed suit as he pressed forward.

Unable to help yourself, a noise - louder than you would’ve liked - escaped your throat at the stretch. It had been nearly two moons since you last laid together and you couldn’t make much sense of how you felt in the moment as his weight descended upon you.

“Keep your voice down,” he slurred, shushing you - though you knew he would soon grow louder. “There’s still a feast going on.”

None of the guests would hear you, the feast was far enough away. If they did, it wouldn’t have been a bad thing - perhaps they might stop asking when to expect an heir, they might stop whispering that he refused to lie with you. But you relented and kept quiet, as he ordered.

The act itself was not wholly unpleasant, not when you relished in being the center of Aegon’s attention if only for a moment, but it was nothing like you’d hoped.

Aegon did not love you, nor did he desire you. The realization was enough to have you counting down the moments until you were allowed to return to your own chambers.

However, though the moment was less than idea, you held it dear. Despite yourself, as Aegon found a sloppy rhtzhym, you reached for him and held him close. One hand lifted to his hair, clean and soft as he’d been in the presence of so many guests and needed to keep up with appearances, while the other pressed to his chest. You could feel the beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, rapid but steady - or, maybe it was your own, echoing in your ears - and the way his chest rose and fell in search of breath.

Pleasing you was not his objective, nor was it even remotely on his mind, so you distracted yourself with watching him seek his own release.

Though you hated it, you still felt your heart beat a touch faster at the sight of him.

There was plenty of Targaryen beauty evident in Aegon - his fair hair, his violet eyes, his beautiful features - but there was something else that captivated you. Aemond was angular, fierce, serious; Helaena, soft and bright, with mournful moments of melancholy interspersed; Daeron, a mixture of both, blessed with a lingering, youthful ignorance his siblings were not granted.

Aegon, however, was something else entirely.

Even at his happiest, there was something so sad about him. His eyes, perhaps, where the smile never quite reached - holding a depth you were not privy to understanding - or the frown he wore so often when he thought no one was looking. The weight of the world rested on his shoulders, more so now than ever, but you’d long ago given up the hope that he might someday allow you to cary some of his burden.

Though the entire world had been placed at his feet, he wanted for something. If only he would tell you, you knew that you would provide it without a second thought.

In the pursuit of his own pleasure, Aegon still did not look entirely happy. There was a pinch to his brows that never quite left, a faraway look in his eyes that made your chest ache in the most unpleasant way, and a seemingly never-ending war waging in his mind as to whether he should touch you or not.

Hands, calloused from years of dragon riding - and the occasional session with a sword, though he’d long since given lose up - hovered near your skin. His violet eyes were conflicted, uncertain, and you could see his hands fluttering about before he settled on placing them near you. When he moved, his skin brushed yours and that seemed to be enough for him in his altered state. The weight of your own touch against his skin was something he leaned into, something he accepted eagerly, and you felt as if you could cry as he decided against returning the gesture.

However, you weren’t given long to dwell as his thrusts grew erratic after only a few short moments.

The time you spent together grew less and less frequent, as did the time it took him to ‘do his duty’ as your husband. With only a few thrusts, he buried himself deep and spilled inside of you, pressing himself close enough to steal the air from your lungs.

Disheveled blonde curls filled your vision as he leaned forward. Aegon stared at you, violet eyes clearly and blinking, and, for a brief moment, you felt a sliver of hope that he might kiss you.

It stung only a little when he did not.

“Gods,” he sighed,” leaning forward to press his face into the crook of your neck as he attempted to catch his breath. “You really look just like her,” he mumbled, voice slurring with sleep and wine. “Sound like her, too. And smell like her.”

Aegon breathed in deep, inhaling the scent of your hair and skin - perfumed oil doubtlessly dulled to barely any scent after a long day - as your heart began to beat even faster and your stomach clenched. A part of you had no desire to know who he imagined you were, who he pictured beneath him as he pressed his nose into your skin, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Like who?” If he noticed the shake to your voice, the way your hand trembled in his hair, Aegon said nothing as he hummed.

“My wife,” he answered, lifting his head and blinking bleary eyes at you once more, “the queen. Must be paid well.”

It was a wonder he couldn’t hear the beat of your heart as it threatened to hammer right through the wall of your chest. A thousand conflicting feelings ran through your head all at once. It was you he’d thought of, you he saw, and that was something of a balm for the ache in your heart. However, he thought you were a whore who merely looked like his wife, a whore he’d rather allow warm his bed. 

A question lingered on the tip of your tongue - did he seek out one who looked like you or did he merely find your presence so improbable that he chose the most logical explanation.

Either way, he pulled out and moved away, rolling onto his back beside you. He allowed his head to fall against the pillow and muss his hair. “‘M sure there’re more than I care to imagine that want to fuck her,” he began. “That Tyrell cunt couldn’t take his eyes off her at dinner,” he huffed, eyes closing as he brought a hand up to scrub at his face. “Can’t fault him, though,” he sighed, “she’s beautiful.”

“Then why don’t you lay with her?”

The question escaped before you could consider it, before you could wonder if it was appropriate to ask, but Aegon seemed unbothered.

“Would you fuck me if I didn’t pay you?” Though the question was spoken blandly, meant to prove a point, it made your heart ache. Aegon thought so little of himself and you wondered how much a part you played in his self-doubt.

“I would, my king,” you whispered - you did, you would, if only he wanted you. “Gladly.”

“Don’t deserve it,” he declared, lips parting with a heavy sigh as he reached for the sheets to cover himself. “Leave me,” he ordered, not bothering to open his eyes and spare you another glance. “I want to sleep.”

The question of who he meant, of what he meant - who was undeserving of what? - lingered on the tip of your tongue, but rather than face his ire as he would doubtlessly turn his infamous temper upon you in the moment as he did not recognize you, you climbed out of the bed and pulled your dress on as best as you were able without the help of your handmaidens and slipped out of Aegon’s chambers.

Criston was the only guard lingering in your path - a calculated move, no doubt, to spare you further humiliation - and he dutifully cast his gaze aside as you approached your door. Any other night, he might’ve bid you goodnight, but thankfully, he remained silent as he held the door for you. You were uncomfortable and exhausted and grateful as the door shut with a soft click, plunging you into silence once more.

After bathing - alone, unwilling to allow anyone to see you after spending time with Aegon, too lost in your own thoughts and questioning your own feelings to care about propriety - you climbed into bed and waited for sleep you knew would not come.

The next morning, however,  you awoke with a certain resolve. Following the night you spent with him, the questions that now lingered, you took greater care to keep yourself out of his reach.

Keeping away from him wasn’t all that difficult. Aegon had distanced himself enough that your routines were entirely different, living almost wholly separate lives despite sharing the same home. The only times your paths seemed to cross was in the middle of the day and at dinner.

Though, with the entirety of the realm now watching as you were supposed to be together for appearance sake, you were meticulous with your excuses.

The beginning of the tourney was a joyous affair, celebrated loudly by all in attendance.

With any number of events happening simultaneously, you made it known that you wanted simply to experience it all. Northern tourneys were different, you explained to anyone who asked - though all tourneys paled in comparison to those hosted by the king. This was simply an experience you wanted to remember, and Aegon encouraged your wandering.

There were but a handful of Northerners present - a few minor lords and ladies, two knights, and a handful of cavalrymen - and, while you were disappointed that your family was not among them, you were still glad to see familiar sigils. And, instead of sitting with Aegon in the royal box and watching as the tourney began, you made it a point to visit with those you knew, offering your greetings and welcome, and even a favor to the one knight who boldly asked.

Throughout the day, you wandered.

With your sister by your side, you watched the mummers and the archers, the puppets and the poets. You nursed a cup of wine and, when asked why you were not sitting with Aegon, confessed - feigning sheepishness, an emotion that earned you soft coos of delight - that you did not much care for the sport, that you worried for the knights and took no pleasure in watching them be carted off, injured.

In reality, it was Aegon’s act you did not much care for.

Without the attention of the realm placed solely on the pair of you, he might not’ve noticed your absence. It had taken him days, after all, to find you before the guests began to arrive.

However, this time, it took him only hours.

As the day crawled to an end and you found yourself stepping through the crowd to settle into your seat beside Aegon at dinner.

“Where have you been?” He frowned, paying no mind to the lord he cut off in the midst of a story. “I stopped by your chambers to escort you to dinner. You weren’t there,” he added, almost an afterthought - the words softening what he realized could’ve made you defensive, what could’ve made others suspicious.

“The bay,” you admitted, smiling your thanks at the cupbearer before sipping your wine.

Confusion wrinkled Aegon’s brow as he leaned in to get a better look at you - searching your face for any hint of a joke. “The bay,” he wondered, “why? Was the tourney not entertaining enough?”

“Lady Mormont wished to see it,” you answered, smile patient though you wished to roll your eyes. “It reminds us both a little of home.”

“There is water in the North? I thought it all miserable and frozen.”

When you frowned, incensed by the lord’s quip and the laughter that followed, Aegon sighed and reached for your hand. “It was a jest, my queen,” he soothed you. “I’ve heard stories of the beauty of White Harbor. Grandsire suggested a progress - perhaps we can go to the North and you can show it to me.”

“The Conqueror held court at New Castle three times,” you recalled, a fact you read in a book long before you married Aegon. “I’m sure my father would welcome you as my ancestors welcomed your namesake.”

“Alysanne held court there, I believe,” he declared, almost uncertainly as he glanced to you for confirmation. When you nodded, he hummed - pleased to have remembered his own history, something Aemond could have recounted with startling ease.

“A women’s court,” you confirmed, reaching for your cup with the hand Aegon left free. “I grew up hearing stories of how kind she was and how much the women enjoyed the opportunity to speak and have the queen hear them.”

Daeron, who had taken the spot occupied by Lord Tyrell the previous night, turned to you with a smile. “Perhaps it might be worthwhile to use this gathering to your advantage,” he interjected. “I know some women do not much care for tourneys. Perhaps you could hold court with them, afford them an opportunity to speak directly with the queen.”

“A marvelous idea,” Aegon agreed, squeezing your hand and smiling as he tipped his cup in his brother’s direction. “You’ve sat with me, listening to petitions before. You’re well trained,” he teased. 

“Oh, how wonderful that would be,” Lady Baratheon declared, offering you a knowing smile - easily detecting the discomfort your husband so eagerly ignored. “All of the ladies could gather and share, so that you might know more about the concerns around the realm, Your Grace.”

“It’s settled, then,” Aegon concluded, smiling brightly as he nodded. “A women’s court; a perfect opportunity for my queen to become better acquainted with the women of the realm.”

Of the group, only Daeron seemed to sense your discomfort and you could see the pang of regret in his eyes as you spared him a glance. Regardless, you nodded your agreement and offered a smile to the new sets of eyes now turned to you.

“Of course. Tomorrow, then,” you confirmed, “I shall begin holding court for the women who do not wish to watch the tourney.”

In hindsight, the women’s court was, truly, a marvelous idea.

Though it was not something you wished to be put upon you without notice, there was a desire in you to take a more active role as queen. You grew bored easily, tired of needlework and idle gossip. The books you read were a nice distraction, as were the infrequent High Valyrian lessons your husband’s siblings spared you, but you needed something more.

Spending your time learning more about the plight of the women of the realm made you feel as if you were accomplishing something.

The women’s court also gave you a reason to disappear throughout the day, a reason to avoid Aegon entirely without having to explain yourself to anyone. As your mornings were spent working through the previous day’s findings and dinner was eaten alone - exhausted by the very valid concerns shared by so many women - you never needed to flounder for a reason to seek solitude.

However, that did little to stop the whispers.

From your sister - and your cousin - you heard the few whispers, those who correctly deduced your dedication as an excuse to hide from your husband. But you had little reason to believe that Aegon heard, or cared, about the whispers himself. 

Until he sought you out.

On the third day of the tournament, late into the night - after the feast ended and the lords and ladies had retired for the evening - the door to your chambers flew open at the hour of ghosts.

Aegon, doublet undone and hair mussed, stormed in. His eyes were wild, violet darkened by an emotion you found yourself too exhausted to attempt to read, and his cheeks tinted pink as he stared at you for a long moment. “What have I done?”

The door to your chambers had barely swung shut when the demanding question echoed through the room.

Aegon looked less the part of king and more the part of upset husband as he began pacing before you, only pausing to glance at you incredulously when you flipped a page.

“The offense very likely depends on who is chastising you,” you declared, tone detached, uninterested - despite the unsteady beat of your heart and the sharp inhale you took great care to conceal, “your mother, your brother, or the hand. Perhaps you should ask one of them.” Your exhaustion kept you from standing yourself, from reading too deeply into the situation as you knew there would not be a satisfactory answer, but that seemed to only fuel his upset.

“The offense is yours,” he clarified, resuming his pacing as he ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “What have I done to offend you?”

With a sigh, you finally placed the book onto the table and leaned into the couch - just as you’d done only a few days earlier. It was clear that he had no plan to leave without an answer, though you found yourself at a loss for why he thought he’d offended you or why he cared. “I take it Alicent chastised you, then,” you deduced, the only logical answer as you finally lifted your gaze to watch as he stepped evenly - without the drunken sway you so often spotted. “Order the Guard to keep your trips to the streets of silk quieter and she might leave you be.”

Violet eyes narrowed as his brows furrowed in frustration - he seemed more upset that you weren’t listening than by the thought of causing offense. 

“This has nothing to do with my mother,” he insisted, stopping to take a seat in the same chair he’d occupied only days earlier. Now, instead of waiting in silence for you to acknowledge him, his intense stare was accompanied by a frustrated frown. “I’ve done something to offend you but I don’t know what. Tell me, so I can fix it and apologize.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, attempting to make sense of his sudden line of questioning, his sudden interest in you - in whether he’d offended you, when you both knew he’d spent nearly a year doing little else. If Alicent had not chastised him, if Aemond or Otto or even Criston hadn’t pressed upon him the importance of soothing your aching heart, why did he seem so rattled?

“If your no one has reproached you,” you finally began, words slow and deliberate, your confusion evident, “what makes you think you’ve done something to offend me?”

Aegon huffed a frustrated sigh as he gestured to where you sat, glass of wine, a stack of papers, and a book on the table. “You’ve been avoiding me. This is the first I’ve seen of you in days.”

With a sweeping glance around your chambers - at the papers and the book, at the gown waiting to be worn for the next day of court - you blinked at him. “I’ve been entertaining the ladies of the realm,” you reminded him, words still  escaping slowly, evenly, even as you raised a brow at the way his knee bounced. “We decided to hold women’s court, like Good Queen Alysanne. I believe you called it a ‘marvelous idea’.” Aegon huffed at the reminder, incensed by your response, and you sighed. “The ladies are glad to spend the day unburdening themselves. I’ve been working through their concerns,” you explained, gesturing to the stack of papers, “discerning which are in need of further attention and which can be solved without the crown’s intervention.”

A moment of silence passed in which Aegon scrutinized the papers before he huffed once more and stood, resuming his pacing. “You’ve been avoiding me long before guests began to arrive,” he declared, nearly startling you as you hadn’t realized he’d noticed. As you blinked, surprised, he shot you a look, something angry - wounded, almost - and shook his head. “Don’t deny what we both know to be true."

“You’ve been busy.” Deflecting blame to him was not how you intended the conversation to go, not when you could see him bristle at the acknowledgement you had, indeed, been avoiding him. So, you added, “I did not wish to add more of a burden.”

Aegon sighed, a defeated sound that you’d never heard, and sat once more. He seemed to consider reaching for the flagon of wine, perhaps even stealing your cup, but thought better of it as he settled into the chair.

Silence enveloped you both for a long moment, thick and unbroken by even the faintest of sounds outside your chambers - by design, you assumed, as Aegon seemed intent on understanding why you’d been avoiding him, for reasons you could not fathom - and you nearly allowed yourself to ask why he seemed so desperate for an answer, when it was he who began the whole ordeal.

Violet eyes studied you, settled on your face and searched for something - anything - in lieu of an answer to an unspoken question, a question even he couldn’t seem to form. You nearly shrank beneath the intensity as Aegon finally uttered, “You are my wife. Nothing about you is burdensome.”

Though the words were soft, sincere in a way you did not expect, you found yourself unable to stop the bubble of laughter that erupted from your throat. “A relief.” The comment was biting, sarcastic in a way you’d never been with Aegon, and he frowned - wounded, violet eyes sad - as he regarded you.

“You do not believe me.” It was not a question and the realization seemed to do little to settle him.

Aegon was not someone you spoke openly with, not someone you shared your feelings with, but you couldn’t help yourself. Exhaustion set in and your desire for propriety was long gone. Instead of feigning acceptance, you simply reached for your wine and offered him a sad smile. “I often feel my presence is little more than a burden your family insists you bear.”

“That’s not true.” A near whisper, though the declaration held far more conviction than you ever imagined Aegon capable of. The hurt was no longer prominent in his sad eyes, replaced, instead, by disbelief - anguish, nearly, that you believed your words to be true. “Surely, you don’t believe that.”

Eager to move on, to keep from sharing your innermost feelings with Aegon in a way that you would surely come to regret when he drunkenly spilled them to the entirety of the realm, you shook your head. “It does not matter what I believe,” you declared, waving a hand to rid yourself of the conversation. “I fear there are more pressing matters at hand than my feelings. Court has been… enlightening.”

For a moment, you feared Aegon may not allow you to move on - that he may dwell on the subject until you broke, shed the tears that stung at the backs of your eyes. He seemed eager to push, to argue, but after a nearly uncomfortable stretch of silence, he finally asked, “What have you learned?”

The question was hollow, detached, and you nearly apologized. Instead, you turned your attention to the stack of notes on the table.

“Every solution the crown offers only seems to create a dozen more problems,” you related, sighing as you poured more wine before nudging the cup across the table toward him. “For every petition answered, a dozen more appear in its place.”

Aegon sighed, momentarily redirected, and reached for the cup with a nod of thanks. “We’re learning the same things, then,” he announced, rubbing at his eyes. “There is not enough grain or land or livestock. The winters are too cold, the summers too harsh, boundary stones are being moved and duels are breaking out over cows grazing on the wrong grass.”

The complaints were similar to the ones you heard, though yours were more nuanced - filled with heartbreaking accounts of cruelty and anger.

“The men are cruel, taxes too high, inheritance laws unfair; I’m sure we’re hearing similar stories.”

“The men are cruel?” Aegon frowned, hand pausing midway to his mouth as he blinked, uncertain as to what you meant.

“Mm. The men share the complaints about taxes, I’m sure, and maybe inheritance laws, but the women have unique concerns,” you explained, brushing a hand across your nightgown in an effort to distract yourself. “Alysanne decreed an end to the First Night but it seems the decree only held for royal or highborn women. Lesser ladies only escape the ritual if they have a kind husband. And inheritance laws mean second or third or even fourth wives are left with nothing if a husband dies, unless she or her husband has kind relatives.” Aegon frowned as he returned the cup to the table and shifted in his seat to get a better look at you. “Marriage is a political alliance for most,” you informed him, though you assumed he already knew. “But, for others, it’s a means of survival.”

“Gods,” Aegon sighed, “what did my father do all those years? Nothing seems to have changed. It’s all fucking miserable.” He leaned forward, placing his head in his hands for a brief moment, before he returned his gaze to you. “They told you all of this?”

“They did,” you confirmed, sighing as you clasped your hands together to keep from reaching for him. “I believe they just wanted someone to listen.” For a moment, you simply studied him - your gaze sweeping across his face, eagerly drinking in the soft look in his eyes - before you laughed, a soft sound lacking mirth. “I suppose I am lucky,” you confessed, standing to begin your journey to Alicent’s chambers for your nightly tea with her, Helaena, and the children.

“You’re married to the king,” Aegon surmised, standing to follow - to head for his own chambers, or perhaps out of the Keep.

“No.” With a shake of your head, you paused to meet his eyes. “I would be just as happy as a lady,” you confessed, watching as he frowned. “I am lucky because, even though you do not love me, you are at least kind to me. That is more than I could have asked for, more than most women hope for.” Aegon blinked, violet eyes going wide as his lips parted in preparation to respond, but you gave him a tight smile. “It’s alright,” you assured him, straightening your robe. “I’ve accepted my fate and am grateful for your kindness. I would not ask more. Goodnight, Your Grace.”

With quick steps and a racing heart, you left Aegon standing in the middle of your chambers with blinking eyes and parted lips. There would be time later to dwell on how much you said, how awful you felt for confessing such a thing, but you did not imagine it would be before the tourney ended.

However, you were surprised to find a request from Aegon the next morning - the king wished for you to join him in his chambers to break fast, as early as you were ready.

The request itself was odd - in the eleven moons you’d been married, you’d only broken fast together once or twice, and always after Aegon woke. Part of you feared you’d offended him, that you might finally become acquainted with his infamous temper, while the other part feared the rats shared your conversation with Alicent and this was her doing. There was little you could do to calm your racing heart as you considered both possibilities, neither pleasant and neither comforting.

Either way, you hurried through your morning routine. A part of you wanted to make him wait, to take your time or even send your regrets with the excuse that you had other plans. The greater part, however, knew it was better to get the whole ordeal over with and pushed you to your way to Aegon’s chambers - skin alight with an unfamiliar warmth as you did so.

Though you half expected to find Aegon still asleep, he was stood - pacing, silver hair clean and brushed - waiting.

As you entered, heart thundering in your chest, Aegon stopped in his tracks. “Good morrow, my queen,” he greeted with a tentative smile and an outstretched hand. “How did you sleep?”

Without thought, you accepted Aegon’s outstretched hand and allowed him to guide you to the table. He pulled out the chair beside his own, one you’d never before occupied, and gestured for you to sit. As you did, you noticed that the table held most of your favorite foods - items you normally requested for your own morning meal - and you nearly forgot the question as you turned to meet Aegon’s gaze.

With a great effort, you attempted to mask the confusion you felt. “Fine,” you assured him, offering a smile you hope he believed real. “And you?”

Undeterred by the obvious concern in your tone, Aegon nodded. “Fine,” he parroted, reaching for the tea to pour you a cup. “No wandering in the night for you?”

A confused curiosity filled you, settling into the pit of your stomach alongside a sinking feeling you couldn’t quite make sense of. There was no reason for Aegon to care - none that made sense to you, anyway - but being at the center of his attention, if only for a moment, sent your heart soaring.

So, with a rueful laugh, you shook your head and decided to humor him. “No, not last night.” Aegon hummed as he offered you a piece of fruit - your favorite, though you weren’t sure if he remembered it from the early days of your marriage or if a servant simply filled the table with things you liked - as you continued. “It seems some of the lords and ladies wished to see the riverwalk after I spoke so highly of it. They are curious what it is that calls to me.”

Aegon winced, his violet eyes flashing with regret as he sighed. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he declared, eyes cast down and lips curved into a frown. “I did not mean to…”

With a tight smile, you nodded. “I know,” you assured him. He’d been drunk, caught up in conversation with Lord Tyrell - who seemed to bring out the worst in him - and you did not blame him. Not entirely. “It’s for the best, anyway,” you continued, shrugging. “Alicent has chided me relentlessly for wandering about alone so late. I do not wish to face another of her lectures. I suppose I’ll just read, instead.”

The pair of you shared an understanding laugh - though your lectures were, doubtlessly, far kinder than any Aegon had ever received - before his thoughtful frown returned.

For a moment, Aegon allowed his searching gaze to sweep across your skin. There was a question written on his face, one he seemed unable to articulate, that he sought an answer to. Finally, he asked, “The reason you wander, is because you can’t sleep?” When you sighed, sipping your tea instead of denying what he now realized to be true, Aegon’s frowned deepened. “Is it the sound of the water or the cool air you seek, on the riverwalk?”

When he affixed you with wide eyes, a look that begged for the truth, you sighed. “The sound is soothing, but I wish for the cool air, more than anything. I leave my windows open when I can but as the air grows colder, someone will catch a glimpse and I am scolded - reminded by the maesters again and again that I could fall ill any time a breeze blows. It’s as if they forget I’m from the North.”

At your indignant huff, Aegon laughed - a soft sound that you’d missed dearly - before his thoughtful frown returned. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

Aegon’s concern left you mildly unsettled, confused, as you searched for an appropriate answer.

“We married in winter,” you finally reminded him, shrugging lightly. “I slept well enough then and we haven’t spoken about it since.” We haven’t spoken much at all since went unsaid but Aegon’s wince assured you he heard it, just the same. “It does not matter anyway,” you continued, “as there’s nothing to do but wait for cooler weather. I’m growing used to the heat. I wander a bit, cool off, and return to my chambers. Ser Cole was the only one to notice my absence. If he hadn’t said anything, no one would’ve known.”

“I’m sorry.”

The apology caught you entirely off guard and you found yourself turning to face Aegon with a frown. “What for?” With a laugh, you reached for your cup once more. “You’re the king, but you cannot control the weather. I will just savor the cool air whenever it appears.”

“I did not even know you wandered until Cole told me,” he confessed, swirling the cup of tea in his hand. His brows furrowed in frustration - though, you could tell it was not directed at you as he huffed. “I should’ve known you were not sleeping.”

With a sigh, you shook your head. “Just as you cannot control the weather, you cannot expect to know my every waking move. There are more important things to concern yourself with.”

“I’m your husband. You are my most pressing concern,” he declared, words soft - guilty. “I should know all there is to know about you.” Before you could argue - something Aegon could see written clearly on your face - he continued. “The next time you find yourself unable to sleep, perhaps I could wander with you. I do not enjoy the cold but I will brave it with you,” he offered, a hopeful smile lifting the corner of his mouth as wide violet eyes met yours.

A spiteful comment lingered on the tip of your tongue - certainly, if you are in the Keep and not lost in the streets of silk - but you swallowed it with a sip of tea. “Of course,” you agreed easily, though you had no intention of seeking him out when sleep inevitably refused you once more.

Sleep would only be harder to find when coupled with disappointment.

Regardless of your intention, Aegon seemed settled by your easy agreement. Assured - of what, you were uncertain - he turned the conversation to the remaining days of the tourney and began to eat as you began to worry.

Though all you’d wanted for nearly a year was Aegon’s attention, having it in spades made you overwhelmingly suspicious. There was little about the situation that brought you joy or comfort. If anything, it set you more on edge than you’d been since stepping foot into the Keep.

There was a part of you - the rational, pragmatic part - that understood. Aegon wanted to keep up appearances. Alicent and Otto had spent much of his life instilling in him the importance of maintaining an image. What happened in the privacy of the Keep when the crowds departed did not matter, so long as they all believed the happy facade put on for their benefit.

It made sense, then, why he insisted on breaking fast with you - so the lords and ladies would see you depart from his chambers - and why he insisted on escorting you to dinner. It even made sense to you why his hand found yours when you were amongst the crowd of revelers at dinner.

The part that worried you, however, was the attention he paid you when no one was looking.

Just as he had in the beginning of your marriage, Aegon’s hand brushed yours in passing as he went his way while you went your own. Throughout the day, you felt his intense gaze on you - searing into your skin across a crowded room, across the field as you spoke with the ladies of the realm when he should’ve been watching the tourney. And when night fell, he escorted you back to your chambers after dinner and sat with you, sometimes without so much as a word shared, until you deemed it time for bed.

For two days, Aegon paid more attention to you than he had over the course of your entire marriage - all without drowning in his cups.

And by the final day of the tournament, you found yourself utterly exhausted.

Being surrounded by people - those who meant well and those who certainly did not - was enough of a discomfort. The sometimes curious, sometimes accusing, sometimes pitying gazes of the lords and ladies of the realm set you on edge. But attempting to make sense of Aegon’s sudden burst of attention was what kept you awake at night.

Every reason you considered made little sense. 

Initially, you assumed it was Alicent’s doing. However, the moment she expressed her surprise at Aegon’s sudden change of heart, you found yourself more perplexed. She seemed assured, however, certain that her eldest son was finally settling, and rejoiced at the sight of Aegon escorting you to the gathering of women two mornings in a row.

Aemond also seemed surprised, though his was better hidden than his mother’s as he watched Aegon offer you a hand to pull you into the fray of dancing bodies. And your assumption that it was he who’d spoken with his brother vanished into thin air the moment his violet eye met yours - a question of ‘what’s happening’ dancing curiously in it.

All logic failed you, each conclusion vanished as quickly as it arrived, and you found yourself confused and alone - away from the madness so that you might catch your breath and think.

However, you were not left alone for very long.

Without warning, no guard and no crowds of people vying for his attention, Aegon approached you as you sat far from the madness of the tourney.

The Conqueror’s crown glimmered atop his head, silver and ruby shimmering in the sunlight, and he looked the part of king. Royalty suited him, you decided - his features regal, his poise now unencumbered by drink as he’d done his best to remain sober in your presence - though you kept the thought to yourself as you bit back a sigh at his presence.

Aegon had taken to asking you what was wrong - a question he took seriously, as he attempted to remedy whatever it was that bothered you - but you turned to him before he could.

“What does it feel like?” The question was asked in desperation, a deep-seated desire to turn the conversation away from yourself - a need to return to some semblance of normalcy, despite his newfound attention - and Aegon’s brows furrowed. “Riding a dragon,” you elaborated, gesturing to Sunfyre in the distance. His prized dragon had been brought from the Dragonpit to be seen, marveled at; the most beautiful dragon in the realm, the king’s pride. “I’ve asked Aemond and Helaena, even Daeron,” you confessed. “They all say the feeling is indescribable.”

For a moment, Aegon regarded you with a smile - something bright and true, genuinely happy; something you saw little of in him - before he turned to glance at his golden dragon. “Do you want to try it,” he began, stepping closer and tipping his head to meet your eyes, “find out for yourself?”

With a hollow laugh, and a touch of fear at the prospect, you shook your head. “A beautiful thought, to be sure,” you acknowledged, “but if I stepped closer, I fear I would only learn what death by dragon fire feels like.”

Unbothered, Aegon stepped even closer - his arm now brushing yours. “If you stepped closer to Vhagar, surely, but Sunfyre is less inclined to violence,” he teased, sparing his dragon an admiring glance. “He listens well and will take to you, so long as you are with me.” When you frowned, uncertain, Aegon smiled softly and reached for your hand. “I should’ve introduced you sooner,” he hummed, apologetic as he squeezed your hand, “but we will just have to make up for lost time.”

Slowly, carefully - for your benefit, you realized, as Sunfyre seemed entirely aware of Aegon no matter how he moved - your husband guided you across the field to where Sunfyre rested. The keepers offered you both polite greetings before stepping aside to allow Aegon to interact with his dragon, unbothered.

Though his commands were nowhere near as sharp as the ones you’d heard from Aemond, nor as fluid as those you’d heard from Helaena, Aegon’s word still struck a chord with Sunfyre. His High Valyrian was clumsy, almost broken, but Sunfyre still responded just as eagerly as the others - if not more so - as the great beast made a rumbling noise and nudged Aegon in the chest.

Aegon cooed, returning the greeting happily as he offered the dragon a few soft strokes of his hand, and you felt a smile curve your lips - in spite of the thundering of your heart at your proximity to such a fearsome creature.

“Give me your hand,” Aegon urged, turning his head to glance at you when Sunfyre settled and turned a great eye upon you. “He trusts you because I do.”

With a tentative step, you moved closer to Aegon. He accepted your outstretched hand eagerly, tugging you closer, and placed a steady and on your waist. Every inch of your skin felt warm - from the great breaths Sunfyre took, warm air billowing around you; or from the heat of Aegon’s body pressed to yours, unfamiliar and easily stealing the breath from your lungs as his hand stroked your waist to calm you.

Aegon tipped his head to offer you a reassuring smile before turning his attention to Sunfyre once more. With a few quiet words - mostly in Valyrian, though a few words in the common tongue caught your ear - Sunfyre lifted his large head and repeated the affectionate gesture he’d shown Aegon.

A noise resembling a purr escaped the large beast and, with Aegon’s hand still clasping yours, your hand was pressed to his scales.

For a single, nerve wracking moment, you waited - half-afraid Sunfyre might turn on you, temper as unpredictable as his rider - but when he simply leaned into your touch, you exhaled slowly. “He’s beautiful,” you whispered, voice awed as your fingers trailed lightly across the warm patch of golden scales. “And so warm.”

The moment Aegon’s hand released yours, it fell to your waist as his chin rested atop your shoulder. Sunfyre rumbled another pleasant noise, as if he understood the compliment, and you laughed. “See? Nothing to fear.”

“You are well matched, I believe,” you nearly whispered, as if Aegon had not spoken at all. “The most beautiful dragons in all the realm.” The compliment escaped without your notice, unintentional, but Aegon’s hands squeezed your waist gently as he inhaled just a bit too sharp.

“He is beautiful,” Aegon agreed easily, reaching out to stroke the scales just above where your hand rested - thankfully sidestepping your compliment of him. “He’s also quick and loves to soar over the sea, something that reminds me of you.”

Sunfyre released another contented noise, happily basking in the attention, as you hummed thoughtfully. “The view must be incredible,” you whispered, still in awe of the beautiful creature before you. “I’m not sure how you find the strength to return to the ground.”

“It helps to have something worth returning for.” Aegon’s declaration was soft, as was his gaze as violet eyes fell to you. “Do you want to see for yourself? You’ll be safe, I promise. There is nowhere safer, in fact.”

The prospect of riding a dragon set your heart beating overtime once more and brought butterflies to your stomach. It was terrifying - and tantalizing - and you could not understand why Aegon offered. Still, you tipped your head and offered him a playful smile. “Do not let Vhagar hear you,” you teased, voice nowhere near as strong as you hoped it would be. “She might take offense.”

“The old beast is asleep in a field, she couldn’t hear me if I stood right next to her.” Aegon grinned at you - expression brightening considerably when you laughed - before he stepped away. His hands left your waist but grasped your own, fingers intertwining with your own, as he guided you to the rope connected to Sunfyre’s saddle. “Come, my queen. We won’t be missed.”

A lie - his absence would be noticed immediately - but you said nothing.

Conflicting feelings swirled in the pit of your stomach as you allowed Aegon to help you climb into the saddle. There was fear - a natural instinct, when faced with the prospect of riding a dragon - and doubt, uncertainty as to your safety. There was concern, an ever-present wonder as to why Aegon seemed so intent upon getting you to bond with his dragon. There was worry, a curiosity as to why Aegon was acting the part of husband you so desperately wanted.

But, above all else, there was an overwhelming happiness.

Excitement coursed through your veins as Aegon helped you situate yourself in the saddle, despite your dress not being appropriate riding gear. Warmth coursed through your veins as he settled in behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and offering you a bright smile as you turned your head to glance at him.

The reason why mattered so little when it felt so intoxicating in the moment.

Though the question danced on the tip of your tongue - more of a demand, a need to know what had changed - you kept quiet as Aegon spared a few words for Sunfyre.

With an eager rumble, the dragon began to stand.

“Ready?”

Before you could answer - nod your agreement or beg to be returned to the ground - Aegon shouted a command you couldn’t understand. The golden beast took a few steps forward before bolting toward the sky, clearly as eager to fly as his rider.

As you hurtled toward the sky, your heart leapt into your throat and making any noise at all seemed impossible.

Though you would’ve agonized over the decision any other time, there wasn’t a single thought in your mind as you reached for Aegon’s arm. You held - perhaps too tight, you realized, as your nails bit into the leather of his riding jacket - and held your breath as the burnt, fading colors of foliage began to give way to the white stone of the city and then the dark water of the bay.

Cool air rushed around you, growing cooler the higher you climbed, and you delighted in the contrast of it biting at your skin as Aegon’s warmth bled into your back.

Part of you wanted to close your eyes, to savor the feeling of weightlessness as Sunfyre began to level out and soar above the water, while the rational par demanded you keep them open and drink in the sight of King’s Landing from above.

There was no guarantee you would have another opportunity to witness the beauty below you.

The city you’d grown to early loathe - the streets of silk that claimed your husband, the stench that sometimes wafted through your open window - was undeniably beautiful atop Sunfyre’s back. A thousand thoughts ran through your mind, though none seemed to provide an adequate description of the beauty below you.

Rather than attempt to speak, you simply breathed deeply and reveled in the quiet.

Atop Sunfyre, everything you’d spent nearly a year agonizing over seemed to fade into nothing. It all seemed so trivial, so meaningless, when the world was so vast and beautiful.

For a moment, you understood what your husband’s siblings meant - there was certainly no other feeling in the world that could compare to the experience at hand.

As you caught your breath, lungs filling entirely for the first time since leaving White Harbor, Aegon remained quiet behind you. For the first time, his silence was entirely comfortable - not something to be wary of, not something for you remedy. It was blissful, a shared joy, and you appreciated it.

Aegon’s chin rested atop your shoulder once more, blonde curls brushing your skin, and as you glance out at the dark water, you were nearly convinced it was all just a beautiful dream.

Having Aegon so close, his affection flowing so freely - his attention so rapt, so complete - was al you’d wanted for longe than you cared to admit. However, now that you had it, you were uncertain of what to do with it. You remained suspicious, concerned there was some sort of string attached to his affection, but a he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, you felt your concern begin to melt away.

It had been so long since Aegon kissed you, so long since he offered any kind of affection, that you couldn’t help yourself.

With a turn of your head, your gaze met his. As Sunfyre soared, you felt your heart begin to beat just a touch faster when Aegon leaned to press his mouth to yours. The kiss was soft, nearly chaste, and you could feel the familiar ache in your chest at the gentle nature of it. There was something so intimate about the gesture, something that meant more than all the attention in the realm, and you struggled to blink back your tears as Aegon broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours.

Everything around you ceased to exist with those violet eyes trained on yours.

Sunfyre rumbled a pleased noise - something bright and joyful - and Aegon smiled as he tipped his head to glance at the golden dragon. With your husband distracted, you swallowed the emotion lingering in the back of your throat and held tight to the saddle as the flight continued.

Just as you’d imagined, there was little desire to return to the ground - to the life that awaited you both, the crowds of people seeking your company, the expectations that overruled your happiness - but with a single command from Aegon, Sunfyre began to descend all too soon.

Though the flight had been short, nothing more than a quick trip around King’s Landing, it meant the world to you.

And when you landed, your feet firmly on the ground and Sunfyre returned to the keepers, Aegon’s expectant gaze met yours. “Well,” he began, smile knowing, “what did it feel like?”

“I fear I owe your siblings an apology. It was truly indescribable,” you admitted, heart still pounding in your chest - though you weren’t certain if it was from the adrenaline or the way Aegon was looking at you, bright eyes so intent on your face. “King’s Landing is beautiful from above. And I believe Sunfyre is the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen.”

“Dragon, certainly,” Aegon agreed easily, stepping closer and bringing his hand to your waist. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

The compliment was nothing more than flattery, almost certainly untrue - he’d spent his nights with Lyseni women whose beaut was famed - and shattered the moment entirely. Reality crept back in, startling you back into your own body, and drew the tears you’d been keeping at bay since the kiss.

With a shake of your head, you attempted to pull away from him as you lifted a hand to brush at your cheeks. “Aegon,” you whispered, voice cracking as you addressed him by name for the first time in several moons, “please, don’t.”

Like a strong wave, every emotion you’d felt over the course of your marriage crashed into you.

Each feeling was stronger than the last, shattering your resolve with astounding ease, and you could see the flash of panic in Aegon’s eyes as he stepped closer. The nudge you offered in response was weak, nowhere near strong enough to dissuade him, and Aegon ignored the gesture completely as he began to guide you back to the Keep.

Neither of you wanted the moment to be witnessed - Aegon did not wish for his mother’s ire, as she knew your tears were his fault, nor did he wish for more speculation on behalf of the realm; you did not wish for more pitying gazes - so you allowed him to steer you through the halls without complaint.

Aegon guided you through the halls of the Red Keep, stepping without thought in the direction of his chambers. However, before he could turn down the hall leading to his door, he seemed to think better of his destination. Instead, with a few retraced steps, he turned and guided you to your own chambers.

The moment the door shut behind you, effectively sealing you both away from the realm, Aegon did something he’d never before done - he wrapped both arms around your waist and held you tight to his chest.

It was a clumsy gesture, almost uncertain, and crushed your arms to your body, but you appreciated it, just the same. His proximity did little to stop the tears that spilled, though you pleaded with your body to offer you some sort of respite, and Aegon made a broken noise as his own eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“Please, don’t cry,” he whispered, voice quiet in the still of your room. “I’m sorry.”

Despite yourself - despite the truth you both saw plainly - you shook your head. “Not your fault,” you denied, reflexively.

Aegon scoffed, wholly disbelieving, as he shook his head. “It is,” he acknowledged, tipping his head to press his forehead to yours the moment you glanced at him. “I have not been the husband you deserve. I have been no husband at all.”

For a moment, he seemed to falter - uncertain, unused to such emotion - before he lifted a hand to cup your cheek.

“I wanted to spare you,” he admitted, so earnest it made your chest ache. “This place, this life; it seems to make everyone fucking miserable. My mother was happier before she was queen, Helaena is happier when she is far from King’s Landing. There is no joy to be found here. I didn’t want to subject you to the same misery.”

The sincerity with which Aegon spoke struck you. He truly seemed to believe it - truly believed that he was sparing you - and you couldn’t help the fresh wave of tears that fell.

“As noble as your intentions may have been, I am here,” you reminded him, voice thick with emotion. “There is no sparing me, not when our lives were intertwined in front of the realm and in the eyes of the gods. It might be enjoyable if we sought happiness in one another.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever made anyone happy,” he confessed, voice a pained whisper, “as a son, a king; certainly not as a husband.”

“You have made me happy,” you asserted, brows furrowing. When he frowned, disbelieving, you gestured to the embroidery of Sunfyre adorning his doublet. “Soaring over the city with you on Sunfyre was the most joy I’ve felt in all my time in King’s Landing and I felt it because of you. The first few moons of our marriage, you were kind - affectionate, present - and that made me happy. The past few days, you’ve been kind again, you’ve been with me, and my heart felt as if it might burst. Being with you made me happy, Aegon.”

Aegon’s eyes fell shut, his breath stuttering as he shook his head slightly. “I know less about being a husband than I do about being king,” he confessed, violet eyes glassy as they reopened. “I’m afraid I’ll only disappoint you.”

“You’ve never been a husband, nor have you been a king, just as I have never been a wife or a queen,” you reminded him, tone gentle. “I also know little of either role but I want to learn. With time, both will become easier, but learning together would make me happy. I don’t want perfection, Aegon. All I want, all I have wanted, is you.”

“And I you,” he agreed, quickly - easily, his hand squeezing your hip. “I am not too late, then?”

“I’ve spent the last few moons wishing to hate you,” you confessed, lifting a hand to caress his cheek - your heart aching in your chest as he flinched, expecting a blow instead. After a moment, he leaned into the caress and you struggled to keep yourself from crying once more. “I wanted nothing more than to feel indifferent, or even angry, in your presence. But all I’ve wanted is your love. I’ve taken what little of you you would give but I want all of you. I fear it will never be too late, not when my heart belongs entirely to you.”

“How can you love me, after all I’ve done?” Sad violet eyes met yours, downcast and filled with a self-loathing you understood all too well, as he leaned into your touch.

“Because love is irrational. It lives in the heart, not the mind, and my heart has been yours for a long while.”

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispered, “I don’t deserve you.”

The whisper sharpened the ache in your chest, made your heart hurt for Aegon, as you caressed his cheek. Your thumb brushed away a few errant tears, brushed the dark circles beneath his eyes, as you studied him. His drunken words, whispered in the dim of his chambers, returned to you and you sighed as you met his eyes. “You do. You deserve love, Aegon.”

The declaration hung in the air for a long moment, lingering between you in a silence that seemed to stretch endlessly, before Aegon moved. He surged forward, eager to press his mouth to yours in another kiss.

This kiss, unlike the soft display atop Sunfyre, was desperate. It brought forth every emotion you both struggled to make sense of and stole the breath from your lungs. It was searching, starving, and you allowed it to consume you completely  as Aegon’s grip on your waist grew tighter and you hand moved to tangle in his hair.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the turn you day would take, for the onslaught of Aegon’s desperate affection, for the sheer force of his kiss, but you surrendered to it without thought.

Even as your lungs burned with the need for air, as your chest ached and your skin felt as if it were blistering, you refused to part from him. And, to your surprise, Aegon seemed just as reluctant.

Each breath was stolen with lips only inches apart, with violet eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

Whereas affection had been nonexistent for so long, it seemed as if the dam had broken and you were both desperate for some semblance of the other’s love.

Despite Aegon’s emotional whispers, his open display of concern, you could feel the doubt lingering in the back of your mind as he walked you backward. While he navigated your room with an ease that should’ve surprised you, you wondered what might happen in the aftermath.

How long would Aegon’s affection last before you were left alone again?

As if sensing your hesitation, Aegon broke from the kiss and pressed his forehead to yours as you approached your bed. He took a moment to breathe - to allow you to breathe - before he whispered another apology. “I can’t change what I’ve done,” he acknowledged, “how I’ve treated you. But I can be better. I will be.”

Before you could speak - and say what, you did not know - Aegon recaptured your lips in another searing kiss.

With a practiced ease, he unlaced the ties of your gown - Hightower green, laced with the gold of his dragon - and brushed the fabric from your shoulders.

Unlike the night of the feast, Aegon took a long moment to study you as you stood before him in only your small clothes. And when you attempted to cover yourself - arms stretch across your chest, your stomach, your hips - Aegon gripped your wrists.

“Please, don’t hide from me. I want to see you.”

Wide violet eyes met yours, so sincere in their desire, and you found yourself unable to deny him. With a nod, you relaxed your arms - allowing them to fall to your sides when Aegon released you - and he hummed, a pleased sound that warmed you from within.

Though you only laid together a handful of times, and though Aegon had been attentive in the beginning, no experience compared to the one at hand.

There was a desperation in his touch, an eagerness you’d never before witnessed, and your breath grew harder to catch as Aegon crowded closer. His lips - chapped, but warm and not entirely unpleasant - pressed to every inch of skin he could find; your cheek, your chin, the column of your throat, your shoulder. He inhaled deeply and laughed, a surprised sound, as his gaze lifted to meet yours.

“You stink of dragon,” he teased, eyes glimmering with a mirth you’d missed - a lighthearted joy you hoped would remain - as his words recalled the words you leveled at him in the early days of your marriage. “It suits you, my queen.”

“A worthwhile exchange,” you assured him, hand returning to his hair as he nosed at the hinge of your jaw.

“We’ll ride again,” he promised you, pressing a soft kiss to your skin. “Any time you want, all you need is to ask.”

Aegon pressed you back, then, allowing the backs of your knees to press against the footboard of the bed, and you squealed as he tipped you toward the soft bedding. When you rested on the bed, legs hanging over the end, Aegon followed you down.

“Look at you,” he hummed, voice low as he ghosted kisses across your skin, “my queen of ice, melting beneath your dragon’s touch.”

Without thought, you heard yourself ask, “Are you?” Doubt still lingered in the back of your mind.

Though his lips pressed to your skin, Aegon responded with a somewhat distracted, “Am I what?”

“My dragon?”

The possessive was clear, easy to hear, and the question was unmistakable. The doubt that lingered shined bright, obvious, and Aegon sighed as he continued to press kisses to your skin.

“I am yours,” he promised, fingers lacing with yours as his lips pressed to the warm column of your throat, “entirely.”

It was not a promise you could yet believe, not a promise that you would allow yourself to fall victim to, and he seemed to understand your reluctance as you whispered, “Aegon…”

“I know,” he confirmed, tone softening as he continued pressing kisses to your heated skin. He trailed down your chest, blazing a path down your stomach and over your hips, and the beat of your heart pounding in your ears nearly drowned out the words he spoke. “I’ve been a terrible husband,” he acknowledged, violet eyes lifting to meet yours. “Worst of all, I’ve not exposed you to the most incredible joy of marriage - pleasure,” he declared, sinking to his knees at the foot of the bed. “But, from now on, I devote myself to seeking pleasure with you.”

A breath caught in your throat. Though your thoughts were muddled, uncertain - rational thought disappearing with each kiss he pressed to your skin - your stomach flipped at the potential weight of his declaration. “Does that… are you…?” The question would not escape, mostly for fear of misunderstanding, but Aegon understood.

“No more streets of silk,” he whispered, lips pressing to the heated skin just above your knee, “no Flea Bottom. You are the only one I want, the only one I need.” There was a certainty in his voice, a desperate need for you to understand, but you were hesitant. And when you blinked, uncertain, Aegon pressed his forehead to your heated skin. “You have no reason to believe me, to trust me, but I will prove myself to you. I will be worthy of you.”

“Oh, Aegon,” you sighed, fingers carding through the silver strand of his hair as he busied himself with pressing eager kisses to every inch of skin he could reach - lighting a fire that burned bright within you. “You are worthy.”

Aegon hummed, acknowledging he’d heard you, before he returned his gaze to yours. He searched, for just a moment, before he confessed, “I’ve been drinking, waiting while the knights and squires enjoy themselves. I’ve not… The only whores I’ve bedded as of late are the ones that look like you and even that is not enough.”

“The night of the feast,” you whispered, nodding. “You marveled at how much I looked like your wife.”

“Gods,” he huffed with a shake of his head, “I hoped that was you. I wasn’t sure. It felt like a dream, seeing you in my bed. I… I’ve been frustrated, as of late. I thought you would not want me. When you told me you felt as if you were little more than a burden I must bear, I… All I’ve wanted is you. I’m sorry I allowed you to believe otherwise.”

“Then have me,” you encouraged, as an understanding began to creep into your mind. “Take what you need from me, my love.”

Aegon’s fingers dug into the plush of your thigh, grounding himself to the moment for fear it was all a dream - something pleasant he would wake from violently, with his mother ripping the sheets from his body or his grandsire yelling insults at him - before glassy violet eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You are kinder to me than you should be.”

“Love is meant to be kind,” you whispered, your heart aching as he clung to you. “I want to be kind to you.”

For a long moment, Aegon simply stared at you. Words seemed to fail him - all thought lost to the ether as your statement lingered in the silence - but you both knew he preferred action.

Without sparing another moment, he returned his attention to your body, splayed just for him.

In the beginning, though he was attentive - pressed kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your throat - Aegon offered little in the way of true pleasure. Sex was a duty, a chore you shared in an attempt to secure an heir for the throne, but this was something else entirely.

Little seemed to exist outside of the pair of you. All you could find the strength to focus on was the eager press of Aegon’s mouth to your heated skin. 

The warmth you felt was unfamiliar, indescribable, as he pressed his mouth to the plush of your inner thigh. He nipped at the sensitive skin, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh, and you could feel a fluttering in the pit of your stomach as his eyes began to darken. 

With each nip of his teeth, with each swipe of his tongue, you allowed quiet gasps to fall from your lips unbidden and each noise only spurred him on.

And as his fingers tugged at the fabric hiding you from his searching gaze, you resisted the urge to cover yourself and, instead, relaxed beneath his touch. Though you felt an overwhelming vulnerability, you were offering Aegon the opportunity to earn the trust he sought. 

“My beautiful wife,” he whispered, fingers digging into the plush of your thigh as he spared you a glance. “I intend to make up for lost time when our guests leave us. For now, I’ll settle for introducing you to pleasure.”

Before you could question him, Aegon leaned in and licked a stripe along the length of your slit with the flat of his tongue. Your fingers tugged at his hair as a gasp escaped your lips, and you could feel his mouth curve into a grin as he settled between your thighs. The sensation was new, odd but you hated the thought of losing it as he licked at you leisurely.

Though your absence had doubtlessly been noticed, Aegon was clearly in no rush.

Settled between your thighs, he seemed to struggle to decide whether to close his eyes and enjoy himself or keep them open and watch the bewildered look on your face morph into unabashed pleasure as his hand lifted and his thumb pressed to your clit. As your thighs jerked, fingers gripping his hair tighter, Aegon hummed against you.

“Better than the sweetest wine,” he mumbled, words muffled by your skin a he lapped at your leaking arousal.

Every swipe of his tongue, every press of his fingers, sent shockwaves down your spine. Your skin felt warm, feverish, and you suddenly found yourself understanding the few women who eagerly disappeared with husbands who lavished them with affection.

Pleasure was something foreign - a concept you’d only read about - but the experience was better than you could’ve imagined as Aegon eagerly sank into you. His fingers began searching, gathering the slick that coated his lips and chin, and pressed to your entrance. As you tensed, preparing for the uncomfortable intrusion, Aegon hummed.

“Relax for me,” he whispered, warm breath fanning over your skin and earning him a shiver. “This will feel good,” he promised. “Let me make it good for you.”

With a little effort, you attempted to relax beneath Aegon’s touch. It was difficult, when the only experience you had to call upon was the discomfort of your earlier encounters, but he seemed so earnest. And, as he waited, he continued lapping at the slick gathered between your thighs.

Throughly distracted by the press of his tongue to your aching cunt, the foreign sensation of warmth in the pit of your stomach, you managed to keep from tensing as Aegon pressed a finger to your entrance.

The ease of his touch was different than the quick, rough thrusts you’d grown used to and you found yourself sighing in a mixture of relief and pleasure as his thumb rubbed circles over the bundle of nerves. As foreign as the entire experience felt, you found yourself enjoying it more with every passing moment.

Until, however, a pressure began to build at the base of your spine.

When you tensed, gasping as you attempted to make sense of the new sensation, Aegon cooed. “Don’t fight it, my love,” he urged, fingers continuing to press into you - touch further igniting the spark blazing across your skin. “Let go for me.”

With a cry of pleasure, a noise you lifted a hand to cover, you felt the blaze swallow you whole. Aegon pressed forward, eagerly lapping up your release, and your vision began to white around the edges as he hummed.

For a moment, everything ceased to exist.

There was only the ragged sound of your breathing and the uneven thump of your heart as you attempted to make sense of the intense warmth you felt. 

All too suddenly, however, a pang of discomfort drew your attention back to Aegon whose teeth sank into the soft flesh of your hip. “That was your peak,” he explained, grinning as his thumb continued to rub soft circles over the bundle of nerves - eyes glimmering with an unrestrained joy with every twitch of your limbs. “How did it feel?”

Unable to make proper sense of your own thoughts, and unable to choose your words with your usual careful precision, you hummed. “Fine,” you whispered, though your twitching thighs and hips chasing his touch as he pulled away betrayed you. He met your lackluster review with a raised brow, waiting for elaboration. “I think I need another to truly understand the joy of it.”

A laugh, genuine and all too pleased, escaped Aegon as he stood. He made quick work of his own clothing, pushing the fabric to the ground without a care, as he shook his head. “I’m afraid you were meant to be my wife,” he teased, climbing onto the bed to join you with a look that only served to bring a reader warmth to your skin. “And I’m afraid I’ll have to spend the rest of my life between your thighs, making up for lost time.”

“You’ve a duty to the realm,” you reminded him, though it sounded weak in your own ears - a flimsy rebuff as he tipped his head to press his mouth to your throat once more.

“Mm, but my first duty is to my wife and I’ve neglected her long enough. The realm can wait,” he announced.

Aegon settled above you and, for the first time, there was no stench of wine - no fumbling hands, no unsteady swaying. He was present, eager, and overwhelmingly affectionate as his mouth pressed to your heated skin. 

Any lingering doubt, any fear that this time might be like the few others, dissipated as his hand explored your heated skin. His touch was light, almost teasing, as his fingers brushed your chest, your stomach, your thighs. You could feel his lips curve into a smirk with every soft noise you made and, as something of a reward, his touch grew steadier the louder your noises grew.

“I want to hear you,” he assured you, his hand dipping between your spread thighs to gather the slick pooling there. “Sound divine, moaning for me.”

As he babbled, words of praise escaping his lips in a near incoherent stream - never once falling quiet, though you found yourself unsurprised - he reached for the base of his cock. The head dragged through your folds, gathering slick, before it notched at your entrance.

Unlike previous encounters, Aegon took his time sinking into you.

With one hand pressed into the mattress near your head, the other gripping your hip so tight you feared it would bruise, he pressed forward slowly - deliberately. There was no rush, no frantic urge to reach the end, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as his forehead pressed to yours.

The noise Aegon made rivaled your own and you found yourself lost in him.

Soft silver curls, disheveled from your fingers raking through them; darkened violet eyes, torn between watching your face and eying the way you took his cock; parted lips, swollen and red from kissing you - he looked beautiful, and you wasted no time telling him so as you lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

“So beautiful,” you whispered, voice cracking with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Aegon paused - slow, deliberate thrusts stopping - as he blinked in surprise. His lips parted, however, before he could speak, you offered him a reassuring smile. “My beautiful king,” you continued, fingers brushing his flushed cheeks, “my beautiful husband.”

A strangled noise escaped his throat at your compliment and his cheeks and chest flushed a deep pink, a stark contrast to the fine silver of his hair. In lieu of response, however, he simply lowered his head and pressed his lips to yours.

The hand on your hip moved, thumb returning to the bundle of nerves that sent shockwaves down your spine, and for the first time, you found yourself enjoying the moment.

There was no worry as to whether this would provide the realm the heir they so desperately wanted, no worry as to whether Aegon may leave you wanting - there was no worry at all. Instead, all you felt was a pleasant warmth, the eager press of your husband’s lips to yours and the weight of him atop you, and you allowed yourself to revel in the feeling as the pressure you’d felt earlier began to return.

Aegon seemed to be near his own end, his thrusts gaining speed and force - though it was still far more pleasant than anything you’d ever experienced - and his lips parted from yours as he inhaled sharply.

Time seemed to slow and speed, all at once. Everything blurred into a searing warmth, all-encompassing and overwhelming. The edges of your vision turned white and you felt yourself plunge headfirst into the depths of pleasure as Aegon buried his face in the crook of your neck. His own release followed yours, the end sweeter than anything either of you had experienced thus far, and you couldn’t help but cling to him as he buried himself deep inside.

For several long moments, Aegon remained above you - more of his weight pressing you into the mattress with every second that passed. You both fought to catch your breath, chests heaving and ears ringing, and you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled in your throat as he lifted his head to glance at you.

“I’m dying, and you’re laughing?” He rolled his eyes, though there was a fond warmth in the question as he pulled away to lay beside you.

Rather than placing distance between you, Aegon tugged you into his side - wrapped an arm around your waist and nearly hauled your body atop his - and returned his face to the crook of your neck as you laughed a bit harder. “I just, I didn’t know it could feel like that,” you explained, still marveling at the lingering warmth you felt.

Aegon remained silent for a long moment, seeming to gather his thoughts, before he sighed and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’m sorry. It should’ve been like that all along,” he declared, hand returning to your hip as he attempted to pull you closer. “I didn’t want to disappoint you, or make you unhappy, but that seems to be all I’ve done,” he lamented. “But I promise, that will change.”

“So long as you’re with me, I think I’ll be happy enough,” you assured him, reaching out to cup his cheek once more - smiling as he leaned in to the touch. “I was happy to be betrothed to you, you know. I thought you were handsome and funny, charming.” Aegon leaned in, then, and stole a soft kiss - unable to part from you now, it seemed, now that something had shifted - and you laughed as you sank into him. “Perhaps there will be another tourney come summer,” you hummed, lips barely parting from his, “to celebrate the king’s heir.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, nose brushing yours as violet eyes searched your face. “But heir or no, I’m glad to have you by my side.”

Though a small shred of doubt lingered in the back of your mind, a nagging feeling that made you nauseous, you swallowed it with a smile. Aegon’s attention was yours, his love was yours, and that was all you wanted. Certainty would come with time, with practice, and you were glad to spend as much time with him as he wanted.

The only thing you’d ever dreamt of - a husband that wanted you - was finally yours and, despite the rocky start to your marriage, you found yourself glad that it was Aegon.

_________________________________________________________

Author's Note: This may be fanon!Aegon but I just wanted something a little soft. He deserves some love. I was also a little nice to everyone but you know what, why not? It's fiction. Not sure how it got this long but here we are.

Taglist: @anaya-rhys, @holypeacecrown, @marvelously-flawed, @travelingmypassion, @letsgotothehop, @reynacrawford, @liannafae, @ffsg0jo

[novaursa]

Web of Gold (honeymoon)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: royal wedding

- Next part: addendum

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995 @thisbiann @whiteoakoak

The tour of the realm—the grand honeymoon Aegon had so eagerly promised—was supposed to be a diplomatic gesture, a way for you and your new husband to visit various lords and strengthen alliances. In reality, however, it was quickly becoming one of the most entertaining—and slightly absurd—experiences you had ever endured.

From the moment you and Aegon set out from King’s Landing, it was clear that Aegon had no intention of treating this tour with the gravitas expected of a king and queen. He was far more interested in the celebration aspect of things. Every castle you visited, every hall you entered, Aegon treated as if it were a grand feast thrown in his honor, no matter what the occasion.

It started in the Reach, where you were welcomed with open arms at Highgarden by Lord Tyrell, who was clearly under the impression that this would be a formal visit of state. But Aegon, with a goblet of wine already in hand before your first meeting even began, made it quite clear that he had different priorities.

“My lord,” Aegon said with a broad grin, clapping the startled Tyrell lord on the back, “I’ve heard your harvests are the finest in the realm, and your wines even finer. Let’s see if your reputation lives up to the tales!”

You had to stifle a laugh as the poor lord blinked, clearly taken aback, but before he could respond, Aegon had already started ordering another round of drinks for the both of you, as if this were a tavern and not the stately halls of Highgarden. Needless to say, the formal diplomacy soon devolved into an impromptu drinking competition between Aegon and Lord Tyrell, which ended, unsurprisingly, with Aegon declaring himself the victor—though the Tyrell lord was too tipsy to argue by the time it was over.

You leaned over to Aegon at one point, watching him slosh another goblet of wine in his hand as he grinned widely. “Aegon, darling,” you said with mock seriousness, “I do believe we were supposed to discuss matters of state, not… sample the entire vintage of the Reach.”

Aegon chuckled, leaning in to press a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Oh, Y/N, don’t be so serious. I’m the king; I can do both.” He winked at you, though his aim was slightly off, thanks to the wine. “Besides, isn’t this more fun?”

It was hard to argue with him when you were laughing as much as he was. And while you certainly hadn’t expected the tour to take this direction, you had to admit—it was far more entertaining than sitting through endless, dull meetings.

After Highgarden, you traveled to the Riverlands, where Lord Tully welcomed you with a lavish banquet. It was supposed to be a more subdued affair, given the Riverlands' recent struggles with uprisings, but Aegon once again found a way to turn the evening into something far less formal. By the time the main course had been served, Aegon had somehow convinced the entire Tully family to join him in an impromptu archery competition in the courtyard, all of them still in their fine dinner attire.

“Come now, Y/N,” Aegon called to you from across the courtyard, bow in hand. “Join me! Let’s show them how it’s done.”

You raised an eyebrow, standing at the edge of the gathering with a goblet of wine in hand. “Are you suggesting I try to shoot a bow in this gown?” you asked, glancing down at the intricate layers of silk and embroidery. “I’m sure the Tullys would love that.”

Aegon grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “If anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”

Rolling your eyes but unable to resist, you made your way over to him, accepting the bow he handed you with a flourish. The lords and ladies gathered around watched with varying degrees of amusement, clearly not expecting much from the queen. But with a wink at Aegon, you drew the bowstring and released the arrow, which sailed through the air and landed with a satisfying thunk—right in the center of the target.

The crowd erupted into applause, and Aegon let out a loud cheer, clearly more impressed than anyone else. “That’s my queen!” he declared, throwing an arm around you and pulling you close, much to the delight of the watching lords and ladies.

By the time you reached the Stormlands, word had spread about the rather unconventional nature of your tour, and Lord Baratheon greeted you both with a knowing smirk. “I hear you’ve been making quite the impression across the realm,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Aegon grinned, clearly proud of himself. “Ah, well, I find it’s better to… engage with the people, you know? Keep things lively.”

You smiled sweetly at Lord Baratheon, though you could see the glint of amusement in his eyes as well. “It’s true,” you added. “Aegon certainly knows how to keep things interesting.”

And so it went. Every castle, every lord, every gathering became less about politics and more about the sheer fun of it all. Aegon, for all his recklessness, had a way of turning every situation into a celebration, and while it certainly wasn’t what you had anticipated for your honeymoon, you couldn’t help but enjoy it.

As you sat beside Aegon one evening, the two of you watching the sunset over the Stormlands after yet another lively feast, he leaned over, resting his head on your shoulder with a contented sigh.

“Well,” he said, his voice softer now, the effects of the wine finally wearing off, “I hope this has been everything you wanted, Y/N.”

You chuckled, wrapping an arm around him and resting your head against his. “It’s been more than I expected, that’s for sure,” you replied with a grin. “But I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

Aegon lifted his head, gazing at you with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “Good. Because the fun’s not over yet.” He winked, leaning in to kiss you. “We still have the Westerlands to visit, and I have a feeling your Lannisters kin will be just as easy to outdrink as the Reach.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “We’ll see about that, Aegon. We’ll see.”

Back at the Red Keep, while you and Aegon were off turning the realm into your personal festival circuit, Dowager Queen Alicent paced the halls with mounting frustration. The soft clack of her shoes against the stone floors echoed through the corridors as she moved from one chamber to another, her face set in a deep scowl.

Every day seemed to bring a new report of Aegon’s increasingly ridiculous antics on this “honeymoon tour.” The letters from various lords were enough to make her blood boil—lavish parties, archery contests in formal wear, impromptu wine tastings. This was how her son was representing the crown? By gallivanting around Westeros like a drunken fool with you at his side, fanning the flames of his excess?

Alicent couldn’t help but bristle at the thought of you—you with your golden hair and saccharine smile, always indulging Aegon’s whims, always filling his goblet and laughing at his every joke. And now you were doing it across the entire realm, parading around like the perfect, doting queen. It was infuriating.

Sitting in her solar, Alicent could feel her hands clenching around the arms of her chair. "Aegon needs to act like a king," she muttered under her breath. "Not… not like some… minstrel.”

Across the room, Otto Hightower, her father and Hand of the King, sat at the table, perusing a stack of letters. His face, however, did not mirror Alicent’s irritation. Instead, Otto looked entirely satisfied, his lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile as he read through the reports.

“This alliance with the Lannisters,” he said, his tone calm, “is proving to be a stronger one than we could have hoped for. The lords of the realm are very pleased with the union. Aegon and Y/N have created quite the spectacle, and while I’m sure some of it is less… traditional than we might have expected, the results speak for themselves.”

Alicent shot him a sharp look, her eyes narrowing. “You mean to tell me you approve of Aegon turning the tour into a debauchery?”

Otto didn’t look up from the letters, but his smirk widened slightly. “What I approve of, my dear daughter, is that the Lannisters are firmly in our grasp. Jason and Tyland are content with the match, and the realm views Aegon’s marriage as a symbol of unity. The bannermen may raise an eyebrow at Aegon’s behavior, but they cannot argue with the strength of this alliance.”

Alicent huffed, clearly unsatisfied with that reasoning. “And what happens when Aegon’s behavior becomes… more than a mild embarrassment? What then?”

Otto finally looked up, his gaze cool and calculating. “Aegon may be reckless, but he’s still king. And Y/N, for all her indulgence, has proven to be a stabilizing force. She understands what needs to be done, and if she can keep Aegon’s temper in check, then this marriage will be more beneficial than any of us anticipated.”

Alicent pursed her lips, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. She hated to admit it, but Otto had a point. You did seem to have a way with Aegon—keeping him entertained, keeping him happy. Still, it grated on her that her son was more easily controlled by you than by her. After everything she had done for him, after all the sacrifices she had made, it was you he turned to now.

But while Otto’s satisfaction was clear, there was another member of the family whose mood seemed far more difficult to decipher. Aemond, who usually maintained his composure with cold, unshakable resolve, had been unusually brooding since your departure with Aegon. He spent hours in the training yard, his sword slashing through the air with a fierceness that bordered on frustration, but he rarely spoke of what was bothering him.

Alicent watched him from her place by the window, her brow furrowing. Aemond had never been particularly fond of Aegon’s antics, but this was different. There was a weight to his silence, a tension in the way he moved. She had tried to ask him about it before, but Aemond had simply brushed her off with his usual vague remarks about duty and honor.

Now, as she watched him pace the yard below, his expression dark and unreadable, Alicent felt her frustration grow. She had come to rely on Aemond’s steadiness, his ability to maintain order where Aegon could not, but something had shifted. He was distracted, preoccupied with something she couldn’t quite place.

When she finally approached him later that day, Aemond was standing by the fire in his chambers, his arms crossed over his chest, staring into the flames as though they held the answers to some unspoken question.

“Aemond,” Alicent said softly, stepping into the room. “You’ve been… distant, lately.”

He didn’t turn to face her, but his voice was low and controlled. “I have my reasons, Mother.”

Alicent crossed the room, her brow furrowed. “Is it Aegon’s marriage?” she asked, though the question felt incomplete even as she said it. “Do you… disapprove of Y/N?”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, the silence in the room was thick enough to cut. Finally, he spoke, his voice cold but with an edge that Alicent hadn’t expected. “Y/N is more than capable of handling Aegon. She does what is necessary to keep him in line.”

The words were calm, but there was something beneath them—something Alicent couldn’t quite decipher. She narrowed her eyes, trying to understand. “Then why are you—”

“It’s nothing,” Aemond cut her off sharply, his gaze still fixed on the fire. “Aegon’s behavior will catch up to him eventually. Until then, there is nothing to be done.”

But Alicent wasn’t convinced. She had seen the way Aemond’s eye lingered on you at the wedding feast, the tension in his shoulders whenever your name was mentioned. There was more to this than he was willing to admit.

She stepped closer, her voice softening. “Aemond, if there is something troubling you, you must tell me.”

For the briefest moment, Aemond’s expression faltered, his eye flicking toward her before he looked away again. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter this time, though the edge was still there. “It’s nothing you can fix, Mother.”

And with that, he turned, leaving Alicent standing in the room alone, more confused than ever.

[blossomingmoonlight]

⭑ The dragon and the princess ⭑

Masterlist

A/N: Deep into my hotd era, so feeding you with daddy daemon

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x niece!reader

Summary: Your name day was celebrated lavishly and after you and your uncle have a heated conversation, you try to get off when you are finally alone in your bedchamber, or so you thought.

Warnings: Targcest, making out, face riding, oral, vaginal and creampie.

Word count: 1.6k

The great hall was hot and filled with the smell of wine and food. The celebrations for your name day as the eldest child of the king were lavish indeed. After a while the last guest, your dear step mother finally arrived. You hated Alicent with a passion after what she did to you but sadly there was nothing you could do to stop it. You were sitting next to your father King Viserys and were presented with endless gifts. 

Then Tyland Lannister came to the table and presented you with a golden chalice inlaid with rubies and sapphires, a handsome gift, at least- more handsome than him. However before you could thank him the doors opened and none other than your uncle Daemon Targaryen walked in. His hair was short now and he looked ravishing in his new clothes. He started walking towards the table where you were sat and patted Tyland on the back before sitting at the far right side of the table with the queen and the hand in between you. “I- uhm… thank you, my lord for this beautiful gift.” You smiled awkwardly, you were not expecting your uncle to be back but your cheeks flushed at the thought of talking to him again.

“It is not as beautiful as you though, princess.” He smiled, and you cringed hard inside as you looked awkwardly at your father. “Oh- thank you my lord, how very kind of you.” You tried to end it there but it seems Lord Tyland was not finished. “Your Grace I was hoping to ask for the princesses hand in marriage, to bond our houses would strengthen the realm and I would provide your daughter with the strength and support she needs.” He suddenly asked, turning to your father. Your mouth fell slightly open at that and you felt the burning stare of your uncle at the other end of the table. 

“I- uhm… thank you lord Tyland but today is not about my daughters marriage, however I will think on the matter.” He dismissed lord Tyland at that. And he seemed to leave like a dog with its tail between its legs. You could hear your uncle snort and roll your eyes at him. Deciding to end the embarrassment and have some fun, like, one might say, riling up your uncle, you decided to head to the dance floor and dance with a handsome lord of house Tyrell. After a couple more dances with lords from Blackwood to Baratheon to Tully and Frey your sweet uncle finally had enough. He knew exactly what you were doing and he was not having it. 

“Might I have a dance princess.” He asked almost coldly, completely ignoring Lord Colin Frey who was enjoying his dance with you a little too much for Daemon's liking. “Of course uncle. Forgive me my lord. Maybe we could resume our conversation later?” You suggested politely. “Yes princess, that would be delightful.” He gave you a small nod and left to go back to his table, to which Daemon immediately grabbed your hand and waist and danced with you through the crowd. “You really don’t need to do all that to catch my attention.” He whispered into your ear. “What? What are you talking about uncle, me dancing with some lords to please my father?” You replied smugly, you knew how to get under his skin, but tonight you finally wanted to get under his clothes. 

“You know well enough what I’m talking about.” He said, but before you could reply with a witty comment, partners switched again and Daemon left the dance floor back to the table. You danced with some lord again and Daemon's eyes never left yours. After a couple of hours of more dancing and feasting the king finally called it a night and you thanked guests for coming. However much to your disappointment your uncle was nowhere to be found. And you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the thought he was laying with another woman right now. Feeling tired and having all of this pent up arousal from Daemon you retreated to your bedchamber. After your handmaidens finally finished changing you into your nightgown, your head at last hit the pillow. 

Thoughts of Daemon's lips near your ear infiltrated your mind and your hand started to wander down your breasts toward your stomach. When you reached your wet folds you started to softly caress yourself, with two fingers rubbing your clit you were eagerly trying to get off. To get Daemon out of your mind. “Fuck uncle- please.” You softly moaned at the fantasies your mind was serving you. But you didn’t really know how to get yourself off and it was starting to frustrate you.

“Please what?” A voice said. You shot up in your bed to see your uncle standing in the middle of your bedchamber. “Uncle- I didn’t-” You tried. “Having some trouble getting yourself off my dear niece.” He smirked as he walked over to your bed. “I wasn’t-” “Don’t try to fight it princess, I know all too well what you were doing. And for who. Thinking about your own uncle while fingering yourself is quite disgraceful don’t you think?” He mocked and started to walk towards you. Tears pricked in your eyes from embarrassment and you couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Don’t be upset my love, you just needed to get off, didn't you? Did I make you wet for me? Is that it? Do you need your uncle to fuck you proper?” Daemon said while he grabbed your chin and made you look at him. 

His eyes were full of hunger and lust. You glanced at his hard cock shielded by his pants and looked back up at him. All you could do was nod shamefully, knowing that his words soaked the sheets beneath you. And that was all he needed to plant his lips on yours as he crawled on top of you. “You don’t even know how long I’ve wanted to fucking pound you into this bed, fill you with my seed and watch it drip out of your pretty cunt.” He almost sneered against your lips, you moaned in return, even his words could get you off. “Dirty fucking whore, you love that don’t you? Being my own personal fuck toy.” He said as he kissed you again. Now forcing his tongue in your mouth and his hand kneading your breast. He sucked your tongue and bit your lip, after a while your lips swollen and red and breast sore from his kneading. 

“Please uncle, I need you, I need you to fuck me good.” You begged, you knew that’s what he loved. He started kissing your neck in response and after leaving a nice bruise on your collarbone he ripped off your nightgown and laid you down flatter against the pillows behind you. He kissed and licked down your thighs. Opening your legs to reveal your soaking pussy. He licked a long stripe up your folds and started lapping at your clit, making you moan loudly, you were sure that the whole red keep would hear but the pleasure consumed you and you didn’t care. Daemon grabbed your hips and moved you around with him so you sat on his face instead, you immediately rose, afraid of suffocating him. 

“Wait- what if I hurt you-” You said nervously. “You won’t. Now ride my tongue like the dirty little whore you are.” You shuddered at his command and resumed sitting on his face. You felt his tongue enter your hole and you couldn’t help but move fiercer against him. Chasing that high you so badly wanted. “Please yes-!” You moaned as you moved faster, you could feel the vibrations of his groans on your pussy and after mere moments you were cumming all over his tongue. 

Panting hard he rolled you back underneath him. “Now the real fun begins princess.” He whispered against your neck. He removed his own clothes and revealed his already leaking cock. “You're going to take it aren't you.” He said as he kissed your neck again while wrapping a hand around his cock jerking himself off a bit. “Yes. Please I want it all- I want you inside me please-” You pleaded, you clenched around nothing as he slid his tip through your folds multiple times before he finally entered. “Good girl.” You could only moan his name as he started rutting inside you like a dog in heat. 

“Fuck- take it. Take my fucking cock princess. Oh that tight, fucking, cunt around me feels so good, no one has a better cunt then you princess- fuck.” He ranted against your lips, pounding you into the mattress. The slapping of sweaty skin could be heard loudly across your bedchamber and no doubt outside too. “Please uncle its so fucking good, please fill me with your seed- please- please fill me!” You almost screamed. His cock hitting that spongy spot inside you just right, making you think you were seeing all of the seven gods right now.

After a few more thrusts and his thumb rubbing on your clit and you moaned his name as you came, clawing at his back and toes curling as you felt the most amazing pleasure of your life. The clenching of your pussy around his cock finished Daemon as well. With a couple of final hard thrusts he did as was promised and filled your pussy with his seed. “Fuck- princess, oh that’s it. Good fucking girl.” He groaned. Completely spent he laid next to you and pulled you in his arms. 

“What if we get caught.” You asked, calmed from your high reality was setting in. “What if my father finds us or the queen or the hand.” You started to panic a bit. He kissed the top of your head and said, “Then I’ll cut off any head who tries to stop me from marrying you. We will go to Dragon Stone and I’ll make you my wife. And then I’ll get to fuck you every night.”

[catsteeth]

Sugar & Violence

Podrick Payne x reader 

+:✿ Chapter 1 ✿:+ : Lucky Boy

chapter 2

Summary: You’re a Mormont being held hostage by House Lannister.  You are acting now as the Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell, whom you’ve grown quite close with. But it seems that a squire has caught your attention as you have caught his. 

CW: afab reader, slow burn, mention violence, blood, mention of harassment, mention of NSFW themes.

A/N: I am not giving up on the leashed dog series yall I promise I have just been PINING for pod the rod recently… and tbh we need a little sweetness with everything happening in the other series okay. He is a rom com boy trapped in a medieval fantasy war and I feel so bad for him.

Word Count: 3348 

It had been many days now being held by the Lannisters. You’d no real duties on Bear Island as it was such a small house. Your Aunt was a fierce leader and needed no guidance. You had chosen to venture off of Bear Island to celebrate your coming of age. You decided to travel all over the realm, you wished to see the world and experience all of it. However at a tavern near Kings Landing a man decided to grab at you. You hated it when men did that, so you took your cup of ale and smashed the whole cup into his nose. 

It broke of course, and of course, like a child he wept. If a man had done such to another man no one would have batted an eye. But because it was a gold cloak you “assaulted”, and because you were you, a Mormont. An enemy house, you were arrested and brought to the Lannisters. They thought of killing you but instead decided to make use of you.  

And they did make good use of you. With you there, Bear Island would be swayed away from ever siding with Stannis against them with you in your custody. Not only that but you were trained in healing, and not nearly as hardened looking as the other women of Bear Island. You were made Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell while she was inhabiting the city. 

Margery had done her part in helping you fit in. She showed you how to style your hair, how to pick a dress that suited your figure, how to manipulate the men around you, keeping you out of any more unnecessary trouble. When she dressed you up, no one would be able to tell you could swing a sword just as well as any Kingsgaurd or sellsword could. 

You see Margery had to pretend in front of everyone else, but with you, you weren’t loyal to the Lannisters and she knew this. Besides you two had bonded after many nights drinking wine late at night in her bedchambers. Like two little girls who had stolen their fathers ale. You’d spend the nights talking of your lives and your wishes. 

Margery was the same again and again, to be the queen. And yours was always the same, to live life and experience all you could.

You and she also talked of men. You’d had experience, and so had she. Not many women would admit it but you two were close enough that you felt you could. 

You and she attended many festive celebrations with one another, and to anyone else it would seem you were enjoying your time there. That was good, you did not want to attract any attention. 

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Your station as a handmaiden made it easy to overhear and eavesdrop on many high born conversations. One that caught your attention the most was that Janos Slynt, the commander of the gold cloaks, the man who arrested you, was going to be dismissed from his duty.

You weren’t above pettiness. You wanted to hear him be dismissed with your own ears. You found a small room within the castle. Tyrion was hosting a small dinner with Slynt. This was going to be the dinner where he was going to be dismissed. You pressed your back against the wall beside the door listening in. The majority of the dinner was mindless small talk, until

“Damn it boy!” Slynt said loudly. 

The shout was so loud you couldn’t help but turn and peer into the room, catching a glimpse of the man who arrested you, Lord Tyrion Lannister, and a squire. You saw that the squire had spilt wine all over the hand of Slynt. It made you smile, holding in amusement. 

“My apologies my Lord.” The shorter brown haired squire said. 

“You can pour your own wine.” Tyrion said in defense of the squire.

You looked back to Slynt and saw that you had been seen, Slynt raised a brow at you. 

“You girl! You the Mormont?" Slynt said loudly, 

‘Fuck’ you thought to yourself. Knowing you’d been caught. 

“Indeed, My Lord.” You said, putting on a meek and sweet demeanor.

“Come in here,” Slynt commanded. 

“What are you doing here, My Lady?” Tyrion questioned you gently.

“Looking for my Lady Tyrell, I seem to have lost my way, My Lord.” You said bowing your head. A convincing enough lie.

“I was responsible for your arrest, do you remember that, girl.” His face was confident and irritating.

“I do, Ser.” You said still attempting to keep a sweet and calm demeanor.  

“I thought she was to be punished?” Slynt said to Tyrion.

“She is HandMaiden to Lady Margery Tyrell, and as I am told, a very skilled healer. She has proven to be quite useful.” Lord Tyrion said with a smile looking at you, you smiled back. 

“A girl assaults a member of the gold cloaks and is given a position in your Kingdom?” 

“A decision made by the King. If you wish to disagree with his decision-” 

“Course not.” Slynt interrupted,  “Wine,” he commanded, holding up his empty cup. 

The same squire began to walk towards the man with the pitcher of wine. 

“Not you, boy, the bear girl.” Slynt said looking at you, the irritation boiled inside of you. But you did your best to keep your cool.

You took the pitcher from the squires hands, you looked at him for a moment, his worried expression changed into a smile. It was a smile of total innocence you thought to yourself. 

You took the pitcher and walked your way towards the table, as you began to pour wine into his cup he started to speak again. 

“Tell me girl, are you enjoying the city?” His tone was one of an interrogator.

“Yes, My Lord.” You said pouring, with a cherubic smile. 

“You don’t look like the women of Bear Island.” He said biting his lip, it made you feel ill.

“Indeed, My Lord.” Agree blindly, that’s what Margery taught you anyway

“Women there are beasts,” He said to Tyrion.

“Like you I assume?” Tyrion teased him, it made you smile.

“No, no, like her aunt Maege.” He said and your smile dwindled, but you kept it on. 

You didn’t respond this time, biting your tongue, you felt the anger in you rising but said nothing. You wanted to pour the wine on his balding head, but still, did nothing.

“Tell me is it true, is it true she fucked a bear?” 

“Lord Slyn-” Tyrion began

“What do you wish for me to say, my Lord?” You felt your temper slipping from between your fingertips. Your smile now gone. 

“Do you think I wish for you to lie girl?” Slynt’s tone was harsh,

You stared at him for a moment, your smile snapping back into place. 

“Whatever you’d command, my Lord.”

“Enough.” Tyrion tried to stop it.

“You’d do anything I commanded?” 

“I said enough. Lady Mormont, you may see to your lady.” Tyrion commanded, saving you from whatever was to come next.

You smiled and curtseyed as you walked back to place the pitcher back on the table. With your back turned to the men your face dropped and you made eye contact with the same squire. He looked at you with pity in his eyes. You couldn’t stand it. You spit into the pitcher and smiled at the squire, he tried hard to hold back his amusement, only giving it away with a smirk as he looked down at his feet. 

As you walked out of the room you made sure not to make the same mistake as before. You hid better, committed to hearing this man be removed from his position. And you did, and it was just as satisfying as you thought it would be. Especially when he was escorted by his own gold cloaks out of the tower, kicking and whining like a child.

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During the Battle of Blackwater you attended to many mens wounds. 

It had taken most of the night, you were not concerned with the war that waged outside the castle walls. If they won, nothing changed for you. If they lost, you’d either be set free, or once again, nothing would change. Most likely it would be the latter.

You among a few other ladies attended to wounds and dying men while the Maester did as much as he could for those who were far gone. 

Things had slowed down, beds were nearly full, but then knights rushed in holding Lord Tyrion. His face had been cut deeply. The cut had crossed his entire face. You could tell at first glance that it would scar, but he would live. It would have been extremely painful but thankfully he was unconscious. 

They were all shouting at the Maester. To halt what he was doing and to attend to their lord. As he did a tall man, Bronn, the man who replaced Slynt. Dragged a shorter man with short dark hair towards the Maester.

“Lads hand is cut deep, needs help.” Bronn said

“I can’t attend to every cut and scrape when there's a dying lord in my presence.” The old Maester said, quite dramatically you thought. Tyrion was badly wounded but he would live. “Mormont, girl, you attend to the lad!” He shouted to you.

“Is she any good?” Bronn said, the other shorter man looked at you with what looked like embarrassment, “This lad saved that Lord's life.” You huffed at his comment, it annoyed you how he didn’t ask you but the Maester.

“If I’d a cock they’d call me a Maester.” You said walking closer to him til you were inches apart, it made him take a gasp of air puffing up his chest, and his lips formed a line. “Show me,” You said, much softer this time. He relaxed a bit and as you presented your hand, palm facing him. He placed his hand in yours. “Not so bad,” you said as you examined it. 

“Hear that Podrick, not bad-” Bronn said to the shorter man. 

“Not so bad. It is still bad.” You noticed his expression change to a more worried one. You, for some reason, felt the need to let your cold and hardened attitude slip for a moment. “But you won’t lose it. I’ll clean it, stitch it, and bandage it.” You placed your other hand over his, trying to comfort him. “Sit.” 

He nodded and did so, laying his hand on the table. You began to clean it. Your eyes snapped from his wound to his face as he winced. “Is it true?” he looked at you and his eyes made your stomach feel like there were butterflies in it, so you looked back to his wound as you tended to it, “You saved him? Lord Tyrion?” 

“I- I helped him, My Lady.” He said, stammering. Though you weren’t looking at him you could tell his eyes were on your face.

“You’re quite brave, Ser.” You said as you finished cleaning his wound.

“Thank you, My Lady, but I’m not-” 

“He’s no Ser, that lads a squire.” Bronn interrupted, “I tell you what though Lass, you want a knight I’ll be happy to oblige.” He said stepping closer to you, your eyes returned to your work on the squires hand.

“Men like you amuse me, Ser. They believe they are still young, handsome, and desirable. No matter what they look like.” You said attempting to fain genuine amusement as if he’d told a joke.

As Bronn attempted to begin a retort, you heard a small laugh leave the unconscious Lord’s lips, still not fully conscious.

“See? I am a good healer.” You said as everyone looked at Tyrion's subtle laugh as you continued to work. 

The squire looked back at you with a slight grin, as if he were trying to hide his amusement.

“Much braver for a squire to do such a thing.” You said softly just so he’d hear it. 

He smiled at you in response, He was pretty you thought. Men on Bear Island were fearsome, rigid, and gruff. This one wasn’t, the opposite in fact. He’d had a natural goodness about him, a sweetness. 

That's when you realized he was the same squire from the dinner between Ser Slynt and Lord Tyrion. 

“I know you.” You said with narrow eyes and furrowed brows, finally realizing. 

“Yes, my Lady.” His smile and innocent response made you smile involuntarily, you tried to hide it to no avail. You were flattered that he’d even remembered you. The feeling of flattery didn’t come naturally to you at all either.  

“This part is going to hurt.” You said pulling the curved needle through his flesh, he winced and hissed. Your eyes went towards him, normally you never cared. A man should learn to handle pain, you always thought. But you hated to see him in any discomfort. “Bring him wine.” You called out to Bronn. Your words towards Bronn were no near as gentle and sweet sounding as they were towards Podrick. 

He began to drink it, only sipping a little at first, but you pushed the cup up making him down more. “You’ll want to be numb to this.” You explained. 

As he continued to drink you continued with your work. By the end of it you bandaged his hand, “Finished,” You said standing up, and he followed your actions. 

“I can’t thank you enough, my lady.” He said clearly a little drunk from the wine. 

“Alright,” Bronn said grabbing Podrick by the back of his neck and dragged him out of the chamber. You could hear Bronn outside say “You can fuck the she-bear later.” followed by some distant protesting by Podrick.

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A day had passed since the battle. You were in your chambers with Margery. You’d told her about all the handsome knights you’d seen that night. 

She’d teased you about how lucky you were to have gotten your hands on so many. You had begun to describe the squire you’d met. How strange it was to have met a man so pleasant in such an awful place. 

As the two of you laughed there was a knock at your door. Margery took it upon herself to answer it. 

“Lady Tyrell, apologies for the interruption. I came to thank Lady Mormont.” You heard his voice and knew who it was immediately. 

“Ah! I take it you were a knight she tended to during the battle?” Margery asked him, you wanted to laugh, but held it in.

“A squire, my Lady.” He said, his tone was somewhat sullen. As if he were embarrassed to say it.

“A squire…” Margery said with her signature smile as she turned to look at you, raising her eyebrows, then turning back to him “Well I shall leave you to express your gratitude.” She said as she left.

You stood from your chair and stepped forward.

“Lady Mormont?” He said walking towards you, as he did he pulled out a small but beautiful delicate yellow flower. It had only recently bloomed. 

“A flower?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. On Bear Island people hardly said the word thank you much less showed appreciation through gifts, especially not such sweet ones as this.

“I don’t have much, my lady. But I- I wanted to show my gratitude.” He said with his token innocent wide eyed look. You took the flower and smiled slightly, which made him smile back.

“It was my duty, you don’t need to give me flowers for it.” He looked down, as if he was disappointed in himself. You smelt the flower, to show your hidden appreciation of the gesture. “Show me your hand.” You held your hands out, he hesitated not expecting you to command such a thing, but he did it as you asked. “Hurting at all?” You asked softly examining the cut.

“No, my lady.” His voice was gentle as always.

“It’s healing well.” You said running your finger tip along the length of the stitches, the sensation made him take his hand away, rubbing it against the side of his pants. 

He grunted a little and cleared his throat, “All your doing, my Lady.” 

You looked at him with a smirk, “How long have you been squiring for Lord Tyrion?” 

“For a short time,” 

“Well, you’ll need to learn to pour wine. You spill wine on every Lord in Westeros, sooner or later you’ll spill it on the wrong one.” You said walking towards a table, you grabbed a glass and a pitcher of wine.

“Pour me wine.” You said handing him a pitcher of wine.

You stepped closer towards him, making his swallow hard. But he took the pitcher nonetheless.

“hold the pitcher like this-“ You said moving his hands position with your own, “from the handle, and the bottom” You looked up into his eyes, noticing he was looking right at you “Keep your eyes on the glass.” You said, snapping him out of whatever trance he was in and going back to the task at hand. 

“Like this?” He asked, his voice somewhat more confident.

“Mhmm.” The hum of your voice too close to him made him close his eyes for just a moment. He finished filling your cup, without spilling a drop, “Very good.” As you said it he and you looked at one another, his eyes were wide once again.

“What were you doing there, my lady?” He asked, with a genuine curiosity. “You said you were looking for your Lady, and forgive me for suspecting otherwise-” 

“Eavesdropping.” You interrupted “I had heard they were sending Slynt away, and I wanted to hear it myself.” 

“How did you hear of that?” 

“Again, eavesdropping.” You smirked

“A-and what are you doing here, in Westeros? You were arrested?” 

“It seems you were also eavesdropping.” You teased him.

“Uh well we were in the same room-” You ignored him,

“I left Bear Island to travel, during my travels a Gold cloak tried to force himself on me, so I defended myself.” You said in a matter of fact, you’d no regrets, and no pain towards the matter. However his big brown eyes looked saddened for you, pity, you couldn’t stand pity, “It’s alright, really.” You said trying to reassure him.

“Do you miss your home?” He asked, sweetly.

“I do,” You responded softly, strange how this man was able to gentle your harsh demeanor.

“What was it like?” When he asked it you were thrown off, no one had asked you anything about your home in a genuine way. No one had any interest in it beyond the same constant boring insults.

“Cold. Not just the temperature, the people. But it was beautiful there. Green, rivers, waterfalls.” You smiled softly thinking of it, and found yourself wondering about him, “What of you? You miss your home?” 

“I didn’t have much of one, my Lady.” He lowered his head,

“How’d you get here?” Your eyes narrowed wanting to know more of him. Genuinely. 

“I was the squire for a Ser Lorimer of the Westerlands army. One night he was drunk, and he stole a ham, he shared it with me. We were caught, and he was sentenced to hang for his crime but I was spared for my name.” 

“Lucky boy.” You said with a smirk. One that made his stomach flip. 

“You are different, with the men at the tables. You’re sweet and… simple- but you're not that.” He said, stammering, trying his best not to offend you. 

Your smirk faded, “Men want sweet and simple. Men don’t beat things that are sweet and simple.” 

��You’ve been beaten?” He asked as if it were a horrific discovery. 

“Most girls have.” You said calmly in contrast 

“I-I am sorry, My Lady.” 

“That’s alright. "

“No, it’s not.” 

“No, it’s not.” You smiled softly at him. “You’re a good man, for a southern man. Or just for a man.” 

“Thank you, my lady.” He said with a slight grin. 

“You don’t have to call me that. (Y/N), will do.” 

“(Y/N)” he smiled to himself “(Y/N) Mormont… it is a pretty name.” His grin grew

“You never told me yours.” 

“Ser Bronn told you-“

“But you never told me.” You interrupted. 

“Podrick Payne, my- (Y/N)” He stumbled remembering to call you by your name. 

“Well, goodnight then, my Podrick.” You said teasingly with a smirk. 

Hearing you say those words, “my” followed by his name made a heat rush his face, a visible one. He licked his lips and bowed his head as he responded “Goodnight, (Y/N)” He said as he left you. 

You smelt the flower once more before Margery barged in, 

“A squire?” 

NOTE:  There is a serious drought of Podrick Payne fan fiction series on this app so I had to.  And yes… as always my babygirls, we will be fucking. JUST HOLD ON…  I don’t know dick about Slynt so his dialogue is probably off so i apologize if you love him or smth lmao.  TAG LIST: This is a new series so if you want to be included comment or message me!

[peachessndreamss]

A Rose by Any Other Name.

Summery : Princes Aegon and Aemond visit Highgarden to broker a marriage contract for the younger brother, while there Aemond finds himself in need of relief and doesn't care who with.

Characters : Aemond Targaryen x f!Tyrell reader

Warnings : Dub Con, abuse of title/rank, oral sex (male receiving), female masturbation, derogatory terms for women, alcohol consumption, cannon divergent, Aegon slander

Word count : 4.5 k

A/N : Sometimes my dreams are the unlimited pasta caste and sometimes they're this, sorry. While English is my first language I'm also profoundly dyslexic, I've done my best to minimise spelling and grammar issues but I'm there still are plenty.

The ground of a Highgarden stable yard was a mess of mud and straw as the eldest Tyrell daughter rode her horse sedately out of the stables and toward the open door of the outer keep. There had been days of fresh spring rains which had soaked the earth, swollen the rivers and brought the Reach alive in a riot of colour, from the azure blue of the sky to the lush green of the grasses in the animal fields and every colour of the rainbow in the food and flowers that grew and ripened under the warming sun. 

“Outriders say the Princes are only a few hours away if the good weather holds so don’t go far,” the horse master reminded her. 

“I’ll not go far,” she replied with an airy wave of her hand, the route she’d already set on in her mind was several hours over the roughest terrain the estate of Highgarden had to offer and would have her coming home a good while after the Targaryen visitors had arrived. She had no desire to stand in the muddy yard with her siblings to greet the princes when their wheelhouse rolled in. 

Her father had started brokering the marriage contract over 9 months before, ravens flew back and forth between Highgarden and Kings Landing as her father bartered, first, with the Hand of the King and then with Queen Alicent. She’d looked through the letters herself, working out just how much she was worth to her father and the Targaryens. Finally the Queen suggested Aegon and Aemond visit the Reach themselves to complete negotiations and hold a formal betrothal. 

If she was going to be sold off to Aemond Targaryen like a cow at a market she would at least spend her final day as an unbetrothed woman in the way she enjoyed the most. As she passed under the gate the horse beneath her gave a shiver of anticipation, as they turned toward the East and the low spring sun that dazzled her eyes the horse gave a snort of impatience. 

Despite the lack of visibility Lady Tyrell angled the horse toward a small cluster of woods she knew were on the horizon, she clicked her tongue and gave the horse a short squeeze with her thighs. At this the horse broke into a trot and soon they were hidden by the sun and quickly disappearing over the horizon. 

In the West, still 10 or so miles from Highgarden, the royal wheelhouse shuddered and bounced over the pitted road, shaking the two occupants and further fraying delicate nerves. 

Aegon groaned and gripped at the set beneath him, his head hanging low and his eyes closed tightly as he tried to stop feeling like his head and body were moving in different directions. 

“I can’t see why we couldn’t come on dragonback,” Aegon groaned as he fought the urge to vomit again. 

Aemond remained in stoney silence, seething at his older brother and the despicable mess he was. The night before they had slept in a tavern on the edge of the Reach. Aegon has drunk his way through an entire barrel of rose wine and was found in the morning asleep in the stable between two sheep. The smell of him, a mix of spilt wine and sheep shit made Aemond's stomach roll. 

“Isn't there some high born hole you can marry in Kings Landing?” Aegon complained as the wheelhouse gave a lurch and bumped over the poorly maintained track. 

“Cease your incessant whining,” Aemond finally snapped, kicking his brother in the leg. 

“Why did I have to come?” Aegon muttered, rubbing at his calf and glaring at Aemond through the lank locks of hair that had fallen over his face. 

“I would have paid good money to leave you behind,” Aemond replied coldly. 

“Why didn't you?!”. 

“Mother insisted,” Aemond shrugged and turned away from his brother, pulling the window cover back with a long finger and watching disinterestedly at the countryside rolling by. If he ended up marrying into the Lords of this land, the first thing he'd insist on was better roads. 

The wheelhouse turned sharply and Aegon groaned again, stuffing his cloak into his mouth to fight the nausea. Once it had passed he spit the fabric out, it tasted like sheep and possibly his piss. 

“I fucking hope she's worth it,” he hissed. 

The lady returned to Highgarden even later than she'd intended and in a far worse state. Her usually sure mount had startled while riding through a wooded area and thrown her off his back into a sticky quagmire, she’d landed mostly on her back and left side, the clothes had become soaked in mud that had been almost impossible to get off when it was wet. She had washed the worst of it off her face and hands  in a small stream but her riding clothes remained caked in the muck. 

“My Lady, what happened?” The horse master exclaimed as she trotted the beast into the stables. 

“He threw me is all, no lasting damage done,” she replied as she dismounted and patted the horse's neck lovingly. 

“Are they here?” She asked after a moment of heavy silence. 

“Your father's taken them to his solar, he's not happy you weren't here to greet them,”. 

She nodded sharply and handed the reins of the horse over to a stableboy.

“Plenty of hay, water and a few of those early golden apples,” she instructed before turning and heading into the yard.

She entered the building through a servants door, knowing she could make a path between there and her own rooms that wouldn't put her anywhere near her father's solar. She could be washed and changed and ready to entertain Princes long before dinner was served. 

She stepped into a small anteroom off the kitchens where she knew she could take off her ruined riding gear, stripping down to her small clothes and riding boots, she left everything in a pile, making a note to tell her maidservant about it as soon as she saw the woman. She couldn't well wander the halls of Highgarden in her shift so she took a clean servants dress from the stack in the corner and pulled the shapeless linen over her head, tying it around the middle with a belt of braided cord. She splashed icy water on her face and did her best to tuck any loose hairs back into their braid before setting off for her rooms. 

She'd almost made it back to her own chambers when a voice from behind spoke. 

“Girl, come here,” it commanded and she stopped in her tracks. 

No one in her father's household would speak to her like that, even if she was dressed as a servant. She turned slowly, the blood racing to her face when she looked at Aemond Targaryen for the first time. 

He was still dressed for travel, with black leather trousers and a similarly hardy jacket with a high collar. The patch over his eye hid most of the damage but the deep red scar extended up his forehead and down his cheek, the only mark she could see on his otherwise glass clear skin. There was no flicker of recognition on his face, he obviously had no idea who he was speaking to. 

“Come here,” he ordered again when she'd not moved toward him. 

She opened her mouth to protest, to ask him who he thought he was speaking to but she stopped, closing her mouth and moving toward him. If she was going to marry this man she wanted to know what type of man he was and how better to learn than to see how he treated servants. 

As she moved toward him she kept her eyes downcast, despite being desperate to look at his face in greater detail.

“What can I do for you, my Prince?” She asked meekly. 

“Come with me,” he replied bluntly and turned, striding down the wide and brightly lit corridor toward the rooms that had been prepared for the two visiting royals. 

At the door to his room he pushed it open and stepped back to allow her inside first before following and closing the door tightly behind the two of them. The sound of the latch clicking into place made her heart pound, she'd never been alone with a man before, she'd always been accompanied by her ladies or sisters but now she was alone in the guest wing behind a closed door. 

She stood in the centre of the main room, a fire burned merrily in the grate and the Prince’s trunk stood open at the foot of the bed. She looked up at him from under her lashes and caught sight of his deep indigo eye watching her. 

“Wh-what can I do for you?” She asked again, he'd catch on pretty quickly she wasn't part of the serving staff if he asked her to do much more than pour a glass of wine. 

“I'm in need of some relief,” he said softly, his left hand moving instinctively toward the laced fount of his trousers and his fingers twitched.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, her eyes following the movement of his hand before snapping back to his face. 

“I don't understand your meaning, my Prince,” she said softly, although she was fairly certain she did. 

She had been raised her entire life in the safety and beauty of Highgarden, her innocence protected at all costs and her exposure to men limited as far as possible, but she still knew what men and women did together in the privacy of their bed chambers. 

“The journey here was long and difficult and my brother is a terrible travelling companion, so before I meet with your sweet lady this evening and make dull small talk for hours I need you to get on your knees, open your mouth and suck my cock,”. 

A shiver crawled across her body, she'd never been spoken to like that before and after the initial shock of his crass words she found herself excited by them. But while his words were exciting the reality of what he wanted was frightening, she could tell him who she really was and face the consequences of running around dressed as a servant and tricking a prince or she could do what he asked and face any additional consequences of sucking his cock and having to make dull small talk with him later. 

“Did you hear me?” He demanded, his voice harsher now, “get on your knees, I've got no time for your wide-eyed innocent act,”. 

“But, my Prince, I've never-,”. 

He cut her off mid-sentence, anger flashing across his face. 

“Get on your knees,” he hissed through clenched teeth. 

The anger on his face and in his voice sent a thrill up and down her spine, making the tips of her toes and fingers tingle with anticipation. 

Slowly she lowered herself to her knees, the thin and rough fabric of the dress rubbed uncomfortably on her knees and the cold of the stone floor seemed to soak into her skin like water. 

“So you do understand, stupid little slut,” he muttered, moving toward her while unfastening the laces of his breeches. 

She watched with wide eyes as he pulled his cock free from the fabric of his trousers and pumped his hand up and down the thick muscle. By instinct her mouth filled with saliva and she felt a rush of wetness and heat between her thighs. 

“Open your mouth,” he commanded. 

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip before doing as she'd been told, parting her lips and teeth as he came to stand directly in front of her, the head of his cock now bobbing directly in her eye line. There was a bead of clear fluid slipping from the thin slit at the head, she fought the urge to lean toward and lick it up. 

The head of his cock was a dark red colour, completely in opposition to the alabaster white skin of his hands, he wrapped his fingers around the base and squeezed. 

“Keep it open,” he said as he angled the shaft toward her lips. 

This was her last opportunity, the very last second she could back out, tell him who she was, run screaming from the room but instead she relaxed her jaw a little and allowed him to push the head of his cock into her waiting mouth. 

His own mouth dropped open in a soft moan as the wet heat of her mouth enveloped his aching cock. He pushed his hips forward, forcing as much of himself between her lips as she could take, the soft, slick slide of her tongue on the underside of his shaft made his toes curl up in his boots. 

Her hands went to the front of his thighs and she braced her open palms against the leather, her fingers moulding to the shape of his lithe legs. He could feel the heat from her hands and the gentle curl of her fingertips through the fabric of his breeches. 

He drew back a little, feeling the warm suck of her soft mouth, he pushed one hand into the soft tangle of her hair and gripped. 

“That's it,” he breathed as he pushed forward again, “take it,”. 

Holding her head steady he pumped his cock between her lips, very quickly he was soaked from root to tip with her saliva and he watched transfixed as it slipped down her chin and wetted the rough fabric of her dress. 

Tears were forming in her eyes and slipping down her cheeks as he fucked her mouth. The musky and masculine smell of him filled her nose as the salty taste of his bare skin on her tongue made her head spin. 

Part of her was disgusted, she was a lady and possibly a future princess but she was on her knees getting her mouth fucked bya man who thought she was a servant. A much larger part of her thought this was the most erotic thing that could ever happen, her cunt was pulsing with the rapid beat of her heart,  she wanted nothing more than to shove her fingers between her legs and bring herself to completion, or even better, take Aemond’s fingers and use them. 

“You cock hungry little slut,” he hissed as he forced his cock deeper than any thrust before. 

She choked, feeling her body suddenly gag at the intrusion so deep into her mouth. She tore herself away from him, gasping for breath. There was pain where he was clinging onto her hair, pulling it hard between his lean fingers. 

“Too much for the little whore?” He sneered, cold laughter on his beautiful face. 

She nodded as he brought the hand that wasn't still tangled in her hair to her cheek and brushed away her tears. 

“Finish me off and you'll be free to go,” he said, pulling her back to him and pressing the head of his cock against her lips. 

She opened her mouth willingly and allowed him to continue, pumping faster but not as deeply as before, he began to pant and groan at every pass of her wet lips. 

“Fucking take it,” he panted, “take it, take it,”.

With a final shuddering, stuttering thrust she felt his cock kick in her mouth before her tongue was flooded with salty, bitter fluid. She kept her mouth closed around his shaft as his seed escaped between her lips and dripped onto her chest. 

“Swallow it,” he whispered, unable to take his gaze from her dripping mouth. 

He watched as her throat bobbed and she swallowed his remaining seed before leaning back and gazing up at him. Her cheeks were marked with the tracks of her tears and her mouth and chin were wet with his spend and her own spit. The tip of her tongue appeared between her lips and gathered a drop of him before disappearing again between her used lips. 

Aemond's cock was now rapidly softening and she watched with fascination as the long, thick muscle seemed to retreat back toward his body, the hot, round head disappearing under a hood of skin. 

He tucked his cock back into his breeches before reaching down and brushing his thumb across her lips, his touch surprisingly tender. 

“You can go,” he said bluntly before stepping away from her and turning his back. 

She sprang to her feet and dashed to the bedroom door, yanking it open and not bothering to close it behind herself as she raced toward the sanctuary of her own rooms. The soles of her riding boots seemed to boom on the hard stone floor and she believed as if everyone in the castle would hear her desperate escape. 

Although she kept her head down and didn't acknowledge anyone she passed she felt as if she'd been branded across the face with the awful names he'd called her. Surely everyone she passed knew what she'd just been doing. 

Her heart was thundering and her cunt pounding, the sensations she'd never felt before were making her head spin. Once she was in the safety of her own room she threw herself onto the bed and drove her fingers between the slick lips of her cunt with an urgency she'd never known. She bit into the feather pillow as she brought herself to orgasm within moments of touching the throbbing and engorged pearl between her legs. 

She lay panting on the bed, the smell of him still clinging to her like perfume, now mixing with the smell of her own arousal. 

Her ears still burned with the names he'd called her, she should feel humiliated and insulted but instead she longed to hear those names again. She longed to taste his cock again and then to explore his body, to take time to undress him, observe him and touch him. She wanted him to do the same with her, call her names, strip her naked and explore her virgin body without restraint.

When her maidservant arrived to get her dressed for dinner she could barely lift her head from the bed. She wanted nothing more than to hide under the sheets and touch herself again and again while images of the prince flashed through her mind. 

She was scrubbed clean in the bath, her hair washed and treated with sweet smelling oils. Her maidservant noted the bruises where she'd been thrown by her horse, but the marks on her knees were harder to explain away. 

She was dressed in a gold and green gown embroidered with roses, the usual soft cotton and silk felt like sand abrading her skin. She insisted her hair be styled in the same way it had been when she went riding, in case the Prince didn't recognise the lady he was forced to make small talk with. 

She waited by the door to the great hall, the princes had been announced and seated, then her father and his wife, her siblings next and finally it was her turn. Her name was called and she stepped into the hall. The room was full of the great and good of the Reach sitting on the tables that filled the room, at the top table, positioned above the others on a dais sat her family and Prince Aegon and Aemond. 

She looked directly at Prince Aemond as she walked toward the top table. There was a flicker of recognition followed by a moment of complete horror before he took back control of his face, a mask of neutral passiveness dropping over his features. She took her seat between the prince and her young sister. 

“My Lady,” he greeted softly. 

“Prince Aemond,” she replied.

“Prince Aegon,” she added, leaning around Aemond to address his brother who only nodded in acknowledgement, he was swaying gently in his seat and his eyes were glazed over. 

Aemond could have throttled his older brother for being drunk before the meal had been served. 

“It's a pleasure to meet you my Lady,” Aemond said softly, drawing her attention back to him. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” she replied politely, “but I do hope my small talk doesn't bore you,” she added, dropping her voice so only he could hear. She enjoyed the look of mild panic that crossed his face before she turned to speak with her sister. 

As the food was served the noise levels in the hall increased and she felt able to return to speaking with Aemond without being overheard. 

“How have you found Highgarden so far?” She asked. 

“Most accommodating,” he replied, taking a sip of rose wine. 

“Please forgive me if this question is indelicate,” she started, running the tips of her fingers up and down the thin stem of her wine glass, “if we're to marry, do you intend on taking your pleasure with the servants or your wife?”. 

The hand holding Aemond's wine goblet visibly shook before he placed it back on the table. He cleared his throat and turned his eye to the woman beside him.

“I would take my pleasure nowhere but my wife, and she would take a great deal of pleasure with me,”. 

“Because if I were your wife and found you'd been sticking your prick in the serving girls I'd bite it off,” she said as softly as possible.

Aemond cleared his throat again and gave a small inclination of his head. 

“Understood, my Lady,”.

After the meal there was music and dancing. As expected of her, she danced with her father and her brothers. She'd expected to have to dance with Prince Aegon  as well but he was too drunk to stand straight let alone follow the steps. Aemond, on the other hand, was everything a prince should be, dancing with her step mother and sisters before asking her to dance. 

The music changed to a fast paced peasant tune that meant they needed to dance in a small circle of others before being paired off. Once alone and moving around the floor they were able to speak again. 

“I just want you to know,” she started as she stepped around him, before coming to face him, their toes almost touching, she looked up at him, taking in the curve of his lips and a sharp shape of his chin, “the way you spoke to me, when you thought I was a serving girl made my cunt ache,”. 

She went to twist away from him to continue the dance with the man beside him but he caught her hand and held her, letting her twirl around him again. The line of dancers they were part of muttered and tutted as they scrambled to sort themselves without the Prince and his lady. 

When they were face to face again Aemond held her still, placing his hands on her waist. 

“When you are my wife, it will be my utmost honour to make your cunt ache every day,” he breathed before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on her cheek before adding “my slut,”. 

A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine and settled deep in her belly, making her cunt throb again. If she really was a slut she could drag him away somewhere quiet and make him repay her in kind for earlier but she was a lady, and he was prince and they were in a room full of gossiping courtiers. 

“Is that a formal proposal?” She asked as he straightened. 

“I think it is,” he replied, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips. 

“Then I accept,” she said, before twisting around him again in time with the music. 

The other dancers had moved on, leaving the two of them in their own space on the floor, undisturbed by anyone else. The swirling dancers around them made it feel like they were the only two people in the room, trapped by a colourful snow storm. 

Aemond didn't care that he wasn't in a position to officially offer marriage to her yet, his meeting with her father hadn't straightened out all the details but suddenly the dowry, the lands and the titles of their future children didn't matter anymore, these details were nothing compared to how badly he wanted to take her to wife. 

The song ended in a final flourish and the dancers clapped and called out requests for the next piece of music.

“Another dance? I certainly prefer it to small talk,” she teased with a smile as the music started again and the dancers around them took their places. 

“And is there something else you’d enjoy even more than dancing?” he asked before bowing to her and offering her his hand. 

Her neck flushed with heat as she took his hand and the two of them moved in a slow circle. 

“There are many things I enjoy more than dancing, my Prince, and I suspect you’ll show me a great many more,” 

For the rest of the night Prince Aemond danced with no one else and while it certainly earned some raised eyebrows from the more modest members of the Highgarden court neither Lady Tyrell or Aemond could bring themselves to care. They only had eyes for one another and as they danced the rest of the world seemed to melt away. 

At the top table Lord Tyrell watched his daughter and the prince with great interest. He was thinking he might have saved himself 9 months of bartering, letter writing and hand wringing if he’d just invited the prince to visit in the first instance. 

“They make a fair couple, don’t they?” his lady wife asked from beside him.

“When I met with him this afternoon I’d never have believed he could be so taken with her,” Lord Tyrell said, “he was so cold I didn’t think he could look at someone with anything other than contempt but she seems to have won him over,”. 

It was the small hour of the next morning by the time the music and dancing ended. Lord Tyrell and his lady had gone to bed hours before but the revelry had continued. Prince Aegon had staggered from the table and made toward a door at the side of the hall, he’d only made it through the door before tripping on his feet, falling on his face and deciding to stay there. 

As the musicians played their final notes prince Aemond kissed the back of his lady’s hand, looking up at her and smiling. 

“Until we meet again, my Lady,” he said softly, she opened her mouth to reply but he pulled her toward him, bringing his cheek to hers, his lips touching the shell of her ear, “my whore,”.

additional A/N : this has the potential for a part two if anyone's interested? Just putting it out there, letting the universe know.

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 9 | chapter 10

You had always thought being betrothed to the one you love would finally make you happy. The one you'd remember as you grew old. A memory you'd cherish forever.

Yet you never thought it would be a complete torture — wanting someone who doesn't want you. Not even a bit.

Queen Mother Cersei continued to ignore you through the days that come, as if you were a common guest in the Red Keep. Queen Margaery however, were already talking nonstop with you, asking how the two of you first met and interacted with each other.

Everyone had apparently heard the news. Tommen had avoided you. Jaime looked bitter everytime you saw him at dining halls and hear his father Lord Tywin discuss your engagement to Cersei and where to hold such event.

The Tyrells did not take it lightly at first, but knowing Ser Loras' character, the decision was for the best. In fact, the Tyrell Lord was happy he was set free from marrying the vicious queen, he'd always talk about inviting you both to see Highgarden to spend time as newlyweds.

Of course, there was always the talk about your sexuality and your special appendage, and you knew Cersei was shamed about all of it as she kept shoving glass of wine into her mouth, as if she needed to be drunk for that kind of conversation. You knew then her father meant this proposal as her punishment. And yours.

Tommen was crowned as King the following day, finally diminishing the gossip.

Yet, the continuing appearance of Jaime inside Cersei's chambers, or along side her at times, never not following her, only made your blood boil. Even after the engagement, he knew how to make you furious, he knew what was your weakest point.

One time you even stopped Jaime by holding unto his fake hand, making him almost stumble. He was about to follow Cersei into her chambers once again. You knew he was part of the Kingsguard, yet it didn't sit well on you for him to guard Cersei. You'd request Lord Tywin to change that once you had the courage.

"What are you doing?" you spat, glaring at the golden haired man.

"Following the Queen—"

"You don't have to do that," you interjected, maintaining your hold. "I trust another loyal Kingsguard can do your job."

He then laughed. "Are you jealous I might start another scandal?"

"You—"

"He's my Queensguard and my brother, Lady Y/n," Cersei spoke, making you both glance her way. "Let him go."

You swallowed a lump in your throat before your grasp weaken.

~~~

"I hear congratulations are in order," Tyrion said, laughing. "Here I thought you had listened to my advice. Yet you had to wear the noose or lay your head down unto the guillotine."

You sighed as you looked at the ground, kicking dirt after dirt. With nothing else to do and nowhere else to hide, you decided to visit Tyrion in his cells in the castle's dungeons.

"I . . . I don't know what I'm going to do," you said. "I . . . I have sent a raven to ask for my father's help. She . . . She doesn't . . . doesn't return my feelings."

"See, I told you she's cruel."

"I . . . I have loved her, you know. I . . . I know she has done terrible things in life, but I. . . I still find myself at a loss of words around her. My heart would still skip a beat every time she's near me. And I hate it. She's . . . She's my weakness and I hate it."

Tyrion looked at you sympathetically. "She's always adored when she doesn't deserve it."

You only stayed silent. Tyrion observed your dilemma and sighed. "I was once betrayed by the one I truly loved."

You glanced at him. "Surely you're not talking about Sansa—"

"No, no." He laughed. "Shae. She's a whore. I fell in love with a whore. And I truly believed my feelings were reciprocated. I should've trusted my gut that it was all a farce. I thought she was different. I thought she'd love a dwarf like me. Funny how that turned out when she told the court the other day how I was guilty in killing Joffrey."

You both stayed silent for a moment, regretting about your past actions.

"I mean, it can't be that bad, right?" you asked expectantly. "Marrying Cersei."

"She'd torment you, of course."

He coughed, leaning against the wall. "I want to feel sorry for you though. However, I might no longer be there to give my sympathies."

"What do you mean?"

"I requested for a trial by combat as a result of betrayal in court," he began. "And Cersei picked the Mountain as her champion."

You stared at him in disbelief. "The Mountain?"

The Mountain. Gregor Clegane. He was the largest, strongest and most feared man in Westeros. No one had ever outmatched him.

"You see, Y/n. When my sister hates someone, she'd do everything in her power to get rid of them. I have lost Bronn to my father's nicer offers. I lost my brother Jaime to Cersei even since birth, but I doubt he can even fight with one hand against the Mountain."

"What are you going to do then?"

"Well, Y/n," he said, smiling weakly. "I have always enjoyed having our talks, no matter how brief. But I believe this is goodbye."

~~~

You were heading back to your chambers when you accidentally bumped into Jaime only coming out from Cersei's. It made you push him against the nearby wall and clutch his armor.

You were envy, it wasn't a question anymore. You couldn't decipher how attached the twins were, and how no one could intervene.

"What do you think you're doing inside? Queensguard are supposed to stay outside the doors."

He chuckled, making you let him go. "She's in a good mood right now, Y/n. Don't try to break it."

"You—"

"I told you we have each other's backs no matter what," he went on in a whisper. "I know you'll be married one day. And one day, Cersei will finally bear another child. I'm sure you couldn't help but wonder once your son or daughter would be born with golden hair," he leaned closer into your ear, "Would it be yours or mine? Robert didn't notice. But I know you're clever enough to see."

The argument stopped when Cersei stepped out the door of her chambers. Your gazes met, and somehow underneath you could still see the Cersei you had known the past couple of weeks. And you knew then you had to let her go. For your own sanity. And hers.

What was once a hardened gaze softened as you stepped away from the Knight.

"Your Grace." You bowed at Cersei before hurriedly leaving.

~~~

You had avoided the Lannisters the following days. It was the only way you could move forward without getting affected. You knew you had to face them one day, but at the moment, you'd savor the time away from them.

At dinners, your seat was always empty, making Lord Tywin ask Oberyn of your daily activities.

You had found a secluded place in the Capital, one that's rarely visited. You could see the entire King's Landing from where you sat and wondered how you wanted to leave that place, how you wouldn't want to be tied down to Cersei in such a depressing place.

If she could only love you, her love would make this view bearable. But she didn't. She wouldn't.

You were still waiting for your father's response to your letter. The violent way was to offer Princess Myrcella, Cersei's daughter, in exchange. But you doubted Tywin would see that as a threat. And you knew you wouldn't choose that way anyway.

You met with Tyrion in his cells later that night when a certain idea finally came to you.

It was the only thing keeping you sane as you finally made your presence known inside the Red Keep. Oberyn even wondered why you were suddenly enthusiastic out of nowhere.

And even when you saw Cersei and Jaime as they entered the dining halls together, you didn't let it affect you. Oblivious of the way Cersei's eyes widened when she saw you at your seat, you went on talking to Margaery about her upcoming marriage to Tommen. You then could see why Cersei never liked Margaery. She was a parasite. And she thought you were too, marrying the Queen Mother and all.

~~~

Offer him Castle Yronwood. He'd set you free from the arrangement.

Yronwood. The castle you won fighting against the lords from the Stormlands when you were young. It was the reply your father sent to your raven.

You knew you had to offer it to Tywin to set you and Cersei free. She wouldn't ever have to marry anyone she doesn't like. She wouldn't have to marry you.

Deep in your thoughts, you didn't notice Cersei approaching you in the balcony.

You greeted and stepped back as she approached the railing and stared at the horizon.

The Queen would always stay beautiful in your eyes, no matter how ugly she was inside.

"Can't sleep?"

You shook your head. "Been thinking a lot."

She snorted a soft chuckle. "Aren't we all these days?"

You smiled at the horizon. There was a long silence before you spoke, "Don't you feel like running away from all this?"

"To where?"

"Anywhere."

"Having cold feet?"

And you laughed, realizing she was referring to your marriage.

"I am not," you managed to reply. "It would be an insult to deny your hand, Your Grace."

She looked at you. "Why are you still nice to me when I'm nothing but awful to you?"

You fell silent as you avoided her gaze. She went on. "Kindness is a weakness, Y/n. For women like us. You should know that by now."

You could see Jaime on the grounds below, talking at another Kingsguard and when you finally looked at Cersei, she was also looking at him. And if your heart could only break more, it would.

"I am cold," you announced as you shivered, stepping away from the Queen. "I'm heading back inside. And I suggest you do too, Your Grace. It won't be wise to catch a cold these days."

"Y/n?"

You stopped in your tracks. "Yes, Your Grace?"

"Nothing happened between me and Jaime," she said, making you glance at her. She sported a genuine look in her face. Yet, you didn't know if you should believe her or not. Maybe, she did care for you. Or maybe she's scared you'd tell her father about it.

But what was the difference if she was saying the truth. She didn't want you. She'd never love you. She hadn't ever loved you once. And you knew that now.

"It's okay, Cersei." You gave her a weak smile before leaving.

~~~

"What the seven hells is this, Y/n?" Oberyn's yell surprised you when you entered the breakfast hall where the Martells dine the next morning. Ellaria was holding back his hand as if to control his temper. But you knew, she had no chance of doing that.

You then looked at the scroll he threw at you, giving him a sarcastic smile before reading the contents.

"Your father would kill me, Y/n!" he said. "The Mountain would kill you."

Yes, you had offered yourself as Tyrion's champion for his upcoming trial.

"I had to help him, Oberyn. Someone has to help him—"

"It doesn't have to be you!"

"Come on, my dear," Ellaria interrupted, rubbing Oberyn's chest to calm him down. "I'm sure Y/n can still back down-"

"And let the innocent man die? There's no justice in the world unless we make it."

You had never seen Oberyn this furious before. And you were at the receiving end. He then looked around the soldiers and ordered, "Leave us."

You then added once the Dornish soldiers had left, "Besides, Cersei won't get to marry me if I die—"

"You can't die, Y/n. Not in my watch. I won't let you die," he said with gritted teeth.

"Thank you for your support. I can fight well on my own—"

"The Mountain has his own mind. He only knows two things, and that is to kill and kill."

"I've fought worse enemies than him, you know that, Oberyn."

"You can't die because you are one of the rightful heirs to the throne," he said in a whisper.

"What?"

"You're my brother Doran's bastard daughter."

"Our cousin Prince Doran? You must be losing your mind."

"He had an affair before Robert's Rebellion, before the Mad King became madder. And Doran had no idea, of course. Still has no idea. For he would have given you away, Y/n. Your mother hid you under her Maester's care in the Capital, but before your mother left for Dragonstone, she sent for me to take you to Dorne. Me and Elia took you to Y/f/n, a distant relative of ours, under your father's care."

"Why would he give me away?"

"Because your house was meant to be removed from existence. Because you weren't supposed to be alive. Your mother is none other than Rhaella Targaryen."

[written-in-flowers]

The Last Night: Otto x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Otto Hightower x Tyrell!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre: smut, fluff, and more smut

Summary: Otto comes to his Rosebud's bedchamber the night before their wedding with one last couple activity.

Tags: older man/younger female relationship, virgin!reader, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving/giving), spanking, edging, reading while being fucked, vaginal penetration, breast and nipple play, two horny people finally getting it on.

Part 1 to this

***

The final day of the Harvest Moon Festival came on the fifth day of the month. The following day would be your wedding. Your parents hosted a fabulous ball to celebrate the upcoming ceremonies. Full of entertainment, dancing, drinking and feasting, it was a ball said to rival last year's festival. You returned to your chambers, feet aching and light headed from sweet wine, and eager to get into your bed. Handmaidens peeling you out of your orange and yellow gown, you sighed with relief as you removed the flowers and leaves from your hair and massaged your own scalp. Your festival dress, a gown covered with painted fall leaves and flowers, might have been a masterpiece of fabric but it’d weighed you down considerably. The headpiece itself ached your scalp towards the end of the night. 

Wishing your handmaidens good night, you blew out the last of your candles and climbed into bed. The realization hit you right then. This time tomorrow, you’ll be a married woman. You’ll be Lady YN Hightower, wife to Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King. The King himself announced it at the final feast. He told the entire room how there’d been no finer man for the position than Otto. You’d congratulated him with a smile, and a glimpse down the front of your dress. He’d told you the tease might’ve been risky with so many eyes watching you both, but you couldn’t resist it. You liked how pink his cheeks became whenever you hinted at it. Ever since your time in the garden the first night, you and Otto had grown closer. You enjoyed his company above most you knew; he truly listened when you spoke and he remained perfectly respectful. 

Until he caught you alone. Then his hands and lips rarely left yours. 

Laying on your back, you pictured the last time you’d gone into the garden with him. Underneath the grove of citrus trees, the two of you took tea together to enjoy the autumn air. It started out simple enough: stories of the previous night, tales of King’s Landing and reminiscing about both your families together. You could be honest with Otto. Nothing you said fazed or upset him. He told you he’d heard worse things in The Red Keep. But, when you went to one of the trees for a fresh orange, he’d come up right behind you. Even thinking of it now gives you chills. 

‘I wish I could peel all these layers off you…’ 

He nearly did. You bit your lower lip as you pictured it in your head. Your back against the tree, fingers digging into the hard bark as you balanced yourself on one foot for him. Otto on his knees, he’d put your thigh over his shoulder and his face buried under your skirt. The memory of his tongue lightly flicking your bud made your insides throb. He’d driven you half-mad from the motion alone; he did not swirl or caress his tongue against it. He only held your lips open and attacked your hard clit. You begged him to put his cock inside you. You needed to feel more of him, but he denied you this. He said you’d have him with time. Instead, he placed you on his lap at the table and let you grind against it. You made a mess on his cock while he made one on his shirt and your gown. 

But tomorrow night, he will be all yours. 

Spreading your legs apart, you knew the perfect way to end your night. You tugged down the loose neckline of your nightgown underneath your breasts, and envisioned Otto’s mouth on them. You loved how his beard prickled the supple flesh, and the way he gently sucked and licked them. A part of you wished you didn’t give into him so easily, but after having a bite of the plum, you hungered for the rest. Rubbing your nipples, you thought of his hands replacing yours. He’d lay on top of you, cock pushing out your folds to tease your center. Your breathing labored as you rocked your hips into the sheets covering you. You held onto the memory of his warmth and touch. You concentrated on the image of his tongue swatting at your nipples as you grinded into his thick length. The length you wanted stretching and filling you; the length you wanted spraying your womb with his seed and impregnating you. You thought of the last time you’d put him in your mouth. It’d been in the library where he caught you reading quietly. It started with talking of the eastern cultures of the world and ended with your head bobbing up and down in his lap. 

You’d lifted your dress up your thighs, thinking of Otto’s long fingers touching your bare flesh, when the door opened. You let out a yelp and sat up, ready to scold whichever servant interrupted you, but the fire immediately died. 

“Ser-Ser Otto,” you breathed, pushing hair from your face, “What brings you here this-this late?”

Otto closed the door, and by the dim light of his candlestick you saw he wore only a shirt and breeches now. “You, my lady,” he said, coming to your bed. You noticed he held something in his bed, “I was enjoying a late night read and I came upon a story I thought you might like.” 

“Could it not, um, wait until the morrow?” 

“I’m afraid not.”

He used his candle to light the ones near your bed. With each candle, more light came into your corner of the room. With more light, came to sight of your half-naked body under your sheets. Otto’s eyes swept over you in the glowing lights, and you saw him gulp thickly. 

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the empty space beside you. 

“Otto…” you didn’t bother hiding your bare chest from him or the placement of your hands on your thighs, “I must warn you, ser, if you climb into this bed, we may do something The Seven wouldn’t approve of.”

“I think they can shut their eyes this one time.”

He sat beside you, putting his arm around your shoulders and bringing the book between you. A book bound in brown leather, you opened it to the first page. On it, you saw ‘Tales of the Flesh’ printed in red and gold lettering above the picture of a naked couple. They both laid on their sides with their heads facing each other’s groins, legs painted to indicate they’d been spread and tongue painted to show the action taking place. 

“I’ve never read this one,” you told him, the fire in your loins relighting. “Where did you find it?”

“I’d brought it with me,” he admitted, tucking hair behind your ear. “I’d been perusing it  when I came across a story I thought you might enjoy.” 

He flipped the pages to a middle section of the book. “The Maiden and the King,” you read out loud. 

The picture underneath was set in a bedroom. On a bed of scarlet sheets and gold curtains was an older man with a gold and ruby crown on his head, twirling his thick blue mustache. Across from him was a young woman, wearing nothing but a harness of gold chains with thick black curls cascading down her back. She posed her arms above her head, exposing most of her body to the king, who seemed to approve. 

“What is it about?” you asked, already picturing yourself in the maiden’s position. 

“Exactly what the title implies,” he said, “A young maiden pleasuring her king. Read it to me, pet. My eyes are quite tired from this evening’s festivities.”

You turned the page and did as he asked. A nervousness settled in your stomach when you realized the gravity of the situation. Someone might come any moment and find him in your bed. You thanked the Maiden for bringing Otto to you on this particularly heated night, the man whose body you craved constantly. But, you knew if anyone found you they’d tell your parents. 

Well, you are getting married tomorrow. In all honesty, did it truly matter?

As you went further into the story, you described to Otto how the king bought the maiden at auction and planned to deflower her under a full moon. Otto’s hands pulled down your gown. You only shifted to let it fall to your waist, then continued reading as he gently caressed and kissed you. 

“Faeyesha disrobed in front of His Excellency,” you read, “The gold chains glinting against her copper skin. Dark eyes dared him to come closer, to taste her sweet honey and fill her with his seed. His Excellency watched the young beauty dance before him. Faeyesha’s form enticed Nakyros to begin pleasuring himself to her body. Never before had His Excellency seen a thing of such stunning beauty-”

“-He is not the only one-” interrupted Otto, one hand grabbing your breast while the other slid between your legs. 

“-And the sight of Faeyesha’s bare breasts entranced him greatly. When he came to full hardness, he beckoned the girl forward. On the bed, King Nakryos examined the maiden. He spread the girl’s lips and slid a finger into her we-we-wet-ness,” your voice wavered as you felt warm fingers reach your lips, “Pushing and pulling until the girl squealed with ecstasy.” 

“Sit here, sweetling.”

Otto guided you between his legs, entrapping you in his embrace. Your bodies flushed together, every sensation heightened. Otto kept your legs apart with his own, and lifted your dress over your thighs. 

“This way I can touch you better,” he said, kissing your neck. 

“Otto, please,” you whimpered, wriggling against the hand on your sex, “If you keep touching me there…”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to take more than your fingers and tongue.”

He turned your head from the book, cupping your jaw gently. “That is my intention tonight,” he said. “Forgive me, but gods, YN…I cannot resist you anymore. I have done everything within me to keep myself from taking you as I truly wish. I did not wish to dishonor or disgrace you, but tonight…” he went back to circling your center, “You looked so enticing, so alluring and arousing.”

“Otto,” you giggled bashfully. 

“I cannot restrain myself any longer,” he continued, rolling your nipple in time with his other hand. “You’ve bewitched me, YN. I must have you tonight. I cannot wait any longer.” 

You pushed his hand deeper into your sex, grinding into his fingers on your own, “Then have me. Please, Otto, please.” 

Gingerly, he slid a finger inside your pussy. You jumped at the sudden intrusion, but easily settled into it as he continued. “Keep reading for me, darling.”

“-His Excellency slipped a second finger to ensure the auctioneer had not been false with him. The maiden writhed with pleasure as her new master explored her sex…”

Reading became more difficult once Otto explored you himself. It was a sensation you took a minute to adjust to, but once you did, you melted in his arms. A second finger joined the first and went deeper; the palm of his hand lightly rubbed against your clit each time he went inwards, bringing about more teasing that made you dizzy. 

“...His Excellency then took Faeyresha fiercely…His girth and length opened her sex, bringing him…him…”

“Full pleasure,” Otto finished, curling his fingers inside you. “Nakryos fucks his slave quite well, don’t you think so?” 

“Ye-Y-Yes.”

“Fortunately, my love,” he quickly untied his trousers for you, “I promise not to be so hasty. Lean forward for me.”

You moved forward between your legs, adjusting yourself to the strange position and keeping the book in front of you. “Turn the page,” Otto said, “Keep going.” 

Turning the page, you continued reading about the positions Nakryos took Faeyresha. Otto changed his hand’s position and began fingering you from behind, his thumb between entrance and anus. Teasing your nipple yourself, you pushed into his hand as you read about Nakryos’s and Faeyresha’s tale out loud. You’d been describing how Nakryos bent Faeyresha over the windowsill and took her underneath the night sky when that familiar tightness built in your gut. You chased your climax by riding Otto’s fingers, eyes rolling back at the thumb teasing your hole. But, right when you reached the threshold of your orgasm, Otto withdrew his fingers completely. 

“Otto,” you whined, shaking your hips in frustration, “Put them back.”

He chuckled at your demand, and you felt something longer and hotter rest on your ass. “With time, precious,” he insisted, rubbing your buttocks with both hands, “With time.” He gently squeezed both sides, pushing the cheeks apart and lifting them slightly. You trembled as warm kisses dotted up one side to your tailbone, “Does this arouse you?”

When you nodded, he continued massassing your ass until he reached your sex again. Sliding two fingers back inside you, that delicious sensitivity returned and you went back to meeting his hand. Otto brought you close to the edge with a few more pumps of his hand before pulling away again. You did your best to quiet your frustrated whining, but the sensations coursing through you forced your face into the sheets. Legs and thighs trembling, you stayed still as Otto’s fingers went back into you a third time. His free hand caressing between your thigh and ass added tingles of pleasure to your torture. You continued rutting against him, clenching the sheets and biting into them as you let the arousal take over. 

“Roll over for me.”

You maneuvered yourself enough to spread yourself on your back for him. Your body quaked when you watched him trickle spit right onto your sex. Cupping your breasts, you pinched your nipples in front of him as he whirled his thumb around your sex. When he kneeled in front of you, you drooled at his hardened cock. You reached down to grab him. His shaft pulsated at your touch, the hardness making it hot and throbbing. 

“Let me have it,” you pleaded, using the droplets of precum to coat him. “I need it.” 

He removed your hand from him and lifted your knees upwards. The cock you so desperately desired rubbed against your soaked cunt. He rolled the head of it there over and over until you were pushing him towards your entrance. By the time he pushed the head into your heat, you were clutching the pillow under your head and whimpering desperately. A twinge of pain did burn through you as he slipped further inside; the stretch distracted you from the pleasure for mere seconds before he fully entered you. The both of you released sighs of relief at finally being connected. Your eyes met his, full of lust and desire as he slowly began moving his hips. His hands roamed up your torso, palming your breasts while he dotted kisses on your neck. The pubic bone above his cock brushed into your clitoris, and you gyrated against the hairs tickling your sex. 

“So beautiful,” he groaned, holding himself deep inside you, “And all mine.”

“Yes…Yes, I’m yours.”

“Say that again,” he growled, picking up the pace. You felt him only withdrawing an inch or so each time, so you both stayed locked together. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whined, “I’m yours.” 

You continued saying this, your nails digging into the pillow under your head. Widening your legs further, you started meeting him halfway to let him know you wanted more. The bed let out soft creaks as he knelt up, grabbed your thighs and pounded you. If anyone heard you, it didn't matter to you. You’d been longing for this moment for days, maybe even weeks. Having Otto fill your pussy over and over, his hips slapping against your bottom from the position, it was everything you dreamed of. Grabbing both his hands, you put them on your breasts to make him squeeze and tease them while he fucked into you. Every touch he laid on you added to the pleasure rising up in you. 

“Otto, Otto,” you breathed his name into the air, head tilting back into the pillow, “Please, don’t stop. Please, keep going.”

And he did keep going. His body started trembling when yours did. The tightness of your walls gripping him, his tip hitting the spot making you see stars, your orgsams flooded both your senses. You became numb to everything but the climax Otto worked out of you by toying with your clit and sucking your nipples. His own grunts vibrated against your breasts, his thrusting becoming more erratic as a distinct warmth spilled inside. You loved it, you realized. Even as you grew sensitive during the afterglow, you kept pushing against him. Your pussy milked out every drop he could give you. 

Otto pulled out of you and collapsed onto the bed. You yearned to have him close to you, but the chill of the room cooled down your hot skin. A hand started moving between your thighs, fingers lazily circling your hardening bud again. You squirm at the shots of sensitivity hitting it, but you did not stop him. 

He chuckled at your movements. Rolling onto his side, Otto lifted one of your legs over his as he rubbed your soaked pussy. “I only wish to make sure it stays in there long enough, petal,” he said in your ear, kissing you deeply. You tasted yourself on his tongue, and you slid yours into his mouth for more. “I also quite enjoy touching your sweet cunt. I love the sounds you make when I tease you.”

You reached down to his cock, stroking it languidly from your position on the bed, “And I love playing with your cock. It’s so thick and makes me wet right away. Will you stay with me a bit longer?” you pouted, batting your lashes, “Let me touch it for a while more?”

“Anything for you,” he kissed underneath your ear and nuzzled your neck, “My sweet Rosebud. I think we’re going to enjoy our married life together, don’t you?”

“Oh yes,” you sighed as his fingers dipped back into your pussy, “Yes, completely.” 

Otto stayed in your bed the rest of the night. You admitted that you couldn’t get enough of him. You loved his warmth, his mouth, his tongue and cock. Your favorite part had been when you rode him for the first time, your ass bouncing in front of him so he could grab and slap it. You’d never cummed harder than right then. You could have gone all night if you both hadn’t passed out after the third round. 

****

“May I ask why Otto was in your bed this morning, darling?”

Out of all the people in the castle, your mother had been the one to find you. Jalissa Tyrell did not appear at all surprised or appalled at the sight of your future husband nude in your bed. She actually expected it. Apparently, your handmaidens whispered about your escapades with Otto in the Tyrell gardens. 

“He visited me in the night,” you admitted, letting her braid your hair for you. “We hadn’t intended to go as far as we did. It happened naturally.”

“You should have been more cautious,” she said, adding a crown of fake flowers and feathers to your head, “The maids heard you.”

“I didn’t think about it at the time,” you said, hiding your smile in the mirror. 

You felt her eyes on you, and pretended to be busy with a perfume powder. Thankfully, your mother arrived right after Otto had finished waking you with his tongue. 

“Did you enjoy it?” she suddenly asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Was he gentle the first time?”

“Very, and yes I did enjoy it. He was…thorough with me.” 

She stifled a laugh, “Pious men like Otto tend to have extreme sexual appetites. He can normally contain himself, but I think your ability to match his desires broke him.” She grinned, “I always knew what a little temptress you could be, yet I never imagined it like this. You could not have waited one more night?”

“As I said, it merely happened. We were reading a book together-”

“-Ah yes, I saw the book on your bed. You must be more careful when you go to Oldtown. People there aren’t as open minded as us.”

“I understand, Mother. I’ll try to…restrain myself.”

She laughed, “As if Otto will be able to do such a thing. If you two disappear during the feast, I’ll keep your father occupied until the bedding.” She finished your hair, and grinned pleased with herself. “Just try not to ruin your wedding gown, my love. It was rather costly and I’d hate to see it ripped or stained.”

You both laughed, and you promised to keep it intact for her. 

Though, you’re sure Otto made no such promise. 

[fantasynovel]

i feel like someone at some point must have made a really smart analysis on the different methods of murder in asoiaf. i'm thinking about poison rn. it's frowned upon in westeros bc it's seen as a cowardly and womanlike way to kill somebody. "I have heard it said that poison is a woman's weapon" etc. and yet there is so much poisoning going on in these books. jon arryn is poisoned, joffrey is poisoned. maester cressen is poisoned by the cup intended for melisandre. poisoning is the opposite of a "manly" confrontational killing that westeros reveres. i'm thinking about who uses poisons mainly, and it really is women for the most part. olenna tyrell, lysa arryn (with littlefinger's encouragement), arya. it's usually the tool of somebody who cannot fight in armed combat (though not always. oberyn martell poisons gregor clegane during armed combat). in a land where the crux of power is violence, poison undermines. it can be slipped anywhere, or hidden anywhere: not just in wine and food, but in a hairnet or ointment. it moves silently, and it kills from the inside. and if poison is womanlike, then to be killed by it is to be unmanned. you have been felled by someone who, for whatever reason, could not best you in a fight, or challenge you directly. the poisoner and the poisoned both come away tainted.

[pinkykats-place]

HotD DILF(s) x Reader Insert Fics

Tumblr Recommendations

Disclaimers!

None of the stories are mine.

Some contain mature content.

Gif not mine.

Note: if you read and enjoy any of these stories - please like, leave a comment and/or reblog original post!

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

The Good Queen

Viserys Targaryen x Fem!Reader Summary: The King must choose a new wife, and Alicent’s older sister, Y/n Hightower, is a suitable choice and a perfect match. For once, Viserys makes a decision that benefits everyone and upsets little few. The Seven Kingdoms are better for it.

Viserys Targaryen x Reader

Playtime´s over

Viserys I Targaryen x servant!reader

synopsis: King Viserys calls you into his chambers for a favor.

Viserys I Targaryen w/Second Wife Headcanons (Romantic)

yandere!viserys i targaryen x female!reader

viserys obsessed with his second wife after aemma and they have like dozens of kids

Viserys x Hightower!reader

Summary: alicent had an older widowed or still unmarried sister that hears what otto has been planning and decides to ruin his plan and save alicent from that life by making viscerys focus on her instead

Not All That Glitters is Gold

Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

Prompt: during your engagement dinner, you learn from your fiancé's niece that he holds choice words about you.

or finding out he calls you clingy behind your back.

Loyalty

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!reader

Summary: the king decides it's time for his brother to produce more targaryen heirs. who better than another hightower daughter to carry them?

Blue Moon Wreckage

Daemon Targaryen x fem!wife!reader

prompt: your husband can often lose his temper and resort to the man he was before you. you grow tired of lashing your tongue, and learn your husband responds better to silence.

At First Glance

Otto Hightower x Fem!Tyrell!Reader

Summary: Let's go back to the beginning of our Rosebud and her Hightower. Ser Otto is slotted to marry the young Tyrell girl, expecting resentment and disgust. However, his young bride proves him wrong quickly and erotically.

Would That I

Otto Hightower x wife!Reader

Summary: Otto makes sure his pretty, young wife has absolutely everything she desires.

Otto Hightower x fem!Targaryen!Reader

Request: An Otto and Targaryen reader one, where she is Daemon and Viserys younger sister and Daemon has always lusted after her, Viserys too, but not as much as Daemon. She and Otto get married out of love. Fast forward, Daemon finds a way to sneak and be voyeur in her and Otto’s chambers.

We Light The Way

Otto Hightower x Fem!Targaryen!Reader

Summary: Princess Y/n Targaryen, sister to Prince Daemon and sister to King Viserys, knows that her brothers turn a blind eye if she doesn’t act like their innocent baby sister. So she uses that to her advantage and sneaks around with a certain Hand of the King...

Letters From Oldtown (part 1)

Otto Hightower x Redwyne!reader

Summary: Cast away, Ser Otto finds refuged in the comforts of home, where he meets the lady in charge of Daeron's education. After years of careful friendship, they start an epistolary romance when he is called back to serve the King once more.

Wine Upon Her Lips (part 2)

Otto Hightower x Redwyne!reader

Summary: A royal wedding brings the widowed Lady Redwyne to King's Landing and reunites her with Ser Otto. Despite their agreement to keep to the rules of propriety, the feelings expressed during their correspondance can no longer be restrained.

In All the Freshness of her Youth

Otto Hightower x Targaryen!reader (Rhaenyra's younger sister)

Series: A Companion

Otto Hightower x Young Widow!Reader

Summary: At the suggestion of Princess Rhaenyra, King Viserys Targaryen had commanded that his Hand, Otto Hightower, find a new bride. Preferably at the King's own wedding to Otto's daughter Alicent. While the Princess intended the suggestion as a form of revenge for Otto's machinations which led to the royal engagement, he intends to make the best of it. While he has always known that his late wife, Madelyn, is the great love of his life, he welcomes the idea of finding a tolerable companion. What he doesn't expect is you, a lady widowed far too young, who begins to spark feelings within him he thought long extinguished.

Mare's Milk & Cider

Otto Hightower x reader(can be seen as platonic/romantic), hotd x reader

Series: One in the Same

Otto Hightower x Targaryen!Fem!Reader

The Moon is a Frozen Tear

Otto Hightower x Targaryen!reader

Summary: As a cousin to King Viserys, you enjoy a privileged position in his inner circle. Loss after loss, you find comfort in the company of none other than his Hand, Ser Otto.

My Honour

otto x targ!f!reader

otto hightower x bastardtargfem!reader

Deflowered

Otto Hightower x fem!Reader

Kinktober 2024

Hair Pulling with Otto

Otto Hightower x Reader Masterlist

Otto Hightower Masterlist

NSFW Alphabet with Otto Hightower:

[hxmocrastic]

Yandere!Aegon I x M!Reader + NSFW HCs

— pairings ; Yandere!Aegon I x Male!Reader

— a/n ; There's barely any M!Reader fics in ASOIAF Tags so I wanted to make my own ! (And bc I was curious 🤭)

— warnings ; NSFW ; 18+ TWT Links ; Coercion ; Dark Elements ; Yandere Behavior; Hinted Homophobia ; Affair ;

You're a Lannister boy, The youngest of your four brothers and considered the weakest because of your stature, frame, and meek personality. Your father —Loren I Lannister— has always looked down upon you, He shunned and spurned you relentlessly even claiming that you weren't a Lion but a insolent rat. You're brothers were worst, Like your father they maligned you any chance they got hindering your self esteem to a crippled sheet of parchment. Though despite their belittlement, You were determined to prove yourself.

You caught Aegon's Attention when you attended a Tourney, Adorned in Red & Gold Armor representing your house colors. You were up against Ser Dayken Tyrell, A formidable knight but viscous as well. You fell from your horse more times than you could count surely making a mockery of house Lannister. Tyrell came charging at you atop his white stallion until his grace, King Aegon abruptly halted the knight ceasing the tournament.

Aegon took an interest in you and started to unintentionally eye you in the courtyards, Though very discreetly. His stare would linger as you bowed and sulked past him. He began wondering why you always held that glassy look in your eyes.

After watching you for long enough he decides to make you his cupbearer, Deeming you unfit for tourneys. Truly he just wanted to get closer to you. To know you.

During this time the both of you became close with one another, You vented to him about your problems and he'd listen. With his permission of course, It was almost impossible to get this information out of you.

A year passes and Aegon feels something stir within him, The Dark desires he tried to keep down boiling to the surface.

His behavior started to...shift within the last couple of months. He grew overwhelmingly possessive of you, You could barely pour another lords wine without his violet eyes burning holes into your form. You couldn't even go out and speak with your friends without him requesting your presence. Seriously you couldn't even eat by yourself !! And the worst part is you couldn't question him about it either...

It was only a matter of time before His sister-wives started to grow suspicious. I mean who could blame them, He spent more time with you than he did with rhaenys which said something.

Anytime they'd bring this to light to him, Aegon would just chuckle and reassure them that you were a mere servant— a cupbearer at that, And he would never have any relations with you.

Oh boy was he wrong. He'd sabotage and oppose any & all of your marriage proposals. Even going as far as having one of your bride-to-be's killed in her sleep. But for some reason, Even after all the marriage annulments they'd always end up missing.

This put a far greater stain on your reputation, on your house. There was rumors that you were cursed and you started to believe them yourself. But Aegon with that stupidly handsome smile on his face placed your sobbing form in his lap and cooed into your ear with sweet nothings. You couldn't see the twisted grin on his face.

Aegon would pull you from his chest to stare into your (E/C) eyes as he'd persuade you into Bed with him. You stared at the man in shock, mouth agape with no words spewing. You tried to reject him but he'd subtly threatened the Livelihood of your brothers and father, Cornering you. You had no other choice...

— 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 18+

✪ The Faith already had issues with the Targaryens Incestuous polyamory but lying with another man—A Lannister at that, If they were to find out chaos would erupt. Good thing they weren't ever going to. You two had your affairs in secret, You would sneak into his chambers at a certain time and not the other way around.

✪ He's never laid with another man before, But he's willing to try for you. Though Same sex relations weren't entirely scorned upon in his childhood, They weren't praised either. Aegon figured it worked just how a Man & Woman had sex, Let's just say he's a fast learner.

✪ His pace is rough and quick almost unforgiving, He likes to use you as a stress reliever especially when he's aroused. He's quite big, Cut and pink 9'8 but his girth certainly makes up for it.

✪ Aegon can be just as possessive in sex as he is when you're speaking with your brothers. After all the hell they put you through, He dislikes having you around them so more often then not he has you face down ass up on the table with hips slapping against yours. ⭐

✪ He loves taking you on your back with your legs over his shoulders and you underneath him. It gives him a sense of dominance and control over you as if he doesn't have already. But it's also intimate and passionate, He can gaze into your eyes and witness your face contorting into different motions of pleasure. ⭐

✪ When he's feeling gentle, Best believe he will absolutely WORSHIP YOU. I'm talking Shoulder kisses, Feet Massages Etc.

✪ Even though you two were quiet in your affairs, By this point Both Rhaenys & Visenya had put two and two together and already discovered your affair. Rhaenys encouraged him and Visenya could care less.

Art By @chillyravenart

[aelenavelaryon]

𝓡𝓱𝓪𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓮 𝓣𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓻𝔂𝓮𝓷 𝔁 𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓭

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓸𝓷 𝓲𝓲

Trigger Warnings: death and childbirths. If there are more please let me know

Princess Rhaelle never let Alicent get in the way of seeing her brothers and sister. In return, the young princes and princess grew up knowing they were loved and cared for. Princess Helaena was set to marry her nephew, prince Monterys, the young boy loved his aunt as much as she loved him. The children were still young but soon enough they would marry. Lady Laena and prince Daemon left King's Landing after an argument between the young princess and her uncle. No one knew what the argument was about, not even Laena or Laenor.

The Keep was lively with all the children running around. Princess Rhaelle was expecting her seventh child, Laenor was always watching over her, he, despite having other taste loved his wife, it was odd to say the least but they did love each other yet they shared bed with others. Laenor knew this babe was to either be his child or the child of the Commander of the City watch. He didn't care though, he loved all his children, even the ones he did not sired.

"The queen has been quite as of late" Laenor said as he took a sip of his wine. Rhaelle nodded. "She has no other lies to spread. For now" she replied. "If this babe is mine she will say nothing. Your father as put her in her place and he has replace Otto with Lyonel Strong. The man keeps his son and grandsons protected no matter what" Rhaelle smile. Lyonel Strong was an honorable man and she knew it. When Harwin confessed to his father what had happened between him and the heir to the Iron Throne the man nearly collapsed where he stood.

But he knew that Jace and Luke were his blood and he had to protect them. Rhaelle made allies with other houses. House Stark was a match she had come to make. Her Visenya was to marry Cregan when she came of age as they were only two years apart. Monterys would marry Helaena. Jace would marry Nymeria Martell, Luke would marry Mariela Tyrell. Aegon would marry Baela and Aemond would marry Rhaena.

The matches were secured by Rhaelle and her hand, securing her reign with other houses. Aethan was to marry Morrigan Baratheon to strengthen the bond between the houses. Laenor had made allies with people in the Free Cities to farther support his wife.

Alicent Hightower plotted on how to end the princess. Her and Larys Strong always tried to find out ways to ruin the princess' reputation but they always failed as the princess was always one step ahead until once she wavered. When Laena was due to give birth the lady called her closest companion and friend, princess Rhaelle.

Princess Rhaelle, after hearing the news flew on dragon back to see her lover, Lady Laena. Although, pregnant and nearly her time to give birth as well, she discarded anyone's opinions and flew over to see her. "Laena!" she yelled as she tried to run. "Rhae, please!" Laenor begged as she left him behind. "She can't die on me, Laenor. Not her. Not Laena. Not my Laena" she nearly cried. Her steps echo in what seemed to be an empty hall. Rhaelle stopped and gathered herself before walking in.

Laena, smiled as she saw her lover. "Rhaelle" she began. "You came" she whispered. "You called" Rhaelle replied. She rushed to see her, she sat beside her. "I can't believe you're here"  Laena said tiredly. The woman has been in the birthing bed for hours now. Daemon waited outside, he didn't want to see Rhaelle just yet. He couldn't.

Rhaelle held Laena's hand as the two talked about what they had been doing since Daemon moved his family away. "I know my time has come, Rhae" Rhaelle shook her head. "You cannot leave me, Laena. You hear me?! I cannot do this without you" she cried.  Laena smiled at her dearest love. "I wish to ask for one last thing" Rhaelle nodded. "Anything" she told her.

Laena kissed Rhaelle's hand. "When my time comes I wish to have a dragon riders death. I don't want to be cut open. I just wish to go in peace" before Rhaelle could reply, Laena's labors pain came back but stronger. Rhaelle held her hand, she delivered Laena's son third daughter for her. "It's a girl, Laena. A beautiful baby girl" Rhaelle said with a smile as she held the baby girl in her arms. "I wish to name her" Daemon walked in. He laid eyes on his wife first before looking at Rhaelle. She simply nodded, acknowledging his presence.

She walked over to Laena first. She wanted her to get a chance at holding her child. "Here, take her" Laena seemed to be fighting to stay. "What will you name her?" Rhaelle asked. "Rhaella. In your name and honor" she replied and Rhaelle felt the sting her eyes. It wouldn't be long before the tears would come. "Oh, my sweet Laena" she said in a whisper before bending down to kiss her. "Promise me, Daemon..." Daemon walked over to her. "Promise me, that Rhaella will be loved, always. Promise that you and Rhaelle will watch over her and her sisters" Daemon nodded as did Rhaelle.

Lady Laena Velaryon passed away two hours after her daughter's birth. At Laena's funeral everyone had gathered to say their last goodbye. Rhaelle stood with her good mother, princess Rhaenys. Vaemond gave his speech and bid his goodbye to his niece. He had jabbed at Jacaerys and Lucerys blood but nothing got past Lord Corlys who glared at his brother. The funeral had ended and everyone had gathered near the beach to spend some time with the grieving family.

Princess Rhaelle sat with Ser Laenor both let the water feel them. "I miss her" he said in a hush tone. She held him by the arm. "I remember when we were little. We used to play the hiding game. We used to play that for hours" she smiled at the memory and he did too. "Do you remember when we accidentally found the secret passages because we had lost Laena?!" the two laughed at the memory of their sweet Laena.

Laenor kissed Rhaelle's hand. "Thank you" he said to her. "For what?" she asked. "For loving her as much as I did" he replied. "I love you as much as I love her" she replied before kissing him. Daemon watched her; jealousy brewing within him. Alicent watched them too, she hated the fact that Rhaelle was happy without her. It was never about the crown. It was always about her love. Rhaelle's love.

(Not Edited)

@beebeechaos

@baellabass

[witchofhimring]

Loyalty Chapter 15

Synopsis: At the end you are forced to fight, alone.

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Ellyn Baratheon

Alys Rivers x Aemond Targaryen

Jaecerion Targaryen x Reader

Jason Lannister x Reader (minor)

(more to come!)

Y/n Tyrells Profiles

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, childbirth, emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external), brief depictions of smut, moontea/abortions, suicide, mentions of rape (not to the reader), Plot twist at the end!

The war was over. Peace still alluded Westeros as fractions battled for Kings Landing. The grief of two years of war had ended. But now a new battle was about the begin. One that would utterly consume you, greater than any other. Running so fast you could barely breath, the walls were closing in. The world had fallen silent to your ears. A beating heart was all you were physically conscious of. Down the halls your ancestors grew up in you flew.

The flight of stairs felt too long. Ever step seemed to take a lifetime. Staggering to the last few flight you lunged for the door. Shoving the door opened you opened up on your son. He lay in the arms of Lady Jenna, surrounded by Cerilla and two guards. She did not even seem surprised to see you. "Y/n. I will send in a maester to you." Looking her in the eye, for the first time, you noticed the cold look in her eyes. Her jaw rigidly clenched together, like she was holding herself back. The calm look on her face was completely performative. Jenna Tyrell had maintained complete power over the Tyrells, and by extension you. Never before had you acknowledged it so clearly. Jenna stood here, terrible and powerful. There you stood, powerless and pitiful. All along you had been dancing in the palm of her hands. Everything had been planned out. From the moment she poisoned your father to this very moment.

You lunged for your son, laying in her arms surrounded by that hideous green fabric. A strangled cry between fright and rage left you cold lips. The guards seized you. Helplessly you tried to rescue your son. He lay there in the clutches of his grandfathers killer, his mothers jailer. "Calm her down. Y/n is simply exhausted from grief." And then she walked towards the door. Owen squirmed and reached out for you. "Please, my son." You begged. Jenna sighed and clutched Owen closer. "You have nothing to fear Y/n. Your son will be well taken care of." Struggling in the guards arms you continued the struggle. "Where is Dara? What have you done to her?!" Showing signs of annoyance Jenna replied; "Lady Dara is being sent home." Horrified you collapsed. The world spun before you. Owen cried out and you attempted to reached him. Unable to move, all you could do was watch Jenna walk out of the door with you son.

Everything seemed to flashed before your eyes. They said this happened before death, where you relived your life before joining the Gods. Jenna flitted in and out of them like a specter of death. Her hands seemed to be in every aspect of your life. The mattress sunk beneath your weight. Maesters loaded you with potions that brought you to the brink of oblivion. Not even your fingers could move and inch. Breathing felt heavy, like someone was pushing down on your lungs. Memories came and went with you helplessly watching. A hum of silence reverberated through your hears. You could feel it in your very bones as it grew in strength.

At some point you were able to sit up. Still very weak you tried to stand up. Legs failed and you fell back onto the seats. Each strain was a torment on your body. Reaching over with great effort you poured a drink. The taste of wine seemed to bring you back to your senses. Reality set in and the goblet fell from your hands. Owen. In a panic you stood up. Suddenly physical inability mattered not. Pulling on the door you realized it was locked. "Let me out!" Hammering against the door you cried out. No one answered your pleas for help. Hearing rustling outside you knew they could hear you. Guards most likely. Again you tried to pry the door opened but it was all hopeless. Stuck in this purgatory all you could do was beat against the door in a vain attempt to break free. This was fear such as you had never felt before. Trapped by those you knew and your son missing. When exhaustion finally became too overpowering, you slid to the ground.

That night you dreamed of Jaecerion. In that dream you lay in his arms. His silver hair shielded you for the outside. He swore, as he had in life, to always protect you. Strong arms held you close. Pink lips ghosted your hairline. Sweet things were whispered swearing a world of happiness and peace. He would save you from all those who would bring harm.

When next you came there was only pain and darkness. Your dreams had been of nothing. A great hole had been dug into your soul with the ferocity of a white hot knife. Waking brought no light. Clouds blocked the moon, and in turn you were eclipsed by greater forces. Nails dug into the delicate fabric of your green dress. Tilting your head back you reminisced on the situation. You wondered for how long you had been so weak. Perhaps from the very start. When had you ever been able to gain any measure of satisfaction? Ellyn and Rhaenyra had died, but not from your power. Cerilla remained at large and Jenna reigned victorious. What had you ever done to receive her ire? Was it simply to do down any rivals to Highgarden? But if that were the case what about Owen? "She plans to marry him to her granddaughter. She needs him." You convinced yourself.

When next you received company it was a maid. She quickly delivered food and left. "Where is Dara?" But she said nothing. It now occurred to you why Jenna stored you in a tower. There was truly no escape. Not unless she wished it.

At some point you went back to sleep. When next you woke it was morning. It brought you no light. This cold room was no place for one to flourish. Here you remained like a wilting rose. As a child you had walked through the gardens. One cold day you had treaded upon a wilting rose on the ground. Its once lovely pink petals were stained with mud and rot. On the ground it lingered, slowly being destroyed as people carelessly walked all over it. Even those who had not meant to banished the roses life. There it lay, weak, forced to endure the whims of others.

Whether roses felt anything one could not say. But you who were human undoubtedly felt as the rose might have. On weak feet you staggered. Anger pulsed through your veins. Everyone had abandoned you. Either dead or traitors. Your thoughts went to poor Jaecerion who had so suddenly died. So suddenly after you agreed to marry him. Where had Jenna gone? For a period of time she disappeared, where had Jenna gone? With a scream of anger you sent a cup and plate crashing to the ground. "Murderer!" Things went flying and breaking in your storm of rage. You cursed Jenna for everything. You hoped that a day would come when you would revenge yourself upon her. And when that day came she would die screaming in dreadful agony.

When next you slept you dreamed of killing them all. Visions of tearing apart Jenny, Ellyn and Cerilla reared their heads in the dark. It was not just them but others. Those who had mocked you at court. Those who fled from you in your hour of need. Aemond was writhing as your tore his heart out, blood running down your forearm. Dreams where you punished them in the most horrid ways. They begged for mercy and you granted none. When you woke there was a strange sense of calm. Adrenaline coursed through your veins like you had been running. Stretching out images of your revenge brought the vestiges of joy. "If I ever get the chance, I will make all of them suffer." Some were beyond your reach, Ellyn and Aemond were dead. Aemond was a difficult thought. Although you friendship was buried and dead you mourned him. Now if he were alive that might be a different matter.

Others were in your reach. However when the sobering realization that even the living were safe from your wrath. For the past two years you had felt so small. Insignificant. Tears rolled down your cheeks. Insignificant. Ellyn had mocked you when she married Aemond. Like a servant she treated you. That time just as this there had been nothing you could do. Both Jenna and yourself held the same position, dowagers and mother to an heir. How different you paths had been. She was all powerful. You were nothing. The reality stung, and yet it was reality.

For a time they left you totally alone. Every now and then a maid would some in to bring food. But no one had bothered to clean the mess you made. Too mentally to clean you simply let the artifacts remain. But eventually people came. A maester accompanied by guards arrived. Looking up from the place on your bed you met his eyes. "Where is my son." Uncomfortable, the maester replied; "He is well taken care of by Lady Jenna-" He was cut off by your laughter. Her shrunk back at who he considered a mad woman laughing. And you laughed and laughed. They either believed her or "Lady Y/n, please come with me." Sitting up, you asked; "Where to?" "I do not know my lady." Once more they sought to control you. But you were no child or servant to be lead. " Where to. I will not ask you again."

Guards surged forward. They seized you by the arms and up. Trashing around you screamed, with little affect. All they could do was force you out and down the stairs. By the gods you struggled in their grasp. Determined not to be taken you fought every step of the way. Had only you showed such resolve sooner.

Dragged outside you noticed onlookers. Their eyes seemed cold in your state of fear. Standing like the gallows was a carriage. The unfriendly glares Septas only served to fuel the storm of emotions. "Careful with my cousin." It was Gerald Tyrell, Jenna's only child. When he looked down at you there was stele in his eyes. What you had done to warrant such a look was unknown. His words curious enough, but they were just that, words. Hurried into the carriage the septa's seized you. "Sit." One of them ordered. Refusing you clawed at the door. Suddenly you were slapped. Despite her age the septa had strength. The scowl on her face said she would do it again. Tasting blood you still refused to sit. The other one seized you. Forced to sit, the septa said; "You shall sit or we will have you whipped." Chest heaving and anger mounting you shot them both a ferocious stare. Yet they were unfazed. And in truth why not? They had nothing to fear from you.

The truth of your situation banished any ability to move. Even a septa could scold you now. The carriage jerked and you looked out the window. Owen might still be in Highgarden, and you were being sent to who knows where. Your hands clutched at the window bars. Oh how you wished you possessed greater power. "That will do you no good." One of the septa's scoffed. In another state of mind you might have fought her. How you had been diminished. As Highgarden shrunk away you mournfully looked at where Owen may be.

Your wrists throbbed something fierce. Help expecting the skin to break you constantly looked down. The skin was smooth and clear. Wondering if it was poison you touched cold trembling lips. All the while both septa's said nothing, sitting in stony silence. Whenever the carriage stopped and you were laid to rest, one stayed in bed. One septa to sleep beside you, another to watch. Guards kept a watch at you at all times. The idea you would be able to flee was ridiculous. Even in times of stability you would easily be overcome. With the realm still in chaos there was even less hope.

At night you dreamed of parents long gone. Your mothers weeping face hovering above, fathers lips blue and horrid. Father had died of poison given by that bitch Jenna. Trying to recall mothers death, you remembered. She had fallen down a flight of stairs. And the lordship of House Tarley went to her cousin. Had it truly been an accident? Or was all it took a little push? Jenna may have had a hand in it, placing some lickspittle in the place of your mother. Rarely had you thought of your family. Regretting that, now you wondered who supported who. You knew so little about Highgarden and its politics. Deep down you had always known that Jenna ruled, but had never questioned it. Now you were paying for it.

Your thoughts went between Owen and the future. What was going to happen to you? Would she kill you? But if that was the case why wait? Perhaps this was a method of prolonging your agony. What you had ever done to incur her ire could not be said. If Jenna truly wanted to take over the lordship then why kill you? What threat were you to her now?

Owen was your son and heir. He was no threat to her son for Highgarden, inheritance did not pass though the female line. As Lord of Casterly Rock anyone who had control of your son held great power. Jenna may have no intentions of killing Owen and merely desired control. The thought comforted you to a degree. She might not kill him but Owen would always be controlled. The thought nearly sent you into a fit of hysteria. "No. Think of his safety. Him being alive is all that matters."

Passing through familiar woods you realized the destination. The hunting grounds had been ones you ventured through with long lost friends. Ghosts of the past flitted about, riding on horses and walking about the grounds. In those days your world had been so different. You spent your days in the alcove with Prince Aemond, walked the shores with Jaecerion, giggled and ate cakes with Flora, and was tucked into bed by Elinor. You had been a girl back then, basking in the summer light. Those days of summer was long past. Winter had come and you were stripped of everything.

You smelled Kings Landing before seeing the red towers. Last time you had been leaving for Casterly Rock. In all honesty you had not expected to come back. At least for a long time. Although only two years had passed it felt like a lifetime. The gates drew closer and finally you saw the place which was once home. Now you feared it would be a prison. The gates looked unchanged, except there were black and red banners in stead of green. The Hightowers were undone, just as you were. "Open the gate!" A great groan emanated as heavy metal was forced to give way. The carriage trundled through. You noticed it was eerily silent. Now you could clearly see the changes. Even though the window was small it was enough to see outward.

Men, women and children left ravished by war looked at you with hollow eyes. Smelling the air you realized there was a new smell. Flesh. Dead flesh left to rot. Eyes shut you tried to block everything out. Every rumbled of the carriage, the path was not smooth, set your insides trembling. There was animosity in the air. Although you had never ventured into the poorest parts of Kings Landing it could not have been this grim. And were there not more? Rhaenys had killed a fair few with Meraxes, Aegon others after his sons death, and others fell to war. If flesh was left out to rot the rest may very well fall to disease. The thought curdled your blood. All had suffered in this war, not just the highborn.

"Murderer!" Something hit the carriage window. It splattered the bars and send disgusting rooting fruit flying in. Alarmed you jerked back. What in the Seven had just happened? Then something else was thrown and thankfully it hit the door. Suddenly there were cries as who knows how many surrounded the carriage. They screamed, filled with bloodlust. You could hear "murderer" and other words best not repeating. In a torrent of confusion all you could do was shrink back and pray the guards would keep you safe. "Move! Out of the way!" Guards sent the crowd scattering. But never for long. Each time they were driven away another group would arrive, larger than the last.

The journey up to the Red Keep seemed to take a lifetime. All the time you sat there ridged. Confusion and fear were you companions. The septas were no help. They simply set there and looked at you with cold, unsympathetic eyes. You dared not ask them any questions, less all you receive was a slap or harsh words. You had your fill of those things. The screams only stopped when the Red Keeps towers loomed large overhead. And it would seem that as one trial ended, another begun. A guard flung the door open and ordered you to step out. Nervously you walked into the shadows. An unfriendly group awaited you. In their midst, for just a moment, a hooded figure was amongst them. But with a blink it was gone. You recognized several people. Ser Corlys Velaryon was bent over and looking far older than his years. Yet the moment he looked at you his eyes were alight with fury. He looked alarmingly, even in his age and state, like Vaeron. The dead prince whose execution you had urged had an unclear parentage. Had he truly been Rhaenyra's trueborn son? It mattered not now, he was dead like so many others. Flora, you one time friend, seemed unable to look at you. There was a sudden urge to leap and tear her hair out.

A man dressed in orange with three towers embossed in his doublet stepped forward. He was a Peake, although you knew nothing else. "Lady Y/n Tyrell. You are arrested for the deaths of Princess Ellyn Baratheon and Prince Vaeron Velaryon. You will be lead to your place of residence and await trial." Your blood ran cold. You looked around, beseeching someone to step in. When none did you stammered; "I-never..." Lord Peake showed no sympathy to your plight. But your protests fell on deaf ears as knights seized you by the arms. Their cold metallic grasps bit sensitive skin sending shivers of horror up your spine. Yanked forward they hauled your nearly limp form inside. The doors slammed shut, cutting you off from the outside.

You were just down the hall from Dowager Queen Alicent. Her wails could be heald from your room. Despite your rooms posesing a feather bed, rug and fireplace, Maegor's Holdfast held a feeling of doom. Many had died in this place. King Viserys, Helaena all of House Harroway. This was a grim place despite monarchs using it as a place of residence. When living at Kings Landing you had never lived here. Serving Dowager Queen (then Queen Consort) Alicent had you residing in more hospitable areas.

Looking through the only window you could see Kings Landing far bellow. Pacing up and down the room you recalled every memory of this place. For so long the Red Keep had been home. Your most clear memories were of growing and living here. In there days there had been life and laughter. Never were you alone or given reason to grieve. How different it was now. Laughably so if it were not so tragic. You wondered what your room was being used for now. Did anyone use the alcove a young boy and girl once spent many hours? Every place you had used was closer than it had been for two years. Days had been spent serving the Queen, sewing by her hearth, tea parties, racing into the gardens and laughing with friends and all gathering together to whisper secrets.

It was true the few weeks before leaving had been nothing short of miserable. "I will never forgive Ellyn Baratheon. Never." You promised yourself. "May she dwell in the deepest darkest part of the Seven Hells." What that meant for your own soul you did not consider. Ellyn had blighted your life in Kings Landing and not even her death, horrid as it was, diminished your hatred. It was so easy to dwell on all the wrong rendered on you when locked alone with only thoughts for company. You wouldn't forgive anyone, not ever.

They had accused you of murdering Ellyn. A dark part of you wished it was true. To cause her just a fraction of the pain she caused you. Her death did not sadden you, horrible as it was. The ones whose deaths you truly cared about, Jaecerion, Lady Reyne, those deaths haunted you. You wondered if Jaecerion had ever gotten your letters. it was a torment to think he never learned of your accepting his hand.

That night you lay in bed, arms around a pillow. Burying you face into the pillow you imagined it was Jaecerion.

You had no idea as to when your trial would be. Being left in your own room you could do nothing but think of a rebuttal to these claims. No before for your cause had been presented, to your knowledge. Pacing around the room your mind raced trying to grasp anything of help. Your green dress felt heavy. Stripping it off you remained in an under shift. The day dragged on with only a maid coming in twice. Ellyn's death was not of your doing. But how you could go about defending your innocents you could not say. It might have helped had they told you how they supposedly died by your hand. That only left Vaeron. Now left to dwell on his death you felt uneasy. You were completely blameless in the case of the former. Vaeron's death was another matter. Had you not encouraged Jason Lannister to execute him? You have never liked Vaeron. Even as children both of you were at odds. Despite that his death brought no joy. Remembering his screams sent shivers up your spine.

The only book they had allowed was the Seven Pointed Star. As a child you had read it frequently and practically knew it heart by heart. Now you dared not touch it, as if the leather bound book world burn. Lonely it sat there, unopened. For days you were left alone with only Dowager Queen Alicent's cries for company. Of course there may be ghosts in Maegor's holdfast. How King Jaehaerys allowed the tower bearing the name of his families slayer to stand you did not know. "In his place I would have torn it down." Once you had admired the Conciliators mercy, now you only saw weakness. What was the point of being the most powerful person in the land of one could not do down their enemies? "If I were Queen I would gladly watch the light fade from their eyes."

When the door opened next you expected to see a maid. Instead Flora stepped in. For a moment you were taken aback. Once the two of you had been friends. As girls the two of you waited on Dowager Queen Alicent and played with Helaena. Poor Helaena who lay dead and gone like so many others. She was still the same slender brown haired, wide eyed girl. But she looked so different. A grave look adorned her face. Lines that had not been there now marred once flawless skin. She wore a black down that trailed behind. Suddenly it struck you as odd she wore black. Once none in the Green Queen's court never would have dared wear the colour. Yet as the Whore Queen's son sullied the throne you supposed wearing black was the order of the day.

"Y/n." Flora looked around looking unsure. Sitting up you face her. Despite her forlorn appearance Flora looked better than you. A lack of care for weeks on end had made you look utterly wretched. And wretched was what you were. The loss of everything had made you lesser than you ever were. Seeing no chair Flora chose to stand before you. "I hope you are well." Yet her words were unsure. Her pale skin went red, she knew the words were foolish. "Who sent you." This was hardly a question. You doubted that Flora had come of her own accord. She had been one of the first when that bitch Ellyn had turned her wrath upon you. Gone was the friendship of young sweet maiden girls, broken women remained. Youth had been stripped from both. At only one and twenty the pair of you looked much older than your years.

"They have sent me to speak with you, one woman to another. They hope I will inspire regret for Princess Ellyn's death." The outrageousness of this made you laugh. Stark white, Flora stood back. Like Dowager Queen Alicent's noises, yours echoed off the walls horribly. Falling back onto the sheets the cackling finally died in your throat. Soon you lay there panting. Exhausted, it took everything to sit up. Flora looked ready to bolt. "Leave then, and that your silly proclamations with you." Flora seemed to steal herself. "We all knew there was no love between you and the Princess. And I understand that she was not always kind but-" Once you might have held back. But bubbling hate simmered and was threatening to overflow. "Ellyn was a nasty little bitch who was good for nothing but warming a bed. And it would seem that she was not good at even that." Flora clutched at her dress.

"Please Y/n, I beseech you. Do not make the situation worse." Clearly distressed Flora surged towards you. With a steadfast grip she seized your fingers within hers. "Y/n I beg of you! They may give you a lighter sentence if you proclaim your guilt!" "Guilt! My only crime is being in the way of Jenna Tyrell! That woman has you all dancing in the palm of her cold hand! Do you not find it odd that all who stand in her way end up dead? They died with blue of their lips! And as for Ellyn she was ill well before I arrived."

Flora only let go and shook her head. Those brown eyes held only pity, but that did not mean there was no deceit. For all you knew Flora may be as treacherous as Jenna. "I am sorry Y/n. But there is nothing more I can do." With tears in her eyes she departed and once more you were left alone."

They had informed you that the trial would be held shortly before the coronation of Aegon, who would become Aegon third of his name. It had all been for nothing. The Greens had lost. While history would say Aegon the Second defeated his sister it was her son who sat the throne. Helaena's poor little girl would have to settle for Queen Consort. Women must stand aside so that men could rule. As a child you had been relieved of the right to head House Tarley. Only the death of all its male heirs had given you the seat. And Rhaenyra had been unseated by her brother. "Shut up." You told yourself.

Bellow in Kings Landing you could see preparations for the upcoming coronation. That was the only clue you had as to when your trial would take place. Aegon's coronation had been far less splendid, with only the dead as decorations thanks to Rhaenys's dragon littering the sept.

Day by day you waited for your fate. Rage had dissipated leaving behind exhaustion. A trial held no hope for you. Despite your naivety you knew this would not be fair. Those who hated you would lead it. All you could hope was that Owen was left safe. Jenna had no reason to kill him, he was betrothed to her granddaughter. Years from now, what would your son think? He would hardly remember you, him being shy of a year old. You prayed Owen would think kindly upon his mother. It was from him alone you prayed. "I know I am damned but I beseech you to protect him." To six of the seven you prayed, but never The Stranger. He was best avoided.

The day they called for you was grey and cold. A cold winter wind heralded the grim day. Grim tidings, a grimmer fate. You had a feeling something would happen today. Not necessarily your trial, but something. As a little girl Helaena would sometimes awake with a stony look upon her face. Cold as ice she lay ridged and scared. That was you today. Although no seer you sensed foreboding riding on wind.

A septa came in, the one who had slapped you. Unsympathetically you ordered you to stand. "Today you shall be judged for your sins." "I am accused, not guilty. Or are septas not taught the difference." Striding forward she struck you. "Dress. Then we leave." You were washed for the first time in ages. The water was cold sending shivers racketing through you frail body. Hair roughly brushed and dressed in grey you were made ready. They did not bind you, at least that humiliation was set aside. With two guards of either side you were left out. Passing by Dowager Queen Alicent's room you looked in through the iron bars. She lay on her bed, all regality abandoned. A green dress lay shredded on the floor leaving the former queen in only a shift.

The path was long and seemed to take forever. Thus suited you just fine who wanted this to take forever. But life was rarely so kind and after the long trek you stood in front of those great doors. Having seen trials before you had never expected to be here as a proclaimed traitor. A call went up and you saw the great hall. Suddenly you were afraid. The great hall was full. Down the hall awaited Ser Corleys and Cregan Stark (you only knew this because of his grey and black attire). Sitting on the chair was Aegon the Third. King Viserys had sat on this chair in happier times. The Aegon the Second when times were worse. A stand had been erected for you to stand on. Like the buzzing of flies the audience whispered. "Don't look at them." You simply focused on getting to the destination.

The hastily erected wooden stairs creaked harshly upon your assent. It took everything in you to not bolt for fear. The only thing keeping you sane were thoughts of Owen. Shaking hands grasped the railings. When you dared to raised your head their eyes all bore down upon you. Now you looked. At this point you noticed there was another stand. "Is another condemned?" You hoped it was not Lady Dara.

A staff slammed on the ground, making you jump. "Silence!" The herald cried. The silence was worse than the whispers. Every breath made was painfully loud. You half expected to faint. "Ser Corleys stepped forth. "Lady Y/n Lannister, born Tyrell, daughter of Lord Paramount Owen Tyrell and his Lady wife Amelia Tarley, widow of Lord Jason of Casterly Rock and mother of Lord Owen Tyrell, stand accused of the murder of Princess Ellyn and Prince Vaeron." Shaking hands clasped each other. Ser Corleys's voice broke on mention of Vaeron. The boy had likely been of his own blood. But then why not proclaim him instead of Rhaenyra's eldest by Harwin Strong?

"How do you plead?" Coldly you looked up at him. "I deny it." Ser Corleys and the lords convened amongst one another. When they broke apart Ser Corleys's attention was back on you. A scribe was writing everything down. "So you deny your wrongdoing?" They had already made up their minds. "I never killed anyone. Those who say otherwise are liars." His lip twitched. "Don't think about Vaeron." You tried to think of the boy he had once been. Rude and a horrid bully.

"We will start with the case of your first victim, Princess Ellyn of House Baratheon." Victim, hah! As if. Ellyn's family were in the crowd. Ladies Cassandra and Maris waited in the crowd. ""Lady Y/n Lannister, angered over Prince Aemond's spurns, killed his lady wife the princess." Lord Cregan Stark stepped up. Ser Corleys hobbled back and sat down. Upon Lord Starks chest was a pin. Grey eyes looked at you in judgment. "What right have you, whose wife has killed so many innocents." You did not say that aloud. "You are accused of Princess Ellyn's murder. And you plead not guilty?" "Yes." Lord Cregan Stark held a piece of parchment and opened it. "Lady Flora, step forth. Pale and stumbling, Flora made her way up the stairs. She looked not better than last time.

"Lady Flora, you were a lady in service to Dowager Queen Alicent, were you not?" Flora's voice trembled when she responded "yes". "And what was the relationship between the two women?" Flora looked to her hands. "Princess Ellyn and Lady Y/n did not like each other. They were both jealous and often were harsh in words exchanged." You nearly spat. It was Ellyn who had the harsh words, not you. But you had a feeling Ellyn's true character would not matter in this trial. "Can you recall any interactions between the two?" Lord Stark's grey eyes were like a winter storm, cold and unyielding. Outside snow had started to fall. A cold breeze swept though the room. "When Lady Y/n was presented to the princess, she was unhappy. The princess I mean. It seemed Princess Ellyn had heard the rumors and questioned Lady Y/n on it. Lady Y/n denied any untoward knowledge of the prince. The princess took a ribbon given by the prince to Lady Y/n, and tore it." The scribe was frantically writing.

"Very well. Are there any others interactions you were privy to?" "Princess Ellyn often made comments about an affair in Lady Y/n's presence." Your belly sunk. She made it sound as if this affair was real, and not the imaginings of Ellyn. "And that is all?" Flora replied that "yes", that was all." Heart hammering in your hear, you though that Ellyn had not come off very well. Perhaps that would help your case. Lord Stark commanded Flora to sit before turning his cold eyes upon you. Even from this distance you could see the grey in them. It reminded you of the North, or rather pictures of it. In truth you had never been North and winter had only just come. Grey nights with only the howl of wind were foreign to you. But in that moment you wondered if Cregan Stark's eyes, which looked upon you with contempt, had brought a piece of the unfeeling North within them.

"Lady Y/n, do Lady Flora's account ring true?" "I...." It was a hard question to answer. What she said was true but the way in which she said it was less than desired. "Lady Y/n, I asked you a question." "Her words are true, but I feel my character had been besmirched." Cregan Stark raised an eye. "In what way?" "E-Princess Ellyn was in instigator. I provoked her in no way save my prior relationship with Prince Aemond." Cregan Stark let out something between a snort and sigh.

"Lady Y/n. We give you one final time to speak the truth. The Gods shall judge you, and so will we." You would find no pity here. Where was your defense? Who would speak for you? Only you could speak for yourself, and so you did. "My Lord, I swear upon both Gods Old and New that I speak only the truth." Lord Stark's fists clenched together. Despair clenched at your stomach. "On your head be it. Lady Tyshara of House Lannister, please step forth." You had not expected to see Tyshara again. Like her you had not but long since had your husbands eldest been cast from memory. Tyshara looked older now, golden hair cascading down her back. Lannister red hung her slender frame, familiar rubies glittering. For a moment the two of you looked at home another. Her cat like green eyes were no kinder than Stark's. Tyshara still held bitterness in her heart towards you.

"Lady Tyshara, you stand before this court and the Gods to bear witness against Lady Y/n. It is this courts understanding that you knew the lady when she was your stepmother." Tyshara nodded and then eagerly spoke. "Yes My Lord. Although I have no evidence that my stepmother killed the poor princess, I can attest to her hatred. She was very jealous of the princess and felt my father a poor replacement." Lucky that there was nothing in your path, or Tyshara may suffer from a case of flying object hitting head. You would add her to that list. "Can you sight any instances of Lady Y/n's displeasure?" Tyshara wasted no time in answering. "Yes My Lord. Shortly after her marriage to my father we went on a hunting trip. Us ladies went in a carriage. Princess Ellyn, Lady Y/n, my friend Katrina and myself were amongst them. I simply inquired as to their, that being Princess Ellyn and Lady Y/n's, relationship. Lady Y/n was wroth with the reminder and said unkind things about the princess."

"And what was the nature of these unkind things?" Cregan Stark's Hand of the King pin glimmering in the light. For the first time a look of anxiety crossed Tyshara's pretty face. Green eyes no longer dared look at you. "I admit that the princess could have used kinder words. But her heart was broken My Lord. She was hurt by Lady Y/n's flaunting of her relationship with the prince. She attempted to silence Y/n but exposing her lust in front of us good ladies. Then some servant of hers cursed Princess Ellyn-" It finally became too much to bear. When Tyshara mentioned Elinor's name it was like reopening an old wound. Tyshara dared not look your way. But you looked at her with no much hate it stung your eyes. "Her. Name. Was. Elinor! And I suggest you learn it, or did your mother not teach you common courtesy before she died." Now she looked at you. Guards suddenly seized their weapons. Tyshara made to move but Lord Stark called out "cease!" so loudly everyone went ridged. "Lady Y/n you will remain silent until it is your turn!"

There was a ringing in your hears. Down to the depths of your soul a heartbeat raged. Nails cracked upon hard wood, blood trickling through nailbeds. Shaking, it took all you had to remain silent. Tyshara stood there condemning you for crimes she knew full well you had not committed. If there was any justice in the world you prayed Tyshara would one day receive it.

"Lady Tyshara, please continue your tale, what happened after the commotion?" "Once over the woman was dismissed from Lady Y/n's service. Then Princess Ellyn fled Casterly Rock." You laughed aloud, not even the heralds cry of "silence!" caused you to cease. A guard behind seized you by the arm. Forcing you to stay standing they waited in petrified silence. It ended in a raspy chuckle, leaving you aching. Lord Stark looked thunderous. If he could you had no doubt Lord Stark would have struck you down then and there. "Lady Y/n, if you interrupt again we will continue this trial without your presence." He took your silence for obedience. "Lady Tyshara, do you have anything else to say?" Tyshara nodded. "I was not in person for these conversations. However my father shared with me his...misgivings." Lord Stark raised an eyebrow. "Lord Lannister shared his personal matters with his daughter." A sliver of doubt that brought a ray of hope to you crept in. "My father and I were always close. As his eldest he felt that I could be relied on." Lord Stark looked between the pair of you. For the first time you were hopeful. The Starks were honorable to a fault, they always said so.

"My stepmother not only showed a close infinity for Prince Aemond, but his elder brother Prince Jaecerion. We saw them walking together. At one point she threatened me with the Silent Sisters. Prince Jaecerion was hopelessly in love with her, or at least infatuated."

"I was unaware if this relationship. Only Prince Aemond was mentioned. How do I know this is the truth?" And then Tyshara was commanded to depart. Members of Casterly Rock came forward. Those who had once served now provided testimony as to the close relationship with Jaecerion. Even Clarissa's own mother who provided as a witness during your short stay with her. You wondered if she blamed you for her daughters death. Those who had been your friends in Kings Landing also provided proof of your close affiliation with Jaecerion. But where was this leading? Did they mean to accuse you of adultery?

Lord Stark then commanded you to speak. "Have you anything to say for yourself, Lady Y/n?" There was no way around it. You had been friends with Jaecerion. But how to convince them that no affair had happened? "I admit that Jaecerion and I were close. But as close as two who grew up together. I was close with the children of Queen Alicent. By all the Gods I swear I never strayed from my marriage bed, and Lord Owen is Lord Jasons son." "My Lady, there is no doubt that Lord Owen is Lord Jasons son. But that does not discredit an affair. Many provide evidence of your indiscretions. Tell me, was your relationship with Jaecerion always simply as friends?" This gave you pause. Although your intentions with Jaecerion only occurred after Jasons death they might not believe you. "It was only as friends betwen us." Coldy, Lord Stark looked at you. "I will hold you to that."

Next up was Lady Maris Baratheon, Ellyn's sister. Unlike Ellyn she was shorter and with slightly lighter hair. But the moment your eyes met, storm blue and angry, you saw the similarities. "Lady Maris of House Baratheon, you are asked to provide testimony for the death of your sister Princess Ellyn." Lady Maris flinched ever so slightly during the last part. Hands flinched, digging into fine yellow silk. "You were with Princess Ellyn when she passed." "Yes, My Lord." Lady Maris replied. "Do you recall Lady Y/n's behavior at the funeral?" "I do. Comforting my good brother, Lady Y/n was most unhappy. Although we never talked everyone knew she desired Prince Aemond. My Lord, it is my belief that my sister was poisoned by Lady Y/n." "Enough!" Lord Stark cut Lady Maris off. Lady Maris was afterwards dismissed, not even sparing you a glance.

Next, Maester Whells came up next. It seemed all of Harrenhal had been summoned for this sham of a trial. Slowly he hobbled up. "Maester Whells, you served Harrenhal during Lady Y/n's stay. Is this correct?" The man nodded his head doggedly. "I was." "And you tended the Princess Ellyn during her illness?" "Yes My Lord" "And what would you say the cause of death was?" "Poison." There was a gasp. All eyes were on you. Cold sweat ran down your back. "My Lord, may I speak?" You though Lord Stark might say no, but thankfully he gave his consent. "Ell-Princess Ellyn was ill before I arrived. Those in Harrenhal can attest to that." Lord Stark turned back to the maester. "What do you say to this?" Maester Whells scratched his chin. "It is true that Princess Ellyn showed signs ofillnes before the arrival of Lady Y/n. However her worst symptoms appeared once the lady arrived." Maester Whells drew a small vial. Black liquid oozed behind the glass, sluggish and murky. "This is called the Windows Tears. I found traces of it in Princess Ellyn."

They called in Ellyn's ladies, all who insisted you killed their mistress but were forced to admit that she was ill beforehand. Perhaps you would be found innocent after all. Maybe Lord Stark would think you were innocent after all.

"Bring the poisoner in!" The great door opened and an old decrepit man was forced in. They hauled him up the stairs, chains clattering. At least you had remained unbound. "Gerald, occupation, poisoner, you provided Prince Jaecerion with this very poison. Is that correct." It was not even a question. “Jaecerion procured poison? For what reason……oh Gods!” A terrible thought dawned on you. In truth you had never given much thought to the manner in which Ellen died. But puking out black bile was hardly natural, even you knew that. Could Jaecerion have poisoned Ellen? He certainly held no love for his brother’s wife. But hate her enough to kill? Jaecerion had loved you on the other hand? Had he slain her for your sake? “Oh “Jaecerion.”

“And for what reason did Jaecerion purchase this poison?” Maester Whells briefly looked at you. Dread sunk like a stone in your belly. “To poison the Princess Ellyn.” More than murmuring swept through court. With Ellyn died by Jaecerion’s hand you looked all the more guilty. “But they have to proof.” You thought in an attempt to comfort yourself. That thought quickly dissipated when it was remembered that your fate had already been decided. This trial was a sham, simply for show.

Lord Stark stepped closer, hard eyed examining the maester. “And for what reason would Prince Jaecerion have for murdering his good-sister?” Once more Maester Whells glanced at you. Lord Stark’s jaw clenched. “He misliked the way Princess Ellyn was treating the Lady Y/n.” “So he resorted to murder for women’s quarrels?” If you could you would have hit Lord Stark. What did he know of this matter?! Women’s quarrels indeed. “Do you happen to know if Lady Y/n was involved in any way?” Maester Whells shook his head. “If he did Prince Jaecerion never conveyed it to me.” With that Maester Whells was dismissed, banished from his order and to await further judgment.

“Lady Cerilla of House Florent.” You nearly collapsed. Why her?! Cerilla would do her best to trust the story against you. Unlike the previous witnesses Cerilla did not look somber or angry. While every move was measured you could see the unmistakable gleam in her eyes. Today she wore a deep rich green in the likeness of Jenna.

‘You know the Lady Y/n?’ ‘Yes My Lord. We both served under former Queen Alicent.’ ‘They say you two knew each other quite well. What gave you your say?’ Unlike Flora, Cerilla showed no hesitation or anxiety, but plunge right in for the attack. ‘I will admit that our relationship had always been cold. My elder sister married the Lord of Highgarden and Lady Y/n never forgave it.’ The outright audacity of her statement nearly knocked you senseless. The absolute audacity! ‘And what would you say the relationship between Lady Y/n and Princess Ellen was like?’ ‘Hostile, My Lord. Lady Y/n became close with the witch Alys Rivers at Harrenhal and taunted Princess Elly for her fertility struggles. As many know it caused her great pain, and Lady Y/n relished in that.’Your hands clenched. Of course she left out all the times Ellyn taunted you.

"Can you recall any conversations?" ‘Yes.’ And then Cerilla drew herself up to get full height, readying herself with the performance. “My Princess was distraught over Lady Y/n’s disrespect. Angered, Lady Y/n said….oh….. it was so horrible!” Fake tears flooded Cerilla’s eyes. They fool everyone, everyone except you.

Cerilla then quoted; ‘“I predict this, you envy and hatred will dry up your womb! For how can such a hateful woman as you ever give life.” And the poor princess was distraught. But Lady Y/n did not stop there. “I forget nothing and I will forgive nothing. The humiliation you dealt upon me. I pray that this is a curse from the Gods, and let me lay down one of my own. I pray to all the Gods that you, Ellyn Baratheon, will remain barren as you are now. Let the Gods strike you with every misery in this world, and let me witness it to my great satisfaction.”

The courtroom was eerily silent. One could hear a pin drop, if they listened hard enough. You yourself could hardly breathe. In truth you had meant those words. And even though Ellyn was well in the ground your hatred remained. Hatred that was your constant companion.

All eyes were on you. Even though your back was turned judgmental could be felt. Lord Stark turned to you once more. Somehow his gaze was colder and sharp like the famous blade his house owned. “Lady Y/n, what have you to say to these charges?” Speaking was becoming increasingly difficult. Trembling, you attempted to get every word out. ‘Ellyn Baratheon held no love for me, that is true. But she was always unkind and accused me of that which I am innocent of.’ ‘But did you say them?’ ‘Yes.’ It did not matter your reason. Either way you were condemned.

‘There is more.’ Cerilla was not done. Even with the sound of victory Cerilla’s hatred could not be quenched. After the death of Prince Vaeron, Princess Ellyn chastised Lady Y/n over the boys death. In retaliation my princess was threatened. ‘And what did she say?’ Finally Cerilla looked at you. There was hatred, joy , satisfaction and victory in her look. And when she spoke it was not to Lord Stark, but you. ‘“Have you wondered why you have never fallen with child? You allowed a woman you hated near you. Allowed me to handle your robes, drinks and cakes. I reigned freely over every morsel that entered your mouth. How easy it would have been to simply slip something in.’”

The room filled with a light buzzing. Then it increased in pitch and you heard yelling. Lady Baratheon collapsed to the floor. For what seemed like forever the world was shouting and screams. You cared not for what they said. A light buzz surrounded you. ‘Owen.’ You murmured. You would never see him again in this life. Of that you were now sure.

Cerilla was dismissed followed by various ladies. None of them you knew well, only that they served Ellyn and were companions of Cerilla. You recognized a few. Lady Swann whom you had chastised for spreading around news of Clarissa’s pregnancy, Lady Dondarrion whom had been her companion in spreading the information. And on and on it went. All your enemies, no friends.

You already knew the outcome. They would all believe that you killed Ellyn, in collusion with Jaecerion. Jaecerion being Ellyn’s killer gave you a mixed feeling. Oddly enough there was a warmth inside of you. Someone had loved you so much they killed. And you had never treated him with the same regard. On the other hand Jaecerion killing donrone sent a chill down your spine. Of course people died in war. But Ellyn had not been a hardened warrior. Then again you bore her only hatred.

You did not hear the verdict, even if you knew the outcome. They then moved on the the next if you “victims”. ‘Lady Y/n, you stand accused of encouraging the death of Prince Vaeron Velaryon. What have you to say about this?’ Nervously your hands clenched themselves. ‘My Lord, Prince Vaeron was at war. Every man places himself at that risk.’ Shaking, you attempted to maintain composure. ‘Prince Vaeron did not die in battle, did he? An unarmed prisoner it is said you ordered his death.’ A small flame of indignant anger leapt. ‘My husband was his own man.’ ‘And yet they say you convinced him to harm the prince. This was not war but murder.’ Suddenly eyes turned to Ser Corys. An old man, getting up looked agonizing. Yet there was fire in his eyes. He made his way to Lord Stark who seemed to find it prudent to step aside.

‘I urge the court to remember that my grandson did not go the way of fire and blood. He was cruelly slain like Lucerys Velaryon. And this woman in her malice was behind it!’ A shaking finger pointed at you. And then, grief stricken, Ser Corleys lumbered back to his chair. All the great lords and ladies watched him. In his day Ser Corleys was a thing of legend. Even when those golden days had passed he still consider admiration, even in enemies. Lord Stark, realizing he was done, ordered a maester to hand him a note. ‘Lady Y/n, your husband wrote to Lady Jenna after the deed.’ He had? Another thing that had been hidden from you. ‘He writes that it was you who put the idea into his head. What have you to say?’ Bringing up Jenna’s name had stirred something within you. ‘It was Lady Jenna who put these thoughts into my head. She said it was the only way I would be safe.’ ‘Do you have proof?’ Of course not, you had burned the letter destroying any decency that might save you. It at least condemn Jenna. Only you would take the blame.

They went back to the evidence on your and Jaecerions relationship. And Jaecerion; ‘oh Jaecerion’ you thought. Aching pierced your heart. He had lived you. Memories of him as a boy, safe and happy, were a torment and comfort. If only everything could have stayed that way.

‘Lady Cerilla.’ Again?! Remorseless she walked back up. Unlike you she’d had time to fresher up for her next battle. Or rather slaughter. ‘You are here to provide witness for the charges of murder. You were at Highgarden when Lady Y/n resided there.’ ‘Yes My Lord.’ ‘And would you say Prince Jaecerion and Lady Y/n were close?’ ‘Yes My Lord. They have been close since childhood and their relationship had grown stronger.’ ‘He was often in her presence?’ ‘When he not in meeting with Lady Jenna, yes.’ ‘Did you ever overhear a conversation between the two?’ ‘Only once My Lord. It was the day Y/n and Prince Jaecerion arrived. I had been sent up to assist her when I caught them in an embrace.’ Lord Stark raised an eyebrow. ‘What type of embrace?’ ‘The type only a man and woman enamored with each other could share. They looked alarmed and I quickly fled.’ Talking again. This time the spectators were more bold. Blocking out the noises you stared ahead. ‘It will be over soon.’ You thought.

‘Bring the letters.’ A small wooden box was brought out. Opened, Lord Stark pulled out a letter. In the light a familiar green stamp glimmered in the light. Where had he gotten that?! ‘Lady Y/n, you revived a letter from Prince Jaecerion after the death of Prince Aemond.’ You nodded. Where was this going? ‘He also mentions the disappearance of Prince Aemond’s whore Alys Rivers. An odd detail. Do you know why he put it in?’ You could not say. Everything was so confusing it sent your head spinning. ‘What was the nature of your relationship with Alys Rivers?’ You chose the response that might serve you best. ‘She showed me kindness during my pregnancy. Do you fault me for finding comfort during such a time?’ ‘No I do not. However we recon she did more than provide assistance for a pregnant woman.’ You did not know how to respond to this. What did he want you to say?

‘Lady Y/n, several months ago you accused Alys Rivers of witchcraft, causing her to flee. What transpired between the two of you?’ The memory was shameful. Even now you regretted it. So confused and frightened had you been. Alta’s help would have been greatly needed. And after all her help you related her poorly. Was she still mad? You would be in her situation. And her being with child made it worse. ‘It was so long I hardly remember. A disagreement.’ Lord Stark looked unfazed. ‘So you simply accused her of witchcraft for…?’ He was waiting for an answer that could not easily come. After stuttering and then falling into silence Lord Stark moved on. ‘So you agree that the pair of you were close?’ ‘Yes.’ The scribe was hurriedly scribbling so fast you thought his hand like to fall off.

‘Alys Rivers belongings were searched after her disappearance. Fortunately a few items still survive for investigation. Do you know what we found?’ A horrible sickening feeling swelled up. Had Alys been involved in Ellyn’s death? Lord Stark was handed a small vial filled with blue liquid. With a jolt you realized, or rather suspected, what this was. Jenna's poison. Not the same that had killed your parents, but poison never the less! Had she not indiced poison that had killed your parents, Lady Mari and Jaecerion. ‘That is not mine!’ Frantically you looked around the room. Perhaps it was to spot a friendly face. Or a plea for someone to believe you. None came. ‘It was Lady Jenna’s! She poisoned my parents and Lady Mari, she killed Jaecerion!’ Stunned into silence everyone just looked at you. Even Lord Stark seemed struck dumb.

The wood under your shaking, sweating palms was cold. Your jaw was clenched so tightly it ached. Every breath felt loud as a dragons roar. Klink….klink.

The scrubbed ink bottle had slipped down the stone stares. Startled, he immediately got up. In a moment it felt like a spell was lifted. Now you could hear everyone else breathe and it was terribly hot. ‘That….that is quite the accusation.’ Lord Stark had stopped glaring at you. Only plain shock was on his face. Then someone cleared their throat and Lord Stark found his senses. ‘Is there tree any evidence for this?’ ‘I remember my father dying in a similar manner, and both the prince and my lady died the same way.’ Even if what you said made no sense you had to get it out. It was like vomiting, expelling deep rancid contents all over the floor. And its stench revolted anyone. Lord Stark looked at if a madwoman were speaking. ‘We will have no more of this. The evidence speaks for itself. Lady Y/n this poison was found in Alys Rivers positions. It is confirmed that Princess Ellyn died this way. Send for the rest.’ The box was once more brought out.

The unfairness of it all made you want to scream. Here you were at trial while Jenna got away. You wondered how long she had been planning this. Every step you took had benefited her. Then again those were not truly your steps, rather Jenna pushing you along the path. You would go the same way as your parents, unavenged. Was Jenna here? If you had a knife you would like to rip her right open with it. And watching her crimson blood flood to the floor you would have laughed.

‘Your next letter says “Please return to my side soon”, what gave you your say to this?’ ‘Only that I missed him greatly.’ You replied truthfully. Lord Stark placed the letter aside. It then occurred to you ‘why did he have the letter?’. ‘Was marriage ever spoken of between you two?’ Anxiously you dithered, this was a trap. While admitting wanting to marry the prince was not guilty in itself it could easily be twisted into something sinister. ‘It was discussed. But I swear that was it.’ Lord Stark observed the letter. ‘“I hope when the false queen is dead you will return to me, and think of my proposition.” What sort of proposition?’ ‘Marriage, My Lord.’ ‘But why the wait? It sounds as if you did not immediately accept. Unless this proposition was something other than marriage?’ There it was again, another attempt to make you look guilty. Then an idea suddenly hit you. ‘My Lord, are there any other letters?’ But when Lord Stark curtly replied ‘no’ your heart sank. The final letter you sent to Jaecerion not only mentioned marriage, but Jenna. If Jenna’s name was found amongst your plans then just maybe they would think her guilty too.

But luck was never on your side. Lord Stark summoned the lords together. Everyone else sat, anticipating what may happen next. With bated breath your hands clenched wood with so much strength it could have cracked.

Finally, the lords broke apart and with a grim look Lord Stark faced you. Even before the words were said you knew the outcome. ‘Lady Y/n Tyrell, you are herby found guilty of the deaths of Princess Ellyn Baratheon and Prince Vaeron Velaryon. You will be taken to the place of imprisonment and dwell there till the end of your days.’

Notes: We are nearly at the end of part one. After this there will be one more chapter and then an epilogue. I am already working on part two.

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