#Vizzy coming up

[n0vk0]

Guys I know I haven't posted in like 2 weeks I'm sorry for that

I've started working on a Vizzy drawing though

[vizziefizzie]

SS SILVER!!!!!!!

[sunderwight]

Thinking about the absolute shitshow that is the Iron Throne and succession on this sunny ash-cloud filled morning.

So as I understand it, there are a lot of different potential inheritance structures for the Iron Throne to be passed down via, because the Targaryens can draw precedents from any of their subjects (Andal, First Men, Ironborn, etc) with varying degrees of viability, plus also Old Valyrian practices, and however they were actually conducting themselves on Dragonstone for the hundred or so years between the Doom and the Conquest. Right? But I think the relevant ones for HOTD are:

Primogeniture, Male Preference vs Absolute Male Preference vs Absolute Primogeniture, Heir Designation, Elective Succession, and Right of Conquest.

Primogeniture is the inheritance model where the eldest child inherits everything. Inheritance isn't divided between potential heirs upon the death of their parent, it's winner takes all. Or rather, eldest son does. This looks to be how most of Westeros operates by default, and how inheritance works according to Andal law. The eldest son (or daughter if there are no sons) gets the title and all the other properties held by his predecessor unless he's been disinherited, and then other successors are determined in a similar order along the family tree (i.e. your next eldest brother would be your heir if you didn't have any kids, then sisters, then first cousins, and so on). But this also applies to heirs themselves, meaning, if you are Jaehaerys I and your son Aemon is your heir, and Aemon's only child and daughter Rhaenys is his heir, then if Aemon dies, Rhaenys gets everything that belonged to Aemon, including Aemon's position as your heir. Which is why Rhaenys would have been the first ruling queen of Westeros, had Andal custom in fact been followed.

Then, male preference and absolute male preference are systems that determine how much sexism is in play when it comes to selecting viable heirs. Absolute male preference means that only men may inherit, and only through their male relatives. Male preference means that sons get preferential treatment, but in absence of them, daughters can inherit (and also that sons can inherit through their female relatives, if applicable). Most of Andal tradition falls under male preference, where an eldest daughter will not inherit before her younger brothers, but it's not absolute because a daughter with no brothers will inherit before her uncles or male cousins. Absolute primogeniture is, on the other hand, when the eldest child is heir regardless of gender. I think this is what Viserys was gunning for, since his negotiations with Corlys and Rhaenys for Laenor and Rhaenyra's children indicated that he expected Rhaenyra's eldest child to inherit the Iron Throne one day, with no stipulation on gender. This would also seem to be the system that Dorne uses.

Heir designation, on the other hand, is when the ruler has the right to personally select their heir from all viable candidates (typically, their children or perhaps grandchildren, or sometimes siblings or even more distant relations). Heir designation doesn't seem to be standard for Andal culture or even what we see of the First Men (hence things like Samwell Tarly being disinherited via the Wall rather than his father just naming his younger brother Dickon as heir over him), but could have been practiced by the Valyrians, and it is this possible precedent of Valyrian tradition which Jaehaerys uses (I think?) to declare his younger son Baelon (Viserys and Daemon's dad) as his heir over his granddaughter Rhaenys, before Baelon's death inspired Jaehaerys to call for the Council of 101 to decide the succession instead.

Which is where elective succession unexpectedly comes into things. I think the only Iron Throne vassal we see practicing such a thing are the Iron Islands, with their kingsmoot? But the Iron Islands are not generally popular or often emulated elsewhere in Westeros, of course, so in this case Old Jae's probably still taking his cues more from Essos or potentially also Old Valyria? The Council of 101 may or may not have been rigged, but at least by appearances, it allowed the lords of Westeros to elect their next leader from a limited pool of candidates (Rhaenys or Viserys).

The final succession structure relevant to HOTD, of course, is the Right of Conquest. Right of Conquest is when the realm will legally grant you the ownership of something if you have seized it via some kind of military might (usually with some stipulation that you have not only taken it, but held onto it for at least X length of time). In Westeros, the Right of Conquest was how Aegon I and his wives used their dragons to establish the Iron Throne, and as a rule it can pretty much overthrow all the other precedents (as it did for the conquerors). But I'm pretty sure this is also why the succession feud after Viserys' death is pretty much guaranteed to become a fight, and it's a major contributing factor to there being so many goddamn civil wars in Westeros. Can't beat your brother's claim? Well, try beating his ass instead!

So... basically, we have a giant, inconsistent mess that has been muddying the waters of the Iron Throne's succession pretty much from the beginning. The Iron Throne follows mostly Andal law and customs, except when the king doesn't want to, and then maybe it follows Valyrian customs or Essosi customs that might be Valyrian or some custom from some other group of subjects or the king just goes "I do what I want" and reminds everyone else (inadvertently, in the case of Viserys) that there is a legal Whoever Punches Hardest Wins clause baked into the system.

Which makes it nigh-on impossible to claim that such-and-such a candidate in HOTD (or even ASOIAF) is being robbed of their rightful inheritance, doesn't it? Whether it's Rhaenyra being the designated heir or Aegon being the eldest son, not just because it's all claptrap anyway, but because there is no stable precedent for who actually has the rightful inheritance even when you're trying to play ball with the existing systems. After Aegon I's death the throne passed to his eldest son, Aenys, but the throne then went to Aenys' brother Maegor instead of his kids. But ultimately Maegor was wildly unpopular and died childless, and so everyone decided that was an outlier and the throne reverted back to Aenys' line, and went to Aenys' son Jaehaerys. Which means there's no firm or stable ground to fall back on before Jaehaerys' own sexist farce of a succession, or the absolute hash Viserys subsequently made of the matter either. Andal law and custom would normally favor Aegon over Rhaenyra, that's true, but those same laws and customs would have also favored Rhaenys over Viserys, and the throne's predominantly Andal vassals voted against that. Which might seem to endorse heir designation, since that was how Jaehaerys selected Baelon and through Baelon, Viserys, as his own successors, but then again the Council was called on the premise that heir designation was insufficient, so perhaps an elective system should actually be in play? But Viserys doubled-down on heir designation and/or absolute primogeniture instead, without even really clarifying which he meant the throne to go by. If he actually filed paperwork beyond the sworn oaths (which he didn't even renew after Aegon's birth or in the decades after), it didn't survive to make into the historical record.

And of course, everything can be upended at any time by a sufficient show of force. Which is not only viable in terms of forcing the issue, but also legally valid, and thus less liable to prompt rebellions and strong rejections from the general populace.

Ultimately we know that the Iron Throne settles on absolute male preference and primogeniture, but all the characters trying to apply this standard to the Dance era are doing so in retroactive judgment.

[helluvabinge]

The amount of bad faith arguments from antis is utterly astounding. I just saw 2 different people argue that Blitz being fine with killing the mom in Murder Family and not the gay couple in Sinsmas was a sign of Vizzie being obsessed with gay people and hating women.

The entire story of Helluva Boss is Blitz coming to terms with his trauma and the ways that has shaped his relationships as an adult. That’s not even a B plot. That is literally the main story.

The show begins with him hiding his trauma behind bravado. He has lost his family and feels responsible. He adopts a daughter, but is afraid to place any boundaries on their relationship and trades away genuineness for surface level gifts and compliments.

He craves intimacy but is terrified of actually finding it. He fucks around with whoever he wants and crosses every boundary with M&M, constantly trying to insert himself into a successful relationship, without putting any effort into building one himself.

He’s determined to prove he’s not just a screw up, so he starts a business based around one of the few well paid jobs imps seem to be able to get in Pride (hired muscle), and he doesn’t think twice about whether the people he’s killing actually deserve it or not.

By the end of Apology Tour (though honestly it starts before this) he has realized that he doesn’t want to be like this forever. He doesn’t want to cut himself off from people. He wants genuine connection.

In Sinsmas, Blitz immediately clocks that the family they are about to kill bears a superficial resemblance to his and Stolas’s relationship. When he goes out for the job, he sees the future he wants, the same one he has only recently allowed himself to admit he wants, and yeah, it’s too much for him to go through with it.

It makes sense that a repressed Blitz firing on bravado and overconfidence would distance himself from his hits in episode 1. It makes sense that the more he opens himself up to being vulnerable, acknowledging his trauma, and finding genuine connection with loved ones, the harder that would be, especially when his own emotions are so new and so raw.

Yes, Blitz loved his mom and he’s not over what happened to her, but his coping mechanism is to push his emotions away and try to forget about all of that. He’s not trying to do that with Stolas in Sinsmas. In fact, he’s very notably trying to do the exact opposite, so of course his reaction to this hit would be different.

If you don’t understand that, you are (at best) not paying attention to the plot or (at worst) are willfully ignorant and intentionally trolling fans of this show because you have nothing better to do with your time.

[laurorne]

༊*·˚ CRAVING YOUR WARMTH | aegon ii targaryen x targaryen bastard sister!reader

summary: two dragons who seek to move closer for warmth during their grief must remain apart, as they can only hurt one another with their sharp teeth and barely contained flames. though they both share the intentions of a close relationship, they're unable, for reasons they cannot avoid.

content: targaryen incest, angst, allusion of self-mutilation/harm, bastardphobia in westeros, night after intimacy suggested, self-hatred, blood, wonky metaphors and personification, no beta we die like vizzy t, badly written angst, that damn necklace

word count: 1.5k

a/n: let me tell you that i struggle writing angst, but god do i love reading it. i'm like my own self entertaining paradoxical concept and it astounds me

A gentle hand smoothing over his back is what stirs him from the throes of sleep, nails skating along his marked skin softly enough to tickle. He shifts as the hand moves from the expanse of his back up to his hair, rubbing circles into the crown of his head. Twirling bits of hair between deft fingers as she presses a kiss to the slope of his shoulder.

He hums, limbs stretching out clumsily as he rolls onto his side, fingers weak as his hand dances along the goose-down duvet until it reaches her. Her, and her softness, and her warmth.

“Wife.” He’s barely awake, even with the exasperated sigh that comes from his older sister.

“We are not wed, Aegon.” A gentle reminder from soft lips, her eyes taking in his tired demeanour, the curve of his brow.

She brushes the strand of choppy hair from his face, thumb dragging along the apple of his cheek.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, lids finally fluttering open as he stares up at her with those watery eyes. The ones he knew made her weak to suggestion. He lets his hand creep up her calf –where he can still feel the divets of scars from their childhood running through the gardens– until it finds home on the hand she has in her lap, he threads his fingers with hers. The number of rings adorning her fingers was thanks to him: he and his obsession with keeping his older sister glamoured. 

Imported Dornish rings that gleamed with the heat of the sun, Essosi ornate cloth and dresses that were far from the modesty of Court, hair pins adorned with pearls from the Summer Isles, and an intricate necklace crafted from the smelted metal of a Valyrian sword, inlaid with gemstones he had pulled from the Red Keeps vaults.

She was wearing it now, the stones gleaming under the sun that spotted through the lace curtains of her room. The engraved details scatter the few beams of light they catch like dew drops upon spider silk. The stones dangle between the valley her breasts create, the smallest of them twirls some intricate dance as she shifts. Like molten silver, it fits her without any of the stiffness metal should have. 

“We should be.” He glances down at his hand intertwined with hers and watches her thumb rub over his —in the way she always has ever since childhood— it makes him all the more rueful.

He’s hopeful, far beyond it. His bones ache and his head throbs from a swelling hangover, and he feels his throat ache something terrible at its use. His eyes trail from their hands to her face, he wants anything aside from sorrow to be there.

It’s worse. 

Her brows are furrowed as she stares down at him with pity, oh how he wishes it wasn’t pity.

“Oh, sweet boy.” She pulls her hand from his grasp and holds his face in her gentle hands with all the care he needs. “Some things, they just can’t be.”

His lip curls, a pathetic smile covering his visage as he cups the backs of her hands in his own. “But they could. Helaena would not care, she loathes our marriage. As do I. We could take Valyrian vows on Dragonstone. Just as our sister and uncle have. We could leave.”

“Aegon.” A wistful breath of his name, pained and twisted with grief of things that never were and never will.

“We don’t need to stay. Just you and I, riding atop Sunfyre. Across the Narrow Sea.” He moves onto his knees, staring into her wet doe-like eyes as he speaks. He doesn’t leave her an opportunity to doubt him. Doesn’t allow her to pull away as he keeps her hands on his jaw.

Her lips twitch and so do her fingers against his. “Aegon, don’t be foolish.”

“You mustn’t know what you mean to m-”

“Aegon, please.” She tries to pull away now, but he winds his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and presses forward. Wine-stained lips crushing against the curve of her nose, fluttering across her brow like the gentle wings of a cotton moth as it devours silks and linen allied— devourer of all things beautiful and plain. 

He drags his lips to hers finally, soaking her up in a way only someone as depraved as he could. It’s like stretching out upon a rock after not feeling the son for years, like stripping yourself of shackles you’ve worn since birth. Her lips are chapped, a split in her lips from all the worrying she does to the poor thing scratches along his upper. He surges forward, pulling her so fully against him that it fills some empty part of him, like a puzzle piece that’s never been slotted into place. But oh —how it has— and how it always disappears just as quickly as it comes to him. He licks at her bottom lip, sucks it into his mouth and shudders out a breath as she reciprocates. Her lashes fluttering against his cheeks as they finally shut, as she cups his neck and presses her butterfly kisses onto him, licks into his mouth as she breathes hotly across his face in a way only Aegon can enjoy.

He nips at her tongue accidentally, overexcited and eager as he is. And that seems to bring her back from whatever hole he had dragged her into. But he persists, hand drifting down to the smooth metal of her necklace as he thumbs at a jewel. He tries to savour her presence even as her face scrunches and her fingers fist the hairs behind his ears. It nearly pains Aegon, with the way his head tilts away from her just slightly, Adams apple jumping against pale skin as he stares oh-so adoringly, heady breaths stinking of wine fanning her bruised lips.

“We could start a family in Essos. As many children as you want.” He desperately reaches for her again.

“Aegon.” 

“A home in Braavos, on the beach. Where we could lo-”

A hiccuped sob that withers in her throat is what stops him, punches the wind from his lungs.

Her lips are pursed and her hands have loosed upon his hair and move to cup his ruddy cheeks. Nails pressing into the flesh of his face hazardously. His eyes are dark and his lips part as he stares up at her, he sees the tears edging along her waterline. That deep frown she has when she’s trying not to cry, whether it's about something he had done or when she’s ordered by their Grandsire to stop her hysterics.

“Aegon,” It’s a sullen whisper as she lets his face go entirely, fingers slipping down his chest before they land in her lap again. “I am not a trueborn daughter. I will never be. I am not right in the mind. I will birth lunatics and monsters and wailing death. You can’t love me.”

He doesn’t know what to say, for once he has no sharp-tongued quip or comment. He pushed her from a height, just when she had finally reached the top of her spire. He retracts, fingers loosening from the grip he had on her pale hair, and lets her fall back onto the plush of her bed as she stares up at him like he’s burnt her. Like he’s dragged a dagger across the soft of her flesh and told her he never loved her. She pushes herself away, curling in on herself as tears cut through the flush of her cheeks. A wobbly exhale, and another as he drags a hand through her hair.

Her fingers dance down her neck and across the skin of her arms where they find home on the pale scars marring the upper parts of her arms. He can see her fingertips quivering with the urge to dig. To pull at chords of muscle beneath her skin and scratch at her bones. She had told him about things she saw. Things that hunted at the edge of her vision and scattered when she went looking. Dreams that came to the waking world with her. A pale man with the stench of darkness seeping from his pores.

“I love yo-” He leans forward to comfort her. 

“You don’t.”

“I know that I love you.”

“You know nothing, Aegon.” She pulls herself to the edge of the bed and drags herself to stand, the silk bedsheets slip away and her goosebumps raise upon her bruise-marred skin, she’s as bare as the day she was born. Her throat is too tight and her necklace feels heavy as she stumbles to the secret passage, she slips from the room unbidden and leaves a smudge of blood on the wooden grain of the bookcase as Aegon sits in her bed. Salty tears of his own roll down his face as he clenches and unclenches his fists.

[myladysapphire]

The Dragon and the Wolf (III)

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,291

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, p in v, depression, mentions of miscarriages, stillbriths, love confessions, family reunion, marital difficulties, angst, not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

authors note: the timeline does not follow the book so don't come for me for changing things. sorry if this seemed rush honesltyi dont like it but i think it works well and makes a good chapter to lead into the epilouge.

In the year of 134AC, 3 years after the end of the dance of dragons, and three moons into your marriage with Cregan stark you finally made your way to kings landing after years apart from your beloved brothers.

Viserys and Aegon were no men almost grown, with Viserys a wife and child on the way and Aegon, now married to Daenaera Velaryon, though their marriage remained unconsummated.

The reunion had been a sad one, with many tears shed as you finally saw your brothers after years apart.

“Aegon! Viserys” you cried out as you ran out of the carriage to greet your brothers, your arms wrapping tightly around them, scared to let them go. Tears filled your eyes as you kissed their cheeks.

“I have missed you so dearly” you said to Aegon before looking over at Viserys, your mouth stuttering as you tried to find the right words “Vizzy, I have…oh gods-“ you cried out pulling him in for a hug once more “your all grown up!” you said, “a man grown” shaking your head as you hugged him closer.

He cried on your shoulder as you did, his arms never leaving you even as you introduced him to Cregan.

“This is Cregan…my husband, and the new lord hand.”  

“An honour to see you again” Aegon greeted, moving away from slightly from you to shake Cregan’s hand.

“As it is for me, my king” Cregan replied to Aegon head bowed.

And though Kings Landing had changed much, filled with new faces and on the rare occasions a familiar one, you still hated it.

You had thought seeing your brothers here, your sisters, it would feel like a home again,

But no.

You despised the viper pit.

There was more scheming and ploys than before and you were now at the centre of it.

with Cregan as hand and the death of your grandsire as regent, new faces took the role of councillors you had only just grown to trust.

Many of your mothers’ own advisers, advisers you had made Aegon promise to keep on his council had died in the winter fever the year before.

And perhaps that was why you hated Kingslanding, though a fifth of their population was taken, and 90% of that being the smallfolk, so many you had known, trusted and cared for had died and you never even knew.

The halls seemed more haunted now.

Not just haunted of by the faces of your family, of your uncles and brothers.

Of your mother.

But of them also.

You regretted coming with Cregan, and you hated yourself for it.

You had though and thought to stay here, arguing with him before the wedding for just this, to stay.

You know whished to take Silverwing and ride her to Winterfell and never return.

It was only the love you had for your brothers and Cregan that made you stay.

The memory of when first admitted your love for each other playing over and over again, as if it would somehow make you love this place once more.

“Cregan” you had sighed, now alone in your shred tent after a hard long day of ridding, the bath water doing little too sooth your joints.

He sighed your name in return, turning to face you as he undressed for bed.

“Do you love me?” you asked, trying to keep a casual tone to your voice, though you couldn’t hide the hope in your voice.

He smiled softly, moving towards you, taking your hand in his, “I have loved you since I first met you, and I do not think I ever will”.

You smiled, kissing his lips softly, “I love you, I have for so long, even when I hid behind my grief.”

“Really? I did not think you liked me much, after the war.”

“I did! And I hated it, I wanted to through myself into my grief and yet a part of me felt pained that I loved you and you did not know. I hated ignoring you, there always seemed to be a tether tying me to you.” You said shyly. “I hated that you were the reason I was pulled from my grief, I didn’t want my happiness to depend on you, but now…I am glad it is”.

She was glad to have him, he filled the whole left by her family’s deaths, though it was a different kind of love and wholeness she was glad for it.

But it did nought, not as you became and aunt, you fell back into the slow misery you felt before.

Feeling lost and haunted. Surrounded by ghosts talking to you day after day, ghosts you could not hear but faces haunted your dreams.

You didn’t tell anyone though.

Your family was happy, despite the death of Corlys or Baleas husband.

They all seemed happy here, laughing and enjoying the feasts.

The only person who could see your misery was Aegon, but even then, he didn’t understand.

It was clear he was haunted by your mother, of her death. But his was misery was he could push aside, and when with his family all he had was joy.

And yet you still felt that death followed you even more.

More as you felt the death of your child, spending hours, days on the birthing bed only to be greeted with a still born child.

More so as you felt the blood trickle down your legs time after time as you tried and tried to carry another pregnancy to term.

Your heart continued to break and Cregan could see your misery and so he insisted on you retuning to Winterfell, and you agreed.

Being back in Winterfell made you lose the feelings you had in Kingslanding, made you feel safer.

Made you feel at home.

And you felt lighter here.

Then Cregan was called back to Kings Landing and the emptiness found you again.

But you forced it to the side, hoping if you ignored it long enough it would go away.

And gods were you wrong.

You had plunged yourself into work, trying to help the north recover, from its weakened state following the famine caused during the winter fever.

 A year passed, now 136AC, a year away from your husband, from your brothers.

You became a ghost once more; all healing had vanished and the person you said you would become if Cregan sent you here alone had come.

 “Without you I will…I will only find that hollowness I felt for moons, the sadness will return without you to…to comfort me, to hold me and cherish me. I cannot be alone, I may rely on you a little too much, but I cannot bear to…”

And it had, you were hollow, and you were sad. But instead of letting it spill out of you as it had before, you kept it hidden.

Putting on a strong front, you wanted to be the fierce lady of Winterfell no matter how much you were breaking inside, no matter how much you wished for Cregan to see through your flowered words on paper and to come back to you.

And though he did come back to you, it was not because of you, but of Sylas the Grim.

A wilding chieftain who led a large force of 3,000 south of the wall and was plundering the lands of the gift.

Cregan arrived soon after you sent news of Sylas attacks. You yourself had tried to scare them off, using Silverwing to burn their trail. But they continued their plundering.

And so Cregan led the rallied forces of the north and attacked the wildings, leading yet another victory.

You had watched from the sidelines, sat atop Silverwing awaiting Cregan’s signal. But he never gave it, never looked over to where you waited. Only greeting you as you made your way into the festivity’s hours later. Having taken Silverwing over the wall and burning down all trees beyond the wall, within a 100-mile radius.

He had been surprised but grateful for your actions. But his gratefulness was soon overlooked as the drunken men of the north started to sing.

And you once again sat in your seat and let the hollowness within you start to show.

Later that night, after going to bed hours before Cregan, you and him finally spoke.

“Cregan?” you muttered, lifting your head from the pillow as he tumbled into the room.

“Wife!” he replied, his tone joyful, “I have missed you” he sang, “you’re going to come back with me to kings landing!” he spoke, looking at you expectantly, as if expecting you to dance in joy.

“no” you said, sitting up.

“No?” he said, suddenly sobering up. “Why not? Do you not miss your brother? Or me?”

“Every second of everyday”

“Then come to kings landing”.

“no”

“Why not?” he said, his tone almost aggravated.

“It is haunted” you spoke, your voice in hushed whispers as if the ghosts would somehow appear in your chambers.

“Everywhere haunted, even Winterfell” he said, looking at you, truly looking at you.

He took note of your sunken eyes, your dead eyes.

You looked just as you had those first few years here, and he hated how what you had said would happen had come true.

“no” he muttered, moving towards you “no…my love my sweet wife…what has happened?”

You broke down in tears, telling him what you felt, a years’ worth of emotions spilling out of you and the tears never stopped.

You must have spent the night crying in his arms, begging him to stay and never leave you again.

“please” you begged, “I can’t…I can’t go back there, and I can’t be without you”.

“okay” he said, thinking hard, “I will give up my place as hand”.

“I can’t ask that of you- “

“You can, and I must” he shook his head, cradling you in his arms “I have neglected you for too long and I am so sorry, I love you, I hope you know that” he said, hand caressing your cheek.

“you’ll stay”.

“Yes…always”

Giving up the position of hand of the king had been like a wight had lifted of his shoulders.

But seeing the state of his with had placed a heavier weight on him.

Feeling his heart break and his own betrayal fill him as you cried in his arms he felt he was a disappointment.

He had seen your loss, her grief and in his own he had pushed you away.

And though he had recovered, he should have known that you couldn’t, not by yourself, not when you still had so much grief left from the war still.

you had always been soft and gentle, always so Intune with your emotions that they overwhelmed you, and he had somehow overlooked that fact and sent you away.

And unlike last time he didn’t have the wedding or retuning to kings landing to look forward to. There was nothing really to look forward too, other than the one thing the gods had deprived you off.

A babe.

You had tried and tried, but three miscarriages and one still birth had wrecked you.

In truth had he not had the lords breathing down his neck once more for an heir then he would never have made you try in the first place and yet it was what you craved, despite the duty you wanted a babe.

And now as his cock filled you and hit all the right spots, this moment were their was no grief, no death no duty to fulfil, just you and Cregan.

“Cregan” you moaned, your face falling into the pillows as he pounded into you “please” you begged into the pillow, you felt your peak approaching as he entered you out, hitting your sweet spot again and again.

He held onto your hips, his cock focusing on that spot as his finger moved down to your clit, bringing you to your second peak of the night, as he filled you with his seed.

You collapsed on the bed, as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tight.

You relaxed into a comfortable silence, a silence you both often found yourself in.

‘I love you” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

And for the first time in a year you said it back, “I love you, too”

You fell into your roles as lord and lady of Winterfell easily. Finding you rather enjoyed your duties even more when they were not used as a distraction.

And even though there was some tension between you and Cregan still, you found the love you felt for one another made everything easier, especially when you had spent nights crying in grief and regret at refusing your brothers request to return to Kingslanding even if only for a few days.

You hated saying no, but they seemed to understand. Your duty was to Winterfell now, and they understood.

Egg had understood your need to leave before, himself feeling the same as he told you he considered moving to Dragonstone but fearing hell find more hurt in those halls than that of the red keep.

And now with news of Aegon’s tour around Westeros you were excited to see him once more, too show him your home.

A home you did not regret him having no place in, and as the years passed with a few visits here and there form your brothers you found you rather liked the distance.

Finding that perhaps your grief weas in the guilt of only them and you surviving and not Jace, Luke or Joffrey. The boys who were truly your brothers before they were ever kings or princes.

authors note: next part is the epilouge!

taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog @apollonshootafar @zillahvathek @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx @valyriantargaryenblood-blog @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunblogsblog @clobobo @raynetargaryen2 @justbelljust @sukunassfingerr

@arminsstuff @now-i-have-a-new-obsession @eddieslut69 @materialgirl01 @bugmanor @annabellekenobi2005 @whos-too-bi @mandowhatnow @aegonswife @littlebirdgot @delaynew @now-i-have-a-new-obsession @dorkysupernova @hawkins_2000 @materialgirl01 @beebeechaos @rosedurin @rebeccawinters @berightback1409 @barnes70stark @perla434 @nessjo @helo1281917 @ateliefloresdaprimavera

to be added to taglist

[darkestspring]

I want some papa Aegon II content with toddler daughter who came first before the twins. How hypocritical as it sounded, he definitely favoured her among her siblings just as Vizzy T favoured Rhaenyra. Perhaps he named her Visenya (He calls her ‘Senya), the name his eldest sister wanted for her daughter, since she named one of her sons Aegon with Daemon.

She’s a lil’ dreamer too with a hyperfixation with nature in general, but a little delight. So he basically encourages her to be a little rebellious while Helaena is a wholesome, doting mom who loves her bby.

Aegon would without a single hesitation name Senya his favorite if he was asked, you don't even have to ask, he'll tell you his five favorite things about her with no prompting.

Aegon loves her, he adores her, he would set this world on fire if she asked it.

Sure, there was the twins. The twins are great, he brings Jaehaerys to his council meeting sometimes but he loves watchign Senya toddle in with a bouquet of daisies in her hand and she gives them to each person she sees before giving her leftover to her papa. He loves them, he has someone put them in vases and then he has them pressed into bookmarks or things like that after Helaena suggested it (the only suggestion he actually took seriously)

He's always entering Helaena's room to ask about her whereabouts when he can't find her.

"She's out picking flowers, you shouldn't disturb her. She's on a very important mission." Helaena put emphasis on on important as she looked back down to the daisy she was embroidering in the handkerchief for Visenya.

Aegon made a face before he got up. "She'll need help if she's to pick a lot of flowers, I'll get a basket." He quickly found an excuse to follow after his daughter while Helaena watched him leave with a deadpanned face.

Did he really think he could fool her?

"Papa!" Visenya's smile was as bright as the sun as she beamed a smile up at her papa. "I've collected so many flowers! I even found a sunflower! I'll give it to you since i love you a lot."

He'd never get tired of hearing those words, that she loved him. She loved him not out of obligation or for lies, she genuinely loved him as her father.

"I've come to help my princess, shall I hold the basket full of flowers for you while you pick." He smiled at her, ignoring the words of his guard that he was the king and above such silly thing.

He turned and glared at him, waiting under the guard was completely quiet under he turned back to his daughter. "Hm? What do you say, Senya?"

"I'd love that! With Papa, I'll pick so many flowers! For Papa, for Mama, for Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, and uh.... everyone else too!"

How lovely his child was. He'd do anything for this smile.

[coffeebooksrain18]

Controversial take, But Rhaenys wouldn't have made a good ruler. Now hear me out, yes she has a political mind, yes she grew up learning how to rule, and yes she would have been a better ruler than Vizzy T. But does that mean she would have been a good ruler? No.

She's too much of a push over for Corlys, she'd let him rule, sit the throne, and probably agree to have Laenor take the throne under the name Velaryon ending the Targaryen dynasty. She talks about the way of the world, but just like Rhaenyra believes she is above those laws/rules. I just don't see her being good ruler material. Now she is a good hand and would make a good hand, just not a ruler. Now I'd pick Rhaenys over Viserys any day, I'm just saying they both weren't good choices to rule as they're both push overs and hate conflict which comes with being a monarch and ruler.

[solvynessa-solvynessin]

nuziv are polyamorous (bi uzi, bi v, and n as the best ally anyones ever seen), vizzy are dating “casually” (they judge you like besties then make out like gfs nothin serious 💅) and doll is lizzy’s version of “husband gf who was lost at sea” but if doll coming back lizzy ugly crying fr like the sad slay lesbian she is

also yeva and nori had a “college thing” but then they broke up later and had been mutually pining ever since, even if they both fell in love with their respective husbands

also yeva was the “❤️😌” mom while nori wouldve been a “💥💯✊🏻” mom

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Alicent would literally start a fist fight

Then she’d let the entire court know that 1) Aemma had an affair (though Vizzy T might come out and say it was a consensual, poly relationship to save Sickly!Brother from getting executed on grounds of treason) and 2) that not only is Rhae Rhae a bastard, sired by the prince, but she knowingly sired her own bastard’s using the prince against his own will so double incest right there (though, with the poly relationship, it’s possible Vizzy T can say that he is her actual father and the Reader is still her uncle but in the histories Rhaenyra’s parentage will always be a matter of speculation

Imagine the fucking bloodshed that follows

I can’t see her really making a public scene about the whole thing and that’s only because she could never bring herself to do anything that would reprehensibly damage Viserys’!Sickly!Younger!Brother!Reader in any way. Alicent would most definitely hold even more resentment for Rhaenyra after this but she would bite her tongue. But I do believe this whole thing would push her over the edge though and she would truly become unhinged.

Alicent would completely warp the whole situation in her head after she figures out the truth. She’d view Aemma as the perpetrator, the one who manipulated , used and took advantage of Sickly!Brother!Reader, resulting in her bearing a bastard Rhaenyra (honestly so rich given what Alicent herself ends up doing later on). I just imagine Alicent being so aware and focused on Sickly!Brother!Reader given her obsession that she would suspect some fuckery going on behind closed doors.

I kinda like the thought of Alicent not holding back in this scenario when it comes to what she’s willing to do for her darling. I could see her offering to help tend to Aemma when she’s going through her pregnancy and building quite a good rapport with the queen, gaining her trust only for Alicent to inevitably poison her or something. But I also kind of like the idea of Aemma being well aware of Alicent’s obsession for the Reader cause of Aemma harboring her own obsession. It takes one to know one after all. And so if Alicent were to try and get close to Aemma, Aemma would know better than to truly trust her. But I could also see Alicent playing so well into her role as a naive and charming girl that she can sway Aemma into letting her guard down.

[fenrins]

im gonna be a hater tonight but idc! its a lomg one but i rlly wanted to rant 😔😔

im just gonna go right in and say it: some house of the dragon characters are unoriginal and lazy, and it pisses me tf off. im sick and tired of seeing the same oc regurgitated in this fandom bc istg half of these hotd ocs are literally just daenerys targaryen thrown back in time under a different name.

i usually dont care abt fanfic because its fanfic. nothing i can do, its probably some child having fun, but like i said im just TIRED of looking through hotd fanfics and seeing daenerys pop up as a faceclaim, and then going on to see that half (or all) of dany’s entire character is put into an oc with little to no actual originality if this makes sense.

before i get into this, what the fuck happened to the originality in original character? like genuinely? this is mainly abt one oc i legit just saw like an hour ago off of tiktok bc but still this applies to the daenerys knockoffs i (regularly) see and cry abt like my grown ass should not care but i do!!!!

starting off, the oc’s name is daenera. cool! fine! she’s not a daughter of rhaenyra which is a slay, but is a daughter of alicent and viserys which eh, good enough. we go on to find out that for some reason vizzy t and ali hate her, and at age 16 they decide to ship her off to pentos so she can marry a dothraki warlord. im not even joking. aside from that, she’s in pentos for a year, and comes back with an army of 550k and three dragons. okay hello daenerys! anyways she apparently fights for rhaenyra, but also bangs aemond, daemon, and cregan in the two year timeframe that the dance takes place in.

no one is gonna read this but my ass is mad and idgaf! i need to complain!! but anyways, i am sick and tired of the ocs that are just cheap copies of daenerys because at what point is this an original character? if youre using a faceclaim of daenerys for your character and essentially adding her entire plotline onto your oc, is it even an oc anymore? like i get being inspired to base a character off of her because dany is literally the blueprint, but copy and pasting her entire character and then going off and ignoring grrm’s established lore (yes, its a fanfic, but ive seen too many oc’s claim both cannibal AND vermithor at the same time and i am TIRED) is just lazy and boring.

i wish people did more with their hotd ocs honestly. like theres hundreds of houses and shit and actual ORIGINAL ideas one could use instead of just taking dany’s whole character and just making it their own. i dont even want to start an argument with this but i NEED to see more original characters. like im writing my own two on wattpad rn (one’s a dragonseed whos like schizophrenic idk and the other’s a mormont who slays the day away) but even then i just need more than aemond x his sister or niece or smth idk yk??

im just reiterating points ive made but man its just ughhhh

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Twenty-Three

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

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

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two

AO3 LINK

Author's Note: November happened but here we are! I would not have gotten through this without the love and support of @vampire-exgirlfriend and @selfproclaimedunicorn. Without you two, I would have just scrapped the whole thing and flipped the table. Also Misa coming in clutch with her Mid-Vizzy voice.

Summary: Ghosts both living and dead stalk Harrenhal's winding corridors and the family gathers for a celebratory meal.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - Stars Came Falling On Our Head

The examination was one that Abby had been dreading for weeks. The pitiful looks while the women whispered, “Lady Whent’s maidenhead was said to be torn during her examination and when she didn’t bleed in her bedding ceremony, her husband threw her from the tower!” or, “Lady Swann had no maidenhead and when she claimed it was her betrothed, he denied it and her father…” left her with such dread that she felt the constricting, sick feeling creeping upon her leading up to this.

There weren’t any further explanations as to who Lady Whent or Lady Swann were. Abby had gathered that what was most important were the terrible outcomes of not proving one had been chaste, virtuous, and untouched. By definition, Abby was none of these and she was torn. While she regretted nothing that she and Aegon had done, things she’d actively begged for, she felt the curl of shame that never quite went away. The phantom pain and heat from when the queen had slapped her for being wanton still lingered at the edges of her memory.

Her feet were propped on stools at the edge of the bed and Abby tried not to squirm, face flushed with embarrassment as it was each of the previous times Maester - now Grand Maester Orwyle - examined her. Queen Alicent sat by the fire with Helaena, Wylla and Sarra attending the maester with one of his assistants who was carefully taking notes both for whatever record and for marriage documents. At least it wasn’t with everyone surrounding her.

‘A better girl, a more virtuous girl, would have rebuffed his flirtations’, she thought, though the voice in her head didn’t sound like her own. ‘A girl who held the Faith close to her heart would not have sought such things outside the marriage bed’.

As often as women wanted to whisper horrifying stories of maidens who didn’t bleed, many others also giggled of what clandestine touches they’d gotten into with their own betrotheds. It wasn’t as if she’d been lying with any of the other men at court. She had been only with Aegon and there should be no shame in it, even if they hadn’t done the act itself yet.

Now if only she could stop feeling it at this moment, it would make this whole ordeal far easier.

“And you last bled…?” Orwyle asked in the sort of casual tone one talked of the weather.

“A fortnight. I was a week late but we were traveling.” He nodded in confirmation and the scratch of the quill against parchment filled the silence. Abby continued before he could ask. “Over the past few months I’ve either bled a little early or a little late. I felt more discomfort at the end of the year than I normally have.”

“She was on bedrest with tea,” Wylla said to the maester’s questioning look, prepared and at the ready for any explanation that needed providing. Abby wanted to hide her face against Wylla’s neck and let her deal with this for her. “That seemed to settle her just fine.”

“Good. My lady, have you had any unusual pain here?” He gently pressed along her lower belly. It was a question that she’d been regularly asked since she first bled. Her mother had difficulty conceiving and had been prone to pains. Orwyle had expressed steadfast concern over Abby’s own health

“While I was on bedrest,” she said softly, the cold trickle of trepidation curling through her gut. They’d been worse when she’d been younger but had lessened over time. Orwyle asked more specific questions and she answered each one while trying not to notice the way the queen’s head was tilted slightly in her direction, pausing over the letters in hand.

She knew that her maidenhead was gone. It had happened not long after Aegon’s tourney when he curled his fingers inside where she needed him, the digits streaked with red when he’d withdrawn them. Helaena had casually mentioned that her own was gone due to dragon riding the next morning unprompted. Wylla lost hers due to much beloved forays horseback riding back home at the Karhold.

But beneath the watchful eyes of Queen Alicent, the shame still lingered.

“I see no reason why you won’t be able to conceive a child.” He was dipping his hands into a waiting bowl;Orwyle espoused the benefits of clean hands and she was grateful for it. “You are young, healthy. I would like you to do your best to wait at least another year however.”

“She is eight and ten,” the queen said, voice strained in a way that Abby couldn’t recognize. “Older than I. Many mothers have been made younger than she.”

‘Queen Aemma had,’ Abby thought. ‘And then they said she died because of it.’ She was aware of what the queen meant, however. Rhaenyra had many children, all boys. Aegon had none.

“I understand, Your Grace, but with her mother’s history, I would feel better if she waited.” There was a hint of gentle reproach in his voice.

Abby stared up at the blue damask that made up the canopy of the bed. The silver designs upon the rich fabric were woven in flowers and what seemed like hearts. This was her mother’s bed. This was the bed she herself had been born in, her mother in labor for a full day and night after losing previous pregnancies. The conversation of the other’s in the room turned to rushing in her ears as she stroked her hands over her own flat belly. She wanted children. She wanted little babies with large, lilac eyes and crinkled eyed smiles. Pouty mouths and curls like clouds around their heads. Abby wanted Aegon’s children, she wanted their children, to give him a household full of joyful shouts and let him be the loving and devoted father that he had lacked. To let them make up for the disappointment his own childhood had been filled with.

She twitched when hands moved her skirts and her teeth sank into her lower lip.

“I promise to be quick,” Orwyle assured her in his kind voice. She didn’t nod, nor any sound, eyes fixated on the canopy and imagining her mother there, her face not conjured from memory but by the painting that was fixed in the gallery the floor below.

At least the maester had taken care to warm his hands before he touched her.

Abby looked up at the gallery around the front of the great hall. They called it the Hall of a Hundred Hearths even if the true number was closer to thirty. The cavernous space had been painstakingly rebuilt since King Jaehaerys had held his Great Council all those years ago. Instead of broken stone like the jagged teeth of a maw, the archways had been rebuilt with stone from the ruined tower and the old sept. Instead of bats and spectres, servants were hanging down banners of House Targaryen and House Strong, interspersed with the grey fields of House Hightower and the silver and scarlet of House Reyne. Minstrels lingered on either side behind the servants, plucking lutes and hurdy-gurdys, testing the throw of the sound.

A long exhale drew her gaze back to Aegon’s face, where he stood across from her, their hands entwined, his long, deep green doublet so dark to be nearly black and edged in black braid and a golden dragon embroidered across his chest. “Can we be done with this already so we can practice the bedding ceremony?” he complained. His voice was not loud but it carried and the Queen snapped a quick, “Aegon!” While her cousin, Martyn Reyne, snickered from his place to the side next to Aemond, who had been tasked with holding the cloak for the ceremony. While Aemond looked dutifully at attention, Abby knew him well enough to notice he was bored out of his mind. He nudged the snickering Daeron beside him, which only spurred on the younger boy’s giggles.

Lord Roland, the king’s Master of Ceremonies, sputtered at being interrupted, his thin face flushed. “My prince,” he said, and Abby raised an eyebrow at Aegon and t the tight control Lord Roland had on his final threads of patience, her own amusement barely held by her tightlipped smile. “The wedding ceremony will be witnessed by the realm at large and must be perfect.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed at the perceived slight to him and she squeezed their joined hands.

“What my prince means to say is that so few will actually be able to see what’s happening, let alone hear us.” Aegon turned his narrowed eyes to her but she continued on. She didn’t want to be here for another hour either, but his complaining wasn’t going to help matters. “They’ll all be far more interested in how entertaining the feast is.”

Lord Roland’s indignation eased with an exaggerated sniff and he flounced away, a peacock in garish gray and lemon yellow. With a dramatic flourish, the Master of Ceremonies gestured towards the dias beneath the decorative canopy. Behind the pair of thrones that had been brought from King's Landing, the royal banner proudly displayed: A tri-headed dragon in shimmering obsidian on a field of scarlet, declaring House Targaryen's current claim on the castle.

Is that what it looked like all those years ago when House Targaryen had last claimed this hall?

“Their graces will sit here, presiding over the ceremonies,” he continued. They were still fixed to the spot where they’d stand during the ceremony and Abby didn’t understand why they had to be there. It appeared that the pompous entertainer liked positioning his audience as if they were names on a board. Perhaps it made it easier for him to go on as he did without considering they were real people who desperately wanted to sit down. Abby had attended weddings before and she knew this had all gone on far longer than what the actual ceremony would be.

At least, that’s how it felt.

Aegon resumed rocking back and forth on his heels, puffing his cheeks and exhaling in boredom. Her gaze drifted to the others. The queen had approached Lord Roland with Uncle Simon, Lady Lysa her ever present shadow. Cousin Garrett was also there with more note-taking, her uncle cutting in at specific moments where Lord Roland drew breath to ask questions that she was beginning to suspect were designed to frustrate the man.

“I thought this place was supposed to be a ruin,” Martyn’s soft voice carried from where he was attempting to whisper to Aemond. She did her best to ignore it, instead looking back up at the diamond glass windows made from Westerland quarries that had been set into the newly rebuilt arches. They were not stained as the great window was at the front of the hall, but instead her house’s sigil was inset into the panes in frequent intervals.

Her father had attended the Citadel for a time, earning links in history and money, even ravenry, the black iron, copper, red and yellow gold links winking out between the numerous steel links that signified his mastery of the law. He’d told her that the decoration of the great hall reminded him of the Citadel, that his grandfather, Bywin, found master stonemasons and glassworkers to rebuild at least this place and try to salvage the ruin that they were granted after Princess Rhaena’s death. The Citadel had been good to them. Garret’s elder brother, Garsey, was a Maester, and their uncle, Petyr, was still travelling Essos in his old age, learning the mysteries of the world.

Would one of her sons follow in those same footsteps? Would her boy hunger for knowledge of the great unknown? Wish to become familiar with the law as her father had? Or history? Or discover something that had been long forgotten to time?

“A curse sent in Harren’s demise… Burning bright with flaming glow… this tale of woe read long ago…”

Abby looked up to the gallery, trying to find the source of the singing. It was the same voice she had heard on the day of their arrival, singing of dragons and fire. Servants leaned over the balustrade affixing the heraldry banners, the musicians moving up and down the gallery looking for the ideal spots for their placements, and a lone woman she didn’t recognize drifted amidst the bustle. Abby could not make out her facial features, but the fall of silver hair marked her as a Targaryen.

At first, she thought it was Princess Rhaenyra coming to observe the goings on, but her soon to be good-sister was more voluptuous, favoring rich, royal purple and Targaryen scarlett, her hair in luxurious braids. The woman Abby watched now was reed-thin and clad in a samite gown, a veil of black over her hair and a matching black wrap over her shoulders, drawing her further into shadow between the shafts of afternoon light.

“In the black of night the dragon did rise…”

The woman paused in her wandering, turning to look at her, and Abby’s mouth filled with the taste of ash and copper. The woman’s face—

A sharp tug on her hands had her lose her balance and with a small ‘oof’, she fell into Aegon’s arms.

“You were wandering again,” he told her, his voice the whisper of a breeze barely heard. Abby felt the heat rush into her cheeks, a sharp shock as the rest of her shivered. Martyn was busy flirting with Sarra Frey, who looked both amused and bewildered by it, and Daeron was watching the exchange with his own curious speculation. Amidst the group of ladies and companions, it was only Aemond and Wylla who were watching her closely, fixed points on either side pinpointed upon her like prey.

“I was caught up in the singing,” she said and did her best to ignore the confusion on his face. Instead, she stayed where she was, too hungry for the warmth of him to pull away, letting herself give in to his strong frame and the way his hands stroked over her arms, his fingers catching on the golden ties of her brown and cream patterned sleeves.

The rehearsal had finished not long after Abrogail’s eyes drifted and glazed, the sight of it curling fear through Aegon’s ribs. The look was similar to the one Helaena had when her mind went elsewhere, but that was expected from his sister; Helaena had always been that way. Abrogail was always present, though not in the calculating and predatory way his brother was. A rabbit among predators, seeking to be useful, seeking to avoid claws and teeth. Anxious and ever at the ready. She’d been off since their approach and it had made sense. This was her long-since-lived-in home and their wedding was approaching without her family, without her parents. Abrogail had not been so far from him since they were children and grief was the black mourning shroud she wore.

His father had ordered Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin’s deaths…

Three days.

Three days until the wedding. Three days until the waiting was done and he could be put out of his misery from the anticipation. Three days until he could lock them behind closed doors and let everyone get drunk and celebrate and Aegon could be done with it and not leave the bed. He meant it. Not that he minded the attention and he knew he was doing quite well considering the lack of snapping and yelling that had been conspicuously absent from Mother and The Tower.

Once they were gone, he wouldn’t have to put a show on for them, he wouldn’t have to strive any further. He could simply keep his attention on his wife and draw the smile back to her eyes, distract her and comfort her in the best ways he knew how. It would only be them and no one else and that was all he wanted.

Yet…

That wouldn’t happen for another three weeks. Not only was there the wedding, but the king and council would be holding court for those who normally could not make the trek all the way down to King’s Landing.

His father ordered the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin Strong and Jace was, indeed, a bastard, as well as his two brothers.

Aegon pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and suppressed a yell. Instead, there was the distant call of Sunfyre who rumbled in his chest, reassuring and warm and there where he needed him. Another call eventually followed, the warbling of Caraxes and the vague honking call of Syrax in turn. He gritted his teeth.

Three weeks, or maybe sooner, until Rhaenyra and her retinue departed. Sooner if she wanted to get away from the same things he longed to escape, longer if she wished to reassert her position as their sire’s favorite. He’d only seen his sister upon her arrival, the lot of them lined up as the carriages pulled in, Rhaenyra swathed in rich plum and crimson and black; shapely, with eyes like chips of amethyst, cutting into the meat of him. The whole spectacle left him frustrated and anxious with no outlet but to drink in his rooms, prevented from sneaking away into Abby’s with all the fuss of the women about her.

“Aegon?”

He pulled his hands through his hair and gripped the locks, gaze cutting to Daeron who lingered nervously at the end of the great bed, tracing a finger over the knotted weirwood. A dead bed of dead souls. Aegon did not pray to the old gods, but even he knew a bed of weirwood should be a bad sign. His previous night’s sleep in the thing had been plagued with strange dreams half remembered, including one where Lyonel Strong was standing over him with bloody eyes and the smell of burning flesh.

“Hm?” Aegon fumbled with the goblet, sending it rolling across the table and each attempt to grab it pushed it further until it rolled to the floor. Frustrated, he kicked it away with his foot and grabbed the other more carefully, pouring some of his favored arbor red into it.

“Is Abby alright?” Daeron asked, his brow furrowed and his dark eyes uncertain.

‘I don’t know,’ he thought, growling into his cup. He couldn’t fix it, he couldn’t see what was wrong, only that she was drifting away again and he was scrambling to pull her back. If he tied a ribbon around their wrists, would it keep her there? Would it prevent the memories, the melancholy, from gripping her as it had those years ago?

Aegon was the melancholy one, not her, not Abby who was gentle touches and sunlight in the gloom, and to see her like this, like how she’d been after the fire, terrified him beyond description.

“Are you worried for her?” he asked.

Daeron looked uncertain at first, chewing on his lower lip and looking at his hands before he nodded. Even as his uncertainty lingered on his face, his shoulders straightened and he met his eyes. “Uncle Gwayne says Abby will be my lady now that we’re here, like Lady Sam was in Oldtown, and that I should watch her and look after her for you, for a knight’s duty is to protect those who need it.” The boy grew more decisive as he spoke. Aegon was certain that the tenet had been drilled into him as much as the sword training had.

“Then you may go check on her and report back for me,” Aegon instructed with a gesture of his goblet towards the door. The lad grinned and nearly ran from the room, closing the great door behind him with more force than he intended, for there was a muffled, “Sorry!” that he could barely hear. He reached up to tug the laces of his shirt loose, the light linen untucked from his unlaced trousers and headed out onto the balcony. The scent of wisteria and roses assaulted him and Aegon reached up to run his fingers through the hanging purple blossoms before looking down upon the bustling courtyard below.

“So where am I staying?”

“Not here,” Aegon replied, gaze still fixed on the gardens below. The day was cool but the sky was bright and blindingly blue, cloudless, and filled with dragons. Below, figures too small to identify celebrated the start of the wedding festivities surrounded by bards, jesters, and enough food to feed an army. The wine and ale were flowing and wouldn’t stop for the rest of the week.

Martyn scoffed and leaned on the balustrade beside him, scratching at his long nose, dark, strawberry blonde hair falling across his forehead. “Then where?”

Aegon jerked his head. “One of the towers. That one,” he gestured vaguely to their left, “or the one my parents are staying in.”

“Don’t they call that one the Tower of Dread? You’d put me in the most dreadful place? Me?”

“I told Abby we could rename them if she wished.”

“But—”

Aegon’s gaze didn’t move but he did reach up to clasp Martyn’s shoulder and jerk him closer. Yes, the place was a ruin, full of ghosts and phantom fire if the stories were true. He thought of the spectre of his dead good-father. “Martyn, that’s all of Harrenhal, but this is my wife’s home. Careful how you speak of it.”

“Not your wife yet,” Martyn said, not as chagrined as Aegon wished and that drew his gaze. Ser Martyn Reyne, first cousin to Lady Abrogail Strong by way of her mother and his father, and Aegon’s own… however distant relation. Good brother to Ser Tyland, Martyn had come to court, a scant few years older than Aegon himself, when the Lannister had become Master of Ships and married Martyn’s elder sister. He’d gone back to Castamere the year before due to the ill health of Lord Rodrik’s wife and his sister, Elayna’s, own pregnancy. It was oddly sentimental, given Martyn’s general lack of any outwardly care for anything outside of a good ale and blonde with big tits.

Aegon had few friends and Martyn had proved to be a decent companion over the years, mucking about Flea Bottom together, and enjoyed when Aegon paid for rounds of drinks or got them access to the most private of rooms in the best brothels. “Look at you,” the young man continued, unperturbed. “I know Harrentown doesn’t have the most exciting offerings, but surely that’s going to change. We could go and christen each new whore, really make sure they’re up to- fuck!”

Aegon’s fingers dug into the soft meat of Martyn’s shoulder, the fine red fabric of his shirt wrinkling beneath the grip. Martyn may have a few inches on Aegon—most did—but Aegon was a dragon with a treasured hoard he would protect, and he would not take the insult or let anyone think they could.

“Martyn,” he said, his voice sharp when he met the other’s gaze. “You’ve been gone quite some time so allow me to catch you up since you missed my nameday and the announcement of my wedding. I’m marrying Abrogail Strong and I happen to be very much in love with her. She also happens to be close kin to you, thus, I expect you to be as invested in her wellbeing and safety as I am. You are one of my oldest friends, Ser Martyn, and I’m happy to have you as a guest in our home. Martyn?” He squeezed and the other man winced further.

“Yes?” Aegon raised an eyebrow and Martyn fumbled. “Yes, Your Grace?”

Aegon’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Fuck all the whores in Harrentown that you want, I don’t care, and I’ll make sure you’re given the honors you deserve, but things are changing and you’re not going to fuck it up for me, are you?”

“No, Your Grace.”

Aegon released him and headed back inside, letting Martyn stumble and find his footing behind him. He exhaled heavily through his nose, throwing back the rest of his wine and contemplating another when Daeron returned, scratching at his cheek in his uncertain way.

“Um… Aegon? They won’t let me in.”

Aegon looked bewildered. “They won’t?” Daeron shook his blonde head with a wordless confirmation and Aegon dragged his toes against the rich, dark blue patterned rug. “Huh. Did Wylla say anything?”

“No, it was one of the other girls who answered. Um, Lord… Royce’s daughter, I think? The new one.”

“The one with the big tits?” Martyn chimed in, his hands gesturing towards his own chest with a laugh. The laughter cut off abruptly into a yell as Aegon threw the goblet right at Martyn’s head, smacking him in the nose.

“I don’t want to see your fucking face until dinner,” he snapped. He didn’t particularly care what Martyn thought or who had big tits or who didn’t, but Aegon was not about to have Martyn talk about Abrogail’s comely ladies around him, lest someone decided to run off to whisper in her ear that Aegon was the one complimenting Rhea Royce’s impressive tits. Abby was welcome to initiate that conversation.

He was trying so hard to be good for her.

Aegon dropped to his knees at the foot of his bed and shoved the blankets off the chest to dig through for what he needed. His sire had said something about too many gifts to angry wives and while Abrogail wasn’t angry, she had shut herself away. And with her continued strange behavior, he needed to stop it immediately lest she go too far from him to reach. “Where the fuck is it?”

“Where’s what?” Daeron asked. Martyn had the good sense to keep his mouth shut and Aegon was only dimly aware of the door closing, presumably behind him since the muffled annoyance of a bloody nose was no longer heard.

“A box about this big,” Aegon gestured and the boy immediately began looking on the other side of the room. Everything had been unpacked from their arrival so it couldn’t have gotten far.

The longer it went without finding it, the more panicked Aegon started to feel until Daeron gave a triumphant shout, carefully brandishing the box that had been buried somewhere in the wardrobe. Aegon pressed a kiss to Daeron’s forehead and headed out down the connecting stairs of the joined balcony. He ran his fingers through the wisteria, plucking a strand of vibrant, purple blooms before heading down the stairs toward Abby’s rooms.

“Can’t you just say no?” He didn’t recognize the woman’s voice wafting through the open, leaded diamond glass window. He paused before it, tracing the colored glass of the window beside it, blues, greens, and reds laid in pretty, geometric patterns like a fan of peacock feathers.

“I can't say no.” It was Abby’s voice, high pitched and distressed. “She’s the queen. It doesn’t matter if it’s in my own home, she is our queen and my good-mother.”

“You know, I thought most other women were as awful as her,” the first voice said again, a little muffled now - they must have been eating. “But it turns out, my cousin is simply awful. You are all quite lovely.”

“Thank you, Rhea,” Abby said, identifying the unknown voice. Aegon grabbed the door handle only to find it locked.

How rude.

“Hey!” He rapped his knuckles against the decorative glass of the door, peering through the clear parts to squint inside. “Let me in!” He tried the door handle again. Why was it locked? Why was he being denied? Aegon rattled the door again until a mass of dark hair and pointed fox features appeared on the other side of the glass. “Wylla, let me in.”

“Your command, my lady?” Aegon frowned. That was unusually hostile. What had he done? They were talking about his mother, not him. The last he saw Abrogail, he’d left her at her door with a gentle kiss on her forehead and a stroke of her freckled cheeks. Only hours later he was being denied.

The door opened and instead of Wylla, it was Abby. Her copper curls were a halo around her face in the late afternoon light, the sun catching at the bits of gold in all the red. Little tendrils of hair framed her normally sweet face, but the expression she wore had his ears turning red. Like him, she was half dressed, the wide neck of her silk chemise falling off her shoulders and his gaze raked over her bare neck and the tender dips of her collarbones. Had her expression not been so upset, he would have tugged at the neckline to peer down to the sight of her breasts that he spent most of his time thinking about. Even with whatever perceived upset she had, he could not deny the need that surged in his belly at the impassioned sight of her, and he forced down the need that growled inside of him, demanding satiation.

“You look-”

She cut him off, closing the distance between them to poke her finger in the center of his chest. “I look like I’m trying to find the earthly reason why the queen just told me that Cassandra Baratheon would be joining us as a companion of mine when you promised she wouldn’t.”

“What?” Why was she speaking of Cassandra? “I told her when we made our agreement months ago.”

“You didn’t know?”

He should be offended by the assumption but the way that Abby’s anger flushed her features was an indulgence and one he was relieved to see compared to the half-vacant and distant look he last saw on her face. His response clearly robbed her of words and so Aegon tucked the wisteria bloom behind her ear and guided her backwards into her chamber with his hand cupping her neck, thumb stroking against her pulse. Wylla rolled her eyes at the pair of them and tugged Rhea and her half eaten apple with her.

“Come on, we’ve got to make sure everyone else is prepared for the feast.”

When the door shut, Abby shoved at his chest and he took a step back but his free hand remained resting against her neck. “Stop distracting me,” she complained. “I’m upset with you! You promised me Cassandra wouldn’t be here!”

“Well of course she’s here for the wedding,” he said slowly, trying to understand what he was missing. He tugged her back with his hold on her neck and his thumb stroked against her fluttering pulse. Aegon delighted in her shiver, the way he could see her nipples tighten beneath the delicate fabric. “Then she’s leaving-”

“She’s not,” Abby interrupted, breathless.”I just told you!” She swallowed and Aegon relished in seeing the war within her, caught between the ember of arousal he was stoking and what annoyance at his mother she was trying to push on him. Gods help him, this was frighteningly easy to see the effect he had on her, how easily he could sway her from being upset with him, especially when there was no need to be. He would make a good husband in knowing what she needed and how to get her out of her head and stop worrying about everything. “The queen said that Cassandra would be staying at Harrenhal after the wedding. I don’t want her to be my companion, I want her gone!”

“I want her gone as well. I promised you that she wouldn’t be here and I’ll speak to Mother about it, alright?”

He didn’t know what the matter was. Floris was engaged to Aemond so Lord Borros got his dragon and prince to soothe whatever imagined slights. What he knew of the man, he was inept at politics, but Cassandra was sly. He could not see Borros strong-arming his mother, but perhaps a manipulation from the man’s daughter… Well, at least there was Martyn to act as a shield should she attempt anything.

Abby’s hand came up and curled into the loose fabric against his shoulder, tugging his attention while she turned her head and nuzzled against his wrist. “It will be fine,” he reassured her.

He watched the anger in her eyes gutter out, not altogether gone, but pushed away for a moment. “Aren’t I the one supposed to tell you that?” she teased and Aegon shivered at the brush of her mouth against the thin skin of his wrist. Groaning softly, he forced her head back so she’d look at him and swept his tongue past her lips, drawing in whatever else she wanted to say. No more thoughts in her pretty head, no more shadows darkening the blue of her eyes or furrowing her brow. He tasted the familiar tang of arbor red on her mouth and he chuckled.

“Did you get into my wine?” he asked her, pausing in the kiss to look at her heavy eyes.

“There was no cider,” she shrugged, yelping softly as he nudged her to the bed. She automatically parted her thighs expectantly, leaning back on her hands. He exhaled and pressed the box he still held against his mouth. The short hem of her chemise had pulled up and he admired the scarlett garters around her stockings, golden letter As entwined with silver As. Their initials.

He hated to deny what her gaze was asking for, but he’d come with intent. “I’ve brought something else for you,” he said, only briefly palming his aching cock. Abby raised her eyebrows at him, eyes going to where he’d touched himself and reached for his waist.

“A surprise?” He let himself be pulled forward with a sly grin and tapped her nose with the edge of the box.

“Close your eyes and lift your hair,” he instructed her and she obeyed while Aegon opened the box and carefully pulled the necklace from the soft inside. Sunfyre had lost scales in a scuffle with Dreamfyre that night on the cliffs long ago and he’d gathered them, knowing what he wanted to do with them… sort of. He hadn’t been able to decide until he observed her wearing the heavy, citrine necklace at his nameday feast.

Aegon ran his thumb over the dragonscale choker, the back lined with soft, deep black velvet to protect the tender skin of her throat. Hanging from the center was a tear shaped ruby, so deeply red as to look like a drop of blood, that nestled in the hollow of her throat. He tied the ribbon just tight enough so it wouldn’t move, enough for her to truly feel it and then leaned back to admire the glitter of his mark upon her.

It was the irrefutable proof that she was his, the wife of a dragon, so beloved by him that none could challenge nor take her.

“There,” he murmured with pleasure and pulled her up. Abby’s eyes flew open and he took in the look of surprise and delight, the red flush spreading across her skin as he set her in front of her full length mirror, the silver surface polished to the perfect shine. His hands rubbed her shoulders and he leaned forward to brush his mouth against her cheek and met her gaze. “Do you like it, rabbit?”

Wordless, she nodded. Abrogail turned in his arms and pulled him into her, sealed her lips over his, plundered his mouth with her tongue and tugged at his shoulders, his arms, desperate for him. Aegon would not deny her, he hungered for her, the gaping maw in his chest that sought her and the comfort and warmth demanding to be filled, gathered her against him, pulled her soft body into his. She tasted of arbor red and of apple and cream. She tasted like his downfall and his resurrection, like he’d been dead and born anew just beneath her touch and with her taste.

They stumbled back into the chaise by the fire and she climbed onto his lap, pushing him back full of demanding. Aegon’s hands went beneath her chemise to grip her pert ass and rock her against his aching cock, swallowing her whimpers and he moaned her name. He tugged the fabric of her smallclothes aside and-

The door banged open and Wylla Karstark clapped, her new, heavy chain of keys hanging off her belt jangling in her wake as she’d taken to doing to announce her presence.

“Off!” she called out, clapping her hands. “Off of him, Abby, we’ve got to get you dressed.”

“I don’t want to,” Abby mumbled but they parted nonetheless, Aegon’s toes curling in pleasure even at being denied.

“Really, Wylla,” Lythene said from the door, but she sounded less exasperated and more that she was full of amused giggling at the spectacle. Abby pressed a kiss to his nose and he smiled at her.

“Do you feel better?”

She nodded with swollen lips and a pleased smile that pushed little dimples into her cheeks. “Yes, I do. Thank you, mo réalta gheal.” She continued to evade what the words meant but at that moment, he didn’t mind. Rhea appeared over Abby’s shoulder to bodily hoist her from him, earning protests from them both and guided Abby towards the wardrobe. Wylla returned, eyebrows raised and offered a hand to tug him up.

“All better?” she asked, worry in her low voice.

“So you aren’t mad at me?”

“Och!” she swatted at his arm and shoved him back towards the balcony. “You are vexing. Begone!”

“Ah, so that’s where she’s getting her annoyance with me from.” He laughed as Wylla made to throw a slipper at him and darted back out the door.

Kingspyre Tower held its own great hall on the ground level, bigger than the Queen’s Hall in King’s Landing and entirely too much space for what was only a gathering of the family. It was a large family, all told, between the Targaryens and Velaryons, the Strongs and the Reynes, the Hightowers and a handful of Florents. Even with all of them seated around the cleared floor for dancing, Aegon was certain that they could comfortably fit double the size. Three great fireplaces were roaring to warm the space and minstrels played from the gallery a story above them.

Greens and golds, scarlets and silver, it was a sea of colorful fish that rose to clap as they entered the room. Abrogail jerked in surprise at the wave of sound beside him, fingers spasming against his sleeve. Aegon’s own reaction was automatic. He waved and she followed the gesture, laughing nervously at the intimate attention of the gathering. Great-Uncle Hobert was closest, stepping forward immediately to clap him on the shoulder.

“Congratulations, my boy!” he called. The exuberance that Lord Ormund Hightower expelled was so unlike Lord Otto’s that it continued to take Aegon by surprise and he let himself grin in return, basking beneath the warm glow of congratulatory adulation.

“Our thanks, cousin,” he said as Ormund’s new wife, Lady Samantha Tarly, appeared at his elbow. She was Abrogail’s age, equally red of hair, but her own skin was dusky and her eyes large and vivid green. Aegon kept his eyes on her narrow, smiling face and not below where her golden necklace hung with a sapphire as large as the one in his brother’s eye.

“They’ll return to us for much gossip later, my love,” she told Ormund, the man giving Aegon’s shoulder a final squeeze before letting go. “Congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you, Lady Samantha,” Abby said as the other pressed a kiss to her cheek before they were finally released. It was slow moving along the right side of the hall to where the servant was guiding them to their seats at the top table. Handshakes and kisses, everyone seeking to get in a word of well wishes and congratulations.

Finally, they reached the top table where the king sat, looking better now that he’d rested for a few days. He raised his glass and Aegon’s steps faltered for a moment as he came face to face with Rhaenyra who stood beside him, and with her, Daemon, who was looking at Ser Simon with an incredulous look as the shorter, elder man espoused the way the lamb for the night’s feast had been prepared.

“They stuff it full of cranberries, you see,” Aegon heard before his attention fixed upon the woman in front of him.

Before sickness had hollowed the king’s cheeks, Aegon always thought that Rhaenyra looked like him, but he could now see their similarity. He was closer to his elder sister than he’d been since… Well, Aegon couldn’t remember the last time he was so close. Even during her arrival, there had been distance between them, two orbiting suns competing for the strongest pull.

Always competing, even if he never wanted to in the first place.

Now, this close, he could see the shape of their nose, and while Rhaenyra’s face was plumper due to her recent pregnancy, it was still her. Still the woman he remembered all these years but now with the clarity he hadn’t before. He could see Jacaerys in her features. The nose and mouth were the same, as well as the purple of their eyes. Were those Aemma Arryn’s eyes? Were those his eyes?

‘Is this why Mother can’t stand to look at me? Because I look like Rhaenyra?’

The Realm’s Delight. It was an apt name, if only by how beautiful she was. Her silver hair was long, with four braids pulled away from her head, woven with black and scarlet ribbons strung with charms. They reminded him of Syrax’s horns. Her crown was a band of gold that looked like scales with rubies interspersed that matched her earrings. Her gown was black, the rich pattern only visible when one was close. Further away it glimmered like scales, and the elegant, gold braiding was studded with pointed obsidian chips.

Rhaenyra had come wrapped in the opulence of House Targaryen and armored in her own way, shoulders bared and neckline plunging, throat dripping in a heavy necklace of onyx and rubies and her light cape a fall of netted black.

“Rijnondi, Āegos.” Husky voiced, the clip of King’s Landing hadn’t faded since she’d departed, but the Valyrian accent was stronger than even Aemond’s. Her lavender eyes flickered to Abrogail, and she said in the common tongue, “And congratulations to you, Lady Abrogail.” The smile that crossed Rhaenyra’s face did not reach her eyes. Her lavender gaze was shuttered, on guard much like Aemond’s could be. Her fingers were held before her, delicately rolling one of the many rings she wore in what Aegon thought might be nerves at best and a play at coming off nervous at worst.

“Thank you, Princess,” Abby said, not soft spoken like she usually was. Her cheeks were flushed and her voice was a little loud. Endearing, to be sure, but also entertaining. “And thank you once more for coming to celebrate with us. It’s been so long since we’ve seen you. You’re looking well!” Her words rushed at the end, loud enough to draw the attention of Daemon.

“My brother tells me that you are being given the title of ‘princess’ upon your marriage,” he said, cutting over whatever Ser Simon was about to say next. His black doublet matched the design of Rhaenyra’s gown but was edged with red and black braid instead of the goldenrod that his wife wore. “I remarked at how unusual it was for such a title to be given, since that’s reserved for the heir and their family. Not even my late wife received such an honor and she was of Valyrian blood.” His face took on a thoughtful expression, mouth pursed and eyebrows raised. “Some fascinating negotiation on that front.”

“Prince Aegon is the king’s eldest son.” From the other side of the king’s chair came Otto Hightower, his graying beard neatly trimmed, his black doublet edged in green braid to match Mother’s gown. The golden hand that announced his office pinned his decorative cloak in place. “It is an honor he is entitled to.”

“Entitled?” Daemon’s voice was arched, his lips curling back in the same sort of smile Aegon had seen on his dragon’s face. He looked towards his sister, whose lavender eyes were on the play, fingers twisting her ring around. Perhaps it was not a play at nerves. Aegon glanced at the door the servants were going through, longing in his heart.

“Which do you think will become apoplectic first?” Abby asked in what he was certain she meant to be a teasing whisper in his ear, but wine and nerves had made it audible for the gathered group. Aegon’s eyes widened, a nervous and amused giggle escaping him as Rhaenyra’s own gaze flitted back to them, surprise and amusement on her features.

Ser Simon let out a hearty laugh, clapping Daemon with most familiarity on the shoulder. “Let us sit, eh? Now, while the cranberries offer such splendid tartness, it’s truly the persimmons that bring such spark to a roast boar…”

Aegon’s stomach growled at the thought of roast boar, but Rhaenyra did not move from where she was standing beside their father and in front of the chair that was meant to be his. It had been his for his birthday, the attention of the realm upon him in celebration, his father smiling at him with kind words. He was aware of the warm weight of his crown circling his brow; the hammered crown of gold with the seven dragons that was his. The crown that had once been Prince Aemon’s, then Prince Baelon’s, and then his sire’s before he became king.

It was his now and for tonight, for this time, so was that seat.

Rhaenyra had so much. She had titles, she had affection, she had every acknowledgement without fighting or scraping. Of course she assumed what was his for once was hers by rights, everything else was.

Aegon sighed through his nose, something that could be excused as a particularly loud exhale. He wanted the warmth and positive attention, even if only for a few moments, but was this even worth it? Sitting by their sire, threatening the tense peace for a chair he wouldn't want most of the time? With a nod to his elder sister, he motioned towards the seat at their father's side.

“Thank you for coming so far.” He gestured with a nod towards the chair they stood over. “You’ve been away at Dragonstone for so long, it must be good for the two of you to catch up. I believe I’ll engage with Ser Simon on the delicacy of the roast boar.” He felt the warmth of Abrogail beside him and took comfort in it.

‘I am my father’s true born son,’ came the sober thought, his eyes briefly flicking to where Jace was leaning down to speak with Lucerys, thinking about the way his shoulders shook as he sobbed in the gardens. ‘At least I have that.’

When Aegon looked at his sister again, her shoulders had slumped and it was then that he realized how tense she’d been since he approached. There was a curious look on her face, one of surprise and uncertainty, her eyes studying his own face as if words were written there, his thoughts on display. Aegon met her gaze unflinchingly. She didn’t know him, just like those Riverlords didn’t know him. Just like so many of those men who whispered about him didn’t know him.

“Sit down already.” The king’s rasp broke through the space between them. “Rhaenyra, you are a dear.” He reached out a hand to pat her arm. “There’s no harm in letting the lad sit here. It’s his wedding after all.”

Rhaenyra turned, mouth opening as she tried to grasp for some response, shaken from her thoughts by their sire’s words. “O-of course it is.”

The king chuckled again. “What good conversation I must have for the both of you to be bickering over the chair.” Aegon raised his eyebrows and found himself catching Rhaenyra’s eye at the strange statement. Did something pass between them? Some understanding or mutual confusion? Or had he imagined it? “Come, Aegon. Let us start this feast already.”

“I’m starving and Aunt Mya said that she had them prepare candied plums!” Abby pressed a kiss to his cheek as the servants pulled the chairs out for them, Rhaenyra taking her seat to Abby’s left and murmuring to Daemon as she did so.

“You need more than candied plums for however much you drank,” Aegon said, bending his head close to her.

“I did not drink that much,” she protested, her face turned so close to kiss but if he did, he wouldn’t stop and this was not the ideal audience for such a thing.

“You drank on an empty stomach which makes it that much. I should know—”

“---Because you drink more than a Braavosi sea lord?” The words were Aemond’s but the innocent tone was entirely her own. Blue eyes gazed at him from beneath her lashes, flashing with her annoyance. Aegon gave her a look and shifted to allow their goblets to be filled, a local wine by the winemakers in Harrentown. Claret drops splashed over the rim and ran down the silver, snaking over the swirls and whorls etched in for the rivers to the stems shaped like weirwood trunks, their leaves creeping up the bottom of the cup. Abby reached for hers and Aegon snagged it. “Aegon!”

“Not until the bread comes out,” he shrugged, sipping from her goblet for good measure and set it out of her reach.

She scowled and snatched his goblet instead of reaching over him like he’d hoped and he began to protest before he caught the gaze of his sister from around Abby’s head. He stilled, staring back at her and her inscrutable gaze before the tap of a goblet rang through the hall and his father was raising his hand for quiet.

"Tonight we gather in private celebration for the pending marriage of my son, Prince Aegon, and Lady Abrogail. House Strong has long served House Targaryen loyally and faithfully, and it is only right that now they are to be joined in marriage. Lord Lyonel was a steadfast Hand and a good man, would that he could have seen our children come together. Alas, something he did not have the opportunity to see." He raised his goblet ever so slightly higher as he looked towards the table where House Reyne sat. "An honor that Lady Celeste would have enjoyed for her daughter and her family as well. But there is no need to dwell on those no longer with us. Please, everyone, eat, and be merry. There is only more of this to enjoy in the coming days."

As the room clapped politely for his speech, Aegon exhaled with relief to the sounds of the musicians starting their songs, letting it wash over him. He reached beneath the table to rub his hand along Abby’s thigh, seeking out her twisting fingers and distracting her from where he knew her thoughts had gone. He felt the return squeeze, longing to strangle his sire for the moment in such dwelling over the dead and what he’d done for Rhaenyra, the thoughts of the truth beneath threatening to choke him.

Mercifully, the servants appeared with the first course. While the wedding feast would last for hours, this night would not shy away. Platters of pies stuffed with eggs and cheese, smelling of parsley and thyme, were set in front of them along with ones brimming with venison and dates and reasons, smelling of pepper and ginger. They were all small hand pies, and Aegon saw Daeron gleefully loading several onto his plate across the hall. There was a pottage of barley with raisins and berries and fresh loaves of bread still steaming slightly from the oven. Aegon immediately loaded several pies onto his plate even though there were more courses to come.

After sex, food and wine were welcome escapes and the only path he had in the moment.

The hall descended into merriment, plates being passed and laughter accompanying the merry tunes surrounding them like snowfall. The anxiety was palpable beneath it all, the subtly held breath that something would happen and hadn’t yet. Two pies down and Aegon had yet to see her eat and so he pushed one of the pies on her plate closer towards her. Abby swatted at his hand and he laughed.

“Are you going to vex me all evening, Aegon?” Abby asked before delicately biting into one of the meat pies.

“Are you going to challenge me all evening, Abrogail?” The wine was light and fruity on his tongue and he took a larger gulp, letting it warm pleasantly down his gullet.

Abby scoffed. “Clearly, I don’t challenge you enough.” He felt his lower belly tighten at her words and looked over at her, a quiet snort coming from the other side of her. Rhaenyra was looking at her plate though and not at them, so he was uncertain if the sound had come from her. His bride, however, did look at his sister, goblet paused in midair. “I am appreciative of you sitting beside me, Your Grace. You have saved me from my own sister ruining my appetite.”

Aegon choked on his bite of meat pie and this time he knew Rhaenyra had laughed. It was short, if a little awkward, clearly she was just as startled by the glib statement as he was coming from Abby. It reminded Aegon of Syrax.

She hummed and took a sip of her drink. “She is quite keen to insert her opinion constantly and I’m grateful that you do not appear to be the type.”

He looked at his plate, eyes wide at the exchange. Silent prayers were said and he was listening intently should Rhaenyra say something to upset her. Abby’s fire was often hidden and to have it come out now was both exhilarating and terrifying given the company.

“Lady Corynna and I were companions in our youth,” Rhaenyra said, voice low with curious amusement. “It does not surprise me to hear that she hasn’t changed. You’d think Johanna Lannister would have curbed that habit of hers.”

“I don’t think there is very much that can curb her habits.”

Silence fell once more and then the brush of warm lips against Aegon’s cheek startled him as he inhaled rose and red currant of Abby’s skin. “I love you,” she whispered against his cheek. “I’m still upset about Cassandra.”

His cheeks flushed deeper with arousal and his hand found her leg again. “It’s only the first course, hunītsos.”

The look she gave him was heated, annoyed, and vulnerable all together and it was everything in Aegon, the awareness that he had been forced into over these past few months, that kept him from indulging as he wanted. Instead, he reached up to rest his hand on the back of her neck, his fingers running against the golden scales that circled her throat and delighted in her shiver. She was new to this game and he’d make her work for it. The distraction it provided was welcome, softening the jagged edges of tension in his gut.

Plates were cleared and all were appropriately in awe of the large boar that took four servants to carry out, setting it upon its own table before the main table. It was a great beast, its skin deliciously darkened and tusks gilded with gold. The clapping and approving cries of the crowd nearly overtook the music from above.

“Five men to take it down,” Ser Simon’s voice came from the end of the table. “Two spearmen and three crossbow. Do you enjoy boar hunting, my Prince? The Red Wood has a healthy sounder we’ve cultivated since I was a lad. The cloves add such a depth of flavor-”

“Along with the cranberries?” came Daemon’s dry reply.

“And the currants!”

“And the currants,” Aegon whispered against Abby’s ear, sending her into a fit of giggles while a plate of fritters smelling of honey and elderflowers was set before them, a vegetable pottage of beans and dishes of several sort of sauces were set before them. Dishes stacked high with lace thin crepes were also set down to wrap the pork in should one so choose.

The servants brought platters of the fresh sliced meat, bits of cranberries and currants, chunks of persimmons and juicy chunks of pork fat glistening across the pieces. It was set before Abby and Aegon and his fork immediately reached to stab a piece only to knock into Rhaenyra who had leaned over at the same time for the same piece of meat.

Their eyes met, Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed with surprise, her own cheeks a little flushed from either drink or who knew what else. Maybe Daemon was toying with her beneath the table as well.

“Don’t mind me,” came Abby’s soft sigh, her loosened tongue spilling out what Aegon was sure were meant to be her own thoughts. “I’ll just sit here and wait.”

“Please,” Aegon broke the stalemate first, removing his fork and gesturing. “You first, you are the elder.” It was not meant to be any sort of barb or biting remark, only off-handed, but as soon as the words left him, Aegon tensed, two dogs over the last bone.

Finally, Rhaenyra’s lip curled in a smirk that reminded him so strongly of Aemond that the resemblance unnerved him. She stabbed a piece of the succulent pork and deposited it on Abby’s plate. “For you, sweet sister.” Rhaenyra helped herself and Aegon took his piece, the feeling enveloping him strange and uncertain. The flash of Jace sobbing beside him the other night flashed once more across his memory, the position that his mother had put him in.

His sister was a strange collection of memories, many of them colored by the ugliness in Driftmark’s great hall and her turning her back on them, for demanding Aemond’s torture, for twisting something so horrible to some personal attack to her.

Then what their father did…

Did Rhaenyra know? Did she know it was actions done for her sake that had Abby sitting here fatherless while the king made overtures of how unfortunate it was that Lord Lyonel was not here to celebrate his daughter’s marriage? Was that why she was being kind to her? Was it guilt? As he dumped cuts of pork onto his plate, Rhaenyra had stolen the plum sauce and he sullenly contented himself with the lighter, strawberry sauce that Abby was using.

Even with the moments of darkness snaking through his thoughts, the occasional holding of his breath when someone shouted through the room, bracing himself for something to break out, the rest of the feast passed without expected calamity. Looking down the table to where Heleana once more stuck between Aemond and Jace revealed resignation on his brother’s part, Jace’s frown rarely leaving his face.

The course passed in relative ease, Abby relaxing beside him with another goblet of wine nearly finished, her cheeks flushed with it and her hand occasionally sliding up his thigh beneath the table. Bowls of water and linens were brought out after the meat was cleared to wash their hands and the sweet confections appeared as the minstrels struck up merrier tunes for people to dance and mingle too, their bellies full of good food. Custard tarts, sunny yellow with saffron and smelling of ginger and piled with juicy berries, tarts filled with apples and figs and smelling of cloves and cinnamon, and of course, little almond comfits and marchpane dragons, one which Abby promptly bit the head off, pale sugar coating her mouth so enticingly he had to steal a kiss.

Aegon licked his mouth when they parted, his tongue caressing her mouth and her flush matched her hair. “Did you want to dance?” The floor between the ring of tables already sported some of the family, Lord Corlys spinning a smiling Princess Rhaenys and Martyn being pulled against his will by one of the Florent girls.

“Maybe in a little while,” she murmured, and he was relieved that she lacked the melancholy cloud that had settled over her since their arrival. The diamond tear drops that hung from her tiara tinkled as she rested her head on his shoulder and Aegon slid an arm around her shoulders, twirling a copper curl around his finger. Rhaenyra made a quiet excuse and headed towards the Velaryon table where the twins sat with Luke, curiously bypassing Jace. Daemon remained speaking with Ser Simon, or perhaps held hostage by the old man, but curiously had not appeared to escape quite yet.

Aegon’s eyes were heavily lidded with contentment, even stuck sitting next to his father who had said little to him over the course of the feast, and so it took a moment for him to notice the whispers beneath the fresh tune the minstrels played.

Helaena had gone on the dance floor, her silver hair contained in a net studded with sapphires, an overdress of Targaryen black with beautiful, floral embroidery in bright blue, the sleeves and skirt opened to reveal the matching blue undergown. His younger sister looked strange in black, so rare it was on her. She reminded him of one of the birds she once had. The feathers had been so dark they looked black, but when the wings flapped and the sun caught, they shimmered in so many jewel tones.

The murmuring was not about Helaena.

Jace had followed her onto the floor, his tunic a rich, black velvet with the three headed dragon embroidered upon his chest. The red cape clasped to one shoulder swished behind him and Aegon thought it excessive, poncy, and he was more than a little envious. Perhaps he needed to add a cape to his wardrobe. His face was flushed, his eyes darting around nervously, and Aegon saw his mouth move in some quiet hiss to Helaena but she ignored him.

No one else ignored Jace. No one else was ignoring the dark curls around Jace’s face. Aegon looked down the table towards Larys, but the man had vanished when Aegon wasn’t looking. Instead, Ser Simon and Daemon were looking towards the dance floor, his uncle’s face inscrutable, Ser Simon looking concerned. House Strong’s looks were blatant from the table they shared with the Velaryons. Lord Corlys’ brother, Vaemond, was scowling into his goblet. Rhaenyra stood behind Luke’s chair where he sat next to Rhaena, her hand gripping the wood as she paused in her conversation with her son to look at the pair now dancing.

Cold slithered down Aegon’s spine and he ran his tongue over his teeth behind his lips. He tilted his head back to look to where his mother sat to the king’s right, finding Larys behind her murmuring in his mother’s ear, his grandfather absent from his chair.

It wasn’t Jace’s fault.

Aegon thought of the time he met Alyn’s brother, Addam, and the lilac eyes that stared back at him.

It wasn’t their fault either.

It wasn’t Aegon’s fault. Sometimes, it wasn’t even Rhaenyra’s fault, or his mother’s fault.

“Come on,” Aegon murmured, tugging Abby out of her chair and pulling her behind him. He really needed a cape too, but for now, it was fine. For now, the gold crown shone around his head, the diamonds tinkled and shimmered through Abby’s curls. This was their night and everyone should be paying attention to them.

As a reminder, no hate (except for vizzy hate) in the comments! We have two more chapters left of this arc! There will be a sequel so make sure you are following/got notifs/etc! I'd love to know what you thought of the chapter, as I know many of you expected chaos to reign during this family dinner. Well, good news is we still have a wedding to go ;)

Reblogs let me know you're reading and enjoying the story so far!

Next Chapter

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 101)

Hey! Last Smut for this book, I wanted to give Vizzy some love. Plus... I think I've had three separate people request it soooo...

Like always, this can be skipped and you won't miss too much... just a tiny hint of something to come.

It wasn't often V was allowed to just… relax.

Granted, she had herself to blame for that, it was her own standards for the safety of the colony that had her patrolling late into the morning, to the point where she sometimes came into her apartment with slight burns. Whoops.

She often asked herself how she'd gone from killing workers indiscriminately to protecting them so ferociously, but a world ending threat to pull everyone together and a girlfriend to seal the deal was probably a part of it.

But with N and Uzi having returned, the last of the pods collected, and a feeling of hopeful anxiety falling over everyone, she'd taken the day to rest her sore servos on the couch, sprawling out like a cat over the couch.

Her tail flicked lazily, her joints groaned as they settled and she huffed as everything in her body seemed to recalibrate after days of traveling, guarding, and keeping dumbass kids from yanking her tail.

Her eyes quickly began dim, sleep mode threatening to wisk her away, until she felt hands crawl up her back, digging softly into silicone and slinking up to the back of her neck.

A shiver eddied up her spine, followed by a breathy groan.

“Lizzy…?” She hummed, and a twinkling laugh replied as a weight settled along her lower back.

“Yes?” Came smugly back, V couldn't see her but could feel her sly grim.

“What are you doing?”

“What? Don't tell me you don't like it girl.” More fingers pressing into her back near the ports that held her wings, they dug deftly into the groves and V's tail instinctually smacked hard against the couch.

There was no way in hell a massage should feel good for a being without musculature, and yet:

Another breathless groan was pushed from her internals.

“At this point you couldn't lie about it anyway.” Lizzy's voice was playful, almost musical, V's core thrummed in response, a deep rumbling purr vibrating through her.

Stupid mate bond, making her fall apart so easy and look so fucking stupid.

“I don't need you to c-coddle me.” Pressure on the center of her back made her stammer as her peg legs gave involuntary movements.

“S'not coddling, it's pampering.” Lizzy clarified, snaking her hands ever more downward until they dipped underneath the pathetic jacket that literally just covered her core and not much else.

V couldn't muster up a response for that, partly because she was already exhausted, but another simply because her voice box was too full of pleased rumbling.

“Cat.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Lizzy laughed at that, but continued her slow minstrations regardless, dipping fingers between joints and servos, V's tail wrapped around one of her legs as the dissasembler quietly melted underneath her.

“I'm not leaving you don't have to hold me here.” Lizzy quipped, only for the tail to tighten, she giggled… before biting her lip.

V had ceased paying attention, going back to drifting into sleep mode, her purring filling the room.

The worker reached for the tail wrapped around her leg and brushed a singular finger against the vial.

“Nmnhah~!” V immediately jolted, snapping awake as the input bolted up every one of her sensors at once. “Hey!” She growled, looking back at her incredibly smug looking mate.

“What?”

“You know what.”

“Do I?” Lizzy swirled a finger around the cord of her tail and made a decisive tug.

“Ngh~, oh fuck.” V couldn't help but try and arch her back patheticly, even though she couldn't with the worker sitting on top of her.

“Whoever designed your tails to behave like this was a freak.” Lizzy laughed, trailing two fingers up the cord of her tail.

V vehemently stifled the whimper that wanted to crawl up her throat. “Y-your'e the one p-playing with it.”

“And I'm a freak.” She said matter-of-factly before tugging hard.

“Agh! Mm~” her hands gripped the couch as a tremble went through her, one of her eyelights breifly glitching into a heart before flickering back.

“Clearly.” V deadpanned, trying to ignore the searing heat building up in her core, steam puffed out of her mouth.

It happened in half of a second, V moving so fast to switch their positions, pinning Lizzy to the couch with both hands turned to claws, resting either side of her head.

“Very Clearly.” The worker cooed with half lidded eyes, tracing a finger up V's arm and smirking victoriously.

V just gave an amused smile before roughly grabbing her mates cheek and pulling her into a ravishing kiss, Lizzy humming in contentment.

V was as aggressive with this as she was with everything else, fangs sinking into Lizzy's lower lip and making oil bead up into their interlocking lips causing Lizzy to whine as a shiver went up her back.

A long tongue lapped up the oil before forcing it's way roughly past her lips and gliding past her tongue, pulling her deeper into the jaws of an angel of death.

Lizzys fingers tangled into V's silvery blonde hair and her legs wrapped around her waist, making sure this couldn't end abruptly.

V pulled back, licking the residual oil off her licks and smirking.

“I'm not leaving you don't have to hold me here.” She echoed, and Lizzy groaned.

“I'd be angrier if this wasn't so hot.”

V chuckled, connecting their lips again, pulling Lizzys ponytail out so she could tangle her fingers in her hair, before she felt Lizzy unzip the front of her jacket and press a thumb into her core.

She moaned into the kiss as her whole body shuddered, ecstasy filling every sensor.

She fought through the near automatic urge to submit to the pleasure and instead growled into Lizzy's audials, scraping her fangs against her neck and drawing a low whine out of her mouth.

“Yeeees, nn~, go ahead you fucking vampire.”

V followed the order, biting into Lizzy's neck and letting oil spill into her mouth, her tail kinked up the moment the flavor touched her tongue.

Lizzy bit into her own lip to stop herself from moaning out V's name. Instead her hands scrambled to remove V's only article of clothing and throwing it to the floor and proceeded to scratch up her back, she couldn't really do anything then scratch the white paint, but it was the attempt that mattered to V.

V chuckled darkly. “And you're fully dressed. How's that fair?”

“Then fix that, smartass.” Lizzy quipped back, only for three claws to utterly destroy her shirt in a single swipe, tossing the shreds into the floor.

“Hey! That was a perfectly good top!”

“It's the school uniform, you don't give a shit.”

Lizzy thought for a second, leaning back and laughing breathlessly.

“True- hah~ carry on.”

V leant down, shoving her knee into the sensitive plating between Lizzy's legs and beginning to ravage her chest with tiny bites and kisses, her core fluttered and she threw her head back.

“V*~*!”

“Yes?” She stopped to answer a mischievous grin on her face, driving Lizzy crazy with the stop-start pace they were going.

“D-Don't stop dammit!”

“Hehe…”

A clawed fingertip on her core had her shuddering, paired with the friction between her legs, and she was drooling embarrassingly, whimpering for more.

Finally, two fingers started working into the glass covering, making Lizzy arch her back in total bliss, closing her eyelights and being reduced to a moaning, panting mess.

“Fuck! FUCK! V~!” With a scream the port above her core opened to open air.

With a glance, she noticed that V's had opened as well, and was panting softly, burying her head into Lizzy's neck to ground herself.

“Where's the-the cable?”

“Jacket.” Came V's mumbled reply, and Lizzy bent herself awkwardly over the couch to grab a short black cable, one end labeled with D, the other R.

“Give or Take?”

“Give, co'mere.” V took the doner end and plugged it into her port, flicking on an internal firewall, by the way Lizzy's eyeslights dimmed momentarily, she activated one too.

With little fanfare, Lizzy plugged the receiving end into herself, and shuddered as sensory data crashed into her. Parts of V's consciousness fusing with her own, the feeling of touch amplified through dual sensors.

And V began to write within her code.

V wasn't typically emotional, but here there was no shell she could put up to stop her system from pouring out sweet nothings.

I love you, you're so beautiful, I'll always be with you…

Lizzy reached out through the shared connection, V's eyes flickered back to white as she whimpered at the reciprocation.

I love you too, you're doing so well, so good

“Ah~, Lizzy. Ngh~ I'm… so- hah~”

Her tail sprung up and leaked drops of golden liquid as her visor glitches into an X, her wings bursting out of her back, trembling with pleasure. All other movements stuttering still as the linking cable transfered line after line of data, emotions, eye color, thoughts, memories.

Lizzy leaned back and took it, basking in the wave of V's… everything, washing over her system.

Until her processor simply couldn't handle dealing with it all and keeping her online at the same time- and she was sent into a reboot.

V followed a moment after, collapsing in a heap.

Next ->

[pillbugshehhee]

You should do some more vizzy there just so darn cute, or oilrose, there both pretty good- (me crying because neither of them became canon- 😭😭😭)

FINALLY I have an excuse to draw Vizzy hehee

Oilrose coming up soon perhaps :3

[mypearlsareclutched]

You're Just Another One of my Problems

High By The Beach | Chapter Nine

Modern!Aegon II x Original Female Character, Modern!Aemond x Original Female Character

Viserys Targaryen is dead. His death brings unlikely people together, and drives others apart. Mila is unsure about her place amongst the Targaryen clan, her feelings are complicated. Does she stick by brother she fell for first, or the one she fell for harder?

RIP Vizzy T you're serving Targaryen realness in the afterlife (and grooming minors too, probs). I kept going ham with this chapter and it ended up being 8k words so I split it up and now it's 5k and the next one is going to be 5k+ so y'all will be eating good bbgs x

Song inspiration | High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey

CW//TW: Family death, funerals, reunited at last, Targaryen daddy issues, major angst, captain love triangles, Aemond's 'I can fix this' ass, toxicity, mourning, also Morning the dragon but she's a chihuahua, canon character death, colourful language, Daemon, Otto, no-one is happy.

Word count | 5.1k

previous chapter // next chapter

Mila decides to travel with Aemond and Aegon back to King's Landing for Viserys' funeral.

After Aemond went to bed the night of the Targaryen patriarchs death, Mila sought out Aegon. She found him sitting on the floor of their shared bedroom, looking lost. Unsure of... everything, she simply joined his side, letting him rest his head against hers as they sat in silence.

Aegon was unsure of leaving the beach house. The morning after thr news of Viserys' assing, as Aemond threw various items into his SUV and waited outside for the other two to join him, Aegon stood outside, watching the waves with a blank expression. Mila watches him from the kitchen window, a crease forming between her brows.

Joining his side, she comforts him as she too peers at the ocean beyond. "We'll come back."

"You promise?" Aegon asks, voice uncharacteristically quiet and somber.

"I promise." 

He brushes the back of his hand against hers, the feeling of his soft skin comforting both of them. They share a look, words spoken silently before they turn and head off to join Aemond.

Opting to leave Aegon's battered and ancient car, the three pile into Aemond's car. The long, two day drive was painfully silent, no Cocteau Twins playing, no idle conversation, no Aegon swearing at passing drivers. Aegon slept in the back seat, Aemond taking Mila's hand into his own as he drove wordlessly. 

When they arrived back in Kings Landing, Mila felt an overwhelming feeling of dread. Like she wasn't supposed to be here, like she left herself back in Old Town. Aegon had paled during the drive, his smile vanished and his eyes haunted, and Mila knew he felt the same.

Aemond took a call from Otto, nodding along with his grandfather as he told him the plans for the funeral. He and Aegon were expected at the Targaryen estate, to prepare for the formalities. Aemond sighs as he ends the call, absentmindedly holding Mila's hands in his own as he looked out at the city scape. 

"I'm going to head to my brothers." Mila says, looking down at their enclasped hands, "I need to talk to him. I've been AWOL since Weirwood and we haven't spoken."

Aemond regards her silently, nodding. He pokes his tongue into his cheek, choosing his words wisely.

"Alright." He finally says, though his hand remains clutching hers, "The funeral is the day after tomorrow. Do you want me to pick you up from Cregan's?"

"Probably not a good idea to show your face there." Mila muses softly, pressing her lips together as she remembers Cregan's rage at Aemond for his actions that led to her overdose. Cringing almost noticeably, Aemond nods. "I'll be at the house at seven."

"I'll see you then." He leans down to press a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering. Mila presses her eyes closed, pulling back. Aemond's eyes flicker with disappointment, but Mila pretends not to notice as she takes a step back.

"See you then." 

She turns and looks to Aegon, who stares straight ahead, trying to not look at the interaction between his brother and the woman he loves. He pulls out his battered back of cigarettes, lighting one up and taking a drag. His eyes never meet hers. With an internal sigh, Mila leaves them both.

Knocking on Cregan's door, she braced herself for whatever kind of explosion that would be waiting for her.

The front door opens, and a familiar yet unexpected face greet s her. Rhaena gasps, flinching like a phantom was standing on the doorstep.

"Mila? Mila!" She exclaims, jumping and wrapping her arms around her, "Oh my fucking gods I can't believe you're here! You're okay! Oh my gods, Mila!"

"Mila?!" Cregan's voice yells from inside the flat, and his heavy footsteps echo down the hallway. Rhaena barely lets go of her friend before Mila is snatched up by her brother. His immense height and strength means he grabs her like she weighed nothing, pulling her off her feet and crushing her to his chest.

Mila laugh breathlessly, pressing her cheek to her brothers chest, the beating of his erratic heart could be heard through the old, white t-shirt he wore.

Cregan lets go of her, putting his hands on her shoulders to look down at her with wide eyes, "Where the fuck were you? Oh my gods, Mila, I was so fucking worried!"

"I called you." She tries to explain, placing her hands on his own.

"I broke his phone." Rhaena sighs guiltily, "I bought him a new one! But you... don't have his new number." She looks between them, looking crestfallen at the notion that she was the reason Cregan did not receive any of Mila's calls.

"Don't beat yourself up, sweetheart." Mila chuckles, taking Rhaena's hand in her own, "Next time I'll send a raven."

A huffed laugh escapes Cregan's lips, as he runs his hand over his face. Mila's mind finally kicks into gear, and she looks between her friend and her brother with furrowed eyebrows.

"Why are you here?" She asks the pale haired woman. Rhaena's eyes widen, and she gives her a shy smile. Cregan crosses his arms as he leans against the apartment door, nudging Rhaena to explain. Yet she remains silent, pressing her lips together as she nudges him back for him to explain to his sister.

"You two...?" Mila looks between them, "No fucking way, are you back together?!"

Rhaena blushes, smiling up at Cregan, "Kind of...?"

"Gods if I had known disappearing would bring you two back together I would have done it ages ago!"

"Not funny. Ridiculously unfunny" Cregan sighs, flicking her nose, his expression turning grim once again, "Why did you leave the clinic?"

Mila bites her lip, face darkening as she looks around the empty corridor where they linger, "Can we talk inside?"

"Oh my gods, of course!" Rhaena grabs her wrist, pulling her into the flat, "Come in, come in!" Momentarily forgetting about the owner of the flat, she shuts the door on Cregan's face as he stands outside.

"My apartment." Cregan grumbles with a sigh, though his voice is soft with affection for the Targaryen girl. He opens the door again, glaring half-heartedly at Rhaena's back as she drags Mila towards the kitchen. Cregan's apartment, bought with his giant footballer's paycheck, is completely open plan. The centre of the flat is the living room, with a conversation pit in the middle. The kitchen curves around one side, with the bedroom on the other side, an ensuite bathroom attached. Mila tries to not notice various items of Rhaena's clothes scattered across the floor.

"Tea? Tea." Rhaena drops Mila's wrist to flit around the kitchen, turning on the kettle and grabbing mugs as quick as a whippet.

"Rhaena, please, you're giving me whiplash." Cregan groans, wrapping an arm around her waist to halt her erratic movements and putting her down in the middle of the kitchen.

"Sorry, sorry." She laughs, running a hand over her locks. Her eyes follow Cregan's slower movements, her blush deepening.

"Great, I'm nineteen again." Mila groans, and Rhaena averts her eyes.

"Speaking of being nineteen again." Cregan grumbles as he leans against the counter next to the boiling kettle, raising an eyebrow at his sister, "Where did you go? I thought your vanishing into thin air days were over?"

"They are." Mila sighs, sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, "It's... well, it's a long story."

"Start at the beginning."

"It's the best place to start." Mila murmurs, accepting a cup of steaming tea from her brother, "So... I sort of freakout out and spiralled at the clinic-"

"Why?" Rhaena asks conversationally.

Because I almost kissed my ex-boyfriends older brother. "I started overthinking everything with Aemond, about what he said and how I felt like a disappointment for relapsing. I just... needed to escape."

Rhaena nods, her eyes sympathetic. Beside her, Cregan busies himself with stirring his tea, his jaw clenched as he listened to her tell her story.

"So I left. I hitchhiked back to Kings Landing, went to Alysanne Martells and joined the old gang at Madame Sylvie's. I got drunk and high and stupid. But it was all ok until I got into some trouble. With Jason Lannister..."

"I heard something happened with him." Cregan nods, "His brother Tyland snatched him up after he had a weird meltdown about the Targaryens, no-one's seen him since. What happened, Mila?"

"It doesn't matter now."

"Did he try to hurt you?" Cregan asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Cregan knew about what Jason was like a few years ago. He was notorious for dealing drugs to famous folk, and for taking advantage of women who were in dire need of a hit. Mila had fallen victim of him a few times when she was a teenager, and Jason gained a few broken bones from Cregan's rage subsequently. But Jason never learned, and Mila could tell Cregan was worried about what he did that night.

"Aegon saved me." Mila states simply, "That's all that matters."

"Is it true he broke Jason's nose?" Rhaena asks, eyes wide, "Floris said she saw him and it was all bent outta shape like a tree root."

"Sounds accurate." Mila chuckles, shaking her head.

Cregan watches Mila, his face pensive as he thinks about what she's said.

"So where did you go with Aegon? It can't have been anywhere in King's Landing, I looked everywhere."

"Everywhere?"

"Everywhere."

"He took me to Old Town. His families beach house." A small , "I got better. Mentally, emotionally. Started to feel normal again. Like I wasn't some... freak let down."

"it's hard to feel like you've hit rock bottom when you're standing next to Aegon Targaryen." Rhaena muses. "Nothing against my cousin... well, everything against my cousin. He's a lost cause."

"No he's not." Mila said assuredly, finding herself quick to defend him, "He's doing much better. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him"

"So, a few weeks at the beach, you're better and you're besties with Aegon 'the Mattress' Targaryen?" Cregan chuckles mirthlessly, suspecting there is more to the story than she let on.

"You sure you didn't get high by the beach?" Rhaena asks, chuckling at her own joke.

"What's funny."

Mila jumps as someone else groans, looking around to spot the .

"Jace?" She laughs, spotting a head of fluffy dark hair popping up from the conversation pit. He looks around blearily, blinking at her. He waves slightly, before clutching his head and falling back onto the red couches.

"What was the joke?" He calls out.

"High By The Beach, by Lana Del Rey?" Rhaena laughs, before her face falls and she looks at Cregan, "How long has he been here?"

"...I have absolutely no idea." Cregan groans, walking over to the pit, "Jace, get the fuck out of my flat." He grabs a couch cushion and smacks Jace with it.

Mila stayed at Cregan's that night. The urge to go back to her own apartment never came, and the thought of being alone made her feel stomach twist into knots. Not after spending weeks with Aegon always at her side...

Ignoring her insistence that she could sleep in the conversation pit (once Rhaena had dragged Jace out of the flat by the scruff of his neck), Cregan had further insisted that she sleep in his bed. Before the conversation was over, Cregan had sprawled all six foot four inches of himself across the red cushions of the retro pit and conked out, leaving Mila to unceremoniously collapse onto his fur covered bed.

Rhaena had come back the next morning with a spare black outfit for Mila to wear to the funeral, something that she was immensely grateful for. She and Baela had turned up bright and early, rising before the sun.

They turned up with their dogs, Moondancer and Morning, at their heels. Moondancer, a dalmation with the prettiest, most judgmental eyes, had greeted Mila with a nudge of her head and a few barks that sounded way too reprimanding. While Morning, a baby chihuahua, had crawled onto Cregan's sleeping form in the pit and fallen asleep on his shoulder.

Baela stares at Mila with wide eyes after she confesses everything that happened. Since Viserys' birthday a month ago, to his funeral tonight. Including all the gory details of drugs, the beach house in Old Town, big Tesco and fucking both the Targaryen brothers. A detail she would have preferred not to hear about her two cousins.

"Gods wept, Mila, this is bad." She groans, holding a chipped mug in a well manicured hand.

"Thanks! I'll be sleeping on the highway tonight." Mila sighs.

"You need to talk to Aegon."

"You think?" The Stark says sarcastically, pouring more expensive coffee into her and Baela's mugs.

"Yeah." Baela smiles, patiently ignoring the other woman's sass, "I'm not the biggest fan of my cousin, but from what you've said, he's changing. Or at least trying to. And that's more than I've ever seen of him. He must know you're special."

"Stop it bae." Mila sighs as she puts the mugs down, running a hand over her face. Baela stands up from the table, walking around Mila to wrap her arms around her from behind, resting her head on her shoulder. Mila sighs into her, resting her temple against the other woman's head.

"It'll be okay, Mimi."

"Y'all have the worst nicknames for me." Mila laughs.

"That's because we love you."

"Love you too, Baebae."

"Ugh." Baela groans, nipping Mila's shoulder, "Ready to go?"

"As I'll ever be." Mila sighs as she follows her friend towards the front door.

As they slipped on their heels and finished their appropriately somber makeup, Rhaena sat next to Cregan and kissed his nose.

"Can the dogs stay here during the funeral?" She asks him softly, though he was barely awake.

"Sure." He grumbles, glaring at Morning on his shoulder. Rhaena beams and kisses him lightly on the lips, joining her sister and Mila at the door as Moondancer replaces her on the bed, sneezing over Cregan.

The last thing they heard from the flat was Cregan's murmured "fucks sake..." as the dogs got comfortable on his bed.

Once they got to street level, Mila was already feeling anxious about the day ahead. Emotions would come to surface at the sure to be extravagant funeral for the head of the Targaryen dynasty, and the Stark did not know if she was ready for that yet. Baela held her hand as they headed towards their car,

Laena Targaryen, her married name remained due to the recentness of her divorce, was leaning against the sleek black car. She smiled warmly at the three as they appeared, kissing Mila's forehead quickly before they all climbed into the car.

At the Targaryen estate, Mila finds her movements are slow and sluggish as she gets out the car, her body and soul unwilling to face the Targaryen's now, in their state of

"You're not coming in, mum?" Baela asks her mother, fluffing out her hair as she sneers at the building ahead.

"If I have to see your father, he'll be spooning his brother in his grave before the day is up." Laena smiles from inside the car, kissing Baela's forehead as she leans in.

"If you need anything, please let me know. Baela and Rhaena really love you, so I have no choice but to love you too. You have my number, anything happens, you call me."

"Thank you, Laena." Mila smiles.

"Say 'hi' to Rhaenyra for me." She says finally, before sliding back into the car. Ah, yes, another one of the Realm's Delights many ex's, Mila thought to herself with a chuckle. No wonder Daemon and Laena's relationship ended badly, he probably could never compare.

"Ew, mom." Baela blanches, rolling her eyes at the retreating car. The two Dragon Sisters begin walking towards the estate, heels clicking against the cobblestone. Up ahead, more and more cars unloaded black-clad mourners, surrounding the already darkened Targaryen mansion with a sea of night.

Mila tries to bite back the dread inside her as she joins her friends' sides.

Spotting Rhaenyra and her children greeting mourners across the courtyard, the group head her way. Jace's face brightens immediately, a wild grin on his face as he practically sprints over.

"Finally! Gods this is already such a drag, I'm so glad you guys are here." He grins, grabbing Mila's hand.

"That's so inappropriate, Jace." Baela smacks the back of his head, "Your grandfather is dead, dumbass, act sad."

"I've been acting sad all morning." Jace rolls his eyes, throwing his arm over Mila's shoulder, jostling her, "My favourite Stark is back."

"You saw me last night, moron." Mila says affectionately, "And I won't tell my brother you said that."

"No, go ahead." Jace wiggles his eyebrows, "He shags better when he's mad."

"Gross. His girlfriend is right here."

"His mistress, you mean." Jace sticks his tongue out at Rhaena, who elbows him with a roll of his eye. He and Baela begin bickering, while Rhaena

Rhaenyra smiles sadly at Mila approaches, reaching out and taking her hands in her own.

"How are you feeling?" Nyra asks.

"I should be asking you that." Mila sighs, noting the aura of sadness around Rhaenyra. She was always her father's favourite, knowing him during his peak, when he was a formidable philanthropist and model father. Doting, proud, everything a father should be. Everything his other children never got.

At a time, Viserys Targaryen was known as a family man. Husband to a beautiful wife, father to the perfect daughter. Then his wife died in childbirth, their second child never once opening his eyes, and Otto Hightower got his claws into Viserys. Married a young, beautiful woman, had four more children, continued on with life. But Viserys Targaryen was bitter until he died, crippled and as cancerous as the disease that took him.

"I am... well, I will be alright." Rhaenyra sighs, looking over at the rest of the funeral goers.

The main door opens, and Aemond strides out. Despite herself, Mila's breath catches in her throat. He's dressed in a full black suit, perfectly tailored and hugging his lithe frame. A green tie clip, as well. Of course he would get a new, expensive suit for his father's funeral. If Mila didn't know any better, she would say he straightened his hair. It falls perfectly around him like a blanket of bright gold, his skin pale and flawless.

It's a shame he's so beautiful, it would be easier for Mila to hate him if her heart didn't flutter whenever she saw him

His lone eye lands on her, pale blue iris and dark pupil scanning over her. With a nod, Aemond extends his hand out. Even across the courtyard, with a hundred people between them, he watches only her.

Rhaenyra's hand grips Mila's harder, her eyes hardening as she looks at her half-brother.

"I should go over to him." Mila sighs, nodding her head resolutely. Giving her a cautious look, Rhaenyra keeps her hand in hers, giving her a reason to stay by her side.

"You don't have to." The older woman says softly.

"I do." The Stark replies, squeezing Rhaenyra's hand and kissing her cheek, before leaving her.

A hundred people milling about in waves of black might as well not be there, as Mila walks through like towards Aemond Targaryen. His hand remains out, palm up as he offers it for her to take. And as she meets him at the bottom of the steps, she does. Instinct wins again.

"Come on, the rest of my family is already inside." Aemond says, squeezing her hand as he turns and leads her inside the mansion.

There are less people inside. Mila recognises a few, like Borros Baratheon and Jason Lannister, and members of Viserys' advisory board like Jasper Wylde and a man named Orwylle. All of them offer murmured condolences to Aemond, eyebrows raised in intrigue as they lay eyes on the She Wolf beside him.

It's hard not to feel like a spectacle, Mila notes as she lets Aemond lead her towards the parlour.

The rest of the Targaryen's mill about. Alicent is recognisable despite her veil as she stands beside her father. She lets out a gasp as she sees Mila, rushing over to her to grab her into a tight hug.

"Sweet girl, you're alright...."

"I am." Mila squeezes the Targaryen matriarch back, before holding her at arms length to give her a somber look, "I'm so sorry, Alicent."

The older woman nods, face barely vible under her veil. Over her shoulder, Otto Hightower watches Mila like a hawk. Almost like he was summoned, Aemond returns to Mila's side, taking her hand again. As if to prove a point to his grandfather.

As gently as she could, Mila gently lets go of Aemond's hand, moving over to the other Targaryen siblings. Daeron brightens as he sees her, immediately rushing over and crushing her into a hug. Mila smiles as she smooths her hands over his back, feeling him sniff as he lays his head against her shoulder.

"How are you feeling, Dare?" She asks softly, leaning back to look at him as she holds his elbows. He sniffs again, looking around with glassy eyes.

"I don't know, Mila. Me and dad weren't close or anything, but... he was still my dad, y'know?" 

"I know, sweetie. I'm so sorry." Daeron holds her hands, squeezing them gratefully before he leaves room for Halaena to join their side.

"Hey Hel-" Mila starts, before she is cut off by Halaena hugging her. The second daughter of Viserys was never one for physical contact, even with her family, so Mila carefully wrapped her arms around the other woman, hand cupping the back of her head as Halaena sank into her, "It's okay, lovely."

"Missed you." Halaena murmurs, voice muffled by Mila's coat.

"Missed you too, bug." 

Mila keeps her arm around her as they seperate. Helaena leans into her, cheek against her covered shoulder as she stares out into the distance. The Stark's hand holds the Targaryen up, sensing her mind is elsewhere in this moment.

Across the room, another pair of blue eyes watches Mila closely. She tries not to make it obvious when she looks over at Aegon, who sits sprawled out on one of the sofas. He seems calm at first glance, and perhaps his anguish would only be noticed by those closest to him. Mila looks at him for a long moment, watching his somber face and twitchy eyes.

She wants nothing more than to go over to him. To sit at his side, hold him to her like she did in Old Town. To press a kiss to every inch of his skin until he felt right again. But under the watchful eye of Aemond and Otto Hightower, she couldn't.

Someone clears their throat, and all eyes turn to Criston Cole as he stands in the doorway, looking ever the dutiful servant as he stands with his hands crossed in front of him. He nods to Otto, a grim look on his face.

"It's time."

Finally, after many years of illness and waiting, Viserys Targaryen is laid to rest. Inside a black coffin, he is lowered into the ground in the family lot, his ancestors surrounding him.

Mila stands at Aemond's side as the septon delivers a eulogy, harmonised by rolling thunder above. Small drops of rainfall around them. Though looking around the mourners, the drops of rain would be the only water falling down their faces.

Aemond watches with a stoic face, his eyepatch dripping, seeing eye dry. He stares at the descending coffin with disdain, with relief. His hand cradles Mila's waist, holding her close to him as the rain slowly drenches them both. Whether he holds her for comfort, for warmth, or for possession, she does not know.

Alicent is pale beneath her veil, brow furrowed as if she is confused about how she should feel. Her eyes keep flicking to her father, who barely spares the coffin a glance as he continuously looks at those around him. Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Mila. All of them are merely here to be observed.

Helaena stands between Baela and Rhaena, the Dragon Sister's forming a protective barrier for their favoured cousin. Daeron stands with Jace and Luke, near Rhaenyra. The only child of Viserys who cries over his grave.

Daemon stands away from the large group, simply watching his brother being lowered into the ground from across the way. His arms are crossed, in a show of boredom, that Mila can only read as protectiveness. A younger sibling watching his elder leave this world forever.

As Mila looks around at those witnessing Viserys' burial, her eyes finally travel to Aegon.

His eyes were already on her.

Her breath hitches when she catches him watching her. The soft blue of his eyes is perfectly visible to her, a soothing colour reminding her of the waves on the shore of Old Town.

Eyes moving down to rest on Aemond's protective grip on her, his gaze hardens. His eyebrows furrow, his face pales.

Mila shakes her head, trying wordlessly to tell him everything is okay. To tell him that nothing has changed. That it should be his side she stands at right now, his hand she holds as they bury his father.

Aegon mouths something to her, and Mila's heart flutters.

"I love you."

AN// Apology video with tears coming tomorrow after I post the next chapter... Thank you guys again for all of your likes and comments and reblogs y'all r crazy like me and I love you all <<33

Lula x

[bluginkgo]

Ep 8 Thoughts and Details Part 2

Some thoughts and details I had while watching ep8, and some parallels I found. And yes, I had to split this into 2 parts because Tumblr said "fack you, you can only upload 30 images :P"

Spoilers, duh

Didn't see part 1? Here it is, cause Tumblr doesn't like more than 30 images per post TwT

OMG YOU SILLY GOOBERS, AND THE WAY UZI INCLUDED V DESPITE V NOT EVEN WANTING TO BE PART OF IT TwT

As much as this entire scene was tense about Uzi eating the AS and becoming fused with it- this frame, this facking frame killed me XD Just the D: WHAT ARE YOU DOING- WHY DID YOU DO THAT- I could hear it clearly XD

Could probably be me looking too far into it, but another call back from Liam's first teaser of Murder Drones.

As many people as I have seen being upset with how this reunion turned out to be, I found it adorable and funny. Khan has no idea what that thing even is. And the fact that Nori isn't as cool and serious as she was made out to be in all of the flashback scenes and ep7 is that much more endearing. The angsty side of her is still there, much like Uzi's personality of not really liking close heart to heart moments.

KHAN IS NARUTO RUNNING???? XD

Originally pointed out by @/observer on twitter and absolute scoliosis lives on XD As well as the T-rex stance <:3

God forbid I love this trio. They've been through so much and still came out victorious after fighting a whole ass eldritch being capable of eating planets. V still V but softer and kinder, N still N but more willing to stand up for himself, and Uzi still Uzi and angsty rebellious teen that has an awesome new eye style and friends and family.

"Forget about all of this instantly, get tunnel visioned on spooky corpse robot reveal. Work backwards from there."

You know, I had a silly thought. I wouldn't even be mad that this is how Murder Drones came to be. That Liam's idea of Murder Drones started with the reveal of Cynessa entity and then worked backwards from there- creating the characters to surround the event instead of starting with say Uzi's personality, etc.

VIZZY MY BELOVED WHAT-

You know what... you know WHAT I SAW THIS SOMEWHERE-

Proceeds to connect the dots that aren't even there (Murder Drones Intermission by @/ghoulinfuschia)

But hey, that's what my brain loves to do. But funny how it turned out to be somewhat similar XD Perhaps the context was different but the fact that my brain said "hm, yes, you connect this here and that there." and I just rolled with it TwT

Overall, I genuinely loved the entire episode and, of course, the series. I'm eternally grateful for Liam creating this masterpiece and for every person that took part in creating Murder Drones. This show was the hyperfixation I needed, the thing that I've craved since being in the fandom that I had been for the longest time prior. I'm sad to see this show end so soon, but all great things must come to an end. And I'm glad I was here to see it, even if I was here since ep6 only TwT Either way, I will be haunting this fandom with my presence for a little longer while. Many projects I want to see happen, comics I wish to share, and friends I wish to meet. Until then, see you later >:P

Have a cookie for making it this far XD 🍪