#abby x aegon

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy on AO3

Excerpts from the Targaryen Histories in regards to Lady Abrogail Strong, as collected by Archmaester Gyldayn

[…] Introduced by the Lord Hand's wife, Lady Cybell Reyne, Lyonel Strong and Celeste Reyne were a love match. The third and final marriage for the lord, the two of them complimented the other well. The Lady Celeste was both a kind and formidable woman, a true lioness of the Westerlands. It was said that she could speak so sweetly for nightblooms to open in the day, and command an army as easily as she could command the ladies at a summer picnic. Lord Lyonel was a quiet man, intimidating upon sight but could easily indulge in discussing more obscure moments of history with great vigor. Children would be difficult for the couple, and after miscarriages and a child who passed shortly after birth, Abrogail Strong was born in the cool, early days of spring in 109 AC. Lord Lyonel named her for one of his more obscure historical interests of the demon sorceress, Abrogail Thrune, of Asshai.

Grandmaester Mellos has the most to share during this time, having attended the Lady Celeste in her final years and thus we can take his writings as primary source. The child, Abrogail, was installed in the nursery along with the young Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena. The children were soon joined by the infant Prince Aemond, raised together as kin, under the watchful eye of the Queen and Lady Celeste. The children were rambunctious and close, frequently seen together exploring and playing. Sources agree that tensions began to rise once Princess Rhaenyra's firstborn son, Jacaerys Velaryon, joined what had been affectionately dubbed The Clutch per the command of the King. Later sources suggest that the rumors of Jacaerys' bastard parentage were strengthened here as the children grew older, with many remarking that both Abrogail and Jacaerys shared the same smile and dimples. The initial rumors questioned due to the darker features the boy had compared to both his assumed parentage; it was the similarities with the young Abrogail that narrowed the potential fathers down to Ser Harwin Strong, Rhaenyra's champion and sworn shield.

Stories are told that the Hand of the King had attempted to resign but the King refused his request, and demanded that he return after setting his heir up in the Riverlands. Abrogail was meant to have accompanied them, but Larys Strong himself states that his father decided that he would send for her later. It was a decision that saved the child's life. Fire broke out in the holding, killing Lyonel and Harwin without any chance of rescue.

Grandmaester Mellos' records state that the child fell into a depression so deep, they feared she might take her own life. She had gone mute and listless, refusing to engage in activities that once delighted her, and refused to eat. She was considered unwell enough that it was deemed unwise to allow her to attend Harrenhal for her beloved father and brother's funeral. When informed of this, Lady Abrogail gave no reaction, and seemed to sink further into her grief. Septon Eustace provides an account of witnessing both Abrogail and Prince Aegon in the sept, where the Prince had joined her in her prayers. He does not know what words were exchanged between the pair, but witnessed a smile grace the Lady's face before he led her out by the hand to ride Sunfyre, a past time that the pair would indulge in together for years to come.

[…] There was little surprised when, on Prince Aegon's nameday in 126 AC, the official betrothal was announced between the prince and the Lady Abrogail. What was surprising was the declaration that the pair would reside in the Riverlands. House Targaryen had one holding outside the Iron Throne, that of Dragonstone, which Aenys Targaryen had made the seat of the heir. While many had expected the king to name his first born son heir during the festivities, it appeared that the king had other ideas. Had Queen Alicent sought to bolster her son's position and gain the support of the Riverlands when the time came? Or had King Viserys finally stepped in between the factions of his household, declaring Aegon's seat to be gained through his wife, and a holding that held such tragedy and foreboding?

@fyeahhotdocs, @ocappreciation, @stannisfactions, @fragilestorm, @starcrossedjedis, @darkwolf76, @arrthurpendragon, @dopedaegus, @hiddenqveendom, @mantillon, @lightofthearrow, @songsonacliffside, @acrossthesestars, @insabecs, @prosemoireia, @dragonsbone, @corporalicent, @jadore-andor, @selfproclaimedunicorn, @gwenllian-in-the-abbey, @notbloodraven, @impales, @arcielee, @thesunfyre4446, @thatmagickjuju, @kingsmakers

[moodstabilizr]

FIC RECS ㅤ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

𐚁 joel miller ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

❂- sweet child o’mine @macfrog

❂- sex on fire @macfrog

❂- roommates @punkshort

❂- helen @kiwisbell

❂- on strawberries and masonry @hellowoolf

❂- so much to lose @auteurdelabre

❂- i know who you are @punkshort

❂- just and just as @familyvideostevie

❂- the meaning of it all @familyvideostevie

❂- talking body @joelsdagger

❂- jet & ghost @macfrog

❂- all the things i would do @joelsdagger

❂- pretty baby @mrsmando

❂- garter @softlyspector

❂- meet me in the back @atticrissfinch

❂- meet me in the woods @pedgito

❂- i know it when i see it @bageldaddy

❂- fwb!joel @hier--soir

❂- under the night sky @hier--soir

❂- patrols @pedgito

❂- dilf!joel @notjustjavierpena

❂- sundown @bageldaddy

❂- mechanic!joel @alltheirdamn

❂- nicest thing @schnarfer

❂- the way we were @punkshort (my comfort fic :,))

❂- every breath you take @freelancearsonist

𖤓 frankie morales 𖤓

•- on call @luxurychristmaspudding

•- table for two @hellishjoel

•- do me yourself @undercoverpena

•- acts of service @swiftispunk

•- emergency contact @javiscigarette

•- i like the way you @undercoverpena

•- freckle confessions @rocketrhap3000

•- the weekend getaway @absurdthirst

•- endurance @schnarfer

♱ javier pena ♱

✦- javi&wife @notjustjavierpena

✦- go your own way @schnarfer

✦- accident @promisingyounglady

🕸️ aegon ii targaryen🕸️

✦- fell into love like a sword

✦- the rats @nebulaafterdark

✦- dinner and diatribes @officialaemondtargaryen

✦- the heavenly ivory touch of your hand @thekinslayed

✦- aegons bday social media au (not a fic but these are so cute) @axelsagewrites

☾ 𖥔 ݁ ellie williams ☾.𖥔 ݁

•- affinity @whore-era

•- invisible string theory @total-dxmure

•- marley & me @total-dxmure

•- dare to be stupid @undressrehearsal

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ abby anderson ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

•- high strung @hier--soir

•- the waters warm @ilovepedro

•- good luck, babe! @studioghibelli

i am going to add more im just lazy

♡

pls send me some of ur favs too:)

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

War is no longer coming, it's here. And no one will make it out unscathed.

the insanely talented @azoraahai inspired me with her incredible posters for her oc, Josana Lannister & co, so I decided to make book covers for each main pairing within my story.

all of my love and thanks to @jadore-andor and @emilykaldwen for letting me borrow their incredible ocs. This story would not be nearly as rich without Allana Tyrell and Abrogail Strong (honestly, this story wouldn't exist without their support).

You can read they say i killed you (haunt me then) here.

[emkald-fic]

Bright Star | One Shot | Aegon II Targaryen x OC

Summary: The king dies and their dream begins. Rating: Mature edging on Explicit (hehee) Warnings: 18+, Smut, Exhibitionism Word Count: 1384

Notes: A fluffy-ish one shot of Aegon and Abrogail escaping successfully from King's Landing the night the king dies. Not directly related to my other works, but features my original character, Abrogail Strong.

thank you to my beloved @acrossthesestars for the amazing banner and helping with fleshing out some of the spice!

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications.

There are different ways the dream goes.

There's one where Abrogail is five and ten, walking into the sept with a silver dress embroidered in golden dragons, where the Queen watches in approval as their hands are wound with ribbon. The one where Prince Aegon smiles brighter than the sun as he wraps his cloak around her,  cups her face in his hands and kisses her breath away. They long to run from the storm, as it tears at the towers of the Red Keep with flame and water. They are not the same, in the end, with too much loss and too much suffering, where the only peace is found in the quiet of their kisses and the warmth of their bed. With children who they vow will be born into everlasting peace. 

The last of the dragons.

There's another one, where the four of them are miserable and anxious.She exchanges hushed vows with the second son, her eyes darting towards his. There is no cheering or fanfare - just a plan concocted by a dreamer and clever children to keep their clutch together as the storm draws closer. It is the first son she lays with on her wedding night to seal the deal, whispering their own vows amidst soft sighs and cries of need. Things don't turn out so bad in this dream, but it still isn't perfect.

Pentos is not a dream.

It is vision made flesh with sweat and tears and frantic nerves. They are both dead and alive; they died the night the king did, they were born flying into the sunrise. They were born come the dawn on the sands of Essos amidst a victorious dragon shriek and relieved laughter. Where exhaustion and adrenaline gave way to something sacred in the surf that ‘yes, yes we made it we've made it, is breá liom tú mo réalta geal…’

‘I love you, my bright star.’

This is the one where they are surrounded by strangers, where only a handful know their truth. This is the one where Abrogail is wrapped in shimmering gold and white, with star flowers in her copper curls and a smile so bright as to rival the sun. This is the one where Aegon is dark haired and more relaxed, calmer than he'd ever been in his whole life, where he nearly takes her at the feet of the magistrate, so explosive is his joy. 

Their joy.

They are a powerful pair: his Lady Hypatia doubles their holdings within a year, courting friendly partnerships and trade routes. A shrewd businesswoman who is patron to those who spin song and secrets, who helps the poor, who first and foremost, protects what is hers.

Lord Argos blossoms like a desert flower without the noose of green and black around his throat. Like a dragon free from the pit, he grows without constraint. Jovial and decadent, gluttonous still, the clever boy emerges into a calculating man; perhaps who he was always meant to be had he only been allowed.

She is shy to admit how much she adores him spoiling her. How he wraps her in moth-wing dresses that skim her skin and leave nothing to the imagination. He orders them by the dozens, in every color imaginable, and watches her with eyes black with lust and desire as she wanders around their home. They are only for his eyes, and when the furrows deepen between her brows, he pulls her into him. She shivers and whines in his arms as he tilts her head back to deny her kisses, but the fabric always rips as he bunches it up to skim his fingers beneath.

"These are just for me," he murmurs, keeping his mouth just out of reach, his smirk growing at her trembling pout as his fingers find the slick along her thighs. "Would hate to kill another merchant for thinking he could have what's mine." Before, when the furthest he could claim her was gazes across a feast table, the lewd way he’d lick honey from figs and she’d pop ripe, wet berries in her mouth, the rumors and court gossip heating his blood as hot as what would pool beneath someone who dared touch her. Here, there's a way for his fire to burn without bringing everything down around them.

She is his. She's his little doll; he dresses her up and spins her around and there is no doubt in all of Pentos, and surely as far as Lys or even Volantis, that while the wine merchant cares for decadence and revelry, it is his little wife that he cares for most of all. There is no doubt Lady Hypatia only has eyes for him.

It is by his blessing they can see her, but never, ever touch.

The orgies Lord Argos throws every few moon turns are the exclusive invites. It isn't just wine and food and decadence. It's deal making, and who is in the inner circle. His lack of desire to become the next Prince of Pentos is all that keeps the target off Aegon's Argos' back.

They are the envy of all who gaze upon them - too beautiful by far, with cherubic cheeks and large eyes. Pouty smiles and sweet laughter. In the haze of patchouli and vanilla and spice, amid the dripping candle glow, bodies writhe amidst laughter and song.

It is here, on a pillowed dais, he spreads his little wife down for all to see. Here he pulls the gossamer cloth from her body and shows how good she looks when she's crying for him. How beautiful she is when tears coat her cheeks from denial, from her need as she begs her husband to fill her with his cock, until her thighs are coated with her slick and his spend. It is here he gives in, unable to deny her even a moment longer, licking a stripe between her pert breasts, growling up against her throat with gnashing teeth. And it is here that he wedges a knee between her thighs, spreading them open to accommodate him. And finally, it is where he splits her apart around him, swallowing the twisting cry of his name that falls from her mouth.

He looks like a god above her, the candle glow turning his skin as golden as the dragon torque fastened around her neck. Aegon’s black eyed stare as he stakes his claim, the smirk, the groans from him as he finally sinks into her, sends her writhing beneath him, needy and begging. It is only his need to exhibit himself, to see the deviance around him that spurs him to take her on this altar, otherwise no one would witness such rapture, something so exquisite and sacred. This is what he tells himself as he fucks her, as he drives himself forward and buries himself within her, her back arching, her face open to all who would look upon them. He tells himself again as she clenches around his length, as her nails rake down his back, as she sheds the skin she wore in another place, another time.

It's better to paint her with his seed than fuck her in a still warm pool of blood. Less complicated. 

The first time he guides her down upon the dais, his mouth rubs softly against her, soothing her nervous fingers that clutch into his tunic. “Look at me, only me... keep your eyes on me.” She'll forever get lost in his eyes - her deepest blue and his lilac pink melting together like the sunset sky. Her delicate hands grab at him frantically. As eager as he is to stake his claim, she is just as desperate. Nails drag harshly over his shoulders and arms, the angry red lines dotted with blood. And then her mouth finds the juncture of his shoulder and she bites down - the lion in her blood urging her to claim her mate with teeth and growls.

There is more in this dream that's become real. A little boy with his father's eyes and his mother's hair and a name with no mantle of conqueror or expectation. There is laughter, and song, and it could never last forever. But when the storm finally comes, this time?

This time they're ready for it.

[kolsmikaelson]

KOLSMIKAELSON’S 2k FOLLOWER SLEEPOVER !

hi my loves, welcome to my little sleepover!! i hit 2k followers a while back and never did anything for it and i’ve been wanting to try and get interactions back up so here we go!! i’m so lucky to have the followers i do thank you all <3 i will only be accepting asks for this from today (1/25) until february 1st. any asks received after then will be deleted. please don’t be afraid to send is as many as you’d like to though!

enjoy and have fun <3 !!

sleepover itinerary ( 1/25 - 2/1 )

movies and snacks - send me a description of yourself and any of the fandoms i write for and i’ll ship you with a character from said fandom!

truth or dare - ask me anything and i have to answer it honestly (within reason obviously)

karaoke time - fuck marry kill, send me any three characters and the rest is self explanatory

bedtime story - send in a character and a prompt from this list or one of your own and i’ll write you a little something!

EXTRAS : who i write for ! request rules !

everything for this sleepover will be tagged under #𝘾𝘼𝙄𝙏𝙎 2𝙆 𝙎𝙇𝙀𝙀𝙋𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙍ೃ༄

[acidblum]

I’m such a multi-fandom bitch that every corner I look this reminds me of a diff character

[pulchramsolis]

There's a box on her bed whenever she comes back to her chambers. It is decorated with a pretty red bow. When she opens it, there is a pale blue dress inside. It is ornamated and has two golden dragons embroidered at the front. There is also a golden leaf comb for her hair and a golden necklace with diamonds. All of this on top of a note that says 'Happy Birthday Kitten, Love your Dragon xoxo'

It is a very good thing that no one is there to witness her opening the gift.

Well, Aegon might have learned how to hide in the shadows so to better enjoy her unadulterated reaction to his spoiling.

It's still taking some getting used to being lavished with gifts, and every one she receives, Abrogail finds herself growing used to it. She finds how much she loves being spoiled. Even though she knows she has Aegon's heart, there is something about wearing things that proclaim her as his that give her a thrill.

She holds the dress up to her to look at it in the mirror, twirling around with giddy laughter before she falls back onto the bed. Her face is red with blush even though she's alone, and she kicks her legs and squeals amidst her giddiness.

[emilykaldwen]

Bringing in my cute chibi art by the lovely @lonelymagpies

“No one wants to look at art of OCs” I don’t think that’s true at all…I follow people specifically to see their OCs literally all the time. Bring back being curious about people’s OCs, asking questions about them and hyping them up like we did when we were teens

[emilykaldwen]

I had the absolute honor and pleasure of commissioning @winterofherdiscontent for this piece of Prince Aegon Targaryen and Lady Abrogail Strong from my fic, The Maiden and the Drowning Boy. Right from the start, I knew I wanted to try comission her for a piece. Their art style is haunting and imbued with that fairy tale glimmer that's absolutely my favorite thing and I was fortunate to snag one of their spots! Right from the start, we clicked on the vision of what this piece would be like, really leaning into that dark medieval fairy tale vibes that I'm building in the fic itself.

The piece is just as dreamy, just as longing as I wanted it, with these two walking through the gardens of King's Landing just how I imagined. It was truly a pleasure and an honor and I'm so freaking excited to share this with everyone!!!

[moodstabilizr]

u know what i need rn in this moment of chaos? a cold x reader fic to ease the pain..

[pulchramsolis]

[@sunfyred did not send but they're getting one anyway] THAT KISSES MEME

It was raining in King's Landing. Inside, the feast still raged on but the pair of them had stolen away as soon as they could to find somewhere more fun to escape to. She'd swatted him on his backside, taking the prince by surprise and took off with a squeal into the gardens, calling over her shoulder, "You can't catch me!"

They knew the paths like the lines on their palms, and she used every little trick in the book, even as it began to rain. Her copper curls turned blood red as they stuck to her cheeks and got into her eyes but they kept up their childish game.

Wet gravel scattered beneath her little feet as she darted into the Godswood and There! His arms found their reach along her waist and they went tumbling into the soaking grass. She was hazy and warm with wine, his own mouth stained with it and before they came to a rolling stop, their mouths met eagerly. Breathless and panting, ignoring the fall of rain, Abby wrapped her arms around Aegon's neck and opened her mouth for his, drowning in the taste and the heat and the want of him. Ready to give him everything.

[emilykaldwen]

High in the Halls

Ship: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (OC) Written for the @hotd-bigbang

Rating: Mature

Summary: Aegon Targaryen, the last true Valyrian Warlord, rattles at the machinations of his mother who tries to play Andal politics when he wants nothing more than to be left alone. A chance meeting of a maiden in distress in the Riverlands changes everything.

AKA the Old Valyria AU!

Notes: This is chapter one! Of what will probably be two chapters? I just didn't have the time to finish this, I'm so sorry.

Art by: @the-common-cowgirl / Beta: @vampire-exgirlfriend

Read on AO3

Author's Note: It's the old Valyria AU I've been hinting at for ages! It was a rough summer y'all, and this thing got finished while I was dying from Bronchitis (but before I got Covid) so I wasn't able to finish it. But this is absolutely a universe I want to have fun in and play with from time to time. I hope you enjoy it with me!

Sunfyre’s scream pierced the air, sending seagulls frantically fleeing from the battlements of Dragonstone, crying out as they took to the sky in an explosion of gray and white. The deep pink frills along the back of the dragon’s neck stood high, his head rearing back, snout vivid and wet with the blood of the sea beast he had dragged ashore for him and little Dreamfyre to feast on. His little sister’s dragon was twice the size of a horse, and the dead beast was at least two of her. The pair of them crouched around the great beast on the black sand beach, the waves crashing and little flits of multi-colored light caught in the air every time they broke against the rock of the harsh inlet.

Syrax hissed in response, her head rearing back in offense at being denied, but she eventually turned away, for Sunfyre was twice her size, and the smaller dragon was no match.

Aegon’s half-sister, on the other hand…

“Where is father?”

Aegon tilted his head, looking over his shoulder to where Rhaenyra, stood in the archway that led down to the stables. Her long, silver hair was tied back in a thick braid that fell to her waist, woven with charms that tinkled when she turned her head. The harshness of the style made her look more like Lord Viserys than her own mother, Lady Aemma, whose features were soft like his own mother.

He stayed silent, dragging his thumbnail along the near imperceptible groove of the stonework he leaned against. Did she think he was a servant? Did she think they were as close as their sire liked to pretend they were?

She arched her brows when he didn’t answer, her black boot tapping on the black stone. Before Aegon could open his mouth, there was movement behind Rhaenyra, heavily accented Valyrian answering for him.

“Helaena had another dream last night.” Lady Alicent met Rhaenyra’s eyes as she approached, silent maidens swathed in red following her. She was father’s second wife, taken in marriage when Lady Aemma could bear no more children. Even after all these years, she wore her long green gowns in the style of the continent: square necked and deep sleeved, a heavy, gold chain looped about her waist, her auburn curls held back a net of onyx and emeralds. Next to Rhaenyra in her dark gray riding leathers chased with crimson, Aegon thought his mother looked like a queen.

Rhaenyra ran her tongue over her teeth behind her lips, nodding curtly, and spun away with a swing of her long hair and vanished into the stronghold, vengeful and beautiful in the low light. Helaena’s dreams had changed fate for their family and Aegon did not know if it were better or worse. Some days, in the black of night, he wished he had gone down with the rest of their people in ash and flame. Others, he relished the freedom from politics that had plagued his earliest years. The fearful whispers of assassins, the way Uncle Daemon raged that they did not need to taint their blood to gain the Hightower gold—these things haunted him.

Mother pursed her lips, watching Lady Rhaenyra leave before her large, dark eyes met his.

“You cannot hide from me forever,” she told him in the common tongue. Aegon scoffed and looked back out at the rocky outcropping below where Sunfyre and Dreamfyre continued to devour the salt beast. He didn’t move as she approached, startling only a little when her hand combed through his shoulder length curls. “We must talk about this.”

“Must we?” he snipped, refusing to look at his mother. He kicked the toe of his boot against the stone and resisted crossing his arms to rest his head against them like a petulant child. Aegon was, in fact, acting a little like a petulant child, but he’d grown exhausted of the conversation that had circled for the past three years. “Go speak with Aemond about it. He’ll be more than glad to cross blades with Daemon and Rhaenyra- ow!”

His mother pinched and pulled at his ear to pull his face towards her and Aegon jerked from her grasp instinctively. Alicent Hightower’s lovely features were severe, delicate brows furrowed, pouty mouth pressed into a firm line.

“You are Viserys’ eldest son.”

“And Valyrian law dictates that Daemon inherits as his dragon is older-”

“Valyria is gone,” Alicent spat, her voice grating like the screech of kitlings or claws against stone. “If by chance you’d forgotten in your cups of strongwine, foolish boy. Valyria is gone, to fire and ash these past three years. Their laws of inheritance do not matter. The custom here, Aegon, is that of the eldest son. Sons before sisters, and all before uncles.”

“Then disown me,” Aegon snapped, pulling from his mother’s grasp before she could claw at him further. “Aemond will become your eldest and he shall eagerly fight with Helaena at his side. She could present it as a vision: Aemond inheriting Dragonstone with their children to carry his legacy on.” He clapped his hands together, smiling, although the gesture held no true joy. His smiles rarely did.

Aemond would relish at the opportunity to prove himself, to be more than what his position allowed him. Ever since their first son, Maelor, had been born, his younger brother had strutted about, speaking of his virility, dangling his son, and then soon after, their daughter, Daenys, in front of their father who so loved his grandchildren. Filling the hole that Rhaenyra left when her new family moved out of the fortress to the island of Driftmark, Viserys had indulged his grandchildren and Helaena was expecting her third soon.

The space between them grew as his mother drew back, her mouth pinched so tight that her lips had gone pale. Aegon loathed the way her gaze scraped at his insides and he resisted wrapping his arms around himself protectively, instead focusing on maintaining his languid, distant posture. To show weakness within the obsidian halls of Dragonstone was to be a death sentence. His mother was not of Old Valyria, but of these strange shores that he was more familiar with than the Freehold. She chafed at the ‘strange customs’, sick at the prospect of her children intermarrying with one another to keep their Valyrian blood pure. She misliked his lack of ambition, or how he preferred to spend his time in the brothel in the little fishing village while Lord Viserys lamented not being able to introduce him to the Ruby Palace and the most divine pleasure slaves the Freehold could have offered.

Lady Aemma misliked his father speaking so, although she was better at hiding her frustrations with her tender, tired smiles. His mother also did not care for the time Aegon spent in Lady Aemma’s solar, where they indulged in honey cakes together and she expected nothing from him, letting him lay his head in her lap while she combed her fingers through his hair when his mother’s anxieties turned her vicious.

If his own mother despised so much of him, then why was she so insistent to have him named heir?

“Aegon.”

He could not bear the anguish in his mother’s voice or on her soft features; the way it coalesced with the frustration like how the blood from the carcass on the beach turned the foaming ocean surf as pink as Sunfyre’s wings. Her shoulders that had bowed in on herself straightened, her breathing evening, and her delicate hands smoothed along the richness of her gown. “We will not indulge in such foolish things,” she said with an abrupt shake of her head. “You will be married at the end of the season.”

It felt like she’d punched him in the throat, the air rushing from him like a wheezing carcass. “I have no sisters to marry,” he rasped out, the blood rushing in his ears. Sunfyre’s call from below was a questioning one, and he saw his dragon lift his bloody face to peer up at him.

“One of the River Kings has need of a son in law,” she explained. “He is well known to our family, with only a daughter and the other river kings are circling. In exchange for you to protect his holding and claim his title upon his death, he will ensure that his armies are yours when the time comes.” She sniffed, twisting the ring on her right hand. “Which will be sooner, I think, than we all expect.”

Well known to their family? The Hightowers. The power that family held was ancient and worthy enough of Valyria, their origins a tightly guarded secret, but his father had said the Hightower blood was a special thing, and how lucky he’d been to snap up the daughter of so much power.

Aegon felt strangled and overheated, a pain coursing through his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “Does he know?” There was something guttural and full of warning running through Aegon’s words, and it vibrated through him. For a moment, he thought he tasted salt and metal, satiating and repugnant along his tongue, and he spat on the ground to rid himself of the taste of his dragon’s kill.

She sniffed again. “He has allowed me freedom to do with my other two children as I please, and Daeron is eager to become a Maester and not claim a dragon for himself. He will serve you well when his education is completed.”

Something cool and wet slapped against Aegon’s cheek and he blinked, tilting his head up as a fine rain began to fall. His mother hurried back inside, arms wrapped around herself, but Aegon ignored her insistent call to follow him. He stood there letting the rain hit his too hot, too tight skin, wondering if it would sizzle the way it sizzled against the dragons. A fine hiss of steam had surrounded Sunfyre as he continued to eat, Dreamfyre tucked beneath his wing, protecting her in the ways that Aegon was unable to protect Helaena himself.

Of course Daeron didn’t want a dragon. He knew nothing else but what he learned of on the ground.

“You’d barter me to some little king for the power of my dragon!” Aegon shouted, his voice heavy with rage, an anger that he’d rarely let loose coming to the forefront like the storm surge. The heat in his throat was a dragon’s flame - he’d spit fire if he could.

Rage was Aemond’s domain, was Rhaenyra’s, was Daemon’s. But Aegon was just as fearsome when he chose to be.

“Aegon-”

“You had no right!” His hands ached for something to throw, to bend and break and shoving over the brazier on his way inside would have to suffice. The coals hissed and bounced along the stone, the metal clanging loudly along the ground. Mother jerked away at the sound like something skittish, a doe perhaps, or a mourning dove, dark eyes wide at the display. Perhaps she did have reasons to mislike him. “You had no fucking right. Daeron, you can barter around, but I, in case you’ve forgotten, am a Warlord. My mount is not some overgrown horse, but fire incarnate, and should I ever so choose, I could turn your precious Oldtown to ash, and the rest of this land if the whim took me.” His nostrils flared as he breathed, wishing he could snag his mother and shake her until sense rattled in her head once more.

But she misliked him enough that he didn’t, the notion settling like a stone in his gut as he skirted her and followed the ghost of his elder sister. Mother shouted his name, but he ignored her, striding down the dim corridors that snaked through the fortress. Torchlight illuminated the slick walls and made the obsidian shine like some living, slimy thing.

Trilling, melodious and haunting, echoed down the corridor, but Aegon could hear the shifting in Sunfyre’s tone. ‘Bite? Attack?’ the sound seemed to question. The Dragonkeepers along the dock gripped their pikes, shouting for Sunfyre to settle, to calm, but the golden dragon would have none of it. He called, concerned, and it grated and echoed along the cave that housed the stable, boiling saliva and blood dripping from his maw and onto the black stone. Another cry shook dust from stone as Sunfyre made as if he were to scramble his bulk up onto the dock. The Dragonkeepers shouted once more, Keeper Arrax looking at him imploringly.

Aegon met his gaze briefly before approaching, tugging his riding gloves on from his pockets. “Lykirī!” he called up to him, but there was little command in the words. Sunfyre rumbled low in his throat, eyes flicking above Aegon and past him for whomever had caused such upset within his rider. It was only as Aegon lifted a hand to his bloody maw to scratch gently along his nostril, did Sunfyre relax, albeit with extreme annoyance at not having anything to attack.

The dragon snorted and settled, lowering himself enough that Aegon could make his way up the curve of his wing to the saddle. There were no words exchanged. None were needed. Him and Sunfyre were as one; the envy of the last Dragonlords.

The further west Aegon flew, the lighter the clouds became. There was something deeper within that, he was sure, and he could only imagine what poetic waxings his father would engage in had Aegon asked. Aemond would huff and let out the most annoyed of sighs and simply say, ‘Clouds move, you nitwit,’ and whatever obscure and esoteric insults from the books in their father’s library.

The breaking of the clouds revealed the lush green of what his mother’s people called the Riverlands. He’d flown over Crackclaw point and up the river that flowed into the Bay of Crabs, the great mountains of the Vale majestic and snow capped in the distance. The rolling green hills and dense forests were cut through with snaking slashes of blue and marked with weirwoods like drops of blood unfolded beneath him, a tapestry of a world he did not understand. His memories of the Freehold were fuzzy. The villa they’d lived in had been large, and he remembered the palanquin draped in the blacks and reds of their house as he made his way to the Dragonmont to claim Sunfyre. And then Helaena’s dreams had entranced their father and here they came.

Dragonstone was more home than Valyria had ever been, but even so, the obsidian fortress in the shadow of the mountain felt like a cage.

Out here above the Riverlands, Aegon breathed in the crisp air, the scent of the storm they’d passed through untainted by the smell of sulfur and salt that permeated the air of his home. These creatures of mud and root were meant to be subjugated. They were unworthy of the gift of flight, Aegon’s blood was a pure, magical thing, not something to be bartered to such a thing.

But his mother was of these people, and he loved his mother. Her blood flowed through him. She was just as fierce as his sister even if she lacked wings. His Uncle Daemon sneered and called him and his siblings half-breeds, shocked that they were able to claim dragons as they did.

Aegon shook his head, damp hair stuck across his forehead, and urged Sunfyre lower to better make out the land before him. Here, he could see the frightened sheep moving in a great herd as the shadow of the winged predator loomed over them. Sunfyre rumbled his desire and he tugged on the reins.

“You’ve had your fill,” he reminded the dragon, and the beast grumbled his annoyance. They swooped lower now, so Aegon could make out the details of the sheep and their startled herders, and hear the distant barking of the herding dogs that accompanied them. Aegon turned south, crossing over the Trident and soon they came upon Castle Derry nestled in the hills. His brow furrowed and he circled about it curiously. Was this where his bride resided? On the shores of the Ruby Ford?

Aegon flew further out still, towards the lush wood, settling his dragon down by a grove of bone white weirwoods, their crimson stained faces bearing witness to his sulking and self-pity. The forest floor was damp and gave beneath his boots as he approached the heart tree. The smell of petrichor clung in the air from the storms that had passed through; the scent of rich earth, of the pine scent of the evergreen trees that hugged the red grove a physical thing.

It was only the red sap that gave the look of bloody tears against the bark. That’s what the maester had said. Helaena, who received dreams from the gods, said they were the tears of those their visions could not help. Even though theirs were Valyrian gods - the fourteen flames that dragons like Syrax and Caraxes and even little Vhagar bore like badges of honor. Aegon had never felt close to the gods of his people, for they were angry beings that threw the Freehold into a melted, smoking husk and destroyed everything that they’d come from. The places in his hazy, childhood memory, the people who had visited, who had bustled in the forum below, were all gone, as were the multitude of dragons that had filled the sky from the other families, not to mention so many along the empire, and the many who had been unclaimed, roosting in the fissures of the volcanos.

Sunfyre rumbled behind him and Aegon waved a hand. “Go on,” he told him, Valyrian words feeling strange to speak in front of the tree. Sunfyre gave him a long look, as if assessing Aegon’s intent before his legs bunched up and he took off with a gust that nearly pushed Aegon from his feet. He ran his fingers through his hair before resting his hand on the pommel of his sword and looking around. Mayhaps he’d go for a swim. Climb a weirwood and fall asleep in the boughs. He could pilfer some clothes and dye his hair and vanish into the mists of the Riverlands, become something new and unseen. He could -

The scream that ripped through the forest was full of terror and anger, the words distant and shrill, but he could just make out the ‘NO!’ through the cacophony. Alarm took over and Aegon’s head whipped around trying to figure out what direction it came from. Another scream for help and he shifted direction, darting through the weirwood grove and bursting into the firs and evergreens of the rest of the forest.

‘Don’t stop screaming,’ he thought to himself, blood pumping in excitement for a fight. A dragonlord’s first weapon was fire and wing. His second was the blade, and Blackfyre hung reassuringly at his side - the gift his father had bestowed upon him on his twenty-second nameday. Next to fucking and drinking, he relished most the clang and scrape of metal against metal.Aemond could roll his eyes at his lack of finesse, but Aegon loved a good fight; blade, teeth, a punch to the face, all were ideal.

He slowed on approach, darting behind the thick trunk of a red oak large enough to seat his whole family for a meal. There were four men just past the trees by the stream, their horses lingering, pawing at the ground, perhaps from Sunfyre’s presence earlier. Three of them wore simple brown tunics and leggings, tabards of black and yellow with a sigil of eerie yellow eyes peering back at him. Aegon knew little of the houses of the area to know which this was. From the finer cut of cloth the fourth man wore, he was their liege. Tall, with dark blonde hair and broad shoulders, the leader of the group was clad in a tunic of black, his tabard half black, half yellow, edged with golden cording.

“Hush now, you’re safe,” he crooned to the hissing, spitting maiden clutched in his arms. She was a slight thing, her kirtle a deep, forest green, the skirt split over a pair of leggings, elegant embroidery visible across her gown. Aegon’s eyes darted around, looking for her horse, but none was to be found. A noble lady from the looks of it, but the oddity of her being alone in the forest was not his priority.

“Let me go!” she snarled, eyes wide and frightened, and she reached up to claw at the man’s face. Her little hand struck true, raking across his handsome features, and he yelled, striking her hard against the face in retaliation and sending her to the ground.

Sunfyre growled low in Aegon’s chest and before the man could reach for her again, he made himself known, unsheathing the Valyrian broadsword idly, clucking his tongue against his teeth.

“Is this how you Westerosi whelps treat your ladies?” he asked, brow furrowed in feigned confusion as his lilac gaze darted from man to man. “I confess, I’ve only been here for a little time, but from what I’ve been taught, there are laws among your people that frown on such things.” A lie of course; he could care less what laws Westeros had, but the woman was distressed, and he was doubtful any of these men owned her. Why he cared about her distress at all was something he would dissect later.

Aegon’s gaze raked over the men before lingering on the maiden still on the ground. The damp of the earth soaked into her skirts, her copper curls a frizz around her soft, tear streaked face. The ring her assailant wore had cut into her mouth, streaks of blood welling up and smeared across her chin. Her eyes met his in that singular moment, so vivid and bright, an endless blue. Aegon forgot to breathe at the sight of that frightened gaze that looked at him so full of terrified hope, his stomach twisting and pulling, wanting to drag him towards her.

How could he deny such a desperate plea? How could he deny her anything when she looked at him like that?

“Be gone with you, stranger,” the leader of this little band sneered, unbothered by the glint of Valyrian steel in the shafts of light that struggled to cut through the trees and clouds above. Aegon’s gaze met his and he smiled, lazy and unbothered. The creak of leather signaled the unsettled movements of his companions.

“Prince Ed,” one of them said, all nervous hesitation that pleased Aegon. “He’s one of them.” Fearful and othering, but he should fear him. Aegon was not some mortal clawed from mud. He was nearly a god himself, and the dragons were of the gods. Sunfyre purred deep in his chest, feeling Aegon’s amusement. He knew the dragon was approaching, and Aegon could buy himself some time and entertainment. Three against one wasn’t terrible odds. He’d been in brawls like that before, but rarely with a blade, and the swordmaster’s cautious words ran in the back of his mind to be cautious of how he picked his fights.

Sunfyre would be there before things got too out of hand.

The prince narrowed his eyes in Aegon’s direction and took in the languid stance and the Valyrian steel blade. There was a flicker of unease on his face before he set his jaw. “Are you sure?” he laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t think they touched the ground, let alone come down from their mountain, too busy fucking their sisters and fathers and probably their dragons.”

There was a nervous titter of laughter from his group and Aegon joined in, his own manic giggling not quite reaching his eyes. He moved deliberately yet continued his easy stance before he stabbed forward, a flash of polished steel to slide across the arm of this prince of mud. Aegon smiled as they shouted and pulled their blades.

“She’s mine now. Be off with you. I would spare her from witnessing your rolling heads.”

The supposed prince spat at Aegon’s feet, drawing his inferior blade. “A daughter of the Riverlands will not be taken by an inbred Valyrian bastard,” he declared with all the mock chivalry and hot air that he’d been blowing. As if Aegon hadn’t just come upon them attacking the maiden. She’d been backing slowly away as Aegon had held their attention but she froze now as the man’s gaze shot at her. “Marvyn, grab her. I’ll slay this imp abandoned by his beast.”

He was brave. Aegon would give this so-called prince that much. Brave and exceedingly stupid, which often went hand in hand; Aegon would know, having been called such by his mother. The clang of steel against steel rang through the clearing and the shriek of the woman joined them as she lobbed a rock at Marvyn in her attempt to evade their reach. His opponent relied on strength, on the advance and powerful swings, and Aegon knew the type. He ducked low and got behind the oaf, kicking the man in the ass and sending him stumbling forward. With the space cleared, Aegon turned and shoved Blackfyre through the back of Martyn and removed the blade without catching any bone. Blood sprayed against the damp earth as he fell to his knees and Aegon spun the blood streaked blade, eyes on the third who had hold of the maiden’s arm, and back to the prince.

Aegon smiled brightly at him, all teeth and mirth and the feral edge of the dragon beneath his skin. “Shame about Martyn,” he said with a pitying shake of his head. “But at least it’s a first course.”

Above, a great, winged shadow appeared, blotting out the watercolor sun and casting them in momentary dim. The gust of wind from Sunfyre’s wings shook the tree, a few small branches falling to the ground from sudden and turbulent wind.

“Prince Edmund,” the other man’s voice cracked with fear, and his wide, sunken eyes focused upon the forest canopy, hand still clutching his sword and the other dropping from the maiden’s arm. Another shriek filled the sky and the trees filled with the frightened lowing of woodland animals fleeing, the birds shaking the remaining branches as they took off.

“Don’t be frightened,” Aegon laughed, shaking the damp curls back from his forehead. “Sunfyre is just having a little fun before he feasts. We’re both rather famished.” He opened his arms wide, the blood dripping from the dark steel of his blade. The clearing was quiet except for the low wheezing of Marvyn’s death rattles. He looked to the frightened man who was backing away before his gaze traveled back to this prince, taut and tense and gripping his useless sword with both hands. “What was it you were saying about inbred Valyrians abandoned by their beasts? There were four of you, weren’t there?” Aegon looked around again, and there was neither hide nor hair of the fourth companion, who seemed to be the only one with good judgment.

Sunfyre’s cry shook the forest once more. The horses had already fled in fear.

“Just leave,” the maiden said, finally finding her voice as she stumbled to her feet, her eyes like blue fire as she glared at the leader of her assailants. “Leave and take the gift of your life.”

She trembled with fear but her fists were curled into her skirt, her shoulders squared as she stared the man down. Her voice lilted, softly and strangely, neither melodic nor grating, but something altogether new to Aegon. The common tongue was not her mother tongue, and it gave a dulcet quality to her tone that those brutes lacked.

Aegon’s smile broadened, his teeth flashing as he looked at the prince. “Begone, you mud stricken thing.”

The two men fled, leaving the corpse of their friend behind, and Aegon watched their figures disappear into the trees. Sunfyre’s melodic trill echoed above and he chuckled, reaching down to wipe his tunic on the corpse of the man he’d stabbed. No need to stain his own clothes with such inferior blood. Sheathing his blade, Aegon Targaryen, eldest son of Viserys, the last Dragonlord of Valyria, straightened before the maiden he’d rescued. He knew she would be in awe of him, perhaps even frightened. That was certainly alright. He would reassure her, comfort her, and promise that he would bring no harm to her.

“My lady,” he said with the utmost courtesy. She stood there, several feet away, her arms wrapped around herself, her brilliant blue eyes wide and wild. There was a gentle, cracking sensation between his ribs as he took her in properly. She was a mess from head to toe, the skirts of her riding clothes soaked and stained. She was slight, shorter than he was, and fear had given her soft features a delicate quality that drew from how pale she was, how stark the blood and dirt looked across her face.

It took everything in him not to just reach for her and lick the blood away from her swollen mouth. To swallow her fearful cries away and replace them with precious little moans. She looked like she would make sweet sounds. The fight had his blood pumping with fever and the thrill of the win only increased the potency. He meant what he said: she was his now. He’d claimed her and sealed it through combat.

“Come,” he said, fingers wrapped around her wrist. Aegon was startled at how fragile the bones felt beneath his touch. He made sure he was gentle with it, not wanting to frighten her further. “We’ll fly back to Dragonstone and you’ll be given all that you desire.” The slap of her little hand against his cheek surprised Aegon more than it hurt, but still he reared back at the sting of it, looking down at the maiden with wide eyes. “I saved you!”

“From men who wanted to steal me to make me a bride against my will! You’re trying to do the same thing!” She yanked at the hold he had on her wrist, but he would not let her go, not now that he had found her.

“I’m not going to make you my bride,” he snapped, bewildered at the very thought of it. “You will be my concubine. Then if you prove yourself, I might wed you.” Bride? What a silly idea these Westerosi had. Not that the idea of tying this girl to him wasn’t appealing. To drag her at the foot of the Dragonmont, to sip wine and taste the blood on her mouth with the blood on his, it was an appealing vision. And it was his own choice, not one where he was sold for his precious dragon and his mother’s clawing attempts to change the succession. If Alicent Hightower wanted him to marry a Westerosi so much, Aegon had found his own choice.

From the furrow on her brow, to the flush that filled her lightly freckled cheeks, it was too late to realize those words would not entice her. A sharp pain radiated from his shin from where she kicked him.

“I will not be your concubine, you stupid dragon whelp.”

“You are precious when so angry,” he giggled with amusement and dodged out of the way of her attempt to rake her nails across his face. Abruptly, he released her, and the girl went stumbling back, breathless. He lifted his hands in surrender before clasping them behind his back. “I won’t touch you-”

“Go raibh maith agat,” she muttered and Aegon blinked.

“Did you sneeze?”

She huffed. “I was saying thank you. I will not have uppity Valyrians accuse me nor my people of being discourteous even as you are high handed.”

Aegon snorted. “It was your Westerosi brethren that sought to kidnap you, if I’m not mistaken.”

Her eyes were nothing short of vivid; such a brilliant, cobalt blue like the endless sky, rimmed red from tears and smudged black from lack of sleep. The softness of her vulnerability at his statement was unmistakable and she did not have a snip or barb for him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself and did not meet his gaze. At a loss for words now after she spent so many. Gods, she was a mess. Dirt on her cheek, her soft, molten red hair a mass of curls tied in an unkempt braid. Her wool kirtle was no better, torn along the sleeve and neckline, though it did little to detract from how fine a garment it was—or had been.

The twist of pressure in his chest was uncomfortable and unfamiliar, and Aegon did not know where to put it.It snaked through the pulsing arousal through his blood, the aching desire he had for her. “How long have you been out here?” he asked her, voice gentler this time, as if she were a skittish mare.

She desperately looked around, her lower lip trembling before her teeth caught at the ruined flesh. Blood welled up in the wound once more from the broken clot. The desire to lick it rose in him once more. Instead, Aegon tugged his handkerchief from inside his sleeve and handed it to her. The linen was carefully embroidered with golden beetles by Helaena, who’d been bedridden during her last pregnancy.

It hung between them, Aegon’s outstretched hand with the offering. Tear filled eyes met his before flicking down, eyeing his hand with all the wariness of a little rabbit before she whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, just as softly, if a bit ashamed. Aegon looked down at the corpse that still lay near them and he carefully stepped between it and her gaze, gently herding her away from the sight and towards the weirwood grove he’d come from. He let her lead the way, keeping a distance between them, his eyes darting about for either horses or those fools. Sunfyre warbled above them and Aegon knew he was keeping an eye out before the ground shook at the dragon’s landing. The maiden stumbled and Aegon caught her elbow before she could fall.

She did not jerk away from him this time and he did not grab her roughly, the idea of further scaring her making him uncomfortable.

“What is your name?” It was a polite question and one Aegon should have asked her before telling her he was going to carry her off to Dragonstone. No matter; he could make up for it now.

She did not look at him and Aegon noticed how she trembled, likely from the come down after the fight. His own hands were shaking lightly, but he’d been well trained to manage it. He cursed under his breath and looked towards the clearing where Sunfyre landed. There was a cloak in his saddlebag he could give her.

“Abrogail.” Aegon looked at her, dark lashes shading her eyes, her pink tongue darting out enticingly to wet her lips as she dabbed at her mouth. “My name is Abrogail.”

Oh. “That’s… that’s a lovely name. Abrogail.” It even tasted lovely on his tongue. “I’m Aegon. Targaryen. Of House Targaryen.” How foolish he sounded.

Her mouth twitched with a promise of a smile and warmth bloomed in his chest. “I gathered as much… Aegon.” Gods help him, he loved the sound of his name on her tongue. Adjusting his course of action seemed to be working as the tension eased a little in her slim shoulders and her sweet face. The pulse of desire flooded through his veins once more and Aegon exhaled, looking up at the red leaves and white boughs of the weirwoods they had come to. The light was dimming as the clouds grew heavy with moisture and Aegon could smell the oncoming rain; petrichor and ozone and the promising crack of lightning. Could he make it back to Dragonstone to stay the night?

“Are you far from home?” he asked, the words ashen in his mouth. It was the right thing to do, even when all he wanted to do was bundle her up and take her away with him. She was meant to be his now. He had claimed her, won her in combat.

“Not overly far,” she said with a strange tone. Aegon looked down at her. Abrogail’s gaze had darkened, turned inward in her contemplation. “I left for my own reasons… and I find myself without my horse. I am not,” she paused, pushing a finger into his chest with fierce, flashing eyes, a kitten arching her back, “Saying I would come with you as your concubine.” She spat the word out with a wrinkled nose.

Aegon grinned at her, all bright teeth and amusement, a mad sort of giggle spilling from him. “Oh, you’ve made yourself quite clear, my lady. I promise not to make you my concubine, but I can offer you a ride away from here.” ‘To Dragonstone,’ he thought. She was escaping something, she said, and he could provide her anything she could want. All he’d ask for in return was a taste.

Abrogail tilted her head, rosebud mouth pursing in her wariness but the curiosity was easing her features.

Several tastes, perhaps. If she insisted on looking so appetizing.

“Your dragon?” There was a nervousness in her tone, but oh, that curiosity. Aegon nodded and held his hand out to her.

“Come,” he said softly. “You can meet Sunfyre.”

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you think! If you're looking for more Aegon and Abby, check out The Maiden and the Drowning Boy! and of course, be sure to check out the other stories being posted for the big bang <3

[huramuna]

I 🩷love🩷 the banshee's lament so much 🥰

What are you reading right now? Any recs for similarly angsty fics?

awww thank you dear!! i am so glad you like it!!

i'm currently reading 1968 by @inthedayswhenlandswerefew. it is an angsty reader x aegon au and i am totally hooked! maggie never misses on her modern au's.

i am also reading the maiden and the drowning boy by @emilykaldwen. it is an ongoing canon-era aegon x oc fic with an oc i absolutely adore. the development so far of abby and aegon is lovely and nuanced and you cannot convince me that abby isn't a canon character as she fits in so well! (she is in my heart, grrm watch OUT.)

additionally, i'm enraptured by they say i killed you (haunt me then) by @vampire-exgirlfriend. wylla is another oc i absolutely love, paired with aemond. i love me a feisty northern woman so wylla fits the bill perfectly and gives aemond a run for his money.

as for angsty fics (that i have finished!) i have quite a few to recommend!!

glass cuts deepest by @flowerandblood is a beautiful series and i could go on for hours on why this is one of my favorite series. it is a modern au with a ~scandalous~ student / professor pairing with oh so much angst. this fic (and the lovely author) made me create my tumblr account and share my writing with you all, so it is close to my heart!

who taught you to love like that? by @ewanmitchellcrumbs made me tear up quite a few times and may or may not be my late night why-am-i-crying-and-horny-at-the-same-time fic. conscripted me into the aemond x sugar baby vision. want it, need it. asap.

dragonskin by @missybee-writes is a LONG HAUL for sure, but goodness gracious if it doesn't hit all of the points of a good read for me. angst, action, romance, smut... and take everything you know about the dance of the dragons and throw it out the window, because things are VERY much different here. it is a ride i can't wait to sit down and take again!

consequences by @targaryenrealnessdarling is the QUINTESENTIAL angst fic. not only that, it is inclusive of one of my favorite tropes which is aemond x maid / servant. this fic has TEETH and will rip your little heart out but good god if it doesn't hurt so good!! this is another fic i read when i need a good cry.

[mrs-starkgaryen]

Abbie's Writings ✍️ ♥️

House of the Dragon:

Meet me at the Corner (Shop):

Modern! Aegon x Reader

Teaser

Teaser 2

Teaser 3

And it's Like the Sky is New:

Tangled AU! Aegon x Reader

Collage

Going off Page

Modern AU! Aegon x Reader x Aemond

Teaser & Collage

The Only Thing That is Real

Modern AU! Aegon x Reader

Teaser

Below Deck: Westeros

Collage

Bridgerton:

Two Tides

Colin x Siren!Penelope

Collage/ Blurb

Harry Styles:

Title incoming

Baker!Harry Styles x Princess!Reader

Blurb

Chris Evans:

Notifications

Chris Evans x Reader

Teaser

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

[clutchofmuses]

@dragynfire

#you stop! 🥺 #no, you stop 😏

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

they say i killed you (haunt me then) is a House of the Dragon canon-divergent fanfic that takes place immediately following the events of Storm’s End and the death of Lucerys Velaryon in 129 AC. It's a story about grief, loss, obsession, war, the idea of who we are when we've been stripped of our identity, and what we'll do for those we love.

Wylla Karstark is content with her life in the far reaches of the North, happy to be so far from the brewing war that threatens to tear apart the country. She has everything she ever thought she needed - her brothers, her mother, the land she loves. Then Aemond Targaryen tumbles from the sky, abandoned by his dragon and left at her mercy, pressing at her every nerve and opening her eyes to the possibility of life beyond Karhold. But what happens when the tables turn and it’s Wylla who finds herself under the thumb of the One-Eyed Prince, thrust into a war she has little hope of surviving? Can a fox endure the attention of a dragon? Will any of them make it out alive?

content warnings: canontypical violence, dubcon, kidnapping, explicit content, major character death/minor character death, generational trauma, pregnancy, pregnancy loss

Updates on ao3 every other Friday. Subscribe there if you want chapter updates 🖤 I do not give permission to repost or plug into chat gpt this or any work of mine. most recent update: ch 30 - The After

writing:

ao3

haunt me tag

wylla tag

haunt me masterlist

outtakes:

fall on me like night - ot3verse

comfort - abby/wylla

haunt me art:

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of

A Northern Wedding

Lonely Day

Wuthering Heights

The Many Names of Lady Wylla Karstark

Wylla and Aemond by @murmel-malt

A Meeting. A Wedding. A Rejoining by @emilykaldwen

Aemond and Wylla by @selfproclaimedunicorn

When You Break (Aemond x Wylla, Aegon x Abby)

For Everything a Reason by @emilykaldwen

Leaving King's Landing by @aegonx

Hiraeth