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hisfavegirl · 2 days ago

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Twisted Heart - Aegon Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary : One stolen moment had led to another, and before you knew it, you were tangled in a web of passion and deceit. Aegon was nothing like Jace; he was unpredictable, possessive, and maddeningly intoxicating. He made you feel alive in ways you hadn’t thought possible. And while the court saw you as Jace’s loyal wife, the truth lay in the quiet nights spent in Aegon’s arms, in the stolen kisses and whispered promises that neither of you could keep.

Word Count : 7,7k

Aegon Targaryen Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The firelight flickered softly across the room as you sat on Aegon's lap, your arms loosely draped around his shoulders. His hold on you was firm and unrelenting, as though he needed to feel every part of you to convince himself you were truly there. His head rested against the curve of your neck, his breath warm as it fanned over your skin.

Your fingers moved gently through his hair, the silky strands slipping between them as you stroked his head soothingly. Aegon sighed, a sound that was both content and laced with longing. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, drawing you closer, his chest pressed flush against yours.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," he murmured suddenly, his lips brushing your collarbone as he spoke.

You hummed softly, your fingers not pausing in their gentle ministrations. "When?" you asked, your voice quiet but curious.

"When you were carrying," he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper, almost as though he was afraid to say it aloud. "You looked... so beautiful. So radiant. Like you were glowing. I couldn't stop looking at you."

You couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped you, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze. "Aegon, I'm not sure 'glowing' is the word l'd use. I was exhausted half the time and swollen the other half."

He shook his head, his violet eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "No," he said firmly. "You were stunning. You carried my child, our child. And you shone with it. Every time I saw you, I couldn't believe you were real."

His words sent a warmth spreading through your chest, and you leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "You're sweet," you murmured against his hair, your voice filled with fondness.

Aegon pulled back slightly, his lips brushing the side of your neck. "You know," he whispered, his voice low and intimate, "you could look like that again."

You froze for a moment, his words sinking in, before a small smirk tugged at your lips. "Oh?" you asked softly, tilting your head to the side to give him better access to your neck.

He took the invitation, his lips trailing lightly along your skin as he continued. "I could give you another child," he murmured, his hands sliding up your back. "I could make you round and heavy with my seed again. I'd love to see you like that, glowing and carrying my child."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, the sheer possessiveness in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. You tilted his chin up with your fingers, forcing him to look at you. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" you whispered, your voice teasing but thick with desire.

Aegon's eyes darkened as he nodded, his hands gripping your waist more tightly. "More than anything," he confessed. "I'd fill you again and again, until there was no question whose child you were carrying."

You leaned in, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you whispered, "Then do it, Aegon. Give me another child. Make me yours, completely and utterly."

The tension between you was electric, the air in the room thick with unspoken promises. Aegon growled softly, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate kiss, his hands roaming your body with a fervor that left no doubt about his intentions.

His lips moved against yours in a deep, intoxicating kiss, his hands strong yet gentle as they held you. A soft moan escaped you, lost in the heat of the moment, as he pulled you closer, his need for you evident in every movement.

Without breaking the kiss, he slid his hands under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. You felt his strength as he carried you to the bed, his lips never leaving yours, his body pressing firmly yet tenderly against you. The cool sheets beneath you were a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from him as he laid you down gently, as if you were something precious, fragile even.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then to your neck, where he lingered, his breath warm against your skin. His hands worked skillfully at the ties of your gown, loosening them with an urgency that spoke of his desire but a care that reminded you of his devotion.

You gasped softly as the fabric began to slip from your shoulders, your hands instinctively tangling in his hair. You tugged lightly, drawing a low, husky groan from him that sent shivers down your spine.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes dark with intensity, filled with something primal yet reverent. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "So perfect like this... beneath me, so helpless and mine."

Your cheeks flushed at his words, but you couldn't stop the small smile that played on your lips. "Do you enjoy seeing me like this?" you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of teasing and longing.

Aegon's lips curled into a smirk, his gaze never leaving yours. "More than you know," he admitted, his fingers tracing the now-exposed skin of your shoulder. "You look like a goddess, lying here, completely at my mercy."

You let out a soft laugh, your fingers tightening in his hair. "And what would you do with a goddess, my prince?" you teased, your tone light but your eyes dark with desire.

His smirk softened into something more sincere, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "Worship her," he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, slow and deliberate. "I would worship her in every way, until she knew nothing but me."

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart pounding in your chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you whispered, "Then show me, Aegon. Show me how a goddess should be worshiped."

He groaned softly at your invitation, his lips finding their way back to your neck as his hands continued their slow, deliberate exploration of your body. "You're already mine," he whispered against your skin, his voice a mix of reverence and possession. "But tonight, I'll make sure you never forget it."

The room was heavy with heat, the fire in the hearth crackling softly in the background, though it was nothing compared to the warmth shared between you and Aegon. His body moved against yours with agonizing slowness, every deliberate motion sending waves of pleasure through you that built and built but never quite tipped over the edge.

You couldn't hold back the soft, frustrated moan that escaped your lips, your fingers curling against his back as he pressed kisses along your neck, his lips grazing your skin like a promise. His breath was warm, his movements calculated, as though he had all the time in the world and intended to use every second to savor you.

"Aegon," you breathed, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and longing. Your hands slid up into his hair, tugging lightly, trying to convey your need. "Please... faster."

He let out a low chuckle, his lips curving into a smirk against your neck. "Faster?" he murmured, his voice deep and teasing. "But I'm enjoying this far too much."

You whimpered softly, your hips shifting instinctively to meet his movements, but he held you firmly in place, his grip on your waist unyielding. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes dark and filled with mischief. "Look at you," he whispered, his tone almost reverent. "So desperate at my touch, just like a whore you're."

You groaned in frustration, your fingers tightening in his hair as you tried to pull him closer. "Aegon, please," you begged, your voice breaking with need.

He smirked again, clearly relishing the effect he had on you. "You're so impatient," he teased, leaning down to brush his lips against yours, his kiss light and fleeting. "But why should I rush? I want to savor every second of this, of you. I want to remember how you look, how you sound, how you feel when I have you like this."

His words only made the ache inside you grow, and you let out another soft moan, your frustration clear. "You're torturing me," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Am I?" he asked innocently, though the smirk playing at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

"I think I'm being quite generous, actually. I'm giving us time... time to enjoy this, time to enjoy each other."

You let out a shuddering breath, your head falling back against the pillow as you tried to fight the growing tension in your body.

"Aegon," you whimpered, your voice pleading.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You'll thank me later, my love. When you're lying here, completely spent and trembling, you'll thank me for making this last."

You could feel the grin on his lips as he pressed another kiss to your neck, and despite the frustration coursing through you, you couldn't deny the thrill that came with his deliberate torment. He wanted to drive you mad, to make you beg, to remind you that no one else could ever make you feel this way.

And as much as you hated to admit it, you wouldn't want it any other way.

His movements had shifted suddenly, no longer slow and deliberate, but fast, rough, and unrelenting. The sound of your breathless moans and the way you called his name only seemed to spur him on, his grin widening as he took in the sight of you beneath him.

Your body trembled under his touch, your back arching instinctively, meeting each of his movements with desperate urgency. Every muscle in you tightened, your fingers clutching at the sheets as you cried out for him. He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he groaned your name in a way that made your head spin.

"Aegon," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper as your body moved in perfect rhythm with his. "Please..."

His chuckle was low, rough, and filled with dark satisfaction. "What is it, love?" he asked, though he didn't pause, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you exactly where he wanted you. "You're already taking everything I'm giving you. What more do you need?"

You couldn't respond, your body shuddering as his pace quickened. His lips found your neck again, biting down gently before soothing the spot with his tongue. "You look so perfect like this," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and breathless. "So utterly mine."

One of his hands slid up, cupping your face with firm but gentle insistence. His fingers pressed into your cheeks as he tilted your head, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Look at me," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You obeyed, your half-lidded, pleasure-clouded eyes locking onto his. His violet gaze burned with intensity, his pupils blown wide with lust as he took in every detail of your flushed face, your parted lips, and the way you trembled beneath him.

"Gods," he groaned, his movements becoming even more erratic, his grip on you tightening.

"You're so beautiful like this. Look at you-weak, trembling, begging for me. Tell me," he demanded, his voice dropping lower. "Tell me who you belong to."

Your lips parted, and through your shuddering breaths, you managed to whisper, "You... Aegon. I'm yours."

The words seemed to snap something inside him, and he growled low in his throat, his hand sliding down to grip your waist again. "That's right," he murmured, his voice thick with possessiveness. "You're mine. Always."

Your body gave out beneath him, your strength fading as his pace remained relentless. He smirked down at you, his free hand brushing a strand of hair from your sweat-dampened face. "Look at you," he whispered, almost in awe. "So perfect. So wrecked. And all because of me."

You could only moan in response, your body arching as another wave of pleasure washed over you. His eyes never left yours, his gaze filled with raw desire and something deeper, something more profound. In that moment, there was no denying it-you were his, completely and utterly, and he was yours in return.

Your body trembled uncontrollably under Aegon's relentless touch, his fingers working you with a skill that left you breathless, his name spilling from your lips in desperate cries.

"Aegon," you whimpered, your voice trembling as his hand found the sensitive bud of yours. Your entire body jolted at the sensation, the intensity overwhelming, your head falling back against the pillows as you gasped.

Above you, Aegon groaned deeply, his voice rough and laced with desire. "Gods, you're so perfect," he growled, his lips brushing against your ear as his fingers continued their tormenting rhythm. "My perfect little sister... the mother of my children."

The possessive way he spoke only heightened the fire coursing through you, and your hands clutched at his neck, pulling him closer.

"Aegon," you begged, your voice breaking with need. "Please... I need you."

He chuckled darkly, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a kiss to your neck, his teeth grazing lightly before pulling back to look at you. His violet eyes burned with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. "You need me?" he repeated, his smirk growing. "What is it you need, my love? Tell me."

Your cheeks flushed at his teasing, but the overwhelming desire in you drowned out any sense of embarrassment. "I need you," you repeated, your voice trembling. "I need you to give me another child, Aegon. Fill me with your seed. Make me heavy and round with your baby."

A low, guttural growl escaped him at your words, and his grip on your hips tightened, pulling you even closer. "You want that?" he murmured, his lips brushing over yours in a teasing kiss. "You want me to put another child in you? To make you swollen and full with my baby?"

"Yes," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want it. I want you to claim me completely, to make me yours in every way."

His smirk faded into something darker, more serious, as he leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. "You're already mine," he whispered, his voice filled with both tenderness and possession. "But if that's what you want... if you want me to make you mine all over again, I will. I'll give you as many children as you want, and l'll make sure everyone knows they're mine."

You shuddered at his words, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him into a searing kiss. He responded with equal fervor, his movements becoming more urgent as he lost himself in you.

"Say it again," he growled against your lips, his voice demanding. "Say you want my babe."

"I want your babe," you cried out, your voice breaking as your body trembled beneath him. "I want you to fill me, Aegon. I want to carry your child."

The fire between you burned brighter, consuming everything else as he claimed you completely. His touch, his words, his very presence left no doubt-you were his, body and soul, and he would give you exactly what you asked for.

The room was filled with the heated sounds of your labored breaths and soft cries, the firelight dancing across the walls but paling in comparison to the heat between you and Aegon. His movements were powerful and unrelenting, and your body responded instinctively, squeezing him tightly in a way that made him groan deeply, his voice vibrating against your skin.

Aegon's gaze was fixed on you, his violet eyes darkened with desire as he watched the way your body moved beneath him. Your skin was flushed, glistening with sweat, your lips parted as you gasped for breath. His lips curved into a smug, almost predatory smile, the sound of your pleasure fueling his pride.

"You feel that?" he growled, his voice low and rough, filled with possessiveness. "You feel how perfectly we fit together? No one else could ever make you feel like this."

You couldn't form words, your head tilting back as another wave of pleasure coursed through you, leaving you trembling beneath him. He chuckled softly, the sound low and filled with dark satisfaction. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"Your husband will never know, will he?" he murmured, his voice dripping with arrogance.

"He'll never know that no matter how hard he tries, he'll never make you feel this way. He could never make you scream his name the way you scream mine."

You whimpered softly, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you struggled to catch your breath. "No one else," you managed to whisper, your voice trembling. "Only you, Aegon. Only you can make me feel like this."

He groaned at your words, his hands tightening on your hips as he drove into you with renewed intensity. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice thick with need. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," you cried out, your body arching beneath him. "I'm only yours, Aegon. No one else."

He let out a low growl of satisfaction, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless. Pulling back just enough to look at you, he smirked, his gaze filled with both adoration and possession.

"That's right," he said, his voice rough and filled with pride. "You're mine, and no one else will ever have you the way I do."

Your eyes met his, and despite the intensity of the moment, you found yourself smiling, your hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from his face. "I've always been yours, Aegon," you whispered, your voice soft but firm. "And I always will be."

His smirk softened into something more genuine, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he gazed down at you. "And I'll always make sure you know it," he promised, his voice filled with emotion.

In that moment, there was no one else-no husband, no titles, no world beyond the two of you. It was just Aegon and the undeniable bond you shared, a connection that went beyond reason, beyond duty, beyond anything either of you could control.

Your cries filled the air as Aegon's powerful thrusts drove you closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling under the relentless pace he set. His grunts were deep and guttural, echoing in your ears as he chased his own release, the tension in his movements palpable.

When your body finally gave in, the wave of pleasure crashing over you, you cried out his name, your nails digging into his back. Aegon growled in response, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he pressed on, his own peak drawing near.

"Gods, you feel so good," he groaned, his voice thick and hoarse. "So perfect. I'm so close."

You clung to him, your breaths mingling as he pushed himself to the brink. With one final, deep thrust, he groaned loudly, his head falling to your shoulder as his release consumed him.

You felt the warmth of him filling you, his grip on your hips tightening as he held you in place, refusing to let even an inch of space exist between you.

The two of you remained still for a moment, your bodies entwined as you caught your breath. Aegon's head rested against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he murmured, "You're incredible... utterly perfect."

But as his breathing began to steady, you felt a lingering hunger within you, a desire that hadn't yet been fully sated. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you moved slowly, pushing against his chest. Aegon lifted his head, his violet eyes filled with curiosity as you gently but firmly urged him onto his back.

"What are you-" he began, but his words caught in his throat as you climbed atop him, straddling his hips. His eyes widened slightly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Oh," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement and anticipation.

You leaned down, your hands pressing against his chest as you hovered just above him. "Did you think we were finished?" you asked, your voice soft but teasing. "I'm not done with you yet."

Aegon's smirk grew, his hands coming to rest on your thighs as he gazed up at you with a mix of surprise and admiration. "Well, well," he said, his tone playful. "I didn't realize my sweet little sister could be so demanding."

You tilted your head, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest as you replied, "Maybe you bring it out of me."

His hands tightened on your thighs, his smirk softening into something more serious. "Then take what you need," he said, his voice low and inviting. "I'm yours."

With that, you began to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that had Aegon groaning beneath you. His hands roamed over your body, his touch both possessive and reverent as he watched you take control.

"Gods," he muttered, his head falling back against the pillow as you moved above him.

"You're going to kill me, you know that?" You couldn't help but laugh softly, your movements never faltering. "You can handle it" you replied, your voice breathless but teasing.

He looked back up at you, his gaze filled with both admiration and raw desire. "You're incredible," he murmured, his hands sliding up to grip your waist. "Every inch of you. Mine."

"Yours," you agreed, your voice a soft whisper as you leaned down to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

The room was filled with the intimate sounds of your heavy breaths and soft moans, your body moving languidly atop Aegon's. The sensation of being so full, so utterly claimed by him, was overwhelming. Your head tilted back, your hair cascading over your shoulders as you rode him, your hands resting on his chest for balance.

Aegon's eyes were fixed on you, his gaze dark and filled with satisfaction. He looked utterly captivated, watching the way your body bounced above him, his lips curling into a self-assured smirk. His hands slid from your hips to your waist, his grip firm but not restricting as he guided your movements, meeting you halfway with deliberate thrusts of his own.

"You look divine like this," he murmured, his voice rough and low, sending shivers down your spine. "Do you even realize how perfect you are? My sweet little sister, my lover, my whore."

You didn't respond with words, your body answering for you as you leaned into his touch, letting him guide you. The firelight cast a warm glow across your flushed skin, and the way his hands moved over you made it impossible to think of anything but him.

Then, his lips twisted into a grin as a thought seemed to cross his mind. His hands stilled your movements briefly, and he leaned up slightly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before letting his fingers trail down to your cheek.

"Your husband, Jace," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "He's a fool, isn't he?"

You blinked at him, your brows furrowing slightly even as your body trembled under his touch. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice breathless.

Aegon chuckled darkly, his hands sliding back down to your hips as he began to move you again, his rhythm slow and deliberate. "Letting you come here on your own," he explained, his smirk widening. "Allowing you to be in my grasp, knowing full well what I'm capable of."

You bit your lip, unable to suppress a soft moan as he guided your movements with maddening precision. "He trusts me," you managed to say, though your voice wavered under the intensity of his gaze.

Aegon laughed softly, the sound rich with amusement. "Trusts you? Or underestimates you?" he asked, his tone teasing but sharp. His hand moved from your waist to your face, cupping your cheek gently before tapping it harsly, almost mockingly.

The unexpected action made you gasp softly, your eyes widening in surprise. Aegon's smirk deepened at your reaction, his thumb brushing over your lips. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "So responsive. So eager. Do you think he could ever make you feel like this?"

You didn't answer, your body trembling as his pace quickened slightly, his movements becoming more purposeful. "No," you whispered finally, your voice barely audible.

"Only you." Aegon's smirk softened into something more possessive, his hand returning to your hip as he thrust into you with more force, drawing a loud moan from your lips. "That's right," he growled, his tone dark and commanding. "Only me. And don't you forget it."

You leaned forward, your hands gripping his shoulders as you surrendered completely to him. The world outside the room faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled together, consumed by the intensity of your forbidden bond.

The moment Aegon flipped you over, pinning you beneath him, your breath hitched, anticipation crackling in the charged air between you. His weight settled over you, pressing you firmly into the mattress as his hands framed your face. His gaze locked with yours, dark and smoldering, filled with a hunger that seemed insatiable.

"You've had your turn," he growled, his voice low and dripping with authority. "Now, let me remind you who you belong to."

Before you could respond, he surged forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss that left you breathless. His hands moved down your body, gripping your hips with enough force to leave marks as he set a relentless pace. The force of his movements sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your body arching beneath him as you clung to his shoulders.

"Aegon," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "Too much... I-"

"Never too much," he interrupted, his voice rough and strained with his own pleasure. He pulled back just enough to look at you, a cocky grin tugging at his lips as he saw the way your body trembled beneath him. "Look at you," he murmured, his tone both teasing and reverent. "So beautiful, so perfect. You take me so well, little sister."

Your cheeks flushed at his words, but the pleasure was too overwhelming for embarrassment. All you could do was hold on to him, your nails digging into his back as he drove you higher and higher.

The sound of your cries and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin filled the room, creating an intoxicating symphony of passion. Aegon's hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wider as he pressed deeper, hitting spots that made your vision blur.

"Gods, you're mine," he growled, his voice laced with possessiveness. "No one else can have you like this. No one else can make you feel this way."

"Only you," you managed to gasp, your head tilting back against the pillows as another wave of pleasure wracked your body. "Only you, Aegon. I'm yours."

His smirk widened, his pace quickening as he chased his own release, his movements becoming almost frantic. "That's right," he groaned, his voice hoarse. "Mine. Always mine."

As he continued his relentless pace, your cries grew louder, your body trembling beneath him as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. "Aegon," you cried out, your voice breaking as your release crashed over you, leaving you shuddering and breathless.

The sight of you unraveling beneath him was enough to send Aegon over the edge. With a guttural groan, he thrust into you one final time, his body tensing as he found his own release. The warmth of him spilling inside you sent a shiver through your body, the feeling both intimate and possessive.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your breaths mingling as you lay tangled together in the aftermath. Aegon's head rested against your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you as he held you close.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with genuine affection. "I don't deserve you, but l'll never let you go."

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing through his damp hair as you whispered, "You don't have to. I'm yours, Aegon. Always."

And in that moment, the world outside your shared sanctuary ceased to exist. There was no judgment, no titles, no one to tear you apart-just the two of you, bound by a love as fierce as it was forbidden.

The golden light of the morning sun streamed through the windows of your chamber, casting a warm glow over the room. You stirred awake, still tangled in the sheets and in Aegon’s arms. His breathing was steady, his face nestled against your hair, his hold on you unrelenting even in his sleep.

But the peace shattered with the sound of your chamber door opening. Your eyes snapped open, panic tightening your chest as you turned your head to see who had entered.

Standing in the doorway, your mother, Alicent, surveyed the scene before her. She stood poised, her green gown catching the morning light as her sharp eyes took in the sight of you and Aegon tangled together. Her expression didn’t betray much—calm, composed, as always—but the flicker of disapproval and calculation in her gaze was unmistakable.

“Get up,” Alicent said coolly, her voice even but commanding. “Your husband will arrive shortly, and you must prepare yourself.”

Aegon groaned softly, shifting beside you but making no move to rise. His eyes opened halfway, and he let out a low, annoyed chuckle. “Let him come,” he muttered, his voice hoarse from sleep. “What does it matter? He’s blind to everything that happens under his nose.”

You glared at him, nudging him with your elbow, but he only grinned lazily and flopped back onto the pillows, closing his eyes as though dismissing the entire conversation.

Alicent’s eyes narrowed slightly at Aegon’s insolence, but she chose to ignore him for the moment. Instead, she stepped closer to you, her expression softening as she reached out to brush her fingers against your cheek. “You must be more careful,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost motherly. “Your… enthusiasm nearly ruined everything last night.”

You blinked, your cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and confusion. “Mother, I—”

“You were too loud,” Alicent interrupted, her sharp gaze cutting through your stammering. “Do you think the servants are deaf? Do you think there aren’t spies in this keep who would love to bring such news to Rhaenyra? You almost jeopardized everything we’ve worked for.”

Aegon let out a low chuckle from where he lay sprawled on the bed, his hands resting lazily behind his head. “Jeopardized everything?” he repeated mockingly. “Mother, let’s not pretend this isn’t exactly what you wanted.”

Alicent turned her gaze toward him, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Watch your tongue, Aegon,” she said sharply. “I’ve allowed this because I know what is at stake. But do not mistake my approval for indulgence.”

Aegon smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You allowed this?” he echoed, his tone teasing. “Come now, Mother, let’s call it what it is. You’ve encouraged this. You want her to bear my children, not his.”

You gasped softly at his brazenness, but Alicent didn’t flinch. Instead, she stepped closer to the bed, her voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “Do not test me, Aegon,” she warned. “You may be prince, but I still hold the power to ensure this arrangement benefits us all—or to end it if you become careless.”

Aegon’s smirk faltered slightly, but he quickly masked it with a shrug, turning his attention back to you. “See, little sister?” he said, his voice taking on a softer, more affectionate tone. “Even Mother knows that our blood is what’s needed for the future of this realm.”

Alicent straightened, smoothing her gown as she glanced between the two of you. “That is precisely why you must be cautious,” she said firmly. “When the time comes, it will be your children—true Targaryens—who will sit on the throne. Not Rhaenyra’s bastards.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in. “And what about Jace?” you asked quietly, your voice trembling.

Alicent’s expression softened, but her resolve remained firm. “Jace is a good man,” she said. “But he is not what this realm needs. Play the dutiful wife, give him what he expects, and let him believe he holds your heart. But never forget where your true loyalty lies.”

Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before she turned and made her way to the door. As she reached it, she paused, looking over her shoulder. “Do not fail me,” she said, her voice cold and commanding. “The future of the realm depends on it.”

When the door closed behind her, silence filled the room. You turned to Aegon, who was watching you with a mixture of amusement and affection. “Well,” he said with a smirk, reaching out to pull you back into his arms. “Looks like Mother approves of us after all."

You sighed, resting your head against his chest. “She doesn’t approve of us,” you murmured. “She approves of the children she hopes we’ll create.”

Aegon chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Then let’s not disappoint her, shall we?” he said teasingly, his hands trailing down your back.

Despite the gravity of the situation, you couldn’t help but smile faintly. For now, at least, you could hold on to this forbidden moment of peace in Aegon’s arms.

You stood before the tall mirror in your chamber, adjusting the fine green gown that draped elegantly over your frame. The fabric shimmered under the morning light, but the weight of what the day would bring made your shoulders tense. You smoothed the folds of your dress, trying to focus on steadying your breathing.

The sound of soft, deliberate footsteps broke your concentration. You glanced at the reflection in the mirror, and there he was—Aegon, approaching you with that unmistakable smirk playing on his lips. His silver hair was slightly tousled, his expression one of lazy confidence as he closed the distance between you.

He stopped just behind you, his warm hands finding your waist as he gently pulled you back into him. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder as his arms wrapped around your middle, holding you close. “You look radiant,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

You felt your cheeks flush at the contact, your hands instinctively coming to rest over his where they lingered on your stomach. “Aegon,” you whispered, a mix of warning and longing in your tone, though you didn’t move to pull away.

His hands shifted slightly, his thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles over your abdomen. His lips brushed against your neck, placing featherlight kisses there that sent a shiver down your spine. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You closed your eyes, leaning back against him despite yourself. “What do you see?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I see my future,” he said, his tone reverent yet possessive. His fingers continued their slow movements over your stomach, his touch both comforting and electrifying. “I see you—my sister, my love—and I see our children. My blood, growing here.” His hands pressed a little firmer against your stomach, as if willing the idea to become reality.

Your breath hitched at his words, the way he spoke with such certainty and longing. “Aegon,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, but he silenced you with another kiss to your neck, this one lingering.

“They’ll be perfect,” he continued, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “Silver-haired, beautiful, and strong—true Targaryens. You’ll be heavy with my child, glowing with the life we create together.” His lips moved against your skin as he spoke, each word sending waves of heat coursing through you.

You felt your knees weaken, leaning further into his embrace as his words enveloped you. “You’re so sure of yourself,” you managed to say, though your voice was breathless, your resolve faltering under the weight of his touch.

“I am,” he replied simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Because you’re mine, and I’m yours. No one else matters—not Jace, not anyone.” His hand moved to tilt your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his in the mirror. “Look at yourself,” he urged softly. “Do you see what I see? A woman who was born to rule, born to be a mother to my children.”

Your reflection stared back at you, your cheeks flushed and your lips slightly parted. The intensity in his eyes held you captive, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away.

“And what if it all falls apart?” you asked quietly, your voice tinged with both fear and hope. “What if we lose everything?”

Aegon’s expression softened, his arms tightening around you protectively. “We won’t,” he said firmly. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll protect you, always. You and our children—our legacy.”

His conviction was as intoxicating as it was dangerous, and you found yourself nodding despite the storm of emotions swirling within you. You turned slightly in his arms, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “You speak as though it’s already decided,” you murmured.l

“It is,” he said, leaning down to press his lips to yours in a slow, claiming kiss. “And when the time comes, everyone will see it too. You belong to me, and I’ll make sure the world knows it.”

As his words settled over you, a mix of dread and desire, you realized there was no turning back. Not now. Not ever.

The towering gates of the Red Keep loomed above you as you stood at the entrance, your gown fluttering lightly in the morning breeze. Your heart was a storm of emotions—anticipation, guilt, and longing all vying for dominance as you watched the royal carriage draw closer. The sound of horses’ hooves echoed through the courtyard, and you took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

As the carriage came to a halt, the door opened, and Jace was the first to emerge. The moment his feet touched the ground, his eyes locked onto yours, his face lighting up with a smile that was both warm and boyish. Without hesitation, he ran toward you, closing the distance between you in mere moments.

“My love” he exclaimed, his voice filled with relief and affection as he wrapped his arms around you. His embrace was firm, his body pressing close as though he had been away for years instead of weeks. “I missed you,” he murmured into your ear, his breath warm against your cheek.

You smiled softly, your arms draped loosely around him. “I missed you too,” you replied, your voice steady even as your heart ached with the weight of unspoken truths.

But your attention was drawn away as another figure descended from the carriage—a nursemaid, carefully cradling your son in her arms. His silver hair shimmered in the sunlight, and his bright, curious eyes darted around before they landed on you. His face broke into a wide, toothless grin, and his delighted laughter rang out, clear and joyous.

Hearing that sound, your resolve melted. You gently disentangled yourself from Jace’s embrace, murmuring a quick apology, though he didn’t seem to mind. His gaze followed yours, and he smiled softly, understanding the pull of a mother’s love.

“Gaemon,” you whispered, your voice tender as you walked toward your son.

The nursemaid carefully passed him into your arms, and the moment he was close, his tiny hands reached for your face, his laughter bubbling forth again. You held him tightly, cradling him close to your chest, his warmth and weight grounding you in this moment of chaos.

“Hello, my sweet boy,” you cooed, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. His little fingers grasped at your hair, and his delighted giggles made your heart swell.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed the rest of the party emerging from the carriage—Rhaenyra, her regal demeanor as commanding as ever, with Luke trailing close behind her. And then there was Daemon, his sharp eyes scanning the courtyard before they landed on you. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he watched the scene unfold.

Rhaenyra approached first, her expression softening as she saw you with Gaemon. “He’s grown so much,” she remarked, her voice filled with quiet admiration. “He looks just like you.”

“And his father,” Daemon added slyly, his tone laced with something unreadable. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, but he said nothing more.

You swallowed hard, shifting your focus back to Gaemon to avoid meeting Daemon’s piercing eyes. “He’s growing too fast,” you said softly, rocking him gently in your arms.

Luke grinned as he stepped forward, his youthful energy shining through. “He’s going to be a strong little dragon,” he said confidently, reaching out to gently ruffle Gaemon’s hair.

Jace joined you then, placing a hand on your waist as he looked down at Gaemon with a proud smile. “He’s perfect,” he said, his voice warm with affection. “Just like his mother.”

Your heart clenched at his words, and you forced a smile, nodding in agreement. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

But as you held Gaemon, feeling his tiny heartbeat against your chest, you couldn’t shake the weight of Aegon’s parting words from earlier that morning. He’s mine, and so are you.

For now, you could only hold onto the fragile facade, knowing that the delicate threads of your secrets could unravel at any moment.

The grand halls of the Red Keep echoed with the sound of footsteps as you walked alongside Jace, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back. The rest of the family trailed close behind—Rhaenyra leading with her confident stride, Luke at her side, and Daemon following a few steps behind, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of the surroundings and, more importantly, of you.

In your arms, Gaemon cooed softly, his small hands reaching up to grasp at the silver strands of your hair. You adjusted his position gently, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as you ascended the steps toward Rhaenyra’s private solar.

When you entered the room, the warm glow of the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows cast an almost serene atmosphere. Rhaenyra gestured for everyone to make themselves comfortable, taking her seat at the head of the room. You followed suit, sinking into one of the cushioned chairs near the hearth, settling Gaemon on your lap.

The boy squirmed happily, his bright silver hair catching the light as he giggled and reached for the hem of your gown. You focused on him, your fingers idly brushing over his tiny hand, though you could feel the weight of someone’s gaze on you.

It was Daemon.

He leaned casually against the edge of a nearby table, arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. His silence was louder than any words, and you knew that his mind was working, piecing together something he hadn’t yet voiced aloud.

Finally, he broke the quiet, his tone casual but laced with suspicion. “So,” he began, tilting his head slightly, “is your business here in King’s Landing concluded? Or is there more you need to attend to before you return to Dragonstone with Jace?”

The question hung in the air, and though his words were spoken lightly, you could feel the underlying weight of them. He wasn’t asking about errands or formalities. He was probing, seeking cracks in the carefully constructed facade you’d built.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, keeping your expression calm and composed. “Yes,” you replied smoothly, your voice steady. “My business here is done. I was only ensuring the arrangements for Gaemon’s care during our stay were handled properly.”

Daemon’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, but his eyes didn’t waver from yours. “How diligent of you,” he remarked, his tone bordering on mockery.

Rhaenyra, sensing the tension, interjected with a light laugh. “Come now, Daemon. Must you interrogate her the moment we arrive? Let her breathe.”

Daemon chuckled softly, though his gaze remained locked on you. “I’m merely curious,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “She’s been making quite a habit of traveling here, hasn’t she?”

Your fingers tightened slightly around Gaemon’s hand, though you forced yourself to remain outwardly composed. “As a mother, my priority is always my son,” you said calmly, stroking Gaemon’s silver hair. “I will do whatever is necessary to ensure his well-being.”

Daemon’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. “Of course,” he murmured, pushing off the table and walking closer, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. “It’s admirable, really. But one must wonder… is it only the boy’s well-being you’re concerned with? Or is there something else keeping you tethered to King’s Landing?”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra said sharply, her tone carrying a note of warning.

You met his gaze evenly, refusing to flinch under his scrutiny. “I don’t know what you’re implying,” you said, your voice cool.

His smile turned into a smirk as he leaned closer, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “Oh, I think you do,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over your ear before he straightened and walked away, leaving you with the unmistakable feeling that he wouldn’t let this go.

As he returned to his place by Rhaenyra’s side, you looked down at Gaemon, whose innocent laughter was a stark contrast to the storm brewing within the room. You held him tighter, forcing a smile as Jace leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, oblivious to the undercurrents around him.

You knew it was only a matter of time before Daemon uncovered the truth. But for now, you would hold onto your calm facade, praying it would be enough to keep your secrets hidden a little longer.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry

#hotd #hotd imagine #aegon ii targaryen #hotd one shot #hotd x reader #prince aegon targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon x reader #aegon x oc #aegon fanfic #aegon smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen smut #aegon the second #hotd aegon #hotd smut #hotd fanfic

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emilykaldwen · 21 hours ago

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | FINAL CHAPTER

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.

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Author's Note: WE ARE FINALLY HERE HOLY HELL! So much love and thanks to my wonderful beta and co-pilot, @foxinthegodswood. I would not have gotten this far without you. Thank you to everyone whose joined us on this journey. Stay tuned for the sequel!

Summary: Something Borrowed, Something Blue, Something Red, Something Dead

Chapter Twenty-Five - The Second Great Council

The room still held the earthy fragrance from the High Septon’s thurible as he blessed her that morning and it blended with the lighter fragrances of rose and bergamot from her bath. Abby sat on the stool before her dressing table while Wylla and Lythene gently combed her hair, their fingers rubbing oil through the curls to tame the frizz the damper air of the Riverlands had caused. Wylla, being someone who had her own head of frustrating ringlets that needed tending to and understood the maintenance required, held a pair of fine scissors in her hand to trim Abby’s waist length hair before they would fashion it into something appropriate for the ceremony.

“Oh!” Lythene’s startled exclamation brought a flush to Abby’s cheeks as she watched the girl notice the bruise Aegon had left near her ear.

It certainly wasn’t the only one left upon her neck and collarbones but so far, Abby had kept them out of view, not wanting to deal with any fuss. It wasn’t like every member of the realm was going to inspect her and Abby had far surpassed her limit of caring. She’d be married in naught but a few hours. It didn’t matter.

“Is there a problem?” came Lady Lysa’s voice from the far side of the room where she was overseeing the preparations on the queen’s behalf.

Abby caught Lythene’s wide eyes in the mirror, smiling conspiratorially back. “Everything’s quite fine, Lady Lysa,” she called back. Wylla let out a small snort and the three of them descended into a flurry of giggles. Abby squirmed in her seat, fingers knotting and twisting into the dressing gown she wore. “I just want this to be all done already.”

“Such impatience,” Wylla teased, shaking out the section of hair she’d just finished with. “Isn’t that one of the virtues of your gods?”

“And one of yours too,” Abby reminded her. “Patience for the long winters would be the first rule, would it not?”

Wylla’s brows raised and grey eyes met her own in the mirror. “The winters and you spending yesterday bowlegged are two entirely different matters.” Lythene snorted and dropped the comb as she clapped her hands over her mouth, unable to help herself and, considering herself the winner of which virtues were which, Wylla went to fetch what they’d end up pinning into her hair.

The apartments had quieted at least a little from that morning, when the troop of women had burst in to bathe her and feed her, chattering around offering advice and their two cents on things. Great Aunt Mya could not make it up the stairs that morning, but Cassana had, distracting Cory with the most important task of assisting the queen in her own chambers, as well as realizing very quickly that Abby was overwhelmed by all the attention and the noise. The chattering group had been shooed into the solar; Rhea Royce and Sarra Frey had left with several others to oversee the wedding gifts and where they’d go and who had gifted them.

Meanwhile, Deidre was tucking wrapped bundles of herbs beneath her pillows and under the mattress, much to Lady Lysa’s consternation. The elder had decided it wasn’t a battle she needed to engage in, and was presently giving orders to Cassana about how the accompanying gaggle of attendants who would follow Abby into the hall should wear their hair.

Desma and Merei were in charge of her gown, the pair of them carefully laying out her fine silk stockings and the lake blue garters, the latter which had been painstakingly embroidered with dragons shimmering in gold thread and chasing rabbits of silver. Blue was the color of the rivers and brides were often clad in gowns meant to evoke the waters of their land, the life giver that fed the body and fed the forests and the animals, that housed the fish that graced their tables, grew the reeds and rushes that were woven into every aspect of their life.

But Abby had been denied her blue gown, so she would wear the garters instead. It didn’t mean that she disliked her gown. Far from it; Abby was enthralled by it, although they had denied her seeing her reflection during the last fittings so she could only glean the view looking down at herself. The gown itself was currently folded and wrapped in a protective cloth, hidden away until it was time to put it on. It wouldn’t do to have something so painstakingly and delicately made accidentally ruined.

Her mother’s earrings sat on the silk pillow of the jewelry box. Little round rubies were wrapped in silver and from them, ruby teardrops hung, the silver wrapping they were set in etched like miniature flower petals. There was a matching necklace inside; a large, oval cut ruby inlaid into an ornate silver casing that would rest at the hollow of her throat with silver filigree spreading out on either side before attaching to a robust silver chain. A ruby teardrop hung from the center ruby, the Castamere jewels on full display.

Her gaze moved to the warm glimmer of Sunfyre’s scales set in their new home, the ruby on that necklace smaller but no less exquisite. Aegon had wanted her to wear it today. Abby wanted to wear it today.

“My mother’s earrings,” she whispered and took the jewels out to rest next to the scaled choker. Guilt gnawed in the hollow space between her ribs and stilled her fingers where they hovered over the box. She curled them in to keep herself from snatching the earrings, looking up as delighted shrieks and laughter filtered in from the solar.

“Your mother’s earrings,” Wylla said, wrapping her hand around Abby’s curled fist. She nudged at Abby to move over so she could sit on the stool beside her, taking the held hand in both of her own. “And Aegon’s necklace, your family’s maiden cloak. You don’t have to choose and the rest is lost forever if you don’t pick to wear them today. They will be there on the morrow and the day after and the day after that.”

“I don’t have to choose,” Abby repeated with a long exhale, her shoulders sagging as the tension eased. She batted Wylla’s hand when she reached up to pinch her cheek. She was about to say more when movement at the door drew her gaze.

Helaena stood in the doorway, exquisite in layered, sapphire blue silk overlaid with intricate silver appliques along her bodice, a silver belt heavy around her waist. Her pale blonde hair was held back from her face in a decorative net of matching sapphires winking from the delicate wirework. Her large eyes took in the room, her plump mouth pressed thin.

“Heleana!” Abby’s voice pitched high with surprise and she jerked from the stool, bumping into the dressing table and setting everything wobbling from the force of it. There had been little time to spend with the princess since arriving at Harrenhal. Abby felt as if she was standing at the edge of a great chasm that had grown between them, Helaena a speck in the distance on the other side.

“May I have a few moments alone with my sister.” There was no question, no request for permission on Helaena’s tongue. It was simple and soft, the command a gentle one but a command all the same.

Wylla rose with a final squeeze of Abby’s hand, and the women left the room, Desma and Merei closing the doors behind them. Abby tugged her dressing gown more tightly around her, fiddling with the ties about her waist, wanting to reach for the other but she wound her belt around her hand instead. The fireplace crackled merrily behind the protective screen, illuminating the cut out shapes of Children of the Forest dancing among weirwood trees.

Helaena turned to face her, her own fingers twisting together at her waist. Her gaze lingered over Abby’s shoulder before flitting away, absent of the gentle command she had just possessed.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Abby blurted out, lips pressed together briefly. “I’ve missed you and you’ve been avoiding me since you arrived, since we’ve all arrived.”

“You’ve been preparing for your wedding,” Helaena murmured, reaching out to trace her fingers along the bedpost and toying with the blue brocade curtains. “It’s strange here. The air tastes…” She shook her head. “You’ll be gone. I’ve had to get used to being without you.”

The stool teetered over as Abby knocked into it in her haste to cross the distance and the crash of it froze her in place. “Being without one another? Helaena, we agreed months ago that it would be of no issue to visit, that it’s only a short ride away-”

“But you’ll be too busy with Aeg-”

“Of course I’ll want to spend time with my husband, Helaena!” Abby picked around the fallen stool to approach the taller girl, her frustration rising. “And you have been spending time with Jace, so don’t turn this into my soon to be married life getting in the way of things.” Her voice hitched and grew louder with each word, her cheeks flaming, skin prickling with the uncomfortable conversation. Guilt clawed in her once more, but irritation crept in so unexpectedly that it had caught her unawares. Could she not have this one thing to be selfish for and not have it held against her? That wasn’t like Helaena and there had been a time where they’d known one another so closely that this wouldn’t have happened. Things changed and Abby hated it. Feared it. “Why have you pushed me away? Was it you watching from the gallery during the rehearsal?”

Helaena didn’t answer either question, her gaze roving from her face to over her head. Abby clenched her hands against her waist to keep from reaching out to pull her back from wherever she had gone in her head. She knew that it wasn’t Aegon who had spurred Helaena’s distance, as she’d been supportive after the initial shock of it all. Abby swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I am sorry that I’ve neglected you these past months, Hel.” Quieter now. It wasn’t as if this had all happened overnight after all. “I’ve been so caught up in the wedding prepara-”

“Pink and red, might be dead.”

Helaena’s voice was harsh and whispered, a whistling wind through the cracks in the walls, the spirits come to speak of things that they shouldn’t be privy to. Her pale, lavender eyes bored into Abby’s and Helaena took her hands tight in her own, pulled her in closer, lower lip wobbling. “I don’t…”

‘A bride for Harrenhal. They leave quickly. Sickness. Water. Poison.’

“Who might be dead, Helaena?” she whispered, as if speaking any louder would shatter something delicate. She’d heard Helaena’s words before, so long ago, that day seared into her mind. Helaena had been staring out the window, refusing touch as Abby dressed her, before Otto came to tell her of her future. By the gods, it felt like years had passed since that day. The words remained, spinning in Abby’s mind with the prophetic warnings from the antlered priest in the godswood. “Helaena.” The princess still gripped her hands, fingernails pricking into Abby’s skin from the force of it. “Sister, please, tell me-”

Once more they were interrupted by the bedroom doors opening and Queen Alicent gliding in without invitation. She was beautiful in a gown of rich, deep green velvet, the square neckline trimmed with a wide, deeper green band embellished with pearls. Three heavy strands of matching pearls hung from shoulder to shoulder, pinned in the center at her breast with a brooch etched with the seven pointed star. A simple gold necklace with emerald tear drops adorned her throat. A five pointed reach-style hood studded with jewels adorned her head in place of a traditional crown, the finely made black veil hung from the back and covered the knot of auburn hair.

Abby wondered why she decided to wear green now rather than at Aegon’s nameday feast, and thought that perhaps it was her armor with Rhaenyra under the same roof.

The queen’s hands were clasped at her waist, color high in her cheeks from the long walk from her rooms to Abby’s chambers, and the amount of stairs she’d been forced to climb. The ever present tension lingered, but her smile was small, genuine.

“Your Grace,” Abby curtseyed a little awkwardly given that Helaena was still gripping her hands. Helaena looked down at the floor and pulled away after Abby rose, plucking at the cuffs of her deep sleeves, the cuffs folded and pinned back to keep her hands free.

“Helaena?” The queen’s attention immediately switched to her daughter, tone full of gentle concern. “Sweetheart, is everything alright?” Abby stepped back to give them space and allowed herself to breathe through the clawing sensation around her throat, as if Helaena’s prophecy had grown hands to wrap around her neck and wring the life from her itself. Gods above, this was meant to be a happy day. She was elated that in just a few hours, she would kiss Aegon and their hands would be bound and they could start their lives together.

“Why can’t this be simple?” she muttered, rubbing her fingertips against her temples.

She’d just have to make it simple. There was no getting around it. Abby poked her head into the solar where the gaggle of cousins and ladies had set themselves up in their preparations. “Please bring some tea,” she told Morya, who was closest. Her cousins’ wife looked up, startled at being addressed, and Abby immediately remembered she was kin to Lord Edmund. Not sister, but cousin perhaps? Abby smiled in what she hoped was a relaxed manner and the tension around Morya’s hazel eyes relaxed, returning the smile with a murmured, “As you’d like”, and went to retrieve the tea service. Tea would ease her nerves, would ease Helaena’s as well, she was sure.

She would not throw it in the queen’s face for forcing Cassandra Baratheon upon her. No, she’d bring that up later. It was her wedding day. Aegon was hers. No one was going to ruin that. Not meddling, mortal girls, nor the gods or demons of prophecy.

Was it too much to ask to simply have time to be happy and not have a force to do its best to ruin it?

Morya returned with the tea service, the scent of mint, ginger, and elderberry assaulting her nose and immediately easing the tension in her shoulders. Abby took it from her with a quiet thanks and returned to her room, setting the service down on the low table before the fire. Helaena sat on the edge of the couch beside her mother.

“You should not be doing this, Abrogail,” the queen said. “Where are those girls-”

“I sent them out, Your Grace,” Abby interrupted, handing the first cup of tea to her. “It was rather loud in here and if I could use the quiet, then certainly Helaena can as well.”

“Thank you,�� Helaena said as she took the second cup of tea, finally meeting Abby’s eyes and the small smile that graced her face brought heat and tears to Abby’s eyes. “Your mother would not begrudge you a necklace, Abby. She is not that spiteful of a shade.”

“Oh.” Abby’s teeth clicked as she shut her mouth, busied herself with pouring her own cup of tea.

“What’s this about a necklace?”

“Abby was trying to decide if she should wear her mother’s necklace when she’d rather wear the one Aegon gave her.” Helaena sipped loudly and Abby hid her own smile behind the rim of her cup as Alicent winced ever so slightly at her daughter’s lack of manners but markedly said nothing. Instead, her large brown eyes found Abby’s, and instead of the judgement or wariness that Abby expected, there was a curious tilt to her head, gaze pensieve.

“The one you wore at dinner the other night.” When Abby nodded in confirmation, Alicent hummed. “Your mother…” Silence stole whatever the queen was about to say and filled the space between the three of them. Abby sat in a nearby chair and let the tea spread its warmth down her throat and through her limbs, focusing on the calming sensation it lent her, the subtle bite of the ginger root that tickled her tongue. “Your mother,” Alicent said, finding her words after her contemplation, “Would most certainly not begrudge you a gift from your husband to be. It would gladden her to know Aegon gave you such a token of his affection and that you have gladly received it.”

Relief made Abby’s heart stutter in her chest and she could only nod in acknowledgement of the queen’s kind words. She had made her decision, but the guilt had been acrid in her throat. There was an absolution in what Alicent said, and the fact that they reflected much of what her grandfather had told her all those moon’s ago about her mother wanting only her happiness, Abby felt that she could trust them.

“Helaena, darling, could you give us a moment? Are you feeling well enough to go to the solar?”

“If it’s too much for you, Morya could take you down to the gardens,” Abby offered. Helaena gently set her cup down upon the silver tray with a shake of her head.

“I’ll wait. I want to be here to help you dress. You’ve always helped me, and it’s my turn to return the favor.” Helaena rose and smoothed her hands over her skirts, gently maneuvering around the low table to drop a kiss on the top of Abby’s head.

The doors shut behind the princess, leaving Abby alone with the queen. Without being asked, she joined her on the couch and allowed Alicent to reach up to tenderly tuck a stray curl behind her ear. The queen was always affectionate with her when she was unable to be with her own children, but this time, Abby understood that the comfort was the intention, from the glossy sheen in Her Grace’s large, brown eyes.

Abby hadn’t just lost her mother. The queen had lost a dear friend. Things had changed when Celeste Reyne died, succumbing to years of illness not entirely dissimilar, from Abby’s understanding, to how Lady Alerie had been claimed by long illness as well. Her Grace had grown harsher, in little ways at first, until she became the anxious, fear and anger ridden woman she was now.

The Red Keep had twisted her. Abby knew that. The machinations, the politics, had wound like ivy around her limbs and her heart and trapped her in its confines. The same snarling vines had clung to Abby as well. She could feel it pulling and pulling until the stems had snapped when they’d gotten far enough away.

Abby was not a foolish girl, however. The vines still tangled around their feet, hers and Aegon’s, and would for as long as uncertainty reigned.

“Thank you for your kind words, Your Grace,” Abby said. “I know that she would not, but my heart is hesitant to agree. Your reassurance is a balm.”

“A bride needs such reassurances on her day. I was absent mine own mother on my wedding day.” Abby glanced down at the emerald ring the queen absently twisted on her finger, the spots of red along her cuticles. “I had my aunts and good sisters and cousins and… I had support, of course, gentle love and…” Her gaze grew distant as she stared into the fire, and Abby watched with alarm as tears pricked at her future goodmother’s eyes, her lower lip trembling before being pressed firmly to hold back the emotion. Abby said nothing and politely averted her gaze, allowing the queen her reflection on what was clearly a complicated memory.

“It was not the wedding to a knight of flowers and song that you had expected,” Abby whispered, recalling the words of attempted comfort Alicent had tried giving her, misplaced as it was. The queen scoffed and shook her head.

“It’s a great honor to be chosen to serve the realm, an honor that I didn’t expect but have done my best to fulfill.” She had provided the king his longed for sons, which was the first duty of the queen, and yet it had not gone how it was expected. Even if they had not been pressuring Aegon to prepare himself to be king someday, the insult done to House Hightower had been grave and still the king did not see. Everyone knew that.

It was all so very broken and it didn’t have to be. Now here she was, wading into the rising tempest. She would not let Aegon stand in it alone. She would not stand by while the rest of them tried to pull him under.

Abby only hoped they would be able to keep each other afloat.

“The king has granted you the title of princess in honor of marrying his eldest son,” Alicent continued, clearing her throat and smoothly removing herself from the emotion that had trapped her in memory. “You will, from now on, be referred to as Your Grace, as a princess of the realm and of House Targaryen. The expectation that comes with this title is more than simply being the lady of a house.”

“Yes, my queen.”

“You saw the concern that Lord Elmo and the other lords expressed with this marriage. However, Princess Rhaenyra has not raised any objections to the match, nor has the Small Council. That is all that matters. You will represent the crown with all the grace and wisdom that I have instilled in you. You will guide Aegon to break bread with the lords, and foster geniality and respect with House Tully. Lord Elmo will soon be Lord Paramount, and it is up to you to reassure him of the fealty owed to him.”

Fealty that would be fraught once her and Aegon took the seat of Harrenhal properly, years from now. Aegon was a prince of the blood, owed fealty himself, and yet would bow to a Lord Paramount. How was she to make that genial?

Lord Elmo had two sons.

Abby let out a long breath and smoothed her dressing gown over her knees. Not even a child quickened and already their future matches needed to be thought of.

“What if I cannot bear children, like my mother?” Her mother had struggled so much to bring her into this world, so much loss preceding Abby’s own tumultuous birth. It was quieter than she intended, more vulnerable than she wanted to reveal, but Alicent Hightower was the only mother she had now, known longer than the fuzzy memories of red hair and a wan, pale face tucked in bed. Alicent let out a soft sound and cupped Abby’s face. It took everything in Abby not to flinch and she gave in quickly to the gentle touch of a mother, gripping Alicent’s wrists for some connection.

“Abrogail, listen to me.” Voice gentle but firm, Abby’s eyes fixed on Alicent’s face, unblinking. “Maester Orwyle said you should have no issue. Your mother gave birth to you. You will not go through this alone. You are older than many mothers, older than I was, and you shall be safe. When you are with child, we will have the Grand Maester monitor you. I will send Septa Lyserra-”

“No.” Abby recoiled at that, pulled out of the queen’s touch with a sharp shake of her head. “That cruel woman will not stay under my roof, Your Grace. She has treated Helaena harshly, and myself. I will not have her around my children.” She could not deny Cassandra Baratheon now, but she would deny that awful woman. Abby didn’t know what recklessness had overtaken her to speak to her queen and good-mother in such a way, but she moved forward all the same, tempering her outburst to something more appropriate. “I appreciate the offer, Your Grace, and I do trust the wise council of the Grand Maester, but I will not have Septa Lyserra tend to me. I will speak with my aunt on such things should I feel it is needed.”

Abby should apologize but she kept quiet, running her tongue over her teeth behind her closed lips before she took another sip of her tea. Her mother had struggled to conceive her, to birth her, had died from her last miscarriage, it seemed, given that she had never recovered from it, growing more ill by the day. And of course, there were the whispered stories of how the last queen, Aemma, had suffered for decades to produce more than a single, living child.

Death was a bridal cloak around her shoulders, the shadow that followed her with each step, each breath, each blink of her eyes. It was not a legacy she wanted to pass down to her children. It was not a legacy she wanted at all.

“I did not know.” Abby looked at the quiet queen. Alicent was pensive, eyes downcast, focused on her hands, picking at her thumbnail. “You did not say anything.”

It was true, they had not. Abby didn’t know how to find the words to explain that they didn’t want to bother her with the treatment, and then eventually, didn’t think it would matter. She wanted to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault, that she didn’t know, but the words stuck in her throat.

“Aye, I didn’t,” Abby whispered. “But I am now. Helaena will not say anything, so I shall.”

The queen nodded. “I will send the septa back to Oldtown with the rest of my family when they leave. Thank you for saying something.” She sighed and smoothed her hands over her velvet skirts. “I do mean what I said, Abrogail. We will ensure you have the best of care when you become pregnant. You will not be neglected, and you shall be safe. It is the most important duty a lady has.”

Rhaenyra had five sons now. Would they be disappointed if all Abby managed to bear were daughters? Would Aegon be upset? The thought made her realize that they had never really talked about children, only that they had wanted many before falling into one another’s arms, less concerned with the sex of said children and focused on the taste of one another.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Abby said, forcing a smile onto her face, desperate to remove herself from this conversation and retreat to the giggling from earlier. Or, better yet, move past this to the giggling of kissing Aegon as they were brought to their bedding.

The bedroom doors burst open and both of them looked up to see Abby’s grandmother, Lady Dalla Swyft, having pushed the doors open with Aunt Mya at her shoulder.

“Alicent, why on earth are you keeping the girl from getting dressed?” Lady Dalla clapped her hands and bustled in, her movements slow with her age. She’d been unwell for such a long journey in the previous months, and Abby was grateful that her grandmother had been able to make the journey for the wedding.

The queen’s mouth gaped, her words momentarily caught before she rose with hunched shoulders, brows furrowed as she processed being addressed so casually. “I was speaking with my good-daughter on reassurances of her wedding, Aunt,” she defended herself. Grandmother’s curls were pulled back, the strawberry blonde long given way to grey and snowy white, her small mouth pursed in assessment. She reached up to gently pat the queen’s cheek.

“Well, there’s a dear.” She hummed and turned her green eyed gaze upon Abby, her left eye rheumy but the right sharp as ever. “Oh, cub, you look positively frightened! Whatever for?”

“Just feeling lightheaded,” Abby said, her words rushed as her grandmother pulled her into an immediate hug, the scent of medicinal cream mixing with the violet perfume she wore. It was not entirely unpleasant, but unexpected. The hug was warm and reassuring and Abby clung to it, nestling against the softness of her grandmother as if she were a little girl once more.

“None of that now, dear. Let us get you dressed. Where are your ladies?”

The room descended into a flurry after that and Abby was guided behind the partition that had been set before her mirror to protect her privacy. There was little time to be drawn into her thoughts when her dressing gown was being pulled from her body to leave her in her smallclothes. The silk shift rippled over her body like a breeze. She could barely feel it on her skin as Desma slipped it over her head and Abby was so afraid of tearing the delicate fabric that Desma had to nearly lift her onto the chair so that Merei could slip on the silk stockings over her feet and tie the dragon-and-rabbit garters. Low-heeled silver slippers were carefully slipped on and tied, glittering with the dozens, if not hundreds, of tiny pearls that Wylla had affixed with much complaint. Abby smiled down at them, lip caught in her teeth at the way they shone.

The gasp that came from behind her pulled Abby from her admiration to crane to look behind her at the women gathered around what must be her dress.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Helaena said, the traces of anxiety and prophecy faded in her voice to be replaced by a girlish excitement.

“Good,” came her grandmother’s voice, awed and full of approval. “You used the silver I sent.”

“The silver and gold, yes, aunt,” Alicent confirmed. “The embroidery is quite exquisite. I’ve had the girl working on new dresses for Helaena now that this one is done, as well as something for myself.” The sounds of approval and discussions of the successful seamstress that Abby had found in the Master’s Market those months ago was amusing, although Abby was miffed that she could not bring the girl with her. She would, of course, have better fortune having her work seen at court. Abby hoped that she could at least secure more gowns from her in the future, if the work she had done was so masterful.

Helaena came to her with a smile, holding her hands out to help Abby rise from the chair and she gently tapped the tip of her nose. “Now, you must not look, Abrogail. Back to the mirror.” She held Abby’s hand as she stepped onto the low stool, her back to the mirror as instructed. Fluttering butterflies burst in Abby’s belly as she closed her eyes, for it was only then that Helaena would allow Merei to approach with the gown. The approving whispers and giggles had Abby shifting her weight from foot to foot, rocking on her heels until Wylla put a hand to her back to keep her from toppling over when she wobbled.

Instruction followed of how she should raise or lower her arms and the whisper of heavier fabric slid cooly over her, more sounds of awestruck glee slightly muffled until her head was free. She blinked quickly to let her eyes adjust back from being shut and her mouth went dry as she saw the look on Merei and Wylla’s faces both, the rest of the group still on the other side of the partition to await the full reveal.

“Stay still,” Helaena said from behind her, hands tugging gently on the back of the gown. Merei hurried to join her and Abby could hear the gentle scratch of the cord as they slowly closed the back of the dress. Wylla closed the distance, teeth scraping across her lower lip as she deftly adjusted the neckline so it sat low. Her brow furrowed with thought as her fingers tapped just to the side of the mark Aegon had left, the skin freshly darkened with no place to hide with the dropped shoulders of her gown.

“Ridiculous, he couldn’t just wait?” Wylla muttered with a roll of her eyes.

Abby smiled innocently, full of tingling giddiness at the memory, relieved that neither the queen, her aunt, nor her grandmother could see the evidence at this moment. Not that there was much to be done with it, but Wylla came back with the powder and carefully began dabbing it along the bruises, painstakingly blending it so the entire realm did not witness how wanton the chaste bride had been. Her face was lightly powdered, coral paint dabbed on her lips, cheeks pinched and dabbed with another powder to make them rosy, and the dragonscale choker was affixed, the silk ribbon tied just tight enough to keep it properly in place.

Merei held her hand as she stepped down from the stool and still with her back to the mirror, she sat back down once more and deft fingers freed the abundance of copper curls from where they’d been pinned up, shaking them loose. Wylla and Merei went to work pinning the golden netted cap to the crown of her head and twisting thick coils around it, pinning it in place with decorative pins tipped with jeweled flowers.

Her wrists were lifted, her blended rose and currant perfume oil gently dabbed along the soft skin and behind her ears, mingling with the bergamot scent of her bath oils. The trio stepped back to look down at her, smiling down at her with the satisfaction of a job well done and the giddiness of a surprise to reveal.

“Am I allowed to look at myself now?” she asked and lifted her hands to be helped from the chair, keeping so still, as if she balanced books upon her head as she’d done in her lessons as a girl.

“If you do,” Helaena said, rubbing her thumb over the back of Abby’s left hand, “There is no going back. I don’t think there are any other dresses that will do for today.”

Abby hummed thoughtfully, giving Helaena’s statement the consideration it deserved. Then, she dropped her hands and turned to look at herself in the polished glass of the mirror.

The breath left her, the rushing in her ears muddled the sounds of the other’s folding away the partition so the aunts and the grandmothers and the rest of them could see her.

The gown was extraordinary to behold that she could not believe it was her standing in it. It would be, Abby was certain, the finest thing she would ever wear. It was silver, as was common for brides to wear. The underskirt was surprisingly simple: a heavier silk that brushed down to her shoes just enough to hide them but not enough to fully impede her movement. The overgown was an exquisite example of talent. The overskirt was split, a much lighter silver silk that glimmered in the light as silver threads were woven into it, giving it the illusion of shimmering like the Blue Fork glittering beneath the bright, noon sun. The trim down the center was exactly as she hoped: seed beads were sewn into the shape of gold dragon scales like hidden coins amidst the folds of the fabric. There was a tiny strand of pearls beneath her bust, and the dragon scale pattern continued up on either side of the deep v-neck. Layers of lace filled the open neckline, appliques of ruby red weirwood leaves a burst of color over her heart and decorating her sleeves, from which bunched layers of silk poked out at her elbows and the tops of the sleeves where they’d been opened to show off the fine and delicate chemise underneath.

Her hair had been twisted from her face and wound around the crown of her head before falling in a rope down her back, leaving her face open, blue eyes bright and lined with light tracings of kohl, her freckles pale beneath the light dusting of powder. Her mother’s gold and ruby teardrop earrings tinkled at her temples, and Aegon’s necklace was bright around her neck, the large, tear shaped ruby nestled at the hollow of her throat, the jewels matching the red of the leaves at her breast, the gold and seed pearls both glimmering.

Helaena came up behind her in the reflection, her hands gently cupping her shoulders, cheek pressed to hers. Abby met her sister’s eyes in that other world of the mirror, a trembling smile on her face as she lifted her hands to clasp Helaena’s, squeezing them as she had done for countless years.

“You’ll come visit?” she whispered, voice shaking.

Helaena nodded. “As long as you remind him that he must bring you to me as well. I was your first kiss, after all. He does not get to claim that.”

Uncle Simon looked down at her with a warm and gentle smile on his aged face, his white beard and hair neatly trimmed. He wore a rich, velvet coat of deep blue lined with black fur, his brocade tunic beneath a deep shade of green, his golden chain scattered with rubies as was the buckle on his belt. To Abby, he looked far more like the Lord of Harrenhal than her brother, and in the shadows and torch light of the antechamber, her heart ached for how she imagined her father would look like now.

“A leanbh,” he crooned with a soft laugh, reaching up with the cuff of his sleeve to dab at the tear that had rolled down her cheek. “This is a happy day and you are happy, aren’t you?”

“I am,” she sniffled, clutching the gathered bouquet of flowers in her hands, wincing as she felt a hidden thorn on one of the stems prick her finger. The scent of roses and freesia, wisteria and myrtle made her head spin as she sniffled once more. “I…”

Uncle Simon made a clucking sound, humming and nodding as he understood what she wasn’t able to put into words. “Your parents would not forgive me if I escorted you down this aisle full of grief. They are with us, with you, and they are most proud, Abrogail. Most proud. You are here, where you belong.” He smoothed his hands over her shoulders and adjusted the cloak. It was long and heavy from the length, made of brilliant white velvet with three stripes of brilliant, gem toned silk slashed down the middle of sapphire blue, scarlet red, and emerald green and held in place by a chain of gold, the links reminding her of her father’s, although much smaller.

There were so many people in the great hall. The Second Great Council, she’d heard the maids whisper that morning in the quiet dark before dawn when she was supposed to be asleep. Her eyes glanced over the crowd as they walked, a gentle and practiced smile on her face. There were no banners here to mark who belonged to which house, just the realm that parted to let her pass and at the end was Aegon.

If only she could see him, but the beacon of him was blocked by her ladies, the septons, and the acolytes in the procession before her. Wylla, Lythene, and Sarra walked before her, their hair bound in braids woven with white silk ribbons, each one in a gown of either red, blue, or green, veils of Myrish lace held in place by simple, silver circlets. Behind her, Rhea, Merei, and Desma were dressed the same but holding the hem of her long cloak so she would not be weighed down by it.

The acolytes were young, clad in deceptively simple robes of rich ivory samite glimmering with threads of gold. Thuribles heavily swung from thick chains, the heady incense meant to cleanse the bride’s way to meet her bridegroom. Before them, seven members of the Most Devout glided, clad in vestments of cloth-of-silver embroidered with the seven pointed star and crystal coronets that threw dancing rainbows across them when they passed through the long shafts of light.

From the gallery, hymns fell down upon them like leaves from the trees, praising the Father and Mother, asking for the Maiden’s blessing of the union, and the echo of their sweet voices washed over her, pushing away the melancholy thoughts of all that was absent. Butterflies fluttered furiously in her belly as giddy excitement washed over her the closer they came to the front of the hall. She could just see the canopy of black and red velvet over the heads of those in front of her but not King Viserys and Queen Alicent themselves where they sat overlooking the ceremony. Soon, and yet not soon enough, the faces on either side of the aisle became familiar and the crowd before her began to part as the Most Devout streamed on either side of the second dias, and then…

There was Aegon.

He stood beside the High Septon who dressed to draw all attention in his imposing, crystal and gold crown and cloth-of-gold vestments, but Abby could only look at Aegon and his bright, relieved smile, as if he wasn’t sure she would be there when the crowd parted. Her breath caught just as their eyes met and Aegon’s own widened, his features softening into something aching as he took her in.

Aegon was so handsome; not like some unknown and impossible knight from a song, but her love from her dreams both sleeping and awake. Utterly imperfect and entirely hers. For his selfishness and his devotion, for his kisses and his shadows, and she would have all of him. His pale hair gleamed warm beneath the shaft of light, curling softly around his face and just past his chin, a golden crown encircling his brow. His jerkin was grey to better show the scaled texture of it, edged in glittering gold piping. The shoulders tapered into thick black padding embroidered with gold thread, and the black leather sleeves were slashed along his biceps, allowing the rich, scarlet velvet of his shirtsleeves to poke through. His belt was black leather decorated with circles of stamped gold, the buckle a dragon curled in on itself in an ouroboros. His groom's cloak was affixed by a black strap embroidered with golden dragons affixed over one shoulder and stretched down across his chest, the black velvet lined beneath in more brilliant, scarlet silk. His trousers were a similar shade of grey as to his tunic, tucked in tall boots of gleaming black leather. Aegon’s hands were folded in front of him, his many gleaming, golden rings glittering on his fingers as he tapped his fingers against his wrist in a familiar manner. She could not tap her own in return, but she smiled more brightly to him in answer.

She meant to step closer, but the hold Uncle Simon still had on her reminded her to stop, and she stood still as the long maiden cloak was lifted from her shoulders. Immediately, Abby felt as if she grew two inches from the freedom of it, and her ladies carefully folded it away as her uncle brought her up the stairs to the dias before the High Septon.

Briefly, Abby looked over her shoulder to where Larys stood next to Aunt Mya, a coat of heavy, dark maroon velvet swamping his slim figure. He had made no move to greet her when she arrived, inserting himself into the crowd as another family member and not her guardian.

The disquiet she felt from her brother’s continued distance vanished like smoke as soon as her hand rested in Aegon’s, a smear of crimson streaking across his hand from her cut finger. She handed her bouquet off to Wylla, striking in her crimson gown. Abby held Aegon’s hand and her glittering silver skirt in the other as he helped her up the few stairs to the High Septon. As they came before the purple and mahogany kneelers, Abby looked at Aegon.

He looked at her; bewitched,the warmth in his lilac eyes blooming, the awe in his expression brightening as his gaze roamed over her. She noticed how the touch of his wonder settled at the dragonscales collared around her throat, the curve of her bare shoulders and the dips of her collarbones, the golden dragons so carefully, painstakingly embroidered along the trimming of her gown. Only once before had Abby felt as seen, as treasured and cherished by Aegon as she did now, here before the realm, before their families, before the old gods and the new.

She could count the pale freckles across the bridge of his nose, see the fine, golden hair that he had not shaved from the top of his lip, and the warmth of him, the scent of mint and lavender, intoxicated her through the incense of the thuribles. His mouth was red, inviting, so soft-

“Lords, ladies, noble bannermen!” boomed the High Septon, shattering the pull between them. Aegon’s gaze cut to the man, annoyance plain on his face while she straightened, tapping her fingers reassuringly against his wrist. “We are gathered here today beneath the grace of the Seven to stand witness to the joining of two great houses! The flames of Old Valyria join the steadfast strength of the rivers of Westeros! Aegon, Prince of House Targaryen, and Abrogail, of House Strong. Today, in this hall, we celebrate the union of fire and water, of sky and earth. We pray.”

Together they knelt upon the purple brocade pillows of the kneelers, heads bowed and hands clasped before them. The acolytes continued to swing their thuribles just to either side of them, the incense lending a haze as Abby looked down at the High Septon’s feet just poking out beneath the hem of his vestments.

The first prayer rang through the great hall, so loud that Abby flinched and from the corner of her eye, she saw Aegon do so as well. “Father Above! Hallowed be thy name…” The hall answered in a rumble louder than the dragons roosting on Dragonstone as the guests followed the intoned instruction, sending shivers down Abby’s spine from the vibration of it all. “Mother Above! Mercy and grace are thee…” and when the prayer was done, the High Septon traced the a line of the star upon their brows with strong smelling oil - steeped in the same incense, Abby surmised, before Aegon took her hand to help her rise and sing the hymn to the almighty power of the Father and Mother.

Then they kneeled once more for the Maiden and the Crone, for courage in her marriage, for wisdom for their future. Anointing oil. Rising. Another song. As they knelt again, Aegon did not let go of her hand and Abby smiled at him and he returned it while they shared their tender defiance. The prayer barely registered and the words were merely movements of her mouth, silent as she went through the motions of singing the final hymn.

They rose for the final time, Abby’s heart pounding in her chest and she watched Aemond mount the stairs, the black velvet bridal cloak, the tri-headed dragon of House Targaryen red as blood, held in his arms. She smiled at him as he held the cloak out. Aemond looked very handsome in his black velvet and leather waistcoat, the buttons gleaming gold, Valyrian braids in his long, silver hair. His mouth twitched in return as Aegon pulled the heavy cloak from his brother’s arms.

Heavy black velvet unfurled like a banner, the Targaryen Dragon glittering in red silk and chips of rubies. Like Aegon’s own cloak, it was lined in the same crimson silk, the chain that would hold it made of gold links. She turned and pulled her hair out of the way while Aegon closed the distance and she could feel the heat of him, wanting to lean back and let his arms wrap around her. Aegon lingered longer than he needed to and she didn’t mind, his arm reaching around her to clasp the chain so the cloak was secure before he stepped back and she could turn to face him once more. Aegon’s right hand held her left and the High Septon wound a long length of embroidered ribbon around them, the seven pointed star shining in golden thread.

“Let the Seven bear witness to this sacred bond!” The High Septon’s voice boomed through the hall as he wound the ribbon around their joined hands. “May the fire of House Targaryen always burn bright, and the strength of House Strong never falter. Let it be known that Abrogail of the Houses Strong and Reyne, and Aegon of the Houses Targaryen and Hightower are now one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

He tied the ribbon and raised his arms high. Abby met Aegon’s bright, lilac gaze, lips slightly parted, the heat of happy tears pricking her eyes.

Abby would swear that she thought Aegon’s voice trembled as he spoke, but it was as clear and loud as a song itself. “With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife.”

She squeezed his hand in hers, voice cracking as she in turn answered, “With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband.”

With hands bound, Abby sighed in relief as their lips met, and although the hall echoed with cheers so loud it shook dust from the rafters, her world in that moment was only Aegon.

“Pity we aren’t sitting with the High Septon.” Aegon drank deeply from the heavy golden wedding chalice, its more delicate twin before her own setting. “I wonder if he’d blush easier than you.”

“Are you certain that the High Septon is such a wilting flower?” Abby asked as she nibbled on brown bread spread with a chicken and pork pate flavored with ginger. “Perhaps he would welcome such attempts from you.” Aegon laughed into his goblet and she watched her husband. Oh, how giddy it felt to now have it as truth, not simply just their hope for the eventual future.

He leaned in, hand braced on the back of her chair and his lips brushing the shell of her ear and Abby shivered. “Why, Princess,” he murmured, “Are you insinuating that the High Septon himself not only gives in to pleasures of the flesh but buggery as well?”

“Why, Prince,” she whispered, reaching for her goblet, eyes demurely downcast. “I would never start such gossip, especially when sitting next to the king himself.” Abby watched him over the rim of her goblet and sipped the fruity, white wine paired with the course before them. Aegon pressed a brief kiss to her temple before he occupied himself with some of his own buttery sliced mushrooms in their salad of leeks and onions.

Abby looked at the platter of haddock before them, the sauce vibrant and red from the dragon pepper and carrots, the scent of allspice mingling with it, mouthwatering in how delicious it looked.

Pink and red, might be dead.

Nausea curled in her gut and she watched as Princess Rhaenyra took a large bite of the flaky, white fish, humming in pleasure. Abby tried not to stare as the woman chewed, swallowed down and took a healthy gulp of her own wine before leaning over to speak to her husband in Valyrian. She did not turn pale or mottled red, did not clutch at her throat and keel over.

Abby drummed her fingers on her goblet, fingertips dancing over the embossed dragons over the cup. The stem was thick and knotwork similar to the Riverlands knot that she’d given Aegon for his favor wound around the stem, embedded with small rubies that also glowed in the eyes of the dragons. It was a heavy thing and her hand struggled to hold it, but it was beautiful to look at. She took another sip of her wine and finally plated some of the fish and hearty sauce onto her plate.

Excited applause echoed through this half of the hall as the entertainment for this course came out. The first course had the fools, Lolly and Butterbee, performing. Rhaenyra had brought Mushroom, who had left with her when she’d gone to Dragonstone, but the dwarf was nowhere to be seen. The king’s speech was a distant memory. Abrogail had been relieved he had not dwelled upon the absence of her parents and looked more to the future, and not the shadows and ghosts of the past.

Now, Pentoshi dancers rushed to the open floor beneath the dias, clad in long tunics of red with black belts, draped in chains of silver and gold with bells on their wrists. Strong men of the troop balanced the slighter figures on their shoulders, performing feats of tumbling that left Abby gasping and clapping in delight. They looked as if they were flying, bright red birds jangling with music of their own. Drum beats sounded from the gallery above as their own music accompanied them, a type of flute that Abby hadn’t heard before that held its own entrancing melody.

“In Pentos,” Rhaenyra said beside her, goblet clutched in her bejeweled hand. “They drape silks from the rafters and swing in them, roll themselves in the cloth and perform death-tempting feats.” She shrugged a shoulder, the purple and red silk of her gown sumptuous, her low neckline edged in gold and silver threads, her thick, silver hair a crown of braids woven with gems and pearls. Her ruby and obsidian tiara glittered in the candlelight. “It’s a pity they could not orchestrate such things in this hall.”

“That’s because the rafters are likely to give way,” Daemon yawned from the other side of his wife. He scraped his fork against his plate before stabbing a mushroom. “Though perhaps that would be considered a small mercy in putting an end to the evening.”

Abby’s neck and cheeks prickled uncomfortably with heat while Rhaenyra shot him a look. “We appreciate your part in our happy day in spite of your misgivings, Prince Daemon,” Abby said as Aegon shifted beside her. She leaned forward a little to look past Rhaenyra to the languid, bored visage of Daemon Targaryen. He watched her, pale, violet eyes unblinking and heavy lidded as she spoke, not quite a smile crossing his narrow face. She had the distinct sensation of being watched, the way that she had seen the slight Tessarion watch sheep be brought before she was given leave to consume.

“This hellish place is supposed to be cursed, is it not? Best to not tempt fate when such superstitions keep repairs from being made with any urgency. A death is not what most people find entertaining at a wedding.” His features animated then, a thoughtful downturn of his mouth, a cock of his head, silver braids like Aemond’s tinkling with Valyrian runic charms woven through the strands. “Although perhaps that would liven it up all the same.”

‘Then you can just go back on your dragon and leave’, Abby thought, leaning back as the servant cleared her plate. Aegon made a sound beside her and she reached down to palm at his thigh reassuringly, a little distractingly, both for him and herself. Mercifully, before further barbs could be exchanged, upfront and backhanded, the performers finished and the hall erupted into cheers. She gestured to one of the attendants who stood at attention, beckoning them closer.

“Please ensure that in addition to what they’ve been paid, another quarter of it for such joy. Also ensure their bellies are well filled.” The black garbed servant bowed with a soft, “Yes, Your Grace,” and hurried away to ensure her instructions were met. Soon, the next course was brought out. The wedding pie required four livery men to carry it in to much fanfare, and they rose to clap their approval.

“Ser Gwayne!” Aegon called to where his uncle sat nearby with the rest of the Hightowers. Gwayne rose smoothly, handsome in a tunic of deep green, finely embroidered with silver flames. His grin was broad as he basked beneath the attention, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“My prince!” he called back, tossing back his auburn hair and giving a bow. “Congratulations on your happiest wedding to you and our beautiful new princess!” Another wave of merry shouts and cheers filled the hall and Abby demurely inclined her head in thanks.

“In honor of my Riverlands bride, cut this magnificent pie! Your prince commands it!” He held up his goblet in toast as Gwayne gave a shout, drawing his gleaming steel and cutting into the great wedding pie. Doves burst forth in a flurry, another shout from the crowd at the spectacle.

“Let’s hope they don’t shit on our heads or in that damn pie,” Abby heard Daemon mutter loud enough that she knew it was on purpose. Privately, she hoped it would happen to him since he was so intent on wishing it into existence. The pie was cut, overflowing with all kinds of meat, carrots and leeks, sweet onions and the heady scent of cinnamon. The plates were piled with cuts from the stuffed boar, its tusks gilded with gold, and the spectacle it made brought much laughter. On its back was a cooked chicken clad in a little cloak of red with a tiny lance tucked beneath its wing and a shield in the other. Daeron shouted that he wanted the knight amidst the din, bickering soon ensuing between the younger boys.

The entertainment was much closer to home. A troupe of dancers merrily stomped their feet and spun around as the traditional music of the Riverlands played, the hurdy-gurdys, the fifes and the drums striking up a merry tune that had them both tapping their feet and the crowd clapping their hands in tune. Even Rhaenyra smiled, clapping her hands in time with the music.

The further the afternoon went, the less Helaena’s prophecy lingered in Abby’s mind. Perhaps not a prophecy as feared, but simply a bad dream. The venison in the wedding pie was magnificently tender, and the boar, with chestnuts and chicken meat, with fragrant cheese and ginger and dragon pepper, nearly melted in her mouth with each bite, the plum wine exquisite. The fresh peas with parsley and mint cut through the savory food and she was grateful for the plate her and Aegon shared.

“Your Graces.”

Abby looked up from her plate. Before the table stood the newly made Lord Blackwood, Willem. Abby smiled at him warmly, if a little confused. “Lord Willem, it is good to see you again. We hope you are enjoying the feast.”

He was not an overly tall man, his deep red cape pinned to his shoulders with iron raven pins, his grey doublet understated but fine. His beard was generous, so much so that Abby did not immediately see his mouth until he spoke once more.

“It is good to be here. House Blackwood thanks you for the welcome to your festivities. May your marriage be long and fruitful.” Another shallow bow. “Welcome to the Riverlands, Prince Aegon.”

“Willem Blackwood?” Rhaenyra asked, tapping her fingers against her cheek, an amused look on her face. “Why, when I last saw you was in Lord Boremond’s great hall with a blade in your hand.” Even with the amused look, her tone was neutral if cordial. Abby raised her eyebrows as she watched Lord Willem look bashful at the remembrance of pulling live steel in a Lord’s hall and killing another boy over an insult.

“Your remembrance of a young boy who steadfastly upholds your radiance honors me, Your Grace.”

“Aren’t I radiant too?” Aegon said softly, just loud enough for her to hear before taking a gulp of wine.

Abby hid her smile with a bite of the delicious boar. “You are most radiant, Prince Aegon,” she whispered and he preened into his goblet.

“Killing a man in our cousin’s hall over Princess Rhaenyra’s hand. Why, I do recall hearing this tale,” Daemon said, snapping his fingers. “I believe the princess was most amused at a young lad’s attempt at someone far out of his reach.” He smirked. “Right for the thigh. Well, you wouldn’t have been able to reach much higher. Such a mess. Because he called you - what was it again?”

Willem’s smile grew tight. “A cunt, Your Grace.”

“Thank you for coming to give us your well wishes, Lord Willem,” Rhaenyra interrupted Daemon, who was leaning forward with a gleam in his eyes, a cat who had found prey and could no longer wait. The lord gave another bow, more well wishes and departed with a dramatic swish of his red cape.

“Jacaerys wears his cape better,” Abby told Rhaenyra softly. The other woman snorted in amusement.

Abby was nearly too full for the next course, but there was no helping the cry of excitement as the food was brought out. A vegetable pottage of cabbage and carrots, small pies of beef and currant, delicious looking puddings with figs and dates and the centerpiece. A large, marchpane Sunfyre rose from the table, his wings spread, the almond and sugar dyed with saffron and red berries to bring the glow of gold and pink to the dragon’s form. Moreover, there was a sculpted maiden holding the dragon’s snout, her long hair dyed with red berries in an emulation of her own.

As they indulged in lighter fare, a bard took the audience, singing sweet songs of young love, of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne’s elopement in the face of their mother’s refusal, and a melodious poem about the Maiden and her falling in love with Galladon of Morne and gifting him his sword. They were all lovely, the singer’s voice clear as water and delicate, surprisingly robust in such a great hall.

The dancing commenced as the desserts were brought. A platter piled high with golden honey cakes glistening with syrup was set before them, their delicate crusts flaking. Abby immediately took one as a platter of roasted quinces were set, the flesh turned a deep, dark red from cooking and piled high with cream and red berries, the juices streaking the cream pink. Aegon tugged the platter closer, shoving his spoon excitedly into the dish, licking cream from his thumb as he dug in.

“Don’t eat too fast,” Abby laughed, biting into her cakes slower. “I don’t want you getting sick as we dance.”

“I have paced myself quite well, hunītsos ñuhu.” He waved her off and she contemplated the dessert he was so ravenously eating, popping some of the berries in his mouth and the juice staining his fingers, a smear of pink cream across his knuckle.

Abby didn’t think she could finish the honey cake after her third bite and she settled back in her chair with a groan, hand pressed to her middle. No, she should definitely stop. She gestured for the attendant to fill her goblet with lighter fair than the sweet drinks they’d had over the course of the feast, needing to cut the taste in her mouth with something else. “Aemond promised that he would not let them become too exuberant during the bedding, right Aegon?”

Aegon didn’t answer.

“Aegon?” He was leaning on his elbows at the table’s edge, his face flushed deeper than it had been before, his lips parted in quick breaths. Aegon wasn’t looking at her, he didn’t respond to the repetition of his name.

Her fingers went cold. It was such a strange thing to notice, but it’s what happened first. Louder, Abby cried, “Aegon!” rising from her seat and grabbing Aegon’s shoulders to look at her. For the first time that afternoon, she heard the king pay attention to them, asking what was the matter.

The voices of Rhaenyra and the queen both rose, “Aegon?”

Pink and red, might be dead.

He was trembling, gasping, his hands clenched and she tried to heave him from his chair but his heavier weight sent them tumbling back, his chair falling as they hit the floor. Aegon shook as if he were cold, sweat pouring down his temples, soaking his hair, the black of his pupils eating the color of his eyes. Abby gripped him, hauled him into her lap, pushed his hair from his face. There was another pair of hands, auburn hair.

“Orwyle!” She didn’t know who had yelled for the Maester.

“Aegon,” she breathed, shaking him, his gaze going to hers. Her arms felt cold, her heart beat pounding in her ears. “No… no no… Aegon…” Abby clutched him tighter and she could feel his arm fumble, his fingers clumsily trying to grip her forearm.

“Abs,” he gasped. “Ab-Ab.” But he couldn’t form her name, panting, his skin going from deep, flushed red to something bluer, his lips losing their color.

Hands gripped her shoulders but she leaned forward more, trying to see Aegon more clearly but for some reason, it was as if looking at him underwater, both of them drowning and trying to reach for one another. Heat coursed down her cheeks, and there was water splattering on his face. Where did it come from?

“Aegon… Aegon, no please, please you promised,” she cried, shaking him. “Aegon, no! No!”

What was happening, what was going on? He was fine. He was fine. They were going to dance.

Pink and red, might be dead.

Who might be dead, Helaena? Who?

“Aegon, please don’t do this. I love you, Aegon, you promised. Aegon, Aegon…”

They were married now. Everything would be better.

His eyes were rolling back, his body seizing in convulsion.

“Aegon!”

He was shuddering, his fingers gripping her sleeve so tight the delicate material tore.

“No no no, I love you, Aegon stay here stay with me you promised you wouldn’t leave me stay, Aegon, stay.”

The gasping stopped. He went still.

Abby screamed.

Aegon and Abrogail will return in The Princess and the Dragon Knight

And we made it! You all made it! And it's going to be okay! This is a Fix It Trilogy with a Happy Ever After but damn, it's gonna take our kids some work!

Thank you all for reading, for your encouraging comments, for your support, discussions, and investment in this story and journey with me. I treasure you all, silent or otherwise, but know that I would love to hear from you.

Keep a lookout later this year as I'll be doing a giveaway for a handbound copy of this first installment <3

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