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missglaskin · 2 years ago

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Yan!Targaryen Men (Jacaerys, Maegor, Aemond, Aegon I, Baelon, Daemon, Viserys III, Aegon II, Rhaegar) with sister!Darling

Note-I hope this doesn’t get a rating like my other posts. Also, I don’t specify if the reader is adopted or not to be exclusive

There’s no greater love than one found at home

Tags: Pure filthy smut, unhealthy/toxic relationship, obsession/possessiveness, a kinda bloodplay, breeding kink/fantasy, fingering, oral (m&f receiving), pussy slapping/spanking, marks and cuts (sexual), co-dependency, skincare (don’t ask)

Jacaerys

Any lady would wish to have a brother like yours. So sweet and gentle. A brother who listens to every word of his sister. Always dancing with her at feasts. Giving her flowers just to make her smile. They find his protectiveness over you to be adorable. Not knowing it’s from a fear of losing you to another man.

Naturally, like everyone else, you were an admirer of many handsome bachelors. Whether it was a lord, a knight, or some blacksmith. Yet each turned you down. They made sure to be careful with their words, as you were a princess. And each time you ran into your brother’s arms in tears. Utterly unaware, he whispered threats into their ears.

The two of you shared a bed. Something your mother disapproved of. But no matter her attempts, the servants report finding you wrapped in each other’s arms. There was a reassurance it was merely innocent and harmless. The act under the sheets begs to differ from the way your brother is humping you from behind.

There was a sense of shame in Jace’s actions. But who else deserves to take your maidenhood other than him. Though he waited and waited. Still, the two of you found a way. Light shared and moans shared between-his hardened cock covered by loose fabric as you grind your pussy against it.

There’s also you two tangled in the sheets, messaging your tongue with his own. You clench tightly around his fingers that’s buried deep inside your core, pumping you relentlessly. All while his hips thrust into the grip you have on his cock. Groaning louder each time you squeeze at the head.

When it finally happens. Jace has become addicted to the warmth of your pussy. He was already addicted to the feeling of his fingers playing with your dripping folds. Already addicted to his tongue lapping up your pussy, drinking in your juice. This was nothing like he ever experienced, and if Jace could, he’ll die with his cock buried deep inside of you.

Learning Valryian was necessary. It is your mother’s tongue. The lesson, however, becomes difficult when Jace presses the head of his length against your entrance, slowly filling you up as you sit down on him. You and Jace try to recite what you know. Resisting the urge to roll his hips and your squirming doesn’t help, either. It all ends the same each time with Jace having enough, gripping your waist and moving your hips.

Jace sometimes dreams of seeing your belly swollen with his child. He can't imagine being with anyone else but you. He wants the perfect life, to be an adoring husband to a devoted wife surrounded by children who resemble you more. It will all come due in time.

Maegor

To you and everyone else, your brother let it be known of his desire. It is within his right to want you, to have you. What man would have a better claim for his sweet sister than her own brother. Even more who dares to refuse him, to refuse the dragon.

Your brother wanted to be the first of your everything. Your first love. Your first kiss. Your first fuck. From your mind, to your body, to your heart, to your soul. They were all his. Every inch of you belongs to him. He will give a fate worse than death to a man who dared to steal his ‘right’.

Maegor breeds you at every chance he gets. Filling your little cunt with his massive cock. Tears coat your eyes at how he pounds into you so mercilessly. Broken moans slip from your bruised lips, feeling his hot cum flood your insides. Numbness taking over your senses.

There’s no rest even in your sleep. Waking up to Maegor buried deep inside you. It happens so often that you merely lay there and have him do all the work. His cock squelching into your heat, moaning his name as the two of you inch closer and closer to an orgasm. Maegor loves the sight of your pussy as cum oozes out of it, pushing the tip right in front of your entrance to keep it all in-not wanting to waste a drop of his seed.

As much as he hates wasting his seed, he also loves the view of you on his knees, eagerly taking him. A hand on your head guiding you up and down on his cock. His sheer size makes you choke and gag every time. When it’s done as a form of punishment, you’re pulled until your nose nudges against his balls.

Obedience is expected from you. Not only is he older than you, he’s your king. Disobeying him will result in your ass feeling sore, a burning sensation from his assault. You’re to count each one, otherwise, he’ll start all over again. Your pussy is also swollen and drenched from his hand, slapping it when you move too much.

After making such a mess of you, he has you join him in the bath. The water so warm, it almost stings your skin. Sitting in Maegor's lap, your head resting on his shoulder as his hand traces your back. It’s an intimate moment filled with silence. Peace.

His wives mean nothing compared to you, and they were reminded of this every day. Any night he spends with one of them would be returned tenfold. A whisper in his ear is all it takes to get rid of each of them. A sweet sister is all he needs to love him, to satisfy him, to bear him heirs.

Aemond

You and Aemond standing side to side may have looked nowhere alike, but the two of you were attached to the hip as though you were twins. Even when each had different duties. Your brother being taught to wield a sword while you were taught to courtesy and dance.

Your brother believed the two of you were meant to wed one day. It was tradition with Aegon wed to Helaena, so it’s only fair for him to wed you as well. The two of you shared a bond like no other and who else understands, loves, and cares for his sweet sister as he does.

Aemond wants the best for you. It’s his duty as your brother. Demanding that you read, that you study philosophy and history. That you learn the language of your ancestors. Though you’re not to blame when finding those lessons to be boring, your brother is furious when you refuse to pay attention. Your stomach on his lap, ass sore from the strikes of his hand. It’s for your own good, he tells you.

When it comes to reciting what you know, your brother makes you lay over his lap. His hand on your cunt. Fingers caressing your folds when you get the answers right. Halting his movements when you forget or get the answers wrong. But in the end, he’ll give in to your begging, helping you reach your release.

Aemond likes to believe he’s giving. Cheeks messy with slick as his tongue laps up against your sensitive pussy from the many times you reached your release. Reaching it once more when his fingers thrust in and out of you all while his mouth sucks on your clit. But it’s never enough for Aemond, continuing to sloppily feast on your cunt until you can no longer take it.

Your brother wasn’t only obsessed with the taste of your tongue, but the feeling of it wrapped around his cock. There should be shame; Taking your maidenhood, but it’ll be bound to happen so why not indulge himself now. Besides, you tempted him like a seductress, latching onto him, yearning for the heat of his cock, and who is he to deny you.

There’s no greater feeling than this. The feeling of his cock sinking into you, filling you up so well, and stretching you with every thrust. Pushing his hips as deep as he can, wanting to drown himself in your cunt. Groaning when the blunt head of his cock grazes your cervix. Your nails dig into his back, and Aemond hisses when feeling lines of blood-forming. It arouses him even further.

Aemond was a man whose actions were said better than his words. But there are times where confessions are made. Bodies drenched in sweat, calming itself from the violet highs. And in the dawn of night, you hear the whispers, so faint. And you realize just how deep the love Aemond has for you. The madness in his eye showing its blazing intensity.

Aegon I

Your brother Aegon, as he did with Visenya, married you out of duty. His true love was Rhaenys. A sad truth you must accept. As the youngest sister, you looked up to your big brother, always following him around, eager to please him, to make him happy.

Aegon finds himself indulging in your eagerness. Allowing you to scrub his body in the bath or undress him late at night. His most preferred is when you’re helping him shave his beard. Seated on his lap with his hands on your waist, and Aegon can’t help but watch you be so focused and take great care to be careful.

Unlike your sisters, Aegon didn’t want you to fight. Even preferred it if you didn’t claim a dragon. Insisting your purpose was to wait for him when it was time to visit your chambers. And when he did, Aegon smelled like dragon and his eyes widened in lust at the sheer nightgown wore. In mere seconds, it was ripped to shreds.

His reason for visiting you late at night is before you was Visenya, and before Visenya was Rhaenys. The night is spent with you bent over, his hips ramming into yours. Hands gripping the sheets as his cock pumped in and out of your tight hole. And when it was all set and done, the two of you reaching your high. He always left, and you knew deep inside, it was right back to Rhaenys.

But soon Visenya notices Aegon’s presence lessens and more shocking when Rhaenys does. The chambers of your room are filled with everything your heart desires, from the rarest of books to every instrument and painted color imagined. The dresses becoming more and more lavished, all in the house of colors. What catches most attention is the valyrian steel necklace placed around your neck.

His jealousy was one of fire. Easily ignited and hard to put out. Pushed to the wall with Aegon lifting your dress up. A dark look on his face as he lines his cock to your entrance. Making you adjust to his size and brutal pace. He demands to not hold in your moans, to let every single person in the castle know who you belong to. The poor bastard that caused it is currently residing in Balerion's stomach.

In the throne room, where the halls are empty. Safe for the King and his sister-wife who’s on top of him, bouncing on his cock. Your hips gripped by Aegon, moving you up and down as he drives himself deeper into your aching cunt. Moans, groans, and skin slapping echo through the great halls. Some cuts occur, a few stings, but the pleasure helps in numbing them.

A true testament to your brother’s love was when the two of you were standing in a mirror. Both bare as you gazed at your reflection. Stunned when Aegon places the crown, the king’s crown on your head. It’s all yours, the kingdom, the throne, him; they all belong to you. His hand reaches down to your belly. It also belongs to them. What if it’s a girl, you ask him. It’s still theirs, he claims.

Baelon

Such a sweet and kind princess you were. Loved by the court and the common people alike. Your parent’s pride and joy, a sentiment your brother shared. Baelon’s fondness for his sister was well-known around the realm. If one needs to find Baelon, they must first find you, as your brother rarely left your side.

It doesn’t arouse any suspicions when your brother shoos any of your suitors away. Nor when his hands are on your lower back as you dance. Not when he kisses your cheeks at your name day. Neither when he rubs his thumb on your lower lip to wipe the frosting or cream. They all believe it’s just Baelon looking after his innocent and sweet sister.

Then again, there are no eyes under the table where your brother’s hand is buried between your legs. Your thighs squeeze the hand to restrict its movements, but all it does is make him dig his fingers even deeper into your core. Baelon has the nerve to have those same fingers in his mouth afterward, tasting your release all while his eyes are on yours.

With Baelon, most of your mornings are awakened by a sensation between your legs and a knot in your stomach. Opening your eyes to see your brother sucking the clit into his mouth. Pulling away with your arousal coating his lips as he teasingly greets you with a ‘good morning’.

Any time you are soaking yourself in warm water. It’s almost as if your brother has a sixth sense. Coincidently being there, and he doesn’t even bother asking. Sinking in the warm water and immediately pulling you onto his lap. And somehow it always ends with most of the water spilling out on the floor. You eagerly moving up and down on your brother’s length.

The dragon’s blood courses through Baelon’s veins and you’re reminded by his fire when he’s green with envy. Making such a mess out of you as he slams his cock into your hole, hand making contact with your ass cheek. Overstimulating you as he pumps a load after another. In your broken moans and whines, your brother makes you repeat that you belong to him over and over.

Sometimes you wonder if Baelon wants others to find you in these compromising positions. With how often he drags you out of feasts and tourneys. When the two of you return, you’re forced to lean on him as your knees are wobbly and your whole body feels sore. Not to mention the mixture of our arousal sliding down your thighs.

Baelon worships the ground you walk on. He might even worship you. You certainly taste like nectar on his tongue, a nectar created by the gods. You’re a perfect creature in his eyes. If Baelon could, he’ll gift you the whole world in his hands. But if you were ever to leave, Baelon will want to burn it all down and himself so he can see a glimpse of your face again.

Daemon

Viserys and Daemon loved their little sister. They took you wherever they went, their protectiveness and love clearly seen. But Viserys knew the bond between you and Daemon was nowhere near the one he had with either of you. It was evident even to the court.

You were his. A constant reminder that loomed over you. Everything belonged to him, everything. Your eyes, only for him to gaze at. Your lips, only for him to kiss. Your body, only for him to touch. Your heart, only for him to keep. Your cunt, only for him to breed.

No other man deserves this. Deserves you. You were made for him. Carved and sculpted by the gods as a gift. Any man or woman who takes what is rightfully his. He’ll behead them and fuck you right next to their corpses, or better yet, he’ll make them watch. Letting it be the last thing they see before meeting their timely demise.

Daemon takes joy in bullying you. Railing you from behind as your hands grip the window rails. Taunting you on how much of a slut you’re, taking his cock like your pussy was made for it. When he notices you biting your lips to hold your moans as those under will hear, he will spank your pussy every time you do so. He wants them to hear, to watch his sister being so drunk on his cock.

At tourneys, you’re in the front, thighs clenched together at the sight of your brother’s prowess. It doesn’t matter whether he comes victorious. Daemon makes it a ritual to fuck you after each tourney. When victorious, every time he crowns you as the queen of love and beauty, later in his chambers, having you ride him to your liking. But when he loses, your ass is left sore and bruised as Daemon ruthlessly pounds into your dripping hole, fucking you full of his cum.

In front of others, it is almost as if your brother’s arousal heightens. Teasing you under the table, his eyes never leaving your face just to watch how it twitches and how your lips are pressed in a thin line, doing everything to not break, not to fall apart from his fingers playing with your cunt.

No matter how many tongues are silenced or people sent away, it doesn’t stop the rumors that circulate around the castle. The servants claim to catch the two of you in intimate positions. Found in some hall with you between your brother’s legs. A messenger once walked on him thrusting hard and deep into you, still counting his pace the rogue prince simply asks who sent for it.

You can never deny your brother. For his violence, ruthlessness, and arrogance. There was the intense love and loyalty he had for you. One you will never find in another man. Daemon didn’t need to utter the three words. When he claims that he’ll burn cities to the ground, it’s not an empty promise. It was also his gentleness that was granted only to you.

Viserys III

There were only three-you, Viserys, and Daenerys. They were all you had-your father, mother, and big brother all gone. Your memories were still there, the good and the bad. And most of all you remembered your brother before he became the man he was. The sweet and devoted Viserys, now cruel and mad.

To Viserys you are his greatest strength as much as you are his greatest weakness. You are his to have, his to claim, his to fuck, his to hurt, his to love. A wine for him to drink and drink until he’s drunk under your sweet words and touches. Away from him in a day is a day to you, but to Viserys, it’s as if months have passed without your presence.

Your body belonged solely to him. The mere idea of anyone touching or gazing at it will send him into a frenzy of rage. It wasn’t the servants dressing you instead; it was your brother Viserys, styling you in the way he sees fit. Even bathing you, scrubbing your body as he joins you, expecting you to return the favor.

You weren’t ignorant of your brother’s lust. Noticing where his hands trailed when he’d undress you. How he pulls you to sit on his lap. And your brother’s meanness was seen in how he shoves his fingers in your mouth, watching with great entertainment as you gag and drool all over his fingers. Scolding you for the noises you make and how you’re moving your hips against him.

Viserys will marry you against Illyrio's advice. It was his destiny and duty. There’s no better suitor than his own sister and no better suitor for you than your own brother. Almost every day Viserys breeded you. It’s up to you and him to continue your bloodline, to bear him heirs when he claims the iron throne.

Viserys’ jealousy was a dangerous one. Receiving his known saying, do not wake the dragon. Even your sister Daenerys wasn’t safe from his jealousy. Viserys already resented her for killing your mother. He tells her it’s only he who deserves to touch you, to hold you. It’s one of the reasons he was so eager to marry her off to Khal Drogo. As it means having you all to himself.

Viserys is hardly slow and gentle in his thrusts, and how can he when feeling your insides wrap around his cock, clenching him so tightly. Feeling as if he’s losing his sanity at how drunk he’s on your pussy. With any other, he’d be embarrassed at how loud he is. But with you, his dear sweet sister, Viserys isn’t ashamed to cry out your name. Moaning how good you feel around him, demanding you call him your king.

Tell me you love me. Was something you often heard from your brother. When he heard them call him ‘the beggar king’. After he caused a tantrum because you were too ‘nice’ to another person. When he lays his head on your chest every night. It almost is a recital, where you tell him you do love him, cradling his face and kissing him to ease any of his doubt.

Aegon II

As children, Aegon teased you as any brother would. But he was far more attached to you than Aemond, and certainly Helaena. Your mother thought the relationship was a harmless one. It’s until your brother became a man and you a lady, did your mother start to separate the both of you.

It never worked. Aegon made you come to him at any time of need. Your finger is cut, no worries, he'll help you. Placing the said finger in his mouth, sucking on the blood as you watch him. At the time of your month, he’ll press kisses on your tummy to make you feel better, only for his lips to go lower and lower.

Aegon’s intentions are never good. Such as when your brother sweetly offers you to taste your favorite pastry, only for him to dip his fingers in the said pastry. Having you lick and suck his fingers clean to which you start gagging when he shoves it further inside your mouth.

His greatest weakness was the sight of your breasts. No matter how big or small they were, it’s a sight to behold. Only for his eyes to see. Capturing your nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly leaving you with the feeling of soreness afterward.

He’ll also fuck your tits. Fisting his cock as his tip nudges the stiff buds, smearing them with pre-cum. Or better yet rubbing them against the skin between your breasts. Spurting his release all over your chest and some splattering into your face, making him hard all over again as soon as your tongue makes contact with his cum.

With Aegon, there’s never a dull day. Always wanting to try something new. Forced to eat fruits such as strawberries and pineapples all day by your brother until your stomach aches. All because Aegon overheard they will make your pussy taste sweeter.

During tourneys, you and Aegon are nowhere to be found. Using this opportunity to fuck you in the chambers of those who angered him. Some lord judgmentally looked at him. He will have your back laid on their table with him pounding into you, having all their works scattered on the floor. His brother made a comment on his drinking. He’ll plunge his cock into your dripping pussy on his bed. Leaving behind such a mess for Aemond to find. He’ll even sneak you into some of the lord’s carriages, so when they are to leave, they’ll feel something sticky and wet on their seats.

When he became king, Aegon would have you ride him on the iron throne. Your stomach is still in knots and your legs are on fire when he and you reach your high. Your brother then makes you sit on the throne all while he’s on his knees, face surrounded by your thighs. Aegon may wear the crown of the conqueror, but it’s you who pulls the strings.

Rhaegar

In the stories where you hear of tall handsome princes, Rhaegar was one to come to mind. All ladies seem to think so. Eagerly surrounding and pursuing him. With the customs of your house, the ladies saw you as a competition for their prince. They were not far off, as the handsome Rhaegar’s heart was yours to have.

The gods have blessed your brother with such beauty. That is a work of art. Compared to his, yours seemed inadequate. A thought that you believed almost broke his heart. Morning to night, your brother’s delicate hands trailed your body, soft lips brushing against the skin. All done to prove you were worthy of such a title, a title of beauty, and one deserving of his affection.

Though the violet eyes that watched you always held a fondness. A fondness reserved only for you. Watching you do the most mundane things, even eating. Chuckling when the food’s remains would adhere to your lips or trail down, to which your brother wipes it for you. A certain gleam in his eye.

Every morning, it was your brother who took care of your hair. Whether it’s brushing, braiding, or dipping his fingers in the coconut oil to apply it to your hair. Rhaegar loved taking care of your skin as well. Having you completely bare while he spreads the lotion at every inch of the skin, trailing dangerously close to your lower region.

There was some resistance against his temptations. Rhaegar will be a patient man for a time, yet his father refused to announce the union. It was seen in how he’d check for you at night, tucking you in and giving you a gentle kiss on the head. Each time, it took all his strength to deny your request for him to join you. But when his patience ran thin and his strength weakened, he slipped behind the covers. A habit came to be with the prince leaving your chambers every early morning.

With the night sky being your only witness, Rhaegar lays between your legs. Drinking you in like a starved man. The chambers’ walls echo the sound of your moans, hand down pushing his face even further. Your brother groans when you gush against his tongue, arousal coating his cheek and chin.

Clutching him to your body, your eyes find his. Rhaegar presses his forehead to yours as his cock sank into your pussy. He could worship the sight of your face contorting to pleasure, worship the sounds of your moans in his ear. Your back arches and legs weakly wrap around his waist as he pounds your cunt. Your brother whispers nothing but sweet praises.

Outside the covers of your sheets, your brother also worshiped you. His heart was in your hands. You can break it over and over, and it still beats for you. You are his and he’s yours till the end of days, how he dreams of reciting your wedding vows to one another. How he dreams of you giving him a prince. The three-headed-dragon, words your brother muttered more than once.

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maidragoste · 1 year ago

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The Parent Trap: Chapter One

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: After the disastrous divorce between Aemond Targaryen and Y/n Velaryon the twins Baelon and Aemon were separated. Each was raised by one of their parents. Baelon was raised by his father while Aemon was raised by his mother. Years later they both meet at a summer camp and discover the existence of the other. The twins realize that there are many secrets in their family, eager to discover their past, they put together a plan to deceive their parents.

Masterlist

Thanks for all the support, it always makes me happy to answer your questions and comments. REBLOGS and likes are always appreciated 🥰🥰💕💕💕

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. and this does not follow 100% the movie.

Daeron tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing sideways at his nephew. Since he started the trip, Baelon had not said a word, revealing his bad mood. Daeron knew he wasn't the reason for the boy's anger but he still couldn't help but feel bad for him. Aemond was supposed to be the one to take Baelon to summer camp but at the last moment a work meeting came up that he had to attend, although Daeron doubted it because it's not like it was a secret that Aemond is addicted to work, so now he is in charge of being his nephew's driver.

“I'm sure your father is as angry as you are that he can't come with you,” he said in an attempt to start a conversation. "He told me that he will do everything possible to come look for you when the camp is over," he added, hoping that would calm the boy's annoyance a bit.

“He is a liar. He won't do it ”said the boy without taking his eyes off the window” He had already promised to take me. ”

Baelon was upset. Just days before he was excited because his dad had said that they would have a road trip like in the movies and that he would take him to an amusement park where he was on the way to camp before dropping him off. It was supposed to be their last outing together because they wouldn't see each other for weeks. Sometimes Baelon couldn't help but think that his dad didn't really mind spending time with him, that he only did it because it was his obligation. Every time he thought that he ended up thinking about his mom. He knew she was alive—not because of his dad, he never talked about her—thanks to his uncle Aegon. It's a secret but when he came to visit for his birthday he always brought gifts from his mother. The first time his uncle cut him off from the rest of the party and gave him a gift from his mom was on his fifth birthday. He had been so excited that he wanted to run and tell everyone, but before he could, his uncle stopped him and told him that he couldn't tell anyone, not his friends, not his family, not even his dad. that it had to be a secret between them or her mom would never be able to send her a present again. Baelon had never seen his uncle so serious so he complied. He kept the secret and he looked forward to each new birthday waiting to see what his mom got him. Lately, he had been wondering what it would be like to live with her. Sometimes he dreamed that the next time his uncle came he would bring his mother with him. Other times he imagined that his uncle would show up as a surprise while his dad was away and tell him to pack everything for him to take with her. But deep down he knew it wouldn't happen. His uncle never told him what his mom's job was but Baelon supposed her job was busier than his dad's and that's why he stayed with him instead of her.

“It was a last-minute thing,” Daeron said.

"It's always something," Baelon grumbled, crossing his arms and this time Daeron couldn't come up with any excuse to defend his brother. In his opinion, Aemond wasn't the best father but he wasn't the worst either… At least he was better than his father. Viserys barely remembered the existence of him and his brothers. He was sure the man couldn't remember any of his birthdays or say anything he liked to his children. Aemond knew his son's hobbies and despite not spending much time at home whenever he was there he gave Baelon his full attention. But that wasn't enough to reward the canceled plans or his lack of presence at some school events.

"Open the glove box" he requested and Baelon glared at him before reluctantly opening it. Baelon's frown was left behind and a smile appeared in his place when he saw that his favorite snacks and sweets were there. “Your father couldn't take you but he had already bought things for the trip. He also gave me the address of the park where he wanted to take you so we can still go there ”Daeron took advantage of a red light to ruffle the boy's hair

"Your dad loves you, kid, don't forget that"

Normally you wouldn't let Aemon ride up front with you, in the passenger seat, but this was an exception because you wouldn't be seeing your baby for weeks so you wanted to get him as close as possible before you had to say goodbye. You'd think you'd be used to this after all this was Aemon's third year going to summer camp but even so, you always had a hard time saying goodbye. You would miss him immensely. But he liked to go and you were not going to deprive him of experiences just because it was difficult for you to have him away.

"Promise you won't continue reading Harry Potter without me," Aemon asked and you looked through the mirror to find that Aegon, who was sitting in the back next to Joffrey, just like you was smiling. You two were happy that your son was growing up and wanting to have his own things but it was sweet to the heart to know that he still wanted to spend time with the two of you and the three share moments like family readings every night.

"Don't worry, we won't read a single chapter without you," Aegon said as he picked up the stuffed dragon Joffrey dropped again. The baby seemed amused to see his dad bend down to retrieve his toy "But we'll probably watch the movies."

Aegon had never really been in the habit of reading. He hated every time at school they forced him to read a book. He preferred a thousand times to see a movie before reading the book. That took less time. But he became interested in reading after the first time Aemon asked him to join you in reading to him before going to sleep. Books were something his godson liked—which Aegon wasn't surprised knowing you and Aemond were total nerds—and he really wanted to bond with him so he started reading the books Aemon liked only to have more topics to talk about with him. Aemon's excitement when he understood what he was talking about made him more than satisfied. It didn't take long for him to stop seeing reading as homework and he began to really enjoy it thanks to Aemon and you.

"You can only see the first two" Aemon reminded him turning to face him seriously. The three have the tradition of first reading the book and once finished it would watching their movie. You hadn't finished reading The Prisoner of Azkaban yet so you were forbidden to watch the movies that follow Chamber of Secrets.

"Aemon, those movies have existed since before you were born and we saw them all when we were teenagers," Aegon said and he and baby Joffrey laughed at the boy's annoyed grimace.

"Don't worry, Aemon. I'm sure he doesn't remember anything. He barely paid attention when I made him watch the movies with me. He's just trying to annoy you" you said.

"In my defense, I was distracted by your beauty," Aegon said making you laugh.

Perhaps another child would be disgusted or uncomfortable that his parents were flirting in front of him but Aemon just looked at them curiously. He knew that they had known each other since they were very young, but he had no idea that Aegon seemed to have feelings for you since he was a teenager. He sometimes saw you and Aegon so in love and happy that he couldn't help but wonder how you ended up with his biological father before. It's not like you never talked about his father. He didn't know his name, you never called him by his name when you talked about him, but he knew some things like his father also liked to read a lot like him, that like him he practiced fencing when he was young, that he also had the light sleep. Baelon knew trivial things about his father but he didn't know anything about how your relationship with him was. Perhaps you had broken up with his father to be with his godfather? But that didn't make much sense to him because if it did he would have met Aegon sooner. He met his godfather when he was four years old, although he knew that Aegon had been a part of his life when he was a baby from the pictures in the family album that you showed him but something had happened in the middle so that you and Aegon stopped seeing each other.

"So what do you and Rickon plan to do this year?" you asked, snapping Aemon out of his thoughts. Wasting no time Aemon started talking excitedly about how this time he and his best friend would go hiking in the mountains.

Daeron parked in front of the camp cabins. There were already a lot of boys and girls. You could feel the excitement of everyone from the big smiles, the laughs, and the shouts. He hoped that Baelon's experience would be good and that he would be able to make friends. That something good would come of having him away from home. It would be weird these weeks without his nephew at home, surely it would be quieter. Vhagar would surely be depressed by Baelon's absence. He would miss it too. He had gotten into the habit of going to the park every afternoon to take the dogs out together and play ball—sometimes Adam and Nettes would come over too—then they would come home and watch silly reality shows while criticizing the contestants.

"Don't get in trouble, Baelon" he reminded his nephew and ruffled his hair again to the boy's annoyance "I love you"

"Dude, don't be weird. I had enough of grandma crying as if I were going to live on the other continent. I'll be fine” Baelon said before opening the door not wanting to see his uncle's face. He sighed and turned around again. "I love you too and I'm going to miss you," he said quickly before leaving to find his luggage. He barely got out of the car and grimaced when he began to hear the screams get louder.

Daeron hurried down to help him as he tried to ignore a boy's scream of “Aemon”. When he was removing the suitcase from the trunk of the car, a boy with dark hair and gray eyes appeared behind his nephew. He was tall though he didn't seem to be older than Baelon.

“Hey, Aemon, are you deaf? I was calling you” he said pouting. He didn't even give Baelon time to tell him that he was getting the wrong person when he took one of his platinum locks between his fingers. "Oh, you cut it off, I knew you were upset because Joffrey kept pulling your hair but I didn't think you'd do anything so drastic”

Baelon took the stranger's hand and pulled it away from his hair. He wasn't obsessed with taking care of his hair like his dad but it was rare for a stranger to feel free to touch him “I'm not Aemon. My name is Baelon"

"But you look just like Aemon" said the other boy with clear confusion "Why do you look just like Aemon?"

Baelon looked to his uncle for help, wanting Daeron to get him out of this situation, but Daeron seemed to be in a trance. For a moment he thought that his eyes were shiny but he dismissed it as a sun effect.

Daeron couldn't believe it. Aemon was going to be in the same camp as Baelon. At any moment he would arrive. He should be in a panic. He should be telling Baelon to get in the car to drive away because that's what Aemond would do. He should call his older brother. But he wouldn't do that. After years the twins had the opportunity to meet and he was not going to stop it. Baelon deserved to meet the rest of his family… But if he was there when you arrived with Aemon then you would be the one to leave. This couldn't happen. This was a unique opportunity. This one meeting could make life better for everyone.

“I have to go,” Daeron announced, slamming the trunk shut.

Baelon eyed daggers at him. He had just told him that he loved him and now he was leaving him with a complete freak, didn't he care about him? Definitely from now on Daeron was no longer his favorite uncle and when he returned home he would tell his grandma so that she would scold him.

"What's your name kid?" asked the adult looking at the boy with dark hair.

"Rickon" he replied, still without taking his eyes off Baelon. He wanted to touch his face to make sure it was real but he had a feeling that if he did then he would get hit.

"Baelon, you will stay with Rickon," Daeron ordered.

"What?!" Shouted his nephew with a mixture of surprise and indignation.

"Rickon, you will take Baelon to your cabin and wait until Aemon's mother leaves or whoever she brings him to introduce him to Baelon"

"Wait, do you know Aemon?" Baelon asked trying to understand what the hell was going on.

Daeron didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He wanted to tell him that of course, he knew Aemon. He remembered how scared he was the first time he picked him up, he remembered how little Aemon used to fall asleep in his arms, how when he learned to walk he used to follow him everywhere, and how he loved to give Tessarion kisses. On his phone, he has a folder with all of Aemon's photos. Every time he saw them he felt like he finished seeing them so fast. He wished he had taken more photos… Maybe after this camp, he could get new photos.

"Rickon, don't let Aemon's family see Baelon" he asked ignoring his nephew's question "Enjoy the camp," he said and got into the car ignoring Baelon's protests.

Daeron felt bad when he started the car, if he had time he might have stayed to explain to Baelon or try to prepare him for this surprise but you could show up at any moment. He couldn't risk you seeing him and deciding to leave.

When he thought he was far enough from the camp, he waited for the next red light to take his phone and call Aegon. He had to ask his brother if he knew that Aemon was going to the camp and that was why he had told Aemond that he should take Baelon there or was it just a fluke.

Aegon never responded.

Taglist: @papichulo120627 @apollonshootafar @jasminecosmic99 @diorchaiamet @bugheadskid @partypoison00 @camy85 @rebelliuna @bxdbxtxh15 @impartinghades @savagemickey03 @nyenye @krokietino @natashaobo @lizlovecraft @aleemendoza2425-blog @snh96 @angeliod @thegirlnextdoorssister @targaryenmoony @queen190 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @fan-goddess @saltyllamakidwombat @love-romancebooks @ilovetaquitosmmmm @justsumtuffstuff @afro-hispwriter @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @marytargaryen

@namelesslosers @rosey1981 @joyouart @starkjedi @nockerin @snowprincesa1 @ichanelvxgue @watercolorskyy @delaneyquill @avitute @exoticcow @tita004 @cicaspair418 @crystal-faith @peakybutterfly @st4rhrts @Jojoesq @alisoncdariel @fudge13 @Sakuramochi1921

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floatyflowers · 2 years ago

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Dark! Father Aegon II x Mother! Reader x Son! Aegon III

Trigger Warning: Child being taken away from their mother.

Aegon III is yours and Aegon II's son.

Like imagine, that the night at Driftmark, feelings developed between you and Aegon, so you continued seeing each other even after he got married.

Fast forward, you get pregnant, and your mother, Rhaenyra, finds out about that in your third month of pregnancy.

And under hard pressure from Daemon, you confess everything.

To avoid scandal, Daemon suggests that your mother pretends that she is pregnant with his child, and when the time comes and you start your labors, Rhaenyra will act as if her labors started to block out your screams of pain.

Of course, Daemon threatens the midwives and servants to feed them to Caraxes if they let out a word of this.

When the child is born, you allow your mother to name him, and she named him 'Aegon' just to spite Alicent.

You would spend time with Aegon III, acting not as his mother but as his sister, just not to confuse the young boy.

Daemon, of course, forced you to cut off any connections you have with your lover the moment you confessed everything.

So, that means Aegon doesn't know anything about Aegon the younger being his son.

Not until the war broke out, and you getting captured along with Aegon III and your mother.

Watching your mother get eaten by Sunfyre made you feel frightful of your son meeting the same fate.

So, you confessed everything, from the start to the end with tears streaming down your face.

But your uncle would only smile at you, wiping away your tears, while Aegon the young grasps into your skirts, burying his teary face into them.

"I know everything, (Y/n), that's why I killed Rhaenyra, she was only blocking mine, your and Aegon's paths from being a one true happy family..."

With each word escaping his lips, you realise what he is implying.

"Now, that she is dead, we both could marry"

#tw: toxic relationships #yandere house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon iii targaryen #yandere aegon ii targaryen

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lumi077 · 5 months ago

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Imagine.

A/N: Two posts in a day? the boredom caught up to me, and the words spewed out. Some short and sweet angst to welcome season two

Warnings: Canon HOTD incest (though no mention of it really), angst, implied reader death, character death, mourning, animal cruelty (free the dragons yall), slight comfort in the beginning that just fucking disappears, no real romance in this one. brief eludes to NSFW but very brief, fem reader, reader had a baby (Visenya), spoilers

Imagine grieving with Rhaenyra. You’re both mothers, birthed your own children. The marks of the battle shone brightly upon your bodies, widened hips and marks of stretched flesh on your once flat stomachs. You found more children in each other’s wombs, giving each other and your other half a bigger family than just one could have produced.

But now, your family is lacking one child. A son, an adored little boy with brown hair and eyes, dimples, the cutest smile in all the seven kingdoms. He wasn’t just a second son in your found family, he was your little boy. You may have not birthed him, or been present in the act like you were with Aegon and Viserys’s creation. But he was just as much yours as he was Rhaenyra’s or Daemons.

Holding her in the nights she would come back unsuccessful, no closer to finding the mangled body of your baby or his small dragon. Your arms tight around her waist, letting her face reside against your neck where you felt every sob that wracked from her body and ricocheted onto yours. No sleep would find any of you that night.

Imagine grieving with Daemon. You could never let yourself cry with your wife, needing to be strong so the queen could be strong. But your husband, normally so gruff, wrapping his arms around you late at night. Rhaenyra was asleep, her breaths even and you wonder if she’s dreaming about Luke.

He whispers against your skin, letting your pieces break for the first time since the raven carried the news all the way to dragonstone. Your sobs break him more, taking pieces of his heart with every heart wrenching wail against his skin. But he takes it, knows you need this or you’ll go down a dark path. His need for vengeance and repayment quelled with the watery look of your eyes. Your watered pleas for him to stay when you feel his body tense against your own breaking his resolve as he whispers a soft “of course” against your hair.

Imagine grieving with Jace. Your eldest boy looks so much like his brother it’s both a pain and a comfort all wrapped in one. Seeing him as he returned from Winterfell, your arms aching to wrap around him. And they do. You coo to him, running your fingers through his hair like you wished to do with Luke. He cried into your shoulder, broken cries of promised revenge echoing against your misery-stained skin.

You didn’t cry then, letting your baby take off his misery and place it onto you. You had to be strong, uplift your family in the way only a mother could do. Your comforting hands brought the sweetest comfort with every touch, lulling Jace into a state that he could face his other mother.

You let them cry together, bonding more in their shared grief.

Imagine having to explain to your littlest ones that their big brother won’t be coming home. You were the only one who could sit down little Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya and try to explain the worst tragedy imaginable, a mothers worst nightmare come true. That they won’t see him for years and years, but that he’ll be there waiting for them. Comforting their saddened cries, and you felt like you were drowning in sorrow.

Imagine comforting Rhaena as the news that her betrothed was murdered by their uncle reached the keep. Her cries hurt the worst, leaving scars that would never fade. She wasn’t yours either, but in a sense she was. You felt like Laena would have wanted you to be the one to have her daughter sob on, white locs caressed by your gentle fingers until she had cried herself to sleep.

Imagine flying with Rhaenys, the cannibal under you and the red queen to the side as you fly to the battle of rook’s nest. Your heart hammering as the sight of Vhagar reached you, only strengthening the hatred filling your heart. She was the same dragon that ended your little boy, that casted misery upon your family.

And maybe it was selfish that you had flown out without permission, that you might be the next casualty in this dance of dragons and death. But you wouldn’t allow yourself to die before you achieved your mission, you had to kill Aemond first. Even if the kinslayer took you with him.

And imagine the brief euphoria you feel, dragons crashing to the ground too fast to stop. You see the usurper jump from his golden dragon, as do you. Only you land on Vhagar, dagger in Aemond’s throat. You make sure he sees you, the second mother of the nephew he killed as the last of his life leaves his body. And as the dragons crashed to the ground, making you and the now dead prince Aemond meet the ground hard enough to crack ribs, dragons screeching filling your ears, you couldn't find an any more perfect revenge.

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra x daemon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #team black #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd x reader #lumiwritings #hotd x you #aegon iii targaryen #viserys ii targaryen

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delusionalwritingsofagay · 4 months ago

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ACCEPTING HOUSE OF THE DRAGON AND GAME OF THRONES REQUESTS

Since House of the Dragon/GOT won the poll, I will be posting that first whilst I work on my requests from my hiatus, so I am accepting requests only for HOTD AND GOT at the moment.

Please remember to check my rules for what I do and don't accept.

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itscherrylipsforme · 4 months ago

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New characters coming!

So, I will be adding a few characters to my list from the Bridgerton, House of the dragon nd The Secret History fandoms since I have just joined/renewed my interest in them

Bridgerton is the first one, i am about to start watching the third season and the characters available will be Anthony, Benedict and Theo

This afternoon I am having a marathon of HOTD with my father as I agreed not to watch the episodes without him until I was done with uni. I will be making fics for Jace, Cregan, Aemond (my morals go away when it comes to this man, okay 😅) and Aegon III (I know he is only in the books for now, but I am irrationally attached to him)

Last but not least, it's THD. My father is a Classics mayor and was at college by the time the book was published so he became a huge fan of Tartt. I found the book at his home and read it when I was eleven, but I did not have the knowledge to enjoy it completely back then. Upon coming back home I was cleaning the house with him and found it again. I decided to reread, now I am halfway through the book. Therefore Richard, Henry and Charles will be added too because I am utterly obsessed and I need to write for them

That's all for now!

Lots of love,

Riley 🍒

#riley's rambles #anthony bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #theo sharpe x reader #cregan x reader #jacaerys x reader #aemond x reader #aegon iii x reader #richard papen x reader #henry winter x reader #charles macaulay x reader

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ricardian-werewolf · 3 months ago

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Take Me to War.

Chapter 1: If not to heaven, then Hand in Hand to hell.

Gwayne Hightower X Original Female Character. (slow burn, Medieval perceptions of marriage and womanhood)

Sunne in Splendour x House of the Dragon.

Word count: 3.48k words.

AN| This is the first time the author has written for Gwayne Hightower, so please be kind! The author also only has a surface level knowledge of House of the Dragon/Game of Thrones, so please be courteous when making comments or suggestions. The Author is a history student with a special interest in the Wars of the Roses and Ricardian sources, so knowledge of that period will be largely correct.

Summary:

Reeling from the battle of Bosworth Field, fifteen year old Cecily-Anne is a princess without her throne, family, or hope. Forced to play her hand with both hands tied; a seemingly mystical intercession forces her into a world that is shockingly similar to the England she knows, yet also drastically different. It is there as a mere lady in waiting, that she is forced to pick a side in a war that has been played over in her England for decades. It remains to see as to whom will come out from this "Dance of Dragons," unscathed and whole.

Tws: Brutal violence, implied sexual violence, sexism of the medieval period, religious mention, brutality.

Taglist: @lordbettany, @rmelster, @portiaadams, @mihrsuri

If you liked it, please reblog and comment! Every kind word keeps more of them coming!

Blood flecked Cecily-Anne’s face, her skirts and hands. She stared down at her palms, running them together as if she wished to clear the mess. Raising her head, she could only stare in wide-eyed horror as Henry Tudor’s sword drove its tip into her father’s chest. The crunch caused her to flinch visibly. No one had bothered to remove her from the camp, to put her into sanctuary. All of the chaos of the battle had left her here. She was supposed to have only observed the preliminary actions and then been swiftly retired to the nearby Grayfriars priory in Leicester.

But now she stood at the hands of the most likely man next to kill her.

Or wed her. He could wait, for certes. She was only ten-and-five years, not even yet showing signs of womanhood. But to a country teetering blindly towards anarchy, this was the only movement forward to solve so many problems. However, as she shifted uneasily from foot to foot. With her skirts turning soiled with the still-warm blood of her father, Cecily remembered Elizabeth Woodeville’s many daughters. Maybe he would choose one of them, and leave her well enough alone. Maybe clemency would work with this…. Bastard of a prince?

She would refuse to bend her knees and acknowledge him as the god-chosen king. No. The rite of the crown would go to Teddy. Or passing him, Meg. She would need to make arrangements, seek out Johnny and Kathryn. They would need to know of Richard’s death.

Suddenly, a hand clenched around her upper arm and she shrieked, blindly lashing out.

“My lady, please!” A voice hissed. Female, french sounding. Véronique de Crécy. Cecily looked up into the lady-servant’s face and caught the tears forming on her lashes. “Do not cry out. You have been granted the right of sanctuary with the nearby nunnery. They are doing this out of the mercy of your womanhood, Chérie.”

“Mercy?” Cecily hissed as Véronique dragged her from the battlefield. She could only watch silently with doe-wide eyes as her father’s corpse was stripped to the flesh. Then, it was dumped over the back of a steed. “No-” She began to scream, thrashing in her mother’s servant's arms. Another hand clamped over her lips, silencing her.

“Do not make a sound, Princess. Keep very, very quiet.” Francis Lovell hissed. “It is horrific, yes, but this is what Tudor dictates, and we must bend the knee or be slaughtered.” He effortlessly dragged her through the leagues of white-tented campsites to a waiting horse and litter. Mistress Burgh, who had tended to her since infancy, examined her skirts silently.

“By the holy mother-” She began, then looked into Cecily-Anne’s whitened face. “Come, lovely. We must be getting you home.”

“My F-father-” Cecily jerked her head up as she watched the white rose being put to the torch. Suddenly, the fight drained from her and she fell to her knees, the veil of her hennin swimming about her face like gossamer wings. “No, please, No!” She sobbed, wrenching off her hennin and veil with a firm tug. Her hair fell from its pins, spilling about her face.

“What is the meaning of this?” A voice sneered. “I find it most…” Cecily looked up into the face of a man who she would forever remember. Standing over her, clad in plate armour of pure silver with work of ferns and ivy was Thomas Builder, retitled Thomas Melbourne. A minor lord, he had backed her father until the end, and then revealed his hand when Tudor had taken the advantage. His eyes gleamed like emeralds in the watery sunlight shimmering overhead, and he bent down to lift her chin.

“Unfaithful to your late Father, Princess.” His voice was velvety, meant to be soothing. But it merely made Cecily more vicious, more angered. She whacked his hand aside and bared her teeth. She raised her hand, and formed a fist. Her father’s knights who had served him now formed a Testudo around her.

“Ah, princess.” Melbourne sneered again. “These men are traitors. They ought not rush to thy defence.”

“They shall.” Cecily rose on unsteadily feet, but squared her shoulders. The moment of grief within her was pushed down deep inside her, and she shut it away. She would not allow herself to show how much she hurt. He would not see how much she longed to lie down in the blood-splattered grass where her father had fallen, and implore God and his saints to take her too.

Please, Holy Mother, protect me from this man’s aims and evils. She prayed silently, her fingers sliding to the crucifix around her neck. Suddenly, she gasped as Melbourne parted the Testudo around her, ignoring the pike-axes grazing his cheeks. His hand snaked up and grasped hers. His eyes blazed with pure hate, and he grabbed the crucifix in hand. It did not burn him, which Cecily hoped it would. She could only sob as Melbourne yanked the chain forward, dragging Cecily along with it. She was pulled from the safety of her knights and thrown roughly to the ground.

Around her, a cheering and jeering group of Tudors’s soldiers had gathered. At their head was Margaret Beaufort, clad in mourner’s black. Briefly, Cecily was reminded of her mother’s poisoned words against the mother of Tudor. She flashed her teeth again, snatching out a hand to grab something. But her hand was pinned under the black-metal foot of Count Adhemar’s boot.

“There she is.” He crowed as Tudor pushed through his men and raised his visor to regard her. “What a wonderful wife she would make for you, Your grace.”

“You deem him your king?!” Cecily snarled, crying out as Melbourne grabbed her hair and pulled her head back with a sickening crack. Looking up at him from below, Cecily was able to see his lengthened canines, and she shuddered in horror. It seemed as though not only was Tudor ungodly in his mortal affairs, he consorted with demons to win him victories.

She crossed herself, murmuring the lord’s prayer under her breath.

“She should be killed, Henry.” Margaret cried. “If she is not, she is a threat to your legitimacy. Any son she bears and the blood of the Yorks remains stronger than ever.”

“There is still the matter of those two boys. Tell me-” Tudor turned now to Cecily, and stepped over her so that his legs were on either side of her hips. She looked up at him even though she couldn’t look him in the eye. Her breaths came in heavy, rapid gasps as Tudor grabbed her by the chin and lifted her head.

“Did your father kill the princes, girl?”

“No!” Cecily cried instantly.

The smack of his ringed hand to her face made Cecily cry out again. Around her, even some of Tudor’s knights were making murmurs of discontent. No one struck a princess, or made a movement against her. Yet, Cecily knew easily how vulnerable she was. With no strong woman such as her grandmother to speak in her defence, she was powerless. Véronique’s words were as good as naught.

“Then where did he put them?”

“I have no knowledge of where-” Cecily sobbed again as Tudor rained down another blow. She was saved a third as Margaret’s hand reached out and pulled Henry’s fist back. “Please, no. Do not taint your victory with such sin. God will find it distasteful.”

Please, Holy Mother, protect me from this man’s aims and evils.

Tudor glared at his mother and then Cecily. His thumb stroked her thrumming pulse point, and then he spat in her face. “Be glad that my lady mother raised me to be merciful. If I was not, I ought to put you in your place as you deserve, wench.”

Cecily shuddered.

She watched with widened, fear-filled eyes as Tudor’s men departed with their king at the head. Atop Tudor’s head was the crown of King Edward, the very crown that had been affixed to her father’s helmet. A sob burned through her lungs and she pressed her knuckles to her streaming eyes. Wrapped in the spanish silks she had been gifted as part of her engagement to Joanna of Portugal’s younger cousin, Cecily-Anne Isabel Plantagenet knew that without a doubt that she was a marked woman.

As she was helped into the litter by Véronique, Cecily watched as Tudor’s men took down the White Rose of York. Her breath hitched as the Whyte Boar of Gloucester was unpinned from her father’s command tent. His squires who’d survived the battle were lined up in order of age. She watched with wide eyes devoid of all emotion as a barber surgeon and priest went about taking confession. Then, they were beheaded in front of the spot where her father had taken mass just that morn.

The battle of Redmore Plain had lasted a scant few hours, but the impact would fester for weeks. As the wheels of the litter began to turn and Cecily’s few knights fell into step beside the litter, the princess pressed a hand to her mouth and wept without shame. She clung weakly to her mother’s crucifix and the ring on her finger that had been the coronation ring of her father’s. Tudor would forge another ring, another crown; another state.

All of the work her father had done would be ashes and cinders. The North would not go quietly, which brought her some level of comfort. But their refusal to bend the knee would bite them soon enough. Sin had come over England with the miasma of plague, and it would stay thus until either the Tudors were ousted, murdered or ran out of heirs.

Pressing her hand over her eyes again, Cecily sighed deeply.

“Write to Manuel and please inform him that the wedding is…” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Annulled. Ensure the Church knows also. I am certain they will be flooded with requests of dispensations for Tudor and whomever he chooses as his lady wife.” She looked to Véronique, who gave a quiet nod of acknowledgement.

“And you, cherie?”

“I believe I shall take a night in that nunnery you inquired for me. In the morn, we shall see where I am going. Whether it be the Tower Greene or the wilds of Bruges, I shall be excited to know.” swirling the cup of wine handed to her, Cecily drank deeply. Grief and shock had made her caustic. She would not wish to be anything other than that. As she drank more, she turned to debating in her mind how she would subvert Tudor’s wills for her execution.

She should be killed, Henry.

She is a threat to the crown!

Was that same thing not spoken of about her Aunt Elizabeth? The very woman who had seduced her uncle to the bedchamber and made him a father to several children of health and vigour? Had that not been said of her own mother, whose wealth of lands in the north along with Aunt Isabelle set up a bloodless war between her father and mad uncle George? Had the women not birthed two sickly children for both sets of parents? Had fate not delivered her brother to God’s embrace far sooner than expected? Then a scant half-year later her own mother?

Cecily smacked her hand against the wooden screen, and screamed low in her throat. She was well and truly alone, left to shoulder the burdens of a crown cracking more with each passing hour. The lords of London would throw the gates wide to the invaders, burn Crosby Place and Baynard’s to the ground. She would be bereft of a husband to-be, left to rot in a Court that would not place her in a position of honour. She would have to bend the knee to play favour, but her actions a few hours earlier would drive that thought from Tudor’s mind with the swiftness of a spring breeze.

Compline found Cecily-Anne kneeling before the altar of the Blessed Virgin Mary, her mother’s crucifix chain in her fingers. She had always found solace in prayer, not for the religious aspects, but the simple acts of running her fingers through the beads. The easy recitation of her prayers and catechisms soothed her. She always had a list in her mind of who to implore on behalf of the Father for His favour - the poor, sickly, needy. Her family members who suffered more than most came second. As part of her selfless devotion that some saw as frenetic, while others viewed it as a sign of true humility, Cecily wore a long veil and forgoed a prayer kneeler. Her heavy skirts of velvet and stiffened brocade did well enough. The order of Augustinian Canonesses had taken kindly to the young princess and put her at once into sanctuary. As an order of 1337 nuns confined to the limits of the priory’s property, they were over-delighted to have a guest. After supping in her rooms, Cecily had gone with the younger initiates to pray Compline before retiring.

As she turned her face upwards to Mary’s figure with her arms spread out in a gesture of welcome and warmth, Cecily prayed to one woman only.

Her lady mother.

“Maman, I implore you. Please, let me know that I am not in vain to ask for you. Let me know that my pain is not all I shall feel. T-there is no way forward for me that I see. You always spoke to anyone who asked that I could solve my way out of any problem the Lord put before me, and now I find myself without.” Tears dripped down her face and she angrily shook her head, slamming her fist into the floor. The nuns who prayed quietly behind her stilled in their prayers at the sound of her fist.

Cecily shot them a look and made the sign of the cross without breaking eye contact. Her devotion would be unshakable. The chapel at Middleham bore marks of her nails in the soft stone as she had poured out her grief in the days after Ned’s death. Now, she drew her nails once more down the expanse of stone. One scratch for her mother, one for her father, and another for Ned.

“Please, Maman. I beg of you, do something. I cannot live in an England that is without the security of your light, of Father’s judgement. I can only implore the Lord for why he chooses to test me.” She bowed her head again. “I beg that Father is at peace, for some knowledge that he is safe, that he is happy to be reunited with you and Ned again. Please, do not worry for me. I am as well as I can be.” She wiped a tear from her eyes. Yet, they seemed to not stop, even as she forced herself desperately to not cry in the Lord’s house.

“Child…” The Mother Superior murmured. Cecily jerked her head away. She hated to be touched, to be perceived. She brought her hand up, to quieten the woman. The blood froze in her veins suddenly as the Mother Superior grabbed her hand, and then she heard a harsh voice that was her mother’s hiss; Open your eyes!

Cecily’s eyes flew open, and she recoiled. For where the statue of Mary had stood was now a cut. A cut in the space of the room, that through it showed… another space - a field with trees in the distance. It was unheard of. No miracle such as this had ever been written of in a canonical history or court romance. Cecily’s head jerked up and she looked at the Mother Superior.

“D-do you see that?”

“Yes.” The Mother breathed, her hands clammy around Cecily’s. Her skin itched painfully and longed to tug her hand free. Yet Cecily stayed in that woman’s grasp as the Mother pulled herself up from a kneeling position. Cecily’s fingers instinctively closed tight around the crucifix chain and she ran it over her lips.

“Speak to me again, Maman.” She whispered, her lips barely moving.

Go forward. The cut will not hurt you, child.

Cecily shuffled forward, her skirts swishing as she moved. Her skirts, the ones still caked with her father’s blood. The deep blue was stained a runny wine-dark purple and caked in a scent so foul that the other nearby nuns had their noses pinched. In the flickering candlelight, they looked like demons sent from the very brimstone and fires of Hell she feared. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, Cecily was half conscious of the fact that her mother never called her “Child.” Yet, the grief of so much loss…. Made her feel the exhaustion within her more sharply.

Crossing the nave before the altar, she stared up at the cut with widened eyes, and reached a hand out to touch it. Instead of the pain of burning or the cold of snow on a winter’s night, she felt merely warmth. Through the ugly gash, she could see waving grasses in a stiff breeze, and squinting, making out the forms of men waiting amongst the trees. Some of them were on horses, and she wondered if they could see her. What a shock they’d get!

The cut will not hurt you, child. She remembered her mother’s words spoken just moments before, and looked back at the nuns. They had gathered together in a small grouping at the back of the chapel, and amongst them she saw Véronique gripping Francis Lovell’s hand tight in hers. What stilled her suddenly was the expression on Véronique’s face - pure, unadulterated fear.

Go! Go, and do not look back, child!

Cecily’s head turned to look back at the cut and she stared once more through it, her hand still stretched out in front of her. The crucifix dangling from her hand caught the sunlight filtering through the trees, and she smelled the scent of freshly hay. Distantly, she felt as though she was back at Middleham, playing with Ned and Kathyrn and Johnny. Tears filled her eyes again and she closed them as her mind wandered.

Yes, child. Step through. You are almost home. Just another step-

Cecily could feel the sunlight on her hands; her face, and she turned her palms upwards towards the light and warmth. Yet, suddenly, the sounds of screams filled the air. Looking down, Cecily’s face turned to horror as she stepped not on freshly cut grass but blood-stained earth. An earth-shattering roar split the air as she looked up to the sight of a dragon armed with a rider opening its maw wide. A column of liquid fire flowed from its gaping jaws and set the forest before it ablaze. The men under it, clad in deep green tunics with a silver tower were swiftly enveloped in the flames and a horrific screaming sound met her ears. Throwing her hands over her ears, Cecily turned back to look for the cut.

She found it gone.

“MAMAN!” She screamed. “What is the meaning of this?!”

A test, child. You implored for my judgement.

“A TEST?!” Cecily shrieked.

I am the holy mother, all who worship me are tested in some way or another at some point. This is yours. Take with it what you will.

The warmth she’d felt turned shockingly cold, and Cecily cringed back, fear filling her veins with cold sand. Around her, men screamed, crossed swords and brutally massacred one another. Stumbling blindly, she turned whatever way was quietest, and began to stumble across the battlefield that would later be called Raven’s Rock. As she reached what she hoped was a line of tents consisting of faces who would be willing to listen to her tale, something sharp and long embedded itself in her leg.

The ground tilted dangerously under her, and Cecily’s face smashed into a jagged rock. Atop the rock’s surface she felt soft lichen caress her cheek, and barely had time to fist the crucifix more tightly into her fingers. The next moment, the darkness of injury and exhaustion washed over her with the strength of a tide, and she was dragged into its swell.

Over her head, two soldiers bearing the same uniforms she’d seen earlier discussed what to do with this princess in a tongue she didn’t know. After a few moments more, a knight with ginger hair and emerald green eyes came to survey her chaining up. He took his helmet from a squire and left at once to take up arms against a foe who was merely his sister’s closest friend and the supposed former heir of the Iron Throne. The false Queen Rhaenyra had made war against Alicent Hightower’s chosen son and it was unto this war that Princess Cecily-Anne was dragged unwillingly into. A war that was set to shape a generation and dynasty had merely changed time and space, but the rules were the same - a woman’s place was not upon the battlefield.

End of Chapter 1.

#richard iii #wyn rambles #gwayne hightower #house of the dragon #house of york #gwayne x reader #alicent hightower #helaena #aegon ii #rhaenyra #alicent hotd #henry tudor #the white queen #the white princess #the sunne in splendour

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xxnymeriatargaryenxx · 3 months ago

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being in a throuple with alys and aemond includes:

• intoxication kink 🍄‍🟫🍃🪷🌱🪴🌾🫖🍵 be ready to have the sexiest trip of your life and to constantly be asking yourself “is this real?”….

• orgasms at least twice a day💦💦

• love-bites on your entire body!! 🫦 neck, chest, shoulders, thighs, ass, etc! you don’t know how some of them happened, but the next morning they are there 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

• breeding kink 🤰🤰 teasing aemond with the idea of having 2 women pregnant with his child at the same time….

what else am i missing??? 🧐🧐

#alys rivers #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #asoiaf #aegon iii targaryen #george rr martin #house of the dragon #hotd s2 #hotd aemond #harrenhal #house strong #aemond x reader smut #aemond fanfiction #hotd #aemond smut

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the-djarin-clan · 7 months ago

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How can this man be SO HOT!

#aegon ii #hotd #house of the dragon #king aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #prince aegon targaryen #aegon iii targaryen #king aegon #prince aegon #king aegon targaryen #aegon the second #aegon ii targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen smut

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eurydycee · 4 months ago

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Winter’s Thorn: chapter III

⚘ cregan stark x tyrell!OC

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format: series (ongoing) word count: ~ 4k warnings: women in westeros :( , not reread a/n: hello! The Kings Landing arc has ended with this chapter. The next arc will be their journey to the north where they spend time as betrothed

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“There had been decided that you—” Crayn began his confession, holding her hand steadfastly.

Until a voice interrupted them, causing both to turn their heads toward the intruder. “Good morning, I see that you have awakened. You had us both worried, brother.”

“Aah, good to see you too, Adlyn,” the knight responded with a tight smile, silently thanking the gods that his brother came at the right moment.

Adlyn turned to Euphemia while simultaneously letting his hand stroke her coral weaves, a gentle motion that sharply contrasted his demanding words, “You need to quit coddling your brother and return to court and the celebrations immediately.”

“You made us look incompetent. Just so you know, people get wounded and killed—it's part of the game, a fact you should be well aware of. I will not have you pulling stunts like rejecting your title as Queen of Beauty and Love.”

“He was mocking us—”

“He is a friend.”

“Is that what you tell yourself as you act like his lapdog?”

That made him snap, grabbing a fistful of her hair before yelling, “It is not your place to talk back to me or any man in the Keep. If I were to tell you to go back to Cregan and beg his forgiveness like a true lapdog, you will do so. I am responsible for you, and thus you will comply with my commands.”

He then let go of her and went back to a calmer version of himself.

“I expect you tonight to attend the ball in honor of the tournament winners and their assigned ladies. This is my command, and you shall obey it. Understood?”

Euphemia wanted to yell at him, to insult him, but all she could feel was pity. The death of their parents, his cursed inheritance, the near attempt on his life, and Crayn’s injury had turned him into an ugly man with an even uglier temper. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to obey. When her words failed her, her actions became her pillar, so she nodded obediently.

——————————

Upon her walk back to her chamber, Euphemia couldn't help but notice the hushed whispers shared between courtiers, servants, and guards as she passed them. She had truly underestimated the impact of her absence. Though the walk to her chambers cost mere minutes, it felt like it took an eternity to escape the malicious gossip swirling around her. Even upon reaching her chamber, she was plagued by the overwhelming number of tasks that still awaited her: promenading with her dear friend Cerelle of House Lannister, joining the court ladies for lunch, visiting the sept, getting her dress fitted for the ball, and engaging in endless talking and gossiping.

Just when she felt like losing her sanity, Cerelle entered her chambers to fetch her, like the heroine she is, for their promised time together. The golden-haired Lannister moved with the grace of a lioness, her presence commanding attention.

“There you are, Phia. How I have missed you,” Cerelle exclaimed, stretching her hands out for Euphemia to grasp.

“How have you been after… well, everything? Once our time here is over, you must return with me to Casterly Rock, like when we were children. I long to relive our days there as young maidens, even for one more day.”

“Sister,” Euphemia gazed at her friend with genuine affection. Cerelle had always been the older sister she had wished for, possessing great beauty, sharp intellect, and an uplifting nature. She grasped her hand firmly, thinking how fortunate she was not to face the cunning people of court alone.

“Oh, I am even more thrilled to see you. It has been far too long,” she replied, her smile warm and sincere.

“Court has been both boring and heated lately. With your return, I hope to find some company and to bring some peace to this place.” The two girls stood up, leaving the chamber and allowing their feet to decide their destination.

“Tell me,” said Cerelle, turning to look at her friend. “Have you truly insulted Lord Stark, The Hand, the man who essentially holds the Seven Kingdoms in his hand?” Cerelle had heard many rumors about what had transpired but preferred to hear it directly from her friend.

“If you put it that way, then I suppose I did,” Euphemia scoffed, feeling her anger rise once again. “But I felt wronged, being crowned with such a loving title after what happened to my brother .”

“Whatever happened is in the past, you mustn’t let the blame fall on him. Show yourself as a devoted sister, the ever-dutiful nurse,” Cerelle warned sternly.

Euphemia considered her words. It was indeed wiser not to speak ill of others, especially when she was still uncertain of her place in the court. She needed to present herself as a rose—opening her arms like petals and hiding her thorns beneath them.

The two friends walked through the castle's winding corridors, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. The scent of fresh flowers from the castle gardens wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread from the kitchens. Servants bowed as they passed, their eyes filled with curiosity and respect.

As they strolled, Cerelle shared stories of her time at Casterly Rock, her laughter like music to Euphemia’s ears. The memories of their carefree days as young maidens brought a sense of nostalgia, a brief respite from the burdens of court life.

—--------------------------------------------

As the evening approached, Euphemia stood in her chamber, surrounded by maids bustling about, preparing her for the ball. The scent of lavender and rose water filled the air as they brushed out her long, ginger-pink hair, pinning it up into an elaborate coiffure adorned with delicate pearls and golden filigree. A stunning gown of sage green silk, embroidered with golden thread, lay draped across a nearby chair, shimmering in the light of the setting sun.

Euphemia took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The whispers and stares she had endured throughout the day still lingered in her mind, casting a shadow over her thoughts.

“My lady, you look absolutely radiant,” her lady-in-waiting said, fixing the final pin in her hair.

“Thank you, Liora,” Euphemia replied with a soft smile. “It is beautiful work.”

Just as she began to relax, the door to her chamber opened, and Adlyn, strode in. He glanced around the room, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the scene, but there was a warmth in his gaze that belied his serious demeanor.

“Leave us,” he commanded the maids, who quickly curtsied and exited the room, leaving the siblings alone.

“Adlyn,” Euphemia began, but he cut her off with a firm raised hand.

“Euphemia, you must understand the importance of this night,” he said, his voice resolute. “Your return to court is not merely a personal matter. It is a matter of our family’s honor and standing. You must shut down these rumors and reassert your place in court.”

She sighed, feeling the weight of his words. “I know, Adlyn. But it’s not easy. The things they say…”

He stepped closer, his expression softening as he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You are stronger than you realize, sister. You have always been a beacon of grace and dignity. And there is another matter. Your relationship with Cregan must be mended. The hand´s support is crucial.”

Euphemia’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Lord Stark is attending? I haven’t seen him all day. Where is he?”

“He has been working in his office, dealing with important matters of the realm.” he answered

Euphemia nodded slowly in agreement. “I will do what I must. But, Adlyn, you must promise me something.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”

“Promise me that we will find a way to honor our family without sacrificing your own or anyone else's happiness,” she said, her voice steady but pleading.

Adlyn’s stern demeanor softened further, and he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “I promise, Euphemia. But first, you must attend the ball and show them all the strength and grace of our house.”

She nodded, her resolve strengthening. “I will, Adlyn.”

Adlyn's gaze softened even more as he looked at his sister, adorned in her splendid gown. “You look absolutely stunning, Euphemia. Your presence alone will silence many of those whispers. They cannot help but be captivated by your grace and beauty.”

Euphemia blushed slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, Adlyn. Your words mean a great deal to me.”

With a final glance in the mirror, she left her chamber, ready to step into the ballroom and reclaim her place in the world she had once known so well.

—----------------------

The ballroom was a dazzling display of opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the assembly of nobles, their rich attire creating a sea of vibrant colors and shimmering fabrics. Music filled the air, and the scent of roses and fine food wafted through the room. Lords and Ladies of many houses could be spotted introducing themselves and greeting the royal couple.

Euphemia descended the grand staircase holding her brother's arm, feeling eyes turn toward her. Whispers and murmurs rose as she made her entrance, but she held her head high, her expression serene.

They moved gracefully through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and smiles, determined to show no sign of the turmoil within. As they approached the throne where the king and queen were seated, they both did a deep bow to the couple. The young children of the royal couple returned a courtly nod, still visibly affected by the Dance that had impacted House Targaryen.

The winners of the tourneys were soon summoned, and they stepped forward to claim their appointed Queens of Love and Beauty. Each champion approached their chosen lady with a graceful bow, extending their hands to invite them for a dance. The room watched with bated breath as the tradition unfolded, the air thick with anticipation and admiration.

Euphemia stood at the edge of the gathering, observing the pageantry with a mixture of admiration and longing. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find Cregan standing before her, his expression softened by a warm, earnest smile.

“Lady Tyrell,” he began, his voice steady and kind. “May I have this dance?”

She hesitated for a moment, memories of their previous discord lingering in her mind. But the sincerity in his eyes and the gentle strength of his presence reassured her. She placed her hand in his, and he led her to the center of the ballroom.

As they took their places, the musicians struck up a harmonious tune, and the dance began. Cregan guided her gracefully across the floor, their movements synchronized and fluid. The murmurs and whispers in her head faded into the background, leaving only the music and the rhythm of their steps.

“I owe you an apology,” Euphemia said softly as they danced. “I acted out of anger and grief, and I regret the rift it has caused between us.”

Cregan’s gaze softened, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I understand. These are difficult times for all of us. But we are stronger together, and I want to put this behind us.”

She nodded, a sense of relief washing over her. “Thank you, my Lord. Your support means more to me than you know.”

As they continued to dance, the court watched in awe. The once turbulent rumors seemed to dissipate, replaced by admiration for Euphemia’s grace and poise.

The dance ended, and Cregan bowed deeply to her. Euphemia returned the gesture with a graceful curtsy, her heart lightened by the reconciliation. And as they parted, Cregan noticed the smirks and snickers of his friends.

“Your time here has turned you into a true southerner, my lord,” one of them commented, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Good thing we’re returning home on the morrow,” Cregan replied, trying to maintain his composure as he chugged his wine, hoping to calm his nerves.

“She really has you in her grasp, doesn’t she, son? I’ve never seen you visibly shiver like that,” Lord Mormont added, his voice low and mocking.

“Can’t blame the lad. Have you seen her? In that piece of silk she calls a dress, she’s a living torment. I saw her today at the sept, praying like a good, devoted follower, while she carries herself as the embodiment of a siren at night.”

“Why are you lusting after her like a starved dog? She already has a thing with the Lannister,” a third friend chimed in, giving his friend a harsh push.

“What?” Cregan’s voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing .

“She apparently lived her childhood there as a ward. While there was never a confirmed betrothal to Leonore, everyone knows he’ll be the one to take her as bride.”

Cregan’s blood began to boil. Losing her meant losing the treaty for the North. That sly fox of Highgarden had misled him. Cregan could not hope for any aid if the marriage pact was not honored, and he couldn't take revenge anymore by marching his army across Westeros and the Reach to cleanse the lands of remaining supporters of the usurper. Blinded by rage, Cregan marched to Adlyn, his steps heavy with purpose, requesting a private word. Adlyn followed, his face a mask of concern, praying it had nothing to do with whatever his sister might have said.

“You liar,” Cregan hissed, his voice low but venomous.

“My lord?” Adlyn replied, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“The betrothal. With the Lannister,”

“What? No, you misunderstand—” Adlyn began, but Cregan cut him off.

“You take me for a fool? You think you can just break your word to me and get away with it? I let you off the hook the first time, but now it is war.”

“What do you mean by bethroting the Lannister? If that is what you want with yourself, you can just go and ask Tyland and leave me be. I have little influence there, friend,” Adlyn said, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his unease.

Cregan’s hands itched to lash out at Adlyn´s fake innocence, to punch that pretty face, to burn his lands, to take his sister as a war prize, but he restrained himself, opting to finish this fight with the same fire the southerners played with.

“You lied to me about your sister’s hand. She is already set to marry the heir of Casterly Rock.”

“Leonore? No, no. I mean, Father intended for it, and I suppose if I hadn’t promised her to you, I would have given her to him, but there was no actual promise made to them. Cregan, she is yours, just as we discussed,” Adlyn said, his voice earnest, his eyes wide with sincerity.

“Then why do people still spread rumors of them?” Cregan demanded, his voice rising.

“This is court. People love to spark fights they can’t extinguish. Besides except for us and Crayn, there really isn’t anyone I have told,” Adlyn replied, his voice calming, hoping to soothe Cregan’s anger.

“She doesn’t know?” Cregan asked, his voice now quieter, but still tinged with anger.

“I wanted to tell her, believe me, but I feared making her upset. While a marriage with the house Stark is an honor, I suppose she preferred a marriage that wouldn’t drift her far from home. That’s why Father was keen on marrying her to the Lannister. She was a ward there, her dearest companion is his sister, and she and Leonore get along. It might have been a marriage filled with love.” he explained

“Are you implying that I am responsible for an upcoming ruin in her life?” Cregan’s voice was low, dangerous.

“Possibly. But a marriage with Leonore would only serve her. I might have allowed that if I had many others in my house to make use of, but I don’t. My child is unborn, my brother is already married to the Hightower to keep Old Town under supervision. So, it is on her to do her part in serving our house and the realm,” Adlyn said, his voice firm but not unkind.

“What of the Lannisters?” Cregan asked, his voice softer now.

“They love her whether she is married to them or not, and therefore they love us. Furthermore, she’ll prevent bloodshed in their lands, so I think they owe her gratitude,” Adlyn explained, his voice calming, trying to diffuse the tension.

“So, when will you announce it? Our betrothal?” Cregan asked, his voice steady but demanding.

“I was hoping to depart with you to the North for the Great Harvest festival before the winter and announce it there. The later she knows, the easier she’ll accept it,” Adlyn replied, his voice steady but his eyes once again betraying his concern.

“I don’t care about you protecting your relationship with her. I want it announced tonight in front of everyone, or I’ll have His Grace announce it in your stead,” Cregan smirked, turning on his heel and leaving Adlyn with no chance to protest.

—----------------------------------------------------

The grand hall was filled with the buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses as the nobility of the kingdom gathered for the annual midsummer feast. Tapestries adorned the walls, and chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the assembled guests. Adlyn, standing at the head of the room, tapped his glass with a silver spoon, the chime drawing the room to a hushed silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Adlyn began, his voice carrying with the authority and ease of one accustomed to command. "I have an announcement of great importance to make this evening."

Euphemia, standing beside him, smiled politely, unaware of the storm about to break over her head. Her delicate fingers played with the edge of her gown, her mind wandering to the music and laughter echoing through the hall.

"Tonight," Adlyn continued, his eyes scanning the crowd before resting on Euphemia, "I am pleased to announce the betrothal of the Lord Hand Cregan Stark and the Lady Euphemia Tyrell."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. The hall erupted into applause and cheers, but Euphemia stood frozen, her smile faltering only for a moment. Inside, her heart raced and her mind struggled to process the shock, but she quickly composed herself, maintaining a calm and graceful facade.

Adlyn leaned in, whispering, "It is for the best, Euphemia. Please, trust me."

Euphemia's lips curved into a faint, practiced smile. She nodded subtly, acknowledging the congratulations of those around her, while a tempest of emotions churned within. Hurt, betrayal, and confusion welled up, but she swallowed it all, determined to uphold the decorum expected of her.

Cregan, who had been standing quietly by, looked at her with a mixture of triumph and concern. He reached for her hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Euphemia," he said softly, "this union will strengthen our families and our kingdom. It is an honor."

Euphemia's eyes met his, her smile never wavering. "Of course, my Lord. I am... honored." Her voice was steady, though her heart was not.

The room's atmosphere remained jubilant, the guests blissfully unaware of the turmoil beneath Euphemia's composed exterior. She moved through the throng of well-wishers, accepting their congratulations with grace, while her thoughts spiraled inward.

"How could they decide this without me?" she pondered silently, her heart aching. "How could they assume I would agree without even asking?"

Her inner turmoil was a stark contrast to the celebratory air of the evening. The weight of the decision made on her behalf pressed heavily on her, but she knew better than to show discontent.

As the feast continued, Euphemia found a quiet moment to herself, stepping out onto a balcony overlooking the moonlit gardens. The cool night air was a balm to her heated thoughts.

Adlyn approached her, his expression softening. "Euphemia," he said gently, "I know this is sudden, but it is for the greater good."

Euphemia turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You could have asked me, Adlyn. You could have considered my feelings."

"I thought you would understand," Adlyn replied, his voice tinged with regret.

"I understand duty," Euphemia said quietly, "but I also understand respect. I wish you had shown me that."

With that, she turned back to the gardens, her calm exterior belying the storm within. She knew she would face the future and move on , but the wound of this night would not soon heal.

For the rest of the night, Euphemia played her part perfectly, expressing her contentment with the marriage and sharing dances with Cregan that were all but stiff and cold. Each step was measured, each smile a mask. She even found a moment to approach the Lannisters, offering her apologies for any perceived slights and successfully earning their forgiveness.

When the ball finally drew to a close, Euphemia excused herself, her facade cracking as soon as she was out of sight. She fled back to her chambers, the tears she had held back all evening finally spilling over. She collapsed onto the floor, weeping into the plush carpet, the weight of the night's betrayal too much to bear.

It wasn't until her lady-in-waiting, Liora, found her that she stirred. Liora gently helped her out of her uncomfortable gown and into bed. "My lady," Liora whispered, her voice full of concern, "you must rest."

Euphemia nodded weakly, her tears subsiding as exhaustion took over. "Thank you, Liora," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

As she finally drifted off to sleep, Euphemia clung to the hope that tomorrow would bring clarity, even as the pain of betrayal lingered in her heart.

Euphemia's sleep was sadly cut short by a harsh knock at her chamber door. Groggy and disoriented, she whispered for her guard, Ser Wayne, but received no answer. With trepidation, she stood and opened the door, only to find Cregan standing before her.

Cregan's gaze lingered on her for a moment, taking in her swollen eyes, a clear indication of her grief, and her nightgown, which left her in a somewhat indecent state. He quickly turned his back to her before speaking.

"The king wishes to see you," he said curtly. "The young man cannot seem to fall asleep. He has been plagued by nightmares," I assume.

"And what can I offer my lord?" she asked curiously, fearing that the king wished for her to warm his bed

"Your singing," he replied, "I thought that might sedate him."

"Of course," she continued, relieved, "please allow me to fetch a proper gown and a chaperone."

"You think I will allow anyone else to witness the king in this state?" Cregan yelled quietly, turning back to her, taking off his coat and handing it to her. "You must come alone and now."

Euphemia hesitated but knew better than to argue. She took the coat and draped it over herself, its warmth providing little comfort but enough decency. As soon as she was covered, Cregan grabbed her wrist and led her through the dimly lit halls.

The journey felt interminable, each echoing step amplifying her anxiety. She struggled to keep pace with Cregan's brisk stride, her mind racing with worry of being caught and having her virtue but to question

Finally, they reached the king's chambers. Cregan paused outside the door, his grip on her wrist loosening slightly. "Do your best to calm him," he instructed, his tone softer now. "The king needs his rest,"

Euphemia nodded, her heart aching with the sight of the troubled child. She gently stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. The young king was huddled alone on the large bed, eyes wide with fear.

"Mother," the king's weary voice called from a nearby chair, his face etched with concern, mistaking her for his dead mother. "I miss you mommy."

Euphemia gave a small, respectful bow before approaching the bed. She sat down on the edge, cradling the boy and began to hum a soothing lullaby, her voice soft and melodic. The child's tense body began to relax, his eyes growing heavy as her song filled the room.

As she sang, Cregan felt a surge of tenderness. Despite having outgrown his childhood, Cregan felt yearning for joining them and laying his head on her tender breasts.

When the song ended, the king was sound asleep, their nightmares banished for the night. Euphemia stood and turned to the Cregan, who snapped from his absurd thoughts and gave her a grateful nod.

"Thank you, Lady Euphemia," he whispered. "You have done us all a great service."

With a final nod, Euphemia quietly left the room, Cregan followed her just outside, grabbed her wrist once again and escorted her back to her chambers, neither of them speaking a word. As they reached her door, he finally broke the silence.

"You did well tonight," he said, his voice devoid of its usual sternness.

Euphemia merely nodded, too exhausted to respond. She slipped back into her room, closing the door softly behind her. Alone once more, she allowed herself a quiet reflection before finally succumbing to sleep, hoping for a respite from the day's emotional upheaval.

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