#aegon targaryen for ts

[hellsbellschime]

Good Lordt, the Aegon girlies are truly his strongest soldiers.

LOL being an Aegon stan is a straight war zone, godspeed to them all.

[freya-captain]

Aegon: You don’t need to save me🎵

Aegon: But would you run away with me?🎵

Jacaerys: …Hell no

[tbtgtr-incorrectquotes]

HOTD:

Yeah, now that Maelor pointed it out, the Greens boys would hate Aemon and all of Naerys's sons

Actually, Jon and Aegon get along pretty great and Aenys (Gael’s son) has taken a shine to Aemond. Maekar is bitterly despised by all the Green kids though because he’s another Daemon tormenting you alongside his father although he’s kind to Helaena. And Aerion and Alyssa are in the play nice category because they’re never overtly cruel although firmly on the Black’s side. They’re still cruel though on occasions.

[peachysunrize]

"Aemond's Hall of Sins"

what do you think would be 7 sinful tho(ugh)ts Aemond would have/be into? can be either thinking of a street of silk!reader (whore), his betrothed, ābrazȳrys (wife), servant!reader or he could be imagining 7 kinks (or whatever turns him on...) all while flicking his wrist at his tip, stroking his cock in an o shape, squeezing at his base, thumbing at his slit...

i was inspired to do this ask solely based off of your blog desc 🤭

Heheheeeeeeeeeeee i loooove this

He’s not as scandalous as Aegon so the safe choice is to do those things with someone within the castle walls! So he’ll go with servant reader🤭

7 sins of Aemond Targaryen

1. Sinful thoughts about servant!reader in her clothes

Oh my man would imagine her cleaning his room while he’s stroking his cock slowly, matching her pace as she folds his clothes and arranges his books

2. Sinful fantasies about her lips

It’s not just that he wants to slip his cock past those luscious lips no not just that, but he wants to kiss them too and make sure it’s his name falling from them

3. Sinful size difference

Oh he would lose his miiiiiind over this!! Pretty little thing shorter than him, having to crane your neck to look at him which he always helps you with by a finger under your chin

4. Sinful mouth & god complex

He would corner your stuttering figure to a wall, trying to explain why you were touching yourself on his bed but he is just sweet talking to you saying how he enjoyed the sight and how important that made him feel and when he has you on his back while fulfilling your dreams, he is pouring high valyrian words into your ear but you don’t understand him, because you’ve never encountered with a vlayrian god like him

5. Sinful & lustful thoughts

He has been trying to shake the thought of getting you pregnant out of his head, but how can he? How can he when he remembers how pretty you looked all spread out and sweaty with your maid dress pulled down and tits out? How can he not think about giving you his royal seed until you have pretty Targaryen kids of your own? Hmm?

6. Sinful deadly jealousy

The Seven would have his head but he would kill if a commonly man ever tries to approach you. You are his, his to fuck, his servant, his pretty little whore, and he thinks about how he’ll fuck you blood-soaked after killing those men as he strokes his leaking cock at night to this idea

7. Sinful submission

Sometimes he needs to be held down and get fucked roughly, sometimes he succumbs to the temptation and allows you to ride him and hold the side of his neck while you grind your hips to his. And oh he loves every second of it — having you bouncing and drooling on top of him while he has his hands behind his head and he’s getting choked

[agirlsawalittlerose]

SILK STRINGS

Aegon x OFC

Aegon Targaryen wanted nothing to do with that cursed crown. So, he fled to Volantis, hoping to live the good life amidst spiced wine, exotic whores, and strange customs, all paid for with the gold he'd stolen from the throne. But when he awoke outside the Black Walls of East Volantis, with no memory of how he had ended up there, he found himself entangled in the machinations of the Triarchy’s elections. With the help of an unlikely ally, he would come to understand the true value of power.

TW: Eventual Smut, Non-Con, slavery, sexism, inaccurate lore, canon divergent

Chapter 1: Volantis

Chapter 2: Dragonlords, C**ts & Tigers

Chapter 3: Marital Duties & Lust

CHAPTER 4: Cherries & Baths

Every breath Aegon took tasted of the warm, perfumed air of the room that had been given to him in the Maegyr palace. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar surroundings, tracing the contours of the luxurious silks and tapestries that adorned the walls. The weight of his new identity pressed on him as he laid on the bed, trying to piece together his situation in this alien land. Then, a soft knock echoed through the chamber.

He stirred, sitting up, his brow furrowing. His heart beat faster. Who could be calling on him at this hour?

He swung his legs off the bed, feet hitting the cool stone floor as he approached the door.

When he opened it, there stood Dila Maegyr, the lady of the house, in her flowing nightgown. She said nothing, her expression unreadable, but her eyes gleamed with something he could not place. Without a word, she stepped forward, crossing the threshold into his chambers.

Aegon opened his mouth, his voice low and confused. "What are you doing here?"

But Dila didn't answer. Instead, she closed the gap between them, her hand reaching for his chest as she pulled him down into a kiss-raw at first, even if not hesitant, then deepening into something more urgent, more demanding.

He felt the warmth of her body pressing against his, her breath mingling with his as her hands roamed over his skin. The world blurred around them, the air thickening with the heady scent of her perfume.

His own hands found their way to her hips, drawing her closer still, the heat between them undeniable. They stumbled together toward the bed, lips never parting. When her body met his, there was a moment of undeniable clarity, a moment where everything else ceased to matter but the feel of her skin against his.

Their bodies moved in a rhythm that felt ancient, inevitable, as though it had been written in the stars long before either of them had ever met. Aegon's breath came in gasps, his fingers tangling in the silk of her skin. And then, as he reached the peak of his pleasure, she whispered his name-his true name.

"Aegon..."

The sound of it pierced through the haze of passion like a blade, and suddenly, he was awake.

His eyes flew open, heart hammering in his chest, the sheets beneath him soaked with sweat. His breath came in ragged gasps as he sat up, staring into the darkness of the room. For a moment, he was disoriented, unsure of what had just happened, unsure if he had truly heard her voice or if it had been the remnants of the dream clinging to his mind.

His body still ached with the remnants of the dream, a burning desire that had not faded with his waking. He looked down at himself and cursed softly under his breath. His body had betrayed him, still hard and throbbing from the dream, and there was no mistaking the evidence of his arousal.

Before he could collect himself, another knock came at the door-this one real.

His heart skipped a beat, and he froze for a moment, his mind still lingering on the dream. He swung his legs over the side of the bed once more, but this time, there was no sign of Dila when he opened the door.

Instead, it was one of Qorlo's slaves, a girl with long dark hair, her eyes were pitch black like pools of night. She bowed her head respectfully.

"Our dear guest," she said, her voice as smooth as silk, "My Lord Qorlo has requested your presence at breakfast."

Aegon blinked, trying to shake off the lingering fog of the dream, but he couldn't help the flush of embarrassment that crawled up his neck. "Breakfast... right," he muttered, half to himself. He hesitated, looking down at his still-visible erection. There was no way he could present himself in front of Qorlo-or anyone else, for that matter—in this state.

The slave girl, whose name he couldn't quite recall-something long and full of consonants, noticed his predicament almost immediately. She glanced down, and then back up at him, her expression unchanging, as though the sight was entirely ordinary.

"If it pleases my lord," she said in a tone as casual as discussing the weather, "I can assist with your... discomfort."

Aegon stared at her, utterly speechless.

It wasn't that he hadn't heard of such things-Volantis, after all, was known for its excesses and strange customs— but hearing it so plainly offered made him momentarily lose his grip on words.

He chuckled, shaking his head as if to dispel the strangeness of it all.

“Volantis.." he muttered, mostly to himself. "You lot certainly are something."

The girl didn't move, waiting for his response, entirely unfazed by the absurdity of the situation.

Aegon ran a hand through his hair, still damp with sweat from the dream. "No, I’Il manage," he said finally, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Tell Qorlo l'Il be along shortly."

The girl bowed again, murmuring something he didn't quite catch, and disappeared through the door, leaving Aegon alone in the dimly lit room.

As the door clicked shut, he let out a long, exasperated breath, sinking back onto the bed. Volantis truly was a strange place.

Aegon entered the dining hall still shaken from the strange dream that clung to his mind like a lingering mist. His skin still tingled from the heat of it, his pulse uneven, but he composed himself, masking the remnants of his turmoil beneath practiced indifference. The scent of roasted meats and exotic spices hung in the air, mingling with the breeze that drifted in from the nearby river.

Qorlo, seated at the head of the long table, greeted him with a boisterous smile, arms wide as though welcoming an old friend. “Dear guest, you rise with the sun! Come, join us!” His voice boomed across the chamber, drawing every gaze to the Targaryen prince. Aegon had seen that enthusiasm before in men who wielded power as a weapon, their joviality masking something darker.

He approached the table, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment, and then he saw Dila.

She sat with an elegance that could only come from noble blood, her back straight, her pale hair cascading down one shoulder. She was delicately plucking cherries from a silver bowl, her slender fingers red with the juice. As she brought one to her lips, Aegon found himself mesmerized, the memory of his dream crashing over him like a wave. It wasn’t her—it hadn’t been real—but here she was, as vivid and beautiful as the fantasy had been, and something twisted in his chest and his cock betrayed him one more time.

“Good morning, my lord,” Dila said, her voice like silk, though her eyes barely flicked to him as she spoke, more interested in her fruit than the conversation.

Qorlo laughed, oblivious or indifferent to the tension in Aegon’s shoulders. “We have much to discuss, my friend,” he said, gesturing for Aegon to sit. “Days of celebrations and debates await you.”

“It is the way of Volantis, to test the worth of those who would be Triarch.” Dila added, casually wiping her chin with a finger.

Aegon settled into a chair across from her, his mind half-occupied by the words spoken to him, but the other half still captivated by the woman before him. Her lips, stained red by the cherries, moved as she spoke, though it took him a moment to focus on what she was saying.

“The endless posturing of men who think themselves gods among mortals,” Dila said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Ten days of hollow words and empty promises. A tradition, indeed.” She placed another cherry between her lips, her eyes gleaming with a quiet challenge.

Qorlo’s jovial smile faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing, though the smile remained. “Dila, my dear, always so full of opinions.” His voice took on a more measured tone, though it was clear that the remark had stung his pride. “You are as beautiful as you are clever,” he added, a half-hearted compliment that felt more like a reminder of her place.

Aegon watched the exchange, noting the undercurrent of tension between them. There was something unsettling about the way Qorlo praised her, the way he wielded her beauty like a weapon to silence her sharp wit.

She smiled sweetly, though her eyes betrayed the sharpness of her thoughts.

“Beauty,” she said, her voice soft but biting. “Such a fine thing for a woman to have when there’s so little else to be expected of her.”

Qorlo’s smile tightened, his annoyance evident now, though he tried to hide it behind a veneer of affection. “My love, you grow too bold.” His hand shot out, curling around the back of her neck, his fingers digging into her skin just enough to make her stiffen. He pulled her toward him, hard, the movement rough and unyielding.

Dila turned her face slightly, as if trying to avoid it, but Qorlo didn't relent. His other hand cupped her cheek, fingers pressing with enough force to make it seem like he was holding something fragile that might shatter if squeezed too tight.

The kiss that followed was not gentle, not tender-it was a show of control, a reminder of her place before their guest.

Aegon averted his gaze, unease creeping into his chest. The forced intimacy, the way her body tensed under Qorlo's grip, made him feel like an intruder in something too private and too wrong.

There was nothing of passion or love in that kiss, only power, and it left a sour taste in Aegon’s mouth. His mind drifted to his dream again, where Dila had been free, unrestrained by the weight of such dynamics. But this was not a dream, and here she was bound to a man who seemed to see her as little more than a trophy.

When Qorlo finally released her, Dila’s eyes flicked toward Aegon, a flash of something unreadable in their depths before she composed herself once more. The tension in the room was palpable, though Qorlo acted as if nothing had happened, returning to his food with the same easy smile he had worn before.

“So,” Qorlo said, breaking the silence as though the kiss had been nothing more than an affectionate peck, “What do you think, my friend? Will these next few days prove a challenge for you? Or will you impress the people of Volantis with your noble charm?”

Aegon forced a smile, his thoughts still tangled between the dream, Dila, and the strange, disquieting dynamics of this house. “I imagine Volantis has its own way of testing men,” he said carefully, vague, still unsure to be part of this scheme. His words were as measured as Qorlo’s had been moments before.

As he spoke, he felt Dila’s gaze on him once more, and despite himself, he couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts swirled behind those knowing eyes.

************

Steam rose from the bath, curling in lazy tendrils around Aegon’s head as he sank deeper into the warm water. The soft sound of water lapping against the edges of the marble tub echoed in the stillness of the chamber. A faint scent of roses filled the air, mingling with the sharp tang of oils. Orella, another one of the slaves Qorlo had assigned him, the only one with a name fairly easy to remember, knelt beside him, her hands working a damp cloth over his shoulders and chest, the oil leaving a slick sheen on his skin.

Aegon watched her from beneath lowered lids. She was a slight thing, a tiny slender girl in truth, yet there was a grace in the way she moved, a careful precision that spoke of years spent in service. Her long, pale hair—blonde, almost silver like his own—caught the light, framing a face that might have been Valyrian were it not for her eyes. They were a deep, endless black, so dark they swallowed the light.

He wondered how she had come to be here, in the service of a man like Qorlo, and if there were others like her within the walls of this great house. It was not often he saw someone who bore the traits of Valyria, yet was not of the blood. The thought gnawed at him, a curiosity he couldn’t shake.

Orella’s hands moved lower, stroking the cloth along his abdomen. Her touch was light, practiced, but Aegon sensed the flicker of something more. She was aware of him—his presence, his silence. And so was he, aware of her.

“You are a quiet man,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she dipped the cloth into the water again.

Aegon glanced at her, offering a faint smile. “I have little to say.”

Orella chuckled, her voice soft, as she worked. “You’re getting used to the palace.”

Aegon glanced at her, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Am I?”

She nodded slightly. “Not many outsiders take to it so quickly. It’s… large. Can be overwhelming.”

Aegon leaned back, stretching his arms along the sides of the tub. “I’ve been in bigger places,” he said, his tone light but nonchalant. “Though, I imagine not as… old as this one.”

Orella gave a faint smile. “Lady Dila’s family has had it for generations. Lord Qorlo’s done well to keep it running.”

“Done well, has he?” Aegon mused, his gaze flicking to her. “Qorlo seems the type who knows how to get what he wants.”

Orella didn’t immediately answer, her hands continuing their gentle task. “He does,” she said quietly. “But it’s easier when the palace already belongs to his wife.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow, amused at the candidness of her statement. “Ah, of course. A powerful family, then.”

Orella’s lips pressed into a thin line, though she nodded. “Very powerful. Old blood.” She shifted slightly, as if the conversation was treading on familiar, yet careful ground.

Aegon let the silence stretch for a moment, feigning disinterest as he traced the edge of the marble tub. “It must’ve been a good match for him,” he said offhandedly. “Though, it’s strange. For someone so… capable, you’d think he’d have found fortune for himself earlier.”

Orella’s movements slowed, the cloth still in her hand. She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “He did. With the woman before Lady Dila.”

Aegon stilled, the shift in her tone catching his attention. He didn’t press immediately, letting her words settle before responding, his voice casual. “Oh? I didn’t know.”

Orella looked down at the water, her fingers brushing lightly over the surface. “Not many speak of it.”

Aegon’s interest piqued, but he kept his tone light, almost disinterested. “What happened?”

Orella paused, her eyes still lowered. “Some say she was ill. Others… well, it’s not polite to speculate.”

Aegon watched her closely, his curiosity sharpening. “Volantis must be full of… accidents.”

Orella met his gaze briefly, then looked away, the cloth slipping back into the water. “It is a city of whispers,” she murmured.

Aegon leaned back, allowing the steam to rise around him again, his thoughts churning.

Orella paused for a moment, her hand stilling on his skin. She looked up at him, her dark eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “But Lady Dila is… strong,” she said slowly. “Lord Qorlo always speaks of her beauty, but her strength comes from here.” She tapped her temple lightly, her lips quirking into a small smile.

Aegon nodded, though he said nothing. His thoughts lingered on Dila, the way she carried herself, the power that seemed to radiate from her even in the quiet moments. He had seen her from a distance, but he had yet to truly understand her. There was more to her, that much was certain.

As his thoughts wandered, he muttered something under his breath, a curse in the Common Tongue. It was a small slip, a habit ingrained so deeply that it came without thought. But Orella’s head snapped up, her black eyes suddenly alight with curiosity.

“You speak another tongue,” she said, her voice soft but eager. “What did you say?”

Aegon blinked, realizing his mistake. He had been careful to hide his past, to play the part of the man with no memory. Yet, now, this girl—this slave—had caught a glimpse of something more.

“It is nothing,” he said, waving a hand dismissively.

But Orella wasn’t so easily deterred. “Teach me,” she said, her voice low, a quiet plea in her tone. “The words… what do they mean?”

Aegon hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But there was something in the way she looked at him, the way her hands moved over his skin, that made him relent.

“That,” he said slowly, “was a curse. Nothing you should repeat.”

Orella smiled, a small, secret smile, as she continued to wash him. “And how do you say… this in your tongue?” She asked nodding towards his hand.

Her fingers brushed against his arm, her touch light and lingering as she waited for his answer. Aegon felt a heat rise within him, a flicker of desire that went straight to his head.

“This?” he repeated, his voice a little rougher now. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to remain composed. “We say ‘hand.’”

“Hand,” Orella echoed, her voice soft as she stroked his arm. She let the word linger in the air, tasting it as though it were something sweet.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, they simply stared at one another, the steam swirling around them. Orella’s hands stilled on the edge of the tub, her fingers slipping away from the cloth as she leaned slightly closer, her breath warm against his skin.

“And how do you say… this?” she asked, her voice a soft murmur, as if the words held a deeper meaning than what they implied.

The question hung between them, thick with an unspoken invitation. Aegon hesitated, the heat of the bath mingling with the sudden warmth rising within him. But before he could form an answer, Orella’s lips found his, tentative at first, soft and searching, as if testing the waters.

Aegon broke the kiss, breathless, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked at her, searching for any sign of hesitation, but her dark eyes were fixed on his, filled with a hunger he hadn’t expected.

“Kiss,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. “We call it ‘kiss.’”

Orella smiled, a knowing smile, before she leaned in again, her lips brushing against his once more.

Aegon didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands instinctively found her waist, fingers curling around the fabric of her dress as he pulled her closer, her body hovering just above the water. The kiss deepened, the initial hesitation between them melting away as he drew her closer still, his hands urging her forward until she stood at the edge of the tub, caught between joining him and lingering on the brink.

Aegon's grip tightened around her waist, urging her forward until Orella took a tentative step, her foot slipping into the warm water. The fabric of her dress clung to her skin as she carefully stepped into the tub, her movements slow and deliberate.

The water lapped around her legs as she sank down to straddle him, the once-tentative kiss deepening further as her hands came to rest on his shoulders, pulling him closer. Aegon's fingers trailed along her back, feeling the wet material stick to her skin, the heat of the bath enveloping them both as she settled against him.

He felt the heat of her body pressed against his, the scent of roses filling his lungs as the water sloshed around them. Orella’s fingers trailed over his chest, her touch growing bolder with each passing second.

Aegon felt strange once again, but that whole day had already been too much for him. Sometimes you just need to surrender to your dick, he thought, and as Orella started riding him he couldn’t help but tilt his head back, his eyes closing with pleasure.

In that moment Aegon could have sworn he saw Dila instead. The pale strands of Orella’s hair blended with the image of Dila’s in his mind. For just a heartbeat, it was Dila’s face he imagined before him, her touch, her warm slit welcoming his aching cock.

But as he blinked, reality returned, and Orella was still there, her pale hair cascading down her shoulders.

************

That evening, the celebrations carried on without Aegon. Qorlo had insisted on leaving him behind at the palace, believing it best to let the whispers of the “Vala” spread further before his formal introduction into Volantene society. The feasts and revelry were in full swing, with wine flowing freely and the laughter of men too loud for anything meaningful to be heard.

Dila watched her husband move from one conversation to the next, already tipsy from too many toasts, his focus wandering between the influential men of the Tigers and the beautiful women who hovered around them like moths to a flame.

He had barely acknowledged her presence all night.

Dila had tried—truly tried—to bring up her ideas. Her husband, however, had waved her off with the same disinterest he always reserved for her politics. She had approached another Tiger noble, attempting to discuss the nuances of her thoughts on Volantene foreign policy, the importance of learning from other cultures, of studying the people beyond the Black Walls instead of dismissing them.

But the man—a stout, thick-necked lord with a sneer fixed permanently on his face—had barely heard a word she said. He offered a condescending smile and, with a dismissive wave, suggested she take her ideas to his wife. Or was it his mistress? Dila wasn’t sure anymore. Both women sat at his side, and the line between the two seemed to blur, much like the respect these men gave their wives.

Dila had smiled tightly, but inside, her blood boiled. How easy it was for these men to patronize her, to push aside her intellect because of the body she was born into. They could listen to her for hours if she were discussing the color of her gown or the latest fashion from Lys. But strategy, diplomacy? No. That was a man’s game.

Feigning a headache, she excused herself from the gathering, though it had taken all her strength to keep her composure. Her husband had been too engrossed in his conversations, in his wine, to notice when she left. It was nothing new. He often became blind to her when surrounded by the company of his peers.

As she made her way back to the palace, her irritation grew. The streets were alive with celebration, the air thick with the scents of spice and smoke, the sounds of drums and horns echoing off the ancient stone walls of the city.

It wasn’t just the insult of being dismissed—it was the frustration that no matter how much she understood the game of politics, no matter how well she knew the histories of their rivals or the intricacies of Volantene society, she would always be seen as an accessory. Beautiful, yes, intelligent, perhaps—but not someone to be taken seriously.

She clenched her fists, feeling the sharp bite of her nails digging into her palms. These men, these arrogant, self-absorbed lords of Volantis—they would never see her for what she was. They didn’t care to.

As she passed through the palace gates, the noise of the city faded behind her, replaced by the quiet, cool halls of the Maegyr estate. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm that had been raging inside her all evening.

It was then she thought of Aegon—left behind, out of sight and out of mind, just as she had been. There was a quiet strength in him, something deeper than the haughty arrogance of the Volantene nobles. Something broken, perhaps, but not in the way these men would ever understand. She felt a strange kinship with him, though they had barely spoken.

She wondered what he was doing now, alone in that grand, empty palace. Was he thinking of the coming days, of the impossible charade he was about to play for the benefit of men like Qorlo? Or was he simply enjoying the peace before being thrust into the political games he likely wanted no part of?

Dila shook her head, her irritation still simmering beneath the surface. She would deal with the men of Volantis in her own way, in her own time. But for now, she needed a moment to herself, away from their sneering faces and empty words. She had never been one to sit idle, and she wouldn’t start now—not when there was so much at stake.

Volantis would learn to respect her, one way or another.

Dila found Aegon in the palace gardens, lying back on a grand cushion, gazing up at the night sky. The stars above glittered in the cool evening air, and for a moment, she hesitated. There was a stillness to him in that moment, a quiet contemplation that made him appear softer than the hardened man she had come to know. Despite the shadows under his eyes, the weariness that hung around him like a cloak, he was undeniably handsome. Handsome in a way that made it easy to forget he was just a pawn in her husband’s game. His silver-gold hair, unruly as ever, caught the faint light of the stars, and the outline of his strong jaw contrasted with the perpetual frown that rested there.

For a moment, Dila allowed herself the indulgence of simply looking at him.

She approached, her steps soft on the stone path, and finally broke the silence with a dry, teasing tone. “Enjoying your captivity, are you?”

Aegon’s lips twitched at her words, though whether in amusement or disdain, it was hard to tell. He didn’t look at her immediately, continuing to stare up at the sky. “Daor iā morghūljagon, ynot pikhibagon emagon” It’s not as bad as I thought it would be—he replied, his voice low, almost a murmur.

Dila stopped just short of the cushion and arched a brow. “Daor.” She corrected as she took a seat beside him, crossing her legs beneath her gown. “Try again.”

Aegon finally turned his gaze to her, eyes narrowing slightly, as if assessing her intentions. “Daor iā morghūljagon, ynot pikhibagon emagon,” he repeated.

Dila let out a small, disapproving hum. “Morghūljagon? The word is muñaragon—bearable.”

Aegon scowled, repeating slowly, “Daor iā muñaragon.”

“Better,” Dila said, and her smile this time was genuine, free of its usual sharpness. For a brief moment, the mask she so often wore slipped, and Aegon saw something else beneath it. Something real.

It was fleeting, barely there, but it stirred something inside him. He could feel the heat rise to his face, though he masked it quickly, turning his attention back to the stars. Dila, however, was not one to let the moment linger without turning it to her advantage.

“You should be honored, you know,” she said, her voice shifting back to its usual, calculated tone. “To be the Vala. You’re helping a worthy cause.”

The words hung between them, thick with meaning. Aegon frowned again, the warmth he had felt just a moment before slipping away like sand through his fingers. The way her tone changed, the subtle manipulation in her voice, was all too familiar. She had slipped back behind her mask, the one she wore so often—clever, sharp, always in control.

He sighed, rolling his head to the side to look at her, the weight of his doubt heavy in his words. “What am I gaining from any of this, exactly?” he asked. “What’s in it for me?”

Dila’s eyes sparkled with that same cunning light, her smile now half a smirk. “You’re gaining the fact that you have a bed and food and we didn’t leave you to wander outside the Black Walls,” she replied smoothly, her tone as sharp as the edge of a blade.

Aegon’s jaw clenched, the casual threat in her words not lost on him. He wondered again what game she was playing, and how far she was willing to go. Every conversation with her felt like walking a tightrope, never quite knowing when she might push, or whether she was trying to pull him closer.

Before he could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed through the garden. Qorlo appeared, his wide frame casting a long shadow over them. His eyes lit up in surprise when he saw Dila beside Aegon.

“Dila,” Qorlo said, his voice booming with mock surprise. “I thought you had a headache.”

Aegon tensed slightly at the mention of the excuse. He had not known that she had used it to leave the celebration. His gaze flicked to Dila, watching how she would answer.

Dila barely hesitated. “I had some lavender tea, it passed,” she said smoothly, with a grace that left no room for doubt. She smiled as if the lie was the simplest, most natural thing in the world, and Aegon felt his surprise deepen. The ease with which she lied to her husband was unnerving.

Qorlo, oblivious or unconcerned, extended his hand to his wife. “Come, it’s late. Time to retire.”

Dila hesitated only briefly before accepting his hand, rising from the cushion with reluctant grace. “Goodnight, Vala,” she said, her voice soft, though there was a glint of something unreadable in her eyes.

Aegon watched as Qorlo pulled her close, planting a kiss on her temple as if to remind her—and perhaps Aegon as well—where her loyalty lay. He nodded, murmuring a quiet goodnight as the pair turned to leave.

As their footsteps faded into the distance, Aegon remained where he was, staring once again up at the stars. The tension in his chest lingered, a mix of desire, confusion, and something darker he couldn’t yet name.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

ASOIAF entities as main pop girlies

The Night's Watch = Katy Perry

Once upon a time, pop's most influential hit maker suddenly decided to dye her hair blonde and get a pixie cut, got political, and publicly spoke to a therapist who told her to get her shit together. Thus began her never-ending flop era.

In an unrelated sequence of events, Aegon I Targaryen (a weird blonde man) invaded Westeros, created a central political unit, told the different kingdoms to get their shit together, and cut off the NW's weekly supply of men since there were no more pointless wars going around. Thus began their never-ending flop era.

BTW Jon Snow is the NW's 'Harleys in Hawaii'....their first and only hit in a really long time :(

The Kingsguard = Taylor Swift

Very famous, very rich, very influential, actually has a history of producing incredible material. But every now and then, you get a pop album that's just so..... bleh :/ And is Jaime Lannister the Westeros version of Taylor's Reputation era? Idk, you tell me....

Also, remember how TS had a feud with KP but got more famous and successful as Katy faded into irrelevance? Yeah, me too. In the same vein, the KG continues to maintain its high reputation while its counterpart (the NW) becomes even more irrelevant than it already was, if that's even possible.

The Golden Company = Gaga

Exclusively for the gays and no one else. There's really no doubt about it. But Gaga hurt the fanbase when she decided to pivot into acting, which is currently giving her more success than the music stuff. The GC has a great reputation but comes from a history of flop rebellions. So they've pivoted to a "Targaryen" pretender in hopes that they can win big this time around.

The Rainbowguard = Charli XCX

Huh?? Shouldn't the Rainbow Guard be Gaga??!

Please 🙄 don't be ridiculous. They do not have the material, and that's the T. But they're both for the gals and the gays. And in the same way that Charli had like two hits then faded into the shadows, the Rainbow Guard really can only claim Loras and Brienne. The rest are inconsequential.

The Brotherhood Without Banners = Dula Peep (aka Dua Lipa)

Who doesn't know THE Albanian pop princess Dula Peep?? She new, she's hot, and she's from out of town! She's got good music, but critics say that she's been recycling the same sound for a while now which is getting stale. The BWB has fallen into the hands of a foreign red god, and critics say that they can't produce a hit anymore since they kept recycling the same Beric. They did it six times, which got a little stale...

The Faceless Men = Grimes

Grimes makes really good music, I think? Also, remember when she dated a douchebag billionaire, got dumped, then staged a PR stunt reading the communist manifesto? Me neither. Anyway, the FM are known for being very good assassins who sell their services for the highest price possible. They were also founded by slaves, but that's probably unrelated.

Maesters of the Citadel = SZA

The talent is there, the influence is there, and the reputation is there. But you cannot trust them because they like to lie a lot...unprovoked.

[BONUS] Robb Stark's Vanguard = Bebe Rexha

Bebe is responsible for some of the greatest pop hits of the 21st century; she's even written one of the greatest K-pop songs of all time, that's a whole other region!! She's the very face of talent, but she's unfortunately a blink and you'll miss it type of gal. The average Joe would most likely struggle to name more than two songs from her. Robb's Vanguard also has the talent. They have the material. But sadly, 90% of us would struggle to identify anyone not named Dacey Mormont. I mean, did you even remember that this group existed?

[BONUS] Tywin Lannister = Nicki Minaj

A very talented but messy bitch who likes to play around with extremely problematic people...do I need to elaborate any further?

[viscardiac]

it's been a Dayne day for some reason. you could even say a Day-ne. (ba dum ts). ALRIGHT BUCKLE UP FUCKOS IT'S TIME FOR VISCARDI'S NEW FAVE DELUSION (Dayne edition)

Fire and Blood cuts off at a particular point in Targaryen rule, the end of Aegon III's regency. He rules as king for 20 more years, before an early death. Then, his son, Daeron I, takes over, and The Bullshit™ with Dorne begins. Dornish takeover, which results in Dorne being brought into the Seven Kingdoms by his cousin nephew whatever Daeron 2 (electric boogaloo) later on.

Now. The Daynes are just. Overall. we don't really know jackshit about them. GRRM says he can't divulge their words bc it's a huge ass spoiler. My reasoning is bc they do become relevant later on, esp with the choice of Dyanna Dayne as wife to then Prince Maekar. Shit happens in Dorne and in court and i think that might be the reason why there's a postpone of the release of F&B2, aside from the obvious TWOW ordeal. I do think that's also why the choice of where to cut off might be there and not at the end of the dance or after his reign. F&B2 likely does contain context that helps with some of the unsolved things still going on in ASOIAF.

Anyways. We have Lady Dyanna Dayne, who gives birth, aside from Aegon, Aemon, and Daeron, to the three people of interest for this, Aerion, Daella, and Rhae. According to Aemon, Rhae and Daella have had children, and Aerion has had a wife, his cousin, Daenora, and with her, he had a son, whose "ill fated" name was Maegor. Aerion died guzzling down greek fire as we all know, but the fates of 1) Daella, 2) Rhae, 3) Daenora, and 4) Maegor are unknown aside from "existed" and "procreated" in the women's case. Those four are the only unnacounted for trueborn Targaryens we got. Everyone else was given a final location, like in Saera's case, where she was known to be in Volantis.

We have no idea who do Rhae and Daella are married to, if they indeed do get married. In Maegor's case, we don't even know if he made it past infancy. Daenora herself could have gotten married again, she was young when Aerion got himself killed.

My working theory here is that one of those folks married into house Dayne. Whoever those folks married, they're unnacounted for in the main tree. They were not given the name Targaryen. And it would have made sense to a certain degree that it was into Dyanna's house. It could have been any of them, but I sure as fuck would like if it was baby Maegor because it would be Particularly Funny.

I might be wrong, and i might not be, who knows. Something is UP with the Daynes and it happened after the conquest of Dorne.

Note: I do not account this as a secret targ theory because they're Not Targs. Whoever married into the house had their kids named Dayne and so on and so forth amen.

This has been me for this Day-ne's bullshit. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[melrosing]

Actually. Not even gonna be quiet about Aegon’s characterisation in HOTD because I feel like, as vile as he is, he almost breaks the fourth wall in that he alone seems to realise that the throne is something to be fucking dreaded. All other characters in ASOIAF/F&B if they’re not obsessed with the thing, are basically either disinterested or dispassionate, or simply regard it with a vague sense of duty at most, but Aegon’s reaction is a new one amongst all the contenders we’ve seen, because it’s not that he wants it or doesn’t want it, it’s simply that it terrifies him

And like his fear for the crown is visceral in this episode, because the second he claims it he knows that he transcends from some petty background villain with no true stakes in this narrative to someone with everything to lose, and he has to be dragged into the role. It’s like a character who knows he’s in a story and desperately doesn’t want to be

And then of course once he sees how the view looks from beneath a crown and sees what everyone else wants so badly but he’s been given… he gives into the role and the wall rises again and he’s claimed his place in the narrative after all. Like needless to say he’s a horrid person and this could’ve happened to better people lmao but this episode honestly gave me the vibes of an animal knowing it’s to be slaughtered whilst everyone else, including its own mother, call it ‘crowned’. It paints the way they drag him there with an inherent violence and it’s pitiful

[janiedean]

I used to think Aegon was not part of the show because in the book he is an impostor, now you're telling me his character and Daenerys' have been combined so she's going to die while fighting in the North while he's going to be crazy and use the dragons to destroy King's Landing?

anon I’m telling you that they combined aegon with both cersei and daenerys and that no he doesn’t have dragons. like, what I’m telling you is:

winds of winter is mostly about the end of the political situation, dream of spring is about fighting the others

aegon/jonc take king’s landing without dragons early/mid-wow and take cersei out because that’s what varys has been keeping her on the throne for and jonc probably loses some of his shit when the bells sound because he has that trigger and that’s it, and they conquer it with the golden company which they brought over from essos, then dany gets to westeros, someone informs her that oH HEY THERE’S A PRETENDER ON THE IRON THRONE and at her most likely lowest book moment she takes king’s landing from him with dragons and doesn’t do such a mess of it as in the show but at that same point you have the golden company fighting against her/the dragons and so on, and aegon’s mental health situation is not going to be the problem - like if he dies in KL tragically like that it’s just going to be tragic and heartbreaking for all of us poor souls who are invested but like... I honestly doubt that.

like: they gave jon c’s storyline to jorah, cersei and dany and they gave aegon’s to jon, dany and cersei splitting everything in fifteen different ways, that’s what they did. and that’s why it made no sense, since giving two people’s plot to four different characters three of which overlap is generally not a good idea. 

[toastyydoodles]

the rest of westeros: haha, what the fuck

[hellsbellschime]

But I think they kind of went full bore on Aegon being a rapist because they did soften Alicent/Otto/Aemond in the narrative, and I think they did it for the same reasons they decided to paint Daemon a lot darker in order to soften Rhaenyra. They still need to get to the main story beats of the book, and they can't do that if everyone is suddenly a sugarmuffin. Both sides become unrepentant kinslayers and/or genocidal maniacs in the books and, for instance, I'm finding hard to believe that the show version of Aemond is going to kill as many people as the book version just because he was in a bad mood - but these things still need to happen in order for the story to make sense, so I suspect we're going to see a lot of 'but Aegon/Daemon made me do it' as things go forward. I could be wrong but I think they kind of painted those two characters into their corners and I don't that is going to change going forward.

Well they may have had reasoning behind the decision but I still think it was a dumb one. I actually don't feel like they have softened a lot of the characters all that much, they're just not acknowledging their fucked up behavior in the narrative while obviously painting Aegon as incredibly monstrous. And to whitewash nearly every character in one way or another while taking F&B's account of Aegon, in a book that is obviously meant to be salacious, embellished, and unbelievable, was just a weird as hell decision to me.

[allineedistwentygoodmen]

A Crown Of Thorns, Chapter 1

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28045182/chapters/68705352#workskin

When Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Shaera Targaryen elope with each other, breaking off their betrothals to two great houses, King Aegon knows that he cannot let the act go unpunished.

So, stripping Jaehaerys of the title of Prince of Dragonstone, he names his twelve-year-old son Daeron his heir instead. Daeron, as well as his betrothed, young Olenna Redwyne, must now figure out how to navigate their rise in status, along with all the pitfalls that come with the lives of future monarchs.

Or, How does the game change when the Queen of Thorns is a queen in truth?

[tbtgtr-incorrectquotes]

Yeah, I feel like mistreating Daeron and Daenerys was yet another way for Aegon to torment Naerys, and by the time Naerys died, Aegon's beef with Daeron was also personal, while he was indifferent to Dany unless using her to torture Naerys (I'm sure Aegon would bring up a Daenerys/Daemon match just to try to get a reaction out of Naerys), so he just pretty much forgot about his only legitmate daughter after Naerys I passed.

The Targ's dynamic can be messes up, but Aegon IV took it to another level of rotten

absolutely, it's genuinely insane how much competition Aegon IV felt towards his son. Daenerys needed so much more beyond being Daeron's spare sister he could marry off. I like the Daemon/Daenerys plotline a little with her but it just doesn't given her any agency or us a sense of what she feels about it so I don't completely subscribe to it as eagerly as I do to other asoiaf crack theories.

Aegon IV being so spiteful to Naerys and 'We live as brother and sister' while he keeps on fucking her. oOOOOOOOOOOhhhhhhhhhh this is the pinnacle of how the incest has fucked them all up. Aegon grew up knowing he'd marry her no matter what, so this is how he perceives siblingdom, but Naerys has always wanted to be a septa, but he doesn't care, it doesn't compute. Naerys has been his since the day she was born, and he'll do whatever he wants with her no matter how meek or pathetic she is because she's his sister-wife.

[peachysunrize]

- 🧸

imagine, hear me out now... being 'mean' to Aemond and taking charge for the first time! now i don't mean being 'mean' as in humiliation, my poor taoba (boy) has suffered enough of that </3 i mean teasing, edging, overstim, and *maybe* keeping him on his knees at 'all' times, as he claws at the bed when he's on his back while reader r!des him and his mouth is open in silent screams before choked moans spill out...

Aemond would be hissing at reader and trying to order her around while she edges him, but as soon as she gives him what he wants.. it all becomes too much and he can't handle it? awh, i thought he was prince regent, a dragon of House Targaryen?

*referencing to my last tho(ugh)t* i feel like Aemond would try to recreate his own fl3sh light with his pillow, falling onto it as soon as he starts twitching and he's basically just humping it as sweet High–Valyrian drips down, basically drooling at his betrotheds conjured pussy since he's not able to have her until they're wed :(

also i hope we haven't discussed these before otherwise i'll basically be repeating myself over, and over because all i think of this man is what *i'm* into and then attempt to incorporate my tho(ugh)ts into how he is during sex, still sticking to canon!Aemond as thorough as possible though x

Babe you can send me ten asks with the same question and I’ll give you ten answers! I love love hearing your tho(ugh)ts!!

Off I think Aemond would love if his s/o was a bit mean to him! What do you mean he can’t fuck her whenever he wants? What do you mean she isn’t letting him touch her? WHY IS HE ENJOYING THIS GAME?!?!?!

He’d fucking lose it after hours of torture by your slow pace, he is soooo close and sooooo overstimulated but he can’t come because your pace is just so so soooo slow and you’re taking your sweet time scratching his chest with your nails and kissing and marking him — intentionally ignoring him until he is a begging and a pathetic whimpering mess!

Your last thot -> I think Aemond wouldn’t do it out of the blue! Someone he knows, maybe Aegon’s big mouth talks about how a whore used to pleasure herself by pillows or even his own betrothed showed him how she humps the pillow and he learned from there!!!! But can you imagine how hot it’d be to see Aemond all flushed and sweating while he’s put two pillows on side of his cock and is thrusting but stimulation isn’t enough?🥺🥺🥺

[agirlsawalittlerose]

SILK STRINGS

Aegon x OFC

Aegon Targaryen wanted nothing to do with that cursed crown. So, he fled to Volantis, hoping to live the good life amidst spiced wine, exotic whores, and strange customs, all paid for with the gold he'd stolen from the throne. But when he awoke outside the Black Walls of East Volantis, with no memory of how he had ended up there, he found himself entangled in the machinations of the Triarchy’s elections. With the help of an unlikely ally, he would come to understand the true value of power.

TW: Eventual Smut, Non-Con, slavery, sexism, inaccurate lore, canon divergent

Chapter 1: Volantis

Chapter 2: Dragonlords, C**ts & Tigers

CHAPTER 3: Marital Duties & Lust

The ride back to the Maegyr palace was quiet, but Qorlo’s silence was far from brooding. Dila could feel the tension that had held him throughout the gathering loosening, replaced by a satisfied calm. He’d drunk deep of the wine offered at the Tigers’ feast, and though he was no stranger to indulgence, tonight he was particularly flushed. The conversation about the elections and the Vala had gone well, and Dila could feel his pride swelling with each step their palanquin took through the winding streets of Volantis.

“I think I impressed them,” Qorlo finally said, a lazy smile curling his lips as he leaned back against the cushions of the litter. “Sallario and Draxos—they were intrigued. They’ll talk about him, about me.”

Dila smiled softly, knowing how to play the game. “You did well,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “You planted the seed. Now, they’ll wait for the proof.”

Qorlo chuckled, his fingers tightening around the goblet he’d brought with him. “And they’ll have it. I’ve no doubt they’ll be crawling to our gates soon enough, begging to see the Vala.” He laughed, tipping the goblet back and spilling some of the wine over his chin. “And they’ll see him. They’ll see that I am the one destined for the Triarchy.”

Dila watched him, her face an unreadable mask. His confidence had grown in proportion to his indulgence tonight, but there was no denying the ripple of interest their tale of the Valyrian stranger had caused. She had played her part well, and the men had listened. For now, that was enough.

As they reached the palace, Qorlo stumbled slightly as he dismounted from the litter, though he recovered with a laugh, pulling Dila toward him. “You were perfect tonight,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear as they entered the cool, shadowed halls of their home. “You spoke when you should have spoken, said just what was needed.”

Dila allowed him to pull her closer, her body pliant against his. His words were praise, but they tasted hollow. She had done her duty, played the role expected of her, but there was no joy in it. Whatever spark of passion they had once shared had long since faded, replaced by duty. But she knew her place, knew her role as wife to a man who sought the Triarchy. Her desires mattered little, and she had been raised to accept that.

They ascended the stairs to their private chambers, Qorlo’s hand growing more insistent on her waist as they passed the guards and slaves who bowed their heads as they passed. By the time they reached the heavy door of their bedchamber, Qorlo’s desire had sharpened into something more primal. His fingers fumbled at the laces of her gown, tugging it free from her shoulders with an urgency that belied his usual control.

Dila didn’t protest. She didn’t stiffen or resist as he pulled the fabric from her skin, baring her to the cool air of the chamber. She knew what was expected of her, and she played her part as she always had. She tilted her head back slightly as his lips found her neck, her hands resting on his shoulders as he pressed her back toward the bed.

Qorlo was too drunk to notice the lack of passion in her eyes, the absence of desire in her movements. His hands were rough on her skin, but she had grown used to it over the years. This was her duty, her place. She would give him what he wanted, as she always did.

He pushed her down onto the bed, his body heavy on top of hers as he fumbled with his own clothes, his breath hot and thick with wine. Dila shifted quickly, rolling them both so she was on top—grasping at the only semblance of control she could seize in moments like this. She closed her eyes as he sunk into her, allowing her mind to drift far from the room, far from him, to anywhere but here.

In the dim corridors of the palace, Aegon Targaryen was wide awake, despite the wine he’d consumed in excess. Volantene, rich and spiced, far more potent than anything he’d drunk in King’s Landing. He’d indulged, perhaps more than he should have, and now the room they had given him spun with every blink. He had tried lying down, hoping the wine would lull him to sleep, but it was no use. His mind raced with too many thoughts—images of Volantis, the words of the pleasure slave, memories of Westeros, and the haunting beauty of Dila Maegyr.

Rising from his bed, his bare feet touched the cold marble floors as he wandered through the halls.

Aegon hadn’t intended to wander far, but as he rounded a corner, the faint sound of movement caught his ear. He paused, listening, curiosity guiding his steps as he followed the noise down the corridor.

He soon found himself before a half-open door, and though he knew he should have turned back, something compelled him to look.

Through the gap in the door, he saw them.

Qorlo, his broad chest slick with sweat moving with every intense breath beneath Dila, who rode him, her pale skin glowing in the faint light of the chamber, her perfect figure facing the door. Aegon’s breath caught in his throat. He should leave, he knew that. He should turn away and return to his own room, pretend he had never seen them. But he couldn’t move. His feet were rooted to the ground, his gaze locked on Dila’s form.

Her silver-gold hair tousled, her pale blue eyes half-closed, but it was her face that held him. There was something about the way she looked, something distant, almost detached, as if she wasn’t truly there with Qorlo. It stirred something in Aegon, something that he didn’t fully understand.

Qorlo was too lost in his own pleasure to notice anything, but Dila… Dila’s eyes opened, and for a moment, they locked with Aegon’s.

The world seemed to stop. Aegon’s heart thundered in his chest as he stood frozen in the doorway, his breath shallow and ragged. He expected her to scream, to call out, to do something—but she didn’t.

Instead, they simply stared at each other, their gazes locked in a silent, forbidden exchange. For long, excruciating seconds, neither of them moved. There was no sound but the heavy breathing of Qorlo and the soft rustle of the sheets.

He was captivated by her, by the way her eyes held him, as if daring him to stay, to watch.

Aegon felt a rush of heat, a mixture of shame and something far darker, as his cock twitched and his breath stopped for what it felt like a year. This was the most appreciated gift his stupid life had offered him lately. He couldn’t help but wonder how she felt, how she tasted, how quickly she would make him reach his peak. Aegon cursed Qorlo’s name in his mind, hoping a stroke would strike him at that very moment, so he could dispose of his dead body and make Dila his.

Then, suddenly, Dila’s gaze shifted, something flickering in the depths of her pale blue eyes. The moment broke, and Aegon snapped back to himself, a wave of embarrassment crashing over him. Without another thought, he turned and fled down the corridor, his footsteps echoing through the palace as he ran from what he had seen, his heart pounding in his chest.

Behind him, in the bedchamber, Dila watched him go, her expression unreadable, the flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps—still lingering in her eyes.

Aegon sat in the salon, his heart still pounding, his thoughts spinning in circles. The evening breeze drifted in from the open terrace, carrying with it the scent of the river and the faint hum of distant voices from the streets below. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, running a hand through his silver hair. He had fled from her gaze, but now, he feared, there was nowhere left to run.

He barely heard her approach before she entered the room, a ghostly figure in the moonlight. When he looked up, there she stood, draped in a thin silk robe that clung to her form like water. The fabric shimmered in the dim light, revealing more than it concealed. His pulse quickened, and he averted his eyes, though the image of her from moments earlier—riding her husband—was burned into his mind.

“Is something troubling you?” Her voice was calm, almost amused, as she stepped further into the room.

Aegon straightened, struggling to compose himself. “I… I must apologize,” he stammered, his throat suddenly dry. “I did not mean to—”

Dila cut him off with a wave of her hand, gliding past him with the ease of a predator. “Apologies are unnecessary,” she said, her voice light. She walked to the window, letting the breeze catch the edges of her robe. “But I do find myself curious.”

Aegon froze, his body tensing. “Curious about what?”

Her pale eyes found him, sharp as blades. “Curious about the truth.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “You claim to have no memory of who you are or where you come from, but I do not believe that. I think you know exactly who you are. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

His heart skipped a beat, but he said nothing. The truth was there in his silence, hanging between them like a fragile thread.

Dila crossed the room and sank gracefully onto one of the low couches, her movements deliberate, slow, as if savoring the power she held in this moment. “I knew it the moment I heard you speak,” she said, her voice soft. “You come from Westeros, don’t you?”

Aegon cursed inwardly. He had tried to mask it, but it was impossible to fully erase the accent that clung to his High Valyrian. Not even his father or his siblings had ever mastered the language in the way the Free Cities had.

He had hoped, seeing the genuine confusion in Qorlo’s furrowed brow, that his identity might have remained hidden. It was clear the man had never concerned himself with the affairs of the West, nor bothered to learn its accents or customs.

But Dila… she knew.

Aegon’s heart raced, but he kept his face passive. His thoughts, however, spun wildly. She had seen through him. Perhaps she hadn’t figured out exactly who he was, but she knew enough to be dangerous. And yet, there was no malice in her eyes. Only curiosity.

Aegon’s breath caught in his throat. His blood turned to ice.

“I…” he began, unsure of how to answer, but before he could fumble through a lie, Dila spoke again, her words startling him.

“I can speak your language,” she said smoothly, switching effortlessly to the Common Tongue of Westeros. The sound of it on her lips, spoken with such fluency, caught Aegon off guard. He stared at her, surprised, uncertain of how to respond.

“I spent years learning it,” Dila continued, as if discussing the weather. “Studying your customs, your histories. Westeros fascinates me, and I know more than most Volantenes care to. So, you needn’t worry—I’m not some ignorant Tiger who thinks everything west of the Rhoyne is barbarism.” She smiled, her expression unreadable. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Aegon’s mind raced, every instinct screaming at him to flee, but her tone was disarming, almost… kind. He didn’t know what to make of her, of this strange game she seemed to be playing.

“What do you want from me?” he asked cautiously, his voice still tight with unease. “Why haven’t you told your husband?”

Dila’s smile widened, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Qorlo is many things, but he’s not a man of nuance. And as for what I want from you… that depends. What do you want, strange man?”

He hesitated. She knew more than she let on, and yet, she hadn’t betrayed him. Not yet.

His gaze dropped to the floor, his thoughts a tangled mess. “I have no plans,” he admitted quietly. “I wanted to leave my old life behind. Things I had to take but that were never meant for me. I don’t know what I want” he said, but that was a lie.

He wanted to capture her lips, die from her intoxicating scent, grab the pink nipples he could spot under her obscenely thin robe, make her moan his name…

Dila leaned back against the cushions, crossing one leg over the other, her silk robe shifting with the motion. “No plans at all?” she asked, her voice teasing. “You sound like a man who’s been running for a long time.”

“I have,” he muttered, looking away.

For a moment, she said nothing, simply watching him. Then, with a sudden clarity in her voice, she spoke again. “You’re perfect.”

Aegon frowned, confused. “Perfect?”

Dila rose from the couch, moving toward him with the grace of a dancer, each step measured. “Yes, perfect,” she said softly. “You’ll stay here, at least until the elections are over. You don’t need to make any decisions and you certainly don’t need to run.”

Aegon’s brow furrowed in suspicion. “And what do you mean by ‘stay here’? Am I a prisoner?”

Dila raised a delicate brow, amusement in her voice. “Do you see chains around your wrists?” she asked lightly. “We Volantenes know the difference between a free man and a captive. You are not a prisoner, Vala. Consider yourself an… honored guest.”

Aegon’s unease deepened. He didn’t feel like a guest, not with her eyes on him, not with the way his thoughts kept circling back to her, to the scene he had witnessed earlier. He shifted awkwardly, trying to control the heat rising in his chest, the memory of her body on Qorlo still vivid in his mind.

Dila’s gaze sharpened, and she tilted her head slightly, as if reading his thoughts. “There’s lust in your eyes,” she said suddenly, her voice quiet but unmistakable.

Aegon stiffened, caught off guard by her bluntness. “I—no, I didn’t mean—” He stumbled over his words, his face flushing with embarrassment.

But Dila wasn’t offended. If anything, she seemed more amused than before.

Aegon swallowed hard, searching for the right words. “You are… very beautiful,” he admitted, his voice carefully diplomatic, as if treading on dangerous ground.

Dila smiled again, almost bitterly. That knowing smile that sent a chill down his spine. “Yes,” she said, her tone casual. “I know.”

And with that, she turned, the silk of her robe flowing around her as she left the room, leaving Aegon standing there, still rigid, still uncertain of what had just happened.

[queensqewed0722]

Game of Thrones Winds of Winter theory: THIRD secret Targaryen will blow your mind | Books | Entertainment | Express.co.uk

What the hell????

Really????

I really need to get my hands on TWOW.