#aemond calling alicent out.. he's so real

[idkyetxoxo]

Seven | Enchanted | Aemond Targaryen

Word count - 3420

Warnings - None

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"We hear there is to be a festival tonight," Viserys said, breaking the silence over dinner. The question, though innocuous enough, hung heavily in the air, sending a ripple through the room. 

All eyes turned toward me and Nymor as if waiting for some grand revelation.

I glanced at my brother, our shared look speaking volumes more than words could manage—neither of us remotely entertained by the idea.

"Yes, there is," my father replied with the smoothness of a seasoned courtier, though even he couldn't mask the tension tugging at the edges of his forced smile. 

"I am sure my children will be more than happy to explain it to you," he added, his gaze shifting expectantly in our direction as if we were about to jump in and rescue him from the conversation.

A smirk tugged at my lips as I pushed my plate away, raising a brow at his assumption. "Not really," I said dryly, shrugging with a careless air that only heightened the discomfort.

Nymor, ever my accomplice, snorted beside me, his failed attempt to stifle laughter only adding fuel to the simmering fire. 

Across the table, Aegon barely managed to muffle his own laugh, though Alicent's sharp glare could have silenced even the boldest spirit. 

She didn't appreciate my defiance, her lips pursed with disapproval as she shot me a look that demanded obedience I had no intention of giving.

But it was Helaena who, as always, cut through the tension with her innocent enthusiasm.

"A festival sounds lovely! What is it called?" she asked, leaning forward with bright-eyed curiosity that seemed almost out of place in the undercurrent of the conversation. 

Alicent, ever the vigilant mother, reached out, pulling her back gently as if to shield her from engaging too much with the likes of us.

I took that moment, savouring it, and met Alicent's gaze with a sly glint in my eye. 

"It's called Lustre," I said, my voice dripping with honeyed sweetness. "It takes place on the longest night of the year. The theme, fittingly, is light overcoming the darkness." 

I let the words hang in the air, knowing full well how my not-so-subtle barb would needle her.

Viserys, blissfully oblivious to the subtle war waging across the table, clapped his hands together with genuine enthusiasm. "That sounds most exciting!"

My father, ever the diplomat, seized the moment to maintain appearances. 

"My children would be delighted to bring the princes and princess along to celebrate tonight," he declared, casting a hopeful glance between Nymor and me as if that suggestion alone could smooth over all the prickling tension.

But Nymor, always the sharp-tongued one, wasn't about to let it slide so easily. He leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Everyone knows that's a lie."

Aegon, unable to hold it in any longer, practically choked on his drink, his laughter barely muffled as it slipped out. 

Even Helaena looked confused, her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the veiled remarks.

Alicent, on the other hand, was less amused. She gripped her goblet tightly, her knuckles white, her irritation palpable.

I couldn't resist. 

"Nymor's right," I said, my tone light but my words deliberate. "We'll be there, but 'happy to bring them along' might be pushing it."

I shot a glance at Aegon, who was still struggling to keep his composure. "Besides, I'm not sure they'd survive a real festival with us."

Nymor leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, I'm sure they'd be fine... if they don't mind a little chaos."

Viserys chuckled, the sound hearty but disconnected from the simmering battle beneath the surface. 

Meanwhile, Alicent's patience, already stretched thin, snapped. Her voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the air. 

"Chaos?" she repeated, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "I'm sure the royal family would prefer some decorum."

Nymor, unfazed as always, scoffed lightly. "Decorum? At Lustre?" His tone was incredulous. "Good luck finding any of that."

Alicent's glare could have turned stone to dust, but I didn't back down. If anything, her growing frustration only fueled my amusement. 

"Perhaps the queen would prefer something a little less... lively?" I suggested, my smirk widening as I toyed with the thin line of respectability.

Aegon, ever the instigator, seized the moment. "Come now, Mother. A bit of fun never hurt anyone," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he exchanged a glance with Nymor and me. "Besides, it's not every day we get invited to something this exciting."

"Exciting is one word for it," Nymor chimed in, his playful gaze settling on me. "Survival is another."

Viserys, ever the peacekeeper, laughed again, waving his hand dismissively. "Well, it sounds like quite the celebration. I'm sure it will be a night to remember."

I exchanged one final look with Nymor, both of us barely able to contain our amusement. The unspoken camaraderie between us was clear—this was far from over.

My father, determined as ever to hold the illusion of diplomacy, nodded curtly, his face the picture of forced calm, though even he had to know that the night ahead was bound to be anything but ordinary.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

Later, in the quiet intimacy of my chambers, the energy felt lighter, more relaxed, as the festival preparations took hold. The soft glow of candlelight bathed the room in a warm, flickering radiance, making the gold accents in the tapestries shimmer. 

I moved about with ease, sliding delicate jewels into my hair as the weight of the evening lifted from my shoulders. Helaena sat nearby, her wide eyes following my every move, curiosity and a hint of longing radiating from her as I readied myself for the night ahead.

"What shall I wear?" she asked softly, her voice laced with eagerness. 

She sounded like a little girl again, yearning to be part of something bigger, something dazzling. Her gaze was fixed on me, watching intently as I slipped the last jewel into place.

I smiled, catching her reflection in the mirror. "You can wear one of my dresses," I suggested, turning to her as I untied the ribbon of my robe, letting it fall gracefully from my shoulders. 

The silvery gown I reached for shimmered like moonlight itself, its fabric cool and flowing as it slid over my skin.

Helaena bit her lip, hesitation flickering in her eyes. "I do not think my mother will like that," she whispered, her voice a fragile thread of doubt.

I let out a soft, knowing laugh, the sound rich with amusement. Alicent's constant disapproval of me was practically a given at this point. 

"She doesn't have to know," I said with a playful wink, adjusting the dress as it draped over my figure. 

The star sequins sewn into the sheer fabric caught the candlelight, sending a cascade of shimmering reflections across the room with each movement.

Helaena's breath caught as she gazed at me, her eyes wide with awe. "You look absolutely stunning," she breathed, her voice full of wonder.

I twirled lightly, the hem of my gown brushing against the floor like liquid stardust, every step making it gleam as though it were woven from the very essence of the night sky.

"Like the moon itself," she added, her smile growing, a hint of something brighter—perhaps envy or admiration—flickering across her features.

I laughed softly, genuinely touched. "Thank you, Helaena," I said, my voice warmer now. There was something so pure about her, so untouched by the darker undercurrents of the court.

I turned and held up a golden gown from my wardrobe, its rich fabric shimmering with regal elegance. 

"Here," I said, offering it to her. "Wear this. It suits you, and no one needs to know." 

My eyes twinkled with mischief as I handed her the gown, a silent promise that we were in this together, no matter what Alicent might think.

Helaena hesitated, her gaze darting to the door as if expecting her mother to barge in at any moment. But after a brief pause, she smiled—small, tentative, but real—and took the dress from my hands. 

The silk whispered as it slid over her frame, the golden fabric wrapping her in warmth and splendour.

I stepped back, watching as she adjusted the folds of the gown. Her cheeks flushed with a soft blush as she smoothed the delicate material, uncertainty giving way to a shy pride.

"So pretty," I remarked with a grin, my voice teasing but full of affection.

Helaena blushed deeper, turning slightly in the mirror, admiring herself. "Like the sun itself," I added, echoing her earlier compliment. 

The words made her giggle, the last of her tension melting away as she twirled in the golden gown, her smile now bright and carefree.

I stepped closer, looping my arm through hers, our bond in that moment unspoken but strong. "Come," I urged softly, giving her arm a light squeeze. "The boys will be waiting for us."

As we made our way down the palace corridors, Alaric, my ever-loyal guard, followed at a discreet distance. His dark eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than necessary, a teasing glimmer playing in their depths. 

I felt his gaze like a whisper against my skin, warm and slightly provocative.

"You'll outshine the festival itself tonight," he said, his voice low and smooth, laced with a subtle edge of flirtation that made my heart skip for just a moment. 

His smile was the kind that held promises of mischief, and I couldn't help but return it with a sly grin of my own.

"Careful," I teased lightly, casting him a glance over my shoulder. "You're supposed to guard me, not flatter me."

He chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving mine. "I can do both," he replied smoothly, his tone as easy as the confidence in his stance.

Helaena caught the playful exchange and shot me a look—half amused, half curious. 

She had seen the way Alaric's gaze lingered, but I brushed it off with a light laugh, not wanting to delve into whatever thoughts might be swirling in her head.

We continued through the halls, winding our way through, careful to avoid any run-ins with Alicent. The last thing either of us needed was a confrontation with the queen tonight. 

We slipped into the waiting carriage, the night wrapping around us like a velvet cloak, its darkness offering the perfect cover as we left the palace behind. 

Relief washed over me as I settled onto the plush seat, grateful we had avoided detection for Helaena's sake. 

The festival awaited us, and with it, a night of freedom—of light and shadow, chaos and revelry.

Beside me, Nymor shifted closer, the heat of his presence a comforting contrast to the cool air outside. He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against my cheek in a tender gesture.

"So beautiful," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, but it carried the weight of sincerity. 

I smiled, allowing myself a brief moment to bask in the warmth of his gaze, the gentle affection that always lingered just beneath his teasing exterior. But the moment didn't last long. 

Across from us, Aegon's reaction stole my attention.

His eyes widened as Helaena, shy but radiant, climbed into the carriage beside him. The transformation was undeniable. 

Gone was the quiet, unassuming girl—now, she was gilded in gold, her dress catching the dim light, making her look ethereal, otherworldly even. Aegon, for once, was at a loss for words.

"Gods," he muttered under his breath, his usual smirk replaced by something far more genuine—astonishment.

Helaena, still unsure of her newfound allure, glanced down nervously at the golden folds of her dress, her fingers twitching as she adjusted the fabric. She looked up, eyes wide with hope.

"Do you like it?" Her voice was small, hesitant, as though she feared the answer.

Aegon's gaze never wavered from her, his usual flippancy replaced by something softer, almost reverent. "Yes," he said simply, but the single word hung in the air, heavy with admiration.

Her face lit up, a smile blooming slowly across her lips as she turned to me, eyes shining with gratitude. 

No words were needed between us; her expression said everything—a silent thank you, not just for the dress, but for the confidence it gave her.

My gaze drifted then, as though pulled by a magnetic force, to Aemond. 

He had been watching me from the moment I stepped into the carriage. His singular eye, sharp and focused, followed my every move with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.

His stare was unwavering, piercing through the darkness that separated us, his face betraying little, yet his attention spoke volumes. 

I felt the familiar flutter in my chest—unbidden, but undeniable. 

He had a way of looking at me that always made me feel as though I were the only one in the room, as though the entire world had fallen away, leaving just the two of us.

But I refused to be swept away by the moment. Keeping my composure, I offered him a small, controlled smile, a silent acknowledgement of his gaze. 

His lips curled ever so slightly in response, his usually cool demeanour softening, if only for a fleeting moment. 

There was something almost vulnerable in his expression, a crack in the icy exterior he always wore so well.

Still, I couldn't linger in that feeling. Not tonight. I turned my attention back to Nymor, seeking the comfort of his easy banter, the lightness that always seemed to come naturally between us.

"We're starting with drinks," I announced, my voice bright with excitement as I leaned into him slightly. "And then the dancing, of course."

Nymor's lips quirked into a knowing smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Ah, the dancing. I hope you're ready for the chaos."

I laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep within me, infectious and free. "Always."

The carriage rolled forward, the rhythmic clatter of wheels over cobblestones a steady reminder that we were moving closer to the heart of the night's festivities.  

The unspoken connections between us all—tangled, complex, and ever-shifting—only added to the tension.

Aegon sat back, his gaze still flitting over Helaena in disbelief, while she, now more at ease, giggled softly to herself. 

Aemond remained quiet, his eye still fixed on me, though now he wore a faint, almost imperceptible smile. 

And Nymor, ever the rogue, was already plotting our inevitable mischief for the night.

Outside, the darkened streets blurred past us, the faint glow of festival lights growing brighter with every passing moment. Soon, the quiet hum of the city would give way to the sounds of revelry—the laughter, the music, the chaos of Lustre.

Tonight would be a night to remember, for better or for worse.

The carriage slowed to a stop just a street away from the festival, its wheels creaking to a halt as if acknowledging the excitement that pulsed through the air. 

This was our tradition—Nymor and I slipping away before the crowds could spot us, savouring those few moments of quiet before diving headfirst into the chaos. 

As the door swung open, Nymor stepped out first, turning back to offer me his hand, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

I accepted with a grin, stepping down into the cool night air. 

Together, we stood for a moment, taking in the sight of the festival before us. Though it happened every year, it never failed to enchant. 

The streets, strung with golden lights, flickered like stars caught in mid-air, while colourful banners swayed in the breeze.

Music spilt into every corner, the sound of laughter and song mingling in a harmonious hum that filled the night.

"It's like magic," I whispered, though the words barely did it justice.

Nymor nodded, his gaze warm as he took in the scene. "It's more beautiful every year," he said, but his eyes flicked back to me, his meaning clear.

I smirked, but before I could respond, the rest of the Targaryens joined us. As Aegon stepped out, he froze, his eyes wide with awe at the vibrant display before him.

"Gods," he muttered, momentarily dumbfounded. Even Helaena, who had been so shy earlier, seemed to bloom in the festive atmosphere. 

My attention shifted to Aemond. He hadn't said a word since we arrived, but his eye hadn't left me. 

There was something unreadable in his stare—an intensity that made my heart skip a beat, though I wouldn't let him see that. 

Instead, I met his gaze head-on, letting a slow, teasing smile spread across my lips. I knew how to play this game, and I played it well.

"Hurry up!" I called back, breaking the spell as I grabbed Nymor's hand and pulled him toward the square, eager to lose ourselves in the sea of revelry. 

My laughter echoed through the air as we darted past dancers, vendors, and brightly coloured stalls, my pulse quickening with the thrill of it all.

We skidded to a stop in front of a drinks stall, the smell of spiced fruit and honey filling the air. 

"Five, please!" I called to the vendor, flashing him a cheeky grin. 

Nymor fished out a few coins, handing them over as the vendor poured five drinks into small cups. The liquid shimmered in the lantern light, pink and inviting.

Aegon eyed his cup suspiciously, lifting it to his nose with a raised eyebrow. "Is this wine?" he asked, dubious.

I laughed, taking a long sip from my own cup before answering. "No, but it's better." The sweetness of the drink coated my tongue, refreshing and potent. 

"Look, we'll drink first if you're scared." I winked, and without waiting, I downed the rest of mine in one gulp, the heat of the alcohol spreading through me like fire.

Nymor followed suit, grinning as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "See? No tricks."

Aemond still hesitated, his eye narrowing slightly as he glanced between the cup and me. I rolled my eyes, stepping closer to him until we were nearly nose to nose. 

"You really don't trust me?" I teased, my voice low and playful as I lifted his cup to his lips. "Drink."

For a second, Aemond's expression didn't change, but the challenge in my eyes must have gotten to him, because he relented, taking a slow sip. 

His face softened, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's... good."

"Told you," I smirked, satisfied as I turned to Helaena, who was already sipping hers, a look of pure delight on her face.

"Come!" I said impulsively, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the square, where the crowd was already lost in the rhythm of the music. "Let's dance!"

Helaena laughed, her hesitation melting away as she twirled with me beneath the glow of lanterns. 

The music was infectious, the beat thrumming in my veins as I let go of everything—my worries, the royal eyes watching me, the tension that sometimes clung to the edges of my life. 

All that mattered now was the thrill of the festival, the joy bubbling up from within me as I laughed and spun with reckless abandon.

From the sidelines, Aegon chuckled, his gaze flicking to Nymor. "Is she always like this during festivals?"

Nymor grinned, leaning back against a post as he watched me with obvious amusement. "Lustre brings out her best. Enjoy it while it lasts—she's probably being nicer to you than she ever will."

Aegon barked a laugh, but his attention quickly wandered to a group of dancers nearby, while Nymor was soon swept into a conversation with a woman who had approached him.

Aemond, though, didn't move. His eye followed my every step, every laugh as if he couldn't tear himself away. 

I could feel him watching me, even as I twirled and dipped with Helaena, my joy infectious.

Aegon, noticing Aemond's stare, smirked as he clapped him on the back. "Throw a festival every now and then, brother, and you might keep your bride this happy." 

His tone was teasing, but Aemond wasn't amused. His gaze remained fixed on me, the intensity in his expression unmistakable.

I could feel the weight of it, even from across the square. Our eyes met, and for a heartbeat, everything else faded away. 

The crowd, the music, the lights—all of it melted into the background. It was just us. 

I gave him a small, knowing smile, one that promised much and revealed little, and he returned it, the tension in his face softening ever so slightly.

But the moment passed, and I was pulled back into the dance, the swirl of the festival sweeping me away. 

Yet even as I laughed and spun beneath the glow of the festival lights, I could feel Aemond's gaze lingering, a silent promise that this night—this feeling—was only the beginning.

A/n - My very small attempt at tryna give Helaena some much needed peace in some form x

Enchanted tag list - @mamawiggers1980 @shilphy87 @esposadomd @targaryendestiel @deepeststarlightmoon

@thebirdandthebee @queen-of-elves @believeinthefireflies95

[winterswake]

My brother is hostage to my grandsire and mother, and they tell him that a war of dragons can yet be avoided. Otto fears to upset the order of things.

[divinesolas]

Hi, could you do an Aemond one shot where he and Reader (Rhaenyra's bastard daughter) are husband and wife and she and Aemond are married, based on the first episode of season 2 where instead of killing Aegon's son, kill the reader's son and aemond

a.n: hi hi ty for the request 🫶 i had a little too much fun writing this, this probably isnt what you wanted this is not a happy fic but i still hope you enjoy regardless 🫶🫶 slightly inspired by the events of ep two

Despite the halls of the keep being pure chaos everyone swiftly moved out of the way for the one eyed prince who rushed through the halls seeking out the one who he knew needed him.

They had been in his room. They wanted him. But they must have left his room when they knew he was not there and stumbled their way into the nursery which was attached to his room where his son had been. His son. his only child. and he was furious.

The door to the council room slams open and otto swiftly turns to look and stand before him, “where have you been-“ otto is shoved out of his way as he goes to kneel next to his sobbing wife on the floor who was clutching a blanket on the floor.

You look at him with red eyes and choke out his name, he grabs your face in his hands and looks upon you for a moment before you throw yourself into his arms. Shoving your head in his neck to breathe in his scent, to feel his pulse, make sure he’s real.

“they killed our son.” your words come out choked in between your sobs and he strokes up and down your back, “i tried to offer them anything, gold, myself, but they only wanted him aemond only him.” he shushes you and pressed a kiss against your temple, speaking into your ear. “Im sorry my love im sorry.”

He will return the pain they have brought to not only himself but worst of all to his wife and he will pay it tenfold. A lone tear streaks down his face as you say nothing more merely continue to sob into him while the other faces in the room can only merely watch with sorrow.

He picks you up, making sure to keep the blanket firmly in your grasp as he turns to leave the room ignoring the voices calling after him. They must want to discuss what they plan to do now but he wants no part in it, only wanting to comfort his wife.

“they were saying they want to blame my mother.” You had calmed down at some point, still delirious with grief but you had stopped crying, merely staring blankly up at the ceiling as aemond kept you firmly next to him. “she would never do a thing like this. my mother loves me, why would she send someone out for my son.”

Aemond is quiet and his hand on your back falters for a moment, “she wishes to punish me.” you say nothing but he notices how you shift ever so slightly.

With the way you two were right now nobody could tell the two of you have not spoken in those fourteen days since his return when he broke the news to the court. When he broke the news to you. Your own brother murdered in cold blood.

You could never forgive him despite his attempts to talk to you after, you swiftly dismissed him and his words would fall on deaf ears. Your baby brother was everything to you, you remember growing up side by aide and he was teary eyed the day you permanently moved to the keep.

despite your hatred for him and your hatred for your mothers usurpation you cannot go home. The people here watch you like a hawk you cannot even send a letter out to her but alicent is free to beg and plead to her like a pathetic dog. you hate them. Yet you allow him to comfort you because you know you will get no comfort from anyone else here.

“they wish to flaunt me around like a prized lamb. ‘gain sympathy from the houses.’ he says.” You ignore his words and continue to speak. “I will not allow it.” you shrug mindlessly and sit up, he stays laying down. His eye patch off and hair down from its usually prime and perfect state, he had thrown his shirt off at some point too.

You can see it, the hurt that laces his eye and his face, his hand finds yours and you want to rip it away but you cant, the warmth on your skin bringing you a small sense of comfort.

“i had thought we would work. That you would finally move on and forgive grievances of the past. But i hate you just as you hate me aemond,” “i do not hate you. i love you.” you shake your head as he says it, sitting up and gripping your arms tightly, trying to hold your gaze as he says it again.

“i will never forgive you. I will hate you for as long as a breathe.”

“i did not mean to i lost my temper that day.”

“you feeling sorry means nothing to me you know that. how would you feel if the men who murdered our son came in here and said they were sorry., that they didn’t mean to.”

He says your name and his grip tightens on your arms but you continue to merely stare off mindlessly.

“i will repent for the rest of my life. our son will be brought justice.”

he will kill every man in the keep if he has to, slay every man in all of westeros if they cannot figure out who had done it. For you. for his son.

“i love you.” the words come out strained as he begs and pleads to anyone who is willing to listen to him for you to say something else anything to him.

you do. you finally look at him. a look devoid of any love you had once had for him. and it kills him.

“you’re pathetic.”

[solkara]

❛ 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 , benjicot blackwood ❜

⌗ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 , you were the apple of your family's eye a rare gem they would do anything to protect but sometimes even the purest doves crave something bloody

⌗ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 , benjicot blackwood x fem! velaryon / strong! reader

⌗ 𝐬𝐨𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 , benji with the 10 seconds of screen time ateee tbh or wait is it not benji cuz I've heard some people say it's not so plz explain cuz I'm so confused lmfao !!

house of the dragon masterlist

⌗ you were a bastard. born from a night of passion shared between you mother and father. rhaenyra and daemon. but no one would ever call you a bastard. as you bore all the features of a targaryen unlike your siblings. white hair purple eyes. the seven kingdoms called you aemma reborn. as your striking resemblance to your late grand mother was uncanny.

⌗ growing up life was easy. your mother and grandsire doted on you. your siblings would go to the ends of the known world for you. ser harwin and leanor though not your real fathers stepped up and were there for you whenever you needed them. and though you had never met your real father your mother told you that he would love you.

⌗ truth be told there was nothing that daemon more than to be with you. his daughter. his oldest. but he settled for watching from afar for now. hearing about all of your achievements in pentos. how you had claimed the creeping death amaris. a dragon that had never been claimed and was rumored to be from balerion's final clutch. and it showed. as amaris was the largest dragon around. making vaghar look petite. and while daemon couldn't help but be the proudest man in the known world. part of him breathed a sigh of relief that his daughter didn't get hurt.

⌗ life was good. as you grew older tales of your beauty spread far and wide. from winterfell to dorne. you had suitors from all over flock to offer their hand. from dresses to castles. they offered it all. but were ultimately shut down by either your mother or grandsire. even the queen alicent tried offering the hand of one of her sons. but that idea fizzled out after diftmark. though it was still obvious that both of the queen's son's still bore a certain mixture of fondness and lust for you.

⌗ the deaths of harwin and laenor broke you. and after the the harrowing night of having to watch aemond lose an eye. you were exhausted. your eyes red and with no tears left to cry. you walked off to find your mother after having just finished packing. only to find her with an unfamiliar man. "mother?" you asked approaching with caution.

⌗ "my darling girl I want you to meet someone this is daemon your father" and for a moment your heart stopped as you looked at the man before you. you had dreamed for so long for the day that you would finally meet your father. and now it was here you didn't know what to do. but fear not as daemon took matters into his own hands. pulling you into his embrace which you gladly accepted. finally you left complete.

⌗ after that time seemed to fly by. your mother and father got married. your brother got betrothed to your half-sisters. and all of you lived happily on dragonstone together. with you and your siblings going for frequent dragon rides together. teaching them high valyrian. listen to your father's many stories he gained from his travels. and letting your mother braid your hair while the two of you giggled about the newest gossip.

⌗ though there was one topic she would never touch. and there were suitors. as princess rhaenyra had received hundreds if not thousands of offers for her daughter's hand. which she all denied. at one point there were so many that daemon restored to using a large chunk of them as kindle for the fire in their room. claiming "none of those vile pig's are good enough for my daughter" to which the heir agreed. the last thing she wanted was for her beloved daughter to be used by some lord as a broodmare.

⌗ but rhaenyra knew that she would have to wed her daughter off at some point. and that scared her. though her eldest was the blood of a dragon. you were gentle and soft. the apple of her eye and the thought of you being hurt. by a man nonetheless made her heart clench. and daemon agreed swearing he would rip any man. regardless of who. if they tried anything with their daughter. which was easy to say as the royal couple were under the impression their daughter's interest hadn't been caught by anyone. but oh how wrong they were.

⌗ see you had indeed had your eyes set on someone. who's name happened to be ben. the first time you saw him was at your name day tourney. where he jousted against a lannister. and won much to your joy. before going on to win the tournament. after asking for your favour. which you gladly gave. and you couldn't help but blush. as you couldn't deny he was attractive. even if he was covered in someone else's blood.

⌗ and so began the beautiful friendship between the two of you. as you went from secret love letters sent by ravens. to flying to see him whenever you could. truth is you were head over heels for him. just as he was for you. you were two half's that made a whole. twin flames if you will. and ben had made it clear that he would give you the world and that all you had to do was ask for it. a sentiment which you reverberated. the two of you had talked about a life together. married and with kids. now all you had to do was tell your parents.

⌗ but oh boy when you decided to tell them. was that an interesting conversation. your father nearly unsheathed dark sister. your mother nearly passed out in horror. your brothers were either confused or looking at benjicot like he was dragon food. and your sisters were smiling from ear to ear. but after they had all settled down you spoke. and the two of you made it very clear that you were madly in love. and after a few more threats from your father and brothers. a couple more happy tears and hugs from your mother and sisters. everyone had made peace with the fact and were overjoyed for the both of you.

⌗ and within the week news had spread to every corner of the seven kingdom's of your betrothal to the blackwood. and with was also said that the men of the kingdom's morned the loss of the chance to marry you by descending on brothels to drink and lay with whores. your uncles included. but you paid little mind. as you enjoyed life within your little bubble. spending your days with your family and benji. life was perfect. and you couldn't wait for the wedding.

⌗ and once the day finally arrived. you were jittery with nerves. dressed head to toe in white. you looked the spitting image of duty. as you walked arm in arm with your father towards the alter. the eyes of hundreds of highborns fixed on you in awe. but all you could focus on was. ben. your ben. as the two of you recited your vows with joy you sealed it with a kiss. and after the celebrations of the night. and your new husband threatening to behead anyone who dares mention a bedding ceremony. the two of you joined select family. from both side. to join for another ceremony. a traditional valyrian wedding. and as you sealed your love once more with a bloody kiss. you now truly had it all.

anon , May I please have a targaryen! reader, daughter of daemon and rhaenyra, born after jace like she looks so much like Aemma, and the kingdom would speak of her as Aemma reborn, being favored by Viserys and her people. Can imagine her claiming a dragon that was rumored to be from the late Balerion’s clutch, a stark contrast to the other she-dragons, with her own being a ferocious creature of black scales and fire of black and red. While she is loved in her kingdom, she is also loved in her family. Much like Helaena, the reader is the apple of the kingdom’s eyes and dearer to her family more than anything. And when the topic of suitors comes, all of them are horrified when the one that catches her eye is the Bloody Ben himself, Benjicot Blackwood. ps. I’m a sucker for a beloved character whom loves someone that is the exact opposite of her 😭💖 Requesting for more familial and platonic fic with the Benjicot romance just maybe being small 😩☝️

[where-theres-smoak-2]

'But luke was never punished for taking out aemond's eye.'

Yeah and guess what:

Aemond was never punished for claiming vhagar, and before you start with the whole 'but you can't steal Dragons, aemond did nothing wrong when he claimed vhagar', if he wasn't doing anything wrong he wouldn't have felt the need to sneak off and do it in the middle of the night. Even if he didn't need the permission of the crown, at the very least he was defying his own mother's wishes who had already told him off for trying to claim Dragons, so yeah he was doing something wrong.

Aemond also wasn't punished for trying to bash jace's head in with a rock.

Aemond wasn't punished for breaking luke's nose, choking him and also trying to bash his head in with a rock.

Aemond wasn't punished for calling jace and luke bastards, which was treason.

Aegon wasn't punished for calling jace and luke bastards, which was treason.

Aegon wasn't punished for assaulting and r*ping serving girls.

Alicent wasn't punished for saying rhaenyra's sons were bastards, despite already being told by the king to leave it, again it was treason.

Alicent wasn't punished for attempting to maim a royal Prince and cutting the heir to the throne.

Criston wasn't punished for breaking his oath with rhaenyra.

Criston wasn't punished for killing joffrey, publicly, at a wedding feast, or for striking laenor during that same feast.

Criston wasn't punished for killing beesbury.

Like be real, nobody gets punished in this show, people be breaking laws and rules left, right and centre without any consequences. Yet the only time I ever see outrage about the lack of punishment is when it comes to Luke. So what the law only matters when it comes to the 8 year old?

[insomniakisses]

An eye for an eye | One

Characters: Aemond x sister reader (platonic), Rhaenyra x sister reader (platonic), Alicent x step daughter reader (Platonic) (hotd characters)

Reader type: Female

Warnings / Notes: tw viserys, tw otto, tw daemon, events of driftmark, absent and shitty father viserys, metions of torturous, dragons, graphic violent scenes. I think thats it. Possable targcest in the future.

Parts: Two.

You couldn’t help the giggles that escaped your lips as you ran around the gardens, aemond chasing after you soft giggles falling from him two. The younger boy declaring he was going to catch you but he was at a disadvantage you were 4 years older than him, though even at the age of 10 he was gaining height and strength.

You begin to slow as tiredness kicks in and he smirks, using the last of his energy to surge forward catching up with ease as he wraps his arms around you and pushes you both to the floor. Laughter escaping you both on impact. Though its short lived when rhaenyra comes bolting over pulling you off the ground a hard glare fixed on her face.

“That is most un-lady like sister,” she hisses before her gaze fixes on your brother, “Aemond do you not know how to properly behave around a lady?” She scolds and you roll your eyes seeing jace and luke laughing behind her.

“I- we were playing! Only playing! Shes not hurt i promise-“ the young prince stutters clearly afraid of the much older royals wraith knowing just how protective of you your sister can be.

“Really?” She draws out with a scoff bringing ur arm into view and he sees the smallest of scrapes along your forearm his eyes widening.

“Rhaenyra!” You call shaking off her grip and moving to stand by Aemond, “its barely an injury, it doesn’t even hurt. You needn’t worry yourself!” You exclaim hand clasping Aemond’s as you continue. “He will take me to the maesters to get it checked out now, won’t you Aem?”

The boy nods with a small smile when you squeeze his hand in reassurance making sure he knows your not in the slightest mad at him and that everything is okay.

Spending the rest of the day inside the two of you resigned to the library reading up on family histories and practicing your High Valyrian. Save the brief interruption from Alicent, the queen asking to check your injury having been informed by Rhaenyra that her “undisciplined” son had caused you harm.

Though as soon as she saw you two laughing and joking around she knew in her heart that there was no way he would have hurt you. Especially not intentionally.

You simply smile at the queen greeting her by her title and allowing her to gently lift your arm inspecting the wound before she left you be leaving a soft kiss to both of your heads as she bid her goodbyes. On her way to the king no doubt.

— one year later —

The whole family was being taken to Driftmark, apparently for the funeral of Laena Velarion. Though the two of you had only spoken once, having accidentally ran into her and Rhaenyra, she seemed nice enough and you were sad that she had died so early into her life. Your half-sibling however didn’t seem to care. Aegon was ceaselessly complaining as usual, Helaena of in her own world like always and Aemond, well he was respectful enough to understand why you were going but he clearly wasn’t saddened by the news.

The king and Alicent were set to arrive by boat accompanied by the four of you, but Aegon having recently mounted Sunfyre for a real flight insisted he go by dragon back the king uncaringly agreeing and shooing of Alicent’s protests. Her visible worry evident the whole way as she picked and chewed at her fingers you and Aemond sharing a concern look before going over to her. Grasping a hand each you held her tightly and she smiled. You couldn’t tell if it was forced or not, but she let out a small exhale as she held you giving away she was more relaxed even if it was only slightly.

Once the ship had docked Alicent all but ran to Aegon though he rolled his eyes and told her to leave him be as he wasn’t a child anymore. He failed to see how she flinched when Sunfyre moved or how she stood still till the dragon moved away. One of her biggest fears dragons were, something you had picked up recently.

You latch back onto her arm when she’s beside you again, having grown rather attached to her in the years of Rhaenyras absence. She had left without warning or a goodbye. You can still remember the nights you laid crying for her hugs or her soft touch when she braided your hair helping you ready yourself in the morning. All of that was Alicent’s job now, not that she minded, she loved you as her own and enjoyed how you curled against her needy for a mother’s touch. She just wishes you wouldn’t call her Alicent, it always hurt her not hearing the word “mother”.

———— That Night ————

The funeral had been somewhat uneventful, Aegon had gotten drunk and was sent to bed early by Otto and Daemon had made a scene laughing during the ceremony. But that was all really, soon you were all sent to bed and you had fallen asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. Exhausted from the day of traveling no doubt.

However, the sound of whooshing and a dragons deep roar had woken you, slipping on a cloak and your shows you had gone to investigate. By the time you came downstairs there was shouting and a trail of blood into the main hall. Following it you entered seeing Aemond holding his eye and the adults screaming at each other. Jace with bloody hands and Luke with a broken nose yet Rhaenyra, Daemon and Laenor were nowhere in sight. You rushed to Aemond side feeling Alicent pull u into her body your hand grasping her dress as you stares at the bloody sight.

Then in came Rhaenyra and you completely zoned out staying by Aemond’s side and holding his hand throughout the whole ordeal. Crying for your brother when the king seemed not to care and made no move to punish the boys for attacking him.

After all was said and done Aemond was given milk of the poppy and essence of night shade for the pain and to help him sleep. While the rest of you were ushered to your respective chambers though you slept very little worried about Aemond and so saddened at Rhaenyra’s intention of having someone torturing him. Afterall he had just lost an eye.

———— Back in Kings Landing ————

“ALICENT ENOUGH!” the king roared, having had enough of her nagging.

“THEY TOOK HIS EYE, YOUR GRACE, SOMEONE HAS TO PAY!” And he sighs sitting on his throne looking half dead.

“My dear wife,” he starts voice bored and tired. “Lucerys is just a boy. Children fight. Get over it.”

She scoffs at this, fighting the urge to yell again knowing his power out matches hers. “A debt is due your grace, an eye for an eye. He is your son!”

“What would you have me do?” He scoffs, “The boy is at dragon stone and he is my grandchild.”

“I dont care!” The queen protests, “You have to do something! Rhaenyra’s son has taken the eye of my own, a punishment is deserved. Someone must be punished!” If the queen had known her lack of precise words would lead to the events that would unfold that night she would never have been so careless.

“Fetch Y/n” is all he mutters and a guard sets of at once, Alicent so caught up in her thoughts not quiet hearing what he had ordered. Its only when a sleepy and confused you is escorted in that her breath quickens.

You stand there rubbing the sleep from your eyes, blinking away exhaustion as your blanket lays draped over your shoulders giving you a slight waddle when you walk.

“What is she-“ Alicent is cut of by the king. “Bring me her eye, a debt is to be payed and she is like a daughter to Rhaenyra. Lets settle this now”

Your heart fills with fear and dread as does Alicent’s as your grabbed by two guards another forcing his knife into your flesh. Alicent screaming protest as she herself is restrained tears falling down her face at your pained crys and shrieks. Your father simply holding his head in his hand as he feels another migraine coming.

“MOMMA PLEASE! IT HURTS MOM PLEASE MOMMY HELP!” you continue to scream and thrash around the knife in your flesh leaving messy cuts until your eye pulls out with a sickening wet pop and you scream loud.

You both released and alicent runs to you scooping you up and rocking you as you cry, hands balling up her dress as a mumbles mantra of “momma” escapes your lips she holds you as the maesters tend to your wounds and give you all the same teas and treatments Aemond had gotten in drifting mark. The king and guards now long gone.

“Im so sorry baby” is all she keeps saying kissing your head and carrying you to her chambers. You spend the night there, tucked into her embrace as she holds you swearing to protect you from this day swearing that one day the king will get what he deserves. And praying to the gods for all her children to be safe.

A/n. So this was part one hope u liked it 😁

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

[mythicmanuscripts]

So, what are your thoughts about Aemond and reader’s first time, considering all his past experiences with the brothel and all (I don’t know if that too vague, if it is, I’ll try to be more specific next time haha)

I love this question! Also, I don't think this is too vague but thank you for checking!! For future reference and also for everyone else, if you had just asked for something like "write Aemond and reader sleeping together" or "write Aemond x reader smut" then I'd say there's not enough to go on. Hope that makes sense!!

Anyway, NSFW sub!aemond below the cut :))

This ask is in reference to the brothel scene where Aemond admits that Aegon essentially forced him to sleep with a sex worker when he had just turned 13.

I'm sure I've babbled on about what I'm about to say before but oh well here we go again: I think that a big part of Aemond's discomfort with the sex worker wasnt just because he was being forced to lose his virginity but because of how utterly exposed he felt? We all know how closed off and composed Aemond always tries to be, and we know he has plenty of insecurities both from his missing eye and from being the second son. The concept of sex as a whole had always felt uncomfortable and far too vulnerable. To lay completely naked with another? Aemond couldnt imagine a scenario where that wouldnt feel terrifying.

And then he turns 13 and Aegon shoves him into a brothel and all his worst fears are confirmed. The sex worker's eyes shamelessly travel across his body and he has to fight the urge to wrap a blanket around himself. The lights are too harsh, he can hear other people having sex outside the room. r

When he leaves there he's convinced he'll never lay with another again. He even decides that he'd let his future wife fuck the first blond hair man they can find and call the resulting child his heir because he couldnt bring himself to be the exposed again.

But then Alicent introduces him to you and you throw a rather large wrench in his plans because you don't do any of those things that left him feeling exposed?

Even before the wedding, you're always checking his boundaries and ensuring you abide by them. If he seems uncomfortable you step away and you ask. And beyond that, you form a real, genuine bond with him that he's never had with anyone before never mind with a romantic partner.

The truth is that Aemond just really loves being around you? He doesn't even notice his walls beginning to crumble because he just feels so safe with you. For the first time he's not constantly having to prove himself.

You're shocked by how different he is to how everyone else had warned you he'd be. You don't see an ounce of the danger and dominance so many others had warned you off, hell even his own mother warned you of. But those traits have always been due to a fight for survival, due to him having to come out on top or risk being ridiculed or worse.

So when you come along and you make it so that he doesn't have to fight for love and respect and recognition? Then all that violence and anger slips away because he doesn't need it here.

You start out VERY slow.

Aemond can best be described as almost skittish when it comes to sex and intimacy. He likes it, but the moment something moves just slightly too quickly he's jumping up and going to hide in his own private chambers.

The first time you kiss him after the wedding, he very nearly starts crying because you just kiss him so gently with absolutely no indication of wanting to go any further than that. Aemond realises he could happily spend hours like that, with the two of you laying together and trading soft kisses.

He tells you about the sex worker eventually, maybe Aegon actually makes a comment about it? Like a few weeks into the marriage Aegon decides to tease Aemond and ask him if he still goes back to his first or if he's actually fucking his wife. (Aegon promptly sprints out the room immediately after saying this because the look in your eyes when you turned to look at him was absolutely terrifying)

So he opens up about the sex worker with you, and he full on sobs when you say he deserved better and that he deserved to feel safe, that sex should always feel safe.

From then, you put a lot of time and effort into ensuring that your chambers together becomes that warm, safe place aemond was missing. You only approve 3 servants who are allowed into your chambers with Aemond, and only 2 are allowed in at a time. No servants can come into the chambers unprompted either. If you want the sheets cleaned or the laundry taken to be washed, then you will call one of the 3 approved servants but servants are not allowed to do those things on their own, only when you request it.

Once that's been sorted you start getting the rooms themselves into a better state. You keep candles all over the walls, get the softest blankets and pillows you can. Maybe you also get some of his favourite books to put up? It's a slow, gradual change but Aemond notices every single change and every time his breath it taken away at how perfect you are. He never even had to explain how vulnerable he was the first time, you just knew and you knew how to make him feel comfortable.

The actual sex takes longer of course, and there's plenty of oral and makeup sessions before he's ready for more, but when you do get to the main event he can't believe how good he feels?

The way you praise him and check in on him brings tears to his eyes, and when you gently wrap a blanket around his shoulders while you stroke him he really does cry. Just that simple gesture of putting the blanket over him makes him feel so much less exposed.

Sex is always a calm, quiet affair with Aemond. Make no mistake, you certainly get edge him and overstimulate him and all that fun stuff, but that's never with standard sex. If you're doing those other things then you're either pegging him or using your hands/mouth. The actual act of sex, that is always gentle. It's the gentleness that really breaks him.

(One quick sidenote to end off: cockwarming, how the flying fuck have we never discussed it? I'm now now picturing a scene where it's the first time you go the whole nine yards, but then from the moment Aemond slowly enters you, he just stays still? At first you think he's trying to get used to the feeling but when even more time has passed and he still hasn't moved, you ask him that's going on and that's when he kinda just collapses into your, his cock still inside and mumbles about how nice this feels. So needless to say, actual sex was not achieved that day)

[chemicalreal]

Rewatching episode 1x07 in light of recent events makes Alicent and Aemond's interactions with Aegon even more frustrating to watch. The writers seem intent on portraying him as clueless and dumb, despite in season 1 there is evidence to the contrary.

You have Aemond being harshly questioned by Viserys who at some point menacingly asks him who told him about Rhaenyra's children being bastards.

Aemond knows that he can't just throw Alicent under the bus because at least he and his brother are still the king's kin, so he knows nothing will happen to them (which isn't a guarantee for Alicent despite being the king's wife) regardless so he blames Aegon.

Now Aegon, who is FAR from stupid, immediately picks up what his brother might be actually doing without knowing the context (and let's remember, the two don't have a good relationship at this point and he could simply deny thinking Aemond is trying to put him in trouble to settle a score) and immediately plays along, even deflecting the argument to how there is no need to have a planted rumour because it's plain to see.

Throughout season 1, Aegon repeatedly demonstrates a greater awareness than other characters give him credit for. In the carriage scene he keeps acting skeptical to the news Viserys wanted him as heir, but Alicent as usual shuts him down even calling him stupid for doubting her love for him. Well, considering how things are going in season 2 he wasn't really wrong about that either, was he?

Season 1 Aegon would have immediately pointed out Alicent's hypocrisy for trying to diminish him in comparison to his father simply because contrarily to expectations he is not willing to be a mindless puppet like Viserys was. Aegon has already picked up on Otto and Alicent's real expectations of him. Why would he ask Alicent if she loves him? Because he genuinely doubt that especially now that he is being dragged to wear a crown out of nowhere. Friendly reminder that not being trained and literate doesn't automatically equate to being stupid.

Additionally, portraying episode 2 as Otto's grand triumph is just completely wrong. Otto, who has been manipulating everyone like pieces on a chessboard, finally gets booted off by the person he least expected it from. This comes after he shows no respect for his son's death, shamelessly declaring that he will parade his body for the sake of their image as the silent sisters were still sewing his head to his body. But of course, god forbid we don't immediately dumb down everything Aegon does, or the audience might start thinking he could actually be a fair competitor for the designated hero of the show.

[kazz-brekker]

hotd episode thoughts

listen, as someone who enjoys some good dragon drama, i feel fantastically well catered-to by this episode

the confrontation between rhaenyra and addam was fun, i liked that it's apparently kind of inspired by western face-offs but with dragons instead of guns

that conversation between larys and ironrod while they were watching aemond sentence men to the watch definitely implied to me that, unlike with his brother, the council is so wary of/intimidated by aemond they don't even want to talk to him about possibly important war developments. which does not bode well for team green's stability in the future, tbh

jace stop being mean about mysaria that's your mom's girlfriend you're talking about :(

i did find the conversation between rhaenyra and jace really interesting, i hadn't considered that the sowing of the seeds plan might bring out so much of his insecurities about being a bastard. he and rhaenyra have probably the most functional parent-child relationship in the show, but they really DON'T talk about this aspect of his life at all, and it really shows

oscar tully unexpected mvp of the episode perhaps? holding his own against that whole council of river lords…calling daemon loathsome…making him execute willem blackwood to atone for spurring on those war crimes…king shit!

i enjoyed getting to see viserys again, i've really missed his actor this season and seeing daemon's reaction to his ruined face was quite interesting

daemon you are SO close to realizing that you don't actually want to be king and would make a terrible ruler, i'm rooting for you to figure this out by the season finale

the scene with aegon and larys talking was probably my favorite from last week so i really liked that we got a follow-up on it. very impressed that aegon is capable of walking even the tiniest amount after what he's been through

rhaena running off into the mountains…she's getting that dragon by hook or by crook

ulf trying to get out of claiming a dragon by claiming he had an injury made me laugh

i like that hugh and ulf have totally different reactions to being possible dragonseeds, one boasting and the other hiding it

alicent was serving real ophelia by john william waterhouse vibes this episode

loved that the dragonkeepers had a huge fight with rhaenyra over the sowing of the seeds, they're in the background of so many dragon scenes but we've never gotten much perspective on what they think of dragons or the targaryen right to claim them before

i do admit to saying "wow, those are some toasty boys" out loud when vermithor was torching those poor dragonseeds

love love LOVE that we got to see both vermithor and silverwing this episode, they look so cool and i love their distinct designs

i have been waiting ALL SEASON for the payoff of hugh and ulf claiming those dragons and it was such an exciting sequence, you could really feel the adrenaline and the danger the whole time

ryan condal on the inside the episodes comparing the death of the dragonseeds to ritual sacrifice was also super fun symbolism

another daeron mention, hi daeron and tessarion :)

also house beesbury making problems for the hightowers, love to see it

after aemond has spent so much time this season intimidating and terrifying other people it WAS super fun to see him do a hard swerve into fear when he saw how many dragonriders rhaenyra has now

that final shot of rhaenyra standing on the dragonmount with syrax, vermithor, and silverwing behind her DID get to, i must say. it's house of the dragon! and we have the dragons!!!

okay yeah i am super hyped for the finale and whatever it may bring, seems like it's gonna be epic. the triarchy! the dragons! the riverlands! helaena in the war effort, apparently?! what fun!

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY INTERVIEWED BY VANITY FAIR MAGAZINE.

KING AEGON COULD BE A VERY ONE-NOTE VILLAIN CHARACTER, BUT IN YOUR HANDS IS NOT. HOW DID YOU APPROACH CALIBRATING AEGON?

"I think anybody who has the darker side to them as the more prominent side — the side that people see first —there’s always a reason for that."

"I dug into that and found a lot of his boyish vulnerability, insecurities, and self-hatred — stuff that he’d been drip-fed his entire life."

"He wasn’t even a spare, you know? He was just completely ignored."

"He was invisible to most people, which is why he behaved in such a way — to numb himself."

But also to say: "Hey, I’m here as well."

"Any attention was good attention for Aegon."

"I find him less of a villain and more of a tragic case."

CAN YOU TALK A LITTLE BIT ABOUT WHY AEGON DECIDED TO FLY TO ROOK'S REST AT ALL?

"It was that moment — well, it’s an accumulation of moments — but that one in particular where Alicent says, 'Do exactly what is required of you: nothing'."

"That was the final dagger in the heart."

"A real cold reminder that he really is seen as being useless."

"A pawn for Alicent and Otto [Rhys Ifans] to use as a puppet."

"But at the end of the day, the law of the land states that he’s the monarch."

"He’s the king."

"He’s the person to call the shots."

"And no one’s gonna fucking stop him from getting on that dragon if he wants to."

"So he got absolutely obliterated drunk and thought, I’m gonna show them."

WHAT WAS YOUR EXPERIENCE LIKE SHOOTING THE BIG DRAGON FIGHT SCENE?

"Cool, man."

"It’s kind of a little boy’s dream."

"It’s just something that you think of when you’re a child as being the coolest thing in the world."

"And it really was."

"They basically build a screen around you so you know where to look: what’s expected, what’s coming at you, what’s leaving you."

"Your entire perspective is quite clear."

"And then amongst that, you’re clad in all this armor that has been expertly crafted by some amazing workmanship."

"But then again, you’re crouched over this big saddle, strapped in, feeling like you can’t move."

"That crane has really got a lot of work to do to make it look like you’re moving."

AT THE BEGINNING OF THE SEASON, AEGON SAYS THAT AEMOND IS HIS CLOSEST CONFIDANT, AND BY EPISODE FOUR, AEMOND HAS BASICALLY TRIED TO KILL HIM. WHERE DO THEY STAND NOW? AND WHAT'S YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH EWAN MITCHELL, WHO PLAYS AEMOND?

"Oh, Aegon and Aemond’s relationship is very different to Tom and Ewan’s relationship."

"Let’s put that out there." [laughs]

"Look, that is sibling rivalry on a very intense scale, isn’t it? It’s the flip of the switch that can happen when somebody feels pushed out or somebody feels like there’s been injustice."

"I always felt like Aemond saw himself being in that position of power and dealing with it better than Aegon would deal with it."

"But then again, his birth certificate states otherwise."

"It was bound to happen at some point, wasn’t it?"

WAS THERE A PARTICULAR SCENE THAT YOU FELT EXTRA CHALLENGED BY OR INVIGORATED BY?

"He’s never in the same frame of mind twice in one day."

"He’s all over the place."

"Keeping up with his erratic mood swings was the hard part, and was this thing that I was having to stay really focused on."

"There wasn’t particularly one scene that I thought, Oh God, not this one, because all of them are challenging in different ways."

"Even the ones where he’s still and more focused are difficult, because you’ve got that sort of inner Aegon rhythm that is rapid."

"It’s very different to mine."

"It’s maintaining that, but still keeping the tension of the scene."

"I relished the opportunity to play someone with such range and creative potential from an acting point of view."

OLIVIA COOKE, WHO PLAYS ALICENT, HAS NOTED THAT YOU TWO ARE NOT VERY FAR APART IN AGE AT ALL, AND YET ARE PLAYING MOTHER AND SON. HOW DID YOU GUYS WORK TOGETHER TO CREATE THAT FILIAL DYNAMIC?

"Every scene that I’ve had with Olivia, there is never a moment that isn’t filled."

"Everything is just so complex and deeply entrenched in her."

"She means everything she says."

"It’s a rare skill to have."

"As an actor, she has that in truckloads."

"It’s a gift to be able to work with her, to play her son."

"Yeah, [it’s] hilarious."

"She’s only a year older than me."

"I think we manage it because we get on so well."

"We’re pals as well, you know."

"I love Olivia to bits."

"Trust her wholeheartedly."

"We have a laugh. We don’t take it too seriously."

"We have common ground on that."

"But then in the moments where the work is happening, it’s all we care about."

"We care immensely."

"It’s one of those things where in the downtime, after we wrap, we can go for a drink."

"We can have a laugh."

"We connect on a personal level as well as a professional level."

"I think that’s what sort of breeds a healthy and believable performance thing relationship-wise."

THERE'S AN AMUSING SCENE WHERE AEGON IS SITTING AROUND WITH THE LADS AND TALKING ABOUT WHAT HIS SOBRIQUET SHOULD BE. SHOULD HE BE 'AEGON THE BRAVE,' 'AEGON THE WHATEVER,' ETC. WHAT DO YOU THINK HE SHOULD BE CALLED?

"Aegon Toast, probably."

[blakeswritingimagines]

Until I Found You

A/N: No real plot but smitten Aemond wouldn't get out of my head so enjoy!

Word Count: 4.7k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

"My mother had a long talk with me- a…heart-to-heart if you would." Alicent's face fills his mind's eye. He can see her smile, her concern. "She tells me about your…qualities: your sense of responsibility, your kindness. She says you'd be a good match for me. We'd be a good match. We're a good match for the realm. You're a good match for me." His voice lowers a little. His eyes are locked onto yours, studying you. He tries to read you. You stare at him with your deep striking eyes, your face is soft and gentle. You tilt your head as if waiting for his response. You have such a gentle look in your eyes that can melt a man's heart and charm him. "I…I…" He has been rendered speechless 'Is my mother truly convinced that you would be such a good match?' He can't help but think "You seem so…so…" He fumbles. It feels like a lifetime when you pause as if waiting for him to respond, and the world seems to freeze.

And he feels like a young boy again, filled with such butterflies in his stomach out of nowhere in a way he's never felt before. You are far more than a pretty face. He had noticed when you are near that the air itself smells like lilac blossoms. You smiled at him, a smile that speaks of pure innocence, and of your true nature. As if you could read his mind, you spoke the words that would melt his heart. Your voice is soft and full of curiosity. "Yes, my prince?" A soft smile plays on your lips, and you tilt your head in what he thinks is the cutest way, waiting for him to say more. His stuttering and pauses make you want him even more, he seemed to be so charming and sweet. His breath catches in his throat. Your voice has an effect on him that he did not know possible. His hands tremble feeling something he's never felt before coming over him, every inch of your body is calling to him, your smell, your caress, your gentle touches, your innocent voice.

You are a vision from the gods themselves, and he cannot believe you are so close to him, your hand on his neck, your face so close to his, your eyes filling his vision. He can’t take his eyes off you. Every time he thinks it couldn’t get better, you did something that makes him think otherwise. He can imagine how good your lips would feel on his. He feels like there is so much he wants to do, your touch is like a song of beauty that moves through his body, and your voice is a melody for his ears. He feels a sudden rage overcome him. It fills him with a desire for only one thing, to keep you. Keep you as his and no one else’s. You are perfect and he will give up everything he has lived for just to have you. The thought of someone else touching you makes him sick. Someone else kissing you, it is intolerable. He will have you. His mind was no longer his own. The touch and smell of you were enough to send him into a trance, a dark thought had started to form in his head. 'You belong to me,' he thought. And help if anyone should claim otherwise. "I believe my mother is right, my sweet. We will indeed make a good, no a great match and shall wed." He is too caught up in his new thinking of you to notice any concern you may have at his words.

You look at him, with a hint of doubt in your eyes. You were unsure of how to respond to the ideal he's built up. You were unsure If he truly desired you, or just the idea of you. You hesitate as if trying to find words to express your feelings. Your breath catches short as your heart races and feel a nervous tinge of uncertainty of everyone accepting you. He senses the moment the fear enters your eyes. He wants to reassure you. He does truly. You are everything he has ever wanted. In his mind, his heart beats faster so that you might just hear it. You have suddenly become the center of his very existence. "My love, please do not misunderstand. I desire you. I cannot put it into words or actions as I desire to do quite yet. My dear, you are all I want in this world and more…" he senses your hesitation, and his heart is almost ripped from his chest. It is a strange sensation, but he cannot help but notice the beauty in your eyes when they are filled with such confusion and trepidation. It almost makes him want you more. He feels compelled to speak again. "My love, do not worry, your confusion is not lost on me. I know with all my heart that I shall love you always and forever, that you are my very life and I could not bear to live without you."

With a shy demeanor, you step away from him, backing away, seemingly overwhelmed by the passion that is sweeping through him. Although you can see a hint of longing and desire in his eyes, you lightly shake your head in disbelief. "Are you sure, my prince?" The sudden change in attitude is almost puzzling. Your eyes widened, as you felt a rush of unfamiliar emotions you were not really used to. You were hesitant to trust this, but there was something about him that was hard to resist. You tried to pull away, but he didn't let go as he came closer to you. You couldn't stop yourself from trembling and biting your lip as you watched him. Was that how you felt? There was so much emotion between you he thought. He can feel the rage building inside him. It is not easy when you say these things. He is not used to rejection from anything. And he couldn’t let this sit. So this was how you wanted to play? He smiled cruelly, and he would take what he wanted from you…

As months passed and once the word was given, Alicent planned the wedding to be an elaborate affair. With the nobility of the Realm gathered to witness your union, the ceremony was as grand. The ceremony was held in the large Sept of King's Landing, where you were united in the eyes of gods and men. Your family and friends were in attendance, along with many of the most important and notable members of the various houses and factions of the Realm. As you looked around the room, you felt a sense of pride and happiness, and you couldn't wait for your new life together to begin. You were dressed in royal attire, and looking as regal as ever in your white gown. You stood before Aemond with a look of woe on your face, the look in your eyes was distant like you were trying to hide from everyone. But you also seemed nervous, as if you couldn't stand all the prestige watching you so closely.

He was now your husband, as he had desired. You were his, and no one would ever take you from him. Now that you were his, he could do with you whatever he so desired. No one would ever steal you from him, or challenge his power over you. It was a thought that filled his head with a feeling of pure joy. And he could no longer remember how he ever lived without you at his side. You were his one and only his. His new life had just begun, and he could not wait to see what he might do to you. You smiled warmly, looking at Aemond with all your affection and devotion. It was strange, as if something had shifted within you. Something that was almost palpable. You were no longer afraid of his life and desires but rather embraced them with an open heart and a trusting nature. You had truly become one with him now. He could do with you whatever he pleased, and your feelings and needs were secondary to his own. This was truly love.

The feast that took place in the grand hall to celebrate your wedding was filled with merriment and laughter. It seemed a fitting way to ring in a union the likes of which the realm had not seen in many a year. The servants were seen bringing out an endless array of dishes and desserts to satisfy the appetites of the guests. In addition, there were ample amounts of the finest wines and drinks to toast your happy union. There was much to celebrate, and the guests kept at it throughout the night, long into the early morning hours. You both sat together, and you leaned up to him, you were his and he was yours. But he would no longer play a game of subtlety with you. This was his chance to fully exert his power over you. He leaned in close to you, whispering into your ear. It would be your first taste of what was to come. Now that you were his, he would finally begin to make you his own, he would show you who you were to belong to, and what he was to possess, the room is loud with the sounds of the party, but with this single whisper his voice breaks through the noise and makes your body tremble. He leans in close enough to kiss your cheek and whispers in the softest voice. ”My love, I’ve been wanting to say this to you for so long now, and now that I have you in my grasp, I can say it with all the certainty in the world. You… you are mine. Forever and always. All of you.”

That simple yet powerful statement was enough to make your whole world light up. Your heart skipped a beat as you heard those words, taking your breath away and sending delicious chills down your spine. You trembled, leaning closer to him so that your faces were only inches apart, your eyes fluttering with the passion and desire he filled your heart with. Your body responded instinctively to his touch, wanting nothing more than to be in his arms and his alone. You leaned closer to him, breathless and feeling pure excitement. You could feel the heat of his breath and the intensity of his words. They swept through you, causing heat to rise to your very core. Your lips parted as you took in a deep breath, and you felt your body respond in kind. It was as if you had been waiting your whole life for him to claim you as his own. He took your face with both hands, his lips almost touching yours, close enough to feel your breath, your warmth. He kept talking in this soft, quiet voice, wanting you to hear every word. With your body so close and responsive, it was taking all of his wits to resist taking you in front of everyone. The feeling of having you completely submit to him, this feeling of pure power and authority he had over you, was almost too much. And he wanted to see you break completely under it, and no one else would ever touch you, ever again.

The months had passed, and the feeling of excitement and euphoria had not left him. The marriage had been the best thing that had ever been decided for him. But it was not enough. You were more than a wife. You were his possession. He made sure to remind you of this. He would touch you in a manner he felt was necessary to remind you of his control. He would kiss, grope, and hold you wherever and whenever it suited him. It was his right, he was possessive of you. In public he is always close, his hands touch you in places and ways that are meant to remind everyone of where you belong. At times he would pull you close without explanation, just to get the feeling. Behind closed doors, it was even worse. His hands never left you, either around you or on your body. Your very presence was needed for him to feel whole, and he was addicted to the feeling. You were like his drug, and your body was his to use however he pleased. “You will never be with anyone else, only me.”

Your body stirred with such heat and passion that you felt as if you might faint. Your skin crawled with goosebumps as you imagined all the ways he would possess you, all the things you would let him do to you. You wanted to be his in every way possible. You wanted to feel only his touch, nothing else. You were addicted and craved his needs. You could not deny him anything, and you wouldn't even try. “Please… please don't stop…” You whisper in a breathy, excited tone, your body trembling with anticipation of the touch that you desperately crave. There was a pleading tone in your voice as you were begging him to continue. You can feel the heat coursing through your body, your skin was hot and glowing with desire. You need him, more than anything. Aemond smirked at your response, feeling the warmth of your body against his fingers and the softness of your breasts in his hands. He knew how much you loved being touched by him, and he couldn't resist teasing you just a bit before continuing the intimate moment together. "Oh, I won't stop now," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "I plan on showing you exactly what kind of pleasure I can give you." He leaned down to kiss your neck, his fingers still gently massaging your breasts while one hand reached down to unbutton your dress, revealing more of your skin beneath it begging to be marked by him once more. "You're so beautiful when you're this eager for me," he whispered into your ear.

Your heart raced as you felt his lips against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. The sound of his voice sent chills down your spine, making your body tense up in anticipation of what he had planned for you. As he pushed your dress off slowly, revealing more of you to him, you felt a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through your veins. "Show me how much you love me… how much you want me…"you whispered, your voice barely audible, "I want to see all of you… I want to be yours completely." As he continued to tease and touch you, your body began to throb with desire, yearning for more of his attention. With a final flourish, Aemond pulled off your dress entirely, leaving you standing naked before him. Your perfect curves were bared to his gaze, and he couldn't help but admire them for a moment before moving closer to press his nose against your neck, inhaling deeply as he took in your scent. His other hand moved to cup one of your hips firmly, pulling you closer to him while he looked over every inch of your body with hungry eyes. "There you are," he whispered, "Just as I like." His voice was low and rough, "So perfectly angelic." He ran his finger along the curve of your waist before trailing it down to tease the swell of your ass, giving it a light slap for emphasis.

You couldn't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and arousal at his intense gaze. You bit your lower lip nervously, feeling exposed and vulnerable but also incredibly turned on by the thought of him owning every part of you. "Yes… I am here for you… I am all yours…" you whispered, "Do whatever you want with me… I trust you completely." Your voice was barely audible, but you meant every word of those three simple sentences. As he slapped your ass, you let out a small moan of pleasure, unable to control yourself any longer. "Please… don't hold back anything from me." At the sight of you standing naked before him, Aemond's eyes widened in pure lust as he took in every inch of your exposed form. Your body seemed to radiate an intoxicating mixture of innocence and sensuality, drawing him in and making him feel almost powerless against his urges. He wanted nothing more than to claim every last inch of you as his own, marking you as his possession and showing everyone who dared to look that you belonged to him. "Please… please fuck me…" you whispered, your voice trembling with need, "I want to feel your cock inside of me… I want to be filled up by you."

Aemond's eyes darkened at your words, and he growled low in his throat as he finally dropped his pants, revealing his hardened erection to you. He reached out and grabbed your hips firmly, pulling you close to him until your back was pressed against the wall behind you. His hands roamed over your ass cheeks before he finally entered you with a grunt, pushing into your tight entrance forcefully. "Fuck me," he grunted, "I'm going to fill you up completely." His large hands gripped your hips tightly as he began to thrust into your depths, driving himself deeper into your wet heat with each stroke. Feeling his thick cock push into you forcefully, you let out a small cry of surprise mixed with pleasure. The sudden invasion caused a mix of pain and ecstasy to surge through your body, causing your muscles to clench around his length involuntarily. As he began to fuck you relentlessly, your mind went blank, consumed solely by the intense pleasure coursing through your body. "Ah yes… fuck me, fill me up… I'm yours… I belong to you…" you moaned, your voice becoming increasingly breathless as he claimed your body completely.

His hands gripped onto your hips tightly as he continued to pound into you, his large member driving deep into your wet folds with each powerful stroke. He could feel your tight walls clenching around him each time he pulled out and pushed back in, coating himself thoroughly in your slick essence as he claimed ownership over every inch of your body. "Yes, that's my girl," he growled, "So tight and perfect for me." His balls slapped against your ass cheeks with each thrust, leaving a trail of precum dripping down your sensitive flesh as he continued to dominate and control every aspect of this intimate moment between them. "I'm going to make you come undone for me," he promised. As he continued to drive into you with brutal force, your body responded instinctively, clenching around his cock and milking it for all its worth. The combination of pain and pleasure was nearly overwhelming, causing your mind to become hazy and your thoughts to blur together as you focused solely on the intense sensations coursing through your body. "Oh god... yes... fill me up... make me yours completely..." you cried out, your voice weakening as the waves of pleasure threatened to consume you entirely. "I belong to you... I am yours..." The thought of being completely devoted and owned by Aemond brought forth an intense rush of arousal within you, causing your juices to flow freely from your pussy as he relentlessly fucked you.

Aemond's harsh grunts echoed in the room as he continued to pound into you, his large cock stretching your tight walls to their limit. He could feel your walls clenching around him tighter with each thrust, coating him completely in your wetness as he drove himself deeper into your body. With each powerful stroke, he felt like he was branding himself into your very soul, leaving no doubt in either of your minds about the extent of his possession over you. "That's right, my little whore," he growled, "You belong to me completely." His hands gripped onto your hips tightly, guiding him expertly as he continued to pump into you relentlessly. As he continued to pound into you mercilessly, your body became increasingly slick with your arousal, causing your walls to quiver and contract around his thick cock. The intensity of the pleasure was almost too much to bear, causing your mind to become clouded and your thoughts to drift aimlessly as you focused solely on submitting yourself fully to Alaric's dominance. "Yes… yes… I'm yours… I belong to you…" you whispered brokenly, "Please… please fill me up completely…" Your voice trailed off into a series of moans and gasps as he continued to fuck you with unbridled passion, driving himself even deeper into your waiting pussy.

Aemond's harsh breathing and heavy panting were the only sounds in the room except for the sound of skin slapping against skin as he continued to impale himself upon your wetness. He could feel his balls slapping against your ass cheeks with each powerful thrust, filling the room with the sound of his primal masculinity as he claimed complete ownership over every inch of your body. "Always so tight... so perfect for me," he growled, "I'm going to make you come undone for me... I'm going to fill you up so completely that there won't be any part of you left untouched by my cock." As he continued to fuck you with unrelenting force, your body began to shudder with anticipation, your mind becoming lost in a haze of pleasure and submission. The thought of being completely possessed by Aemond and belonging to him completely sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, causing your inner walls to clench tightly around his thick member as he showed no signs of slowing down. "Fill me up… fill me up completely…" you pleaded breathlessly, "Make me yours… make me yours forever…" Your voice trailed off into a chorus of moans and gasps as he continued to claim your body as his own, driving himself deeper into your slick depths with each powerful stroke. As he continued to fuck you relentlessly, your orgasm approached rapidly, causing your body to quake and shiver uncontrollably in anticipation of the intense climax building within you.

Aemond's grunts grew louder and more animalistic as he continued to pound into you without mercy, his large member pulsing inside your tight entrance with each powerful stroke. He could feel your walls clenching around him tighter and tighter with each passing second, coating him completely in your wetness as he showed no sign of stopping or slowing down. "Mine... all mine," he growled, "And I'll never let anyone take you away from me." His hands gripped onto your hips tightly, holding you in place as he continued to drive himself deeper into your waiting pussy, pushing himself as far as he could go until finally. He could feel the approaching climax building within both of you and knew that soon he would release his load deep within your waiting pussy, marking you as his possession once again. "Yes... I'll fill you up completely... there will be no doubt in anyone's mind who owns this sweet little cunt," he growled, "And when I'm done, there won't be a single inch of you left unclaimed by me."

Aemond's pace increased leaving a trail of hot cum dripping down your ass as he claimed complete ownership over every inch of your body. The sight of his large member buried deep within your tight pussy was enough to make any man envious, and Aemond knew that he held the ultimate power over you now. "Fuck, I'm close," he groaned, "I'm going to fill you up with my seed." His hands gripped onto your hips tightly, guiding him towards his climax as he prepared to release inside of you, marking you as his forever. As he neared his climax, Aemond's movements grew more frantic, his hips bucking wildly as he pounded into you with reckless abandon. The feeling of being surrounded by warmth and slickness was incredibly stimulating, causing his cock to twitch and throb with desire as he emptied his load deep within your awaiting womb. With a loud grunt, he released a torrent of hot cum into your tight entrance, filling you up completely and marking you as his possession for eternity. "There... there's my girl," he growled, "Now you're truly mine... completely mine." He brought you over to the bed, spent but satisfied, as he reveled in the knowledge that nothing could ever separate them from one another again.

As Aemond filled your tight pussy with his thick seed, you could feel the warmth and fullness enveloping your insides, causing your body to tremble in pleasure and submission. The thought of being completely marked and owned by him caused an intense surge of pleasure to course through your body, causing your orgasm to crescendo as you surrendered completely to his dominance. "Ahh… ahhh… I'm yours… I belong to you… Please don't let go of me… please stay inside of me…" you cried out. "I'll stay inside of you... I'll fill you up completely... I'll never leave you... I'll always be a part of you..." He leaned down and kissed you softly on the lips before speaking again. "You'll never be able to get rid of me now. I'm a part of you now." He rested back into the plush mattress and held you, letting his cock press against your womb as he took a moment to catch his breath after the intense fucking he had just given you. "And you'll never be able to forget who you belong to."

As you open your eyes, you gaze up at him with a look of complete satisfaction, your breath coming in quick, sharp intervals as you tried to catch your breath. Your body is still pulsating with arousal, the lingering effects of his touch still lingering on your skin. You smiled at Aemond weakly. You lay in his arms, completely exhausted but utterly content. His hands roam over your soft skin, caressing you, reminding you of the love and passion that you shared together. You felt secure and content with him, safe and content with the way he made you feel. As he stroked your flesh in just the right way, you closed your eyes, breathing slowly and deeply. he could almost hear your sighs and the sounds of ecstasy as you melted in his arms. The look of ecstasy on your face was what made him so happy. He was proud that he had achieved this, that he was the source of your pleasure and satisfaction. The way his hands caressed your body and the soft sound of your breaths almost put him into a trance as well. Your warm breath on him was a feeling he could never grow enough of. This was what was right for him: a woman all his to do with as he pleased.

He leans close and nuzzles his face into your neck. He whispers into your skin, his breath warm and comforting. "My dear, my love, I cannot believe that you are mine to possess. You are so responsive. You are so accepting. How I have been deprived for so long, I have no idea. I believe I would not have lived a full life had I not met you. Please, my dear, never forget this. Now and always, you belong to me. No one else will ever possess you. You are my princess, my queen. You are mine." Your breaths come in short, sharp gasps as you listen to his words. You feel like you were floating on air, basking in the warmth and safety he radiated just for you. The feeling of him nuzzling his face in your neck sends chills up your spine, making your body arch up against his almost instinctively. You leaned into him, your limbs soft and pliable. “You make me feel like a queen, my prince. You make me feel so adored and loved. I am yours, body and soul, now and always."

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 5: Forgotten

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your family gains new additions.

Hello! My sincere apologies for how long this took. I got massively sidetracked by researching how to bind a book, the interest in which hit at a completely inappropriate time in the writing-editing-crafting cycle, lol. I should definitely be focusing on finishing this thing before I start fixating on binding books. Anyway; this chapter is a little time-jumpy, given that I have to speed through a bunch of time. Also, note that I've fudged with the ages of Alicent's kids, so in Episode 3, know that she is now pregnant with Aemond, not Helaena like in the show. It's the only way to make him of-age in the Episode 8 scenes. Happy (and well-deserved) holidays to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs, who I have graciously given a night off of slaving away for me, lol.

TRIGGERS: continued discussion of child grief, Viserys's shenanigans in impregnating an underaged Alicent (canon, this is NOT MY ADDITION).

When Alicent gets married to Papa, they have a big ceremony. So so many people come from all over the kingdom to see Papa take a new queen, and the days of the wedding—there are lots of days to them starting in marriage—are full of more noise and colour and movement than you could ever think was real.

Her dress is very pretty, and Papa looks very nice in his new coat, but neither of them look so happy as people who are going to be in marriage should be. Papa keeps playing with the ring on his finger that is from Mama, while Alicent just looks like she is afraid. You think it might be because of how loud everyone is being.

’Nyra isn’t happy, either. She keeps you on her lap the entire time with an angry look and doesn’t speak to Alicent very much at all, but at least she tries to be kind when she does. She ignores Papa, and because you are all sitting at the high table and everyone is watching you, he cannot tell her she is being rude and naughty.

Because you don’t want to look at Alicent’s unhappy face or ’Nyra’s angry one, you play with your sister’s necklace, letting the shiny metal take all your attention. It is Valyrian steel, which is what Papa’s and Uncle’s swords are made out of, so it is very special. Uncle gave it to her. When you let your fingers swirl over the ruby in the middle of the big pendant over and over, you pretend that it’s a part of him and that he’s here, after all.

After the big ceremony is done, life goes back to almost-normal. Now that Alicent is Papa’s queen, she is something called a stepmother, meaning that Brella and Septa and all the people who are made to look after you and ’Nyra have to talk to her about you both. She is like your mama. You wake up and break your fast with Alicent, and she cuts up your food instead of Mama, and she takes you outside to play and tells you about the names of the flowers. Then, when it is time to sleep again, she reads you a story. You think that she likes it very much because she always seems sad until she sees you, and then her face goes bright like the sun.

‘Nyra doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it at all. When she learns that Alicent is acting like your mama, she goes very red like she’s going to scream, but she just goes very quiet instead and storms out of your rooms. For that whole day, ’Nyra takes you to the gardens and to see Syrax and to the library to learn some more High Valyrian, her new sworn shield Ser Criston behind her all the time. She never once lets you go see Alicent to do the things you normally do. When you finally get to be in the room with her at suppertime with Papa and ’Nyra, which Papa has said you all must do now so that everyone can get along, all she does is give you a small smile that doesn’t make her eyes go bright like usual and ask about your big day with your sister.

That is how things are for a while. Either you will go through your days with Alicent or with ’Nyra, and never both in one day because ’Nyra is still so angry at Alicent for being in marriage with Papa. You keep asking why, but your sister doesn’t tell you anything. She just goes quiet and frowns and mutters things you cannot hear. Meanwhile, Alicent will always stop, take a big breath that sounds shaky when she lets it out, and say, “I have no quarrel with Rhaenyra. She is as welcome to my rooms and in my company as you are, princess.”

You think that might be a lie.

One day, though, everything changes.

’Nyra decides to take you to the library so that you can look at more books in High Valyrian. Even the books written in the Common Tongue make no sense to you yet, and Brella told you this is because you are not old enough to learn reading properly. Still, your sister says that it is still good to try when you’re young, so she sits beside you and points out all the funny-looking symbols and tells you what they mean all together. You fall asleep in there instead of having a nap in your bed, but ’Nyra just puts a blanket over you and keeps reading. When you wake, you listen to her voice as she speaks the words from the pages aloud. You don’t understand all of it, but you think you’ve learned more and more since Mama died and she stopped being friends with Alicent. It means she has lots of time for you. Maybe that shouldn’t make you happy, but you cannot help it.

At supper, you see Lord Hightower, Alicent’s papa, beside her. That means that you have to be next to ’Nyra tonight, so you follow her to her side of the table and sit in the chair that the maid pulls out for you. The chair is higher than the others, made special so that you can reach the food that is put before you. Looking around, it is easy to tell that something is different from how happy Lord Hightower looks and how smiling Papa’s face is.

“My two daughters,” he says a bit too loudly, cheeks bright red. His cup is in front of him, and the gold shines red from the drink inside. Wine, you think. It is for men and women, not little girls, and it makes the people who drink it act strange like Papa is now. He waves his hand in a ‘hello’ as he lifts his cup to his mouth and takes a sip. “Ah!”

’Nyra starts eating her food without a word. Everyone has plates with different foods on it, but you have a bowl in front of your seat. Because you are small, the cooks always give you pottage for your supper so that you can eat it with a spoon and no one has to cut things up for you. You don’t always like it—there are lots of lumps and you can never tell what taste is going to be in your mouth with each bite—but it is warm and makes your tummy nice and full.

The room is full of the sounds of chewing and clack-clacking when the knives and forks hit the plates. You pick up your spoon and scoop up some food. There are dark bits, which means the cooks have put meat in it. You scrunch your nose.

Papa coughs between bites. He is still smiling a lot. “It seems like an age since I saw you last!”

“We had supper with you yesterday evening,” ’Nyra says.

“Ah, yes!” He takes another drink of his wine. Maybe he shouldn’t, because he is blinking very much like you do when you’re trying to stay awake. “Perhaps the waiting has made it seem longer.”

“Waiting?”

“I am sure you have noticed Otto’s presence by now.”

’Nyra doesn’t even look at the man. “My lord.” Her voice seems cold.

“Princess.” Lord Hightower bends his head, but he doesn’t sound very happy either.

Alicent puts her hand on Papa’s arm. ’Nyra watches so closely that you wonder if her eyes can make holes in other people’s skin. “I—we—have some news, Rhaenyra.”

“Oh?” She sounds bored.

“Well…”

When Alicent doesn’t say anything, ’Nyra makes a huffing noise. It is very rude.

“Well?” she asks, looking between Alicent and Papa. “What is it, then? Everyone’s acting rather strange.”

“Alicent is with child,” Papa says.

‘With child’ is what people say when a baby is growing in a lady’s belly. It’s what Mama told you before Baelon grew very large inside her.

’Nyra freezes, almost like she has forgotten how to move. No one says anything. Papa’s smile—the one that his words made so much bigger when he said them out loud—begins to fall, more and more with each moment that ’Nyra does nothing at all. Then, it goes away completely, and he’s no longer happy like he was.

It’s quiet again. Not the nice kind—the kind that means that someone is about to yell or be naughty.

“A baby?” you ask. Maybe you can stop the bad from happening if you help everyone remember that you’re still here.

Alicent looks at you, the fear leaving her face a little. She nods. “Yes, princess. You’re to have a brother or sis—”

“Half-brother.” ’Nyra’s lips move, but the rest of her stays still. She cannot stop staring between Papa and Alicent. “Or half-sister. Either way, they will not be your full blood.”

“You are correct, princess.” From the way Lord Hightower speaks and how silent Alicent and Papa are at ’Nyra’s words, you think she must have said something quite mean. He gives her a little smile, one that makes her hands squeeze really tight on her knife and fork. “Even so, these are glad tidings, indeed. Let us all pray for the queen to be delivered of a son.”

“I’m sure that would be of great benefit to the Hightowers, my lord. A son… to solidify your claim to my father’s throne.”

Lord Hightower stops smiling. Alicent gasps.

Papa makes a small noise. “Rhaenyra—”

All at once, she stands, the plate in front of her clattering loudly with how quick she rises. “Congratulations, Your Grace.” She doesn’t sound very happy for Alicent, even if the words are nice. “Forgive me—I feel suddenly unwell.”

“Daughter—”

’Nyra ignores Papa and storms out of the room, leaving her food only half-eaten. The rest of supper is very quiet, the loudest noise of all being the sound of your own breathing.

Isn’t a baby meant to be happy news? you wonder. You look around, but no one here is very happy—except for Lord Hightower. Though he isn’t smiling, he has his head held high like he has had every one of his wishes granted all at once.

“What do you think, princess?” Brella asks.

You stare down into the cradle at the baby. Your brother. Aegon. He is squirming, face bright red, squished and crying. He hasn’t stopped even once since you came into the room. He might have been crying since before you did, even. Aside from the bright hair on top of his head, you don’t think he looks very much like you.

“He’s nice,” is what you say, but you don’t know if you really mean it. It’s more for Alicent, who is watching you from over on the bed. She looks very tired. If you said something less kind, she may cry.

Alicent smiles. “Thank you, princess. Nurse—bring him to me, please.”

She doesn’t mean Brella. There is another woman here, Gwenys, who Lord Hightower and Septa Marlow assigned to help give Aegon milk and take care of him when Alicent cannot. Gwenys comes and picks up the baby, walking over to give him to Alicent. She rocks him in her arms which doesn’t stop him from crying, but she still keeps on bouncing him softly. He is very unhappy.

Now that Alicent is holding Aegon, you know that she’ll forget you are there. Ever since Papa told you and ’Nyra that he was in Alicent’s belly, neither of them have had much time for you. It feels like all the people in the keep—from Papa and Alicent and Lord Hightower to the servants and maids and stableboys—have been more excited for the baby than they ever were for you. The only person who has remembered you is ’Nyra, and so you are with her on most days. It sometimes makes you sad, because it really was very fun to play pretend that Alicent was your mama for a while, but ’Nyra says that it wasn’t going to last, anyway.

“She is to have her own child to care for, now,” she told you in the days after learning about the new baby. “You were good practice—but you aren’t her blood, not really. Not like you and I. Her son will be born, and you’ll be given to a nurse or a septa to raise.” When you cried, she bent down and wiped away your tears. “It doesn’t make her a bad person,” she said quietly. “But this is the way of the world, sister. Men and women, kings and queens… they all want sons. Us daughters must stick together, yes?”

’Nyra was right. At first, Alicent tried to keep pretending to be like your mama. But then, the baby made her very ill, so she stopped asking you to come to break your fast so you wouldn’t have to see her being sick into the pail by her bed. Then, she spent so much time sleeping that she didn’t have the energy to come outside with you, or to dance with you, and soon, the only time you would see her was at suppertime. Even that wasn’t always. And now the baby is here, you don’t think she will be going back to the way it used to be.

Maybe that is why he feels like such a stranger to you. At least with baby Baelon, you got to feel him kicking in Mama’s tummy. Aegon wasn’t here for so long, and then all of a sudden, he was. He is. You don’t know him at all. He’s just a baby, come to take your papa and almost-mama away from you like all the rest.

Brella’s hand on your shoulder is what helps you walk towards the door, Alicent and Aegon staying in the room behind you. With your back turned, it’s easier to pretend that Alicent is very sad by you leaving.

The more moons pass, the more faded Mama’s face is in your memory. You try to hold onto the way her eyes would crinkle at the corners when she smiled, or how her hair would curl a bit like yours after her bath, or the way she’d smell like roses when she hugged you tight. It slips away, out of reach. Putting rose oil in your bath helps you, but only a little bit—and the longer that Mama is gone, the less you can remember of her.

Papa doesn’t like to talk about her. When you ask him, he just spins the ring on his finger around and says, “Another time, perhaps.” You know that ‘another time’ really means ‘never’.

There is no one else in the keep that really knew her like you and your family knew her, except ’Nyra. She tells you stories sometimes, but you don’t ask a lot because she usually likes to tell the ones that have you in them. When she finishes, she always smiles and asks, “Do you remember?” You never can, and it leaves you feeling like someone has scooped out all your insides.

So, Mama fades, and becomes part of that place in your mind where the things that are being forgotten go. Even though you try and try and try, there is nothing that can stop the forgetting. One day, you think she might be nothing more than a quiet sort of sadness, like looking out the window at the rain and wondering why it makes your chest hurt so much.

Seeing Alicent with Aegon is the only thing that reminds you of her. Even though Alicent’s hair is red where Mama’s was silver, and Aegon is loud and angry where you are quiet and shy, the way that she kisses his cheeks or hums little songs under her breath to him makes you think of how Mama would do the same for you. He doesn’t seem to be very happy when she does these things. If it were you in his place, you know you’d be better than him. You wish she’d realise that.

It seems like no time at all goes by when Alicent is with child again, meaning she’s going to have another baby. If it is anything like Aegon, you do not think you’ll like it very much. Sometimes, you feel very naughty for it, but you cannot help how he makes you feel. All he wants to do is make a fuss and take everyone’s attention, and he keeps crying and being naughty even as Alicent’s belly grows bigger and bigger with your new brother or sister.

When Helaena is born, Papa and Lord Hightower aren’t as pleased as they were with Aegon. You can tell because, while they are both in the room when you come to meet her, neither one is looking at her as she lays in the cradle. They had both been looking down at Aegon last time. You think it is because Helaena is a girl, like you and ’Nyra. You decide that you have to love her if they won’t.

She is a quiet baby, but so still that it makes Gwenys worry and worry, even though all she is doing is lying in her cradle and staring straight up. Maybe she knows how rude her big brother is, you think, and she wants to do and be all the things he isn’t.

You weren’t allowed to hold Aegon because he was so disagreeable, which means he would probably have screamed and cried if you did. He still screams and cries, which is why Alicent has to spend all her days with him even though she’s just had a second baby, so Helaena is by herself with Gwenys most hours.

Helaena isn’t like Aegon. This time, Gwenys has you sit in a chair with a pillow under your arm and brings the baby to you. “Mind her head,” she says, tugging your arm forward so that Helaena fits nicely in your arms. “There we go.”

She is a big baby, round and heavy and warm, but you don’t mind because she gazes up at you with large blue eyes that look like they might turn purple when she gets older. The hairs she has on her head—and there aren’t many, not like Aegon had—are silver, and you know that she will look very much like you when she has grown more. When you stroke a finger over the skin on her hand, her whole fist grabs onto it, strong even though she is so young. It’s like she knows who you are, even without any words being said.

You wonder if this is how ’Nyra felt when she met you—a burning that tingles all through your arms and legs, not in a way that hurts, no, but in a way that makes you want to squeeze tight and never let go.

Helaena doesn’t cry. She falls asleep while you’re holding her, her face turned into you so that you can feel her tiny breaths through your dress. It is special and warm and love-feeling like Alicent used to be, like Mama was when she was not-dead. The hurt goes far away, still there but not so much, not so heavy in your chest.

For a little while, the sadness—of forgetting Mama, of being forgotten by so many others—fades away, too.

When you are five summers old, you have to say goodbye to Brella.

All the while you are breaking your fast, she looks like she is about to start crying. Even though you wonder why, you don’t ask. When someone cries, it means that something bad has happened. So much bad has already happened, and you don’t know if you want to hear any more. You eat in quiet, scooping porridge into your mouth while the sound of sniffles fills the room. The taste of honey would make you feel happy, but not when Brella is so upset. Your food sinks to the bottom of your belly like one of the hot bricks you sometimes get under your blankets when it’s very cold at night, only there’s nothing nice about it. It’s hard and rough and makes you feel sick.

After you have finished every bite—you have to eat all of it, or you don’t get to play—Brella takes you by the hand and leads you to the chair. “There is… there is something I have to tell you,” she says, slow and shaky.

I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. You wish that you were like ’Nyra, that you could say the words out loud—but you cannot. You don’t want to know, but you say nothing, and you wait for whatever bad thing is coming to show itself.

“I…” Brella swallows and looks down at your hands, still holding onto each other even though you are sitting and there is no need. “Tell me again how old you are, princess.”

“Five.” It’s a very small number, but you are still proud because you’re almost a big girl now.

Brella laughs, nodding. “That’s right. Five. My goodness. How time flies!”

You find that silly. Time doesn’t fly. It isn’t a thing-you-can-touch, and only things-you-can-touch can fly, like dragons or birds or insects. Still, you try not to show your thinking on your face as Brella squeezes your hand tighter.

“Being five summers old is a very important milestone when you’re a prince or princess,” she says. “Do you know why?”

“No,” you say. “Why?”

Here, she stops. “It… It means—gods, I don’t know if I can say it.”

“Well, then. It appears that I must,” comes a voice from the door.

You turn. Septa Marlow stands with her hands joined in front of her, her mouth pinched into a line so small it is like it has disappeared from her face. Her grey wimple makes her skin look just as colourless. She steps forward, and the sound of her shoes touching the ground seems as loud as thunder.

“You are of an age to begin your lessons, princess. Thus, it is time for your nurse”—she looks at Brella and her lip curls, though you cannot tell if she’s happy or angry—“to depart, and for me to take over your care.”

The sick feeling gets worse, and you wonder if you might bring up all your food from how bad the pains are in your belly. “But—but Brella will still stay, though? For Aegon and Helaena?”

Septa Marlow huffs. “There is no need, silly child. Their nurse has already been appointed, and Gwenys will suffice for any future children borne by the queen. Brella is to collect her things and return to the Vale.”

Brella has taught you some of the places on the map that shows Papa’s kingdom. You live in King’s Landing, which is in the Crownlands, and it is at the bottom of the map. The Vale is where Mother—Mother, not Mama, Mama is for babies and I am not a baby anymore, you have to keep telling yourself—came from, that it is a bit up and to the side from the Crownlands. It isn’t that far in the drawings, but Brella says that maps show a smaller picture of what is really a very, very long distance.

If Brella has to return to the Vale, it means she will be very, very far away.

You think you might be frozen, like ice. You cannot say anything. All that you can think, over and over, is no, no, no, please, not Brella, no, no, no. The fire-burn of tears warms behind your eyes, but you know that you cannot let Septa see you cry. She’ll think you are weak.

Brella sniffles. “I can write to you,” she says, pulling you closer to her. “And, when you’re old enough, you can write to me. How about that?”

You nod, but her words don’t make you feel better. Paper isn’t the same as a person, not really. Even if she puts letters on paper and sends them to you, it won’t be like one of her hugs or the way she laughs when you miss a dance step or fall over in the grass. It won’t smell like her or look like her. It won’t make you feel safe like she does.

She will turn not-real like Mother. Only, maybe it is worse—because you’ll know that, somewhere a long way away from you, she will be real, but that you cannot have her anymore.

“I don’t want you to go,” is what you say, but it comes out like a whisper, not strong like you wanted it to.

“I know, my darling,” Brella says, hugging you tight so that you can feel her heart beating through her skin and yours. “I know, and I’m so sorry—”

“If you could unhand my charge, nurse.” Septa’s eyebrow is raised. “Although—now that it occurs to me—‘nurse’ is no longer the appropriate moniker, is it?”

Brella glares at her. “There’s no need to be so—”

“Your time here is at an end.” Even though she looks like she’s trying not to show her feelings, Septa lifts her chin in the air like ’Nyra used to when she would win at cyvasse against Alicent. “Say your goodbyes.”

“What—here? Now?” Brella’s mouth is open like she’s very surprised. “I’d thought the princess would be coming to see me off at the harb—”

“That is not a good idea. She is too… attached.” Septa says it like it is a curse. “A public display of histrionics does not a respectable princess make, no matter her juvenility.” You have no idea what most of these words mean, but the way they make Brella sink in her seat cannot be a good thing.

She tucks your hair behind your ears as she looks down at you, her eyes wet. “Be good,” she says, very soft so that Septa cannot hear them well. “Make sure you write to me, yes?”

She brushes her thumbs over your cheeks—out, in, out, in—the way she does when she really means ‘I love you’.

“Please stay,” you whisper, trying not to let your lower lip wobble like it wants to so badly. “Please don’t go.”

Brella hugs you again, her whole body shaking. Your face is smushed up against her shoulder, the smell of her herness filling your nose with so much warm. You wonder if, by clinging on tight, you can stop her from leaving. She cannot leave. She is what you have left now that Mam—Mother is gone, now that Papa has Alicent and ’Nyra has Papa and Uncle has his war somewhere away from you. She cannot leave. She cannot.

It feels like she has been holding on for forever and also for no time at all when she lets go, stands up, and walks away without a word. The door shuts.

She didn’t even say goodbye.

Is it worse or better, watching her go away? you wonder through the cold that settles in your body, in your arms and legs, the sharpness of it so much that you feel like shivering even though the sun is shining hot outside. You never saw Mother die. She was here, and then she wasn’t. But you have to watch Brella leave, knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it all the while.

“Dry your tears, girl. ‘Tis about time your coddling came to an end.” Septa pulls you by the shoulder off the chair. Her hand doesn’t feel warm like Brella’s does. Her stare—fixed on you—travels up and down, her mouth crinkling at the corner like she is thinking about something. “Why she was allowed to linger past your name day, I will never understand.”

You cannot think of anything to say, so you keep quiet. It doesn’t seem to make Septa like you any more than she did before, which you don’t think was very much. The tears keep falling, though you try and try to make them disappear.

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands sharply. The loudness of the noise makes you jump. Teardrops shake onto your dress. “We have a long day ahead of us. The queen has requested an update on your progress, so you will be learning no less than three hymns before the end of the sennight. I should like to provide her with”—she looks you up and down again, and this time it seems like she is thinking something unkind about you—“some indication that you will shape up to be a lady of high standing.”

‘I’m a princess, not a lady,’ you want to say. You don’t.

Septa begins striding away, then stops and turns around to face you. “I expect you to follow when I walk, and to acknowledge me when I speak by saying ‘Yes, Septa Marlow’.” She almost spits the words at you. “Understood?”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” It doesn’t sound as strong or as clear as when she said it. You wish you could sound less afraid. Still, she seems to find it good enough. She says nothing afterward, just waits for you to trail along after her.

“Hmph.” She clicks her tongue. Staring down at you again, she adds, “And stand up straight.”

You do as you’re told.

Septa Marlow is as frightfully mean as you always feared.

One thing you learn quickly is that everything you do and say is wrong. When you laugh, it is too unbecoming; when you smile, you show too much teeth; when you walk, you are too hunched over; when you eat, you are too gluttonous. You’re a simpleton when you ask to play with your dolls, so they sit at the foot of your bed slowly being covered by dust; you’re graceless when you try to dance, so you practice after you have been put to bed to try and get better before each morning; you’re impertinent when you say what you’re thinking instead of keeping it to yourself, so you learn to let your thoughts stay inside your head. There is little that she doesn’t pick on and tell you that you need to change.

“Use full words, please!” she says whenever you forget to speak in the proper way that she expects. She always raps her willow switch on the table in front of you after that. Lucky for you, she has not yet used it to hurt you. “It is ‘does not’, not ‘doesn’t’. There is no need to employ such low-class mannerisms as a lady of your standing!”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” There is no point trying to tell her that she’s wrong.

It isn’t all bad, though. Having Septa Marlow take over means that you are now expected to learn all sorts of things, and a lot of it is very interesting. New words, new houses, new hymns, new dances—you start to learn how to sew, how to put letters together to read them, how to count numbers and add and take them away to make different numbers. Septa says that there are so many things a noblewoman like you needs to be able to do by the time she is ready to be married, so that she can run her husband’s household and take care of him and her future children. That is a long time from now, but practice makes perfect.

The only time you are not with Septa is when you are with your family, like today.

Because Aegon has lived past being a baby—and Septa says that babies die a lot from the weather or from being sick or from being fed too much or too little or sometimes for no reason at all—Papa has announced that everyone must go on a hunt to celebrate his name day. You have to sit in the wheelhouse with he and Alicent and ’Nyra and Aegon and three other nurses, but not Helaena. She’s only a baby still, so she must stay in the keep with Gwenys.

It is not a very fun ride. Being in a wheelhouse with them all means putting ’Nyra very close to Alicent, whose belly has grown big with a baby again. Lots of people have lots to say about how many babies Alicent has had since she married Papa, and most of it is not very nice towards your mother. She could only have two girls, and it took her a long time to have you after ’Nyra.

Papa thinks there is another boy in Alicent’s belly. You hope not. Aegon is loud and rude. You think it might be worse if there were two of him instead of just one.

“… whole of our family off to celebration and adventure in the kingswood,” Papa is saying. You swing your legs back and forth, though you must stop each time you roll over a big bump in the road. You stay quiet, because Septa says a lady does not talk unless she is asked a question.

A very big bump in the road makes Alicent’s smile fall.

“Should you be travelling in such condition?” ’Nyra asks. She sounds worried, even though she is no longer friends with Alicent.

“The maester said that being out in nature would do me well,” is what Alicent says back.

Papa starts talking while he finishes giving Aegon a sip from his cup. You wonder if it’s wine. “Well, you will be with your own child sooner than late, and make me a proud grandsire.” He is smiling, perhaps at the thought of it.

‘No, I will not,’ the look on ’Nyra’s face seems to say. You cannot help but agree with her. Having babies seems like such a tiring thing to do.

“It’s not so bad.” Alicent has to speak louder to be heard over the rattling of the wheels and the hoofbeats of the horses. “The days are long, but Aegon came quickly and without fuss. Helaena, too.”

The nurse who is holding Aegon in her lap—Delia, you think her name is—waves a toy dragon in front of him. He smacks at it with his hands, frowning. You would never treat your toys like that.

“You should ride out with me today,” Papa says to ’Nyra. “Join in the chase, while you”—his eyes go to you—“sit about with your lady stepmother. Hm?”

“Okay, Papa,” you say quietly. Proper ladies do what their fathers tell them to.

’Nyra’s hand finds yours. “I’d rather not. The boars squeal like children when they’re being slaughtered.” From the way her fingers squeeze yours and her stare fixes on Aegon, you know she doesn’t mean you when she says that. “I find it discomfiting.”

“It’s a hunt, Rhaenyra.” Papa smiles. It is a careful sort of smile, not a happy one. Aegon’s yell distracts him for a moment, but he is quick to return to speaking to ’Nyra. “How would you like to participate?” he asks her.

“I’d be leaving my sister alone with the vultures of the realm,” ’Nyra says, “so I’m not sure why I must.”

Trying to understand what everyone means by what they say is very difficult—you aren’t sure if she’s saying that the ladies coming along are vultures, or if she’s trying to say Alicent is. You don’t even know what a vulture is, so you aren’t sure if it is a bad or good thing to be.

“Because you are my eldest daughter. The princess.” Papa looks like he is finding it harder and harder to stop himself from telling ’Nyra off. “And you have duties.”

“As I am ceaselessly reminded.” Your sister says it softly, but it is easy enough for you to hear from your place next to her.

Papa doesn’t, though. “I’m sorry?”

Instead of making up a lie or saying that she did not say anything at all, ’Nyra repeats herself louder. It is terribly rude, but you enjoy watching as you have always enjoyed watching her being brave against other people. “As I am ceaselessly reminded.”

“You wouldn’t need to be reminded if you ever attended to them.”

“No one’s here for me!”

Papa doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Neither does Alicent. They both just fall silent along with the nurses. Even Aegon stops making all his annoying noises, instead sitting so still that he could be sleeping if his eyes were not open.

You make sure to hold onto your sister’s hand even tighter. If there is anyone in the whole world who does know what to say, it is you. If only you were brave enough.

‘I understand, ’Nyra,’ you want to say. ‘No one’s here for me, either. No one’s ever here for me.’

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[nrilliree]

TG stans when Alicent, the daughter of a second son in Westeros whose fate was to either marry some lord and bear his kids or become a Septa, marries a king who treated her well and allowed her to have power and influence: Her dreams and girlhood were stolen!!! Evil Viserys ruined her life!!! She is justified in everything she does

The same TG when Rhaenyra decides to not force sex on her gay husband and Laenor willingly accepts her sons with another man as his own and keeps it between them and their family: Rhaenyra is an entitled whOrE and her children are bastards and their official father Laenor's words don't matter. Muh Alicent's rapist son deserves the throne because he has a cock.

They are really selective when it comes to applying modern values, aren't they? When it comes to poor Alicent and her sons, the context and norms of the fictional world are all forgotten but when it comes to Rhaenyra and her sons, they all become raging medievalists in a way that would put the average Westerosi to shame. Or maybe this show has done a number on everyone's critical thinking skills.

And as for Viserys not 'loving' Aegon, I find it really funny that for the stans, as well as for Alicent and Aegon on the show, Viserys could have proved his love in a definite way only by naming Aegon heir. As if doting on his son for as long as his health permitted him, watching over him and shielding him from the consequences of his actions weren't out of love. But just because Viserys didn't remove Rhaenyra as heir, we are supposed to believe that he didn't love or care for his other children. Isn't it plain entitlement on the part of Alicent and Aegon?

Now, if Baelon had lived, Viserys had still married Alicent and Aegon was still the spare, just not to Rhaenyra but to Baelon but still coveted the throne, he would be called entitled and greedy and rightfully so. Even if Baelon had been a useless Crown Prince, Aegon would be expected to stay loyal to him.

Funnily enough this is exactly what we are witnessing in real time with the shocked Pikachu face reactions from TG stans who cried character assassination and turned on Condal after Aemond attempted to murder Aegon. According to them, Aemond should have loved and remained loyal to his incompetent brother who cruelly bullied and humiliated him.

Now, why is it justified for Rhaenyra to be betrayed and usurped by her siblings but not for Aegon - who didn't even bother to learn the ABCs of kingship - and the hypothetical Baelon? The answer to this is the core theme of the Dance. Point that out and the TG will come up with their aggressive whataboutism and the usual monotonous points like, "All of them are bad anyway, no one deserves the throne, poison drips through, Team Smallfolk, blah, blah, blah."

Of course. Alicent was forced to marry a man she didn't love or desire, so she's a victim. Rhaenyra was forced to marry a man she didn't love or desire and vice versa, so she's a spoiled brat because she was looking for a solution so they could both be happy. It's logical. Right?

Aegon goes to brothels and sexually assaults servants because he's unhappy in his marriage, because Alicent forced him to marry his sister. So he's justified. Rhaenyra slept with the one man who wasn't her husband so she could have children (because you know, in vitro wasn't invented back then), so she's a whore. It's logical. Right?

A 15-16 year old Alicent who got married is a poor kid, but a 14 year old Lucerys was already a grown man, not a child. It's logical. Right…?

You can come up with more and more reasons to point out that TG justify certain actions only when it concerns their side. Similarly, they everywhere call for the fact that there are no bad guys in this war! Everyone is equally neutral (but TB worse), no one won, and everyone who claims that TG are the bad guys in this story have not understood the nuances of this complicated story, because it is not about Rhaenyra being usurped because she was a woman… Absolutely not. If Rhaenyra had been born a man and was the oldest son from her first marriage, and not the oldest child, then the story would be the same! Right…?

[farity]

Devil in the Details

"Oh. My. Motherfucking. God."

You turned at your friend Floris's whispered exclamation.

It took you but a second to figure out what she was so excited about.

Aemond Targaryen, the black sheep of the Targaryen dynasty, the reclusive billionaire who looked down at everyone vying for his attention, the man you'd been in lust with since you'd met him five years ago, had actually made an appearance at the glittering charity gala hosted by his mother.

"I need to get his skin care routine," Floris said, biting on her lower lip as she scrutinized Aemond from head to toe. "I'd love to climb that tree tonight."

Good luck with that, you thought to yourself.

You'd been in the same Uni class as his sister Helaena and met Aemond when you'd gone over to work on a joint project. He'd been quiet and almost shy, and you had been instantly smitten.

And had not been able to date anyone in the five years since because all you thought about was Aemond Targaryen.

Not that he gave you a second thought, as far as you knew.

"What the fuck is he wearing?" Floris continued, and, tired of pining after the man, you looked at her and snapped, "why don't you go find out?" before walking away to get your drink refilled.

* * * * *

"We are so very thankful for your family's contribution - the children will benefit greatly," Alicent smiled at you, leaning in to air-kiss you as you said your goodbyes.

You got your coat from the girl at the front, and were about to call for your car when you felt a hand grab your arm.

"Leaving already?"

Your heart began pounding as you recognized Aemond's voice, and taking a breath to steady yourself, you turned to face him.

By the Seven, he looked amazing. He'd shaved off his hair a few months ago when Aegon had done the same after having one too many drinks. Alicent had screamed at her oldest son and out of brotherly solidarity, Aemond had grabbed the electric shaver and started running it along his scalp right in front of his mother.

His eyes bore into yours, the prosthetic eye he had so perfect that you couldn't tell which eye was the real one. Every time you thought about it, you wanted to wallop his cousin, the little shit who had taken Aemond's eye during a childhood fight.

"I've seen enough people to last me a few months," you said, looking at what was, indeed, damn perfect skin, as Floris had mentioned. And was that eyeliner? Because his eyes had never been bluer than they were at that moment.

"Tell me about it," he said, still holding on to your arm, "I was going to grab a drink at the quiet bar next door, if you're game."

There was something vulnerable in his expression and you found yourself nodding and taking the arm he offered. "What in the world are these?" you asked.

He looked down at the latex gloves. "Mother's been berating me for not making an appearance at these things," he shrugged, "so here I am. Maybe she should have specified a dress code."

* * * * *

"You know, there's a name for what you're doing," you said, taking a sip of your drink.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Malicious compliance."

He smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that would be me." He looked back up at you, eyes sparkling, "if she'd wanted me to wear a tux, she should have said so."

"Would you have, though?" you prodded, "I have a feeling you would have figured some way to twist that dress code around. You were always the clever one."

"Not so clever if I never got you to go out with me."

You stared at him for a few seconds. "Aemond, you never asked."

"I'm asking now."

He placed a few bills on the table and placed his hand palm up on the table.

You narrowed your eyes at him, making him laugh, and then placed your hands on his, and let him lead you out the door.

* * * * *

"How is Helaena liking Naath?"

"She loves it there. She has to get her shot every six months but she doesn't care, as long as she can keep studying the butterflies."

"And Aegon?"

"He stopped drinking after he shaved off his head, said it didn't suit his perfectly shaped skull."

You laughed, remembering Aegon's rather oversized ego, and then stole a glance at Aemond. "What about you? How have you been?"

He shrugged, "the company is doing well, family's good," he looked at you, "and I'm on a wonderful date."

You raised your eyebrows, "oh it's a date, is it?"

You could have sworn he blushed, but he lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the back. "It very much is, but I do have a problem." He looked at you very seriously. "I need to lose these damn gloves."

* * * * *

It took about twenty minutes of careful tugging and maneuvering but finally, Aemond was free of the gloves and while you got two coffees to keep you going, he headed to the bathroom to wash his arms.

Back on the street, he grabbed your hand in his as he sipped at his coffee. "This is much better."

"So where on earth does one get this sort of getup to shock Alicent Hightower?"

He smiled. "My friend is a stylist and he hooked me up. His girlfriend is a makeup artist and she put all this stuff on my face and hair."

"You look amazing," you said sincerely, "your eyes look super blue."

"I could feel mom's blood pressure spiking as she noticed the eyeliner and highlighter," he laughed. "It was worth it."

"I bet she'll say extra prayers for you tonight."

Nodding, he took another sip of his coffee. "Not enough prayers in the world," he mused. You stopped to drink some of your own coffee and he pulled you closer. "And I really want to kiss you."

You looked up at him, your heart beating faster, and then he placed his coffee cup down, and took your face in his hands. He brushed his nose against yours, not rushing you, and then his lips touched yours. He kept the kiss light and gentle, his fingertips threading through your hair as you sighed against him.

He murmured your name as he wrapped an arm around you. You didn't want this to end, this magical night, and then he spoke again.

"Come home with me."

* * * * *

"You feel so damn good," Aemond whispered in the lift, his hands on your hips as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

The car stopped and the doors opened, and you stepped into his loft, his hands roaming over your ass as you kicked off your shoes and let him pull you up against him.

"I want you so fucking much," you said against his mouth. He led you to his bedroom and you sat down on the edge of the bed as he pulled his shirt off over his head. "Come here, Aemond," you smiled.

He walked up to you, slowly, and you reached up to undo the fastenings on his leather trousers, keeping your eyes on him. Your hand lightly went over where he was already hard as a rock, and he hissed.

You drew down the zipper ever so slowly, biting down on your lower lip.

"I am going to make you pay for this," he gritted out.

"For what?" you asked innocently, starting to tug down the waistband. When you finally freed him, your eyes darting between his cock and his eyes, you licked your lips and took him in your mouth.

"Fuck."

"Hmmmm," you moaned around him, relaxing your throat so you could take him deeper. You could hear Aemond's breathing stuttering as you slowly pulled your lips all the way to the very tip of him and then took him back down your throat, hollowing out your cheeks.

"Fuck," he repeated, "I, uh, I can't-"

You felt him suddenly pull you off him and push you back on the bed.

"This is going to end too quickly if you keep doing that, angel."

"Angel?"

"Look at you," he said, indicating your white shimmery gown. "An angel about to be debauched."

You let one strap of the dress fall off your shoulder. "What does that make you, then?"

He lunged for you, hands on the bed on either side of you, and the smile on his face made you shiver.

"Me? I'm already destined for hell, love."

He took your lips, not slowly or gently this time, but desperately, his mouth all consuming on yours as he demanded entrance with his tongue and you willingly gave it. He was tugging down your dress as he kissed you, long fingers deftly maneuvering the yards of fabric until he had bared your breasts and then he pulled back, looking down at you.

You pushed the rest of the dress down until it fell on the floor, then laid back down and extended your arms to him. "Come here, Aemond," you said for the second time that night.

He shoved down the trousers, kicked them aside and spread your legs open before he kissed you again. He was so warm, his skin ablaze against yours, and you pulled him down to you, unable to get enough of him.

He began to kiss your neck, long fingers teasing your nipple, and then his mouth was on your breast and you moaned, the sharp sting of pleasure making you arch against him. He reached down lower, between your thighs, and you gasped.

"Tell me what you like," he murmured against your lips.

"Oh," you breathed as he settled on a steady rhythm, drawing tiny circles on the knot of nerves, "you're doing fine," you managed.

"Fine is not what I'm aiming for," he said, and slipped two fingers inside you and you cried out, your hips beginning to rock against him. "I want you to come for me," he added, curling his fingertips inside you.

"Aemond," you whispered, one hand on his shoulder, the other grabbing at his hair. "I- I'm-" you pressed your face to his neck a moment before the orgasm barreled through you, your cry muffled against his skin.

You felt him kneeing your legs apart and then he was pushing inside you. As ready as you were for him, he was big, and you bit down on your lower lip, still recovering and still wanting more.

"You can take me," he murmured soothingly as he kissed your temple. "Next time you come, I want to feel it around my cock," he said, and you whimpered as he rocked his hips to fill you completely.

He pulled back slowly, eyes on you, making sure you were okay, and then snapped his hips. You let your head fall back, and felt his teeth on your jaw, raking gently. "So good," he whispered, "I've wanted you for so long," he said as he settled on long, slow strokes. "So fucking long."

"Aemond," you closed your eyes, the feeling of him moving inside you beginning to send you back into that delicious spiral.

He reached between you, fingertips finding you and you moaned. "I can feel you," he said, "you-"

You cried out as you came, and felt him grab your hips to steady himself as he reached his own orgasm.

* * * * *

As reserved and aloof as you had always thought him to be, he hadn't stopped kissing and caressing you in the aftermath of your lovemaking. The man was full of surprises.

"Stay with me," he murmured against your cheek. "Tonight."

"How can I go when you've got me completely caged in," you teased, looking down at the arms he had wrapped around you and the way his legs were tangled with yours.

"Damn, I was trying to be stealthy," he smirked back. "We'll get breakfast, maybe I'll let you lure me back to bed again."

You rolled your eyes at him. "Rewriting history, are we? I remember trying to leave and someone grabbing my arm."

His eyes became serious on yours. "If I could rewrite history, I would have grabbed you a lot sooner." He leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your lips. "But I mean to make up for it."

You smiled against him, and let him pull you closer, thinking you were only too happy to let him make it up to you for a long, long time.

[ai-megurine]

HOTD S2 trailer – Reaction

"They are a protector of the realm" oh shut up you're married to Daemon War Crimes Targaryen

"I find myself in an impossible situation:((((" you put yourself in it bestie

Did they really put Dany's 3 eggs before a shot of Rhaenyra? These eggs were from Dreamfyre, HELAENA'S dragon.

Aegon looks so good!!!! And his friend is best hype man

Green council!!

"proceed with caution" THEY KILLED JAEHAERYS WOMAN. Do they want me to hate Alicent or something?

"Fuck dignity, I want revenge!" MY KING.

"I didn't think they'd be so eager to die" yeah about that.

I genuinely cannot even begin to care about Corlys to save my life

Daemyra breakup, YES.

SUNFYYYYYYYYYYYYRE THE GOLDEEEEEEEEN

MY BESTEST BOI

Aemond is right to call Alicent out, she's being unbearable and lord knows I love book!Alicent

Aegon looks haunted by B&C, I'm breaking, I can't.

Cargyll bowl!

So huh, anyone going to mention how Criston's horse outran a dragon? Real MVP of the war right here!!!!

I think Aemond is with the brothel madame. Other theory is Alys, maybe in a dream of something

Why the random Valyrian sex worker? Is it where Daemon goes when he's tired of the niece he groomed?

So Meleys looks nice

Helaena in the riot????? LEAVE HER ALONE. STAY AWAY FROM HER.

AKZLDOAKWNSLAPSKAKDIZ

I'm glad to know she'll still have a role in the show post B&C, though

Which dragon is it behind Rhaenyra? If I remember correctly, that's not what Vermithor look like. The Cannibal maybe? It doesn't make sense, but it's a cool shot.

Conclusion: WHERE IS DREAMFYRE. WHERE. IS. SHE.