carmemtiyoko

[heavenhatesme]

Alicent and Ser Crispy Cream having a righteous flirty session.

Meanwhile Gwayne Hightower:

[lilhawkeye3]

ohhhh Gwayne Hightower….

[dirtytransmasc]

I want to amend this post, I need multiple things from Criston next season (and season 3, cause why not?) or I will be rioting (in no particular order, with various levels of angst/delulu-ness):

Calling all three of his boys "son" and similarly Helaena "daughter", that or his "sweet girl/boy" both would be preferable.

kissing his kids heads/foreheads. some instances could be; kissing Aegon's forehead as he carries him away from Rook's Rest. kissing Aemond's hair as he holds him outside of Aegon's chambers, his boy thinking he killed his brother. kissing Hel's temple when he visits his grandbabies (Hel angst coming later, savor this while you can).

Criston taking a private knee to Aegon, swearing to him like he had his mother, promising a duty that goes beyond what is expected of him.

comforting Helaena as she is plagued by dreams and prophecies.

playing with his grand kids.

sitting at Aegon's bedside while he heals.

Dad jokes.

bear hugging Daeron when he returns from Oldtown, lifting him all the way off the ground.

the dad "one armed hug shared in moments of fondness and laughter" thing, with Daeron.

Daeron and Criston sharing similar quirks and habits (not necessarily a conscious act by either party, but I still need it)

helping care for Aegon, being one of the few faces that keeps him some semblance of calm after everything, helping change bandages or sponge him clean. just soft moments of pained vulnerability and softness between a dad and his grievously injured eldest son.

praying for his children.

more... handsy... with Alicent, for lack of a better word. just soft comforting touches, like you would expect partners to share with each other. her family has been maimed, murdered, and/or sent to both battle and madness, let him comfort his (platonic) wife goddammit. let them hug actually, that's what I need, I need him to hug her.

sitting with Helaena and Jaehaera after B&C, trying to comfort them the best he can. Helaena going in and out of tears, sometimes she recognizes him, sometimes she doesn't. sometimes she is heartbroken beyond words, others she is angry. no matter what, he is there to protect her. give me a scene of him holding her as well, she needs it, she deserves a hug.

threatening Larys, especially if he pulls a stunt against Alicent like I think he might, knowing he can't kill him, that he's to much of an asset than they can risk going with out, but still hating him for what he does to his Queen. (see this post to understand what I mean by stunt)

embracing Aemond and Daeron, doing the forehead touch thing, each time they go separate ways, knowing any battle could be their last.

his last words being him begging Alicent and his kids to forgive him, apologizing for failing to protect them, for leaving them.

if we do get Afterlife scenes out of this hellish show, give me a scene of him reuniting with his grandkids, kids, and eventually his (platonic) wife. I'm begging.

putting aside a knife of his own to be given to Jaehaera if and when he passes, as a final means to protect her, even from the grave.

let him be emotional, in passing, when he's alone, let him shed a tear or two. I want to see the stress ooze from this man. I want to watch as the pain and death that follows his family breaks him down.

a clear difference between how he advises Aegon in front of the court and how advises him in private. risking a daggar in the throat on account of his son's blind rage and grief to protect his image amongst the court, but sharing a similar blood lust when it comes to avenging his daughter and grandchildren.

at least one shot of him standing with one of his kids' dragons.

just give me Criston being a good dad and (platonic) husband.

[neptunerisen]

Everything you feel for me — as your queen

I will not fail you

[princeaemontargaryen]

Ser Criston Cole & the Dowager Queen. Don’t change my mind.

[alexagirlie]

A Secret Affair

This work was created as part of @fandomtrumpshate 2024 Charity Auction!

The auction winner requested a secret wedding scene between Alicent Hightower and Criston Cole from House of the Dragons and it surprised me how much fun I had designing this for them.

Until next year!

(PS My commissions open next week! If you might be interested in getting a piece from me keep an eye out for that, or I can tag people when they open!)

[it-happened-once-in-a-meme]

Alicent x Criston After That Septa!Rhaenyra Scene 😂

Allison Hightower: Ser Criston. [Hushed] I was thinking.

Criston Cole: Yes, my Lady?

Allison: An idea about our...activities came to me in a dream. Would you be open to hear it?

Criston: I cannot atone for the sins already committed. What is one more?

Allison: Yes, indeed. So, you...you'd have your hair under a hood-

[feyhunter78]

Orange Blossoms

Description: The night Rhaenyra returns from Fleabottom and sets her sights on Criston he turns to Alicent.

AKA I wondered what would Alicent's life be like if Criston had asked her to run away with him, and this fic is the answer.

Criston remembered the smell of his mother’s hair, a thick black curtain, the ends tickling his face when she bent down to brush a kiss to his forehead as she bid him goodnight. It was lilies, his father’s favorite, soft and sweet, bringing to mind visions of Spring. His mother preferred orange blossoms, the clean, honey-citrus scent that drifted on the breeze of her homeland, those delicate white flowers that littered the sunswept pathways of her family’s villa.

His father refused to buy her any scent but lily, so his mother would keep the small vial of orange blossoms tucked away. Letting Criston smell it on the nights he was plagued by nightmares, or when she was particularly homesick.

The wind swept by him as he removed his helmet, and for a fleeting moment the scent of orange blossoms hit him once more. He approached the balcony, intent on asking the Princess Rhaenyra for her favor, a subtle dig at the Rouge Prince he had previously unseated. As he did, he saw the Lady Alicent. She was in a powder blue gown, her hands clasped together. She stood beside Rhaenyra as she always did, with a look of careful interest on her face.

When Rhaenyra disappeared from sight, Alicent watched him with that same careful interest, her eyes on his face, his bloodied armor, then darting to the ground beneath his feet. Rhaenyra tossed him her favor and Alicent’s eyes were still on him, a slight smile toying at her lips. He must admit that his eyes did not return her gaze, not when the princess was watching him so closely.

Later on, he is chosen as the Princess’ swornshield, a position his father would be proud of, one that hurled him up the social ladder and gave him a purpose besides fighting. Now he was the protector of the heir, of Princess Rhaenyra. But with the Princess comes her companion, Lady Alicent.

The Lady Alicent is soft-spoken, devout, and navigates the realm of politics with far more grace than Rhaenyra. Neither of them would voice this shared knowledge, nor would they ever speak ill of Rhaenyra, but Criston sees the way Alicent guides Rhaenyra through the swells and rapids of the court. He finds the more he physically sees Alicent, the deeper his gaze seems to go. No longer is she merely Rhaenyra’s companion, but Alicent, a sweet and intelligent woman who enjoys reading and prayer. She remains on the ground with him when Rhaenyra takes to the skies with Syrax and they talk. About everything and nothing, hours and hours of conversation had led them to become quite close, and it is to him, she lets slip her visits with the king.

“I am awfully tired; dinner ran quite long.” She said, hiding her yawn behind the sleeve of her gown.

“With your father?” He asked offhandedly, spreading out the blanket they both would sit on as they waited for Rhaenyra to return.

“No, with the king.” She answered without thinking, her face a mirror of the shock on his.

“The king?” He repeated, confused, and slightly concerned when Alicent’s eyes began to well with tears.

“Please Criston you cannot tell Rhaenyra, I—my father will be so angry, and I do not know what to do any longer.” She choked out, picking at her nails, as she was prone to do in her anxieties.

Criston nodded and bid her to sit. “Am I correct in assuming that your father does not wish for you to merely learn from our king?”

She nods and lets out a shaky breath. “I am doing what has been asked of me, I am not a son, my choices in life are limited.”

“Nor are you, Rhaenyra.” He said softly, risking a hand upon her hand to cease her picking.

“Nor am I Rhaenyra.” She echoed, eyes drifting to the sky.

He realized Alicent smelt of orange blossoms on his nameday. Rhaenyra had given him leave for the day; one he begrudgingly took. He spends it in the gardens, among the flowers. He sketched each blossom, each branch of the surrounding trees, and is only stirred from his solitude by soft footsteps.

“Ser Criston?” Alicent called to him quietly, a small parcel in her hands. The sun is setting behind her, the reds and oranges meshing with her hair as if futility attempting to imitate the radiance that is Alicent.

“Lady Alicent, good evening.” He closed his sketch book and stood bowing his head slightly towards her.

“Please, do not stand on account of me. I merely wished to give this to you.” She held the parcel out to him.

He took it carefully and unwrapped it.

“The shopkeeper called it A collection of Dorne, though I do not know if he has ever been there.” She explained, waiting for any reaction, good or bad, from him.

He isn’t sure what to say. The parcel contained a small box, which held a minute vial of perfume, a bundle of spices, a small tome on the history of Dorne, and an amber bracelet.

“The tome is supposed to have the genealogy of the major houses, and their bannermen, I thought perhaps you might find your mother’s family within the pages.” Alicent continued, words tumbling from her lips faster than he could gather his thoughts.

“This is…wonderful, thank you, Ali—Lady Alicent.” He took her hand and pressed it to his lips in gratitude, and the scent of orange blossoms rose from her skin.

“Of course, you have dedicated your life to Rhaenyra, and in a small way, to me as well, it is only right that I offer some show of gratitude for your service, especially on your nameday.”

He held the perfume up to the dying sunlight. Orange blossom. “My mother was quite fond of this scent.”

Alicent smiled softly. “I am fond of it as well, it has been my choice since I was young, it calms me.”

It was the day Viserys announced his intentions to marry Alicent that Criston realized the depths of his affections. The way he could barely keep the shock off his face, how he followed Rhaenyra out of the room though his heart longed to stay by Alicent, to speak with her, and—

But he is a White-Cloak, sworn to the crown, and she is no longer Lady Alicent, a woman with no betrothed and his heart in her hands. So, he followed Rhaenyra, and did not meet Alicent in the sept that night, or the next one. His visits to the sept do not cross with hers until she was swelled with her first child, and she cried against his breastplate in a shadowed alcove, terrified and in pain.

Then Aegon is born, and he found moments to send Alicent strength through a glance, or through catching the toddler as he runs for the gardens and returning him to her, always lingering a moment longer than necessary.

Then Helaena is conceived. Alicent is constantly ill, and plagued with nightmares. He bribed a servant to bring Alicent the vial of orange blossom perfume. It wouldn’t look out of place in her chambers, it’s known that the queen preferred the Dornish perfume, but he knew Alicent would understand its significance.

Then it happened, that singular moment in which he realized Rhaenyra was still a Targaryen. Still a member of the royal family, a family who worked for nothing, who inbreeded and squabbled among themselves for power while the realm watched on in disgust and rapt awe. Much like watching a particularly vicious duel, all in the stands know the loser will be mourned by his family, but in the heat of the moment all one can do is call for his blood. He rebuffed her advances, shaken to his core by the idea of bedding Rhaenyra. Though as he fled the room he realized it was not merely a matter of vows or cloaks, but of the vow he made to himself. How he willingly placed his hand in Alicent’s heart and would not forsake her, even now.

He’s desperate, heart pounding in his chest, helmet abandoned to the stone floor outside Rhaenyra’s room. He ordered another guard to watch her, to stand outside her room, and prayed to The Seven they would not be propositioned as he was. His footsteps echoed in the dead of the night, and he isn’t quite sure where he’s headed. Soon enough he found himself standing before Alicent’s door, knocking before he can remind himself that she is Rhaenyra’s former friend, not his, and this may very well be the final sharpening of the executioner’s axe.

He has been acting upon his own feelings, with no true idea of the queen’s own.

Alicent slowly opened the door, her chestnut hair loose about her shoulders, a white dressing gown wrapped tightly around her. Her eyes, honeyed in the sunlight, but now an evening dusk, the merging of the fading rays of the sun bent and folded into a shadowed umber glow, widened at the sight of him.

“Ser Criston? Is Rhaenyra well?” Her tone is hushed, cautious but tinged with fear. She and Rhaenyra are no longer friends, Rhaenyra citing betrayal as the reason, with Alicent giving only sadden silence as her answer, but he knew Alicent worried about her still, she has told him as much.

“May I come in? It is of the utmost importance.” He said quietly, glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone had caught sight of his frantic flight.

She stared at him for a moment, eyes searching his face, then opened the door wider, allowing him to slip in. “What has happened to Rhaenyra?” She asked once more, following as he strode further into her room and grabbed the edge of a nearby chair, steeling himself.

“She is unharmed, physically.” He managed to say, forcing himself to turn and face her.

Both women were beautiful, but Alicent’s beauty held a softness to it. There is something within her features that drives his need to protect. From the moment in the sept, when she spoke of her mother to him and Rhaenyra, he knew he must protect her, that it was his purpose given to him by the gods themselves.

“Physically? Has she been harmed in another way? We must tell the King.” Alicent wrung her hands, unable to stand still.

“She emerged wearing the clothes of a peasant boy, bid me enter into her chambers and attempted to seduce me, I rebuffed her advances, I assure you, My Queen, but I…”

“It must have been Daemon, wishing to prey upon her weakness for him, and their family’s queer customs.” She said, her voice trembling as she gathered herself and sat on the nearby settee.

He knelt before her, removing his gloves, and setting them aside. “My Queen, I rejected the Princess, I fear that she will—I do not wish to stay here any longer.”

She wouldn’t look at him, not even when he took her hands in his, his thumbs caressing her smooth skin. “I cannot say I do not understand your fears, or your desire to flee.”

Criston released one of her hands to wipe away the tears slipping down her cheeks. “Alicent, I love you. And I am aware that you are burdened by duties and that your children are precious to you, I would never ask you to sacrifice such things, but I cannot deny my true feelings any longer. Not when I have been offered to warm the bed of The Realm’s Delight, and all that plagued my mind was how desperately I wished she was you.”

Her eyes flitted to his, a pink dusting across her cheeks at his words. “Criston I—what would you have me do? I have loved you for moons upon moons, but I am married.”

“You did not mean your vows, you have said it yourself, that the vows are not binding if said unwillingly. You were forced to marry him.” He silently pleaded with her to hold his gaze. To see how desperately he wished to love her, not merely in private or from afar, but freely and in the eyes of all.

Alicent’s shoulders slumped, and she curled in on herself as a quiet sob escaped her lips. “I cannot bear this pain any longer, I cannot be a pawn and watch as my father turns my children into game pieces as well…but I am scared, Criston.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her against his chest, his large hand cradling the back of her head. “I will protect you, and the children, I swear to you.”

“How?” She sniffled, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping The Stranger from coming to collect her soul.

“We will flee, sail to Pentos, and start anew. I will pledge my sword to the highest bidder, and you may study history, and religion, or whatever else catches your eye. The children will be free from the pressures of the throne, and they will be happy.” He promised, pulling back so that she might see how fervently he believed in the idea.

Alicent said nothing for a moment, simply staring at an empty space behind his shoulder and crying silently, then she spoke. “Let us go, now, Rhaenyra will be nursing her pride, and Viserys will not call for me tonight, this is our only chance.”

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool

[garagesesh]

Begging for Rain masterlist

gifs: asongoficeandfiresource ↸ notalicent ↸

summary: Everything he did, he did for her but first he must make an aesthetic out of not doing well.

pairing(s): ser criston cole & rhaenyra targaryen, alicent hightower & ser criston cole, alicent hightower & rhaenyra targaryen

warning(s): sexual content, themes of depression, violence, death

␛ to masterlist

⌘ this can also be found on my ao3 account!

✦ looking for more asoiaf stories? check out my wintering series! ✦

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔ 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　

Chapters ⤸

go to part ① A Bushel of Oranges for Thee ⌦

go to part ② Give My Rage A Babysitter ⌦

[serving-saucy-fanfics]

Where are the people who love Alicent and Criston's little friendship with benefits? 😙

So far it's one of my favorite things this season. The theories about them both seeking what they lost in Rhaenyra are good of course, but I like their situationship on its own 😂

[heavenhatesme]

No because I whole heartedly believe since Alys is a wet nurse in Harrenhal, we're going to get a scane like these where Aemond is breastfeeding from her. Like DAMN ALICENT WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THIS BOY😭😭😭

[lilhawkeye3]

this format 🫱🏽‍🫲🏾 me watching this show

[sad-hippie]

Ser Criston. Bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.

To protect her was what sustained him. What gave him purpose and will to live. Her designs were his, and her concerns his duty to battle. The only thing in Criston’s life that was pure was his love of his Queen. His love of her children. And he wouldn’t let anyone soil it, not even the Queen herself.

"Why didn't you?" 

[ophelieverse]

“i was abed” yeah sure😒

[controld3vil]

the one

pairing: aegon ii targaryen x targ!reader

synopsis: thrown into madness, not one person can comfort the king of his thoughts. his sister wife left to deal with her grief. his mother for chooses not to heed his needs. his brother, gone in silver of the night. yet you, left forgotten stand in front of him, teary eyed.

notes: i gasped loud this episode!!

content warning: spoilers obvi for s2ep2, themes of grief and inferiority, targcest; if you are uncomfortable, please do not interact.

The death of Jaehearys exhausted you.

Nothing prepared you for the shock and emotional consequences. It felt as though a giant sea storm had swept away your emotions and feelings of sense. Because in a way, you felt numb and unable to comprehend what you were feeling. It was either too strong or your denial in it that made you feel out of it. In the confidence of your home, the grand kingdom of your father and his grandsire before, suddenly you feel apprehensive about where you resided and the castle itself. Who to trust and not as a moment noticed in your head as your mind spirals down a rabbit hole. 

Your nephew, a kin of your own, was dead. 

He was murdered in cold blood. In the sanctum of your home, in the privacy of the royal rooms. It was your fault you were not by Helaena’s side. Oh, your poor sister, the turmoil she must’ve endured in the small moments last with her son. A small piece of purity and semblance he brought into your little life and a beacon of what you strived for every day. Yet now, it has all turned to blood and dust. Used and tossed away like the sacs of bodies they would throw off dead soldiers in the aftermath of a tiring battle. 

There you sat with a half cup of wine, undrank. You dared not step out of the chambers of your comfort. Not for long, your presence would be reminded of the council. You insist on every meeting that your presence would bestow better acquisition. In most eyes, the men divert their gaze from you.

In contrast, your wretched mother opens her mouth agape with hardly any words being supported. Your grandsire contrasts, always with an excuse that you should be needed elsewhere other than the higher discussion. How benign of you, dear granddaughter. But you are unfit for a position at court.

Otto Hightower would never speak those words directly. But you know in your heart and his intuition, the words are nearly there. You don’t need an interpreter to translate what is said by the councilmen. Even if they are unaware, you understand all that is said. A tragic incident, Your Grace. The Kingsguard are doing their best to inspect all the members in the castle as we speak.

“I will have it! They will pay for this!”

The dried tears that swept down your cheeks felt sticky and annoyingly guilt-ridden of the events that had happened. You would not allow them to witness them. They were not worthy of your sadness. In grace, you hiked your dress over your feet to climb up to the doors. From where you were, you could discern the murmurs of Aegon and his hysterical yelling, absolutely mad with anger and rage. Respectfully so, the loss of his child was an unexpected and stressful one. 

When the chambers open, the rest of the councilmen stop for a moment. Before you begrudgingly make your way to the center. “Gentlemen,” You are at fault in giving away your tearful expression, the candlelight's of the chandeliers do your angelic features justice. And no noble would dare to speak upon its beauty and sorrow. All while, your lady in waiting, trails timidly behind you, head pointed down in respect. “Your Grace,” You address, and finally for a blind second, a glint of relief flashes on Aegon’s face. Finally, he must think, someone he trusts abides in the room.

“Princess,” The Hand levels his chin, leaving a steady foot of your unforeseen appearance. Beside him, your mother lays agape in both deary and fortification. 

The Queen stumbles on the syllables of your name, quietly. As if she was citing a wrongful plea of desperation. “Is- Is Helaena?” Of course, the last she saw you was in her bed chambers, coming in to console your sweet sister and her child. Alicent was running amuck, pulling on the fabric of her dress to prevent you from witnessing her privacies before. Luckily you didn't have to witness that. 

“She is with Ser Arryk and Jaeheara.” You breathed out, soft and mellow. You can tell by the exhale of your mother and grandsire's shoulders that deflating meant that their worries were at least accomplished. And a slight corner of your eye, your brother too relaxes in caution, aware of his wife and daughter’s whereabouts. 

“Good good,” Alicent frantically nods as if trying to reassure herself that her child and granddaughter were safe. Ser Arryk was a noble knight, one who betrayed his twin to stay beside the king’s side. That alone was enough to prove his loyalty and servitude. “Thank you, my daughter.” You swallow with a gaping hole in your throat. The whole room felt the compacting of the many eyes directed at you and the Queen Mother. 

“And what might be the reason for your intrusion on this council meeting, princess?” Otto’s voice somewhat triggers a fight or flight response in you. You’ve dealt with similar situations before, wanting to be included in the war business. However this was different, the council was discussing matters of potential betrayal and the killing of your kin. You suddenly felt targeted for the offense of interrupting something crucial and overriding. 

However, you know you should have a say in this matter. “Shouldn’t I be present when the death of my nephew has been informed to me merely hours ago?” There was a snap in your voice that many of them knew. Though some such as your mother and brother were accustomed to that sound more often. 

“Perhaps it is best if the princess were with the Queen to rest away comfort and grief,” Maester Orwyle suggests only to infuse your temper. 

In a quick turn, your lilac orbs strike an alarming resemblance to vexation and hostility. “Why?” Your tone was sharp and accusing just as it was. The Queen Regent could only watch and stare mutely at your grueling pettiness. Lord Tyland and Ser Criston Cole dare not to look at you but at the maester. While Aegon, all the more slightly frustrated at Maester Orwyle’s comments, stops and waits for your dreadful retaliation like a venomous viper. Otto couldn’t look more disappointed in you. 

“The death of your nephew is a tearful one, princess. And maybe you should stay within the quarters with the Queen for safety.” The maester does not falter in his reasoning, knowing how quick and ill-tempered you are similar to your brother was to retaliation. But his expression flickers in doubt shortly after you are seen to lay your palms on the edge of the end of the table. It’s hard wooden material, clenched tightly around your hands as you glance up at the councilman with fury in your eyes. 

“I am more capable than you think of me, Maester Orwyle. And I would be damned to sit in silence and pity for this horrendous murder!” You snarl, a frown forming at the edges of your lips. You were livid beyond this. Only when you want to be present in the decisions regarding your kin, did the council decline your way. It’s insulting. “My nephew should be avenged! To whoever ordered the murder!” 

“I wholeheartedly agree,” The Hand’s inclusion is an attempt to bring a truce between the others who felt your presence as much of a disturbance. “But we should not be hasty and leave every opportunity out in the open.” 

“This is my son we are talking about,” Aegon’s hand came down with a thump on the table. He’s since calmed down but you know there is still rage in his heart. The fuel of it burning and churning for the desire to find and kill whoever brought out the murder. “We must search the grounds for traitors, find anyone who leaves the Red Keep, and capture them immediately!”

“Of course, Your Grace but we should consider what this would be for Rhaenyra,” Alicent reminds the room when she scans everyone’s thoughts and faces. On the other hand, you stand uncomfortably, with the sense of your legs growing numb. 

“That bitch queen of bastards will pay!” The King screams, pointing with an accusative finger. “She is on her throne, laughing at me for this! For the death of my son, I want her dead!” It’s like a fire has been lit in your brother’s mind. It flashes and flickers rapidly as he manages to strike and spit out outrage of his growing vengeance on the Black Queen. However quick his temper simmers and rises.

The coming morning of Jaehaerys funeral drags his body to the Sept to be burnt in Targaryen tradition. More importantly, it is to sway the people’s opinion of Aegon’s claim and blame Rhaenyra for the tragic death. Spurs of propaganda flourish in the crowds as the chariot drags the casket of the fresh body, followed by the Queen and her Regent. What felt like discomfort and suffocation for Helaena only her no semblance through the entire morning. She is grieving and mourning in her own way. No one can understand the loss of a mother of her children. It is the tragedy she has felt for the first time and it stings her to her stomach. For most of the ride, Helaena could not breathe or look at the folk people, afraid of what they might do. She’d never left the Keep like this before, presented all fragile and glorious as the new Queen officially. 

Even so, she knows you are more suited for the role. Helaena has thought of it many times where you should’ve been wife to Aegon instead of her. She knows why her mother and grandsire chose her. It was because she was compliant and willing to do her duty as a lady wife. While you had no sense of duty. More or less, so did Aegon but at least she would elevate his image as King with her kind personality. 

“Helaena,” You spoke, interrupting her thoughts amid her sewing. Your sister pauses and then looks at the piece she has been working on. It was a picture of purple lily flowers, something you had mentioned wanting to see from the grounds of the Highgarden. She thinks of you and subconsciously starts to sew a new patch of thread. She’s sweet to you like that, and you forever cherished that side of her. And it's a shame her softened voice always now came with a stutter and droop of a sob. 

Helaena wakes up from her daze and greets you with a warm yet sombreros smile. “You are well?” The question itself leaves bitterness off of your tongue because you should be asking her that. You know Helaena isn’t one to openly express her emotions and thoughts proudly. As her sister, you honor that but also can become the maternal figure she needs within seconds. 

“I should be asking you the same,” You smile, looking smug and all. And your sister’s droopy eyes slowly lighten with glee. Her small frown turns upside down and suddenly you feel your heart fill with warmth and joy. “What has the Queen been sewing all this time?” 

“Purple lilies,” She gently shows you her work and focuses on your excitement. What she appreciates is your fascination with her skill with a thread and needle. You had no talent in it, much to your mother’s display. But you would gladly watch your sister sew for hours for the fun of it. “I remember you mentioning them a while ago. And I thought it would be pretty to make for you,” 

“How thoughtful of you,” You plead with your gentle eyes, resting a hand on her thigh. You looked like you were going to burst into tears out of happiness for her nonsensical act. You act differently around her and the children, sometimes Helaena thinks you have two personalities. One with her family minus Aegon and another with everyone else. You were mushy and caring, nothing like yourself hours earlier in the morrow in the councilroom. She had heard you burst into a meeting, enraged by them claiming you as a disturbance to their discussion. Like the stubborn person you were, she knew you would rather stay and argue with them for hours. And that you, for her boy. 

The Queen hums, delighted by your soothing presence in her slightly dimmed room. The room had been cleared of children's beds and toys. Now it lies barren with little to no furniture. The curtains did not change, they were arranged simply to allow some light into the chambers to let the children wake. But now, there would be none and it is left abandoned. 

“How is Jaeheara?” The whisper of your voice is the only thing she’s heard after minutes of silence. Helaena does not reply immediately, knowing her thoughts are too invasive and terrifying to think about. The black gown she still has on feels tight and makes her uncomfortable. She doesn't want to remember the funeral. It was too much for her to reminisce about despite being hours earlier. 

She makes another loop with bright purple stringing onto her needle. “She is well and is accompanied by a Kingsguard during her lessons,” She makes sure to include the Kingsguard, knowing you have been adamant about the protection and security around King’s Landing. As of late, it felt as though the castle did not feel like home anymore. It became somewhat of a hollow skeleton of a dungeon. With many escape routes and corridors, people would walk in and out without notice. It terrifies her and knowing you, you would rather be killed than have another child murdered. 

Her response pleases you however Helaena is aware of something else on your mind. She can feel it without looking at your face to know. It’s your inseparable bond as a sister that you sometimes were astounded by. Helaena calls it a bond and maybe she is right. Your eyes are focussed on somewhere else and it gives her a moment to look at you. Your brows furrowed with a subtle curve of a scowl makes her believe you were having negative thoughts. Were you feeling guilty about Jaehearys death?

“What’s wrong sister?” Despite her knowing the reason, Helaena wants you to admit your remorseful thoughts. The veil that covered her face was no longer present and she could face you without barriers. Her lilac eyes look at you, softening at you. 

“I can’t help but think I am guilty of Jaehearys death,” You sound vulnerable, no other person would witness this side of you. Because you shielded this side of you. Your display of weakness was only meant for people like Helaena, close to you, unjudging and caring in your coping. Yet sometimes you think of your sinful thoughts of guilt to be an act of punishment. You sometimes felt you were meant to feel this way for not being present with the Queen and her children when it happened. Why couldn’t you be a good sister and protect the ones you loved?

“You should not be,” Her small palm cradles the side of your jaw, making your stare connect with her. Helaena is quiet and gentle in her expression of words. What she says always has an impact. She is a woman of few words and it makes her speech inspirational. “I- For anything, it was my part as a mother, for letting my child be murdered in cold blood-”

“No of course not!” You were quick to retaliate to her pleas. She could not be responsible for such a horrific act taken against the crown. “Helaena, you did your best to protect your children.”

“Yet I was asked to choose,” The bottom of her lips quivered, and eventually hot tears filled her waterline. “And I had no other choice!”

“You were held at knifepoint,” You grasped the hand that held your jaw. Gently and slowly to make sure and emphasize her attention to you. “I would’ve bursted into the room and offered myself if I could’ve. But you did the best you did as a mother to protect your children.” You gave her another tight squeeze. 

“I had no other choice,” Her sobs slowly brewing. And the tears flowed and there was nothing you wanted to do other than comfort your dear sister. She was grieving like any mother. You would be present for her and give Helaena all of the world, to give away her sorrow. However, it is inevitable and you best offer her your condolences and feelings of heartbreak. Because you did love her children, Jaehearys and Jaeheara. The light and beacon of Helaena and Aegon's marriage. 

Helaena’s figure dwindled as she scrunched herself forward into a curling ball. The weight of her thoughts was too much. As a parent, she believed she failed the role she was meant to play. Her cries did not stop or steady in a rapid heartbeat. Any further, Helaena believes she would’ve acted impulsively if not for you, holding onto her shoulders. You were gentle against her tragic and frail body when you allowed her head and shoulders to rest against your chest. You’re silent in the comfort you gave. Because no words could pursue more than your actions. Being the more responsible and maternal figure, you became a weeping shoulder for Helaena to spout the rest of her worries and anguish. 

You wonder what Aegon and his sorrows are. 

Criston Cole was in a predicament. He failed as a Kingsguard to protect the royal family. And because of his absence, a dead prince was left at the doorstep of the king. He’s ashamed in silence because he could not make any reason for where he was during the intrusion of the castle. His affair with Alicent was more than a passionate one. It consoled him and eased for the upcoming days of Aegon’s coronation and Rhaenyra’s horrific deeds. The knight was stuck in a situation he wished would not bring to the public eye. No one can know of his relations with the Queen Regent. Not when times were suspenseful and dire as to who to trust in the castle. 

And so, after he challenges Ser Arryk to do the impossible and slay the Black Queen within her quarters of Dragonstone, he desires to focus on his plans with the king. The afternoon following the prince’s funeral, Ser Criston smoothes out the ends of his locks, recomposing his hysterical manner against the twin knight. Of, the accusations of treason against the king and the knight’s code. He should be honoring the Kingsguard words at the back of his sleeves by now. For all that has occurred to him, Criston wants to prove to the king he is capable of being essential. 

The summer breeze is faint and noticeable to those in the Red Keep. It’s open corridors and windows, it is the perfect spot for sunlight. The Kingsguard makes his way to Aegon’s chambers, where he plans to inform his schemes of sending Ser Arryk away to Dragonstone. In hopes, it would please His Majesty of the constant restless nights he has experienced. 

But he nearly misses you. It takes a second for Ser Criston to take a step back and look back at what you have been doing. You, the princess, looking out of place in the training area of the stables. Where knights and stable boys fight and practice their combat. It was a place you’re likely forbidden to be, however, it has never stopped you. The knight knows of your ambitions to fight like your brothers. You’re eager, more confident than your siblings to practice. He had suggested once to the Queen that she should allow you use of the sword. For self-defense and hobbies. 

You practically begged Alicent to hold a sword in your hands. Your cute chubby cheeks as a small child were something he remembered sometimes. You were so eager then. He could still see it occasionally when you ventured to the training area, staring at the knights practicing their moves and defenses. 

“Are you alright, princess?” Ser Criston appears behind you and you’re suddenly aware he must’ve been standing behind you for some time. He knows you come here to think and be reminded of the past. “The morrow has been rather bleak has it not?”

“Rather too bleak,” You groan, crossing your arms and rubbing your forehead in weariness. You’re aware the Kingsguard is not allowed to probe your troubles further but you rather indulge. “The day grows weary for the wavering support of the other Houses.” A quiet nod of endearment is seen from the knight as he reminisces about why they had exhibited the funeral exactly. To spread rumors and weaken the queen bastards' claim.

“It will help us in the long run, princess,” He steps forward as you turn to stare at his gentle Dornish features. Maybe in another lifetime, you would’ve fallen for him if he wasn’t a knight.

“Is that what the Queen Regent said?” A switch and it was like your tone turned to bitterness the moment you mentioned your mother. Ser Criston feels his heartache at your sentiments to the Queen. She was your mother and loved you very much. Something you can’t seem to appreciate whenever you open your mouth in front of the council. While she has complained and spouted worries of your deterring interactions, you’ve taken glory in the distance between you and your mother. Ser Criston hopes one day you will reprimand that relationship. 

“No,” 

“Tell me, why do you value her opinion so much?” He eyes at you shaking your head with a heavy scowl of disgust. Your hatred towards your mother ran cold and poisonous, under the depths of your hard-spoken shell of a heart. Maybe some part of you did care about the Queen. If there was, Criston had never been able to witness it, you’re too stubborn. And you know Alicent cherishes him deeply. 

“She has a kind heart,” The Dornish man cannot more than understand why you probe his opinion of your mother. Were you suspicious? He’s served your mother for nearly a decade and gained her trust as her right-hand protector. Yet where was he when an intruder entered the castle grounds and left Helaena traumatized and crying? 

You snarl a mocking laugh, “A kind heart?” You’re staring at the Queen’s protector with discontent and failure. “She plots and schemes to gain the people's trust over my brother’s claim. What more is she than the Hand’s right-hand puppet.” This is an alarming accusation because Ser Criston knows Alicent does not trust her father with her boys and daughters. You were an example of that. Whoever she plots with, he knows she takes into consideration who is affected the most. She was the Queen of course. Dainty and considerate of her subjects. 

“Another advantage we have over Rhaenyra, princess,” He reminds you of the whole reason why the council decided such a thing. It’s grueling yet would sway the people in their favor towards the crown than that false liar of a ruler across the land. “Understand that everything she and the council decide is to gain more allies,” 

“By simply lying to the public and creating more web of lies for us to be stuck in,” You probe and your lilac orbs glow in a dark tone. You could not stand the ploy they had used for Jaehaerys funeral. You think it was anything but honorable, to use your nephew as a cause and leeway to denounce your half-sister. Ser Criston gives you a look, only a parent would hold when their child does something to disappoint them. And even though he was not your father, he still felt utterly responsible and devoted to you as one. He has seen you grow from a child to a woman. He’s aware of your struggle in your place at court. He was there when you desperately wanted to hold a bow and arrow, practically crying to your mother on your knees. He was also there to comfort you when you accidentally drove your dragon into a terrible accident. Criston Cole felt some kind of platonic love over you, despite you never feeling the same way. ‘

Yet he couldn’t help but agree with you. “You’re right, princess. But it is the only way to convince the townsfolk of our cause. We need their support to win this coming war.” He sees your shoulders slumped, most likely growing tired of talking back and forth of their intention to false news. You hated how everyone agreed to it wholeheartedly. 

“We need more than the support of the townsfolk to win a war,” Your lips turn to a thin line, contemplating all the reasons why you had to be on the wrong side of justice. “We have dragons, that is how we win a war.” 

Nightfall was as unanticipated as it was wanted. The funeral and rumors from the council made it unbearable to walk past servants and nobles without being reminded of it. There were many times you wished to stop in front of the people and shout in their faces. There would be no denying it all. However, you were done with it. You were tired of receiving the same piece of news and rumors. It made you hereditarily furious and petty like a child. But no violence has been spilled. Instead, you could only clench your palms, aggressively and move on with a faint scowl. A puff or two would break your cover. 

Moreover, the servant girls and maids knew what made you tick. The type of gossip you hate to talk and listen about. Since you’ve lived in the castle for the entirety of your life span. So regardless of whether they spoke of today’s events or not, people knew you were not in a great mood. More or less you were agitated, imitating, and not to be consoled.

You made it your routine to visit Helaena before going to bed. When you were younger, you and your sister often paid visits to your mother and sometimes your father if present. Queen Alicent would soothe your worries and nightmares while Viserys sat in silence, unable to speak due to the pain. Yet now, that was before you and Helaena slept in the same room. She was Queen now and had a separate room with her children. It was you who made it customary to ease her worries at night and say goodnight to her children. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, her beautiful children. Even now, after everything had happened, you wanted to honor your promise to visit the new Queen. 

The granite tiles were cold. You could feel it despite wearing soft padded shoes. Your garments were loose and free from the restraints and pains you’d worn for the day. But somehow it made you feel anxious and oddly vulnerable out in the open. Of course, it was natural to feel this way after what happened. But everything, even the times you felt the most safe was now invaded by thoughts of fear and concern. You swallowed whatever security you had and moved along the balcony inside King’s Landing. The royal rooms were all the same, but you knew which belonged to whose. You knew which rooms were your mother’s, your sister’s, which had the best hiding spots, and which had the quickest way out of the city. 

Although whose room brought you the most curiosity was the one in front of you. In the distance, where you stood, a figure of green exits out of the room and disappears into the darkness. Your mother. Alicent did not seem to be in a rush to have exited Aegon’s chambers nor did she look content coming out of it. It looked as though she had mistaken his room for another. 

Hastily your paused movements began to quicken. As you tip-toed towards the doors of your king, you twist the knob and a soft creak makes you curse out of anonymity. The bed chamber was dimly lit and the fireplace illuminated a gorgeous orange dew that covered half the room in warmth. The drapes of the windows were slightly closed, making the silhouette of Aegon, hunched over more evident. He leans in a cushioned chair by the fire and you can see his unsecured locks, shape the sides of his face. 

You quickly realize your brother’s sobbing, saddening and heartbreaking. For all the things he was, Aegon did not deserve to lose a child. You understood very much as him that Alicent had planned his coronation for a long time. Yet now that it has happened, tragedies come down like dominoes in a panic. Lucerys has died on dragonback. And now Jaehearys was murdered in cold blood. Both are innocents from the result of this pretentious battle for power between Rhaenyra. It is when you shut the door behind you with a faint click, you make yourself known to the king. 

“Aegon,” It’s a whisper with no silence. Covering his face to shield his tears, Aegon does not dare to look at you. He looks ashamed and can only stare down, lost and in failure.  You understand his dismissal of your presence. No one should see their king as weak like this. Not even his closest kin and mother. Only that his mother has witnessed this scene a multitude of times over the years of watching over her son. Still, you were not the type to witness Aegon at such a low point like this. 

Nothing. You wanted nothing from him, seconds ago only curious about his profound discussion with your mother, who did not seem to speak to him at all. Something about that makes your heart churn at the Queen Regent. You walk slowly and only when you finally face him, his gaze is still on the floor, unable to lift his head to say anything. Go away! You’re making a fool out of yourself. 

Instead, you closed the gap that separated the two of you. You clasped his neck and held it firmly in a consoling manner. His weeping only grew louder the moment he felt your touch, so comforting and soft. His hands eventually wrap themselves around your waist and he rests the side of his head against your stomach.

Only you can soothe him like this. It’s discovered to be the most effective way for Aegon to calm down, your touch perhaps was the solution to it. It was never touched upon, this consolation you had with him, there were rare occasions when the prince had become too drunk to return to his quarters to have gone to yours instead. There were times when your brother wanted to hide and be away from your conniving mother and her insults. Sometimes he’d cry, drink, or rant about her inconsolable expectations of him. Because truly you are the closest to understanding that feeling. The feeling of being unwanted and as though you were not doing enough of your duty to care. Of course, you cared, you did everything for your family. Still, it could never be enough to put a smile on your mother’s face. And more evidently that of your grandsire. 

“I’m sorry,” You let out a dreary breath, rubbing Aegon’s hair. He sniffles, allowing his forehead against your stomach. He closes his eyes and lets out a sad laugh that turns into a cry. He’s lost so much in a matter of days. No one to comfort him, and his wife silently grieving in her own time. His mother forever abandoned her efforts. And his brother disappears with no explanation. Now here you were, the one he found relying on.

“I tried so hard,” He cries out, snot and tears making his speech muffled and disproportionate. “Yet everything has backhanded and slapped me in my face!” You feel a quiver on your lips when he speaks those words. Your heart burns and aches and maybe finally, you can put away your pride and be gentle. You reach behind where his hands are secured by your waist. Sliding them down to allow you to kneel to his level. With his red-shot eyes and puffy cheeks, Aegon looks like he wants to give up everything now and then. He’s never looked so weak and tiresome. 

“I know,” You shaped his face with your palms, sliding your thumbs over his cheeks. They are dried of momentary tears when he looks so desperate to cling onto anything to save him. “And as king, it is a heavy toll. Jaehearys will know you did everything you could to avenge his death.”

“It has gone to madness,” His lilac orbs staring at you with such intensity and possibly love. Torn and twisted, you know this is a wife’s duty to be her husband. Though under Helaena and Aegon’s relationship, they have never loved each other. They were husband and wife, yes but only under law. Helaena held no love but did genuinely care for his well-being. And you had shown more devotion towards his feelings than anyone had done within days. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“You can start by figuring who and who not to trust at court,” You exhale, heart beating like a bass drum when you feel his hands circle yours. “Know who your trusted allies are and destroy Rhaenyra’s support.” 

“Then I need you,” He leans forward, his silver locks tangled in between yours. His gaze was wild and desperate for any kind of refusal you might have. “I need you at court. By my side, you are as essential as any of us there.” It felt as though nothing in the world mattered next only the two of you at this moment. At this important moment, you felt a surge of adrenaline and an urge to comply with his heeds. Your eyes momentarily trail to his lips before discerning back to his eyes. 

“Because I have a dragon,”

“Because you are my blood, you are a strategist and the smartest woman I know in the Seven Kingdoms,” His dried tears make him even more angelic. Perhaps in another lifetime, you two would’ve married instead and dealt with it more easily. Your mother knew it. Your gransdire did too. Despite it all, they all disapproved of you for your lack of devotion to duty. What more can you offer than your service directly to the crown? To the council? It makes you grin in pride for his acknowledgment of you. 

“Of course, my king,” And with those words, he closes the gap between your lips. Sorrowful no way but profound in a new kind of serge to overcome the tragic delay. You were right in front of his eyes all along. You, the second-born princess of Alicent and Viserys' marriage. Quip with a sharp tongue and tactics for how long you’ve studied the art of it. You were no ordinary princess. You were a fighter, a warrior who well enough wanted bloodshed as much as him.

[patheticdarling]

Her Sacrifice

Summary: The assassins had no such luck finding Prince Aemond but what were they to do when they stumbled upon the beloved wife of King Aegon instead? Her belly swollen with his heir.

Warnings: Blood & Cheese/murder/gore & blood/cursing/threats/blades/pregnancy/kidnapping/funeral/incest (reader is helaena's older twin)

Word Count: 2236

"The other lords will be accompanying me for a drink in the Throne Room. Shall you join us, Wife?" Aegon asked, a slightly eager smile on his face, anticipating your agreement.

You sighed as you began to undo the braids in your hair, "The hour is late, Husband. I must rest."

Aegon pouted, "Just a cup! We've attended to our royal duties all day, have we not earned a bit of respite?"

"Respite is what I shall get with a good night's sleep. Not drinking until sunrise with you and your comrades," you teased. You stood from seat at your vanity, walking over and placing Aegon's hand on your growing bump, "Besides, do you not wish for our babe to be born healthy? So that they may grow into formidable dragon riders like their parents."

He smiled softly at your belly before kissing it sweetly, "You make a good point, my dear. Mayhaps I should stay in with you."

You shook your head, smiling down at him, "Do not let me stop your fun. You are right. The King deserves his respite. Besides there may not be many more nights where we get to enjoy ourselves," motioning to your bump.

"You are going to make a wonderful mother," Aegon stood from his seat, "I shall allow you to enjoy your last moments of rest then." He planted a soft kiss on your lips, "I love you, Y/N."

You stroked his hair, "I love you, Aegon."

Aegon kissed you once more before giving your belly a playful squeeze and disappearing from your chambers. You summoned one of your ladies to help you finish getting ready for bed. Thanking her as you got yourself comfortable between the silk sheets of you and Aegon's bed. Finally bidding her good night as she blew out most of the candles, leaving a few on for Aegon's drunken return.

You could not be sure of the hour when you heard your chamber doors creak open followed by the shuffling of feet. You did not even bother opening your eyes, assuming you'd feel the bed indent as Aegon stumbled towards it.

"Back so soon?" you teased, "I was only being half serious about the sunset-"

Suddenly, a large hand clamped over your mouth. Your eyes shot open as two men loomed over you. You screamed and panicked as the larger man used his other arm to keep you pinned to the bed.

"Quiet!" the smaller man pulled a blade out, pressing it to your throat, "Unless you want me to bleed you like a pig."

You nodded, terrified of what these men could do, "W-Who are you? What do you want?"

"Its not our wants you should be concerned with, Your Grace."

"Who sent you? What do y-you want from me?" your voice shook.

"A life is owed. It wasn't supposed to be you. A son for a son we were told," the smaller man shrugged, "But it seems Prince Aemond isn't in the castle tonight."

Of course, you thought. This was about Lucerys. Your younger brother had taken the boy's life and that was a deed that could not go unpunished. You knew how deeply your eldest sister loved all of her children. The loss of one would be devastating. Taking Aemond's life made sense. But taking yours? And the life of your unborn child? That was not in Rhaenyra's nature. This was plotted by someone far more sinister and dark.

"My uncle sent you, didn't he?" you spoke up. They both sent stares to the other, "Daemon Targaryen. He sent you to kill one of us."

The large man scoffed, "Aren't you a smart one?"

"Shame those smarts won't do you any good now, will they?" the smaller one mocked.

"Please," you tried to beg, "Do not do this. No good will-" The large hand came down on your mouth again.

"That's enough," he grunted before turning back to the smaller man, "I'll hold her down and you cut."

Your blood ran cold at his words. Not only were they going to kill you but they were going to tortuously cut out your unborn child. They both yanked you further down the bed until you were flat on your back. You tried to kick, scream, bite, thrash as much as you could but the man proved to have almost inhuman strength. The smaller man raised his blade, that same sadistic grin plastered on his face before he began to dig it into the lower part of your abdomen.

White hot pain seared through your body as he continued to slice into you. Your vision was blurred with tears and you could have sworn your throat was raw from your cries. Though the pain was so intense that you could not process the sounds that might have been leaving you. Warm blood pooled all around you, the once ivory sheets now a deep crimson. One last gasp left you as they pulled your child from your body.

Suddenly you had remembered your mother telling you about the pains of childbirth when you first married Aegon and all anyone could talk about was you producing his heirs. She had a rather negative approach that utterly terrified you. So, you decided to find comfort in Rhaenyra's advice instead.

"I will not withhold the truth from you, it truly is the most excruciating pain a woman must go through."

You groaned, "That is not what I had wished to hear, Sister."

"You did not let me finish. The process is hard, yes. And you will feel the urge to curse the Gods or even your husband and swear to never bear anymore children," you both laughed, "But the moment you hear those sweet cries and your babe is placed upon your chest, the pain is forgotten. And nothing has ever seemed so worth it. Then you will know, right then and there, that you would do it all over again if it meant you could finally find that purest form of love."

And yet, you would never discover that beautiful feeling your sister had painted so clearly. The room was almost eerily silent besides the dripping of blood onto the stone floor.

"What do you know?" the man panted as he held your lifeless infant, "A son. Congratulations, my Queen."

You could not speak as you felt your body numb itself. Tears falling with no cries as they stuffed your son's body into a sack. It was as if you could feel your heart shatter. The men finished their sinister act before fleeing through a secret passageway. You tried little to fight the heaviness in your eyes. Perhaps this was all a horrible dream and if you shut your eyes, you'd open them to find yourself in bed with Aegon's arms wrapped securely around your belly. The last thing you could muster was a small smile at the sentimental image as your vision faded out completely.

"Sister?" Helaena called out into your bed chamber, "I did not wish to wake you but Aegon is being so loud and I cannot sleep with him-" Her voice caught in her throat at the sight of your mangled body lying on the bed. Your figure lifeless and your eyes vacant as you stared at the canopy. She approached your body, a shaky hand reaching out to touch your face to be met with utter stillness. Helaena backed out of the room slowly, tears flowing down her cheeks before sprinting to find some sort of help. As if anyone could undo what had already been done.

"I-I don't know what happened. I came in and she...she was..." Helaena's voice cracked with sobs as various people filed into the royal bed chamber; the Kingsguard, the Dowager Queen, the Hand, and lastly, your husband.

They all stopped at the sight before them, their eyes welling with tears and their stomachs churning. The Dowager Queen let out a heavy sob as all their attention turned to the King. Aegon approached your body cautiously.

He fell to his knees, his hands cradling your bloodied face as he sobbed, "My wife, my dearest-"

Nobody dared say a word as Aegon mourned over you. His sobs heavy with grief as he called out your name over and over again. The Queen Mother clutching Helaena's arm as they cried with him. The Kingsguard hanging their heads low in shame at their failure to protect their Queen. Otto Hightower, known to be quick with his word, said nothing.

The council meeting that followed was one full of dread and grief. Most of the council mourned, the Hand schemed, and the King could do not but curse the Gods and swear revenge.

"Your Grace, perhaps we should speak of the funeral arrangements for the Queen-"

"No," Aegon was quick to stop the Hand, who raised a brow at his grandson's denial, "I will not have my wife's body dragged through the streets like a dog!"

"Not dragged, honored!" Otto corrected him before lowering his tone as he spoke to the King, "Y/N was my granddaughter and I loved her. She deserves the funeral of a Targaryen princess, a Targaryen queen. The small folk wish to mourn their Queen and the heir she carried. And they need to know who is responsible for this."

Aegon's face twisted in disbelief, "How could they not already know?! Who else would do this save the bitch queen of bastards?!"

"We must know for certain, Your Grace," Lord Jasper suggested, "If it was not your sister, this may prove to be an even bigger threat to the crown, to you, my King."

Aegon scoffed, "I do not care what threatens me. My wife is dead. And my child," he stifled a sob, "That cunt did this, I know it. Her and her kingdom of traitorous bastards will burn for it."

Before anyone could speak, the doors of the council chamber opened as Lord Larys entered. He bowed meekly as all eyes turned to him.

"My lords, Your Grace," he greeted the council.

All stood still, "State your purpose, Lord Larys," the Hand spoke.

"We have apprehended one of the assailants. A gold cloak, known for his brutal nature. The guards caught him fleeing the Gate of Gods. He carried the child's body in a sack."

The King hardly wasted any time, stomping over to the doors, "I shall kill him myself."

"We might retrieve further information about who is to blame for this tragedy after questioning," Ser Criston stopped Aegon from leaving as Otto spoke, "I trust in your skill set, Lord Larys."

The Strong Lord bowed before exiting the room. All eyes turned once again to the King and his Hand.

"We will hold the service for both the child and mother-"

"I said no," Aegon grunted, "My wife and child will not be put on display for the Realm."

"Your Grace, we might use this to our advantage in the war you wish to march into. Your people need to know the depravity that Rhaenyra is capable of. The great houses of Westeros will see that she is not fit to rule given her cruel nature. They will flock to your side and with them, their armies and bannermen."

Aegon continued to shake his head. He could not just let them see you or your child like that. They did not deserve it.

"Mother," he turned to the Dowager Queen for support.

Alicent approached Aegon's chair, "The Hand sets on a difficult path, my darling, but it might be the right one."

The King could not muster anymore fight, "Have the Silent Sisters prepare the Queen and child for their journey. Behind them will be Princess Helaena and the Queen Mother."

"No, I do not wish to be a spectacle," Alicent argued but her father would not hear it.

Your husband visited your body as the Silent Sisters began to prepare it. They had cleaned the mess and dressed you in one of your favorite dresses, the emerald color complimenting your skin and hair.

"Your Grace, it is ill-fated to look upon the face of death," Maester Orwyle warned.

"That is not the face of death, Maester. That is my wife," Aegon spoke, "Leave me with her."

Maester Orwyle and the Silent Sisters bowed before leaving the King with your body. He softly stroked the hair from your face as he broke into sobs once again.

"I am so sorry, my love," he cried, "I-I should have been there to protect you. And our son." Maester Orwyle had informed His Grace that the child you carried was a prince, a perfect heir, "You truly would have been the most wonderful mother. You were already a perfect wife and Queen. Motherhood would have come naturally."

Aegon recounted how well you did with Rhaenyra's last two babies, the ones she had with his uncle Daemon. As much as he did not care for his half-sister, he knew you did. Always quick to defend her, even against your own family. So, he was forced to ask himself, how could she do this to you? To your child?

"They will pay for what they have done," your husband muttered to you, "I will win this war. I will win it for our child. I will win it for you. With fire and blood. Your sacrifice will not be for naught, my Queen."