#alicent hightower bashing

[joyfulladywarrior]

Naive Rhaenyra au (I love Rhaenyra but in this, she's a lot like Viserys)

Rhaenyra's POV

Rhaenyra had been feeling anxious over Alicent being late to her wedding. Alicent had been distant since the brothel incident. Rhaenyra had not lied to her friend but she was not honest with her. The guilt from that thin line had Rhaenyra worried if their friendship can survive this.

Upon Alicent's entrance to the hall, Rhaenyra felt a wave of relief. Alicent probably knows the truth. She called her "stepdaughter." Rhaenyra still hopes their friendship will survive. After all, their friendship survived Alicent sneaking to her father's rooms and supplanting her mother. It can survive an almost lie from Rhaenyra.

The wedding without a hitch at first but, in the truest fashion of any Westeros wedding, a fight broke. A lot of people were hurt. Only Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, who was Laenor's lover, was killed by Ser Criston. Alicent had sued for leniency towards Criston. Rhaenyra, wanting to appease her friend, did not speak against it. However, this had affected her relationship with Laenor. She had already confided in Laenor that she bedded Ser Criston and he believed that she should have punished her knight. Laenor could not bed her this night. Nor the following night. Or any other night truthfully.

Moons after the wedding, whispers started to get louder at her supposed inheritance of queen Aemma's infertility and why couldn't she be more like queen Alicent who gave the king two children with a third on the way. Alicent herself had started pressuring Rhaenyra into doing something. Anything. Eventually Rhaenyra bedded Ser Harwin Strong and got pregnant. Laenor started to soften towards her after hearing of her pregnancy. The birth of Jacaerys was the happiest moment of her and Laenor's life. However, Alicent took Rhaenyra to the side and discussed Jacaerys's options. Her friend was worried that the brown hair would weaken Rhaenyra's claim and urged her to have a child with Valyrian features. Rhaenyra had then told her the truth of the child's parentage. Alicent was very understanding and laid the blame on Laenor for not doing his duty.

Rhaenyra and Laenor had a discussion about their options in which Rhaenyra admitted to Laenor that she agrees with Alicent about Jacaerys. She decided to send Jacaerys away to live with his paternal uncle. Laenor had been very heartbroken. Rhaenyra reassured him that they could try for a child and this way she would fulfill the deal with Corlys.

Laenor and Rhaenyra had tried for moons to do their duty but nothing worked. This led Rhaenyra to seek Harwin again. Her logic was that Jacaerys was flawed. Jaehaerys and Alysamme were light-skinned with Valyrian features regardless of having a Velaryon mother. Rhaenyra's own mother had an Arryn father but inherited Valyrian features from her mother. This second child could have Valyrian looks.

Lucerys did not have her hair but his eyes were violet and he resembled her a lot.

His eyes were not enough.

Rhaenyra talked with Alicent again and Alicent agreed that if Laenor cannot bed Rhaenyra then she should find someone who will. She should continue doing what she has been doing until she begets a child with Valyrian features. Rhaenyra sent Lucerys to live with Larys Strong and his Jacaerys. Laenor stopped talking with Rhaenyra and stopped trying to bed her. Even though Rhaenyra lost two children and the love of her cousin, she knows that her claim is important and that she should ensure that nothing would compromise it.

Laenor's POV

Laenor had to endure a betrayal after the other in his short life. His parents betrayed him when they forced him to wed Rhaenyra. Laena betrayed him when she ran away with Daemon without keeping contact and with no care for him. Rhaenyra had betrayed him when she did not seek justice for Joffrey. Rhaenyra had also betrayed him when she sent their children away. His children. He did not sire Jacaerys and Lucerys but the moment he saw them, he knew. He knew he was their father and nothing would change that.

He knew he wants to leave Westeros. He cannot handle Rhaenyra sending away their children and his parents pressuring him to bed her. They knew his preferences. His father was upset over the children sent away since they have no heir to the iron throne and the driftmark throne. His mother was happy that the children were sent away but was upset that he was unable to bed his wife. Laenor had started planning his fake death and to bring his children with him. He tried to meet with Laena in Pentos in hopes of having a place of residence there before uprooting the children's lives but she refused to see him. She claimed that he is the same as their parents and is being punished for doing his duty towards them. She wanted nothing to do with their parents or him since their father refused to name Baela his heir.

Laenor was hesitating with his plans now that Rhaenyra is pregnant again. She told him that if the child is a boy, she would name him Joffrey in honor of his lost love. He knows that she wants to fix their relationship but she does not know yet that some things cannot be fixed. When Rhaenyra gave birth, he saw a familiar strands of dark hair and knew immediately what will happen.

Laenor had been very depressed from each loss he endured for a crown that won't even be for him. His only consolation was that the Hightower queen's children were unable to hatch or claim dragons while his children's eggs hatched. He made sure that the dragons would not be killed and smuggled them to dragonstone. He claimed that he needs a few days for himself away from Rhaenyra and his parents. There, he faked his death to free himself from the shackles of his family.

It was quite difficult tracking his children down. He knew that Rhaenyra sent letters to them regularly but he also knew that the highwhore and her lapdog wouldn't let any of those letters arrive. Rhaenyra had not allowed him to send the letters directly since she didn't trust he won't compromise her claim but she did tell him that they are with their paternal uncle. He also knew that a knight had sired them. He made a list of all the white cloaks and could not find his children with any of their families. He then made a list of all the gold cloaks and tried to find them. It didn't cross his mind that Ser Harwin Strong is the father of his children. He knew that Harwin is loyal to Daemon but he believed that this loyalty will stop him from pursuing anything with Rhaenyra.

The living conditions his boys had to endure were not decent even for cattle. Laenor was watching them closely and realized that no adult had visited them all day. Apparently that was the care fitting for the children of the heir to the throne, true Targaryens who hatched their eggs in their cradle. The entire ordeal sickened him. A boy of six namedays was trying to to feed a boy of three namedays. The bread looked stale and was the only thing the boys had. He didn't understand. Didn't Harwin visit them at all?

After two days of watching, Laenor approached the boys. They were terrified of him. They tried to run away but Lucerys fell and his brothers went back for him. Jacaerys was begging him to hurt him and not his brothers. Laenor's heart was breaking all over again.

It took time to earn their trust and for them to allow him to take care of them. Once they started opening up, they told him about their mistreatment at the hand of Larys Strong. How he visits them once a month to give them food. If they finished the food, they would starve for days. He would hit them with his cane and would play games with them. He would go to Jace and tell him that if he performed certain degrading acts, he would not hurt his siblings. Even when Jace does what he wants, he would go to Luke and say the same thing. Joffrey is too young to understand shame or feel degraded so he only opts to beat him up.

Finding out how horrifying his children's lives are, he tried to get them to come with him. He doesn't know where they will go. Laenor wanted to give his children the world but he can only give them stability for now. It is the least they deserve.

10 Years later

Laenor had been living the best life he can. He has a wonderful lover and three beautiful children. The boys are happy and thriving in the free cities. He loves his boys and he knows they love him back. Jacaerys is the perfect heir anyone would wish for. Lucerys is his little pearl. So sweet and brave. Joffrey is a menace but he would go to great lengths to protect his family. He truly loves each and every one of them but he cannot shake the feeling that they are hiding something from him. He had seen how Jacaerys and Lucerys would look at each other and he knows that they are twin flames. This is not what they are hiding. No. It is something else. Something that involves Joffrey too. He was thinking about following the boys and finding out but understands he cannot betray their trust. He has to wait for them.

Laenor has eyes and ears in kingslanding. His sister passed away from the childbirth bed as many women in their family had. Daemon married Rhaenyra before the mourning period ended. Their union had no yielded fruit despite Daemon siring children before and Rhaenyra's experience in childbirth. Rhaenyra is in dire need of an heir yet she has been unable to birth one. There had been whispers about Aegon being her heir. He is her brother. Daemon had been Viserys' heir for years. Other whispers mentioned about Baela being her heir. She is Rhaenyra's stepdaughter and a full Valyrian, unlike Aegon. She is also a dragon rider. Rhaenyra is stuck in the middle of her greatest two loves. Alicent and Daemon. She does not know who to choose. Ironic considering that neither would choose her if the other option was Otto Hightower or Viserys respectively. They had already done that. He wonders if Rhaenyra knows. He hopes she does.

Everytime Laenor hears of problems in kingslanding with Rhaenyra, something ugly in him feels satisfied. He heard of her attempts to find the boys too. Larys Strong claimed that a fire claimed the lives of the boys. The whispers claimed that Rhaenyra wailed like a real mother would. The conflict between the Hightowers and Daemon reached a great height that the Fourteen Flames had to intervene. Other than hearing of this, he could not discover what was discussed. Only that the Faith called the Fourteen Flames false idols and that the Hightowers are pushing for Aegon to be Rhaenyra's heir even more than before. Nothing had been heard about the reaction of the Targeryens or Velaryons.

Laenor had thought of taking the opportunity to gain support for Jacaerys and get him a crown. This was also an opportunity to reunite them with their dragons. He would also love to meet his nieces and reunite with Daemon. The future is looking bright. No matter how the Hightowers try to retaliate, Laenor knows him and his children are true dragons and he would give them their birthright with fire and blood.

[alishaaxo]

The Green Queen And A Greener Future

chapter 3

ao3 edition

Alicent carried Aegon on her side, avoiding the significant bump on her front, gazing into his lavender eyes with love. Her baby boy was back and was just a joyful, innocent child, unaware of the underlying tension in Kingslanding.

The Hightower Queen looked aside to her husband, Viserys, rambling on about plans for the upcoming celebrations for Aegon’s second nameday, causing Alicent to smile. Inwardly the conniving beauty was conjuring up ideas, believing that she could continue to build her political presence, gaining additional allies to the Green-side, all in order to save her children from the evil wrath they faced by Rhaenyra’s hubristic arrogance and her Rogue Prince’s disgusting brutality.

Already from the day Alicent Hightower had joined the Royal Family, she had begun consolidating her political power, employing potential allies into her household as Ladies-In-Waiting, and gaining friendship with Small Council members such as Tyland Lannister. With Rose Tyrell, one of her numerous ladies-in-waiting, and now a close friend of hers, once she removed the bitterness she felt regarding the might of House Hightower.

Viserys continued his mindless chatter, Alicent indulging him idly until she heard the man mutter, “Little Aegon’s nameday shall be extravagant, our boy may grow up be a great knight in the future, hunting just as I am to do in his celebration.”

Alicent portrays a joyous face, happy in indulging in conversing about her beautiful baby, while also in actuality intending to innocently bring up the succession crisis, “Viserys, Aegon will be a great knight, our Aegon The Conqueror Reborn!”

The Targaryen Monarch’s face then hardened with rapid anger, inwardly questioning whether Alicent was an innocent girl praising her son or if she was conniving, bent on undermining his choice to keep Rhaenyra as heir. “Alicent, what do you mean by this?”

“Rhaenyra is my heir. And she will be a great ruler, just like Aegon The Conqueror!” He speaks, wanting the discussion of succession to cease, angered extremely as the Small Council and nobility have made numerous mentions regarding Aegon as heir to be an inevitable action, feeling as though they’re intent on undermining his authority as king.

Alicent then raise her eyebrows in false shock, disappointed in Viserys’ continuous defence of his choice, “Of course! I love Rhaenyra,” She states, stammering onwards, “But I just imagined that as you have a firstborn son you would make him heir, after all wasn’t precious little Baelon named heir, ahead of her?”

“Well yes, but..”, He murmurs, before being interrupted.

“And,” She continues, ceasing Viserys’ justifications and presenting genuine articulate retorts to his hypocrisy, “After all, weren’t you picked as heir to the Old King Jaehaerys because Prince Aemon hadn’t had a male heir? Some nobles may then believe that keeping Rhaenyra as heir then illegitimises your reign and makes you a hypocrite to the Realm’s eyes, since it can be said you took Princess Rhaenys’ right.”

With coherent explanations going against his succession Viserys didn’t know what to say, blubbering and stumbling in how to retort back in respons. After all, Alicent had given comprehensive counters to his choice, but regardless of that, guilt lingered in his heart. He couldn’t dare strip Rhaenyra as heir after he mindlessly butchered her mother in pursuit of a son, a son he now has with Alicent. A son who was in the image of his prophetic vision, a powerful, Targaryen-looking King.

“Well enough of this succession business, I’m tired of discussing serious topics, let’s focus on Aegon’s nameday.” King Viserys spoke, clearly sick of dealing with his duties, tired of listening to chatter about succession and also due to the impulsive actions of Daemon and Lord Corlys who have been the unfortunate highlight of most Small Council meetings.

———————————

Tired of having to confront responsibilities, preferring to mindlessly celebrate and indulge himself with feasts.

The Hightower Queen was idly walking through the Royal Gardens, mindlessly in thought, until she noticed Rhaenyra sitting by the Godswood. The place that they both spent their girlhood together, where their bond grew strongest and where they had also destroyed that same bond. Alicent subsequently recalled the numerous arguments which arisen in the area as she had become Queen, with Rhaenyra confronting Alicent regarding Viserys’ shocking engagement with her, and in contrast, Alicent accosting Rhaenyra about her scandalous incident with that rogue of a man, Daemon Targaryen.

She then heard Rhaenyra order the singing bard beside her to repeat the tune he was performing again, showing that she preferred to sequester herself alone with music rather than celebrate her brother’s nameday.

Alicent Hightower stumbled forward, difficulty in her steps due to her swollen stomach, as she finally spoke, “Rhaenyra.”

“The King wishes for you to join us.”

Rhaenyra replied solemnly, “The King has much to celebrate.”

“He does not need me.” Her sad and resentful nature causing Alicent’s guilt to fester, after all Rhaenyra at this point in time was just a young girl, feeling as though her mother and herself had been replaced by Viserys in his pursuit for an son, and she was not the figure Alicent remembered. She wasn’t the maniacal cruel women who wanted to kill Alicent’s family. Yet the Hightower women knew she couldn’t ever allow Rhaenyra to gain the political foothold she had previously, in the case that she grow to be the person Alicent recalled.

“He wants for us all to be together.” Alicent responded, in attempt to get Rhaenyra to reconcile with her, yet knowing deep inside that this wouldn’t work as it didn’t in her previous life. But also aware that this situation could potentially be the turning point, where Rhaenyra would cease any positive interactions with her, and that Alicent could then manipulate these events for the sake of her children.

Stuttering onwards, Alicent continued further, “And perhaps the hunt could be ….. fun.”

“Is that the King’s command?” Rhaenyra snidely retorted, intent on ignoring her duties as Princess of The Realm and simultaneously her family members, her blood.

“Yes, but..” Alicent replied before being interrupted midway.

Princess Rhaenyra snapped harshly, slamming her book and rushing upwards, “Then at once, Your Grace.”

“But it needn’t be, none of it needs be this way. If not for both mine and your father’s sake, then for your brother, your blood.” Falsely pleading, attempting even further to reconcile with the Princess and venturing to drive a wedge of guilt inside Rhaenyra for neglecting Aegon, an innocent infant with no faults of his own at this time.

“Forsake us, I understand.”

“But Aegon is just a babe who has done nothing to offend you!” Speaking harshly, intent on placing a sense of self-repentance inside Rhaenyra, who was ignoring her and hastily running away, whilst also speaking the truth she couldn’t dare utter in the past. As a young girl forced into marrying her friend’s father, wondering why her old friend could not even try to form a familial bond with her own siblings, even if she hated the treacherous circumstances.

Yet it was too late.

Rhaenyra was gone, hastening towards the Royal Carriages, never to give an explanation for the blatant alienation she feels toward her half-siblings.

———————————

The carriage jerked, rumbling back and forth as it strolled forward over the rocky pathway onward to the Royal Hunting Tents for Aegon’s second nameday.

Silence lingered in the carriage, only occasionally interrupted by babbling from Aegon and Viserys’ incessant attempts at conjuring reconciliation between Rhaenyra and Alicent.

“Should you be travelling in this condition?”, Rhaenyra spoke finally, upon witnessing Alicent’s uncomfortable shift as the carriage shook.

Rubbing her stomach in a consoling gesture, The Queen replied, “The Maester said that travelling out in nature would do me and the babe well. Perhaps you’ll understand when you have a babe.”

“You should hold your brother, to gain some motherly experience. And you can strengthen your sibling bond.” Alicent suggested, a falsified pleading tone in her voice as Rhaenyra grew angry, face hardening at being told to finally interact with the brother she resented, as Alicent instructed the maid holding Aegon to pass him over to Rhaenyra.

“Exactly. Rhaenyra, you will be with your own child sooner than late, and make me a proud grandsire! You should hold little Aegon!”, Viserys spoke jubilantly, unaware of the growing pain his daughter has in facing her childbirthing duties.

“No!”

“Why I should I care for my half-brother?” Rhaenyra screams in a loud retort, resulting in the maids within to side-eye each other, looking at the Princess in a perturbed mood, as she pushed away Aegon’s hand while the maid carrying him rushed back down to her fellow co-worker.

“Rhaenyra! He’s your blood, cease these complaints! Why can’t you care for your brother?” Viserys roared, anger shocking everyone inside the carriage.

Rhaenyra replies with a softened tone, unable to articulate her anger outwardly due to shock in her father’s unexpected eruption, “I find it discomforting. To deal with children and hunting today is too excessive for me.”

“You are the Crown Princess, you have duties. You cannot be avoiding your responsibilities if you are truly to be Queen!” King Viserys bellowed.

“As I am ceaselessly reminded.” She retorts quietly under her breath.

“Im sorry?” Viserys spoke, unable to hear her snide retort.

“As I am ceaselessly reminded!” She responded harshly in tone.

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

“No ones here for me.” She spoke quietly, partly ashamed that she’s speaking aloud her personal thoughts of abandonment and her feeling of resentment regarding Aegon.

The King countered her words, viewing them to be selfish, “Rhaenyra, you have everyday. Today is Aegon’s celebration.”

“If this was Baelon’s day, you wouldn’t complain, you just hate my child!” Alicent finally spoke, interrupting the father-daughter argument to speak her mind.

The carriage stopped, as silence echoed inside.

They had arrived to the Royal celebratory tents.

Shame erupted in both Rhaenyra and Viserys. The Princess ashamed at the blatant proclamation of her prejudice between her full-siblings compared to the living half-brother she has. Viserys saddened and guilt-filled just from the mention of his “Heir of a day.” that he butchered his beloved wife for.

As the Royal family and their servants exited outside onto the grass excluding Rhaenyra, bows in respect following their footsteps, loudly heard was the declarative words of Lord Hobert Hightower, “Hail, hail Aegon, the Conqueror-Babe, Second of His Name!”

“Here’s to His Grace on his second name day!”

Alicent silently smirking, as her uncle essentially proclaimed in front of the numerous important Lords and Ladies, that Aegon deserved to be heir.

Standing in the extravagant tents, Alicent tempered herself, preparing to gain allies to her side.

Her Aegon’s side.

All in the name of her children, the Hightower women knew that she had to consolidate power for herself and gain allies, that of which she did not previously have, and also to strengthen the bond the Greens had previously acquired.

Looking forward, she noticed her Ladies-In-Waiting have arrived, both her cousins Margarey and Delena Redwyne, and Rose Tyrell, her closest friend as of late. Yet she knew that obtaining more influential Ladies to join would be essential to forward Aegon’s succession to King.

She walked forward to them, carrying Aegon by her side, as they bowed in admiration and greeted her warmly. Happiness arose in Alicent’s figure, having true friends that were not only allies gave her much joy in life.

After listening to their idle chit-chat, Alicent spotted her older brother Ser Gwayne Hightower and glanced over to him, discreetly instructing the copper-haired Knight to come over and join his sister, along with her Ladies.

“Gwayne it’s been so long! Aegon’s grown so big while you’ve been away!” Alicent joyously spoke, while recalling how her brother arrived from Oldtown six moons or so ago, upon wanting to meet his young nephew and see how Alicent was faring in the beginning of her second pregnancy. During this time Alicent had also instructed her older brother to befriend Ser Criston Cole while partaking in his knightly duties, and sword-practice.

As she and Gwayne had greeted each other, Alicent had noticed a certain Lady-In-Waiting of hers blushing and staying particularly quiet, in shyness. intent on avoiding the Hightower knight’s gaze.

“Ah, Gwayne I haven’t introduced you to my Ladies.”

Continuing in her introduction, Alicent resumed, “Of course you know our cousins, Delena and Margarey, but there is also my dear friend, the Lady Rose Tyrell.”

“I know of her. We have met during my time in Highgarden when I was en-route to Oldtown.” The Hightower man replied, causing Alicent to grin inside, intent on matchmaking her beloved brother with her friend, who was also the daughter of their Liege Lord, Mathis Tyrell.

“My Queen, your brother is too humble. He saved both myself and my entourage from bandits!”, Rose Tyrell spoke hastily in response, admiration heavy in her tone.

Alicent upon sensing the potential of romance between two people she cared for heavily, was intent on giving them the chance to have a beautiful love, unlike the troublesome dynamic of a marriage that Alicent currently is stuck in with King Viserys.

However, the Green Queen also had plans for Gwayne during this hunt, and could not let this momentous occasion slip away from her hands.

Breaking the idle discussion between this gathering of Ladies and Lord, Alicent interrupted with a falsified shock, “Oh Gwayne! I had just recalled, our father needs to speak to you and I.”

The Queen then instructed her Ladies-In-Waiting calmly, yet in an authoritative tone that she had to leave them for a moment.

As the siblings then sequestered away from the multitude of gatherings within the Royal Tents, Alicent abruptly spoke to Gwayne, “I need you to follow Ser Criston and the Princess, brother.”

Replying in a confused manner, the Hightower knight spoke, “Why?”

“I have reason to believe that Rhaenyra will run away from her duties and yet be confronted by the infamous White Hart everybody is searching for.” Alicent softly said, knowing that her insider information would seem nonsensical to anybody unaware of her awareness of events occuring in her past-future. However she was also aware that as her beloved brother, she had trust in that he would follow her instructions, believing she had worthy cause to do so.

As he answered in response, “Alright Alicent, I understand.”

“However, we must make haste and converse with nobles now before the hunt begins, so we can gain allies, defending us against Viserys’ nonsensical choice in keeping Rhaenyra as heir.”

The sibling partnership then returned into the area congregated with nobles full of political discussion, and contrastingly, mindless discussion regarding feasts and celebrations.

The Hightower Queen, while idly conversing with Eleanor Baratheon and Lady Tully, she then noticed the infamous “Bronze Bitch” Lady Rhea Royce, lingering away with Jeyne Aryyn, Rhea of whom she was hellbent on allying with, and saving from the murderous clutches of Daemon Targaryen.

Walking onwards to Lady Rhea, she greeted her warmly, knowing that dealing with Daemon, whose heinous tastes were more suited to children with white hair, was a task that demanded great respect.

Conversing with her about the hunt, Alicent was hopeful in a companion to her political side, as they both suffered under the hands of selfish Targaryens.

As they continued, the Queen then cordially remarked that perhaps Rhea Royce should join her party during the midday hunting, as an attempt to get acquainted with her further.

Alicent dawdled for a while as she left the Ladies, stewing in contentment, believing she had perhaps gained more allies onto her side than ever before.

As she entered the grand royal tent, filled with the best political colleagues for her to gain, Alicent was filled with emotions encompassing her mind. This was the perfect time to acquire allies, more than what the Greens had gathered during Alicent’s past life.

Immediately she was bombarded by a young girl bowing at her and greeting her in bold admiration,” My Queen! It’s ever so wonderful to meet you.”

“And you as well, Lady..?” Alicent spoke kindly, yet intent in uncovering who this girl was exactly, as Alicent clearly didn’t remember her, thus she must not have been a politically-minded woman in the future.

“Lady Bethany Bracken, I am. And..oh! I was wondering whether I could be a lady-in-waiting of yours?”, The maiden retorted, daring and audacious in her forward action of confronting her Queen.

The Hightower Queen, reminded of her old friend Rhaenyra’s temperament, responded softly with a melancholic smile,“Well, I admire your courage. You seem like a great girl, thus I will grant you your wish, if you ask your lord father.”

As the willful girl ran off joyously in pursuit of his father, Alicent decided to seat herself in the presence of the gathering surrounding her sharp-tongued yet lovable grandmother, Lady Redwyne.

Upon greeting her grandmother, ladies-in-waiting, and the other ladies present, Alicent then subsequently noticed the young Lady Baratheon, anxious and forlorn as she stood nearby yet unwilling to take the initiative to interact.

“Lady Baratheon! How wonderful it is to see you once more!” The Queen bellowed, intent on bringing joy to this girl, essentially stuck in the same situation of hers. Birthing heirs for a neglectful, disgusting man.

Alicent continued speaking further, wanting to further a bond with the future Lady of House Baratheon, upon Lord Boremund Baratheon’s passing,“I heard you just birthed a girl. So lucky,

I’m hoping my next babe will be a girl, perhaps our children will grow to be friends!”

As Lady Eleanor Baratheon responded, the idle chitchat developed into discussions regarding the fate of poor Lady Johanna Swann.

Rhaenyra, swift on her feet, abandoned the mindless blabber of Jason Lannister, stumbling forward onwards to the large assembly of her Lady Stepmother’s group of nobility.

As she converged closer, words spoken by Lady Redwyne put her in a difficult position.

“Perhaps the Princess.. can give us some insight.”

Alicent smugly remembering inside her mind how Rhaenyra snarkily answered, acting unbefitting of an heiress, all in defence of her troublesome, lecherous uncle.

As Princess Rhaenyra rebutted incessantly back and forth with Alicent’s lady grandmother, she idky watched on. Needing to do nothing, as Rhaenyra was ruining her reputation, portraying herself as an impulsive undutiful heir, without Alicent’s input necessary.

Silence echoed in the room for a moment, as the Targaryen girl blatantly insulted Lady Redwyne with a spiteful remark regarding cake, then storming off as her impulsive emotions got the better of her.

The Hightower Queen then falsely tried to placate the group, “Forgive my step-daughter. She’s still mourning her mother, unable to do her duties but she’s grieving.

The false pleading fooled her cousins, as Margarey Redwyne retorted sharply, “Alicent, I know you love her because of your childhood bond, but I think you’re being too kind. After all you performed your duties and Lady Helene had sadly passed just a moon before Queen Aemma had.”

Continuing further with snide yet truthful insults toward the Crown Princess, Margarey sharply spoke, “Beside, it’s been years, and she hasn’t grown at all! While you have married and have a babe, with another on the way.”

As Lady Margarey spoke, the ladies present, including Lady Jeyne Arryn, were looking incredibly disappointed in the pathetic trajectory of Rhaenyra’s growth or rather, lack thereof, as she hadn’t accepted her duties as heir, or duties as a women of Westeros.

Yet Alicent knew this wouldn’t change.

Rhaenyra would only get worse, becoming a scandalous harlot, akin to Saera Targaryen.

Birthing bastards and sequestering them as true heirs.

Arrogant in her father’s wishes, yet never attempting to gain any allies, choosing to insult the Lords that she is to depend on.

[reignof-fyre]

Upcoming fic:

Allyria Hightower - Daughter of the High Tower, Lady of the Royal Court, Queen-Consort of the Seven Kingdoms.

Otto never imagined that the destruction of all of his ambitions would come from his own household.

Especially from his own daughter.

Or, after overhearing her younger sister and father scheming, Allyria decides to change the game and puts herself in the king's path.

[theothergal]

Another "let women be feminine" discourse on Twitter (not X) hotd. We cannot go for one week without this bullshit, am I right?

This time, it's because and artist made a (very very cool) fanart of Alicent and Rhaenyra as Romeo and Juliet and Rhaenyra has *gasp* short hair and an armor.

[maomao92]

I'm just going to say it since no one else will, Otto was the one who wanted rhaenyra off the throne because she was a woman not the rest of team green as we've constantly seen alicent defend her to her own father. The rest of team green want rhaenyra off the throne because of how she and her family always lie and get away with things that even the heir would be punished for and before anyone brings up aemond, I would very much act that way if my bastard nephews decided that it would be a good idea to torment me my whole childhood and then take my eye for claiming a dragon after they made me feel like shit for not having one.

[silver-dragonborn]

I'll do you one better. The hate Alicent Stans will harbor for Aemond for DARING to question his mother's loyalty will morph into multi-chapter fanfic of Alicent waking up back in time, abandoning her "ungrateful ass" silver-haired spawn that she SUFFERED to bring into this world to run away from Westeros and live a life of luxury in Essos with some random male oc who was specifically created to cater to Alicent's every whim and has a Henry Cavill Witcher face claim because of course she needs to pop out more silver-haired babies that are far more prettier and perfect than her ungrateful ass kids who were so MEAN to her. Tags will include "Alicent gets her groove back," "Alicent says fuck it and leaves Westeros," "Alicent leaves her toxic ass children and husband to be with her boy toy in Essos," "Rhaenyra Bashing," "Daemon Bashing," "Team Black Bashing," "Some bashing for Aemond because he's so UNGRATEFUL," "Alicent Gone Girls herself," "Alicent is Sansa Stark's ancestor," "Alicent hatches dragon eggs," "Alicent is the Mother of Dragons," "TEAM GREEN SYMPATHIZER!!!!"

[a0random0gal]

Criston calls the woman who coerced him into sex a cunt ONCE and hes a raging misogynist... he said no 😭😭 i finished the series on the weekend and got into the fandom just a little AND THE BULLSHIT I HAVE SEEN, to an extent i understand, theres an inherent distrust of men who clearly dont like a woman and express that (butttt i mean people are actually shipping blonde bitch with her blonde bitch uncle or stanning him and he's... actually sexist and awful but... wtf(not to say you cant like shit characters, its just the hypocrisy), and the show is very clearly on blonde womans side of things so i get that some fans are just gonna follow that and not think about it. BUT IF YOU DO think about it it dont make sense

also why did alicent marry her kids together, ive heard that in the books old king man did it and that its kinda against alice's religion? could have misheard head that and maybe i missed the explanation but that never made sense to me.

Oh how I get you anon, when I first entered the fandom I too was bombarded with these posts hating on Criston, Alicent and the greens and was left speechless. And yes, on one hand it can be excused (to a certain extent) but on the other it highlights their hypocrisy.

Hating on the kingsguard who was coerced into sex? That's completely excusable how dare he insult our kween!

Insinuating that their little malewife is actually a horrible misogynist who calls every woman he dislikes a whore/bitch and literally CHOKES his wife for not wanting to immediately go to war ( after also not consoling following a stillbirth)?

You just don't get his character, he's our little meow meow!

These Daemon fangirls aren't older than fifteen in my opinion lmao.

Regarding Aegon and Helaena's marriage, yes in the show Ali betrothes them but in the books Viserys is the one to do it, and there are various reasons as to why:

It removes the risk of alliances. If the green kids had all been married to powerful noble houses like the Baratheons, Tyrells etc... The risk that during the dance they would have sided with the greens was quite high, and Viserys wanted to defend Rhaenyra's claim.

Helaena was Ali's only daughter, and since she was to be married this young it made sense that the queen wanted to keep her close to her.

Aegon is a better alternative than Jace, Viserys probably told her that he wanted to marry Helaena to either Aegon or Jace, and Ali would have never accepted a marriage with a bastard.

It simply follows the Targaryen tradition of "keeping the blood pure"

This one is fucked up but, it was thought to be a solution to Aegon's drinking problem and sex addiction, it wasn't.

Regarding Alicent's faith... I imagine seeing her kids marrying each other was super freaky, but she always knew that Targaryens married within the family and her marriage with Viserys was an exeption. Also the faith of the seven by that time had already decided to tolerate Targcest.

[lunamond]

I want to preface this with the disclaimer that I really like Rheanyra. This is not meant as a way to bash her character or minimise the way she, as a woman in Westeros, has been harmed and discriminated against.

However, I have a lot of trouble with how Rheanyra, especially in relation to Alicent, has been discussed in the fandom, for that purpose I will analyse young Rheanyra and focus on her personal flaws (sth that I consider essential to good characterisation).

There is a big trend for audiences to latch onto a favourite character and perceive the entire story through that lens. Everything that benefits this singular character is good everything that inconveniences them is bad. (This is of course is not an issue exclusive to hotd)

As side note: I don’t think this is necessary a problematic way to engage with media, as long as you're capable of recognising that other people will engage differently nor prescribe moral value to real life people based on who they chose to root for.

However, once you start analysing the show critically this method starts becoming very flawed. Alicent as a character especially suffers a lot in these interpretations.

(This does also go in the other direction as well, with people twisting the story in way to bash Rheanyra in favour of Alicent)

It is baffling to me at times, looking at the distorted way some people engage with young Alicent and Rheanyra, and this weird need to portray Alicent as villanous or scheming from the very beginning.

(While I personally love Alicent as character young and grown-up, I'm aware that she, especially as an adult, doesn’t appeal to everybody, which is why I focus for this on young Alicent)

So, let's actually look at the first 3 Episodes and analyse Alicent and Rheanyra's relationship.

Episode 1: Alicent and Rheanyra are totally in love best friends. Rheanyra is the more impulsive one who doesn't always like the duties that come with her status as princess, while Alicent is the more anxious one who cares a lot about her and Rheanyra's responsibilities.

This is ultimately the last time Alicent and Rheanyra were on good terms, without anything standing between them. So both their perception of each other will always be coloured by this prior relationship and the intimate understanding they had of each other when they were still 14 years old.

Episode 2: Alicent has been ordered to keep her inappropriate meetings with the king a secret, Rheanyra is starting to feel the pressure of being the heir. At the end, the betrothal is announced, which ultimately leads to the break up of their prior relationship.

Episode 3: Their relationship has been in shambles for almost 3 years at this point. (Aegon's 2nd name day + 9 months pregnancy + whatever length of time passed between Ep2, the wedding and the start of the pregnancy)

Alicent repeatedly makes overtures to Rheanyra in an attempt to repair their relationship, which Rheanyra continuously shots down (sth that presumably has happened multiple times over the last years).

It also bears mention that even in moments when Rheanyra is not present Alicent still defends Rheanyra's claim to the throne. She does this both in private, as well as publicly.

This is one of those situations that perfectly demonstrate Rheanyra's character flaws.

While this is a very difficult situation to navigate from Rheanyra's position, her former girlfriend, who has now become her stepmother has given birth to a son who puts her own position into question.

She also is slowly growing up and becoming increasingly aware of the reality of what the expected role of a young noble women means in her society.

This is a lot of stress for a teenage girl to deal with, and you know what, I get it.

As a teenager, I personally have been quite unpleasant to be around in much less stressful situations.

However, as far as her treatment of Alicent goes, this is where a lot of my sympathy ends, because no matter what your personal opinion on adult Alicent and her actions might be, THIS Alicent has done none of these.

Alicent is a childbride, who has been martially raped, and put through teenage pregnancy (twice at this point!).

By cutting her off for this, Rheanyra is essentially punishing the victim of her father’s crime.

It is pretty clear that she redirects the hurt and betrayal she feels onto Alicent, because ultimately in the context that both of them grew up Alicent is the easier party to blame.

Rheanyra is definitely not on great terms with Viserys either, however she is still willing to engage with him.

So, yes, Rheanyra is isolated and feels lonely. She tells Viserys that:

"Nobody is here for me"

But she is actually wrong.

Alicent is there for her.

Alicent repeatedly tries to connect with her. She supports Rheanyra, she does so when they are with lady Redwyne, she pushes back against Otto's attempts to push Aegon as heir, she talks with Viserys ensuring that Rheanyra will have the free choice for her future consort.

It is especially ironic, when this last act becomes part of the reason Rheanyra and Viserys reconcile at the end of the episode, while Alicent remains estranged.

It is also quite interesting, how Rheanyra refers to Aegon as Alicent Hightower's son, essentially distancing herself from both of them. Further illustrating the way in which she is completely unwilling to engage with either of them.

Despite this little bit of agency afforded to Rheanyra, she is still expected to take a husband and bear children. This is of course, especially traumatic for her considering her mother's fate.

However, every single girl born to a noble family in Westeros lives under these same unfair conditions, including Alicent.

Rheanyra and Alicent actually do have quite a lot of parallels, both being young girls who feel alone and isolated at court, both their mothers dead and both having complicated relationships with their fathers.

And while it is not enough to free her from these restraints this misogynistic society placed on her, Rheanyra occupies a very privileged position.

She is royalty, a literal princess who has the distinct advantage of being named heir to the throne and future ruler of the the 7 kingdoms.

(Viserys did do a pisspoor job of actually preparing and supporting her for this role, though)

The most glaring embodiment of Rheanyra's privilege however is Syrax.

She has a literal flying weapon of mass destruction at her beck and call.

A privilege no other non-Targaryen noble women has. (Except for Laena)

So, yes, Rheanyra is still subject to misogyny, but Syrax provides her with a certain level of security no one else can claim, because if it is ever necessary she will always be able to relie on a show of force via dragon (which we see demonstrated in ep2).

All of this reveals the inherent tragedy that is at the core of the narrative.

Alicent and Rheanyra are both condemned to the same fate. They both are forced into marriage/s and the role of motherhood, they are robbed of their girlhood, lost their mothers and were subject to their father's whims, and ultimately in history both will be relegated to the role of mother and wife to much more important men.

Rheanyra struggled and fought against unequal traditions to hold the highest position of power anybody (men or woman) could hold, but still she falls victim to the patriarchy.

Alicent who does her duty, plays by the system and rises to the highest position acceptable for a woman to hold, being the mother to a male heir, will still ultimately be torn down by the patriarchy.

This is the only fate any woman can expect in the patriachical system that exists in Westeros, no matter how pious or rebellious she was.

But the most tragic part in all of this is the fact that, despite their shared plight Rheanyra and Alicent's relationship had to be sacrificed for the sake of this senseless struggle instead of allowing them the comfort of each other.

[lawolfe]

aemma kills viserys and as the widow of the king she can make rhaenyra heir and then alicent can marry criston and criston can become a landed knight and rhaenyra can marry whoever she wants (not daemon fuck that guy) and then alicent and rhaenyra’s kids can play together and also at some point otto will also die 🫶 AU

[talesofthepinktape]

I truly don't get people who dislike young Alicent. Like, adult Alicent has some questionable moments and isn't squeaky clean. But young Alicent is so clearly a victim of her father manipulating her and pimping her out???? Like??? How do you hate young Alicent???

[alishaaxo]

The Dreamer Queen Of Vengeance PT1

A young, free-spirited girl awakens from a deep slumber in fearful shock. Envisioning a future promising pain and destruction.

Rhaenyra had fallen into a deep slumber.

The Princess Of Westeros had suddenly gone into a sudden fainting spell, causing alarm within the nobility of Kingslanding. Maesters from all across Westeros, ordered by a disgruntled Viserys and his melancholy Queen, scurried in her chambers over the long period of five moons, unable to discover the cause for The Realm’s Delight’s unexpected comatose state.

Alicent Hightower, the young Princess’ closest companion, stayed close to her in a tearful manner, mournful of her dear friend, her only comfort in Kingslanding.

The brunette girl sat dejectedly, in denial, unwilling to accept that this could be a permanent state for her beloved companion. Maester Mellos, her father and chattering nobles alike in their firm belief that Princess Rhaenyra would stay in this neverending slumber.

Yet this near-universal assumption would be proven wrong.

The Princess awoke with a strong gasp, subconsciously tightening her clasp of Alicent’s blistering hand.

“What?” She spoke softly.

“What happened to me?” Rhaenyra then switched tone, speaking rashly in confusion, unable to conjure what she was facing.

Which was the face of her enemy.

Yet it also wasn’t.

This was Alicent Hightower, The Green Queen, without the permanent burrowed wrinkles on her face. No snide expression slapped onto her once-innocently youthful face.

The figure sitting beside her, worried beckoned on her face, was innocent. This wasn’t the spiteful women that slithered into her father’s bedchambers, that raised her obnoxious children to hate and usurp Rhaenyra from her rightful status as Queen of Westeros.

Alicent then responded softly, “Rhaenyra, you’ve been in a slumber for a near three moons. The King has been bespoke with worry.”

The Targaryen maiden was unsure how to act. Surely, what she had witnessed, ever so vividly, had truly occured. She was unable to accept that the incredulous actions, things she could never dare presume would occur in her fairly-peaceful life. Her mother dying, only to be replaced with Rhaenyra’s Lady-In-Waiting, birthing children of clear bastard descent and turning into a paranoid monstrous Queen was inconceivable to her mind.

“And your mother has been too stressed, hiding herself in her rooms, tormented over both her pregnancy and your health. I must call for the Maester and King Viserys immediately.” Alicent then rapidly arose from the chair across Rhaenyra, rushing outwards toward the rooms door.

The Hightower girl then paused suddenly, holding the door at it’s hinges, creaking in awaitance of Alicent’s words.

“Rhaenyra, I’ve longed for your companionship dearly as Kingslanding has been so uneventful without your joy beside me. I’m so glad you’re well.” The girl then turned out, leaving Rhaenyra to awkwardly fester in the truthful words spoken by Alicent.

Rhaenyra felt bewildered.

Confusion lingering in her mind, unsure how to conclude a conclusion to what exactly she had envisioned during her comatose state.

Clear memories of Alicent’s betrayal freshly lingered in her mind, yet it also included Rhaenyra partaking in her own impulsive and incredulously stupid actions.

Why would any iteration of herself lose her maidenhead to an unimportant knight, dare to bore numerous bastard children and partake in scandalous activities with Daemon in a brothel of all places?

Rhaenyra then realised that to prove whether this series of dreams were indeed no mere regular visions was to observe the future events and pray that her mother’s death was a falsified dream, and that her dear companion Alicent stayed a trusted lady-in-waiting.

But upon witnessing the dastardly acts in her visions, the Targaryen Princess knew that if she had to prepare herself, unwilling to even accept any possibility of causing a war of mass destruction within Westeros.

Starting with gaining a presence in the Small Council. Rhaenyra Targaryen, The Future Queen could not dare be a meagre cup bearer, after all.

Yet this had to be done through her father Viserys.

Before betraying Rhaenyra - brutally gutting her beloved mother and marrying her only companion - King Viserys was a cowardly, spineless yet loveable father.

Slightly neglectful in his want of a son, unwilling to allow Rhaenyra to prover herself as more than a women set to breed more Targaryens for the Throne.

He was the next step to Rhaenyra’s plan in consolidating a power-base before the treacherous nobility could exploit her indulgent father, giving her time to prove to the Seven Realms that Rhaenyra was a competent heiress fit for the throne.

[teabringer-fics]

ocean of tears | aegon x f!reader

summary: modern au. alicent hightower calls you in the middle of the night to inform of you two things: viserys targaryen, her husband and the ceo of your company, is dead... and your employment is now contingent upon tracking down her oldest son, aegon, and dragging him back to hq before daybreak. later, a conversation in the dark turns into a possible lifeline for westeros's reluctant heir.

word count: 11k | read on ao3 (honestly recommended bc of the insane word count but you do you boo)

tags: corporate setting, angst, extended treasure hunt, grief, a bit of viserys bashing, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, a lot of plot, depiction of anxiety, boss/employee relationship, it's very long (i feel like i'm rattling off prescription medication side-effects when i do these)

a/n: i'm back on tumblr bitches! do all that good commenting jazz if you even make it to the end of this whopper pls 🫠🫶

This is gonna be torture/before it’s sublime…

You wake to the sound of a distant and yet insistent melody, distorted at first by the confusion of interrupted sleep. It takes your eyes a few moments to adjust to the pitch-dark, and by the time you’ve successfully fished your phone out from amongst the tangle of sheets the din has died, leaving you in a cold sweat, startled, imagining your parents in a fatal car crash, your sister, studying at Oldtown, gone missing in one of those bizarre, yet commonplace turns that lands her at the center of a true-crime podcast.

You tap the screen just to be blinded—”motherfuck” or something along those lines escaping your mouth—and are still squinting through the glare when it comes alive in your hand.

Alicent Hightower

Mobile

You slide to answer and raise the phone to your ear.

“M-Ms. Hightower?” Shaky and stupid even to your own ears. You glance briefly at the time display on the upper-left corner: 2:56 AM. At the other end, Ms. Hightower’s voice is posing a question which you fail to understand and, still reeling from the relief of knowing that this late-night, early-morning phone call has nothing to do with your family, you plug your other ear and ask, “Sorry, what?”

“Aegon! Where is Aegon?” Ms. Hightower demands. You tamp down the urge to repeat “what?”, although on the inside your thoughts are written in large capitals: WHAT??? The hour is ungodly, she’s scared you half to death, and how in seven hells are you supposed to know where her son is—you hold the phone in front of your face again, as if this will elucidate matters or else trigger your body into waking from its bizarre dream—at 2:58 on a random Tuesday?

Digging deep for whatever scraps of professionalism exist inside you at this time of night, you clear your throat and say, “Aegon? I’m sorry, Ms. Hightower, I have no idea. Has something happened?” The thought of Aegon Targaryen, uncontrollable playboy partier and heir to the largest fortune in Westeros, meeting a tragic end in a nightclub restroom, or wrapped around a traffic pole after five drinks too many, doesn't elicit the same panic response as thoughts of your sister’s hypothetical kidnapping. But you do register a sensation like a stone falling in the pit of your gut. It lingers at Ms. Hightower’s continued silence.

Is she crying? You strain your ears. There are no sniffles, no choked sobs that would indicate a mother’s frantic grief. Only a maddening stillness that makes your skin prickle and your heart beat, pounding, at the center of your throat.

Then it ends.

“Viserys is dead.”

You would think this three-word, straight-forward pronouncement would illuminate the perplexing state of affairs that led to Alicent Hightower calling you almost at the witching hour to ask about her son, but instead the silence widens in your head, an emptiness like a sudden fall replacing the weight of suspense, and it takes all your faculties to say, “Ma’am, I am so, so sorry for your loss. When did it happen?”

You might as well have not spoken at all.

“You are to tell no one, do you understand? Consider yourself bound by the NDA you signed upon your employment. No one is to know about this, not before we have a plan in place and certainly not before the markets open. This could be catastrophic if we don’t manage to get ahead of it.”

“I understand.”

“I am counting on your discretion.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you repeat.

You are buzzing with adrenaline, still sweat-damp and nervous but locked into Work Mode. Viserys is dead. So it finally happened. The man has been threatening to kick the bucket for years now—mostly in private, but of late hiding it had proven nigh on impossible. The papers speculated, blogs ran the gamut of gossip, and now the day has come, under cover of darkness, with his shrewd widow at the helm.

Her voice comes clear, urgent, utterly in command. “I know it’s late, but I need you to track down Aegon. He’s not answering any of our calls. I thought you might have better luck, being his personal assistant. I've sent Aemond and the Cargylls out to look, but so far no luck. This is important—probably the most important thing you have ever been asked to do. Aegon needs to show his face here before Rhaenyra does. His grandfather and I are doing our best to keep things afloat, but once news of this reaches—”

“Rhaenyra doesn’t know that her father has died?” you ask without thinking, your tone openly aghast.

Again, the silence.

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent replies, her accent sharp enough to cut glass, “will be informed in due course but this is about more than just her. The company cannot fall to ruin. I will not let my husband’s legacy be destroyed in a single night. For better or for worse, Aegon must claim his inheritance or we run the risk of hemorrhaging shareholders. Rhaenyra made her choice—she made it the moment she threw her lot in with Daemon. The time to act is now, before they make their return from Dragonstone.”

In the background, you hear the sound of a door being opened and closed, letting in muffled voices from a different room. Whoever the newcomer is, Ms. Hightower orders them to wait. “Listen,” she goes on, “I know it’s ugly, it’s bloody and it feels underhanded. But she’s left us no choice. Tell me now if you don’t have the stomach for it. If you refuse I’ll consider it your resignation effective immediately.”

Well, that’s no choice at all, is it? You like having a roof over your head, food on the table (not that you make it to your own table very often these days). Rent prices in King’s Landing are exorbitant. You need this job. You don't want to fail.

“I’ll find him, ma’am. I promise.”

“Good girl. I knew we could count on you. Bring him here when it’s done.”

The line goes dead, your phone dark.

Shit. Why did you promise? If Aegon’s own bodyguard can't find him, his own brother, there’s no telling where he might be. And to stake your whole livelihood on it? Seven hells…

“Shit, shit, shit,” you say aloud, taking five seconds for self-pity before flinging yourself out of bed and putting on the first thing you can find, probably your discarded work clothes from the day before. You yank your hair into a disheveled knot, propping your phone on the dresser so you can call Aegon on speaker, vibrating with anxiety as the dial tone rings once, twice, six times, before going straight to voicemail. Of course… of course it couldn’t be that simple. You try again, hunting for your car keys—damn the mess—and when he doesn’t answer, you yell at your phone, “Siri, call Aemond Targaryen!”

The call connects. Surely, Alicent’s most responsible, Type-A progeny will have the courtesy to make himself available to you in your hour of need.

“Come on, come on…” you mutter, letting out a triumphant “aha!” as your fingers close behind a keychain fallen between the cushions of your ratty old loveseat.

No dice. Once more, you are met with a canned voicemail prompt.

Beeeeep.

“Aemond, for fuck’s sake, answer my fucking call! I’ve spoken to your mother… Call me back as soon as you get this. Bye.” With that you swipe your purse from the minuscule kitchen counter and race out the door, pushing impatiently at the lift buttons, tapping your foot all the way down to garage level, racing to your car so fast that you knock the wind out of you when the door fails to unlock on the first try. You take a breath—pull it together—, point the fob at the driver’s side door, and wait as patiently as you can until the telltale double-beep of the mechanism letting you in.

The engine starts. You tear out of the underground car park and emerge onto a King’s Landing lit by artificial lights, active and just a little bit seedy. You pass shuttered coffee shops, bougie restaurants, convenience stores, residential buildings with spotless terraces and “For Lease” banners hanging out front, all as you white-knuckle the steering wheel. Viserys is dead… Viserys is dead… shareholders… market opens… Rhaenyra…

What a mess.

Your nerves are already frayed, which is why (understandably, you think) when the center console lights up and a ringtone blares from the too-loud car speakers, your foot slams down so hard on the brakes that it makes your head whip before a yellow light. “Mother save!” you curse—and then, seeing that Aemond has deigned to call you back: “Thank the Seven!”

“I can’t talk for long.” His smooth, chilling voice makes you shudder as it envelops you, and you reach to turn down the dial so that, at a more reasonable volume, he can ask, “Have you found him yet?”

What am I, a magician? You roll your eyes, trying very hard, and perhaps failing, to rein in the sarcasm when you say, “Um, no. I just wanted to touch base with you. Where have you looked?”

“His city flat. All his usual Flea Bottom haunts. The Street of Silk. I even talked to those worthless idiot-goons he calls friends.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, well… that’s strange.”

“No shit.”

The light changes. You drive forward, headlights pointed towards Flea Bottom anyway, because never in a million years would you think to find Aegon anywhere else.

You sigh. “Never mind, I guess I’ll figure something out. Where are you?”

“On my way back to HQ. If Aegon doesn't wish to be found, then Stranger take him. Someone has to steer the ship and be there for Mother.”

“Right. Well, d’you know if—”

“I have to go. Call me when you’ve found him.”

Call Ended

You blink at the screen. Did Aemond Targaryen just hang up on you? Seriously?

Cold bastard…

In the three years you’ve spent working for the company, your feelings for Aemond have never coalesced. Some days, you prefer his company to that of his elder brother, especially when deadlines are tight and Aegon is, predictably, nowhere to be found. But there’s no denying that he sets you on edge, his brilliance and ambition matched only by his ruthlessness. If anything, he reminds you of a pristine besuited robot you could never hope to understand. For all that he holds you in something like regard, puts up with you because of your usefulness and because Alicent, in her own strange, imperious way, likes you, and you suppose that not up-and-quitting when faced with Aegon’s shenanigans affords you a few points in his esteem, at the end of the day, you’re one of the staff. Ceremony is for family. Hence, the abrupt hangup.

Annoyed, you try calling your errant charge again. “Please leave a message after the…” “Aegon, you little shit, I am not getting fired because you decided to get shit-faced in some seedy hole in the wall as a toxic grief response—answer your fucking phone!” Never mind. Too strong. Wrong tone. You press the command to re-record, putting on your best phone voice, aiming for gentle, kindly, reassuring. “Aegon, it’s me again… It’s fine if you don't want to talk but at least shoot me a text so I know that you’re still, you know, alive. Your mother is worried sick and Aemond—” Basically told you to go to hell and fuck yourself sideways. “—has been trying to get in touch. Please, just… send me a smoke signal… telegram… note-via-carrier-pigeon?” You blow out a breath, press End on the steering wheel, and note the time: 3:37 AM.

The thought that Aegon may have done something irremediably stupid returns. It’s not like you’re friends, exactly—not even remotely. You’re his assistant, a job which, shortly after you acquired it, you realized nobody else wanted. It’s thankless, literally; irregular, at times demeaning, at others boring to the point of tears, chaotic, unpredictable… But you’ve gotten used to the routine. You know Aegon’s moods. You’re used to him, and you’d like to think that, by now, he’s used to you. It’s not an ideal job by any means, but you get by and if, say, he got hit by a taxi cab after stumbling drunkenly into the street, you think you might actually feel kind of awful about it.

You call him again.

Still nothing.

Up ahead a familiar building looms, brick-lined, discreet. You feel ridiculous sidling up to the door and knocking in a pattern of tap - taptap - tap - tap. The door opens a smidge and a voluptuous, curly-haired redhead peeks out, her big green eyes blinking out into the dark. “I need to speak to Sylvi,” you say without preamble. Her face folds into a scowl.

“Well, I need a million quid and a stud with half a brain and a massive cock, luv. Patrons only.”

“I’ve been sent by the Hightowers,” you quickly say, shoving your foot in the door to stop it closing. “Just tell her that I’m looking for Aegon.”

She rolls her eyes, clicks her tongue at your request. Though she shuts the door in your face and you hear her footsteps receding, you hope that the overt name-drop will make her cooperate. Impatiently, you tap your foot in the street, watching a few people pass you by on the footpath. Nothing to see here, folks… I’m standing in front of a brothel but not of my own free will.

The door opens. “He isn’t here,” Ruby declares, crossing her arms in front of her—quite frankly—perfect breasts. Whenever you’ve had to pick up Aegon from his latest bender with the ladies of the night, you’ve moved through the vestibule feeling like an absolute troll. Sylvi must be paying her girls their weight in gold if looks are anything to go by. Perhaps it’s time to consider a change in profession…

“Really? Did she tell you that?” you ask, crossing your arms skeptically in front of your own less endowed chest.

“I’m telling you he isn’t here,” Ruby huffs. Fleetingly, you wonder whether Aegon’s ever slept with her, if he likes them bold and Botticelli-like, or if his tastes run elsewhere.

Nope. You throw the mental image of Aegon fucking anyone out of your mind. You are a modern woman, damn it—you don’t get flustered at the thought of good honest sex work… or sex… or your random, uncontrollable boss having it with Venus-looking women with perfect tits.

You clear your throat. “You wouldn't by any chance be lying to me about that, would you?”

“His brother was already here—tall one… delicious… lot more intimidating than you.”

“Cheers, but also, how dare?” (Upon further reflection, Ruby might be exactly the kind of girl Aegon would favor. They’re both equally annoying.)

“Listen, I’ll tell you the same thing I told ‘im: your guy isn’t here. Maybe he’s at some other cathouse in the neighborhood but I hardly doubt it. The madam doesn’t like being stepped out on, if you know what I mean. She’d have the arse-hair off any establishment that tried poachin’ her clientele.” She leans back, seemingly proud of having strung this rebuttal together.

You sigh. Back to square one.

“Thanks for the help anyway.”

“Nuh-uh!” Ruby holds out her hand, the sash of her elegant robe loosening, revealing an expanse of gleaming rosy-pink skin and the curve of her left breast. You wish you’d bothered to at least run a brush through your hair. “What, d’you I work for charity? I’m paid for my time, luv.”

“Clearly, I’m not having a good one!” you protest.

Ruby just stands there, wagging her palm in your direction until you reach inside your jacket and pull out your purse. This had better count as a business expense, you think, pulling out a fifty- and then a hundred-stag note.

“Is that all?” Ruby asks.

“Gods, are you serious?”

“I get paid twenty-five moons for a basic experience.”

“What experience?” you demand. “Freezing your arse off in the cold for no reason? I don’t recall getting off!”

Her eyes narrow. “Want to make it a full dragon?”

You zip your mouth shut and part with the notes.

“Ta!” Ruby sings, waving at you with a girlish grin and once again shutting the door in your face.

Aegon, when I find you… Grumbling, you reenter your car and call him again, but you know better than to expect a reply. Making a U-turn, you take a side road and drive parallel to the Street of Silk, looking for the favored watering hole of Aegon’s “worthless idiot-goons,” as Aemond so colorfully put it. His cronies may have helped him hide from his brother until the danger of discovery had passed; if that’s the case, you think you might strangle them all on sight.

“Well, if it isn't my Girl Friday!” The Honourable Leon Estermont crows when he sees you coming. “Fancy a line?” Next to him, Martyn Reyne is wiping his nose and throwing back what’s left of a dangerously pink drink. All around you, the club is a flashing hub of darkness interrupted by neon lights, the music thumping.

You knew enough to head straight for the VIP section located on the upper floor, and from this platform—if you even bothered to look—you could see a mass of bodies writhing down below. The air smells of smoke, alcohol… sweat, even sex. The idiot-goons are reclined on a tufted leather sofa, which disturbs you—you don't want to know what kinds of activities have gone on up here. You’ve never been invited. The most you’ve experienced is hauling a stumbling Aegon into a waiting car driven by one of the Cargyll twins.

Once, but only once, he almost threw up on you.

You prefer the brothel, if you're being honest. At least there, transactions are straightforward, the workers plain. You don't know if these two would bother pissing on Aegon if he were on fire. The thought makes you angry. You shoot Leon the fakest of smiles.

“Not for me, thanks, I like my neurons just the way they are. Also, I am not remotely your anything. When was the last time you saw Aegon?”

“Aegs?” Leon pipes up, nearly shouting to be heard over the noise. “What, is he missing or something? Those freaky bearded twins came ‘round earlier, asking the same thing. Bores, the pair of them.”

The song shifts from a techno beat to something raunchy, with a lower bass. It makes your bones vibrate, your head pound. Leon bends over the chrome table to snort more of Father-knows-what, then leans his head back, moaning, eyeing you up and down in a way that makes you want to hose yourself down with disinfectant. “Come on, Friday, take a load off! You’re off the clock.”

“Actually, I’m not.”

He laughs. “Aren’t you? That’s the problem with you lot—you don't know how to loosen up. And instead of figuring it out, you like blaming the rest of us for knowing the right way to live.”

The rest of us. You lot. The haves and have-nots.

Incredulous, you blow out a breath. “There is so much wrong with that sentence, but something tells me it would be pointless to even start. Last—time—you saw—Aegon—when?” You snap your fingers in front of his face, all pretense at civility abandoned. You want to hit him over the head with an ashtray.

“Sheesh! I don’t know! Two days ago, maybe? A day ago? Yesterday?” On his left, Martyn’s legs are splayed, mouth half-open. He’s drooling onto his own chest, probably snoring beneath the sound of obnoxious music. Leon doesn't notice at all.

“Fucking useless…”

“Hey!”

You stomp down the spiral staircase, feeling like you've wasted—you take out your phone: 4:50 AM—more than an hour of your life in a pointless search. Your eyes prickle with frustration. Now is not the time to give in to the panic-driven water works.

Brusquely, you go to your recent calls and tap Aegon Targaryen (14). Fourteen… the number is insanity. The man’s father is dead, what could he possibly be doing?

“Aegon, seriously…” you grouse into the phone, wiping your nose, too tired to hide the edge in your voice, the exhaustion, the anger, the—fine, you’ll admit it—worry. “Now I'm starting to think you might actually be lying in a ditch somewhere. I’ve looked everywhere, no one has heard from you… listen, forget about your mum, forget about everything just… pick up my call, you absolute fucking twat—”

“I could have you fired for that.”

“Aegon!” His name is a gasp. You don’t know whether to laugh or get on your hands and knees, kiss the floor and thank the Seven. “Aegon—where… what’ve you—wait.” Your eyes narrow into resentful slits. “Were you screening my calls the entire time, you blockheaded douchebag! Tell me where you are!”

“Phone died.”

“Well, clearly it’s made a miraculous recovery!” you scoff. “Tell me where you are, I’ll come get you.”

“’m at yours.”

“Come again?”

“Yours.” Either his voice is slurred or the reception in the area is shit. “‘m at your flat.”

“You’re out in the hallway?”

“No, I’m inside your flat,” he responds, and has the audacity to sound impatient at being made to repeat himself. “Fucking tiny, by the way.”

You stop in your tracks, having handed the valet a tip you can’t afford after your stand-off with Ruby. “And how, pray tell, did you manage to get inside my fucking flat?”

Aegon either fails to notice or doesn’t care that your voice is pitched menacingly low. “You keep a spare under the mat. Fucking mental of you, by the way. Is getting potentially kidnapped a secret kink of yours?”

“YOU USED MY KEY?”

“No.” You picture the exact movement of his shoulders, that little uncaring shrug that has, on more than one occasion, made you picture him getting pecked at by an army of ravening birds. “I had a copy made ages ago.”

“You Targaryens have no sense of personal property! Gods!” you exclaim, ignoring the side-eye you got from the valet, reentering your car and buckling your seat belt. You start the engine, feeling like you’re going out of your mind. The phone is pressed between your ear and shoulder as you sputter, “That is so… so incredibly wrong! You do know that, right? You do know that’s what’s fucking mental? You can't just make a copy of my keys and keep them to use whenever you fucking please! Just—ugh! Just stay there, you weirdo, and don’t go anywhere! I’m five minutes away.” Lies. You’re more like twenty, but you don’t want him to think he has a wide enough window to make an escape.

After violating what probably amounts to a half-dozen traffic laws and speeding all the way back to your building, you feel marginally calmer, except for the residual stress and the thought that maybe, just maybe, you’ll enter your flat to find Aegon vanished once more into thin air, your job gone along with him. You retrace your steps, taking the lift to the sixth floor, holding your breath as you try the latch and find it unlocked—so much for the judgments he made about your inadequate sense of safety.

In your absence, he parted the drapes just enough to see by, and in the meager light coming in from public street lamps posted across the way, you make out a shape bent over the dining table, unnaturally hunched, its head almost hanging over the edge.

Though the door shuts with a metallic clang that sounds like a gunshot in the deep quiet, not even this makes him stir, and but for the steady rise and fall of his back you would think him unresponsive, passed out like his feckless friend Martyn back at that infernal club. You round the table. Aegon shifts just enough to look at you and you can tell that his eyes are heavy-lidded, bleary. But alert. Conscious.

You let out a breath and feel your shoulders sag in relief.

“You look like shit,” you say to him. “Are you wasted?”

“Unfortunately, not anymore.” He makes a rolling gesture with his free hand, one of his eyebrows quirking in typical Aegon fashion. “Stone-cold sober me… well, maybe not that first bit.”

“Mhm. I’ll make you a coffee.”

At the machine, you take a moment to close your eyes and listen to the water steam and bubble before it begins to drip into a generic white mug, one you hardly ever use, being rarely at home. You had thought that once you’d seen Aegon in person—made sure he was all right, your job not halfway over a cliff as Alicent had implied—you might feel better, like everything was resolved, or at the very least no longer your problem. But all you do is feel confronted with a wreckage you’re not sure you’re equipped to handle.

You’ve seen Aegon drunk out of his mind before, bloodshot-eyed, raving-mad, slurring his words, stumbling, laughing maniacally, starting brawls that one or both of the Cargylls had to finish. But this… Dejected, broken. How do you deal with this? And then, even though you’re trying to be understanding, you can’t help the surge of anger that makes you turn around and stomp over to his side of the table. How could he be so selfish? To leave his family in the lurch, add to their troubles, add to yours?

You brace your hands on your hips. “What on earth possessed you, by the way? You disappeared! Do you have any idea—? No… Where have you—? Wait. You do know your father is—?”

“Defunct? Departed? Without ghost?”

Had he reacted more violently, you might've been inclined to pick a fight. Instead, Aegon’s droll resignation makes you feel like a world-class prick who just picked on an orphan.

You deflate, arms falling immediately down to your sides. “I’m sorry.”

Aegon snorts. “I’m not. Just wish he'd had the fucking decency to leave a will.”

“There’s no will?”

“Why do you think everyone’s going out of their fucking minds? It’s Mum’s word against Nyra’s. I say let her have it. Whole thing’s cursed anyway.” He sits up with a groan, puts his elbows on the table, rubs his hands from his eyes all the way to the pale tangle of his hair—Viserys’s eyes, Viserys’s hair.

What sort of a billionaire doesn’t leave a written will? The man had two wives, a conniving brother, five adult children, not to mention an international conglomerate with hundreds of employees and scores of attorneys looking out for its wellbeing—he had to know that being ill-prepared would've caused this kind of clusterfuck.

Carefully, you lower yourself into the other chair, watching your boss like a skittish animal you’re afraid of scaring off. “Aegon… where were you tonight? Not even your friends seemed to know about your father or where you had run off to.” He keeps silent. The machine lets out three ill-timed beeps and you rush to the counter to take the mug by its handle and set it down in front of him. “Here, drink this. You need to sober up.”

“What for?”

“Your mum wants you back at HQ.”

He shakes his head, crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Forget it! I’m not fucking going.”

“Fine. Just drink your coffee.” Just drink your coffee, dear, you might have said, sounding, even to your own ears, like a child’s mother. He narrows his eyes.

“She sent you to manage me.”

“I’m your assistant, Aegon! What do you think I’ve been doing the last few years?”

“I don’t know, making copies?”

“Oh, go fuck yourself!” The profusion of air that leaves his nostrils can’t be called a real laugh, but it’s close enough given the circumstances. You smile.

You watch him blow over the rim of his cup before he takes a sip, the motion childlike, almost delicate. You sit down and track the subtle movements of his lips in the shadows, his throat working as he swallows. In that moment, nothing is as important to you as the simple repetition of him lifting the cup and setting it down, over and over, until you’re sure he’s had at least half of what you gave him.

He seems lucid, sits straighter than when you first walked through the door, and you’re thinking now might be a good time to coax him into your car when he breaks the silence.

“He even had to die in the most useless way.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don't mean!” His fist pounds the table. One second he is glaring daggers at you, the next, he begins to cry—curled in on himself, shoulders heaving violently, his body wracked by sobs that suck all the air out of the room with a grief so vast you feel you’re drowning in it, flailing as you try to pull him back towards safer shores.

“Aeg…”

He tugs his arm away. Helpless, you try again, closing your hand around the delicate wrist, reaching for something, anything, to make the outpouring stop.

But nothing can make it stop. He cries until the tears peter out and he whimpers, clasping your hand, not so much for comfort but as an anchor. His hold is brutal, unyielding, and then gradually it loosens until the clamor subsides. Embarrassed, he lets you go and wipes his eyes with the heels of his palms.

He picks at his fingernails when he’s anxious. You can't see them in the dark, but it’s a habit of his you know by heart.

You ask the question because you want to take his mind off his father, because you’re curious and you feel like the answer is important somehow—to you, and to him. “What were you doing tonight, before you took my call?”

He freezes. His hands drop and he folds them almost primly on the surface of your faux-wood dining table, avoiding your gaze in such a fashion that you think, if the lights were on, you would find him blushing as well as stammering. He mumbles an unintelligible response.

“What?”

“I was at the Sept!”

“Of Baelor?” You lean forward as if this will help you picture Aegon Targaryen, of all people, resorting to a place of worship during a time of need. “You were in a sept? Willingly? And you didn’t burst into flames?”

“Fuck you,” he laughs, another breathy thing but stronger this time.

“I’m glad I didn’t wager any coin on your whereabouts or I’d be bankrupt right now.” Especially after Ruby. You tuck that story away for a later time, hoping it brings some much needed levity after the funeral or in the near future. There won’t be much humor, you know, in the days to come. “Why the Sept? I know your mother attends services but I didn’t think…”

“For the quiet?” he replies. “And I figured no one would come looking for me there.”

“Well, you thought right.”

“I have my moments… not that he ever thought so.”

“Aegon.”

He waves you away. “I’m not looking for sympathy.”

“Well, I think you're bloody entitled to it—if not now, when?”

He doesn’t reply. He finishes his coffee. The sound the mug makes when it rolls between his hands sounds like a marble, repetitive, ominous. “It was always Rhaenyra… He wanted Rhaenyra—are we all just supposed to forget that? Pretend it never happened? The last twenty years of my life—”

“Like I said, you don't have to go.”

“Is that what my mother told you?”

“No.”

“I thought not.” His bitterness, and the truth lying behind it, that Viserys loved his eldest daughter best and treated her half-siblings like less than a footnote in his life, hits you with a wave of restlessness. He’s right; there’s no use telling him otherwise, and nothing Alicent does now can wipe away the resentments of the past. It was always Rhaenyra.

It was always Rhaenyra.

You get up from your chair and rush to the sink to fill a clean glass with water. “Here,” you say, setting it down in front of him like it should cure all of his ills.

“You’re being fussy,” he complains.

“I’m being assistant-y.”

“You’re treating me like a basket case.”

“Well… you haven’t always been the steadiest bulb in the box, have you?”

You mean it as a joke, but Aegon doesn't take it that way. He slides the glass over and stares into the depths, his expression hangdog, miserable. “You’re right… I’m sorry.”

“That’s not what I—”

“No, I’m a nightmare to work for. I know it, my mother knows it… No one wants me at the helm—let Aemond fight our sister for it, if it’s that important to him.”

“Your mother will say you’re the firstborn son, the natural head of the family.” He scoffs. “There was a time—” A time when he took interest, when he had just graduated from university and sought actual responsibility from his father only to be made redundant at every turn. Let the more experienced men handle it. Keep quiet and watch. Your input isn’t necessary. You’re more of a family representative, anyway. Gradually, he had lost interest, lost confidence. If no one cared, why shouldn't he get blackout drunk during work hours? Show up weary and hungover to important business meetings? Say the wrong thing and blow up tenuous relationships cultivated over decades?

Aegon must be thinking the same thing. “It doesn't matter anymore,” he says. “Nothing—” Nothing matters anymore.

“Aegon…”

“Would you choose me?”

You feel your stomach drop.

“If you were on the board, one of the shareholders… do you think I could do it? Would you choose me over Rhaenyra?”

“I—” Your face heats, your mouth goes dry. You want the floor to open up and drop you in the basement, hide out on the next boat to Pentos. Of all the things he could have said, you would take anything, literally anything, over this. “I—”

“You can't even say it.”

“You’ve stopped trying, Aegon! Maybe if you did… maybe if you applied yourself. You have your mother in your corner, your grandfather, Aemond, people at the company who would take your side. If you wanted it—”

“Bullshit.” He snatches his coat from the back of his chair, stands fast enough that you actually believe him about not being wasted. All you can do is chase after him, grab his arm when he's halfway to the door, just to the side of your cramped, unused kitchen.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I didn't come here so you could lie to my face! Me or Rhaenyra?” he spits through the gritted teeth.

This is do or die, you know—either you tell the truth and risk hurting him or shatter years’ worth of trust in a second. Even if Alicent pats you on the back and says “job well done,” Aegon will never want you again. He’ll drive you away, make your life miserable if he has to, anything to get you out of his sight.

Your throat is clenched almost to closing when you say, “Rhaenyra… I would… I would choose Rhaenyra. But that doesn’t mean—”

“What? That I’m not useless? That my father didn’t find me a disappointment up to the bitter end?” He turns away, and you can see his jaw clench, the shadow of stubble around his cheeks. “Are you close with your parents?”

You nod.

“Then you don't know. You never will, and there’s no use trying. Tell my mother you couldn't find me.”

No use. You tug on his arm, but he is determined to get to the door and manages to open it a crack before you push it closed, squeeze your body around him to act, irrationally, like a human shield between him and the exit. “Don’t go,” you plead. “I’ll tell her whatever you want, but don't go. Don’t go out there like this.”

You know exactly what he’ll do if he leaves the building: he may have given his vices a mostly wide berth when he first got the news of Viserys’s death, but now, raw with grief and anger and Alicent’s heavy expectations, he’s liable to find the closest bar and drink himself under the table and into oblivion. To call the dealers Aemond threatened six months ago if they ever sold to his brother again. To go off the deep end… for good this time.

Aegon frowns. “Why do you even care what happens to me?”

“Because.”

The word hangs in the air, inadequate. If you tried to explain the feeling, he might call it pity, and perhaps that's what it is: three years' worth of annoyance, resentment, frustration, concern, three years of watching him walk into the office with black eyes or reeking of booze from his latest bender, of watching him and his—admittedly—disgusting friends squandering their fortunes on women, drugs, and self-indulgent purchases. As a man, Aegon has proven himself to be crass, irresponsible, petulant, entitled, completely unreliable. But you have also, on certain rare occasions, seen the set of his face when he thinks no one else is watching.

The fear. The exhaustion. The way his hands shake beneath glass tables. The desire to please, and the ignorance as to how.

The truth is, when he’s not being an absolute tosser, you do see him as something fragile, to be pitied. If you said that out loud, he would hate you and probably fire you on the spot. And it might be for the best, you think. What do I want with this insanity?

But standing there between him and the door, his gaze boring into yours, the faint smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and coffee on his breath, you know that you do care what becomes of him. Even if he fired you—even if Alicent fired you—even if you quit—you would still dread the coming of a day when you would pick up your phone and find a news alert: Aegon II Targaryen, Son of Viserys, Dead at 25 or 26 or 30. It’s as if, in this moment, having been forced to look at him—to really look at him, not just as an unwilling charge, a fully grown man-child you’re forced to contend with every day to make your living—you can see his life unfurling, past, present, and future… ignominious, burdened, without purpose.

How can he stand it? A mere glimpse of it leaves you breathless. Exhausted from a night of fraught nerves and virtually no sleep, you feel your heart kick in your chest like a frenzied horse. How can he stand it? How can any of them? Who would want to be a Targaryen?

“Hey, hey, what's wrong? What’s wrong?” Aegon asks more insistently. He puts his hands on your elbows, lowers you to sit—for lack of a better alternative—in front of the door when your knees weaken and your body sags. “Hey, listen to me, you’re alright, you’ve just got to breathe… Breathe…”

Frantically, you shake your head. I can’t.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot. If you couldn't breathe, you’d be passed out right now. In and out… look at me…” He takes a breath. “In… out…”

It takes a few minutes, but the feeling subsides, leaving you trembly and more than a little embarrassed.

“What in gods’ name is wrong with you?” Aegon asks, stroking his hands up and down your arms.

“Long day?”

He rolls his eyes. “Tell me about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid, I give people panic attacks all the time.”

You let out a watery laugh.

Aegon shakes his head at you. “I won’t let her fire you, if that's what you're so worked up about.”

“That’s not…”

“You’re not my keeper. She should never have called you in the first place. This isn't your mess to clean up, you’re meant to take messages and go on coffee runs and… keep track of paperclips—”

“Stop trying to make me laugh.”

“Why? It’s been your cheap ploy all night. That, and fussing like a mother hen.”

You sigh. This isn't at all how the night was supposed to go. You were meant to be the helpful one, the adult, the one one in control, the one who could be relied upon. But you're not in control. Not of yourself, certainly not of Aegon. If anything, he’s the one sitting next to you on the floor acting sanely, not having a secondhand existential crisis like a world-class fool. (Aegon, to his credit, had the good sense to lose his shit in the privacy of a sept, without any witnesses.)

“Listen,” you begin, “what I said before…”

“Forget it.”

You don't want to forget it. You want to tell him “You tricked me into saying something I didn't want to say”, something you can't take back, something which, while technically not a lie, obscures a more important truth—what that truth is feels too broad and frightening and, worst of all, pointless, for words. And yet you want him to know. Too many people have failed to bother. The last thing you want is to be added to that list.

“I meant what I said… about Rhaenyra. But for the record, and for whatever minuscule thing it might be worth, I wish that I didn't.… I really, really fucking wish that I didn't.” His hand on your face takes you by surprise, his fingers sweeping against your right cheek.

“What are these for?” He blots your tears away, ones you didn't know you had shed. His voice is hushed and disapproving. Without thinking about it, not even once, you pull him towards you by the back of the neck and crash his mouth into yours. Clumsy and graceless, it is less a kiss than a desperate exchange of air.

Stupid, stupid… Something at the back of your head is conscious enough to ring the alarm, but it is Aegon and not warning bells that is most immediate, solid and real and here. The heat of his mouth. The sound of his breathing. The staggering hesitation of his tongue when it brushes against yours.

Immediately, as if barraged by warning bells of his own, he pushes you away. “I don’t want your fucking charity.” His words are snarled, dangerous. He is a wounded animal and you should let him be. But you can’t. The seeing—you wish you didn’t know him so well, not now, on this night and in this moment. You wish you could shove your knowledge into a box of indifference and leave him to his fate, to face his mother, his brother, and his half-sister, his father’s ghost alone, but you can’t. A fierce possessiveness buzzes through your veins alongside the shock and stress and fear.

You feel tied to him somehow.

Perhaps it's naive to want to save him. The Targaryens are a dying breed, a glorious capstone creature just before its inevitable extinction. Rhaenyra will never go quietly—in the end, they will eat each other alive, if not this morning, then some other day, and a different house will rise in their place. They always do.

There will be other billionaires, other jobs, other men.

But at present, the most important thing to you, more important than your job or your reputation or your morals or basic common sense, is to make Aegon Targaryen believe you… to throw him a rope and feel him take it. And you know—because by now you think you’ve learned the major ins-and-outs of him, the dark passageways, narrow roads, the winding alleys no one dares to travail—that the only way to do that is to hurt him. “You are… an idiot,” you hear yourself say.

His face freezes, only his eyes giving the injury away.

“You’re right, maybe no one at the company except for your own mother wants you at the helm. You’re late to everything. You don’t give a fuck about anything of any weight. You’re a fucking embarrassment around waiters, and half the time a complete dick to Aemond… although, granted, he’s a complete dick to you as well and has a stick up his arse that'll probably never come out without surgical intervention. Your friends are clowns—I mean it, fucking nincompoops with shit for brains. You are borderline actually an alcoholic, and sometimes it feels like you haven't bothered yourself to open a book in the whole of your existence. You have everything, stuff people would kill for, and you appreciate none of it. But I get it… You think I can’t ever hope to understand because I love my sister and my parents call me every week and send me nameday cars, but I do. I’d be like that too, maybe, if I had Viserys for a father. Maybe you’re right… maybe the company is cursed and the best thing you could do for yourself right now is take the next flight out to Lys or Dorne or literally anywhere on the fucking planet and forget about it—forget about your name, your family, the company, all of it. I can take you,” you say. “My car is downstairs, I can drive you to the airport, I can make up a story and throw your mother off the scent if you really want me to. But I also think you’re tired of being this person… You’re a shitty liar, Aegon Targaryen. Maybe the top seat isn't for you, but you're looking for an excuse to stop being the guy who lands on trending pages for being an eternal fool. CEO won’t do that for you… your mother can’t do that for you… gods know that getting high off whatever backstreet shite Reyne and Estermont procure definitely won’t do that for you…”

“Let me guess,” he quips, “only you can.”

“Ha! No, that’s—this is—that is not what this is. What, are you crazy? I’m not your shrink, and anyway, it's not like I’m being paid a small fortune every week to exorcize whatever the hell’s wrong with you and your privileged-yet-unbelievably-fucked-up family. All I’m saying is… work your shit out, Targaryen. Fucking communicate! Don’t let your father, of all people, have the last word on who you want to be, especially if you feel like he did fuck-all to deserve it!”

“Are you finished?”

“Done. That’s my two-cents. So you can stop your whingeing about pity and charity and all of that nonsense. Only one of us has their bed in the same room as their dining table, and only one of us was pulled out of sleep by your terrifying mother who whacked me over the head with an NDA before I was even fully conscious.”

“That sounds like her.”

“She hasn’t even told Rhaenyra that your father is dead.”

“…that sounds like my grandfather.”

You sigh. “I didn’t kiss you out of charity, you numpty. I—I just wanted to. I just really wanted to… I still do.”

“I’m no good for you.”

“Probably not.”

“You’ll end up hating me… you’ll quit.”

You let out a mock gasp. “No one to guard your paperclips? How will you cope?”

“I don’t know,” he says, dead serious. “Not anymore.”

There is no humor in the set of his face. He is all grim, all self-despisal, all—could you be imagining it?—thwarted longing. You are beyond the facetiousness he uses as a shield. He wants you. You can see it in his eyes, in the labor of his breathing, in the way he leans ever so slightly towards you and then leans back. I’m no good for you. You’ve decided you don’t care.

“Aegon, kiss me,” you whisper into the dark.

He’s on you before you’ve finished, kissing you desperately, with tongue this time, the slow wet drag pulling a moan from you which you have neither the time nor the presence of mind to regret before he’s kissing down your jaw, your neck. You feel his teeth scrape against the soft hollow behind your ear and you climb into his lap, ungainly, perhaps, but it matters not when you settle to find him hardening beneath you.

He groans into your shoulder, hooks his thumb inside the open collar of your button-up top to part the material and suck at your clavicle, while his other hand, on your hip, guides you to rub against the seam of his trousers. It occurs to you that he must not realize the way he’s writhing beneath you; if anything, he seems only half-aware as he rambles, underneath his breath, “Need you… gods, I need you…”, before ravaging your tongue again.

Impatiently you undo your shirt buttons. Aegon’s hand moves over your breast, first over your bra, then directly over your naked flesh when you fling it aside, along with your top, to land who-know-where. Your nipples pebble underneath his thumbs. You roll your hips. The placket of his trousers catches you directly and you groan, arching your back, bearing down on him so that a breathy, rumbling laugh escapes his throat.

Aegon’s laugh feels better than his tongue in your mouth, than his hands on your breasts, than the ridge of him growing long and hard beneath you. Oh no… you shouldn't like to hear him laugh.

“Should we get off the hallway floor, d’you think?” Only you can hear the nerves behind his humorous inflection, the wobble in his voice that tells you a part of him is expecting this to be the end, the moment you give in to regret or common sense and send him on his way, push him out the door and never speak to him again. He avoids your gaze, trains his eyes somewhere around the vicinity of your collarbones and he looks, in the faint light coming through your half-parted curtains, like a little boy bracing for the worst.

You pull his head up to your level, kiss him slow and deep, rock your hips, relish in the tightening of his hand around your waist. “Yes,” you say into his open mouth. You feel him relax, feel the exhale of relief that moves from his body into yours before he kisses you with renewed vigor.

He anchors his hands on your lower back, then throws you off balance, lowering your body onto the chilly tiles and laving down your neck to the valley between your breasts, slotting his knee against you—by chance, you think at first. Then his movements become deliberate, impossible to deny. His hands are all over you, running up your sides, pressing along the dip and rise of your hipbones. Your heart pounds beneath his lips. “This isn’t how we get off the hallway floor,” you protest.

“But your bed is so far away!”

“Not so long ago, you were calling my flat tiny,” you remind him, with no little store of resentfulness.

He grins—“I guess it’s all a matter of perspective”—and lets you turn away so you can press your palms against the floor and push yourself into a standing position.

Aegon stays on the floor, splayed, smiling up at you until you offer him a hand. He lets you lead him to bed, where your sheets are rumpled, the duvet fallen on the floor. Neither of you cares enough to notice. After laying you down, he takes the time to unbutton your slacks, take off your shoes, slip your trousers down your legs, pausing only to drop a kiss at the curve of your ankle, the side of your knee, the inner portion of your thighs. When the mattress dips beneath you, you know that he is kneeling at the foot of the bed. You feel two of his fingers going down your slit, over the gusset. Your breath comes in shallow pants. You aren’t ready, but there’s enough for it to dampen the tips of his fingers and make them slide through.

Your mouth parts, hungry, expectant. For a moment, your eyes lock, and you have enough wherewithal to freak out about the fact that he—Aegon, your boss, Alicent Hightower’s son—is looking at you with a fuck-me gaze and that you, despite all common sense, are pressing your clothed cunt against his hand and whimpering—actually whimpering—for him to touch you.

Between you the tension stretches, and then breaks. Aegon dips his head and puts his mouth on you, the heat of his tongue following the same path as his fingers. It glides and it flicks and it tastes you hard enough to make you throw your head back against a pillow, but it doesn’t make contact with your heated skin. You buck your hips against his face, pull at his hair, and he lets out a moan which, if you aren’t mistaken, is laced with a deep, buoyant laugh. He’s enjoying this… The thought makes your muscles clench and pulls a long, fluttery gasp from you. And then, only then, does he bare you fully.

The night air and his warm breath hit you in a way that has you squirming, halfway up the finish line before you feel his lips close around your swollen peak, suckling and laving, gathering your considerable moisture on his tongue only to spit it back out onto your naked cunt.

His fingers move through the mess, gently probing, rubbing circles against you one minute before he turns his wrist and enters you. You moan, feeling two of his fingers stretching you out. In truth, you can’t remember the last time you were fucked, probably around the same time you started working for the Targaryens, and now that the floodgates have opened you don’t know what to do, how to behave. As his fingers work you and he nuzzles his face against the top of your mound, his stubbled cheek rubs against your clit in a way that makes your breath catch and your toes curl, and all you can think is more—not just his cock inside you, but more… more of him… You want him to have you any way he wants.

You clamp your eyes shut and try not to think about the implications of that.

His fingers make an audible sound when they move inside you now. Between squelching and moans and the rumbling in his throat, the room beginning to acquire the heady smell of sex, you’re getting close, so close, to coming undone on his mouth. “Just a little more,” he hear him say to himself, “just a little more…” He brushes against something that makes your eyes roll, your neck tense, your legs spasm around his shoulders. You clutch the sheets and feel the silence that overtakes your body as the knot of pleasure breaks and you hang—back arched, tense—suspended over something that snaps and leaves you boneless, powerless, at his mercy when he withdraws to throw off his clothes and kiss his way up your chest, slipping his tongue in your mouth and notching his hips against yours.

You feel him hard against your tender core. He slides against you, deliberate, slow. You whimper and try to squirm away from him, but he nuzzles the side of your face and strokes your hair, makes calming sounds like the ones he would make for a nervy horse. He doesn’t rush things. Only holds you and touches you where you’ll allow, only occasionally bucking his length against your inner thigh. Slowly, the sensitivity subsides and you kiss him in earnest, restless and eager, moving your hand down to hold him, first loosely and then as tightly as he seems to like. His lips part. His breaths are ragged as he moves over you and thrusts his cock into your hand, the head damp, the length of him pulsing hotly in your palm. You think about stopping, pushing him onto his back, swallowing him down as far as he’ll go. But he stops you.

“Tell me this isn’t just because my father died.”

“It’s not,” you say, your hand going still.

“Swear it.”

Your first thought is What a ridiculous thing to say, but it isn’t ridiculous, not to Aegon. So much of his life has been defined by his father, by what Viserys did or failed to do, and if he won’t have the old ghost here, in the bedroom with you, well, it’s not such an unreasonable thing to ask.

“I swear it,” you say, holding one half of his face and staring levelly into his eyes.

He nods. “I think you might be the only person in the world who doesn’t think that I’m a fucking joke.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Aegon, can we stop bloody talking about your father? Fuck him! He didn’t know you.” Not like I do, is what you want to say, but too soon, too soon. You kiss him to stop the words from falling out. “I want you… I want you. Is that really so hard to believe?” You take his hand and let it delve between your slit again, to feel how wet you are, how ready. To feel the needy moan you push into his mouth… the way you angle your hips until his tip is nestled, just so, at your entrance. “Do you want me to swear upon the Seven?” you ask him, tightening your walls so he can feel you squeezing around his leaking cockhead, inviting him in. “I’ll do it if you want me to… Mother, Father, Maiden, Smith—”

Aegon puts his hand over your mouth. “Shut up or you’ll remind me of my mother.”

You begin to laugh, a bubbling, ecstatic thing which he knocks right out of you when he pushes in to the hilt. You gasp, only vaguely aware that you never asked him to wear a condom, but he feels so good, too good to stop now. He hitches one of your legs and snaps his cock into you, increasing the pace. You moan at the length of him, the breadth of him, the way his fingers dig into your flesh, the sound of his stones hitting the back of your thighs, rhythmically, over and over again.

His eyes are shut, his teeth clenched, you feel him trembling above you, torn between taking and delaying his own relief. Always something to prove. Annoyingly, he is dampening the moans in his throat just as you want to hear him—gods forbid you think less of him. “Aegon… it’s okay,” you speak into the curve of his neck. You kiss his shoulders, tighten your thighs around his hips, bear up on his length.

From his lips pours a sound of mingled pleasure and distress. He is trying so hard not to finish, but can no longer keep up with the measured thrusts he first started with. His pace falters, he grinds against you, fucks you deep into the mattress in a way that, had he lasted longer, might have drawn from you another peak. But it doesn't matter. You feel his body start to shudder and you want it, want him to cum, want him to come undone, want him to cum inside you—what are you thinking?—want him to feel good, want him to feel so good… Not even with a gun to your head can you later recall everything you said to him in those crucial seconds before he spilled inside you with a deep, audible groan.

You remain that way for an unmeasured length of time, arms wrapped around each other, sweat cooling, breath coming slowly back to baseline. Then, with a kiss to your cheek that is sweet and almost chaste, he parts from you. You wince at the loss, the mess pooling between your thighs, and for a moment you fear that this is it—Aegon will walk out the door like he’s done to so many others. Goodbye. Thanks for the good time. Instead, he rests his head on your shoulder, tentative, an uneasy dog craving affection but not wanting to get in the way. You kiss the top of his head, let him doze. Even when he shifts away from you to lie on his stomach and bury his face in a pillow, he keeps his arm thrown across your middle.

The gesture is oddly moving. You think about it until you wake, just a little after 7:00 and see that the sun is newly risen in the sky. For a few minutes you match your inhales to Aegon’s, his exhales, the brief pauses in between. You’ve never felt closer to him than now, and with that comes a feeling like he’s yours somehow. Yours…

He wakes on his own, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He turns his head to squint against the daylight, and though you’re trying to be chill and sophisticated about it, you hold your breath and wonder what his reaction to you will be.

“Seven hells,” he curses, burrowing face-first into his pillow. “Did we only sleep for two hours?” We. The little word calms you, even as he drags his body to sit at the edge of the bed.

Without overthinking it, you wrap your arms around his chest and kiss the side of his neck. He sighs, caresses your arms and holds loosely to your wrists. Soft as you can, you ask, “What’ll you do?”, and press your cheek against his thin, pale shoulder.

“I’m going to see my mother. I’ve kept her waiting, and I can’t just hide from her like some pathetic—” You squeeze him and he breaks off. “I need to speak with her. After that…”

“Whatever comes after that comes after that.”

“Wow… you’re a regular portrait of wisdom.”

“Hey! You came here, remember!”

“That, I certainly did.” From the smirk you see spreading across his face, you can tell he isn’t referring to the simple act of having walked to your flat.

Your face heats. “Idiot.” You say it without bite and it comes out fonder than you meant it to. He smiles. “Do you want me to take you?”

“I can manage.”

“I know… but you don't have to.”

“Fine.” The word is vulnerable. Immediately he has to clear his throat, stand, and begin to dress. You do the same.

You should really have considered having a shower, especially after the long night and the hasty sex (the sex… a part of you still can't believe it happened except for the dull ache between your thighs and the way you keep stealing glances at Aegon, remembering his hands on you, clinging, seeking, sorrowful) but there is no time. The markets open at 9:00. Alicent will want to speak with him before then, draft a last-minute press release, calm the shareholders, the board. As it is, you and Aegon are walking a thin line. You settle for picking a clean black dress out of your closet, and are in the process of trying to fix your hair when you feel him coming up behind you, his hands gentle on your back as he zips you up.

The gesture is so simple, so earnest, that it breaks down every pretense and you have to admit to yourself that, even if you’d had the time, you don’t want to wash him off or have this quiet moment you’ve shared come to an end.

In the car, he sits with his head propped against the passenger window, deep in thought, fiddling with his hands, and especially with the signet ring that depicts his family crest.

Try as you might, you can't read his thoughts and you don't want to pressure him by asking what he plans to do. He could very well be on his way to starting a war between his family, or he could end it—walk away, probably earning the resentment of Aemond and his mother. Either way, there isn't a right choice to be made, only one he thinks he can live with.

Once out of the car, he takes your hand and doesn't let it go, not in the lift up to the lobby, not when you swipe your keycard for the executive floor and the doors open to a hushed, semi-lit chaos. He doesn’t speak. He keeps his head bowed, wary, observant, but he is calmer somehow—you can tell that he’s decided.

Together, you walk around a small handful of department heads speaking into phones. Their assistants cross the floor, exchanging fretful looks while clutching file folders, tablets, cups of coffee. Along the far wall, glass-encased offices are mostly empty except for Conference Room 1, where Alicent Hightower stands at the head of a table at which are seated her father and the head legal counsel, the company’s financial officer, a few of their allies on the board. Aemond, too, is there, immaculate even at a distance. He is the first to spot them; his lips purse, even as his one visible eye remains defiant.

“See you on the other side?” Aegon asks, finally letting go of your hand. You tug his fingers before he can pull the conference room door and he turns to you, waiting, watching you rack your brain for the right thing to say. “Don’t worry, it’ll be all right” and its many variations seem like the veriest wrong, platitudes, lies.

“You can handle it,” you tell him at last, “whatever it is.”

Aegon appears doubtful at first, then he exhales. His face settles, his shoulders square. He has a look about him you've never seen before… Perhaps he and Aemond have more in common than either of them think. Perhaps he is more like his mother than he believes.

He strides through the door and everyone turns to look at him, the heir apparent or the prodigal son. You leave him to it, thinking, To war, then, or whatever it may be.

[maybeiwasjustjade]

This is the last time I’m gonna talk about this topic, mostly because it’s hiatus era and I would like to be able to write fics without outrightly bashing s2 Alicent, but I do think it needs to be said.

There’s nothing defendable in what Alicent did when she gave up her entire family on a silver platter for Rhaenyra.

So many takes about how we—the ones who found that scene abominable and abhorrent—misread the scene, or purposefully misinterpreted just to hate her; that what Alicent did was a good thing because it would have spared her entire family if only she let Aegon die. Giving up Criston and Gwayne’s location to be slaughtered (in what is most likely going to be Butcher’s Ball) wasn’t the intention; Alicent would never do that to her family and this was the only way to ensure survival en yada yada yada.

Yet the only person she said anything about saving was Helaena and Jaehaera, the latter of which is still continued to be dehumanized by no one referring to her as anything but ‘child’. Alicent put no thought towards Daeron—her innocent 16 year old son, who has done nothing—who was now joining a war that she started by declaring his brother king. Daeron, who’s flying alongside the Hightower army, in a war that will not end just because the Dowager Queen decided enough was enough. Who might die, and actually will die, before he ever sees his family again.

And even if she believes Rhaenyra executing Aegon would end the war (which it won’t), what made s2 Alicent think that the deaths would stop there?

A son for a son? Rhaenyra didn’t even remember that Jaehaerys had already been murdered for Luke. What made Alicent think that Rhaenyra would spare fucking Aemond of all people??? Aemond, who killed Luke and Rhaenys, who’s now Prince Regent because Aegon’s heir is dead? Who rides Vhagar, and would rather burn the world down than cleave to Rhaenyra? Who’s committed the majority of the crimes that make up Team Green? No, Aemond will have to die.

Daeron will have to die.

Jaehaerys, had he lived, would have to die anyway.

Maelor if he existed too.

Otto, Criston, Gwayne—all dead by virtue of being active participants and commanders in TG.

The only way Rhaenyra can claim that throne and ensure she can hold it is by eliminating the rival claimants, down to the youngest son.

That was something s1 Alicent knew, had raised her son on the belief they would die if their sister ascended, before the writers butchered her to a million pieces and left a caricature in her place. The claims go down son to son before it reaches daughters, which meant killing Aegon wouldn’t stop Rhaenyra’s troubles. She’d have to go after his sons and brothers too before the throne is legally hers.

There is no version of this story, where war has already started and a king crowned, that would end with little bloodshed beyond the death of said king.

In a different world, an argument could be made to spare some of them. If Rhaenyra had ascended untouched, then perhaps deals could’ve been made. Aegon would still have to die, I’d imagine. Take the Black at minimum, with Jaehaerys following in his footsteps as an adult or perhaps the Citadel. As long as Aegon’s line persisted, there would always be a chance of rebellion happening once Jace becomes king. So that whole line would have to be removed.

Aemond and Daeron would be less dangerous, but there would be little chance they’d be spared. The Black for Aemond, because I can’t see him agreeing to be a Kingsguard. Daeron would go to the Citadel without question. Jaehaera would either be married into the main line via Aegon III like in canon, or Rhaenyra would arrange for her to marry Jace to solidify his claim. He’d have a better claim through Jaehaera than Baela, after all.

And even then, that was still best case scenario. Worst case they’re all executed to protect Jace. Because Rhaenyra’s reign might somehow be mediocre and peaceful (really she has no makings of a great queen), but Jace’s will be a landmine. Between two legitimate brothers and no sisters to marry them to and trueborn cousins and uncles, Jace’s ascension was going to be a massive clusterfuck that would make the Dance look like a play.

[cherryheairt]

O Hello, can you write about Gwayne? I really like the way you write.

EI was thinking something like enemies to lovers. Instead of Baela, she is the one who flies over the dragon. They met at the dinner Viserys prepared before he died in the first season.

At the end of the dance Gwayne is forced to bend the knee and accept Rhaenyra as queen. Her daughter doesn't miss the opportunity to make his life hell, until he corners her in a hallway and takes her like a dragon.

hello! I love this prompt, I miss gwayne already 💔

Beckae is the name I gave MC, just to add to the immersion of a Targ-Velyron lol, pronounced Becky still. No description for the reader (mother is Rhaenyra but father is anyone made up, lets say that the reader looks a spitting image of their father to keep it neutral. fem pronouns. I couldn't include the smut at the end, just a lil steam. I'm sorry 😞, I'm terrible at writing those scenes.

noticed that Gwayne's costume included a ring on a chain, a thing typically done by people who want to keep their wedding ring on them, but not lose them. It gave the the main idea for this lol

Dance of Green and Black

When Gwayne Hightower and Beckae Velayron were forced to wed by order of Rhaenyra Targaryen, both did not bother to hide their vexation. They were married mere days after Rhaenyra won the Iron Throne, her loyal men killing Aegon ii in his state of disarray from his burns.

Now, months later, they had left their marriage uncomsumated and drier than the sandy hills of Dorne. They refused to sleep in shared marital chambers at the Red Keep, having agreed on that one thing. Gwayne reluctantly took his father's place at court, staying among the very snakes that brought him here in the first place. He cursed himself for ever responding to Alicent's letter when Aegon first took the throne. If he hadn't, he'd be living his life peacefully alone at the Old Tower.

Now, his days were spent being tormented by the spoilt Princess. She attended each council meeting, laughing snidely at every suggestion Gwayne gave his Queen, and suggesting one of her own in turn. She got away with this every time, seeing as her grandmother was the Hand of the Queen, Rhaenys, and her mother was the Queen.

Gwayne sipped on his wine, which he had taken to indulging in every council, listening to the drowl words of the nobles around him. His wife shared his boredom, apparently, twirling her own glass in her hand. Beside him, she huffed every few minutes. He resisted the urge to ask her to excuse herself if she were so bored. Suddenly, a wet 'splash' fell to his lap, dampening his breeches.

"Oops..." Fluttered the Princess, who covered her mouth in surprise. "That was an accident, I assure you." Though Gwayne could care less if it was genuine or not, he was already scooting his chair out and storming out of the council room. Shocked faces around the table landed on Beckae, who at least had the gaul to look embarrassed. Rhaenyra raised a brow at her daughter, nodding her chin toward the door shortly.

The Princess swiftly followed after her husband, not truly caring for his embarrassment but moreso glad to be given an excuse for leaving the room. If she had known putting her mother on the Iron Throne would have been so dreadfully boring, she would've taken her dragon to Pentos and lived out her days as an old maid.

Gwayne reached his private chambers first, long legs able to carry him so much faster. He took off his trousers and small clothes, left with his bottom half bare to the world. Beckae followed after him, gasping and turning around at the sight before her. Shit, she thought. Perhaps she should've waited at his doors.

"Here to empty your goblet entirely? Go ahead, I'm used to it." He sneered, rolling his eyes at her sudden bashfulness. It would not be the first time she witnessed such a thing. For modesty's sake, he slipped on a fresh pair of linens.

"I am merely here to apologize, husband. Not patronize." She mumbled, face hot.

"Hm." He stepped forward, taking her chin in his hand and forcing her to look up at him. "Where was this attitude when you were chasing after me on your dragon? I think your true colors much suit you, wife."

She grit her teeth, annoyed at his haughty behavior. "It was war. If I hadn't been on my dragon and your party happened upon me, I'd have been killed by Criston Cole without remorse."

"I wouldn't have allowed that to happen." He insisted confidently.

She snorted, "when had that man ever listened to you? He hardly heeded the usurper's orders when he was alive."

"Do you think I would have let you die, especially such a dishonorable death?" Gwayne questioned, squeezing her cheeks harder.

She grimaced, "we were not wed, then. Barely acquainted, to add."

He looked disappointed at her snarky reply. "I may not hold much affection for you, wife, but I have always shown myself to be an honorable man, have I not?" When she didn't respond, he continued. "I would say we were not acquaintances, either. Were we acquainted when I bestowed upon your head the crown of The Queen of Love and Beauty at your nameday tourney?"

"That's different. You had to name me that. It is the expectation of a tourney winner to name the celebration's main subject with that title." She said.

"I could've named someone else, even so. Was our little tryst that night meaningless?"

"You cannot use that against me, Gwayne. It is shameful enough that I allowed myself to do such a dishonest thing." She grabbed his wrist lightly, urging it away from its grip. He listened, moving it to a more gentle caresse at the base of her neck, tangled in her hair.

"I do not regret it." He said, softly. "Nor do I regret the night we spent together after the dinner with our families."

"Gwayne," she pleaded, avoiding his intense gaze. While their marriage was yet to be officially consumated, she was far from a maiden. He was to thank for that, of course. How ironic that they ended up married only after they begun to resent each other.

Gwayne resented his entrapment here. She resented his family and his actions during the war.

"What, Princess? I only speak the truth and you know it. Do you regret it?"

She remained silent, hands placed on his chest as if to ground herself.

Gwayne took that as his answer. "We do not have to live this way. We could leave—return to my home in Old Town. You can have your privacy, do whatever you please whenever you'd like. I beg you, it is torturous here for me, and I know you share that sentiment. I will not ask for heirs, I have my brother for that. You can take a lover, a paramour of your choice." He promised her, grabbing her hands and bringing them together. On his knees, he looked the proper image of a knight, kneeling like such. To beg for his Lady to do him this one favor, to release him from court.

"I do not want a lover." She said lowly. "I want for you."

His eyes widened, then his brows furrowed together in bemusement. "You have taken it upon yourself to belittle me publically every day, do you expect me to now believe that you do not resent me?" He scoffed bitterly.

The Princess looked away from him, unknowing of how to phrase her next words. "That is true, I will admit to my teasings–"

"I would hardly call them teasings." He cut in.

She glared at him, continuing. "–or torments, perhaps. No one truly enjoys court, it is both of us who are trapped her together. If I hadn't been forced to marry you, we would have both been free to live where we wished."

"Your mother is Queen, if you only ask she will provide."

"You overestimate my influence, Gwayne. She wants your advisory in council–for Gods know what–and she knows you being married to me keeps you loyal to her."

"Then I will stop being useful. I will be the worst advisor that council has ever seen." His face lit uo in a smirk, as if we were a profound genius.

"Do you not think she will see through this rouse."

"You will be my aid, dear Lady. You need only continue your extremely rude and annoying actions, only louder and more aggressive, so that they will have no choice but to kick you out from future meetings. In addition, my uselessness will send me with you out of the Keep to be rid of us both. If we hate each other in their eyes, they will not suspect that we are working together." He explains.

She carefully thinks it over. True, they would not want wither of them uselessly loitering around the Keep after they were kicked out of the council. She nodded firmly, agreeing to his plan. If all things went to shit and they were discovered to be playing a rouse, the only consequence would be a scolding. What was stopping them?

🏰

Gwayne and Beckae went through their little routine for weeks. The Princess rudely commenting on the entire council's opinions now, not just Gwayne's. Not rude enough to be kicked out immediately, but for irritated glares to be regularly shot at her. If looks could kill, Beckae would have been buried long ago. Gwayne, for his part, entirely stopped giving his opinions. If asked, he exaggeratedly thought for a long time before giving false information.

The weeks passed with many stressed advisors going through the boring meetings with many complaints to the Queen and her Hand. With Gwayne and his wife, however, they started to bond over their mischiefs. Late at night, after their duties were done, the two shared laughter and pleasent conversation over their cups.

When Rhaenyra pulled the married couple aside one morning, before the meeting started, Gwayne and Beckae felt giddy with anticipation.

"You two...I have been thinking for a while now. I think it is time you retired from court and traveled back to Old Town, to raise your children and take care of your House directly from it." The Queen avoided her true reasoning, skirting politely around the Hightower man.

They both nodded solemnly, agreeing with her choice. "We will miss the Keep, Mother. I expect next time I visit, you will perhaps be blessed with a grandchild." Beckae said, hugging her mother, who looked relieved.

Gwayne's brows raised at her words but agreed with them in front of the Queen. Soon, she left the married couple alone.

They shared a loud laugh together, holding each other at their small win. "Free at last!" The Princess cheered, earning a hearty chuckle from her husband.

"Indeed, wife. What were you saying, blessed with a grandchild? Are you so eager to be bed in your new home?" He asked teasingly.

She felt her face grow unrelentingly hot, scoffing. "I was only appeasing her." She said.

Gwayne hummed disbelievingly, nodding along. "I'm sure you were, wife."

At her gawking defenses, he only laughed and walked to his chambers to pack.

🏰

After a sickening three months on the road to Old Town, Beckae and Gwayne were more than ready to sleep on cushioned beds.

So ready, in fact, that they didn't bother to split into separate chambers. Both in Gwayne's chambers, the Princess and Gwayne relaxed in his spacious bed.

"I can not tell you how much I missed a proper bed." She sighed loudly, groaning in pleasure at the comfort. He did the same, humming his own praise.

Well into the night, the two merely talked and sipped on cups of sweet wine. In only their night shifts, Beckae could clearly spot a ring shining on his chest. She grabbed it, pulling it towards her slightly, fingerd brushing over his bare chest and earning a shiver from him. He leaned in with the ring, the chain pulling him by the neck.

"I did not notice this. I had thought you threw your wedding ring away the second you left the feast." She said softly, smiling at the sight of his matching ring.

"Of course not. I am not so cruel." He said, grabbing her own ring-adorned hand and gently placing a kiss on top of the ring. She giggled at the ticklish feeling, earning a smirk from Gwayne. He smirked, continuing to place feathery kisses up her arm, to her shoulder, then neck. The sensitive skin being so softly kissed made her shiver in turn, sighing pleasently. He paused before reaching her lips, grabbing her chin softly in his hand. Silently he asked for her approval.

Nodding, she was immediately drowned in a hot kiss, his tongue invading her mouth as she moaned. She moved her hands to his red hair, tugging at it. He moved her onto her back, hands squeezing her waist playfully. They pulled apart, lips swollen and panting.

The ring hung down to her own chest as he leaned over her. She twirled the ring in her finger, pleased at the sight of it. He was hers, and she was his. Entirely. She brought him down in a kiss again, pulling his chest to her own and adoring the heat that he brought with him.

That night, they comsumated their marriage in a way that no one could deny, every servant in the Tower being able to hear their Lord and Lady making heirs.

🏰

[bumblesimagines]

we never should have crossed that line.

keep this between us.

Alicent Hightower

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, spoilers for season 2 especially episode 6, slightly suggestive content? not rlly, mentions of an arranged marriage, all my homies hate Jasper Wylde even if he has 29 children!!

I'm obsessed with this woman

Servants, guards, and courtiers were swift to step out of the Dowager Queen's way as she strode down the hall, her earrings swaying and tapping against her with each quick step. She made a beeline directly for the bedchambers of Lord (Y/N) and offered the guard posted outside a nod when he opened one of the doors for her, bowing his head deeply in respect before shutting the door behind her with an echoing thud.

Alicent inhaled deeply through her nose, her laced fingers pulling apart as she swept her gaze over the room before settling her full attention on (Y/N) and Grand Maester Orwyle. She swallowed, greeting Grand Maester Orwyle with a polite smile as the older man bowed and collected some papers in his hand, turning to the lord and bowing as well before he left the room. Alicent waited for the thud of the doors to shut again before dropping the smile. 

"I was rather disappointed when I heard the Prince Regent had removed you from the Small Council, Your Grace. You were one of the few I could listen to without having the overwhelming desire to bash my head against the table." (Y/N) spoke bluntly, as he always did, his gaze more focused on reading the letter in hand to pay her any actual mind. Alicent almost sighed at that; noblemen and their blatant disrespect. 

"Exceptionally kind words for a man such as yourself, Lord (Y/N)," Alicent said and he chuckled quietly. "I came here after hearing of the saddening news of Lord Wylde's injury; such a taxing thing he remained abed during this morrow's meeting." 

"As I told the Council this morning, such is the burden of growing older, Your Grace." Lord (Y/N) responded, crumbling the letter in hand and tossing it aside to tumble along the table. He leaned back in his chair and finally met her unwavering stare, his eyes icy and indifferent. "I'm certain you know how.. clumsy older men can be, Your Grace."

Alicent hummed softly in vague agreement, her fingers beginning to toy with the rings adorning her knuckles. "Yes, though it is a rather curious thing he so violently fell down the stairs not long after his proposition during my last meeting, no? I noticed it vexed you for him to speak on our behalf."

"I'm sure we can agree either of us hardly need a fool offering a betrothal at our age. You've done your duty of wife and mother to the late King Viserys and I've done my husband duties to my late wife. I may need a son, yes, but I am quite content with my daughter for the time being. She's certainly more of a man than Jasper Wylde is at just the mere age of five." 

Alicent nearly winced at the mention of his daughter. She saw her often, mostly racing about in the gardens with a poor maid or two rushing after her to catch her before she could hurt herself. It stung, occasionally, to look upon the young girl. She reminded her all too well of Rhaenyra in her youth with her energy and commanding demeanor, eager to act like a boy instead of a proper lady. Sometimes it hurt to watch her with (Y/N) and wonder what her life would've been like if her own father had treated her with such care, if he'd indulged her desires and encouraged her to do what she wished instead of choosing for her.

Clearing her throat, she nodded. "Yes, we are in agreement. Although, opposing it as strongly as you did was... unnecessary." Alicent said, slightly lifting the skirt of her dress as she stepped down the two steps before her and walked further into the room, releasing her dress and feeling it skim along the floor. 

"If I recall, you strongly opposed it as well, did you not, Your Grace?" (Y/N) questioned and rose from his chair, the scraping of it being pushed back echoing through the room. He tilted his head at her, the papers and letters scattered across the table forgotten in favor of watching her. "Why does it bother you so?"

Her eyes jumped away, unable to admit to herself that her pride had been wounded. She was still young and beautiful, her body naturally slim despite bearing four pregnancies nearly back-to-back, something desired by many women. She'd been the Queen once, still technically was despite Helaena's ascension due to her marriage. But (Y/N), widowed and in need of an heir, brushed away the very idea of them marrying as if it brought insult to him and his house. Her memory flickered back to a specific night but she pushed it away as quickly as she'd recalled.

"Most men without a proper heir would leap at the opportunity to wed a lady of age, especially if said lady is from one of the Great Houses. I had assumed, upon hearing his proposal, that you might have... agreed." Alicent's eyes darted back when (Y/N) strode closer to her, the toying of her rings momentarily stopping as they looked upon each other. "Though, I... I am sure you would much prefer to find a wife on your own. I know you and the late Lady (L/N) were good friends before marriage. I'm certain there are plenty of other ladies you must have in mind."

"Is that all, Your Grace?" (Y/N) asked gently, his fingers brushing some of her auburn hair over her shoulder. She swallowed again, the fiddling of her rings returning. "Are you certain it has... little to do with the very fact we shared a bed once?" 

Heat rushed to her face and she swatted at his hand when his lips curled in amusement, an embarrassed scowl forming on her face. "We never should have crossed that line. It was.. improper."

The memories rushed forward against her wishes, filling her mind with the memory of him. It was all still vivid in her head, so vivid she could feel the ghost of his touch along her body and the taste of wine on his tongue after a discussion shared over some wine. She hadn't meant for things to escalate but she'd been so overwhelmed with everything occurring at once that she hadn't been able to stop herself before kissing him that night. The tingling feeling at the reminder he'd been more than pleased to tug her on his lap and soothe her worries away filled her veins.

"You swore we'd keep this between us." Alicent reminded him as she spun around to face away from him, unable to look him in the eyes as she folded her arms over her stomach and stared forward. A soft, surprised puff of air left her when his chest pressed against her back, his arms wrapping loosely around her waist. "Do not touch me." She demanded half-heartedly but made no attempt to step out of his hold. 

"Was Wylde a simple excuse for you to visit my room and release your frustrations over a bruised ego?" (Y/N) asked quietly, a shiver running down her spine when he brushed his lips over the side of her neck. "I'm certain you no I'm no stranger to taking care of those who insult or challenge me, Your Grace. I'd be more than happy to extend the service to you. There are.. plenty of fools who believe themselves more important than the Dowager Queen."

Alicent's lips pressed together, her head tilting to look at him. "You'd do that for me?" Her voice came out soft and her eyes nearly fluttered shut when their lips brushed. 

"Of course, Your Grace."

[greer2301]

Eye for an Eye

Rhaenyra’s!Daughter Reader

Everyone stood in the throne room, maesters tending to Aemond children squabbling and adults trying to figure out what happened.

“May I speak, your grace?” Daemeara asked as she held her hands clasped in front of herself and walked to the front of the crowded room. “Of course my girl, go ahead” Viserys said breathily as he looked to his darling granddaughter. “Prince Aemond claimed Vahgar, Baela and Raena attacked him. Jace and Luke went to defend them, Aemond called my brothers Bastards heavily implying an affair between my mother and Ser Harwin Strong. Aemond was going to kill Jace, bashing his head with a large stone Lucerys found my blade that I dropped in the scuffle, he swung the blade blindly and hit Aemond’s eye. It truly was an accident but it was self defense.” Daemeara said as she looked over the faces of her grandfather, his wife, Aemond and her mother.

Daemeara zoned out as she watched the Maester finish fixing Aemond’s eye. “I will have one of her son’s eyes in return!” Alicent shouted as she looked over to Luke and Jace. “My Queen, if it would please you. As the eldest child and only Daughter born to my mother I offer my left eye as payment for Aemond’s. On the condition that you are the one to remove it” Daemeara offered as she stood in front of the crowd, her dagger offered by her outstretched arm the handle facing the Queen. “My mother has Three sons, Aemond is merely a second son. I am my mother’s heir, I am her only Daughter, truthfully this offer is more than what Aemond’s left eye is worth.” Daemeara taunts as she waves the dagger in Alicent’s face.

Daemon leant against the pillar in the shadows a smirk on his face as he finds amusement in the short girls words. “You would give your purple eye, to save your brother?” Alicent asked as she stepped closer to the girl. “I know you cannot understand it, but I would burn this world to save my kin” Daemeara told her placing the blade in her hand and holding her arms at her side. “However, we wouldn’t be here right now if you would stop calling my brothers bastards Ms.Hightower.” Daemeara said loudly as she looked up at the redhead with a raised brow. “What have I told you Alicent, questioning my Daughter. Disarm her!” Viserys commanded, his guards following his order. “On the act of treason committed by Alicent Hightower, I King Viserys Targaryen Order a public lashing commencing at dawn” Viserys said as he took a seat on the throne.

“But there is no proof my King” Otto tried to defend her, but his words fell on deaf ears. “Would you like to join her?” Daemeara asked, picking her nails as she watched Alicent be hauled away. “You don’t have that authority” Otto told her Smugly. Daemeara shrugged, taking a knife off her thigh and slicing her neck shallowly before thrusting the blade into Otto’s hand and screaming while backing away from the man. Rhaenyra was at her side first, Daemon following and disarming Otto having seen the whole exchange he couldn’t help the proud smile on his face. “I didn’t my king I I” Otto stammered as he tried to figure out what to say. “Attempted Murder of my Granddaughter, in my fucking throne room are you serious! I want them dead, the whole fucking Hightower name!” Viserys roared as he stood, making his way to Daemeara and watching as his guards escorted Otto away.

In their chambers away from prying eyes Daemeara talked with her mother, confessing every dark scheming moment she caught the Hightowers in and she couldn’t help but laugh as she remembered the look on the old cunts face as he was walked off.