#ashblooddragons fanfic

[ashblooddragons]

This Mysterious Love (Prolouge/?)

Series Masterlist

How could they ever want someone like me, I'm broken, I'm ruined, I'm nothing, and them? They are radiant, they are whole, they are everything.

If only I was worthy of him.

If only I was worthy of her.

Alicents pov

I stand outside of the carriage when I see Syrax land with Rhaenyra. 

“Syrax is growing quickly, she'll be the size of Caraxes soon enough.” 

“That's large enough to saddle two.” She says, I can see the hope in her eyes that I'll agree but can't. Father would have me locked in the Sept for three days, the only sustenance being the wisdom of the gods. Thankfully I don't want to ride on a dragon.

“I'm perfectly content as a spectator thank you.” I say before turning to sit in the carriage again. 

On the ride back Rhanyra continues to try and convince me to agree to fly with her. She isn't used to the word no, so I understand why she acts the way she does. though that doesn't mean it doesn't annoy me. 

When we make it to the keep she insists on seeing her mother. No matter how hard I try I can't fight the bitterness that I lost mine. Rhaenyra can't seem to stop talking about memories between her and her mother, about their plans once her sibling is born. For I can never do that, I can barely remember what mine looked like. I remember how she made me feel safe, loved, and cherished, but not her eyes, smile, or hair.

 How can you truly know if you love someone if you can't even remember them? 

When we make it to the Queen's chambers I stand by the door letting Rhaenyra greet and meet her mother alone. I only speak to greet the Queen as is proper. 

I look around the room taking in the scent of Lavender the Queen adores. Then the sweet scent of vanilla fills me the one I always put in my hair. A smile comes to my face as I remember the sent on my mother. How it always makes me think of a warm hug. It instantly calms my nerves as I take in the Midwives hard at work to prepare for the new addition to the royal family. 

“Ready to go?” Rhaneyra says startling me out of my thoughts and making her giggle. “Always so jumpy.” She teases before looping her arm with mine.

As we walk away I hear the Queen moan in pain, the Midwives and Rhaenhra don't react to it so neither do I. 

“I need to go to a council meeting, supposedly they can't pour their own wine.” Rhaenyra says scowling in annoyance.

I wonder at times if Rhaenyra truly understands how lucky she is, if she knows others would die or kill for the position she was given. But as always I bite my tongue and nod with a pinched smile.

Once she's left I sigh and look around trying to decide what I wish to do with my spare time before my lessons with the Septa. 

“Now if this isn't a sight for sore eyes, I the little Hightower all alone? Has Rhaenyra finally realized what a bore you are?” I hear the mocking tone of the Prince behind me. 

I try not to shiver, his gaze always felt so calculating, as if he is only waiting for you to make a mistake. And from what my father tells me, this feeling is true. 

“She was needed at the council meeting, one I hear your to be at as well.” I say trying to keep my bearings before turning to look at him. 

Gods he is gorgeous, there is no question why Rhaenyra practically drools after him. 

“Hmm, but do they? They will be talking about my brother's heir and the tournament. They might talk about the blasted Stepstones, but my brother won't care overly much for it. None of that is something the commander of the City Watch needs to worry about.” 

“Perhaps not, but it is an honor, one many would kill to have.” I respond annoyed him and Rhaemyra always seem to be scoffing at their duty. 

He only hums before touching the thin necklace around my neck. “A beauty like you shouldn't have such drab jewelry.” He says before reaching into his jerkin pocket and pulling out a gold and pearl choker necklace. 

It's gorgeous, and I tell him as such as I admire it. 

“Of course it is, I picked it out.” He responds before pulling it out of my reach. 

“If you wish to have it, take that pitiful necklace off and let me put this on you.” He commands in a tone that leaves no room for if I truly wish to or not, only that I must. 

And with that, I reach up and take off the dainty necklace Father gave me for my fourteenth nameday waiting with bated breaths what the Prince will do or command next.

“Such a lovely girl as yourself deserves to be claimed, how no man has taken you up is astounding to me.” He says before moving closer and putting the choker on my neck as he stares into my eyes.

I can get lost in those pools of lilac, I swear I can smell their sweet floral scent just from looking in his eyes. 

“Gevives.” He says as he looks into my eyes before he appears to almost recoil.

“Are you alrigh–” I go to ask but he cuts me off with a clear of his throat as he pulls his jerkin down.

“Lovely seeing you little Hightower. Perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to ask for your favor.” He says before partially running down the halls and out of my reach.

How curious. I think to myself before I hear the bell toll and realize I’m about late to lessons with the Septa so I rush through the halls. But had I stayed I would have seen the Prince watching after me.

Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you!

TAGLIST @sugutoad @ilikefelines @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner @nommingonfood @yn-jackson @marvel-is-my-obsession @dreamlandcreations @baybaybear1 @fictionlurker @edenfanfictionsuggestions @seaevans

[sugutoad]

If you EVER need a pro-team green Daemon fanfic with the most absolutely best writing of the Rogue Prince, go check out ‘The Red Queen’ by my other half, @ashblooddragons. I can not recommend this story enough. I was never a big fan of Daemon, but Red Queen! Daemon is literally amazing! Riley manages to show this beautiful side of Daemon! Catch up while it is still on Chapter 5 (next chapter is a time skip to episode 1!)

[ashblooddragons]

My Heart, My Ruin (Prolouge/?)

22 ac Kingslanding

Maegors pov

I could hear my good-sister's screams well into the night. I finally gave up trying to fid sleep once the hour of the owl came, I climbed out of my bed and went to where I knew my brother would be waiting until his wife had given birth to their child. She’s been in labor since yesterday at the hour of the wolf, surely she should have had the babe by now.

When I walked in I saw mother and father standing next to each other whispering as my brother sat in a chair sobbing.

“What’s wrong, she’s been in labor since yesterday, shouldn’t the babe be here?” I ask as I rub the drowsiness from my eyes. 

I watch mother and father look at each other silently having a conversation with only their eyes. Probably deciding if I should know or not. But it is not them who answers but my sniffling brother.

“The babe won’t come, the Maesters think Alyssa’s contractions are too weak.” Aenys sobs out.

“These are just guesses my son, they are giving her a concoction now to strengthen them.” Father says rubbing Aenys back as he sobs into his hands. 

I look at Mother and see a scowl on her face, she never liked how Father treats Aenys compared to me says he “treats him like some infant looking for their Mother’s teat.” and in this moment of watching his brother sob so openly, he wonders if his mother is right.

“What would happen if the concoction doesn’t work?” I ask looking from my brother to my Mother.

“Then we will have to choose who lives, the babe or the Mother.” Mother responds in a cold calculating tone. This only makes Aenys sob more.

“But it will not come to that, we have the greatest Maesters in all of the seven Kingdoms we have nothing to fear.” Father says trying to reassure Aenys again as he glares at Mother.

Mother scoffs and takes a sip of her amber gold wine, she doesn’t like it as much as Dornish red but ever since Rhaenys death she won’t touch anything to do with the Dornish. She often says. “They took my sister with that scorpion arrow, I suppose I am glad they had horrible aim and Meraxes did not perish either. If this, me not drinking their wine is the only way I can show how I hate them, then I will.” 

Mother and Father say Meraxes had seen the arrow coming, she had tried to dive so it wouldn’t his either her or Aunt Rhaenys, but she hadn’t noticed quick enough, and the arrow had split her in two. Meraxes has been inconsolable since her rider’s death, but Father has said he swears he sees her flying above Kingslanding over the last moon, as if looking, searching for something. This is odd as she much prefers the sulfur rocks and salty air of Dragonstone compared to Kingslandings stench and filth. 

I can not blame the dragon though, I do as well, I’d much rather be on our ancestral home instead of this filth-ridden city.

We all flinched, well besides Mother, when we hear a bone-chilling scream from Alyssa, and then it all went quiet. I hear Aenys sob more thinking his wife as perished until we hear the cries that only a healthy babe could make. 

Aenys bolts out of his chair and rushes to his wife, Mother, and Father not far behind them. I sigh in relief knowing I can finally get some much-needed sleep. 

The next morning I go to visit my new niece, when I enter I see my good-sister asleep on the birthing bed with new sheets dorning it so the stench of blood isn’t as pungent in the air. I turn and look at my brother who is smiling down at a bundle in his arms.

Are babes truly that small, Alyssa was huge and the bundle doesn’t even reach the length of my brother's forearm.

I’m cut out of my musing when Aenys looks at me smiling waving me over trying to keep quiet as to not wake his wife or the babe.

“Come meet your niece, Rhaella.” He says as he rests the babe into my arms making sure I hold her right.

When I look down I see her looking up at me with the most gorgeous lavender eyes I’ve ever seen, they take my take my breath away. I shake my head trying to gain my bearings again. 

“She’s so small, is she supposed to be this small?” I ask as I move some of the blanket to see a swarm of silver-white curls atop her little head.

“I had asked the Maesters the same thing, they said it’s normal for the first to be small.” He responds touching the tufts of hair upon her head. 

I nod not taking my eyes off hers, I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. I sit on a plush armchair staring at her, staring at the very being who seems to keep my heart pumping now, the very thing I will always adore and cherish, the one thing, one person I could never hurt. I knew in this moment she would be the very focal point of my heart, but she would also be my very ruin.

Series Masterlist

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the Header for this fic!!! I swear I'd be lost without you Girly!

@sugutoad @ilikefelines @baybaybear1 @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner

[ashblooddragons]

The Red Queen (Chapter 9/?)

Your Pov

I'm guided down to Balerion's skull where Papa said he wished to see me. I lower my head at the sight of him. Partly because he doesn't seem to like when he sees my face, and partly because he sent Kepus away for good. 

“There you are, Darling. Tell me when you look at this skull, what do you see?” He asks and I'm very confused.

I try looking at the giant skull for anything that would give me a different answer but there is nothing. 

“a skull.” I answer trying to decide if I need to get Maester Mellos because my father is going daft.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Right, no physiological questions.” He says seeming to confused on how to continue.

Papa doesn't talk to me much, Mama said it was because I'm young and he's busy being King. But he seems to always have time for Rhaenyra and her weird questions, but why not mine?

“Why did you ask for me?” I ask playing with the necklace Kepus gave me.

Papa seems to think for a bit, he does for so long I about turn and leave. 

“The idea we control the dragons is a lie.” He says, staring at me seemingly waiting for something. 

“Alright.” I say even more confused as to what is happening.

He sighs annoyed and I worry what I did to upset him.

“I need an heir.” He says finally and it feels like a punch to the gut. 

Mama died so he'd have an heir, and he's still not happy? I think with a frown.

“And you'll be it.” He says looking me in the eyes for the first time in moons. 

I'm even more confused now, why me? Why not Rhaenyra or have another wife so he can have a son?

And so I ask him very that.

“Rhaenyra is too reckless, can't see that the passionate route isn't always the right one. But you, your gentle, kind, and are young enough I can still teach you the right ways.” He says kneeling down so he can be eye to eye with me.

“So you won't remarry? Ali said you were.” I ask curiously.

He frowns before shaking his head. “No, I must remarry. The realm needs a Queen, might need a Queen more than a King at times.” 

“Then why not leave Kepus as your heir?” I ask and this seems to upset him as he recoils with a scowl and wide eyes.

“He is not made to sit the throne, his ambitions are too high. But you were born to sit the throne, you will untie the realm. I know you can, I know you will.” He says gripping the back of my head forcing me to look at him.

I feel my breath catch in my throat, feel the blood drain from my face. I don’t want this, who would want this? I want to play with Laena and Nymeria and fly on Stormchaser’s back, not rule, not be the heir.

“I son’t want this, I don’t want to be your heir.” I say trying to step back but the grip he has on my hair gibves a unpleasant pinching feeling to my scalp so I decide to stay put.

He sighs and looks down seeming to think about something. It’s this that spurs my next statement.

“Ask Nyra to be your heir, she wants it, she says so all the time.” I say hoping he’d pick her and not me. But this only leads him to shake his head and smile at me sadly.

“The ones who deserve power, are always the ones who don't want it. That is why you are the best choice, why you are my heir.” He says firmly before kissing the ctow of my head and leaving the chamber.

It’s the day of my coronation, the day the lords will see me as the heir to the throne and swear fealty to me. I’m standing in front of my floor-length mirror as Laena and Nymeria help me dress in the outfit Papa picked for me. It's a deep red dress that has long sleeves that reach the floor, and golden embroidery along the neckline and hem. He also gave me a golden cape and this big clunky golden necklace with all the liege lord's house sigils on it. Laena suggests I wear my gold and ruby tiara instead of the black one Papa gave and I couldn’t agree more.

Once I’m all dress Laena hugs me from behind and smiles at me through the mirror. “How does it feel, to be heir?” She asks curiously.

I stop to think about it, I never wanted this, never even dreamed of it so in a sense it feels wrong like I’m taking something from someone who is more deserving. And so that is what I tell Laena.

She hums before smoothing out the cape again, it seems to be a very temperamental fabric. “I can see why you feel that way, I would feel the same if I was heir over my brother Laenor.” She says deep in thought. Probably imagining that situation. 

Her bringing up her brother brings my mind to my sister’s betrothal to him. “How is he feeling about being betrothed to Nyra?” I ask curiously.

She sighs rolling her eyes. “One moment he’s in hysterics, the next he acts like everything is fine and he could’t ask for a better match. He’s acting like a pregnant Lady to say the least.” She says obviously annoyed by her brother’s dramaitcs and mood swings. 

I can’t help but giggle which soon bring Laena into giggles as well which leads us to laughing till our stomachs hurt. It isn’t ladylike, but it’s what I needed after losing not only Mama but also Kepus. I remember him comig to my chambers tellig me he had to go, that Papa exiled him which means he isn’t aloud to be at the Keep anymore. 

I’m playing with my Stormchaser and Caraxes plushes next to the fire when I hear the door to my chambers creak open. When I turn to see who it is I find a very angry Kepus standing there looking around my chambers, but not me, anywhere but me. 

“Kepus, are you alright?” 

He only sighs and turns towards me which is when I notice the way he blinks as if trying to fight tears. But that’s crazy, Kepus never cries. I think as he moves towards me kneeling down so he can hold my face in his hands as he stares at me. 

“I need to leave, ñuha riña, I said something I shouldn’t have and your father won’t, no can’t forgive me for it.” He says before kissing my brow with shaky breaths.

When he stands to leave I try and chase after him but he turns to Orchid telling her to hold me, I fought against her fought with all my might as I watched him leave and close my chamber door. I screamed after him as he left and after. “YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD NEVER LEAVE ME! DON’T LEAVE ME LIKE MAMA!” 

But no matter how much I begged or screamed he still left and I knew he wasn’t coming back when I hear Caraxes sad cries as he flew away.

I still feel how it shattered my heart, how I sobbed in Orchid’s arms as she rocked me back and forth until I cried my little heart out and had fallen asleep. She must ahe carried me to my bed after I fell asleep in her arms because when the sun shone in mh chambers I was in my bed covered in my thick quilts. 

As I’m lost in thought I’m lead to the court room by one of Papa’s guards. I stand before all of the lords watching one by one as they kneel before me making their oaths. I hear Papa declare before all I am his heir, I am the future Queen to the iro thorne. 

But what none noticed was the cloaked figure hiding in the dark corner of the throne room bowing to me as well. “I swear fealty to you, ñuha riña.” It whispers before sneaking out to find his dragon upon a far off hill, hidden from his brother or guards.

Series Masterlist

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I would be lost without you!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @sachaa-ff @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl

[ashblooddragons]

Holy shit this was amazing! I adored every moment! The way Aemond was obsessed with her, the way she was obsessed with him? Immaculate!

Also I did not see that plot twist coming! The way I gasped was unreal! I scared my dog it was so sudden and loud.

Also that smit was amazing! I loved how instead of them accepting what they did they both were repulsed at what they did. It matched the time period perfectly.

I loved this, will be reading more from this author, and you all can deal with it!

Highly recommend for all my Aemond girlys!

Sweetly desire, bitterly deprive

Halloween Request Oneshots Series

[ Victorian Horror • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, partial rape, choking, violence, murder and suicide, obsession ]

[ description: Lost in his own emptiness and cold, Aemond lives with his family in their large estates, wandering their halls like a ghost, lost in his own madness. One day, his mother's friend arrived at their manor with her husband and daughter. He becomes obsessed with her, which leads to a series of unfortunate events. Obsessive, delving into madness, poetic, very dark! Aemond. ]

This oneshot is my idea and a reference to the wonderful work of Edgar Allan Poe, his Eleanor and Morella and is created with Halloween in mind, so unlike what I usually write, these fisc will be very dark and uncomfortable. Keep this in mind before you start reading.

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him that something in him had disappeared, collapsed when he lost his left eye − he had partly ceased to be human and had become some kind of caricatured creature, menacing, tall as a tower, pale and cold as marble.

He had never lacked anything − his family was wealthy, owning many mansions all over the country, all identically decorated, sumptuously adorned with portraits of their ancestors looking at him melancholy and proudly out of the canvas, continually judging him.

He had the impression that at night their faces changed − his great-grandmothers and great-grandfathers seemed suddenly to be some kind of phantoms, their faces contorted, displeased at the sight of him, his existence.

He still felt watched, he felt overwhelmed, he felt that something hovered over him, but he could not name this premonition, this certainty.

He had tried to explain it to his mother once, but she had looked at him with such concerned, frightened eyes that he decided he would never mention it again.

He knew that his family considered him insane − a man out of his mind, irrational, aggressive in his words, with a gaze that cut like a sharp blade, making interlocutors turn their faces away from him, unable to bear it.

He saw her for the first time when she arrived at their residence with her parents, Mr and Mrs Orwell, at the invitation of his mother, who had been friends with Mrs Orwell as a child. He watched closely her small, graceful figure standing in the corridor behind her parents, her gaze lowered downwards, thoughtful.

She shuddered as if she subconsciously sensed that she was being watched and glanced in his direction − her pupils dilated suddenly, as if from a dream world she had returned to earth with the cruel pull of some unknown force, as if his figure, his silhouette had crushed her.

They stared at each other for too long to be considered in accordance with good manners − only when her parents walked into the living room where he sat did he rise from his chair, reminding himself of such a basic thing as breathing, and straightened up, folding his arms behind him, allowing himself to introduce the people who would be guests in their home from now on.

He knew that Miss Orwell could feel his burning gaze on her, fleeing from him to the far end of the room, looking at the books stacked on the shelves of the old oak bookcase.

He watched from behind her beautiful neck, her hair pinned up in a bun and braids framing her head on either side − her gown was sewn from a delicate, light-coloured fabric, its cut was simple, perfectly emphasising her figure, her almost bare shoulders.

Her neck and her shoulders drove him mad.

The perfect curve of the transition of one part of her body into the other, her shiny, soft skin, the softness of the shape that was forming.

Then he lifted his gaze higher and discovered her slightly rounded, short, proportionate nose, forming a perfect angle with her straight, smooth forehead, the totality of this view framed by her eyes like precious stones, bright, shining, surrounded by long lashes like veils, emphasising its depths, giving her an aura of mystery.

Finally, he struggled to dare to shift his attention to the most intimate exposed part of her body, her fleshy, full, pink lips, both pressed against each other, still remaining virtually imperceptibly parted, the point of their contact seeming incredibly soft and moist.

He saw her throw him an uncertain, frightened look and clench her hands in front of her, not knowing how to act, how to dissuade him − she only relaxed when his sister, Helaena, walked into their living room.

They greeted each other as if they were old friends − even though they were seeing each other for the first time, they grasped each other's hands and from then on they were inseparable.

He often watched them through the window, seeing their silhouettes move unhurriedly ahead of them through their vast park, discussing with each other something in a cheerful voice and laughing, their pearly sounds reaching his ears muffled by the glass.

In his presence, her smile disappeared from her face, her laughter died in her throat and a faint dread coated her, her pupils dilated suddenly, her lips pressed together in fear.

His tall figure standing over her frightened her, his hands folded stiffly behind his back seemed frozen like a stone − unable to make a sound near him, she lowered her gaze quickly, terrified.

One day, however, she dared to take a step towards him − a step towards the unknown, as, realising that he spent every evening by candlelight sitting in their library reading books, she joined him.

He watched her every move vigilantly, not taking his eye off her − her delicate figure strolled around the room in a light, slow motions, her hands folded in front of her in a humble gesture.

He could not express how melancholic and heavenly she looked walking like that in the faint light of the candles, her person seemed as if enveloped in a mist, a glow.

He felt himself to be merely an observer of events, a point to which all her presence referred, being a counterbalance to her subtlety, spread out around her like the blackness of the night that surrounded them.

She looked at him at last, for the first time as if she really wanted to see him, what was inside him, what was inside his heart, inside his mind − he looked at her with empty eye, knowing that there was only nothingness there, an abyss, a coldness without end or measure.

He was surprised at her courage, at how confidently she walked towards him, standing by his side, looking over his shoulder, wanting to see what he was reading.

He did not turn his head behind her − he only watched the shadow of her silhouette out of the corner of his eye − he could feel beside himself the warmth emanating from her body, her scent, the rustling of her gown made him feel a tickle in his fingers.

"Machiavelli. What a brutal choice." She whispered, but there was no disapproval or judgement in her word, more a soft surprise − there was something in the way she said the last sentence, in the way the tip of her tongue clicked as she uttered the syllables, that made him lick his lower lip involuntarily, turning the page.

"Brutal?" He asked lowly, hearing the timbre of his own voice, glassy, cutting like a blade, clear, assured, cool.

He heard her swallow quietly and draw in the air, her body standing beside him somehow enveloping him in her existence, pleasantly teasing all his senses.

"Cesare Borgia was his ideal of a ruler. That says enough about him." She said lowly − he heard her avert her gaze thoughtfully, looking at some point in the distance.

Involuntarily, the tip of his tongue ran over his lower lip, moistening it − he grinned at her words, shifting in his seat.

"They are both no longer among us and have no way to defend themselves from your cruel judgement." He murmured softly, lifting his eyes to her at last.

Their gazes crossed, her eyes at once full of uncertainty and curiosity − he had the feeling that her figure was quivering and trembling, too filled with life, the desire to breathe, to move, to feel.

They looked at each other and he knew that they had both experienced this when he first saw her, when they were unable to stop, when they both realised that something was happening between them that they could not tell anyone about.

He didn't know how it happened, what moved his loins to stand up, towering over her to grab her with ease and seat her on the table. He decided that it was just purest curiosity, as his fingertips ran over her shoulder, over that gorgeous arm, and traveled up the hill of the length of her neck, his hand tightened around it, again, merely in curiosity, and he found to his surprise that it fit there perfectly.

He looked at her face, into her eyes glittering like the most expensive precious stones darkened by the veil of her lashes, looking at him hazy, hesitant, at once fearful and devoted, wanting and demanding. When he took a step towards her her thighs spread in front of him like a book, as if it were the most natural of reflexes that didn't even surprise him.

Without letting go of her gorgeous neck he began to travel and explore the mysterious nooks and crannies of her body occupying his mind, the finger of his free hand lifting tentatively the material of her gown and her petticoat, running over her ankle covered from him by the soft material.

He ran his hand upwards, higher and higher, as if running his finger over to the surface of the water, until he reached the soft, surprisingly hot skin of her naked thigh and they both parted their lips, looking at each other wordlessly, breathing deeply.

His fingers ran over her flesh as if it were the keys of a piano, pressing her skin, and made their way to what was between her thighs, to what he could feel the pulsing heat from, the source of her trembling, of her sleepless nights.

She let out a shuddering, sweet sigh as he touched her there and found her sticky moisture, with circular motions collecting it on his fingers, both of them looking at each other as if surprised by this discovery, this disturbing, intimate act.

With each movement of his fingers, with each circle across her warmth, her thighs spread wider and wider in front of him, her body finding support on her palms placed on the table top, her breasts hidden under her gown rising and falling, her hips beginning to meet his movements.

He had the feeling that they were both in a trance, that they didn't understand what they were doing and didn't want to understand it − they weren't thinking about it or judging it, they were simply discovering a new experience, testing the taste of the sweet, unspoken secret that hid deep between her thighs, the loud, shameless click of her wetness accompanying every flick of his hand.

He licked his lips when at last the tip of his finger met the tight slit between her folds which throbbed with heat, wet and pulsing. Encouraged by this intriguing discovery, he slid his finger there, wanting to see what she felt like inside − he found with interest that her core was rough and fleshy, throbbing and slick, clenching steadily on his skin, her head arched back with a cry of exertion.

He slid his finger deeper, feeling it stretch her entire structure, pushing deep into her flesh, and a quiet, ungodly mewl erupted from her lips, her eyes clenched, her mouth parted in something akin to elation, delight.

He felt his body react, a pleasant heat and pulsation in his erection, the same as he felt inside her − he thought they were like two parts of the same thing, like two sides of the same story, beginning and end, day and night, sun and moon.

Just as everything had its companion, just as the world had for centuries misunderstood the nature of loneliness, telling people to discover the joys of living with someone, man and woman were destined to explore themselves with amazement.

He slipped his finger out of her and, with a light, unhurried movement, untied the fabric of his breeches, lowering them slightly so that she could not see what was beneath them, hiding that sickeningly physical, animalistic sight beneath her gown.

She knew what was about to happen, and though she didn't understand it, she felt subconsciously that from the moment they looked at each other they were destined to connect, to take something and give something to each other.

She trembled all over as he directed the tip of his length with his palm against her burning, hot entrance, her body instantly refusing this sudden, unholy act of divine violation.

"− don't −" He hissed coolly, and she froze, looking at him tearfully, letting him force the pink head of his erection, dripping with his moisture, inside her.

With surprising patience and devotion she endured the discomfort of fitting him inside her, a weary, helpless sob came from her lips − he opened her slowly on his manhood, bit by bit, stretching her tight muscles, sinking into the warmth of her flesh.

He realised suddenly that he was inside her, that he was her and she was him.

That they were a whole, that he would never be complete again without her.

His hand tightened around her neck and did not let her escape, slamming into her with a quiet grunt of sickening pleasure, sliding into her so deeply that she throbbed, seeking fulfillment in it, any kind of relief.

He gave in to his animal instinct, the feeling that he craved to rub against her, craved for her to squeeze him, craved to move inside her − the thrusts of his hips were violent, intense, deep, sure, as if taking her, filling her with himself again and again, physical stretching of her body with his flesh was written into his nature.

Their bodies pounded against each other with wet, loud clicks of her moisture as if they were fighting, as if he was about to pierce her with himself − her head was tilted back, her expression showing simultaneous delight and horror at this unexpectedly pleasurable act.

She was panting along with him, giving herself over completely to his brutal thrusts, needed to be filled, to be satisfied.

"− you won't escape from me − you know that, don't you? − I'm going to fill you −" He growled between one quick, hard slap of his hips and the next, and she only mewled a desperate plea, refusing and at the same time asking him to do it, writhing beneath him, her face all flushed with pleasure.

"− no − please − God, forgive me −" She cried out with difficulty, tears of effort, pain and delight running down her cheeks, her body leaning back, surrendering at last.

He felt her insides suddenly clench violently against him and begin to convulse, a moan of sweet suffering came from her lips, her body shook with a wave of something he was yet to understand.

This sight made him speed up instead of slowing down, feeling that something was about to happen, that he was already so close.

"− yes − don't resist me − fuck! −" He cursed for the first time in his life, feeling that his whole body was in a hot frenzy, his hips moving deep inside her throughout her fulfilment, her hands trying fruitlessly to push him away with her loud, broken moans, unable to take any more, overstimulated and sensitive.

He made a low, throaty, animalistic sound as a wave of pleasure shook him − he felt his own fluid spilling over her insides, filling her like wine fills a chalice, and he thought it made him feel the most natural reflex in his life, the filling and that she felt exactly the same way about the sensation of being filled, as if it was her primal, most important need.

Not to be empty.

They stared at each other, breathing loudly, feeling the fog around them begin to blur and disappear, their vision began to sharpen, their cool judgement returned to their minds, and with horror they realised at last what they had done.

They pulled away from each other in pain, both feeling that the fact that they were no longer one was unnatural, ungodly, against some fundamental law.

They were incomplete again.

They were imperfect again.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as she corrected her gown in despair − she stepped down from the table and ran out of the room with a loud, broken sob, terrified of their act, of what consequences it might bring.

He tied his breeches back, sitting down in his chair with difficulty and listened to the intense pounding of his heart, staring blankly ahead, trying to calm his breathing, feeling more empty than ever.

Over the next few days she avoided him again, her face even paler than when he first saw her − he had the feeling that she was in a progressive agony, that she was dying before his eyes.

Wanting to put an end to their torment, one morning he moved after her, seeing that she had gone for a walk through their park, and asked for her hand.

Only then did she confess to him, crying with unspeakable pain, that her fiancé had been waiting for her for weeks.

He felt like he had fallen into a state of complete emptiness and wasn't sure he understood her words.

He even thought they were amusing as he sat in the living room, taking a sip of wine from his glass, chuckling under his breath, much to the consternation of those gathered.

It wasn't until several hours later that people began to be concerned about her disappearance.

He took no part in the search.

As he walked down the corridor of his mansion in the evening heading towards his room, he looked at the appraising faces of his grandparents, their eyes seemingly bulging, terrified, their lips clenched as if in rage.

He began to rip portrait after portrait off the wall, destroying frames and canvases, causing a commotion all around him − his mother tried to calm him down, but he broke free from her embrace.

It was only when he walked into his bedroom that he noticed her silhouette, pale and corpse-like, her eyes wide open, looking towards the door as if she was waiting for him, his bedclothes all covered in her blood.

He saw out of the corner of his eye an open window facing straight into their park and realised that she had broken in here, taken his letter knife and slit her wrists.

He approached her slowly, feeling the pounding of his heart, the sweat on the back of his neck as he noticed the bruises on her neck, a clear marks matching his hands that he was sure he hadn't seen when he had spoken to her that morning.

How could that be?

He glanced at the floor out of the corner of his eye and saw his shirt, all dirty from the sand and grass.

He began to breathe deeply, feeling the whole room swirl around him.

He pushed from his mind the sight of her terrified face, the sight of her tears when she fell with him to the ground, when he told her that he was empty without her, that he had filled her with himself and she could not be anyone else's, just as he could never be anyone else's again.

It seemed to him that she had come to terms with his words, for she stopped struggling, looking at him with affection, and he praised and comforted her, telling her that the end would come soon, that she would fall asleep, that she would not be in pain.

When she stopped moving and fainted he took her body in his arms, numb and spilling in his fingers, and walked as if in a trance through his open window into his bedroom.

He laid her on his bed, where she belonged, right beside him, and left, longing to return to her in the night, believing that she had fallen into an eternal sleep.

She woke up.

She finished his work.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

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[ashblooddragons]

This Mysterious Love (Chapter 1/?)

Series Masterlist

Daemons pov

I grip Mysaria's hips as I fuck her from behind, I try to think of anything but her. I'm about to feel the bliss of release when her face enters my mind. I abruptly stop my thrusts pulling out of my paramount and walking away to see the people of the streets. I slip a blanket over my shoulders fighting the chill that reaches my sweaty skin.

“What ails you my prince?” Mysaria says walking over to me. 

I say nothing as I know what she believes is ailing me. My brother's babe, if the thing is a boy I would rejoice with the rest of the court for my brother has wanted this for years. All I want is for him to be happy, and if that means having a son so be it. 

“The King can not replace you, my Prince. You are the Rogue Prince, rider of Caraxes. He would be a fool to replace you.” She says stroking my hair back comfortingly. 

Ah there it is. I think dryly. Can I truly not be seen as a man who wants the happiness of his family? Or must I always be questioned about the love I feel for my family? 

I see she is getting desperate to please me, she knows being my favorite whore gives her many benefits and much power in establishments like this one. 

“Perhaps I bring you a whore with silver hair? I can make sure she's a maiden as well.” She says and finally has my attention.

“No, bring me one with auburn hair and brown eyes, make sure she's a maiden.” I say in the tone I know makes even men tremble let alone a woman of low standing. 

She seems shocked but nods none the less walking away to grab her sheer shift slipping it on and leaving me to this piss poor wine and the sounds of people cheering and dogs fighting. 

Maybe if I fuck one that looks like you, Little Hightower, you'll finally evade my mind. I think hopefully, for why would I ever want a Hightower, let alone Otto's daughter? I can't want her, I don't want her.

Alicent's pov

I can't believe I actually wore the neck the Prince gave me. As I was getting ready for the tourney a maid knocked on my door and only handed me a sealed note before leaving. Upon opening it I quickly found the Prince's writing stating. 

Wear the necklace I gave you, Little Hightower, if you wish for me to take your favor as my own. D

I spent the next hour picking which dress matched the necklace best. I kept telling myself he demanded it of me, but I knew that was a lie. I wanted him to ask for my favor, I wanted to know we had a scent agreement, I wanted the Prince to choose me. 

So here I am, in a grey dress that compliments the pearls on the choker and my hair pinned up with a gold clip to match the gold chain. I try not to think about why I pulled my hair up so he would see his gift upon me. But from the way my cheeks warm I know I am failing. 

I turn to where Rhaenyra should be sitting as the King begins his speech. I try to fight the scowl that rises as I watch her sneak in trying to act like she was here the whole time. 

If I tried that I would have my hands beaten with a ruler until my knuckles were bloody by the Septa. I think, biting my tongue when Rhaenyra starts to joke about how she's late and her father doesn't even care. 

“He just continues on with his speech, what a pushover am I right?” She says with a light hearted giggle. 

All I can do is give a pinched smile and nod. I take in the outfit she chose for today, a rich red dress with frills at the neckline to imitate the look of a dragon. Golden rings she twists and turns around her fingers, and a matching golden necklace with a ruby pendant her mother gave to her two years past for her nameday. 

I take in the fact she is not wearing anything new, or should I say nothing I didn't know about. 

“Did your uncle not give you anything? He usually gifts you something to wear.” I ask curiously.

She frowns and shakes her head. “No, I was hoping for something though, but it seems he couldn't find anything.” She says trying to sound nonchalant even though I can tell it pains her. 

I nod and turn back to watch as the Baratheon is knocked off his horse by Ser Cole. 

I hear Rhaenyra ask questions to Ser Harrold about the Cole. The urge to step in with the knowledge I've picked up about the Ser Cole is on the tip of my tongue when I hear the announcer declare. “Prince Daemon, The Prince of the city will now pick his first bout!” 

I watch him walk back and forth upon his horse assessing each critically. Sadly I know when he has chosen, for it is my brother who seems to make him stop his horse and tilt his stick.

Oh please warrior, I know my brother will not win this but please let him live. I pray quickly before watching the match, hoping the gods have heard me. 

I feel the sting of my nails digging into my cuticles, but no matter how hard I try, no matter how hard I command my body to stop this self-mutilation, I can’t. For there is something grounding in the act, the sting makes me stay present and not ide in the dark recesses of my mind. I know it is cruel upon my body, but how am I to break a habit I do not realize I am doing half the time? 

I watch with bated breaths as the Prince and my brother charge, the sound of hooves hitting the ground, metals rattling, and the resounding crunch of a jousting tick meeting a shield is all I can hear. I know Rhaenyra is talking to me as I feel her move about, the way she does when she thinks she’s telling a funny story. I know the King and my father must be muttering to each other behind me, I know the Princess Rhaenys is scoffing at any knight that walks by. But all I can hear, all I can see, is the Prince and my brother as they joust. 

I thank the Warrior when my brother makes it through the first bout, I almost believe he could possibly win this. But that hope comes crashing down when the Prince leans so his jousting stick hits my brother’s horse’s leg, sending them flying through the air and landing on the ground hard. 

Why isn’t he getting up? Isn’t he supposed to get up? I think biting into the inside of my lip until I taste blood. I about collapse into a pile on the ground when I watch two squires drag my brother out of the jousting ring. 

I watch as the Prince rides over to the royal box with his signature smirk. I fight the scowl that threatens to rise to my lips. I watch as his smirk widens when he notices the necklace, I fight the urge to rip the necklace from my throat and throw it at his feet. The feels as if this necklace is a show of my betrayal, of my idiocy as it burns into my throat. 

“Nicely done Uncle.” Rhaenyra says and I about gasp at how insensitive she can be. 

“Thank you, Niece. Now I’m sure can win these games, but having your favor, Little Hightower.” He says already leaning his jousting stick towards me. I want to say no, to tell him to go burn in the seven hells, but I know that it is improper to reject a knight so I turn to grab my favor and slip it onto the stick.

“Good luck, my Prince.” I say letting him see in my eyes the hate I feel for him now.

I walk back to my seat praying this Cole who seems to be promising, will take this smirking, good for nothing, Prince to be knocked down a peg or two. 

I sit there halfway listening to Rhaenyra halfway watching the joust between Cole and the Prince. The smile that comes to my face when the Prince is knocked off his horse, is nothing short of pure unadulterated joy. 

But soon I’m taken out of my thoughts by the whispers of the court, and only four words make me know how much mine and everyone’s lives are about to change.

The Queen is dead.

Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! i swear I'd be lost without you girly!

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[ashblooddragons]

The Red Queen (Chapter 11/?)

Your Pov

I sit at the dining table pushing a price of chicken around my plate. The room is deathly quiet, the only sound filling the room being the scrap of forks and resigned sighs. 

I turn to Papa when I notice he keeps glancing my way. Finally he clears his throat and turns in his seat to look at me..

“How has your studies been?” He asks wiping gravy from his lips. 

I stop and think about my studies. I've been going to more lessons with Maester Mellos, lately he's been teaching me the houses and where they live. We just finished the Northern houses and are now working on the Vale houses.

“Good, I know all the Northern houses and their sigils and words. I'm now working on the Vale.” I say matter-of-factly hoping the stiff atmosphere will go away soon.

Papa gives me a solemn smile. “Did you know your Mother is-was from the Vale? An Arryn in fact.” 

I nod excitedly. “I learned about that today. Mama would talk about her childhood in the Vale but she never said she was an Arryn before she was Queen.” 

Papa does that sad smile he does when Mama is brought up. It still hurts, Ali says it always will, you just learn to live with the pain. 

“Your Mother wished to take you and Rhaenyra to see the Vale once the babe was born. Perhaps-perhaps we can still fulfill that wish one day.” Papa suggests almost seeming hopeful. 

“I would love that.” I say with an enthusiastic nod. The thought of seeing where Mama grew up, of where she did all those silly things she told stories about was an exciting thought. 

But just as Papa goes to make plans Nyra speaks for the first time this evening. “About today-”

Papa turns to her with a frown before he pats her hand in comfort. The act seems so natural, not forced or alien like when he tries to comfort me. 

“It is alright, you were only trying to help.” He says with a kind smile.

Nyra smiles back before shaking her head. “I just…I just wanted to help.” She says looking down at her plate. 

“Ever since your Mother passed, you have been…distant. Though I cannot say it is entirely your fault, I myself have been hiding away from you, the court, your sister.” Papa says as he rubs my head when he says ‘your sister’. 

I can't help but frown, it felt like Papa forgot about me until the end, that I was an afterthought. I suddenly find I'm no longer hungry and set my fork on the table as I look at Papa again.

“You girls must have heard the rumors already, I'm afraid they're true.” Papa says with a resigned sigh. “I am remarrying, every King needs a Queen. And you will need a King one day.” He says looking at me with a sad smile. 

I freeze at his words, not that I will need a King but that he is marrying again. So soon? Mama has only been dead less than a year, Septa Martha says you are to mourn for a year before seeking another match if you must. I think as I chew on my bottom lip ignoring the taste of copper that reaches my touch. 

“It is your duty, Mother would understand.” Nyra says with a sad smile. 

It is this that makes me say what I do next, and I quickly regret it with how Nyra glares at me. “Any ladies in mind?” 

Papa looks back at me with a look of pain. “Yes, a few, in fact one I will be walking in the gardens with on the morrow. The Lady Laena.” 

I feel my heart stop, tears come to my eyes. Why Laena? Laena doesn't want to be Queen, she wants to fly and dance, she wants to see the great wonders of the world, eat exotic food and meet exotic people. She doesn't want to be forced to smile and look pretty. She wants to run, scowl at the people she doesn't like, and smile so big you can see her go when she sees someone she adores. She likes to laugh so much her belly hurts and tears come to her eyes, not make a soft laugh to look kind and pretty. Laena is wonderful how she is, being Queen will destroy her. I think as I wipe my tears hoping Papa didn't see them.

But it is not me who responds, it is Nyra. “A wonderful match, unite us with the Velaryons completely. Me with Laenor and you with Laena.” 

“Yes, my thoughts exactly.” Papa says before clearing his throat and looking towards me again.

I can't find any kind words so instead I say what Septa Martha taught me to say to a lord and Lady who are just betrothed.

“A wondrous match, I pray the gods will make it fruitful.” I can hardly recognize my own voice. It almost seems as if the words leaving my own lips are from another, but from the smile and pat on the cheek Papa gives me it was me who spoke such words. 

For the rest of dinner it feels like I'm not there, like I'm watching from the outside as Nyra and Papa joke and talk the meal away. The only way I know I'm there is because of how tightly my hands grip each other, I feel my nails dig into the backs of my hands. 

The moment I'm in my chambers I burst into sobs startling Orchid as she picks me up and holds me close. I grip her dress that always smells of fresh bread and ash from the fire. 

“Whatever has hurt that little heart of yours Princess, I hope the world will take it away.” Orchid says sitting in her chair by the fire as she rubs my back.

The next day I stand on a balcony watching Laena and Papa walk together. I bite my lip when Laena looks up towards me with a frown. Before she went on her walk with Papa she begged me for forgiveness stating she never wanted this and will try her best to make him not like her.

Her asking for forgiveness confused me, why would it be her fault our Papa's want her to marry mine? And I told her as such which brought a slight smile to her lips, though it quickly disappeared when her Mama came and told her the King is waiting for her.

“Does it bother you?” Laena’s Mama asks out of nowhere. I look around to see if anyone is near for her to be speaking to but there is no one. “Does it bother you?” She says again as she stands and walks over to me.

“Does what bother me?” I ask confused as to why she is speaking to me. She usually avoids me unless I'm with Laena and even then its short greetings and pleasantries. 

“That your best friend is possibly going to marry your Father.” She says as if that were obvious.

I'm shocked by the question, for I thought it would be clear how I feel about this.

“Of course it does, doesn't it bother you?” 

She only hums before facing me, her cold eyes make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. How does Laena live like this? I think before pushing my shoulders back down standing straighter. 

“Here is the hard truth that no one wishes to tell you, little Princess. The King will remarry, and more than likely he will have a son and that boy will be expected to be named heir. You will be nothing but a second daughter again.” 

I stop for a moment thinking over her words. If Papa marries and has a son, my life will go back to normal? Maybe that will let Kepus come back! And with that thought a smile rises to my lips 

“That's alright, I never wanted to be the heir. And if it will let the realm be happy as well as Papa then I'm ok with that.” 

This seems to puzzle her if the furrow of her brow is any indicator. “Then why does it bother you that the King is finding a new wife?” 

“I don't like that Papa is finding a new wife, but it's his duty. What I don't like is that Laena is an option, Laena doesn't want this, she wants to be free, she wants to fly everyday and eat weird things, not be Queen and have everyone looking at her.” I say as if that is obvious.

She seems shocked but then smiles down at me before stroking my cheek. “You truly are a wonderful friend to my girl, and I thank you for that.” 

I open my mouth to respond when we hear Laena call out to me. When I turn she is running full speed towards me and with a glance down in the royal gardens I can see Papa has left. 

“I need you to swear something for me!” Laena demands as she stands in front of me holding my hands.

“Of course! Anything!” I swear nodding my head. 

“If I have to marry him, kill me, I refuse to die from boredom!” 

All I can do is blink before I burst out laughing. 

“I mean it! I will not be forced to live my days in boredom just so some old men are happy!” She screams before stomping her foot as if that solidifies the deal.

I only smile shaking my head as she grabs my hand to go and play in the gardens stating “I had to walk and be ladylike! Let's be us now!” And I can't help but want that too.

Series Masterlist

Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @athzhowakar

[ashblooddragons]

The Red Queen (Chapter 10/?)

Your pov

I carry the heavy pitcher of wine waiting for one of the lords to wave for more wine. Ever since Papa named me heir he's wanted me to be one of his cup bearers. Nyra wasn't happy about it, nor was she about me being named heir instead of her. 

There hasn't been a night I wasn't guided out of the dining hall because Nyra and Papa got into a fight again. 

I go to fill Papa's cup, I'm a bit too short to see the top of the glass so I have to get on my tiptoes to see properly. I'm so focused that when the doors to the small council chambers burst open and Lord Corlys starts yelling I'm startled and accidentally spill on Papa's lap.

“I'm sorry!” I say as I search for a rag to wipe his lap.

“It's alright, Darling, it's not your fault.” Papa says with a grimace as he take the rag Nyra gave him. I can't help but frown at the cruel smirk she throws my way.

“Four ships have now been lost! The last one was flying my banner! The Stepstones have now grown into a conflagration, yet you sit here and ditter about court business!” Corlys yells as he states at Papa.

It is this moment that makes me hope I never anger him, for his eyes almost appear as if a horrible storm has taken the kind soft eyes I'm used to seeing. 

But instead of Papa answering it is the Lord Hand, Ali's Papa. 

“If you have something to discuss Lord Corly,” He starts but is quickly cut off by Lord Corlys.

“I want to know what is to be done for my ships and men!” He demands

“The Crown will compensate for your ships and crew, and make an offering to the men's families.” The Hand responds will a chilling calmness.

Isn't this important? People have died and they don't seem to care.” I think looking at all the councilman before turning to Papa who only seems annoyed, not worried.

“I do not want compensation! I want to take the Stepstones by force and burn out that Crabfeeder!” 

Papa sighs rubbing his face before leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

“I am not prepared to start a war with the Free Cities.” Papa says shaking his head with a chuckle as if the thought is hilarious in itself. 

This only seems to fuel Lord Corlys rage as he also leans forward on the table, his hands on the table as he glares at Papa. 

And with just as much venom as when he came in, he hisses. “These pirates are not of the Free Cities.”

This sentence seems to amuse Papa as the glimmer in his eyes comes, the one that comes when he hears a funny joke.

“Who do you think provides them with their ships and tenders?” 

It is this that seems to make Lord Beesbury to speak as well. “In all of its history, my lord, the Seven Kingdoms have never entered open war with the Free Cities. Were that to happen, the losses would be incalculable.” 

Lord Coelys only scoffs before saying. What reason does the Crabfeeder have to fear us? The King's own brother has been allowed to seize Dragonstone and fortify it with an army of his Gold Cloaks. Daemon has squatted there for over half a year without even a protest from the Crown.” 

The mention of Kepus makes my heart hurt, I feel tears rise to my eyes as I try to forget when he let me. He swore, he would never leave me, and now he has. What if I never see him again? I think feeling a sb rise in my throat as I turn to fill the pitcher with more wine in hopes no one sees me cry. 

Heirs are strong, they can’t cry or act childish. I remind myself of the words Papa told me when I had cried after I fell and scraped my knee. Why I must stop crying when I’m hurt all of the sudden seems strange, Papa said it’s because I’m the heir but heirs can cry too…right?

I’m snapped out of my thoughts by Nyra speaking. “You have dragonriders, Father. Send us.” 

I feel an instant fear Papa will agree. I’m not ready for war? Neither is Stormchaser. I still can’t climb her alone, how am I supposed to use her to fight in a war? I think as I shake my head wide-eyed towards Papa.

“I don’t want to go to war, neither does Stromchaser.” I plead which seems to make the men laugh as they all start to chuckling as if I said something very silly. Why are they laughing? If Nyra wants to go to war with Syrax that’s fine, but me and Stromchaser are fine right here, where it’s safe. I think with a frown as I look at the lords and Papa trying to find what was funny in my words.

Papa smiles towards me waving me closer, when I do he kisses my head and whispers. “Do’t worry, you and Stromchaser won’t fight.” 

With his words I feel instant relief as I smile up at him before he turns to look back at Nyra. 

“It is not that simple, Rhaenyra.” He says but from the way her brows turn in and her frown another screaming match is about to break out. 

“It would be a show of force.” Nyra says through her teeth. I hate when Nyra acts like this, it usually quickly leads to her throwing things, usually glass or porcelain, and i always end up with some shards stuck to my legs and at times my arms. 

Lord Corlys seems to agree with Nyra though as he says. “At least the Princess has a plan.” 

This seems to please Nyra as she stands straighter and smirks victorusly, though I think she’s gotten something in her eyes again as she’s blinking them a lot as seh looks at Lord Corlys. 

“Then by all means Lord Corlys, send your daughter of only seven and boy of thriteen off to war upon their dragons. But I am not risking my girls, let alone my heir. And know this, if you go to war, you will not get any support from me, nor the Crown.” Papa says as he strokes my hair and glares at Lord Corlys.  

This seems to only make Lord Corlys furious as he storms out of the chambers. The Lord Hand looks towards Nyra as she’s about to speak again and me as I tug on my Papa’s sleeve telling him not to let Laena go to war, and suggests that me and Nyra pick out the new guards for the Kingsguard. 

“Yes that is a great idea, besides you have been in need of your own guard for far too long.” He says patting my head before waving me and Nyra off with Ser Harrold. 

We walk silently, the only sound filling the space being the swish and sway of me and Nyra's dresses, and the clang of Ser Harrolds armor. Though I know the walk only takes a couple minutes it felt like hours with the feeling of Nyra's glare upon the back of my head, it felt like hours. 

So when we finally arrive and I see all the men in armor and a stool so me and Nyra can assess them, it is a welcome sight. 

I quickly step up onto the stool looking at all the men as Ser Harrold starts to grab the first podium figure. None peak my interest, none other than the tan one in stained and dented armor.

 He's the one who beat Kepus at the tourney. I think excitedly as I point to him. 

“What do we know of him?” I ask Ser Harrold. He seems to understand why I pointed him out first as he says. “Other than the fact he beat your uncle in the tourney, he has also been to war, Dornish marches I believe.” 

This brings back something Kepus always said. 

“When you have your guard, and he is your guard, he will need to be a man who has seen battle, one who has seen war. Not one of those knights who take down a poacher and think they are valiant, no he will need to have seen and done things that no one can imagine to be your guard. For if he can do that, there is nothing he wouldn't do for his guarded.” 

“Have the others been to war?” I ask as I assess the other men. They all are wearing shiny polished armor, so sparkly they almost appear to be bought this very day. 

“No, though the others have done great deeds as well.” Ser Harrold responds with a knowing look as he goes to kneel next to me.

“Would it be bad to pick the one who went to war? Kepus always said my guard needed to be a man who went to war.” I whisper to Ser Harrold. 

He quickly shakes his head. “No, there are two openings, a man from a great house can be picked for your sister. Ser Criston Cole would be a wonderful guard for you.” He whispers back with a knowing look, as if he knows something, something he mustn't say.

“I pick Ser Criston Cole!” I say loudly hoping the knight will hear me.

As if he appeared out of thin air the Lord Hand comes forward with a displeased look. “Now let's not be too hasty, princess. There are many houses who have helped the Crown that we should honor.”

I frown, shaking my head. “Then you can help Nyra pick her knight to honor those houses. But I asked Ser Harrold and suggested Ser Criston.” 

My words must have surprised the Lord Hand as he stares at me with a shocked expression. I only sigh and turn to Ser Harrold. “Will he join me now or will I have to wait?” 

“You will have to wait, Your Grace. He will be at your side tomorrow.” He says and I only nod before climbing down the stool and turning down the hall to go to my lessons with Septa Martha. 

I hope Laena is there already, sewing lessons are so boring without her pranks. Oh and Ali, she always helps with the really hard ones. I think not noticing the look of rage and jealousy upon Nyra's face as she watches me leave.

Series Masterlist

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @baybaybear1

[ashblooddragons]

My Heart, My Ruin (Chapter 1/?)

Warning! implied marital rape at the end

25 ac Oldtown 

Rhaellas pov

I’m sitting next to Mama resting my head on her belly feel the baby move around. Kepus is getting married to a lady named Ceryse Hightower. I keep looking up at the ceiling as I love the art up there.

“Darling it’s time to watch and pay attention, the bride is coming down the aisle.” Mama says as Papa helps her stand up before he reaches over to pick me up so I can watch.

“I still can’t believe Father agreed to this, he’s only ten and three, barely out of boyhood and now he’s getting wed off?” Papa says he’s been saying that a lot lately.

When I see the bride I gasp, her dress is so pretty. It's made out of white shiny smooth stuff, green butterflies on her shoulders, and she's wearing a gold tiara with bright green stones in it. I hope one day I look that pretty when I'm married. I look down at the dress I'm wearing and smile, it's dark purple just like Kepus's eyes, and it sparkled when I was in the sun.

“There is nothing we can do, it is their child, it is their choice.” Mama says hushing Rhaena who is in our Nursemaid's arms.

“She is ten years his senior, wouldn't her family want her with someone closer to her age?” Papa continues. 

“Most likely, but he is a prince, what better match would they find?” Mama responds as she rubs her back, she does that a lot now that her belly is so big.

I look over at Kepus, he doesn't seem happy, aren't people supposed to be happy when getting married? That's what Mama and Papa say at least, so why does he seem sad?

Once the bride finally meets Kepus at the alter the Stepton starts warping ribbon around their hands. 

“What is the ribbon for?” I whisper to Papa, or I at least try. 

“It's symbolic, the ribbon is a way to show their union is strong, that they are now bound, tied together forever.”  For some reason, I don't like the thought of Kepus being bound to someone, to her.

I grow curious again when they start chanting the same thing “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his-her's, he-she is mine from this day until the end of my days.” 

“Why are they saying the same things?”

Papa chuckles when Mama giggles at my curiosity, they always say I'm as curious as a cat. 

“They are swearing before the gods that they are now bound, married.” Papa explains rubbing my back when I start to pout. He must not realize I don't like Kepus being married because he says this instead. “Shhh, you can stand on your own soon darling.” 

Once they are announced husband and wife everyone claps and cheers loudly. It startles me and Rhaena causing Mama and Papa to try and calm us down as Rhaena screams and I start to cry. 

“I told you bringing them to the wedding wasn't a good idea.” Mama says trying to get Rhaena to calm down. 

“They were fine until it got too loud for their little ears, isn't that right darling.” Papa says as he kisses my head and rests my head on his shoulder covering my other ear with his hand. 

Papa's hand are soft, not bumpy on the palms like Kepus, I want Kepus's hands to hold me, not Papa's.

Maegors pov

I know the Lords and Ladies are cheering, but all I can hear is Rhaella's sobs. Must be too loud, she never did like large crowds or loud noises, let alone the two combined. I think to myself trying to to scream at the crowd to shut up.

“Are you ready for the feast, husband?” My now wife, lady Ceryse Hightower asks with a smirk. 

She is beautiful, I'll give her that, but there is no world where she could match the fire within me. 

“I suppose.” 

She doesn't seem to like my short responses, as she frowns but quickly hides it with a fake joyful smile.

As we walk out I catch sight of Rhaella, Aenys seems to be trying to calm her down. But she keeps shrugging off his touch, hopefully, she will enjoy the feast and festivities more than this worthless wedding. I swear I've caught at least five lords snoring in their seats, seems they found it just as hard to stay awake with the Septons hour long speech of love and marriage before I was actually married.

Once we make it out of the Stary Sept we climb into a carriage to wave and greet the small folk as they rejoice in this farce. 

“we didn't have the chance to truly yet to know each other, so I had a thought, what if we did a game as we ride towards the festivities?” Ceryse asks fixing her necklace. She doesn't seem excited by the idea, but I would much rather do this ‘game’ over sitting in uncomfortable silence.

“What sort of game?” 

“Hmm, hpw about I ask you a question and you have to answer it? This of course goes both ways.”

“Fine.” I say with a annoyed and resigned sigh.

“I'll go first then!” She says only to stop and think for a moment. “What is your favorite color?” 

The first thing that comes to my mind is Rhaella's eyes, those pools of lavender that just looking at makes you feel calm and at ease. But I can't answer with that, for it doesn't seem like he best way to start a marriage, by declaring I love to stare into my little niece's eyes. 

Then I turn to Rhaella’s hair, those wild pure sliver riglets. How you can always find, I imagine you’d only lose her in the snow they are that pure and uncorrupted, just like her. 

The last thought is how when Rhaella laughs her rosy cheeks almost become a true crimson. The way her laughter always sets off mine. It always makes the worst days better somehow. Always makes my soul feel like it isn't a pit of pure blackness ready to destroy everything dear to me, but instead, it has some joy yet to be dug up and found for the world to see. 

And when I look down at my crimson red jerkin I know the answer, I don’t even need to think anymore.

“Red.” 

“Oh? I find red too angry of a color, I much prefer the calmness of green. though I see the appeal it is one of your house cars after all.” Ceryse answers even without me asking her the same question. 

A talker it seems. I think dryly as she keeps rambling on, and on about what colors she deems gorgeous and the ones she deems not worthwhile and why. 

Once we finally make it to the Hightower I partially bolt out of the carriage to escape that woman’s gods forsaken chatter. How one could love the sound of their own voice that much is beyond me.

I take her hand out of habit, for I was always taught to take my mother's, Rhaella's, and now hers.

When we enter everyone cheers and I notice my brother cover Rhaella's ears leaning down to whisper reassuring words to calm you down. She squirms in his lap trying to stay calm but the way her little face frowns and petal lips pout I doesn't seem my brother is succeeding. 

“I heard you are quite close to your eldest niece.” Ceryes says as she smiles and waves at all who have come to celebrate in our union. 

“Yes, what of it?” 

She seems to flinch at my cold tones before answering. “Only that we both have that in common, we adore our families and would do anything for them.” She responds trying to stay cheery.

As soon as we make it to the high table my father begins a speech. The same speech he does at every feast. His nonsense of how we must stand as one realm and how unions between houses will further the seven Kingdoms prosperity. 

Every time I hear it I can't help but roll my eyes, these whole already know this, they don't need their King reminding them at every fucking wedding. 

I drown out my father hoping his speech will end. maybe it will bore me to death and I won't have to truly go through with this wedding? I think dryly until Rhaella leans over Aeny's reaching for me. 

“Kepus, I want Kepus!” She demands a loom of fury on her face. She must have been denied me too many times this eve. 

For the rest of the feast I hold my little niece close letting her play with my rings and cloak. It almost seems like everything will be fine again, like it's just the two of us in her favorite field to pick flowers so she can make flower crowns for me and her. But soon it crashes down, the bedding ceremony begins and Rhaella is taken to her chambers to sleep the night away, already having fallen asleep against my chest. 

The rest is a blur, all I remember is wishes for those woman to stop touching me, and once they did I have Ceryse undressing me. 

I lay the rest of the night awake trying not to think about how I still feel like a boy, not a man who must make children. A boy who shouldn't have been touched the way I was, I fight the bile that rises in my throat all night forcing it back down. I keep reminding myself this is my duty, this is what I must do for the good of my family, and I can not tremble, I can not be scared, and I can not hide from this anymore.

I turn my skin to steel, and my heart to stone. But try as I must, my soul will not turn cold, for Rhaella has already changed it for the better. 

And with that thought I turn onto my side and pray to the fourteen again that sleep will find me, and it seems this time they truly did hear me.

Series Masterlist

special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I would be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl @sachaa-ff @baybaybear1

[ashblooddragons]

My Heart, My Ruin (Chapter 2/?)

(sorry if this chapter is on the shorter side, I got back on a med I hadn't had in a while because my doctors weren't refilling it, and one of the side effects of this med is making me tired and fatigued. I honestly didn't even know if I would get chapter 8 of The Red Queen so I'm really sorry if this is short, or not written well or anywhere near as well as I try usually, I'm just trying to stay awake to get this out. sorry for the rant I'm gonna let you read now lol)

28 ac

Rhaellas Pov

I try not to fidget as Papa makes a speech, it's my sixth nameday which means I'm officially a big girl. 

“I warn you all, our little girl is a curious one. She will ask about the gift you have given her and want all the details. There is a reason we call her our curious dragon.” Papa says making all the lords laugh and making me blush and hide my face in my hands.

“So let us feast on this great day as we celebrate my sweet little girl, my firstborn, for her sixth nameday!” Papa finishes making everyone cheer as they take sips of their wine.

He bends down and kisses my forehead and whispers. “Happy nameday my curious dragon.” 

“Thank you, Papa.” I say making him smile before he and Mama walk down the steps of the high table to talk to some of the lords.

“When will you get to open your presents?” Rhaena asks picking at the food on her plate.

“Yeah, we're bored!” Aegon my little brother exclaims. He's only two but he's very smart, Mama calls him her little genius.

“I'm sure Papa or Grandsire will announce when I can open them.” I say grabbing Aegon's arm before he runs off. Have I mentioned he also never stops running! How he can run into a tree head first and laugh before running again is beyond me. I hope the baby in Mama's belly is a girl, I can't handle another brother.

“I want to see the dragons!” Aegon demands stomping his feet.

He always throws tantrums if he doesn't get his way so I try and find Mama or Papa in the crowd of lords and ladies.

“Don't speak to your sister that way boy.” I hear the deep and cold voice of Kepus. 

Aegon stops and turns to look up at him just when I do too. I know Kepus must be mad from the scowl on his face.

“I just wanted to say hi to Quicksilver.” Aegon says sheepishly already turning to hide in the shirts of my dress.

Kepus only hums before taking a sip of wine from his chalice. Thankfully for Aegon and Rhaena Papa and Mama seem to have had their nursemaids come to get them as it's time for them to go to sleep.

Once my siblings are taken away Kepus sits in the chair next to me that was previously taken by Rhaena.

“Happy nameday, ñuha prūmia. I got you something.” He says as he reaches into his jerkin pocket. He holds something in his fist holding it out to me. “Hold your hands out, ñuha prūmia.”

I do as he told me, holding my hands out under his. When he opens it I'm ready to catch something but nothing falls into my hands, but when I look at his hand I see he's dangling a beautiful necklace from his pointer finger. It has purple stones that appear almost like tear drops, and the metal looks like a darker silver. 

“Happy nameday, ñuha prūmia.”

“It's wonderful, where did you get it?” I ask, reaching out to feel the cool metal against the skin of my palms.

“It was in our family archives, supposedly it was Daenys the Dreamers. It's made of Valyrian steel and is encrusted with amethysts. Daenys was always said to love amethysts.” He says with a soft smile.

“Daenys? she wore this?” I ask excitedly, he knows how much I adore Daenys the Dreamer. I've probably made him read me the story of her more than a hundred times by now.

“That's what the Maester said, now turn around let me help put it on you.” He says in that tone that I know means he's not asking, he's telling. 

So I do as he says turning in my seat so my back is to him and grab my curly hair hoping I got it all. I feel the chill of the metal against my throat as I feel Kepus clip it. 

“There, now let me see.” I hear him say as he gently takes my hair out of my hands so it can fall down my back once more

I turn and look up at him watching as he smiles fondly. “Lovely, it matches your dress wonderfully, but it matches those eyes much better.” 

I smile touching the pink velvet dress Mama gave me for my Nameday. It has gold dragon embroidered along the skirt and at the neckline. But for some reason his words about my eyes is what makes me blush. But my joy is soon cut off my none other than Ceryse Hightower.

“I see you've given her the present you chose.” She says resting her hand on Kepus's shoulder. 

I watch as he tense something dark, something cruel flashes in his eyes before they become the stoney ones he lets the world see. 

I like the ones he has with me much better. I think before turning to his wife.

“Yes, it's a wonderful gift.” I say trying to stay kind even though I don't like her.

I never knew why I didn't like her, she's kind, gentle, sweet, but she's so boring. Her idea of fun is sitting and sewing, my idea of fun is running in the fields or flying with Papa or Grandsire. 

“That's wonderful, I'm glad you like it. Maegor worked very hard to find it. Had to be the perfect one, he said.” She says smiling at Kepus but he only seems to be getting more and more upset.

Cersye seems to catch the tense atmosphere and hands me a black leather journal with red ribbon to tie it. It seems to be imprinted with the Targaryen symbol on the front and back.

“As you are six namedays you'll start your studies with a Septa. I found having a journal helped me to remember my lessons and to take notes. I hope it helps you as much as having one helped me.” 

I can't deny that it's a thoughtful gift, and one she seems to have commissioned just for me. She obviously didn't just pick this up at some random book store in a rush. I think, feeling the soft leather against my palms.

“Thank you, it's a lovely gift. I'm sure it will get much use.” I say setting it back on the table. 

I'm about to ask if Kepus will dance with me when I hear the music start but his wife beats me to it.

“Dance with me, darling? You know this is my favorite.” She asks, already pulling him out of his chair.

I watch as he walks away with her to dance, I don't know why it hurts my heart seeing him with her, but it does. I hear a dragon roar from outside, it gives a pull at my soul like always.

“Come to me! I'm waiting!” it's starting to sound desperate, if only I could find out where it is. No, where she is.

This is the necklace Maegor gies Rhaella, or at least what I see lol

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Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST @sugutoad @ilikefelines @sachaa-ff @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl

[ashblooddragons]

This Mysterious Love (Chapter 8/?)

Series Masterlist

Alicents pov

I can't hide the smile that has plastered itself to my lips. I can't believe what has just happened, what I had just felt. 

Powerful.

I felt powerful as I held Caraxes maw in my hands. I felt like a Goddess among men when his amber eyes looked into my honeyed brown. I felt like I had nothing to fear when he nuzzled into me. 

It was so different to when Rhaenyra forced me to meet Syrax. How those ice blue eyes stared into my soul and seemed to frown at it. How Rhaenyra didn't guide me only rested my hands upon her growling beast. I still remember the warmth of Syrax's flames. The heat felt scorching, thankfully I could only imagine what the pain of it licking my flesh would feel like for the Dragonkeepers intervened. 

But with Caraxes, it felt like he saw each part of me, the good and the dark and still he bowed his head and nuzzled into my chest. And though he isn't the most appealing dragon to look at I know now that each time I see his silhouette I will feel safe once more.

But most of all I smile because I finally feel free. Someone is courting me with my permission. Not my Father's, not the King's, mine. 

But just as that thought comes does another one rise that swipes that joyful grin from my lips. 

He is married.

Gods how could I have forgotten this? He's married. Oh and Rhea Royce is not a woman to look down on. She is well taught with the sword and even better with a bow and arrow. She at times makes men look like fools. 

And you just tried to take her husband Alicent. Gods, you’re so stupid! I think as I burst into a sprint towards my bedchambers to cry my shame away before begging the Maiden for forgiveness. 

I fall onto my bed feeling myself sink into its plush comfort as the warmth of my mother's quilts welcome me. I faintly hear Beth shooing the other maids away before feeling a dip in my mattress.

“What is wrong, my Lady?” She asks, rubbing my back. I know she is worried for her strong Iron Islands accent is coming through clearer. I know she tries to hide it but I love it, always had since I was but a little girl of four and she was put in my care. 

But instead of responding with my idiotic choices I only sob harder.

“Ha-has the King-” She starts before she clears her throat. I hear her choking back her own sobs before she finishes her sentence. “Do I need to inform the maester to make me a tea? I have been feeling parched.” 

I realize now what she thinks happened. That the King has finally done what we both feared. Beth swore if he did she would help me, and she would make sure no one knew. I know now how she was going to smear her own reputation as a kind old woman who loves her husband dearly. Or mayhaps she was going to ruin one of her girls? She has four to pick from for this task she brought upon herself. 

It with this that I finally rise and look at her tears still streaming down my face and snot most definitely along my upper lip. 

I must look a mess. I think before responding to her inquiry.

“No, no need for tea. I'm sure water is perfectly fine.” 

I see her shoulders sag in relief at my words a smile rises to her lips and the whispers of ‘thank you Mother, thank you’ barely audible before she turns to me again holding my hands in her cold weathered ones. 

“Then tell me girl, what has you in such a state? Because I will find out and I will give them a piece of my mind one way or another.” 

I can't help but giggle, wiping my tears and looking at the only person who held me as I sobbed for my Mother. The woman who forced bone broth down my throat when I became too thin to even sit up. The woman who saved me. 

“I didn't get this dressed up just because wanted to.” I whisper and can't help but pout when she throws her head back laughing. 

“Well I already knew that!” She exclaims before taking my chin in-between her fingers and lifts my head once more so she can look me in the eyes again. 

“Why did you dress like this girl?” 

I hesitate for but a moment before looking her in the eyes and only finding kind warmth in her aqua blue pools. 

“The Prince.” I all I say with a sigh but from the tapping on my chin I know she wants more.

“He asked me to meet him at the Dragonpit, and I went.” 

She nods her head, her eyes still shining with confusion but I see her piecing the story together bit by little bit. 

“So that's why you stink like a demon from the seven hells?” 

I guffaw at her words, slapping her hand playfully. 

“I stink of dragon you old bat!” 

She only laughs more though almost falling off the bed in her fit. I at times think she laughs more than a flirtatious lady in search of a high standing husband. 

“Same difference if you ask me.” She says in that twange once more before waving her hand for me to continue. 

I stop for a moment deciding if I should tell her. I have no reason not to, she is loyal to me but it is my Father who pays her. Would the smell of gold sway her? 

No, Beth would never betray me even if it meant her death. I me for gods sake she was ready to ruin one of her daughters or granddaughters for me the least I can do is give the rest of this blasted story.

“He asked me to court him.” I finish and I already know the words she will say next before they even leave her throat.

“The man is already wed! Oh Alicent, what were you thinking?” She says in a tone that says she is far from pleased. 

“Obviously I wasn't, hence my sobs because I am nothing but a stupid little girl.” I respond falling back against my pillows looking up at my canopy. I remember counting all the stars and butterflies seen into the fabric as a child, I still do from time to time if only for nostalgia. 

Perhaps now is a good time? I think before Beth grabs my arms and pulls me back up to look at her.

“You listen here girl, you aren't stupid. Far from it. You are brilliant, why else would King Jaehaerys ask for you to comfort him in his dying days? Are you young? Yes. Are you naive at times? Yes. But this does not make you stupid do you hear me?” She all but roars at me. 

I only nod before falling into her arms and crying into her chest. She strokes my hair and hums some savior chanty to calm my hurt soul.

Daemons pov

I sit in my study staring at a sealed letter from my Bronze Bitch. There is no telling what it could be. A death threat? Gotten my fair share of those from her in our marriage. A demand for him to act like a husband? Too many of those had come only for him to be treated like shit on someone's boot. 

Well you won't know if you don't open it. My brain helpfully reminds me.

And with that I break the seal and open the scroll prepared for the worst and never expecting the best. But as I take in each letter, each word, each sentence I realize it is the best outcome. It's a letter with her signature at the end of a dotted line only waiting for mine so our marriage can be annulled. 

Though just as the shit eating grin spreads across my face, do I remember that Viserys had no reason to do this unless his idea is actually going to happen. Which can mean only one of two things.

One Rhea asked for the annulment and Viserys finally gave in. Though this is unlikely as she swore to make my life like the seven hells were following me. 

Or two, Viserys actually plans to make it where my child with my new wife will be his heir. Also unlikely as he never wanted me on the throne so why would he want my child upon its cold seat?

Yet again only one way to find out. My brain oh so helpfully reminds me yet again. 

With an annoyed sigh I stand papers in hand and begin the walk towards my brother's chambers.

I can't help but pinch myself every so often along the walk just to make sure this isn't a dream. 

I never liked walking around the Red Keep at night. It always has a chill that even the Northerns complain of. But it isn't just the cold wind, it's something else, it's the feeling that even if you are alone in a hall you're being watched. That no matter where you hide someone is always watching, waiting. It's not a pleasant feeling to say the least, so I try and stay out of the keeps halls at night. 

I watch as Knights and Lords stumble down the halls towards their chambers. A lady trailing behind them. I already know what they are up to, I even know two of the women they are bringing with them. For I myself have already had a taste of them, one of which I know is the man's wife. 

She was a wild thing too. I think with a wicked grin as I pass her. 

But as always the walk to my brother's chambers always seems too long, and yet too short. 

Not enough time to think and too long not to. I think before making a resounding knock on my brother's door.

I wait but a moment before raising my hand to start slamming my fists against the door when I hear a tired. “Come.” 

I take this as all the invitation I need and enter, closing the door behind me just as quickly as I entered.

“Brother, what brings you here?” Viserys says trying to hide the fear in his voice and tremble in his hands. Though he was never good at lying.

“My dear Wife sent me this letter. I thought you may have something to do with it.” I say tossing the annulment papers into his lap before plopping into a chair and picking up one of his little stone soldiers.

“Careful with that.” He scolds, snatching the figure from me as he reads the paper. 

I watch as he reads it carefully before taking in my wife's signature. 

“Well…” I ask trailing off to see if I can catch any reaction to the letter but strongly Viserys is stone faced. 

Perhaps he can lie? I muse to myself before almost laughing out loud at the thought. 

Viserys sighs looking down at his stone soldier before looking me in the eyes.

“I had a hand in this, yes. Though I was hoping to announce it to you on the morrow. But it seems your wife was eager to get rid of you.” 

I scoff at the obvious jab before turning to him once more. I see the way he eyes me warily, I see the way he flinches each time I shift in my seat. I know he's afraid of me now, mayhaps he always was.

“And this news?” I ask with a wave of my hand. 

I know it is a waste of time acting like I don't know already, but it is just oh so fun watching Viserys squirm in his seat. 

“The realm chose me, they would not stand for a woman to take the throne. So I would need to take another as wife, though that is now out of the question.” 

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the face Viserys is drawing this out. He never was one to just get to the point, always needing to make one sit there and pray he'd shut up and finish the tale. 

“And I cannot have Laenor sit the throne. For that would cause more outrage than my daughter upon it. For he's not even a Targaryen by name. And sadly with you being a warrior you may die younger than I.”

I sigh looking up at the ceiling as Viserys continues to just list every reason why instead of just saying it. 

“So I've decided to annul your marriage, let you pick a new wife of your choosing. And the first boy you have, shall be my heir.” 

Wow I'm surprised he didn't make it last two hours like he did when he was telling Aemma was pregnant the first time. I must before looking him in the eyes again. 

“Is this a jest?” I implore not wanting him to think I already knew. 

“No, though I understand why you would think as such” He says sincerity in his voice.

I only stare at him for a long moment before snatching the annulment papers back and taking his ink and quill scribbling my name along the dotted line before handing it back to Viserys.

“So now I'm a single man?” 

“Now you're a single man.” He confirms.

Not for long, I'll be taking a Little Hightower you have been wanting. I think before standing bidding my goodbyes and walking out of his chambers. 

Now to find out what her favorite flowers are. Every woman likes flowers. I muse with a new skip in my step as I traverse the Keep in search of my Little Hightowers lovely maid named…Betty?

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I sweat I'd be lost without you girly!

I would also like to thank @thecutestgrotto for making the divider. I truly love it!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl @sachaa-ff @seaevans @edensfanfictionsuggestions @yn-jackson @fictionlurker @marvel-is-my-obsession @ninihrtss @zara-zara11 @lady-ye @nommingonfood @dreamlandcreations @baybaybear1

[ashblooddragons]

My Heart, My Ruin (Chapter 4/?)

(Warning, this chapter deals with the death during childbirth and mentions of marital rape, if either of these are triggering skip the chapter we will deal with the after math of the events here next chapter)

34 ac Dragonstone

Maegors pov

I sit in the dining hall with my Mother, Father, brother, and good sister waiting for my wife to birth our first child. To say my family and I were shocked when she came with child would be an understatement. For not even a moon earlier were we speaking of annulling my marriage to the Hightower. So when she came with child and stayed with child, it raised brows. 

I try and drown out my wife’s screams as I sharpen Darksister. Though I'm quickly brought back with a bone-chilling scream from my wife.

“She should be done by now.” Mother says with a scowl. She was happy at first when she heard the news, but that quickly dismissed when she realized we will have shared blood with the Hightowers now. She never did quite care for them beyond what they could give us. 

Father hums before turning back to the fire and begins whispering to himself again. Whether he is praying or going mad I do care, the man never raised me so I will not care for his mind nor health. The only reason I even note it is because Mother seems worried, and says he speaks as if talking to Rhaenys again. 

“No, it should not, perhaps we should ask the maesters what is wrong?” Alyssa says, turning to my Brother. 

He sighs, shaking his head. “If there were complications they would have come to us by now.”

But this seems to spur Mother into speaking her mind, as is usual with her. “You act like those men up there that can't even fuck women have any idea how our bodies work. I know I trusted the midwives over those stumbling and bumbling idiots from the Citadel when I birthed Maegor. Besides they already came in here stating the babe is breached, there is only so much we can do.” 

I can't fight the smirk that rises when Aenys turns to Alyssa whispering if she felt the same, only for his dear wife to shyly nod. Though the smirk is soon swiped from my lips when the doors to the dining hall are burst open. 

We all turn only to find my nieces and nephews. Though as per usual my eyes stay trained on the eldest of the group, Rhaella, but I have started calling me ñuha prūmia, for what is a better title for her than my heart? 

“What are you doing out of bed, it is well into the hour of the wolf.” Alyssa scolds with her hands on her hips. 

The little group's only response is to turn their heads up when my wife lets out another blood curdling scream. 

“Oh let them sleep here, Viserys is practically shacking.” Aenys says waving the boy of only five summers who clearly doesn't fully understand what is happening. 

Rhaena only seems tired and annoyed that she can't find sleep. The young Aegon seems to be half asleep if the drool and snoring is any indicator, the only time he wakes is for a few seconds with one of my wife's severely loud screams. And then there is Rhaella, the one guiding her other two siblings to the seate next to the fireplace, wrapping blankets around them as they rest their heads upon the pillows on each end of the seat. But what truly makes me frown is when she turns and helps her grandfather, the King raise his feet and lays a thick fur blanket on his lap. 

Once they are all taken care of she decides to walk towards me sitting in the chair across from me. I can see the worry in her eyes, though she never cared for Ceryse she would never wish her harm. I sit Darksister upon the table before reaching for her trembling hands. 

“I cannot swear she will be alright, nor that she will make it. But I can swear, I will protect you from this weather now from the screams or in the future when you are in that bed birthing your…husband's child.” I say the last part leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

For the thought of her standing at that altar so young, so vulnerable and full of life, only for someone far older than you to take that innocence in the word of ‘duty’. Like me. I think feeling those memories, the memories that always show when Ceryse wishes to lay together, to try for a child. Well this is what you get you bitch. I think coldly fighting the joyful smirk when I hear her scream again. 

I know I have turned cruel, that I am not the boy I was before this marriage, but I refuse to let that darkness consume me, not when Rhaella is here to pull me out of it. 

“Mama says I'm gonna be at least ten and seven when I'm wed, that is of she has any say in it.” Rhaella responds with a strained smile as yet another screaming lets loose from my wife. 

I'm about to stand to ask the maester what in the seven hells is happening when it all goes quiet. There is no more screams, not even a babes wails. Isn't a babe supposed to cry? I think to myself as I stand turning to my Mother who is already walking towards the doors when a maester walks in. 

The man's head hangs as he twists his hands. “I am sorry, My Prince, we tried all we could do, even your Mothers, the Queen's suggestions. But nothing made the child turn, nothing would let the Mother nor child survive.” 

Alyssa seems to let a sob out and Aenys holding her close consoling her. Mother appears to berate the Maester for daring to fail at bringing a heir into the world. The children are fast asleep, well all for Rhaella who sits where she was before only now wide eyed and with eyes filled with tears. But none of this comes through the blood that rushes through me, through the anger that this woman took my boyhood and demanded a child from me, only to take that child and my boyhood away with her in one fail swoop. 

It about makes me scream, possibly does. But all I do know is that I started throwing anything in sight, anything to release this rage. I know my family and the court will think it is from the loss of my wife, but it truly from all that she has taken from me, all she has taken for her own gain in this world we call court. 

I only briefly notice Aenys, Alyssa and even my Mother take the children out of the room and out of the reach of my rage. 

By the time I am done the table has lost two of its legs, there are now seven princess vases shattered upon the floor, at least four priceless artifacts are now destroyed. My only saving grace is that none are from Valyria nor are from our families archives. 

So here I sit in front of the fire, tears rolling down my face, thinking of how different my life would be if not for that horrible betrothal my Father and Mother made. How different my soul would be if they hadn't made that betrothal, how it wouldn't be this black pit that thrives off the suffering of others. But then I look into my heart, and find that there is goodness still, if only because of my darling ñuha prūmia

For as long as she breathes I will still have goodness within my heart, but if she were to ever leave this earth before me, it would bring upon my very ruin.

Series Masterlist

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl @sachaa-ff @athzhowakar @baybaybear1

[ashblooddragons]

My Heart, My Ruin (Chapter 5/?)

34 ac Oldtown

Rhaellas pov

We all sit in the Starry Sept listening to the High Septon chant as he throws holy water supposedly blessed by the Seven upon the casket. 

The wooden pew we sit on has started to become uncomfortable after the two hours this funeral has taken. I have a headache from all the incense and herbs wafting through the air. But I push down all of these uncomforts for we are not here without reason, Kepus's wife has passed, the Lady Ceryse Hightower. 

I can still hear her screams as she begged the maesters to make the pain stop. 

“OH SEVEN HELLS, GET THIS DEVIL SPAWN OUT OF ME YOU WORTHLESS BALD CUNT!” I Hear Ceryse scream and from the blubbering apologies and demand for her to push is any indicator she screamed at a maester again. 

I have tried everything to find sleep. Counting sheep proved fruitless and annoying, covering my ears with the pillow or my hands did nothing to muffle the screams, I drank warm milk but quickly relieved it from my stomach after one blood curdling scream. 

So here I sit at my desk trying to finish an embroidery project I was making for the babe when a knock comes to my door. 

“Come?” I call confused as to what is happening, for a moment I think perhaps the babe has come but then frown when the screams and curses resume.

When the door opens I see my younger siblings standing there with tired eyes and slouched shoulders. Rhaena seems annoyed but worried, Aegon is a yawning mess, there's a line of drool along the left side of his fa e where he is leaning on Rhaena's chest. And finally little Viserys who is practically in tears, most likely has already cried for a bit with the redness of his eyes is any indicator. 

“We cant sleep.” Is all Rhaena says before walking forward with Aegon as Viserys runs into my arms hiding his face in the croak of my neck as he grips the soft silk of my nightgown. I feel his tears wet the skin of my neck as I rub his back trying to comfort him the only way I can.

“Mother won't be happy your out of bed.” I say to Rhaena as I set my embroidery on my desk. 

“Yes well Mother will also not be happy if none of us find rest.” Rhaena quips back quickly.

I sigh, shaking my head giving in. “We'll go to the dining hall. There you can be with Mama.” I say to the group but mostly to Viserys who is a mess of tears and trembling limbs.

I grab my candle holder and light it before holding Viserys close and make the journey down. 

When we open the doors everyone turns to stare at us. Mother barely gets time to ask why we are here before Viserys is running over to her and Ceryse let's out another bone chilling scream. 

When our Mother and Father wave us in I guide Rhaena and Aegon to the Seate in front of the fire. Aegon takes no time to fall asleep again, I grab a warm wool blanket to lay over him as he hugs a pillow to his chest. I then turn to Rhaena laying her down, she is quite grumpy when tired so she glares at me as I lay a quilt over her. 

Once I know my siblings are taken care of I turn and see Grandsire whispering to himself with his eyes half open. I walk over and cover him with a thick fur blanket. 

I smile knowing my siblings and Grandsire are taken care of before my sites turn to my Uncle. 

He seems so…sad. Aren't men supposed to be happy when their babe is being born?

I'm brought back to the present when I feel my uncle take my hand as he glares at the coffin. 

People are saying he hates Ceryse because she didn't give him a child, but I know there has to be another reason for his anger. Many men grieve with anger. Why will none of court see that? 

I squeeze his hand not noticing how his Mother, the Queen Visenya, watching us closely.

Maegors Pov

Once the funeral is finished I lean against a balcony as the lords and ladies talk and ‘mourn’ behind me. I let out a sigh when I hear my Mother’s signature heels click behind me until I feel her hand on my shoulder.

“You are now available for marriage, I will give you a list of Ladies of eligible age to marry.” 

I freeze shocked she wants me to marry so soon. “No.” 

“What do you mean ‘No’?” 

I stop when I hear the coldness in her tone, I know I must choose my words wisely. “My wife and son have only passed not even a moon passed, I am not looking at eligible ladies to wed. but even if it wasn’t during the mourning period I wouldn’t.” 

“And why is that?” She says gripping my shoulder tighter.

“I was three and ten when you married me off, most men don’t even marry their daughters off that young. I did as I was told, I married the woman, I bedded her when you and her saw it fit, I did exactly what you wanted, and look how it ended. I will remarry one day, but it will be on my terms, as most men are allowed in this world.” I say shocking me and my Mother. I have never spoken about how me being wed so young had destroyed me. 

She sighs and looks down almost like shes ashamed, I wait for her to speak but instead she decides to look anywhere but towards me. And with that I huff shrugging her hand off as I go towards a maid with a tray of wine. 

If only I turned I would have seen the triumphant smirk on my mothers face. If only I knew she already planned for me to not wed until the one she deemed fit was of age.

Series Masterlist

Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you Girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl @sachaa-ff @athzhowakar

[ashblooddragons]

Tides Of Love

Summary: What if Laena was older than in book or show? What if Laena was a dragon rider younger? What if she and Daemon married under the King's suggestion? What if Laena never died? What if Laena was Rhaenyra's lady in waiting and Daemon met her sooner? Read the What ifs in Tides Of Love!

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Dragons

Laena and Daemon Moonboard

Special thanks to my Bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @athzhowakar @thelastemzy @themoonlitquill

[ashblooddragons]

My Love, Mine All Mine

Chapter title: As Was Expected

(This Chapter was written by @sugutoad on Tumblr and Wattpad)

 “My Lord.”

 Mother’s maid bowed down their head as Aemond walked into his mother’s chambers upon her request. All Aemond could return was a simple nod before his gaze fell upon his mother, the Lady Alicent Hightower, wrapped in green cloth, her fingers drumming against her study table, her eyes downcast and brows furrowed over some sort of work fallen upon her now that Father was growing ill. The fabric of her dress, the loveliest green silk, fell into a square opening near her bosom, the hem embroidered in dainty gold flowers. His red-haired mother looked up, a tired smile gracing her face.

“Aemond, my son,” she quickly got up, her hand almost knocking down the golden cup placed in front of her. “I have been meaning to see you for.. for something of importance.”

 She always got to her point unlike Father who would speak in riddles (it only worsened when he became ill a year ago). Aemond could only take a few steps near the bed, placing a single hand on the wooden frame, the alabaster wood scraping against the tips of his fingers. He knew what his Mother wanted of him. 

To marry.

 It has been his duty, his fucking duty, since Aegon failed to marry a wealthy lady during his youth. And while his drunkard brother could certainly pursue a marriage at six-and-twenty, it seemed he would rather strip himself in the company of auburn haired prostitutes, a wine cup twiddling in his hands as Aemond performed his duties for their house. Mother had certainly lost her faith in hopes of her eldest son marrying, but Aemond? 

 Aemond was the perfect son. He knew he wasn’t the golden son — that was his little brother, Daeron — but Aemond always abided by his duty. He was always abiding and listening to whatever his mother wished him. Shall courtship ever befall upon him, he knew it was expected to marry the daughter of a Duke. 

 His hand twitches by his sides, quickly clasping into one another behind his back. 

“I shall marry whoever you see fit, Mother.” 

 If fulfilling his duty as a true Targaryen meant to marry, should he not be given to another Targaryen? Such marriages between Targaryens were not uncommon, a practice that had quickly become a known tradition to their House. His Uncle Daemon had married his own niece and Aemond’s sister, Rhaella. Aemond pushed back every thought crawling through his brain, which were nothing but fantasies for the lost, little boy wandering through his heart. The little boy must be cold, for his only warmth would be the laughter of Aelys dancing in his heart and even that Aemond had to lock away. 

 Mother’s eyes almost brightened, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lip. Aemond almost pitied his Mother. She had sent her favourite son already to study under the guidance of Uncle Lorent, and now it shall be him who will tug gently at her heart, telling and lying to her (and himself) that his departure shall be fine, before rippling the thread completely leaving their hearts shattered pieces of pieces of glass. The shards decorate their lives, each step piercing, leaving drops of crimson and reminding them of duty.

 Aemond’s left eye throbbed. Years of wearing his eyepatch, he expected to be accustomed to this pain that was meant to be nothing, but it was almost an infectious pain. Shutting his eyes closed, he focused on the build up of pain, before his Mother broke his silence, practically ripping out his other eye with her suggestion.

 “I have received a proposal from Duke Baratheon. He wishes for you to consider his youngest daughter as a possible match.”

 Aemond straightened, nodding slightly at his Mother’s suggestion. “Floris Baratheon?” He replied, the name tasting like the bitter wine his elder brother would force him to drink down so Aemond could also become a ‘true man’ like him. Aemond could imagine a life with her – a raven beauty of her own with a heart so kind, perhaps a bit too kind for Aemond’s own liking. Aemond’s upper teeth grazed his bottom lips. “Should it not be better to marry Cassandra Baratheon, if this marriage is truly for the sake to solidify the power and alliances of our house?”

 Cassandra Baratheon was after her father’s heir. A bore who complains about almost every little thing, but an heiress nonetheless. 

“Floris Baratheon would be a good match,” Mother pressed, her tone was soft yet resolute. “It is a matter of alliances. The more houses we can gather towards us, it will strengthen Aegon’s claim to his rightful Dukedome.”

 Aemond blinked at his Mother, scoffing under his breath as he took a few steps away from her, his hand now resting on her chair, the soft leather itching against his finger. Mother sighed behind him, walking beside him and placing a hand on his arm. Aemond let himself soften against his Mother’s touch. 

  He understood his mother's reasoning, but the thought of marrying someone so... gentle, so meek, was repulsive to him. And yet, he said nothing. He would never argue with her. He was her son. And he had long learned to bury his own desires, his own dreams, in service of the family.

 But it should be him, who should be Duke of Stormlands. Aegon can take the Red Keep to himself, but Aemond worked hard for what? For nothing to be placed in his now calloused hands? It was Aemond who studied into the night, onky to wake up in the library with a blanket placed atop him. It was Aemond who trained with Sir Criston until blood replaced tears and a sapphire replaced his eye. It was him who deserved something of sort. He could not say it nor admit it out loud, but this was all because he was the second son. Because he was set to inherit no land from his Father nor allow his Mother to set her ambitions upon him because he was born second. 

 Because he was born weak.

“And Cassandra Baratheon wants someone who is first born, I presume?” 

“Aemond, you know it is not because of.. Cassandra is simply looking —“

“Cassandra?”

 Before Aemond could even muster a single word, the door had swung open with a creak, and his older brother stumbled in, a scent of wine swirling around him. Aegon always believed himself untouchable when consuming wine, a god in his own eyes. Yet his brother was anything but that as he looked up at Aemond, lilac eyes bleary and pink, pale blond hair tousled with strands falling all over his face (their Mother’s face if Aemond had to say. Aegon took his breath in the world, stealing both his mother’s face and her girlhood). 

 Aemond turned to face Aegon. “Yes, Cassandra Baratheon.” His brother could only look at him with amusement before turning to Mother.

“What about Cassandra Baratheon?” 

 Mother visibly cringed at Aegon’s slurred words, sighing to herself. “Your brother persists that he should marry Cassandra, although,” she hesitated, gesturing her head at Aemond, “It is Floris who would be more suitable for him.”

 Aemond almost scoffed (although he would never truly scoff at his beloved Mother) before assuring her. “And I have said that I will marry who you choose. If it is Floris you find the best choice for me, it will be her I will court and marry.” Aemond paused himself a second, deciding to himself if he had been discourteous to his Mother and quickly chose to shut his mouth before anything else escaped. 

“Ah, brother, still brooding over your duty?”Aegon slurred, a lopsided grin etched on his face. “When will you learn to live a little? You are quite better off with a bottle of wine and a dancing partner than to discuss matrimony with Floris.”

Aemond’s lips twitched, almost smiling at his brother’s words, though it faded quickly. “I am not the one lost in the bottle, Aegon,” Aemond replied, his own tone much flatter than that of Aegons. “And, I would not prefer to risk our family’s future on your whims.”

“Touché,” the French word rolled out of Aegon’s mouth naturally, as he leaned against the doorframe, his feet planted firmly on the floor as if the very wood of the frame might collapse under his weight. If Aemond had to assume anything, it would be Aegon collapsing on his own weight, not that of the door. “But really, Aemond? Floris Baratheon? You might as well marry a storm. At least they are exciting.”

 Aemond’s jaw tightened at his brother’s words, but he did not let his irritation show. If he did, Aegon would boast about his new ‘accomplishment’ for weeks to come. Instead, he turned slowly, his gaze flicking towards Aegon. His brother always seemed to find some sort of joy in Aemond’s misery. 

“Excitement is not what I seek. But at least, a storm serves its purpose,” Aemond left the words hanging in the air for a moment, eyes prying at Aegon. “Unlike your wine-soaked adventures.”

 Aegon’s grin faltered, just for a heartbeat, before it returned once again — although it resembled a grimace more than the smile he once had plastered on his face. Aegon’s tongue wet the bottom of his lips, a hand running through his hair, as to steady himself.

“Aemond,” Aegon said with a dismissive chuckle, his eyes widened. “Always so serious. If you spend half as much time living as you do brooding, maybe you’d find some joy in something.”

“Living,” Aemond murmured quietly, almost to himself. “You think I’ve had no joy because I live for others, but I live for my family. For our House and wishes.”

 Aegon only raised an eyebrow at his words. “House Targaryen? Or Mother’s wishes? You can not do them at the same time, no matter how hard you try.” When Aemond looked at him, Aegon simply shrugged, cocking his head to the side as he justed out his bottom lip. Aemond’s fingers clenched into fists at his side. His words did stung, but it was the truth, that only his brother had the courage to say, that hurted the most. 

 Aemond was a slave to his duty— and for what? So he could marry a Baratheon girl he barely knew? To tie his own future to a family that had no more ambition than to sit in the shadows of the Targaryens?

 Mother stood quietly to the side, her eyes flicking back and forth between her sons, sighing softly, her fingers twitching against one another. Harmony did exist between Aegon and Aemond, but only for a moment before it would falter away and slip further from her reach with every word ever passed between them. 

“Aegon,” Mother said sharply, her voice cutting the tension intoxicating the room like a blade. “Enough. This is not time for your ridiculous games.”

Aegon straightened, his face twisting in a mockery of respect. “Of course, Mother. You always know what is best for us,” his tone dripped in sarcasm, before he whispered quietly, only for Aemond to hear. “For you.”

 If Mother did hear what Aegon, she chose to ignore, as she did often.

“Floris Baratheon,” she repeated, her gaze flickering between the two of her blond sons. “She is the match that will strengthen both of our Houses, and Aemond shall court her. End of discussion.”

“And we shall have to deal with Lord Borros’ temper and complaints at family gatherings? Think of the joy…”

“Aegon!” Mother’s voice was harsh, much harsher than she was accustomed to when she spoke with her other children. “Do not mock Lord Borros. Do you understand?”

It wasn’t truly a question for Aegon to solve, it was a command given by a Mother to her eldest son.

Aegon made a low, mocking sound. “Floris, Floris, Floris! Tell me, Aemond, what will you do when the wind blows and you find yourself tangled in not her hair, but that of Aelys? Will you wish to marry Floris when it is Aelys who turns herself into a storm?”

 Aemond turned to his brother, unable to hold back his anger any longer. To speak of Floris was one thing, but to speak of Aelys was another matter. “You speak of storms like they are mere inconveniences, Aegon. But storms can be controlled, can be ridden, can be used. You, however, only know how to let them consume you.” 

 At least I have Aelys, all you have is your delusions about Myrielle Vallici consuming you. Aelys loves me, and you? Do you know love?

 Aemond did not need to say anything more, for Aegon understood what Aemond meant. Aegon looked up at Aemond as though he was seeing his younger brother for the first time, the drunken haze in his clearing just enough to catch the spark of fire that burned beneath Aemond’s heart. Aemond was not one to quickly act in anger, but he was a Targaryen and the fire only grew in his heart. 

 Aemond stayed pinned down, his feet firm on the ground. Aegon’s once slacked jaw tightened. Aemond should apologise, he truly should. But his voice was stuck in his throat, he would not, would never, humiliate himself in front of Aegon. 

 But for Aegon to be humiliated or put down by others was something else. His face would be veiled with a blank look similar to that of when Mother would yell at him. When she would yell, compare and do anything that made Aegon hate himself. It wasn’t that Aegon personally told Aemond about Mother or Grandsire complaints, no, that courtesy would be given to Alaric Vallici. But Aemond has ears. He had always been the quietest of his brothers growing up; his ears were practically everywhere. They never would acknowledge his existence, so Aemond was left behind, but he would observe every single action — like how Aegon would fiddle with his hands when he was nervous like Mother, or how Alaric simply looked at his sister with admiration far greater than glances shared between normal siblings. 

 A vein in his throat throbbed, his heart practically crawling in his throat and clawing at his chest to say something, but an angry fire consumed every thought. For all Aemond knew, Aegon would tear him apart, but would he? With Mother watching? 

He would. 

 The last Aegon could ever care for is their Mother’s opinion as far as Aemond knew his lilac eyed brother. And yet, he stayed still, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Aegon was quick to anger and quick to act, but his eyes remained downwards, flicking up to Aemond.

“You think you could tame a storm, Aemond?” Aegon asked, his voice low, almost thoughtful, as he cocked his head to the side. “You can not. It is not in your grasp and not of your worth.”

 The worth of a second son was almost non-existent and Aegon knew how to jab it into Aemond’s heart — his brother much bolder with his words than Aemond who concealed everything behind riddles and words his brother’s idiotic brain would not comprehend.

 Aemond opened his mouth to say something — to say anything that would belittle Aegon’s worth once again. His drunk brother spoke so eloquently about Aemond’s worth, but what of his own? Asides his status as the eldest son, Aemond knew his brother was of no value to his family, much less anyone else.

“Aegon,” Mother’s voice interrupted, softer this time. “You will do as you are told. Do not make this harder than it has to be.”

 Aegon’s expression faltered, his grin shifting into a solemn mask. Aegon was not one to give up so easily when it concerned himself, but he tried so hard to please Mother sometimes. And yet, Mother would never blink an eye towards him. Aemond almost pitied his brother at times. Almost. He gave a resigned sigh and looked at Aemond, who stood there like an idiot of sorts, not even sparing him a glance. Should Aemond have to glance at Aegon’s face once more, he feared for what he would do to his brother. 

“Fine,” Aegon muttered. “Floris Baratheon, then. Do what you will, little brother. I suppose it is the only thing you can do to make Mother proud,” Aegon hesitated, before mumbling quietly. “Though, I doubt she’ll ever be proud of me.”

 He turned on his heel, stumbling slightly before allowing himself to fall back into Mother’s bed, his hand rubbing his forehead. He paused, glancing upwards at Aemond, and Aemond stood silently for a moment. There was a flicker of something — perhaps, regret — shining in his eye. “You might want to start learning how to live a little, Aemond,” he said, his voice was quieter now, but a rasp still itched at Aegon’s throat. “Before you start to look for things to tie you down.”

 The air felt a rope around him, slowly choking him and preventing him from mustering any noise. All Aemond could hear was his Mother’s soft breath beside him. Before saying anything, he turned to Mother, meeting her eyes.

 Mother’s lip tightened as she placed a hand on his arm, nibbling at her bottom lip. “Do not let him provoke you, Aemond. You are the one who will carry this House, you know this.” She hesitated, then spoke again, her voice so soft as if Aemond’s heart was that made of glass. “Not Aegon.”

 Aemond wanted to scream at her, to tell her that all this, that he, would never be enough. That it wasn’t about duty. It wasn’t about the Baratheons or their alliances or him. It was about a hunger that had clawed at him for years, a hunger for something—someone—he could never truly have.

 From her bed, Aegon chuckled, half of his face buried in a pillow. Aemond’s chest felt tight with hundred words unspoken. His gaze fell to the floor. Mother’s touch tightened for a bit, almost as if she was trying to reassure him before letting go. Her steps almost echoed, before she left, her presence all, but a phantom.

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?” 

 Aemond turned towards his brother, who had steadied himself. He ignored Aegon’s mockery of his Mother. Aegon could spend all his life trying to learn what Mother meant, but his hands would remain empty of any semblance of the duty he was meant to follow. 

Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? 

He hated those words, each letter nothing, but a reminder of the day where Aemond lost his eye. He'd made the mistake of belittling his nephews, calling them bastards during a fight. And then it was gone, his right eye was gone. And no one stood by his side, but his Mother, whose face had been so devastated that Aemond wanted to cry again — in the room where all eyes pried at her, waiting for her to make a mistake or to give up, she stood up and asked for justice. 

A mother’s rage was a dangerous one. 

 Footsteps approached once again, and Mother came before them. Misery of all these were etched in her beautiful features and yet, Aemond believed his Mother to be the most beautiful of women. A small — almost eager — smile coloured Mother’s face. 

“I forgot to tell you, but we are invited to dinner,” her eyes steer the room as if she were looking for something, but set her gaze on Aegon instead. “At the Vallici’s. They have been graceful enough to host the annual dinner this year. I expect both of you to be ready and on your best behaviour, especially you, Aegon.”

 Aegon looked sheepishly at Mother, and Aemond wholly believed his brother’s brain was still comprehending that they were to visit the Vallici Family. It was not something special to Aemond, afterall, it was expected of either the Targaryens or the Vallicis to host an extravagant, but private dinner before every season. It was simply a chance that the Vallicis were going to host it this year (it truly was expected though. Rhaenyra hosted last year's dinner, Uncle Daemon and Rhaella the year before and Mother the year before that).

“Of course, Mother.” Aegon nodded and Mother returned the nod with a smile — much to Aegon’s delight and Aemond’s dismay. The second Mother left, Aegon plopped himself on his arms, almost forgetting the entirety of what happened less then ten minutes again. Aemond could only ever wish to have his brother’s carefree nature. 

 The sight of his older brother, so carelessly sprawled on the bed, made Aemond feel something akin to disgust. He had squandered everything, his place in their family, his mother’s trust, even his own dignity. 

 Aemond’s gaze narrowed, his hand instinctively gripping the back of the chair again. It was so quiet now that Mother had left and Aegon allowed his delusions to fill his head. He wanted to speak, to tear into Aegon for his words, for his carelessness, but he knew it would be fruitless. Aegon never listened. Aegon never cared.

 Yet it seemed his brother could hear the very thoughts that consumed him. Aegon stood up, tired, but still he was moving — not towards him though, but rather a wine-filled vase. 

And Aemond watched.

 But Aegon did not drink. He simply looked at the chalice in his hand, twiddling it around and then, he looked up at Aemond. He opened his mouth to say something — Aemond could already tell it would be another attempt at provocation — but he stopped and lowered his head down. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Aegon mumbled, more to himself than to Aemond. “You know I didn’t.”

 Aemond nodded, though it was a slow, reluctant motion. Aegon was always the more pathetic of the brothers — the desperate one who needed everything in his hands yet he would not ask in fear of appearing weak. He did not trust his brother’s words, but surely it would be better to agree than to engage in another fruitless fight. Instead, he simply sighed, his shoulders sagging with the weight of it all.

“You never do,” he said, his voice quiet (almost soft), but laced with the bitterness he held often in his voice when speaking with Aegon. “But it’s fine, is it not? As Mother said, it is not you who will be forced to carry this House.”

 Aegon gave him a blank stare, then a hollow laugh. “Carry the House,” he repeated, his tone mocking. “You always say that. But who’s going to remember you when you’re gone, little brother? Who’ll care about your dutiful sacrifices? People will remember me, not you, the second son with his nose up in his duties, but the eldest son who marked a new point in his society. You always say you have responsibilities. Responsibilities or burdens? There’s a fine line, brother. Perhaps you should consider what you truly want.”

 The words landed heavier than they should have, cutting deeper than Aegon had intended. He wanted to shout at Aegon, to make him understand, but instead, he simply clenched his fists and turned away. Aegon was not the one to make some ‘point’ of his in this life, nor any other. If anything, his brother would forever be known as the rake he was, his life spent away drowned in wine and whores.

“You should go,” Aemond said, his voice steady. “The dinner is tonight. You’ll need to look presentable.”

Aegon’s eyes followed him, his lips twisting into a smirk. “I’m always presentable.”

“Do not drink as much as you did last time.” Aemond shot back at him, slowly walking past his brother, leaving him there, standing in their Mother’s chamber. 

“Only if you let me choose your next dance partner when Lady Danbury hosts the first ball of the season!” Aegon retorted, almost screamed as Aemond made his way to his chambers.

Aemond didn’t respond.

Aegon was, but a ghost he left alone and Aemond was nearing his own chambers. But his steps began to slow down, not ready for the preparations that awaited him.

He would go to this dinner, as expected. 

He would present himself, as expected. 

He would endure, as expected.

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[ashblooddragons]

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