#daemon x machine

[vriskaserketdaily]

today's vriska is: right in front of my salad

[raynydaystorytime]

There was a game on switch a while ago, Daemon X Machina. Basically it was a not amazing (but not horrible) mecha game along the lines of Armored Core it was all and all a very bland game with both performance and gameplay issues but one thing about that game stood out to me. It was that you could upgrade your pilot, but upgrades were in the form of cybernetic enchantments.

First couple of upgrades barely noticable, eye colour changes, a handful of seam lines on your face. Around the middle you replace your legs with robotic replacements, hands and arms become mechanized limbs. And depending on the upgrade you either got bulky industrial style parts, blade thin aeronatic frames, or a middle ground with synthetic muscle fibers to give the limb some semblance of humanity.

And then you replace your torso. Your character is now a head on a mechanized body. An organic cockpit piloting a metal body, not unlike the robot you yourself pilot. The last upgrade is a full head replacement. Assumedly the only thing remaining of your body is the brain that's now floating in your head part.

The story was ass but Daemon X Machina did one thing very well though this system. It asked the player "how far are you willing to go". Because the thing is that none of these upgrades were mandatory, there were benefits yes but none of them were absolutely vital to success. The whole system walked a very finely tuned line. What are you willing to give up for better performance? Your legs? Your arms? Your chest and heart? Everything? Or will you stay human and handicap yourself? It was fascinating to see where people drew the line. How far they were willing to disassemble the characters they had themselves created. some people gave up everything, others rejected everything. Sometimes upgrades were chosen not based on stats but based on the look of the enhancement.

---

I have lots of ideas but sadly never enough energy/expertise to realize them. Which just results in daydreaming so sometimes I daydream of a game.

In it the world is pushed to the brink of survival by monsters. And the player characters who are tasked with fighting against those monsters are given a choice.

They can augment themselves with monster parts, doing the same thing as Daemon X Machina. Your hands become talons, your legs become claws. You can jump higher, run faster. Wings and tails, horns and internal organs. Bulky augments let you wield larger weapons, tote a minigun or a rocket pod around easily. Lithe augments let you move quicker, run faster, jump higher. Push the limits until the only weapons you need are your own savage limbs. till you can spew hellish fire from your maw, till you can generate a million volts with your internal organs, till you can rip out monsters throats with your teeth and taste their cobalt blue blood dripping down your face, the same kind of blood that now runs though your veins.

Or you could not. Hunt down what monsters you can with what you have. Turn in parts to the research team. Use your enemies strengths not as implants but as technology. You kill a mantis monster and the research team hands you a sword forged from it's scythes, an invisible monster becomes a stealth field generator. You break your opponents down and turn them into weapons, armor, tools, all built for human hands to handle.

And then you watch people draw their lines. Who augments their body and who remains a steadfast human. And who tries to walk their own path somewhere down the middle. What augments do people pick? Do they choose function or appearance? Give players multiplayer, how do they react when faced with the choices of others? Maybe they split apart into humans and augmented, maybe the lines that they draw separate them from each other. Or maybe they find out that hunting monsters tends to go better when humans and augmented work together, the precision and versatility of humans synergizing with the raw versatility of augmented.

But that's just a daydream

[fandomnerd9602]

Returning to the House

Rhaenyra x Witcher!Reader

Request by @deafeningsharkslimeempath

The world didn’t need another member of the Hightower clan vying for the throne. You were Alicent’s older brother and your father had it in his own machinations for you to court, marry Rhaenyra and then take the throne from the Targaryens. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t. You were her friend, her confidant. So you left.

You took the steps, went thru the trials and process of becoming a Witcher. A hybrid witcher, all the strengths, very few weaknesses. You went thru out the greater Westeros, battling monsters and saving villages with the other witchers you called brothers in arms.

The townsfolk loved you. On a few occasions, you were paired up with the great Geralt of Rivia himself. He tried to get you to join him for a couple nights with a few women of the night but your heart was always bound to Rhaenyra.

No matter the distance, your heart yearned for the princess. Love. It was love that you felt for her. A love so deep and pure that it gave you the strength to power thru, to remain faithful to her when the grateful women of Westeros wished to thank you in private. You’d turn them down and keep moving. Your heart was only Rhaenyra’s.

You traveled up and down the coasts of Westeros for a couple years before you took a contract out on a being locals called the Crabfeeder. You knew it was just a man, an admiral but legend has a way of spreading faster than truth.

You found Prince Daemon engaged in a fierce sword battle with the Crabfeeder. You jumped into the fray and sliced the Crabfeeder’s throat, narrowly saving the prince’s life.

“As I live and breathe,” Daemon chuckled, “(Y/N) Hightower, is that you?”

“I haven’t been called that name in a long time” you answered back.

“Please accompany me back to the Iron Throne” he invited you, “the conquest is over and you just saved the prince’s life”

You traveled back to King’s Landing with Daemon. He tried to find various ways to thank you on the way there. Gold, riches, women, none of it appealed to you.

“We have the finest women in waiting in all of Westeros at our disposal and yet you say no?” He laughs, perhaps a little drunk

“There’s only one woman I love, your majesty” is all you answered back.

You walked into House Targaryen and were greeted by a sight that left you feeling nauseous. Your younger sister holding a little two year old boy. His hair was platinum white. Your mind was able to put two and two together as Daemon strolled up to Viserys his brother.

“Your majesty, this witcher saved my life.” He said brimming with pride. “I think you may recognize him.”

Viserys looked at you closely, his eyes brightened, “(Y/N)? Is that you?!”

“(Y/N),” Alicent gasped. She wasn’t sure whether to approach you or not.

“It appears much has changed in my absence.” You assert, “maybe not all for the best”

Otto, your father, walks and freezes, “(Y/N)? You’re home?”

“Perhaps I never should have left”

Daemon lets out a mocking breath, “awkward. My apologies”

And at that moment in walked the young woman who had your heart. Your best friend, Rhaenyra.

“Y/N” your name left her lips like a gentle whisper.

“Rhaenyra” you whispered back.

To Be Continued…

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

Innocent

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Targaryen reader

Part two

The Red Keep had always been a place of shifting alliances, whispered treachery, and fleeting pleasures. Daemon Targaryen knew its games well. He had mastered them, weaponized them. But nothing—not his ambitions, his victories, nor his conquests—had prepared him for her.

The first time he saw her grown, the flickering torchlight caught in her silver-blonde hair, the Targaryen hallmark. She was laughing, a soft, musical sound, surrounded by a circle of sycophants who fed off her charm like moths drawn to flame. His niece. His blood. A princess, untouched by the sharpness of the world, standing at the precipice of womanhood with a naivety that only added to her allure.

Daemon had seen beautiful women before. He had bedded them, discarded them. But this… this was different. She was untouched by the grime of ambition, unaware of the power her very existence commanded. She was innocence wrapped in the fire of their bloodline.

It began as curiosity. He watched her during feasts, the way her lips curled when she smiled, the way she would tilt her head, curious and attentive, as someone spoke. She carried herself with a grace that came so naturally it seemed almost otherworldly. And yet, for all her poise, there was an edge of naivety that made her a temptation impossible to resist.

But as the days turned into weeks after his return, curiosity gave way to obsession. He found himself drawn to her in ways that unsettled even him. He would linger in the shadows, his violet eyes tracking her movements like a dragon circling its prey. When she spoke to others—lords, knights, even the handmaidens—Daemon’s blood would boil, irrational jealousy searing through his veins.

She didn’t see it, of course. How could she? She was too… pure. Too unaccustomed to the darker edges of human desire. And that was part of her charm. She wasn’t calculating, not like the women who adorned the court, who whispered sweet lies in his ears while plotting his downfall. No, she was genuine. She would look at him with wide, curious eyes, unaware of the storm she was conjuring within him.

And gods help him, she led him on. Not purposefully, no. But she didn’t shy away from him as others did. She would smile at him, her cheeks flushing faintly when he paid her compliments. She would laugh, soft and breathless, when he teased her. She would linger, just a moment too long, when he pressed his hand to the small of her back, guiding her through the crowded halls of the Keep.

Daemon knew it was wrong. She was young, unspoiled, untouched by the machinations of the court. But the more she smiled, the more she lingered, the tighter his obsession coiled around his heart.

He began to insert himself into her life. Offering to escort her to the dragonpit, where he’d watch her marvel at the great beasts, her eyes wide with wonder. He’d bring her small gifts—silk ribbons in the color of her house, delicate jewelry that seemed to glow against her fair skin.

And she accepted them all, her lips curving into that soft, innocent smile that made him feel like the most powerful man in the world.

But then, she would turn that smile on others. And that was when Daemon’s possessiveness would rear its head. A courtly knight who dared to compliment her gown. A visiting lord who kissed her hand a moment too long. He’d watch, his fists clenched, the urge to destroy them barely contained.

She didn’t understand the way his gaze darkened when she laughed at another man’s jest. She didn’t notice the way his jaw tensed when another dared to touch her, however briefly.

But he noticed. He noticed everything.

She was his. She just didn’t know it yet.

And so, Daemon began to weave his web. He would find ways to isolate her, to pull her away from the sycophants and suitors who sought her attention. He would whisper in her ear, his voice low and intimate, planting seeds of doubt about those who sought to court her.

“They don’t understand you, sweet niece,” he would say, his lips brushing against her ear as they stood on a balcony overlooking the city. “They don’t see you for what you truly are. They only see the crown, the power you represent.”

And she would look up at him, her eyes wide and trusting, and he would feel his grip on her tighten.

Daemon was a dragon, and dragons did not share. She was his treasure, his fire, his light in the darkness of the Red Keep. And he would burn the world before he let another man take her from him.

In her innocence, she didn’t realize the danger she courted. The way her soft smiles and shy glances fed the fire of his obsession. She didn’t see the predator lurking beneath the surface, the dragon poised to strike.

But she would.

Oh, she would.

[flowerandblood]

Play with my heart (3/3)

[ modern actors • Aemond x Strong • female ]

[ warnings: unprotected & proctected sex, smut, angst, fluff, sexual tension, feeling of guilt, unprofessional behavior ]

[ description: He gets the main role in a series about a great family and dragons, which could change his career. He is set to play the uncle and love interest of his childhood friend. When he meets the actress who plays her role, he begins to lose track of what is an acting and what is his real feelings. Sexual tension, grumpy, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: Yeah. I talked about it and I did it. You don't even know how much fun I had doing this. Of course, my characters play in a series whose script is an exact copy of my story The Fall from the Heavens. In this universe, Aemond (playing the One-Eyed Prince) and Rhaenys (playing the Princess) are of course not related – the other characters are also just actors. This three-part series is my gift to all fans of the original series, thank you so much for your support. "Rhaenys" in this story is her artistic pseudonym which she use instead of her real name. You can read this as a standalone story.

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

They spent the next few days on set together with the other actors in a very pleasant atmosphere. He genuinely liked Daemon – he played the Princess's stepfather and had an incredible charisma that outshone everyone in every scene he appeared in.

He watched him intently from the sidelines, trying to remember his facial expressions and his reactions, wanting to use this later in his role.

To his satisfaction and relief, he could call his relationship with Rhaenys warm. She always smiled broadly at the sight of him and ran over to talk to him between scenes they weren't filming together, sometimes bringing him a sandwich or coffee from the vending machine.

"– you have to eat something – you can't survive on acting alone –" She said regretfully, and he shrugged his shoulders, biting into a sandwich with lettuce, tomato, cheese, pickles and sauce.

He had already forgotten about his eye patch and wasn't taking it off, not wanting to step out of character.

The day was fast approaching when they were to shoot the scene in which the Prince and his niece escape from the library together and spend their first night with each other.

It wasn't his first sex scene, but he had never played it with someone he cared about in any way, and her inexperience worried him.

As it turned out, he wasn't wrong, and the evening before shooting day she knocked on his door. When he let her in he could see that she was distressed and terrified, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

He let her in without a word.

"– I've never – you know – acted a scene like this and – more and more I feel that in front of such a large group of people I just won't be able to relax and get into character –" She muttered, standing in front of him but not looking at him, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was ashamed.

She was asking him for advice and help.

He nodded at her words.

"– it's natural – it's a very intimate scene – you have a right to feel insecure – me and the sexual psychologists are on set to help you –" He explained, putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking away, feeling hot at the thought of what they were about to do.

Of course he knew they weren't going to have sex for real, however, they were going to be very close and he knew he was going to be touching her naked body.

She had a right to feel uncomfortable about this especially as he was more experienced than her, clearly not just as an actor.

She nodded and smiled at him, as if his words actually comforted her.

"– I – would you mind if we did a rehearsal? – I mean – if I go through it with you without cameras, hear your advice then maybe – maybe tomorrow it will be easier for me, I'll know exactly what I want to do –" She choked out in embarrassment, looking at him as if she was asking him if she was demanding too much of him.

He stared at her for a moment with his mouth open thinking he shouldn't be doing this, if only because his erection had swollen in his sweatpants at her request.

The fact that his cock wanted it meant that his mouth should refuse, but on the other hand he didn't want her to feel abandoned with something that obviously scared her.

He figured he needed to get a grip, think about her and her comfort.

He nodded and she breathed out loud, shifting from foot to foot, scared and excited at the same time.

"– so – where should we start? –" She asked quickly, and he involuntarily licked his lips, looking at her bare legs.

He wondered if she had panties under the material of her long, cream-coloured hoodie and cursed in the back of his head.

"– from the touch of a hand – a kiss – that opens the door to further emotions –" He replied in a hoarse voice, horrified that she had approached him, that she had taken his hand in hers, looking at him with her big, bright eyes.

God.

It wasn't good.

He kissed her more passionately than he had planned – his lips swollen involuntarily pressed against hers and brushed her skin with a loud click, from which she sighed, her soft, warm cheeks locked between the fingers of his hand.

He sighed quietly when it became apparent that his directness did not deter her – she followed his lead, her hands enclosed his cheeks in a tender embrace, from which he involuntarily put his arm around her waist. Her body slammed against his, and her belly felt what was happening in his trousers.

He felt her tremble and moan quietly in his embrace, surprised and ashamed, parting her lips invitingly, allowing him to tentatively slip his moist tongue between them.

They sighed against their throats, pressing against each other, his hips beginning to rub against her while his kisses became more ferocious, aggressive, messy, full of their saliva, teeth and tongues.

He heard her sound of surprise as his hands slid down to her buttocks and clamped down on them, slipping under the material of her shorts. When she threw her hands over his shoulders he simply lifted her, grabbing her hips and turned, throwing himself on the bed with her.

"– too much wine, uncle? –" She asked with amusement, following the script, letting their lips melt again and again in soft, deep, warm kisses, sticky with their saliva and tongues. He grinned under his breath at his words, running his swollen erection between her thighs.

"– you'll see in a moment –" He gasped into her throat, her arms hugging him close pressing his body closer, her legs intertwined on his back making him feel like his cock was about to explode with desire.

"– and now what? –" She mumbled excitedly, clearly wondering how actors performed these kinds of scenes without having sex.

The problem was, that he felt like it.

He rested the weight of his body on his hands, placing them on either side of her head, looking at her for a moment – her glossy, puffy lips were parted in an accelerated breath, her eyes shining, warm, bright, her gaze misty.

God, how badly he wanted to fuck her.

"– in the scene the Prince exposes her breasts – can I do it? –" He asked in a trembling voice and she nodded, the expression on her face full of trust and confidence from which he felt a tightening in his stomach.

As he grabbed the material of her hoodie she raised her hands above her head to make his task easier. He pulled it off her reverently, feeling his breath get stuck in his throat at the sight of her lovely, plump breasts and her little nipples.

"– so pretty –" He whispered, leaning over her body, placing a gentle kiss on her sternum, from which her whole body trembled.

"– so, so good –" He murmured, not knowing fully himself what he was actually doing, convincing himself that he was trying to reassure her, to give her a sense of security.

Her hands stroked his short hair slowly and tenderly as his lips, with loud clicks of his saliva, lazily found their way up her neck and to her jaw, her soft, warm cheek, and finally her mouth, whose wetness he welcomed with relief.

He heard her moan quietly, surprised, clasping her hands over his neck and the material of his shirt as his hips began to roll back and forth, rubbing against the space between her thighs, mimicking the movements he would make if he were deep inside her.

"– ah –" She sighed, tilting her head back, his hot, swollen lips trailing over her fragrant neck while his hands blindly found her smooth breasts, caressing them and kneading them tentatively between his fingers.

Despite the fact that they should be speaking their lines, only silent moans of shame and panting came from their mouths. He knew, feeling her hips come up to meet his, that what they were doing was slowly turning into something else entirely, but neither of them dared to admit it.

Her body, the touch of her hands, her embrace, her scent, it was all so pleasant, warm, familiar, sincere, desired.

"– fuck –" He muttered, involuntarily speeding up the rocking motions of his hips and groaned a tad too loudly, betraying that he was long past his role, that what she felt under the material of his sweatpants was embarrassingly real.

It seemed to him that she didn't know what to make of this fact, hugging him close, trying to understand what she herself felt, why she was allowing this to happen, what was actually going on between them.

"– it feels good –" She mumbled into his ear, making his hard erection push against her stomach. She gasped, surprised, clenching her fingers on the material of his shirt as she felt his slick, moist tongue run over her neck, his hand sliding down to her warm thigh.

"– too good –" He confessed, embarrassed that his hand had slid lower between her legs, his fingertips teasing the material of her soaked panties and what was beneath them.

She squealed and tilted her head back, at the same time wanting to push him away and hold him close, feeling his fingers wander around her hot, pulsing womanhood, squeezing it gently.

"– ah – ah, oh God –" She whimpered, involuntarily spreading her thighs wider, wordlessly giving him permission to do what they both knew they shouldn't have done.

They both groaned embarrassedly loudly when, with an impatient flick of his hand, he pushed the material of her panties aside, sinking his fingers into her warm, silky folds, all sticky from her wetness.

"– just like that – that's what you should feel – tension –" He whispered in a trembling voice, kissing her hot, soft cheek loudly and lingeringly, digging his fingertips into her sensitive, tender skin, teasing and rubbing the space around her little bud, making her whole body tremble under him in convulsions.

"– Aemond – a-ah – mghmmm –" She mumbled out as she felt his fingers invade her swollen slit, throbbing with desire, all leaking from his treatments. He closed her mouth with his own as he slowy and gently slid his middle finger into her quivering, fleshy, hot interior, her walls sucking and clenching around him, tight and swollen.

He moaned low as her hands slid down to the fabric of his trousers, undoing his button and zipper. Knowing what she wanted to do he finished the job for her, watching with his mouth wide open as she herself slid her shorts and panties down her thighs, panting loudly along with him.

They clung to each other again immediately, their kisses lustful, shameless, loud, intimate – his hands slid down between her thighs, his fingers spread the folds of her little cunt open to the sides, letting the fat head of his cock find her throbbing, weeping slit.

She threw her head back as the thick, smooth tip of his erection burst inside her with her loud moan of pleasure, the next helpless thrust of his hips into her throbbing, tight interior made him know there was no turning back.

"– I'm sorry – I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry –" He breathed out, pounding deeper and faster into her with each word, imposing an aggressive, rough pace on her, her body, however, welcomed him with ease – he leaned forward, listening as her slick pussy was filled with his swollen erection with each successive shameless slap of their bodies against each other, their breaths heavy, their moans helpless, too loud, too animal, too desperate.

"– m-me to – fuck – fuck, God, oh fuck –" She mumbled and pleaded at the same time, tightening her fingers on his buttocks, directing him back deep inside her again and again.

Her tight, warm walls gave him a wonderful squeeze again each time he slammed into her, his body pressed hers against the bed which began to creak loudly beneath them, their bodies bumping against each other like mad with loud clicks of their wetness creating one big, wet, sticky mess between their thighs.

"– fuck – so fucking good – God, yes –" He breathed out, chasing his own fulfilment, as was she, not thinking about what they were actually doing or why, focused only on the fact that it felt wonderful, that it felt safe and that he wanted to come inside her, inside her, just inside her, as deep as possible.

"– m gonna cum –" She muttered helplessly, as if she was about to burst out crying with pleasure, and then she wept loudly, coming hard on his cock, her warm, fleshy walls beginning to squeeze and suck him inside.

He felt his mind stop functioning, the tension and tingling in his lower abdomen, testicles and length was approaching its zenith, and he wanted only one thing – to come inside her.

"– do you – God, oh, fuck, fuck, FUCK –" He cursed, before he asked the question feeling his warm seed fill her insides, bringing his body a relief from which he groaned low, his mouth wide open by how a strong wave of pleasure shook his body.

They looked at each other with eyebrows arched in pain, her gaze warm and tender, her hands running down his sweaty back and cheeks.

"– i-its – it's okay – I'll make sure I don't find myself pregnant –" She mumbled, something in her words and in her gaze made him want to cry.

How could he have been so irresponsible?

"– I'm sorry – I'm so sorry –" He mumbled out, feeling with embarrassment that warm tears one by one began to run down his cheeks onto her face.

Not a second passed and they both burst into sobs and hugged each other like little children, lying like that, exposed and vulnerable, bare before each other.

"– was it – was it real? –" She muttered in a breaking voice, and he nodded, choking on his own tears.

"– yes –"

He personally drove her to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy so she could buy a ‘morning-after’ pill. He insisted she let him pay, but she said there was no need. She returned a while later with a packet and a bottle of water, getting into his car.

All around them only night and silence.

"Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to. It's my fault." He muttered, but she shook her head.

"– yes – I mean – I asked for a pill that will prevent conception if it hasn't happened yet – there's a good chance it will be enough –" She muttered, reading the leaflet quickly, and he nodded, feeling ashamed, sad and disappointed in himself.

"– I'm sorry –" He muttered, repeating it for the hundredth time that evening.

"– it's okay –" She replied, popping a tablet into her mouth and sipping it with water. She took a heavy breath, as if relieved and sad at the same time, then nodded.

"– let's go –"

By the time they got back to the hotel, it was almost midnight. He escorted her to her room, not knowing what to say, how to act.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

She looked at him, surprised, and swallowed hard.

"That's okay. Don't feel guilty. I have my own reason too." She replied, looking down at her fingers in embarrassment.

"I want to stay with you. If you want me to." He replied in a trembling voice, looking down at the floor, feeling ashamed of how small he felt now.

A great actor who can't even put a condom on his cock before putting it inside good girl who came to him for help and advice.

She nodded and went inside, and he came in after her, bitter and broken. They lay down side by side on her bed facing each other. For a moment they just looked at each other, and then he leaned in – she opened her mouth thinking he wanted to kiss her, frightened, but he only pressed his forehead against hers, his hand stroking her soft, warm cheek.

"– try to sleep – hm? – I'll stroke your head –" He whispered. Her eyes glazed over with tears for some reason, her small body clung to him, seeking refuge in his chest.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, stroking her back and hair, again and again placing a moist, tender kiss on the top of her head.

It felt so right.

They fell asleep like this, entwined in a tender, warm, safe embrace, and he thought, listening to her calm breath, that never before in his life had he felt such a need to protect someone.

Despite what he had promised himself, each of their meetings in her room, the pretext for which was to rehearse the script together, ended with their naked hips slapping against each other greedily with their loud moans of pleasure.

Their hands tightened on their bodies in a way that was not overbearing, aggressive, but tender, gentle, wanting nothing more than to become one.

He was ashamed that even though they pretended to meet as friends, he made sure he had a condom or two in the back pocket of his trousers every time before he was to come to her.

He didn't want her to go through again what she had when they first had sex.

On the one hand, the thought that she might have believed that he wanted to take advantage of her terrified him, so he assured her, kissing affectionately her exertion-soaked, sweaty cheeks, that he needed it as much as she did.

Never before in his life had he felt something like this, such an overwhelming need to be close to someone.

Afterwards, he always stayed through the night with her – even if he wanted to, he couldn't deny himself the warm embrace of her arms and fell asleep with his face cuddled between her naked, soft breasts.

It was real.

The director was delighted with the tension and electricity they were able to generate between each other on set without knowing that it had long since ceased to stem from their acting.

They teased and joked with each other between scenes, adding improvised, biting or ambiguous remarks to the script that they thought suited the era, and then, when it was all over, they sank into each other's bodies until they were one sticky, panting, throbbing mess.

His grandfather was proud of him and said that already several other productions were interested in casting him in the role.

"Seeing how you've handled the bed scenes, this will go easily for you." He said over breakfast, which they ate together. He felt a sense of discomfort at the thought.

"I want to limit myself to productions where I don't play intimate scenes. It costs me too much." He lied, not knowing how to explain that what was happening in front of the cameras was not because of his acting skills, but because his cock simply stood at attention when her tongue licked his on set.

His grandfather laughed under his breath.

"Don't be silly. You have to grab the opportunity. You're on a wave of recognition right now, everyone is waiting with bated breath for this show. If you are successful, the world will open up to you." He said, taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

"Some great artists have never played any intimate scene. I'm not a porn actor." He said coldly, grabbing for his phone, hearing it start to vibrate and saw that he had received a text message from her asking if they were going to watch The Lion King tonight.

He smiled involuntarily at the thought.

"Are you listening to me? You think you're shagging that little girl and you've fallen in love? Romance on set happens, but you're being dramatic." Said Otto, and he looked at him, shocked to feel his heart leap into his throat.

"Don't speak about her like this. Never." He growled warningly, looking him straight in the eye. His grandfather was silent for a moment.

"That won't do. She lives far away, once the shooting is over the thing between you will be over too. Don't be naive."

"It's a three-hour drive from our town by car."

"What?"

"She lives three hours away from our town by car."

His grandfather looked at him in disbelief.

"You are making this naive girl hopeful. Don't waste her life and your career in the process. Don't turn down good offers."

He pressed his lips together at his words, looking at him indifferently.

"I will decide what proposals I consider good."

They had spent the last few days between shoots, during the day and at night in bed, and their disappearance together had sparked gossip and curiosity.

It was, however, the last thing he thought of when he could finally clamp his hands on her naked buttocks and slide her panties off her, a smile on her lips knowing that he certainly wasn't even bothering to take off the summer dress she had changed into.

"– the scene in Harrenhal – I almost fucked you there for real, you know? –" He gasped, kneeling on the bed in front of her, looking down at her with lips swollen with desire as his long fingers quickly took care of his trouser button and zipper.

"– come here –" He murmured, grabbing her by the hip and pushing her closer to him, her legs spread out in front of him in some natural gesture of trust and acceptance as he placed the condom over his painfully hard erection.

"– 'm sorry –" She mumbled out, thinking for some reason that she should be remorseful that he couldn't feel her completely, just like the first time.

"– stop – when this is over, we'll think about you taking pills – hm? –" He asked encouragingly, leaning over her, the weight of his body resting on his elbow as his free hand guided the head of his cock against her leaking, throbbing hot slit.

Her eyes got big at his words, as if she didn't believe he could want there to be anything after and she nodded quickly, making him feel that familiar heat spreading through his chest.

He leaned over and kissed her in a way he'd never kissed any woman before – their soft, warm lips were one loud, sticky, wet mess, their hands clenched on their bodies, holding them close together as he opened her wide on his long erection with one lazy thrust.

"– oh –" They both sighed, looking at each other with misty eyes, their mouths wide open as he began to pound into her quicker and deeper with loud, wet slaps of skin against skin.

"– A-Aemond – oh God –" She mewled, throwing her head back in pleasure, his hands blindly finding her breasts, sliding from the sides under the material of her dress, clamping down on their plump, firm structure.

"– you didn't touch yourself, did you? – am I right? – my sweet baby girl –" He hummed with a hint of sweet threat in his question, sliding his swollen lips down her cheek to her neck and jaw, leaving a warm, wet trail on her skin.

"– I – mghmm – n-no –" She mumbled out, stroking his hair and buttocks, her legs crossed over his back as his erection no longer slipped out of her, thrusting into her greedily, bringing him closer and closer to his peak, his mind and body hot with desire.

"– good girl – fuck – m close –" He gasped weakly, feeling a wave of pleasure approaching and a tightening in his testicles. His lover reached out eagerly to meet him with her hips, slapping against, his skin, crying and babbling about how much she good it felt, him deep, deep, inside her.

Their bodies intertwined in a close embrace as he pressed her tighter to the bed, imposing a brutal, fierce pace on her exactly as in the scene they were about to act out. Her scent, her moans, the warmth of her body and her fleshy walls, squeezing and sucking him inside, made him come in a condom with a low groan of relief.

He lay on top of her, panting heavily while his hand from between her breasts slid between their bodies, down to her thighs – his fingers gave her puffy bud a few encouraging, teasing squeezes before her little cunt began to pulse around his half-hard manhood in euphoria and her body was shaken by a sweet, hot orgasm from which she drifted off completely.

They lay like that for a long moment with their eyes closed, cuddled into each other, listening to the indistinct sound of conversation outside the window a few floors below, where the restaurant was located.

"– Aemond? –" He heard her quiet whisper, her hand stroking his head gently. He lifted his misty gaze to her, dreaming now only of a nap in her embrace.

"– hm? –"

"– what will happen after the shooting? –" She asked quietly, and he smiled lazily, for some reason calm and happy.

"– we will stop pretending to be actors –"

[emilykaldwen]

High in the Halls

Ship: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (OC) Written for the @hotd-bigbang

Rating: Mature

Summary: Aegon Targaryen, the last true Valyrian Warlord, rattles at the machinations of his mother who tries to play Andal politics when he wants nothing more than to be left alone. A chance meeting of a maiden in distress in the Riverlands changes everything.

AKA the Old Valyria AU!

Notes: This is chapter one! Of what will probably be two chapters? I just didn't have the time to finish this, I'm so sorry.

Art by: @the-common-cowgirl / Beta: @vampire-exgirlfriend

Read on AO3

Author's Note: It's the old Valyria AU I've been hinting at for ages! It was a rough summer y'all, and this thing got finished while I was dying from Bronchitis (but before I got Covid) so I wasn't able to finish it. But this is absolutely a universe I want to have fun in and play with from time to time. I hope you enjoy it with me!

Sunfyre’s scream pierced the air, sending seagulls frantically fleeing from the battlements of Dragonstone, crying out as they took to the sky in an explosion of gray and white. The deep pink frills along the back of the dragon’s neck stood high, his head rearing back, snout vivid and wet with the blood of the sea beast he had dragged ashore for him and little Dreamfyre to feast on. His little sister’s dragon was twice the size of a horse, and the dead beast was at least two of her. The pair of them crouched around the great beast on the black sand beach, the waves crashing and little flits of multi-colored light caught in the air every time they broke against the rock of the harsh inlet.

Syrax hissed in response, her head rearing back in offense at being denied, but she eventually turned away, for Sunfyre was twice her size, and the smaller dragon was no match.

Aegon’s half-sister, on the other hand…

“Where is father?”

Aegon tilted his head, looking over his shoulder to where Rhaenyra, stood in the archway that led down to the stables. Her long, silver hair was tied back in a thick braid that fell to her waist, woven with charms that tinkled when she turned her head. The harshness of the style made her look more like Lord Viserys than her own mother, Lady Aemma, whose features were soft like his own mother.

He stayed silent, dragging his thumbnail along the near imperceptible groove of the stonework he leaned against. Did she think he was a servant? Did she think they were as close as their sire liked to pretend they were?

She arched her brows when he didn’t answer, her black boot tapping on the black stone. Before Aegon could open his mouth, there was movement behind Rhaenyra, heavily accented Valyrian answering for him.

“Helaena had another dream last night.” Lady Alicent met Rhaenyra’s eyes as she approached, silent maidens swathed in red following her. She was father’s second wife, taken in marriage when Lady Aemma could bear no more children. Even after all these years, she wore her long green gowns in the style of the continent: square necked and deep sleeved, a heavy, gold chain looped about her waist, her auburn curls held back a net of onyx and emeralds. Next to Rhaenyra in her dark gray riding leathers chased with crimson, Aegon thought his mother looked like a queen.

Rhaenyra ran her tongue over her teeth behind her lips, nodding curtly, and spun away with a swing of her long hair and vanished into the stronghold, vengeful and beautiful in the low light. Helaena’s dreams had changed fate for their family and Aegon did not know if it were better or worse. Some days, in the black of night, he wished he had gone down with the rest of their people in ash and flame. Others, he relished the freedom from politics that had plagued his earliest years. The fearful whispers of assassins, the way Uncle Daemon raged that they did not need to taint their blood to gain the Hightower gold—these things haunted him.

Mother pursed her lips, watching Lady Rhaenyra leave before her large, dark eyes met his.

“You cannot hide from me forever,” she told him in the common tongue. Aegon scoffed and looked back out at the rocky outcropping below where Sunfyre and Dreamfyre continued to devour the salt beast. He didn’t move as she approached, startling only a little when her hand combed through his shoulder length curls. “We must talk about this.”

“Must we?” he snipped, refusing to look at his mother. He kicked the toe of his boot against the stone and resisted crossing his arms to rest his head against them like a petulant child. Aegon was, in fact, acting a little like a petulant child, but he’d grown exhausted of the conversation that had circled for the past three years. “Go speak with Aemond about it. He’ll be more than glad to cross blades with Daemon and Rhaenyra- ow!”

His mother pinched and pulled at his ear to pull his face towards her and Aegon jerked from her grasp instinctively. Alicent Hightower’s lovely features were severe, delicate brows furrowed, pouty mouth pressed into a firm line.

“You are Viserys’ eldest son.”

“And Valyrian law dictates that Daemon inherits as his dragon is older-”

“Valyria is gone,” Alicent spat, her voice grating like the screech of kitlings or claws against stone. “If by chance you’d forgotten in your cups of strongwine, foolish boy. Valyria is gone, to fire and ash these past three years. Their laws of inheritance do not matter. The custom here, Aegon, is that of the eldest son. Sons before sisters, and all before uncles.”

“Then disown me,” Aegon snapped, pulling from his mother’s grasp before she could claw at him further. “Aemond will become your eldest and he shall eagerly fight with Helaena at his side. She could present it as a vision: Aemond inheriting Dragonstone with their children to carry his legacy on.” He clapped his hands together, smiling, although the gesture held no true joy. His smiles rarely did.

Aemond would relish at the opportunity to prove himself, to be more than what his position allowed him. Ever since their first son, Maelor, had been born, his younger brother had strutted about, speaking of his virility, dangling his son, and then soon after, their daughter, Daenys, in front of their father who so loved his grandchildren. Filling the hole that Rhaenyra left when her new family moved out of the fortress to the island of Driftmark, Viserys had indulged his grandchildren and Helaena was expecting her third soon.

The space between them grew as his mother drew back, her mouth pinched so tight that her lips had gone pale. Aegon loathed the way her gaze scraped at his insides and he resisted wrapping his arms around himself protectively, instead focusing on maintaining his languid, distant posture. To show weakness within the obsidian halls of Dragonstone was to be a death sentence. His mother was not of Old Valyria, but of these strange shores that he was more familiar with than the Freehold. She chafed at the ‘strange customs’, sick at the prospect of her children intermarrying with one another to keep their Valyrian blood pure. She misliked his lack of ambition, or how he preferred to spend his time in the brothel in the little fishing village while Lord Viserys lamented not being able to introduce him to the Ruby Palace and the most divine pleasure slaves the Freehold could have offered.

Lady Aemma misliked his father speaking so, although she was better at hiding her frustrations with her tender, tired smiles. His mother also did not care for the time Aegon spent in Lady Aemma’s solar, where they indulged in honey cakes together and she expected nothing from him, letting him lay his head in her lap while she combed her fingers through his hair when his mother’s anxieties turned her vicious.

If his own mother despised so much of him, then why was she so insistent to have him named heir?

“Aegon.”

He could not bear the anguish in his mother’s voice or on her soft features; the way it coalesced with the frustration like how the blood from the carcass on the beach turned the foaming ocean surf as pink as Sunfyre’s wings. Her shoulders that had bowed in on herself straightened, her breathing evening, and her delicate hands smoothed along the richness of her gown. “We will not indulge in such foolish things,” she said with an abrupt shake of her head. “You will be married at the end of the season.”

It felt like she’d punched him in the throat, the air rushing from him like a wheezing carcass. “I have no sisters to marry,” he rasped out, the blood rushing in his ears. Sunfyre’s call from below was a questioning one, and he saw his dragon lift his bloody face to peer up at him.

“One of the River Kings has need of a son in law,” she explained. “He is well known to our family, with only a daughter and the other river kings are circling. In exchange for you to protect his holding and claim his title upon his death, he will ensure that his armies are yours when the time comes.” She sniffed, twisting the ring on her right hand. “Which will be sooner, I think, than we all expect.”

Well known to their family? The Hightowers. The power that family held was ancient and worthy enough of Valyria, their origins a tightly guarded secret, but his father had said the Hightower blood was a special thing, and how lucky he’d been to snap up the daughter of so much power.

Aegon felt strangled and overheated, a pain coursing through his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “Does he know?” There was something guttural and full of warning running through Aegon’s words, and it vibrated through him. For a moment, he thought he tasted salt and metal, satiating and repugnant along his tongue, and he spat on the ground to rid himself of the taste of his dragon’s kill.

She sniffed again. “He has allowed me freedom to do with my other two children as I please, and Daeron is eager to become a Maester and not claim a dragon for himself. He will serve you well when his education is completed.”

Something cool and wet slapped against Aegon’s cheek and he blinked, tilting his head up as a fine rain began to fall. His mother hurried back inside, arms wrapped around herself, but Aegon ignored her insistent call to follow him. He stood there letting the rain hit his too hot, too tight skin, wondering if it would sizzle the way it sizzled against the dragons. A fine hiss of steam had surrounded Sunfyre as he continued to eat, Dreamfyre tucked beneath his wing, protecting her in the ways that Aegon was unable to protect Helaena himself.

Of course Daeron didn’t want a dragon. He knew nothing else but what he learned of on the ground.

“You’d barter me to some little king for the power of my dragon!” Aegon shouted, his voice heavy with rage, an anger that he’d rarely let loose coming to the forefront like the storm surge. The heat in his throat was a dragon’s flame - he’d spit fire if he could.

Rage was Aemond’s domain, was Rhaenyra’s, was Daemon’s. But Aegon was just as fearsome when he chose to be.

“Aegon-”

“You had no right!” His hands ached for something to throw, to bend and break and shoving over the brazier on his way inside would have to suffice. The coals hissed and bounced along the stone, the metal clanging loudly along the ground. Mother jerked away at the sound like something skittish, a doe perhaps, or a mourning dove, dark eyes wide at the display. Perhaps she did have reasons to mislike him. “You had no fucking right. Daeron, you can barter around, but I, in case you’ve forgotten, am a Warlord. My mount is not some overgrown horse, but fire incarnate, and should I ever so choose, I could turn your precious Oldtown to ash, and the rest of this land if the whim took me.” His nostrils flared as he breathed, wishing he could snag his mother and shake her until sense rattled in her head once more.

But she misliked him enough that he didn’t, the notion settling like a stone in his gut as he skirted her and followed the ghost of his elder sister. Mother shouted his name, but he ignored her, striding down the dim corridors that snaked through the fortress. Torchlight illuminated the slick walls and made the obsidian shine like some living, slimy thing.

Trilling, melodious and haunting, echoed down the corridor, but Aegon could hear the shifting in Sunfyre’s tone. ‘Bite? Attack?’ the sound seemed to question. The Dragonkeepers along the dock gripped their pikes, shouting for Sunfyre to settle, to calm, but the golden dragon would have none of it. He called, concerned, and it grated and echoed along the cave that housed the stable, boiling saliva and blood dripping from his maw and onto the black stone. Another cry shook dust from stone as Sunfyre made as if he were to scramble his bulk up onto the dock. The Dragonkeepers shouted once more, Keeper Arrax looking at him imploringly.

Aegon met his gaze briefly before approaching, tugging his riding gloves on from his pockets. “Lykir��!” he called up to him, but there was little command in the words. Sunfyre rumbled low in his throat, eyes flicking above Aegon and past him for whomever had caused such upset within his rider. It was only as Aegon lifted a hand to his bloody maw to scratch gently along his nostril, did Sunfyre relax, albeit with extreme annoyance at not having anything to attack.

The dragon snorted and settled, lowering himself enough that Aegon could make his way up the curve of his wing to the saddle. There were no words exchanged. None were needed. Him and Sunfyre were as one; the envy of the last Dragonlords.

The further west Aegon flew, the lighter the clouds became. There was something deeper within that, he was sure, and he could only imagine what poetic waxings his father would engage in had Aegon asked. Aemond would huff and let out the most annoyed of sighs and simply say, ‘Clouds move, you nitwit,’ and whatever obscure and esoteric insults from the books in their father’s library.

The breaking of the clouds revealed the lush green of what his mother’s people called the Riverlands. He’d flown over Crackclaw point and up the river that flowed into the Bay of Crabs, the great mountains of the Vale majestic and snow capped in the distance. The rolling green hills and dense forests were cut through with snaking slashes of blue and marked with weirwoods like drops of blood unfolded beneath him, a tapestry of a world he did not understand. His memories of the Freehold were fuzzy. The villa they’d lived in had been large, and he remembered the palanquin draped in the blacks and reds of their house as he made his way to the Dragonmont to claim Sunfyre. And then Helaena’s dreams had entranced their father and here they came.

Dragonstone was more home than Valyria had ever been, but even so, the obsidian fortress in the shadow of the mountain felt like a cage.

Out here above the Riverlands, Aegon breathed in the crisp air, the scent of the storm they’d passed through untainted by the smell of sulfur and salt that permeated the air of his home. These creatures of mud and root were meant to be subjugated. They were unworthy of the gift of flight, Aegon’s blood was a pure, magical thing, not something to be bartered to such a thing.

But his mother was of these people, and he loved his mother. Her blood flowed through him. She was just as fierce as his sister even if she lacked wings. His Uncle Daemon sneered and called him and his siblings half-breeds, shocked that they were able to claim dragons as they did.

Aegon shook his head, damp hair stuck across his forehead, and urged Sunfyre lower to better make out the land before him. Here, he could see the frightened sheep moving in a great herd as the shadow of the winged predator loomed over them. Sunfyre rumbled his desire and he tugged on the reins.

“You’ve had your fill,” he reminded the dragon, and the beast grumbled his annoyance. They swooped lower now, so Aegon could make out the details of the sheep and their startled herders, and hear the distant barking of the herding dogs that accompanied them. Aegon turned south, crossing over the Trident and soon they came upon Castle Derry nestled in the hills. His brow furrowed and he circled about it curiously. Was this where his bride resided? On the shores of the Ruby Ford?

Aegon flew further out still, towards the lush wood, settling his dragon down by a grove of bone white weirwoods, their crimson stained faces bearing witness to his sulking and self-pity. The forest floor was damp and gave beneath his boots as he approached the heart tree. The smell of petrichor clung in the air from the storms that had passed through; the scent of rich earth, of the pine scent of the evergreen trees that hugged the red grove a physical thing.

It was only the red sap that gave the look of bloody tears against the bark. That’s what the maester had said. Helaena, who received dreams from the gods, said they were the tears of those their visions could not help. Even though theirs were Valyrian gods - the fourteen flames that dragons like Syrax and Caraxes and even little Vhagar bore like badges of honor. Aegon had never felt close to the gods of his people, for they were angry beings that threw the Freehold into a melted, smoking husk and destroyed everything that they’d come from. The places in his hazy, childhood memory, the people who had visited, who had bustled in the forum below, were all gone, as were the multitude of dragons that had filled the sky from the other families, not to mention so many along the empire, and the many who had been unclaimed, roosting in the fissures of the volcanos.

Sunfyre rumbled behind him and Aegon waved a hand. “Go on,” he told him, Valyrian words feeling strange to speak in front of the tree. Sunfyre gave him a long look, as if assessing Aegon’s intent before his legs bunched up and he took off with a gust that nearly pushed Aegon from his feet. He ran his fingers through his hair before resting his hand on the pommel of his sword and looking around. Mayhaps he’d go for a swim. Climb a weirwood and fall asleep in the boughs. He could pilfer some clothes and dye his hair and vanish into the mists of the Riverlands, become something new and unseen. He could -

The scream that ripped through the forest was full of terror and anger, the words distant and shrill, but he could just make out the ‘NO!’ through the cacophony. Alarm took over and Aegon’s head whipped around trying to figure out what direction it came from. Another scream for help and he shifted direction, darting through the weirwood grove and bursting into the firs and evergreens of the rest of the forest.

‘Don’t stop screaming,’ he thought to himself, blood pumping in excitement for a fight. A dragonlord’s first weapon was fire and wing. His second was the blade, and Blackfyre hung reassuringly at his side - the gift his father had bestowed upon him on his twenty-second nameday. Next to fucking and drinking, he relished most the clang and scrape of metal against metal.Aemond could roll his eyes at his lack of finesse, but Aegon loved a good fight; blade, teeth, a punch to the face, all were ideal.

He slowed on approach, darting behind the thick trunk of a red oak large enough to seat his whole family for a meal. There were four men just past the trees by the stream, their horses lingering, pawing at the ground, perhaps from Sunfyre’s presence earlier. Three of them wore simple brown tunics and leggings, tabards of black and yellow with a sigil of eerie yellow eyes peering back at him. Aegon knew little of the houses of the area to know which this was. From the finer cut of cloth the fourth man wore, he was their liege. Tall, with dark blonde hair and broad shoulders, the leader of the group was clad in a tunic of black, his tabard half black, half yellow, edged with golden cording.

“Hush now, you’re safe,” he crooned to the hissing, spitting maiden clutched in his arms. She was a slight thing, her kirtle a deep, forest green, the skirt split over a pair of leggings, elegant embroidery visible across her gown. Aegon’s eyes darted around, looking for her horse, but none was to be found. A noble lady from the looks of it, but the oddity of her being alone in the forest was not his priority.

“Let me go!” she snarled, eyes wide and frightened, and she reached up to claw at the man’s face. Her little hand struck true, raking across his handsome features, and he yelled, striking her hard against the face in retaliation and sending her to the ground.

Sunfyre growled low in Aegon’s chest and before the man could reach for her again, he made himself known, unsheathing the Valyrian broadsword idly, clucking his tongue against his teeth.

“Is this how you Westerosi whelps treat your ladies?” he asked, brow furrowed in feigned confusion as his lilac gaze darted from man to man. “I confess, I’ve only been here for a little time, but from what I’ve been taught, there are laws among your people that frown on such things.” A lie of course; he could care less what laws Westeros had, but the woman was distressed, and he was doubtful any of these men owned her. Why he cared about her distress at all was something he would dissect later.

Aegon’s gaze raked over the men before lingering on the maiden still on the ground. The damp of the earth soaked into her skirts, her copper curls a frizz around her soft, tear streaked face. The ring her assailant wore had cut into her mouth, streaks of blood welling up and smeared across her chin. Her eyes met his in that singular moment, so vivid and bright, an endless blue. Aegon forgot to breathe at the sight of that frightened gaze that looked at him so full of terrified hope, his stomach twisting and pulling, wanting to drag him towards her.

How could he deny such a desperate plea? How could he deny her anything when she looked at him like that?

“Be gone with you, stranger,” the leader of this little band sneered, unbothered by the glint of Valyrian steel in the shafts of light that struggled to cut through the trees and clouds above. Aegon’s gaze met his and he smiled, lazy and unbothered. The creak of leather signaled the unsettled movements of his companions.

“Prince Ed,” one of them said, all nervous hesitation that pleased Aegon. “He’s one of them.” Fearful and othering, but he should fear him. Aegon was not some mortal clawed from mud. He was nearly a god himself, and the dragons were of the gods. Sunfyre purred deep in his chest, feeling Aegon’s amusement. He knew the dragon was approaching, and Aegon could buy himself some time and entertainment. Three against one wasn’t terrible odds. He’d been in brawls like that before, but rarely with a blade, and the swordmaster’s cautious words ran in the back of his mind to be cautious of how he picked his fights.

Sunfyre would be there before things got too out of hand.

The prince narrowed his eyes in Aegon’s direction and took in the languid stance and the Valyrian steel blade. There was a flicker of unease on his face before he set his jaw. “Are you sure?” he laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t think they touched the ground, let alone come down from their mountain, too busy fucking their sisters and fathers and probably their dragons.”

There was a nervous titter of laughter from his group and Aegon joined in, his own manic giggling not quite reaching his eyes. He moved deliberately yet continued his easy stance before he stabbed forward, a flash of polished steel to slide across the arm of this prince of mud. Aegon smiled as they shouted and pulled their blades.

“She’s mine now. Be off with you. I would spare her from witnessing your rolling heads.”

The supposed prince spat at Aegon’s feet, drawing his inferior blade. “A daughter of the Riverlands will not be taken by an inbred Valyrian bastard,” he declared with all the mock chivalry and hot air that he’d been blowing. As if Aegon hadn’t just come upon them attacking the maiden. She’d been backing slowly away as Aegon had held their attention but she froze now as the man’s gaze shot at her. “Marvyn, grab her. I’ll slay this imp abandoned by his beast.”

He was brave. Aegon would give this so-called prince that much. Brave and exceedingly stupid, which often went hand in hand; Aegon would know, having been called such by his mother. The clang of steel against steel rang through the clearing and the shriek of the woman joined them as she lobbed a rock at Marvyn in her attempt to evade their reach. His opponent relied on strength, on the advance and powerful swings, and Aegon knew the type. He ducked low and got behind the oaf, kicking the man in the ass and sending him stumbling forward. With the space cleared, Aegon turned and shoved Blackfyre through the back of Martyn and removed the blade without catching any bone. Blood sprayed against the damp earth as he fell to his knees and Aegon spun the blood streaked blade, eyes on the third who had hold of the maiden’s arm, and back to the prince.

Aegon smiled brightly at him, all teeth and mirth and the feral edge of the dragon beneath his skin. “Shame about Martyn,” he said with a pitying shake of his head. “But at least it’s a first course.”

Above, a great, winged shadow appeared, blotting out the watercolor sun and casting them in momentary dim. The gust of wind from Sunfyre’s wings shook the tree, a few small branches falling to the ground from sudden and turbulent wind.

“Prince Edmund,” the other man’s voice cracked with fear, and his wide, sunken eyes focused upon the forest canopy, hand still clutching his sword and the other dropping from the maiden’s arm. Another shriek filled the sky and the trees filled with the frightened lowing of woodland animals fleeing, the birds shaking the remaining branches as they took off.

“Don’t be frightened,” Aegon laughed, shaking the damp curls back from his forehead. “Sunfyre is just having a little fun before he feasts. We’re both rather famished.” He opened his arms wide, the blood dripping from the dark steel of his blade. The clearing was quiet except for the low wheezing of Marvyn’s death rattles. He looked to the frightened man who was backing away before his gaze traveled back to this prince, taut and tense and gripping his useless sword with both hands. “What was it you were saying about inbred Valyrians abandoned by their beasts? There were four of you, weren’t there?” Aegon looked around again, and there was neither hide nor hair of the fourth companion, who seemed to be the only one with good judgment.

Sunfyre’s cry shook the forest once more. The horses had already fled in fear.

“Just leave,” the maiden said, finally finding her voice as she stumbled to her feet, her eyes like blue fire as she glared at the leader of her assailants. “Leave and take the gift of your life.”

She trembled with fear but her fists were curled into her skirt, her shoulders squared as she stared the man down. Her voice lilted, softly and strangely, neither melodic nor grating, but something altogether new to Aegon. The common tongue was not her mother tongue, and it gave a dulcet quality to her tone that those brutes lacked.

Aegon’s smile broadened, his teeth flashing as he looked at the prince. “Begone, you mud stricken thing.”

The two men fled, leaving the corpse of their friend behind, and Aegon watched their figures disappear into the trees. Sunfyre’s melodic trill echoed above and he chuckled, reaching down to wipe his tunic on the corpse of the man he’d stabbed. No need to stain his own clothes with such inferior blood. Sheathing his blade, Aegon Targaryen, eldest son of Viserys, the last Dragonlord of Valyria, straightened before the maiden he’d rescued. He knew she would be in awe of him, perhaps even frightened. That was certainly alright. He would reassure her, comfort her, and promise that he would bring no harm to her.

“My lady,” he said with the utmost courtesy. She stood there, several feet away, her arms wrapped around herself, her brilliant blue eyes wide and wild. There was a gentle, cracking sensation between his ribs as he took her in properly. She was a mess from head to toe, the skirts of her riding clothes soaked and stained. She was slight, shorter than he was, and fear had given her soft features a delicate quality that drew from how pale she was, how stark the blood and dirt looked across her face.

It took everything in him not to just reach for her and lick the blood away from her swollen mouth. To swallow her fearful cries away and replace them with precious little moans. She looked like she would make sweet sounds. The fight had his blood pumping with fever and the thrill of the win only increased the potency. He meant what he said: she was his now. He’d claimed her and sealed it through combat.

“Come,” he said, fingers wrapped around her wrist. Aegon was startled at how fragile the bones felt beneath his touch. He made sure he was gentle with it, not wanting to frighten her further. “We’ll fly back to Dragonstone and you’ll be given all that you desire.” The slap of her little hand against his cheek surprised Aegon more than it hurt, but still he reared back at the sting of it, looking down at the maiden with wide eyes. “I saved you!”

“From men who wanted to steal me to make me a bride against my will! You’re trying to do the same thing!” She yanked at the hold he had on her wrist, but he would not let her go, not now that he had found her.

“I’m not going to make you my bride,” he snapped, bewildered at the very thought of it. “You will be my concubine. Then if you prove yourself, I might wed you.” Bride? What a silly idea these Westerosi had. Not that the idea of tying this girl to him wasn’t appealing. To drag her at the foot of the Dragonmont, to sip wine and taste the blood on her mouth with the blood on his, it was an appealing vision. And it was his own choice, not one where he was sold for his precious dragon and his mother’s clawing attempts to change the succession. If Alicent Hightower wanted him to marry a Westerosi so much, Aegon had found his own choice.

From the furrow on her brow, to the flush that filled her lightly freckled cheeks, it was too late to realize those words would not entice her. A sharp pain radiated from his shin from where she kicked him.

“I will not be your concubine, you stupid dragon whelp.”

“You are precious when so angry,” he giggled with amusement and dodged out of the way of her attempt to rake her nails across his face. Abruptly, he released her, and the girl went stumbling back, breathless. He lifted his hands in surrender before clasping them behind his back. “I won’t touch you-”

“Go raibh maith agat,” she muttered and Aegon blinked.

“Did you sneeze?”

She huffed. “I was saying thank you. I will not have uppity Valyrians accuse me nor my people of being discourteous even as you are high handed.”

Aegon snorted. “It was your Westerosi brethren that sought to kidnap you, if I’m not mistaken.”

Her eyes were nothing short of vivid; such a brilliant, cobalt blue like the endless sky, rimmed red from tears and smudged black from lack of sleep. The softness of her vulnerability at his statement was unmistakable and she did not have a snip or barb for him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself and did not meet his gaze. At a loss for words now after she spent so many. Gods, she was a mess. Dirt on her cheek, her soft, molten red hair a mass of curls tied in an unkempt braid. Her wool kirtle was no better, torn along the sleeve and neckline, though it did little to detract from how fine a garment it was—or had been.

The twist of pressure in his chest was uncomfortable and unfamiliar, and Aegon did not know where to put it.It snaked through the pulsing arousal through his blood, the aching desire he had for her. “How long have you been out here?” he asked her, voice gentler this time, as if she were a skittish mare.

She desperately looked around, her lower lip trembling before her teeth caught at the ruined flesh. Blood welled up in the wound once more from the broken clot. The desire to lick it rose in him once more. Instead, Aegon tugged his handkerchief from inside his sleeve and handed it to her. The linen was carefully embroidered with golden beetles by Helaena, who’d been bedridden during her last pregnancy.

It hung between them, Aegon’s outstretched hand with the offering. Tear filled eyes met his before flicking down, eyeing his hand with all the wariness of a little rabbit before she whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, just as softly, if a bit ashamed. Aegon looked down at the corpse that still lay near them and he carefully stepped between it and her gaze, gently herding her away from the sight and towards the weirwood grove he’d come from. He let her lead the way, keeping a distance between them, his eyes darting about for either horses or those fools. Sunfyre warbled above them and Aegon knew he was keeping an eye out before the ground shook at the dragon’s landing. The maiden stumbled and Aegon caught her elbow before she could fall.

She did not jerk away from him this time and he did not grab her roughly, the idea of further scaring her making him uncomfortable.

“What is your name?” It was a polite question and one Aegon should have asked her before telling her he was going to carry her off to Dragonstone. No matter; he could make up for it now.

She did not look at him and Aegon noticed how she trembled, likely from the come down after the fight. His own hands were shaking lightly, but he’d been well trained to manage it. He cursed under his breath and looked towards the clearing where Sunfyre landed. There was a cloak in his saddlebag he could give her.

“Abrogail.” Aegon looked at her, dark lashes shading her eyes, her pink tongue darting out enticingly to wet her lips as she dabbed at her mouth. “My name is Abrogail.”

Oh. “That’s… that’s a lovely name. Abrogail.” It even tasted lovely on his tongue. “I’m Aegon. Targaryen. Of House Targaryen.” How foolish he sounded.

Her mouth twitched with a promise of a smile and warmth bloomed in his chest. “I gathered as much… Aegon.” Gods help him, he loved the sound of his name on her tongue. Adjusting his course of action seemed to be working as the tension eased a little in her slim shoulders and her sweet face. The pulse of desire flooded through his veins once more and Aegon exhaled, looking up at the red leaves and white boughs of the weirwoods they had come to. The light was dimming as the clouds grew heavy with moisture and Aegon could smell the oncoming rain; petrichor and ozone and the promising crack of lightning. Could he make it back to Dragonstone to stay the night?

“Are you far from home?” he asked, the words ashen in his mouth. It was the right thing to do, even when all he wanted to do was bundle her up and take her away with him. She was meant to be his now. He had claimed her, won her in combat.

“Not overly far,” she said with a strange tone. Aegon looked down at her. Abrogail’s gaze had darkened, turned inward in her contemplation. “I left for my own reasons… and I find myself without my horse. I am not,” she paused, pushing a finger into his chest with fierce, flashing eyes, a kitten arching her back, “Saying I would come with you as your concubine.” She spat the word out with a wrinkled nose.

Aegon grinned at her, all bright teeth and amusement, a mad sort of giggle spilling from him. “Oh, you’ve made yourself quite clear, my lady. I promise not to make you my concubine, but I can offer you a ride away from here.” ‘To Dragonstone,’ he thought. She was escaping something, she said, and he could provide her anything she could want. All he’d ask for in return was a taste.

Abrogail tilted her head, rosebud mouth pursing in her wariness but the curiosity was easing her features.

Several tastes, perhaps. If she insisted on looking so appetizing.

“Your dragon?” There was a nervousness in her tone, but oh, that curiosity. Aegon nodded and held his hand out to her.

“Come,” he said softly. “You can meet Sunfyre.”

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you think! If you're looking for more Aegon and Abby, check out The Maiden and the Drowning Boy! and of course, be sure to check out the other stories being posted for the big bang <3

[ichorai]

amsterdam ; jacaerys velaryon. (m)

track two of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; jacaerys velaryon x arryn!f!reader

synopsis ; prince jacaerys velaryon traveled to the eyrie to secure aid for his mother's cause. he didn't at all expect to fall in love an arryn while he was there.

words ; 4.7k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, oral (f recieving), jace is very much infatuated with you (expect lots of praise !!), reader is the only child of jeyne arryn of the vale, mentions of daemon and rhaenyra, in this fic jace is over eighteen when he goes to the eyrie !! cursing, mentions of death, vermax is grumpy bcs he has to sit outside in the cold someone save him

main masterlist.

The Eyrie stood tall and proud on the very top of rocky mountains—so high that white wisps of clouds could be seen far below where the castle was situated. Jacaerys unmounted his dragon, placing a reassuring hand on the large, olive-green scales of his snout. 

“Kesan sagon arlī. Umbagon,” he murmured to Vermax, who huffed out a plume of warm smoke and settled back on his haunches, clearly unhappy with the prospect of waiting around in the cold. I will be back. Stay.

Blowing out a nervous exhale, Jace squared his shoulders and turned on his heel, making his way into the white-stone castle. 

Blue-cloaked guards stood in his way of the wooden entrance, faces stony and hands resting on the hilts of their swords, at the ready. 

“I am Jacaerys Velaryon, son of the rightful Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. I’ve come to urgently speak to Lady Jeyne Arryn to secure aid for my mother’s cause.” His voice rang clear and true, confident despite his inner turmoil.

The guards glanced at each other, before stepping aside, letting him walk through. 

“This way, my Prince,” one of them said, guiding him through winding corridors and eventually, down a long hall. The blue-veined, marble walls shone with polish—so much so that Jacaerys could see his own warped reflection looking back at him. 

And at the end of the hall, laid two thrones of weirwood—nothing compared to the hunkering mass that was the iron throne, but still grand nonetheless. Seated on one was the Lady of the Eyrie, Jeyne Arryn, with a head of dark locks like his, and soft features that contrasted starkly with the scowl pulling at her lips. 

The lady was facing her side, where she was speaking in hushed whispers to her only daughter—Y/N Arryn, the infamous Jewel of the Eyrie. 

Jace could feel his heart stumble upon itself when he laid his eyes on you. Suddenly, your name made sense. Sure, he had heard tales of your regaling beauty and your kind nature, but words alone were not enough to fully encapsulate just how breathtaking you really were. 

The sunlight streaming through the tall, arched windows bathed you in a warm glow, casting long, sloping shadows over your skin. Draped over your form was a dress of cerulean hue, cascading down your hips as if it were water. Jace considered himself a gentleman—he had to take care not to let his eyes wander to the low-hanging cut of your neckline, where the very beginnings of your cleavage were exposed, and a glinting pearl necklace hung just above your clavicle. Your hair was cut rather short, nearly as short as his, but framed your face just perfectly. Your lips were moving hurriedly as you spoke to your mother, eyes alight with a certain fire, but Jace couldn’t quite catch what you were saying. The stories not only told of your enchanting beauty, but of your strongly overprotective mother, who always turned away any and all suitors for you. And proposals were never short, from what he heard. Jacaerys felt a strange flame of jealousy brew within his stomach. 

“Apologies for the interruption, my lady,” announced the guard. “Jacaerys Velaryon, here to speak with you.”

Upon the abrupt announcement, you promptly clamped your mouth shut, looking over to Jace with a scrutinizing, yet curious gaze, meeting the Prince’s own intrigued eyes. 

His throat was suddenly dry. It took everything within him to tear his attention away from you, and look towards your mother.

“My lady,” greeted Jacaerys, fists clenching and unclenching behind his back. “I’ve come on behalf of my mother, the Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. She kindly asks you to remember that she is part Arryn herself, as you are half-siblings with the late Queen Aemma, and hopes you will support your cousin’s claim to the throne.”

Recognition sparked within the Lady’s eyes, remembering her half-sister, Aemma. From beside her, you subconsciously straightened yourself as he spoke, lips parting out of interest. This was Prince Jacaerys himself—heir to the throne. Jace gradually shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling your gaze practically burn holes straight through him. You couldn’t help but notice that he was quite the handsome young man, with a head of thick, dark hair, and hard-set, determined eyes. He spoke evenly and calmly, voice soaked with honey and smoked cedar and ocean salt. The Prince looked to be around the same age as you, give or take a few moons. And as Jacaerys had heard much about you, you knew just as much about him—and now that you were seeing him in person… the stories seemed to prove themself true. He didn’t look one bit Targaryen or Valeryon, but rather resembled the bold, physical characteristics of a Strong. 

Either way, bastard or not, Jacaerys Velaryon intrigued you.

The argument you’d just had with your mother about traveling to King’s Landing and seeing the world for yourself was still fresh on your mind, and seeing Jace right here in front of you felt like much more than a coincidence.

“Yes,” your mother said, standing up from the throne to step closer to the Prince. “I do remember the rather twisted history of our families. In fact, I seem to recall your great-uncle Daemon was married to Rhea Royce until her… untimely death.”

The Lady of the Eyrie was plainly hinting at the fact that his stepfather murdered his first wife. Jace steeled himself by blowing out a small breath. 

“It was truly unfortunate,” said Jace diplomatically. 

The woman narrowed her eyes, eerily similar to your expression. “Despite my contempt for your great-uncle, it would be hypocritical of me to say Targaryen men are the root of the problem. Mine own kin have sought to replace me as Ruler of the Vale thrice by now. My cousin, Ser Arnold, oft claims women are too soft to rule. He is currently in one of my sky cells, if you would like to see.”

Jacaerys shifted uncomfortably. He’d heard little of the sky cells—only that the room bore three walls instead of four, leaving an open gap for anybody to plummet to their grueling death. And knowing how high up the castles were built, there would be no chance for survival. The grounds were sloped and it was not uncommon for prisoners to roll off the edge during their sleep. 

“Mother,” you spoke for the first time, making his head snap to you. You watched him sympathetically, an apologetic glint to your eyes, voice smoothly soft but tone firm. “I am sure the Prince has much more important matters to attend to than my bumbling fool of an uncle.”

Jeyne nodded at your words. “Yes… of course. We’ll help you fight your war, Prince Jacaerys. Send word to your mother that we support her cause and will supply her with as many soldiers as she needs—in this world of men, we women must band together.”

Relief flooded through Jace’s veins. Momentarily, he caught your eye and dipped his head in gratitude. 

“On one condition,” said the Lady of the Eyrie, holding up a hand. “We will send you support if and only if you swear to protect the Vale from the Greens with dragonriders.”

Irrational hope flared within Jacaerys’ chest—the thought of being able to spend more time in the Vale just to see you a bit more made him rather excited. Though, knowing his mother, he would most likely be stuck by her side as heir to the throne than up North protecting the Vale. 

“That can be arranged,” agreed Jacaerys. “We swear to protect the Vale and the people within it.”

“Then our deal is done,” said your mother, before lowering herself slightly, as an act of bending the knee to the Prince. You followed suit, meeting his gaze once again, this time with a subtle, radiant smile cinching the corners of your eyes. The guards flanking the hall were the last to mirror your actions, all bending the knee to the heir of the iron throne.

Jacaerys was making his way out of the hall, surprised when you bid your mother adieu and rushed after the Prince, much to her overprotective dismay, offering to walk with him to his dragon. You waved the guards away, but they still hovered over the pair of you with uncertain expressions.

“It’s just a brief walk,” you reasoned. “I’ll be fine.”

Relenting, the guards backed off and left you alone with the Prince. 

“Come along, my Prince, I can show you the way out,” you gently laid your hand on his forearm, tugging him with you further down the hall. The young man could feel his heart slamming against his chest, a thundering pulse in his ears nearly deafening him. 

Now that you were so much closer to him—mere inches—Jace could see finer details about you, and impossibly, you somehow became all the more beautiful. The blue fabric of your dress grazed his more coarse tunic. 

“There is much I have heard of you, my Prince,” you began, a kind smile illuminating your features. “I must say, I admire your Queen mother greatly.”

“Jace,” he softly said.

You blinked at him. “Pardon?”

Tripping over his words, Jace quickly backtracked, “I, uh, you don’t have to call me your Prince. Jace is just fine.” A bit more hesitantly, he tacked on, “I’m not quite used to the title just yet. It feels strange.”

A part of him was worried you’d be appalled at the impropriety of calling him by a nickname, but you merely grinned, all wide and sweet. 

“Alright then, Jace. Have you anywhere urgent to be? The hour is growing late—perhaps you can stay for supper. You cannot possibly run more errands on an empty stomach.”

You leaned closer and he caught a whiff of saccharine fruits and jasmine oil wafting from your hair, a smell that he yearned to drown himself into. It also didn’t slip past his notice that your chest was pressed up against his bicep. Good heavens, Jacaerys needed to get a grip of himself. 

Ever the responsible son, Jacaerys knew he had to be on his way to the Three Sisters, a small cluster of islands up North, to gain their support for his mother, as well. But he was ahead of schedule, and he deserved something of a rest after hours on dragonback. After all, he’d packed little else than fruit and bread and dried meat rations—the idea of a warm meal was more than appealing. 

Perhaps those were all just excuses. The true reason he wanted to stay was because he wanted to spend more time with you. 

“Wouldn’t your mother mind?” he asked, a little apprehensive, not wanting to get in between you and the overprotective Lady of the Eyrie. She already had a distaste for Targaryen men, thanks to his stepfather Daemon, and he wasn’t too keen on being added to the roster.

Expression faltering just a smidge, you shook your head. “No, she’s so very busy running the Vale—warding off her cousins who are fighting for their claim to inherit the Eyrie. It’s a whole lot of political nonsense, if you ask me.”

Hesitantly convinced, Jace allowed himself to smile in hopes of seeing your own once more. “If you insist, my lady. Supper sounds wonderful.”

To his delight, you beamed, and led him to a winding marble staircase, flourished with blue carpets that matched your dress. “Great! The morning hall is right up here—it’s rather quiet around this time, since it’s a bit early for supper.”

“Perfect,” mumbled Jace, the idea of being alone with you setting his cheeks aflame. 

Once in the hall, you kindly requested one of the servants to fetch a bowl of lamb stew and some cider for the Prince, gesturing for him to sit on one of the narrow, long tables that stretched nearly the entire length of the room. 

You engaged Jace in amicable chatter, which he seldom got to do with anybody that wasn’t his family—everyone either hated him because of his uncanny resemblance to Harwin Strong, or they were intimidated by his status as heir to the throne. It was refreshing, and frankly, made Jacaerys a little envious of those without the burden of responsibility on their shoulders.

The stew arrived not too shortly after, along with a silver chalice full of spiced apple cider that burned his tongue in all the right ways. You sipped on your own cup, nearly choking with laughter when he began recounting a story about his younger brother, Lucerys, nearly falling off his dragon during his first ride. Jace thought you had the most mellifluous laugh, practically music to his ears. He itched to hear the sweet sound over and over again.

“I wish I had siblings sometimes,” you wistfully said, placing your chalice down on the table and resting your face on your palm, propped up by your elbow. “It gets awfully lonely here. My mother, I love her, I do, but she never really lets me go out of the Vale. The only times were when I was a small child, and even then I was accompanied by half a dozen guards.”

Jace hummed sympathetically, spooning more of the peppery stew in his mouth. “So it’s true, then? Your mother constantly rejecting all the suitors and proposals lined up on your doorstep?”

“Yeah,” you fixed him with a warm smile. “Though, I suppose it’s not that much of a loss. Most of the men asking for my hand were more than twice my age and always looked upon me in a… lewd manner. It’s no wonder my mother turned all of them down.”

Without thinking, Jace blurted out, “You deserve to wed someone you love. A man who loves you doubly so.”

You fell silent, regarding him curiously. Maybe Jace didn’t know any better, but you appeared to be flustered. Clearing your throat, you said, “Thank you, my pr—Jace. Besides, the proposals aren’t really what bother me. It’s the fact that I stand to inherit the Eyrie and I have yet to explore the rest of the world. I’m afraid that once I am Lady of the Vale, I won't have any time for myself.”

“I have a dragon,” said Jace, in a half-joking, half-serious manner. “I can take you flying around Westeros one day, when the war is over.”

“You mean it?” you whispered, a genuine glimmer of excitement laced behind your words. Jace nodded, his heart leaping into his throat with the motion. “That would mean the world to me, it really would.”

The two of you fell into another comfortable silence. You downed the rest of your cider and he mopped up the remaining bits of his stew with a steaming loaf of bread. 

“I have yet to find a suitor to my liking,” you said, pursing your lips hesitantly. Jace gestured for you to keep talking, drinking some of the cider to wash down his meal. “And I’ve heard you’re betrothed now, yes?”

At the mention of his betrothal to his cousin Baela, Jacaerys stiffened. 

He leaned forward. “Can I be completely honest with you? And you must promise not to say a word of this to anyone.”

You nodded, eyes wide. 

“I do not wish to marry Baela,” he whispered, glancing around to make sure nobody was listening. Your lips parted, as if you wanted to say something, but you kept quiet, allowing for him to continue. “The romantic love I harbor for her is scant—she is more of my sister than anything. I cannot see myself ever… consummating our marriage.” Heat seeped into his cheeks, and a part of him instantly regretted admitting that to you. 

“Perhaps you need not marry her, then,” you responded without a second’s pause, before freezing at your words, as if they had slipped from your mouth out of your own volition. “I’m terribly sorry, my Prince, I shouldn’t have…” 

Whatever you were beginning to say died on your tongue when Jace moved his hand across the table to settle gently on top of yours. 

The atmosphere between the two of you seemed to shift. 

Jace studied your features with a keen eye, noticing the bright glint to your molten irises, the gentle curvature of your nose, the small birthmark on the left side of your jaw. And, not at all discreetly, his gaze fell to your lips, where your teeth were worrying into the supple flesh. His own expression melded into one of raw longing—nearing desperation, even.

And you could see it all on his face, plain and clear. Jacaerys Velaryon was enraptured by you. 

It was not at all like how the suitors asked for your hand—they looked upon you like a direwolf would a slab of meat, as if you were merely an object for their carnal desires, as if you were to warm their bed and nothing else. 

Jacaerys, however, looked upon you like you had scattered the very stars in the sky with your bare hands. And you had no doubt you mirrored his yearning countenance.

“Come with me,” you whispered, standing up and lacing your fingers with his, tugging him away from the table, and out of the morning hall. 

With a dazed look on his face, Jace followed along, allowing you to pull him towards more stairs. Up, up, and further up, the two of you went.

Until he stood in front of a large oaken door, your free hand pushing it open and the other ushering him inside the spacious room. The waning, clementine light of the setting sun shone through the diamond-shaped windows, framed by blue velvet curtains, bathing you in a regal, aureate luminescence as you softly shut the door behind you and leaned against the wood, fixing him with a burning stare. Your lips were parted, and your chest was rising and falling in a tantalizing manner. 

The cold realization that he was in your chambers suddenly dawned upon him. Seven hells, this was… beyond improper. Reality slapped Jacaerys out of his lustful stupor, and he struggled to formulate a coherent sentence.

“My lady,” he began, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “This is… we shouldn’t—”

His words dwindled away when you reached behind yourself and began undoing the laces of your dress. Despite his protests, Jace made no move to leave. He could feel his breeches growing uncomfortably tight. It felt like there was not enough air in the room for him to breathe.

“I… I should probably get going, Vermax—my dragon loathes the cold, you see…” he tried once more, to no avail.

The blue material fell from your shoulders, cascading down your body and pooled onto the ground in one seamless motion, leaving only a thin pale shift between him and your naked body. He fell deathly silent. 

You were the most beautiful person Jacaerys had ever laid his eyes on. No woman, no man, nobody in all of Westeros, could ever compare to the likes of you.

Throwing all caution to the wind, the Prince surged forward in two large strides, sealing the distance between you. One of his hands carefully cradled your face as if you were hewn from porcelain, and the other clutched your waist, thumb grazing over the sides of your ribs, dangerously close to your breasts.

And his lips met yours in a heated frenzy, your noses bumping against one another amidst your vigor.

“Should you wish to stop, just say the word, my lady,” he murmured against you, tugging you away from the door and walking you backwards to the large bed. 

Your knees buckled against the mattress and you fell back, eyes darkened with wanton need. Your fingers began hurriedly undoing the buttons at the top of his tunic. “Don’t stop, please,” you breathed out just as he began languidly kissing you once again. “Don’t you dare stop.”

A newfound confidence fueled his movements with your affirmation, and he rid himself of his shirt, tossing it somewhere behind him, along with his straining breeches and undergarments. You let your eyes roam over his toned chest, lids half-hooded.

“You’re so beautiful,” you told him, following suit and shirking your thin shift off, leaving you completely nude in front of the Prince, save for the opalescent pearls hanging around your neck. 

His breath hitched at your praise. “I was just about to say the same thing,” he muttered hotly against your flushed skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, roaming over the slope of your neck, your shoulders, your chest. “Beautiful,” he said, echoing himself with every kiss. You fisted the sheets beneath you, desperate for him to touch you where it ached the most.

A wave of arousal danced over you when he came face to face with your breasts, his tongue slipping out to drag along one of your pebbled nipples, his hand lifting to tweak the other between his fingers. His lips enveloped one of the pert buds, and he glanced up to see you with your head thrown back, a sigh of pleasure falling from your throat.

“Jacaerys, please…” you moaned, breathing stilted. 

Eager to please, Jace pulled away from your breast, trailing wet kisses down your stomach, along your hips, and to the insides of your thighs. His hands held your legs apart, which trembled with anticipation and need. 

His cock twitched against the bed upon seeing your slickened cunt, soaked with your essence.

“All this for me?” he hummed, laving his tongue mere inches away from where you needed him most.

“All for you,” you said, a low groan tumbling from your lungs when he finally surged forward and buried his face into your cunt, licking into your warm hole, the crook of his nose pressing repeatedly into your spasming clit. 

Embarrassed by your volume, you slapped your hands over your mouth, muffling your breathless whines.

Obviously not pleased with this, Jacaerys looked up at you with a stern look, halting his ministrations. “Let me hear you, my lady. I want to hear you.”

Hands quaking, you let them fall away from your lips, clenching into fists by your sides. Jacaerys smiled at you, the lower half of his face gleaming with your arousal. Then, he lowered himself back down and abruptly attached his lips to your sensitive clit, making your hips jolt upwards with the sudden rush of pleasure. 

“Jace!” you wailed, grinding your cunt against his mouth. He hummed in approval, clearly getting off on your own pleasure. Two of his fingers circled your entrance, and he slowly pushed them into you, cracking one of his eyes open to observe your breathless, writhing figure. 

He continued his ministrations, fucking you with his fingers and sucking relentlessly on your clit until you seized up beneath him, a litany of pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. 

“That’s it, cum for me. My good girl,” he praised, moaning into your cunt as you did what you were told, grinding against his face as you came down from your high, until you began to flinch away with overstimulation. Jace wished to have you ride his face, use him as the dragon he was, be completely at your mercy… but he was desperate to feel your cunt around him.

Jacaerys made his way back up your body, kissing you once more. You could taste yourself on him, which made you dizzy with delight.

“I need you, Jace,” you mumbled, wrapping your legs over his waist, your hot, soaked pussy pressed against his abdomen. “I need you inside me.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he whispered with one final kiss, ever the gentleman. “Tell me if it’s too much. I wish not to hurt you.” 

Lining himself with your still-sensitive entrance, he began to slowly ease his way in, keenly watching your expression to make sure he wasn’t paining you in any way.

“So good,” you mumbled, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his shoulder. “Feels so good, Jace.”

“Beautiful girl,” the Prince groaned once he bottomed out inside your warmth, eyes rolling into the back of his head from the overwhelming sensation of your sopping cunt fluttering around his cock. 

He started off gentle, slowly rocking into you, eyes darting between your blissful features, and your breasts bouncing with every thrust. 

You began to move in tandem with him, wanton moans echoing throughout your chambers when he reached down to rub slow circles on your clit. 

The slapping of his skin on yours made a flustered expression burrow itself permanently on his face, dusting his skin with faint rouge. You felt so fucking good, nearly too good to be true, and Jacaerys wouldn’t at all be surprised if he woke up and you turned out to be a dream. 

Your name tumbled from his lips in rapid repetition as he could feel his orgasm approaching, rhythm faltering when you clenched viciously around him. He met your eyes, leaning down to kiss you sweet and slow. “Can you cum for me again, sweet girl?” he murmured, a satisfied growl thundering in the back of his throat.

Shivering, one of your hands raked down his back desperately, on the very precipice of your climax. You came with a shout of his name, stars blotting out your vision, clenching so tightly around him that Jace had a hard time moving, which had him moaning a breathy string of curses. 

He showered you with more praises, thrusting into you once, twice, three more times, before his voice tapered off into a groan, hurriedly pulling out of your throbbing cunt to cum all over your stomach, both your chests glistening with sweat.

Panting, Jacaerys collapsed onto the bed beside you, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your temple. “My beautiful, sweet girl,” he murmured, making your heart swell with pride and adoration.

You turned to slot your lips just beside his nose bridge, rubbing your thighs together contentedly. “My handsome, gentle Prince,” you responded, voice hoarse and exhaust weighing down your eyelids. 

“You did so well for me. You can sleep now, my lady.” he reassured, expression softening as he pushed a stray strand of your hair away from your face. “I’ll clean you up.”

You could only tiredly smile at him, allowing your eyes to fully slip shut, chest rising and falling evenly as slumber took over your form. Jace could only watch fondly, pressing one last kiss to your temple, before making his way off the bed.

The next morning rolled by far too soon. The sun glared through your windows, straight into your eyes, and you tried waving it away with a huff of annoyance, to no avail. Finally, you sat up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand. Once you came to, you noticed that you were neatly tucked into the center of your expansive bed, and you lifted the thick blue blanket to look down, mildly surprised to find any and all stickiness between your thighs and on your stomach was gone. 

Did you dream of what transpired last night? Was Prince Jacaerys only but a figment of your hyperactive imagination?

Feeling a bit dejected, you fell back against your feather-stuffed pillows, rolling onto your side. It couldn’t have been a dream, though—it certainly felt real. Heat spidered across your skin at the lewd memories of the night before. 

Your suspicion was only confirmed when you caught sight of a small, folded piece of paper on your bedside table. With nimble fingers, you plucked it off the surface and unfurled the sheet, a small smile dancing at the corner of your mouth. You found it endearing that Jacaerys’ handwriting was a nearly illegible, messy scrawl of ink across the parchment.

My dearest lady, As much as it pains me to leave you, I have urgent matters to attend to for my mother. I will be heading North to the Three Sisters in hopes of gaining their favor. I will never forget this night with you, nor will I forget my promise to take you flying across Westeros after the war ends. You are, without a doubt, the most wonderful thing to have happened to me. I still wonder if I am dreaming, because a beauty such as yours cannot possibly exist. I will come back for you, sweet girl. I swear it by the Seven.  Yours, Jace

[thebadboyfanclub]

A Risk Taker (Daemon x Reader)

This is my first time writing something like this which was challenging but very entertaining, also I left a little detail that I really hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think by commenting. Enjoy!

“And right over here we have the iron throne, historians reported that it was created by hot steel and its rightful place was in what we now know as London, over here we have-“

(Y/n) stood dumbfounded at the sight of the throne in a result she tuned out what the woman was saying or explaining. She was in amazement at it, it was entirely made of swords, she came to wonder who came up with the idea of such a thing, who was the first to sit upon it, and who was the last. So many questions raced through her brain as she instinctively took a few steps to approach it.

(Y/n) was always interested in what historians call “the time of dragons” Some say it is just silly little stories or just tales of the church that wished to demonize the time before Christ.

“Miss you can’t touch that”

Before the security guard could stop her (y/n)s fingers grazed over the arm of the chair, goosebumps went over her entire body before she gripped it firmly and then everything went black.

“A witch! Protect the king! Disarm her”

“What?”

Before she could react or comprehend what was going on around her someone forced her hands behind her back earning a grunt from her.

“Ouch you asshole let me go”

“How dare you command anything you Bitch let go! I swear to god if I fucking bruise”

“Ser Criston, the lady is clearly in distress and pain, I believe it is best if you release her”

“Yeah that, manners much?”

Daemon had to refrain from laughing at her odd way of phrasing her thoughts. Everyone was on edge at someone that just simply appeared in front of the king and the iron throne just from thin air, her clothing was something no one had ever seen and her face was painted, Daemon carefully walked up the stairs who was rubbing her wrists to relieve herself from the discomfort.

“It is alright my lady, I am Prince Daemon of house Targaryen and you are?”

(Y/n) looked around the room, everyone was dressed in posh clothing that was decorating the museum hours ago and the man that was standing in front of her was the same person that she saw from the portrait when she walked in, also he resembled a lot the actor that played prince Philip at “the crown”.

“I… am (y/n) of house…. (Y/l/n) I guess”

“There is no such thing as house (y/l/n) she is lying, we must throw her in the dungeons”

“I fucking dare you”

“You will do no such thing Ser Criston, the lady isn’t dangerous, she is just as puzzled as we are, do you remember anything before this my lady?”

“I was visiting the Museum of Old England, I believe you guys call it Westeros”

“What was the year?”

“2023”

“So you mean to tell us all this just turns to…”

“History, books and movies”

“What are movies?”

“How do I explain, there is a machine that captures a scene like this for example and then it plays for an audience, like theatre but not really”

“The girl is in hysteria and probably lying, we cannot believe her words and prophecies stand true”

(Y/n) turned her head to eye the man that was talking, a man in his mid-40s she guessed that was dressed in all green and had a little pin with a golden hand, her eyes lit up at the realization of who this man was, and her mind could not comprehend what was going on yet she desperately wanted to prove herself she was being honest, probably because her life was at risk.

“Otto Hightower”

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh I know a lot about you, you served the king, and has the king already married your daughter Alicent? Or is Aemma still alive?”

Silence fell over everyone, and looks of concern were being exchanged amongst the people, the lady that spoke knew everything about everyone, there was no way she could create the clothing she was wearing or whatever was on her face, could it be that she was actually from the future?

Frantically (y/n) started to search in her pockets for anything until she thankfully found her phone, she held it up in triumph before she pressed the button to open her screen

“There, see! I have pictures of the stuff that you use! Here is a portrait of one of my favorites from your family, Rhaenyra”

“Me?”

(Y/n)s eyes laid upon the young Targaryen, god the casting of her movie did such a great job the actress looked like the girl that was standing in front of her. (Y/n) smiled brightly at the princess before she took an awkward bow to the princess making her stumble on her way up.

“Princess Rhaenyra, an Oh my gosh pleasure to meet you, huge fan by the way, have you married Laenor yet?”

“We are betrothed”

“Well that is surely something ummm, excuse my weird stance but I feel like I will piss on myself from anxiety”

“Mayhaps it would be best if the princess escorted the young lady to one of the chambers, and found something more appropriate for her to wear”

Daemon chimed in, to save the poor lady from embarrassing herself or worst passing out in front of them. (Y/n) who grew self-conscious of her looks rubbed the material of her jeans as she looked down at her outfit, it was pretty stylish for a museum who would have known to dress appropriately for teleporting?

“These are my nice jeans”

“Ladies wear this?”

“Yes Otto they do, ladies also have rights which is a concept you would surely hate”

(Y/n) could feel her heart beat fast at the realization that all eyes are on her, she was someone that no one could vouch for, a girl that just stood there with no background, no title, they could behead her before the sun goes down and then what? Is death the way to go back? Or would she just die and leave everything behind?

She turned to the king to approach him once again, she swallowed the lump in her throat whilst she kneeled in a sign of respect, the instinct of survival had started to make her entire body shake at the fear of the unknown, she must come out of this unharmed.

“King Viserys, I am as shocked as you are still I ask for just some time, I can show you that I speak in all transparency, I can help you, use my knowledge to your advantage until I find a way to go home”

-

(Y/n) had become King Visery's closest advisor they were a good handful of times that Viserys specifically summoned her, he was always infatuated with dreamers so to have a woman with such power was his biggest asset.

Otto was naturally displeased and somewhat furious at her demeanor, her entire personality was just baffling to him, (y/n) interrupted him whenever he tried to offer his piece of mind to the king, (y/n) had taken away the power he had worked tirelessly to create.

(Y/n) was now lady (y/n), alongside Rhaenyra had to earn a seat at the small council which of course Queen Alicent had as well, (y/n) would of course try to stir Viserys in the right direction however a dilemma stuck in her consciousness like a thorn, she was well aware of how this would go, the dance of dragons, the war that will kick off in a few years, the hatred that was brewing between the greens and blacks, the burden fell on her chest like a pile of bricks, if she were to twist the future would the entire world become something different? Or would she save a thousand lives?

They were times that (y/n) could not have foreseen an event, Rhaenyras tragic wedding feast for example did not quite describe the death of a man, even if it did (y/n) could not have prevented it from occurring mind the fact that she was rather busy, Daemon had asked to have a minute… alone with Lady (y/n).

Daemon was always intrigued by her presence, her sharp tongue, and her reluctance to step back when it comes to an argument, she had the fire of a dragon in her, to Daemon it was evidently clear specifically when she was bare, she had confidence, experience, shameless passion, her touch did not tremble nor did she question herself, she took the reigns from him and showed him how they do it in her time.

“Lady (y/n) can I ask you a question?”

“Of course my prince”

“Father says you know the future, will I get a dragon?”

(Y/n) froze, on the morrow of Laenas funeral what would be the odds for meek Aemond to ask such a question? Today is the grim day that Aemond would lose his eye in a squabble between him and his nephews.

All color drained from (y/n)s face although she desperately attempted to keep her composure in front of an impatient Aemond who was looking up at her with eyes full of hope, all he ever wanted was to fit in, to have what everyone else had, though the cost he must pay was a rather painful one. (Y/n) reached to caress the young prince’s soft cheek and create a circle with her thumb on his soft skin.

“You will, my prince, speaking of such how would you like for us to go for a walk later? I would love to speak to you about it”

“Thank you, lady (y/n), I will be waiting for you”

“Promise me you will wait before you go anywhere”

“I promise”

“Pinky swear?”

“What?”

“It’s a tradition from my childhood, just hook your pinky to mine, like so”

Aemonds pinky intertwined with (y/n)s who was smiling brightly at him, she could not let the poor boy lose his eye over a dumb argument between children, all of the families fought but when you add dragons into the mix it can get messy extremely quick.

“May I ask what is this odd choice of a handshake about?”

“Well Otto it is something from my home, know there is where women can show cleavage and their legs and fathers do not marry their daughters to men that are twice their age”

“Yes you have been rather descriptive of the shameful customs your people hold”

“I know, a woman having an orgasm must be such a baffling concept to you or is it the fact that some of us do not wish to have children and there are actually safe ways of protecting us from conceiving that disgusts you?”

“Hold your tongue in front of the prince”

“You do not command me and you do not scare me, Otto, so I suggest you back off and let me be”

“Lady (y/n), may I have a moment alone with you?”

Daemon interrupted the conversation that was getting quite heated, to be discussing with such temper in public was something that was out of character for Otto but there was just something about her that pushed him beyond himself, to vocally express the urge of sexual desires and taunt it so freely, Parading her flesh like a succubus, no Otto refused to give in.

“Of course, my prince, remember our promise sweetling”

She whispered to Aemond before she raffled his head and winked at him playfully, all of the playfulness was gone when she diverted her eyes to Otto, a frown swiftly appeared as she eyed him from head to toe with utter disgust.

“Asshole”

She hissed making Prince Daemon choke on his laugh from being taken by surprise by her choice of words. (Y/n) walked with Daemon side by side but in utter silence, she just silently followed him waiting for Daemon to let her know what he wished to say in private.

She did as such until they reached the shore, her patience had run thin and her shoes were filled with sand, she just plopped down and took off the shoes to properly feel the sand and enjoyed the sensation of direct contact with nature.

“What is it Daemon, spit it out”

“I thought you would be gone by now”

“So did I but I have yet to figure out the way to go home”

“Perhaps you are not supposed to go home”

“Daemon we have discussed this”

“I left because you send me away, even then I send for you, asked for you and you denied me”

“I had a reason and you were married”

“You send me away”

“Are we going to reminisce about what I did the night we fucked at Laenas funeral?”

Daemon came to a halt at her question. Nobody was more embarrassed by his neediness than him, Daemon was a good-looking man and a prince, he never had any trouble with a lady he yearned for, except (y/n).

After the exceptional time they had together he could still vividly describe how she patted him on the shoulder and told him that she should walk into the feast first so they don’t look suspicious, the coldness in her voice after such a steamy affair left him with countless questions.

Daemon sat next to her and just stared at the horizon, he wanted to hug her, tell her how much he missed her, confess to her exactly the amount of letters he had to send asking about her, (y/n) made him feel weak.

“I wanted to come, I often yearned to relive our moment but I cannot offer what you are craving. I could leave at any time just like a came”

“I have always been a risk taker”

“Your end goal is marriage Daemon, I understand that my age here means I am an old maid but where I grew up I am young, I do not wish to be wed nor have children and you do”

“I have children”

“And I am sure you love them and you love being a father because that is who you are, I am simply not”

“Isn’t this lovely, you have me all figured out”

Daemon spitted with sadness dripping at every word, he could not say that she did not have a point, still, at the end of the day he wanted her, he wanted to burn himself alive in her fire just to feel her warmth.

Daemon got up to leave when he was forced to stop by someone holding him by the wrist, once he looked back to find (y/n) on her feet and had latched her fingers on his wrist.

“Daemon don’t be like this”

“Well, what do you suggest then?”

(Y/n) did not know what to say for the first time in forever, she acted on instinct when she hugged him, her head went on his chest and his heartbeat was picking up at the beat that caused a smile to decorate her lips. Daemon hesitated though he gave in and pulled her tightly.

“This is not fair, you are playing dirty”

“I never had you for a man that is afraid to get in the mud”

They both giggled and (y/n) lifted her head to take a proper look at the prince who was smiling down at her. His index finger and thumb found their way to her chin, after all these years she had frozen in time, still as breathtaking and agitating as he left her.

Daemon was taking too long for her liking so she took initiative and collided her lips to his while being on her toes which did not last long since Daemon was always quick on his feet and pulled her up for her to wrap her legs around his torso, both of them moaned in each other's mouths from the anticipation, Daemon could feel the harsh licks of her fire surrounding him an experience that was so sweet yet deadly.

Daemon made the mistake of laying her on her back which only resorted in (y/n) putting her entire weight on her legs to flip him over in an instant, she never really liked allowing someone to lay on top of her.

Their movements were messy and rushed, and both of them could not contain themselves, they wanted to see one another naked, feel their skin bare as they caressed one another, her moans were animalistic, and the way she moved was like a conqueror that raced into a battle, Daemon was left defenseless and became a mere puppet to her game of sex, he did not complain of course this was what he loved about her, this was (y/n)s favorite part of sex, the feeling of it, the urge of it, the realization that you want someone’s body, that it’s yours for the taking.

Daemon gripped her hips so harshly that he left marks behind, secretly he thought that he was being greedy by being the only one to experience such a show, (y/n) at her natural habitat, what a foolish fantasy, to have an audience in their beddings, he shoved that idea at the very back of his head when it dawned on him that other men would see her naked, would listen to her moans, they would know her magic.

Daemon was utterly unaware that his fantasy was becoming reality at this very moment, both of them blinded by passion to the point that none of them looked around, they focused on each other's eyes, the eyes that whispered everything that was left unsaid between them.

Once their connection came to its very peak (y/n) left her body to lay on top of his as she desperately worked to catch her breath, it was then that a man dressed in green decided to leave the scenery, a man that had spied on them and had frozen to his spot at the sight that had unfolded in front of him had come out of his trance to scatter away before he gets discovered.

“Was it worth waiting all these years?”

“Definitely”

(Y/n) placed another kiss on Daemon's lips at his answer, his strong body was the best bed after such an intense workout, her legs had already started to shake and she imagined this is what it felt like riding a dragon for hours on end.

The world is funny because when (y/n) went to vocalize her thought she heard a dragon approaching, once she fixed her focus on the sky she could see the humungous dragon that was heading back to land, its size was frightening, she could not remember which one was it, it wasn’t syrax and not Vermax, who could be riding at the such hour?

“Someone claimed Vhagar”

“Oh no, oh shit, fuck no”

Requests are open!

[yelenaslyubov]

Cosmic Love

main masterlist || rhaenicent || requests

a/n: this is my first ‘a song of ice and fire’ universe fic i’ve written, as well as the first double character pairing fic i’ve written! i’m still getting the hang of it, so bear with me. i hope you enjoy it, friends! as always, if you want something, don’t be afraid to request it!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x alicent hightower

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ warnings: cheesy sexy tooth rotting fluff x 1000 with a little side of angst.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ description: based on the events during the season two finale and loosely inspired by ‘cosmic love’ by florence + the machine, Alicent has made the journey to Dragonstone to strike a deal with Rhaenyra in regard to the crown. Rhaenyra is blindsided by the unexpected visit by Alicent, especially as Alicent wants Rhaenyra to follow her into the great beyond. what happens if Rhaenyra and Alicent are finally honest with themselves about where they stand?

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ word count: 3.6k

DISCLAIMER: SOME OF THE DIALOGUE DOES NOT BELONG TO ME, IT BELONGS TO HBO!!!

Rhaenyra once again realized that sleep would not find her tonight. Of course, this was nothing new as of late, but there was still hope for improvement in her mind. The endless insomnia that seemed to never leave her would be the bane of her existence.

Ever since the death of Lucerys, Rhaenyra could never find a speck of sleep. Each time her eyes grew heavy, visions of her lost babe would appear to ensure sleep was never possible. It was now, more than ever, that sleep would improve her position.

The realm had its head turned to her and her opposers, and she would not be found lacking. With Daemon gone and some of her own army against her method of warfare, Rhaenyra felt hopeless.

She felt the flutter of her eyelids become heavy, slowly shutting them while thinking thoughts that brought good omens in hopes that tonight would be the night that she may get some rest. As her eyes shut, there was a knock at the door that was a tell tale sign that tonight was not the night for sleep.

Alicent’s held on to the rough, splintered side of the boat that was threatening to knock her off her feet. She had already regretted her choice as soon as she stepped afoot the large ship. The ocean was never her forte and this trip was only confirming her resentments.

She looked in the distance at the formidable island that lay for hundreds of years. She understood the significance, but she refused to acknowledge the indignation she held against it now. It was the home of her enemy, or so she thought. These days she felt her heart growing fonder for her once friend, hence her journey across the sea.

But these were not thoughts that she wanted to impede her brain at this time. They were too deep into the trifle that their indifference and misunderstanding had caused them. She must make haste in her quick thinking that had led her all the way to Dragonstone.

She was led off of the ship as soon as they touched land because wasting time was no option. Though speed was preferred, Alicent could not help but admire her surroundings. The castle and everything that it hugged was exactly how Rhaenyra described it to be. It all felt too surreal for Alicent.

Her fingers dragged along the cobblestone walls that prevented passerby’s from falling to their demise. She could feel the fire that lived here long before She felt it in her bones, and it was the same fire she felt that Rhaenyra had. Perhaps it was only in the name Targaryen, but perhaps it was much more than that.

Alicent approached the guards at the front entrance. “I am here to see Queen Rhaenyra,” she said plainly, even surprising herself by the address.

Each guard looked to each other deciding whether they would allow such a treachery to happen under their watch.

“I come unarmed and in need of confession in the late hour, I swear it.”

The guards took another look, even deeper this time. They studied her appearance; a light blue cloak with a hood to match, along with melancholy eyes. Against their better judgment, they let her through. Of course, this was not possible without the supervision of Rhaenyra’s own guard. He followed close behind and alerted another guard on watch that Queen Rhaenyra was expecting a visitor.

After completing the most daunting of their tasks, it was another struggle to weave through the castle. It proved well to have somewhat of a guide.

They reached a great room with a high ceiling. On the far side of the room was a tall staircase that led to another door. Alicent was asked to remain in the room and wait until prompted.

Rhaenyra prepared herself for whatever could be waiting beyond her quarters. A message delivered by raven could be waiting once again, news of Daemon, or anything that may cause her to lose even more sleep. What she did not expect was her childhood companion to be waiting on the other side.

As Rhaenyra followed her guard, she froze when she saw what was waiting for her.

“I had to see you,” said Alicent, moving closer across the room. Rhaenyra walked down the stairs, leaving Ser Lorent Marbrand.

“Who knows?” Rhaenyra asked.

“None save my protector. He laid down his sword at your gate.” Alicent’s voice was wavering with the weight of her regret. “I’ve been, I think…mistaken.”

Alicent explained the weight of the duty she had to carry all those years after Rhaenyra began to distain her. Her arms had been pulled in every direction possible, only finding moments to herself to indulge in the things that made herself happy.

Regardless of how she felt towards Alicent, Rhaenyra had changed. She was not the woman she was before. She was not the Queen she was before. She realized that now was the time for duty and honor, or so she thought.

Alicent explained that she had been wrongly led astray in her duties and priorities. She realized that there were very few times where she felt completely free, but she acknowledged now that her soul was peaceful. It was poor timing considering the realm’s current situation.

“I have been alone as of late. I walked outside the walls of the city and I felt a weight lifted from me,” she explained.

“How lovely for you,” Rhaenyra said, condescendingly.

“I thought, for the first time, what I would choose…if not for the duty I put before all else.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but chuckle at the sentiment. “Shall you cast your son down and rule alone?”

“No,” Alicent was quick to rebuttal. “I do not wish to rule, I wish to live. To be free of all this endless plotting and striving.

“The crown will pursue war and victory at any cost,” Rhaenyra sighed, hoping that Alicent was not naive enough to believe that she would be free of any repercussions.

“I…” Alicent began, “but as for me, I would take my daughter and her child and leave it all behind.

“It’s too late, Alicent,” Rhaenyra laughed.

Pathetic she was; Alicent that is. To think that after all this time she would be able to make freethinking decisions. She was entirely too deep into the war looming above their heads.

The hunger from selfish men could practically be smelled from miles away. There was no stopping their greed and desires now, not after the havoc that Alicent had caused.

“Oh, go then. Leave us behind, as you say.”

Alicent scoffed. “Rhaenyra.” Alicent walked away from Rhaenyra, almost as if she had given up on her original goal of coming to Dragonstone.

“Wander in the wilderness.”

Quickly, Alicent turned around facing Rhaenyra once again. “I came here to entertain you, or so I thought! Was it dim of me to believe that you may still have fondness in your heart for me? I see now that it was.”

“Alicent-”

“I came to ensure a way of peace, even at a price. I know the consequences of my actions and I will forever be reminded of them, but I want to make things right again. I knew your father well enough, and I was blinded by my own dignity and righteousness to see it was I who was mistaken; you have been the true heir.”

Rhaenyra was stunned by Alicent’s honesty. All this time she had taken her for a brainwashed fool, but it seemed that she had learned much in a short period.

“You do understand what this means and the allegations you just put out into the world? Your own son on the line, is that something you would live with?” Rhaenyra asked sincerely.

Alicent produced soft tears forming in the corner of her eyes. She knew the price she would pay for this treason, and yet she was willing to serve this sentence willingly.

“If I am to take the throne, I must put an end to the opposition. I must take Aegon’s head, and I have to do it for all to see. You know this. However you may try to evade it, you know this,” Rhaenyra explained.

Alicent’s tears grew and she held her head in her hands. She could not bear the thought of losing her own child, but the thought of throwing the entire realm into disarray because of his selfish decisions haunted her more. Both decisions could send her into deep despair, but which would bring peace to the masses?

“Choose,” Rhaenyra demanded. “Will you shrink from what you set out to do? Or will you see it through…and make your sacrifice? A son for a son.”

Both regents stared at one another with longing.

A son for a son. Rhaenyra knew the pain well, and casting this decision on another, let alone Alicent, was not made easily or even in good conscience. The thought itself made tears well in Rhaenyra’s eyes as well. They stared at each other and for once it seemed as if they shared each other’s pain. The pain of not only being a woman, but being a mother during these trying times they found themselves in.

Rhaenyra wiped away her tears. “You are much changed.”

“Let us be done with this, please,” Alicent begged.

“And what do I do with you now?”

“You let me go, to do what I promised. And you fly to the Red Keep in three days' time, and you take your throne. Or you take me a liar,” she scoffed. “I have neither weapon nor armor. My life itself is forfeit… I cast myself on the mercy of a friend who once loved me.”

Rhaenyra’s attention was pulled even more into focus at her words. “History will paint you a villain. A cold queen… grasping for power, and then defeated.”

“Let them think what they must. I am at last myself… with no ambition greater than to walk where I please and to breathe the open air. To die unremarked and unnoticed… and be free.”

Rhaenyra smiled fondly. “You speak as if from a distant dream.”

She could picture the two of them walking arm in arm across the courtyard to visit the Godswood as children. The distant dream was really a tried and true memory that was once loved by them both. They had missed each other so deeply but were afraid to admit it after Rhaenyra had felt so betrayed by her friend. Though, it was not Alicent’s fault at all as it was not her doing. It was simply another way for her father to gain the power and credibility he so longed for. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

Then, the energy in Rhaenyra’s chamber had shifted; it became lighter and hopeful. There suddenly was an air of forgiveness as well as an unidentified desire present that was yet to be seen.

“Come with me,” Alicent blurted. And so the mysterious desire became quickly apparent.

There seemed to be no decent answer that Rhaenyra could give Alicent that she could possibly muster in the moment. “And why should I do that?”

Alicent came closer. “Oh please, Rhaenyra. Why wouldn’t you?”

Rhaenyra looked down nervously, shuffling her feet. “I have my own duties, I have-”

“Would you please shed your act for one fleeting moment, I beg!” Alicent shouted, causing Rhaenyra to step back in utter shock.

Rhaenyra was taken aback by Alicent’s fury. She was angry now, but she did not quite know who she was angry at. More than likely it was herself that she was angry at, angry for being so blind all this time.

“I have not forgotten about the wish you so hopefully cast upon me that I declined against my better judgment.”

“May you remind me of this request?” Rhaenyra spat. Even though her tone was harsh, she felt fullness in her heart for the first time since she had all of her children surrounded in her presence.

“Back at the Godswood, when we were children,” Alicent said. “Oh, it sounds pathetic now, to think of the dreams we had when we were young. Alas, we were only children.”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra began, “we were.” She paused for a moment to gather her whereabouts, as well and dissect the assumptions that Alicent was alluding to. It was too early to be delving into such things, but Alicent had set out to do just that.

“A-at the Godswood,” Alicent moved closer, “do you remember what you once said?”

Rhaenyra was suddenly reminded of her words that she spoke as her head rested on Alicent’s leg. Additionally, Rhaenyra became frighteningly aware that the two of them were not alone.

Ser Lorent Marbrand stood near the stairs guarding the Queen in any attempt of harm. Rhaenyra waved him off.

“My Queen?” he pushed.

“You may go, Ser Lorent,” Rhaenyra demanded, but the guard stayed put. “You are dismissed!”

The guard left promptly after the Queen’s harsh display of dismissal. Rhaenyra waited until she heard the soft echo of his footsteps before continuing. She did not know exactly which direction this conversation may go, but based on the topics so far, it is one that she did not want others to be present for.

“Continue,” Rhaenyra said to Alicent.

“The words you spoke, your grace.” Rhaenyra was thoroughly shocked at the words that Alicent so carefully crafted. “You had said that-”

“‘I wanted to ride dragon back with you and explore the wonders far across the narrow sea,’” Rhaenyra finished.

“And eat only cake,” they both said in unison.

They remembered that time as if it had occurred only yesterday. They were children, friends, and enemies together. Secretly they hoped that they could be more.

“I cannot help but think, what if I would have agreed to those childish antics?” Alicent asked out loud.

“Why, after all this time have you decided to come crawling back?” Rhaenyra rebutted. “I would even argue that there has not been a more inconvenient time for such games!”

“This is not a game, Rhaenyra! Have I not poured myself out to you enough? What else would you have me do?”

They both paused to stare at one another. Rhaenyra stared deeply at Alicent, studying her expression and desire that she was so eagerly displaying in this moment. Alicent looked at Rhaenyra with the same childlike wonder that she once did. It was the same feeling, but also something brand new and foreign to both of them.

Rhaenyra walked away deeper into the room. She was looking for something she had stowed away a while before this that she thought might be of use. She walked back to Alicent with a slip of parchment in hand and held it out for her in hopes of taking it.

Alicent unfolded the small piece of parchment to reveal a ripped page of a book that she studied for a moment. She looked at Rhaenyra with her glassy expression.

“I assumed you had thrown it into the fireplace to let the flames engulf it,” Alicent said.

“I could not,” Rhaenyra shook her head. “Each time I found myself looking to it, I saw the happy memories of what once was.”

Alicent walked closer to Rhaenyra, causing her to shift in her place near the table. She had not come this close to Alicent since she disguised herself as a septa in order to make good with her, which did not bode well in the end.

Rhaenyra’s heart leaped when Alicent placed her hand atop of Rhaenyra’s. “We can restore those memories and be as we once were. I am sure of it,” Alicent said.

They looked in one another’s eyes to pinpoint the explanation of the longing they had been feeling the entire lonely night. “Let me set it right… please.”

Rhaenyra and Alicent never peeled their eyes away from each other in those fleeting moments. They stared so intently that Rhaenyra did not seem to notice that Alicent had taken her hand into her own, slowly raising it to her lips.

Alicent’s lips parted slightly as she brought them down to Rhaenyra’s hand. She left a gentle kiss upon the back of her hand, eyes never leaving the stars that gleamed within Rhaenyra’s eyes.

Rhaenyra could not wait any longer for the drawn out confession of her companion. She quickly placed her hand against Alicent’s flushed cheek, savoring the new warmth that she had been desiring for a decade.

“Oh, Alicent. We have been so blinded all this time,” Rhaenyra said, lovingly.

“I don’t believe we have been blind, only repressed from the things we truly wanted.”

Rhaenyra stroked Alicent’s cheek with her thumb, while also exploring extremely close to her lips. “How I have missed you.”

“Every light that guided me has been blown out since we have been apart. I always knew I would find my way back somehow,” Alicent explained.

Rhaenyra replaced her hand on Alicent’s cheek with her own lips. She could taste the heat radiating from Alicent’s skin, acting as motivation for her pleadings. Her lips moved closer to Alicent’s, but not without savoring each movement she made. Alicent sighed, her needs being fulfilled at last with the taste of Rhaenyra on her skin.

Alicent’s hands crawled to the back of Rhaenyra’s neck in hopes to guide her right where she wanted. To follow suit, Rhaenyra snaked her hands around Alicent’s bust to hold her close.

“It has been torture staying away from you these long years,” Rhaenyra whispered.

“And it is torture for me to watch you draw it out so,” Alicent whispered back, their lips almost touching. She waited for Rhaenyra to initiate their intimacy in hopes that Rhaenyra really did feel the same way she did.

Slowly, Rhaenyra lingered her parting lips over Alicent’s to graze each pair against each other. The breaths they took were shaky due to their built up nerves that started long ago. They yearned so much for one another that they were paralyzed with the realization that the moment they had waited for was here.

As if a mouse had spoken, Alicent spoke so softly. “I love you.”

“I loved you first,” Rhaenyra responded. “With all my heart.”

Rhaenyra broke the space between them with a kiss they had longed to share. Their kiss said more than they ever could to each other. It was a piece of them that became whole and healed again.

Both of them clawed at one another like rabid animals. Their hands were everywhere on their faces, their hips, their back, and spaces they never knew existed.

Their moans filled the air like a beautiful, intimate song. Rhaenyra tugged on Alicent’s long, curly hair, twirling it around her fingers as her lips moved against Alicent’s.

Alicent held Rhaenyra’s face in her hands as if it was the most precious jewel she had beheld. Her touch was gentle and loving. Alicent took her time to worship Rhaenyra just as she had been intending to do.

This was not near enough for Rhaenyra. She guided Alicent to the nearest wall to rest herself against. Rhaenyra pressed Alicent between the wall and her own burning body. Legends say that it took a special person to tame a dragon, but Alicent Hightower had Rhaenyra Targaryen wrapped around her finger.

Rhaenyra dug her nails into the side of Alicent’s neck while she left hot kisses along the side of her porcelain skin. There was barely skin left to touch by the time that Rhaenyra was done with Alicent.

Alicent had explored the most sensitive parts of Rhaenyra’s skin which elicited sensual responses each and every time. Her tongue was full of wonders as it snaked through Rhaenyra’s mouth and tangled within her own. They may savor the taste of each other for as long as they both roam the earth.

“Come with me,” Alicent hummed against Rhaenyra’s lips.

“And to where would we go?” Rhaenyra replied.

Rhaenyra felt Alicent smile against her lips, causing a roar of fire to be lit in her soul. “Anywhere, as long as it is with you, my Queen.”

“Mm, I could get used to that.” The words were like honey rolling off of her sweet lips. Rhaenyra could listen to her speak as long as she lived. “And what of the war? What shall we do with that?”

Their kissing ceased to exist for the moment which caused Alicent frustration. “Can we forget about that matter for the moment? The war will continue whether we are involved or not, you said it yourself. Bloodshed is inevitable.”

Rhaenyra studied Alicent’s face after she had spoken. There was an incessant need to be impulsive in her head which was frightening to her. She had never gone through those emotions, but there was a voice telling her to listen to the voice.

“Well, we had better get a move on then,” Rhaenyra said.

“You are quite serious?” Alicent laughed in disbelief.

“They say there is no time quite like the present, don’t they?”

And so, the two of them snuck around the darkened corridors of Dragonstone, weaving behind guards and avoiding questioning at all costs. Rhaenyra took Alicent down to the dragon pit for the first time. Syrax was Rhaenyra’s pride and joy, and it gave Rhaenyra great pleasure to fully show Alicent her world as she lived it.

Though Alicent had played her part in the Targaryen story, there was something incredibly profound about being in Dragonstone itself. Just like she had arrived, she could feel the furious energy down to the island’s bones. Real power had lived here for years and it was just getting started.

Playing a part in the Targaryen story took on a whole new meaning as the beginnings of a beautiful relationship bloomed between Rhaenyra and Alicent. They could sail and fly anywhere in the world, but home was such a pleasant place to start.

//

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[syndrossi]

this is random but in a modern!au in which Daemon and Otto are forced to work together and break into Viserys’ office to delete some emails off his computer for x/y/z reasons for each of them right?

and the password hint is: What I love most.

so, naturally, daemon goes: yep, rhaenyra while otto begrudgingly waits for it to work only for it to come up incorrect. then otto smiles to himself as he types in aegon’s name but it also doesn’t work?? and now they’re both frowning trying to figure it out.

to which then they start using all other names they can think of: aemma, alicent, baelon, alyssa, daemon, balerion, then the older kids names, etc. and then they realize they have two attempts left on the machine before it locks them out and stuff.

now, i know the answer.

do you?

Well, their first mistake was wasting a guess on Balerion. Viserys knew him for like five minutes. I would've guessed "wine" or whatever the lego Valyria equivalent is in modern times, personally. 😂 Though all of these are shit passwords, if we're serious about security. Which checks out for Viserys, really.

[lokisprettygirl]

Brokenhearted (Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon Modern AU) (18+)

Read Chapter 4 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 5

Summary: As your relationship with Daemon develops you find a secret from his past. Daemon is haunted by a realisation.

Warning: 18+, Smut, sex, degradation kink, pain kink if you squint, consensual sexual choking, Reader has a personality, flashbacks of abusive relationship, sexual abuse, Daemon is a big time smoker so if it’s something triggering don’t read it, he’s not the best boyfriend, alcohol drinking, mention of past trauma and therapy, cigarette smoking, possessive behaviour, some violence, baby needs therapy, baby is trying

It's been a month since Daemon had turned up at your door and asked you to take him back, you were more than eager, it was not about just sex anymore.

You had already begun to care for him even before the breakup but ever since you two had decided to make this relationship healthier you have only fallen in love him more and more everyday, he didn't know that though, you haven't confessed yet, he was still fragile in the emotional sense so you didn't want to push him away with such a declaration of love.

He was trying to be gentler with you, his behavior was changing slowly and just something about a guy doing that for you made you feel special in a way.

He hadn't changed for other people though, just you, he was still the arrogant Daemon you had met the first night but in the privacy of your bedroom he was opening himself up to you, last night he allowed you to caress his head while he rested with his head on your lap on the couch while you two watched a movie, it felt cathartic to have a man like him crumble around you this way. He deserved to feel loved and cared for even though he detested it.

That night after you had affirmed that you wanted him and him only he was completely honest with you, he clarified that he wasn't ready to go all in just yet, he cared about you and felt something deep but he wasn't ready to accept it.

He warned you that he won't be the best man for you because he knew how his mood soured so quickly whenever he was confronted with a situation that reminded him of his past, you still didn't know what had happened to him but you knew it had something to do with a lover.

You were cleaning around the kitchen when you heard your doorbell buzzing so you quickly got him in, he hugged you and then kissed you before he put his hand inside the pocket of his oversized hoodie and took out a tiffany box.

In last one month he had gifted you a coffee machine, a brand new blender which he figured out somehow that you had saved in your wishlist, a few pieces of expensive jewelry you didn't need and now whatever this was,

"What is it?" You chuckled so he smiled,

"Don't worry I'm not asking you to marry me" he joked, that was another fear he had, one of the reasons he didn't want to get involved in a serious relationship was because he didn't want to get married or have kids. You weren't sure what you wanted yet so you really didn't think much of it, for now you just wanted to be with him and he made you happier than you have ever been with a man.

He opened the box and you saw an elegant diamond studded locket in there, it had his initials on the pendant.

"You don't have to wear it if you don't wish to but I got it made extra lightweight so you won't even feel it" he really loved spending his money on you for some reason, he put the chain around your neck and he wasn't wrong, the locket barely had any weight on it.

"Mmmm are you trying to own me ..with your name tag and everything?" you mumbled against his mouth before you kissed him, he couldn't help but smile.

"I already own you silly girl" as soon as he used that voice on you, you were a putty in his hands, you took his hoodie off his body and he wasn't wearing anything underneath it, he picked you up in his arms and took you to the bedroom.

Unlike before Daemon had started to stay the nights here with you and in your sleep you did break the condition he had regarding cuddling but he didn't really mind that. He actually allowed himself to enjoy the warmth of your body.

He laid you down on the bed and stared at you, the initials engraved on the pendant were glittering in the low light of your bedroom.

"Take your clothes off darling, the chain stays" he said firmly so you undressed slowly while you kept your eyes on him and teased him "Mmm good girl..want to fuck you just like that" he gripped your chin and leaned down to kiss you before he pulled away. You got up on your knees and unbuttoned his pants, he had such a pretty cock, so thick in girth and the perfect size, he kept his icy blonde bushes trimmed, the carpet matched the drapes. He had never allowed you to touch him, caress him or suck him before but he was slowly getting rid of that fear of his especially when he noticed your eagerness to please him. He just didn't want to lose all control the way he had done with her.

That's what made him so useless.

He moaned as you grabbed his length in your fist and gave him a stroke, your lips trailed down from his sternum to his abs,

"Is this okay?" You whispered softly and he cupped your cheeks to kiss you.

"Mmmm" he hummed in response as you kissed down from his earlobe to his neck and your lips trailed over the scar on his shoulder blades, his face scrunched in a mixture of pleasure and fright at the same time, he grabbed the back of your neck and laid you down on the bed as he got on top of you,

"That's it darling…I need a moment" he told you softly so you nodded.

"You're okay i promise, you're safe" he gulped as you said that but he didn't step away, he placed his head between your neck and tried to calm his wrecked nerves. You continued to caress his hair and just a minute later he was hard and ready to go again , sometimes he would put a condom on when he fucked you but the other times he just fucked you raw like this, he always enquired if you were talking your pills and you always wondered why he was so diligent about it. Maybe he feared that you'd get pregnant or something.

He got on his knees and pushed his cock inside you, his hand wrapped around your throat as he moved his cock in and out of you slowly.

Nothing about your sex life had changed, it was only becoming more intense and satisfying with every night you spent with him.

He pulled out of you and flipped you around on your front, you gasped as he spanked your cheeks harshly then he brushed your hair aside and his fingers curled around the chain, he thrusted in again at the same time as he pulled your head up using the hold on the chain, there was a sweet pressure around your throat when he pulled on it, you moaned as he leaned down and kissed the side of your neck,

He placed his other arm on the mattress for the support as he increased the pace of his thrusts.

"Tell me that you're mine" he whispered in your ears, his voice was husky and breathy in your ears.

"I'm yours baby I'm yours"

"Tell me that I own this pretty little cunt of yours" he asked again,

"You own my body..you own my cunt..oh god you own me i swear" a loud moan escaped your throat as his cock hit that sweet spot inside you.

"Such an obedient slut..so perfect" he mumbled at the same time as your walls clenched around him and both of you hit the peak of this euphoria together. His cock twitched inside you as you continued to milk his cock and his warm cum filled you to the brim.

You placed your hand around his cheek as you turned your head and he placed his forehead on yours as you both tried to come down from your respective highs.

As his cock went limp he pulled out of you and turned you around on your back.

"I need a cigarette" he whispered softly so you nodded, it's not that you didn't enjoy aftercare after the sex but he wasn't the type of man to give you that and you wanted to respect his boundaries, he was already doing a few things you never thought he would so you wanted to give him time.

He was going to get off you but then he placed his hand on your cheek and stared at you for a moment, a smile formed on his lips.

"You're beautiful, you know that right?" You smiled as he said that. He was doing his best.

"Come here". He murmured as he leaned down and kissed you a few times as tenderly as he could before he finally got up. He never wanted you to feel used even though deep down he knew his actions must have indicated otherwise especially after sex but he wasn't ready to go all sappy for you. He went to the bathroom and when he came back..you got up to clean yourself, when you returned he was in the bed lighting up the cigarette, you knew you had to intervene about this habit at some point as well but now wasn't the time.

"Want me to go to the other room?" He asked you as you got in the bed so you kissed his cheek,

"Stay mister cheese burger" he smiled as you said that. You laid your head down on his shoulder and watched his chest heaving, his heart was still beating so fast.

"Shit I need my ashtray" he cursed under his breath and was about to get up but you put your palm under the cigarette and collected the falling ashes before they could fall on him or the bed. He looked at you intensely as he took another drag and rubbed the ashes on your palm with his fingers hoping it didn't hurt but then next time he promptly dipped the ashes on your palm and you sucked a breath as you felt the warmth of it.

"Kinky" he mumbled as he continued to look at you and it made you smile.

"I'm just used to burning my hands..I don't even feel this"

"Is that so?" he mumbled as he took the last hit from the cigarette while his hypnotic gaze never left your eyes, you suddenly got on his lap and he looked up at you as you sat down on his thighs while you kissed him.

"I have to put this out" he murmured against your mouth and you lifted yourself up until you had your breasts squished against his face,

"Do it" you mumbled as you grabbed his hand and brought it closer to your soft curves, he looked at you intensely, trying to figure out if you were joking or not but the look in your eyes was dark, maybe you were just horny at the moment and feeling bold.

"I'm not going to burn you, you silly girl" he resisted, he didn't want to hurt you like that. He never wanted to put his fingers on you or scar your skin. Especially when he knew how that felt.

"It's okay just once…let me feel it once" he glared at you as you grabbed his hand and he looked at the burning end of the cigarette before he gave into your request, you were asking for it afterall.

He quickly put the cigarette out on the swollen curve of your breasts in one quick motion and you winced because of the burn you felt, but then a moan escaped your mouth and he threw the cigarette away before he kissed you and quickly laid you down under him, his mouth trailed down and he latched his lips around the burned skin before licked it over and over again like a kitten,

"Don't make me do it again you hear me?" He glared at you, his eyes were teary so you nodded, you didn't want to trigger something, you didn't know what had gotten into you suddenly. You just wanted to feel it once and as much as you enjoyed the momentarily rush you knew it was going to hurt later.

"Yeah…I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry" you whispered softly so he cupped your cheeks and kissed you again before he rolled over and laid on his side, "Are you okay? I'm sorry" you whispered as you propped on your elbow. He looked at the mark and caressed it with his fingers.

"It's alright, it's not you i promise" you ran your fingers through his hair gently so he looked at you "Does it hurt?"

"It stings.. just a little"

"Why did you ask me to do that?"

"It was sexy"

"Hurting each other in bed is not sexy darling" he said sternly

"Mmmhmmm then why do you choke me?" You asked sheepishly

"It brings you pleasure, i see the look of pure ecstacy on your face when I do it"

"Well, this brought me pleasure too , you didn't hurt me, you gave me what I asked you to give me" he looked at you again as you said that "That being said..you don't have to do anything you don't want to do in bed, you could just say no and I'll never bring it up, it needs to be like that for both of us…it goes both ways, the safe word is not just for me.. okay?" You said softly and he gulped as the wheels in his head started to turn, he had horrible flashbacks of his time with her and how much she had abused his consent in bed, he just wanted to make her happy and keep her pleased while she continued to remind him of his role as a man in the relationship.

"I can say no and you'd listen to me?" He asked, his voice trembled as he spoke,

"Of Course i would, you're my boyfriend, I care about you and I would never want to do anything that will hurt you" you mumbled as you caressed his cheek.

"Thank you" he turned on his side towards you and you laid down on the pillow as well, you didn't want to overwhelm him so you kept your distance and didn't try to snuggle him, he was trying to open up slowly and you didn't want to hinder his progress.

You knew his trauma wasn't from his childhood because he had a good one, he grew up in London, he and his brother Viserys came to the USA when he was 18 and Viserys had just begun his UFC career, he only retired a few years ago.

Young Daemon looked up to his older brother and wanted to be in the professional ring someday just like Viserys, he even fulfilled that dream of his but something had happened to him later on in life that had ruined everything for him. His issues with intimacy and the scars on his body were enough of an indication that he was in an extremely debilitating and toxic abusive relationship with someone. You had tried to look him up and found an old picture of him from his first official league, he has won that match and he seemed so happy, it was the kind of happiness that seemed genuine, his smile reached his eyes in those pictures, you saw a woman clinging onto him in one of the pictures but you didn't find any further information about her or who she was.

You didn't want to be nosey, you knew he'd tell you if he wanted that information to be shared with you so for now you just wanted to be patient.

Next day you were at an event Daemon had taken you to with him, it was to celebrate the players that had been chosen for the next season and almost all the guys Daemon and Viserys trained under them had qualified. Casey Anderson made it too and that means you had to come face to face with Randall again. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes when you saw him, Daemon was busy with other people so you tried to avoid Randall but like a hawk he spotted you anyway.

"And we meet again" he walked towards you and you took a deep breath, your eyes met with Daemon from across the room so you assured him that you were fine, you didn't want him to lose his cool, especially today at such an event.

"Randall, congratulations" you said to him so he smiled.

"I see ..you're still dating that maniac huh? Makes sense..he's filthy rich" He chuckled but you noticed the venom dripping from his voice,

"He's not a maniac and I'd advise you to keep your mouth shut you fucking creep unless you want to lose a few more teeths" he glared at you as you said that. Funny how some men always got so frustrated when you treated them the way they treated you.

"I see huh ..a match made in heaven, gold digger and the woman abuser" he walked away after insulting you and you resisted the urge to turn around and give it back to him.

You understood why he called you a gold digger but why did he insult Daemon like that? What was he insinuating?

When all the players were on the stage you walked towards your boyfriend and you could see that he seemed lost in his head.

Daemon couldn't help but reminisce about the time he used to be one of these guys, Viserys always told him that it still wasn't too late, that he could still revive his career if he wanted to, he was far too skilled of a fighter to work behind the scenes but Daemon didn't think he was capable of doing it anymore. Everytime he was in the ring with people around him he only saw her face in the crowd and he remembered that last day he was in the ring, he knew he'd never get over that day.

As you linked your fingers with his he turned his head and focused his attention on you instead, he had seen that bastard Randall talking to you before so he was a bit concerned.

"Did he bother you?" He asked you so you shook your head.

"He's just a pathetic little man with a big ego"

"Are you describing me?" He joked but you glared at him

"You're not a pathetic little man"

He kissed your cheek quickly, he wasn't keen on doing any sort of PDA, that wasn't his style and you didn't mind that either but he needed to show you that he appreciated you because he really did appreciate you more than you could imagine and more than he was capable of showing you.

"Thanks for coming with me tonight" he mumbled softly so you smiled and squeezed his hand, his brother was looking at you from the other side of the room so you gave him a smile as well.

He was taking you back to his place after dinner and he saw you were a bit too quiet which wasn't like you at all so he tucked your hair behind your ear to get your attention. The action did make your heart flutter.

"Something wrong?"

"No ..just ..it's just Randall..he said something about you and it's bothering me, not because I believe him but because I know you're not like that I mean i know you..he shouldn't walk around saying stuff like that about you" you rambled on so he looked at you curiously,

"What did he say?"

"He called you a woman abuser" his jaw clenched as you said that.

"Did you believe him?"

"Of course not, that's not why I'm upset baby"

"Well you should be..he wasn't wrong.. he shouldn't know that though.. nobody is supposed to know about that" he mumbled under his breath so you looked at him,

"What do you mean?"

"Well i have done things you most certainly would not approve of" you looked at him confused as he admitted that Randall was right about him.

"You have hurt a woman?" He took a deep breath before he answered,

"Yeahhh..I put hands on a .. girlfriend of mine..hit her so badly that she was in the hospital for a month" he said nonchalantly as if it was something so ordinary for him. As he pulled into the driveway of his building complex he finally looked at you, there was a horrified look on your face,

"Are you scared of me now?" He asked you as he took your seat belt off and guided you to sit on his lap, you slowly crawled on top of him and he kissed you briefly.

"I'd never hurt you" he mumbled so you caressed his cheek with your fingers.

"Why did you do that?"

You asked him because you wanted to find the reason, you knew he had a short temper but he had never hurt you like that and you knew in your heart that he wasn't capable of doing something like that.

"You didn't answer my question..are you scared of me?"

He asked you again, this time his voice was more firm so you shook your head and kissed him lovingly to show him that you weren't afraid of him.

"I'm not scared of you, I'm just trying to understand you..there must be a reason, something that you're not telling me" you whispered softly, you didn't want to make your judgement on half information.

"I did it, reason or not, I did it and as a man I shouldn't have done it" his eyes teared up so you kissed his forehead. He wasn't a cruel man, you didn't want to believe that he'd just hurt someone like that in the fit of anger.

"Was it an act of retaliation? Defense?"

"It doesn't matter–"

"It does to me..I'm not asking you to tell me everything Daemon, it's just a simple question, did you do it because you finally had enough of it?" You asked him again and instead of answering he just nodded before he put his head down on your chest and hugged you tightly. You caressed his head to comfort him and none of you said a word for a while but then you spoke,

"It's okay…it's okay..i promise.. you did nothing wrong"

"I don't want you to think of me differently "

"I won't..i know you well enough to make my own judgments and I'll be here whenever you want to share more..you were just trying to protect yourself" he nodded as you said that. He had gotten really lucky in life when he had found you, the secrets he had kept from you were slowly starting to unravel but the way you looked at him made him believe that you won't put him down once you learn more about him. A part of him believed that you'd be his savior, that you'd hold his hand and pull him out of this hell he had trapped himself in.

He had given up on living, he was merely existing before you came into his life but now there was a hope again.

"I fear you'd pity me once you will learn everything about me" you chuckled as he said that but your eyes were teary and the look on your face was of pure admiration..

"Pity you? I could never pity the man that saved my life, you have been my only hero since that night in the alley.. I could never pity a man like you. You're so strong and no matter what you tell me, your past would never make me feel pity for you"

You told him your honest feelings and he just looked at you like you were his own personal angel sent from heaven, just for him.

It was in that exact moment he had realized that he was feeling something he had vowed to never feel. He was slowly falling in love again and he was terrified of that realization.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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@simbaaas-stuff @ajthefujoshi @witchybitch2

[lunarflux]

my dark companion (9/9)

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

genre—smut, dark romance song inspo—bad omens - death of peace of mind, billie eilish - my boy, halsey - young god, isabel larosa - i'm yours, florence & the machine - seven devils, 070 shake & christine and the queens - you can't kill me, breakk.away - outside, aurora - runaway, sleep token - take me back to eden summary— Aemond indulges in his twisted desires with a woman who knows his every need. They meet in secret, their passion driven by his anger and her willingness to submit to his painful advances. Aemond craves her, yet despises the intimacy that follows. He questions why she always returned to him, knowing that she did not love or care for him. The cycle of desire and anger persists, leaving him yearning for more, caught in a tormented state until their next encounter.

In the skies above the God’s Eye, Aemond fell. Vhagar could not save him this time, trapped in the furious grip of Caraxes with Daemon grasping Dark Sister at the forefront.

Death found him. He always knew this was his fate. Of the many foolish things he’d done, it was to wish fate had waited a little longer. Aemond wondered if his farewell was enough. He wondered if he loved Adiel enough. He wondered if the moon goddess would truly bring him home to her side once more.

Would he awaken in death to her face?

As Dark Sister plunged deep through the sapphire, Aemond reached up to the sky past his uncle’s grin where the faint glow of the daylight moon lay high above him.

His vision faded, but as Vhagar dragged him down, he opened his eyes, seeing clearly with the sight he’d lost so long ago. Further and further, the sun was high above him and out of reach. This is death, he accepted. The cold, dark depths of the sea engulfed him, but he could see so clearly. Not the sun or the moon, he saw her. Her raven hair was the darkness, and he held his arm outstretched, beckoning for her one last time.

--

“Adiel.”

Alicent held her chest, not knowing what was to follow. When the guards delivered news of Aemond’s death, she didn’t know how to react at first. To mourn for her son, her Prince, her youngest… Or to mourn for the inevitable death that would soon follow—that of his grieving widow. Their bond was very different than that of Alicent’s with Viserys and a far cry from whatever she felt for Criston Cole. Her son had found a lover in a time when love was a rarity, and he had the strength to claim it in spite of all who challenged the depth of the bond.

Adiel turned with her hands resting over her belly, rhythmically stroking it with her thumb as if the growing child beneath could feel her.

“Aemond,” Alicent’s voice trembled, “Adiel, I’m so—”

“Do you know why I resisted for so long, my Queen? Resisted returning his affection and only toying with him,” Adiel responded with somber undertones in her speech, yet the devastation beneath she kept concealed if only for a moment longer, “It would not have hurt this much had I not loved him. I would have happily accepted his pain, but now that pain is mine. It was only ever his pain that called me. I kept my distance, only ever relishing in his company when he called and never because it was I who craved it so terribly. Solitude is such a selfish decision made for the sake of self-preservation.”

Alicent tried to contain her heartache, knowing that Adiel’s suffering took precedence.

“I will deliver your grandchild, my Queen. But I do not think this pain will allow me to live comfortably as a mother.”

“A mother knows pain differently than any other.”

“But it is a mother’s duty to protect her child from pain,” a solitary tear dripped down Adiel’s cheek, “I cannot do so, not in good conscience.”

“Adiel, I beg of you,” Alicent took her hands and held onto them desperately, praying that she felt the sincerity of her pleas.

“My Queen, I am of no consequence, you need not beg—”

“Adiel—Please—Stay here with your child. Son, daughter—it does not matter. Time will relieve you of your pain, and in time… You will find other reasons to live.”

“There is no other life I wish to lead,” Adiel whispered, “Aemond’s claim on me does not end in death, nor does mine of him. I swore to it that night when we joined bloodlines. Even in death, I shall linger, and I intend to keep that oath until I see him again. Whenever that may be.”

Alicent drew back her hands. She didn’t know how far to push the grieving widow, and she feared that if she’d done so more fervently, Adiel might make a decision that would jeopardize more than that of a child, still growing.

“Raise the child however you see fit,” Adiel tinkered with Vhagar’s scale around her neck, “All I ask is to let my child return to House Gardener if they will take them. My father and I did not agree on many subjects, but I do believe he would have liked to see his lineage return to Highgarden even as a Targaryen.”

Adiel composed herself, patting away the tears so that she may deliver her message clearly.

“I know you have suffered much loss, Alicent.”

This was the first throughout the many years that Adiel had ever called upon her with her name.

“I cannot recall the joy you once felt, if you ever felt it at all, but this child will be a final gift—a grandchild to care for,” Adiel took Alicent’s hand tenderly, “For Aemond’s sake, love our child if nothing else.”

--

Alicent walked through the castle holding the delicate hand of a small child, a little girl with bright silver hair and a single, thick black streak above her left eye. The child, named Adira by her mother Adiel, was a curious, precious creature. She asked many questions and found joy in the company of all those who inhabited the Red Keep. Around her neck sat an invaluable necklace encrusted with emeralds and a single dragon scale.

Every morning, Alicent brought Adira to different parts of the Keep, halls she’d never seen before and rooms once occupied.

Such as her birthright on the morning of her ninth nameday, Alicent summoned a small fleet of ships to bring them to Dragonstone, now a fortress controlled by the greens. The curious child took delicate steps up to the stone castle and relished at its magnificence. Alicent, on the other hand, choked down the eerie feeling in her chest, knowing all who lay within its chambers.

They reached a massive door, and Adira ran her fingers across the intricate details carved into the metal.

Alicent pushed the door open, letting the young girl run inside to gaze upon the crypts of the Targaryen lineage. Names were etched into each tomb with poems in High Valyrian wrapped around the declarations of their legacy.

Adira looked up at her grandmother. With a small voice, she asked, “Are they here?”

“Soon, sweet girl,” Alicent shook her head, “One day, they will be.”

“Where are they now?” The innocence of the question made Alicent feel sick. The answer would not provide solace.

“They are together,” the elder lifted Adira in her arms, and they left the crypt to descend back into silence.

--

Down in the waters of the God’s Eye, Aemond's body lay attached to his faithful dragon’s bones. Much of his former beauty had been withered away by the sea and the cruel ushering of time. The remnants of his arm no longer reached towards the sky, positioned much differently than when he’d first met the abyss. He remained there for years with his head propped upward as if yearning for the moonlight.

There was another, unlike the other bodies that littered the sea floor, that appeared to embrace him, not yet in the full state of decay as he was. A sturdy chain wrapped around its throat, keeping it to the depths—chained to Vhagar deep where the sun no longer reached the water. Even in the darkness, the glimmer of the green dress refracted new colors in the blue.

Adiel’s cheeks no longer held the glow she once paraded around King’s Landing as Aemond’s faithful companion. Her eyes were empty, long lost to the creatures that traipsed around the dead to claim the what was left of lives lost below. And yet, where there was emptiness in both their eyes, they sat towards each other as if one had expected the other to arrive—regardless of how long it took.

She held Dark Sister, torn from Aemond’s face. Posed so perfectly as they did the night they chose to relinquish their pain in exchange for an eternity together, Adiel faced him, caressing Aemond's sapphire eye just as she always loved to do.

[maegorsbignaturals]

hey the maegor big hairy tiddy art happened to end up on my dash and after going through the reblogs I think you're the one most suited to fulfill the following genuine and heartfelt request

please explain the maegor fandom to me

Hey, no worries! I Know how strange it might be to see a fandom specifically to this character that is rightfully an AH.

So, the Maegor fandom can be break in three archetypes of people:

The first one is the ones who think of Maegor as a Chad-sigma type of character who is just villanified but he was actually so cool and it was a misunderstood hero on a bad tell story. They see him as a hero for ending the faith's armament and pushing Ceryse aside for being a EvIL HiGhTowEr (SOMETIMES this people mix with the team black fans) and that with their whole chest think Maegor's children were poisoned by Tyanna because he was a stud that bedded two women in the same night and had six wives and that he was some kind of sex-god. They Ignore that even if the disarmament of the faith was something good to westeros, it was more of a "even a broken clock gets the hour right twice a day" type of movement of his part, or an opportunist thing to do given how many problems the faith was giving him. Plus they also ignore that some of the edicts he made against the faith took down some innocent people with them. Rememeber when Maegor paid money to anyone that bringed him the scalp of a Warrior's son but most of it was of innocent people? or his severed heads that were said to be of poor fellows but most of it was of innocent smallfolk? Yeah, me too. Most of this type can be found on reddit, FB or even twitter

2. The second type is the x reader type of ficker. Most of them could be Dark romance readers and attracted to Maegor's looks (not blaming them tough) decide to insert themselves into the texts and make their relationships with Maegor the type of "Cold and dangerous guy who hates everyone but this one particular girl". This type may vary between each other because some get this really romanticized version of Maegor and others don't, so you get a lot of interpretations of this man. Once i readed a x reader post about a Yandere Maegor with a Pregnant special one that after she gave birth he did not gave a fuck about her and only had her as a baby machine an i was like...yeah, i suppose this gets really close to the cannon. Other's doesn't really vibe with being x reader but still like Maegor as a dark romance kind of guy and so they pair him with Rhaena making them a Daemon/Rhaenyra kind of relationship. You can find them here in tumblr, twitter, fb and wattpad and AO3.

3. And the third one is the ones who do not vibe with Maegor's disney-like evilness. They aknowledge he did evil things (Rhaena's character arc will never stop hurting) and they think hey, yeah, Maegor was a deeply fucked up guy but WHY was he an evil fucked up guy? They enjoy nothing more than examining him under a magnifying glass, if they could disect him and do a vivisection at him, they would do it.

Now, here is the thing, you can AND WILL find this specimen mixed because humans are not only one thing but multiple things at once. Take me as the example, i like to think Maegor was not born to usurp Aenys as most may think, but as a SUPPORT to him. but i also have an oc to do selfshipp with Maegor (Kudos to Beqqo the jester to living rent free on my mind). You can find an X reader ficker that knows Maegor was a BAD person but still enjoys him. It may vary in what spaces you are, yet, the thing that unites us is THE LOVE we have for Maegor as a character. And you may think, why do you love a character that made such horrible things? And that is a secret weapon called "Characters are tools not stances of who you are as a person", when reading Fire and Blood i don't think "DAMN George must really hate women" but as a "Well, this bad things that happen to women it is to show that feudalism and monarchy are systems where women are treated as ultimate tools to keep power and have not real power other that the one lent from men to them"

[two-white-butterflies]

post mortem | series masterlist

Six thieves gather hostages and lock themselves in the Royal Mint of Spain - a criminal mastermind by the alias of the Dragon manipulates the police to buy them enough time to print money. (money heist au)

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader, and Aegon Targaryen x Reader.

Part One: Slaughterhouse Part Two: Little Lamb Part Three: Festival Part Four: Like a Sex Machine Part Five: Watching a Horror Movie

[lady-phasma]

Hen embār masti (From the Sea We Came)

Part 1 of ? 2.7k words

Daemon Targaryen x Elaenya Targaryen (ofc) additional characters and family tree here

Warnings: none yet, slow burn, will be 18+ in future chapters

Prologue: In his 25th year, Prince Deamon Targaryen, with Corlys Velaryon, arranged to take the Stepstones from the Triarchy. Their forces succeeded and by 109 AC Daemon, age 28, styles himself Daemon Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea. He is to be crowned by Corlys, the Sea Snake, and then return to the Stepstones to take possession of the island Bloodstone. The coronation is to be held at Driftmark, celebrating both Daemon’s and the Sea Snake’s victory.

The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffside calmed Elaenya when her thoughts wouldn’t settle. She could listen to the raging water for hours, watching the fishing boats in the distance, the gulls swooping and swarming around them. She would slip away at the first opportunity, before her morning studies or while the rest of the castle lunched. She and her older brother had duties and obligations, but were allowed free rein of Driftmark and its shores. Her mother, Maela, was the youngest of Corwyn Velaryon’s four children, and Elaenya and Laerys, his youngest grandchildren. They had fewer expectations thrust upon them. There were times when their station demanded they behave as a prince and princess ought, but that didn’t hinder them from exploiting unsupervised moments.

She thought back to times she and her brother had explored the cliffs and caves along the beach, how they would return to the castle with sand covering them from head to toe, pockets filled with pebbles and shells. She had a fortunate childhood in some ways, though not perfect, and had been spared the boring days at court in King’s Landing and the machinations of the royal family.

She stood up from her seat on the rock and dusted the sand from her breeches. The wind caught her silver hair and lashed it around her. She closed her eyes and relished the salt spray on her face. The sun was low on the horizon and the air had become chilled.

Elaenya turned back to the castle, walking slowly up the beach. She still wore the leather pants and thick tunic from her training that afternoon. Being far from King’s Landing had many benefits, not the least of which was the small glimmer of freedom she was allowed. With a plethora of male cousins and her brother she had fought, quite stubbornly, to learn everything they learned. When her mother had finally acquiesced to Elaenya’s demands to learn swordsmanship, she had been inwardly overjoyed and outwardly unbearable for weeks. She wasn’t allowed to train as frequently as the boys, nor as fervently, but she had a natural talent and practiced on her own. She had held a sword in her hand nearly every day since she was three and ten years of age. She fingered the grip of Elēdrar as she started up the stairs. They were rough-hewn on this cliff face and weather worn and there were many of them. She took her time climbing, enjoying the changing hues of the sky presaging sunset. Well before she reached the top, a screech jerked her attention skyward. Crimson, almost black, against the orange sky, Caraxes dove and announced his arrival. Elaenya bounded up the remaining steps, paying no attention to the exertion.

The stair landing opened onto a flagstone courtyard. She was dizzy from her strained breathing but had room for only one thought. Daemon turned at the sound of her footfalls

“Cousin!” she nearly squealed, sounding much younger than her eight and ten years. He smiled at her as he removed his helmet. He ran a hand through it, mussing it after having his helmet on for hours. Elaenya stopped short.

“Yes, cousin?” Daemon grinned at her.

“Well, you,” she stuttered, then smiled back at him. “You seem to have lost some hair, my prince.” She winked at him. He closed the distance between them and scooped her up in an embrace that lifted her feet from the ground. She hugged him back. Still trying to catch her breath, she looked toward Caraxes. He was eyeing them both passively. The dragon was exhausted.

“Shall we get you both settled?” She took his helmet from him, freeing his hands to unpack his saddlebags. She looked at the soot and blood on it and smoothed the plume down. It too was filthy. She would summon a squire to take care of his armor for him.

Daemon patted Caraxes’s snout as they walked off. Their hair and clothes whipped in the air as the dragon ascended and left the courtyard. He would find plenty of sheep or goats to eat before he rested. Elaenya walked ahead of Daemon as they entered the castle.

She doled out instructions to a waiting maid and requested a squire to assist the Prince with his armor. Daemon watched her with a prideful smile, but his eyes were tired. The journey was two days by dragon.

“I’ve had a bath and supper sent to your room. I trust you remember where it is?” she asked. She beamed upon noticing the way he looked at her.

“You’ve become quite a Lady since I saw you last. It wasn’t so long as a year ago though it seems much longer,” he was genuinely impressed, but teasing Elaenya was something of which he would never tire.

“Lady!” she scoffed. “Hardly.” She grinned and gestured to her filthy clothing. “I suppose I need a bath as well. I forget how to be a Lady unless we entertain guests. And if the rumors are to be believed, we will be having quite a few guests tomorrow.”

“Perhaps.” Daemon’s mouth twitched up at the corner. “I shall see you when we break our fast tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she replied. She kissed his cheek before departing for her chambers.

The fire helped to dispel the chill in the room but not entirely. It must have not been lit long. Steam rose from the bath water. Elaenya undressed impatiently. The evening sea air had seeped into her bones. She loved the way the water felt as if it burned when she first stepped into it. As she sank down into the tub, letting the day slide off her, she mulled over Daemon’s comment. She supposed she had become more confident with the servants and had learned more from her mother about her duties this year. This was inevitably the result of her mother’s intention to make Elaenya a desirable prospect as a wife. She groaned. She glanced to the corner near the hearth where Elēdrar was propped. Her Valyrian steel sword. It had been her father’s. There weren’t many in the family so when her brother had given it to her for her eighteenth name day she had been speechless. By all rights it should be Laerys’s.

It was a bit small for him. It had more sentimental value to him as he could remember more time with their father. However, Laerys had been bequeathed his own. His had come from the Velaryon lineage; Elaenya’s from the Targaryen’s. It fit her perfectly. She could wield hers one-handed if needed and could do great damage with two hands.

She let her eyes close as she rested her head against the back of the tub. She would wash when the water was cooler. For the moment she wanted to feel the heat. She gathered her silver hair behind her head, keeping it from the water and using it as a makeshift pillow. An unbidden memory floated behind her closed eyes...

Elaenya remembered how her sword had stopped midair, striking an unyielding object. She had turned around immediately and almost dropped it.

"Well, what do we have here?" The Dragon smiled down at her. All black armor and silver hair. He let the blade slide down his forearm, then gripped it, keeping it from falling to the ground. It had struck his vambrace when she had swung inexpertly.

She swallowed and was too embarrassed to respond. She could only blink up at him, then down at her sword in his hand and his helmet in his other.

She had been ten years of age the first time she had seen Daemon Targaryen up close. He tossed the sword in the air, flipping it to catch the grip. He turned it, making a show of inspecting the blade.

“They let you train with this, little one?” He flipped it again and handed it back to Elaenya, grip-first.

“Yes, only a bit, my Prince,” her mouth was dry. He seemed overlarge and certainly his reputation contributed to that.

“You’d do well to pay attention to your surroundings, cousin,” he grinned. “Watch where you swing such a deadly blade.” She laughed at this. They both knew it was a training sword with the dullest blade imaginable. “I shall leave you to it.”

He left unceremoniously. Young Elaenya watched him walk away until he entered the castle.

Elaenya made her way to break her fast the next morning. Her excitement propelled her down the corridors. The skirts of her pale blue dress flowed out behind her as she walked.

When she arrived at the hall, Daemon and her uncle weren’t present. She hid her displeasure with a genteel smile and walked toward the table.

“Good morrow.” She greeted her good sister, Rhanora, and brother, Laerys. She took her seat next to Rhanora as a servant brought her meal.

“You welcomed Prince Daemon last night, sister?” Laerys asked as he reached for the bread. He broke a piece off and handed it to his wife before taking some for himself, then handed the loaf to Elaenya. His eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief as they met hers.

“Thank you. Yes, I was on the beach when he arrived.” She gave him an exaggerated reproachful look. “How is the babe this morning?” Elaenya nodded toward Rhanora’s rounded middle.

“He was quite restless last night, but seems to have calmed today. I am ready for the little prince to make his appearance.” Rhanora stroked her belly as she spoke. It would not be much longer. Perhaps only a month’s time according to the Maester.

“Hopefully you may both have some rest before the festivities this afternoon.” Without meaning to, Elaenya rolled her eyes. She immediately flushed, praying neither of them had seen.

“Do you not approve of our cousin’s new title, El?” Her brother graciously winked at her, relieving her of the guilt that had begun to creep in. Laerys chuckled but it was clipped off when he looked up.

Their mother, Maela, had entered the hall. She smiled at them as she approached the table.

“Good morrow, Mother.” Elaenya and Laerys spoke almost in unison. Elaenya giggled. They had acted like they were still children, caught up to no good. Her mother kissed her fondly on the forehead before she sat.

“Good morrow children, Rhanora. Was something amusing, my son?” Maela didn’t look up from her task of buttering her bread.

“Well… yes, Mother, in fact, El thought Daemon’s coronation a bit of a farce.”

“I-“ Elaenya began in a huff, but her mother and brother laughed.

“Perhaps you should keep your opinions of your cousin confined to this dining table, El, lest someone mistake you for an usurper.” Her mother smiled at her.

Maela was a delicate woman but strong and fierce and kind. Her outward appearance and demeanor were every bit as regal as was required to marry a Targaryen prince. Before their father had died, Maela had smiled more often. Since then these intimate moments were the only times she seemed to slip off the twelve years of mourning which she wore like a cloak.

Maela had loved Gaemon Targaryen, their father, regardless of the marriage having been arranged. She was devoted to her two children, often seeing their father in their humor and playfulness.

“You look lovely today, El,” she said as she appraised Elaenya’s hair and dress. “More excited for the festivities than Laerys would lead me to believe?” She smiled mischievously.

Elaenya shot a sour look at her brother. She would find a way to repay him for exposing her to their mother.

“They will be historic, Mother,” she replied, not attempting to hide her smile.

Daemon and Corlys didn’t join them. Elaenya excused herself after she had finished her meal. She decided to go to the terrace to watch the arriving ships and the dragons. They, too, needed to break their fast and could be seen diving in the sea for fish that they rarely had access to at their homes.

She walked the corridors in no hurry. As she passed the library she heard voices. The doors were closed and she didn’t enjoy eavesdropping but she couldn’t help but hear Daemon’s agitated voice interrupt Corlys.

“-to Bloodstone. Tomorrow.”

Elaenya heard boot heels approaching the door. She moved away quickly, on through the corridors.

The ocean breeze was warmer than she had expected. She took a seat on a stone bench near the parapet. The dragons keened above and below her. Caraxes dwarfed her Saelys by half. Saelys’s teal coloring shifted between blue and green as she flew in the morning light. She watched Caraxes dive and reappear. A couple of newcomers circled and dove with them.

Bloodstone. Elaenya thought. She supposed it had not occurred to her that Daemon would go away so soon. Of course he would. Driftmark was not his home and only the war with the Triarchy had caused him to visit during the last few years. He and the Sea Snake would convene here when they needed to regroup or plan a new offensive. Those times were rare. None of the visits were long but she had spent every possible moment she could listening to them discuss strategy and tactics. More than once she had been their cup bearer in these meetings. The years had seemed to pass slowly with nothing remarkable happening between Daemon’s appearances at Driftmark.

He had spent most of his time there focused on his duties but after the councils he would walk on the beach with Elaenya. He would ask her questions about her training or Saelys or walk in comfortable silence. She didn’t prattle like young women were wont to do. Yet in all that time she had never thought about where he would be after the war ended. He had been a constant part of her life for three years and three years could feel like an eternity when your days were monotonous.

Elaenya gazed out at the ocean and let her mind wander. Soon she would be required to attend her mother and brother. Alongside them she would represent the Targaryens at Driftmark. What an odd predicament, she thought, to be loyal to her uncle and cousin and yet claim to be loyal to the Crown. Surely Daemon’s and Corlys’s actions were treason but she would heed her mother’s words and keep these thoughts to herself.

That afternoon, Elaenya took her place next to her brother in the hall. They stood to the side of the dais. Their uncle Corlys Velaryon sat on the driftwood throne. Every Velaryon who resided at Driftmark was present. The hall was buzzing with conversation. A few younger men laughed, the sound echoing through the rafters. The celebratory mood overshadowed the fact that Daemon and Corlys we committing a minor act of treason. Looking at the faces around the hall, she didn’t see any that showed displeasure. Everyone in attendance reveled in the victory.

A voice was heard above the others, asking for silence, and a wave of shushing flowed through the crowd. Heads turned to watch the young prince enter. His short, silver hair was raked to the side. His violet eyes focused directly ahead, not looking at the spectators. He looked smug even without a grin, but surely that grin lay close to the surface, Elaenya thought. She allowed herself a tight-lipped smile.

Her cousin stopped at the dais, not mounting the stairs. Silence fell completely as the Sea Snake stood. He walked to the edge and a servant met him, holding out the crown. The polished bones curved like those of a man’s ribs. Elaenya swallowed dryly at the unsavory thought. Daemon didn’t kneel, only bowed his head slightly.

“Let all present bear witness,” Corlys spoke loudly to the onlookers. “Daemon Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea.” The Sea Snake placed the crown upon Daemon’s head. Cheers and applause sprang up from the crowd. Elaenya wondered if it wasn’t a bit forced, overly enthusiastic. Surely not everyone was excited to see her cousin become a king.

Daemon raised his head and began to turn to face the crowded hall. As he did he caught Elaenya’s eye and proffered her a smirk that fell away as quickly as it had arrived. Heat rushed to her face but Daemon had already looked away. That single look had confirmed her suspicions: he knew exactly how much of a farce this had become.

To be continued...

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Twenty-One

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty

AO3 LINK

Author's Note: This chapter got out of control and ended up split (did I add another 1k per beta notes? yes, yes I did). I also wrote half of this chapter in the blackout haze I was in during this past season soooo take that as you will.

Many many thanks to @darkwolf76 for her un-spoiled eyes on this chapter and the encouragement I needed! Go check her work out for Strong Family Feels!

Much love to @selfproclaimedunicorn who likes to see what pretty jars we can shove these characters into to shake them around. ALSO check out her fantastic fic as well!

@vampire-exgirlfriend is my favorite person in the whole world, the Rhaenyra fan to my Alicent fan, the fox to my rabbit. I adore you and this story would not be here without you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Oh, Father, Tell Me

Aegon spirals on his morning ride and in the face of Daemon's arrival. A tense conversation with Larys Strong. Won't anyone just leave him the fuck alone?

The wind howled between the cracks around the windows and Abby snuggled deeper into the covers, Wylla’s hands clasped around her own. The bed was three times the size of the one she had in the Red Keep, and she tried not to think that the last person in this bed had been her mother.

“It’s alright,” Wylla whispered. “You shed all the tears you need.”

The words had been robbed from her in this haze of grief and loss, of confusion, and so many other things that raked at the soft meat of her insides. She could only nod into her pillow, and let Wylla push her hair from her face, half unfamiliar words in the song she sang quietly to her. It was only as Abby finally began to drift off, did she hear the sound of the door open, but she did not open her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Wylla hissed.

“You’re here to make sure nothing untoward happens,” Aegon’s voice drifted over her, followed by the soft thunk of boots on the rug. “The bed’s big enough; I can wake the other ladies to join us.”

“She just fell asleep-”

“Is she alright?” Aegon’s voice was softer and closer all the same, and Abby felt the bed dip as Aegon climbed on top of the covers behind her. The warmth of him was like a fire, soothing and comforting as he pressed up against her back, effectively keeping her contained between him and Wylla. She turned her head slightly and Aegon’s lips tenderly grazed her temple.

“She will be.” Wylla’s hands squeezed hers and Abby sighed, finally able to drift fully asleep.

Sleep had eluded Aegon, and he had woken far too early for his tastes, the murky gray light that signaled the coming dawn creeping in through the windows. The maid who had come to stoke the fire had stared at him, wide eyed, before dropping into a curtsy and hurrying from the room. He rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to Abrogail’s temple before dragging his stiff body from the bed and slipping quietly out onto the tiered balcony. He reached up, fingers caressing the wisteria blooms he’d sent back with Ser Simon all those months ago. Abby adored them, and he wanted to bring a piece of their garden here.

His father had ordered the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin Strong.

Jace had said little after the revelation, speaking of what he’d overheard, his voice harsh and cracking between breaths and in Aegon’s hands lay the admittance that his sister had truly sired bastards by the tongue of her own son. Jace had put the lives of his family in his hands then, amid his gasping and tear filled eyes. It was the moment that Alicent Hightower had been waiting for all these many years…and Aegon only kept a hand pressed between his nephew’s shoulder blades, sat beside his childhood companion, and simply sat there with him in the dark.

By rights, Aegon should hate the boy beside him. His feelings for his sister were a tangled knot of Helaena’s embroidery thread that joined the ribbon tied through his ribs. A piece of him that he would never be free of, for Aegon didn’t know how to cut himself free of it. It was not his sister in the crypt that Jace had heard, however. It had been the king, sire and grandsire, the head of their family. The man who looked past Aegon as if he was a specter that was too painful, and then the moment where those eyes focused and for those fleeting heartbeats, Aegon thought the king saw the son that he had.

His own hand held the blade - or in this case, lit the match - and it occurred to Aegon then how obvious it felt. Targaryens believed in a cleansing fire. Their house words spoke of this, Fire and Blood. Fire and Blood had come for House Strong, not a powerful wave crashing against the towers like some suspected Lord Corlys to have been responsible for it. His weak father had taken the accusations personally, and defended his daughter with the same sort of viciousness that Mother had defended Aemond. The same sort of viciousness that he never bestowed upon them.

Too weak. King Viserys was too weak but it was not weakness, Aegon thought, to spare a child. Had Rhaenyra admitted what had happened, he doubted anyone would have faced death. Ser Harwin would have gone to The Wall, Rhaenyra’s sons disinherited. Maybe Aegon would have become her heir then. Not that he wanted it, but Aemond would have even at that age, and that might have been something.

No. Instead, the king spilled blood through the sort of schemes he disdained of.

Harrenhal was too unfamiliar for Aegon to make his way through quietly. It was early enough that he wasn’t bothered, but it meant that the murmured conversations of the servants were his to overhear.

“They say it’s a Second Great Council,” a voice had said to their companion; two servants scraping out the great hearth that had burned low through the night. “I heard that the king will name his son heir at the wedding.”

“He didn’t name him in King’s Landing,” the other voice had pointed out.

The first voice laughed. “But more are coming to the wedding. You can see the tents for miles!”

The court had whispered those rumors the whole of Aegon’s life, every time his name day came around that it would be the year that he would supplant his sister as heir. Rumor that would chase along the whispers of court each time Rhaenyra gave birth to another brunette boy.

He wants me to inherit nothing! He wanted to scream at them. They all saw it. They all saw over and over again how little King Viserys cared for his long sought after first born son. The boy he stopped caring about as soon as Precious Rhaenyra’s little Jacaerys came.

Jacaerys Velaryon, who looked like Ser Harwin and always had, who shared the same dimpled smile as Abrogail. Jacaerys, who the king doted on and spoiled and paid more attention to than Aegon.

Jace, who had come running to him when he was small, crying because something had frightened him. Jace, who tagged along after him when Aemond rolled his eyes and stuck his head in a book.

The castle was already bustling as Aegon made the long walk to the stables, Kostōba already saddled by his request. He reached up to rub his palm along his face while he fed the horse a carrot for his good behavior and left out the main gates and down the trail west, away from Harrenton and towards the roost where Sunfyre and the other dragons had nested.

His father had ordered the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin Strong in order to cover up for his sister’s indiscretions.

Sunfyre rumbled beneath him as he climbed on, chittering and confused, watching him with great, golden eyes and trilling softly; a whistle of a song. Dreamfyre was curled up a ways away, Vermax chittering beside her while Moondancer perched up along the jagged rock of the ruined tower that made up the dragon roost. They all watched as Aegon and Sunfyre took off and Aegon let his stomach drop, the wind from the ascent pull tears from his eyes and tried to escape into the nothingness of the sky.

Did he even want to be king?

He had meant it when he said that he would not contest Rhaenyra’s claim. Kingship looked exhausting, with everyone demanding and expecting and pushing and pleading. He already dealt with the favor seekers and the clout chaser amidst court, preying upon him to aid their own desperate grabs at ascent. Cassandra Baratheon had been a more dangerous indulgence; the comely heir of a Lord Paramount with eyes set on something more. He wasn’t a fool. He knew that allowing her to think she could get her claws in him had been a risky move, and one that he was pleased had worked out for the better. She had not been the only one, nor, he knew, would she be the last.

Sunfyre let out a loud shriek and swooped down, the flotilla of previously peaceful ducks floating languidly upon the still waters of the lake now a frenzy of frightened calls before the dragon let out a pleased groan and scooped a mouth full of the water fowl into his mouth, belly just skimming the water, tail splashing in the sudden descent and quick ascent to avoid crashing into the depths. Water splashed up, the droplets catching into colored streaks of light in the early morning rays. He shouted in surprise and delight, Sunfyre shaking water from his head as he indulged himself, successfully pulling Aegon from the spiral of uncertainty that he had found himself in.

He did not want to be king, nor did he want to hide himself away amidst the ash and bone of the past the way his father did. He wanted to wake each morning buried balls deep in his wife, senses filled with her to erase away the haunted dreams of loneliness and pain. He wanted to greet the day upon dragonback and watch the sunrise; a streak of blue as vivid as Abrogail’s eyes, streaked with pink and orange and purple, the rays turning Sunfyre more golden and brilliant than ever. Where the world was quiet and peaceful, where nothing chased and demanded and clawed. Aegon wanted a life away from the harsh demands of King’s Landing. How peaceful it was here at Harrenhal. Yes, he missed the sound of bells from the Great Sept, the bustle and crush of Flea Bottom, but it was not a longing that bred contempt. Aegon knew that in his bones. It was an ache of appreciation, of thankfulness, because the quiet here, unexpectedly found as he and his dragon danced above the God’s Eye, was a gift he had not realized he had needed, let alone wanted.

The Isle of Faces was shrouded in the morning mist and the high, bone white boughs of the weirwoods reached up through the fog, the sprays of vivid red leaves like drops of blood against the snow. Sunfyre kept a distance away and Aegon did not urge him closer. He knew little of the island except that it was the last home of the Southron Weirwoods, a sacred place of worship. He squinted towards the island, the little outcropping that jutted out into the water, and startled as something moved.

The antlers caught his attention; the twist of the them at first fooling him for branches of a tree before the figure moved. It was no beast, at least, not one that Aegon had ever seen before. It was a shadow in the mist, a figure of some great height but he could not tell if it was what adorned its head or if the figure was truly tall. It moved out of the trees, the damp swirling around it as it stepped into the streak of morning light that lit up the little outcropping, shrouded in shadow.

Aegon’s ears pricked as a strange sound met him. A loud but low humming seemed to emanate the closer they came to the island. He had never heard such a thing before and although it was a distant sound, it reverberated in his bones, vibrating along the back of his neck.

His father had Lyonel Strong and his son were killed to protect Rhaenyra from further accusations.

The accusations had not been erased, and Aegon had seen the way Ser Simon had looked at the boy, eyes wide, the man who was so quick with words stunned speechless.

Everyone knows. Just look at them.

He craved the sweet rush of Arbor Red down his throat, or the taste of Abby’s cunt on his tongue. He craved escape and with an anguished shout, he urged Sunfyre faster, letting his roar claw at his throat just as Sunfyre joined him, the sensation of his dragon a comfort in his chest. The pair of them yelled together, Aegon breathless and lightheaded, his throat protesting at the scream he let out.

Sunfyre let out another trilling call and took off higher, the end of his tail slapping against the water and Aegon craned back to watch the figure as it grew smaller and smaller in the distance. The feeling in his stomach was one of uncertainty; an unsettled sensation that roiled in his belly like a sloshing ale tankard. He leaned over the horn of his saddle, running a gloved hand along Sunfyre’s scales. Another strong beat of his dragon’s wings, and Sunfyre sped faster into the dawn sky, the cold of the clouds hitting against Aegon’s face, cooling the perpetual heat of his skin and stinging his eyes. Yet he inhaled the smell of petrichor and let it course through his body and wash away the odd sensations and the thoughts that plagued him.

Still, it stuck.

His father had his wife’s father and brother killed to protect his sister. His wife’s other brother had a hand in it.

His sister, Aegon would never forget, who stood in the face of their brother’s maiming, the grievous injury that could have killed him; an ugly and long, painful death from infection and agony, to change the focus to her, and the perceived injustices against her, to the expense of the rest of them. Instead of punishing her children in any sort of capacity, she turned it into something completely different. Cruel and unnecessary; no one had been speaking of it. It had to do with Vhagar, not an attack on Rhaenyra herself. But she had run with Jace’s quiet words of a foolish child, bringing in what wouldn’t have been on the table had she not been fucking Harwin Strong and trying to pass his children off as Laenor Velaryon’s.

The king had eagerly gone along with it, further than even Aegon expected. King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, was mild, milquetoast, and so averse to conflict that he and Aemond would start muttering, “Oh no, my indigestion! Oh no, my ulcers!’” every time some sort of disagreement or conflict began to rise at whatever familial occasion came about. Their sire, who yelled and railed when he wished to be contrary to exercise his desire…had ordered the deaths of his Hand and the man’s heir—the man who his heir was fucking.

Three children too late, of course, but the king had been backed into a corner and had snapped and spread his wings to show he could be just as dangerous as Prince Daemon. Aegon knew that much about his father. Even if none knew how it had happened, did Rhaenyra know what their father had done for her? Aegon could not know her mind, but he knew if it had been himself, he would have raged at it.

He would have gone into the king’s room and torn his heart from his chest. This fool of a king who waited too long, acted too late to do anything and left them all here: fractured and broken with no hope of anything but blood across the throne.

Was Rhaenyra not also a dragon? Or had she rolled over and showed her belly in the face of their father’s twisted adoration?

Alicent Hightower’s children. Never brother nor sister..

Aegon had no choice. There was no world he existed in where Rhaenyra was not his sister. She had enough luxury to put distance between them, and how aggressively she did. Her shadow loomed behind him, and he knew that his own dogged her. She was not coming to this wedding for him. She was not coming to share in his incandescent joy to finally be bound to the one he loved. She was coming to assert her place, to remind them all that she was their father’s favorites, their father’s chosen.

What would she do in the face of House Strong who saw Jace’s face, and would soon see his brothers? What would the king feel compelled to do? Would he set the rest of the house ablaze to erase whatever physical similarities would undermine Rhaenyra’s claim? As if three sons of his own weren’t enough to undermine her? Take their faces instead of their tongues.

King Viserys despised nothing more than being made to look like a fool.

It was never just Mother who railed at what was plain to see. It was never just her.

‘Do you think Rhaenyra’s sons will be your playthings forever? When she ascends the throne, your life may be forfeit. She could move to cut off any challenge to her succession. You are the challenge, Aegon! Just by living and breathing!’

Sunfyre rumbled beneath him, the chirping purr he made one full of confusion and concern, his great head turning to look back at him. Aegon remained slumped over the saddle horn as the dragon flew aimlessly above the God’s Eye and the rolling hills of the Riverlands. It would be so easy to unhook his belt and let himself roll off and plummet into the depths below. To escape the machinations and lies and secrets of his family and replace it with the depths of blue would be a simple escape. Whatever violence his mother and grandfather saw in the future, could he simply… make it go away? If he went away?

He could not. He would not. Not now. Not when he was so close. He could not leave Abby here alone in this world; he would not abandon her the way she had been left behind by everyone else. He’d promised and he meant it.

Aegon looked up from his staring at the pink frills along Sunfyre’s neck to blink up, eyes stinging, as a warbling, undulating call echoed from the east. It echoed over the rolling green fields and the forest that hugged along the banks by the castle. It was a distant sound that sent a shiver down his spine, undulating and unnerving. His stomach swooped and dropped uncomfortably, and the half bottle of wine he’d drunk last night threatened to slosh up. Sunfyre rumbled beneath him, a growl in his throat as he whipped towards the east with a screech.

There was only a single dragon in the sky; his sister must have gone further to meet the carriage that held the children and the Velaryons. The blood red of Caraxes’ scales glinted like garnets in the morning light. The distant sound of laughter joined the dragon’s call as the red pitched and turned north.

Sunfyre’s warning call screamed louder across the sky. He didn’t need to be told; Sunfyre simply knew. They bolted after them a heartbeat later, racing towards the hulking, melted spires of Harrenhal, thoughts of oblivion, of glutting on lake fish forgotten. His friend might not be quite as old as Caraxes, but he was just as big, and fast, if not faster. A screech let out, a flash of hot light expelled from Sunfyre as they gave pursuit, but the wyrm merely dropped down and another laugh echoed back. Something hot burned in Aegon’s chest and Sunfyre shuddered beneath him.

The command rested on Aegon’s tongue, tempting as a fresh bottle of wine, as his winsome lover spread upon his bed. It was from a deep, feral place in his chest, where Sunfyre’s presence glowed warm and molten through his veins. He bit his tongue and Sunfyre screeched for him. The need to take the other man and his dragon in his jaws, rip and rend and shake the bits of them as blood sacrifice to the gods, was near consuming. A rage inside of Aegon that had built over the years threatened to bubble up. The hot tang of blood rushed into his mouth both from dragon dreams and the fact that he’d bitten himself to keep from shouting. He was desperate to do something with this rage that had nowhere to go, and the idea of rending Daemon Targaryen limb from limb, offering him as sacrifice at the feet of his mother to free her from the strangling fear that turned her angry and desperate.Aegon would take the threats of their family, prove to Aemond that he too was capable of standing up, bold and strong. To show Otto Hightower that he was not the feckless fool he sought to puppet. To prove to Abrogail that she would never have anything to fear, ever again, and that their family would be safe.

To show Rhaenyra that she could keep her claim that she so desperately wanted, but that she would not come for them, lest she meet the same fate.

To show his sire-king, the decrepit old man he was, that Aegon would defend them with fire and blood too when he would not. To force King Viserys to see him and know that this was the creature he’d turned him into; that he’d turned this family into. Where his mother had turned cruel and desperate to protect them, where Aemond was angry all the time, where Aegon lived each day with a sword above his head, wondering if that morning would be the day the king did not wake, and the dragons would scream.

Another laugh echoed as the pair ahead swooped down to skim the water before bursting back up, amused and uncaring of the screaming dragon that gave chase. Daemon was enjoying it. He howled as that rage took him, and Sunfyre screamed along with him. They were nearing the great curtain walls of the fortress now, the sun to their right casting their shadows along the glimmering blue of the God’s Eye, the antlered shadow on the outcropping long forgotten. The wyrm banked further northwest to the dragon roost and Aegon hissed.

“Lilagon, Sunfyre,” he commanded, and Sunfyre danced. The dragon glided effortlessly into the turn, coming up up along the inside as they circled Harrenhal and used the momentum to burst past and rocketed straight for the broken tower. Sunfyre let out a warning cry, banking around and rising up, wings spread. Aegon had no thoughts, no words, except to protect. This was his, and this laughing man and his strange dragon wyrm had chosen already.

Like Viserys, Daemon had chosen his side, more dangerous than the rest of them.

The dragons below in the pit started shrieking in response to Sunfyre’s call, but Moondancer shot up, her calls far less distressed, the verdant green of her scales glimmering as she twirled in the air. At the little dragon’s approach, the wyrm circled towards her, the elongated neck ensuring that Caraxes’ eyes did not leave Aegon and Sunfyre, warning him away.

“Sȳrī tymptan!” came the distant shout. Aegon felt Sunfyre shift. “Aōha kepa avy dīnagon ozūndegon amastas! Rhaenyra aderī kesīr ulza.”

Dreamfyre was ululating from the ground in response to Sunfyre’s warning and Aegon glared towards his uncle.

“We’re fine,” he murmured to the dragon, scratching at the scales along his neck. Sunfyre huffed his displeasure but did not cry out again. Dreamfyre was still making sounds, but the distressed call had stopped and the two of them lowered to the ground, Moondancer still above and circling. The Dragonkeepers were rushing about, and Ser Arryk was holding onto his horse’s bridle, the stallion stomping its feet with fear at the shouts of the dragons. Aegon could see a wheelhouse in the distance, another Kingsguard stallion leading it ahead.

He undid the hooks on his saddle and slid down Sunfyre’s wing before the dragon could settle properly, his golden eyes fixated on the other dragon settling himself away from Dreamfyre. His breath was quick and his skin felt overly hot, prickly, like he was about to let out his own flame. Daemon Targaryen was far more fluid; lazy, even, as he swung himself down, the fall of the man’s hair and his long limbs a familiar sight. There was a strange moment when the man turned and cocked his head, that Aegon thought he was looking at his brother, and wondered in a terrifying moment, if Daemon Targaryen was Aemond’s future.

The last time he’d seen his uncle had been at Laena Velaryon’s funeral. A figure seen occasionally during his childhood, Daemon Targaryen was more a staple of stories and sneers than what Aegon would consider an actual uncle. He’d holed himself up on Driftmark with the Velaryons and the twins before he married Rhaenyra, and the pair of them had refused to come to court since their marriage. The man had changed little over the years. Tall and silver haired, Daemon was a figure of health compared to King Viserys, still recovering from the long trip up from the capital.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, Prince Daemon,” Aegon said, a final, gentle pat against Sunfyre’s neck, the dragon’s head turned to keep his golden eyes on the Blood Wyrm and its rider. Aegon lifted a hand, tugging his glove off with his teeth before pushing his tousled, wind tangled hair from his eyes. He would not be intimidated. He would not let the whispered threats of what Daemon Targaryen would do if the opportunity found him overtake him. This was his home, and Aegon was still the king’s son, and the prince was a guest. He’d made his loyalties clear years ago.

He remembered with such startling clarity running after his sister, shouting her name, begging her to wait for him, struggling to get his coat on and tripping in his haste. “Nyra wait!” She was striding down the hallway, the sun catching on her long silver hair, like Visenya reborn, waving to Daemon and Laena Velaryon. His sister had paused and looked back at him but it was Daemon’s sharp, cruel smirk that had stopped Aegon short as the man reached for Rhaenyra’s shoulder and drew her attention.

“He is of no importance.”

More who did not want him.

Aegon stumbled slightly as he felt a huff of warm, sulfuric breath hit his back, followed by the gentle bump of Sunfyre, the warmth of his purr vibrating inside the hollow between his ribs and through his limbs. There was a gentle chirp, like a bird song, and Aegon turned to press his hands against the dragon’s warm snout, pressing a kiss between his flared nostrils. “Lykirī,” he murmured, calming them both. Another pat against his warm scales and Aegon shoved his gloves in his pockets. Ser Arryk was watching him from his post near the stone cottage where the Dragonkeepers were staying. The elder man’s brows were slightly furrowed, his face impassive, but his gaze flitted to Daemon’s briefly before looking back to him.

“Your Grace,” Ser Arryk said. There was a question in the simple greeting that came from the years that Ser Arryk had been his sworn shield. It was nothing specific and sometimes it caused a prickle of uncertainty and self-doubt, different in the self-conscious feelings that Ser Criston stoked.

“I’m sure the prince would appreciate the quiet solitude of the carriage ride,” Aegon said on his approach, his gaze darting towards Daemon as he stalked towards them. The carriage would be there shortly, back in sight after the bend around some of the boulders that marked the border of the shale caves here along the lake. “He does spend much of his time surrounded by the babbling of children.”

“How thoughtful you are. You certainly don’t get that from your mother.”

Aegon ran his tongue over his teeth, jaw aching with a pain that was not his own, Sunfyre still rumbling beneath his skin. The bait was blatant, so low hanging that he could kick it should he so wished. How he wished to take it and pummel Daemon with it. His mother’s hands may have left scars upon him, but she was his mother. His defender even when he disappointed her. These last few months were strange and hopeful in a way he didn’t know how to handle. Her touch had been gentle across his brow or upon his shoulder, her smiles tentative but there, the furrow between her brow easing.

His mother who cuddled him when he was small and afraid when she was pregnant with Daeron, that he would lose her, who cared about the small folk in her sponsorships and initiatives she was so busy with. Nothing Aegon would do was ever good enough, but sometimes? Sometimes it was.

The response to Daemon was on his tongue, ripe and juicy as a grape. “And we know you get nothing from yours.” Cruel and barbed and hooked, his own teeth bared if Daemon Targaryen was so eager to see what he was made of.

“I did not realize you and the queen were so close for you to recognize what qualities I did or did not receive from her,” Aegon said instead, wan smile and cursory look in the elder’s direction. “If you were wondering, I do get my good looks from her, and a taste for honey cakes.” He shrugged, reaching over to stroke the velvet softness of his stallion’s nose. “The hair is, of course, from my father, the king. I notice Baela wears the same displeased expression you wear. As well as your nose.”

The smile he gave Daemon was a bit brighter this time as the carriage pulled up, Ser Marbrand on his steed. The door opened unexpectedly and Baela herself came out, silver braids swinging and the gold bands shining in the light. He had spent enough time around his cousin over the past few months to see the same uncertain tension in her shoulders that he frequently saw in Aemond as she took in her father.

“I heard Caraxes,” she said by way of greeting, the deep greens and blues of her riding leathers scored with seahorses and dragons. Daemon’s attention swung to his daughter and Aegon ignored the rest of the conversation as it turned into High Valyrian, rapid and ancient, their accents markedly different from how he spoke with his own siblings. A raw feeling struck hard inside his chest, and he watched them for another moment before his attention swung to further movement at the carriage.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, Prince Daemon,” Larys Strong’s voice carried unexpectedly well given his low tone. “Forgive me for not getting out - it is rather difficult for me to move here.”

Daemon’s face was impassive at being addressed by the lord of Harrenhal and Aegon looked at the soft, torn up ground that the carriage had stopped in. Baela gave Aegon a nod before pulling her father’s attention, her Valyrian flowing easily. “I thought we could go riding. Just you and I.”

“Another carriage is on its way, your Grace,” Ser Marbrand said. “I shall stay here, Ser Arryk.”

Kostōba pawed at the ground and without being asked, the footman tied Aegon’s horse to the back of the carriage. Aegon bristled, opening his mouth to demand the servant cease until Larys’ voice came once more.

“Join me in the carriage, my prince. We are going to be family soon, and it’s so difficult to get time together.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed a touch, long lashes hooding his eyes as he turned his attention back to the footman who had handled his horse. He could hear his uncle and cousin still conversing in rapid Valyrian, their words muffled just enough, so easily flowing between them that Aegon couldn’t keep up. The horses knickered and whined, pawing at the ground with the proximity to the dragons.

“Of course, Lord Larys. We will indeed.” Aegon gave him a tight smile and gestured for him to enter the wheelhouse first. The ones from the capital prioritized privacy with their screened in windows. The ones belonging to House Strong were more easily opened, the windows with little, folded shutters and fluttering linen curtains; far more open and far less like a cage.

Larys tapped the handle of his cane against the roof of the wheelhouse, and with a gentle jerk they headed back. Aegon leaned back against the plush pillows of the bench, stretching his legs out before him. In the small space, it was a sight to see how tall Larys Strong was. He was a thin man, much like Aemond, but while Aemond walked as straight as a blade, Larys made himself small. A sick feeling curled in the pit of his stomach as the understanding washed over him; the feeling of seeing one in the mirror. Aegon did the same thing. Curled shoulders and slouching to avoid the gaze of those who would bite at him.

The only difference, Aegon surmised, was that Larys’ desire to be undetected did not come from something as childish as his own desire to be unnoticed.

The soft sound of scraping drew Aegon’s gaze down to peer at Larys’ metal boot.

“When you take your seat here, my prince, you should know what you’re up against,” Larys said softly, his dark eyes pinning Aegon like one of Helaena’s bugs to the board. “You handled the council meeting well, as the squabbles of the Blackwoods and Brackens are exhausting to us all. Of course, Grover Tully approves of you. He may have sworn oaths to your father’s chosen successor, but make no mistake that he will raise banners for you. His grandson, Elmo, on the other hand…”

Aegon recalled the elder man with a wash of inferiority. Elmo Tully was tall and broad, with dark, auburn hair and piercing eyes that shifted from blue to green, he recalled, because it had unsettled him. ‘Lucerys’ eyes,’ Aegon remembered thinking when he first sat across from the man at the small council table.

“Aunt Celeste isn’t your mother, is she?” Aegon’s brow furrowed as he tried to reconcile the woman who had helped raise him with how she could bear this giant of a man. Ser Harwin let out a sad sounding laugh and shook his head.

“No, my prince. My mother was Lysa Tully, granddaughter of Lord Grover. I squired in Riverrun before my father became Master of Laws for your father.” Ser Harwin shook his curls from his face, reaching to tie it back to keep it from his face. “She died when I was a little sprog, barely walking.” A distance took his eyes and Aegon averted his gaze to offer the man privacy.

“He supports Rhaenyra,” Aegon finished, not wishing to dance around implications.

“He will, if only because he views the Hand and your mother as overstepping the crown’s wishes and the contract between the throne and its people.”

Aegon frowned at this, arms folded across his chest. “Speak plain, Lord Larys,” he said with his own hard look. Aegon understood games, he understood doublespeak, but there was much left to the imagination and he would not be made a fool of. “The throne provides for its people. What imagined overstepping is he so worried about? He’s simply sore that he lost Harrenhal to me.”

“He’s concerned about the dragon this marriage placed in his lands.” Larys shrugged softly and leaned back in the seat, the carriage jostling over a particularly large bump. “Harrenhal of course is a boon, but not in the way you might think. A comely bride is merely an additional perk, not the prize as it was for you.”

Aegon hummed softly in a way that reminded him of his brother and curled his fingers into his arms to resist the need to pick at the skin. Aemond had said something similar over the course of his nameday. How now all would see how vulnerable he was, and the way to wound him most grievously. Aegon, on the other hand, had sneered at that. Abby was not a weakness to him. To lose her would be to lose himself, yes, but it would not destroy him like Aemond tried to imply.

Of course it wouldn’t.

“They’re here to discuss the marriage contract. Lord Elmo is here on behalf of his father since Lord Tully is abed back at Riverrun. Several of the other river lords are with him, wishing to hammer out the details the crown and I worked out in regards to the inheritance of Harrenhal and jointure, the dowry, and the fact that Lord Elmo sees your placement in the Riverlands as a threat that you will take the Paramount seat from him should he not support you.”

Aegon’s face twisted in confusion, nostrils flaring at the insult at being accused of something he had no desire for. He leaned forward, a hand reaching up to the handle along the roof of the carriage to balance himself.

“He accuses me of coveting his seat?” Aegon hissed. “Just as these lords think I’m plotting to steal my sister’s throne. Why are they so quick to think ill of me? To accuse me of villainy and brand me traitor when I’ve done nothing of the sort. I plot no schemes or collusions—”

“You were born,” Larys interrupted with a soft and earnest voice. He too leaned forward, mimicking Aegon’s position. “You are the first born son of a king who murdered his first wife in the hunt for a healthy, living son, Prince Aegon. You did not choose this mantle, you did not choose to be born the son of the king, and I did not choose to be born with my own struggles. But these are the lots we have drawn in life and we must make the best of it.”

This close, Aegon noticed how he looked a bit like Ser Simon, who himself looked like the ghost of Lord Lyonel. Larys’s features were sharper than the rest of his family, he and his sister both, likely from their Frey mother. But the dark eyes reminded him of the amber glass eyes that stared out of the mounted stag heads and bear heads that lined one of the small halls in the Red Keep.

“Your own struggles?” Aegon snarled. “Like murdering your father and brother so you could have the seat instead of skulking about the Red Keep for the rest of your days?”

Aegon leaned back and so did Larys, who dropped his hand to grip the handle of his cane. He looked out the window silently, his jaw clenched, fingers tapping against the amber bauble on the cane. Larys did not ask him how he knew.

Caraxes’ whistling shriek echoed high across the lake valley. There was an even more distant answer: the long absent cry of Syrax that he hadn’t heard in years.

As Larys Strong’s dark eyes found him, Aegon felt like the elder was peeling away his skin as methodically as he peeled fruit, or the flesh of the convicts in the torture cells of the Red Keep. Aegon watched the twitch of his features and the shadow that passed over his gaze.

“Prince Aegon,” he said slowly, words measured, pausing for a moment before he finally continued. “The death of my father and elder brother was a tragic accident. It was never supposed to happen that way.”

Aegon’s mouth went dry. So what Jace said was, in fact, true;that Aegon had blurted it out to the man accused was of no matter. The bottom of his stomach dropped out with an unpleasant swoop.

Larys’ can thumped softly against the floor of the carriage. “It is not something that was done out of greed, or selfishness. Nor was it years of resentment. I loved my father very much. While a lesser father would have cast a babe born as I was aside, to dash their heads against the stone and write the babe off as another loss in a long line of tragedy, he fed my appetite for learning. He taught me how to hone my mind the way my brother honed his blade. He offered to send me to the citadel if it was what I wished, just as he attended in his youth before his brother, Tristafer, died and he became heir. When I declined to go to Oldtown, he helped me find a place in the world where I could excel.”

“Then you killed him,” Aegon said, voice low, brow slightly furrowed. “A man you claimed to love, who had done so much for you, and you burned him alive.”

The other man looked down at his cane, impassive in the face of Aegon’s words. He took a breath, a slight shake of his head, then met Aegon’s eyes once more. “Princess Rhaenyra kept my brother at her side and my father, love him as I did, he did not stop it. He could have. He did not.” Larys paused and his eyes went downcast, sweeping across the floor, but Aegon did not think he was truly looking at anything. “The king saw a threat to the stability of the royal family and made his wishes clear. When the king wishes something, it will be done. Your father wanted to silence the whispers. I would not let some assassin come after my family. We all make sacrifices in life, Your Grace. Often, that is in response to…,” Larys met his gaze, “...the actions, or inaction, of our fathers and our siblings. Duty and sacrifice are tenets of your mother’s, so I know you understand. I sacrificed them to salvage what I could of our house, and to save my sweet sister who was meant to return here as my brother finally came to take his place as future lord.”

The silence was oppressive, the air thick from it, as Larys held his gaze for several more moments before releasing him to look out the window. Aegon had nothing to say and instead looked out his own window towards the lake and the trees along the shoreline. Larys had given him much to consider and it was a new experience to not have it all blamed upon Rhaenyra or even the fleeting implications in the complacency of the king. Larys had implicated his own father and brother; a mess made of the four of them.

Aegon recalled the pale, silent ghost that Abby had turned into after the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin, barely remembering the discussion of her returning to Harrenhal. His mother had been quiet too and locked for hours in the sept. Aegon had thought she had been grieving with Abby, had grieved the loss of the relationship she had had with Lord Lyonel. Did she too know about this?

It was so much. It was too much for him to think of all right now and he didn’t want to focus on it. The danger at hand now was the presence of Elmo Tully and the other lords who were raising an issue and trying to prevent his marriage. The anger at being misjudged and assumed that he was coming for things he could not give two shits about, that took the forefront of his mind. He didn’t want to be king and he didn’t want a Paramount seat. He just wanted his dragon, and Abrogail, and whatever family they made for themselves.

Well. That was a season. This chapter got so damn long that we've had to split it in two, which at the end of the day is a good thing. I'll get to flesh out the second half and start moving us into a couple housekeeping things before we launch into the long awaited family dinner, a spicy spicy chapter, and THEN THE WEDDING! As an FYI, I'm starting a new job on Monday! I will no longer be WFH, so my writing time is going to be a helluva lot different moving forward, but we're still sticking to the 'at least once a month' chapter updates. And with the next chapter now half down, I'm hoping to get back to a small buffer. Thank you all for being here, and I always always love to hear from you. If you're not sure what to say, a reblog lets more people read this story! My askbox is also open! Thank you for reading <3

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