#drunk aegon
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godofstory · 6 months ago
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drunk tweeting
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theswordwrites · 4 months ago
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PART ONE (the alchemy)
Juniper receives good news and has no choice but to celebrate with her closest friends, leading her right into the path of Aemond Targaryen (again.)
(TW: 18+ partying, drug use, nothing too crazy!)
word count: 4.3k
NEXT PART
By midnight, June’s feet ached in the heels required by her uniform. It was ridiculous, truly. The gala attendees barely looked at her for longer than a few seconds, so why was she squeezed into a cocktail dress that had probably been handed down a dozen times and shoes that made her calves tense and sore for days? As she ran drinks to and from tables, flashing her best million-dollar smile, she reminded herself the paycheck would be worth it. Her rent would be paid, her credit card debt knocked down, and she could finally buy the cat tree that had been sitting in her online shopping cart for weeks. Maybe she’d even splurge on a night out at The Velvet Throne with her roommate, Arianne, and their friends.
After a night working the Green Party’s latest altruistic-yet-off-putting kickoff gala, she would need at least four martinis and a cigarette. She had spotted Alicent Hightower, as beautiful as ever, gliding through the room in a deep sage silk gown. June wasn’t sure what the gala was raising money for, but they had raised a hell of a lot of it. She had to admit, Alicent was so stunning she might have emptied her own pockets for her, too. The Targaryen-Hightower children had made an appearance. The eldest—whose name escaped her—was drunk by the time the opening speeches began. Helaena had left early, trailed by three bodyguards. She’d seen the second son, Aemond, only from behind. Taller than his older brother, and surprisingly, not wearing green. Odd, considering the rumor was he was at odds with party advisors ahead of the election.
That morning, Arianne, Edith, and Seraphina had dissected the election over bagels and coffee. Edith claimed he seemed different from his father, with more progressive policies aimed at gaining the younger generation's vote. Arianne rolled her eyes and insisted he might put on a good show, but he was just as much a Targaryen as his father, with his scheming grandfather pulling the strings. “I’m sure he’ll say anything to get into office, and once he’s there, he’ll line his pockets like the rest of them.”
June had stayed quiet, editing her thesis on her laptop and mulling over her use of the word "delve." She had no faith in the system, nor those who upheld it. But she had heard a speech Aemond had given about student debt, arguing that education shouldn't have a price because knowledge was power, and everyday people deserved to hold it. It intrigued her—how young he was, and the impact that could have. She promised herself she would research more closer to the election and do her duty as a citizen of Westeros. Her brain was too full of edits and deadlines to give it much space now.
“June, we need more champagnes to the front table, like right now,” one of the other servers hissed at her, voice anything but subtle. She nodded and forced her aching legs to move.
At the table sat the Hightowers and their equally powerful, politically savvy friends. She spotted Larys Strong, who had served the late Prime Minister, looking as intense and off-putting as ever as he leaned on his cane. Jason Lannister's spray tan was a shade too deep, and June had to bite back a giggle. How could someone be so rich and yet so blind? Surely, he could hire someone to remind him that a few hours was more than enough.
She set the glasses down gently, adding a smile and a dragon-embossed napkin. June tried to ignore that Alicent Hightower was looking at her but managed a polite, “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“I think we’re okay for now, thank you,” Alicent replied, her voice as graceful as her movements.
June smiled again, hoping her lipstick hadn’t smudged, and glanced around the table. The eldest Targaryen son sat to Alicent’s left, and next to him was Aemond, the current parliamentary candidate. He was all sharp lines and elegance, with blue eyes that were now fixed on her. June paled, frozen in place. Her gaze traveled from his silver hair to the scar etched over his eye and then to the gold signet ring on his pinky.
He was a Targaryen in every sense of the word, elegantly leaned back in his chair, hands folded on the table, eyes like steel.
The seconds stretched into an eternity before her brain caught up with her body. With another awkward grin and a slight tilt of her head, she turned—no, scurried—away.
Nothing embarrassed June more than feeling out of place. And that had been mortifying.
Back in the kitchen, she sipped water and fanned her face, hoping she wasn’t too flushed. She quickly asked the manager—an older woman with a sharp determination to break in the new servers—if she could take her first break. The manager nodded, and June didn’t waste a second before slipping outside. The cool air of a late August evening felt refreshing against her skin, drawing out some of the heat as she leaned against the brick wall. Her phone dinged.
TO: JUNIPER GREYSONFROM: DR. ORWYLE
Miss Greyson,
I apologize for the late correspondence. I have just received confirmation that your dissertation has been approved by the committee. Please call my office tomorrow morning to set a date for your defense.
CongratulationsSent from my iPhone
She squealed—a high-pitched, elated sound that escaped before she could stop it. It didn’t matter who heard. She had spent three years on that thesis, hours upon hours of research and writing and scraping by, and now she’d done it. Her fingers found Arianne’s contact, and she didn't care if the brunette was with her “so-not-my-girlfriend” girlfriend.
After a single ring, Arianne answered, “Junie! Are you off work yet?”
“No, not yet. Another hour, maybe. Do you have a second?”
“For my beautiful, smart, strawberry blonde best friend? Of course!” June could picture her now, animated, hands moving as she spoke. Arianne always had a flair for the dramatic—and for flattery, which June usually appreciated.
“It got approved! My thesis, I mean. Dr. Orwyle just emailed. It’s going to committee as soon as I set a date.”
Through the phone came another excited, ear-piercing squeal.
“Oh, Seven! June, that’s incredible! I knew you could do it!”
“I—” June stuttered, adrenaline catching up to her, “I think I’m in shock. I expected another round of edits, you know? The conclusion didn’t feel right on the last read—”
Arianne cut her off before she could spiral into self-doubt. “Breathe, Junie. You got approved! That’s the only thing that matters right now. Any chance you can leave early so we can celebrate?”
June glanced from her phone to the open kitchen door. “Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll be home.”
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Arianne, Edith, and Seraphina were waiting for her with wide grins and a drink in hand when she finally stumbled through the front door. In the mere twenty minutes it had taken June to get home, they had somehow managed to drape a glittering “Congratulations!” banner across the mantle, fill the room with balloons, and crack open a bottle of champagne. The faint scent of perfume and laughter filled the air.
Her heart swelled as they swarmed her, squealing and hugging her like they hadn't seen her in years. "Junie, we are so, so proud of you!" Edith sang, throwing her long arms around June in a hug that rocked them back and forth. The others echoed their congratulations, their voices bright and cheerful, brimming with the kind of excitement only best friends can muster.
They didn’t give her a chance to catch her breath, herded her straight to the bathroom, insisting she shower and change. She let them fuss over her, laughing as they debated outfits, finally settling on something so skimpy it would’ve made her mother clutch her pearls in horror.
For a moment, June thought of her mother, a sharp pang tugging at her chest. She should call her, share the news— but just as quickly, she shoved the thought away, burying it deep. Her mother had been so distant since the accident, so different from the bubbly, over-involved PTA mom who used to cheer too loudly at every recital, every bake sale. It broke June’s heart, but it had been three years, and she had learned to lock those feelings away in a box that she only opened on rare, quiet nights. She was different now too—tougher, more self-reliant. Or at least that’s what she told herself as she swiped concealer under her eyes and dabbed on a thick layer of blush.
"Come on, Junie, let’s go!" Arianne urged, grabbing her arm with a grin. "The Velvet Throne is gonna have a line out the door!"
She barely had time to grab her purse before they were out the door, tumbling into the warm night air. The city buzzed around them—cars honked, street lights flickered, and the distant thrum of music seemed to pulse from every corner. They giggled like schoolgirls as they raced down the street in their high heels, their excitement infectious. After a few glasses of champagne, the ache in her feet had disappeared and she was ready to dance.
When they reached the Velvet Throne, the line was indeed snaking around the block, a mass of people dressed to impress, chattering with anticipation. But Edith, ever the charmer, knew the bouncer. With a coy smile and a flutter of her eyelashes, they were whisked inside and escorted up to the VIP level.
The music hit her like a wave, a deep, pounding bass that vibrated in her chests. One drink turned into two, two into three. The bartender, hearing their redheaded friend was on her way to becoming a doctor, poured them free shots. June held her breath, pinched her nose, and downed it, wincing at the bitter taste but reveling in the warm, numbing sensation that spread through her limbs. The music was so loud it seemed to drown out her thoughts, and for the first time in a long time, she let go.
She danced like she was weightless, the beat coursing through her veins, her friends spinning around her, hair flying, eyes sparkling under the neon lights. They were all in their own little world, a blur of laughter, movement, and joy. At one point, she caught sight of Edith slipping a small baggie from a man in a dark jacket, his expression unreadable.
Edith grabbed her hand, pulling her into a corner and shouting over the music, "Cregan’s at a party at the Keep! He said we’re invited." She opened her palm, revealing the little baggie with a sly grin. "I say we take our new little friend here," she gestured to the baggie, "and head over! Lots of sexy, rich men and free drinks!"
The girls cheered, their excitement infectious, and June felt a surge of adrenaline. This night was far from over.
The Keep was the heart of King’s Landing, home to the city’s wealthiest and most influential residents. The girls had been to a few parties there before, the most memorable being the one where Seraphina ended up spending the night with a Prince from Dorne. They hadn’t let her live it down for months, teasing her with “Your Majesty” until they were breathless with laughter. The prince had texted her the next day, practically begging her to hop on the flight back with him. Sera had only shrugged, saying that while he was amazing in bed and seemed like a nice guy, living in the public eye wasn't for her.
Arianne and Edith had disagreed, dreaming up all the scandalous headlines they’d make if they were ever involved with someone so high-profile. "We’d be the perfect all-Westerosi girls," Arianne had insisted, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
June, as usual, had just nodded and giggled along, content to listen. But now, with the buzz of champagne and a little powder still fresh in her system, she was feeling more chatty. “How did Cregan manage to get into a party at the Keep?” she asked, her voice louder than she intended, her words slightly slurred.
Edith shrugged, adjusting the hem of her skirt. “Old money, babe. His parents have a house there. I’m sure he’s got connections.”
June leaned in closer, her eyebrows raised, chin tipped playfully. “So, are you two ever going to date? Or finally address all that crazy sexual tension?”
Edith laughed, tossing her hair back, her eyes gleaming under the streetlights. “Ask me that tomorrow,” she replied with a wink, just as a car pulled up to the curb. She quickly touched up everyone’s lipstick and hair with a practiced hand. “That’s us!” she shouted.
The Uber ride was a blur, the city lights whizzing by in streaks of neon and gold. It took only fifteen minutes, thanks to the late-night traffic, but it felt like a heartbeat. By now, it was past three in the morning, and though June wouldn’t admit it, she could feel the exhaustion creeping in, the night beginning to weigh heavy on her bones. Still, she was committed to the bit, the thrill of the night pushing her forward.
Cregan was waiting for them outside, leaning casually against the wall in his usual outfit: an open button-up shirt and jeans that clung just right. They exchanged quick hellos, June’s eyes flicking to Edith, who was already batting her lashes and nodding eagerly at everything Cregan said. She nudged Sera with her elbow, tilting her head toward the two of them.
“He’s definitely ending up at your place tonight, I hope you can sleep through it.” June whispered, twisting the silver ring around her middle finger. Sera managed a quick eye roll before they were whisked inside.
The drunk crowd sprawled across the plush living room seemed almost out of place, like they’d stumbled into the wrong kind of party. The room felt like it belonged to someone who read classic novels by the fireplace or debated politics over brandy. June noticed a distinct lack of personal photos; instead, the walls were adorned with stunning artwork, pieces that seemed to glow under the soft lighting and made her mouth water with envy.
She glanced up, her eyes following the endless ceilings that stretched toward a glittering chandelier, so ornate it looked like it belonged in a palace. Above it, a second level.
“Who’s place is this anyway?” she asked, turning to Cregan.
He tore his gaze away from Edith, though his hand remained comfortably on her lower back. “One of the Targaryens,” he replied with a casual grin. “I play ball with Aegon on the weekends. He’s around here somewhere.”
June raised an eyebrow, amused by the casualness of his tone, as if dropping the name of one of the city’s most influential families was no big deal, “He’s the oldest, right?” Cregan nodded, “I worked their gala event tonight. Rumor has it he left early because he was smashed.”
An arm slid around her shoulder, the weight of it startling her. She could see blonde curls from the corner of her eye. A voice, smooth and amused, spoke close to her ear. “Smashed would be correct, little red. But I have sobered up enough to throw one hell of a party.”
“June, meet Aegon. Aegon, meet Juniper Greyson.” Cregan interjected, gesturing between them. The blonde took his arm away from her shoulders and offered his hand to shake.
June took it, taking him in. While he and his brother shared the same icy hair and serene blue eyes, there was a softness to Aegon’s features that set him apart. His nose had a gentle slope, and his eyes, though strikingly similar in color, lacked the hard edge she’d seen in his brother— but were identical to their mother’s set and shape.
Aegon turned his attention to her friends, his grin widening as he introduced himself. His blue eyes stuck to Seraphina as they walked to the kitchen. June withheld her giggle, watching Sera blush under his gaze.
The girls chatted and the boys eventually drifted away to find more of their friends, not before finding the girls cans of seltzers and bottles of water. June watched as her friends chatted, feeling that odd sensation of being inside the conversation, but also outside of it. She figured the drinking, dancing and coke had caught up to her.
“I’m gonna find the bathroom— be right back.” She gave her friends a tightlipped smile.
“Want me to come?” Edith offered, but June shook her head.
“No, I’m alright. Go talk to Cregan again, he’s been staring at you this whole time.” She nodded her head at him across the room, and he quickly looked away, almost embarrassed that he’d been caught.
The first bathroom had been occupied but what she could only assume to be the raunchiest couple in King’s Landing with the sounds that they were making. She scoffed, sure she hadn’t really ever had mind-blowing sex, but that level of noise was just so obviously unnecessary. The second had just been locked with no answer to her knock. She sighed as she made her way up the stairs, finding not a single bathroom, but a bedroom with one connected. 
After taking care of her business and washing her hands, drying them off on the fluffiest hand towel she had ever touched, she wandered around the bedroom. It felt wrong to snoop, but with the lack of trinkets or personal belongings she assumed it must have been a guest room. The bookshelf was full of classics and history books, a few well-loved first editions she could guess by the aged and worn spines. Now, in the silence, her head began to pound as the music faded away. She counted the drinks in her head. 
One at home. Three at the bar. Add two shots at the bar. One downstairs. Two lines in between. 
She realized she had definitely overdone it. While June enjoyed nights like these with her friends—welcomed them even—it wasn’t something she wanted to make a habit of every weekend. The way her vision blurred told her it would take weeks to muster the courage to drink again. Sitting on the bed, she ran her fingers over the dark green quilt and giggled.
Green. Of course it was green. Like the hand towel and the bathroom rug. She wondered if that’s what the owner of the room had told the interior designer, “Well, you see I like green. And I’m so, disgustingly rich.” She said aloud in the poshest accent she could manage, making herself laugh even harder.
The door swinging open seemed to sober her up quickly, pulling any laughter out of her chest.
She looked up, horrified to find Aemond Targaryen in the doorframe. He was wearing the same dark suit from earlier in the evening, but his jacket had been shrugged off and tossed over his arm and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone. “You.” He said, something like recognition washing over his face.
“Me,” June stammered, feeling a flush rise to her cheeks. “I, uh, just needed to use the bathroom and get away from the crowd for a moment. The one downstairs was occupied by a couple making the most disgusting noises, and the other one was locked—someone probably doing coke or something. I thought this was a guest room. I’m sorry. I should go. My friends might be looking for me.” She rambled on, the alcohol making her spill a play-by-play of how she ended up in his bedroom.
Aemond remained in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Despite leaning against the frame, he was still a head and a half taller than her. “You were at the event tonight, and now you’re in my bedroom. Stalking me?”
“You’re a very tough guy to stalk, Mr. Targaryen. I spent all night knocking on doors until Aegon let me in here,” June found herself looking down at her feet, the carpet much easier to maintain eye contact with. 
“So, you’re friends with Aegon then?”
“No, not really. One of my friends is kind of seeing Cregan Stark, and he’s friends with Aegon. We were out celebrating and he invited us. I didn’t realize whose house it was—or that you must live here with Aegon.”
“I don’t live here with Aegon. The place is mine, but Aegon thought it’d be a good joke to throw a party here.” He crossed his long arms over his chest, and June tried to ignore the enticing hint of skin peeking from his undone shirt.
“Oh, that’s kind of shitty.”
“Kind of shitty should be Aegon’s middle name. I’ve already kicked everyone out. Your friends might be gone, but if my driver is still out front, I can have him take you home.” He gestured to the hallway and began to walk. June followed, too tired to argue.
“You don’t have to. I can call an Uber.” She said, not wanting to be a bother. But she did think, in the back of her mind, that Edith would have a fit if she knew Aemond Targaryen’s personal driver had taken her home. Arianne would pretend to be less impressed, but would hound her later on the make and model; asking if there was a privacy shade and free champagne.
“Ride-share crime has gone up 10% last quarter, I can’t in good conscience—especially not to a constituent.” 
“Trying to win my vote, Mr. Targaryen?” She asked, grinning.
“I was hoping I already had it.”
“You probably do. I saw your student debt speech and liked it, but I’ve been putting off thinking about the election until school settles down. So I can make a well-informed decision of course.”
They descended the stairs. Indeed, Aemond had kicked everyone out, and only Aegon lay sprawled on the leather sofa. “Little red! I see you met my brother, charmer isn’t he?”
Aemond’s gaze was cold as he replied, “Go back to sleep, you oaf. I’m going to have Criston take her home.”
“Oh, I sent Criston back home. Oops.” Aegon giggled, clearly drunker than the last time she saw him. Aemond only sighed as they reached the door.
“I can take you home. I don’t drink, so I’m as sober as can be.”
June nodded, again too tired to argue. The liquor made her pliant, and she was eager to get home. Aemond led her to a sleek black Mercedes, opening the door for her with a practiced ease. She found the gesture oddly chivalrous.
As he turned on the engine, the hum of the car snapped her out of her daze. She glanced around at the luxurious, leather interior. “You’re a PhD student at KLU, right?”
“Stalking me, Mr. Targaryen?” She peered at him.
“Aemond,” he corrected, his tone softer but still firm, glancing over at her as he handed her his phone, maps open and ready for her to enter her address. “Call me Aemond, please. ‘Mr.’ makes me feel old. I stepped out for a smoke this evening and overheard you on the phone. Congratulations, by the way. Dr. Orwyle is not an easy man to impress.”
“Oh.” June’s lips curled into a smile at the praise as she handed his phone back to him. She watched as the map popped up on the car’s screen, showing it was only a ten-minute drive home. “Thank you. I’m excited for it to be over, I think. You studied under Dr. Orwyle?”
She found herself looking at him again, her gaze lingering on his muscular hand gripping the steering wheel. “For my first PhD. He was a hard-ass, but pressure makes diamonds, and I couldn’t have done it without him.”
“Were you nervous for your defense? I know you do speeches all the time now, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s going to be the hardest part.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” He asked, his voice dropping close to a whisper, as if anyone else could hear him. “I still get nervous. Every time. Whether it's a crowd of twenty or two thousand. But I remind myself that it’s not about me; it’s about the content, about getting people to listen. All the other stuff—the cadence of your voice or your posture—will come naturally.”
She hummed in response, her head resting against the cold window. The city lights blurred past, and she wondered if Edith had gone home with Cregan. “That’s good advice, thank you.”
“If politics doesn’t work out, my mother thinks I should go into consulting. Perhaps I have a knack for it.” He glanced over at her, his gaze intense. June tried to imagine the setting of that conversation. Was he worried about losing, or was the confidence from his team (or his family) faltering?
“You might, but I think politics might suit you better. The whole country seems to be buzzing about you.”
He shrugged, a flicker of something—appreciation, relief?—in his eyes. “We’ll have to see if that's the case in a few months.”
“Oh, this is me, with the red door.” She pointed out, and he brought the car to a slow stop. Before she could unbuckle her seat belt, he was out of the driver’s side and rounding the car to open the door for her. She found his chivalry oddly compelling, a sharp contrast to his earlier indifference to seemingly everything and everyone.
“Thank you for giving me a ride home, Aemond,” she said again, her voice tinged with genuine gratitude and something more. He just nodded, watching her unlock the door and step inside.
Juniper and Aemond failed to notice the blacked out SUV across the street, a long camera lens poking out of the passenger side, snapping away.
okay part one is out! I see this being 7-12 parts, depending on how much i daydream about it in class tomorrow. please leave comments questions etc! so excited to share this <3
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irlplasticlamb · 6 months ago
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why have gods forsaken me?
prints + merch + commission info pinned to profile :)
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idea-hub-for-fanfic · 6 months ago
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Drunk Alicent and Drunk Aegon scene.
Alicent: “ you know who I hate? Your father”
Aegon: “same mother”
Alicent: “you know what we should do? We should start a club! Call it ‘I fucking hate Viserys’ club”
Aegon: “sounds great! You’d be president of that club mama”
Alicent: “damn right I would, I’d be the fuckin queen of that club, I’m already the queen of that club!”
Aemond sitting behind them, concerned for his mother: what is happening…
Right hear me out,
Alicent is fed up. Her youngest son Daeron has just been sent to Oldtown, Aemond has one eye and has turned vicious and cold, Helaena spends her time embroidering or looking ant bugs, and her eldest child Aegon is drunk 90% of the time. All the while her husband King Viserys ignores their children for his stupid model she wished she could set on fire, but she can’t. So instead she does something else.
She gets absolutely wasted.
And there’s one thing about Alicent no one knew, not even her father, is that a Drunk Alicent has no filter and Zero fucks to give.
Rhaenyra and her family come to visit at this time, and they are faced with a drunk Alicent just hanging them all out to dry. Calling everyone out on their shit.
Drunk Alicent: “Oh look! It’s Fucking Princess Rheanyra! Come to visit her father finally! And because the sun shines out her fucking arse it means everything in the whole of kings landing stops, by order of the fucking King himself because his spoiled brat of a daughter is here! The most precious heir to the stupid fucking throne that one day I will melt and turn it into something fucking useful. Like 100 door handles or some shit!”
Everyone is lost and confused because what?
Drunk Alicent: “ oh and by the way, I know how much you hate me because I married your father, like I had a fucking Choice! Who was I to deny my father and the fucking king! But you don’t understand that ‘cause you do as you fucking like! No care for anyone but yourself! Just like my own father, who can die in a whole for all I care!”
Daemons loving it, aegons also drunk and is also loving it, viserys is trying to shut her up but that’s not happening, Otto is getting his ass handed to him by his own daughter, and the rest of the kids have no idea what to do.
Just a bit of fun I thought of. Who doesn’t love getting wasted. Drunk Alicent speaks the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
✨please remember that these are fanfiction ideas, they may not or will not follow canon unless the writers of them want that to happen. I am just throwing ideas out to the world for people to play with and make into they’re own✨
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goblins-riddles-or-frocks · 6 months ago
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we love to see her no longer giving a fuck!!!
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franzkafkagf · 6 months ago
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queen PLEASE rewrite the brothel scene so it makes sense I BEG YOU.
Aegon stumbled into the brothel, the dim lighting and the overwhelming scent of cheap perfume and sweat wrapping around him, suffocating him. Martyn, Leon, Eddard, and Rodrick, Martyn’s new squire, followed him. Aegon's own face, flushed and unfocused from too much wine and ale, betrayed a desperate attempt to drown out unwelcome emotions.
“This place is as good as any to get it wet,” Aegon slurred, his arm slung over the squire’s shoulder. The boy, still green behind the ears, looked up at the king with wide, nervous eyes. “Time to make a man out of you, eh?” He punctuated the statement with a bawdy laugh, echoed half-heartedly by his friends.
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The brothel was dimly lit, with curtains draped around, each one hiding unique secrets. Aegon staggered forward, yanking aside the first curtain he came to. Behind it, a couple gasped in surprise, but Aegon was already moving on, cursing under his breath. His mind was set on finding a particular woman—a distraction, an escape.
“Her name is Selyse or Selsie… or something like that,” Aegon continued, leaning heavily on the squire. “She’s great. Nothing like that woman’s touch to—hic—to forget your troubles.” His laugh was a bitter bark, masking the hollow ache in his chest.
He flung open another curtain, revealing yet another entangled pair, before stumbling on. Each step heavier than the last, the sounds of pleasure and the stuffy air seemed to close in on him. The sight of flesh and sweat did nothing to ease his mind; he still felt powerless, terribly powerless. King he might be, but even a crown couldn’t shield his family from harm.
Finally, he found her—the woman he sought. But instead of the welcome distraction he craved, he was met with a scene that stopped him cold. She was not alone. In her arms, naked and unashamed, was his brother, Aemond.
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Aegon’s vision blurred, he did not know if he should laugh or scream. The room seemed to tilt as he stumbled forward, nearly ripping the curtain down in an attempt to steady himself. "Aemond the Fierce!” he roared. “Look at you!”
Aemond looked up at him, scrambling from the woman’s embrace and standing up to put on a robe. She herself shrank back too, pulling the sheets up to cover herself. The tension in the room was a tangible thing, crackling between the two brothers.
“You see, I do not exaggerate,” Aegon’s eyes flicked to his companions as he stumbled further into the room. His voice had an air of lightness to it—but it carried an undercurrent of anger, deep anger. “Such is the Madam’s prowess, that my brother does not want to sample another.”
“Tell me, brother.” Aegon clapped Aemond on the shoulder, too hard, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “Was this where you were? With this whore while my son was being murdered? When Jaehaerys was breathing his last, were you still fucking your very first?”
Aemond’s face darkened, the shadow of guilt flickering across his features before being masked by a cold, defensive anger. “You think I didn't want to be there? You think I don’t wish I could’ve been there to fight off those cowardly assassins? I grieve my nephew too.”
“Grieve?” Aegon’s laughter was hollow and bitter. “If you hadn’t been busy killing Rhaenyra’s bastard, she’d never have sought retribution. If you’d been able to behave yourself, my son would still be alive!”
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Aemond’s eye flashed with rage, but the truth in Aegon’s words was undeniable. “What of you, brother? Where were you? Drowning yourself in strongwine and whores—why didn’t you protect your son?” Aemond was facing his brother head-on now; years of resentment and anger finally flooding out of him. “You’re just as much at fault as I am. You’re a wastrel, Aegon, a weak and unworthy king.”
Aegon's face contorted with fury, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He remembered Larys’ words from before, could it truly be? Was his own brother planning to overthrow him?
“Plotting to take my crown, are you? Is that what this is all about?”
Aemond scoffed, “you think I want your crown? You can hardly keep it on your own head.”
Aegon saw red. His fist shot out before he could think, landing squarely on Aemond’s jaw. The force of the blow sent his brother staggering back. The woman yelped, scrambling off the bed, desperate to get away from the two.
Aemond seemed shocked for a moment before he launched himself at his brother. “You’ve always been a coward,” he shouted as the two tumbled to the ground in a flurry of fists and curses. “Hiding behind your whores and your wine!”
Aegon’s punches were wild and uncoordinated as he struck his brother again and again. “And you’ve always been a viper, waiting for your chance to strike!” His fist connected to Aemond’s ribs.
“You think I don’t suffer?” Aemond growled, landing a punch to Aegon’s side. “You think this is easy for me?”
The fight was brutal, raw, and undignified. It would have been embarrassing if it wasn't so profoundly sad—two brothers, driven by grief and guilt, lashing out at the only target they had left.
Martyn, unable to continue watching, forced his way between them. “Enough! Both of you, enough!” he shouted, pushing them apart with all his strength. “Calm down!”
Aegon struggled against Martyn’s grip, eager to keep fighting. “He’s a traitor, Martyn! A traitor!”
Aemond, chest heaving, wrenched free from Martyn’s grasp. “You're a fool, Aegon,” he spat before turning and striding away, leaving the room behind.
Aegon swayed on his feet, the room beginning to spin. His stomach churned, and he felt bile rise in his throat. With a groan, he doubled over and vomited onto the cushions.
Martyn knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Come, Your Grace,” he said, helping Aegon to his feet. “Let’s get you out of here.”
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estrangedandwayward · 2 months ago
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The Gilded King
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prideprejudce · 10 months ago
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AU Reds Poster: Alicent joins Rhaenrya as her advisor and wife after escaping her father's influence.
She escapes Kings Landing with Helaena and her grandchildren just in time. Unfortunately, her father has already sunk his teeth into her two sons who are ready to fight for their right to the iron throne. How will Alicent choose between her family and her beloved Rhaenyra when the time comes?
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lullaebies · 11 months ago
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No clue if your still taking asks for Aegon III and Jaehaera but what about one where they were secretly courting (Aegon giving Jaehaera gifts like jewels, books she likes and maybe telling her a few stories or singing songs?) they do a similar thing to Daemon and Rhaenyra in the brothel (maybe they’re in a tavern or something?). Maybe Aegon II or Daemon catch them, regardless of how they are caught both are confront and Aegon III ends up asking Aegon II for Jaehaera’s hand in marriage then and there?
Maybe Aegon II’s like: “You ruined my daughter who else will wed her now?”
Meanwhile Aegon III: “Wed her to me. I’ll take her as she is”
Maybe it causes and uproar with the Blacks and Greens both protesting against it while Alicent, Daemon and Rhaenyra hear this conversation and are like “oh no…” cause this has happened before and the chances of it happening again are so unlikely. And maybe they’re confronted like when Aemond lost his eye and everyone yells at each other?
(Also it would be funny if both the Greens and the Blacks were to absorbed in their bickering they didn’t even notice Jaehaera and Aegon III’s feelings for each other? And it isn’t until this happened that they realize how deep this runs and maybe they all overreact to this?)
A/N: I will note here before I start that I actually wrote a very similar request to this already over here. Not sure if you were aware of it but bringing it forward for any case, you may enjoy this one too. That being said, you provided a different dialogue route, so I'll still do this req too. What I linked is from Jaehaera's POV - this will be from Aegon III's POV.
“Unhand my son,” his mother yells at his uncle. “At this very moment!” 
Although sobered by now, Aegon still feels as if the world moves too fast to comprehend. One moment he is in a tavern with Jaehaera, playing with the earrings he himself had bought  her a moon prior and tasting the ale she drank from her very own lips, and in another, he is grabbed, tossed and dragged back here. 
Aegon the Elder has a vice grip on his collar. The man is no towering figure, he is in fact smaller than him, but he had the very hold of death when he had caught them in the tavern’s booth. He tasted the blood in his mouth still from several punches. Tomorrow, his eyes would not be the only thing purple about him.
His uncle releases a dismissive sight. It is only when his father steps forward, clutching Dark Sister’s grip, that anything changes. Prince Aemond stands tall with his brother, and Ser Criston Cole goes to charge against his father, but before any fight can take place, Aegon the Elder throws him to the floor. 
He hears Jaehaera squeaking, held aside by her mother and twin brother. The peasant garb she had worn to the city hasn’t dimmed her beauty even a smidge. Her usually pin-straight hair is a mess, and his only comfort at this moment is remembering how his fingers felt running through it. Her lips are still flushed and bruised from kisses, vibrant red because of him, for him. 
His fingers twitch towards her on the floor, while his brothers surround him.If he had the strength to push them all away, he would. Let me be where I want to be.
“You dare batter a prince? In what world do you think it will go unpunished?!” His mother is still raging. 
“This very one, half-sister,” Aegon the Elder yells back, sounding nearby beastly. “I’d sharply question him, but I saw for myself. He touched my daughter.”
Queen Alicent, still in shock, soon blocks his view of Jaehaera. “How long has this been going on for? Tell me now, Jaehaera,” she begins her questioning. His Haera looks the most vulnerable fawn as all eyes in the room land on her, fiddling with one of her fallen earrings. “Tell me so we can fix this.”
She sniffles hard, teary eyes glancing at him in concern. “A little more than..” she stutters. Queen Alicent presses her shoulders. “A little more than a year.”
Before Aegon could even comprehend the confession, Aegon the Elder comes forward once more, swinging his leg and kicking him straight in the face. “You fucking rat!” 
“Father!” Jaehaera lets out a wail. While Aegon groans in pain, head slammed against the floor once more, it seems as if an all out war is brewing in the room. Kingsguards rush to the middle of the room, while his brothers are ready to jump his uncles. Even Jaehaerys comes to push Joffrey away from reaching his father.
Aegon the Elder, as his mother and father introduced him, had been a sullen slob with only hatred within his very core. But his Uncle stands over him and looks at him with fire that implies anything but hatred, at least when it comes to his daughter.
“More than a year... You think my daughter is a common whore for you to flaunt and kiss at taverns? You think she’s a plaything for you to call upon whenever?” he hisses at him. “You ruined her. You have been ruining her! Your mother may have never taught you consequences, but they exist, in this world. Who would wed her now?”
There are many answers to that question. Normally, in their family, it would be one of her brothers, but Jaehaera has noted she and her close family all dislike that idea. Lords that see an opportunity, perhaps; Jaehaera is the only granddaughter of the King, with a dragon to boot. Anyone with eyes, is another thought, as he remembers her round pouts, and long lashes that bat curiously whenever he speaks.
Yet the truth is, there has been only one answer.
“Wed her to me,” he pants out, the blood from his nose dribbling aside. His voice is unwavering, ever clear in the quieting room. “I will have her. I want her.”
She is mine, as much as her father hates to admit it. She is meant to be mine.
The atmosphere shifts in the room. Jaehaera is frozen in place, teary eyes begging. His brothers and mother all turn to gasping stones, but it is his father that has his eyes completely changed. He moves away from Ser Criston Cole, staring at him.
“You will have her?” Aegon the Elder nearly spits out. “Little prick. You will have her when I fade to ash.”
“That is it,” Queen Alicent then says, pushing her son away from him. “Prince Aegon will meet a maester before we all turn to speak mindlessly. I must see Jaehaera to her own maester as well.” The woman sighs.
To check if I took her, is implicit in her words. I should have. Should have wedded and bedded her before any of them could take her away. Jaehaera’s mother and brother take her away, while Prince Aemond and Ser Criston Cole both convince his uncle to step away from him. 
“After we know…” Queen Alicent grimaces. “We will speak of this more, Princess Rhaenyra.”
“We shall,” his mother says. “Do trust this will not be forgotten, Queen Alicent.”
Aegon is helped onto his legs by his brothers. Talk of concussions, responsibilities, and temporary madness all come his way from all fronts as they walk the Red Keep’s hallways. At the end, it is his father that takes him to the maester’s door. His father keeps a stern face. Aegon knows his father does not like that side of this family, he knows he hates them more than anything. However, he keeps his pride about him. 
“I don’t regret it,” Aegon says when they are by the guest room assigned to him. “She is meant to be mine. I will ask it again.”
“You will not,” Daemon answers him, cutthroat. His father’s hand reaches to squeeze on his upper arm, hard.
Aegon gulps. There is something sinister about his father’s gaze.
“Ask, that is. You said all that needed to be said, and I know it will be true,” Daemon tells him. “You will have her. One way… or the other.”
His father turns on his heel, and leaves him be. Jaehaera is there at the back of his mind, sweet lips and violet eyes, with her beauty marks and her gentle voice comparing to the calm of moonlight, but the bride price may be costlier than just the blood dripping down his face.
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dirtytransmasc · 6 months ago
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totally don't imagine little Aegon, maybe 7 or 8, playing with his toys while Sunfyre watched on, pouncing on castles carved from stone and gnaws on little wooden soldiers.
don't imagine him play-fighting with his boy. Aegon and his training sword fighting against the merciless beast that is his little golden fledgling, gently attacking playful claws and flapping wings and nipping beak, parrying when the dragon gets too close. or Sunfyre finally tackling his boy, mocking dragonfire when he screeches in his face, before nuzzling his boys cheek.
don't imagine them curling up in the sun, out in the grass or in a windowsill. Sunfyre spreading his wings over his boy to bask in the light, burying his face in the warmth of the crook of Aegon's neck.
don't imagine the hatchling perching on his bonded's shoulder. don't imagine Aegon sneaking to see him when he was sad or angry. don't imagine Sunfyre crying out in distress, restless in his den when he could feel Aegon's distress but could not get to him
don't imagine the fledgling finding his way to Aegon's window, sneaking in and curling up next to the boy as he laid drunk and miserable, coping as he wrapped around him. don't imagine him perching on the roof of Aegon's chambers, crying to him when he got too big to enter.
don't imagine his sweet little chirps and songs. don't imagine Aegon's little giggles and chuckles. don't imagine the nuzzling of white hair or the scratching. don't imagine them being happy
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alicentsaegon · 2 months ago
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'Moon is goddess, wife of sun'
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15-lizards · 7 months ago
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Thinking about how Aegon can sit on the throne drunk and lazy and not taking his rule seriously and not even get a scratch…Robert was never scratched either and Aegon the unworthy was also exempt from the thrones blood tax WHY IS THIS I’m racking my brain for answers. Obviously the throne is a symbol for the cycle of violence so it only accepts the violent and abusive but then there’s maegor who got scratched by the throne in the worst way possible…what does it all mean…can you not upset the balance of the cycle…
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welcomefortune · 6 months ago
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i stand by my cancelled king, y'all don't have complicated sibling relationships my siblings and i have said way worse to each other than that
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bietrofastimoff23 · 9 months ago
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Aegon has such a strong aura of a big brother who will be the main instigator of jokes on you, but who will also be the main defender of the family and take them under his responsibility for them when the situation escalates (the incident with the eye, the fight at dinner, revenge for Jaehaerys, the release of Alicent from captivity, etc.).
Aegon is the type of person who is mistakenly underestimated and does not consider him any threat, and for this mistake the enemies pay in full.
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persephryne · 6 months ago
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The feminism leaving my body when it comes to Aegon because Tom Glynn-Carney just makes my brain dysfunctional like that
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franzkafkagf · 5 months ago
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me after 3 gin tonics: this is how aegon is the prince that was promised and the azor ahai and thats how he will be revived in a dream of spring and he'll sit the throne and— *GUNSHOT*
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