#exit from dragonpit

[backjustforberena]

PRINCESS RHAENYS TARGARYEN + MELEYS "... because in the end, that’s the relationship."

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Blood and Cheese does not happen. Instead, Daemon plots with his connections to kidnap Aegon’s most prized possession: his wife. They ask Agon and the Greens to give up the throne and she will be returned. Aegon is furious

Requests for HotD are opened again! I have a few in the work already, so make sure you are on the taglist to be notified when I post them <3

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The guards standing on each side of the small council chamber bowed their heads at their king. Aegon hated these meetings, finding them lengthy and uninteresting, but now that he wore the crown, he couldn't escape them.

He pushed the large door open and stepped in. Inside, one person sat at the table: his mother. Beside her, a man in armor stood. Their hushed conversation ceased as he arrived.

Alicent glanced at her son with a somber expression. ‘’Please have a seat,’’ she beckoned.

Aegon furrowed his eyebrows. ‘’Where is everyone else?’’ 

‘’Council meeting is canceled today,’’ she informed him gravely. ‘’We have more urgent matters to discuss.’’ 

Seating himself at the table's head, Aegon braced himself for what was to come. The tension in the chamber was palpable, and he knew something serious had happened.

Alicent hesitated for a moment, her eyes betraying the weight of the news she carried. ‘’There's been an incident,’’ she began, her voice strained. ‘’Before I explain further, I need you to stay calm.’’ Her eyes held Aegon’s, waiting for a silent promise before pursuing. ‘’We all know that Daemon still has connections in the city. Some of his men breached our defenses and infiltrated the castle and she…she was taken by the Blacks.’’

Aegon laughed dryly. This had to be a joke.

But he found no sign of jest in his mother’s solemn expression. 

The king turned to the lord commander standing to her left. ‘’Where is my wife, Ser Criston?’’ he implored, still in disbelief that you had been taken. 

Ser Criston's gaze fell to the ground, his silence speaking volumes. ‘’I regret to conform, your grace,’’ he murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow. ‘’The queen has been taken.’’ 

Aegon felt as if the ground had been ripped from beneath him. His wife, his beloved, stolen from him — kidnapped — by the hands of their enemies. 

‘’We've received a raven from Dragonstone,’’ Alicent informed, clearing her throat. She forwarded the rolled piece of parchemin to Ser Criston, who handed it to Aegon.

He unrolled the parchemin and read the message: As a result of stealing from the rightful heir, something of yours has been taken. Abandon the throne and she will be returned. 

Aegon's jaw clenched so tightly that the parchment in his hand crumpled beneath his grip. His violet eyes filled with wrath as rage spread through his blood. 

He rose to his feet, his voice dripping with fury. ‘’Ser Criston, tell the dragonkeepers to get Sunfire out of the dragonpit. I will go to Dragonstone myself and—’’

‘’I’d rather not,’’ Alicent interjected, her tone icy. ‘’Going to Dragonstone is driving yourself to your own death.’’ 

‘’I will not stand idly by while my wife is held captive by our enemies!" In a surge of anger, Aegon tore the silver crown from his head and flung it to the ground with all the force of his rage, the clang of the Valyrian steel reverberating off the stone walls like a thunderclap.

At his outburst, Alicent's lips pressed into a thin line. ‘’You may leave us, Ser Criston.’’ 

The lord commander nodded and exited the small council chamber in silence, leaving the king and his mother alone.

‘’You have no idea the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne?’’ she stated, her tone heavy with implication.

Aegon's frustration boiled over, and he leaned against the back of his chair. He ran his hands through his silver hair, tugging at the roots in a gesture of despair and anguish. ‘’I never asked for that throne!’’ he exclaimed, his voice cracking with emotion. 

All he wanted was his wife back, it was all he needed — you. 

During his father’s reign, the castle had never been threatened. Viserys was a peaceful king, one who stayed away from conflicts. Therefore, he never had to worry about the loyalty or competence of his kingsguard.  

Now that he had fallen and that a civil war had begun, the safety - and life - of those who lived in the castle was at risk. In the days following Aegon's coronation, all who had refused to swear to him had been beheaded. So, how could this have happened?

‘’I want these men’s heads,’’ he declared, his voice filled with a mixture of vengeance and determination as he straightened. ‘’Plot against the king and I will pay it back a hundred times over.’’

—

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[the20thangel]

Insatiable Appetites

Summary: Two requests into one: the reader is a Targaryen, and she and Aegon were lovers once. And when the reader comes to King landing for her mother's crowning (no war, please), Aegon makes comments about how they were once lovers or something, and Benji calls him a c**t. (I keep re-watching that episode just for that) Because while Benji may be jealous, he's down bad for our girl. Jealous smut ensues.

Tags: NSFW, MDNI, 18+

Word Count: 2555

(this is an x reader fanfic but just with a name)

A sliver dragon was flying in the skies, with two black-haired figures flying on top of it. As many royal family members walked out, they saw Sliverwing landing towards the dragonpit. The two figures climbed down from the she-dragon; two kingsguards came forward, one overjoyed to see them and the other not. They happened to be Ser Cole and Ser Harrold.  

“Welcome back to Kingslanding Princess Visenya, and welcome Lord Blackwood,” Ser Harrold greeted with a warm smile, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the princess and her lord husband. 

Princess Visenya, Rhaenyra’s daughter, turned to the kingsguard, smiling at the guard who seemed like another grandfather. Visenya, named after the conqueror, was a sight to behold. She did not have the typical Valyrian hair; instead, she inherited the Baratheon and Arryn genes, having long, dark, straight hair. Which combined beautifully with her inherited great-grandsire Aemon’s eye color, which was pretty lilac. She was graceful and deadly, a combination that captivated the hearts of every lord and lady in court. She was a force to be reckoned with, which made many men fall madly in love, trying to win over her hand of marriage, all failed but one. 

“Good Morrow Ser Harrold, I’m happy to see your face; how have you been?” pondered Visenya as she extended her arm to her husband Benjicot Blackwood as the two walked towards the carriage and horses.

“Overjoyed to have you back, no offense, my lord, but the Red Keep has missed their princess,” teased Ser Harrold to Benjicot, who couldn't help but grin at the knight's playful banter. 

“Then you better make the most of it while she is here because I’m afraid, Ser, she is well loved back in Raventree Hall. My people and I will not give her up so quickly.” bragged Benjicot as he helped his wife onto his horse, then climbed up and sat in front of her. 

Visneya sighed as they began to ride towards the red keep; after years, she thought her family would remember that she preferred to ride horseback rather than sit in a lousy carriage. 

As the party reached the red keep, the royal family stood there, wearing various colors: red, black, green, and blue. As everyone graces the couple with a smile, only Alicent sneered, seeing a lady riding her horse and not in the carriage. Visneya and Benji demounted their horse, letting the stable boy take it. 

“My dear granddaughter, how this castle has grown so lonely without you here…I hope Raventree Hall has treated you well,” spoke Viserys, huffing with each breath. 

Visenya smiled at her grandsire, curtsying as Benji followed with his own bow. 

“Yes, Raventree Hall has made itself a wonderful home,” explained Senya, seeing her mother smile in relief. 

“That is good. Come, let us return to the castle while we prepare for the feast and coronation of my dear Rhaenyra tomorrow,” commanded Viserys. Ser Harrold led the king back, and the rest of the family followed. 

While everyone returned to their duties or chambers, Visenya decided to give a tour of the royal family side of the castle to her husband. Something many lords and ladies could only hope to see. Walking through the hall, Visenya showed her husband all the spots she and her brothers used to run around when they were younger. As they reached Meagor’s Holdfast, Aegon exited Heleana’s rooms. Seeing his niece, he smirked, walking to greet her and her husband. 

“Well, niece, it's finally nice to see you back since your wedding. I hope your husband and his home are satisfying you; we dragons have insatiable appetites.” taunted Aegon, scanning his eyes slowly down her body, smirking at Benjicot as he left. 

Visenya rolled her eyes as she led her husband away, who gave Aegon a dirty look and walked into her old chambers. 

“I still can’t believe you slept with him,” questioned Benjicot, sitting down on the red silk chaise, staring at his wife, who groaned. Visneya sat next to him, kissing his neck before replying. 

“I was young, stupid, and very drunk. Besides, it was only once, and it is not my fault that I was such a wonderful lover that he became obsessed. I can remember that night as being mediocre at best.” Visneya explained as she turned Ben’s face to her. 

“Besides, as he said, dragons have an insatiable appetite, and you, my dear husband, have done wonders to satisfy me.” She kissed him and smiled as she felt his arms tighten around her waist. 

As the lord was about to pull her under him, a knock broke them out of their musings. Growling, the princess rose to answer the door, seeing a knight at the door. The knight told the princess that her brothers had invited her and her husband to the training grounds in the afternoon, wanting to do some practice runs together. The princess nodded with a smile, thanking the knight as she closed the door. 

Benjicot hmm as he placed one more kiss on her head, “As much I want to continue my love, if we start, I will not be able to stop until tomorrow’s feast, and then that will be breaking the promise to your brothers.” 

Visneya pouted, “Very well, but you will finish what you started, my raven; I will not be ignored.” 

Benjicot widely grinned, kissing the corner of her cheek. “As my princess commands of me.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the training yards, grunts and playfully bantered filled the air, with men dueling each other and teaching the younger princes the way of the sword. Visenya herself was teaching her younger brother, Joffrey, how to hold a sword correctly, smiling as her brother practiced the stances. As she looked up, she grinned at Benjicot, who took a break to watch his wife with her younger brother; he could just imagine the same thing back home, but only it would be their children. 

“Blackwood, I challenge you to a duel…” the voice's owner, Aegon, stuttered towards the raven lord. 

Visenya scoffed at her uncle; he was drunk and overly confident. Benjicot glanced at his wife, wondering if he should entertain the idea. Visenya tipped to the side, thinking, at one point, this could be an excellent opportunity for Ben to knock him off his ego train. On the other hand, this was Aegon. Should he get injured, Alicent would probably start making a fuss to the king. Unfortunately, Aegon took the slight pause as Benjicot being afraid. Grinning, he began taunting the Blackwood lord. 

“Oh, are you afraid of being burned by the dragon, Blackwood? Hmmm?” laughed Aegon as he slightly swayed. 

Benjicot just smirked; this would be a piece of cake. 

“Very well, I accept your challenge, Prince Aegon,” spoke Benjicot as he took a practice sword from Prince Jacaerys, who wished him the best and put Aegon in his place. 

Aegon walked around prancing, which many would describe as looking like a peacock. Benjicot rolled his eyes as he began to turn, swinging his swords and striking Aegon on his arm. This caused the prince to yelp as he turned to his opponent. Growling, Aegon decided to attack, missing Benjicot miserably as Benji easily dodged away from him. This made the crowd chuckle, infuriating the prince as he grew more upset and reckless in his striking towards the lord. 

“Uncle Aegon isn’t good with the sword, huh, Senya,” commented Joffrey, seeing his uncle constantly missing and being struck down by his good-brother. 

Visenya hummed in agreement. Aegon is not the best swordsman; clearly, being drunk did him no favors. As she made eye contact with Aemond, she almost felt pity. Aemond looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him. He was so embarrassed by his brother’s performance that he did not want people to think his sword skills were on par with Aegon’s. 

As Aegon grew more irritated and tired from the duel, he got an idea that he believed would get the advantage of Benjicot. He crouched down, picking up a chunk of dirt and flinging it towards Benji’s eyes. Benjicot quickly backed away and closed his eyes, trying not to allow any dirt to enter his eyes and narrowingly blocking the sword that came to him. Aegon darkly smirked as he leaned in. 

“I have to give you props, lord Benjicot; not every man would be okay with having Targaryen second. Tell me, is my niece’s cunt still tight? Does she wrap her pretty little legs around you as you take her? Does she claim to moan your name as loudly as she did with me…” whispered Aegon, enjoying Benjicot’s face frown, his eyes darkening with anger. 

Benjicot pushed back, causing the prince to flatter, trying not to show his shock at the raven lord. Benjicot stalked toward Aegon, looking like a predator ready to strike his prey. 

“You have no honor to use such words to get a ruse of your opponent… you can barely call yourself a prince of the realm, you craven little cunt!” shouted Benji as he used the handle of his practice sword to punch Aegon straight in his face. 

Knocking Aegon on his ass as the Prince held his now bleeding nose. Jacaerys and Visenya quickly joined Benjicot’s side as chaos exploded, and Criston Cole took out his steel. 

“Halt!” commanded Ser Harrold as the crowd raised their sight to the balcony. 

King Viserys was shaking his head in disappointment at his son as Prince Daemon cackled heavily to the side, finding the situation hilarious. 

“Aegon was the one who challenged Lord Blackwood and used dirty tactics to win a match he was losing. Ser Cole, I advise you to teach my sons better strategies to defeat an opponent, not resulting in insults. Take Aegon to see a maester. Let this be done. Hopefully, he does not bruise for tomorrow. Daemon, cease your laughs.” commanded Viserys, growing more annoyed when his brother continued laughing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Benjicot burst into the chamber, he angrily began to strip, wanting to take a bath to cool off, not wanting to do something drastic. Visneya followed her husband to the bed chambers, dismissing the servants. 

“Ben, what is going on? What did Aegon say to upset you?” questioned Senya, growing shocked when he turned to her growling. 

“Don’t say his name…”  growled Benjicot as he approached her. 

Visneya was shocked, having never seen her husband this fired up before. She walked towards him when he took her and forcefully pushed her to the bed. Crashing onto the bed, she gasped as she felt his body on her. He was a storm, a storm that ironically was warming her up.  

“You are mine, my wife, your body, mine,” announced Benji as he began to kiss her, hungrily capturing her lips, then her jaw, all the way down to her neck. He paused to bite and lick her neck and collarbones. Making Senya moan, feeling the assault on her neck; she would be covered in love bites tomorrow. The whole court will see them since she didn’t pack any high-neck dresses. 

As Benji continued to devour his wife’s skin, he roughly began to undress her and himself, leaving them naked as he reached down to see her cunt weeping for him. Seeing her wetness, he grinned widely, pulling her closer to him, and he started grinding himself to her. 

“Who does your body belong to, hmm,” questioned Benjicot, enjoying the sweet gasps and moans from the princess’s mouth. 

“Yours..” whispered Senya, feeling overwhelmed by the fast pace. This sensation was new but exciting. 

Squealing, she felt herself being flipped with her ass in the air as her husband pressed her face to her the bed. She jolted, feeling him slap her bare bottom. 

“I said…who does your body belong to?” growled Benjicot, giving another slap. 

“Yours! My body belongs to you!” Senya loudly moaned, closing her eyes, withering in painful pleasure. 

“Yes, your body is mine, not Aegon’s, not anybody else's. You were made to take my cock and only mine.” Stated Benji, rubbing himself at her entrance. 

Visneya could only nod, feeling excited about how rough he was being. She wanted him inside her already, but she felt another slap instead. 

“What do you want, or I won’t give you anything,” commanded Benji, his grin ever growing as Visenya sobbed, pressing her body towards him. 

“You! Ben, I want you… I want you to fuck me, Please!” pleaded Visenya, groaning in delight, feeling him roughly enter her cunt. 

“That’s my good girl; you are going to take me in so well,” grunted Benji, going in and out quickly and fiercely. 

As skin slapping filled the room, Senya felt that she would break in half as Ben pulled out and packed in viciously. Her whole body rocked as she felt her husband riding her. Gripping the bedsheets till her knuckles turned white. 

“Yes! So good, yes, Ben, you are so good.” moaned Visenya into her pillow, gasping as Benji pulled her body upright. 

Grasping her breast, he growled into her ear, “I want the whole castle to hear you moan my name; let everyone hear that you are mine. I want Aegon to wish he could make you feel this good.” 

Bouncing her up and down, he lowered his fingers down to her sensitive bud, taking the time to give attention to it, causing Visenya to moan louder than she ever did before. 

“My gods, Benji! Yes! Please fuck me harder, please, I need it!” begged Senya, feeling her release rushing to her. She knew she was so close. Closing her eyes, she reached behind to grasp her husband's hair, roughly pulling it.  

“That’s it, sweetheart…. Where do you want me to finish, in your pretty mouth or in..” 

“Inside me! I need you to fill me…please, Ben, my body craves your release inside me. Mark me, please!” pleaded Visenya, whimpering as she felt his hot release wash over her. It was so warm. 

Gasping, Benjicot finally released her, laying her down on the bed as he lay next to her, still attached. After intense bedding, the two struggled to catch their breath, Visneya placing a hand on her chest. After a moment, Benji slipped out of her and gathered her in his arms. 

“Was I too rough, Senya?” he whispered, lightly kissing her shoulder. 

Visneya inhaled deeply as she turned her body to him. Shaking her head, she pressed a kiss on his chest. 

“No, Ben, I’m fine…it just took me by surprise.” she stared at her husband’s eyes, seeing her sweet husband stare lovingly at her. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be that rough; it's just that Aegon’s words affected me, for him to make such comments about you…” 

Visneya shushed her husband with a sweet kiss. Smiling as she felt him hold her tenderly, this was the side of Benjicot that only she got to see—her sweet Ben. 

“Aegon could never compare to you; he could never make my body crave him like you do with me.” she professed as she stroked his cheek. 

“I am yours, and you are mine…” vowed Visneya, nuzzling her face to him.

Benjicot smiled, kissing his wife as he spoke his vows to her again, “I am yours, and you are mine.”

[serymn31]

soft blood, black bones [excerpt], helaegon dragon-riders fic

Aegon and Helaena take to the skies on their dragons. Soaring through the clouds, feelings start to ignite.

part of a fic I've kind of lost inspiration to continue but after the Dreamfyre erasure I thought to post it, it could work as a stand-alone.

☾𖤓

A memory

“Go! go!” Aegon screams and laughs, riding on Sunfyre, following Dreamfyre as she zips through the sky, having not flown in years. Helaena holds on for dear life, as her dragon still had no saddle, the strong wind threatening to rip her apart from her dragon but she holds on. It felt so good, knowing that there was only sky around you, the ground thousands of miles down, and having complete trust in your dragon.

Aegon had went inside Dreamfyre’s cavern before sunrise and unchained her, without the knowledge of the dragonkeepers. Dreamfyre merely looked at him curiously, as if sensing his intention. He then went Helaena’s room while she was eating breakfast and slipped her away to the Dragonpit.

“Aegon, I don’t think I’m ready,” she said.

“You can’t always wait for the right moment, Hel, I think she’s ready. She let me unchain her! Let’s go now before they see us, we might not get another chance!” Aegon said, grinning the whole way. Their mother was getting pretty strict with Helaena nowadays, and she didn’t like dragons. They passed by the secret ways in the Red Keep to go to the Dragonpit, into its enormous caverns and hallways until they reached her dragon. She climbed up on Dreamfyre, who was calm and willing, and they made their way to the exit. Dream ran and Helaena felt the moment the dragon’s feet rise from the ground to take flight. Aegon, astride Sunfyre, followed them. Dreamfyre flew slow as they exited through the wide doors of the Pit. Before she knew it, she was going higher. She looked down below, the surprised Dragonkeepers following them with their eyes. Soon, they also disappeared from view as they flew higher and higher.

They pass through the clouds, blue skies, land and sea below them. In her excitement, Dreamfyre breathed fire through the sky. Ash and smoke flew to her direction atop the dragon, but Helaena laughed in happiness. Aegon steered Sunfyre away from the flames, always keeping an eye on her.

They flew until the island of Dragonstone was in view. The island was black and terrible in its beauty, and from this distance the great, smoking dragon sculptures seemed so real.

“Umbātās,” Aegon said, and the two dragons slowed down their speed. Helaena was grateful for the pause, so she could finally breathe in relief. She stopped holding on as hard as the dragon stayed still, wings flapping. Aegon stopped as well, taking in the view below them.

“You alright, Hel?” Aegon asked.

“Yes. Aegon. Thank you,” she said, grateful for this moment.

They stayed there for awhile, circling and floating above the island.

When she had seen enough, they made their way back to King’s Landing, this time flying in a slower pace. As they approach the Dragonpit, they fly lower and the crowds gather, cheering the princess on as they see the dragon and her rider. Dreamfyre is a known dragon, and the sight of Sunfyre is sure to gather people.

The dragons land on the Dragonpit’s open platform, feet and claws heavy as they settle, dust billowing in their wake. Aegon goes down Sunfyre and goes to Helaena.

Five dragonkeepers bow to them, with looks of pride and admiration in their eyes as they look on Helaena with Dreamfyre.

“Your grace,” they said, bowing to the prince.

“You may bring back Sunfyre, she’ll have to guide her own dragon back so she can learn,” he answered, and the dragonkeepers guide Sunfyre back to the Pit’s entrance. Helaena guides Dreamfyre back to her chamber, Aegon following. Once Dreamfyre settled, Aegon climbed up the net of ropes on Dreamfyre’s side, takes Helaena’s hand to help her off the dragon.

As Helaena lept to the ground, Aegon envelopes her in a fierce hug. She’s laughing, she’s sure she’s crying from the feeling of light that threats to burst through her heart. She hugs her brother back, and he faces her with bright eyes and a smile that can stop a thousand ships.

“You did it! You got your dragon!” Aegon said.

“She finally let me!” Helaena said, and her face hurt from smiling. Aegon’s grin disappeared when he saw her eyes.

“I know it can be scary, were you crying?” Aegon asked, softly touching his thumb to her cheek to wipe her tears away. He was still half a foot taller than her, so he had to hunch down to touch her face. Helaena wiped her tears with the sleeve of her gown, but still smiling.

“These are just… tears of happiness, Aegon. You know I always loved Dreamfyre. I thought I wouldn’t be able to, but you showed me how. When you got to ride Sunfyre, I was so jealous!”

Aegon held her clasped hands and without thinking, pressed her knuckles to his lips.

“No, Hel, you’ll be a far better rider than me. Dreamfyre is no ordinary dragon, only Princess Rhaena was her previous rider, and you claimed her.”

First flights were always rough, and it would take a few more rides for Helaena to get the hang of it and maneuver Dreamfyre more smoothly. 

Helaena knew she must look terrible, her hair now unbraided and a mess around her face from the wind. Her face was red and stinging from the sunburn. In Dreamfyre’s excitement, the dragon breathed flame that sent dust and ashes her way. Her silk pink dress, ironed out and perfect this morning, was now crumpled, dirty, askew on her shoulders. She was sure her face had ash traces.

“Do I look fine? I think flying like that didn’t do good for this dress,” she said, looking down at the damage on the silk.

“You can get clothes made for dragonriding,” he replied.

“Yes, I remember Rhaenyra had special dresses when she goes out riding,” she said and laughed.

“You also need a new saddle fitted for you. I was in a hurry to get to her this morning. At least you’ve now tried riding without one, it can be fun,” Aegon said and laughed.

“I must look so bad right now, let’s return.”

“It’s fine, Hel. You got Dreamfyre and that’s all that matters. You look beautiful,” Aegon said as his hands touched her shoulders, and Helaena blushed at his compliment. Aegon wasn’t sure about the words he was saying, but he can remember the thrill of the first flight, which he got to experience again somewhat even if only for his sister.

It was true, though, she did look beautiful. This morning, she smelled fresh from her bath and her lavender-scented perfume, her hair done up in its usual style, the maids put some pink rouge on her cheeks and lips that made her glow. Now, though, after flying through miles in breakneck speed, she smelled of fire and her dress was dirty with ash, now askew and showing her right shoulder. Her braid has come undone, her face powdered in dust. She lost a shoe. But to Aegon, she never looked as beautiful. She was beautiful because she was smiling for him, she looked this happy because of him.

Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline or overflowing happiness that Aegon felt for his sister, he moved to give her a quick kiss on her cheek, a small gesture of reassurance. But Helaena, unaware, turned her face to wipe off some dust from it and he ended up kissing her full on the lips.

Helaena’s eyes widened, and her lips went slack against his. Aegon too, not expecting the sensation of her soft lips against his.

Helaena breathed, and time seemed to stand still as Aegon did not move. For some reason, Aegon knew he had to move away but his body didn’t. Helaena closed her eyes, because isn’t that what a girl was supposed to do when she was kissed? Aegon, rested his lips for several moments then let go.

Helaena opened her eyes and Aegon touched her cheek, still staring at her lips. She looked up shyly at her brother, lilac eyes peering through pale lashes. The look in her eyes scared Aegon - it wasn’t a look of a sister to her brother, but… something like how a lady might look at her lover, with compassion admiration love.

Seven hells, why’d I do that? I’m just way too happy for her, now I ruined it!

He dropped his hand from touching her. She had been laughing and smiling the whole ride, now her smile disappeared and she looked at the floor in shame.

“I mean, yes, I guess we should get back…” then he turned away from her to leave. He took three steps before Helaena started walking after him. It was still a long way out of the Dragonpit, it was quite a big place. Aegon continued walking, not looking back at her as they made their way out through the wide, torch-lit hallways.

She liked it, the thought came out of the blue and Aegon wanted to smack his own face for thinking such thoughts about his baby sister who just rode her dragon for the very first time.

Damn it, he thought, if she liked it I might as well…

Aegon stopped in his tracks and Helaena was looking down at the floor and wasn’t watching him. She walked straight on and stepped, and tripped on his shoe but Aegon caught her arm just in time. He fully turned around to hold her and keep her from falling and kissed her again, this time intentional.

And gods, he was glad that he did. He felt her jump in surprise, but she let him…

Aegon closed his eyes and opened his lips to fully taste her. Helaena kissed him back eagerly, holding on to his arms as her tongue also darted shyly to lick his lips. They are both clumsy and unsure. Aegon can taste the milk and honey from her breakfast, she can taste last night’s wine on his tongue.

Footsteps echoed in the chamber and they both remembered themselves, broke the kiss, and stood straight. It was Ser Criston.

“Princess Helaena!” he exclaimed. “The Queen is looking for you. But I’ve seen you in the skies. You did it!” Criston said, beaming with pride.

“Yes!” Helaena seemed to get back to her old self again. She let the knight lift her off the floor in a hug and Helaena kept laughing, a joyous and satisfying sound to his ears. They made their way back to the Red Keep, Helaena gushing to Ser Criston about how they reached Dragonstone and how her first flight went. Their mother welcomed them, and despite her fear and hesitation around dragons, she also smiled for Helaena.

Their younger brother Aemond was also there, but he only looked on and later went out quietly.

Alicent gestured to Aegon to follow his brother. He sighed and walked out, finding Aemond sitting on one of the windowsills, looking at the sky.

“Hey, twat, don’t tell me you’re jealous of Helaena,” he said. Aemond didn’t answer and only continued looking at the sky.

“Dreamfyre was bonded to her before you were even born. At least give her this moment,” Aegon added, resenting his duties as elder brother who had to comfort his siblings. He’d rather have a drink now than deal with Aemond, but he knew he had to.

“Why couldn’t you do it for me, too?”

“Aemond. I can’t. Dragons choose their riders. Your time will come.”

“When?”

Aegon held his brother by the shoulders and faced him to make the message clear. “Dreamfyre was ready. If she wasn’t, she could have burned me when I took off her chains. It’s not like I intended to. I just felt it was the right time for our sister. What I’m saying is, when the opportunity comes, don’t waste it. Take it.” Aegon had no gift of dreams like their sister, but he knew his brother’s dragon is near, but he doesn’t tell Aemond and the price that must be paid.

☾𖤓

Aegon could not sleep from remembering the day. She fully trusted him, and they were only both overtaken by emotions from her riding for the first time. He was truly happy for his sister, the speed they flew, the cheers of the people as they saw him and her riding back through King’s Landing. He only kissed her to make her happy, it was her big day, he might as well do something for her. He wanted her to feel good and not ashamed. But he didn’t realize this would be the aftermath, the guilt eating him through.

We’ll get married, anyway, he thought. It was very likely, Targaryens often marry their next sibling of the opposite sex if there was any. But with these things one can’t be so sure. Who knows what war might erupt or pact that needed to be sealed. The king’s unmarried daughter, a princess, is the most valuable coin.

But the thought of her marrying another… was something he could not even imagine.

He can still taste the memory of her on his tongue, sweet and calming. Did he really do it for her, or to have something of hers for himself?

☾𖤓

Helaena showered off the ash and dust from dragonriding, changed into her sleeping clothes, but the day’s events kept replaying in her mind. Dreamfyre finally trusted her now to ride through the skies. This felt like a day she would remember for the rest of her life. And that kiss. Her heart raced remembering. When Aegon first touched her lips, it wasn’t intentional. She moved her face to wipe it off, and she realized Aegon’s lips was only about to kiss her cheek or her forehead.

Aegon wasn’t the most affectionate person, and she wasn’t that receptive to touch, but she didn’t expect that she would love his. Aegon simply wanted to share the happiness of being one with dragons. When Aegon moved away, it was simply to end it.

They walked out of the Dragonpit, Helaena looking down the whole way because of the shame she felt, the desire that shot throughout her body.

When Aegon caught her and kissed her again, so loving and so tender, it was as if she was melting. Sweeter than the skies, hotter than dragon flame.

and that feeling, of Aegon holding her, kissing her, felt more exciting than flying.

☾𖤓

There were many days after that, that they would continue riding together. It was either before sunrise or near sunset, when the sun’s heat wasn’t as strong. The sight of the young prince and princess on their dragons was a delight for King’s Landing. And always, after each ride, out of sight from the dragonkeepers and only within the hidden crevices of the Dragonpit - Aegon would kiss her. It was always chaste, and he never touched her beyond what was needed. The kisses were brief, there was still the feeling that they were doing something that they weren’t supposed to. The dragonkeepers were always in the dark corners, and they couldn’t risk being seen. But to Helaena, those short trysts only fueled her want. Aegon knew that he wasn’t being the best big brother, but he can’t help it, she was open, sweet, willing. She looked so adorable too, with her kiss-bitten lips and eyes filled with so much admiration for him when they broke away.

☾𖤓

“The passion between the prince and princess is beautiful. Look at them, so happy on their dragons. Isn’t it best to marry them now, while their love is young?” said the visiting dragonkeeper to the meeting, with King Viserys, Queen Alicent, and the rest of the council. On the wide windows, Dreamfyre and Sunfyre can be seen in the distance, circling the Dragonpit.

“The young princess has yet to flower,” Alicent replied. She had made it clear that she will not accept Rhaenyra’s proposal of marrying Helaena to Jace. Watching Aegon and Helaena with their dragons, she sensed that there might still be hope for Aegon.

Even if they hid their kisses in the dark spaces of the Dragonpit, the dragonkeepers could sense something between the siblings. The thrill of riding dragons can ignite various passions, and love could be one of them. Even Alicent can sense the subtle change in them both, the smiles and looks exchanged across the dining table, the way they talk about their dragons.

“If she is ready, then I agree with this proposal. It’s been awhile since we have seen a true Targaryen wedding between a brother and sister of age,” Viserys agreed. While a wedding between Rhaenyra’s son Jaecerys was a good diplomatic choice, Viserys was also all about keeping Targaryen traditions. While Alicent was initially torn about the decision, at the moment it was the best - to keep Helaena near, to strengthen their claim.

end

.............

read more: soft blood, black bones (sorry in advance, said fic is indefinitely discontinued until I find the motivation again)

[willowed-wisp]

HER KNIGHT, HIS HEART- part two

previous | next

| Ser Harwin Strong x female!OC/reader insert

WARNINGS: violence, swearing, abuse

She had forgotten about Rhaenyra's fly about- it was Harwin Strong's fault, lecturing her about not angering her father. Putting aside her unattainable ambitions- at least he possessed the balls to properly counsel her, hence she chose him of all people.

Not a lot had happened in those two days, though her father was more emotionally challenged.

Apparently Prince Daemon with the City Watch had mutilated and murdered petty criminals.

Elspeth had never had too many dealings with the dark horse of the Targaryens but had enough to distance herself from the rogue.

The woman had also had no interaction with Ser Harwin Strong. She didn't know how to feel about that- having an innate desire to search among a sea of faces hoping that she'd see his. Elspeth shrugged that off as an aversion technique, but the anguish when she didn't find him spoke otherwise.

She had always envied Rhaenyra for the primary reason that she could ride dragons- be in the wilds if she wished. Just as she held hatred of man's freedom to fulfil any role they desired while women were made to battle in bed chambers and birthing chairs.

The woman felt more kin towards the Targaryens than her own. She loved seeing her princess in the clouds - what a rush that would be. It wasn't foretold for Elspeth, thankful she hadn't been roasted alive by

Having missed Syrax's flying session, she was glad a tourney was taking place- maybe it could provide the rush always wanting in her veins, "I missed you at the Dragonpit," proper and upfront- that's why they got on so well. Rhaenyra stood in a blood-coloured frilled gown- exiting the carriage.

"What was keeping you?" Elspeth had to stifle her amusement. Not that Rhaenyra looked ridiculous.

"Did King Viserys pick this out for you?" Brow quirked, lips in a smirk. Her best friend returned the sentiment.

"What made it obvious? The frills or the patterns?" Bunching it up by the mid hem.

Rhaenyra eyed what the Hightower wore. "Are you sure you don't have dragon blood?" Referring to the black and gold gilded gown the woman wore. Its neckline was high and crossed, sleeves short- nothing too fancy. She needn't impress the councillors nor onlookers.

Elspeth tutted, "None hold more disappointment than I, Princess," they walked- the older assumed she would receive an earful from her father for being late. "You should have a sibling by the end of events." Rhaenyra smiled, it was a momentous occasion for her. She seemed excited for the company of a brother or sister- Rhaenyra convinced it will be a little girl called 'Visenya".

"Yes Visenya is on her way. I can't imagine going through labours- I’m not in a hurry," Elspeth nodded, her younger siblings provided a strong deterrent to following her 'wifely duties. Others seemed to enjoy the deed committed to be with child, not that the girl of nineteen knew personally. "So... what kept you from the Dragonpit? Syrax missed you- she's quite fond of your presence. Soon she'll be able to bear two riders..."

A purse of her lips, "I fear the dragoness would send me to my death if I saddled her. I don't possess your lineage, Rhaenyra, and Hightowers would make the worst dragon riders. You and I both know that." They started to ascend the steps, up to the entrance and where the most powerful people in Westeros watched the events.

Their laughs quieted down, hushed by the cheers from around- only the king audible and able to translate.

"I know many of you travelled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise, you will not be disappointed. When I look at the fine knights in these lists. I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news... that I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labours!"

They had sneaked to their seats- sat either side of Alicent in the front row. Rightful cheers ensued-Elspeth one of thousands in attendance. She knew Rhaenyra never wanted the fate of the kingdoms in her hands - she wanted to fly around on Syrax for the remainder of her days. A male heir would make sure that happened. "May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!" An eruption of applause. She found herself politely clapping.

"Who's first?" Directed at no one in particular.

Calculating by sigils on armour.

Somebody beat them to the punch, "Opening this wondrous tournament. Ser Casten Tully," a streak of blue and silver, "His opponent- the strongest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, Ser Harwin Strong!" Something leapt inside of her- head perking. Navy, forest and carmine flashed and glimmered with armour.

In a blink of an eye, Ser Casten was in a bundle on the floor- his beige steed a few feet away.

Cradling his shoulder, a broken collarbone maybe.

Her focus on the man was short lived. Ser Harwin trotted over on horseback- helmet lifted and his eyes were straight on her, "Lady Elspeth Hightower, I stayed true to my word." Eyes not daring to roll, as she stood from the stool.

She draped her hands over the boundary- elbows rested on stone. "I'm afraid I haven't made a wreathe," Elspeth was dismissive. Stifling that guilt deep down in her chest.

"You could give him your necklace..." Fucking Rhaenyra. What was she playing at?

Oh, he looked oh-so amused with himself. "Are you going to deny a knight his favour?" He was lucky he was handsome. Fingers fiddled to undo the clasp of her golden chained, emerald encrusted piece of jewellery. Sliding it down his lance. "No kind words?"

"Don't push it, Strong," she spoke through gritted teeth. Gods above she was in trouble. Especially when he wore the necklace- smuggled with his chainmail and chest plate.

Then he was gone.

She returned to her seat. Alicent and Rhaenyra sharing looks of amusement, “Was that why you were absent from the Dragonpit?” The answer as clear as her silence was loud. Chin up and observing the next rounds of the joist. Gwayne was on the lists, but Ser Criston Cole was the cream of the crop. Fairly unknown but his reputation from the Stormlands had preceded himself. And he didn’t disappoint, she overhead Westerling’s information as he spoke to the Princess.

For every other knight she didn’t pay attention. “Ser Harwin Strong!” But him, eyes trained on him while he took a lap around the list field. He seemed to notice, bowing on his horse at her- that smile prominent under the helmet. Alicent gasped as Rhaenyra laughed in a quiet manner. Elspeth didn’t know how that made her feel, although her cheeks felt warm.

The woman maintained her composure. “His opponent, Ser Gwayne Hightower!” Her arm was touched by a concerned Alicent. Harwin had a reputation for near killing his competitors- it was a worry. Not that she had control over the events.

“Gwayne will be fine.”

Elspeth was pissed off. So much so she had left the royal balcony, storming down to the knights’ village. Finding exactly who she was looking for, “You let him unhorse you,” the dishevelled hair didn’t help her unexplainable infatuation. While he stood there, unlinking his armour.

“Your Lord brother was better than me, that can be changed with more training,” He remained so calm and gentle. As he always had and she presumed would continue to be; riling her up even more.

She paced ever so close to the man, chin up attempting to look more foreboding, “Why did you let Gwayne beat you?”

“Ser Gwayne is a fine knight.”

“He may be a fine knight but he can’t unhorse you,” her chest met his; heart skipping, maybe that wasn’t hers. He hadn’t looked away- staring into Elspeth’s eyes as she did his.

That harsh edge to her melted as he dipped his head down, “Did you want me to win, my Lady?” Ending at the shell of her ear, Elspeth sucked in a breath.

The woman sought to maintain her composure, “I trusted you wouldn’t sully my honour, Ser Strong,” faces mere inches away, “But I’m sure you won’t repeat that mistake next time…” She took a few steps back- aware of prying eyes of tourney goers and those of knights.

Nothing could hide his look of bemusement, “You wish to give me your honour again?” The woman nodded.

“You are the strongest knight, in the Seven Kingdoms. You’re one of the best there is.” A wave of pride on his face but something waged sincerity.

“I didn’t know you to be capable of such flattery, my Lady.” He was too happy with himself.

“Don’t push it, Strong.” Deja vu as she walked away- turning back to witness that intent look on Harwin’s face, “Never forfeit another tourney.”

“Don’t you want your necklace back?”

She waved him off, “For next time. Don’t want you forgetting about me,” maybe she winked, maybe she didn’t. Elspeth was not ready to admit she winked at Harwin Strong. Or that she had given him her most treasured possession.

Those eyes of blue watched the girl, “Are you sure, Elspeth?” She was weak at her knees. Yet she held it- a weak, timid nod. How had they gotten so close again? Whatever the reason, Elspeth just wanted him to disappear and let her thoughts remain pure and allow for her to go about her usual day.

Not constantly think about him.

The woman just couldn’t figure the knight out. She couldn’t fathom why in the Known World would he align himself with her? The eldest daughter to the Hand of the King and the most outspoken Lady that the court had known.

Murmurs fluttered the air, a blur of orange came into view. “Ser Harwin,” The unmistakable voice of her brother. He had to look twice at his sister being in the knight’s village, “Sister, I think you need to return to your Princess.”

“Does being a stickler ever get old, brother?” Unamused and unyielding. Until that look emerged on his face. “Gwayne, what’s wrong?” Wide green eyes met his calmed blue.

“The Queen is dead.” Drums thundered around her- only a figment of her imagination but they pounded stronger than her own heart.

Fuck. “Rhaenyra. I’ve got to go.”

Without a second word, she found her best friend and held her tight despite declaring she ‘didn’t need’ Elspeth’s sympathies. That didn’t prevent the Princess from melting to the floor in the Hightowers’ arms. Both Elspeth and Alicent cradled her that day. Not speaking a single phrase, just sharing each others’ despair.

Queen Aemma was the perfect mother to them all. Never thinking herself to be above any subject. She was a true Queen. And a true Targaryen.

What was the Seven Kingdoms to do without her by Viserys’ side?

And her death was in vain- Prince Baelon only saw the living world for a mere few hours. Elspeth didn’t need a lesson from her father to understand what this meant. The succession of Viserys’ throne was in question. Unless he remarried and produced a male heir or two.

It also meant her father would be in a more ridiculous mood- which meant more suitors in the coming days.

The days went fast and her sanity broke at a quicker rate. She felt Rhaenyra’s pain- that agony. The Princess was there for both the sisters when their Lady mother passed, and now they would return the favour. Though, Alicent had been stealing her and their mother’s clothes as of late. And had been around the Kings chambers. The woman just hoped Alicent wasn’t being forced to play an adult game at the age of fifteen.

But knowing Otto Hightower and his schemes- that most certainly was the truth. And it made her blood boil.

A crash of doors, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Are you so power famished that you’re going to exploit your youngest child? Your daughter?” She sat on the desk he was working on- closing the book that kept his focus even while she spoke. Her stare was that of rages- not surprise, “You’re rotten at your very core, that throne... Please don’t drag Alicent into your games!”

“Well you certainly won’t do what’s best for this family… Alicent has a keen mind for the way things work in this world.”

“She’s a fucking child who has a misguided idolisation for her father! Mother would never forgive you for this…” Her breath taken as the man she called ‘father’ had his fingers wrapped around her throat. Nails digging further- a crushinh hold. It wasn’t fear running through her. It was pure hatred. “Do it. Kill me. Show them the monster you’ve always been.” It was a struggle worth the pain- he released her from his grip.

Elspeth didn't know what lurked behind those eyes before. Now she did. A coward and a kingmaker. Her throat felt the construction still, coughing to realign any part of her windpipe as soon as slumped outside of the door- not caring what the Kingsguard stationed outside thought. Before their worried faces asked, she had charged halfway down the corridor- passing by with steeled manner.

“Lady Elspeth, whatever is the matter?” The master of laws, Ser Lyonel Strong. One of her father’s peers that made sense, she was quite fond of the man. He often checked in with the woman, almost like an actual father would. Not that she would know.

She shook her head- politely, “Ser Lyonel, you are in good health?”

“Child, I have known you since you were knee high,” Arms crossed, “Your Lord father?”

She nodded, “I have to attend, her grace. I will see you in court, Ser.” Elspeth had been wholly unaware of the bruises circling her throat- however, the master of laws had not been so ignorant.

Lady Elspeth had not gone to Rhaenyra- a blatant lie so she could venture down and out of the castle. Kings Landing was a much better crowd than Oldtown ever had been.

The woman found herself on the bar counter - wooden and bulking - singing her tunes as somebody tickled the ivories and picked at the strings. A tankard of ale raised in her hand, that would be her fifth. Not that she paid for any of them. She knew Bert the owner, but vagrants had been stockpiling her in alcohol since she strutted in.

She was among the clouds- unaware if it were the ale or the brute slinging her over his shoulder. Not that the girl argued, she was too far gone to walk- it was nice being carried around.

Until her back crashed into a wall, “You are foolish for coming here, my Lady,” so polite yet so gruff at the same time. It ignited something in her.

Anger… lust… Elspeth couldn’t rightly say which, “Ugh, not you, Ser Breakybones…” Eyes rolled, taking a step she wasn’t ready to take in that condition- falling into his arms. And she felt safe, secure. The woman found herself in the clouds again. So she giggled, looking into his stern face. “I’ve always fancied you…” his hand swept away the hair, unable to resist sweeping in behind her neck. She couldn’t help but wince.

She felt this man of all men tremble, “Who did this? Was it one of those pigs inside?” He let her go for a moment- about to absolute havoc to the patrons until they gave him answers. But a hand on the side of his face stopped him- everything in the man. Eyes widened as if his own heart ceased to beat when he saw her composure unravel and the tears break down Elspeth’s soft skin.

All but shattering. He held her snug while she bawled. Elspeth barely noticed when he carried her, all the way to the Red Keep. She’d have appreciated that in consciousness or told him to fuck off.

[lemonhemlock]

The episode where Rhaenys busts through the floor and murders countless smallfolk and it having absolutely no narrative consequences on the story or condemnation of Rhaenys' character, and the episode where Aegon murders the ratcatchers causing Otto to crash out have this whole monlogue about Aegon being The Worst being written by the same writer really tells you all you need to know about HOTD. And before you ask, yes, they were both written by Sara Hess lmao.

Yeah, I know there was discourse a while ago, because this dissatisfaction regressed into racist and misogynistic attacks directed at Sara Hess. Obviously, that's vile and people should, first of all, rid themselves of this despicable framework of viewing the world (because, as always, this is absolutely just another opportunity to dunk on a woman - these people don't care about good storytelling) and, secondly, learn how to actually formulate an argument that doesn't sound like the ramblings of a basement-dweller.

That being said, she is categorically not a good writer, there's no other way to put it. She can come up with some good ideas (or, at least, a glimmer of good ideas - for example, the daemyra argument in S02E02 was good - one of the season's highlights, actually) and her line-level writing is... adequate. But, on the whole, her record on House of the Dragon is littered with inaccuracies and logical fallacies. I haven't seen her other shows, but I decidedly have no desire to and will be actively avoiding if I see her name. And I am including Ryan Condal in this mess, too, because he has the ultimate say-so on how the scripts look. These two together truly are the blind leading the deaf.

I think the ratcatcher pity party was, in a way, a reaction to all the backlash she received for the Meleys dragonpit scene. But, instead of fixing her mistake and making it work in the context of what she had already written, she made some absolutely abysmal storytelling choices that defy common sense and contradict her own text. A very easy fix to this would have been to show the population of King's Landing become very anti- Meleys, Rhaenys and, by extension, Rhaenyra. But, of course, the wider narrative set by her genius colleagues was that KL couldn't possible have any negative feelings towards Rhaenyra, so it's completely swept under the rug and the commoners are made to consider Meleys' death a bad omen.

But, naturally, they had to do something about all the criticisms that they are not focusing on the negative effects this war has on the population. However, instead of showing that in a balanced way, they decided to pile all these evils on the greens again. Rhaenyra faces no backlash from the low-born for any of her actions. She does sacrifice them to Vermithor, essentially, by preventing their exit and it's framed as the beginning of her moral compromises and falling into self-aggrandizing behaviour. Yes. But where are the consequences to this? There are no consequences. These dragonseeds don't seem to have any family who are asking questions about them or blaming Rhaenyra for setting them on fire, basically. Not even one noble person hears of this and goes "hmmm that's kind of fucked up actually". Larys, the literal Master of Spies, who might have reasonably be shown to have found out this inside information via his network of spies, might have had some lines informing the green council about this awful thing Rhaenyra has done. Might have even informed the population, in order to turn them against her. But no, of course not, we can't have anyone actually be anti-Rhaenyra.

Meanwhile, we have close-ups of the fucking dog longing for the ratcatcher who literally kicked it in a previous scene. How do you even qualify the framing decision to invite the audience to feel sorry for a child-murderer? To feel more sorry for him than for the actual mother of said murdered child? We have Otto, of all people, lecturing Aegon about how over-the-top he is acting, because he executed a couple of ratcatchers. Otto, who, by the way, is shown in S01E09 to be executing people because they would not bend the knee to Aegon. Otto does not value commoner lives more than noble-borns (last season, he refuses to outlaw child pit fighting and, even in the previous episode, he gets annoyed by Aegon ruling too much in the smallfolk's favour), but he grows a temporary conscience for the purpose of this one scene, because we have to engineer another situation in which Aegon looks cruel or stupid (or both, preferably). Alicent's entire household was purged by Larys for supposedly being Mysaria's spies, the brothel was even set on fire and she gave zero fucks about that, but Aegon's ratcatcher execution is somehow one step too far.

I have said this before, but just thinking "civilians don't matter" in the ASOIAF universe betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of the themes and message. Can you ultimately be anything other than a "bad" writer if you miss the point to such a degree? And you can tell that's her true opinion about all this, because she can't write a storyline in which civilians do matter to save her life. The suffering of the lower classes only matters in her stories just as far as she can instrumentalize it to demonize the greens. She's not interested in any kind of systemic exploration, because that would also involve the blacks and it would interfere with Rhaenyra's hero framing. Like Ryan Condal, she doesn't have the chops to write beyond the hero-villain binary, hence all the flip-flopping and the retconning and the logical fallacies. And, at the end of the day, I can just watch a Marvel movie for that, you know?

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 70

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 70: The Beast Beneath the Boards

AO3 - Masterlist

As the litter drew to a stop, a final moment of connection passed between Daenera and Helaena. With a gentle pressure on Daenera’s hand, Helaena leaned closer, her voice a soft whisper, “Beware the beast beneath the boards… And beware the one that resides by the heart.”

The silence of the litter was interrupted by the sounds from the outside–a shuffle of feet, a divisive click, and then the door swung wide open, casting a flood of morning light into the previously dim interior. Aemond’s silhouette framed the doorway, his gesture a silent beckoning for them to exit. Daenera returned the pressure of Helaena’s hand in a silent show of solidarity before letting go. Helaena gracefully accepted Aemond’s assistance, gathering her skirts in one hand as she descended from the carriage. 

Upon her descent, Aemond shifted his focus to Daenera, his expression tightening ever so slightly, mirroring the anticipation of a challenge as she deliberately lingered within the confines of the litter, her demeanor defiant. 

With a purposeful extension of his hand, Aemond gesture towed the line between an offer and a command, a test of his patience thinly veiled. 

Daenera held Aemond’s gaze with a defiant scowl, her displeasure manifesting in the slight furrow of her brow and the tight press of her lips. After a moment marked by the silent battle of wills, she released a pointed sigh, an audible surrender to his demand and with a deliberate motion, she gathered the folds of her dress and made her way through the litter, despite her reluctance. 

This time, she takes his hand, allowing him to momentarily assist her down the steps of the litter. Once her feet were on the ground, she withdrew her hand, as if the brief contact was more than she could bear. Her hand prickled with the warmth of his, and she felt her heart twist within her chest. 

Daenera lifted her gaze to the imposing structure of the Dragonpit, perched majestically on the steep slopes of Rhaenys Hill. The terrain surrounding them was rugged, mirroring the craggy cliffs that formed the foundation of the Red Keep. Carved into this stony landscape, a stairway ascended directly toward the Dragonpit. Unlike the grand staircase that stretched from the Dragonpit’s main gates and all the way down to the foot of the hill to streets below–broad, imposing, and designed to accommodate the comings and goings of large crowds–this path was more modest in scale. It was only a fifth the length of its grander counterpart, yet it still presented a lengthy and steep ascent, beginning from a point more than halfway up the hillside. 

This stairway wound its way up from a road that hugged the contours of the hill, a road reserved for their use alone, away from the eyes of the city’s populace. The road itself was a flat, rocky ribbon that snaked through the landscape, culminating in a leveled area at the base of the stairs. This served as a threshold between the road and the climb, a starting point for the final approach to the Dragonpit above. 

At the cliffside, an entrance had been hewn directly from the stone, framed by ornate columns. The entrance led into the cavernous depths of bowls of the Dragonpit, where the dragons were. The long, wide, entrance was dimly lit by the flickering light from sparse braziers, their glow too weak to chase away the shadows that lurked within. The mere sight of it sent a familiar shiver down her spine.

From this depths of the Dragonpit a distinct scent wafted through the air–a combination of smoke and the unmistakable presence of dragons. 

The area around them buzzed with activity as banners snapped in the wind, and horses neighed, their restlessness a mirror to the anticipation of the assembled crowd. The procession had now fully gathered, with notable figures making their appearances from the ornately decorated litters. 

Queen Alicent emerged with the grace befitting her status, accompanied by Aegon, who bore a blank expression as he was flanked by the Kingsguard, their white cloaks fluttering in the wind. And from another wagon, Otto Hightower emerged, followed by the members of the council.

Weariness tinted Daenera’s sigh as she cast a disparaging glance at the daunting staircase before her, her steps reluctantly quickened by Aemond’s guiding hand at the small of her back. 

“Why couldn’t they have extended the road to reach the top?” She lamented, her voice carrying the annoyance of a long-standing grievance. 

The hint of a smile that played on Aemond’s lips did not escape her notice–a silent acknowledgement of the numerous times she had voiced this complaint in their younger years. Back then, their visits to the Dragonpit were marked by this same ritual: A litter ride followed by the inevitable climb.

Daenera had never been shy about expressing her displeasure, questioning the necessity of the arduous ascent each time. Her frustration was not merely about the physical exertion but stemmed from a deeper sense of exclusion. Without a dragon of her own to bond with, she was relegated to the role of an observer, watching from the sidelines as her brother’s and uncle formed connections with their dragons. 

While she had come to terms with the reality of never having a dragon to call her own, Aemond had harbored a bitterness towards this face. His resentment had driven him to search the depths of the Dragonpit on more than one occasion, hopeful of discovering an unclaimed dragon lingering in its shadows. Unlike him, Daenera had never ventured into the deeper recesses of the pit. 

The procession embarked on the strenuous journey upwards, each step taking them closer to the Dragonpit. As they finally reached the summit, their path led them through one of the lesser-known side entrances, a discreet gateway into the ancient edifice. The dimly lit corridors that greeted them were nestled within the outer walls of the structure, snaking around its perimeter in a labyrinthine embrace. Shadows clung to the corners, and the air was thick with anticipation. 

As they stepped into the vast arena, the cacophony of gathered voices enveloped them, merging into a singular, resonant drone. The upper levels was already teeming with spectators; the upper tiers were densely populated, and a steady stream of people continued to fill arena grounds. The expansive dome above transitioned seamlessly from the open blue sky to an ornate ceiling, where gold murals unfurled the stories of Aegon’s Conquest. These grand depictions, ambitious in their scope and detail, seemed to fade into the shadows under the weak illumination that fought valiantly but in vain against the pervasive darkness of the Dragonpit.

The structure’s inherent gloom was punctuated only by the light that managed to seep through the grand doorway, left open to accommodate the influx of spectators. 

In this dimly lit space, Daenera was led to a dias, an elevated platform that rose distinctly from the rena floor, safeguarded by a line of gold cloaks. Positioned at the heart of the Dragonpit, this dias was bathed in light, pouring in from the window above the second door that remained closed. 

Daenera’s expression darkened into a scowl as she took in the sight of the banner that served as the backdrop of the dias, its fabric boasting the emblem of the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. The gleaming gold of the dragon contrasted starkly against the banner’s black fabric, a symbol of power and legacy that loomed over the gathering. 

Her scowl deepened as her gaze settled on the throne positioned prominently in front of the banner, elevated slightly upon another dias. This wasn’t just any seat; it was an exquisitely carved wooden throne, its craftsmanship detailed and grand, accentuated by the tall back and the curves that seemed to frame the seat itself. The throne was a piece of history, the very throne Jaehaerys had occupied during the Great Council held at Harrenhal, when the heir to the throne had been named; making Viserys I Targaryen his successor. 

Daenera’s voice was barely a whisper, tinged with outrage as she sneered at Aemond, “This is a fucking mummer’s farce.”

“It may well be,” Aemond hummed, “but it won’t make a difference what you think.”

As the procession made its way onto the dias, they were elevated above the throngs of the commoners who jolsted for a view. The event seemed to have stirred the entire city into a frenzy of anticipation, drawing spectators from all corners of the city to witness what was happening. 

Daenera found herself standing between Helaena, who sought comfort in the small gesture of entwining their fingers, and Aemond, who stood with his hands folded behind his back. 

“Beware the beast beneath the boards,” Helaena murmured lowly, clutching Daenera’s hand tightly. “And beware the one that resides by the heart.”

The air was punctuated by shouts of reverence from the crowd, “Gods bless you, Princess Daenera!” one voice ran out above the rest, igniting a chorus of similar accolades. Helaena, too, received her share of adulation, her name called out with affection by the smallfolk. 

Yet, the smiles they offered in return, the warmth did not quite reach their eyes. Their expressions were masks, worn to fulfill the expectations of their roles, even as their minds were perhaps miles away from the grandiosity and the clamor that enveloped them. The moment was a poignant reflection of the duality of their existence–revered and isolated, adored yet distant. 

Within Daenera, a tumult of emotions raged. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm against her ribs, betraying the calm exterior she maintained. A hollow sensation gnawed at her stomach, dread seeming like a voracious beast that ate at her as her gaze swept over the crowd. 

The crowd surged forward, a living entity in itself, its members merging into a sea of indistinguishable faces that resembled a shapeless flow, much like a mudslide in its relentless advance.  

“People of King’s Landing,” Otto Hightower’s voice cleaved through the ambient noise of the gathering, sharp and commanding, arresting the attention of all present. “Today is the saddest of days…”

At his words, Helaena’s hold on Daenera’s hand intensified, her gaze dropping to the ground as a somber expression carved itself deeply into her features. Daenera, feeling the tremor of emotion from Helaena, subtly shifted closer. Their clasped hands became a mutual source of solace, a silent exchange of support amidst the unfolding scene. 

“Our beloved King Viserys the Peaceful is dead,” Otto declared, allowing the gravity of his announcement to permeate the crowd. A pause followed, during which the weight of his words seemed to slowly descend upon the assembly, eliciting a ripple of stunned murmurs. 

“But it is also the most joyous of days, for as his spirit left us,” he continued, his voice rising high above all else. “He whispered his final wish: that his firstborn son, Aegon… should succeed him!”

Her heart pointed fiercely, a symphony of indignation that surged and swelled within Daenera. She pressed her jaw together, the tension manifesting in the tight set of her mouth as she ground her teeth in silent frustration. Drawing in a deep, deliberate breath, she steeled herself against what was to come, and the theft that was being done in broad daylight, before the realm to witness. 

Her gaze darted towards Alicent, laden with a desperate, silent plea for intervention–hoping, in spite of herself, that Alicent might reverse her decision of having her son crowned, that she might alter the course they were on. Yet, as she searched Alicent’s expression for any sign of hesitation, any hint of change, Daenera was met with the stark realization that there would be no such reprieve. The hope that had flickered so briefly in her heart disintegrated, leaving her to confront the truth that this outcome, this path, had been decided upon years ago, and Alicent wouldn’t change it. After all, why should she? She had set it in motion years ago, when she had married Viserys. 

The crowd’s initial stirrings were tinged with shock and confusion, gradually swelling into a louder chorus. Voices merged into an indistinct resonance of uncertainty and bewilderment, echoing the collective sentiments of those gathered as they absorbed the news. 

Yet, as the gravity of Otto Hightower’s announcement settled, these murmurs evolved into a tentative, apprehensive applause. The assembly, caught between the somber acknowledgement of a king’s death, and the announcement of the rise of another, found themselves unsure what to do. Applauding was the only recourse left to them, perhaps more of a reflex of decorum than joy.

A formation of City Watchmen cleaved through the throng, their march a rhythmic display that drew all eyes. Their cloaks, a cascade of golden hues, flowed behind them, parting the sea of common folk with decisive authority. Woven into this golden procession, the Red Keep’s guards added strokes of crimson, their cloaks melding with the gold.

Orders and shouts pierced through the air, until the Lord Commander of the City Watch halted the procession with a command, “Halt! Turn!”

As the procession came to a standstill, the sharp call of horns sliced through the air, heralding the approach of the new heir apparent. In a synchronized spectacle, the guards and City Watchmen unsheathed their swords, lifting them to craft an archway of shining steel. Through this gleaming path, Aegon advanced, his passage marked by the sequential lowering of swords.

Otto Hightower’s voice cut through the hush that had befallen the assembly, imbuing the moment with grandeur and solemnity. 

“It is your great good fortune and privilege to be here to witness this,” he proclaimed, his voice traveling through the filled space, seeming as final as the fall of each sword. “...A new day for our city, a new day for our realm. A new King… to lead us!”

Daenera observed his approach, her attention fixed on the unmistakable look of surrender that clouded his features, as he glanced up at the dias before falling on the first step. He seemed to think himself a lamb being led to slaughter rather than a man being crowned king. He didn’t even want it–and still they would crown him.

Ascending the steps to the dias, Aegon’s demeanor bore the weight of resignation. Shadows haunted his visage, betraying a night's fitful rest, while the hint of unshed tears shimmered in his gaze as he looked towards his mother, his eyes seeming to burn. 

Alicent tenderly cradled her son’s face in her hands, drawing him closer to press a soft kiss upon his forehead. 

“Beware the beast beneath the boards,” Helaena whispered, her gaze steadfastly averted from the scene of her husband’s consecration by the High Septon. Her hold briefly tightened. “And beware the one that resides by the heart.”

“He’s crying,” Daenera remarked, clenching her jaw tightly, her eyes burning with a mix of anger and unshed tears. As Otto Hightower cast a significant glance towards Aegon, the prince appeared to wilt under the intensity of his gaze, his posture yielding as he knelt before them. Traces of tears, now beginning to dry, streaked his face–the appearance of which seemed to mark his own apprehension of being crowned. 

“He doesn’t even want it,” Daenera muttered sharply to Aemond, who was a fixture by her side, seemingly unaffected by her observation. Yet, she could sense her words infiltrating his stoic exterior, unsettling him beneath his armor of indifference. 

The High Septon’s voice resonated through the hushed assembly as he anointed Aegon’s forehead with holy oil, each stroke invoking the gods. 

“May the Warrior give him courage,” he intoned, his movements deliberate as he marked Aegon’s brow. With every invocation to the god, another line adorned the prince’s skin. “May the Smith lend strength to his sword and shield. May the Father defend him in his need…”

Daenera’s eyes clenched shut in an effort to contain the tumult within her. A bitter counter-prayer formed in her mind, her thoughts twisting the High Setpon’s blessings into curses. Let the Warrior expose your cowardice. May the Smith take your strength and forge you shackles. And May the Father judge you and deliver his justice.

“May the Crone lift her shining lamp and light the way to his wisdom,” the High Septon concluded, notability omitting the blessings of the Maiden, the Mother, and the Stranger from his liturgy. 

Yet, in the silence of her heart, Daenera bestowed these omissions with her own silent pleas. May the Crone’s light unveil his misdeeds. May the Maiden shield the innocent girls from his cruelty. May the Mother withhold her compassion and so him no mercy. And may the Stranger usher him swiftly from this world.

As the ceremony proceeded, Ser Criston Cole received the crown from the High Septon, elevating it before the onlookers as though declaring its might in its own right. His voice boomed, “Behold, the Crown of the Conqueror, passed down through generations,” a proclamation that carried an inherent reverence as it evoked the image of the Conqueror. 

Daenera opened her eyes, and with a voice laced with a cruel edge, she murmured to Aemond, “It could have been you.”

A fleeting glance from Aemond, brief yet loaded with unspoken tension, confirmed to her that her words had struck a chord, twisting into the fabric of his pride and ambition.

Ser Criston placed the crown upon Aegon’s head, sealing his fate, followed closely by a proclamation that resounded through the assembly, “Let the Seven bear witness, Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the Iron Throne,” echoing off the ancient walls, its reverberating haunting the cavernous space. 

Aegon’s gaze wandered, touching upon Ser Criston Cole, his mother, Helaena, and then Daenera, who stood unyielding, her refusal to bow a silent challenge until Aemond’s insistent tug compelled her compliance. Aemond’s hand lingered on the nape of Daenera’s neck for a moment more, the warmth of his touch searing into her skin, stirring a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. Then, he released his hold, allowing her to rise again. Yet, even in acquiescence, her eyes seared with defiance, unwillingly to fully concede to Aegon’s new authority.

The High Septon’s voice boomed, punctuating the ceremony with a finality that filled the hushed space, “All hail His Grace, Aegon, Second of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and the Protector of the Realm!”

As Aegon turned to face his subjects, Daenera’s gaze swept over the sea of faces that bore witness to his ascension, each pair of eyes reflecting a multitude of emotions. Beside Daenera, Helaena’s grip tightened.

A ripple of murmurs traversed the crowd, as the smallfolk exchanged wary glances, their eyes lifting to the dias with a palpable sense of anxious expectation. They seemed to assess the newly crowned king, who returned their gazes, a mirror of their own apprehension, as if he too was gauging the reception of his subjects. Both the king and his subjects seemed to hold their breath, caught in a moment of mutual uncertainty, each waiting for the other to signal their acceptance or dissent. 

“Aegon the King!” Ser Criston Cole’s voice rang out once more, the underlying threat in his tone unmistakable as the peal of bells began to resonate, signaling the dawn of a new rule.

Tentative applause arose. What started as a hesitant clap from a solitary pair of hands soon burgeoned into a unified cascade of applause, swelling into a resonant ovation as cheers emerged and well wishes were shouted at the king.

In this moment adoration and acclaim, Aegon stepped forward seemingly with a new sense of purpose. With a deliberate and theatrical gesture, he unsheathed Blackfyre, raising it high above his head as he stood as a figure of triumph, absorbing the adulation of the crowd. 

Tears, born of indignation and helplessness, threatened to breach her eyes, and she fought them back with a hard swallow, struggling to maintain her composure as the crowd accepted the new king. 

With a bitter swallow, Daenera had to reconcile with this acceptance. The coronation of Aegon as king was executed with meticulous precision. They had deliberately adorned him with the iconic crown and sword of Aegon the Conqueror, and draped him in symbols of Targaryen might, prominently featuring the three-headed golden dragon across his attire and the surrounding banners. This display was not mere pageantry but a strategic act designed to lend credit to Aegon’s image as the legitimate successor of the Conqueror’s legacy. The orchestration aimed to solidify his claim to the Iron Throne in the public’s heart also served to cast doubt on anyone who meant to oppose him. 

And yet, amid the orchestrated celebration, a dissenting voice cut through the atmosphere, boldly proclaiming, “Long live Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Rightful Queen!” This unexpected declaration momentarily disrupted the ceremony’s carefully curated narrative. 

Otto Hightower and Ser Criston Cole reacted immediately, signaling for guards to locate and silence the bold supporter of Rhaenyra. Gold cloaks cleaved through the masses in search for the owner of the voice, but it was little more than finding a needle in a haystack. 

Despite the overwhelming applause that filled the air for Aegon, scattered shouts of support for Thaenyra intermittently broke through, each one a beacon of resistance against the narrative the Hightowers imposed. For Daenera these isolated yet resilient shouts in support of her mother were not just acts of defiance but rays of hope, suggesting that the fight for the true succession to the throne was far from over. 

Alicent approached her son, whispering words of counsel or encouragement into his ear before gracefully retreating. With a final, sweeping glance at the crowd, whose cheers and applause filled the air, Aegon sheathed Blackfyre. He then took a step back, turning to ascend the step to Jaehaerys’s throne, where he seated himself. 

The crowd’s uproar gradually subsided, attention shifting as Otto Hightower positioned himself with commanding presence. A gleam of triumph sparked in his eyes as he surveyed the assembly, preparing to speak. 

When his voice rang out, it was clear and authoritative, resonating through the hush. “Let it be known across the realm, that the King, Aegon, is the one true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Otto Hightower paused, letting the words settle before continuing. “With his crowning, any who oppose his rule are to be deemed traitors to the realm.”

Daenera gritted her teeth, swallowing the poison that was this farce. If anyone were traitors to the realm it was them. 

“Though others may assert a claim to the throne, it must be recognized that Aegon Targaryen, as the late King Viserys firstborn son and chosen heir, holds the undeniable right to rule.” Otto Hightower’s words boomed out over the crowd, seeming to gain traction as a low murmur erupted. “No one holds more of a claim to the throne than the trueborn son of Viserys Targaryen.”

Otto’s proclamation was delivered with unwavering conviction, designed to extinguish any lingering doubts about the rightful heir to the throne. His words not only sought to undermine Rhaenyra’s claim to rule but also diminish Jace’s standing, by emphasizing Aegon’s legitimacy.

 He may well have just called them bastards, Daenera thought, clenching her jaw tightly as her gaze bore into Otto Hightower with a silent plea for godly intervention – a lightning bolt sent from the sky to strike him from this world or, at the very least, ignite his thinning hair into flames.  

“In our presence today, on this historic day, we have the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daenera Velaryon,” Otto Hightower announced, turning the attention towards Daenera. The sudden shift caused her heart to beat faster as countless eyes scrutinized her. Feeling the weight of their gaze, she instinctively straightened her spine and lifted her chin, a gesture of defiance and pride. 

“It brings me great honor to declare the betrothal of King Aegon’s brother, Aemond Targaryen, to Daenera Velaryon!”

In that moment, Daenera wished for the ground beneath them to open and engulf the assembly, to escape the overwhelming pressure and the piercing gaze of the crowd. However, no such escape came. Instead, the announcement was met with a wave of applause and cheers, the crowd extending their joyous congratulations for the future union, while tears threatened to blur her vision. 

As Daenera was subtly nudged forward by Aemond’s hand on the small of her back, they progressed to the forefront of the dias, leaving Helaena’s comforting grasp. A chilling emptiness took over where warmth once resided, and she clenched her hands in the folds of her skirts. She knew the expectation that lay before her: to bend in fealty, to acknowledge Aegon as her King by kissing his ring. Yet, she stood unyielding, her gaze piercing through him with an intensity that matched his smug satisfaction. 

Daenera’s thoughts drifted back to the words exchanged with Helaena, her voice resonating with a foreboding echo in her mind. ‘I fear what happens when he’s got a taste for it… the power…’ 

Now, witnessing the fervor in his gaze, it was clear he had indeed acquired a taste for it – a beast fed by the adulation and undeserved love of his subjects. There was a dangerous glint to his eyes, one that filled her with dread as it trailed over her face, drinking in her defiance. 

Aemond, stepping ahead, paid his respects first, his lips briefly meeting the ring on Aegon’s finger, followed by a respectful bow. His hand then returned to Daenera, creeping up her back to rest authoritatively over her shoulder, compelling her into submission. 

Reluctantly, Daenera lowered herself, her knees bending as she inclined her head, her eyes defiantly locked onto Aegon through her lashes, silently challenging his authority. Aegon seemed to revel in her submission and had her remain in a deep bow for longer than necessary until, finally, he signified she could stand once more. Upon straightening, Aegon’s gesture was clear and commanding, extending his hand for her to kiss his ring. 

The heat of humiliation flushed her cheeks, acutely aware of the multitude of spectators. Among them, a few gazes were so intense, they seemed to burrow under her skin, igniting a fire of indignation within her very soul. 

Daenera clenched her jaw tight, lowering herself in a reluctant gesture to kiss Aegon’s ring. Yet, her lips paused just shy of the cold metal, floating merely a breath away – a subtle act of defiance. 

Aegon leaned in, his voice laced with smug satisfaction. “It suits you being on your knees.”

“This is the only way you’ll ever see me on my knees,” Daenera bit back. 

Straightening up, Daenera felt Aemond’s guiding hand on her back, ushering her back to their designated places. They stepped aside as a line of nobles advanced towards the dias, each one bending a knee in homage to the king and whispering their oaths of fealty.

“Ser Tyland of House Lannister, the Master of Ships and the newly appointed Master of Coin,” Ser Criston Cole’s voice rang out, introducing Ser Tyland Lannister as he stepped forward. Dropping to one knee in a gesture of submission, Tyland not only pledged his personal allegiance but also signified the backing of his powerful house. 

“I, Tyland Lannister, Master of Ships and Master of Coin, hereby pledge House Lannister’s loyalty to the King, Aegon Targaryen,” Tyland proclaimed with solemn fervor. “I pledge my fealty to him and shall defend him against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

Tyland Lannister rose from his kneeling position, the chain signifying his office shimmering upon his shoulders under the gleaming light. With a measured step forward, he leaned into press his lips to the king’s ring in a final act of fealty before gracefully receding. 

Given the haste with which Aegon’s coronation had been arranged, many nobles had not received an invitation in time – or at all, given the secrecy of the ordeal – resulting in a noticeably smaller procession of lords and ladies presenting their homage. 

Daenera silently labeled them traitors, yet she restrained her tongue, internalizing her scorn as the ceremony unfolded. The brevity of the event, not stretched by the presence of lords and ladies who might have flocked to the city for the grand affair that was a coronation under different circumstances, only served to emphasize the Hightowers’ hasty grab for power. 

“Lord Jasper of House Wylde and House Rain, the Master of Laws,” Ser Criston Cole continued. 

Taking Ser Tyland’s place before the king, Lord Jasper knelt, as he too declared his allegiance to Aegon’s reign. “I, Jasper Wylde, Lord of House Wylde and Lord of House Rain, Master of Law, promise to be faithful to the King, Aegon Targaryen. I pledge my fealty to him and shall defend him against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

With a solemn grace, Lord Wylde grasped the King’s hand, his lips briefly pressing against the ring in a gesture of his fealty. Upon standing, he offered a respectful and courteous bow towards both the Queen Mother, the Queen and the Hand of the King, a silent acknowledgement of their roles. Then, with a steady stride, he resumed his place alongside Tyland Lannister. 

“Lord Larys Strong of House Strong, the Lord Confessor and Master of Whispers, and the Lord of Harrenhal,” was announced next. The hall watched as Lord Larys Strong approached, his movement marked by the distinct drag of his clubbed foot against the wood flooring of the dias, his cane nowhere in sight. 

Daenera leaned slightly towards Aemond, her curiosity getting the better of her as she whispered, “I wonder what has become of his cane.”

Without turning his gaze from the spectacle, Aemond’s response was terse, though soft, “I broke it.”

Her eyebrows knitted together in surprise, and she turned sharply to look at him, her gaze searching his face for the meaning of it. She found him looking back at her, a slight, self-satisfied tilt to his lips. 

“You broke it…” She echoed, disbelief mingling with a dawning understanding.

“Yes,” Aemond confirmed with a dismissive shrug, his casual demeanor belying the significance of his actions. Though he offered no explicit explanation, the implication was clear in the brief flicker of his gaze over her face–a silent, protective retribution, a gesture meant for her. The retaliation of this unsaid stirred something within her.  

Daenera’s heart raced, a tumultuous flutter within her chest as she forced her gaze away from Aemond, redirecting her attention to the ongoing ceremony. Her cheeks flushed with warmth that betrayed her inner turmoil, her heartbeat a relentless drum echoing within her. A bitter sensation twisted around her heart and she blinked back her tears. 

Lord Larys Strong made a valiant attempt to kneel without any assistance, stubbornly waving off any offers of help. His knee met the wooden floor of the dias with a thud that promised a bruise. 

And with a clear voice, despite the physical effort it took to maintain his dignity, Larys declared, “I Lord Larys Strong of House Strong, Lord Confessor and Master of Whispers, and Lord of Harrenhal, promise to be faithful to the King. I hereby pledge my fealty to him and shall defend him against all enemies, in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the old gods and the new.”

The act of descending to kneel had been far easier than the prospect of rising again. 

Larys moved his leg into position, taking a deep breath before struggling to his feet. Ser Criston Cole stepped in to assist him, helping the Lord Confessor to his feet before he shuffled forward, bending down to kiss the ring of the King before moving over the dias to the rest of the council. 

Following him, a procession of lords and ladies took their turn before the King, each swearing their loyalty to Aegon. Whether they were the head of their house or represented by a proxy–a brother or a son–the pledge of fealty was made, binding them to their new king. 

As the formalities of the pledge of allegiance concluded, the coronation neared its end. Aegon moved once more to the forefront of the dias, his arms thrown wide open, reveling in the adoration showered upon him by the crowd. 

Shortly thereafter, Otto Hightower and Ser Criston Cole led the way, guiding Aegon from the dias. The Queen Mother and the Queen gracefully took their leave. Aemond and Daenera followed, descending the steps of the dias to find solace in the quietude of the empty hall. 

Together, they traversed the winding passageway of the Dragonpit, retracing the path they had taken upon their arrival. The group moved with a sense of purpose, the dimly lit corridor echoing with the soft sounds of their footsteps. And finally, they emerged, stepping out into the brightness of day, the sunlight momentarily blinding. 

Daenera briefly closed her eyes, lifting her face towards the heavens to let the sunlight bathe her skin, seeking a brief respite to soften the stiffness that had settled along her spine. The warmth was a small comfort, a fleeting escape from the weight of the day. As she felt a reassuring hand at the small of her back, her eyelids fluttered open in response to Aemond’s silent cue to join the others in their descent. 

From this position, high upon Rhaenys Hill, the Red Keep seemed to loom in the distance, its formidable towers stretching skyward. Daenera’s heart constricted at the sight, knowing what reaching that destination meant – an imminent return to the confines of the walls and the isolation it brought. 

With careful hands gathering her skirts, Daenera began her cautious descent down the carved steps. 

“You did well,” Aemond’s voice was soft beside her, his presence a steady assurance as they moved down the uneven staircase, his hand likely there to offer support or prevent a misstep.

Daenera bristled at the comment. “I am not a child; don’t patronize me.”

“I wasn’t suggesting–”

“Yet you insinuate that I’m seeking approval for merely keeping my composure,” Daenera countered, her pent-up frustration from the day’s events spilling over. “Believe me, if I wasn’t forced to be there under the threat of my men's lives, I would have disputed this farce and declared you all to be the traitors you’ve made yourself to be.”

Aemond’s sigh, heavy with exasperation, only fueled Daenera’s anger. She sent him a piercing glare, her eyes alight with silent fury, before shifting her gaze. It moved back to the trail before them, settling on the white cloaks of the Kingsguard, swaying with each step they took. Beyond this imposing barrier of gleaming armor and sheathed swords were the newly crowned King. In a fleeting moment, the impulse surged within Daenera to dash forward, to weave through the two sentinels of the Kingsguard and seize Aegon by the neck. She imagined hurling him down the steep steps or over the edge of the hill, to an untimely but deserved demise. The vivid fantasy of retribution momentarily clouded her judgment, a desperate grasp for justice through her own hands. 

Daenera’s breath hitched, a sudden slip on one of the uneven steps causing her heart to leap into her throat. In an instant, Aemond’s presence became her anchor; one hand firmly grasped her arm, while his other swiftly extended across her chest, steadying ehr fall. He halted their progress, his expression marked by a subtle frown, eye intently scanning her face as if searching for something. 

With a silent nod of gratitude, Daenera regained her composure, signaling she was unharmed. They resumed their descent, his hand returning to the small of her back. The light pressure offered a strange sort of comfort. 

“It’s hard to decide which is more appalling,” Daenera muttered lowly, “the act of usurping my mother or the fact you did so to place the crown upon the head of the one who least desired it. If only he had refused it or fled…”

“He did,” Aemond answered, drawing Daenera’s gaze back to him, her expression perplexed as she searched his face. “He didn’t make it very far.”

“He attempted to flee?” 

“I brought him back.”

“You… brought him back…” Daenera repeated, each word dripping with a mixture of incredulity and realization.

Aemond had the opportunity to let his brother vanish into obscurity, a chance to don the crown himself rather than bestow it upon his brother. Yet, forsaking this path and the allure of the power it promised, he had chosen duty over ambition, ensuring his brother’s return. 

“You should have let him go,” Daenera remarked. 

The muscles along Aemond’s jaw tightened, a visible testament to the weight of her assertion as it landed on his shoulders. After a tense pause, he opened his mouth, his voice filled with a firm resolve. “You know why I couldn’t.”

Indeed, Daenera understood the gravity of Aemond’s choice, understood the intricate web of loyalty and duty that bound him–she understood him, and she knew why he had brought him back. The legitimacy of the Hightower’s claim to the throne was intrinsically linked to Aegon’s ascension. It was a claim rooted in the precedence of him as Viserys’ firstborn son, the clear and unchallenged heir by virtue of the cock between his legs. In the eyes of tradition and the law, Aegon’s gender positioned him as the natural successor, his cock’s very existence assuring his right to rule. He was a son and Rhaenyra was a daughter. 

Aegon’s potential disappearance presented a dilemma of succession, a void that threatened to unravel the fabric of their claim. In such an instance, Aemond stood but a shadow behind the prospect of Aegon’s own son, a contingency plan activated only by the absolute absence of the elder brother–assured only if he were definitely dead. And even then, in the face of Aegon’s hypothetical death, questions lingered: Would the crown then pass to Aemond, or would the realm fall into the hands of Aegon’s son, however young. 

In the absence of Aegon, the succession’s focus would inevitably shift towards Rhaenyra, whose claim to the Iron Throne had been solidified years earlier through her father’s explicit and public endorsement. The realm’s nobility would find themselves at a crossroads, forced to choose between Rhaenyra, whose path to the throne was paved by her father’s will, and a young boy who would not wield real power for years to come. This boy, bereft of the ability to govern due to age, would merely serve as a figurehead, leaving the realm under the stewardship of someone like Otto Hightower during a regency. 

Daenera’s understanding of Aemond’s actions did not alleviate the turmoil of her emotions. She grasped the strategic necessity behind his choice–the preservation of his family’s claim to power. Yet, this insight did not mitigate her resentment or the sense of betrayal that gnawed at her.

As Daenera reached the foot of the stairs, her gaze met Aegons, a fleeting smirk twisted the corner of his mouth–a smirk laced with malice and self satisfaction. A foreboding sense of dread settled in her stomach. She harbored no illusions about the man Aegon was destined to become–a tyrant in the making.

“You made a choice, and now we have to suffer the consequences of that.” 

Aemond guided her towards the waiting litter, where guards stood at the ready, holding the reins of the restless horses. The banners fluttered fiercely in the wind, signaling a blend of grandeur and urgency as the horses pawed at the ground, eager to move. As they approached the litter, Helaena ascended the first step, pausing to cast a glance back. 

“Beware the beast…” she uttered, her voice laden with an ominous tone. “It is here.”

With those foreboding words hanging in the air, Helaena disappeared into the sheltered interior of the litter. 

A thunderous roar, bone-chilling in its ferocity, tore through the gathering, seeming to pierce the hearts of all assembled with its sheer power. This sound was followed by a deep, resonant rumble that vibrated through the air, a sound so profound it felt as though it reverberated within the very chest of every onlooker. Every gaze abruptly shifted towards the dark maw of the cavernous entrance to the tunnels beneath Rhaenys Hill, where a stirring shadow and a billowing cloud of dust heralded the emerging terror. 

Daenera felt an unsettling chill run down her spine, the fine hairs at the nape of her neck rising in alarm. She felt an urgent pull on her arm, as Aemond swiftly drew her behind him, positioning himself protectively in front of her. The tense silence that followed was broken by the sound of swords being unsheathed, a clear response to the menacing growl resonating from within the depths of the shadows. 

From the darkness of the cave’s entrance, two deep red eyes pierced the gloom, their glow ominous and foreboding. The beast’s heavy footsteps vibrated through the ground, its massive form barely discernible as it advanced towards the light, shrouded in a cloak of dust and shadow. 

“Protect the King!” Otto Hightower’s command cut through the tension, prompting the Kingsguard to swiftly encircle Aegon and Alicent, who had protectively pushed her son behind her, readying themselves against the looming threat that had stirred from its captivity beneath the Dragonpit. 

Daenera’s heart pounded fiercely within her chest, a tempest of fear and anticipation thundering within her. Her gaze narrowed, seeking to penetrate the darkness to find the source of the fearsome roar that had cloaked the area in dread. From the depths of swirling dust and deep shadow, a figure emerged as if conjured by the chaos itself–Meleys, the Red Queen, with Rhaenys, her formidable rider, on her back.

The striking blood-red figure of Meleys broke through the veil of darkness, her roars echoing, a primal call that resonated with all who heard it. Sunlight danced upon her crimson scales, highlighting the regal horns that crowned her head as she stepped forth from the cave’s maw. With every movement, her claws dug into the earth, kicking up plumes of dust. Meleys stretched her massive form, a snarl revealing her formidable teeth, while her flame-like eyes locked onto the crowd with a fierce, unyielding gaze. 

Rhaenys’ gaze found Daenera amidst the tumult, her expression just as fierce and unyielding as her dragon’s. “Release my granddaughter!”

A spark of hope ignited within Daenera, and she surged forward, only for Aemond’s arm to ensnare her waist, pulling her back against him with a vice-like hold. She struggled against his hold, beating back at him as she demanded her release. 

“Let me go!” Daenera spat, clawing at his arm, attempting and failing to twist free. “Release me!” 

She writhed in his embrace, making another desperate attempt to escape, trying to force her way out. Yet Aemond’s grip only tightened, his voice close to her ear, laced with a sneer yet tinged with desperation, “Stop! Please. Stop fighting!”

There was a raw, broken plea in his use of ‘please,’ a plea that resonated deep within her, tugging at her heartstrings in a way that was almost painful to acknowledge. But the turmoil within her was too overwhelming, her thoughts a whirlwind of recent grievances–the humiliations endured, the imprisonment, the loss of those she loved, and the cruel usurpation of her mother’s rightful claim. All these thoughts clashed violently within her, fueling her struggle against Aemond’s constraining embrace. 

With a menacing growl, Meleys advanced, her formidable teeth exposed in a terrifying snarl. Daenera’s eyes locked onto Alicent then, the creator of her family’s suffering, shielding her son Aegon, the usurper king who robbed her mother of her rightful throne. Her eyes traveled to Otto Hightower, the one who orchestrated it all to satiate his own ambition, and Ser Criston Cole, the man who killed Joyce, alongside Lord Larys Strong, the one who humiliated her and lured her into captivity–and the rest of the council that allowed it all.

And then there was Aemond, his breath whispering across her skin, his arms ensnaring her in a protective yet confining embrace, the man who seemed prepared to do anything to possess her–who would see her as both his wife and his hostage.

In this moment, surrounded by the creators of her misery, Daenera found herself whispering a command born of desperation, “Drakarys.”

The word, barely more than a murmur, was nonetheless caught by those nearest, drawing their shocked and fearful stares towards her. She made another frantic attempt to escape Aemond’s hold, her fingers clawing at him with wild desperation. 

Having to endure and watch the usurpation of her mother’s throne and the theft of her rightful crown had filled Daenera with unbridled fury – akin to a storm raging beneath the calm surface of the sea. The egregious act of being compelled into submission, to degrade herself by bending the knee, bowing her head, and kissing the ring of the usurper as a sign of loyalty, only served to fuel this tempest within her. She was reduced to a mere pawn in their game, a puppet manipulated by strings, dancing to the tune of their desires. Every fiber of her being had screamed in protest, yearning to dispute this charade, to shout out that this was an abomination. She had wanted to expose them for what they truly were: thieves and traitors. 

Caught in a whirlwind of emotion, torn between madness and the culmination of years of torment and degradation, Daenera found herself compelled by forces she couldn’t fully understand. With a renewed sense of defiance, she raised her voice once more, this time with a vigor that surprised even herself. “Drakarys, Meleys!”

Aemond’s grip remained unyielding, his arm like a vice around her waist, his other hand securely holding her wrist to thwart any attacks. Daenera struggles grew more intense, tears brimming her eyes. 

“Drakarys, Rhaenys!” She cried out, her voice breaking with the intensity of her plea. She imported an end to this farce, for fire to consume them all, to cleanse everything in its wrath. Yet, Meleys and Rhaenys did not heed her call. As Daenera fought against the constraints of Aemond’s embrace, she could feel the rapid pounding of his heart against her back, his breath hot on her neck, his lips barely  brushing her ear, drawing her even closer to his hold. He murmured another plea for her to stop, desperate and demanding all the same. 

An arrow whizzed through the air, narrowly missing Rhaenys before burying itself in the earth. Rhaenys’ gaze shifted swiftly towards the line of archers perched high on the hillside, arrows poised for a second volley. Meleys expressed her disdain with a snort, her massive feet stamping the ground in frustration. Her tail lashed out, striking the rocky terrain with a force that served as a clear warning. Yet another arrow cut through the air, this time grazing Meleys’ scales, failing to penetrate the dragon’s armored hide. 

A heavy sense of despair settled over Daenera as Rhaenys locked eyes with her once more. It was a silent exchange, one that confirmed Daenera’s fears; there would be no escape today, and Rhaenys couldn’t linger no longer in this peril. With a resigned nod, Daenera acknowledged the inevitable. 

Meleys advanced with deliberate steps towards the semicircle of Kingsguard surrounding the King and Queen Mother. With a deafening shriek that seemed to vibrate through their very bones, Meleys unleashed a roar so powerful it sent several horses into a panicked frenzy. The echo of the roar caused a few guards to lose their footing, tumbling to the ground with a startled crash as their mounts scattered in terror. 

As Meleys propelled herself skyward with a mighty flap of her wings, a tempest of dust and debris swirled around them. The force of each wingbeat sent gusts that buffeted those below, stinging Daenera’s skin with sand and grit. In a protective gesture, Aemond hunched over her, using his body to shield against the maelstrom. Meleys, now airborne, stretched her wings to the fullest, casting a large shadow over the grounds. With one final, thunderous roar, she ascended higher, her form shrinking against the backdrop of the city as she made her way towards the distant horizon–towards Dragonstone. 

A profound silence enveloped the plateau in the wake of Meleys’ departure, a quiet so intense it rivaled the dragon’s roar in its impact. The air hung heavy with dust, settling slowly as reality began to seep back into the stunned assembly. 

Aemond eased his grip on Daenera but stayed close, his hand lightly resting on the small of her back. Daenera, still grappling with the whirlwind of emotions and the  surreal turn of events, felt her mind clouded, her thoughts a tangled mess. It was in this moment of vulnerability that she felt a stinging slap across her face, a sharp, unexpected pain that broke through her stupor. The force of the blow left a burning trail on her cheek. The tears that had brimmed her eyes seemed to be struck loose, running down her cheeks, as her eyes found Alicent. 

Otto Hightower’s voice, steeped in authority, cut through the tense air. “Alicent, restrain yourself.”

Daenera, her gaze defiant yet wounded, met Alicent’s eyes. The Queen Mother, her face wrought in seething anger, raised her hand for a second strike. Yet, before her hand could descend, Aemond interposed himself, his grasp firm around his mother’s wrist, effectively halting her motion. 

Shielded behind a barrier of soft, supple leather, Daenera’s vision was limited to the broad expanse of his back. The defined curvature of his shoulders and the visible tension in his muscles captured her attention as he intervened, placing himself between his mother’s wrath and her. 

In that fleeting moment, time seemed to suspend, stretching the moment between heartbeats as the realization dawned upon her: he had defied his own mother to shield her. Her heart constricted, skipping a beat in a moment of acute stillness, as her eyes lifted, her fingers unconsciously tightening on the fabric of his doublet as though to center herself. Amidst this pause, a fragile seed of hope emerged within her – a sentiment profound and dangerous, a truth she could not admit to herself. 

“That is sufficient, Mother,” Aemond declared, “You’ve made your point.”

The moment between heartbeats passed, and the world came into view again. Daenera inched out from behind him to see Alicent glaring at her son in outrage, yet beneath it, there was a subtle hint of betrayal woven through her expression, perhaps even a strand of loss. With a sharp twist, she freed her wrist, her movement accompanied with an angry sneer as her eyes landed on Daenera again. “Would you have us all burn?!”

Daenera met Alicent’s gaze, her eyes now cold as the depths of winter, wipping her tears away. “I would.”

“Even yourself?” Alicent pressed, her voice laced with the weight of the morning’s events, the near brush with death still palpable. “Even Helaena?”

Daenera’s response was a silent one, her resolve firm as she met Alicent’s narrowed gaze without flinching. The determination etched in her eyes was a clear declaration of her stance–she was prepared to face the consequences, to embrace the fire if necessary, for the retribution. She was even prepared to face the fires of the seven hells and eternal damnation, knowing that they would join her there while Helaena would find peace in the heavens. It was a sacrifice. 

Alicent turned her eyes upon her father. “Rhaenys will surely bring word to Rhaenyra.”

And Otto, in turn, took command of the situation, turning his discerning eyes upon Ser Criston Cole. “Ensure the King and the Queen are safely seen to the Keep and gather our forces. We do not know how Rhaenyra will respond.”

“I won’t be made to cower in the Keep,” Aegon interjected, fixing the crown on his head, his hand falling to the hilt of Blackfyre. “I shall take Sunfyre to the skies.”

Alicent protested, her concern manifesting in a gentle, yet futile attempt to dissuade her son from such ideas. “You cannot seriously consider pursuing them–your responsibilities as King–”

“That is right,” Aegon firmly interrupted her. “I am King now, am I not? And as a King I mean to show the city and the realm that we, too, have dragons.”

Otto Hightower scrutinized Aegon with a keen, measuring gaze, taking a moment to assess the young king’s determination. Eventually, he nodded in agreement, signaling his endorsement. “Proceed, then. Fly over the city, let our dragons be seen as protectors, and show the people their one true ruler.”

Ser Criston Cole interjected with a note of urgency, “It’s imperative we escort everyone else back to the Keep immediately. With the realm now aware of the late king’s passing and the ensuing shift in the line of succession, we must ensure the city’s safety. The City Watch should be mobilized to maintain order.”

“Moreover, we must identify whomever responsible for the negligence that permitted Rhaenys’s escape,” Otto Hightower said, his voice taking on a sharper edge. His gaze shifted accusatorily towards Alicent, suggesting that he found her culpable.  

Alicent, seeming to feel the weight of her father’s critical eye, exhaled sharply in indignation. She collected the folds of her gown with a swift, dignified motion and ascended into the litter, deliberately distancing herself from the unfolding discourse. And as she moved past Daenera, her gaze locked onto her with a chilling intensity. Her eyes, dark and unforgiving, bore into Daenera, conveying a silent but unmistakable threat of punishment. The fleeting exchange, though wordless, was laden with a promise of consequences for the upheaval that had ensued. 

Daenera, somewhat detached from the core of the discussion, was brushing off her attire, deciding not to engage, though she felt their eyes prickle against her skin. 

“Ensure the princess is securely confined within her chambers. Afterwards, take to the skies with Vhagar. We must be vigilant and ready for any threat,” Otto directed. 

Acknowledging with a curt nod, Aemond accepted the Lord Hand’s command. 

The scene shifted as Otto made his way to the litter, joining the Queen and Queen Mother. They settled into the confined space, preparing for departure.

The scene was a tumultuous blend of urgency and confusion. Guards were everywhere, hastily trying to regain control over the spooked horses, while one of the litters sat crippled, its wheel shattered against a rock in the chaos that erupted when the horses bolted, sending it crashing and leaving the wooden wheel splintered. Amidst the chaos left in the wake of Meleys appearance, some horses had fled in terror. Now a contingent of Gold Cloaks was being dispatched to retrieve them, their cloaks billowing behind them as they set off on foot. The remaining horses, calmer now, were commandeered by the Kingsguard, as the council members took refuge in the second litter, all of them eager to escape the scene and find solace within the study walls of the Red Keep. 

Daenera’s resistance was palpable as she found herself being nudged towards the litter. She spun around to confront him, their eyes locking as she grabbed his arm insistently, biting out, “Do not force me to ride in a litter with your mother!”

Aemond’s jaw clenched visibly, a sign of agitation, before he finally relented. With a heavy sigh, he shut the litter door, sealing his mother inside, and away from Daenera. His actions spoke volumes, acknowledging, albeit grudgingly. He instead guided her towards his horse, the steed stamping the ground impatiently. 

As she attempted to mount, firm hands clasped her waist, offering unsolicited support. Daenera couldn’t help but retort with a sharp, “I don’t need your help.”

Aemond exhaled a short breath, seemingly frustrated, as he secured his own position on the horse, sliding behind her with practiced ease. His arms encircled her, taking control of the reins, as his presence enveloped her in a tangible warmth. Daenera felt the slight brush of his hair against her shoulder, eliciting a prickle of gooseflesh throughout her body. 

“Maintain close ranks!” Ser Criston Cole’s voice cut through the air, his figure advancing before the procession, setting the pace for their return. 

With a nudge, Aemond urged the horse onward, aligning with the measured pace of the procession. A distant, ominous rumble echoed from the depths of the Dragonpit, a lingering whisper of the dragons within. They embarked down the meandering path that circled the hill, gradually making their descent towards the city below.

As they delved deeper into the heart of King’s Landing, the city unfolded around them, a vibrant tapestry of activity and curiosity. The presence of the City Watch ensured a semblance of order, yet the throngs of people couldn’t help but cluster along the streets, craning their necks for a glimpse of the royal procession. Voices rose in a cacophony of sentiment–some cheering for King Aegon, others mourning for the demise of the late King.

In the midst of this clamor, Aemond’s voice found its way to Daenera, a whisper of quiet intensity close to her ear, his presence unyielding as stone. “Have you utterly abandoned reason?”

Daenera clenched her jaw, suppressing a retort, her attention momentarily diverted by a disturbance at the periphery of her vision. A bystander’s voice pierced the air with a bold proclamation, “Hail Queen Rhaenyra!” The words barely had time to echo through the crowd before a Gold Cloak swiftly intervened, silencing the supporter with a decisive threat, grabbing him by the scuff and hurling him to the ground. 

“Are you really so desperate to see us all dead that you’re willing to burn alongside with us?” Aemond asked, his voice bordering on a sneer, laden with disbelief and exasperation. 

Daenera’s retort was just as fierce. “I would gladly face the fire if it meant preventing you and yours from usurping what rightfully belongs to my mother.”

“How admirably noble,” Aemond sneered, the venom in his voice palpable in the bitter edge of his taunt. “Is this the length you would go to to avoid marrying me?”

“This isn’t about the marriage,” Daenera shot back, her voice sharp with anger. Her nails dug into the leather of the saddle, picking at it restlessly. “This is about betrayal, it is about the usurpation–about the years of torment and degradation at the hand of your family. It’s about the insults and the treachery.”

A scoff escaped Aemond, and Daenera could feel him shaking his head in exasperation–undoubtedly unable to see her point and unwilling to try. In that moment, Daenera had embraced the concept of sacrifice, accepting the notion of burning alongside her adversaries as a means to rectify the injustices they had perpetrated. It was her way of preemptively ending the war that loomed on the horizon. There was a certain poetic justice, she thought, in the imagery of them all being consumed by the same flames, united in destruction as they had never been in life. 

“So, is it death you seek?” Aemond asked, his tone mocking yet tinged with an undercurrent of seriousness, as they continued their ride through the bustling streets, surrounded on the life of a city on the brink of change. 

“No.” Daenera shook her head gently, her fingers brushing the corner of her eye as she contended with the onset of a headache that seemed to encircle her skull. A sigh of exhaustion escaped her lips as she instinctively leaned back into Aemond, craving the warmth that his presence offered against the sudden cold that had started to infiltrate her body. Her head reclined, settling comfortably against his shoulder as she gazed upwards, losing herself in the vastness of the azure sky above them. 

“Then perhaps, refrain from pursuing it with such fervor,” Aemond’s voice, less harsh now, whispered close to her ear. In the quiet that followed, Daenera sensed a shift in him; his resentment seemed to dissipate, his posture relaxed as their bodies belted together in a moment of unexpected tranquility. 

And for just a moment, Daenera allowed herself to pretend that everything was as it were before – that she was within the embrace of her lover and not her captor, that death weren’t traversing the halls of the Red Keep, that her mother’s throne were unchallenged, and that she was not drowning in a sea of despair, struggling not to lose herself and her sanity. If she merely shut her eyes, she could sustain this facade a little longer. 

“Where were you?” Daenera’s voice was a soft murmur, her eyelids heavy as she spoke. Exhaustion clung to her as sleep had been elusive in recent days. “That morning – you weren’t there when I woke.”

Their conversation hung suspended in the air, the procession’s slow pace allowing the city’s ambient noises to envelop them–a blend of distant conversations and sporadic outbursts. The sun, now fully ascendant, bathed the day in warmth, exacerbating the city’s inherent odors. Yet, to Daenera, the openness under the sky offered a breath of freedom far removed from the oppressive atmosphere of her recent confines. 

Aemond’s reply came after a moment, his tone matching hers in quietude, laced with underlying weariness. “I couldn’t sleep… I went in search of… something…”

Her curiosity piqued, Daenera opened her eyes to the expanse of the sky above, observing a group of birds as they danced freely across the blue canvas. “I suppose it was good you weren’t there. Had you been present, I don’t know what would have happened.”

“I would have stopped you.” 

A subtle grin touched her lips, a playful spark finding its way into her eyes. “Fenrick would have been forced to hold you back, binding you to the bed, perhaps even rendering you unconscious–he would have enjoyed that.”

“I would have overpowered him,” Aemond retorted with confidence, a current of amusement in his tone.  

Her grin widened. “Attempt as you might, but with you bare and unarmed, I doubt your cock would serve as an effective weapon.”

A soft hum escaped Aemond, not quite conceding but not arguing either. Daenera sensed a light amusement in him, a gentle lift at the corners of his mouth betraying his usually impassive demeanor. He shifted the reins to one hand, skillfully guiding the horse with gentle nudges, while his other hand found a place on her abdomen–the touch warm and comforting.

“Did you find it? The thing you went looking for?” Daenera’s voice softened, curiosity weaving through her tone. 

A shadow draped over them then, accompanied with a thunderous roar. Sunfyre soared above, his scales a spectacle of shimmering gold under the light, wings unfurling like sails of silk, the soft color of rose petals. Despite his beauty, the dragon remained just that, a dragon–with sharp teeth and claws, and a breath of fire. 

“In the end, yes,” Aemond murmured back, his voice a deep, stirring hum that sent a shiver through her. Her eyes closed again.

In this momentary escape, Daenera allowed herself to pretend that everything was as it once was – a world familiar and untainted. She could delude herself into believing that the rapid beat of her heart wasn’t for a man she was supposed to despise, for someone she wished she could loathe as effortlessly as she once had. She could imagine that he wasn’t one of the makers of her suffering, that his hands weren’t stained with the blood of those she held dear, that he wasn’t holding a dagger to her, ready to inflict wounds as easily as Ser Criston’s blade had upon Joyce. 

She could indulge in this illusion. She could wrap herself in this fabricated comfort. She could just… 

And then the return to the Red Keep brought her back to the grim reality, where Lord Caswell still remained, a lifeless figure suspended in the air.

Did I change a whole lot? Yeah and let me tell you why! While Rhaenys bursting through the floor was visually satisfying and a like 'go girl' moment, it didn't make sense narratively or for her character. She basically committed an act of terrorism killing dozens of people and it would be seen as an act of instigating the war. I don't know why she thought she'd get away with it, fly off to DS to warn Rhaenyra and then back to Driftmark as though the Greens wouldn't have taken it as her declaring for Rhaenyra. Even if she didn't declare for Rhaenyra, she killed a bunch of people and Greens would have no choice but to apprehend her, because… murder, terrorism. So, I changed it. This way she didn't kill anyone and she can fly to DS warn Rhaenyra and then go off if that's what she want--we know what happens. But here you can say; But Zeciex, Daenera could have gone with her! Do you really think Aemond would have let her go? Rhaenys was on borrowed time and as she says 'she won't be the one to start this war'-- she wouldn't kill the Greens and an anointed king, that too would be a death sentence. One that Daenera was willing to pay. Yes, for a moment, with all she's been through the last few days, she may have lost it a bit. She was willing to sacrifice herself to see an end to it all--to the usurpation and threats, to set things right. Does she want to die? No. But let her be dramatic, she's got a lot going on. Also, Aemond is doing what he can too, within the confines of his duty. Don't blame him too much for forcing her to kneel to Aegon, it's as much an act of duty as it is him ensuring that by behind the knee she doesn't risk herself even more. And Ya'll are lucky I decided to end this on a high note and not include the next scene; which will be next chapter; Daenera visits the tower of the hand and has a conversation with Otto that is…. suffocating. Oh, and she also have a talk with Larys. It will be a very dialogue heavy chapter with little action happening, and it will be the final chapter for a while as we travel to Dragonstone to see what's happening there.

[novaursa]

Final Part

- Title: zōbrie ānogar

- Rating: Explicit (18+)

- Romance: (Aegon II/OFC)

- Warning: All flags are up for this work. Aegon is also a warning on his own.

- Summary: It was written by Archmaester Gyldayn that on the day Princess Vaella Targaryen was born she was supposed to die. Until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. And when she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal, in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. And Archmaester had written a lengthy thesis on how wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in the Princess, as they both dined on their kin.

- Word count: 6 000+

- Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

As Vaella moved deeper into the Dragonpit, her heart ached with bittersweet memories. She passed by Syrax, her sister Rhaenyra's dragon, who gave a hostile snarl at her approach. Vaella's heart broke at the sight. Syrax had often flown her on her back as a child, when Rhaenyra loved to fly with her sister. But those days were long gone.

"Syrax," Vaella whispered, her voice tinged with sorrow. "I wish things could be different."

Tyraxes, the dragon of Rhaenyra's son, huddled behind the larger Syrax. He omitted the same menacing growl, his eyes watching Vaella warily. She forced herself to look away, focusing on the task at hand.

"Come," she urged her men. "We must free the others."

They proceeded deeper into the Dragonpit, where the rest of her loyalists awaited. Shykos and Morghul, the dragons of Helaena's twins, were chained nearby. They were restless, their scales glinting in the dim light. Vaella's own children's dragons, Auroxas and Glazhael, were also present. Auroxas, with his dark, almost black green scales streaked with silver, was already pulling and tearing at the chains that bound him. Glazhael, her scales a lighter green with a bluish tint, watched with striking blue eyes.

"Steady, Auroxas," Vaella murmured, approaching the unruly dragon. "We will free you soon."

The men worked quickly, their hands steady despite the urgency of their mission. One by one, the chains fell away, and the dragons stretched their wings, testing their newfound freedom.

As the last chain fell from Glazhael, Vaella turned to her loyalists. "We must hurry. Once we are airborne, there is no turning back."

Ser William nodded, his expression determined. "Let us go, Your Grace. We have little time."

With the dragons now free, Vaella led her group towards the exit. The massive creatures followed, their powerful forms a reassuring presence. As they neared the outer yard, Vaella's heart raced with a mixture of fear and hope.

"Cannibal," she called softly, and the great dragon emerged from the shadows, his eyes gleaming with recognition. Vaella approached him, her hand gentle on his scales. "It is time."

As she prepared to climb upon Cannibal, the sound of approaching footsteps froze her in place. She turned, her heart sinking as she saw Rhaenyra herself, flanked by soldiers, blocking their path.

"Vaella," Rhaenyra said, her voice cold and filled with anger. "What do you think you are doing?"

Vaella's eyes narrowed, her hand tightening around the hilt of her dagger. "I am taking what is mine. The dragons do not belong in chains, and neither do I."

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her soldiers closing in around her. "You betray me, sister. You betray your family."

"It is you who have betrayed us," Vaella retorted, her voice rising with defiance. "Your rule has brought nothing but suffering. I will not stand by and watch as our family is torn apart."

The tension in the air was palpable, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the ground. The dragons, sensing the hostility, growled and shifted restlessly.

"Stand down, Vaella," Rhaenyra commanded, her voice echoing in the night. "Or face the consequences."

Vaella's heart pounded, her mind racing with the weight of their confrontation. She glanced at her loyalists, their expressions determined and ready for whatever came next.

"Make your choice, sister," Rhaenyra said, her eyes blazing with fury. "But know that there will be no mercy if you continue down this path."

Behind Vaella, Auroxas, sensing the hostility and the distance of his rider, screeched and suddenly propelled himself forward, his powerful legs pushing off the ground. With a massive beat of his wings, he sent everyone tumbling. Dust and debris filled the air as Cannibal roared in response to the chaos, his thunderous voice echoing through the Dragonpit.

Auroxas took to the sky, his dark and silver-streaked scales glinting in the moonlight. His sister, Glazhael, immediately followed, her lighter green scales with a bluish tint shimmering. The two dragons flew off into the dark sky towards the Dragonstone, their forms disappearing into the night.

Soon after, Shykos and Morghul, the dragons of Helaena's twins, took off towards the direction of the Vale, their roars fading into the distance. The sudden departure of the dragons caused a whirlwind of wind and dust, creating further chaos among those on the ground.

Rhaenyra, determined and fueled by anger, managed to get to her feet. She sprinted towards Vaella, her hands outstretched. Vaella tried to mount Cannibal, but Rhaenyra reached her just in time, grabbing her arm with a vice-like grip.

"Vaella, stop this madness!" Rhaenyra shouted, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of roars and clashes. "You don't have to do this!"

Cannibal, unsure of what to do to avoid injuring Vaella, roared more furiously. His massive form shifted, his eyes locked on Rhaenyra. Vaella struggled against her sister's grip, her heart pounding with fear and determination.

"Let me go, Rhaenyra!" Vaella cried, her voice filled with desperation. "This isn't the way!"

Rhaenyra tightened her hold, her expression a mix of anger and sorrow. "You leave me no choice, Vaella. You leave me no choice."

As the sisters struggled, Rhaenyra's soldiers clashed with Vaella's loyalists. The sounds of steel meeting steel filled the air, punctuated by shouts and cries. The ground was littered with fallen men, the night a maelstrom of violence and fury.

Cannibal shifted again, his massive tail sweeping across the ground, creating a barrier between Vaella and Rhaenyra’s soldiers. The dragon’s eyes glinted with barely restrained rage, his roar vibrating through the very stones of the Dragonpit.

"Vaella, get on Cannibal and fly!" Ser William shouted, his sword clashing against an enemy’s blade. "We’ll cover you!"

But Rhaenyra’s grip was unyielding. With a final surge of strength, she pulled Vaella away from Cannibal, dragging her towards her own men. Cannibal, seeing his rider taken, roared in fury, but was unable to act without risking Vaella's life.

"Rhaenyra, please!" Vaella pleaded, her voice breaking. "You don’t have to do this. We can still make things right."

Rhaenyra’s face was set with grim determination. "It’s too late for that, Vaella. This has to end."

As Rhaenyra dragged Vaella to her men, the chaos around them intensified. Vaella's loyalists fought desperately to reach her, but they were outnumbered and overpowered. The clash of swords and the cries of the wounded filled the air, a grim symphony of battle.

Rhaenyra's soldiers quickly shackled Vaella in chains, the cold metal biting into her skin. Vaella's heart sank as she realized the full extent of their defeat. She looked into Rhaenyra’s eyes, seeing a mixture of anger, pain, and regret.

"It’s time this ends, once and for all," Rhaenyra said, her voice cold and final.

Vaella’s heart ached with the weight of their shattered bond. 

…

The next day dawned with a heavy sense of foreboding hanging over King’s Landing. The sun’s first rays cast a pale light over the city, but the streets were already filled with tense whispers and uneasy glances. Rhaenyra Targaryen, desperate to restore order and assert her power, decided to make a public spectacle of judging her sister, Vaella, in the town square.

Rhaenyra hoped that by forcing Vaella to submit and recognize her as the true ruler while denouncing Aegon, she could quell the rising tide of rebellion. The town square was packed with smallfolk, their faces a mix of fear, curiosity, and anger. Rhaenyra stood on a raised platform, her face a mask of grim determination. Syrax, her golden dragon, stood nearby, a formidable symbol of her power and protection.

Vaella was dragged before her, her wrists bound in iron chains. Her face, despite the bruises and weariness, held a defiant spark. The murmurs of the crowd grew louder as they watched the queen they had once loved brought low.

Rhaenyra raised her hand for silence, her voice carrying over the assembly. "People of King’s Landing, I stand before you today to deliver justice. My sister, Vaella Targaryen, has conspired against the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. She has defied the crown and must now answer for her actions."

Vaella lifted her chin, her indigo eyes blazing with defiance. "I have done nothing but fight for what is right. It is you who have brought suffering upon this city.

"Rhaenyra’s expression hardened. "You will denounce Aegon and recognize me as the true ruler, or you will face the consequences."

The crowd held its breath, the tension palpable. Vaella glanced around, meeting the eyes of the smallfolk who had once adored her. She took a deep breath, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "I will never denounce my beloved husband. Aegon II is the one true king!"

A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd. Rhaenyra’s face twisted with anger and desperation. "Vaella, you force my hand. Submit, or face the wrath of Syrax."

Vaella’s eyes locked onto Rhaenyra’s, filled with sorrow and resolve. "You’ve already lost, Rhaenyra. Killing me will not change that."

Rhaenyra’s eyes filled with tears, her voice breaking. "Why do you make me do this? You are my sister. We could have ruled together."

Vaella shook her head. "You chose this path, Rhaenyra. Now live with the consequences."

Rhaenyra’s shoulders shook with silent sobs as she turned to her dragon. "Syrax, obey."

The golden dragon hesitated, its eyes flicking between Rhaenyra and Vaella, sensing the bond of blood and the inner turmoil of its rider. Rhaenyra, voice trembling, repeated the command, her desperation evident. "Syrax, obey."

The dragon let out a low growl, uncertain, but finally reared back, its massive form casting a shadow over the square. The crowd screamed in horror as Syrax unleashed a torrent of flame, engulfing Vaella in a searing blaze.

As the dragon fire consumed her, Vaella did not scream. Instead, her thoughts drifted to her beloved husband, Aegon. She could see his face, his violet eyes filled with love and anguish. She remembered the nights they spent together, wrapped in each other's arms, their whispered words of love and promises for the future.

"Aegon, my love," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the flames.

Her thoughts then turned to their children, Baelor and Daena. She saw Baelor's bright eyes and mischievous smile, heard his laughter echoing in her ears. She pictured Daena's delicate features and soft curls, remembered the feel of her tiny hand in hers.

"Baelor, Daena, my sweet children," she murmured, tears streaming down her face.

And then, she thought of the small babe she had given birth to too early, the child she had seen only for a short while. A tear slipped down her cheek as she remembered holding him, feeling his tiny heartbeat against her chest.

And then there her little prince, slayed in his cradle.

"Aeron, my little Aeron," she whispered, her voice breaking.

In her mind's eye, she saw her twin brother, Baelon, through the flames. His presence was a comfort, a reminder of the bond they shared even in death. He reached out to her, his expression calm and serene.

"Baelon," she breathed, feeling a sense of peace wash over her.

Above the roar of the flames, she heard the mournful wail of her dragon, Cannibal. The bond they shared was strong, and she could feel his sorrow as if it were her own. Yet, even in her final moments, there was a sense of relief, as if a great weight was being lifted from her shoulders.

"I will be with you soon, my brother," she thought, her consciousness beginning to fade.

As the fire consumed her, Vaella felt the pain recede, replaced by a profound sense of calm. Her last conscious thought was of her family, the love they shared, and the hope that they would one day be reunited.

And then, there was nothing.

Syrax lowered its head, its jaws closing around Vaella’s charred remains. The dragon consumed her, the spectacle sending waves of shock and revulsion through the gathered masses. As the last echoes of the horrific scene faded, a profound silence fell over the square.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind and the crackle of dying embers. Then, as if in unison, the smallfolk erupted in a furious roar. Shouts of anger and curses filled the air, their cries condemning Rhaenyra for the murder of their beloved queen.

"You monster!" a woman screamed, tears streaming down her face.

"She was our queen!" a man shouted, shaking his fist in fury.

"Down with the usurper!" another voice rang out, sparking a wave of rebellious chants.

Rhaenyra stood frozen, her heart pounding with a mixture of grief and fear. The rebellion she had hoped to quash now burned hotter than ever. The smallfolk surged forward, their anger turning into violence as they clashed with the guards trying to maintain order.

Rhaenyra backed away, her eyes wide with the realization of her mistake. Syrax roared, sensing the rising threat, but even the presence of the dragon could not quell the fury of the people.

As the chaos erupted around her, Rhaenyra’s tears flowed freely. She had lost her sister, her people's trust, and perhaps her claim to the throne. The path she had chosen had led to this moment, and now, the full weight of her decisions crushed her.

…

The storm that followed the execution of Vaella Targaryen was unlike anything King's Landing had ever seen. The death of the beloved queen at the hands of Rhaenyra's dragon Syrax sent shockwaves through the city, and the simmering discontent of the smallfolk boiled over into outright rebellion. The city was ablaze with fury, and their target was clear: the Dragonpit.

Vaella's dragons had mourned her passing in their own ways. Cannibal, her wild and fiercely loyal dragon, had let out mournful wails that echoed through the city, a haunting symphony of loss. But the day before the storming of the Dragonpit, Cannibal flew away, disappearing into the horizon, his sorrow too great to be contained.

The mob, spurred on by the fervent rantings of the Shepherd, a crazed zealot, surged towards the Dragonpit atop the Hill of Rhaenys. Their goal was clear: they sought vengeance on Syrax, the dragon who had consumed their beloved queen, and Tyraxes, the dragon of Rhaenyra's son, Joffrey.

As the mob grew, Prince Joffrey, mounted on a horse, rode through the chaos-stricken streets. Whether he intended to ride into battle or reach the Dragonpit to save his dragon, Tyraxes, was unknown. Fearful for her son's safety, Rhaenyra ordered a rescue mission.

"Bring him back to the castle," Rhaenyra commanded, her voice shaking with fear and desperation. "Do whatever it takes, but bring him back."

Ser Medrick Manderly, Ser Loreth Lansdale, Ser Harrold Darke, Ser Harmon of the Reeds, Ser Gyles Yronwood, Ser Willam Royce, and Ser Glendon Goode—along with six squires, eight gold cloaks, and twenty men-at-arms—rode forth from the Red Keep. They fought their way through the streets, the sounds of battle and the cries of the angry mob filling the air.

Joffrey, however, was unable to remain on horseback. The enraged mob pulled him down, their hands tearing at him with savage fury. The Seven Who Rode arrived to find the mob cutting his body to pieces. With desperate determination, they managed to reclaim every part of him except for a foot.

"Get him out of here!" Ser Medrick shouted, his voice hoarse with emotion. "We can't let them desecrate him any further.

"As they retreated, carrying the remains of the prince, the City Watch marched forth from their barracks at the Dragon Gate to defend the Hill of Rhaenys. But the sheer force of the mob was unstoppable. Less than fifty Dragonkeepers stood guard the second night of the riots. Though they defended the Dragonpit with all the strength they had, the enraged masses eventually smashed through the doors of the Dragonpit's lesser entrances using crude rams and axes. Others climbed in through windows, their eyes wild with hatred and vengeance.

The Dragonkeepers fought bravely, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. One by one, they fell, their blood mingling with the dust and debris of the besieged Dragonpit. Syrax and Tyraxes roared in defiance, their fiery breath scorching the invaders, but it was not enough. The mob's sheer numbers overwhelmed them.

"Push forward!" screamed the Shepherd, his voice a beacon of fanaticism. "Destroy the beasts!"

The mob surged, and soon the Dragonpit was filled with the sounds of the dying dragons. Syrax fell first, her massive form crashing to the ground with a final, desperate roar. Tyraxes followed, his cries echoing in the night as the life was brutally torn from him.

The next morning, the aftermath was stark and brutal. The bodies of the fallen dragons and their keepers littered the Dragonpit. The fires had burned down, leaving a smoldering ruin in their wake. The smell of death hung heavy in the air.

Rhaenyra stood in the throne room, her face pale and drawn with grief. The loss of her son and their dragons was a blow from which she could not recover. Her rule had brought nothing but death and destruction, and now the very people she had sought to rule were in open rebellion against her.

"We must leave," said Ser Loreth Lansdale, his voice filled with urgency. "The city is lost. We cannot hold it any longer."

Rhaenyra nodded, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "You are right. Gather those who are still loyal. We leave at first light."

As the dawn broke over King's Landing, Rhaenyra, now a shadow of the queen she once was, prepared to flee the city. She moved through the corridors of the Red Keep, her steps heavy with sorrow. Her remaining loyalists gathered, ready to make their escape.

"Your Grace," Ser Harrold Darke said softly, "we will protect you. We will find a way through this."

Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes hollow with grief. "Thank you, Ser Harrold. We must survive. For the sake of what remains."

With a final glance at the throne that had cost her so dearly, Rhaenyra and her loyalists slipped out of the city. The once-proud queen now fled like a hunted animal, the echoes of rebellion and the screams of the smallfolk ringing in her ears.

As they disappeared into the dawn, the city of King's Landing remained a smoldering ruin, a testament to the cost of power and the fragility of rule. The death of Vaella had sparked a fire that consumed everything in its path, leaving nothing but ashes and sorrow in its wake.

…

The first light of dawn brought a sorrowful stillness to Dragonstone. The air was heavy with grief, the very walls of the ancient castle seeming to echo the despair within. Aegon II Targaryen, bedridden and weakened, was shattered by the loss of his infant son Baelon. The child's fragile life had flickered out in the early hours of the morning, leaving a void that could never be filled.

Aegon's screams of anguish echoed through the castle, a haunting cry that sent shivers down the spines of all who heard it. His wails of despair carried through the corridors, reaching every corner of Dragonstone. Servants and guards alike bowed their heads, sharing in the king's grief.

"Baelon!" Aegon cried, his voice breaking. "My son, my precious boy!"

By the time Maester Gerardys was brought before Aegon, the bedridden king's fury had reached a fever pitch. The news of Vaella's gruesome end, alongside the betrayal of Ser Alfred Broome, had pushed him to the edge of madness. The queen's death, in such a horrific manner, had shattered any remaining semblance of restraint Aegon might have had.

"Your Grace," Gerardys began, his voice trembling with fear and regret. "I... I am so sorry for your loss. Please, I beg of you, understand that I had no part in this."

Aegon's eyes, filled with rage and grief, bore into Gerardys. "Liar!" he spat. "You were supposed to protect my son, my wife, my family! And now, they are gone!"

Ser Alfred Broome, his face pale with the realization of the consequences, stood by the door, unable to meet Aegon's gaze. "Your Grace, please, hear him out. There must be some explanation."

Aegon's voice was cold and unyielding. "There is no explanation that can bring back my son. No words that can undo the betrayal that has cost me everything."

With a sudden, violent motion, Aegon gestured to the guards. "Seize him!"

The guards moved quickly, grabbing the terrified maester and forcing him to his knees before the king. Gerardys pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. "Your Grace, I beg you, have mercy. I have served House Targaryen faithfully. Please, I did not betray you!"

Aegon's face twisted with fury. "Mercy? Mercy is for those who deserve it. You have failed me, Gerardys. You have failed my family."

The king's hands trembled with rage as he spoke. "Strangle him. Make him suffer."

The guards obeyed, their faces set with grim determination. Gerardys's pleas turned to choked gasps as the life was slowly squeezed from him. Aegon's eyes never left the maester's face, his own expression one of cold, unrelenting hatred.

When Gerardys finally fell silent, his body lifeless, Aegon ordered the next, even more gruesome part of his punishment. "Disembowel him. Let Sunfyre feast on his legs and innards."

The gruesome task was carried out with mechanical efficiency. Sunfyre, sensing the fresh meat, descended with a roar, his golden scales glinting in the dim light. The dragon tore into the maester's remains, his powerful jaws crunching through bone and sinew.

Aegon's heart was a storm of fury and grief. The sight of Sunfyre feasting on the man who had failed him brought a twisted sense of satisfaction. But it did nothing to ease the pain of his losses. Nothing could."

Put his head and upper torso on display at the gatehouse," Aegon ordered, his voice hollow. "Let it be a warning to Rhaenyra. Let her see what awaits her when she returns."

The guards, though horrified, obeyed without question. Gerardys's mutilated remains were placed at the gatehouse, a macabre sentinel awaiting the queen's eventual return. The gruesome display was a testament to Aegon's descent into madness, a chilling symbol of his broken heart and shattered mind.

As the day wore on, the weight of Aegon's grief pressed down on the castle. The loss of Baelon, the betrayal by those he trusted, and the horrific death of his beloved Vaella had left him a broken man. He lay in his bed, his body trembling with silent sobs, his mind haunted by the ghosts of his loved ones.

"Vaella," he whispered into the empty room, his voice raw with pain. "My love, my queen. I will avenge you. I will make them all pay."

Dragonstone stood as a fortress of grief and fury, the echoes of Aegon's screams reverberating through its halls. The king's heart was a cauldron of rage, his soul consumed by the fire of vengeance. And as the sun set on that sorrowful day, the castle seemed to mourn with him, its ancient stones weeping for the tragedy that had befallen the House of the Dragon.

…

The Violande sailed through the choppy waters towards Dragonstone, carrying Rhaenyra Targaryen to what she hoped would be a refuge after her desperate flight from King's Landing. But instead of sanctuary, she found betrayal. Upon her arrival, she was swiftly taken captive by Ser Alfred Broome and the greens who awaited her.

Rhaenyra was dragged through the cold, stone corridors of Dragonstone, her hands bound and her heart heavy with the weight of the war's losses. Aegon II Targaryen, bedridden and consumed by a fiery rage, awaited her in the grand hall. His face was a mask of fury, grief, and madness, his eyes burning with a hatred stoked by the deaths of his loved ones and the betrayal of those he trusted.

"Aegon," Rhaenyra said, her voice steady despite the fear and sorrow in her heart. "I came here seeking refuge, not a battlefield."

Aegon’s eyes narrowed, his voice cold as ice. "Refuge? You seek refuge after all that you have done? After you’ve torn this family apart, after Vaella, after Baelon, and after Aeron?" His voice broke at the mention of his sons.

Rhaenyra's face softened, tears welling up in her eyes. "I never wanted this war, Aegon. I never wanted the deaths, the bloodshed. We could have ruled together, united our family."

"United?" Aegon spat, his anger boiling over. "You brought nothing but death and ruin. You took everything from me. Vaella, Baelon, Aeron... my wife and sons!"

Tears streamed down Rhaenyra’s face. "They were my family too, Aegon. I lost them as well."

The room fell silent, the weight of their shared grief and regret hanging heavily in the air. For a moment, it seemed as if there might be a chance for reconciliation, a path towards peace. But the fury in Aegon's heart was too great.

With a voice filled with rage, Aegon gave the command. "Ser Alfred, bring her closer."

Ser Alfred Broome stepped forward, his face a mask of determination. He grabbed Rhaenyra and forced her to her knees before Aegon. Drawing a dagger, he pricked her breast, the sharp blade cutting through the fabric and skin. The smell of blood filled the air, rousing Sunfyre who stood nearby, his golden eyes gleaming with hunger and anticipation.

Rhaenyra looked up at Aegon, her voice filled with a calm resolve. "If you are to kill me, then do it. But spare my son Viserys. He is innocent in all of this."

Aegon's face twisted with fury. "Innocent? Just like Aeron was innocent? Slain in his cradle by your assassins? Your pleas mean nothing to me, Rhaenyra."

Her eyes met his, unwavering. "Then let my death be the end of it. Let him live."

Aegon’s eyes burned with rage and sorrow, his voice a deadly whisper. "There will be no mercy for you. You will meet the same fate as my Vaella."

With a roar, Sunfyre unleashed a blast of flame, engulfing Rhaenyra in a searing inferno. Her screams filled the hall, a sound of pure agony and despair. The fire burned away her defiance, leaving only pain and terror.

Sunfyre closed his massive jaws around Rhaenyra's arm and shoulder, tearing her flesh and bone. The dragon devoured her in six bites, his powerful jaws reducing her to nothing but a few remnants. All that remained was her left leg below the shin, a stark and gruesome reminder of her fate.

The hall fell silent, the echoes of her screams lingering in the air. Aegon watched with a cold, unfeeling gaze, his heart a barren wasteland of sorrow and rage. The sight of Sunfyre feasting on Rhaenyra brought no satisfaction, only a hollow emptiness.

Ser Alfred, his face pale and eyes wide with the horror of what had just transpired, turned to Aegon. "Your Grace, it is done. She is gone."

Aegon nodded, his voice devoid of emotion. "Prepare her remains. Let them be displayed as a warning to any who would defy me."

As the remains were taken away, Aegon slumped back in his chair, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. The hall, once filled with the promise of power and unity, was now a tomb of shattered dreams and lost hope.

Outside, the sky darkened, a storm brewing on the horizon. The castle of Dragonstone stood as a silent witness to the end of the Dance of the Dragons, its ancient stones echoing with the cries of the past.

Aegon II Targaryen, king in name but broken in spirit, sat alone, the ghosts of his family haunting his every thought. The throne he had fought so hard to claim was now a bitter reminder of all that he had lost. And as the storm raged outside, he knew that the true cost of power was one he could never repay.

…

With the death of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Aegon II Targaryen took the Iron Throne, but his reign was short-lived. The pain from his shattered legs and the overwhelming grief for his wife Vaella and their children weighed heavily on him. Within a year, Aegon was found dead in his chambers. Septon Eustace claimed that the king had been poisoned, while Maester Gyldayn suggested that Aegon had taken his own life, unable to bear the physical pain and the emotional torment of his losses. 

"He was a broken man," Maester Gyldayn wrote. "The pain in his limbs and body was nothing compared to the love and yearning he held for his dead wife, Vaella."

Aegon II was succeeded by his son Baelor, who took the throne as King Baelor I. In an effort to bring stability and peace to the realm, Baelor wed Helaena's and Aemond’s daughter, Jaehaera. This union was seen as a symbol of reconciliation and hope for the future of House Targaryen.

Baelor's sister, Daena, was wed to Rhaenyra's and Daemon's son, Viserys, in another strategic marriage aimed at healing the rift between the factions of their family. This marriage was instrumental in creating a sense of unity and easing tensions that had plagued the realm during the Dance of the Dragons.

The known dragons that survived the conflict—Dreamfyre, Sunfyre, Morghul, Shykos, Auroxas, Glazhael, and Silverwing—became symbols of the resilience of House Targaryen. Cannibal, the wild dragon, was last seen flying off from Dragonstone, never to be seen again. Archmaester Gyldayn later wrote that on the day Vaella Targaryen was born, she was supposed to die until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. When she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. Archmaester Gyldayn's thesis posited that the wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in Vaella, as they both dined on their kin. However, no one ever truly understood the bond between Vaella and Cannibal, nor why her infant son Baelon died almost the exact moment she was burned and eaten by Syrax.

Alicent Hightower, the Dowager Queen, remained by the side of her grandchildren and her daughter Helaena until her death. Her influence was a stabilizing force in the court, and she worked tirelessly to ensure the safety and security of her family.

King Baelor I's reign was marked by a concerted effort to rebuild and restore the realm. His marriage to Jaehaera and the alliance with Viserys and Daena helped to solidify the Targaryen hold on the throne. Baelor was a just and wise ruler, known for his efforts to heal the wounds of the war and to promote peace and prosperity throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

The surviving dragons played a crucial role in maintaining the power and prestige of House Targaryen. Their presence served as a reminder of the might and majesty of the Targaryen dynasty, even as the number of dragons began to dwindle over the years.

Archmaester Gyldayn's writings on Vaella and Cannibal became a topic of much debate and fascination. His thesis, which suggested a deep and mysterious bond between the princess and the wild dragon, captivated scholars and dragonkeepers alike. The idea that Vaella's infant son Baelon died at the exact moment she was consumed by Syrax added another layer of intrigue to the tragic story.

"No one can truly understand the bond between Vaella and Cannibal," Gyldayn wrote. "But it is clear that their connection was profound and beyond the comprehension of mortal men."

The lords of the North, led by House Stark, had pledged their support to Rhaenyra during the Dance of the Dragons. However, the harsh winter that followed prevented them from marching south. By the time the snows melted, the war was over, and the realm had a new king. The Starks, ever pragmatic, accepted the new order and focused on rebuilding their own lands.

The changes wrought by the Dance of the Dragons and its aftermath had a lasting impact on Westeros. When Robert Baratheon rose in rebellion against the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen, the realm was once again thrown into chaos. However, the alliances and marriages that had been forged in the wake of the Dance provided a stronger foundation for House Targaryen to resist the rebellion.

King Robert I Baratheon eventually claimed the Iron Throne, but the Targaryens, with their remaining dragons and the legacy of their united house, remained a formidable force. The scars of the Dance of the Dragons were still felt, but the resilience and adaptability of House Targaryen ensured their continued influence and presence in the Seven Kingdoms.

The legacy of Vaella Targaryen and Aegon II was one of tragedy and resilience. Their love story, marred by betrayal and loss, became the subject of songs and tales throughout the realm. Their efforts to heal the wounds of their family and their ultimate sacrifices left an indelible mark on the history of Westeros.

The Iron Throne, though bloodied and contested, remained a symbol of the power and determination of House Targaryen. And as long as dragons flew in the skies of Westeros, the memory of Vaella and Aegon, and the lessons of the Dance of the Dragons, would never be forgotten.

…

In the Red Keep, a golden light streamed through the windows and delicate blinds, bathing the room in an ethereal glow. The bedchamber of Aegon II and Vaella Targaryen was transformed into a sanctum of warmth and vitality, a stark contrast to the often cold and somber atmosphere of their world. It was as if they had stepped into a timeless realm where pain and scars could no longer touch them.

Aegon and Vaella were entangled in a passionate embrace, their bodies moving with an almost feverish intensity. Vaella's long, pale blonde hair, intricately braided, cascaded over the pillows like a river of moonlight. Her indigo eyes were half-closed, filled with a mix of desire and love. Aegon's hands roamed her body, exploring every inch of her soft skin as if he were memorizing her all over again.

Their breaths came in ragged gasps, and the room echoed with the sounds of their lovemaking. The connection between them was palpable, each touch and kiss igniting a fire that seemed unquenchable. Vaella's full lips parted in a moan of pleasure as Aegon’s mouth found her neck, his kisses sending shivers down her spine.

"Aegon," she whispered, her voice a mix of longing and contentment. "Never let me go."

"Never," he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with emotion. "You are my everything, Vaella."

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, a dance as old as time itself. The intensity of their passion built to a crescendo, and as they reached the peak of their shared ecstasy, the world seemed to blur around them. In that moment, nothing else existed but the two of them, their love a blazing beacon in the golden light.

In the aftermath, they lay entwined in each other’s arms, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts beating as one. Vaella’s head rested on Aegon's chest, and she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a sound that had always brought her comfort.

She lifted her head to meet his gaze, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I wish this could last forever," she said, her fingers tracing the lines of his face. "That we would never be separated from one another."

Aegon laughed softly, the sound like music in the luminous room. "Forever is a long time, my love," he replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "But in this moment, we have eternity."

Vaella sighed contentedly, snuggling closer to him. "It feels like a dream," she said. "A beautiful dream that I never want to wake up from."

Aegon kissed her forehead tenderly. "Then let's stay in this dream a little longer," he whispered. "Let's forget the world and just be us."

They lay in silence for a while, the golden light washing over them, filling the room with an almost magical glow. It was a moment of perfect peace, a rare treasure in their tumultuous lives. Vaella closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of Aegon's embrace, the feel of his heart beating in time with hers.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Aegon watching her, his expression one of pure adoration. "What is it?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Just thinking about how lucky I am," he replied, his fingers trailing down her arm. "To have you by my side, to share this life with you."

Vaella’s heart swelled with love. "And I with you," she said softly. "No matter what happens, we will always have each other."

Aegon nodded, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Always," he agreed, pulling her closer. "In this life and the next."

As they lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside ceased to matter. In that sunlit room, they had found their own slice of paradise, a place where love reigned supreme and time stood still. And for that brief, shining moment, they were truly, completely happy.

…

King Baelor I sat alone in the grand hall of the Red Keep, his mind drifting back to memories of his parents. The hall, illuminated by the flickering light of numerous candles, seemed almost alive with shadows, dancing to the rhythm of his thoughts. Though he wore the crown of the Seven Kingdoms, his heart was heavy with the weight of remembrance.

Baelor absentmindedly traced the deep scar running from his mouth to his ear, a constant reminder of the day his world had irrevocably changed. The day the assassins came, sent by his aunt Rhaenyra and Daemon, was seared into his memory. They had almost killed him and had taken his infant brother Aeron from him. That wound had left a mark not only on his face but on his soul.

He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. His parents, Aegon II and Vaella Targaryen, were a vivid presence in his mind. Despite the tumult and bloodshed of the Dance of the Dragons, they had always been a source of strength and love.

Baelor remembered his mother, Vaella, with her long, pale blonde hair that she wore in elaborate braids, her full lips, and her indigo eyes. She was said to be extraordinarily beautiful, but to him, she was more than that. She was warmth, kindness, and an unbreakable spirit. He could still hear her laughter, a sound that had brought light into the darkest of days.

One memory stood out among the rest. He was a young boy, perhaps five years old, and he had wandered into his parents' bedchamber. The room was filled with golden light streaming through the windows, and there they were, his parents, wrapped in each other’s arms, laughing and talking in hushed tones. They had looked so happy, so alive.

His father, Aegon II, had noticed him first. "Baelor," he had called out with a smile, his voice filled with warmth. "Come here, my boy."

Baelor had run to his father, climbing onto the bed. Aegon had lifted him effortlessly, holding him close. "What brings you here, my little dragon?"

"I wanted to see you," Baelor had replied, his small hands reaching for his mother.

Vaella had kissed his forehead, her touch gentle and soothing. "And we are always glad to see you, my love."

They had spent that afternoon together, playing and talking, forgetting for a moment the chaos that surrounded them. It was one of the few times Baelor had seen his parents so at peace, and it was a memory he cherished deeply.

Now, as he sat alone, he felt the pang of their absence. They had been taken from him too soon, victims of a brutal war for the throne. Yet, their love and their strength had shaped him into the man he had become. A king who valued peace, who sought to heal the wounds of the past.

Baelor rose from his seat and walked to the window. The city below was quiet, a stark contrast to the storm that raged within him. He knew he carried his parents' legacy with him, a legacy of resilience and love.

His marriage to Jaehaera, Helaena's and Aemond's daughter, was also a testament to that legacy. They were working together to rebuild the realm, to bring about a new era of peace and prosperity. It was not an easy task, but he was determined to honor his parents' memory by creating a better future for their descendants.

As the night wore on, Baelor found solace in his memories. They were a reminder of the love that had given him life, the love that still guided him. His parents may have been taken from him, but their spirit lived on in him, in every decision he made, in every step he took.

"Mother, Father," he whispered into the night, "I hope I am making you proud."

And with that, King Baelor I turned away from the window, ready to face the challenges of his reign, knowing that the strength and love of Aegon II and Vaella Targaryen were always with him.

[elegantsplendour]

Love is a Downfall Part II

Masterlist Part I

Summary

One girl, two dragons.

Bound to one, attached to an another.

Love is the most powerful form of magic.

Love is the fuel that leads to destruction.

Fear leads of anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x !Redwyne reader x Aegon ii Targaryen

Warnings / contains (in this part): fluff, angst, smut, dirty talk

Tag list: @marvelescvpe @snh96 @femmechaotic @heavenly1927

Friends: @purple-writer8 @vhagarswar @lovelykhaleesiii @boundlessfantasy @arcielee @amiraisgoingthruit @kaelatargaryen

“My Queen.”

She turned around and smiled at his approaching figure, slender and statuesque. It was rare for her prince to be dressed in such opulence, in the colour of his house, instead of his usual black leather suit, the attire of the protector.

She closed her eyes as his arms wrapped around her petite waist, restrained by the agonizingly exquisite wedding gown, adorned by jewelry and fine silk with a weight of its own. Aemond pressed a delicate kiss on the petal-like skin of her neck, a realm he had explored and worshipped boundless times, yet that kiss seemed like a sorrowful goodbye.

In two short hours, she would drift two gigantic steps away from him.

His brother’s wife.

The Queen of Seven Kingdoms.

“I love you,” the grip of his skin on hers grew tighter, Aemond savoured the touch of her body, a reminder that she was real and with him. The weeks of anticipation, whispers of joy among both the highborn and commoners around the city, and excessive spending on opulent goods appeared to the One-Eyed Prince like a cruel and ironic preparation of his own funeral, a mocking celebration of his own inescapable fate.

The second prince.

The second choice.

Always and forever.

But not to her.

“I know,” she leaned into his kiss, arching her neck backwards, locking eyes with her sweet prince, “I love you too,” she whispered with adoration while kissing his thin lips with a passion like the candles in the Grand Sept of her soon to be wedding. While the realm followed the Faith of the Seven, Aemond Targaryen was her faith, her dreams, her beyond.

As the hour of the royal union approached with an agonizing pace, the prince departed his lips from hers and extended his arms, “Shall we?”

She gracefully held onto his arms and nodded, “We shall.”

Just as the two were about to exit her chamber, she ceased their advance, “Aemond,” she reached to touch his cheek, “Nothing changes. We’ll still be together, the two of us. Just like what we three promised a fortnight ago.”

He smiled faintly, “I know,” pressing one last kiss on her lips, “My Queen, but it doesn’t make it hurt less.”

Her hands on his cheekbones quivered at his admission, with a pearl streaming down her left eye.

Aemond enclosed their distance, kissing away and savouring her bittersweet tear, “Don’t cry,” his long fingers stroked her meticulously braided hair, “It would ruin your regal appearance.”

“I don’t care about my regal appearance,” her breaths quickened with sobs, “I care about you.”

“But he does.”

“Aegon? Not in a million years,” she chuckled yet choked with emotions, “He cares not if I was embellished like a gigantic doll or drunken after a night of indulgence. He knows every inch of me.”

She bit her tongue and clenched her fists in regret as she caught a glimpse of the heartache in Aemond’s eye.

“I am glad,” he smiled with melancholy, “That he can give you what I cannot. Don’t apologize for it, my love.”

Every fibre in his being screamed:

If only.

If only it had been him born on the same day as her and not Aegon.

A moment later, the crowd of lords and ladies, including Queen Alicent herself, cheered as Prince Aemond escorted Lady Redwyne, the queen to be crowned, to the carriage.

The way to the Dragonpit was quiet for her. However, Alicent recounted relentlessly her overwhelming memories of Aegon and her youth, how he became more responsible for her, how they were meant for each other, and how glad and proud she was of herself succeeding in to marry children for love.

“Thank you, mother. I love you,” she smiled.

It was the first time she had called Alicent that name.

“What did you call me, child?” Alicent’s voice quivered.

She placed her hand on top of the queen’s, “Just the figure you’ve always been to me,’ she squeezed her hand, declaring genuinely, “I mean it, Mother.”

She gazed into the woman she grew to love with a slight giggle as she realized that Alicent was overwhelmed by emotions and was finding the right words to say.

“You know,” Alicent spoke with a light chortle, “Rhaenyra had never forgiven Erya for leaving you to my care. And it’s part of the reason why things between our houses turned out the way they did.”

She frowned momentarily, a distaste rising in her stomach at the name of the woman who had asked for her and Aemond’s torture, “Rhaenyra and my mother were close?”

Alicent nodded hesitantly, “More than close, we three shared a…” She lowered her head with a bitter smile, “Special connection. Especially Rhaenyra and Erya. Of course, that was before duty to our houses tore us to different paths.”

Alicent squeezed her hand with a rare display of authentic contentment, “Which is why you and Aegon…” the queen wiped away her tears of excitement, “You know, my dear child, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but building a union for my children built on love… it’s the greatest thing I’ve accomplished.”

Alicent reached out her arms and held her in an embrace, sharing her daughter’s bliss and rejoicing in the fruit of her decisions that led to this day.

As the carriage reached Dragonpit, the mass awaited with anticipation as the dutiful, regal and commanding figure of Prince Aemond awaited for the bride.

“My queen,” he nodded courteously, yet his tone devoid of emotions, avoiding her eyes, “The king awaits.”

With a refined smile, she held her head high and held onto the prince’s extending arm.

Awe was painted on the assemblage, royalty, nobility, and even the commoners.

Aemond counted a hundred steps and fifty-three steps from the gate of the Dragonpit, crossing the path carved out by the solemn ceremonial guards, to the podium of the dome, to Aegon’s side.

The escort of the future queen was a great honour. Every pace he took symbolized the distance between himself and everything he desired, power, glory, recognition, legacy, her. Yet, the tormenting reminder was an unprecedented honour, a very one that his brother granted.

“My king,” Aemond lowered his head cordially as he gave her hand to the king-to-be.

She looked at Aegon with a mixture of pride, trust and love.

“What, my sweet love?” Aegon whispered in her ears as he led her to kneel beside him, awaiting the coronation, with a teasing chuckle, “Too smitten by how handsome I look today?”

She rolled her eyes, containing her laughter with efforts and whispered back, “Even being the king can’t make you less insufferable, but your appearance does tempt me to bite you tonight.”

Ser Cole and Otto Hightower frowned deeply at the playful exchange between the king and queen-to-be, yet the dowager queen seemed to be amused.

Within minutes, the Conqueror’s Crown was placed on Aegon while a platinum crown forged by the rarest of silver and diamond landed on her.

“All hail His Grace, Aegon, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, Rhoynars and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

“My king, my queen,” Ser Cole bowed, followed by the rest of the court and eventually, the rest of the mass.

As the cheering and applause gradually erupted among the commoners, the king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms raised in all of their might and glory. Blackfyre, the legendary Valyrian sword of the Conqueror, now was now drawn by his descendant’s hand, conveying the unquestionable order of succession.

With a gasp from the highborn, a few commoners threw joyfully bouquets into the king and queen’s hands.

She giggled uncontrollably and exulted in the sweet scent of the flowers, for it represented the genuine love from the people they have sworn to protect on govern.

The courtiers exchanged amused whispers at the scene, for the mass’ reaction wasn’t entirely surprising. The tales of the rebellious young prince and his beautiful and destined betrothed were etched in the memories of the old and the youth.

Suddenly, her vision swirled as Aegon pulled her into a breathless kiss, a bold testament to their union.

While the Septons and maesters looked at each widened eyes of disapproval and astonishment. Roars of cheers thundered in the Dragonpit.

She returned with an equal fever. Her hands pulling her king so close as if their bodies melted together.

At that moment, no one else existed, not the judging eyes of the Seven, not the courtiers, not even Aemond, just her and her husband, the person she mumbled her first word to, cuddled within the nursery, stole lemon cakes from the kitchen, cried and bullied together in the garden, blushed for the first time and explored the realm of pleasure together.

The king held her tighter, his tongue still dancing, exploring the depth of her mouth. The ebony of the Conqueror’s Crown and the silvery white diamond tiara glimmered through the solemnity.

All eyes but one mesmerized the scene that would later unfold into a fabled tale. Aemond fixated his gaze on the gray walls of the Dragonpit and relived the bitter memories of the mockery of lack of dragon he had endured in the hands of his brother and nephews.

But above all, the memories of her, the enlightening memories of her smile, the touch of her hands as she whispered her faith in his strength, the conviction in her voice when she encouraged him to claim Vhagar.

A part of her is his, his only; Aemond repeated it repeatedly like a spell of a curse that plagued his mind as he forced himself to meet the reality, her bond with his brother that he would never share.

The rest of the day ended in exhaustion for the entire royal family, especially the royal couple. As everyone in court had anticipated, the bedding ceremony was out of the question. Despite whispers of the young king’s liking for thrill being no secret, his taste could never extend at the well-being of his “sweet love.” Not to mention the intimidating presence of Prince Aemond, the protective brotherly figure (as everyone presumed) threatened to murder any person who dared speak such a proposal.

As the final toast to the royal couple came to an end. The room yelped as the queen fell into the king’s arms. It must have been the effect of wine. Everyone murmured.

The guests looked at each other with surprise as they saw Prince Aemond’s calmness at the scene. Little did they know that it was because the prince knew his brother and his queen to the core…

“They’re all gone?” She whispered mischievously in Aegon’s chest as he carried her supposedly drunken body through the halls of the Red Keep to their marital chamber.

“Gone like how your annoying gown will be in minutes,” Aegon grinned as he practically ran into their freshly decorated wedding chamber.

She hopped off her husband’s arms and buried her face in the bed, “Finally…” she nestled in the softness of the pillows as she gazed at Aegon, amused and desiring, “This is perfect.”

He chuckled and joined her instantly by jumping on the bed and tickling her sides, making her laugh and protest.

“Stop it! I’m serious!” She playfully bit his arm, writhing in his embrace.

“Ouch, my sweet,” Aegon whined teasingly while sinking his lips in the fragile skin of her neck, “You really were serious about biting me earlier today, huh?”

Giggling tantalizingly, she rolled herself on top of him as swiftly as a viper, “Just make me yours already.”

“Gods,” the beast under her groaned as he sat up to undo her intricate laces, “But you have already been mine,” he smirked, “Over and over again.”

“Just rip it off,” she pouted impatiently.

With a growl, he tore the exquisite wedding gown off her body and feasted on her skin ferociously.

“I feel as if being strangled by that stupid dress,” she gasped for air as she wrapped her arms around Aegon and dragged him down on top of her.

They looked at each other deeply in silence for a moment.

They are husband and wife.

They’ve known that this moment had been their destiny since they came into the world together.

“Lord husband,” she purred, tracing her fingers on his chubby yet devilishly handsome cheek.

“Seven Hells,” Aegon grumbled as he felt his bulge growing hard in his trousers, “You’ll be the death of me, my sweet lady wife.”

“What?!” She gasped as Aegon lift her up to sit on his thighs.

“Ride me, little one,” the king bit her earlobe while caressing the scar on her thigh.

With a frown, she unbuckled his pants with her inexperienced hands and pouted, “You lazy dragon. It is your wedding night and you leave all the work to your lady wife.”

As soon she saw the smug and satisfied look on her husband’s face, the way he laid indolently on his arms behind his head, her breath hitched with annoyance and desire, “What would all the court think if they knew? That the queen has to take matters into her own hands to make an heir?”

Fuck that smirk on his face.

She cursed.

Aegon chuckled as she placed his hands on her round cheeks of her bottom, her body arched and leaned down, an obvious feigned innocence painted on face.

“If you cannot fulfill your marital duty, your grace, I would have to seek help from Prince Aemond,” she whispered, her words chosen very intentionally, “Since his cock works much more ferociously than yours.”

Oh those words awoke the dragon…

“On your hands and knees,” Aegon flipped her down on her stomach, watching his little creature obey his command with unconfined giggles.

“That’s more like it,” she purred while arching her back, tempting the most powerful man of Westeros, “I hear this is how they take whores on the Street of Silk,” she grinned looking back at him, wriggling her hips, in invitation, “Aegon, are you going to treat me like a whore?”

With a deep chuckle, the king delivered a form smack on her backside, “Yes, I am,” his hands gripped her hips tightly, pressing his hard length against her before thrusting into her roughly, “I will treat you like the most desirable whore in all of Westeros.”

She pushed back eagerly to meet his every stroke, occasionally looking back at him with teasing and provocative eyes, perfectly aware of their effect on the beast pounding into her.

“Spoiled little queen, always asking for punishment,” Aegon growled, thrusting hard and spanking her sharply as she tormented him again with her pretense of naivety, “But your king will spoil you rotten just like you deserve.”

“Yes… Spoil… me,” she moaned loudly in gasping breaths.

He hovered over her back and stuffed a pillow under her stomach, “Tell me what you feel, my sweet. Tell me everything.”

She couldn’t answer but moan at the exquisite sensation he was delivering, “Gods… I see Seven Heavens. You… you are so big.”

He grinned and met her hips with his with more force, “And your little cunny is doing so well, so good, tightening around for my cock.”

She whined at his crude language. Clenching onto the sheets, she responded in equal obscenity, “I love the sound of you slamming into me.”

Breath hitched. He took a strand of her hair and pulled it back with just the right amount of force, exposing her porcelain neck.

“Are you sure you’re not the one slamming into me right now, hmm?” He whispered wickedly, his hand still tangling in her hair, “So desperate. So eager to be pleased, so eager to please.”

She couldn’t do anything but to moan at her husband’s teasing met with the sinful slapping of their skins. Biting her lips almost violently, she demanded, “Harder, faster. Give me all of you,” she tilted her head back playfully, “I dare you.”

His immediate response was wordless.

Another sharp smack on her bottom before pulling her hips up and digging his fingers into her flesh once more, “Oh I will. I am going to fuck you until you can’t think straight,” he squeezed her backside, “My spoiled, sweet little brat.”

For what endured like an eternity, they were lost in each other.

Each moan, thrust and growl exacerbated the mind-blowing waves of pleasure washing them over and over again.

Finally, Aegon spilled inside her as she screamed his name.

“I love you, my sweet love,” Aegon whispered with adoration as he immediately pulled her into his arms, his arms enveloping her steadily.

She smiled and instinctively longed to return the affection.

Yet the words were choked in her throat.

I love you.

The words from the thin lips of her prince spread in her heart like a sweet poison.

She loved Aegon.

She loved Aegon.

She loved both.

Why?

Then why was it so hard to say it back?

“I love you too,” she bit her lips and nestled in her husband’s chest.

It was an answer from the mind yet not from the heart.

Her hands clenched around the skin of Aegon’s chest while a drop of bitter and confusing liquid formed in her eyes.

Aegon, seemed to have noticed the storm within her, but her earlobe and asked, “Are you thinking of him?”

She nestled closer to his neck and whimpered, “He’s not like us. He’s hurting.”

Aegon sighed as he caressed her cheeks, “I know. He’s my little brother. I hate to see him suffer.”

She wiped away her tears and gazed into his eyes, “I just wish he could be happy with our arrangement,” she squeezed her eyes again and sobbed, “I just want him to be happy.”

“My sweet,” Aegon spoke again with a heavy heart after a moment of silence, “There is something you need to know.”

“A moon ago, Aemond asked me to send him to fight the recent Dornish invasions,” Aegon confessed, holding her hand tightly, “He specifically asked me hold his request from you.”

“Does…” her lips trembled with hurt, “The idea of seeing us together truly pains him so much that he would rather fight a war and risk his life?”

“No,” Aegon patted her shoulders with assurance, “A part of it, perhaps. But, you know Aemond, he wants to leave a legacy.”

She opened her mouth to speak, the shock evident in her voice, “He… He wishes to be the one who conquers Dorne.”

She grasped the truth nervously.

Vhagar… Visenya…

Of course.

Aemond desired more than what he was handed to him.

He will never be satisfied.

He would not be himself without his thirst for the world.

“I guess if we truly love someone,” she smiled faintly, “We accept and embrace who they are.”

“When is he leaving?” She asked softly.

Aegon hesitated before answering, “In three days.”

She buried her face in her hands before jumping off the bed and directing to the window, bathing her her body under the moonlight.

The world seemed to shake as the news sank in her heart. That familiar yet distant burning and aching sensation consumed her again, like the night he had claimed Vhagar.

She had never told anyone about it, not even Aemond himself.

She held her hand against her heart, as the mere possibility of losing him, or even a new scar etching on his skin incited a sharp pain in her spirit as if a merciless falcon was feasting on her body.

“He is the rider of the largest dragon in the world,” Aegon’s voice slowly soothed her anxiety as he wrapped his arms around her waist, “And soon, he will be the wielder of Dark Sister,” his lips teased her cheek, “News from Dragonstone have it that our old uncle has been infested with a mysterious contagious disease. He won’t have long.”

The corners of her lips rose slightly at the news of the Rogue Prince’s soon demise, “That’s good to hear…”

She turned to face the loving face of her king again and smiled, “Let’s go to sleep. Everything can wait til morrow.”

With that, she led her husband into the bed and fell into a deep slumber.

Although the worries, confusion and longing still flawed her heart, Aegon’s arms, the embrace of the man was a part of her, always had the inexplicably magical effect of soothing the deepest of her turmoils.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Your Graces,” Aemond nodded coolly at the freshly attired and newly wed, royal couple.

Without reservation, she embraced him boldly, ignorant of the widened eyes of the passing servants.

She whispered, “If you ever call me ‘your grace’ again in private, I swear I will scream.”

The prince couldn’t help but to chuckle at her comment while the king smirked in approval.

“I’ve heard that you intend to ride to suppress the Dornish assaults on the borders,” she gripped Aemond’s cold hand, the desperation in her voice well concealed, “I simply hoped you did not feel the obligation to keep it from me. I would stand by you through anything, you know that.”

Aemond shivered at her touch.

She knows.

Selfless she had always been.

He could see in her eyes the depth of her anguish.

I will stand by you through anything.

He chose his path of legacy over her, over being there for the birth of her first child, his brother’s child.

Once he embarks on this journey, he shall not return for a year.

“Pardon me, your grace,” he addressed Aegon, avoiding her gaze and stepping away from both of them hastily.

Three.

Two.

One.

Since that abrupt meeting the morning of post the wedding night, Aemond was nowhere to be found except in the war council.

It was the night before his departure, the hour of the eel.

The queen stood still before the massive balcony of her private chamber. It was the first night Aegon and she had spent separately.

She never had to explain herself.

Aegon knew.

Every alteration of her heartbeat, every tremble of her hand, every worry in her mind, he knew.

“I’m sorry.”

She didn’t have to face him to recognize his presence.

“I did not mean to cause you pain,” the slender fingers entwined with hers.

She stayed in silence, her face stoic, still angry at his negligence, although her hands betrayed her.

“I hate you,” she nuzzled against his nose before pushing him away, muffling her sobs with her hands, “For a year I will suffer your absence, the possibility of losing you. And you shunned me out-“

Aemond silenced her with a kiss, tasting bittersweet mixture of her lips and wistful tears.

He lifted her body to the wooden table on which they’d made love many times before.

“We can’t,” she whimpered, “The first child must be Aegon’s.”

The ardour in the prince’s movements promptly cooled down as if being drowned in a bucket of ice water.

“Right,” Aemond took a stride back, his one eye gazing at her tears-stricken fragile figure with an intensity that could match the very dragon flame that had forged the Iron Throne.

“Did you know that you will wield Dark Sister soon?” She caressed his cheek, attempting to mask her sorrow with pride.

“What will they call me, my queen?” Aemond teased, “The second Rogue Prince or Visenya reincarnated?”

“Neither,” she brushed her finger in his nose playfully, “You will be remembered as Aemond Targaryen, the first of his name, the Conqueror of Dorne. I have faith in you. I always have.”

Aemond tightened his grip on her waist, his voice low and cracking, “You’ve always been with me.”

“Always, even if I cannot be there with you,” she gently wrapped her legs around his waist.

Suddenly, an idea birthed in her head. She hopped of the desk, grabbing the prince’s confused hands and led him to the vanity table.

“Sit,” she pressed Aemond’s shoulders mischievously, “Your queen is about to tend you a royal braiding.”

A bright red crept on the prince’s pale skin as she bent down, pressing a kiss filled with adoration on his cheek, “I will miss you, and Vhagar too.”

“She wishes to fly with you again,” Aemond confessed, “The dragon loves you as much as her rider.”

“I shall,” she chuckled as her fingers moved into his exquisite silver lock, “My aunt Bryana taught me the art of braiding. In the Reach, having your hair braided by a lover's hand is believed to bring good luck, though I do not think you need any.”

Aemond relished the sensation of her hands buried in his hair, her soft chuckles and jests.

Selfless, caring, gentle, pure.

That was who she was.

Since that fateful night on Driftmark, a profound resentment toward physical touches had grown within the One-Eyed Prince.

It was perhaps one of the reasons why he revelled and excelled in the art of the sword.

The proximity of the opponents, their vigilant posture, the mixture of fear and viciousness reminded him of the horror both she and he suffered under the hands of the Strongs.

While others’ closeness risked to trigger his monstrosity, hers awakened warmth and serenity.

As her fingers explored the depth of his head with delicacy, he could feel her hot breath on his lost eye.

The memories invaded.

His lost eye continued to flow streams of blood while the other was forced to watch Jacaerys’ training in swordsmanship overpowering her advantage in height, her being chocked helplessly on the cold ground.

Their eyes locked.

She looked at him with despair.

Sorry. Her eyes told him. I am sorry that I couldn’t protect you.

“I love you,” Aemond seized her hands as the last strand of his lock was weaved, “I swear to you, I will return victorious.”

Slowly pacing to his side to sit on his laps, she blinked, “And when you come back to me, I want to carry your little dragons.”

“Aegon does not object?” He asked while caressing that agonizingly beautiful scar on her thigh.

She rolled her eyes teasingly, “Of course, he doesn’t. That’s the least the king could do when his little brother fights a war for him.”

As the first ray of sunlight bathed the Red Keep in a golden glow, Aemond Targaryen and Criston Cole began their march southward, setting in motion a war that scholars and scribes from across the realm would pore over the tale.

As centuries passed, the Dornish historians recounted the bloodiest battles that shook the realm during the decades-long War of Westerosi Conquest. Among them, none rivalled the ferocity and chaos each time the One-Eyed monster returned from King's Landing, his silver locks intertwined with an elegance and grace that only the skilled hands of the Westerosi queen could bestow.

[bbygrldaemon]

Worse Things

Chapter 05

warnings - graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of past child death, and very brief explicit sexual content. flashbacks high valyrian

ao3 link | spanish translation | masterlist

Three years later

Rhaenyra stared at her second half-brother, who was crying in the arms of one of her wet nurses. A heavily pregnant Alicent sat beside her, struggling to keep 7-year-old Aegon and 5-year-old Helaena seated as the carriage bumped along the road. Her father, King Viserys, sat beside the beta queen, his eyes fixed on Rhaenyra with a warm smile, seemingly oblivious to the rest of his children. They were traveling to the hunting site to celebrate Aemond’s second name day, just as they had done for Aegon’s. Rhaenyra had not wanted to come, knowing no one would miss her at the celebration, but Viserys had insisted she attend to show support for her brother.

She turned away, looking out through the narrow slits in the sides of the carriage, trying to block out everything happening around her. She missed Daemon. Three years ago, a letter had arrived from Runestone demanding justice for the head of House Royce. Rhea Royce had been found bloody and gravely wounded on the floor of a cave near the castle. Though barely clinging to life, when the guards tried to move her, all she could do was scream in agony. Maester Helliweg had examined her and declared her injuries beyond saving. In the end, her cousin Gerard Royce had finished her off out of mercy, but not before she had suffered for nearly two days.

It was a mystery how she had survived that long with such horrific wounds. By all accounts, it seemed impossible. Rhaenyra believed the gods had kept her alive so she could suffer the same torment she had inflicted upon Daemon. Even if Rhea had felt nothing but agony for those two days, it was still nothing compared to the years of pain she had caused her uncle. Now, Rhea Royce was dead, and Daemon was finally free—that was all that mattered.

Daemon and Baelon had disappeared four days before the female alpha had been found. Rhea had been searching for them, and the Royces believed it was the omega who had struck the fatal blow. The letter demanded that the king make his brother answer for his crimes, along with his sworn sword, Ser Luthor. But Viserys couldn’t believe his brother capable of such brutality and, besides, he had no idea where Daemon was.

Daemon, Baelon, Elinda, and Ser Luthor had been missing for a month before word came that Daemon was fighting alongside the Sea Snake in the Stepstones. Viserys had been furious, sending Kingsguards to retrieve his brother and nephew, but Daemon sent them back—wounded—and with a threat to kill the next guards or messengers sent after him.

In secret, Daemon had sent Rhaenyra a letter, assuring her that Baelon was safe in Driftmark and urging her to find an excuse to visit him. Rhaenyra had managed just that, using the pretext of visiting Laena. The king didn’t need to know that the other female alpha was also in the Stepstones, fighting alongside Corlys and Daemon.

Rhaenyra had longed to go see her uncle in the Stepstones, to make sure with her own eyes that he wasn’t injured. Ever since she’d heard of Rhea Royce’s death, her inner alpha had been restless, urging her to go claim her omega. Though the voice had always been there, it had become louder and more insistent. One day, she’d almost followed its call, already dressed in riding clothes at the Dragonpit, but she’d managed to restrain herself. She knew her sword skills weren’t sufficient for war. If it came down to it, Daemon would try to protect her, putting himself at risk; she’d only be a burden to him.

The carriage’s halt brought her back to the present. They exited one by one to find the guests already assembled. Viserys took Aemond from the wet nurse’s arms, holding him up as the crowd cheered for the little prince. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, already over the entire affair. She glanced around and met the gaze of one of the Lannister twins, though she couldn’t recall his name. The alpha winked at her, and she responded with an awkward smile.

Inside the main tent, most lords and ladies were gathered. Her father sat on a throne off to one side, Otto Hightower standing at his shoulder, likely feeding him more venom. Rhaenyra moved to the group of women seated in a circle, most of them omegas, with a few betas and a lone alpha among them. The queen sat among them, listening to the room’s gossip.

“Perhaps the princess could give us some insight,” said the omega to Alicent’s right as Rhaenyra approached. “Your dear uncle is the great mind behind this war, is he not?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to Daemon in years,” Rhaenyra replied, irritation clear in her voice.

“Not since you matured as an alpha,” the lady said, frowning. “Quite the scandal, as I recall. But then you were named heir.”

“Daemon made his choices, Lady Kira. The princess is suited to her role,” the queen interjected, trying to defend Rhaenyra.

“He’s created a mess, and now the king must put an end to it. Send fleets and men to clear the Triarchy for good,” said the only lady alpha in the group, her tone indignant.

“But the crown is not at war,” Rhaenyra replied, a smirk of amusement crossing her face.

“The crown is at war, princess. Though your father refuses to admit it, we’ve been dragged into it by your uncle and the Sea Snake,” she responded proudly, making Rhaenyra’s irritation flare. How dare she speak of her omega like that?

“And how have you served the realm as of late, Lady Redwyne? By eating cake?” Rhaenyra glared at the group before turning and leaving the tent.

“I wonder, princess, was your own second name day as grand as this?” A voice asked from nearby. She turned and found one of the Lannister twins watching her.

“I honestly don’t recall, and neither will Aemond,” she replied with an awkward smile, her gaze shifting to the large fire pit ahead.

The lion approached her, giving a slight bow. “Lord Jason Lannister.”

“I gathered that from all the lions,” she replied, clasping her hands and trying to contain her irritation.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” Jason snapped at a server who brought two cups of wine.

“Your twin serves on my father’s council,” she said, watching the servant pour the wine.

Jason took both cups, handing one to her. “Tyland is frightfully dull, gods love him. But here—you’ll find this is the finest honeyed wine you’ll ever taste, made in Lannisport.”

“Of course,” she murmured, taking a sip while turning her head to roll her eyes, wishing the conversation would end.

“The Kingswood is a fine hunting ground, but the best is at Casterly Rock, near my home. Have you been?” Jason asked, hopeful.

“Once, on tour with my mother and uncle when I was young, but I can’t recall much,” Rhaenyra replied politely, though eager to walk away from the boasting alpha.

“The Rock is thrice the size of the Hightower in Old Town and taller than the Wall in the North,” he continued, reaching out to place his hands on her shoulders and turning her toward the distance. “On a perfect day, one could see clear across the Sunset Sea.”

“It must be quite something.”

“I don’t have a Dragonpit, but I have the means and resources to build one,” Jason said from behind her.

“Why would you need a Dragonpit?” she asked, turning back to face him.

“To house dragons, of course.” His gaze intensified. “I’d do anything for my queen—or lady wife.”

Rhaenyra forced a smile, extending her wine cup back to him. “Thank you for the wine.” She swiftly made her way back to the main tent, determined to have words with whoever had encouraged the Lannister’s boldness.

Once inside, she went straight to her father, who was speaking with Lord Strong. She didn’t wait to interrupt. “Is that what I am to you? A prize to dangle before the great houses?”

Viserys turned, but she glared, her anger unmistakable. “You��re of age now. Jason Lannister is an excellent match.”

“He’s arrogant and self-serious.”

“Well, I thought you might have that in common,” he replied. Her scent grew stronger, alerting everyone nearby to her rising fury. “Since you came of age, I’ve been drowning in marriage proposals from every corner of the realm, and I’ve tried to discuss it with you, but you’ve refused me each time.”

“That’s because I do not wish to marry,” she replied, the unspoken reason hanging between them. Both alphas knew it, though Viserys refused to acknowledge the truth.

“Even I do not exist above tradition and duty, Rhaenyra!” he snapped.

“It’s just—”

“Excuse me, your grace,” Otto Hightower interjected, bringing the argument to a halt as both Targaryens turned to look at him.

Rhaenyra was fuming, her scent thickening the air inside the tent. Unable to contain her anger, she let out a low growl before turning on her heel and storming outside. She went straight to the horses, and, making sure no one was watching, mounted one. With a nudge of her heels, the horse took off toward the Kingswood.

Voices and hoofbeats echoed behind her as her sworn swords called out, but she ignored them, urging her horse faster. Ser Criston Cole quickly caught up, reaching in front of her to rein in her horse.

“What happened back there?” he asked, once both horses slowed to a stop near a clearing.

“My father is trying to sell me off to Jason Lannister,” she answered, her anger simmering again. “Was I named heir to the Iron Throne just to increase the standing of some Lord of Casterly Rock?”

“Would you like me to kill him?” her sworn sword asked dryly, eyes ahead.

Rhaenyra looked at him incredulously, then burst into laughter, and he joined in. As their laughter faded, she gazed into the clearing. The peaceful scene reminded her of Runestone, of her time there with Daemon and Baelon, especially that one day they’d spent the whole day swimming and eating near a lake the omega had found some ways away from the castle. 

—————————————

Three-year-old Baelon laughed joyously as his omega mother held his hands, helping him stay upright as he splashed his bare feet in the shallow water. Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at the sweet scene. The 14-year-old alpha sat on a blanket they had laid out on the grass, keeping their clothes from getting dirty. She had been hesitant to come here at first, as Daemon was still recovering, but he had insisted, and she found she couldn’t refuse him. They had sneaked out without telling anyone, not even Ser Luthor, which now seemed like a very bad idea.

Daemon seemed fine for now; he hadn’t broken down or shed tears all day. He was playing and laughing with Baelon, but Rhaenyra remained on edge. She knew Daemon’s pain always resurfaced eventually. As strong as he was, perhaps the strongest omega she knew, he was still only human. He liked to pretend he wasn’t affected, but she knew better.

As she admired him, a habit she’d had since she was young, Rhaenyra noticed his smile slowly fade. His gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, his grip on Baelon’s hands loosening. What alarmed her most was the sudden, sharp scent of burnt sugar and cherries that reached her. Taking that as her cue, Rhaenyra rose and approached them. Baelon, sensing his mother’s change, looked up at him with teary eyes. Gently, she pulled the younger alpha away from his frozen mother. The child didn’t protest, though he kept his gaze on Daemon.

“Alyssa…” she heard Daemon whisper, his gaze distant. “Alyssa! Rhaenyra, she’s there…she’s–she needs my help, she’s just a child! She can’t swim!” He looked at her briefly before staring out into the clearing and began walking into it.

Rhaenyra’s heart raced as she watched Daemon wade further into the lake. “Kepus! Daemon! Stop! Daemon!” she shouted, desperate to break through his trance. She kneeled in front of Baelon, “Stay here, all right? Stay here,” before turning and sprinting after Daemon.

She ran into the lake, uncaring of her dress becoming soaked. Daemon was still calling for his deceased daughter, moving deeper into the water. She managed to reach him before he went too far, beyond her grasp. Summoning strength she didn’t know she had, Rhaenyra pulled him back toward the shore. He resisted at first but eventually went limp in her arms, letting her drag him onto the grass. She quickly looked him over, making sure he wasn’t injured.

“Daemon…please, talk to me,” she whispered, stroking his hair as he gazed blankly into the distance. She could hear Baelon crying nearby but couldn’t take her eyes off her uncle. “Daemon…” His silence terrified her.

“Prince Daemon! Prince Baelon! Princess Rhaenyra!” a loud voice called from the woods. Rhaenyra’s head snapped up, recognizing it.

“Ser Luthor! We’re here!”

“Princess? Where—” The guard emerged from the thick trees, Elinda close behind him. “Prince Daemon!” Ser Luthor hurried over, kneeling next to her as he looked at Daemon. “What happened?”

She saw Elinda scoop up a sobbing Baelon. “I don’t know! He was fine, and then suddenly he started screaming and calling for his daughter—I just—”

“Ser Luthor! You have to help her! Please! She’s only a baby, she—” Daemon sat up, grabbing the male alpha’s arms, his eyes desperate.

“My Prince, please calm down,” Ser Luthor soothed, gently holding his upper arms.

“Rhaenyra!” Daemon cried, looking at her. “She was—I saw her…”

“She’s not there, Kepus,” Rhaenyra said softly, moving closer to him and gently stroking his cheek. “She’s gone.”

His face crumpled, tears spilling over. Swiftly, she brought her hand to the back of his neck, pulling him close to let him breathe in her scent. She felt him relax as his scent returned to its usual notes of sweet cherries and wildflowers. She kissed his head, running her fingers through his hair as she looked out over the clearing, finally letting out a sigh of relief.

—————————————

Night fell, yet there was no sign of Rhaenyra or Ser Criston Cole. Viserys was restless, but Otto Hightower reassured him that she was safe with the Kingsguard at her side. Morning arrived, and the royal family broke their fast alongside their guests, but still, there was no sign of the princess. It wasn’t until midday, as the royals dined outside, watching knights and lords training on the field, that Rhaenyra and Ser Criston appeared.

The alpha princess emerged from the Kingswood on horseback, the left side of her face and neck smeared with blood, her once-silver hair streaked crimson. Beside her, Ser Criston rode close, their horses dragging a wooden contraption bearing a dead boar. The encampment fell silent, whispers and gasps rippling through the crowd as all eyes turned toward them.

Rhaenyra dismounted, a crowd quickly gathering around. She strode confidently toward her tent, hands behind her back. Along the way, her gaze met that of Lord Strong’s son, who smiled as he skinned a rabbit. She looked away, continuing her path and sparing only a glance at her father and Alicent before finally disappearing into her tent.

—————————————

Rhaenyra entered the council room after being summoned by her father. As she stepped inside, she caught the last part of a conversation between Viserys and a messenger boy.

“Make haste to Dwarfstone, Ser Addam. Deliver this to Prince Daemon yourself,” her father instructed.

“At once, Your Grace.”

“Dwarfstone?” she asked, moving closer.

“I’m sending word to Daemon. Aid is sailing to the Stepstones,” the King replied, leaning his hands on the large council table.

“Did he call for help?” Rhaenyra asked, worry pooling in her stomach at the thought her uncle might be hurt.

“He would sooner die,” Viserys replied with a small smile, “but his king does not intend to allow that.” She stared at him briefly before taking the Hand’s usual chair.

“Do you not think my decision correct?” her father asked, a trace of irritation in his tone.

“It seems not to matter what I think… as I’m often reminded,” she replied sharply. Rhaenyra knew she was being difficult, but after all her father had done in recent years, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Viserys sighed, looking down, dejected. “Daemon is thorn enough in my flesh. Must you insist on taking after him?” She looked away, unable to suppress a small smile. “Must everything be a battle?”

“If you refer to your attempt to marry me off to Casterly Rock,” she retorted, shaking her head.

The King sighed again, bowing his head. “I am sorry, Rhaenyra. I was trying to help you. Will you not be helped? Why must every effort on your behalf be resisted as if to the death?”

“Because you mean to replace me… with Alicent Hightower’s first son, the alpha boy you always wanted.” Though not the whole truth, it was one reason. The other was far away, fighting a war that wasn’t his to begin with. “You have him now, and no further use for me. You may as well peddle me for what you can—a mountain stronghold, or a fleet of ships.” Even as an alpha, she knew that as a woman, a man would always be given precedence.

Viserys watched her silently. “You misjudge me, Rhaenyra.”

“All know it,” she breathed out. “Jason Lannister knows it. You said it yourself—the lords of the realm gather like vultures, hoping to feast on my bones.”

“I do not seek to replace you, child,” her father said softly, leaning closer. “You have been so much alone these last few years—alone and angry,” he said, his voice rising with emotion, his scent spiking with a hint of frustration. “I will not live forever. I wish to see you contented. Happy, even.”

“You think a man would do it?” she asked, feeling tears welling up. Only one man could ever make her happy, yet he was far away, forbidden.

“A family.”

“I had a family,” she replied, chuckling in disbelief. “I had a mother and a loving uncle, and you sent them both away. One more permanently than the other,” she added in a whisper.

“What would you have me do?” The King’s voice rose, his gaze expectant. He sighed when she didn’t answer. “You must marry, strengthen your claim, grow your line.” He walked over to stand beside her, looking down. “As to your match… make it yourself. Find one who pleases you, as I did.”

At his words, Rhaenyra glanced up in surprise. She knew her uncle would always be the exception to her father’s approval, yet she couldn’t help a glimmer of hope. Even though Daemon was now a widower and she was of age, she knew her father would never approve of their union. Still, her alpha stirred excitedly at the thought of finally marrying and claiming him. Tears of unexpected joy filled her eyes, and she smiled up at her father before rising and heading toward the door.

“Rhaenyra…” she paused and turned back. “I did waver, at one time. But I swear to you now, on your mother’s memory, you will not be supplanted.”

Rhaenyra held her father’s gaze for a moment, feeling a hint of hurt at his admission. She gave a slight nod, acknowledging his words, then turned and left, leaving him alone in the council room.

—————————————

"...our food dwindles quickly, save for what we can fish from the sea. I would say we have a fortnight’s supply, perhaps a bit more with strict rationing,” Lord Corlys informed his brother and children as they gathered around the sand table. “I’ve called on Driftmark to send more ships, but they are still weeks away. We are faltering, and the Triarchy knows it. We must press the attack and continue sending the dragons,” the beta proclaimed emphatically.

“It’s pointless, Father,” Laena interjected, moving one of the figurines on the table. “The Crabfeeder has created a choke point here, beyond these dunes. Archers hold the high positions, foot soldiers hold the ground,” she said, adjusting another figurine. “We strike them on dragonback again and again, but they just retreat into the caves,” the female alpha added.

“Dragons could circle Bloodstone until they fall from the sky, and still the Crabfeeder and his men would have no reason to leave those caves,” Vaemond Velaryon remarked, looking at his younger brother.

“Then we must give them one,” Laenor interjected. “An offering of flesh to bait the crab.”

“Who?” Corlys asked, turning to his son.

At that moment, a soldier announced the approach of a dragon. The Blood Wyrm’s shriek sounded in the distance before it came into view, landing gracefully on a small mound near the camp.

“Yes, who?” Vaemond asked, glancing around. “Which man here would happily march to his death? Show me the knight who would go into that hell pit, nephew, and I will show you a madman.”

“Daemon,” Laenor replied without hesitation.

“Daemon is why we are losing!” the elder alpha snapped.

“At least he is fighting this war,” Laena interjected, her anger evident as she defended the omega. “What role have you played on this council, Uncle, other than as master of complaints?”

“Enough, Laena!” Corlys reprimanded her.

“If King’s Landing won’t support Daemon, why should any of us?” Vaemond shouted, turning to the soldiers around them. They could see Daemon descending from the mound, clad in his black armor.

Corlys grabbed his brother’s arm. “Blood or not, Vaemond, I will not have you stoke mutiny,” he warned through gritted teeth.

“If you do not seize control of this war, my lord, the crabs will soon dine on all of us,” Vaemond said to his brother.

Daemon approached the small council, removing his gloves and helmet and setting them on the table. He turned and leaned on it, looking out into the crowd of soldiers as silence settled over the camp. The stillness was interrupted only by the sound of approaching footsteps.

A group of messengers from King’s Landing arrived, halting a few paces from the council. “Prince Daemon,” the lead messenger began, “I bring word from His Grace, Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” The beta stepped forward, offering a sealed parchment to the omega. 

Daemon stared at him briefly before taking the letter and carelessly opening it, reading its contents. 

Brother, 

I have ordered ten ships and two thousand men to set sail from King’s Landing, to join the efforts in the Stepstones. Though time and circumstance have seemed estranged, know that it is not my desire to see you fail in your cause. I shall pray nightly to the gods for your and Baelon’s safe return.

Daemon felt anger surge through him. After three years of silence, his brother now intended to swoop in to claim the spoils of a war he had not fought. The omega had joined the Sea Snake’s campaign to prove his own strength—to show that becoming a mother had not made him weak. For three years, he had suppressed his urge to see his son, only exchanging letters occasionally. Now, his brother’s gesture felt like an insult, a humiliation Daemon would not allow. He would rather die.

Daemon handed the parchment back to the messenger with a smirk. Turning to the council table, he grasped his heavy helmet, then swung it without warning at the messenger, striking him hard. His anger unleashed, he kept swinging until the alphas and betas around him wrestled him back, restraining his shoulders and pushing him away.

He threw a glance at the scrambling men before turning and heading down the hill toward his tent. Footsteps approached, and he caught the faint, earthy scent he knew well. Smiling, he stepped inside his tent and went to sit on the small bed in the corner. Laena Velaryon followed him in.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re nearly as pretty as your brother?” Daemon asked, smirking.

“Well, you flatter me, my prince,” she teased, moving forward and sitting beside him on the bed.

Laena reached out, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. Their eyes met, and tension filled the tent. Daemon wasn’t sure who gave in first, but soon he was naked beneath her, moaning freely, uncaring who might overhear.

This wasn’t the first time they’d been together. It had started a month ago after an especially difficult day of heavy losses. With his heat approaching, Daemon had relied on moon tea, supplied by Corlys himself, to suppress it. But after experiencing unusual weakness, a field maester had banned him from taking more. The plan had been for Daemon to hide in the farthest tent and endure it alone, with beta guards posted outside. Yet when his heat struck unexpectedly hard, the maester declared that an alpha’s presence was necessary. Laena, whose scent was the only one that didn’t agitate his omega, had offered to help.

He couldn’t remember much from that day, but he did recall Laena’s self-restraint—something that surprised him, given her 23 name days. They had since made a habit of taking out their frustrations on each other. Though he knew they hadn’t always been the most careful, especially during his heat, he had noticed none of the usual symptoms, he was sure he was not with child–or at least that’s what he hoped for.

—————————————

Daemon stepped off the boat, carelessly throwing the paddles to the ground. He advanced alone across the smoking battlefield, scanning for any sign of the enemy. None of the Crabfeeder’s men had yet emerged from their hiding places. He continued forward, working to control his scent, making it sweeter than usual. Along the way, he grabbed a wooden spear buried in the sand and ripped a sail off a fallen ship, fashioning a makeshift white flag. Climbing a small mound, he held the flag high and waved it.

He soon noticed movement near the cave entrances—some of the Crabfeeder’s men were emerging cautiously. Overhead, he glimpsed archers, their arrows at the ready. The ground soldiers moved closer to him, slowly at first, until his sweetened scent reached them, hastening their pace. Daemon planted the makeshift flag in the sand, then unsheathed Dark Sister, bending one knee and presenting the sword as if in surrender, head slightly lowered in submission.

One soldier stepped forward, reaching for the sword. At that moment, Daemon whipped out a hidden dagger from his belt and swiftly stabbed the alpha in front of him. The man’s scream alerted the others, and Daemon quickly reclaimed Dark Sister as they rushed toward him. He cut through the attackers before they could mount a proper defense. Spotting a rain of arrows overhead, he ducked behind a broken wagon, shielding himself as the arrows landed all around.

Taking advantage of the archers' reload time, Daemon pressed on toward the Crabfeeder. He slashed through soldiers in his path, narrowly avoiding arrows as he advanced. His objective was clear—he would kill the Crabfeeder, even if it was his last act. His legs burned, and his wounds throbbed, but he pressed on. Just as he slit the throat of another alpha, an arrow pierced his knee. He fell, gritting his teeth in pain, as more arrows struck his shoulder and side.

Groaning, he yanked the arrow from his knee and dragged himself beneath the wooden carcass of an abandoned ship as arrows thudded above. He gritted his teeth, pulling out the arrows from his shoulder and side, but the pain was nearly unbearable. He heard the rapid approach of footsteps, and despair set in. But then an image of Baelon flickered in his mind—his son, his reason to live. He thought of what would be of his son if he died, who would take him in? Would they treat him right? Would he be angry at him for leaving him alone? The loud footsteps of the approaching army brought him back. He couldn't die here, not now. With renewed determination, he grasped Dark Sister and staggered to his feet, limping out from under the ship’s remains.

With newfound strength, Daemon grabbed Dark Sister before standing up and slightly limping out of the ship carcass. He looked around sizing up the men surrounding him. In the distance, he heard Corlys’ army finally arriving and with a war cry running to aid the omega. Several men were still surrounding him, but before the soldiers could attack, the sound of wings tore through the air.

“Dracarys!” Laenor commanded, and Seasmoke unleashed a wave of fire, incinerating the men around Daemon and throwing him back with the force.

Seasmoke turned to torch the archers as Corlys’s army cut down the survivors. The dragon swooped in, slashing with its claws and blasting others with flame. Daemon spotted the Crabfeeder retreating into the caves and felt adrenaline surge. Tightening his grip on Dark Sister, he pursued.

Corlys cleaved through another man with his battle axe, then looked around for the Targaryen prince. He saw Daemon sprinting toward the cave entrance, possessed with single-minded determination. Praying that Daemon wouldn’t do anything reckless, Corlys turned back to the battle, dispatching foes with ease. Soon, it became clear that the enemy had been unprepared for the onslaught. They were outmatched and quickly dispatched.

With the battlefield cleared, the soldiers noticed a figure emerging from the caves, dragging something behind. As Daemon drew closer, they recognized him, battered and bloodied, hauling half of the Crabfeeder’s body, its intestines trailing gruesomely behind. The alphas and betas stood stunned, absorbing the sight. The omega’s face was covered in blood, his once-silver hair streaked crimson. He stopped a few paces from the army, letting the body drop as he stood, breathing heavily, and stared directly at Corlys. The beta exhaled, nodding slightly with a faint smile. They had finally won the war.

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[pastexistence]

Nādrēsy hen Lys - Chapter 15

Summary: After waking to learn the news of King Viserys' death, Valyda makes a desperate bid to escape King's Landing. But her attempt to recover Mekkara from the dragonpit proves more than she bargained for when Rhaenys strikes the first blow against Aegon's new reign.

Wrapped in a roughspun cloak, the hood pulled down low over her face, Valyda slipped wordlessly through the secret passages that wormed their way through the Red Keep, the knight at her front, Princess Rhaenys on her heels. The halls were dark, so much so that she could scarcely see the walls that bracketed them on either side, the three of them only daring to light a torch when they needed to descend the narrow stone stairs, shuffling in single file towards the exit.  The tunnel opened out onto the courtyard, the tiled ground illuminated with ripples of golden light as the torches reflected off the spattering of rainwater that had fallen earlier. Peering out to ensure no one was around, the Kingsguard ushered them forward, Rhaenys pressing a comforting hand to her back as they slipped out into the open. “What is your name, sir?” Valyda whispered, voice barely audible over the constant drip drip drip of water falling from the rooftops.  “Erryk Cargyll, Your Highness,” He uttered, eyes never meeting hers as he scanned their surroundings, hand firmly planted on the hilt of his sword, ready to defend them against anyone who would seek to raise the alarm. Valyda’s years as a spy for her mother had prepared her well for a night such as this, her footsteps skirting around puddles and across the damp tiles without a sound - but at the sight before her, she hesitated, stepping into the water with a splash. 

Tags: @darkwolf76

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[aemonds-sapphire]

Riding Dragons

Summary: Aemond wishes for you to meet Vhagar, but ends up showing you that riding two dragons is far better than riding just one.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW. Cumplay. Dry humping. Pussy slide. Aemond is very needy.

A/N: This is rather long, but bear with me. I got carried away and had to end it in a blast. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 4k

“Parading your whore, brother?”

Prince Aegon voiced his mocking tone as he crossed paths with you, effectively sending chills down your spine.

One might assume that years of service to House Targaryen and Princess Helaena bore enough weight to warrant the respect from the King’s firstborn son.

But what Prince Aegon lacked in manners and honour, he certainly made up in disregard of others.

You voiced no complaint. In truth, responding to such accusation would just trigger the future King, and you fully intended on keeping your head attached to the rest of your body for many years to come.

Prince Aemond paced calmly in front of you, paying no mind to his brother’s remark.

That, undoubtedly, merely served to entice Aegon as he charged once more. “I will take your silence as admission.”

Aemond’s feet came to a halt.

“You must be referring to yourself, brother,” he said, turning to face him.

Aegon’s obnoxious laugh was now heard from a distance as he hurriedly made his way up a flight of stairs. As expected. He was a fool, but not to the extent of believing he could take overtake his younger brother should things escalate.

“Me? I don’t parade my whores.”

“Precisely,” Aemond replied as coldly as humanely possible, one hand resting atop the pommel of his sword as a silent warning. “You have whores. I do not.”

“Perhaps you should,” he called out from the balcony. “Indulge in the pleasures of life, brother. People wouldn’t think of you as so… tedious.”

“I don’t give a shit about what people think, least of all you,” Aemond’s grip on the hilt was such his knuckles turned white. “Now leave us be as you proceed to disgrace the name of this family even more with your irresponsible deeds.”

“Be a proper lady-in-waiting, will you?” Aegon’s head turned to face you, laughing. “Use what you have between your legs to please my brother.”

In half a heartbeat, Aemond had drawn his sword and was striding hastily to meet Aegon.

“Prince Aemond.”

Ser Criston Cole had entered the courtyard, flanked by two members of the Kingsguard.

He was no stranger to Aegon and Aemond’s recurring conflicts, and as he owed his allegiance to their mother, Queen Alicent, it was his imperative duty to prevent bloodshed between her two sons.

Aemond stood motionless, glaring up at his brother who waved his hand teasingly.

The way you saw it, Aegon was purely fortunate that Ser Criston had showed up before Aemond got to him.

Sheathing his sword back into place, Aemond motioned for you to follow him, and you promptly picked up the pace to join his side.

“Do enjoy yourselves!” Aegon’s taunt was faintly heard behind as both of you exited through a massive wooden door.

Finally out of sight, you heaved a deep sigh that didn’t go unnoticed by Aemond.

"Do you think Aegon knows about us?"

Aemond's face hardened. "You give him too much credit."

He'd often said the only thing Aegon had going for him was his name. But unlike their ancestor, he was no conqueror.

“Pay no mind to that fool,” he said, guiding you through the road that led to Dragonpit.

“Of course, Prince Aemond.”

He turned his head to you, studying your face for a moment. “Drop the formalities.”

Easier said than done.

But you welcomed his request.

Prince Aemond had a questionable reputation across all of King’s Landing. He wasn’t particularly charismatic, avoided entering tourneys even though he was an esteemed fighter, and, most importantly, he wasn’t next in line to the throne.

But to you, all of that was trivial.

He had taken a liking to you over the last few months.

Even so, you had been conditioned early on in life that a woman in your position could not hope for much.

Having exchanged intimacies with the Prince had done wonders to your ego, but, deep down, you knew it was but a fleeting occurrence.

No one knew of this, and you intended to keep it that way. Prince Aegon’s earlier suggestion made you wonder whether or not he had his suspicions, or if it was simply him trying to get a reaction out of his brother.

Obviously, you wished that you could have Aemond groaning for you whenever possible. Yes, you found bliss in being pressed against a wall while having Aemond Targaryen relentlessly grinding into you through your dress. The stolen kisses and touches under dinner tables. It was all very enticing and you ended up realising over time that you craved his undivided attention.

You had long lost your dignity to another man before coming to court, and it often crossed your mind what was preventing Aemond from fully taking you.

Perhaps he didn’t find you that alluring. Maybe he’d find release elsewhere with far more enticing women.

Or perhaps he was waiting for the right time.

You fancied the latter possibility better, but couldn’t deceive yourself into thinking these encounters would ever be more fruitful.

After all, you were but a modest lady-in-waiting.

He rode the largest dragon alive.

You two were not the same.

“What’s on your mind?” Aemond shook you from your thoughts as you approached the steps leading up to Dragonpit.

“That maybe I’ll regret this,” you let out a nervous chuckle.

“It’s an honour to be in the presence of a dragon such as Vhagar,” he said pleasantly. “She has been flying these skies for a long, long time.”

You’d seen princess Helaena’s dragon, Dreamfyre, up close several times already. However, Vhagar would rarely make a descent into King’s Landing unless to meet her rider as she had outgrown Dragonpit.

Aemond took pride in having bonded with her. He had proved many that he was worthy of being named a dragonrider.

As you reached the top of the wide steps, two dragonkeepers walked in your direction.

Aemond lifted one hand and they exchanged greetings in High Valyrian. He proceeded to remove his swordbelt, handing it to them.

It was very much clear that they deeply respected the young prince.

“Vhagar jāhor sagon kesīr aderī,” the older one said to Aemond.

The younger dragonkeeper cleared his throat and turned to face you. “Vhagar will be here soon.”

You offered a warm smile as he so kindly translated the information.

Aemond was now facing you, examining the length of your body with his eye.

“You will need gloves,” he said, grazing your attire with curious hands. “This cloak is too thin. Riding in this wind will have you freeze in no time.”

“Princess Helaena lent me her gloves, but I forgot to bring them,” you admitted as his fingers removed the pin that held the cloak around you.

Being this close to Aemond was sure to have your heart thumping hard, but you knew better than to transpire how much you yearned for his touch.

The two men beside you simply stood still, in silence, their faces not revealing whatever thoughts they might have on the current situation.

Aemond’s touch lingered when he inspected your attire, making sure you were decent enough to withstand the flight.

“You’ll have my cloak and gloves, then,” he finally spoke.

You shook your head immediately. “I cannot accept, Prince Aemond.”

“It’s not up for debate,” he smiled briefly.

He handed you his large gloves, but took it upon himself to swing the cloak around your body, enveloping you in his warmth.

You swallowed hard.

Having his fingers on you immediately set a wave of chills to spread across your skin.

And he’d noticed.

“You’re flushed,” his voice was but a whisper and he leaned closer. “It makes me want to devour you.”

But before you could begin to process his words, a sudden movement of air had your eyes flutter shit as you , held on to the cloak tightly securing it around you.

Through half-lidded eyes you were able to make out the outline of a massive pair of wings attached to the long body of Vhagar, whose size tripled by the time she made the full descent onto the ground of Dragonpit.

You were visibly shaking, rooted in place as the majestic animal’s roar tore the air like thunderstorm.

Both dragonkeepers rushed to her, reciting a few words in High Valyrian in the hopes of reining her in.

However, they did not share the bond Aemond shared with her.

“Are you ready?”

“No!”

Aemond furrowed his brows, taking your hand in his. “You have to trust me.”

Apprehension took a hold of you, and you struggled to keep up with Aemond’s pace.

“What if she attacks me?” You blurted out, immediately regretting having spoken such words.

“Well, that will depend.”

You kept getting closer and closer to Vhagar.

The urge to tug at his hand to have him let go of you was overwhelming you. “On what?”

Aemond came to a halt and placed both hands on your shoulders.

“Do you wish to hurt me?”

“No!” You immediately said, feeling slightly insulted that he would even utter such nonsense.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

He gave you a gentle encouraging squeeze before turning to meet his esteemed companion whose nostrils flared loudly with impatience.

Patting the scaled neck, Aemond brought your hand to meet his. "Lykirī, Vhagar... lykirī," he whispered soothingly as if speaking to a lover.

The hardened skin beneath your gloved hand rumbled lightly, causing you to jolt back, but Aemond ensured you would not break contact.

You had no way of understanding whether or not the old dragon was pleased to have your touch, but considering you were still in one piece, relief soon washed over you.

Vhagar lowered her body just enough him to haul himself up onto the saddle with elegance that only years of practice could grant.

"Give me your hand."

He tossed the reins to you, and you tried your best to mimic his climb up the dragon. It was no easy feat, and Vhagar nearly had you slip and fall if not for Aemond's commands.

"Dohaerās, Vhagar!" his voice was now firm as he leaned to the side, extending one arm to pull you up. "Lykirī, Vhagar..."

By the time you managed to swing your leg over the saddle, your entire body trembled from the thrilling experience. Aemond wrapped one arm around your waist after adjusting your cloak, securing you close to him.

"Grip this," he breathed in your ear, guiding you to wrap your fingers on the two horns that sprung upright the saddle. "Hold on tight."

He then tugged at the reins and voiced, "Sōvēs."

Vhagar extended both wings and with a force that could tear down entire cities, she took the the sky, whipping the air around, and leaving behind a hurricane of dust that nearly knocked down the two dragonkeepers standing in close proximity.

You felt Aemond's arm around you tighten lightly, and you couldn't help but to be crushed into his body as the wind weighed you down.

Vhagar struggled to regain balance when Aemond jerked the reins to have her fly parallel to King's Landing. You took the opportunity to gaze at the city down below as, with each swing of her wings, it turned into nothing but a conglomerate of colours that you couldn't make out in the distance.

Not long after, you heard Aemond laughing loudly, the sound muffled by the grazing wind.

Even though you tried your best to enjoy this novelty, it was hard to do so as your insides were being hurled around, and you feared you'd be sick.

"Aemond... I..."

Another chuckle from him. "I know the feeling. Try to keep it down."

He was thoroughly enjoying this, but you couldn't share the sentiment, and were extremely grateful once you felt the massive beast you sat on plunged into a steep descent towards a nearby mountain top.

Freezing air licked at your skin and you could only thank the gods that Aemond had the strength to keep you in place, because you were definitely not suited for this.

Vhagar sank steadily until her hind legs came into contact with a flat plane of rock.

You were hurled forward from the impact nearly spilled the contents of your stomach right there and then.

"Can we go back by foot..."

Aemond dropped his arm from around you and pressed an unexpected kiss to the back of your head, drawing a smile from you.

“You did well.”

Vhagar, on the other hand, had made it evident that she was growing impatient with low growls rumbling across her body, causing mild earthquakes beneath you.

Aemond took notice and was slid down the saddle, landing perfectly on both feet. “We overstayed our welcome.”

“What…”

The old dragon ruffled its scales rapidly, shooting concern into your veins.

“Lykirī, Vhagar…” Aemond calmly whispered, patting her neck.

Even though it did cause some of her restlessness to waver, you said as panic took over, “Can I come down now?”

Aemond nodded, raising both arms. “Jump.”

You hesitated for a moment, but placed your trust on him. Swinging your leg over the saddle, you leapt down into his embrace with a loud yelp.

Strong hands absorbed the impact as he carefully lowered you until your feet touched the ground.

Your heart fluttered once more. Over the course of the last months, you’d lost count of the many times Aemond Targaryen was able to bring you comfort.

Before you could make the most of the proximity, Vhagar broke the silence with a massive roar that had the ground shake violently as she hurled her massive wings into the sky, mustering powerful whirlwinds that enveloped both of you.

The mighty beast soared higher and higher, until she was barely detectable against the beaming sun.

“Is she upset?”

Aemond was still glaring into the clear Summer sky. “Dragons are not ours to order around. Bending their will to ours is challenging.”

You weren’t sure of what to say, so you merely listened to what he had to say.

“Allowing me to be her rider is an honour unmatched,” he said, pride coating his words.

Who would have suspected that Prince Aemond who was dragonless until his 10th name day, would one day claim the largest dragon alive in Westoros.

You looked ahead where the rocky hillside subdued into a a patch of meadow, right by a precipice.

Cautious steps brought you near the edge across the soft rug of grass, as you overlooked the breathtaking scenery sprawling in waves of green and yellow as far as the eye could see. To your right, stood King’s Landing, tainting your vision, suddenly feeling out of place as Blackwater Bay edged its borders.

Wonder nearly left you speechless. “Beautiful.”

Suddenly, you felt Aemond standing behind you. “Yes. Yes, you are,” he whispered, pressing hot lips to the side of you neck.

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls you bring here.”

He chuckled into your skin. “Not idly do I allow others to ride my dragon.”

Aemond unclasped the cloak, letting it pool around your feet.

“Why me, then?” you asked abruptly, shivering as the cool breeze circled you.

Expert fingers tugged the fabric covering your shoulder, allowing his lips to caress you.

“We both agree on what this is,” he mumbled, bringing his hand to undo the buttons of your shirt.

“And what is this, my prince?” you had to bite back a gasp once he jerked the fabric open, exposing your breasts.

Aemond paused and watched as the coolness effectively hardened your nipples.

“Bliss,” he purred sweetly, fingers gently caressing your breasts. “You have such a hold on me.

You scoffed. "Then why do you not desire me?"

He moved your hand in between the two of you, granting you access to his hardened cock.

And just like that, your knees trembled when he rolled into your touch. "Do not dare question my desire for you."

As much as you'd love to trust his words, you wanted to further press this matter.

You gently caressed him through his pants. "You will eat me... kiss me... lick me... but you won't..." a gentle squeeze earning the most enticing moan you had ever heard from him. "... fuck me."

His jaw was resting on your shoulder as he eagerly sped up his thrusts.

"If I do that... I won't be able to go back," he groaned, yearning for your touch. "I will have to claim you."

The rawness of it had you clenching around nothing, nearly groaning at how alluring he could be.

"Please do."

Aemond removed your shirt, suckling gently at each nipple before moving to your riding pants, which he quickly removed, combining them into a pile nearby.

You stood completely naked in front of him.

Even though pleasure had been clouding your judgement, you said, "We're going to do it here?"

He was kneeling in front of you, looking up to meet your gaze, and that's when you knew you were doomed.

"Ride me," he whispered seductively, sitting on the pile of clothes he'd previously tossed to the ground.

You caressed his handsome face, letting your fingers linger on his eyepatch. "Remove your coat, then."

But Aemond aimed to please at all times, and not only did he remove the leather coat but also the shirt underneath, exposing his bare torso. Short and thin silver hair ran down his navel, disappearing inside his leather pants.

He'd always be able to take your breath away with how captivating he was. All of him.

And he was yours for the taking.

You approached him and planted a single kiss on one perky nipple before wrapping your lips around it. Aemond flinched lightly when you grazed your teeth in between suckles.

He brought his thumb to caress your cheek as you sucked on him eagerly.

"You do love using your mouth, don't you?"

Humming and setting your eyes on him, you bit down gently, earning a gasp from the young prince.

Aemond chuckled, pushing you off him, only to drop to the group, sitting on soft surface.

"Come."

He leaned back, propping himself up on both elbows, set on keeping his pants on.

You did as told, and straddled him.

Reflexively, you started gliding your folds along his covered cock, yearning for more and more friction.

"Now, my sweet lady..." he said in a dangerously low voice. "Lean back."

Your voice cracked. "What?"

Aemond held a mischievous grin. "Lean back."

"Why?"

You brought your hands to rest on his muscular chest for support.

"Do as I say," he insisted, his eye fixed on you. "You will enjoy it."

Truth be told, you had no doubt that you would, which was why you settled for doing exactly as told, leaning back and gripping his thighs with both hands to keep your balance.

Aemond took his sweet time admiring your body, from top to bottom, only to have his eye linger on your folds.

"Let me see it."

The way his words came out in such a velvety delight had your heartbeat quicken as a gush of wetness poured out of you as your pussy involuntarily clenched.

Having such a handsome man literally at your mercy felt more empowering than you have ever expected.

You felt his cock twitch underneath you when you had your other hand release the grip on his thigh to join your other. Once two of your fingers had spread your folds, a low growl came from his throat and his hips jerked up.

"So swollen..." he said, licking his lips in pure hunger. "And wet..."

You did’t need to look down to come to that same conclusion; you could feel the fabric of his sweatpants drenched in all of your wetness. Realizing that this was turning you on far more than intended, you locked your two fingers in a v shape and began sliding them along your folds, barely stroking your clit.

That was enough to get a more fiery reaction from him.

Aemond had one hand tugging at the waistband of his pants to relief some pressure on his cock.

"Aemond..." you started, stopping your fingers from moving. "What are you—"

He bit his lower lip for a second, as if pondering his next move. Then his gorgeous face met yours.

"Just keep them parted."

And just like that, he jerked his hand forward, pressing the two fingers against your clit. The sudden pressure caused you to jolt slightly as you removed your own hand, feeling your pussy lips clamping down on his digits.

"Just like that..." you heard Aemond’s voice come out in heavy pants.

He kept alternating the pressure with which he teased your clit, drawing the most erratic moans from you as sticky sounds started to fill the air around you. Your hands had to grip his thighs tightly to keep yourself steady as each stroke threatened to throw you off balance.

After a few more seconds of intense stimulation, he removed his fingers from your grip.

Nothing in the world could have prepared you for what you witnessed next: the Aemond Targaryen brought the dripping digits to his lips, drinking in your wetness.

He moaned, his hips swaying up and down as you saw him free his cock from his pants, strings of precum spilling onto his lower abdomen. "Delicious..."

"Gods..." you breathed, not believing how much more alluring this man had become before your eyes.

His eye fluttered shut for a brief moment. "You need to taste this."

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his offering. "Aemond..."

He released the his fingers from his mouth and brought downwards to your folds once more, dragging them along your slit to gather a decent amount of wetness. Once he was satisfied with it, he propped himself up with on his elbow.

"Open."

You immediately parted your lips, feeling his fingers slide slowly inside your mouth.

Locking your eyes with his, you enveloped them with your tongue to taste the yourself.

A sudden hiss left his lips as he felt your folds dragging along his length.

He mumbled impatiently. "Ride me."

Even though your mind was hazy from pleasure, you managed to comply with his request and eagerly positioned yourself on his tip.

But then you realised something else. "I think you're... too big."

Aemond's hips jerked up lightly and he groaned as your wetness slid down his length in beads.

"I'll guide you."

It had been quite a long since you had had let a man take you fully, and you worried you wouldn't be able to accommodate his size.

But feeling the tip pressed at your entrance was enough to persuade you.

He gripped your waist with both hands.

"Look down."

Your eyes left his beautiful face only to be met with the mouthwatering sight of his veiny cock slowly being swallowed. The initial stretch had you flinching momentarily, and Aemond halted.

"Set the pace," he huffed, clearly struggling to overcome the pleasure that having your tight walls around him had sparked. "I... can't... you're too tight..."

You could sense he wouldn't last much longer, but were determined to have him balls deep inside you.

Mustering all the courage within you, you sank further, having to bite down on your lip so hard you almost drew blood blood.

Aemond, on the other hand, had his uncovered eye fixed on his cock as it faded inside you.

Your legs hurt from the strain of keeping the balance and steady pace, and once your walls engulfed all of him, you watched in marvel as Aemond brought one hand to up in a fist, sinking his teeth into it with a muffled groaned.

He no longer dared to look at you, shutting his eyes in sheer concentration.

"I want to move..." you moaned teasingly, giving his cock a few trying squeezes.

He shook his head, teeth digging ever deeper into his own skin.

The moment you lifted your hips to have him slide off, he suddenly came to sit upright, gripping your waist and removing you from his cock altogether.

"Already so close, prince Aemond?" you taunted as he dropped onto his back once more.

He frowned deeply, face flushed. "You're too tight... you feel too good."

His words of praise only intensified your hunger for more, so you kept grinding your bare pussy and milking more and more precum from his soaked cock. In no time, a few more beads of clear liquid started to slide down his sides from the constant rhythmic sway of your hips.

"My turn," you let out, bringing your fingers to collect some droplets on his lower abdomen.

Aemond's mouth fell open in utter surprise, eye following your every move. You wrapped your tongue around your digits, tasting the warm liquid. He raised his hips reflexively and let out a couple of deep moans, dragging you along his cock with renewed hunger.

"Want to taste?" You moaned, feeling the familiar coil deep within you tightening from all the stimulation.

You brought your fingers down to his skin once more and coated them, extending your hand to his lips.

"Go on, Prince Aemond," you cooed teasingly. "Taste yourself."

He darted his tongue out, welcoming his own precum that dripped from you. Your hips faltered for a second as your foggy brain focused on the erotic sight in front of you. He greedily sucked on them in between moans and swirls, never breaking eye contact with you.

If not for the overwhelming need for release, you would have done it again, but instead you resumed your strokes along his cock, thankful that his strong hands were able to keep your pace from faltering.

“I'm too close...” he warned in a low tone.

You tried to restrain your moans, but his hips jerking up worked wonderfully to magnify your own delight. “Wait... I’m almost there...”

Your body pressed down against his in a desperate attempt to reach your high. His ripped abdomen flexed with each from you and his hands tightened so hard against your hips that you were sure a few marks would stain your skin afterwards.

“Adere kostilus... faster..." he commanded in between hisses.

The steady pace you both had been able to set completely broke down into ragged jerks of his hips as your folds kept coating him in your wetness. A few more wet sounds and tugs proved to be too overwhelming to dragonrider, causing a guttural growl to escape his gaping mouth.

His body started quivering from intense pleasure as hot spurts of cum shot from his cock, glazing his flushed and sweaty torso with strings of creamy liquid. The turf of silver hair that spread from his navel towards the base oh his cock was completely drenched in a mixture of cum, sweat and precum.

Soon after, Aemond grunted in utmost bliss, sliding one hand to your backside and giving it a loud smack. “Ride me harder...”

Feeling his cock twitch in between your folds and his impressive echoes of pleasure was the last incentive you needed to get pushed over the edge. You plunged into a loud cry that only intensified with each roll of your hips and brush of your clit along his throbbing cock.

“You’re mine... you’re mine... iksā ñuhon,” he mumbled mindlessly.

Your breasts bounced lightly with the rest of your body, and with a few more slaps from his hand on your ass cheek, you came to a stop, clenching around nothing in waves of pleasure. It was too much, and you leaned forward, digging your nails on his slick abdomen, desperate for something to ground you as you peaked high.

You felt both your legs begin violently shake, and that’s when he gripped both your thighs with his both hands to keep you in place

“That’s it...,” he praised sweetly, massaging your quivering thighs as you regained your senses. “You did so well.”

He hand slid up to grip your arms, helping you regain your balance. You felt beads o sweat drip down your neck and back.

"How does it feel to ride a dragon?"

"I should have you dead for being this irresistible, Prince Aemond," you said in between ragged breaths.

"Nēdyssy zaldrīzī senusy daor." Aemond's lips curled up. "Brave men do not kill dragons, they ride them."

[cherriready]

Among snakes I shall dance, ch.2: It felt like love.

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!Targaryen!Fem!Reader

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Summary: Rhaenyra's firstborn finds herself surrounded by the greens and, to her misfortune, betrothed to one of them. So she begins to plan how to take them down, one by one, from the inside.

Word count: 6.6k

Warning: Allusions to incestuous relationship, use of obscene language, mentions of sexual assault and graphic death. some characters might be a bit out of character.

A/N: Italics are flashbacks!

A/N: AYOOOOOO GUYS!!!! 1792 NOTES SO FAR IN THE FIRST PART???¿? +300 FOLLOWERS IN 5 DAYS???!¡¿ THANK YOU SO MUCH GUYSSS I’M LITERALLY CRYING FFR!! You just made my week, honestly!! I really hope you enjoy how this story is going! This is for you ❤️🫡

Feedback is always appreciated ❤️

She had to get the message to her mother, somehow. So she prayed that the time would come where he could escape to send a message by raven.

‘From the inside I will finish them off. Whatever happens, don't bend the knee. We will resist, mother.’

She read the message for the tenth time and snorted, putting her hands on her head and closing her beautiful eyes. "

Fuck..."

She cursed that she had missed the opportunity her mother had given her to come home with them. But of course, seeing that her grandmother was going to be alone in Driftmark, taking care of her grandfather, who was still on the verge of death from the ambush he suffered, her honor weighed more heavily in the balance. She did not want to turn her back on them at such a delicate time.

The sun had not yet risen when her prayers were answered.

"Ser Erryk." whispered as she saw the knight, opening the door to the room.

"Princess, we are leaving." The knight said, passing her a cloak to cover herself with. "I do not agree with anything that is happening, with this sick treachery. It is an atrocity, just like your betrothal."

"And my grandmother?" The young woman asked as she covered herself with the cloak.

"We will go to get her now. I will take you both to a ship that will take you back home." The knight, who was a twin to Ser Arryk, spoke before resting a hand on the princess's shoulder. "I promise I will do my best to get you both out of here."

Then she took the note from the table and clutched it in her own fist. She also took the ring her parents gave her with the emblems of House Targaryen and Velaryon, and the small pouch in which she always stuffed a few coins. After that they left the chambers and went for Princess Rhaenys, stealthily and swiftly. Whenever Ser Erryk saw guards, he told the princess to hide, so far they had had good luck.

"Lady Grandmother." Said the young woman taking her grandmother's hands, once they were reunited.

"My sweet girl." Rhaenys said, before kissing her granddaughter's cheek. "I heard what they wanted to do to you. Are you all right? They did not do anything to you, did they?"

"No, I am just fine, glad you are as well, really."

"Princesses, we must leave now." Spoke the kingsguard who was trying to help them escape from the Red Keep.

"And Meleys and Scarlex? We can not leave them behind."

"It is not safe to go to Dragonpit now, Princess. I am afraid we could not make it. Going by boat is the best, safest option." Ser Erryk explained before they reached the exit through which they would leave the Keep.

"Wait." The princess stopped before they could continue. "I need you to take this with you, Grandmother." She whispered handing the note she had written for her mother to her grandmother. "I need you to be the one to give it to my mother in case we get separated."

"That is not going to happen." Said the queen that never was, looking down at the small roll she now held in her hand.

"Better to be cautious, do not you think? That is something you made a sure of teaching me." Said the silver-haired girl looking at the note in her grandmother's hand.

"Sometimes you remind me of your father, my child." Spoke the older woman hiding the message.

Only if you knew.

"Aemond!" Called the Velaryon girl as she ran across the training yard. "Aemond!" The young girl ran with a huge smile on her face, as she looked for her uncle, who was currently alone training.

"Niece." Said the young boy, stopping shielding the sword, when he saw his niece and best friend come to where he was. "Has something happened?"

The young lady rested her hands on her knees and gestured for him to give her a moment, to catch her breath after all the running around the fortress, trying to find him. She looked up and gave the prince a huge smile. "It's a boy." The silver-haired girl said with difficulty, still struggling to normalise her breathing.

The young Targaryen arched an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?" The boy said, abandoning his sword and looking for a place where they could both sit and talk.

"My mother, the princess, has given birth to a boy. Another brother, Joffrey is his given name." Said the girl with tears of happiness. "He is a healthy boy. But very wrinkled and- he will not stop crying, gods." She told Aemond with a crystallized look in her eyes because of the joyful emotion she felt. After saying that, she took a seat next to the Targaryen Prince.

"Congratulations are in order, then." Aemond smiled at her and placed his hand on hers, who gladly took it and squeezed it before letting out a laugh. "Another nephew, hm? I was expecting for a girl this time.”

"Me too, if I am being honest." She admitted, looking up at him. As she watched her lifelong friend look at her intently, she felt herself blush, for some strange reason she didn't understand. "It is a hot day, it is not?." She commented in a whisper, lowering her gaze and looking down at the ground, as if it was something very interesting.

"You came running, that is why you must feel like that." Aemond stared at the girl, intently, for the first time in as long as he could remember he was staring at her like that. She was changing, and he had not noticed, not until now. His feelings of friendship, unable to help it, were doing so as well.

Realising that what he was feeling for her was something new and more mature, the boy pulled away from her and released her hand, causing the princess to look up and look at him with concern.

"Are you alright, Aemond?" His blue gaze met hers after hearing the question. "You are quite red." The young girl observed.

He was even redder now.

"Yes. I am just fine." Lied the young prince. "I forgot I have your nameday gift here. I wanted to give it to you when we were alone."

"Why would you have it here?" she asked curiously.

A smile formed on his face. "In case I found you later." Lied the Targaryen boy again.

He carried it with him all the time, but could never find the time to give it to his dearest friend and niece.

"Close your eyes, do not look, hm?"

"Never." She whispered.

The young prince stepped around her friend, and once behind her, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold necklace, simple and unobtrusive, with a medallion. It was a simple medallion with a three-headed dragon. The emblem of House Targaryen.

"A three-headed dragon, of House Targaryen." The young woman commented as she looked at the gift that her uncle and friend had given her. "It is beautiful, my prince. Thank you very much, but..."

"But?" the silver-haired boy asked, terrified that deep down she didn't like the gift.

"I am a… Velaryon. Not Targaryen, my mother is but-"

"But you could be one, officially, in the future, in some years, when you shall to be wed.”

"Grandmother, no! No! No! Grandmother!" shouted the young Velaryon as she was separated from her grandmother and Ser Erryk, due to the hordes of people being led towards Dragonpit, where the coronation was to take place. "Fuck!" She screamed out of desperation, as she tried to backtrack and turn back. A desperate attempt to get back to the only two people she trusted in the city.

She cast her gaze back and could see them slowly drifting further apart. Rheanys' face showed her desperation to be reunited with her, she tried to look for her granddaughter with her eyes, but at one point she lost her in the tide of people. She should have tried harder not to lose her grip, she thought.

Amidst pushing and shoving, the young princess managed to make herself climb up a small brick wall. Once she stood up on it, she tried to look around for the knight and the princess, but no luck. She only hoped that at least her grandmother could escape from the death trap, which was the fucking capital.

"Seven hells, what am I supposed to do now?" She mumbled, still looking from the top of the wall for an exit, where there were almost no people, let alone guards and soldiers.

"Girl. Get down from there now." Someone spoke to her, she looked out of the corner of her eye at the person who had addressed her, she tried to cover her face as much as possible with her cloak, so that she wouldn't be recognised. "If you do not come down on your own, I will take you down by force."

She really was very unlucky at that moment, when the man who had addressed her, was exactly Rickard Thorne, a fucking Kingsguard loyal to the green snakes. A fucking traitor.

"Apologies, Ser. I was just looking for my companions, with whom I was to attend the coronation." She said, trying to change her tone of voice and not looking at him. "No need to worry about me, I will get down." She tried to be as agile as possible to get down, so she could run as far away from the guard as possible.

The last thing she wanted was to be recognised.

As she was about to get down, she almost tripped, stepping on her own dress. The knight had very good reflexes and caught her before she could fall.

The young princess had a lot of bad luck at that moment.

"Be more careful, woman."

"Thank you." She whispered as she hurried away from the spot, clutched the cloak even tighter as she covered herself with it. That had been a close call.

At least she had already gotten rid of the guard, who was part of the Kingsguard, no less. Surely they had noticed her and her Lady Grandmother's escape by now.

"Hey, girl, you left this behind," said Rickard, looking at the bag of coins he had just picked up from the floor. "What are you doing with so much gold? Who did you steal from?"

Fuck.

"You can keep it, as compensation." She said as she tried to pick up her pace, she wanted to run but it was practically impossible.

"Get back here!" Thorne said as he headed towards her, pushing people out of his way.

Double fuck.

Now was when it was her turn to run, even if it was impossible.

As the young princess tried to flee the scene, she was pushing people out of the way and into the Kingsguard who was practically on her heels. She looked around desperately, she needed a way out.

She was so desperate.

Luckily, she could see a way out by her right, where there were not so many people. She started to run there, and saw a small, dark and smelly alley. She ran as if there was no tomorrow.

As she ran up the street, she was bumping into people going in the opposite direction, she could also hear Rickard shouting at her, telling her to stop or ordering the people near her to catch her. But no one seemed to be in the mood, thanks to the seven.

Until an elderly man tried to catch her. He grabbed her by the arms and took a small dagger he carried with him, placing it on the young woman's neck, who instinctively stomped on his foot with all her might, and then bit him on the wrist that held the dagger. The man dropped it, bringing his other hand to the bloody wound. She picked up the dagger, but not before kicking the man in the balls, who now lay on the ground doubled over in pain.

She kept running as fast as she could, Thorne much closer than before, because of the time she had lost facing the passer-by.

"You have no escape, thief." Said the Kingsguard, once he had the young woman at the end of the alley. "Surrender or the punishment will be worse."

Flight or fight.

"Bullshit, you traitor." She said as she stopped and turned around, pointing him with the dagger she had just seized of.

"Princess." He said in surprise when he saw the princess's face, but quickly a smirk of superiority formed on his face. "You don't know what a commotion it has caused in the Keep to see that neither you, nor Princess Rhaenys were in your chambers."

"A pity I didn't get to see the faces of the incompetents in that place."

"Come on, Princess, put the dagger down." The knight requested.

"Not without using it first."

"You think you can beat me? A knight of the Kingsguard?" the man in front of her laughed, one hand on the pommel of his sword. "Do you think a woman stands a chance against a knight?"

"No, of course I do not." The silver-haired girl feigned confusion. "But at least I can amuse myself for a while while I play with your patience."

"That's not very ladylike of you, princess."

"Did anyone say I care in the least about that?"

Ser Rickard clutched at the sword dagger, truly the young woman was playing with his patience like no woman had ever done before.

"Oh, come now, Ser Rickard. Will you not at least give me the pleasure of putting into practice everything my stepfather has taught me these past few years?"

"Believe me, Princess, I would gladly do so, but both the Kingsguard Commander and the Queen would prefer that you return to the Red Keep unharmed." Thorne explained as he took a step towards her.

"Oh, how sweet of you..." father.

“Put the dagger down, now."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" The princess made a false grimace of sadness, then smiled at the knight. "I just wanted to play swords with you, well daggers, rather." She dropped the dagger to the ground, only for the knight to take her arm firmly and set off on the way back.

"Are we going to the coronation?"

"No." No doubt the man was running out of patience, and it amused the young Velaryon, who even though she was being led back to the Keep had a triumphant smile on her face.

"Good, because if I would wanted to see a jesters’ show I would have stayed in the Red Keep.”

"You could have your tongues cut out for talking like that."

The young woman let out a loud laugh. "Not long ago someone told me exactly the same thing you did, Ser."

"You are leaving now, so I hear from father." Aemond spoke with a sad expression, then watched as his friend played with the necklace he had given her a couple of days ago.

The Velaryon girl nodded, then wiped away her tears with one hand. There was a knot forming in her stomach and throat, every time she tried to talk to her best friend the tears threatened to spill out. "Mhm." She nodded, avoiding the young prince with her eyes.

"And you are not going to say anything before you leave? Just 'mhm'?"

"It is just that- I know that... I- if I try to tell you anything I know I will cry even more, I will not be able to stop." The young princess's lower lip trembled.

"I would rather you do that and try to comfort you than leave without crossing any words." The young boy admitted.

"Thank you for being my friend, Aemond. I know we are family, but your friendship means a lot to me." Confessed the girl from the house Velaryon, then burst into tears and put her hands to her face, trying to hide her face from her friend.

"Thank you for being the only one who understands me, Princess." The young Targaryen whispered as he grabbed the young girl’s shoulders, then pulled her to him and gave her a hug. She hugged him back.

"For being the only person in the family besides you without a dragon?"

"And for everything else."

"I am going to miss you." She whispered, with immense sadness.

He hated the huge emptiness he felt in his chest at the thought of not seeing her every day.

"And I you." He said likewise, as he ran a hand through her hair, trying to memorise how it felt to his touch.

They stood for a few moments in silence, pondering whether or not to say more. Neither had the courage to tell the other how they felt, and in a way, they were too young to even be thinking about it, since those feelings only came when you were older, supposedly. Or maybe not?

"You should leave now. Your Lady Mother will be waiting for your return," Aemond spoke, regretfully.

"You are right." The girl murmured as she broke the embrace, then grabbed her friend's hands in an attempt to get his attention. "I will try to write to you as often as possible."

"I will try the same."

"Good."

"Good."

"I will see you soon, I hope."

"Y-Yes. Soon..." neither knew exactly what to say to say goodbye, let alone not knowing how long they wouldn't see each other for.

Then something happened that caught Aemond Targaryen by surprise. His friend and niece, the princess, with both hands cupped his face and placed a brief, nervous peck on his lips, leaving him breathless and wide-eyed.

"Goodbye, my prince." Said the silver-haired girl nervously before running out of the place in search of her family.

Aemond, still wide-eyed, and in apparent shock at what had just happened, slowly turned around and stared in the direction she had disappeared.

He held up a hand as if in farewell. "Goodbye, I suppose."

He spent the rest of the day without saying a word to anyone. He didn't know whether or not to believe what had happened in that little encounter with his friend. But when he went to sleep that night, he did so with a small smile on his face.

The rest of the day passed in a blur for her, after Ser Rickard Thorne had taken her back to the castle, to be met by none other than the Kingsguard commander himself, Ser Criston Cole, her beloved father - gods, the joy it gave her to see the torment in his eyes after discovering his paternity - who escorted her back to her chambers, where Alicent, now Queen Mother, awaited her.

"What you did today was stupid." Was the first thing Alicent said to her as she saw her enter her room and heard the door being closed by Ser Criston. "Something could have happened to you."

"Something worse than what is about to happen this very night, my queen?" the young woman asked as she approached the centre of the room.

"If you had met someone dangerous your life could have been in danger. Imagine if they had come to kidnap you or assaulted you, taking your virtue." Alicent spoke as she approached the young woman, who in the next few hours was to become his daughter-in-law.

The young woman laughed wryly at the last words of the mother of the new usurper king. "There is no need to pretend you care about me, your highness. There is no one here but us."

"You were lucky you did not suffer a worse fate today, princess. You could have gotten yourself killed."

"That would have been a more merciful fate than the one I am living right now, locked up here and surrounded by traitors!" Exploded the young woman, as she made her way to the small table on which she kept the wine. She picked up two glasses and poured the liquid into both of them. "Any fate is better than this. I would rather be dead right now, than here being used as a pawn in your evil plan." She offered a glass to Alicent, who took it and took a sip.

"I do not think being married to the king's brother, who in your childhood was your best friend, is a cruel fate."

Now it was the young Velaryon's turn to take a sip from her cup, this one being longer than the one the queen took. "Yes, when the love you once felt for him has turned to immeasurable hatred." She blurted out, accompanied by a small smile.

The next few hours were spent wandering around her room and drinking wine, occasionally standing by the window to watch the people pass by, nothing interesting. But once the time came, she was led to the throne room, where the ceremony would take place. Thank the gods it looked like it would be an intimate ceremony.

The ceremony began when Aegon, the great son of a bitch and usurper who now warmed the throne with his ass, walked her to the altar, where Aemond, with his head held high and no expression on his face, stood waiting for her. His fucking handsome face, made her sick.

She clicked her tongue as she realised the intrusive thought that had just crossed her mind. "Pathetic." She mumbled before she reached where her future husband was waiting for her.

Huge was the relief she felt as she slipped from Aegon's grasp. The disgust she felt for this man, sadly her uncle, was inhuman. How she wished she could cut off his head and give it to her dear mother. She thought as she gave him a look of disgust, after he had left her at the isle.

She looked up at Aemond, who was watching her from top to bottom. She raised her head defiantly, to which he let out an arrogant little chuckle, shaking his head. She looked at him again, in detail. She looked at his face, it seemed to show serenity and determination, there was still a small smile on his stupid face. It seemed that nothing that was about to happen caused any kind of reaction in him. She, on the other hand, felt a knot in the pit of her stomach and her breathing was agitated, no matter how well she hid it, her nerves were killing her.

Before she could even process anything, they were already deep into the ceremony. The Septon asked Aemond to place the cloak over the young Velaryon, to protect her from the eyes of the people and the gods.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." Then came the sermon. "We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

It was now that they both held hands. Her hands trembled, but not his. The Targaryen prince really wasn't the least bit shaken by what was happening. He took her hand firmly, and with his thumb, he drew circular patterns on the back of it. It made her look at him and let out a hitched breath. That gesture was something they both used to do when they were children, as a signal to focus… and trust.

Was he trying to help her calm down?

A ribbon was literally tied around their hands, symbolising their union. "Let it be known that these two people are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

So she, herself would be cursed if she tried?

The young man who wore the patch looked at the one who was to be his wife from now on, watched as tears formed in her eyes, and as her lower lip trembled briefly, only to be stopped by her biting it. He knew there was an inner conflict gnawing at her. He couldn't help but clench his jaw as he watched the scene.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words." They both faced each other and a few seconds later, after a brief silence in which they stood looking at each other, they proceeded to say their vows.

Aemond took up the gesture he had made earlier, and began to make circular patterns on the back of her hand. The reaction it caused in her was new. It was like a fluttering inside her, as if she had an army of dragons inside her, flying all over her. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger... I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," he recited.

At the same time she said hers. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger... I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."

Oh, seven gods. The moment had come.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." The silver-haired man took her chin between his index finger and thumb, and with a gentleness she herself believed he lacked, he brought his face close to hers and placed a soft kiss upon her lips.

The act lasted only a few seconds, but she could not help but feel a certain familiarity in the kiss that had just sealed their fate. He felt it that way too.

"You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!" King Viserys shouted angrily, as he shot a glare at Ser Criston.

"It will heal, will it not, Maester?" Alicent asked in anguish to the Maester tending Aemond's wound, who had just lost an eye in a fight with his nephews not long ago.

"Flesh will heal, but the eye is lost, Your Grace." replied the Master to the boy's mother. That answer caused Rhaenyra's eldest daughter to look across the room at the young prince.

The young Velaryon was not present when her two younger brothers and her cousin Baela, got into a fight with Aemond, her best friend, who called her brothers bastards. While this was going on, she was suffering something cruel and disgusting that she wished on no one. Once she was able to extricate herself from her situation, that was the scene she saw, everyone full of wounds and cuts, along with a broken nose for her younger brother and a lost eye for her best friend. Or rather, the one who once was.

She sat against the wall of the Driftmark's great hall, deep in thought, saying nothing, until she heard Alicent say. "Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Targaryen." She stood up with a speed she had never seen in her before, which made her quickly dart into the crowd of people in the middle of the room, where the whole feud was taking place, and stood in front of her grandfather Corlys Velaryon, who was protecting Luke with his own body. Unarmed, she held out her arms, trying to prevent anyone or anything from harming her little brother. She would never allow it.

"You will not do such thing.” She heard her mother say in defence of her youngest son.

"I will bite you hard, Ser Criston." Threatened the long silver-haired girl, trying to sound intimidating.

And after that the discussion became more personal and intense between Rhaenyra and Alicent, once the King stopped Ser Criston from taking Luke's eye and made it clear that anyone who questioned the legitimacy of the princess's children would lose his tongue. Once silence reigned over the place, as the tussle between the two women ended with her mother getting a nasty, bloody cut on her arm, it was the firstborn heir to the throne who spoke first.

"You are all monsters." Were the words that echoed through the great hall, most of those present looked at her. She was resting her gaze on Aegon, and lastly Aemond, at whom she stared with a serious face but also with a frown. She was trying to tell him something. "Real and disgusting monsters." She repeated again but in a whisper, as she put a hand to her neck and tore off the medallion Aemond gave her, then threw it at his feet. He looked at the ground and then back at her.

The boy who, less than an hour ago, had been her best friend all her life, looked at her in the same way, but now his one eye reflected sadness. "Do not mourn me mother, it was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon." After saying those words dedicated to his mother, he looked at her again.

At that moment they both knew that their friendship was completely broken, that the damage was irreparable, and that this was how it was meant to be.

His quarters were clearly much more spacious than hers. It looked as if from now on this was where they were both going to live, to lead a marital life together. She surveyed her surroundings, since the last time she had been there things hadn't changed much. What was most striking now was some pitchers of different alcoholic beverages on a small table in one corner of the room. Also striking was the large number of swords, it was certainly curious that Aemond collected the swords of opponents he had beaten.

"I do not know what your drink of choice is, but here you go." Said her now husband, setting a wine glass down in front of her, who was seated in one of the chairs surrounding the round table. "Dornish wine."

She looked at the glass and took it silently, then took a sip. "I hope you have no expectations of tonight, husband."

He took a seat across from her. "Who said I did, dear wife?"

"You know, the bedding ceremony." She said dryly. "People will want to make sure you fuck your new wife, that our marriage is consummated. I'm sure your brother wants to be a witness and watch you brand me anyway."

He let out a small chuckle and then sighed. "There will be no bedding ceremony." Aemond rested his head on his hand, leaning fully against one of the chair's armrests. "It is not my style to degrade my partner in such a manner."

"What is your style then?"

"Private. Keep it between me and her, at least most of the time."

"Hm, good to know."

"And yours. What is your style?" The husband of the young Velaryon, now Targaryen, asked curiously. She looked at him silently in reply.

"You assume I have lost my virtue, by any chance?"

"Have you not?" the Targaryen prince was curious. "I think it's natural to want to explore when you're young, and lose your virtue."

"Yes. I have- I was- Aemond, yes, I have... done it before." She answered him truthfully.

"With someone I know?"

"Perhaps." With that the girl finished what was left of her drink.

"Ser Criston is out of the question, for starters." At those words she looked at him curiously, he drew a crooked smile on his face. "He is your father, apparently."

"I see you're into eavesdropping."

"Let's just say I prefer to keep up with everything that concerns my wife."

She gave a cynical laugh. "And how does it feel to know that your family has forced you to marry a bastard? Unbeknownst to them.” She asked, narrowing her eyes, expectant for his response.

"I don't care at all." He admitted with a shrug.

"Hm."

"I have a present for you." He said.

"Let me guess. It's a necklace with a medallion with the emblem of House Targaryen?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled that exact thing out of it. That necklace that he had once, six years ago, given to his friend.

"I know you do not trust me, and you never will, probably. But I want you to have this."

"Why would I accept it this time?"

"Because of what it symbolizes, clearly."

"House Targaryen?"

"No. The friendship we once had." The prince with the patched eye said as he rose from his seat. "That even if you do not trust me, I am willing to place my trust in you, and that even if you do not believe it, you will always have my protection."

"You seem to have feelings for me." She commented.

"Did I say I did not?" He admitted in the form of a question. "May I?" he asked for permission to put the necklace on his wife.

She looked at his outstretched hand, which had the necklace on it. She nodded slowly and brushed her long hair away from her neck. Her husband circled her, as he had done the first time he had put the same necklace on her, but now he noticed a slight difference.

A scar. A rather long one on the right side of her neck. It was as if someone had tried to slit her throat once.

Still staring at his wife's scar, Aemond finished placing the necklace around her neck. "I've never seen it on you before."

"I've never liked to show it." She whispered, reaching up to the decanter of wine to put more in the glass. "This is the reason for the name I was given. The Red Mermaid." She sighed as she said her nickname, and as she remembered the reason she was given it. "You would not know its story."

"I have always heard different versions. It is hard to know the real reason behind the name you were given."

"You want me to tell you what really happened, husband?"

"That is your decision to make."

"Make yourself comfortable, it is time for me to tell you a story." She said before taking a long sip of her drink, she was about to finish it and pour herself a third glass.

Aemond took note of this and took the decanter away from her. She had already had too much to drink throughout the day. "Enough for today. Please proceed to tell your tale."

"It all happened four years ago, when I was going through a very dark time." The young woman began to narrate. "I thought of taking my own life. So that night, after dinner, I escaped from my room and went to the beach, the one where most of the ships disembark. I thought, water extinguishes fire, there is no more poetic death for a dragon-blooded Velaryon than drowning. They say it is an agonising death, but in the end, when you stop fighting, a great peace comes over you."

The silver-haired young bastard fiddled with her glass, as she glanced at the fire she had lit in the room's chimney. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, trying to find the strength to continue the story.

"I had already stopped fighting when someone pulled me out of the water, when someone decided to save me. I couldn't have been more wrong. The person who tried to save me had been watching the whole scene, without me noticing." The young woman gave a sad smile to her husband. "After pulling me out of the water and leaving me on the sand, that man tried to rape me. I do not remember where it came out of me to fight, I don't know when my animal instinct came out of me. One moment I was about to drown and the next I'm lying on the floor of the beach, under the stars of that night, fighting for that not to happen to me again".

"What? You've been assaulted like that before?" Aemond jumped to his feet at that statement from the woman. His knuckles turned white from how hard he clenched his fists.

She continued with her story, not answering his question. "I guess it was my animal instinct and fear of going through the same thing that ended up with me throwing myself at that man's neck. I bit him so hard on the neck, that when he struggled with me… he cut me with his knife on my neck... it wasn't a deep wound, in case you were wondering." She finished her drink again.

She had never told anyone what really happened that night. She didn't know why the first person she told was him, her husband. Her enemy. But honestly, it felt good to be able to share it for the first time with someone. She felt lighter now.

"Did he get to do to you what he tried to do?"

"No." She answered him, tears starting to form in her eyes, but she quickly brushed them away. "I dug my teeth even deeper into him, to the point where I practically tore his tissues away... and he bled to death right there next to me. I lost consciousness soon after, and it wasn't until the next morning that some guards found me lying on the sand next to that man's corpse, still wet and full of blood from both of us." She sighed, and inevitably a tear rolled down her cheek. She rested her head on her hands and let out a small sob.

Aemond approached her carefully and knelt down in front of her. He took her hands and met her gaze with his. "Honestly, I expected nothing less from you." He admitted, giving his niece-now-wife a small smile, trying to comfort her.

She closed her eyes again and let herself get caught up in the moment. She leaned her forehead against his, who was taken by surprise by this gesture, but did not pull away.

Was honesty the only thing needed to mend the friendship they once had?

"I need you to be honest with me. Has that really happened to you before? Have you ever been… raped before?" He asked looking at her.

She nodded, and with a frown of anger and helplessness at the memory of what had happened, she began to sob. Aemond, unsure of what to do, took a deep breath, and slowly pulled the girl to the floor so that she could sit next to him and then he could embrace her. He tried to comfort her in the same way that, in what seemed to have been a past life, he used to do.

"When? Who?" He asked still clinging to her, with one hand on her lower back and another resting on the nape of her neck.

"At the funeral of my aunt, Lady Laena." She murmured into his neck.

"Who? Please tell me who?" He asked. "Do I know him?"

"Yes." His young wife replied in the affirmative, as she turned her face away from the prince's neck and looked up at him with red, still tear-filled eyes. "Your brother."

"Aegon?" he asked in confusion.

She nodded. "He was the one who raped me. He was who ruined my life."

"You are all monsters. Real and disgusting monsters."

That's when it all made sense.

[avonsky]

History Does Not Remember Almost ☼ Aegon II Targaryen

Through his reign, Aegon never knew joy nor peace. That is what written in the history. But they forgot that he almost did.

☼☼☼

AEGON

Second of His Name

of House Targaryen

Born in 107 AC

☼

[ NAMELESS ]

Records of Birth Not Found

☼☼☼

Chapter 1: A Young Maiden

There is no female Dragonkeeper.

"Lykirī..."

Yet, there is a female voice echoed through the stone halls. Aegon did not know whatever was in his last drink but he will never have it again. It is the hour of the owl and the voice sings a melancholic High Valyrian song that made him shivers. If he is more drunk, he would be convinced that some young maiden's ghost is haunting Dragonpit.

"Drakari pykiros..."

Sunfyre's chamber already in his eyesight and as he walks closer, that voice start to become louder. His senses immediately sharpens. The voice is coming from Sunfyre's chamber. No one should be here at this time except Dragonkeepers who currently guard every entrance to Dragonpit. But he has passed by a few of them. How could they let this female passed by their watch? His heart beats faster. There is a smuggler... No. An assassin. And they meant to harm his dragon.

"Ēdrugon ȳrda..."

Someone knew Sunfyre has been harmed from the last battle. Someone knew the dragon is at a weak state. And they are going to take an advantage of it.

"Kostagon se bantis tepagon ao lyks..."

He pulls a sword and a torch from the wall. He waste no time to enter the place where Sunfyre supposed to rest.

"Who dares harm a king's dragon?!"

The voice immediately turn into a gasp. But Aegon does not care. He held the sword up high and his torch finally shines on the intruder.

A girl.

She dropped everything she was holding and starts to flee.

"Stop at once!"

The young king ran after the girl. He did not have a chance to memorize her face. If he lost her, he will never be able to identify this intruder. But her body is smaller than he is and she moves much faster than he is. He saw her dark cloak as she slipped through small gaps between the walls. The same hidden gaps that he used to sneak through countless times as a boy, hiding from Dragonkeepers and his sworn protectors, just to see Sunfyre. Does this assassin truly think she can best him?

Aegon took a different path from the girl, a shortcut to the nearest gate out of Dragonpit. A small iron gate that is often used by Dragonkeepers to come in and out. Another exit is halfway across Dragonpit and littered with guards on the way. He can still hear her footsteps and become more confident in his decision.

He can already see the gate and run as fast as his feet can. He nearly reach the end of the tunnel when he saw the girl passed through the gate. She pulls the iron gate and surprised him by locking the gate with a key that she is not supposed to have. Aegon nearly crash the dirty iron bar as the girl took a few steps backwards, holding the key close to her heart.

“Who are you?! Who sends you?!”

He needed the confirmation. No one else but Rhaenyra would send an assassin after him. The Blacks already send one to murder his son. What is keeping them from sending another to murder his dragon?

She still has not said a word. The assassin’s face almost entirely hidden by her cloak and the lack of lights did not help.

“I will have your head for this treason,” Aegon hissed.

His patience is running thin and the only reason he is not screaming at the girl was they are near the crowded street of Flea Bottom. He does not have his proper disguise and his pride refuse to have people witness him cursing at a girl half his height.

She’s slowly lift up her face.

“And what treason is that, M’Lord?”

The girl is offended, he can tell. If her voice did not sounds that, the fire in her eyes surely did. Now, he can see some part of her face. She wears a mask that covers half her features. Nonetheless, he can see her.

Black of eyes.

Brown of skin.

Aegon’s gaze hardens, “You are from Dorne.”

What sort of games does Rhaenyra play by hiring a Dornish assassin?

“I am not.”

The girl tightens her cloak and starts to walk away.

“I command you to stop!” he shout.

She did not. The girl walk away and slipped through the crowd in Flea Bottom. He release his grip at the iron gate. Someone will pay for this. Aegon make his way back to Sunfyre’s chamber. He will make sure to deal with the girl and the incompetent Dragonkeepers later. For now, he needs to know what damage the girl has done to his dragon.

There he was. The golden-scaled dragon rest peacefully in the darkness. Too weak to welcomed Aegon. At least Sunfyre’s hard breathe calmed a bit of his rider’s nerve. Aegon picks up a dim torch from the cold floor, the one that fell from his hand before the chase. He stopped at his track when he notice the trinkets that the girl left behind, right beside Sunfyre’s snout.

Aegon kneels and reaches out. His eyes wrinkle as he found jugs of potions.Healingpotions. Beside that, he discovers thick fabrics that is now stained with blood. The young king immediately went to the base of Sunfyre’s left wing, the one that he knew was speared from the battle. And surely, the wound has been cleaned. By the looks of it, his skin starts to heal already.

He sat and lean his back to Sunfyre. Aegon wished he hides some drinks in here. He is too sober for this and now his mind will have no choice but to over-analyze everything that just happened.

One; The girl did not hurt Sunfyre. Not that he aware of. At least not yet. If the girl turns out to have poisoned his dragon, he shall know very soon.

Two; The girl did not recognize him. She’s not calling him “Your Grace” or even “My Prince”. What sort of assassin that his step-sister pay handsomely that does not even recognize their target?

He eyed Sunfyre who now moved his wings near Aegon, as his instinct kicks in to protect his rider.

Three; Sunfyre did not reject her nor burn her. The dragon made no sound as the stranger stands in close proximity and sang to him.

What treason is that, M’Lord?

Her voice echoed in his skull.

What in the seven hells has he ran into?

☼☼☼

Valyrian Translation: Lykirī = Calm down Drakari pykiros = Fire breather Ēdrugon ȳrda = Sleep tight Kostagon se bantis tepagon ao lyks = May the night gives you peace

☼☼☼

Find the story in AO3 and Wattpad!

[backjustforberena]

I find it super interesting that the next time (after ep 9) we see Rhaenys without armour is when Corlys returns.

HECK YES! Sorry, I've been saying this since the episode aired and it's one of my favourite things. Throughout the episode, Rhaenys stays in her armour. Even to something as stately and peaceful as a funeral, she's wearing her armour. But the first time we see her out of that armour, is when she's by Corlys's bedside. And moreover, when they've made their choice, chosen their side and she has him by her side when they go to the Black Council, she's no longer wearing it.

I just love her entire positioning in this episode. Coming into the Painted Table room (seriously what is the name for that room?), she stands at the end of the table to relay Viserys's death. Then closer, more involved to detail Aegon's coronation, to offer her warning before stepping away again. Her words, like her movements, are also carefully measured, respectful and restrained and, above all else, neutral.

In all the Black Council scenes and at the funeral/coronation, she's right on the edge of things. Her main proximity is to her granddaughters, but she's on the edge. She watches. Observes. Judges the heck out of it. And not once, ever, does she lower her defences. There's no lack of formality when addressing Daemon and Rhaenyra about Corlys's movements (she even calls him "Lord Corlys"), she doesn't raise an objection when Daemon assumes control of Meleys, but watches it play out, silently. She'll wait for her time. She'll wait for her husband. And she'll be prepared for whatever. A battle or a quick getaway. To swear allegiance or to heed her husband's call, should it come.

There's a sense of her being invisible in those scenes. She uses that gladly. She's the last one to exit when Rhaenyra asks the room to be cleared, and we see her in the background. She is not consulted with Rhaena and Baela joining the Painted Table, nor is anything exchanged with Baela when Baela looks at her. No noise, no words, not even a nod. There's no consult on using Meleys, of her own wishes vs that of Corlys. Corlys takes priority. At best, she is a messenger in delivering that news, not someone in power, and she keeps it at that, saying the fleet is in her husband's yoke. No outrage at Daemon evoking Meleys. No demands to keep her granddaughters close. No reminders, even, that the Velaryons have yet to bend the knee. She just watches.

It's easy to see this as Rhaenys not feeling welcome. She's safer here than she was at King's Landing but she's not safe. Not truly, when she has declared no allegiance. When Daemon thinks the worst of her within five seconds of her being there. When they assume her husband's support and she knows very well Corlys hates their guts and might not want anything to do with them. She also knows her own worth, and expects an attack in some form. She's already been made prisoner by one side, she will not stand to have it done again. So, you betcha that armour is staying on. She'll be on Meleys within minutes, should she have to be.

And, of course, there's the fact that the armour is now establishing a new role for Rhaenys. A new way of being: she's had her rebirth, in the Dragonpit, so she's no longer a lady in a beaded gown or a politician in black velvet. She's a warrior. She's a protector. She's entered the fray, so it's nice for the audience to be reminded of that in those settings and really get used to the idea that this is Rhaenys's purpose now.

When we get to the scene with Corlys, there's an added vulnerability by the fact that on her doublet, she has the first, or the first couple, of fastenings undone. She's not all buttoned up, which separates her out from how she was in Episode 08 as well. This is Rhaenys at her most stripped: by her ailing husband's bedside, fresh from an uncomfortable sleep on a chair, with all her hurt pouring out of her. It's where she has been for the past three episodes, finally on show, and finally in a safe enough place to be shown. So I like to make that distinction in the outfit change as well.

And rounding it off by her movements, again, that last scene. I love that last scene. There's the fact that Corlys and Rhaenys enter side by side, heads up and in lockstep (no mean feat considering he's limping). And then she stands back, and resumes her normal position of watching, waiting, looking, as Corlys does his thing, tests Rhaenyra, and makes his mind up. We've seen that time and time again from them as a couple, it's basically just signalling that they are back on track and one unit again.

But the icing on the cake is when Rhaenys says she will patrol the Gullet. Corlys pledges the House and the Fleet. Rhaenys is the one who pledges herself and her dragon. And she physically steps up to that Painted Table, to the Council, to the power players, and says what she will do. And she stays there. She doesn't step back when she says her piece, she stays right there, next to the Queen, as the plan is formed and confirmed.

She shows agency and power throughout that episode. She just does.

[awolfhasnoname]

Dragon Rider

Part Two

Warnings: Swearing, fighting, mentions of the dead, usual GoT warnings

Words: 1.3K

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or gif(s) used below.

Sandor could see the impatience in Cersei’s eyes while they were all gathered in the Dragonpit waiting for the Dragon Queen to arrive. “Where is she?” Cersei questioned impatiently. “She’ll be here soon.” Tyrion muttered. “Didn’t travel with you then.” She pressed, but before Tyrion could respond a screech was heard over head. Sandor still didn’t think he would ever get used to hearing or seeing the beasts but couldn’t help the chuckle as he watched the shock on the faces of the Lannister twins and their guards.

Two dragons soared over head, roaring in anticipation as they began landing on the ruined walls of the Dragonpit.  Screeching in the direction of the enemy, warnings being sent as they guarded their riders before slowly lowering them to the ground. Daenerys was the first to reach the ground and all eyes fell on her as the strode up towards the Lannister, but Sandor’s eyes fell onto the second of the sisters. Her hair falling slightly onto her face as she stepped down turning to place a reassuring hand to the side of Rhaegal’s head. The beast seemed to lean against the outstretched hand before taking off again to circle above with Drogon, watching for any trouble that may occur to the Targaryen girls. Y/N followed her sister towards the gathering before glancing at Sandor as he passed her heading towards the steps, a slight smile pulling at her lips as she gave a small nod before taking her place by her sister’s side.

“We’ve been here for some time.” The Lannister woman practically spat at Daenerys. Y/N couldn’t help the growl of her tone “And now were here, so shall we begin.” Earning a hateful glare that could almost match her own. Almost. Tyrion and Jon went about explaining the issue at hand but Cersei didn’t seem to be paying attention to any of it, making quip remarks not taking any of it seriously. Jon tried to reason “Lord Tyrion tells me a million people live in this city. They are about to become a million more soldiers in the army of the dead.” Cersei still not being convinced she retorted, “I imagine for most of them it would be an improvement.”

Y/N had enough, practically stomping towards the so-called queen all eyes turned on her as her voice boomed through the empty ruins. “This is serious. Do you not care for your people at all? Are you so hung up on your pride that you will let millions die just so you may die with that crown atop your head?” She could feel the blood pumping through her veins, heat rising in her as Cersei responded. “I don’t think it’s serious at all. I think it’s a bad joke. The word of a usurper.” She stated turning her head to face the dragon queen, Y/N stepped forward, hand itching to reach for the hilt of her sword, opening her mouth to spit another retort before being interrupted by Tyrion. “There is no conversation that will undo the past 50 years, we have something to show you.” Y/N turned not noticing that Sandor had returned with the large crate.

She strode over taking her place next to Sandor as he placed the crate down, feeling his eyes on her while she did so. She met his gaze before a slight chuckle left her lips and his heart fluttered at the sound. “Lucky I let you live, I wouldn’t want to have carried this thing.” She joked, Sandor finally tore his eyes from her gaze and grunted in response. The pair each unbolted one side letting the metal fall to the ground, Y/N took out her sword whilst Sandor removed the top from the large crate. No movement, nothing stirred from inside the box. Sandor and Y/N exchanged a glance before she nodded, giving him the signal to kick the crate over. As he did a screech ripped through the air and the undead soldier tumbled out practically sprinting towards Cersei. Y/N took slight delight in the fear in Cersei’s eyes and on her face. Sandor quickly grabbed the chain pulling the undead beast back, it stood and immediately ran towards Sandor, Y/N was quick to put her sword straight through the wight cutting it in half.

Jon went about explaining to Cersei how to kill them, “…That is the fate of everyone in this world.” He finished before shoving the dragonglass blade through the wights chest. Y/N strode back to her sisters side.

The discussion continued and Cersei agreed to the truce on the condition that the Snow boy pledge to not fight in the upcoming wars between the Queens. Which the bastard refused, pledging his allegiance to House Targaryen.

“Then there is nothing left to discuss,” she spoke through gritted teeth, “The dead will come north first and when you’re finished dealing with them. We will deal with whatever is left of you.” Y/N stood, hand on the hilt of her sword as Cersei strode forward but Dany simply placed a hand on her sisters arm forcing her to sit. The group began to berate Jon for his choices, insisting he should’ve taken Cersei’s terms, Y/N had enough of the chatting. She stood and stomped straight over to Jon, anger and pain the only thing showing in her eyes. “Viserion died so that we could be here. If it’s all for nothing, then he died for nothing.” Her voice breaking on the last part of her sentence. She turned quickly on her feet in the direction of the exit, Rhaegal had begun descending towards his rider. As she waited for him to land a rough hand grabbed her, causing her to turn to the man in question. “It’s not safe to leave,” he grunted, causing her to scoff “It’s not safe anywhere,” turning back to see Rhaegal land near her as she continued softly, “But I think we’ll be alright.” As Rhaegal stepped towards the pair he noticed the hand wrapped around his riders’ arm and immediately let out a warning screech as his head leaned towards the tall man. Y/N just let out a laugh once again looking up at a wide eyed Sandor, “It’s okay, he won’t hurt you,” the mischievous glint returning to her eyes as she continued, “Unless I tell him to that is.” Turning back, she walked towards Rhaegal, climbing up onto his back, returning another smile to the brute of a man before the pair took off.

“Crazy bitch,” was all he could mutter to himself as a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well she has definitely been called worse.” He hears the soft voice and turns around in surprise. “Your Grace,” he mumbles seeing the dragon queen and the imp standing behind him, “If you’ll excuse me…” but she cut him off. “I haven’t seen her threaten many men and then let them live. I wonder what it is about you that made her decide to do so.” She stated looking him up and down. He could feel the slight heat of his cheeks at her words. “I don’t know you well ser Clegane, but Lord Tyrion seems to think you’re trustworthy, and I trust his judgement. Most of the time.” She gestured to the man beside her and took a step towards Sandor as she continued, “But I do know my sister and trust doesn’t come as easily to her. If broken there’s no way to mend it.” She turned back towards the group walking away from the brute, confusion clearly written all over his face. Tyrion takes this as his cue to step up to the man, “She’s telling you not to fuck it up.” He smirks before heading towards the exit to go after his sister.

Sandor just stands there, dumbfounded. Turning to watch the rider in the sky as Rhaegal circles over the Dragonpit with the beauty on his back. “Seven hells,” he mumbles and for the millionth time he wonders how he got himself into this whole mess.

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