#grand maester orwyle i love you

[ellewod]

we owe our pro-choice, moon tea brewing, feminist and queen supporting, calm and collected, King protecting maester with the healing hands our LIFE!!!

[swordgrace]

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇, 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ aegon ii targaryen x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the wake of his burning, aegon’s recovery is marked by rage and insecurities. he pushes you away, but it is your comforting embrace that he desires above all else.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 7.4K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), hurt/comfort, post rook’s rest aegon, aegon isn’t a good person but he’s tormented, unstable marriage, talk of insecurities, wound/scar descriptions, p in v sex, unprotected sex, gentle sex, body worship (m & f receiving), lots of kissing & comfort/reassurance, very desperate aegon, begging, sub-ish aegon, reader is on top, riding/cowgirl, mutual orgasm, fingering (fem!rec), soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is my first time writing for Aegon, so please be gentle + any feedback/critique on his character is appreciated! He’s quite difficult to write for. Either way, I absolutely loved writing this, and I hope that you all enjoy it, too! As always, thank you for your continued love & support. ❤️

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞. It spread its blazing roots to those cast within it, leaving them hideously scarred or deformed, or perhaps leaving them with nothing left at all.

Grand Maester Orwyle had said that your husband may never walk again — that he may never draw breath again.

The harrowing memory of soot-stained knights hauling your husband in on nothing more than a swath of linen tied to sticks, placing him gently onto your marital bed had haunted you for several weeks since its occurrence. You could recall the pungent scent of charred flesh, the ragged rasps of Aegon’s breathing, the labor and sweat of Maesters working tirelessly to save him.

It was the labored wheeze of his breathing that continued to linger within the recesses of your mind, a sound so hoarse and weak that you wondered if he would survive. Watching your husband become a shell of his former self was never pleasant — you wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, even your worst enemy.

Aegon showed a resilience that few thought him capable of — the will to survive, to endure and spite his brother served him well. Even if each breath made him ache and each step had rattled his bones, he continued to progress, showing an astounding level of improvement in a short amount of time.

Fire was the end of all things, but not for him.

The observant gazes of those denizens dwelling within the Red Keep often looked upon Aegon with despair, and perhaps pity — it was a pity that he despised, one that made him quiver with rage. He had been made a cripple by his brother, an undesirable.

No one would want him now — not even you, his resplendent wife, a dutiful creature who had solemnly stood by his side, even after his numerous sins he committed against you. He was burnt and ugly, half of his face marred by a web of scars, ear twisted, silvery hair missing on part of his skull.

It was contempt that fueled him now, and he continued to play the part of a wounded, forgetful dog whenever Aemond was near, but in the sanctity of his chambers, he cursed his brother to whatever Gods would hear him.

If they heard him at all.

With each passing day, Aegon regained strength, yet he used a cane to aid in his unsteady gait. He rarely emerged from his chambers, not wanting to be looked upon as if he were some wounded animal in-need of coddling. Wallowing within his own misfortune became commonplace.

You visited him each day when he was still unconscious, sitting by his bedside, holding his hand within yours, yet Aegon had convinced himself that you no longer loved him. What woman would sensibly love him, after everything he’d done? If you were intelligent, you would dissolve your marriage and find a new lover, cast him into the shadows where he belonged.

Aegon had forbidden you to see him for weeks now, likely out of his own fear of rejection, or seeing the horrified look on your face with his own eyes. Orwyle spoke of your tenderness, how you never left his side when he lay bedridden — he could scarcely fathom it, if he were honest with himself.

The evening was a dour one in King’s Landing, marked by the encroaching threat of war, and supposed riots that had broken out across the city. Aegon sometimes laughed to himself — Aemond never cared about the smallfolk nor their desires, and his former hand had discouraged him from catering to those less fortunate.

It gave him some twinge of satisfaction, knowing that he wasn’t that stupid — not as dull and thick-headed as so many believed him to be. The burden of being King had been forced upon him, even when he never wanted it, and so he had no choice but to simply adapt.

He molded himself to a role that never belonged to him anyway, attempting to fit himself into a puzzle that he was never in to begin with.

Acceptance — he had come to realize that perhaps, unseen forces had tarried and toiled to put him on a Throne that wasn’t his birthright. Even then, Aegon was still the King — but a broken one. Who would ever look to a shattered King for guidance, or to lead them?

Dusk blanketed the city, casting its shadow over the Red Keep, a starless sky — it was instead marked by the black haze of clouds that concealed all, even the moonlight. The Keep itself seemed wrought with tension, one that threatened to snap at any moment.

With Aemond on some warpath, the smallfolk calling for blood, and his own mother dismissed from the Small Council, part of him simply thrived within the chaos, the mess made by his younger brother. It was satisfying to know that even he was not fit to rule — not like he imagined himself to be.

His walk around the corridors had been cut short when he caught a glimpse of Aemond, with Orwyle taking him back to his chambers. Aegon could walk without assistance, yet the distance was never one of any merit.

Much of his unoccupied moments were spent drowning in Dornish Red, or perhaps the most surprising thing of all, reading. He was never the studious child — he preferred merriment and whoremongering over the study of High Valyrian and the histories. Being gnarled like this had forced his hand — perhaps he could still become a learned man.

The Kingsguard he had appointed were gone, sent to join the Night’s Watch or beheaded for insubordination — he had no friends here, nothing left except himself and his mind, still perfectly intact. Now, Aegon intended to sharpen what was left of it, if he could in such a short amount of time.

He spent many of his days in fear — fear of Aemond poisoning his drink or slithering into his chambers like the fanged viper that he was to torment him, or perhaps stick Aegon’s Dagger into his chest. There was time left still for his mad cunt of a brother to finish what he’d started.

As the doors to his chambers rattled, Aegon immediately grabbed the shortsword he kept alongside his cane, breathing becoming strained and heavy. “Who is it?” He barked, palm planted against the sturdy mahogany of his large table.

“The Queen, your Grace.” Ser Belgrave, one of the last decent Kingsguard left in the Red Keep, opened the door just enough for you to see your husband, alive and conscious. He stood watch for a beat, and then closed the doors behind him, leaving you alone with Aegon.

Aegon didn’t know what to say — he was rageful and bitter, and having you here to gawk at him did nothing to quell those feelings. He did admire you from across the room, taking in the plane of cerulean silk you wore, shrouded by a pale robe. Your eyes were indiscernible — he could not tell how you felt from where he sat.

You were, perhaps, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon — and he had seen so many. He recalled when he first saw you in the Grand Sept in your wedding gowns, so shy and saccharine, like the first warmth of springtime. It wasn’t a union he cared for or desired, but duty demanded that he wed you, and you would give him heirs.

So much of his time was wasted in the arms of whores who cared for nothing save the size of his coin purse, when it all should’ve been dedicated to you — the last person who truly cared for him.

“Aegon,” There was not an ounce of reproach within your voice, and instead, it was all a breathy sigh of relief. You had only seen him in-passing, walking alongside Grand Maester Orwyle or Lord Larys Strong. He had not allowed you to see him fully, until now. “I …”

“Save your pity,” Aegon quipped, turning away from you as he turned inward upon his books, instead. Gods, he felt wretched for constantly causing you such agony, but he could not endure the sight of you seeing him. “Have you come to see the withered King?” He mumbled, voice riddled with disdain.

Aegon was not an easy husband — and your union had been fraught with strife, hallmarked by his love of whores and wine, his absence felt by you each and every moment. You had passed this off as reality — this was what marriage was, and you had no choice but to accept it or crack beneath the pressure.

Even now, you were willing to forgive him.

Instead, you gathered your skirts and inched closer, longing to look upon him again with your own eyes. He had always been a beautiful man, so handsome with those regal Targaryen features that it often stole your breath away — and that hadn’t changed.

“I missed you,” You confessed, and it made Aegon’s throat become unbearably thick. Tears stung his eyes, tears born of frustration, an inner hatred and disgust, a disbelief that you truly meant any of this. “I thought that I could stay with you this evening.”

“No,” Aegon retorted, voice trembling at the bottom of his throat as he shook his head. “I do not want you here. I forbid you from seeing me. What part of that do you not understand?” His rage swelled — but not at you. He was so angry with himself that it began to manifest in uncouth ways.

It stung you, but not as much as you thought. Aegon kept you away, pushed you out to arm’s length because he feared what you might think of him. Being beloved and liked by those around him, the desire for attention and adoration, was perhaps one of his greatest flaws. When he could not find validation, it was easy to find it with a whore instead, or in the simpleminded lickspittles.

If Dornish Red could talk, perhaps he would find whatever comfort he sought there, too.

He reached for his goblet of wine, hand unsteady as he held it to his lips, and even then, he looked absolutely pathetic when taking a swig. “I cannot even drink without looking fucking pathetic,” Aegon snarled, letting out a bark of humorless laughter. “I cannot walk without being gazed upon like a wounded animal.”

At last, you began to understand where this anguish came from, where it all manifested. As much as you pitied your husband for the tragedy that had befallen him, you admired his resilience, his desire to endure and push on, even if it was most unpleasant.

“Aegon …” As your soft palm reached to rest against his shoulder, he violently jerked away, recoiling as if it were you that had burned him. “I am here for you. We are still married — allow me to continue to be your wife.” You whispered, flinching when he let out a sardonic laugh.

The scars were everywhere, enveloping half of his body, still aching with a dull pain that he muddied with poultices and Orwyle’s draughts. Aegon refused to take Milk of the Poppy, enduring his agony in different ways, ones that many would consider to be harder.

“Gods, how cunning you are — you play the role of naivety so well,” Aegon hissed, attempting to pull himself up from his table, hand reaching for his cane. “I am burnt, I am disgusting, and I am a cripple. You are not here for me — I do not want your pity!” He growled, voice raising to a tempestuous level.

You did not press him further, but you could see the tears glistening within his lilac hues, spilling down his cheeks as he began to laugh. The sound was grating and hollow, devoid of any amusement — just emptiness. He used what momentum he had to stand, grip ironclad and white-knuckled around his wooden beam of support.

“Why must you continue to push me away, Aegon? Have you not done it enough?” You questioned, voice sharp and wrought with emotion, sentiments that you had been repressing for so long, for the entirety of your marriage. “Must I always justify why I want to be your wife? We are married — I love you.”

Aegon froze, tears spilling over his face, countenance one of complete and utter bewilderment. He could not discern if you were genuine or simply conniving, or if you were being true. You had told him that you loved him before, and he always cast it aside — maybe you had truly meant it all this time, and he was too indifferent to realize it.

His back was partially turned to you, as if warding you away from seeing him. Aegon had been made to think that he was a failure all his life, that he was insignificant, made to do nothing instead of act. Whenever he did act, it was impulsive and reckless, branded acts of stupidity.

Maybe the one thing he could do right was you — mend the divide, mend the bridge that had kept you distanced for so long.

That cold, bitter laughter soon dissipated into what were choked sobs, ones of despair — he had been holding himself together for so long, for the sake of the realm, for the sake of a family that cared so little for him. His body ached and trembled, and as much as he attempted to move away from you, he couldn’t.

The nearest settee happened to be where he fell, landing against the velveteen cushions, head hung in despair, body wracked with sobs. He was undesirable, undeserving of you and your love. He was some withered husk, a shell, a monster still dressing in the clothing of a King — he was nothing.

Yet, you made him feel like something.

Silently, you crossed the cold stone to join him on the settee, sitting at his side as you gingerly let your palm settle against his back. “You underestimate how much I still care for you, husband.” You whispered, caressing along his spine with a feather-light touch.

Aegon felt drawn to you, pulled into the warmth of your comforting fire, knowing that if there was still one person left in this world who cared enough, it was you. Tears stained his visage, leaving behind streaks of red, eyes wet with many left unshed.

“Why should you?” Aegon questioned, his voice beginning to lose the fury and rage it held before, and it was melancholy. Anyone would’ve asked themselves such a question, but you didn’t — you remained steadfast. “I have brought nothing but misery upon you.”

It was complex, his statement — you had been miserable for some time, but this tragedy that afflicted you both was something worth overcoming. You were beginning to see the true Aegon, the one buried beneath the weight of the crown, the weight of inferiority.

“There is still time for forgiveness.” Your words were poignant and soft, and they were enough to move Aegon to tears again. He sat there beside you, crying to himself, breaking down completely. You had never seen him like this before — and perhaps, it was long overdue.

The comfort you provided was one he so desperately sought, even if he felt so guilty. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this, to deserve you — and yet he welcomed the grace of your palm, the sound of your songbird’s voice, soothing him with your gentle smile.

He was ashamed for you to see him this way, a man lacking the strength of physicality, the strength to hold a shortsword. It often wavered within his grasp — he would never be able to protect you. His beloved dragon was left in ruins, recovering in the Dragonpit — everything he had that made him strong had been taken.

Aegon was terrified to look upon you in such close quarters, afraid to feel the bitter jab of rejection, the horror and abhorrence within your gaze as you found his scars. He dared not turn, only keeping the intact side bared to you, still perfectly handsome.

Orwyle had harkened this to some miraculous recovery, a sign that the Gods favored him — Aegon did not feel favored, nor did he feel that he deserved it. Whatever he used to think, that his father wheezed his last breath desiring him on the Iron Throne, was nothing more than a twist of words.

There was nothing miraculous or prophetic about him — he was a sad, drunken cripple left to rot.

As much as he commiserated over his woes and the foul hand dealt to him by his brother, Larys had convinced him to live out of spite — and you convinced him that being alive, even in this wretched state, was a reality that was worth seeking.

He nearly crawled away at the sensation of your fingertips brushing along his jaw, unmarred and unscathed by the garish tangle of scars. Aegon shivered at your embrace — he had gone so terribly long without it, wondering if he would ever feel it again.

“I remember when I saw you for the first time, in the Grand Sept — I thought that you were the most resplendent man that I had ever seen,” You crooned, feeling him nudge his cheek into your palm. You gently swiped away a stray tear beneath his eye. “You still are.”

Aegon scoffed — a bitter, vitriolic sound that made his breath turn hoarse for a moment. He found it incredibly difficult to believe you, to find any merit in what you said given the circumstances. Even if you still loved him, that did not include his horrific appearance.

Tears trickled down his face, ones that you collected with your thumb before he shook his head. “Do not patronize me,” He murmured, visage furrowing together. “You cannot mean any of that. Look at me,” Aegon hissed, only slightly turning towards you. “I am a loathsome creature.”

His misery was an understatement when it came to his appearance — he looked like some monster, gnarled and withered beyond recognition. Whenever he looked into the mirror, he screamed and raged until he fell, or perhaps lost his voice.

Any Targaryen was often regarded as beautiful — pale, platinum tresses and lilac hues, a countenance as regal and as beautiful as a god. He was nothing more than a cockroach, now. He couldn’t fathom that you still desired him in a conventional way.

With a soft, tender touch, your hand then moved to rest against his shoulder. “If there is a loathsome creature here, I do not see it,” You murmured, head canting to one side. “What must I do to convince you, Aegon? Do you not believe me?”

Aegon’s trust had worn so thin that it threatened to snap, threadbare and nonexistent. He could only allow himself to trust so much — everyone he thought he could confide in or rely on had now turned against him, or attempted to slaughter him.

“It is hard to believe anyone anymore.” He murmured, staring down at his hands — one trembled, wreathed in burn scars, and the other clenched into a tight first.

He was made to believe that he was the rightful heir over Rhaenyra, when that was never the case. He was made to believe that he was a good ruler, when his Small Council plotted behind his back without his knowledge. He believed that Aemond was loyal to him, that he loved him as a brother would.

Lilac hues flickered from the void of his chambers to you, peering at you from beneath the curtain of pale tresses that still clung to his head. Despite the accusations of disloyalty he had hurled at you, his mistrust and doubt of your true intentions, you still maintained an amiable gaze.

You stared at him as if he had moved mountains, pulled the stars from the heavens for you — and he realized that no one, besides you, had looked at him in such a way before. It was profound and affectionate, wrought with a palpable adoration that came from a deep-rooted place of good.

Aegon’s throat grew tight, thick with emotion as he drank you in, tracing over the delicate plane of your features, the spark of warmth that brightened your eyes. Such divine beauty that he had robbed himself of for so long — he only felt like a fool, the greatest fool there was.

With an unsteady, quivering hand, he hesitantly reached out to you, unburnt fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw. He sucked in a sharp breath whenever you shuddered, face turning inward to press a kiss against his palm.

“I want to see you, husband.” You whispered, grasping his hand with both of yours, digits oozing with the radiance of heat that blossomed from you. The burn scars were carefully concealed behind silken garments, hidden from sight. Aegon grit his teeth together, not wanting you to see how disfigured he’d become.

“No,” Aegon quipped, shifting away from you with a scornful, wary expression. Whatever handsomeness he possessed before, it had all been burned away, turned to ash — and it left him, this husk of himself, with a physique that was repulsing to behold. “There is nothing pleasant about it — it is rotten.”

Rotten was perhaps a vast exaggeration for his wounds and scars, something that you found to be perplexing. Scars did not bother you, and you wouldn’t let your husband’s insecurities dissuade him from your comfort and care. Still holding his hand, you moved closer, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

Aegon shivered beneath the chaste kiss, wanting nothing more than to collect you into his arms. The gnawing fear of your potential repulsion made him hesitate, and the bitter stab of rejection seemed to dig into him more than anything else.

“What woman would want this?”

Aegon’s forlorn, despondent inquiry hung above the both of you like some dour cloud. His grim outlook was something that you could sympathize with, given that his appearance had been torn apart within an instant. He swallowed the sob building within his chest, violet hues glistening with wet tears.

At last, he looked at you fully, exposing the marred, scarred side of his visage, tangled with a web of textured burns. His eye was sunken in, vessels having broken the white around his iris, ear nearly missing entirely, countenance partially mottled.

It was the same with his body, nearly half of it covered in the same fleshy web, scars spreading out like the roots of a tree. Aegon looked to you with a shattered expression, one that possessed a vehement swell of rage and frustration, yet still retained a sense of desperation. He was desperate to have your approval, for you to tell him that he was still perfect, regardless of his disfigurement.

Without a word, you moved your hand toward the maimed side of his face, expecting him to rip away or recoil entirely. Instead, he stayed there, rooted in-place, shuddering when the softness of your palm cupped his jaw. The pad of your thumb gingerly raked over his cheek, feeling along every scar and rough surface.

“I want you, Aegon,” The soft, silky resonance of your voice had brought him to heel, gaining his subservience, despite his inner battle with his insecurities. He feared being ugly in your eyes, as if his heart weren’t black and decayed enough. “I want you still.” Your lips twitched into an amiable smile.

For a moment, his eyes had fluttered shut, and he soaked in the sensation of your touch, warm and real against his cheek. It felt incredible, something he had craved for so long — it had left a gaping hole within his chest. Any tears that fell, you collected them with your fingertips, swiping them away.

Again, you inched closer, leg-to-leg with him, gaze drifting towards his lips. Aegon did not dissuade you from it, breathing becoming somewhat laborious as you pressed forward, mouth molding against his. It had been a long time since you had kissed him — truly kissed him.

A low, stirring groan reverberated within the depths of his throat, and at last, he reciprocated. Aegon’s kiss was done in a flurry of passion, realizing what he hadn’t had for so long. You tasted saccharine, warm and soft against him, mouth pliant and willing.

Gods, how blind he was — foolish, fragile, moronic.

He had abandoned you for unattainable things, for insignificant people that cared little about his wellbeing. Aegon had you — you, so devoted and loyal and forgiving, even when he deserved none of it. He very nearly sobbed again, knowing what error and sin he’d committed against you, but he shoved it down.

His insecurities seemed so small, as if they were wiped away by the curve of your mouth that so desperately kissed him. Aegon moved his good arm, bringing it to the swell of your hips, feeling your supple physique through the thin silk of your nightgown.

A sweet, simpering moan bubbled within your throat, a sound that so clearly vocalized your desperation for him, your repression and longstanding suffering. “Aegon,” You whispered, sending tremors down his spine as he kissed your jaw. “We don’t have to, we — you’re in pain.” You didn’t want to subject your husband to such agony.

Aegon shook his head, willing to push through the dull aching if it meant that he could have you again. Despite his fractured confidence, you made him feel so strong again, as if he still looked as he had before the burning. “Fuck agony,” He panted, hot breath fanning across your flesh. “I need you.”

That was enough to send a surge of molten heat throughout your belly, thighs rubbing together to alleviate some of your mounting arousal. “To bed, then.” You whispered, and Aegon swore that he moved quicker than normal, as if you had rejuvenated in some mystical way through words alone.

Using his cane to support most of his weight, he sluggishly walked toward your marital bed, feeling you hover around his side. You did not help him, and he didn’t want it, anyway. He was growing stronger by the day, capable of making it to his bed without support.

Fresh linens, silks, and feathered pillows had replaced ones used yesterday. It was all clean, smelling of lavender and honey. As he sat along the edge of the bed, he nearly chuckled at all of this — finally laying with you out of desire, and not duty, looking positively abhorrent.

If only it hadn’t taken him so long to get here.

“Are you certain, Aegon? I do not wish to hurt you, I —” Before you could prattle on about your concerns, Aegon silenced you with a kiss, coaxing you down by his side. His lips remained unblemished and unburnt, the taste of Dornish Red and sugar permeating his tongue.

“You won’t,” Aegon uttered, lilac hues raking over you, hungry and rapturous. “And if you do, you will not stop until I tell you to.” His tone retained a sternness to it, one that pleaded with you to allow him to drown in your affections, just like he always wanted.

With a gentle nod of your head, Aegon pushed your tresses away from your neck, thumb caressing along the column of your throat before he pressed a kiss there. You scarcely recalled the last time he’d done something like this, but you weren’t about to protest.

He wanted to hear your sighs and sweet whimpers, the sound of his name, breathy from your tongue. Aegon did not have the stamina he used to, but he would rather damn himself instead of stopping so quickly. He kissed and bit at your neck, soothing each mark with the languid lap of his tongue.

Gods, that sound — Aegon delighted in listening to your soft, wanton moan, pearlescent teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, kissing wherever he could reach. His burnt hand trembled, the flesh tender and still pulsating with a dull ache, but he elected to ignore it as best as he could.

Your hand pressed against his unmarred thigh, gripping into the flesh there as he groaned against you. He had finally gotten rid of that horrid, lengthy nightshirt, back to linen trousers and a silken, emerald tunic. His growing erection wasn’t subtle in the slightest.

“Let me see you.” Aegon murmured, wanting to look upon you with renewed eyes. You had always been beautiful to him, but now, you were captivating — a goddess incarnate, come to grace him with your presence. He watched as you stood, unraveling your robe as you draped it across the foot of the bed.

His mouth became dry, desire swelling within him like the urgent crash of a tidal wave. Aegon’s violet gaze remained transfixed, unable to tear themselves away from you and your perfection.

You stood in between his legs, shedding the thin, sheer gossamer of your nightgown, allowing it to pool around your feet before you nudged it aside. The last time you had undressed for Aegon, he was drunk and needy, several months ago.

His intoxication was of a different sort now, drunk upon your resplendence, your beauty, living and breathing before him. Aegon gripped your hip with his good hand, learning forward to press kisses all along your abdomen and stomach.

The sensation of your hand, so gentle and sweet, slipped against his marred cheek, gingerly caressing over his uneven web of scars, encapsulating over half of his skull. Aegon nearly groaned at your heavenly touch, the touch of a wife who loved her husband, scars and all.

He did not feel so monstrous anymore.

Aegon turned to press a kiss against the inside of your wrist, savoring the feeling of your fingertips roving across his scars. It was only when you moved to kiss the top of his head that he nearly faltered, breath warbled and wavering, surprise settling into his features.

He moved back, countenance twitching with pain for a fleeting moment, finding comfort within the silken duvet and soft sheets of your shared bed. You nearly moved to sit beside him again, but he stopped you, swallowing the growing lump within his throat.

“No,” Aegon whispered, tone a low, husky resonance, strung out with desire as he coaxed you into his lap with certainty. “Come here.” Those lilac hues were blown-out with lust and bewilderment, enthralled by you as he felt you settle down against him, thighs firmly caging him in on either side.

A grunt stirred within his chest, a dull throbbing pulsating throughout his body, but he persisted, feeling your plush form sit right in his lap. His good arm stroked along your spine and hip, faces mere breaths apart, and he kissed you with a blinding fervor.

Aegon never kissed you like this — not until now.

Whatever sentiments you felt for him, the ones that drove you to complete devotion, began to resurface — you still loved him fiercely, despite everything. “Will you allow me to see you, too?” You whispered against his mouth, digits dancing toward the hem of his tunic.

A beat of hesitation passed through your husband, who almost seemed to revert to his reclusive state. His jaw became tense, an inner war raging within him as he contemplated letting you disrobe him. Aegon looked at you, torn yet wanting, tugging you closer.

You gave him time to deliberate, not wanting to push him into something that he wasn’t prepared for. As if to soothe him, your fingertips traced along his brow line, and into the tangle of scars. “If you do not, I will understand, husband. It will not make me love you any less.”

That alone made him want to remove his tunic.

Aegon tilted forward, burying his face against your collarbone, mottled flesh textured against your own skin. He felt your palm glide against the nape of his neck, carding your digits through his wisps of pale hair. “It is hideous,” He uttered, insecurities bubbling to the surface. “I wouldn’t dare subject you to it.”

“Aegon,” The tenderness of your tone seemed to grab his attention rather swiftly, lilac hues drifting up toward your visage, perfect and comely. “It is all you — every scar and every imperfection, and I will love it all the same. My desires haven’t changed.”

His breath hitched within his throat, eyes swimming with an amalgamation of emotions, some of them too overwhelming to fully comprehend. He had sorely missed your embrace, and to further deprive himself of it seemed like an unimaginable torture.

You wanted him to take his time, neck craning as you peppered your lips against his throat — the burnt side, flesh marred and uneven, the sensation akin to a leathery surface. Aegon exhaled, gripping you tighter as he reveled in the feeling of your mouth.

It was he who initiated the removal of his tunic, attempting to pry it away and over his head, but he struggled, a low groan escaping him. Aegon wanted to feel independent, to do something himself, but he relented, accepting your assistance.

Removing the garment felt like an eternity, born out of his own nervousness and crippling insecurity of you seeing him this way, marred and mottled. Only half of him was covered in that tangled, leathery web of scars, spiraling down his entire physique.

Hovering your palm above his chest, Aegon’s lilac gaze silently pleaded with you to touch him, grace him with the touch of your resplendence. The scars were rough and uneven, innumerable and etched into his flesh like a blanket of leather.

Yet, you did not recoil or shy away, tracing patterns over his skin, pressing your sweet kisses wherever you could reach. Aegon felt his cock twitch and throb with desperation, longing to be inside of you. The tender care you showed him meant more to him than any crass or lewd act did.

You kissed his scarred shoulder, a gesture so comforting and kind that Aegon shuddered from exhilaration. That pattern of soft worship continued, as you kissed his scars again and again, reverence seeping into each grace of your mouth.

“Gods, how divine you are,” Aegon exhaled, quivering hand finally extending just enough to knead against your thigh. The palm that held your hip traced towards the warmth between your legs, and he shivered at the slick arousal there. “What a pleasant surprise.”

You squirmed, cunt aching for him in every way imaginable, hips jolting into the sensation of his practiced digits. Aegon was swift to reward your kindness with quick strokes of his fingers, tracing along your slit before caressing your clit, toying with the sensitive pearl.

The game of waiting was an agonizing one, as he longed to be inside of you, let you feel him again with renewed vigor, drown himself within your love. Aegon groaned when your lips met his, connecting with a thinly-veiled ardor, passionate yet tender.

Agony and pain became a thing of the past — even if his body ached and contorted with a continuous sting, he didn’t care. He wanted to endure for you, savoring each moment, digits greedily stroking away at your cunt in order to warm you up.

Desire made him dizzy, head beginning to spin in a delirium, induced by the growing haze of lust. He couldn’t recall the last time he laid with a woman and truly enjoyed it — but he was enjoying this — he loved your body, and above all else, he loved you.

“I want you inside of me,” You panted, hot breath fanning across the shell of his ear. A shiver cascaded along his spine, prompting him to slow the steady strokes of his digits. “Aegon, please.” With a pleading tone that brought Aegon to heel, he nodded, letting out a grunt of discomfort.

He gently removed you from his lap, but only to readjust, moving himself back against the mound of feathered pillows and cushions. Those violet hues silently observed you, rapturous and starving, like a hound preparing to devour its meal as you clamored forward again.

Your hands moved to the leather ties of his breeches, loosening them up enough to free his cock from its confines, flushed head oozing with tendrils of precum. Aegon wasn’t shy about how aroused he was, how desperately he needed you.

“Sit,” Aegon groaned, hand kneading against your hip, attempting to coax you onto his hardened length. “Please, I — I need you.” You hadn’t heard him beg before, but the sound was husky, timbre strung-out with desire as you crawled back into his lap.

As you gently lowered yourself onto his cock, Aegon nearly moaned at the sensation, head rolling back against the pillows as you sank down completely. He couldn’t move like he used to, guide you along or assist, but he did squeeze your hip, caressing all along your side.

Depriving himself of you for so long was perhaps one of the greatest faults he’d ever made, filling him with a wave of guilt. He could not make up for it anymore, properly ravage you in the way that you deserved, but he hoped that this was a start.

Everything began to ache with more of an intensity, a dull throbbing sinking into his bones, but he relented. Aegon would not deny himself, and he would not deny you, above all else. A myriad of throaty groans escaped him as you began to move, hips rocking forward, disarmingly gentle and sluggish.

You did not go quickly at all, each movement slow and steady, thighs stinging from exertion. Slowly, you reached for his hand, the one that had stayed closer to his chest, longing to hold it, if he was able. Aegon’s breath hitched when you did, gently twining his fingers with your own as you rode him.

His cock filled you perfectly, filling a void within you that had been left half-empty for so long. At last, you had your husband again — the one that you yearned for since your wedding day. With gentle gyrations, you moved yourself up and down along his length, continuing your sluggish rhythm.

The palm that cupped your hip and thigh soon slithered toward the apex of between your legs, hoping to stimulate you just as you did him. Your moans, breathy and high-pitched, filled your chambers, noises that he had been longing to hear.

The full, lovely swell of your breasts bounced gently atop your chest as you continued your ministrations, repeating the monotonous motion of rocking along his cock. Your stomach sloshed with molten heat, and it quickly spread to your loins when Aegon’s thumb caressed the pearl of your cunt.

He wasn’t going to last much longer in this state, cock throbbing with tendrils of precum that released themselves inside of you. The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. It was a perfect storm of sensations, between the fervent circles he traced into your clit coupled with the feeling of him inside of you, you knew that your release was near and inevitable.

A breathy sigh of ‘fuck’ emerged from Aegon’s mouth, countenance contorted into a look of complete and utter ecstasy. “Gods, do not stop,” Aegon commanded through wanton groans, hips desperately wanting to buck up inside of you, but the pain was becoming too great. “Please.” He pleaded.

Everything felt so raw and sensitive, nerves set ablaze, arousal gripping him tightly as you continued to ride his cock, ensuring that you were still incredibly gentle. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you move, cautious and mindful of him, lips agape and visage one of sheer bliss.

The delight you felt was immense, holding onto Aegon’s hand, wanting to grind yourself into his thumb. “Aegon,” You moaned, looking down upon him with reverence and awe, no inkling of disgust to be found — it was ardor and want, all tangled into one. “I—I’m close!” Your whine made him want to tear you apart.

It only took one more roll of your hips for him to fall apart, in shambles beneath you, hot ropes of virile seed filling your womb with desperation. Aegon saw stars from the intensity of his release, nearly collapsing in the aftermath of it all.

His breathing quickened, hoarse and labored as you tilted your hips forward, finding a much-needed friction as he caressed your clit even still. Watching you reach your release with his own eyes was a captivating sight, mesmerizing to behold as you shuddered, trembling and aching with relief.

He huffed, attempting to recuperate as you stayed in his lap for a moment longer, slick with your nectar and his own spent, its sheen coating the inside of your thighs. You removed yourself from him to give him some reprieve, stepping away to clean yourself up and retrieve your nightgown.

Aegon’s visage became one of immediate concern as he watched you move away, worried that he had offended you. “Where — Are you not staying?” He questioned, hastily maneuvering his breeches up around his hips again, doing his best to lace up the leather ties.

Surprised, you stopped near the basin of water sitting along the vanity, head canting to one side. “I intended on staying with you, unless you do not want me to.” You replied, sliding the silken garment back on after having taken a swatch of cloth to the warmth between your thighs.

“I want you,” Aegon’s tone had become a rather desperate resonance, as if imploring you to stay even when there wasn’t a need for him to do so. “I want you to stay.” He uttered, lilac hues somewhat shrewd as you approached, helping him put his tunic back on.

“Of course.” With a soothing voice, you pressed a kiss against the scarred side of his scalp, and then to his forehead, helping to ease him back down into bed. The draught left behind by Maester Orwyle assisted with the pain — not nearly as strong as Milk of the Poppy, but it was the best choice.

Taking a swig, Aegon sighed, feeling you climb into bed, curled against the good side of his body. He immediately collected you into his arm, feeling your cheek press into his shoulder. It was the most satisfying feeling in the world, having you by his side again.

“If you are agreeable to it,” Aegon began, tracing patterns into the small of your back, “I wish for you to stay here again, and share my bed.” He didn’t demand anything, nor did he use his title and power to force you into sharing your chambers again.

He would’ve understood if you declined, given everything that had happened between the both of you.

Aegon loathed the thought of being alone again, to return to his reclusive existence of self-deprecation and endless misery when you were still here, living perfection — his beloved wife. He turned his head just enough to kiss your crown, briefly inhaling your floral scent, one that he sorely missed.

“I would like that,” You hummed, comfortable by his side. It was the first time in many moons that Aegon felt almost entirely comfortable again, scars and all. “Know that I love you, Aegon — until my last days.” With a gentle touch, you reached for his marred hand, holding it delicately within your own.

Tears swam within his lilac hues, and he had to squeeze them shut just to alleviate that feeling of sobbing. To hear you say with certainty that you loved him — he knew that he no longer needed to fear the idea of living, not when he had you.

“I love you.” Aegon whispered, barely above a whisper. He held you tightly, cradling you close, grasp innately protective even when danger didn’t hang over your heads.

Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he was finally being transparent with himself — with his inner turmoil, with his very existence, and that he loved you too.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not copy/steal my work and claim it as your own. please do not translate my work onto other platforms.

[gtgbabie0]

Hi! I’ve got a request please for Aegon after he’s injured at Rook’s Rest where wife!reader won’t leave his bedside just watching him rest and helping care for him and soothing him when he’s able to wake up 🥺

-Aegon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

{The days following Rooks Rest were spent by Aegon’s side and no where else}

Thank you for the request!! Enjoy my lovelies 💕

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It was a day just like the last, the morning sun was blocked behind the thick tapestry that hangs over the huge windows. It casts a hazy light through the chambers, the smoke from the candles dances through the soft rays of sun that peak between the gaps.

The chair beside Aegon’s sick bed was your new home, you slept and ate there- well what little you could stomach. The Maesters had advised you to get proper rest, urging you out of the room whenever they had to tend to him. However, all their complaints went in one ear and out the other.

You were adamant and so they all soon gave in, the desperation in your eyes must’ve spoken to something deep in Grand Maester Orwyle.

The sound of Aegon’s shallow breaths is the only sound that breaks through the silence, along with the faint crackle of candle flames that were starting to die out. You were almost on the cusp of sleep, your head tipping to the side as you try to fight off the heavy weight of exhaustion.

Although your attempts are futile, there was a restlessness that had coiled itself around your body holding you from finding peace ever since they had brought your husband back to the Red Keep in that wooden box, the memory still stirs your stomach unpleasantly.

Shaking the thought off you lean forward slightly, reaching over to brush his hair away from his face, your knuckles grazing over his unburned cheek. His skin is warm to the touch, hot with the leftover remnants of a fever he had not long broken.

You stare at him, watching him sleep so soundly that he almost looks at peace. If it weren’t for his pained expression and the way he weakly fists at the bedsheets then perhaps you might’ve tricked yourself into believing he was fine… just resting as the Maesters put it.

You dip a cotton cloth into the basin, wringing the water out before gently dabbing it against the untouched areas of his skin, the last parts of him that weren’t scorched. His body tenses up, and then a broken sigh passes through his chapped lips, the coolness brought him some relief if only for a few fleeting moments.

He sinks back into the comfort of the pillows as you bring the cloth over his chest, avoiding the marred skin. “… you’re still here?” He whispers, disbelief twinging through his broken tone, watching you through his bleary eye. He knows it’s you, despite the daze he is in. He can tell by the way you tend to him with a certain care that the Maesters didn’t have.

His voice sends a pang of hurt through your chest, hitting your heart. “Of course… I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper, going back over to the basin to fold the cloth back in its place before walking over to him once more.

He had been in out of consciousness since this morning when you had witnessed him speak vaguely to Orwyle, his words then were slurred almost incoherent.

“You don’t have to.” He rasps, his actions betraying his words as his fingers twitch weakly in a desperate attempt to hold your hand. You meet him halfway, clasping your fingers around his palm.

“No, I want to. I’m not leaving you Aegon.” You tell him, more of a reassurance than anything. To soothe him whilst he remains in this almost delirious state. He nods feebly, a smile ghosting over his features, the feeling of your thumb caressing the inside of his wrist brings him peace of mind.

Your gaze casts along his body slowly, the dragon fire had caused a web of marred flesh over his chest and arm, across his face. An unsettling sight of pinks and reds, darker in some places and lighter in others as they blended into a violent purple in some areas, it was all extremely sensitive that even the bedsheets seemed to cause him a great deal of agony.

He watches the way your eyes study him, taking in the horrid sight that has become of him. He hates it more than anything, the look of grief in your eyes for a life that he was no longer able to live, long lost within the very same flames that had nearly claimed him. He hates it, such a solemn emotion doesn’t suit you.

Aegon looks up at you as if it was his first time really seeing you since he was first brought home. He seemed much more aware than he did yesterday. His purple eye brimming with tears that he has no control over, not right now in this condition.

“You look exhausted.” He states the obvious, looking at the deep bags underneath your eyes, although you are well aware of the fact. It was his shallow breaths that kept you from sleeping, far too scared that he might pass whilst you were unconscious.

You hum in acknowledgement, not trusting your voice to carry your words without breaking into a sob. His fingers squeeze your own, a wordless understanding, so softly that you barely even notice it.

You collect yourself, clearing your throat. “I’m okay, shall I get the Maesters?” Your words immediately make him shake his head, a desperate noise of protest slipping past his lips.

“No, stay. I need you.” He tells you, leaning into your palm with a shaky sigh.

His hand reaches for the soft velvet of your dress, trying to urge you closer to him, keeping you there with a small pained whimper. You wrap your fingers around his hands softly, looking down at him, trying to stop him with worry in your eyes as he tries to sit up.

“Stop it Aegon, you’re going to hurt yourself. I’m not leaving just lay back.” You promise, urging him to rest back down against the pillows. He mumbles something that sounds more like a jumble of pained blusters, letting you guide him back to the comfort of the pillows.

“Sit down with me,” he whispers in a strained tone, noting the hesitation in your eyes as you look across his burned skin.

You do ask he asks, perching yourself down on the edge of his bed. Your eyes search his expression for any signs of discomfort, but you are met with only a weak smile as his hand rests against your lap.

He looks over to the chair beside his bed, the blankets and pillows that were placed over the cushions, the small tray of food on the table nearby that had been untouched… you really hadn’t left his side? The thought chokes him up.

“You’ve been sleeping in that old chair this entire time? Don’t be silly…” He says, working his fingers between your own, his thumb stroking across your wedding ring. “You should be in bed… sleeping.”

“What use am I to you if I’m in bed?” You ask him, looking down at his hand as he caresses the small gemstones on your ring.

It had become some sort of habit of his, over time as he let you into his heart little by little. It brought him comfort to know that you chose to stay with him, for all his faults you still found yourself caring for reasons that Aegon can’t seem to comprehend even now.

Aegon furrowed his eyebrows slightly, a weak scoff escaping his chapped lips. Your selflessness would forever puzzle him. “You are my wife, I won’t have you wasting away.” He spoke with a sternness, he was worried about you. How much sleep have you had- or food for that matter- if any at all.

You sigh, opening your mouth to argue with him but he quickly cuts you off. “You’d be no use to me at all by torturing yourself like this, you silly girl…” The words carry some truth, but you were stubborn.

“You worrying about me whilst you lay here…like this… that is silly Aegon.” You tell him, looking down at your lap to your joined hands as his thumb continues to idly rub over the wedding band.

He grunts, looking up at you with a small frown but he can’t be mad. He missed you far too much to spend these moments arguing. “You are frustratingly stubborn… I missed you.” He whispers, bringing your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your ring.

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, letting him guide your hand to rest against his cheek. He leans into the warmth of your palm as your thumb caresses him once again.

“I’ve missed you… so much.” You breathe, words coming out hushed as you try to keep the tears from falling down your exhausted eyes.

He watches you with slight confusion as you suddenly scramble over to the tables beside your chair, grabbing something before joining him at his side once more. Before he can ask what you were doing you take his uninjured hand, gently pushing his own wedding ring onto his finger.

His heart stops for a moment, leaping into his stomach at the feeling. The affection, the gentleness, makes his throat close up and he can’t do much, rendered speechless as he stares up at you with disbelief.

“I thought you wouldn’t wake up… that you were-” dead… you can’t speak the word, you didn’t dear to, just in case in some sick turn of events it might come to fruition.

The tears fall freely, looking down at your wedding rings. A symbol that meant much more than just duty, you were entwined by the soul and heart, tethered to each other.

He reaches up to brush your tears away, his expression softening. “I’m here… I’m not going anywhere.” He rasps, hating the fact he can do more to soothe you. He’s never felt so useless before then he does right now.

“As am I… I’m not going anywhere.” your teary response makes him chuckle weakly.

“Come here…” he grunts, trying to play off the pain that was still searing through his body in hot flashes.

“No- I don’t want to hurt you.” You whisper, suddenly panicked as he tries to tug you down to him by his good arm.

He beckons you closer, his fingers curling around the back of your head. “You won’t… just please.” He begs meekly.

You steady yourself, pressing the palms of your hands against the mattress- being super vigilant of the burns that tarnish his body- as he lowers you down to kiss him. Your lips meeting his own gently before you pull away.

“No more. Rest before you overexert yourself.” You tell him sternly, getting up from the bed as he grumbles in a mixture of objection and pain, watching you walk back over to the wash basin. His complaints soon die down at the feeling of the cool damp rag pressing against his chest.

“Thank you.” He whispers, moulding back into the pillows. The chill it brings against his flushed skin was very welcomed.

“Shh, just relax.” You coo softly and it isn’t long before he’s drifting back off to sleep. His hand entwined with your own, your rings glistening underneath the soft candlelight, not willing to let go even in his unconscious state.

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[novaursa]

Web of Gold (aegon has a cold)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Previous part: aegon in love

- Next part: aegon is jealous

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995

Aegon lounges pathetically in his chamber, propped up by an unreasonable number of pillows, surrounded by the evidence of his misery. The usually bright and playful gleam in his eyes is dulled, his silver hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. A crimson flush colors his cheeks, but not from wine this time—no, it's from the fever that’s had him whining and moaning for hours. He coughs dramatically, letting out a moan that echoes through the chamber as if he’s on the brink of death.

Alicent stands at his bedside, her expression a mixture of concern and deep irritation. In her hand, she holds a small vial containing a thick, unpleasant-looking tonic, brought to her by Grand Maester Orwyle. She tries to smile, though it’s clear she’s struggling. “Aegon, you must take this tonic,” she says, her tone firm but coaxing. “It will bring down the fever.”

Aegon grimaces, turning his head to the side as though the very sight of the tonic might poison him on the spot. “No,” he mutters, voice muffled against the pillows. He pulls the blankets up to his chin like a petulant child. “It smells like the dungeons.”

Alicent’s smile tightens, and she takes a breath, clearly summoning her patience. “Aegon, you must be sensible. You’ll feel better once you take it. Orwyle says it will—”

But Aegon interrupts her with a dramatic groan, throwing an arm over his face. “No, Mother, I don’t want *Orwyle’s tonic! It’s foul, and it will probably kill me faster than the fever!” He opens one eye to gauge her reaction and, seeing her unimpressed look, he lets out an even louder groan. “Why don’t you just let me die in peace?”

Alicent's patience snaps, her voice growing sharper. “Aegon, stop being ridiculous. It’s just a tonic.”

Aegon, however, is already gearing up for a proper scene. He shifts dramatically under the covers, clutching his chest with a moan that would rival a dying knight on a battlefield. “I’m going to die, Mother, I can feel it. The fever’s too strong. I can barely lift my head. The end is near!” He pauses for dramatic effect before adding in a pitiful whine, “And if I am to die, I want Y/N here with me!”

Alicent blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Y/N?” she repeats, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “Aegon, you need medicine, not—”

“I need Y/N!” Aegon insists, reaching out to grab his mother’s hand with a feverish desperation. “She knows how to take care of me. She’s warm, and she’ll make me feel better with her presence. And she’ll bring honey cakes!” He glances at the tonic in her hand with a scowl. “Not that awful sludge Orwyle calls medicine.”

Alicent pulls her hand back, her lips thinning into a displeased line. “Aegon, Y/N isn’t a healer. She’s not going to make your fever go away.”

Aegon, determined to be as difficult as possible, shifts to stare up at the ceiling, adopting a pitiful, far-off look. “Then let me waste away. Alone. Unloved. Without the touch of my sweet lioness by my side.”

Alicent pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath. “Aegon, you are not going to waste away. You have a cold, not greyscale.”

But Aegon is already in his own world of dramatics, ignoring her entirely. He clutches the blankets tighter, his voice dropping to a rasping murmur as if his strength is ebbing away. “Tell her I need her… Tell her it’s my last wish.” He glances sideways at his mother, his lips trembling with a pout that might almost be convincing if it weren’t so exaggerated. “You wouldn’t deny a dying man his last wish, would you, Mother?”

Alicent’s eye twitches, and she takes another breath, visibly trying to keep her composure. “You are not dying, Aegon. You’re being overdramatic.”

But Aegon ignores her, already raising his voice to the empty room. “Someone fetch Y/N!” he calls out to the ceiling. “Bring her here, or I shall succumb to this fever and perish before the day is done! I can feel the darkness closing in…”

Alicent looks heavenward as if praying for patience. She sets the vial of tonic down on the bedside table with a decisive thud, her expression turning steely. “Fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “I will send for Y/N, if it will stop you from this nonsense. But you will take the tonic when she arrives.”

Aegon’s face immediately brightens, his sudden smile undermining all his previous complaints. “Oh, thank you, Mother! You won’t regret it. Y/N will make everything better, you’ll see.”

Alicent gives him a tight smile that looks more like a grimace. “Yes, I’m sure she will,” she mutters, turning on her heel and leaving the chamber with an air of resignation. She doesn’t bother to hide the annoyance in her stride, the sharp click of her heels echoing through the hall as she goes to find the only person capable of soothing her impossible son.

As soon as she’s out of sight, Aegon relaxes back into the pillows with a contented sigh, a satisfied smile curling his lips. He reaches for the goblet of water by his bed and takes a sip, already picturing the way you’ll fuss over him and bring him sweet treats to “help with his strength.” For Aegon, being pampered by you is the cure to any illness—no tonic required.

You sweep into Aegon’s chambers with a swirl of your golden skirts, exuding the warm energy of someone who has absolutely no idea how to take care of a fever but is determined to make a show of it. Aegon, who is propped up in bed like a tragic hero, immediately brightens when he sees you. He looks as pitiful as ever, a blanket draped over his shoulders and a dramatic flush on his cheeks. The moment you step through the door, he gives a loud, exaggerated sigh of relief.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re finally here!” he croaks, though his voice is suspiciously more robust than it was when Alicent was present. He reaches out a hand to you, his expression one of desperate longing. “I feared I would perish before you arrived.”

You smile indulgently, sitting yourself on the edge of the bed and taking his hand in yours, patting it as if he’s a fragile, wilting flower. “Oh, Aegon, don’t be so dramatic. I’m sure you’ll make a full recovery,” you reply sweetly, though there’s a teasing glint in your eyes. “But I brought honey cakes just in case.”

Aegon’s expression lights up immediately, and he clutches your hand even tighter. “See? You understand me better than anyone. You know exactly what I need.” He leans back against his pillows, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “I’ve been telling Mother that you are my cure.”

You cast a look over your shoulder, catching Alicent’s displeased expression as she lingers by the doorway, but you offer her a serene smile. “It’s only natural for a wife-to-be to tend to her betrothed, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s expression tightens, but before she can respond, there’s the sound of footsteps approaching, and Aemond strides into the room, his boots clicking sharply against the stone floor. He takes in the scene with a raised brow, his single eye sweeping over you and Aegon in bed, with Alicent hovering nearby looking thoroughly exasperated. Aemond’s lips twitch in what might have been amusement, though his tone is as dry as ever.

“I heard that my brother was on his deathbed,” Aemond says, a slight edge of mockery in his voice as he crosses his arms and looks down at Aegon. “But it seems he’s found his miracle cure.”

Aegon, never one to miss a chance to exaggerate, clutches your hand to his chest with renewed fervor. “Oh, Aemond, it was terrible. The fever—it was like dragonfire coursing through my veins. I thought I wouldn’t make it through the night!” He glances over at you, batting his lashes in a way that he probably thinks is charming. “But now that Y/N is here, I feel hope returning to me.”

You play along with a sympathetic look, pressing a cool cloth to Aegon’s forehead as if that might truly stave off the fever. “He’s been so brave, Aemond,” you say, though there’s a teasing lilt to your voice. “But I think he just needs a bit of pampering. And perhaps a few more of these honey cakes.”

Aemond rolls his eye, clearly unimpressed by the theatrics. He looks from you to Aegon with a resigned expression, then sighs. “Brother, you’ve caught a cold, not the Grey Plague. Surely even you can endure a little discomfort without turning it into a full-blown tragedy.”

Aegon shoots his brother a wounded look, releasing your hand to point accusingly in Aemond’s direction. “You just don’t understand, Aemond! You’re all… stoic and serious. You wouldn’t know what it’s like to suffer through this kind of agony.” He lets out another dramatic sigh, letting his head fall back against the pillows. “But Y/N understands. She knows how to take care of me.”

You pat Aegon’s hand again, your smile turning a little smug as you glance at Aemond. “Well, I can’t fault him for wanting a little comfort in his time of need, can I, Aemond? Surely you wouldn’t begrudge him that.”

Aemond’s gaze flickers with barely concealed amusement. “Oh, I don’t begrudge him anything, Y/N. I merely question whether he is truly in as much peril as he claims to be.” He arches a brow at Aegon, who is now picking at the edge of a honey cake, nibbling on it like a spoiled child.

Aegon, catching his brother’s skeptical look, scowls and quickly adopts a pitiful expression, pressing the cloth to his head as though that might convince Aemond of his dire condition. “You see? Even now, my head is pounding. I’m practically burning up! Feel my forehead, Y/N. It’s like touching the sun.”

You humor him, pressing your hand to his forehead with the most serious expression you can manage. “Hmm,” you murmur thoughtfully, as if considering a grave diagnosis. “Yes, it’s very warm indeed. It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long, Aegon.”

Aegon beams at your attention, thoroughly delighted by your pampering. “See, Aemond? Y/N understands. She’s the only one who truly cares about me.”

Aemond, however, just rolls his eye again, his expression one of long-suffering endurance. “If you’ve truly caught a fever, brother, then you should rest and stop talking so much.” He glances pointedly at the untouched vial of tonic on the bedside table. “And perhaps actually take the medicine that Orwyle prepared for you instead of relying solely on sweets.”

Aegon makes a face, shoving the tonic aside with a weak swipe of his hand. “I told you, that stuff is poison. I won’t drink it.” He turns to you, eyes wide and imploring. “You wouldn’t want me to suffer through that awful stuff, would you, Y/N?”

You offer Aegon a conspiratorial smile, tapping a finger to your lips. “Well, perhaps if you’re very good, I’ll bring you something that tastes better. A little wine, maybe?”

Aemond’s eye narrows at you both, clearly exasperated. “Yes, because what you need right now is more wine,” he mutters under his breath, though you catch the faintest twitch of his lips.

But Aegon’s already nodding eagerly, looking far more animated than any feverish man has a right to be. “Yes, yes, that’s what I need. Wine and Y/N. The two best remedies in the realm.”

Alicent, who has been silent but watching the entire exchange with a tightly controlled expression, finally speaks up, her voice clipped. “Aegon, please. Stop behaving like a child.”

Aegon gives her a wounded look, but his grip on your hand tightens as though you’re his only tether to this world. “But Mother, Y/N is taking such good care of me. Can’t you see how much better I feel already?” He turns his gaze back to you, his voice dropping to a more pitiful tone. “Y/N, don’t leave me. I need you.”

You give Aegon a reassuring pat, your tone soothing. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you, Aegon. Not until you’re feeling better.” Then, casting a look over your shoulder at Aemond, you add with a playful smile, “Besides, it’s not every day I get to dote on a king.”

Aemond meets your gaze, his mouth twisting into something resembling a smirk. “Indeed. Though I can’t say it’s doing wonders for his dignity.”

Aegon ignores the jab entirely, snuggling deeper into his blankets, content to have you by his side and blissfully unaware of the thinly veiled amusement on Aemond’s face—or the deep irritation on his mother’s. And you, for your part, settle in for what promises to be a thoroughly entertaining afternoon.

[alicentofhightower]

being the targtower’s youngest sister would include…

pairings: platonic!alicent hightower x daughter!reader, platonic!aegon targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!helaena targaryen x sister!reader, platonic!aemond targaryen x sister!reader

synopsis: what it’s like to be the youngest daughter of the green queen.

includes: reader being the only somewhat normal targtower, i went overboard on aegon’s are we surprised, might be ooc, sorry for how short alicent’s is i wasn’t feeling much inspo for her

a/n: one of my favorite things about alicent’s dynamic with her children is that they all represent a part of her: aegon, being used for politics, helaena, her innocence that she used to have, and aemond, her rage and thirst for power. so i decided to have reader represent alicent’s devotion to her family and her “duty”. hotd is so weird abt character ages so for my sanity aegon is 20, helaena is 18, aemond is 17, and reader is 16 in this. forget daeron pls

Alicent

Alicent has incredibly complicated relationships with her children. They are mirrors of her anguish, but her blood nonetheless. She will protect you and your siblings with her life, if necessary, but she also cannot look you in the eye without a pit of guilt settling in her stomach.

She feels nauseous when Viserys has you betrothed to a Lord from the Crownlands, but apart of her is satisfied with the match, though only because it means you will be allowed to stay in the Red Keep instead of leaving her.

She is just as gentle as she is with Helaena as she is with you. You are one of the only good things that have come from her. She cherishes you. When word of your pregnancy spreads through the Keep, Alicent orders an abundance of maternity gowns for you from Myr. She will always, without fail, offer you a guiding hand when going up large sets of stairs.

By all means, she is not a perfect mother, but she does what she can. She gifts you lots of her own accessories, like the hairnet she wore during Aegon’s second nameday celebration. Helaena is her “dearest love”, and you are her “sweetness.”

Trying to include you in her own private matters is one of the only ways she can spend time with you. She takes you to the Sept with her when she can, though her eyes are always averted from you.

That is one of the other strange things you’ve noticed about your mother; she can never make eye contact with you. Perhaps it is because you are with child just as she was at your age.

When the time comes, she cannot be by your side to hold your hand while you give birth. It’s improper. But she is overjoyed that both you and your son are healthy.

— “You have done well, my sweetness,” Your mother whispers, voice soft and melancholic and warm. Grand Maester Orwyle, bless him, had propped you up on great plush pillows after you’d finished your labors. He’d quietly congratulated you and helped you get comfortable in your bed, then had left you to rest.

She sits on the edge of your mattress, right by your side, thumb gingerly tracing your cheek. The forest green she’s clad in brings out the auburn of her hair. “The babe is a beautiful one. A handsome son for the realm. I am… proud of you.”

Articulating her thoughts has never been her strong point. It is the hour of the owl now. The only sounds you can hear are the padding of raindrops against the tall windows in your chambers and the crackling of the hearth.

“Aegon’s birth came quick for me as well,” She mutters, almost to herself. Peculiarly, she clings to the little ways you are alike to one another; they are fading as the days pass by. Her brows furrow as her mind begins to race.

Your firstborn sons’ births had come with ease. You were both married off far too early in your lives. In girlhood, you had both favored naive stories of brave knights and pretty ladies and romance. You both committed yourself to duty to further the family—

She stops the list she’s making in her head there. Far more resolutely than before, as if putting a wall around herself again, she kisses your forehead and retracts into herself.

“I shall leave you be. Good night.”

Aegon

For Aegon, news of a new sibling is unsurprising. It’s the same old thing to see his mother waddling around the castle, belly swollen. He’s a little indifferent when you’re born.

As a teen, though, Aegon is certainly the type to smack you a bit too hard in the training yard and then shush you, begging for you to hit him just as hard before you wail too loud and one of your mother’s handmaidens hear and alert her of it.

It makes him feel shameful, the first time you see him drunk, stinking of the whores of Flea Bottom and sweat. You promise to not tell anyone of it, if he, in exchange, does not do it again. He still does. You still do not tell.

After the events of Driftmark, you are the one to cut his hair short. Seeing Aemond bloody and bruised had frightened you, caused you to weep in front of the crowd in the great hall, and you’d tearfully asked Aegon if you could sleep in his bed together that night. He forces you to help him trim his waves the next morning as “repayment”, though he did not actually mind it.

You grow closer as you become older. To Aegon, you are the only one who has a semblance of faith in him; your mother was constantly repulsed by him, as was your grandsire and own father. Aemond had given up on him a long, long time ago, and Helaena focused on the children far more.

On his better days, Aegon likes to fly on your dragons together. Seeing you windswept and almost free is strangely satisfying for him; he misses when you both hadn’t been burdened by what your parents had put on you. In the dead of night, he likes to imagine what life would have been like if he hadn’t been forced to marry Helaena, and you your “fat, old husband”, as he put it.

Speaking of, he’d made a great fuss at your wedding. That was the angriest he’d ever saw you; he’d drunk himself half to death at the celebration afterward, made a fool of himself when he got into a fist fight with one of your husband’s brothers. Even the bards had stopped singing to stare at the spectacle. You’d almost lost your voice that night from how loud you’d yelled at him, asking when he’d ever think of anyone but himself, cheeks flushed from deep embarrassment.

“You know of my apprehension when it comes to large events such as these, and yet you cannot steel yourself for one night for my sake? What will you do when Jaehaera is married? Light the castle aflame?”

(You do not know the reason he’d done such a thing was to make such a big scene your consummation ceremony would be an afterthought. That, and the fact he was drunk and angry.)

Some part of him feels guilty when you get pregnant. He knows, deep down, that he had no part in it, and he could not control your fate, no matter if his efforts were weak or strong. But he was still your elder brother, was he not?

One day, while you sit in a rocking chair and he plays with the twins in their nursery, you tell him, “I should like for my son to be like you.” Aegon says, quietly, that yours will be better than he ever was, with you as his mother. He vanishes back into the Street of Silk soon after that.

One of his best qualities is being able to make light of anything, and he does just that after your labors, laughing at how disheveled you are and kissing your forehead. It’s hard not to laugh with him.

Days later, at his coronation, you are the first he looks to for approval, after your mother. The subtle nod you give him makes him wonder how you would’ve reacted if he had been successful in running to Essos. He hopes neither Aemond or Cole told you of what he’d said.

After becoming king, Aegon grows to value your input more and more. On his council, he feels you are the only one to genuinely listen to his concerns and thoughts when it comes to winning the war, and so he ignores the disapproving looks the men around him give him when you come to the meetings.

He does not mention your dragon when discussing battle plans, almost seems to ignore it when Lord Jasper brings you up; your dragon is great and strong, and he knows he will have to utilize you one day, but he refuses to think of it until it’s absolutely necessary. His mind has already been spoiled by what he has seen in brothels and taverns, and he imagines it will only further be by the sights of war. Aegon will do everything he can to avoid what happened to him happening to you.

The assassins Daemon hired infiltrate the Red Keep. They kill his son, leave with his head in a sack. Aegon rages and drinks and rages. He will not allow even you to see his tears, but he cannot stop them from soaking the cloth of your dress when you hug him tenderly, as if afraid he’ll slip through your hands like sand.

Bile floods into his mouth when Otto suggests wheeling his son’s body through the city to secure the approval of the smallfolk. The image of you insisting on going instead of his mother is burned into his brain. “If you will force Helaena, then at least spare Mother and allow me to go,” You’d begged. It does nothing.

As foolish as he can be, Aegon is also not one to forget what others have done for him. You were the only one who’d taken his side against your grandfather. He is glad he was not forced to marry you, glad that he did not force you to a brothel as he did Aemond; he is glad that he has not ruined you.

Aegon’s visits to your child become less and less frequent. He loves the boy dearly, like he’s his own, but he cannot stand to look at him. It’s only a reminder of what happened to his little Jaehaerys.

Rook’s Rest destroys him. He does not even need to tell you that it was Aemond who did it, you just seem to know. There is no way for him to verbalize that he is listening to you while he is in his milk-of-the-poppy induced coma, but he does appreciate the stories you tell him while sitting at his bedside.

He specifically forbids you from looking at him while the Maesters change out his bandages, but he’ll allow you to sit on the other end of his bed with your back to him and hold his unburnt hand while they do so.

— “I feel a monster,” He admits to you one night while you light a candle on the stand next to his bed. You’re clad in a warm nightgown; many whisper that winter is coming, and it’s hard not to notice with how cold the breezes have been lately.

“Why is that?”

“You know why.”

You can’t even fight the scoff that comes from you, and you turn back to him with a frown etched deeply into your face. “You should not. You are king.”

Aegon rolls his eyes. “That did not stop our cunt of a brother from burning me like the Conqueror did Harrenhal.”

Huffing, you smooth out your dress, then walk to the other side of the bed and slowly crawl on. You’re careful not to move around too much, so as to not cause him any more injury, and sit next to him, back against the headboard. You bring your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around your legs. His eyes are slightly glossy when they meet yours.

He takes a sharp breath. “…If it had been my decision, I would have named you regent.”

You laugh incredulously at that, shaking your head. “They set aside Mother for Aemond. They would have forced you to do the same.”

Aegon raises his remaining silver brow. “I am not as feeble and weak-minded as Father. I speak truly. It is you I trust the most.”

Helaena

Helaena is perhaps the least expressive out of all of your siblings, but even she felt happy when Mother’s babe had come a girl.

She does genuinely appreciate that you do not judge her and make fun of her behind her back; she has never felt like she has been able to fit in with her ladies-in-waiting.

As mature as she is, Helaena does like to indulge girlishly sometimes; she enjoys matching her gowns with you, as well as hairstyles and (light, so as to not overstimulate her) jewelry.

Observant and introspective, Helaena also has a great memory. If you tell her you’ve had a fascination with direwolves as of late, or have particularly enjoyed reading about Valyrian history, suddenly the dresses she gifts you will subtly be embroidered with subtle little wolf icons or ancient Valyrian imagery. She is very thoughtful.

Unbeknownst to most, she also gives very good advice. There have only been a handful of times her council has not helped you. Wise and empathetic, she is, and she is always willing to listen to you explain your troubles while she plays with one of her bugs.

It pains her to see you inflicted with the same fate as she was; married off to a man you had no love for, forced to be his incubator. Just as it was during Aegon’s coronation, her head is bowed at your wedding. She does not want to look at your doom.

Despite this, she is perhaps the most supportive of you during your pregnancy; she likes suggesting names for the babe as well as crafting him little clothes for him to wear when he is born.

Although you do not understand her prophecies, it does quell her anxieties a bit that you at least listen to them instead of dismissing them like all else do.

When noise gets to be too much for her, you are the first to cover her ears with your hands, guiding her to the lush gardens of the Keep to breathe. You are the only person she has a likeness of boundaries with; when she does not want to be touched, you leave her be. It’s why you are the sibling she is fondest of.

Her hand immediately flies to grasp yours when Meleys erupts from the boards at Aegon’s coronation. The look on her face had confused you. She’d appeared fearful, but simultaneously also put at ease, as if she’d known that this was going to happen.

After Blood and Cheese, she cannot find rest at night. She takes to pacing about the Red Keep, almost looking like a ghost; pale and silver and paranoid. Despite the fact that it distracts you from your own slumber, you insist on her staying in your chambers with you. She still paces, never sleeps. Some nights you even walk with her around the castle.

— “This one will not live,” She blurts out randomly, interrupting you from one of your tangents, confusing you. She never interrupts you, always listens to whatever your qualms are for the day without complaint.

“What?”

You feel like you’re about to burst; partly from the grand lamb you had for your midday meal and from how heavy the babe in your belly feels. She seems surprised that the words had actually come out of her mouth.

She pushes her face closer to the fly she has somehow managed to capture in her palm, a perturbed glint in her eye. “I do not think this one will survive.”

You decide to indulge her, tilting your head to the side from where you sit across from her, lounging on a velvet sofa. “Why is that?”

“The art of the spider is subtle. It shall trap another in its web.”

(Later that day, you can only wonder if she was speaking of Lord Vaemond after he’d been beheaded by Prince Daemon from behind.)

Aemond

Aemond can barely remember the day you were born, much less the day a celebration had been held for Mother’s pregnancy.

Alike to his siblings, Aemond is not one to forget what you did for him when you were children; how you always offered to take him on rides on your dragon before he’d claimed Vhagar, how you were the only one uninvolved in the “pink dread” incident, how you cried for him after he lost his eye.

After the loss of his eye, Aemond begins to put a wall around himself. Unfortunately, that does include you. Before Driftmark, you were closest with him, but afterward, you had slowly drifted toward Aegon; nevertheless, he shows his affection for you in his own way.

However, he does keep the little gifts you’ve given him over the years safely hidden in his chambers, away from the eyes of curious maids and servants, like the eyepatch you’d embroidered a little Vhagar in in the weeks after his eye was cut out.

When Vaemond’s head is cut off, Aemond immediately places a hand on the pommel of his sword, lest Daemon himself attack you next. When he becomes regent, he is the one who orders you to be given a sworn protector. He is the one who’d help you learn Valyrian when you struggled, even after all your lessons.

Aemond never, never shows much affection to anyone in the family publicly, but he doesn’t mind it if you place a hand on his forearm or his own hand. He prefers it if you keep things like cheek or forehead kisses private in the sanctity of your or his own room.

In his immediate family, you are perhaps the most normal of all, which does make him seek out your company the most. The mornings after he seeks out Madame Sylvi’s assistance are the mornings he spends the most time with you. The shame of it all almost eats him alive, and you are a welcome distraction.

Additionally, the one-eyed prince does genuinely appreciate how you show your devotion to the family, though of course he’d never verbalize it. Almost every training yard session he has, you sit on the balcony, embroidering a dress or two while he swings his sword at Criston’s morningstar.

Your wedding to some old Crownlands lord was a memorable one, mostly because of when Aegon had pinned your new brother-by-law to a table and began beating him senselessly. Aemond was the one who had pried him off, mercilessly tugging him by the collar of his doublet away from the man.

You become pregnant quick. Aemond says that when your son is born, he will bring him to meet Vhagar himself, stating that a “new Targaryen babe should learn the ways of his predecessors”.

As the moons pass by, the Maesters order you to bedrest. Your elder brother likes to visit during his free time, sometimes bringing a book with him to read or nothing, just to converse with you quietly. You are the only “quiet” Aemond has ever known.

When Rhaenys bursts through the boards at Aegon’s coronation, Aemond’s palm finds your wrist, gently grasping it with his long fingers.

Just as your mother does, you begin to shun Aemond after Luke’s murder. It does not make him resent you as much as it does Alicent, but it does make him spiral a bit quicker.

Many a time have you slept in Aemond or Aegon’s bed because of nightmares. The only time he’s ever slept in yours was the night Aegon had found him in the brothel with Sylvi. You had not been awake when he’d crawled into bed with you, just laying beside you and shutting his eye. He makes sure to leave before you wake. Aemond does not know that you were quite aware of his presence, but had chosen not to say anything. If Aemond of all people had decided to find sleep in your bed, something awful must’ve happened. Why take that moment of respite from him?

He knows that you know he burned Aegon, but he does not ever bring it up in a conversation with you, much less acknowledge it. However, Aemond is observant. He notices the fearful glint in your eye when he is around you, now, but this is what he has always wanted, has he not? To rule?

— Aemond is with you the morn after Blood and Cheese, standing in one of the Red Keep’s balconies as you watch the wagon carrying your mother and Helaena depart. Your eyes are sunken in from crying, cheeks swollen; you wear a veil of mourning yourself, though there is no crown settled on your head. The way you lean over the railing to peer at the ground, the way your back is hunched, the way you grieve so openly.. it does not befit a princess. It does not befit someone from the Targaryen family, someone who is supposed to use honeyed words and cunning tricks to protect themself from the environment of King’s Landing.

You sniffle. “Where were you?”

Aemond’s eye goes wide. A deep pit was already settled in his stomach, but it only seems to get worse at your questioning. Even his throat seems to tighten up, make it impossible for him to even choke out an answer.

“When news of… the boy spread,” You begin, “I went to find you myself. But you were not in your chambers, nor in the library. Where were you?”

“Patrolling.” It’s an obvious lie. He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth, jaw clenching immediately. There was no use in patrolling at night, when he could barely see anything. His hand unconsciously squeezes the stone railing.

He’s ready to leave with haste when you nod to yourself, face blank and detached from reality. “…I won’t tell anyone,” You mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. “Wherever you were.”

[brokenmenswhore]

Hey hey! I love your Aegon fics so much that I want to know if you would write a story where after your kid with Aegon passed away, he promised never to touch you again so you wouldn't have to endure bearing more of his kids and witnessing their death. But you yearn for your husband every night and will act dirty to make him touch you again. By acting dirty I mean doing sexy things to instigate him when he's alone with you.

of all the things in this life that i’m good at, being intentionally sexy is NOT one of them, so i’m hoping this isn’t awkward :) my biggest fear is that someone’s gonna not like what i write for their request i’m on my knees pls don’t hate me

all in | aegon ii targaryen

pairing: aegon targeryen x fem!reader

warnings: angst, mentions of a deceased child, smut (MDNI 18+)

────── ☾ ──────

It had been three long, dark, and lonely months since the death of your son.

He passed away at only a few weeks of age due to health complications, and both you and your husband, Aegon, were left devastated.

Aegon had a tendency to blame himself for anything negative in his life, his self hatred running through the depths of his soul. Your son was his heir, and he felt as if he lost a piece of himself, and blamed himself for the health issues your child was having. “It must be from me,” he would whisper to himself, almost incapable of accepting that some things he could not be faulted for.

When Grand Maester Orwyle proclaimed your son dead, Aegon broke. He was hysterical, unable to speak, the only sound from his lips was an occasional scream of anger and sadness. You grieved in private, the joy you felt from your son’s birth still so recent that your stomach was still not yet back to a normal state.

The first few weeks were hard on both of you, but you at least attempted to lean on each other. However, Aegon was difficult to console when he got in his own head. You were both laying awake in bed, comforting one another when your hand ran across his chest, toying with his shirt. As difficult as the week had been, you were desperate to feel close to your husband in some capacity other than sadness and grief.

Aegon sighed and moved your hand away, rolling over on his side and turning his back toward you. You stayed stagnant and stared at him for a moment. “Aegon?”

“We can’t.”

“I know this grief is still very new, but I-“

“We can’t, ever.”

You sat in disbelief. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes at his words. You were in need of comfort, as was Aegon, and his declaration frustrated you. “And why not?”

“I refuse to risk putting you through this again.”

You were speechless. You tried to think of something to say, a few small noises leaving your lips as you tried to begin a sentence, but to no avail.

Aegon could hear your attempts. “What you have been through these past few weeks- I cannot watch you bear another one of my children, only to endure the pain of losing them again. I have never seen you happier than the day our son was born, and now-“ Aegon’s voice trailed off, “It is not worth the risk.”

Tears of sadness and frustration were now freely falling, Aegon’s back still to you as you spoke, “you do not seriously intend for us to never be intimate again. For the rest of our lives, Aegon, I need you. I am all in. Are you not? Do you not need me as well?”

“I need to relieve you of this pain more,” he responded, “and there are more than enough whores in King’s Landing.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at his final comment. You couldn’t believe he said such a thing. You knew he was hurting, and oftentimes pushed you away when he was, and you decided to assume it was an intentionally harmful comment meant to do just that. You chose to believe that he didn’t really mean it, but you still wished he didn’t say it. You understood his pain, but that didn’t make it alright to take it out on you.

You didn’t dignify his comment with a response, you simply rolled out of bed, fighting to maintain your composure as you walked out of the room, slowly shutting the door behind you.

The next morning, you returned to your shared chambers to ready yourself for the day, and Aegon was already up and dressing.

“Where did you sleep?” he asked.

You untied your robe as you approached the outfit laid out for you by your handmaidens. Handmaidens stopped assisting you and Aegon without being called into the room, as per your marital request.

“Elsewhere,” you stated.

Aegon sighed. “That is not an answer.”

“Why should it matter to you? If you get lonely, you can simply bed your whores,” you spat, throwing his comment from last night back at him.

Aegon didn’t handle you being mad at him very well. He needed everyone to like him at all times, but he didn’t cherish anyone’s opinion of him as much as he did yours. Knowing you were upset with him killed him.

“Do not be upset with me,” he pleaded, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Oh? I thought we were not to touch each other any longer?”

Aegon retracted his arms, moving directly next to you so he could catch your eyes. “I don’t want you to be upset,” he said.

“Then do not promise to deprive me of something you and I both want and need.”

“I cannot put you through this again. Do you not understand that? Whatever is going on within me, it passed something bad down to our child, and if we remain intimate I risk you falling pregnant with another child we will inevitably lose. As your husband, it is my duty to ensure you do not have to go through such a thing again.”

“It is out of your control, Aegon,” you said, your voice low as you held his face in your palms, “and it is not your fault.”

He held onto your wrists, but didn’t move your hands. “This decision is not meant to hurt you.”

“I know.” Aegon was set in his decision, which meant that there was no point in arguing with it right now. You did not have the energy.

────── ☾ ──────

The next several weeks were filled with longing, your heart and body yearning to be close to your husband, now that it had been three whole months since your son passed.

You didn’t press the subject with Aegon, allowing him room to breathe. It was difficult, and you found yourself needing him more and more the longer you went without him.

You knew that despite his decisions, you always had power over Aegon. He was completely enamored with you, and oftentimes changed his mind to match yours. When he made decisions you didn’t agree with, it took a hell of a lot of fighting to get him to falter, but it was not always impossible. This particular instance couldn’t be impossible- you couldn’t survive without him.

“We we supposed to depart last hour!” Aegon called out to you, waiting by the door with his guards for you, the hour getting later and later. House Dondarrion was hosting the Targaryen family for supper at Blackhaven as a gesture of appreciation for the King’s assistance in the Stormlands.

Your handmaidens tightened and tied the final strings of your corset. It was new, and made specifically for you, only this time, you made special requests. It was the standard green and gold, and still kept you covered, but less so than usual. The garment left your chest nearly exposed, just as you had planned.

“They must have forgotten your measurements, Your Grace, there is not nearly enough fabric,” one of your handmaidens spoke, fidgeting with the seam on your cleavage.

“It will do just fine, thank you very much,” you said, “we must be going.”

You were escorted to meet up with your husband, who couldn’t look away from you the moment you came into view.

“What the fuck is this?” he whispered the moment you were next to him.

“What ever do you mean?”

“Everyone here can see too much of you in that,” he continued.

You shrugged your shoulders, playing nonchalantly dumb. “They must have forgotten my measurements.”

You gazed up at him, and he could tell you were playing him. He knew you well enough to tell.

“What are you trying to do?”

You brushed your hair from your neck to behind your shoulder, making even more skin come into view. “Waiting to leave. We are already behind, are we not?”

You started to walk away, but Aegon grabbed your arm and pulled you back. “You can’t possibly think I’m going to let you leave in such a thing.”

“It is not your choice.”

Aegon knew that despite the roles placed on both of you from a very young age, he couldn’t control you if he tried.

Throughout supper, Aegon was on alert to the gazes of other gentlemen upon his wife. Many approached you two to offer their condolences for the loss of your son, making you tense up and your breathing quicken from stress, which only made your chest more obvious.

You could tell Aegon was bothered, but that’s what you wanted, so you made no effort to be modest.

“Rather lewd tonight,” Aemond said, standing behind your chair, greeting you for the first time all night, “don’t you think?”

“Perhaps,“ you responded, taking a sip from your cup.

Aemond leaned down next to your ear and whispered, “What’s he done then, hm?”

You giggled at the question, Aemond smiling as he stood tall and moved to greet the people next to you, ending your interaction. Aegon couldn’t hear what Aemond said, but Aemond being so close to you and whispering in your ear angered him.

“What did he say?” Aegon asked, unable to help the curiosity.

“Nothing of importance,” you said, remaining stoic.

Aegon’s nostrils flared as another member of House Dondarrion approached the table.

Aegon remained observant the entire night, a possessiveness consuming him as he intentionally stared at anyone who gawked at you, his gaze intimidating them into looking away.

When you returned to King’s Landing, you retreated to your shared chambers.

“It does not befit a queen to dress in such a vulgar way. I cannot fathom why you would do such a thing tonight,” Aegon said.

You poured two cups of wine as you replied, “you cannot fathom? Dear husband, I think you can. Take a guess as to why I may behave as such.”

You handed Aegon one of the cups, taking a sip from your own and intentionally tilting it too far upward, the red liquid spilling down your neck and onto your chest.

“Fuck, what a shame,” you spoke, placing the cup down and moving your hair behind your back.

Aegon watched you swipe a thumb over your bottom lip and suck the wine off of it.

“Stop it,” he warned.

“Stop what? You cannot expect me to just stand here covered in wine,” you quipped, “do you happen to have a cloth?”

Aegon retrieved an used cloth from the table next to you, holding it out to you, as if to say ‘here’s the cloth you absolutely knew was there and only made me grab to mess with me.’

“I can’t see my own neck,” you said, “help me?”

Aegon sighed in frustration, moving the cloth to clean your chin, then your neck, moving it lower and lower. He watched the muscles in your neck flex as you swallowed, and he didn’t even think about holding his actions back before his lips were on your neck, cleaning off the wine with his tongue.

Your mouth opened and a small sigh left your lips, the feeling of his mouth on you after so fucking long making you needier than usual.

Aegon moved down to your breasts, licking and kissing the top flesh of one of your breasts before jolting back and wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “No.”

“Aegon-“

“Please, I don’t think I’m strong enough for this.”

Aegon dropped the cloth back onto the table and marched out of the room, leaving you worked up and your breasts coated in wine. You let out a disappointed huff as you called your handmaidens in to run you a bath, hoping it would help you relax.

The next morning, Aegon had council business to attend to all day, but he had made an unfortunate mistake when you first wed: he told you that you were always welcome in council meetings, and that he would cut out the tongue of anyone who tried to speak against your presence there.

You swung open the doors to the council room, all heads turning toward you as you walked over to your husband.

“What is it?” Aegon asked, sitting taller and taller the closer you got to him.

“You said I was always welcome in these meetings, Your Grace.”

You seldom ever called Aegon by his title, but you knew that doing so drove him crazy. You noticed him shift slightly in his chair.

“The current matter of discussion is rather important,” he said.

“I would hope so, you’ve been in here all day,” you said, gripping the back of Aegon’s chair and pulling it with all your might, a seated Aegon inching a tiny bit away from the table. You were giving it your all, but could only move the chair a small amount back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, as the rest of the council just watched the scene play out. They knew better than to question you in these meetings.

You then sat yourself directly on Aegon, adjusting yourself so that you were comfortable in his lap, but he could still see the table. You were acting immature, but that was the point.

“This is entirely inappropriate,” he whispered into your ear, evidently tense. He was genuinely annoyed at you for sitting on his lap in the middle of a council meeting, but you didn’t care.

“I thought that was something you liked about me?” you whispered back into his ear.

You made brief eye contact. Aegon didn’t want to embarrass you in front of the Lords at the table, so he maintained a whisper. “Get up.”

You smiled, making the council think you were not in an argument, but rather exchanging a few private sentences before returning to duty. You leaned your head back so you were in his ear again. “No.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Commander of the King’s Guard and Hand of the King, Criston Cole, interrupted, “forgive me, but this is rather urgent.”

“Right then,” Aegon said, turning his attention back to the meeting as you remained on his lap.

The men all began to speak of war strategy and politically advantageous pairings, Aegon’s arm instinctively finding its way around your waist to keep you in place.

Every few minutes, you shifted your positioning, intentionally grinding down on his cock. He gripped your waist to try to stop you every time, but it never worked.

When the meeting was finished, you hopped up and left the room before Aegon could catch you.

Later in the day, he caught you walking alone to the library, and he pulled you into an adjacent hallway.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he warned, “that little stunt you pulled during my council meeting? Never again.”

“I do not know to what you refer,” you said, slowly pulling up one side of your dress, revealing more and more of your thigh until your entire leg was exposed, giving you room to dip your fingers underneath your dress.

“What are you-“

“It seems as though I’ve forgotten to put on anything under this dress,” you said, looking up at Aegon through hooded eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, watching your hand disappear fully underneath your dress.

“Would not have to, if only I found myself a husband to do it for me.”

“Don’t,” Aegon demanded, grabbing your wrist and stilling your hand.

“Please,” you pleaded, desperation in your eyes as Aegon looked at you, nearly breaking.

Instead, he dropped your wrist, walking away from you again and leaving you alone.

────── ☾ ──────

When Aegon entered your chambers that night, you were already bathing. You were resting your head against the cool metal of the bathtub, your knees visible over the water, your body partially covered by the weak bubbles on the water’s surface. You opened your eyes when you heard the door open, and Aegon approached you, pulling one of your handmaiden’s stools next to the tub and taking a seat.

“What is it, Aegon?” you asked, re-relaxing and closing your eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and you didn’t see it, but his eyes ran up and down the length of your body as he spoke.

“Bathing?” you answered, almost more of a question than an answer. What you were doing was blatantly obvious, so the question confused you slightly.

“If this is another one of your dirty tricks, it won’t work.”

You let out a deep breath. “It’s not, I really just wanted to relax.”

You opened your eyes, and Aegon cocked an eyebrow at you. “I’m serious, Aegon. I’ve tried enough, and it has not worked. I give up. That’s what you wanted, right?”

You meant it. You were tired of trying to work him up, instigate something, or be lustful, if it was never going to work. You were tired of throwing yourself at someone who clearly did not want you anymore.

Aegon didn’t respond, he just continued to watch you as you closed your eyes again, relaxing into the water. He could see most of your body beneath the surface of the clear liquid, the bubbles almost entirely dissipated.

You heard a small whisper of your name, but you kept your eyes closed, allowing yourself to continue winding down for the night.

Aegon reached out to run his hand over your knee, and the feeling made you jolt slightly, your eyes opening at the sudden contact. You gave Aegon a confused, somewhat concerned look.

“You would truly risk experiencing the tragedy of losing our son again?” he asked, his voice the smallest you’d ever heard it, “just to have me?”

You placed your hand on top of his. “What happened was out of our control. If the gods did not intend for him to be your heir, so be it. It cannot be a fault of our own. We did not bring it upon him, Aegon. We have no knowledge of what could happen given another heir, and this tragedy is not reason enough for me to give up on having children. I think it unfair of you to make such a drastic decision on my behalf. If you do not wish to be intimate with me because you yourself do not desire it, then so be it, but you do not get to make these decisions for me. I did not choose to be without your touch, Aegon, and it is unfair for you to choose it for me.”

It was the most you’d said at one time since your son died.

“I miss you,” you added.

A tear fell down Aegon’s cheek. “I never want to see you in pain again.”

“There is no guarantee you would. There is not even a guarantee I will fall pregnant again.”

Aegon knew you were right. He was making decisions for you, and he knew he had no right to, he was just so scared. He hated seeing what losing your first son did to you, and he thought he was doing right by you by not risking a pregnancy and then loss of another. He did not realize the damage he was doing.

He was lost in his thoughts, and you took his silence to mean that he was sticking to his word. “Please just let me rest, Aegon, I do not wish to rehash the same argument again.”

You fell back into your relaxed position, removing your hand from Aegon’s and resting both of your hands on either side of the metal tub.

Aegon only spoke a small whisper of your name again before moving his hand down your leg, sinking beneath the water. You maintained your position. He made it clear to you he did not want intimacy anymore, so why would he actually be doing something intimate?

You were caught by surprise when his hand reached between your legs and he ran a finger between your folds. You inhaled a sharp breath, your eyes remaining shut as the feeling was too good. Even if this stopped right now, you needed to make the most of the feeling while you had it.

Only, it didn’t stop. Aegon continued to feel you, circling his finger around your clit, causing your head to fall back even further as a soft whine left your lips. Aegon hadn’t heard the sweet sound of your whines and moans in ages, and one tiny noise from you made him completely forget why he ever vowed to keep himself away from you.

The water was sloshing slightly as Aegon moved his hand, inserting a finger into your hole as his thumb took residence on your clit, keeping the stimulation there as he began to push a finger in and out of you.

He watched you writhe in the water, your hips beginning to grind up into his hand. “A-Aegon,” you tried to catch his attention, but he was so consumed in you that he took it for a moan.

He leaned over you, his face mere inches from yours. “Say my name again.”

“A-Aegon, I was t-“

Aegon cut you off by kissing you, catching you off guard and making you squeal with surprise into the kiss. He began to move his hand faster and faster, the water nearly spilling out of the tub from the movement of his arm.

You moved to grab his wrist, and he pulled away from your mouth briefly to inspect your face and make sure you were alright.

“As much as I want you,” you breathed out, “I don’t want to do anything unless you do as well.”

Aegon didn’t verbally respond, as he often didn’t, but instead kissed you, hard. You held the back of his head, deepening the kiss as he added another finger into you, a moan escaping your throat into the kiss, only egging Aegon on more.

“Fuck,” you whimpered when Aegon pulled away.

He leaned down to kiss your neck, not caring at all about the water hitting the side of his face and drenching his hair.

You moaned and whined as his fingers fucked you at a violent pace, curling when they hit the sweet spot within you that had your breathing nearly stopping for moments at a time.

“Aegon, I’m-“

Aegon lifted his head so that he was looking directly at you. Your eyes squeezed shut as your climax hit you hard, Aegon removing his hand from you to grip either side of your face and kiss you as your orgasm washed over you, your juices mixing with the bath water.

Aegon softened the kiss as he felt your breathing calm down, only pulling away when your muscles released their tension beneath him.

“Thank you,” you sighed.

“Get out of this thing,” Aegon said, standing up and holding out both of his hands to you.

You placed your hands in his, allowing him to help pull you to a standing position. You shivered as the cool air hit your bare, wet skin. You stepped out of the bathtub, anchoring your balance on Aegon. When you stepped onto the ground, Aegon pulled your waist against him so quickly that you nearly fell over.

“If you’re all in, I’m all in,” he spoke.

You gave him a genuine smile. “I’m all in. Always have been.”

Aegon leaned down to kiss you again, backing your bodies up slightly so that you were standing directly next to the stool.

Aegon then became almost carnal, having been without you for so long that he was too impatient now to wait any longer.

Aegon pulled you away from him and spun your body around, pushing you down until you were bent over the stool he was sitting on mere moments ago.

He undid his breeches and pushed his clothing down, leaving his lower half exposed.

He held a hand out in front of your face. “Spit.”

You did as you were told, giving him the lubricant that he spread on the head of his cock as he lined himself up with your entrance. He began to push into you slowly for a moment, before slamming his entire length into you.

You cried out at the feeling. One of his hands gripped your waist while the other fisted into your hair, pulling your neck back as he fucked you from behind. He was snapping his hips from the first thrust on, the pressure causing your body, and subsequently the stool, to shift forward with each hit.

“F-fuck,“ you moaned, “I missed y-you, Y-our Grace.”

The title only made him more feral, his grip on your hips destined to bruise you as he slammed into you viciously. He growled and groaned behind you, subconsciously trying to make up for months of deprivation.

You came again, the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock like a vice pushing him over the edge, despite the sex not lasting long at all. His body was in desperate need of you.

He bottomed out inside of you as he came, spilling his seed within you as he calmed down for a moment before pulling out of you.

He released his grip on your hair, allowing you to push yourself up. You nearly lost your balance, but Aegon caught your waist with his arm.

“I missed you too,” Aegon spoke, “what a fucking idiot I am.”

“Yeah, but that’s not new,” you teased, giving him a sweet kiss to show your forgiveness.

[falllpoutboy]

the ritualistic humiliation of alicent this season was absolutely disgusting and the show constantly needed to remind us that she is the character we should root against all the time and never feel bad for her, everyone else gets a pass because they’re a slave to fate, apparently, but not her. nearly every single plot point this season regarding her is swiftly followed by a punishment, whether literally or narratively.

she starts this season by having clandestine consensual sex with criston cole her sworn sword. they are so bad at being clandestine that otto and larys have clearly suspected something is going on with them. after being stood up by her, larys then replaces her regular lady’s maids with some from his staff so that they can spy and report back to him which makes alicent uncomfortable enough to send them away. that’s punishment #1

she and criston are having sex when b&c happens and are interrupted by helaena and jaehaera running in. but remember, jaehaerys was not the original target of b&c, and the mastermind behind it, daemon is redeemed by the end of this season, so alicent is so much of a POS hypocrite that while she too busy having sex with the LC of the kingsguard, her grandson dies on HER watch. and as much as i loved alicole, i really hate that the writers used their relationship to seemingly punish the characters when they literally haven’t done anything wrong. and now helaena knows about the affair too. punishment #2

alicent is confronted by rhaenyra at the sept of baelor, who lets slip that she heard viserys push for aegon to be king as his last words to her. but oh no, silly alicent, rhaenyra is here to tell you about the song of ice and fire, this stupid prophecy that has been passed from Targaeryen king to heir for generations now. how would alicent have known about it when she is neither king nor heir? doesn’t matter, she’s stupid for believing his words to be literal and stupid for playing a part in crowning her son. punishment #3

alicent takes moon tea, as an abortifacient or as a late contraceptive, we’ll never know! but the very act of taking moon tea is now perceived by grand maester orwylle, who now also has reason to suspect queen alicent has been having an affair. punishment #4

bitter and disillusioned with herself for not knowing about a stupid fucking prophecy nobody told her about and letting her horrible son aegon be crowned (even though the council was planning on installing him anyways), alicent talks down to aegon by reminding him he’ll never be as good of a king as his father (L O L) and he should do nothing. such a rousing speech leads to aegon getting drunk, flying out into battle on his dragon and getting maimed because of it. why did you say such mean things alicent? now look what you did. punishment #5

back at the small council, alicent advocates for herself to be regent with only one person there to agree with her, grand maester orwylle but not even her lover and closest confidant advocates for her. the son she is scared of the most becomes regent instead. silly alicent, don’t you know you will never be respected in a room full of men? how do you like misogyny, something you have apparently never personally experienced until this day, now? punishment #6

alicent goes to the sept of baelor to pray with helaena when a riot mob happens and is forced to retreat. this mob is apparently so righteously angry at not having enough food, they throw fish in her face with such good aim and call her the queen of fishes, alicent trips and falls for leaving helaena behind momentarily, and she also receives a bloody gash on her arm before barely escaping with her life and helaena. oh alicent, didn’t you know that the blockade of ships that carries food into the city which has been enforced by rhaenyra and corlys has actually been your fault the entire time?? punishment #7

back at the small council, alicent confronts aemond and is relieved by her duty on there by him. maybe its because she brings up a theory that he is now avenging the bullying he went through when he was young, which one could argue happened on her watch, is why she gets the boot. oh well, there goes any little ruling power and say in the war effort she had left. punishment #8

alicent sees off her brother ser gwayne who makes mention that their father otto kept her closer to him than gwayne because she was his favored child. Oh! so because alicent was otto’s favorite, it doesn’t really matter that he sold her into marriage and marital rape at age 14 last season. why would you ever want to be otto hightower’s favorite child? punishment #9

alicent also asks about daeron, with gwayne saying how unlike to aegon and aemond he is because he was raised away from them in Oldtown and not by her.. she even says this and gwayne dissuades her of that opinion but honestly, once alluded to that alicent is a bad mom, it’s just her biased brother claiming otherwise. punishment #10

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious VI (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+ FINALE

Five months after your reconciliation, you and Aemond have grown ever closer. When he returns from his first time away from you, you have a surprise ready for him.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: kissing, oral sex (M and F receiving), p in v sex, fluff

Author's Note: And with this, the series is complete! I want to thank you all so much for all the support y'all have given my silly little story. I truly cherish every reply, comment, or like it receives.

And fear not! This isn't the end of the journey for our lovely, stupid couple. On the 21st, I will be releasing another short fic as part of my 12 Days of Smuff event. If there will be anything more beyond that, it remains to be seen!

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here - Read Part V Here

My Masterlist

Taglist is in reblogs

Studious VI

It was the middle of the afternoon, and though the sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky, there was still a chill in the air. You had uncovered all the windows in the room, so it was quite cold within the stone walls. Therefore, you were curled up on a large, plush chair – Aemond’s reading chair – contentedly snuggled within your oversized robe.

And only the robe.

Vhagar’s mighty wingbeats had thundered above the keep not long ago. Thanks to the open windows, you’d heard it clearly – the chill was well worth it. A rush of excitement flowed through you, and you immediately traded your warm dress and stockings for the robe and took up your perch.

Aemond had been gone for four long, lonely, torturous days, and you were determined to be there the moment he walked through the door to his chambers.

It was the first time he’d left King’s Landing since your wedding five months ago and the first time the two of you had been apart for more than a few hours since your ‘reconciliation,’ as you had come to call it. Both of you argued passionately against it.

Neither of you could bear to be parted only two weeks after Grand Maester Orwyle confirmed that your nightly activities had resulted in the child now growing within you. Aemond wanted nothing more than to be by your side every moment until the babe was born. You weren’t opposed to it, though you did wonder about the practicality of such an arrangement.

But the Queen and the Hand insisted on Aemond going, rather than one of his siblings. The unfortunate result of his being the dutiful and trustworthy son, you supposed.

So, you had gone with him to the edge of the woods and watched as he mounted Vhagar and flew away. Of course, he had kissed you deeply before he left. Long enough for both Vhagar and the Dragonkeepers to begin subtly voicing their impatience. Had they not been there, you likely would have shared a more thorough goodbye.

Still, the four days felt like four years, four decades, four centuries. You would have gone mad if you hadn’t found something to do to fill the Aemond-shaped hole in your life. So you filled your time with planning how you would welcome him home.

You were sure he would be very pleasantly surprised.

Time passed quickly while you were held in suspense. The sound of soft, steady footsteps soon began echoing from the hall, and you just barely contained a squeal of delight. You readied yourself to leap, standing atop the chair to give you a better chance of actually landing on your target.

Then the door opened, and you pounced.

Thankfully, Aemond caught you easily. His strong, lithe arms wrapped around your hips and rear as if on instinct, and you were once more safe and secure.

You didn’t get to see his reaction to your leaping upon him, which you only regretted slightly as you pressed your lips hard against his

Aemond made a choked sound of surprise that soon faded into a low, passionate moan as he teased your lips open with his tongue to deepen the kiss. It still wasn’t your favourite sensation – a taste you had to acquire – but after days without it, it was almost enjoyable. Almost.

“I missed you so much, Aemond,” you whispered between kisses, strained and desperate as your fingers clawed at him, seeking to touch every inch of him. Every inch you had missed.

Aemond’s brow furrowed, but he did not stop kissing you. “I was only away four days, my love. Could you miss me so much in so short a time?”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eye as you touched the tip of your nose to his, widening your eyes and making a show of pouting. “Did you not miss me as well?”

He gave you the slightest glimpse of his startled fish face before kissing you again. “No… I longed for you every minute we were parted. It took all my strength to resist the temptation of forgoing my duty and returning to you. I missed you so much I ached.”

“Show me,” you commanded, smiling against his lips as you watched the realisation that you had never doubted his missing you dawn on his face with an affectionate, put-upon smile.

You squealed as he pulled you closer to his chest – you had not thought such a thing possible – and brought the hand that had circled your waist to cup your neck as he began kissing you again. Fiercely. Passionately. Lovingly.

The rooms were a blur as he began to blindly carry you into the bedroom, depositing you squarely in the middle of the bed. You were granted only a moment to catch your breath before he was on you again, his welcome weight pressing down on you as his heat continued to soak into your bones.

“If you were wearing anything else,” Aemond growled as his hands started furiously fumbling with the tie of your robe, “I would tear it to pieces.”

You bit down on his bottom lip, ever so slightly harder than you normally did to scold him. It did not work. It only prompted him to kiss you deeper.

“Were you ever to tear even a single thread of this robe,” you panted. “I would return to my father’s keep and never speak to you again.”

“Then I will be very careful, and…” Aemond trailed off when he opened your robe and realised you were bare beneath it.

His eye raked over you slowly, studying you as if you were a master artwork. His chest heaving, he slowly traced his hand from the base of your throat down to your navel, and when you shivered at the sensation, he shivered too.

He splayed his hand over your still-flat stomach, his eye sparkling as if he could see the babe within. “How is it possible that you become more beautiful every day?”

You laughed, reaching up to cradle his cheek in your hand. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Aemond. And I dare say that your eye is quite biased towards me.”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head ever so slightly. “Your beauty is utterly indisputable. Any who behold you and do not see it must be truly blind.”

You could not suppress the smile that came over you, wide and unyielding. “I will remind you of those words when I have grown as large as a bear and have the temper of a taunted goose.”

Aemond chuckled lowly, moving his mouth along your jaw and onto your neck. “Then I will say them again, for nothing could alter how I feel about you, my love.”

Any smart reply you had was quickly forgotten as his mouth followed the path his hand had just taken. Your only complaint was that his mouth was far slower.  He would press a kiss or two against your skin, then momentarily lose his grip on whatever restraint he had. Then, he latched on, laving his tongue upon you as if he wished to devour you. Sometimes, he even lightly nipped you with his teeth, but he never failed to soothe the pain with more gentle kisses.

You could have happily let him continue for hours. But you had made plans, and you were going to follow through. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him close enough for you to whisper against his cheek. “Jiōrna mazumbilloti, ābrazȳrys.”

Your use of the Valyrian mother tongue surprised him, breaking him immediately from his lustful haze. He sat up and leaned over to kiss your cheek swiftly enough that you could only catch a glimpse of a mischievous smile.

“So close, but…” he apologetically kissed your nose. “You are ābrazȳrys. I am valzȳrys.” He pressed his finger on your skin just above your heart. “Ābrazȳrys – wife.” He moved the finger to his chest. “Valzȳrys – husband.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and fuck me, valzȳrys.”

He obliged, his mouth continuing its path down your front after a brief return to your breasts. The closer he came to your center, the louder your moans and pleas became.

He pulled away slightly when he finally reached your dripping cunt, chuckling slightly. “Oh, how I’ve missed this beautiful thing,” he mused.

You spread your legs as much as you could in a show of impatience. “Well, then you should do something about that, shouldn’t you?”

“I suppose.”

A desperate gasp escaped you as you felt him gently blow a cold breath onto your heated core. Your back arched as he did it again, tracing a line of cool air up and down your folds.

“Aemond,” you breathlessly begged, “I’ve already waited so long. Please, don’t tease me like this!”

You watched as he looked back up at you with a wicked grin. “I’ve waited just as long, my dear. I want to savour this. Make up for lost time.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, though you could not deny his plan sounded quite pleasant. “Savour me, then.”

He did.

Aemond’s mouth was thorough. In the five months since he’d first pleasure you like this, he’d become as skilled and precise with his tongue as he was with his sword.

His tongue found your pearl almost instantly and began teasing it ever so slowly, as if it were a game for him. He alternated between pressing on it, drawing circles and various shapes upon it, and sucking on it like a candied lemon.

He did not stop until he’d pulled two releases from you. Only then did he finally acknowledge your entrance beyond merely pressing against it with his chin while he focused elsewhere.

Had he not been so eager to lap up every bit of wetness from you, you were sure the bed linens would have been ruined for how much slick spilt from you. But he was voracious in devouring you – moaning and gasping nearly as much as you were. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he came simply from being buried in your thighs. He’d done it before, after all.

Your hands found their way into his hair as his tongue delved inside of you, his wonderful, glorious nose still giving your pearl the attention it craved. Holding onto him was the only way you could withstand the intensity of what he was doing to you, to keep it from overwhelming you.

It also helped that when you tugged on his hair or slightly dug your nails into his scalp, he groaned in pleasure, sending delicious vibrations through you as his hips bucked into the bed. And when your release barreled through you, and you pulled on his hair like it was the reins of a dragon, he nearly screamed against your cunt.

Aemond gazed up at you, his face glistening and flushed. “My sweet ābrazȳrys,” he hummed before ducking his head back between your thighs again.

“Ah, ah ah!” You scolded, using the hands you had in his hair to drag him back to your face, causing another satisfied moan to escape him. “By my count, I’m at three, while you’ve yet to have even one. Unless…?”

A glance at the front of his trousers confirmed that he had not come simply from pleasuring you, and you sighed dramatically. “Still at none, then.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Aemond placed shortcut soft kisses all over your face before retracing his path downwards. “Let me give you more.”

You yanked him up again, kissing him fiercely. “No. My turn.”

He rose onto his knees as you pushed on his chest, his eye never once leaving yours. You smirked as you sat up with him, your legs still between his.

“I’ll rid us of these,” you said as you began unlacing his trousers – fortunately, he’d removed the belts for his sword and dagger before he’d even come to his rooms. You nodded to his doublet. “If you get rid of that.”

You had still yet to master the ridiculous clasps and buckles on the damnable thing. And Aemond resisted all your efforts to have a new, less complicated garment made for him.

At least he did not tease you about it this time and began to remove it swiftly.

Still, you accomplished your task before he did his, and he fumbled slightly as he threw the rest of his clothes on the floor as you grasped his red, weeping length in your hand and began returning his affections.

“Oh gods,” he groaned, forgetting his doublet entirely. “Oh, dōnus riñus… sȳros. Sȳros!”

His hands flew to your head. He didn’t pull at your hair or dig his fingers in. Aemond never did; he was always gentle. He simply cupped the back of your head with one hand while the other held your cheek, stroking you with his thumb in time with your ministrations.

He had been right when he said that learning to please a man was substantially easier than learning to please a woman. There were some things you had to remind yourself of the first few times you’d done this – don’t squeeze too hard, don’t take him too deep, and never use your teeth.

But you’d had plenty of practice and knew precisely what Aemond liked.

You knew how much he liked it when you used the tip of your tongue to trace his slit before swirling it around the head of his cock.

You knew the way he liked you to play with his stones – caressing them lightly with just your fingertips, and every so often giving them the gentlest of tugs.

You knew exactly how to pace yourself in a way that drove him wild without speeding him towards an early end.

He begged. Several times, he begged you to go faster, to let him finish. But after he’d told you what he meant by “practice” in his diary, you knew he could take it. Knew he enjoyed it.

“Please,” he said breathlessly. You looked up to find tears streaming down from the corners of his eyes.

For a moment, you slowed, worrying that you’d pushed him too far, until he pulled you back down onto him so far your nose nuzzled into the silvery hair at his base.

Your hands went to his hips, bracing yourself while he pulled you forward and back. Always gently, but with more speed than you’d allowed him thus far.

It was the first time he’d ever taken charge in this particular scenario. He was always dominant in all other intimate moments, but never with this. Whenever you held him in your mouth, you commanded the prince.

The thrill of it sparked a burning heat of desire in your core, and you moaned around him.

It was enough.

Aemond pulled you as close as he could until your brow rested against his stomach, and he reached his peak. His entire body shook as he spilled himself down your throat. And he did not release you until he heard you struggling to keep him so deep.

“Oh, my darling, did I hurt you?” he asked as he again laid himself atop you.

You laughed, kissing him deeply. “No, Aemond. Well, maybe a little bit, but it’s a good hurt.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t be, please. It was less of a hurt than you being gone.”

Aemond rolled onto his side to kiss you once more, languidly, now that the initial rush of lust had faded. You could almost feel his adoration as if it were a tangible thing. You held it tightly, and would never let it go. When he finally pulled away, his lips only left yours for a moment before he was again trailing his mouth along your neck to your chest.

“Well?” You asked. “Do you like your surprise?”

“It was wonderful, my love. Would it be indelicate of me to ask for more?”

You narrowed your eyes, tugging on his hair just enough to draw his attention away from your breasts and back to you. The moment he saw the confusion on his face, it was reflected in his own.

“This was not the surprise, Aemond.”

“Then what is?”

You smiled, looking dramatically over the bedchamber. Aemond only stared at you, waiting for you to speak, until you were forced to seize his chin and turn his head.

Then, he finally saw.

As his eye roved across the walls and shelves, he rose until he was kneeling in the center of the bed. You laid back against your pillow, watching him admire what you had spent the last four days doing.

The bare walls were no more. Now, they were filled with paintings, tapestries, and even a few little sculptures. By the bookshelves – which you had filled with as many trinkets as possible – you’d hung paintings depicting some of your favourite stories from fiction and history. A wrought-iron dragon flew across the space above the doorway. On another wall, a tapestry depicting your home keep surrounded by a field of dog roses hung proudly. And above the head of the bed, a new tapestry you had made in secret these past few months.

“Vhagar,” Aemond whispered when he saw it.

You let out a sigh of relief – you had not been sure whether he would recognise her. After all, the only time you saw the dragon was when Aemond took you to visit her. Making sketches on those few occasions would have swiftly given away your secret. Fortunately, Helaena was more than happy to help you in its creation.

Aemond moved closer to admire the tapestry, one leg falling off the bed. He started, looking down to find his foot had landed atop a plush blue rug. When he looked up to gape at you, his eye caught on the bursting of colour atop the armoire.

His plain stoneware and metal vases had been joined by others more intricate and brightly coloured. All of them were now filled with a vibrant bouquet. The one you’d painted yourself when you were young and thought yourself the next great painter was filled with bright pink dog roses, much to his delight.

“You decorated,” he said in awe as he faced you again. While he’d been surveying the room, you’d sat up, holding onto his arm and resting your head on his shoulder.

“No…” you teased, savouring that quick moment of his confusion before continuing, “I moved in.”

His face crumpled with an affection so strong you hardly knew how he contained it all.

Except you did know.

You did it, too.

“My dearest,” he sighed, “I – ”

“I love you, Aemond.”

The colour drained from his face, and you swore his breathing halted.

A roiling storm of emotions passed over his face. Unbridled joy, sweetest relief, depthless love, and a single moment of fear beneath it all. He’d told you only to say those words when you truly meant it with all your heart. His worry that you didn’t was clear.

You held his face in your hands and pulled him forward until his brow rested against yours. “I love you, Prince Aemond Targaryen. Not only with my whole heart, but with all that I am.”

A tear fell from his eye, and a soft whimper escaped his lips. “Oh my love,” he murmured like a prayer, “my love…”

Then he was upon you again. His mouth against yours, his comforting heat warming you. He wrapped his arms around you – one on your waist, one at your shoulder – and pulled you against him so tightly there was nowhere you were not touching.

“I love you, Aemond,” you repeated every time your lips parted from his. Each time, he nearly sobbed at the words.

You kissed for a long while, until you at last felt him hardening against you. For only a moment, he pulled away, his eyes still damp as he looked down at you.

“May I?”

Your only response was a smile and another kiss.

Aemond entered you in one long, gentle thrust.

That moment of stillness and adjustment was no longer strictly necessary, but you both still enjoyed it.

Just a moment to look at each other. To see the joy and now, the love within them. A moment to revel in the connection you shared and bask in the feeling of being whole with each other. Aemond kissed you again before he started thrusting into you. Both were gentle and slow, allowing you to cherish each other. You were not fucking to find release, but to simply be together.

There were times when Aemond was completely still as he ravished you with his mouth or hands rather than his cock. There were times when he rutted into you like a beast, only stopping so he could prolong the connection. And there were times when both of you were still, just embracing each other, breathing together, and knowing that you were loved.

Eventually, you could hold off your instincts no longer. You squirmed against Aemond to seek more pleasure – more of him. And he happily obliged. He braced one hand on your hip as he began to move. Faster and faster. With smooth, practised thrusts.

He was so familiar with your body that it did not take long for him to have you gasping as you approached your peak. He was already brushing against that wonderful spot inside you with every movement of his hips, and when he brought a finger to gently tease your pearl, you could not hold back.

Nor could Aemond. He buried himself in you entirely, his face falling into the crook of your shoulder as he moaned your name, along with several High Valyrian words you did not know.

You lifted his head to bring his lips to yours and kissed him until his breath steadied again.

“No,” you whined as he moved to sit up and pull his softened cock out of you. “Stay. Please.”

Aemond smiled as he understood your meaning, again pressing his hips against yours to keep himself inside you as he rolled you onto your sides. “If I could stay forever, I would.”

“I know.” You nuzzled into his neck. “In fact, I’d quite like it if you did.”

“Then so I shall.”

A long, peaceful silence passed between you. Your flushes faded, your breathing calmed, and the evening air began to blow through the windows and cool your hot skin.

The day was not yet over. There was still dinner to attend, and Aemond likely needed to meet with the Small Council to discuss his trip. Yet neither of you moved. You simply laid there, basking in the bliss of holding the person you love.

You loved him. You loved Aemond so much.

He’d said it so often to you in the past five months. You had a lot of catching up to do.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you,” he replied.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you…”

[themotherofhorses]

pairing: aemond targaryen x handmaid!reader

summary: “she is pregnant.” his queen mother’s palm slams heavily down on the dark council table, loud as a thunderclap. “she is pregnant! aemond!”

warnings: explicit language. angst. protective!aemond being a hot hypocrite and defending his bastard. fluff towards the end. i can't make alicent a villain in this, i just can't (sorry not sorry).

notes: a lot of ppl requested alicent's reaction to handmaid getting pregnant, so here it is.

his handmaid's tales | main masterlist

“She is pregnant.”

His queen mother’s palm slams heavily down on the dark council table, loud as a thunderclap. “She is pregnant! Aemond!” and her voice only loudens, “I brought her for you to have as your handmaid, not your bedmate! Seven hells, Aemond! She was not meant to be your personal whore to toy around with whenever you felt bored!”

Aemond feels his lips slightly twitch at her words. “She is not a whore, mother, nor will I stand here and allow for you to insult her.”

“AEMOND!”

The other councilors remain silent, doing their finest in pretending that they were somewhere else. Aemond knows he would have none of their support or backing in this- he is alone in defending his beloved handmaid and their child. Gods give me peace. Two moons back, Lord Tyland Lannister offered up his niece as a wife. Now he sits with his hands wringed together, shaking his head and sneaking him a scowl. He could only imagine the lord’s thoughts of him.

No doubt they’d all be ill-pleasant.

His mother sighs. “Might it be too late to sneak her the moon tea, Grand Maester?” she asks.

“I would say so, your Grace.” Grand Maester Orwyle clears his throat. “The handmaid, she is already a month or so pregnant, mayhap even two. You could give her the tea, but it might risk harm on both the mother and babe, perhaps even an unsavory death…”

“Death...?” Aemond repeats, aghast.

Her face falls into her hands, and she heaves a deep breath before glancing around the council table. The men all shift uncomfortably.

“Might you consider sending her away, my Queen?” Lord Tyland proposes with a sly smile. “Perhaps back home?”

Aemond’s head quickly snaps to Lord Tyland, violet eye narrowing. His fist clenches tightly at his side, near the dagger sheathed on his belt, at his waistline. “You would not dare separate them from me,” he tells him coldly. “She now carries my babe, my heir, and I will not allow her to leave my side!”

“She carries your bastard in her belly, Aemond,” Otto begins, slowly, carefully. He lays a soft hand on Aemond’s sleeve, giving him a pitiful smile. “There is quite a difference between a realm’s legitimate heir and a bastard. I understand you are taken with the girl, my prince, and that she is good and kind to you. But, at the end of the day, you remain a Targaryen prince, who will wed when the time comes. How might your lady wife feel if she were to learn your servant mothered your bastards?”

Aemond shrugs. “Then I shall take her as my wife.”

“You cannot wed her, Aemond!” His mother shakes her head, as if he is some absentminded child. She looks much older too, as if the news aged her a good ten years in one night. He suddenly feels a tad guilty. “How many times must we discuss this! Your father will not allow nor bless this union, and neither will I! Damn you, Aemond! She is a baseborn girl- your damn handmaid! Her duty is to serve you as a servant, not a wife.”

“And yet-“ Aemond replies, trying to keep the scorn out of his voice, “-she treats me far better than everyone in this very room.” At that, his mother has enough shame to blush red. He continues, “I love her, and she loves me. Is that not enough? Does that not make you happy? My entire life, mother, I’ve done everything that was expected of me. I’ve studied and trained and fulfilled every princely obligation of mine while your firstborn flouts to do as he pleases! Aegon shames Helaena every night with an empty bed yet you refuse to acknowledge such! And yet, when I find love and happiness, you’re ready to punish me.”

He levels his bright purple eye to his mother’s face. “I love you, mother, but I love her as well, and I will not live a life without her.” And Aemond’s all but ready to collapse to his knees, to beg and plead her acceptance. It is the only one that truly matters amongst everyone else's.

Afterward, his mother sits in silence, staring down at her hands. The skin stretched around her nailbeds are both red and tender, and she wears only her wedding ring on the right. She turns to face her king husband’s Hand. “Well, there it is, father.”

“It makes little difference, my Queen.” Lord Wylde and Lord Tyland murmured in agreement.

“But would it truly be wise to separate father from child, Lord Hand?” Lord Beesbury asks, pointing at the Hand, white eyebrows arched high. Otto Hightower raises his own eyebrow in return. “She is lowborn, yes, but a royal babe still sleeps in her womb.”

"A bastard, Lord Beesbury, mothered by the daughter of a milk cow."

A milk cow? Aemond blinks, momentarily confused. But before he could say anything further, his mother makes her final judgment on the matter.

The queen slowly rests her elbow on the table before plopping her chin atop her palm. “My son’s to be a father,” she says, a faint smile twisting on her lips. She repeats it again, almost like she doesn’t believe it. “A father…” Aemond feels a bit of hope blossoming inside his chest. “Pray tell, would you rather me separate him from his trueborn child? The child that is still his child, his own blood, bastard or not. We can argue on this matter till we are purple in the face, my lords, but the truth still remains,” she declares, before taking Aemond’s hand in hers, thin fingers laced with his.

“Take me to see her, son.”

At once, multiple voices arise in protest. His grandsire calls his mother’s name, but she ignores him as she stands to her feet. “I do beg your pardon, my lords, but I must see my grandchild.” Aemond bows, victorious, and turns on his heel without another word, feeling all eyes on his back as he strolls from the council chambers with his mother, her hand still in his. The doors closing shut behind them silences all the lords, and his mother sighs.

“My sincerest apologies, my dear Aemond, for referring to her as a whore,” she says, earnestly. “I know she is far from that, and I must say I’m rather fond of her.”

Outside, Ser Criston Cole was stationed, wearing his long white cloak of the Kingsguard. He gives the two a curious look but remains silent and still, straightening his shoulders when they pass by him. Aemond wonders if he overheard the small council’s session, and whether he agrees more with his mother or grandsire.

It does not matter, Aemond decides, pressing a soft kiss to his mother’s knuckles, in a show of forgiveness that makes her smile. He loves her too much to remain irate and frustrated with her, especially once she mentioned her soft spot for his girl. His queen mother- good and fair to the smallfolk- is the same with his handmaid. And his future children as well, he hopes.

“You’ll be a wonderful father,” she tells him, tucking a long strand of silver hair behind his ear. “And I mean it.”

He brings her to his bedchamber, where his handmaid sits on the settee, dutifully sewing up one of his tunics. When they arrive at his doors, she’s quick to bolt onto her feet, falling into a small courtesy. She wears a thick and ugly serving dress that hides her swelling belly underneath but does little to dull her beauty.

“My queen! My prince…”

Aemond takes her arm, pulling her alongside him. “My mother wishes to speak to you, my love,” he explains, gazing down into her eyes. His thumb strokes her cheekbone before he takes a step back, and his mother takes his place.

Before her, his love trembles, and he knows she’s awfully scared. It breaks his heart a little. He forewarned her of the small council’s gathering this morning, and how the maester told the queen of her pregnancy and the decision that would likely be made. She cried that entire night he held her, and neither got a wink of sleep.

“Your Grace…!” she sputters in a quavering voice, hand dropping to her tummy. “I beg of you…”

But his mother says nothing, instead cradling his sweet girl’s pretty face within her hands before leaning to kiss her temple. When she pulls back, her big brown eyes are soft and kind. “You’ll make a lovely mother, my dear,” she mumbles, and it is enough for his handmaid to break into a sob, falling limp as Queen Alicent holds her close, running a hand up and down her back.

“Thank you!” she cries through jagged gasps and wheezes. “I was so scared. I- thank you, my Queen, thank you. Thank you!”

His mother gently lifts her face upwards, wiping away the fat tears streaking down her cheeks. “Shhh, there was little to worry about, sweetling,” she coos. “Aemond wouldn’t have let anything happen to you, believe me. A man in love, with everything to lose, is perhaps the fiercest warrior to be found on the battlefield.”

Perhaps?

Aemond watches as his mother comforts his handmaid, mouthing small praises and pleasantries while stroking her hair back, doing her best in calming her down until her eyes are dry. Several minutes later, the two women are discussing the babe, with Queen Alicent sharing memories of the early days of her own pregnancies. The sight before him makes his heart swell in his breast, and he then recalls the words exchanged back in the council chambers.

I’m to be a father, and hopefully a husband soon.

He crosses his hands behind his back, smiling..

It seems to be true, he thinks, that there is indeed no more beautiful sight than your woman swelling with your baby.

But no one spoke of the beauty that follows when your mother accepts her grandchild for the first time, and the blinding glow that brightens your woman’s face when she realizes such has happened.

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[hotdaemondtargaryen]

EWAN MITCHELL INTERVIEWED BY DECIDER MAGAZINE.

SO KNOWING HOW HE'S SO STUDIOUS AND THOUGHTFUL, WHAT DO YOU THINK THE CHANCES ARE, IF HE STILL HAS THE DANGER, HE CAN FIGURE OUT THERE'S A HIDDEN MESSAGE THERE?

"Yeah, I think I could imagine that."

"I could imagine Aemond reading a book by the fire and he just puts it over the fireplace and then he’s privy to the information of Aegon’s dream."

"But I can’t confirm nor deny it."

ALICENT MENTIONS TO RHAENYRA IN THE FINALE THAT AEMOND PLANS TO FLY TO HARRENHAL. DAEMON HAS HAD QUITE THE SEASON THERE, BEING AFFECTED BY THE MAGIC THERE. DO YOU HAVE A SENSE OF HOW THAT MAGIC COULD AFFECT AEMOND?

"I think that’s a good question."

"I think if he was to go to Harrenhal, I think, I don’t know."

"It’s similar to what we were saying with Helaena."

"Like, if there was some sort of way that he would be able to harness that power and to use it to his advantage, he could be quite dangerous."

SO, ARE YOU EXCITED TO SORT OF DELVE INTO WHAT COULD POTENTIALLY MOTIVATE AEMONE TO OPEN UP TO SOMEONE? WHAT DO YOU THINK WOULD MAKE HIM SO VULNERABLE?

"I think just finding all of that multifaceted nuance in Aemond, and really exploring that shadow side even more…"

"You know, just constantly keeping the audience on their toes and presenting an angle of Aemond that we hadn’t really seen before."

"He always kind of looked for surrogates for his mother."

"He found it in Vhagar, so to speak."

"An old she-dragon parallel."

"And he found it in the madame."

"But is that enough? So he’s always looking for his match, so to speak."

"Whether or not he finds it is another thing."

"Maybe there’s no one good enough for Aemond."

"Maybe he’s not good enough for anyone either."

HE'S SO RUTHLESS IN TERMS OF THE WAY HE WANTS TO APPROACH THE BATTLES AHEAD. IS HIS MINDSET FOR HIS OWN GLORY AND POWER, OR IS HE ACTUALLY JUST TRYING TO SAVE HIS FAMILY AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE AND SECURE TEAM GREEN'S CLAIM?

"I think it’s interesting."

I think when he approaches Alicent and Helaena in Episode 8, he kind of says, 'Like, look, it’s either them or us and I’m choosing. It’s gonna be them.'

"We can’t go down without a fight."

"Because if the Blacks were to come into power, it would be the Greens heads who would be on the chopping block."

"And Aemond especially."

"So it is a fight for self preservation."

"But whether or not he has his family’s interests at heart or whether or not he’s just thinking for himself?"

"I want to leave that out there."

"I want to let people make their own judgment on that."

"I think he definitely loves his mum and he wants his mum at the end."

ONE OF MY FAVORITE SCENES IS THE ONE WHERE YOU BASICALLY DRESS DOWN AEGON IN HIGH VALYRIAN. WHAT WAS IT LIKE PREPARING FOR THAT? WAS IT AS DELICIOUS TO DO AS IT LOOKED OR WAS IT JUST ANOTHER EXTRA CHALLENGE THAT YOU JUST DID NOT WANT TO FACE IN TERMS OF MASTERING A FOREIGN LENGUAJE?

"I mean I remember doing it a few different ways, but I always kind of settled on the idea that Aemond, throughout those first four episodes, he’s just so composed."

"We see other players around the council table and they raise their voices, and Aemond is the kid who’s just acting from the peripheries."

"He’s waiting for his moment."

"He never raises his voice too much."

So in that moment, when he very much seizes a chance to attack Rook’s Rest and work with Criston Cole, he very much says, 'I’m taking over now.'

"It is a public humiliation, but he does it in such a way that Aegon is able to save face because only him and Aegon can understand it (and maybe Grand Maester Orwyle can, as well)."

"It’s something quite merciful in a way.

BEFORE THE SEASON STARTED, I TALKED TO YOU ABOUT HOW YOU STAYED AWAY FROM MATT SMITH ON SET IN SEASON 1 SO THAT WHEN THEY STARE EACH OTHER DOWN DURING DINNER, IT WOULD BE MORE IMPACTFUL. SO I'M CURIOUS, HAVE YOU MET GAYLE RANKIN YET?

"I – I have not."

OH, OKAY. IS THAT INTENTIONAL OR?

"I mean, I’ve obviously seen Gayle Rankin’s phenomenal performance in the show, but also like the Harrenhal set itself is in a different studio to the studio of the Red Keep."

"So I never really brushed shoulders with Gayle Rankin or Matt Smith this season, other than that moment when Daemon sees the vision of Aemond in Harrenal."

"I think — I think I briefly [met Gayle] at the read through."

"Briefly."

OK, COOL. I WAS JUST CURIOUS, BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH. I REALLY APPRECIATE IT AND I'M REALLY EXCITED TO SEE ALYS AND AEMOND MEET BECAUSE THAT IS A RELATIONSHIP I HAVE SO MUCH CURIOSITY ABOUT.

"No comment."

[malisorn]

✉ || 𝐀𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

Pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary | Aemond and his way of showing you his love through gifts. And one time where you showed your love back to him ๋࣭ ⭑

Warnings & Suggestions | No warnings at all, Soft!Aemond, Fluff, Happy Marriage, No physical description of reader

Notes | Another sweet and soft fluff to rot your tooth.

A necklace of gold, each pendant is either amethyst or sapphire, alternating and complimenting each other at the same time. They are glimmering, beautiful and daring-

“Do you like it?” you looked up to him, realized that you have been staring at the necklace far too long, a sentence barely formed in your thought “It's…… you shouldn't have, it's too-” It's unduly, especially for the first courting between you and the prince. “It'd match you well, my lady.” Worry runs across your body until his hands touch your hair, placing a necklace on your neck. Now, you are blushing hard “Thank you, my prince.” 

Moons have passed and soon enough, you will wed your future husband in the holy place of Grand Sept. You find it hard to sleep, thinking of every little things. Aemond has been kind to you ever since the first courting, showering you with gifts of the greatest value. The jewelry hanging on your dressing table is a proof of it. You couldn't help but worry that all this gesture would disappear the second you married him.

As you fell into a deep sleep, you dreamed of dragons. You recognize Vhagar from the large size and the mighty face. Beside Vhagar was an ivory dragon of a smaller size, yet the air around that beautiful dragon brightened everything. There was gold tracing around. You've never read or seen any dragons like this in real life. The two creatures are flying together through the highest sky, sounds of roaring and wings clapping wake you up to the early morning. You think of the dream as you prepare for the day. Once you are done, you quickly make your way to Aemond and tell him of the dream, how captivating it is that you wished to be stuck there for eternity. 

On the wedding night, while you wait for your husband patiently. He comes in and takes you to a mysterious chest with dragons carved on the surface. You gasped at the sight of the creamy-and-gold dragon egg. It was stoned and old, yet the scales were exactly how you saw in your dream. “How did you get this?” your fingers traced the egg's scales, just like the dream. “A merchant sold me this in a great deal, it was stolen and stoned but it's still beautiful.” his hands reach your waist to hold you tight. “Such a coincidence it is, must have been a good sign for our marriage” you smile at his thoughtfulness, “Thank you, my husband.”

As the wedding passed, your marriage has turned into everything you have dreamed of. You and your husband have spent time together more freely. You told him about your interests, especially flowers, how pleasant you felt when you looked at them or how proud it is to plant and water them as they grew and bloom. It's like all your worries being blown away by the soft wind. But he doesn't seem as interested in it, so you try to keep it to yourself.

Failed, you keep mentioning them, how you heard there was a talking tree and even a talking bird in the Summer Isles, how there were the most exotic roses anyone could find in the maze of Highgarden, how you wanted to see all of them in person or at least read more about them. It keeps going and you thought you had annoyed him until your name day.

He brings you a book of plants, flowers and trees ranging from the most common to the rarest. It tells all about their origins, symbolism and their own unique story. It was heavy and thick, the cover was carved in the shape of flowers. “I have Maester Orwyle found this for you, one of the oldest books in the Citadel, it was not an easy process, sweet wife of mine.” You couldn't believe he could get this for you. “Though this would not be the only gift from me.” your husband's words confused you a bit until you saw the look he gave you. “Thank you, Aemond.”

What a blessing it has been. Your marriage is fortunate to be full of love. Your husband did his duty as well as he cared deeply for you. You wore the jewelry he gave you, the silks imported from the furthest lands, the book in your hand for your name day. You were spoiled rotten and an idea crossed your mind.

He would've loved it, it would've been amazing. You keep thinking about it. This week, you've been distancing yourself from Aemond as you prepare the gift for him.

You requested a private supper with only your husband and you. He didn't question at first, but he was obviously eager to know why you suddenly wanted to have a private meal. When he arrives, you keep smiling at him, blushing at his words and it all ends when he rises. “Why a private supper?” You rise after him. “I just wanted a quiet time between us, that's all.” It is not a good lie and he doesn't seem convinced. “Tell me.” his tone is clear that whatever it is that you try to hide, you have to stop. “Fine” you groaned and took his hand as you lead your husband to the gift.

“I am not sure if you would like it but I wanted to let you know that I love you too. And you did so well, trying to show it to me.” You said to him as you brought out the gift. He instantly knew what it was and, undeniably, he softly smiled.

A Longsword made of Dragonglass, sharp and light. On the hilt was a gemstone of Sapphire, to match his left-eye. All was jet black but at the heart of the sword was brightened with blue stone. It was simple, perfectly made just for him and it meant everything.

“Do you like it?” he looked up to you. You look like an angel from this view. He nodded, finding it hard to express himself in words. You immediately hug him, “Be careful!” He shouted as the sword still lays on him. You didn't seem to care though, he simply accepted your warm embrace. What has he done to deserve you? To have someone beside him who cares this much. There are many moments in which he knew he had to protect you, but in this second, he vowed he would burn everything down if anyone dared to touch you and he would go across the known world just to see your smile. “Thank you, my love.”

masterlist for more

images' credits ๋࣭ ⭑

Casket of jewels on a table principally of German Origin - Pieter Gerritsz. van Roestraten

The Marquise de Pezay, and the Marquise de Rougé with Her Sons Alexis and Adrien - Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun

Pronk Still Life with Holbein Bowl, Nautilus Cup, Glass Goblet and Fruit Dish - Willem Kalf

[jacevelaryonswife]

Golden and Silver, my new colors | Part Seven

As a second son Aemond had to fight from an early age to conquer what he wanted, so the search for the forgiveness of his beautiful wife couldn’t be different.

∴pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!reader

∴warnings and a note: fluffy and suggestive content; english is not my first language. 2,5k of words

golden and silver masterlist

It's funny how the course of things varies with time. Months ago you anxiously wished for your husband's love and haste, weeks ago you hated him with all your fury and a few days ago you accepted that your heart could forgive him. Aemond wasn’t only doing his duty as a husband, he was being everything you longed for him to be: kind, attentive and interested. Your husband was perfectly fulfilling the oath that wouldn’t be negligent again, from small gestures as gentle caresses on your back and hands as in quiet conversations throughout the days.

How are you feeling? Would you like something? How were the classes with the septã? What have you been reading? Did something happen?

And gradually you began to match him with the same questions.

How was the training? How is the food? How are you feeling?

He was genuinely fine with you.

As a second son Aemond had to fight from an early age to conquer what he wanted, so the search for the forgiveness of his beautiful wife couldn’t be different. He learned the most difficult way the consequences of an absent paternity and devalued motherhood, so why affect his own family in this? You deserved more than was emotionally offered. Therefore, in that mild late afternoon he decided to fulfill a previous promise and took you to your first love and conquest: Vhagar. In addition to stimulating the creation of the affective bond between you, Aemond thought it would be a good way to knock down some bricks of your barrier to allow your passage.

You wore a light golden dress for the occasion, which exhibited the growing prominence of your belly. Your hair was mostly loose with the exception of a simple hairstyle and some jewelry adorned your ears and neck. All the way there was a conscious heat in your stomach about what was about to happen, almost comforting — although anxious. Your husband was very incisive in questioning the Grand Maester Orwyle if the flight would not harm your health and pregnancy, being assured that a light flight wouldn’t harm your condition. It was a big step for your relationship and for him, you knew, but seeing him perform it warmed your heart. Although you didn’t share the same enthusiasm as your husband on the subject in question, you responded in a cordial and polite way — too cordial to go unnoticed.

"Are you nervous?" He asked.

You took a deep breath, looking at him before facing the ground. “A little bit.”

Aemond wasn’t common to physical touches, but he chose to lower the arm you squeezed to your waist and caress the swollen side of your belly. "There's nothing to fear while you're by my side, she feels what I feel."

"And what do you feel?" You asked softly, but expectantly.

Maybe that was the first time your beautiful husband displayed a genuine, restrained, but genuine and kind smile. "Good things," he said, making you reciprocate the soft stretching of lips.

"It's good to know."

Even there is a long distance, the great centenary figure became visible and intimidating. The tales used to be pleonastic most of the time, but you found that there was no exaggeration about the description of the colossal and aggressively imposing being. Another perception was the mild behavior of your husband, a great contrast to the usual stiffness of his closed jaw and intense eyes. He looked almost ethereal with his elegant posture and perfectly combed hair. Even though it was a sin, you thought it looked visually divine.

A meek roar drove away your daydreams and made you realize that you had arrived at your destination. Staying a few steps behind, you saw again a part of your husband's armor fall when you approached his mount and... caressed her?

“Uēpa riña, skorkydoso glaesā?” He said. Old girl, how are you? Unfortunately you weren’t knowledgeable of High Valyrian to understand what that meant. “Jaelan ao naejot rhaenagon mēre issaros.” I want you to meet one person. He took your hand and put it on the rough and rigid skin. “Bisa iksis ñuha ābrazȳrys.” That’s my lady wife.

It was the first time touching those beings... it was... unbelievable.

"What did you say?" You asked softly, delighted with the big animal in front of you — under your touch.

"I just introduced my beautiful wife," he said, taking your hand from his and landing on the small bud in your belly. "... when our baby is born I want a dragon egg in his or her crib." A trace of seriousness filled his tone and softened feature, visible in the intensity that your good eye looked at you.

His past was never an option to be approached because it was too painful and intimate, but you weren’t oblivious to what had happened, not when the evidence was quite clear.

“I appreciate it, but I wouldn't mind if he or she was as brave as the father and claimed his or her own,” you said, putting your hand on the left side of his face.

Another feeling flourished in his expressive look, which you didn’t know how to unravel, but kept your eyes attentively on his for the following moments. Even not knowing the feelings of others, you both thought that would be a good time for a passionate and kind kiss, it was enough for one of you to lean over and...

Vhagar's guttural roar announced that she was still there, making you laugh. "So, how do I get on that thing?"

"Don't call her a thing, it's impolite," he corrected you with humor.

Whatever it is...

"I believe it's more rude to you than to her," you replied as you took his hand to be carefully guided through the body of the big animal. The construction of nervousness was accentuated when you arrived in the saddle used by your husband. For the seven!

A satisfied and somewhat presumptuous smile was sketched by Aemond when he positioned himself in front of you. “Hold on tight, the sprint is turbulent,” he instructed.

"Where should I hold it?" You asked confused — afraid to touch him.

"In me, hold tight on my body."

Seven heavens...

You held his hips initially, but... but it seemed appropriate to lean to wrap him in an intimate hug and rest your head on his back. He always smelled good, there was no way to resist. And then, Vhagar started to take off the momentum and you've never felt so nauseous in your life with those movements. With eyes closed to focus on not vomiting you didn’t capture the transition between solid and volatile, opening your eyes when you were close to the clouds.

You were flying. You were flying!!

“Gods be good!” You laughed excited and incredulous.

"It's a beautiful view, isn't it?"

“Yes! It's.”

Your husband smiled satisfied. “That's just the beginning,”

After the start, the rest of the flight was smooth, but it still made your stomach float a few times. Aemond was perfectly fine flying with his beautiful wife in the largest dragon in the world. His dragon's blood naturally inflamed his veins, but at that moment your firm touch ardently ignited each contemplated part and fed a primitive and inappropriate carnal desire. Seven hells...

In addition to the running activity, Aemond planned to show you something else, which partially occupied his mind in place of inappropriate thoughts. But still...

No, stop!

Although the most beautiful fields were described in The Reach, the one-eyed prince had made a recent discovery in Riverlands (which was also not behind in soil fertility and native beauty) of a beautiful field of yellow flowers, and even better for being close to Kingslanding since wearing you out wasn’t an option.

Wearing you out...

May the Father have mercy on me.

“Can I quickly let go of my arms?” You asked.

“Take the test quickly with one arm and hold me tight with the other,” he instructed.

Oh! That exuded freedom! And it was as tasty as dornese meadwine!

It's been so long since you've left Red Keep, and even longer since something so fresh and soft ran through your body. It was so good. All the recent moments spent with Aemond were good and compensating.

At first, after your explosion on the night of the princess's ball, you thought it would be the end, but life likes to surprise us, doesn't it? Even your parents were surprising not to mention that you had danced with Rhaenyra Targaryen's heir. While the Queen... well, you didn't talk again as before.

They were promising weeks in general, however, you were afraid of facilitating his work in your mission to fix things, after all you were neglected for four months. But well... it's been a month since things changed, so... No! Stop ruining the day!

Unfortunately that feeling lasted longer than you wanted, making you distract you from the reduction of speed and the beginning of the fallow. Until you realized the beautiful yellow flowers arranged as far as the horizon allowed. You couldn't believe it. You had never seen such beauty before — besides your chic dresses and set of diamonds earrings.

Aemond went down first, taking your hand to guide you carefully to the ground.

“Aemond... it's beautiful, it's so beautiful, I can't believe it!” Your emotional eyes were bathed in the orange rays of the sunset. You were radiant and more beautiful than ever.

“Yes It's. It's a beautiful view."

Again, Aemond wasn’t common to physical affection, but he didn’t restrained himself by wrapping you in a hug from behind and touching your belly, smiling when you returned the comfort. "I really appreciate this and everything you're doing these days."

"That's all for you. For both of you. For my beautiful wife and my future family,” he said, breathing his addictive smell.

Your steps were slow and delicate so as not to damage the flowers, following the prince's side as he passed his hand on each vibrant petal. You've never felt so alive before; so full of color and calm down. The velvety texture of the flowers and the refreshing breeze were sweet additions to your happiness. And then, the words started to come out before you could control it.

"You know... before... the day I fainted I had talked to Princess Rhaenyra about pregnancy," you began, "not that I thought it was easy. It started when I thought I would be alone throughout the process. She said things got easy with support, with the right people. And I just... I didn't want to be alone; I don't want to be alone while I go through this, it's confusing, I feel tired and my mood varies so much and I just... I don't want to be alone. I don't want to do this alone."

How he hated himself for hearing that.

Aemond stopped in front of you and held your face, determined to solve all the doubts you might have about him.

“Listen to me. It took me a long time to realize what I had done. My relationship with my father was never good, not when he always favored his first daughter... not when nothing happened when I lost my eye, not when my mother begged for justice," he could not let you believe that he would be alone, "and unfortunately I let the result of that splash on you, because I underestimated you and was not ready for our union, but you made and I regret letting things get where they are, I really regret it, so I assure you with everything I have that I won't leave you alone again."

That was the first time he confessed such intimacy to someone. And he doesn't regret at all releasing such a burden from his chest — neither do you.

"I'm sorry for what happened," you said, copying the position of his hands, "you were just a boy, you didn't deserve it," your thumb traced the perimeter of your scar, "you’re a man dedicated to your studies and training, well-behaved and intelligent, much more than the King could see. And... I know it's not appropriate for the moment, but you're a very handsome man too," you whispered the last part, making you gasp. He wouldn't expect to hear that in a sincere tone.

"Do you see all these qualities in me?" His voice was small.

“Yes, I do.”

Fuck the appropriate.

He leaned with determination to capture your lips in a kiss never before shared between you, full of love and wish, without fear or estrangement, just a soft contact between mouths. He sucked all the air out of your lungs with the initiative and execution, making you hold his jaw while moving your lips slowly (a little clumsy) and intensely.

He circled your waist when he deepened the kiss, approaching your body with tenderness and care.

“Aemond...” you broke a kiss with an enchanted sigh and bright smile, floating around him like a cloud. You have never shared such a passionate kiss before and never in such a beautiful place.

“My beautiful wife,” he closed his eye and leaned his head against your own.

✩。:*•. ──── ❁ ❁ ────. •*:。 ✩

"Have you ever thought of names?" He asked on your way to your shared cameras.

"I thought of some. For a son I thought of Aelor or Aemon, for a daughter I would like Daella or Aelora," you replied, being very comfortable with your head rested against his arm.

“Hm,” he buzzed attentively as he analyzed the options. “No Aegon?”

“I believe this family has enough Aegons,” you were quick to say.

Aemond laughed silently and opened the door for you, watching your body rest against the mattress.

God, you couldn't imagine how much worse your tiredness would be as your belly got bigger and rounder. Your grunt caught the attention of the prince, who directed a watchful eye in his direction.

"Is everything okay?" He asked.

"Yes, I'm just tired," you closed your eyes when your back sank into the pillow, "and I need a good shower."

“I'll arrange it. Do you need anything else?"

"... no, I don't."

He walked to the edge of the bed and sat next to you, touching your belly lightly. It was highly inappropriate for the moment, but it wasn’t something he wanted to keep hiding from you.

"I... I know we didn't have fruitful nights of... you know, intimacy. But I have to say…I need to confess and take it off my shoulders," he began, holding your thigh with his other hand and sending a heat wave to your femininity, "I can't stop thinking about us... in intimate situations."

Seven hells... he wanted to say... copulating?

"I can't stop thinking about having you," he added, "when you're rested on another day, I... would you like to join me in bed?"

Gods be good! Your whole body formed with revelation, a hitherto unknown need bloomed in your shells and your interior squeezed subtly.

"Husband... I..." you didn't expect this, but the warm feeling of his hand on your thigh along with the intense look he watched you fed his courage to say: "do you want to show me the fire of the dragon?"

He took a deep breath and felt his member squirm. "Yes, I want to.”

——————————————————

Well, we are in the final stretch of the story (I still don't know how many chapters are left) and I would like to thank in advance each of you who has been following the course of the story!

taglist: @immyowndefender @arcielee @malfoytargaryen @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @fan-goddess @dark-night-sky-99 @siriusdumblittlepuppy @let-love-bleeds-red @sassysaxsolo @cicaspair418 @yentroucnagol @mefools @risefallrise @auratiqs @glitterandgoldfinds @bellaisasleep @plzletmedaydream @padfooteyes @bellameshipper @zillahvathek @schniiipsel @little-duck @dc-marvel-girl96 @nina2697 @kaemond-zafiro @the-hufflebird-girl @panagiasikelia @whatsonthemirror @namgification @minttea07 @crazymusicgirl104 @sahvlren @aemonds-fire @partypoison00 @glame

[lilibethwrites]

A Midsummer Night’s Pain

Aegon II Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for Rook’s Rest, NSFW (smut)

Word count: 5876

Ao3 & Masterlist

Aegon returns from Rook’s Rest with severe injuries, and your lives change forever. While he is haunted by aches that would put a lesser man to the ground, you are at your wit’s end with his stubborn refusal of help. A sleepless night of slowly healing burns and bones leads you both to introspection and confrontation. Heated exchanges, frustrated sighs, and hungry kisses restore your belief in the strength of your bond built on devotion and love.

Aegon was no stranger to sleepless nights. Anger, frustration, the immutable urge to suppress all parts of him until he was stripped down to bare flesh and bones and the basest of urges as he got so masterfully lost in the dark, narrow streets of Flea Bottom among a sea of drunkards swaying side to side… If one didn’t know any better, one would assume the dark hours of the night, the hour of the ghost or the nightingale or the wolf were all dedicated to him, that he was the ghost that haunted the stone halls of the Red Keep, the nightingale that sang with a few tankards of Flea Bottom ale or better in his belly, the wolf that bared his teeth as good as any Stark should the occasion necessitate it.

 Then, Flea Bottom was stolen from him, and then, so was his flesh. His brother had traded an eye for a dragon, though no one, no one at all could say if he meant his words or if he were too muddied of the mind on the Milk of the Poppy—he was fed about the same amount as a grown man would be— to make sense when he found the exchange fair. Aegon, however, was painfully sober and himself when he was made to trade his home a bit far from home for a crown which once sat on the forehead of his namesake. Aegon certainly did not wish to take his golden boy to the skies for bloodshed and pain. In fact, he always, though quietly, maintained that Sunfyre was a masterpiece fallen from Seven Heavens. Too exquisite, too regal, too graceful, too beautiful to be a tool of war; no, Sunfyre wasn’t designed for tragedy, it suited him ill.

 But curiously, while all else slipped from his fingers, you remained. You’ve been a friend, loyal and patient when Aegon knew any better than to fall to his knees and worship you, then, a lover, passionate and steadfast even when Aegon was difficult to love even to the flesh that breathed life into him. So, when Aegon had left with a finger under your chin, with his lips on yours, with an ornate armour fit for a king, with a rich velvet cloak cascading down his shoulder, you remained hopeful. Perhaps for the first time, you brought your palms together and turned your eyes to the sky, beyond the clouds where Aegon and Sunfyre eclipsed the beauty of the sun itself to vanquish the enemy, to the Gods. You prayed, you begged to have your husband back.

 “I would be a cripple otherwise”, you had petitioned. “He is half me, I am half him. He is the heart of my heart.”

 Gods had listened, but Gods also delighted in mischief and trickery at the expense of good, undeserving souls. Aegon was brought back to you upon loyal shoulders, unconscious and beyond recognisable with the dark red of his drying blood and the ugly brown of earth caked in his hair, on his face, on what flesh was revealed from his armour.

 Grand Maester Orwyle suggested it was better you did not look. He reasoned it was a sight too ghastly for the fairer sex to behold.

 “He is my husband, for the Seven’s sakes!” You threw decorum out the window when you grabbed the long chain snaked around the Maester’s neck.

 “You will allow me in. Your queen demands it.”

 The man had no choice but to bow his head, to step aside so you would enter the solar repurposed as a second office for the Maesters with a grandiose bed pushed to the end of it, concealed with the heavy drapes of the canopy pulled—what dignity was there for Aegon to preserve? Has he ever had it, anyway? Hasn’t he always been the odd one out, the one disowned at the drop of a hat, over and over again? Nothing precious about him, nothing noteworthy, nothing of value was lost. That has always been his belief; that has always been what he was led to believe.

 “The only time my mother touched me was when she struck me in the face. Even then, I imagine, her breakfast must have heaved in her stomach… She looks upon me as she would a rat caught between the walls,” he’d once confessed over warm, watered-down wine of a Flea Bottom wine sink he’d taken you to.

 “I love you. I desire to love you to the end. I desire to show you that I love you. I do not know how. I was never given it…” His plush lips had twisted into a lopsided smirk, acidic and self-loathing. It must have been him, he always thought. His mother was capable of showing love otherwise. She gave love to a man rotting on his feet, who only ever took her so he would put babes in her womb—and then forget about them and venerate the one he already had. His mother showered Helaena with love, his mother worshipped Aemond after her daily prayer to the Seven, and she never once stopped admiring Daeron even if all he did was pack up and leave. Aegon was left to seek love elsewhere, pitiful bits at a time. That was, until you came along.

 “I fear I will make a mess of it. I muck everything up,” he had sniffled—then, wiped his cheeks on the back of his hand, blinked, and returned to the man unbothered by all, like the scales of a dragon deflecting Scorpion bolts.

 But you knew, oh, you’ve always known. There were cuts within him that never ceased bleeding. The superficial ones were easily remedied with drinks and gathering up of your skirts and the loosening of your bodice. But those? Those needed precious care, all the patience in the world, and a stream of love to rival the supposed stream of Arbor Red that runs across Seven Hells, as Aegon alleged.

 “Tis makes little sense. Why would wine run from a stream? And why in Hells, and not in Heavens?” You’d inquired once.

 He’d shrugged. His brows furrowed in mock disappointment as if you’d failed to grasp a point so explicitly made.

 “So I can enjoy it, of course. How am I to do so if it runs in Heavens?”

 Even the most optimistic of his men shared in hushed whispers their doubts that the king would ever awaken. Some urged that his brother be named Prince Regent at once and overtake the matters of the Realm presently. Some found it treacherous, and what would become of you?

 You were about as concerned with anything beyond the body lying limp on the bed as the brass candelabra that sat beside it. You broke your fast and took your supper beside Aegon, you bathed and read beside him. You curled up to his body and gave your ear to the slow thumping of his heart at nights.

 Aegon got worse before he got better. He came down with the fever, and though Grand Maester reassured you it was a testament to the glorious resilience of the constitution of our king, you were a revenant floating up and down the chamber until his flesh ceased burning from the inside.

 Then, unceremoniously, he awoke.

 His throat was dry, his voice unused. The usual velvety quality was subjugated to raspiness.

 “I mucked it up… again,” I told you I would, he meant to continue, but his tongue felt too heavy.

 Your back was turned to him, your eyes set upon the silhouette of the Street of Silk with its pillow houses growing taller by the day, your nails digging into your palms as if the pain you’ve inflicted upon yourself would miraculously shave off the affliction your beloved husband was no wonder subjected to.

 You flinched. You’ve never quite lost hope, but perhaps, deep down, the reunion you often thought of was one where you would join Aegon, not the one where he would return to you.

 You were on him, and Aegon did not make a sound of pain lest your arms abandoned him. How was it that you were glad and not ashamed to see him? He had expected you to call him over the coals. What sort of man was he anyway, defeated by a single rider with his brother in the sky with him? What sort of king was he anyway, that he failed the one thing any dragon rider would have accomplished as easily as pulling a hair out of butter?

 But you drowned him in kisses and praises bordered on adulation instead. Aegon soon found he strongly preferred your gentle touches and generous flattery to any medicine the Maester could concoct.

 The burns began to scab over soon after, though the pain remained. He would have accepted it easier if it was constant, but instead, it elected to come at odd hours and inconvenient times, striking out of nowhere like a snake coiled in the bushes of the gardens below his window.

 Thereafter, Aegon was once again no stranger to waking up in the hour of the ghosts, with salty sweat burning his deep-set eyes and a sharp, burning pain splitting him open from head to heart like a Valyrian sword. He’d often stay up, though against his wishes this time, stirring and clutching the sheets or the pillows and biting down on his plump lips until teeth tore skin and blood prickled, until the hour of the owl or the nightingale—he’d often lose track—gave way to dawn.

 It was one such night when you awoke, or rather, you were awakened by Aegon’s stirring and grunting, controlled despite the overwhelming agony lest he woke you from your deep slumber. You’ve been the one constant thing of comfort in his life since the moment your fingers intertwined with his. He held your hands like a rider would the reigns of his dragon for fear that he would slip from the saddle and perish, and he intended to only let go to be burned to ashes, stuffed in an urn. No matter the pain, the frustration, the anger, he would behold you and be swiftly reminded that there was at least one good thing in the world still, and so the sun would have a reason to rise for another day. But even the most ardent, noblest love had its limits in the face of nearly-intolerable pain.

  You turned with your heavy eyelids, almost out of reflex, as you often did in your sleep when your bodies separated too far apart for your liking. You hummed with a hand searching for his face, starting at his damp chest and moving up. It was a humid day, an even less bearable eve, and a torturous night that made you sweat as you remained motionless, sticking the soft, silk chemise to your flesh.

 Aegon inhaled a sharp breath, steeled himself, and his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, bringing it to his lips.

 “Nightmare?” You asked. He has been plagued by them all his life. They were few and in-between back then, back when wine could dull them. They became sharper with the weight of the hefty crown on his head. They came in spades with unyielding force until he jumped from the bed and leaned so dangerously low on the stone guards of his balcony to burn his lungs with the night air.

 “No,” he whispered, shuddering and panting.

 You knew, then. In fact, you’ve known the moment you awoke, yet, you wished to be wrong.

 His aches got worse whenever he clenched his teeth all day or in his sleep, and he did so when his stress climbed and overtook ration. Anger often superseded all other senses then, and you often assumed this crippling pain was a defence mechanism instilled by nature within Aegon. It hurt him, yes; seeing him hurt also pained you gravely. But, it was a blessing, it stayed Aegon’s hand from greater destruction. At least, that has been your weak miseration, except, pains often crept upon your husband in the dead of the night, like a cowardly enemy hiding behind the walls.

 “Oh,” you mumbled softly, half with the devotion of a wife falling for her husband more and more each day, and the care of a mother who would feel twice the pain her babe suffered.

 “I should summon the Maester, have him prepare some—”

 “Please, no need, love. I—I shall be better, soon… Just… sleep it off,” Aegon attempted to halt you, speaking through gritted teeth on the verge of shattering.

 If there was ever a soul to match Aegon’s unyielding obstinacy, it was you and your indomitable mulishness. Aegon admitted so, when he kneeled before you and presented you with a newly minted ring impressed with the three-headed dragon of his family, asking for your hand in marriage. It was a jarring sight, the crown prince, the reluctant, forgotten heir under a moth-bitten cloak, brandishing a golden ring so expensive it could buy the entirety of the Bottom and still demand a few silver stags in change. He would not have imprinted the ring with the heraldry of his family, the one that so trenchantly refused him, if he didn’t so ardently wish to do his proposal properly. You deserved nothing less. You were not some pillow wench or a widow, wed to be bred or fill the diminishing coffers.

 “Tis no pain you can sleep off.”

 It was not a bargain he would win. You rolled out of the bed to stick your head out of the door, to ask Ser Criston if he would be so kind as to have Grand Maester Orwyle prepare something for the pain. That was all you needed to relay. The pain only meant one thing, the kind that would’ve put a lesser man in an early grave; not a simple headache or upset stomach, but the pain to dwarf all pains.

 Before long, an ornate silver platter was delivered to you. Upon it was a delicate vial with translucent liquid, and a teapot with matching painted china from Lannisport.

 First, you poured the content of the vial on a cotton cloth, and sat beside Aegon on the edge of the bed.

 His pale cheeks were reddened with the pain that had him clenching and whimpering. His eyes, usually big and bright and oh-so-mischievous, were squinted in exhaustion, forming deep lines between his brows.

 “You should not suffer it alone. You gave me your word you would not anymore,” you whispered, dabbing the cloth on the scabs of his burns, tracing the angry-red-turning-brown from his cheek to his chest.

 It stung at first, and Aegon gasped, closing his eyes and flinching away before he could catch himself. He balled his hand into a fist after that, and braved the pain in pursuit of relief. Truth be told, your presence alone was more relief than any medicine of the Citadel, even when he was nearly certain the pain would blind him.

 “You looked—you looked serene, bathed in the moonlight. Could not—could not dare disturb your slumber.” His voice was low and gravelly despite the grandiose artistry of a pompous bard he attempted to invoke. The corners of his lips twitched up into a faint smile before turning upside down with the pain a gesture as small as that caused.

 “I shall not be swayed by honeyed words, Aegon,” you attempted to be stern, but you knew you were swayed already. He did, too.

 “It passes, love. It always does. Just—just a matter of… patience.”

 Then, when his head lulled on the pillow so he could look at you better; in the pale moonlight, you saw the tears that stained his eyes. The pain was only half the reason for them. Aegon was ashamed to be a burden to you, his lover, that he must protect and provide for as any man with a sliver of chivalry should, not lay in a bed halfway paralyzed. Useless. A burden. An inconvenience. Dependent on the charity of his wife.

 You brushed short, choppy strands of silver that stuck to his damp forehead and cheeks away, and passed your hand over his head until he leaned into your touch.

 “We are a soul split in half,” he once told you, drunk enough to be brave but sober enough to mean every word. He was right. You were privy to the thoughts galloping in his mind.

 “Will you ever understand it to be an insult that you would flee from my care? I wish to care for you.”

 Aegon’s response was averting his eyes and inhaling a deep breath. His burnt hand, on the mend but likely to never regain its motion in entirety, stiffly patted your thigh and remained resting there.

 “Milk, then?”

 The offer was in vain. Once Aegon awoke, he trenchantly refused to be dulled. However maddening the pain might be, he desired to tough it out—sober. There were times his boyish mulishness was endearing, but this wasn’t one of them. You struggled to understand how it would serve him to be crushed under pain unnecessarily when the remedy awaited him in the pot. You were growing impatient with witnessing Aegon’s suffering helplessly.

 “Why must you be so bloody-minded, huh? If this is your twisted idea for self-flagellation, cease it! Whatever imagined failure you punish yourself for does not exist! Whatever perceived shortcoming you may think you have exhibited is a delusion! What does this help? This—this violent suffering in absolute vain?!”

 You rose from the edge of the bed, pacing towards the table with the intent of smashing the pot to bits against the wall. Aegon was torturously reticent at times when he doubted the outcomes of speaking his mind.

 “Nothing!” You spoke, or rather, yelled on his behalf. “Accomplishes nought but further torment!”  

 “I was kept on—on Gods know what when I should have been awake!” Aegon raised his own voice then.

 It was a strong mixture of Sweetsleep and the Milk of the Poppy dissolved in alcohol. The Maesters didn’t want to leave his rest to chance. For a good reason, too, as Aegon grew restless the moment he could move his limbs once again.  

 “I have failed you—you all.” Without his mother to deliver the punishment to his cheek in the form of slaps or his arms in the form of mean pinches that bruised without fail, he had to take the matter into his own hands.

 “You do not even hear me, do you?” You mumbled, hunched on a chair by the table. “I am simply speaking to the walls… you shall believe what you will no matter what.”

 Perhaps it would have pained Aegon less if you kicked up a storm, and turned the chamber upside down until nothing but broken and shattered bits of furniture and glass and torn tapestries remained. But to hear the helpless defeat in your voice instead? The low but unmistakable tinge of exhausted despair entered his ears and trailed down his throat as if he swallowed melted iron hot from a blacksmith’s forge.  

 He let the silence hang above your heads like the scythe of the Stranger for a moment or two that dragged on endlessly, then, he broke it himself. Though that time, his own words came out choked and quiet.

 “You should not have wed me,” he murmured, half in shame and half in agony. “My brother… perhaps half a man in soul and half a petrified gargoyle, but intact in flesh… somewhat. Hah,” Funny how things turned out. Perhaps he deserved this not for the lecherous revelries but for being a passed-out drunk on the steps of Driftmark when his brother was robbed of an eye. “Would’ve served you better all the same.”

 “What nonsense,” you scoffed. His words deserved a harsher response, perhaps, but the notion was so ridiculous to you that all you could do was shake your head in incredulity. “Surely you do not mean it?” Surely, he wishes for a reaction, to elicit a rise from you.

 “Look at me… what good am I to you in this state? A broken man, through and thorough.” Growing bitter by the day, too.

 “You know I would prefer the worst of you to the best of anyone else. Anyone… you know it, Aegon.”

 You approached the bed again under Aegon’s alert gaze. His pale eyes caught the light of the candles; you always thought a bit of Sunfyre was in him.

 “I was not under the naïve assumption that it would be easy when I fell for you.” Your hand reached for his, kissing his knuckles one by one before enveloping it in case he withdrew. “You asked me once if I loved the idea of you. Do you not remember what I said?”

 Aegon looked down with a wistful smile, then, dragged his gaze back to your face.

 “You told me… that whatever I may be, or become, would eclipse what you could ever conjure up.”

 “You did not believe me then, and you certainly do not believe me now.” There was no bite to your words; what little anger rose in your chest was short-lived. You’ve always found it rather difficult to stay mad at Aegon for long. You brought his hand to your cheek and pressed a kiss on his palm.

 “I thought you were mad for it. Twas no easy promise, not when it is me you dedicate—”

 The finger on his lips caught Aegon off-guard, and your soft lips upon his parched ones that followed were always welcome—in fact, they were desperately needed above air and sustenance.

 Your hands cupped his face; his cheeks were full again, though the colour hadn’t returned in full yet. The tip of your nose touched his, and Aegon leaned in to press another kiss to your lips. It was chaste, close-mouthed, like a seal to a missive.

 “I love you,” you whispered against his lips. A hand trailed down to his neck, and another rested on the back of his head, your fingers found their home in his dishevelled hair.

 “I love all of you, down to your very essence. I do not care what the Realm thinks of you. I do not care what you think of yourself. I know you, and I love you.”

 Your lips moved up, planting a kiss on the space between his nose and lips where light hair began to tickle—he was due for a shave— another to his cheek, then another to his jaw, and one more to the dimple in his chin.

 “I love the sound of you, I love the scent of you, I love the feel of you...”

 Aegon drew a deep, shaky breath when your lips moved further down to his neck, then, to his bare chest. His chest began to heave and fall quicker under your lips, blood began to rush down to his breeches. Just like that, so easily, you have worked your magic. A quiet spell fell from your lips, and Aegon snapped out of his self-pity. Well, partially. The Aegon that he was almost getting comfortable with being, the one who hadn’t resented the crown all that terribly anymore, the Aegon that had almost returned to his suave, younger self, would have flipped you on your back by now, hiked your chemise up to your waist and undone the ribbons that held your stockings to your thighs with his teeth, as he often loved to do so to the music of your giggles and gasps. That man would have buried his face between your legs already, but, this man was unsure if he could even please you with his fingers anymore.  

 “Nothing has changed. You have not changed. You feel the same, you taste the same. No one will ever hope to compare,” you whispered against his warm skin, right above the waist of his breeches where a light patch of hair disappeared into and the wet trail of your kisses concluded.

 Aegon was semi-erect when you palmed him through the rough fabric of his trousers. You’d done this more times than even the Maesters could count, and some said they knew infinite numbers. Yet, this time you couldn’t roughly pull at the laces and tug his member until his hips quivered and rose from the mattress to hit the back of your throat, to feel the contraction, to see your eyes widen. No, with shattered bones and scorched flesh, you needed to be cautious in the ways you’ve demonstrated your love.

 You licked your lips as Aegon peered at you intently. A hot palm with cold fingers slipped down Aegon’s trousers and gripped his length, and he shivered with anticipation. How long has it been anyway? Felt like a few lifetimes to him.

 You began by stroking him, then, pulled the waistband down around his thighs, and wrapped your lips around the reddened, crown of his cock. Aegon attempted to push himself deeper, but yielded with a whimper. Your head bobbed to the rhythm of your lover’s moans and muffled praises bleeding into curses, picking up the pace as his panting grew quicker. A hand wrapped around the base of his shaft intent on pushing Aegon to the very peak with touches to his heavy stones, while another ghosted fingers across his abdomen. He laced his fingers in your hair in response, neither pushing nor pulling, simply savouring the privilege of getting to feel you—any part of you—on his fingertips again. He’d realized there was much he’d taken for granted with you, high on the vapours of confidence that he would not be parted from you so untimely and unexpectedly.

 “Love, not—Gods! Not long, now,” he rasped. His better leg began to twitch and bounce, and his manhood in your mouth throbbed with each hollowing of your cheeks. His heart thumped erratically, he was certain you could hear it down between his legs with loud it was. Sweat beaded at his forehead and rolled from his hairline to his neck. Aegon almost always sounded as if he were about to weep when he was brought close to his release. “’Tis only you,” he’d told you once as he’d embraced you on a mattress stuffed with straw in a rented tavern room, “who has ever managed this—to reduce me to a whining fool. Cross my heart.”

 The pit of Aegon’s stomach churned and a brief but nothing less than torridly intense shiver rippled through him. Though he would have gladly traded all his limbs—for what value they held now—to release inside your walls and watch his seed leak out of you, he couldn’t be a choosing beggar until he could cage you under his body again. So, he spilt himself in your mouth, and for a moment, before he began to come down, the entire world consisted of the warmth of your mouth and the throbbing of his cock.  

 It would take the Seven Realms twice over to truly break the spirit this man, your Aegon. You’ve never once doubted it, and he proved you right when his lips quirked into an impish smirk as soon as his breathing began to settle down to a more even beat, and he watched you with dark eyes as you swallowed his load and wiped the drool off your chin.

 “Gods, sometimes I question if I took a Street of Silk whore for a wife,” he teased, though his joke was laced with lust and his voice was husky. He left your hair to caress your cheek, then, reached for your hand to pull you up and closer to him.

 “As if they’d wed you,” you snorted.

 With a hand in your hand, and the burnt one on your hip, Aegon was persistent in pulling you up to himself. It wasn’t so much the climbing him you feared, but the warm dampness between your legs threatened to take the reins until you found yourself seated on his hips, grinding with unprecedented urgency. But neither of you was quite known for your cautious ways, so you found a place to rest right above Aegon’s waist where the burns healed the quickest and the bruised to his ribs faded. With the salty aftertaste of him on your tongue and fatigue beginning to settle, you were ready to cuddle into his good side and slumber for whatever short time you could until dawn broke. Yet, Aegon had different plans altogether. He's never been a man to remain beholden to someone, especially in matters of pleasure.

 So, his fingers snuck under your shift and found your heat like liquid mercury to a magnet. It wasn’t the easiest to pleasure you like this, not when he was spoiled with being used to spreading your legs and pumping his fingers faster each time you whined and attempted to squeeze your thighs together to resist the climax he was beckoning. If you had devised this intricate plan to have him willingly submit to the Maesters, so he would heal as swiftly as his flesh allowed, so he would once again bury himself deep inside you, Aegon would have to admit you have succeeded.

 “C’mere, luv” he tapped on the side of your thigh, coaxing you to move up and up until you were nearly seated on his chest.

 “C’mere, I said,” he feigned annoyance at your reluctance. But it wasn’t so much reluctance as it was confusion. You’d only assumed he wanted you closer so he would get a better look at your glistening cunt, or reach your slit better. So, Aegon had to meet you halfway. With his fingers digging into your bare ass, he slouched with the urgency you wouldn’t have thought his body was capable yet, and he pulled you to his face.

 You gasped his name and held onto the ornate headboard lest you truly sat on his face and gave him another part to ache. You could feel his warm breath on your dampness, and his lips soon began to drag across the sensitive flesh.

 “Do not hover, darlin’, sit. Fear not, you shall do me no harm. I’ve survived worse, I assure you that my wife’s cunt will only do me good.”

 His fingers dug deeper into the tender flesh of your ass, he pulled you down on himself until you could feel the stubble around his lips and chin on you. He gave you a torturously long and slow, flat-tongued lick across your slit and groaned into your warmth. It was mostly muffled when he proclaimed with lust that he “could dine on you forever.”

 Your swollen, sensitive nub was flicked by his nose with each forward thrust of his face to bury his pointed tongue deeper inside you hungrily and to devour you better. The mewls and moans of his name from your lips and your taste on his tongue drove Aegon nearly into madness. He wasn’t sure he could feel pain even if someone took a hacksaw to his legs.

 As Aegon alternated between fucking you with his tongue and swirling his tongue over your slit to collect your slick greedily, your skin heated up and your face grew so hot you suspected your cheeks might catch fire and burn down to sinew. Despite the white-knuckled grip on the headboard, you began to buck your hips into his mouth.

The more Aegon groaned into your cunt and frantically lapped at you, the more you took the name of the Seven in vain, jolted and arched your back with each slight contact of his teeth or a rough brush of his stubble whenever he turned his head to gasp for air. Aegon went on as if he could tirelessly to the ends of days, but your muscles began to tighten and your walls fluttered. Aegon’s hands on your hips stilled you from jerking involuntarily; he did deserve to savour your release after the hard work he’s put in, after all.

 Soon, you were crying out Aegon’s name in ecstasy, hips stuttering while you writhed on his face, sinking your fingers into his hair to pull his head back and away from your cunt to no avail. Slick ran down his chin, and you slumped over with breath hitching and knees weakened by how your limbs cramped and quivered. Though you were prudent enough to lift yourself off of him and roll to the side, Aegon wouldn’t have minded if you decided to remain perched on his face for the rest of the night.

 The chamber was heavy with the unmistakable, musky smell of sweat and sex despite the windows. You both laid with on your backs, panting and chests heaving for a moment. You supposed you might have stumbled if you left the bed now; weak knees and dizzy head hardly made a good combination. A cup of wine shared between your lips and his would’ve served well now, but Aegon’s hand splayed on your warm belly, and he guided you to his side instead.

 “Stay,” he purred, and you did.

 You buried your face against his throat, and he whispered sweet nothings into your hair, inhaling your scent. His hand moved to your back, rubbing comforting circles and tracing patterns you couldn’t quite figure out. Your breath on his neck tickled him ever so slightly, you’ve always known it, but you’ve always enjoyed the stifled chuckles too much to stop. In fact, Aegon wouldn’t have let you if you tried.

 Nothing needed to be said, the silence was intimate and comfortably shared. Aegon preferred it this way; he could never quite do justice to his feelings with words, they often failed him. I love you in Common Tongue wasn’t enough, avy jorrāelan in High Valyrian never sounded right, but to serve you until you moaned loud enough to wake the Red Keep has always felt right. Look how much I’ve grown to learn you, look how I know you like no one else, look how I’ll toil between your legs until my last breath just to see that exhausted, sheepish smile on your face, look how I’ll defy my own nature if I must to hear my name fall from your lips just once more. It felt right to you, too. You’ve seen Aegon at his most vulnerable, you touched his hair as he wept on your lap, you fought over insignificant things that always ended with shattered vases and broken goblets and your bodies tangled like the stems of summer daisies, you’ve seen too much of his love to need to hear the words anymore. They were sorely paled in comparison to this silence that you shared. And tonight, Aegon has felt better than he has in a long while; the damage to his pride healed by your gentle hands and his mind was taken off self-pity that brewed and festered.

 The Maesters might have saved Aegon’s flesh, but he was certain, as you drifted off and his eyes trailed off to the starless night beyond his window, that you have saved his spirit.

I have a permanent Aemond tag list, but let me know if you'd like to be tagged for any future Aegon II fics. For now, only tagging @aegonx

[integra1127grimmreaper]

His Warrior Princess - Part nineteen

Series Masterlist

Part 18

Warning: swearing 

You watched from your balcony as the royal carriage entered The Red Keep, your father exits, followed by Lord Lyonel. The king seeming quite fatigued with each step he took, and you watched in utter horror as he collapses at the foot of the carriage steps.

You were pacing in front of your father’s chambers, waiting on news of his well-being when Grand Maester Mellos finally exits. “How fares my father?!”

“No need to fear, Princess...”, Grand Maester Mellos assures you, “after a bit of leeching, His Majesty shall be right as rain.”

“Good...”, you exhale in relief but all that chances when Maester exits. Seeing his face, you silently signal for to wait behind.

“Tell me the truth”, you command once you are alone.

“The king’s infection has spread, Princess, and feel that leeching will nothing to improve it”, Orwyle explains.

You stare at him in utter shock, “is there nothing else that can be done?”

“I have suggested an alternative remedy, yet was denied by Grand Maester Mellos”, Orwyle respond, causing you to scowl.

“Why?”

“I am merely an aide, Princess”, Orwyle offers a faint smirk of sympathy at your distress, “I did however manage to give Lord Lyonel something to aid the king in sleeping.”

Feeling helpless at your father’s predicament, you exhale heavily, nodding at him. “Thank you, Maester

Once Orwyle left, you rush to knock on the chamber door and Lord Lyonel opens. “Princess?”

“How is he?”, you stare at him with teary eyes.

Lyonel silently stares back at you, shoulders sagging in defeat. “In a bit of pain, he shall be alright though.”

“Are you certain?”, you press him for more.

“I am well, Child!”, your father’s voice calls out to you from inside, causing Lyonel to fainting smile.

“Do not lie to me, Old Man!”, you call back over Lyonel’s shoulder, resulting him having to suppress a chuckle.

“Why you little Brat!”, your father shouts back and giggle in response.

“You are certain, Father...?”, you ask again after sobering up.

“Yes, my child...”, he finally responds after ceasing his own laughter. “Go now... I shall be fine.”

You look to Lyonel, and he silently nods in agreement to your father’s words. “All shall be fine, My Child...”

Composing your emotions, you nod at him, “thank you, Father.”

A broad smile spreads across his lips at your words, “it warms my heart to hear those words, Daughter...”

You make your leave, deciding to keep the king’s condition to yourself as you go in research of Rhaenyra to hear how marriage proposal went.

“Was it a success?”, you enquire upon entering your sister’s chambers.

“I am now a betrothed woman”, Rhaenyra nods in response.

“Why are so sullen?”, you frown at her demeanor, “you got what you wanted. A husband that would not control nor interfere in your life.”

“That is not what is bothering me”, Rhaenyra grumbles out.

“Then what is it?”

“Criston”, Rhaenyra utters out as her face turns even more sour.

“What about it him?”, you ask confused.

“He asked for my hand in marriage...”, Rhaenyra exhales, burying her face into the palm of her hands.

“What?!”, you stare at her open-mouthed.

Lifting her head, Rhaenyra deadpans you. “He pleaded for me not to go forward with the wedding. Even went as far as to suggest for us to run away and live beyond Westeros.”

“Has he gone insane?!", you respond flabbergasted, narrowing your eyes at her then. "Do not tell me that you have entertained the thought?”

“Of course not!”, she scoffs. “I am the heir to the Iron Throne. I do not have such leisure.”

Taking a moment to ponder, you turn to her in seriousness. “Do you love him?”

Rhaenyra ponders over your words, replying. “I am found of him. I do not love him though. We all are not as lucky as you.”

You choose to ignore her last remark, your mind racing in concern instead. “What if he retaliates due to your rejection?”

“He would not do such a thing”, Rhaenyra brushes your concerns off. “He is loyal... my sworn protector.”

“That was before you fucked and then rejected him”, you point out the facts. “You should be caution with him. This could all turn out badly for you if he ever decides to turn on you.”

“You are overexaggerating...”, Rhaenyra softly chuckles, and you grip hold of her chin to focus on you.

“Tread carefully, Rhaenyra...”, you warn her. “A scorned lover is a dangerous thing.”

With furrowed brows, Rhaenyra silently nods in agreement. She flashes you a broad smile then, “enough of about that... let us begin discussing the pending wedding.”

A faint smile spreads across your face as you nod in agreement, yet in the back of your mind the pressing thoughts of concern still lingered.

After conversing with Rhaenyra, you returned to your chambers for some solitude. While in the midst of reading, one of your trusted servants enters the chambers. “What is it?”, you enquire upon seeing the seriousness of her face.

“The Queen has requested Ser Criston Cole’s presence inside her chambers”, she informs, causing you to frown.

“Do we know why?”

“Nay, Princess... all we know, is that she sent her servants out so that they could converse in private.”

With pursed lips, you nod at her. “Alright, good work. You are dismissed.”

Setting aside your book to pondering over the information given, you could not help to worry about what Alicent would want from Cole. “This does not set well. Rhaenyra, what have you gotten yourself into...?” 

Tag:  @missusnora@alexandra-001@green-lxght@stitchattacks@evyiione@squidscottjeans@noirrose21-blog @neenieweenie @emmalvei-blog

[novaursa]

Part 15

- 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: 9 000+

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

As the carriage rolled through the streets of King’s Landing, Aegon’s heart pounded with anticipation. The sight of the Dragonpit in the distance brought both relief and anxiety. He feared what condition he might find his wife in, but the hope of seeing her outweighed his fears.

The carriage came to a halt, and Aegon leaned heavily on Orwyle as he disembarked. He scanned the area, his eyes searching for any sign of Vaella. Finally, he saw her, surrounded by Kingsguard, her once-pristine appearance marred by blood and ash. His heart clenched at the sight.

“Vaella!” he called out, his voice breaking with emotion.

Vaella turned at the sound of his voice, her eyes lighting up despite her exhaustion. “Aegon,” she replied, her steps quickening as she moved towards him.

The Kingsguard parted to allow her through, and in moments, Vaella was in Aegon’s arms. They embraced tightly, the world around them disappearing as they held each other. Aegon’s hands gently cupped her face, his eyes scanning her features with desperate concern.

“You’re here,” Aegon whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re safe.”

Vaella nodded, tears filling her eyes. “We made it back. Cannibal and I… we made it.”

Aegon’s gaze traveled over her, taking in the blood and ash that covered her. His heart ached with worry. “Are you hurt? The baby—”

“We’re okay,” Vaella assured him, her hand resting protectively on her belly. “Just exhausted and bruised, but we’re safe.”

Aegon let out a shaky breath, relief washing over him. He pulled her closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I was so afraid, Vaella. When I saw Cannibal’s flight, I feared the worst.”

Vaella leaned into his embrace, drawing strength from his presence. “It was close, Aegon. We faced Vermithor. It was a battle like no other.”

Aegon’s eyes widened with shock. “Vermithor? Gods, Vaella, how did you…?”

“Cannibal fought bravely,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “We barely made it out. Vermithor is dead.”

Aegon’s eyes softened, his love for her shining through. “You’re incredible. The strength you showed… I’m in awe of you.”

Vaella smiled weakly, her fatigue evident. “I had to survive. For you, for our children.”

“And you did,” Aegon said firmly. “You came back to me, to us.”

Vaella hesitated for a moment, then began, “Aemond—”

But Aegon shook his head, cutting her off gently. “I don’t want to talk about my brother right now. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

Vaella nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you, Aegon. I just needed to see you, to know that we’re together.”

He kissed her gently, pouring all his relief and love into the kiss. “We’re together, and that’s all that matters.”

The Grand Maester approached, his eyes filled with concern. “Your Graces, we must see to the queen’s wounds immediately.”

Aegon nodded, his grip on Vaella’s hand tightening. “Do whatever is necessary. She and our child must be safe.”

Vaella looked up at Aegon, her eyes filled with gratitude and love. “We’re home, Aegon. We’re safe.”

Aegon smiled, his heart swelling with emotion. “Yes, Vaella. We’re home, and we’ll face whatever comes next.”

As the attendants led Vaella away to be treated, Aegon watched her go, his heart full of love and pride. The challenges ahead were great, but with Vaella by his side, he knew they could overcome anything. Together, they would face the future with all the strength and determination of House Targaryen.

The Kingsguard, having ensured the queen's safe return, stood by respectfully. Aegon turned to them, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thank you for bringing her back safely."

The captain of the Kingsguard bowed deeply. "It was our honor, Your Grace. The queen showed incredible bravery."

Aegon nodded, his chest swelling with pride. "She always does. Now, let's make sure she gets the care she needs."

As they made their way back to the Red Keep, Aegon couldn't help but replay the events of the past hours in his mind. The sight of Vaella covered in blood and ash haunted him, but the knowledge that she had returned, safe and alive, gave him the strength to face whatever lay ahead.

…

The corridors of the Red Keep were a blur as Vaella was escorted to her shared chambers with Aegon. The exhaustion weighed heavily on her, but the comfort of being home and the presence of her husband gave her strength. Once inside, she promised Aegon that she would see their children, Baelon and Daena, after she had cleansed herself of the blood and dirt.

"I'll see them soon," Vaella said, her voice soft but resolute. "I don't want them to see me like this."

Aegon nodded, understanding. "They will be overjoyed to see you, Vaella. But first, you need to rest and recover."

The attendants prepared a warm bath, the steam rising gently in the air. Aegon helped Vaella to the edge of the tub, his hands gentle but firm despite his own struggles. Every step was a reminder of his physical limitations, the pain from his still-healing hip and burns that refused to heal still. He moved slowly, but his determination to help his wife overshadowed the discomfort. Vaella slipped into the water, letting out a sigh of relief as the warmth enveloped her aching body. Aegon settled into a chair nearby, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position, his eyes never leaving her.

The silence between them was comfortable, a silent understanding that words were not necessary at that moment. Aegon watched as Vaella slowly washed away the grime and blood, her movements deliberate and weary. The water turned murky, a testament to the battles she had faced.

After a long while, Vaella looked up, meeting Aegon's gaze. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of weariness and something deeper, something darker. Aegon sensed it immediately, a knot of concern tightening in his chest.

"Vaella," he said gently, "what is it? What's troubling you?"

Vaella hesitated, her hands stilling in the water. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "

Aegon, there's something I need to tell you. Something that happened after Vermithor fell."

Aegon leaned forward, his eyes filled with concern despite the pain the movement caused him. "You can tell me anything, Vaella. What happened?"

Vaella's gaze dropped to the water, her fingers tracing patterns on its surface. "After Cannibal took Vermithor down, we... we were both injured, exhausted. But there was this compulsion, this primal urge that I couldn't resist."

Aegon's brow furrowed. "What kind of urge?"

Vaella's voice trembled slightly as she continued. "Cannibal began to feast on Vermithor. And... and I joined him. Vermithor was still alive, and I couldn't stop myself. I tore into his flesh, ate it raw. It was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I felt stronger, more connected to Cannibal, but it was horrifying."

Aegon was silent for a moment, processing her words. The horror of what she described was evident on his face, but so was his empathy and understanding. "Vaella," he said softly, "you've been through so much. The bond between a dragon and its rider is powerful, and in such extreme circumstances... I'm just relieved that you’re alive."

Vaella looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I was scared, Aegon. I didn’t recognize myself in that moment. I felt like I was losing control."

Aegon stood, wincing as he moved, and made his way to the edge of the tub, kneeling beside her with a slight grimace. He took her hands in his, his touch gentle and reassuring. "You are the strongest person I know, Vaella. You faced something unimaginable and survived. That’s what matters. We’ll figure this out together."

Vaella squeezed his hands, drawing strength from his presence. "Thank you, Aegon. I was afraid you’d see me differently."

Aegon shook his head, his eyes full of love. "Never. You are my queen, my love, the mother of our children. Nothing will change that."

They sat in silence for a moment, the bond between them growing even stronger in the face of adversity. Vaella finished her bath, and Aegon helped her out, his movements careful and deliberate due to his own injuries. He wrapped her in a soft, warm towel and led her to the bed, where she could rest and recover from her ordeal.

As Vaella lay down, Aegon brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Rest now, my love. We’ll face whatever comes next together."

Vaella nodded, her eyes already heavy with sleep. "Together," she murmured, closing her eyes.

Aegon watched her for a long moment, his heart swelling with love and pride. As the night deepened, the sounds of the Red Keep quieted, leaving only the soft, steady breathing of Vaella as she slept. Aegon sat beside her, his hand resting on hers, a silent guardian in the darkness. They were home, and together, they would find their way through the shadows that lay ahead.

…

On the storm-swept island of Dragonstone, preparations were underway for the departure of Princes Aegon and Viserys Targaryen. The decision, made by Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, was for his half-brothers to be fostered with the Prince of Pentos until their mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, had secured the Iron Throne. The princes would depart on a Pentoshi cog named the Gay Abandon, with seven warships from the Sea Snake's fleet to escort them across the Narrow Sea.

The docks were a hive of activity as sailors, soldiers, and courtiers prepared for the journey. The air was filled with the sounds of shouting orders, the creaking of ship timbers, and the lapping of waves against the stone piers. Amidst this organized chaos, Rhaenyra stood with her sons, her expression a mask of calm resolve despite the turmoil in her heart.

"Mother," young Prince Aegon said, his voice trembling slightly. "Will we be safe in Pentos?"

Rhaenyra knelt to his level, her hands resting gently on his shoulders. "You will be safe, my sweet. The Prince of Pentos is a trusted ally, and the Sea Snake's ships will protect you on your journey."

Viserys, who was younger and more apprehensive, clung to Rhaenyra's skirts. "Will you come for us, Mother? When you are queen?"

Rhaenyra's eyes softened as she looked at her youngest son. "Yes, Viserys. I will come for you as soon as I can. This is only temporary, until we secure the throne."

Jacaerys stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on Aegon's shoulder. "I will make sure they are well taken care of, Mother. They will be safe in Pentos."

Rhaenyra stood, her gaze sweeping over the bustling docks before turning back to her sons. "Remember who you are," she said firmly. "You are Targaryens. Blood of the dragon. Stay strong and stay safe."

With final embraces and whispered words of love, the princes were led aboard the Gay Abandon. The Sea Snake’s warships, their sails unfurled, prepared to escort the vessel. As the ships began to move away from the dock, Rhaenyra stood tall, watching them until they disappeared over the horizon.

Once the princes were safely on their way, Rhaenyra turned to Daemon, who had been watching silently. His expression was one of grim determination. "We need to focus on the next steps," she said, her voice steady.

Daemon nodded, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Indeed. I received word this morning—Vaella and Cannibal managed to kill Hugh Hammer and Vermithor."

Rhaenyra's expression hardened. "Vaella? She always was formidable."

"Formidable, yes," Daemon agreed. "But Cannibal is badly wounded. Not the outcome we hoped for, but it is still favorable. This could be an opportunity for us."

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"

Daemon's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "With Aemond and Vhagar away from the capital, King's Landing is more vulnerable. Cannibal, in his weakened state, might not be able to defend it effectively. We could exploit this and strike while they are off guard."

Rhaenyra considered his words carefully. "It's a risk, but it could give us the advantage we need. What about the defenses at King's Landing?"

"The city will still be heavily guarded," Daemon acknowledged. "But without Aemond and Vhagar, their dragon strength is significantly reduced. We need to act swiftly and decisively."

Rhaenyra nodded, her resolve firming. "We will need to gather our forces and plan meticulously. If we can take the capital, we can turn the tide of this war."

Daemon's lips curved into a predatory smile. "Then we move quickly. We will strike before they have a chance to recover. I'll send word to our allies and begin preparations."

As Daemon strode away to organize their forces, Rhaenyra looked out over the sea, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and plans. The news of Vaella's victory and the loss of Vermithor was significant, but it was clear that their enemies would not be easily defeated. They would have to be cunning and relentless.

A shadow passed over her, and Rhaenyra turned to see her dragon, Syrax, circling overhead. The sight of the golden dragon filled her with a renewed sense of purpose. She was a Targaryen, and she would not rest until she sat upon the Iron Throne.

…

The dawn was still breaking over the Narrow sea as the Triarchy’s fleet swept into the Gullet, the waters around Dragonstone coming alive with the movement of ninety warships under the banners of the Three Daughters. The fleet, commanded by Admiral Sharako Lohar of Lys, had split into two squadrons, entering the Gullet from the north and south, catching House Velaryon’s fleet off guard.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, aboard his dragon Vermax, was quick to respond. The morning sky blazed with the rising sun as Jacaerys flew out to meet the advancing enemy. Below him, the Lysene galleys cut through the water, their crews shouting and readying their weapons. These sailors were no strangers to dragonfire, having faced Prince Daemon Targaryen and Caraxes during the war for the Stepstones. Yet, the sight of Vermax descending upon them filled their hearts with dread.

"Hold steady!" Sharako Lohar commanded from his flagship, his voice carrying across the deck. "Focus your fire on the dragon! Bring it down!"

Spears and arrows were loosed into the sky, a deadly hail aimed at Jacaerys and his dragon. But Vermax was swift, his powerful wings slicing through the air as he breathed fire upon the ships below. One Lysene galley caught fire, then another, the flames spreading rapidly across the decks.As the sailors cried out in panic, their captains tried to maintain order. "Stay your course! Keep firing!"

The battle intensified as Ulf the White on Silverwing, Nettles on Sheepstealer, and Addam Velaryon on Seasmoke joined the fray. The sky was filled with dragons and the roar of their fire, the smell of burning wood and flesh thick in the air. The Triarchy’s warships faltered, their line breaking as one galley after another turned away from the onslaught.

"To the south!" a captain shouted, trying to regroup his men. "We must hold the line!"

But the dragons were relentless, their riders directing them with precision and fury. Silverwing’s golden fire rained down upon the ships, while Sheepstealer’s dark form swooped low, scattering sailors with its terrible roar. Seasmoke darted between the vessels, his rider Addam directing their fire with deadly accuracy.

In the midst of the chaos, Vermax flew too low, caught in the crossfire. A Myrish crossbowman, taking careful aim, loosed a bolt that struck the dragon in the eye. Vermax roared in pain, his flight faltering. Below, a burning galley’s grapnel hooked onto the dragon’s wing, pulling him down into the sea. Vermax struggled, entangled in the rigging, his flames sputtering out as he sank beneath the waves.

"Jacaerys!" Addam Velaryon shouted, his voice barely audible over the din of battle.

Jacaerys leapt from Vermax’s back, landing in the water with a splash. He swam for the shore, but the Myrish crossbowmen were ready. A volley of bolts flew through the air, striking the prince. Jacaerys’ body went limp, floating on the surface as blood spread around him.

North and south of Dragonstone, the battle raged on into the night. The northern squadron clashed with the remaining Velaryon fleet, the sounds of steel and cannon fire echoing across the water. The southern squadron, bypassing Dragonstone, set their sights on Driftmark.

"We cannot assault Dragonstone directly," Sharako Lohar decided, his eyes scanning the defenses. "It is too well fortified. But Driftmark... Driftmark is vulnerable."

The fleet altered course, heading for the island. The first rays of the setting sun cast an eerie glow over the harbor of Spicetown as the Triarchy’s fire ships approached. Flames erupted, consuming the docks and spreading into the town. The inhabitants fled in terror, but there was little escape from the inferno.

"Burn it all!" Sharako commanded, watching with cold satisfaction.

Driftmark's harbor was a scene of chaos and destruction. Houses and shops were engulfed in flames, and the screams of the dying filled the air. Myrish and Tyroshi soldiers poured into the town, slaughtering the inhabitants and looting what they could before the flames consumed everything.

"Leave nothing standing," a Tyroshi captain ordered, his men cutting down anyone in their path.

High Tide, the seat of House Velaryon, was next. The Myrish and Tyroshi soldiers stormed the castle, setting fire to its grand halls and priceless treasures. Lord Corlys Velaryon’s servants were cut down as they tried to flee, the bodies left as carrion for the crows.

"Take everything of value," a Myrish officer commanded, his eyes gleaming with greed. "Burn the rest."

As night fell, Driftmark was a smoldering ruin, the flames visible from Dragonstone. The southern squadron of the Triarchy’s fleet sailed away, leaving destruction in their wake. The battle of the Gullet had ended, but the cost was high. Jacaerys Velaryon was dead, Vermax lost to the depths, and Driftmark lay in ashes. Aegon the Younger and Viserys were lost, with no word of them. And Aegon’s small dragon, Stormcloud, was seen plummeting to the depths after he was striked numerous times with crossbow arrows.

On Dragonstone, Rhaenyra received the news with a heavy heart. The loss of her son was a blow from which she would never fully recover, but her resolve hardened. She would avenge their children and reclaim what was rightfully hers.

"Daemon," she said quietly, her voice filled with cold fury. "We will strike back. They will pay for this."

Daemon’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "Yes, they will. And we will make sure they never forget the price of defying a Targaryen."

As the embers of Driftmark's destruction smoldered, the fires of vengeance burned brightly in Rhaenyra’s heart. The war was far from over, and she would see to it that the dragons’ wrath would be felt by all who opposed her.

…

The council chamber of the Red Keep was a hive of activity as the lords and advisors of the Greens gathered to discuss the latest developments in the war. The news from the Gullet had reached them, bringing a mixture of relief and concern. Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, was already present, his face a mask of steely determination. Dowager Queen Alicent, Grand Maester Orwyle, Lords Jasper Wylde, Larys Strong, and Tyland Lannister took their seats around the table, the weight of their responsibilities evident on their faces.

The door opened, and King Aegon II Targaryen entered, moving with a newfound strength and purpose. Though still bearing the marks of his injuries, he was well enough to participate in the council once more. He took his seat at the head of the table, his eyes scanning the faces of his advisors.

"Your Grace," Lord Tyland Lannister began, his voice respectful. "It is good to see you well enough to join us again. We have much to discuss."

Aegon nodded, his expression serious. "Indeed, Lord Tyland. Let us begin."

Tyland glanced at the others before continuing. "Firstly, we have received word that our allies in the Triarchy have achieved a significant victory at the Gullet. They have broken the blockade and secured the passage. Admiral Sharako Lohar's strategy proved effective."

Otto Hightower leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Our alliance with the Triarchy is paying off, as I knew it would. This victory strengthens our position considerably."

Dowager Queen Alicent nodded, her expression a mix of relief and caution. "This is indeed good news, but we must remain vigilant. Rhaenyra will not take this defeat lightly."

Lord Jasper Wylde, the Ironrod, spoke up. "How fares the Queen, Your Grace? Her role in the battle was pivotal."

Aegon's eyes softened as he thought of Vaella. "She is resting. The fight with Vermithor took a toll on her, but she is strong. Grand Maester Orwyle has assured me that she will recover."

Orwyle nodded in agreement. "The Queen is resilient. She needs time to heal, both physically and emotionally. Her strength and courage are a beacon for us all."

Jasper then shifted his focus. "And Cannibal? What of the dragon's condition?"

Aegon's expression turned grave. "Cannibal is also recovering, but it will take months before he is fully healed. The injuries he sustained were severe."

Alicent's face tightened with worry. "Rhaenyra will undoubtedly retaliate for this defeat. The loss of her sons will drive her to desperate measures."

Otto cleared his throat, drawing the council's attention. "I have received word from our allies that one of Rhaenyra's sons, young Viserys, has been taken hostage. This could prove to be a significant advantage for us."

The room fell silent, the gravity of Otto's words sinking in. Aegon frowned, his mind racing with the implications. "Viserys is a valuable bargaining chip, but we must tread carefully. Rhaenyra's wrath will be fierce."

Larys Strong, the Master of Whisperers, spoke up, his voice smooth and calculating. "We should use this to our advantage. Rhaenyra's desperation could lead her to make mistakes. We must be prepared to exploit any weaknesses."

Tyland nodded in agreement. "The blockade at the Gullet may be broken, but we cannot afford to be complacent. Our defenses must be strengthened, and our strategies carefully planned."

Alicent looked at her son, her eyes filled with concern. "Aegon, you must be cautious. Rhaenyra's anger knows no bounds, and she will stop at nothing to claim the throne."

Aegon reached out and took his mother's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I understand, Mother. We will proceed with caution and strength. We have come too far to falter now."

Otto leaned forward, his eyes meeting Aegon's. "Your Grace, we must also consider our next moves carefully. Rhaenyra's forces may be weakened, but they are not defeated. We need to press our advantage and ensure our allies remain committed to our cause."

Aegon nodded, his resolve firm. "We will. Our victory at the Gullet is just the beginning. We must remain united and vigilant. Together, we will secure the Iron Throne and bring peace to the realm."

The council members nodded in agreement, their faces reflecting a shared determination. 

As the meeting drew to a close, Aegon rose from his seat, wincing slightly as the movement caused a twinge of pain in his hip. He looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each of his advisors. "Thank you for your counsel. We will face whatever comes next with strength and unity. For the realm, and for our future."

…

The morning air over King’s Landing was filled with an uneasy stillness. The people of the city went about their daily routines, but an undercurrent of tension lingered. The war between the Blacks and the Greens had cast a long shadow over the capital, and everyone sensed that a storm was brewing.

The silence was abruptly shattered by the thunderous roar of dragon wings. High above Aegon's High Hill, two great dragons circled—Prince Daemon Targaryen on Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, and Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen on Syrax, the golden beauty. Their massive forms blotted out the sun, casting dark shadows over the city below. The sight of the dragons sent waves of panic through the streets of King's Landing.

"Dragons! Dragons above the city!" a merchant cried out, dropping his wares as he fled towards the safety of his home.

People screamed and ran in all directions, seeking cover from the terrifying sight. The city had seen dragons before, but never like this—never as harbingers of war and destruction. The sheer presence of Daemon and Rhaenyra on their dragons was enough to sow chaos and fear among the populace.

Cannibal, grounded near the Dragonpit due to his injuries, sensed the arrival of the rival dragons. His roars echoed through the stone halls of the Red Keep, a mix of pain and frustration. The mighty dragon’s cries shook the very foundations of the castle, causing the servants and guards to cower in fear.

Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower paced the council chamber, her face a mask of anxiety. "We must send word to Aemond," she insisted, her voice tight with urgency. "We need reinforcements. Riders! Ravens! Now!"

Lord Tyland Lannister and Lord Jasper Wylde exchanged uneasy glances. "The city is in turmoil, Your Grace," Tyland said cautiously. "It may be difficult to get word out quickly."

Alicent's eyes blazed with determination. "We have no choice. Do whatever it takes."

Grand Maester Orwyle nodded, standing from his seat. "I will dispatch the ravens immediately."

Unbeknownst to Alicent and the other members of the council, the gold cloaks, the City Watch of King’s Landing, had already turned. Their loyalty lay with Daemon Targaryen, who had once been their commander. The gold cloaks moved swiftly, ensuring that the defenses of the city were compromised.

As Orwyle made his way to the rookery, he was intercepted by a group of gold cloaks. "What is this?" he demanded, his voice filled with authority.

The leader of the gold cloaks, a man named Luthor, stepped forward. "I'm afraid you won't be sending any ravens today, Grand Maester."

Orwyle's eyes widened in shock and realization. "You traitors! Do you know what you're doing?"

Luthor’s expression was cold and resolute. "We are restoring the true order. Seize him!"

The gold cloaks moved with practiced efficiency, grabbing Orwyle and binding his hands. Despite his struggles, the old man was overpowered and led away, his cries for help echoing through the halls.

Meanwhile, amidst this turmoil, Lord Larys Strong moved swiftly through the hidden passageways of the Red Keep. His mission was clear: to smuggle King Aegon II and his family to safety.

In the depths of the Keep, Ser Willis Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne stood guard at a concealed entrance to the secret tunnels. They awaited the arrival of Queen Vaella and her children, Princess Daena and Prince Baelor. The plan was set: Aegon and his family would be escorted separately to increase their chances of escape.

"Where are they?" Ser Rickard muttered, his eyes scanning the darkness.

"Patience," Ser Willis replied, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "They will be here soon."

As if on cue, Vaella appeared, holding Daena's hand while Baelor clung to her side. Her face was pale but resolute, her steps steady despite the fear that gripped her heart.

"Mother, where is Father?" Daena asked, her voice trembling.

"He is safe, my love," Vaella assured her, forcing a smile. "We will see him soon."

Ser Willis stepped forward, bowing slightly. "My lady, we must hurry. The city is no longer safe."

Vaella nodded, tightening her grip on her children's hands. "Lead the way."

As they moved deeper into the passageways, the air grew cooler, the walls damp and rough. The sounds of the city in turmoil were muffled but still present, a constant reminder of the danger they were fleeing.

In another part of the Keep, Larys guided Aegon through the narrow, twisting corridors. Aegon's injuries had not yet fully healed, and every step was a struggle, but his determination to protect his family kept him moving.

"We are almost there, Your Grace," Larys said quietly. "The boat is waiting just outside the Red Keep."

Aegon nodded, his jaw set in determination. "We must ensure Vaella and the children are safe. That is all that matters."

Larys's eyes flickered with understanding. "They will be, Your Grace. Trust in Ser Willis and Ser Rickard."

As they approached the exit, a sudden, sharp cry echoed through the passageways, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. Larys and Aegon exchanged a worried glance, their pace quickening.

Meanwhile, in the other passage, Vaella suddenly stumbled, a sharp pain radiating through her abdomen. She gasped, clutching her belly as the realization hit her.

"The baby... it's coming," she whispered, her face contorting in pain.

Ser Willis's eyes widened in alarm. "Here? Now?"

Vaella nodded, her breath coming in short, labored gasps. "I can't move... the baby is coming."

Ser Rickard quickly scanned the passageway, spotting a small alcove just ahead. "This way," he said, guiding them to the sheltered spot. "We need to help her."

Vaella sank to the ground, her face pale and covered in sweat. Daena and Baelor clung to her, their eyes wide with fear.

"Mother, what's happening?" Baelor asked, his voice trembling.

Vaella managed a weak smile, her hand reaching out to stroke his hair. "It's all right, my sweet. The baby is coming."

Ser Willis knelt beside her, his expression one of determination. "We'll get through this, my lady. Just breathe."

As Vaella labored, Ser Willis and Ser Rickard did their best to assist her, their movements careful and deliberate. The children stayed close by, their presence a source of comfort and strength for their mother.

In the other passage, Aegon and Larys reached the exit, where a small boat waited at the water's edge. The sight of it brought a mix of relief and anxiety.

"We made it," Aegon said, his voice filled with both hope and concern. "But Vaella..."

Larys placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "They will be here soon, Your Grace. Trust in your knights."

Aegon nodded, but his heart ached with worry. He looked back at the entrance, willing his family to appear. 

As the labor continued in the hidden alcove, the sounds of the distant city seemed to fade away, replaced by the quiet strength of a family fighting to survive. Vaella's breaths came in short, determined bursts, her will to bring their child into the world unyielding.

Ser Willis and Ser Rickard remained by her side, their presence a steady anchor in the storm of labor. The children held their mother’s hands, their faces filled with a mixture of fear and awe.

The dimly lit alcove in the secret passageway was filled with the tense anticipation of labor. The stone walls seemed to close in around them, the air thick with the mingled scents of damp earth and the sweat of exertion. Queen Vaella Targaryen, her face contorted with the effort of childbirth, lay on the rough ground with Ser Willis Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne attending her, while her children, Princess Daena and Prince Baelor, watched with wide eyes.

"Breathe, my lady, just breathe," Ser Willis urged, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of pain and effort.

Vaella gripped his hand, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "I can feel it… the baby is coming now."

Ser Rickard moved to assist, his face a mask of concentration. "We need to be ready. It won’t be long now."

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the world outside fading away as Vaella focused on bringing her child into the world. Finally, with one last push, the small chamber was filled with an unsettling silence. 

"A boy," Ser Willis said, his voice barely a whisper as he looked down at the tiny, motionless form. The baby’s skin was pale, his eyes the same violet as Aegon’s, but he did not cry, only took shallow, weak breaths. Ser Willis quickly wrapped the newborn in his white cloak, the soft fabric enveloping the fragile body.

Vaella’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at her son, her heart breaking at the sight. "He’s so small," she whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek. "But he is Targaryen. He will be strong."

Ser Rickard, ever vigilant, moved to lift Vaella. "We need to get you out of here, my lady. It’s not safe."

But Vaella shook her head, her expression resolute despite her exhaustion and worry. "No, Rickard. One of you must stay armed and ready to defend us if we’re attacked. We cannot afford to be caught unprepared."

Ser Willis hesitated, the baby still cradled in his arms. "But my lady, you need to be carried. You’ve just given birth."

Vaella’s gaze was fierce and unyielding. "I will walk if I must. But you, Rickard, take my children and get them to safety. That is an order."

Rickard’s face tightened with emotion, but he nodded. "As you command, my queen."

Vaella turned to her children, her heart breaking at the thought of being separated from them. She reached out, pulling them close. "Daena, Baelor, you must go with Ser Rickard now. He will keep you safe."

Daena’s eyes filled with tears. "Mother, I don’t want to leave you."

Vaella stroked her daughter’s hair, her voice gentle but firm. "I know, my sweet. But you must be brave. For me, and for your baby brother."

Baelor clung to her side, his small body trembling. "Mother, will we see you again?"

Vaella’s heart ached, but she forced a reassuring smile. "Yes, Baelor. We will be together again. But now, you must go."

Ser Rickard stepped forward, taking Daena’s hand and lifting Baelor into his arms. "I will protect them with my life, my lady," he vowed.

Vaella nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. "I know you will, Rickard. Go now, quickly."

As Rickard led the children away, Vaella watched them disappear into the shadows, her heart heavy with the weight of their parting. She turned back to Ser Willis, who stood ready, his sword drawn.

"Willis, we must move," she said, her voice firm despite the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her.

Ser Willis nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of respect and concern. "Yes, my lady. Lean on me if you need to."

Vaella took a deep breath, steeling herself. She reached out, placing a hand on Willis’s arm for support. Together, they began to make their way through the passage, each step a painful reminder of her recent ordeal.

The passageway seemed to stretch endlessly, the faint light from their torches casting eerie shadows on the walls. The sounds of the city in turmoil were muffled but still present, a constant reminder of the danger they were in.

As they neared the exit, Vaella felt another sharp pain, this time more intense. She knew she couldn’t go on. "Willis, you need to go. Take the baby and ensure his safety."

Ser Willis looked at her in shock. "I can’t leave you here alone!"

"You must," Vaella insisted, her voice filled with authority. "One of us needs to be able to fight if necessary. Go now and protect my children. That is an order."

Ser Willis hesitated for a moment, then nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. He gently took the baby, cradling him securely. "I will protect them with my life, my queen."

Vaella nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. "Go now, Willis. Quickly."

As Willis disappeared into the shadows with the newborn, Vaella remained behind, leaning against the cold stone wall for support. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever might come. She was alone now, but she was determined to protect her family at any cost.

As the echoes of footsteps faded, Vaella took one last look at the passage through which her children had been taken to safety. Her heart ached with the pain of separation, but she knew they were in good hands. She was alone, but not defeated.

…

The small boat bobbed gently on the water just outside the Red Keep, hidden from view by the shadows cast by the towering walls. Aegon II Targaryen paced anxiously, his eyes constantly darting towards the hidden exit of the passageway. Larys Strong, the Master of Whisperers, stood nearby, his face a mask of calm despite the tension in the air.

Hours passed, each minute stretching into what felt like an eternity. The night was eerily quiet, the distant sounds of chaos in the city muffled by the thick stone walls. Aegon’s worry grew with each passing moment, his thoughts consumed by the safety of his family.

Finally, the sound of footsteps echoed from the passageway. Aegon’s heart leapt as he saw Ser Rickard Thorne emerging from the darkness, holding Princess Daena and Prince Baelor by the hand. The children’s faces were pale with fear, but they were safe.

“Father!” Daena cried, rushing into Aegon’s arms.

Aegon knelt, hugging his children tightly. “Thank the gods you’re safe,” he murmured, kissing their foreheads. He looked up at Rickard, his eyes filled with gratitude. “Where is Vaella?”

Rickard’s face tightened with emotion. “She… she stayed behind, Your Grace. She went into labor and insisted I get the children to safety.”

Aegon’s heart skipped a beat, a mixture of relief and dread washing over him. “Labor? Is she… is she alright?”

Before Rickard could answer, the sound of more footsteps reached them. Ser Willis Fell appeared, cradling a small bundle wrapped in his white cloak. Aegon’s eyes widened as he realized what had happened.

“A boy,” Willis said softly, handing the newborn to Aegon. “Your son.”

Aegon took the baby, his hands trembling. He looked down at the tiny face, a cocktail of emotions washing over him—joy, fear, love, and an overwhelming sense of loss. “Vaella… she gave birth?”

Willis nodded, his expression grave. “Yes, Your Grace. She gave birth quickly and cleanly. But the baby is weak, born too early.”

Aegon’s heart pounded in his chest. “She’s not coming, is she?” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Larys stepped forward, his face filled with concern. “Your Grace, there is no time. We must leave now. The city is in chaos, and we cannot risk staying any longer.”

Aegon’s eyes blazed with fury and desperation. “I will not leave her behind!” He tried to move towards the passage, but Rickard and Willis quickly stepped in front of him.

“Your Grace, please,” Willis urged. “We must go. The queen gave her life for the safety of the children. Honor her wishes.”

Aegon’s rage boiled over, and he struggled against them. “This was not our deal, Larys! I bargained for the lives of my wife and children!”

Larys’s eyes were sad but resolute. “Your Grace, I understand your pain. But we must protect your children. Vaella made her choice to ensure their safety. We must respect that.”

The knights, with a heavy heart, pushed the furious and struggling Aegon into the boat, holding him steady as the vessel began to move away from the shore. Aegon clung to the baby, his heart breaking with each passing moment.

“Vaella!” he screamed, his voice echoing over the water. “VAELLA!”

The boat glided silently through the night, the city of King’s Landing growing smaller behind them. Aegon’s cries of anguish filled the air, his body wracked with sobs. Daena and Baelor clung to him, their own tears mingling with his.

Larys sat opposite them, his face a mask of calm determination. “We will reach Dragonstone soon, Your Grace. It is empty now. There, we will regroup and plan our next move.”

Aegon looked at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of fury and sorrow. “This was not our deal, Larys,” he repeated, his voice choked with emotion. “I bargained for the lives of my wife and children.”

Larys met his gaze, his expression unreadable. “We did what we could, Your Grace. Vaella’s sacrifice will not be in vain.”

As the boat moved further from the shore, Aegon held his children close, his heart heavy with grief and determination.

…

The sky above King's Landing continued to be a maelstrom of fire and shadow as Caraxes and Syrax circled high above Aegon’s High Hill. The sight of the two mighty dragons, ridden by Prince Daemon Targaryen and Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen respectively, struck fear into the hearts of the city's defenders. Below, the once-mighty capital of the Seven Kingdoms teetered on the brink of chaos.

The first to react were the seven commanders of the city gates, handpicked for their unwavering loyalty to King Aegon II Targaryen. As the dragons’ shadows fell over the Red Keep, these commanders swiftly mobilized their men, unaware that their loyalty had already sealed their fate. Each of them was a veteran, seasoned in battle, but even they were not prepared for the betrayal that awaited them.

Captain Cedric Lannister, stationed at the Mud Gate, barked orders to his men, his voice barely audible over the din. “Hold your positions! Prepare for an assault! Do not let them through!”

But even as he rallied his forces, a group of gold cloaks, their faces grim and resolute, moved silently through the ranks. These were men who had once served under Daemon Targaryen, their loyalty to him unshaken by time or distance. With deadly efficiency, they turned on the commanders.

At the King’s Gate, Captain Roland Buckler felt the cold bite of steel as a dagger plunged into his side. He gasped, turning to see the betrayer—a gold cloak he had trusted. “Why?” he managed to choke out, blood spilling from his wound.

“For Prince Daemon,” the gold cloak replied coldly, pulling the blade free.

One by one, the commanders fell. Those who were not killed outright were bound and dragged away, their protests silenced by the grim determination of their captors. The city gates, now undefended, stood vulnerable to the coming onslaught.

At the Dragon Gate, Ser Gwayne Hightower, the second in command of the City Watch, realized the depth of their betrayal. As he reached for the alarm bell, a hand clamped down on his wrist, and he was pulled back by Luthor, a gold cloak loyal to Daemon.

“Gwayne,” Luthor said, his voice a mixture of regret and resolve. “This is for the good of the realm.”

Gwayne struggled, fury in his eyes. “Traitor! You’ll doom us all!”

With a swift motion, Luthor drew his dagger and plunged it into Gwayne’s heart. The second-in-command’s eyes widened in shock before the life faded from them. Luthor lowered his friend’s body gently to the ground, a somber expression on his face. “May the gods forgive me,” he whispered.

The gold cloaks moved quickly, opening the city gates to the army of the Sea Snake, Lord Corlys Velaryon. The fleet had arrived to the east of Blackwater Bay, and now, its soldiers poured into King’s Landing unopposed. The once-impregnable defenses crumbled as the Black’s forces flooded the city.

At the River Gate, the last bastion of resistance held firm. Thirteen knights of House Hightower, along with a hundred men-at-arms, stood resolute against the attackers. Their commander, Ser Tristan Hightower, rallied his men, his voice ringing out over the clash of steel.

“Hold the line! For King Aegon! For the realm!”

For eight grueling hours, they repelled wave after wave of attacks. The defenders fought with a ferocity born of desperation, knowing that their defeat would spell the end for the Green’s cause. The gate became a battlefield, littered with the bodies of the fallen, both friend and foe.

“Ser Tristan!” a young knight called out, his voice strained. “They’re coming from within the city! We’re surrounded!”

Tristan’s face darkened, but his resolve did not waver. “We fight to the last man. Show them the courage of House Hightower!”

The other six gates, however, fell swiftly. The gold cloaks, having neutralized the loyal commanders, opened the way for the invaders. The Black’s army entered the city unmolested, spreading through the streets like a dark tide. The fall of King’s Landing was swift and brutal, the city’s defenses crumbling within a day.

In the Red Keep, Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower watched the unfolding disaster with a heavy heart. She had known this day might come, but the reality was no less devastating. The sounds of battle grew closer, and she realized that the end was inevitable.

“Gather the council,” Alicent ordered, her voice calm despite the turmoil. “We must decide our next steps.”

As the remaining loyalists assembled, their faces were grim. Alicent took a deep breath, her gaze sweeping over them. “The city has fallen. We cannot continue this fight. Too many lives have been lost already.”

Lord Jasper Wylde, the Ironrod, clenched his fists. “We cannot simply surrender! There must be something we can do!”

Alicent shook her head, her expression sorrowful. “We have done all we can. Further resistance will only lead to more death. I will not see our people slaughtered needlessly.”

Lord Tayland Lannister stepped forward, his eyes filled with understanding. “Your Grace is wise. The time has come to seek terms.”

With a heavy heart, Alicent nodded. “Then it is decided. We will surrender and seek mercy for our people.”

As the order was given, the Red Keep fell silent. The battle was over, and the fate of King’s Landing was sealed. The Blacks had taken the city, and the Greens were left to face the consequences of their defeat.

In the secret passageways below the Red Keep, Vaella Targaryen remained alone, her heart heavy with the knowledge of the sacrifice she had made. Her children were safe, and that was all that mattered. She would face her sister and uncle, ready to defend her family with every ounce of strength she had left.

…

The Iron Throne loomed imposingly in the Great Hall of the Red Keep, its twisted metal and jagged edges a symbol of ultimate power and the treacherous path to claim it. Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen sat upon it, her face a mask of determination. The hall was filled with the murmurs of courtiers and soldiers, the air thick with the tension of recent victory and the uncertainty of what was to come.

Daemon Targaryen strode into the hall, his eyes sharp and searching. He approached the throne, bowing slightly before addressing his wife. “The city is secure, but there is no sign of Aegon or his children. They must have been smuggled out through the secret passageways.”

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened, but before she could respond, Daemon continued. “However, my gold cloaks found Vaella as they searched the passageways.”

Rhaenyra’s face changed slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. She took a deep breath, composing herself. “Bring her before me.”

Moments later, the doors to the Great Hall opened, and Vaella Targaryen was led in. She was bloodied and pale from childbirth, her strength clearly waning but her spirit unbroken. As she was brought before the throne, she lifted her gaze to her sister—the sister she had once loved more than anyone in the world. Despite everything, she guessed she still did, even if this Rhaenyra before her was all twisted and crooked by the power of the throne.

“Vaella,” Rhaenyra said, her voice cold and commanding. “You look… worse for wear.”

Vaella managed a weak smile, her eyes filled with both sorrow and defiance. “And you look quite comfortable up there, sister. Is it as you imagined? I wouldn’t know, having never climbed up there myself.” She glanced pointedly at the numerous small cuts marring Rhaenyra’s skin, evidence of the throne’s treacherous nature.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger. “Do not mock me, Vaella. You know nothing of what I have endured.”

Vaella’s smile faded, replaced by a look of deep sadness. “I know more than you think, Rhaenyra. We have both suffered losses. But power… power has twisted you.”

Rhaenyra’s expression grew bitter, her grief for her lost children simmering just beneath the surface. “You and Aegon stole my birthright! You conspired against me and took what was rightfully mine!”

Vaella’s eyes blazed with fury. “Stole your birthright? Neither Aegon nor I wanted the throne! We were pushed to take the crown, forced into this conflict. It was you, Rhaenyra, who started to rebel first. You could never let go of the throne.”

Rhaenyra’s face contorted with rage. “How dare you accuse me? I did what was necessary for the realm!”

Vaella took a step forward, her voice ringing out with conviction. “No, you did what was necessary for yourself. You were willing to destroy everything to hold onto this foolish notion that the realm would accept your disputed claim. You are egocentric and malcontent of your own doing, and look where it has led us.”

Rhaenyra’s hands tightened on the armrests of the throne, her knuckles white. “You dare defy me? After all I have lost, after all I have done for this throne, you think you can stand against me?”

Vaella’s voice was calm but firm. “I am not standing against you, sister. I am protecting my children, as any mother would.”

Rhaenyra’s anger flared, her voice rising. “You will be held captive, along with Alicent, and confined to your chambers until I decide what to do with you. Guards, take her away!”

The gold cloaks moved to obey, their expressions grim. As they led Vaella away, she cast one last, sorrowful look at her sister. “Rhaenyra, please, do not let this throne destroy you. Remember who you were, who we were.”

Rhaenyra’s face remained hard, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—regret, perhaps, or doubt. She watched as Vaella was taken from the hall, the weight of her choices heavy upon her.

As Vaella was escorted to her chambers, the pain of her recent labor and the sorrow of her situation weighed heavily on her. Yet, her thoughts were focused on her children. They were safe, and she would endure whatever came to ensure their continued safety.

In the Great Hall, Rhaenyra sat upon the Iron Throne, the murmurs of the courtiers and soldiers around her fading into the background. She was alone with her thoughts, the weight of her crown pressing down on her. The throne was hers, but at what cost? 

…

The next day dawned with a grim sense of finality hanging over King’s Landing. The once vibrant city was now shrouded in a tense silence, its streets patrolled by soldiers loyal to Queen Rhaenyra. The Great Hall of the Red Keep was filled with the murmurs of courtiers and the heavy presence of armored guards. It was a day of reckoning for those who had opposed the new regime.

Rhaenyra sat upon the Iron Throne, her face set in a mask of determination. Beside her stood Daemon Targaryen, his expression equally resolute. Before them knelt Lord Otto Hightower and Lord Jasper Wylde, their faces pale and drawn.

“You are both guilty of treason,” Rhaenyra declared, her voice echoing through the hall. “You conspired against the rightful queen and supported the usurper. For this, you will pay with your lives.”

Otto Hightower lifted his head, defiance still flickering in his eyes. “I served the realm, Rhaenyra. Everything I did was for the good of Westeros.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze hardened. “You served yourself, Otto. You sought power at any cost, and now you will pay for it.” She turned to the executioner. “Carry out the sentence.”

With a swift motion, the executioner’s sword fell, and Lord Otto Hightower’s head rolled across the stone floor. A murmur of shock and horror rippled through the hall. Lord Jasper Wylde, trembling, was next. His pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears, and he met the same fate as Otto.

As the bodies were carried away, Lords Rosby and Stokeworth were brought before the throne. Their faces were masks of desperation as they tried to plead their cases.

“Your Grace,” Lord Rosby began, his voice shaking. “We swear our loyalty to you. We were misled, but we are ready to serve you faithfully.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger. “Faithless friends,” she spat. “You turned your backs on me when it suited you, and now you beg for mercy? I cannot trust men who switch allegiances so easily.”

Lord Stokeworth fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “Please, Your Grace, show mercy. We have families—”

Rhaenyra’s expression remained cold. “You should have thought of that before betraying me. Take them away and execute them.”

The guards dragged the pleading lords from the hall, their cries echoing in the stone corridors. The executions were swift, and by midday, their heads adorned the walls of the Red Keep as a grim warning to any who might think to betray Rhaenyra.

In another part of the castle, Ser Tyland Lannister’s screams filled the air as he was tortured for information about the crown’s treasure. His loyalty to Aegon was tested to its limits, but Tyland remained steadfast, refusing to reveal the hiding place. His endurance only fueled Rhaenyra’s frustration and determination to break him.

Grand Maester Orwyle was confined to the black cells, his protests of innocence and pleas for mercy ignored. The dark, damp cells were a far cry from the comfortable quarters he was used to, and he knew that his days might be numbered.

Later that day, Daemon entered the queen’s chambers where Rhaenyra sat, the weight of the day’s events heavy on her shoulders.

“We’ve dealt with the traitors,” Daemon said, his voice low. “But there’s another matter that requires your attention.”

Rhaenyra looked up, exhaustion etched in her features. “What is it?”

Daemon sighed, his expression troubled. “The local populace is growing restless. Vaella and Aegon were much loved in King’s Landing. The people are not taking kindly to their sudden absence and the executions.”

Rhaenyra’s face tightened. “What do you suggest we do?”

“We need to address their concerns,” Daemon replied. “Show them that we are here to rule justly and with their interests in mind. But we also need to be prepared to deal with unrest swiftly.”

Rhaenyra nodded slowly. “You’re right. We cannot afford to lose the support of the people. Arrange for a public address. I will speak to them and assure them that we are here to bring stability and prosperity.”

Daemon’s eyes softened slightly. “And Vaella? What will you do with her?”

Rhaenyra’s gaze darkened. “For now, she will remain confined. I need time to think about what to do with her. She is a threat, but she is also my sister.”

…

Vaella Targaryen was led through the royal quarters of the Red Keep by Rhaenyra’s men. The stone walls echoed with their footsteps, the silence heavy and oppressive. She felt the weight of her recent childbirth, her body still weak and trembling, but her spirit remained unbroken. As she passed through the corridors, she was suddenly stopped by the sight of Dowager Queen Alicent being escorted in the opposite direction.

Alicent’s eyes met Vaella’s, wide with worry and fear. “Vaella,” she called out, her voice trembling. “Are the children safe?”

Vaella nodded, her expression resolute despite the exhaustion etched into her features. “They are safe, Alicent,” she replied, her voice strong. “Do not worry.”

Before either could say more, the guards pulled them apart, each escorted to their separate fates. Vaella’s heart ached for the dowager queen, but she had to remain focused. She was taken to a chamber where a bath had been prepared for her, the steam rising gently from the water.

The servants undressed her with practiced efficiency, their expressions neutral. Vaella sank into the warm water, letting out a sigh of relief as the heat soothed her aching muscles. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to relax, if only briefly.

Her mind raced with thoughts and worries. How could she reach Helaena in the Vale and Aemond and Criston at Harrenhal? The family needed to be reunited, to plan their next move. But for now, she was trapped in the heart of the enemy’s stronghold, her movements watched and controlled.

She thought of her husband Aegon, wondering if he and their children had safely escaped. The thought of their safety brought her a measure of comfort, but it was fleeting. She had just given birth, and she had not even had the chance to name her baby boy. The pain of that loss cut deeply, a fresh wound in an already battered heart.

The door to the chamber opened, and one of the guards stepped inside. “You have a short time, my lady. Do not take too long.”

Vaella nodded, her mind still a whirlwind of thoughts. She had to stay strong, to find a way to communicate with her family and ensure their safety. The task seemed monumental, but she was determined to succeed.

As she bathed, she replayed the recent events in her mind. Rhaenyra’s anger, the accusations, and the execution orders. She wondered how her sister had become so twisted by the power of the throne. They had once been so close, and now it seemed a chasm had opened between them, filled with bitterness and mistrust.

She recalled her argument with Rhaenyra, how she had stood her ground despite her weakened state. The memory of Rhaenyra’s face, twisted with rage and grief, haunted her. Vaella knew that her sister was hurting, that the loss of her children had driven her to the edge. As did the death of Aeron her. But that did not excuse Rhaenyra’s actions. Vaella had to remain vigilant, to protect what was left of her family and find a way to reach them.

As she finished her bath, she dressed in the clean clothes provided by the servants. The simple gown was a stark contrast to the regal attire she was accustomed to, but it would do. She had no need for finery now, only for resolve and strength.

The guards returned, escorting her back to her chambers. The journey through the corridors was silent, the weight of the recent executions hanging heavily in the air. Vaella glanced out of the windows as they passed, the city of King’s Landing sprawling below, a city now under the rule of her sister.

Upon reaching her chambers, Vaella was left alone, the door closed and locked behind her. She moved to the window, looking out over the city, her thoughts turning to her family once more. She whispered a silent prayer for their safety, her heart aching with the distance that separated them.

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

Calling all Aegon II fans who hate Book Dany for burning Mirri (for murdering her baby) and crucifying the slavers (for crucifying slave children) - how do you feel about Aegon's little light show?

Lastly King Aegon II turned his attention to the Shepherd. When brought before the Iron Throne for judgment, the prophet refused to repent his crimes or admit to treason, but thrust the stump of his missing hand at the king and told His Grace, “We shall meet in hell before this year is done,” the same words he had spoken to Borros Baratheon upon his capture. For that insolence, Aegon had the Shepherd’s tongue torn out with hot pincers, then condemned him and his “treasonous followers” to death by fire.

On the last day of the year, two hundred forty-one “barefoot lambs,” the Shepherd’s most fervid and devoted followers, were covered with pitch and chained to poles along the broad cobbled thoroughfare that ran eastward from Cobbler’s Square up to the Dragonpit. As the city’s septs rang their bells to signal the end of the old year and the coming of the new, King Aegon II proceeded along the street (thereafter known as Shepherd’s Way, rather than Hill Street as before) in his litter, whilst his knights rode to either side, setting their torches to the captive lambs to light his way. Thus did His Grace continue up the hill to the very top, where the Shepherd himself was bound amongst the heads of the five dragons. Supported by two of his Kingsguard, King Aegon rose from his cushions, tottered to the pole where the prophet had been chained, and set him aflame with his own hand.

Or what he did to Maester Gerardys for the crime of *checks notes* obeying his maesters vows and offering him medical treatment?

Aegon II lived the rest of his life in great pain…though to his honor, when Grand Maester Gerardys offered him milk of the poppy, he refused. “I shall not walk that road again,” he said. “Nor am I such a fool as to drink any potion you might prepare for me. You are my sister’s creature.” At the king’s command, the chain that Princess Rhaenyra had torn from Grand Maester Orwyle’s neck and given to Gerardys was now used to hang him. He was not given the quick end of a hard fall and a broken neck, but rather a slow strangulation, kicking as he gasped for air. Thrice, when he was almost dead, Gerardys was let down and allowed to catch a breath, only to be hauled up again. After the third time, he was disemboweled and dangled before Sunfyre so the dragon might feast upon his legs and innards, but the king commanded that enough of the Grand Maester be saved so “he might greet my sweet sister on her return.”

They found him hanging from the battlements of the gatehouse beside Dragonstone’s steward, captain of the guard, master-at-arms…and the head and upper torso of Grand Maester Gerardys. Everything below his ribs was gone, and the Grand Maester’s entrails dangled down from within his torn belly like so many burned black snakes.

And perhaps you can compare Gerardys' fate to that of Tyland Lannister... whose fate is indeed very fucked up.

Though the Crown had been flush with gold upon the passing of King Viserys, Aegon II had seized the treasury along with the crown, and his master of coin, Tyland Lannister, had shipped off three-quarters of the late king’s wealth “for safekeeping.” King Aegon had spent every penny of the portion kept in King’s Landing, leaving only empty vaults for his half-sister when she took the city.

Queen Alicent was fettered at wrist and ankle with golden chains, though her stepdaughter spared her life “for the sake of our father, who loved you once.” Her own father was less fortunate. Ser Otto Hightower, who had served three kings as Hand, was the first traitor to be beheaded. Ironrod followed him to the block, still insisting that by law a king’s son must come before his daughter. Ser Tyland Lannister was given to the torturers instead, in hopes of recovering some of the Crown’s treasure.

Down in the black cells, Ser Perkin’s men even found King Aegon’s former master of coin, Ser Tyland Lannister, still alive…though Rhaenyra’s torturers had blinded him, pulled out his fingernails and toenails, cut off his ears, and relieved him of his manhood.

However consider that Tyland stealing and hiding the treasury led directly to Rhaenyra's downfall. The bankruptcy of the realm - and the taxes Lord Celtigar had to raise as a result - was disastrous to Rhaenyra's reign. Of course any monarch was going to order Tyland be interrogated. Had her interrogators succeeded in getting the information out of him, the tide of the dance would have changed completely. If if weren't for the gold, his fate would have been the same as Otto Hightower and Jasper Wylde (Ironrod).

And yes, you can pull out the 'both sides' argument. You can argue that in this fantasy-medieval world both sides commit war crimes - in a world where beheadings and hangings are normalised and committed by both sides, where torture and ripping out tongues is normalised and committed by both sides - can any side claim a moral high ground? But even considering ideas of moral relativism when discussing a fantasy-medieval world, what purpose did it serve to torture Maester Gerardys, other than mere sadism?

Blood and Cheese

And perhaps you can ask, well, what purpose did it serve to kill Prince Jaehaerys? And to psychologically torture Helaena in such a horrifically cruel way? Well, no purpose at all. No justifiable purpose anyway. But I maintain that Rhaenyra did not order it, or even know it was going to happen:

Her first act as queen was to declare Ser Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent traitors and rebels. “As for my half-brothers and my sweet sister, Helaena,” she announced, “they have been led astray by the counsel of evil men. Let them come to Dragonstone, bend the knee, and ask my forgiveness, and I shall gladly spare their lives and take them back into my heart, for they are of my own blood, and no man or woman is as accursed as the kinslayer.” Word of Rhaenyra’s coronation reached the Red Keep the next day, to the great displeasure of Aegon II. “My half-sister and my uncle are guilty of high treason,” the young king declared. “I want them attainted, I want them arrested, and I want them dead.��

GRRM put these two announcements next to each other for a reason for starters - though this was before Luke's death...

On Dragonstone, Queen Rhaenyra collapsed when told of Luke’s death. Luke’s young brother Joffrey (Jace was still away on his mission north) swore a terrible oath of vengeance against Prince Aemond and Lord Borros. Only the intervention of the Sea Snake and Princess Rhaenys kept the boy from mounting his own dragon at once. (Mushroom would have us believe he played a part as well.) As the black council sat to consider how to strike back, a raven arrived from Harrenhal. “An eye for an eye, a son for a son,” Prince Daemon wrote. “Lucerys shall be avenged.” Let it not be forgotten: in his youth, Daemon Targaryen had been the “Prince of the City,” his face and laugh familiar to every cutpurse, whore, and gambler in Flea Bottom. The prince still had friends in the low places of King’s Landing, and followers amongst the gold cloaks. Unbeknownst to King Aegon, the Hand, or the Queen Dowager, he had allies at court as well, even on the green council…and one other go-between, a special friend he trusted utterly, who knew the wine sinks and rat pits that festered in the shadow of the Red Keep as well as Daemon himself once had, and moved easily through the shadows of the city. To this pale stranger he reached out now, by secret ways, to set a terrible vengeance into motion.

Daemon, named the Rogue Prince for a reason, was acting independently of the Black Council - and of Rhaenyra. In fact, the Council itself is suggested to be acting independently of Rhaenyra:

The bird arrived as Rhaenyra and her blacks were mourning Ser Erryk and debating the proper response to “Aegon the Usurper’s” latest attack. Though shaken by this attempt on her life (or the lives of her sons), the queen was still reluctant to attack King’s Landing. Munkun (who, it must be remembered, wrote many years later) says this was because of her horror of kinslaying. Maegor the Cruel had slain his own nephew Aegon, and had been cursed thereafter, until he bled his life away upon his stolen throne. Septon Eustace claims Rhaenyra had “a mother’s heart” that made her reluctant to risk the lives of her remaining sons. Mushroom alone was present for these councils, however, and the fool insists that Rhaenyra was still so griefsick over the death of her son Lucerys that she absented herself from the war council, giving over her command to the Sea Snake and his wife, Princess Rhaenys.

This account is considered by Archmaester Gyldayn to be the most likely. Especially since it stands in contrast to her reaction to Jace's death, making it likely that beforehand she had been withdrawn in her grief.

Broken by the loss of one son, Rhaenyra Targaryen seemed to find new strength after the loss of a second. Jace’s death hardened her, burning away her fears, leaving only her anger and her hatred.

Still, assuming she wasn't responsible for Blood and Cheese, should she have executed Daemon for it? I suppose no more than Aegon should have executed Aemond for murdering Lucerys - a child and a messenger - rather than throwing him a congratulatory feast. Robb Stark would have done it. Robb Stark also paid dearly for it. And Daemon is both the father of two of her children and the rider of Caraxes in a war where every dragon counts, where the remainder of her children's lives are still at stake.

How many innocent ratcatchers did Aegon hang in revenge for Blood and Cheese?

Ok, well what about Nettles?

Obviously I am not here to defend Rhaenyra's treatment of Nettles - but I know TG like to raise it as an example of 'both sides are just as bad'.

On that note, I can compare Daemon's bloodless takeover of Harrenhal to Aemond beheading children. I can detail both Aemond and Daeron's war crimes in the riverlands, including allowing the mass rape of children. I can point out that the Greens also attempted to court Dalton Greyjoy, and remind you that their allies the Triarchy are guilty of their own fair share of kidnap and enslavement.

But lets keep this to comparing Rhaenyra's actions to Aegon's actions. First off, most of her councillors - aside from 2 - were urging her to suspect the remaining dragonseeds, were warning her of the threat of two more dragonriders turning Green, the threat this would pose to her surviving children. And she ultimately acted on the word of her master of whisperers, Mysaria. At a time when Rhaenyra is documented as being in a deteriorated mental state due to her grief at losing 4 children, and paranoia - a consideration that even Septon Eustace allows.

“Her Grace had been betrayed so often, by so many, that she was quick to believe the worst of any man,” Septon Eustace writes. “Treachery no longer had the power to surprise her. She had come to expect it, even from those she loved the most.”

Was Aegon also in a deteriorated mental state due to grief and paranoia when he executed the ratcatchers? Yes, I suppose - though they didn't have dragons or pose much of a threat. But was Aegon also in physical pain himself when he tortured and gruesomely murdered Maester Gerardys, or when he put on his little light show? Yes, I suppose that is a consideration - I'm sure Maester Gerardys forgave it. But Rhaenyra's paranoia and grief didn't compel her to order anything out of the ordinary in this fantasy medieval world - arrests, interrogations, beheadings. Aegon's treatment of the Shepherd and his followers, of the ratcatchers, of Maester Gerardys, is particularly sadistic and pointless.

I'll have to do a separate post to discuss Mushroom and Eustace and their motives, which are not as simple as one always tells the truth about Rhaenyra and one always lies - but it is worth noting that it is Eustace's account that insists Rhaenyra ordered Nettles be executed specifically out of jealousy, that calls Nettles a 'common thing with the stink of sorcery'. I am not saying there is no shred of truth to it, but it wouldn't be out of character for Eustace to depict events in the most misogynistic way possible (plus he wasn't in the room). This is the same guy who went 'who would fight for Rhaenyra now she's fat and ugly?', so it's not beyond him to cast her as a jealous bitch. Maybe it did go down as Eustace says (again, still considering Rhaenyra's mental state), or maybe Mysaria claimed to have proof of an actual plan to betray the Blacks, not just adultery?

It might be so. Yet Queen Rhaenyra did not act at once, but rather sent for Mysaria, the harlot and dancing girl who was her mistress of whisperers in all but name. With her skin as pale as milk, Lady Misery appeared before the council in a hooded robe of black velvet lined with blood-red silk, and stood with head bowed humbly as Her Grace asked whether she thought Ser Addam and Nettles might be planning to betray them. Then the White Worm raised her eyes and said in a soft voice, “The girl has already betrayed you, my queen. Even now she shares your husband’s bed, and soon enough she will have his bastard in her belly.” Then Queen Rhaenyra grew most wroth, Septon Eustace writes.

Eustace says Rhaenyra asked about both Addam and Nettles, but Mysaria is only quoted answering about Nettles. Which doesn't explain why Rhaenyra subsequently ordered Addam's arrest too. We don't have any alternative accounts to Eustace's, but then we could also consider Gyldayn's motives in compiling historical accounts the way he does (though that admittedly can lead us down many rabbit holes).

So maybe Rhaenyra was acting out of spiteful jealousy, or maybe paranoia and a deteriorated mental state, or maybe false evidence, or maybe some combination of the above. Either way, again compare to how Aegon treats Maester Gerardys. You can argue he does so out of paranoia, out of pain - but he could have simply had Gerardys arrested or executed. He didn't have to kill him the way he did. 'Both sides are bad' still leaves room for 'one side was worse', and each side was made up of more actors than just Aegon and Rhaenyra.

After all, who does Daemon ultimately lay the blame on?

The prince greeted me politely, but as he read I saw the joy go from his eyes, and a sadness descended upon him, like a weight too heavy to be borne. When the girl asked what was in the letter, he said, ‘A queen’s words, a whore’s work.’

We could likewise pin the blame on Alicent if you wish, for Aegon ordering the mutilation of a 10-year-old Aegon the Younger and a 13-year-old Baela.

“You fed his mother to your dragon,” she reminded her son. “The boy saw it all.” The king turned to her desperately. “What would you have me do?” “You have hostages,” the Queen Dowager replied. “Cut off one of the boy’s ears and send it to Lord Tully. Warn them he will lose another part for every mile they advance.” “Yes,” Aegon II said. “Good. It shall be done.” He summoned Ser Alfred Broome, who had served him so well on Dragonstone. “Go and see to it, ser.” As the knight took his leave, the king turned to Corlys Velaryon. “Tell your bastard to fight bravely, my lord. If he fails me, if any of these Braavosi pass the Gullet, your precious Lady Baela shall lose some parts as well.”

Well, she didn't say anything about Baela, he just added another child to the mutilation list (if you replaced Aegon with Joffrey and Baela with Sansa, would TG still be salivating?). And Alicent wasn't around when Aegon chose this particularly violent and gruesome execution:

Rhaenyra Targaryen had time to raise her head toward the sky and shriek out one last curse upon her half-brother before Sunfyre’s jaws closed round her, tearing off her arm and shoulder. Septon Eustace tells us that the golden dragon devoured the queen in six bites, leaving only her left leg below the shin “for the Stranger.” Elinda Massey, youngest and gentlest of Rhaenyra’s ladies-in-waiting, supposedly gouged out her own eyes at the sight, whilst the queen’s son Aegon the Younger watched in horror, unable to move.

"This was revenge for Blood and Cheese... Aegon would have assumed Rhaenyra ordered it..." Hey if I was picking a way to go, I'd take a slit throat over being eaten alive. One is a great deal quicker.

Is the psychological torture Aegon the Younger went through here justified by the psychological torture Helaena went through? Do I even care to entertain it? Do you want me to go all the way back to the psychological torture Rhaenyra went through over Lucerys while Aegon and Aemond were partying - how terrifying were his final moments, was his death mercifully quick, did he feel himself being eaten alive, was he swallowed whole, was he still alive when Vhagar digested him - she didn't have a body to bury, only the horrors of her imagination. (hey TG, replace Aemond and Vhagar with Ramsay and his hunting hounds).

Aegon the Elder at this point had also very recently just murdered Maester Gerardys in the most pointlessly gruesome and sadistic way. So you know what, I'm inclined to think he didn't have justice for Helaena in mind when he forced Aegon the Younger to watch. I think he's just like that.

While we can theoretically blame Daemon for Blood and Cheese, and Mysaria for Nettles, Aegon has no such deniability for the ratcatchers, for the Shepherd and his followers, for Maester Gerardys, for Rhaenyra, for Aegon the Younger and Baela. While we can see the high stakes behind the interrogation of Tyland Lannister (which could have changed the course of the entire war), what point did it serve to torture Maester Gerardys? And while we can make mitigating considerations for both Aegon and Rhaenyra's mental state, one is considerably more sadistic than the other.