#he looks like a true DRAGONLORD

[emrys-merlin]

BAMF EMRYS

[mondaymelon]

₊⊹ … 99% NOT LOVE ! | kinich x gn!reader

— in which two people notice what two people don't .

— i've gone absolutely batshit over him your honour. im going to now start writing for kinich like a crazed man dying of thirst in the desert. let it be known that streamer!au kinich, enemies to lovers with poacher mc and other ideas are coming up (no im not cheating on xiao shush)

mualani notices it.

"hehe."

and you hear it.

"so! there's a little..." she stares at you with the most serious face you've ever seen on the girl, acting suspiciously unlike herself. gesturing at you with exaggerated hand movements, then pointing toward who knows where, she eyes you. mischievously. "something that's 'going on', yea?"

and at first, you have absolutely no clue what she could be referring to. mualani is a sociable person, after all. her definition of "something" could range anywhere between a particularly cute baby saurian to an out-of-control-bonfire turned wildfire.

with the only eventful thing today being a brief morning surf session with sharky, you just sat there, never having felt more lost.

mualani grabs your shoulders in an iron grip, leaning forward to the point she's almost beginning to seem menacing. you can see the moment where she tries to think over something (which she never does quite successfully) before she straight up shouts:

"ah!! i'll just spell it out for you!! you. and kinich. bestie. spill."

.

.

.

ajaw did more than just "notice" it.

"you..! kIINICH, did you seriously have to-"

"noisy."

"selfish assh- ALMIGHTY DRAGONLORD K'UHUL AJAW HAS HAD ENOUGH OF THE DISRESPECT! TIME AND TIME AGAIN, yOU'VE-"

"once again, ajaw. be quiet."

"sure sure, and pretend i didn't see you and that someone do a little smoochy-smooch, huh?! UGH, now you've asked for it- KINICH AND LOVEY DOVEY, SITTIN' IN A TREE, K-I-S-S-I-N-"

ajaw was what you would call a "witness". though, most would use that term in regards to one seeing a crime or heinous event take place — this event was nothing of that nature.

well, as far as kinich was concerned, the matter was simple. you'd ventured all the way to scions of the canopy to give him a gift, (claiming it was for the time he'd helped you after a couple of yumkausarus hadn't enjoyed your fruit offering and instead decided to off you), and he'd refused to accept it. he wasn't one to receive reimbursement for others, and he didn't particularly like talking either — it was a well-known fact, almost law in natlan, that if the malipo ignored your words, all you need do was apologize and continue on.

well, you did exactly the opposite.

"no thanks."

"...sorry?"

"i don't need it."

"haha, so 'malipo' kinich's rumored no-nonsense nature really proved to be true! now come over here so i can give you my fucking gift!"

you were rather adamant about giving it to him. the reason? you'd bought the gift on a whim after seeing it being sold by a passing merchant, advertised as "80% only today if you buy within the next like 4 minutes" and you'd immediately dropped every mora you had. it was the most useless little thing ever, and you didn't want it at this point, but.. the deals. how could you return such an item???

naturally, you handed it off to the man you'd seen for a good two minutes before he flew, or did whatever his thing was, away. the man had remembered furrowing his brows the slightest, listening to ajaw's persistent yellings of "IT'S AN OFFERING TO ME, TAKE IT" and feeling an oncoming headache. "i said i didn't.."

as he turned to walk away, three unfortunate(?) things occured.

a rock under your shoe and a very graceful process of falling to the ground

kinich looking back (his mistake)

a kiss...?

oh, and two extra.

4. ajaw had saw it all. 5. and mualani, who had saw you from a distance and was coming to greet you, was faced with a sight she could not process.

...Now that he thought over it again, was the matter really "simple"? kinich's job was what he considered simple — split 70% to investigation, 10% to final decision, and 10% to execution, well portioned and planned out.

then, this...

.

.

.

"girlie, you've seriously got the wrong idea. i'm telling you, we aren't dating!"

"mmmokay. of course! because not-dating people kiss allll the time!"

you paused for a moment, remembering kinich's even tone, stern gaze, and... ah, a face that deserved a gold medal.

"it's only 99% not love, okay mualani? but if it wasn't..."

.

.

.

"... and it's 99% not love, ajaw."

(a/n) darling im back from jail part 2. daddys home part 2. not funny? ok. HIHIHIHI ive bene really built like a sun dried raisin lately but kinich is the healing holy water that has saved me i will write more for him in the future because i love him a stupid amount its like the first time in a decade I've written for just ONE character and AND AND

I THOUGHT HE WOULDNT OCME HOME BECAUSE I ONLY HAD 68 WISHES OUT OF MY ORIGINAL LIKE 100+ AND RUINED MY CHANCES BECAUSE OF REALLY REALLY WANTING MuALANI (i love her sm) BUT. BUT BRO CAME HOME. ON THE FIRST 10 PULL AND WON THE 50/50 JUST LIKE MUALANI DID (or is it 45/55 now idk) LIVE LAUGH LOVE KINICH !!

[ tags: ] @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu-archive, @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @aioniela, @avensuersa, @dainsleif-when-playable, @intpessimistic

( dm or comment to be added ! i might miss ur comment so just to be sure, leave a comment on the actual masterlists page on my pinned ^ ^ )

[darkficlord69]

Fire & Ice

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Jacaerys Velaryon

Warning: tastefully depicted smut (18+)

Word Count: 2k

Summary: When fire meets ice, the very walls of Winterfell seem to tremble. But is the wolf a worthy match for the dragon?

Jacaerys Velaryon sat beneath the sprawling canopy of the godswood, a single white flower caught between his slender fingers. He plucked its petals one by one, watching them drift down to the withered grass like fallen snow. A sigh escaped his lips, soft as the summer breeze, and his fingers, adorned with silver rings fashioned in the shape of dragons' scaly tails, stilled when a bee landed upon his pink nipple. He dared not move, resembling a statue of marble, all sharp curves and delicate lines, carved by a true master’s hand. He held his breath until the bee took flight, then allowed a small smile to break across his face as he prepared to rise.

But then, a shadow fell over him, long and imposing, blotting out the sun. Jacaerys looked up, squinting against the sudden darkness.

"Good day, my prince," came a husky voice, roughened by the chill of the North.

"You too, Cregan," Jacaerys replied mildly, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he feared to break the stillness of the godswood.

"The lords of the war council request your presence in the solar," Cregan Stark said. "I had hoped you would care to join us."

Jacaerys let his gaze wander over Stark’s solid frame, taking in the man’s sturdy build. Those legs, long and strong beneath plain woolen breeches; that broad heavy chest hidden beneath layers of soft furs and leather; his hair, brown as autumn leaves, and his hard eyes, grey as winter’s ice—eyes that could thaw even the heart of a dragonlord.

He was lost in girlish thoughts, caught up in the rugged beauty of the Stark, when a soft throaty cough brought him back to himself. Cregan extended a gloved hand.

"Of course, my lord," Jacaerys said, taking the offered hand and letting Cregan pull him to his feet. "Anything you need."

***

The great hall of Winterfell rang with voices of discontent. Lord Umber’s booming shout rose above the rest, his face as red as his hair. “Straining our armies will only increase the risk of wildling attacks!” The room responded with a chorus of grunts and murmurs of approval. “Southron skirmishes are no concern of ours, I say!”

Lord Manderly, heavyset and lounging in his chair, responded in a bored drawl. “The South is as much a part of the Seven Kingdoms as the North. Sooner or later, one king or queen will force us to choose a side.”

“The Iron Throne will not look kindly upon our allegiance to Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Lord Hornwood intoned. Cregan Stark, seated at the head of the long oak table, had listened to enough prattle to make his head throb in annoyance. With a resounding thud, he slammed his large hands on the oak table, sending goblets rattling and silencing his bannermen. A sombre heaviness fell over the room, thick as the northern snows. The Warden of the North took a breath, his grey eyes hard and unyielding.

“We pledged our support to King Viserys’s heir long ago,” he said, his voice stern. “Never has a Stark broken his word, and I do not intend to be the first. Remember where your loyalties lie, my lords.”

With those words, dark and final as the grave, Cregan rose from the table, his wolfskin cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. Jacaerys Velaryon followed, a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Once they were alone in the dim corridor of the Great Keep, Jacaerys’s mask of composure slipped, revealing the warmth beneath. “Cregan,” he said softly, his voice filled with genuine gratitude, “thank you.” The support of the North meant that his mother would be one step closer to claiming her birthright.

Cregan gave a curt nod, intent on heading to his chambers. But before he could take another step, he felt a firm yet gentle push, his back pressing against the cold stone of a column.

“Now let me show you how a dragon expresses his gratitude,” the prince murmured, a teasing grin curling his full, pouty lips. The words hung in the cold, still air, filled with a heat that made Cregan's blood pulse faster. Jacaerys moved with a lithe grace, every step a promise, every movement a dance of seduction.

Slowly, Jacaerys knelt before the Stark lord, his hands gliding up Cregan’s strong thighs. His touch was featherlight, just a whisper of fingers trailing over thick wool and leather, but it was enough to make Cregan’s breath catch in his throat. The prince’s eyes were dark, glimmering with mischief and desire, his expression one of pure intent as he let his fingers dance along the inside of Cregan's legs, feeling the muscles tense under his touch.

Cregan’s heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, insistent rhythm that matched the stirring in his loins. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling into fists as he fought the urge to pull Jacaerys up, to crush their mouths together in a desperate kiss. But he held back, held still, mesmerized by the sight of the prince at his knees, those nimble hands tracing patterns on his skin.

Jacaerys’s fingers found the edge of Cregan’s tunic, slipping beneath it, brushing against warm hair-covered flesh. The touch sent a shiver up Cregan’s spine, his breath hissing out between his teeth. Jacaerys looked up at him, his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted slightly, his breath warm against Cregan’s thigh.

The prince leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Cregan’s leg, just above the knee. Cregan’s muscles tensed beneath the tender touch, his fingers twitching with the need to reach out, to bury them in the dark waves of Jacaerys’s hair. He watched, entranced, as Jacaerys continued his slow, torturous journey, his lips brushing lightly up the inside of Cregan’s thigh, each kiss a spark, each touch a flame.

The wolf stirred within Cregan, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he felt the heat of Jacaerys’s mouth moving higher. His desire, coiled tight like a spring, grew with every brush of those lips, every teasing touch. He felt himself harden, the ache of want becoming almost unbearable.

Jacaerys’s smirk widened as he felt the evidence of Cregan’s arousal beneath his hands. He looked up again, his eyes meeting Cregan’s, holding his gaze as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just below Cregan’s hip. Cregan’s breath came out in a harsh exhale, his control slipping, his need overtaking him.

With a growl, Cregan reached down, his hands tangling in Jacaerys’s hair, pulling the prince up with a rough urgency. Their lips crashed together, the kiss fierce and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a frantic dance. It was a kiss that spoke of hunger, of a desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long, finally unleashed.

Jacaerys responded with equal fervor, his hands gripping Cregan’s shoulders, pulling him closer, their bodies pressing together, fitting like pieces of a puzzle. The prince’s lips were soft but insistent, demanding and giving all at once. Cregan could taste the heat of him, could feel the fire that burned beneath his skin, and he met it with his own cold fury, his own wild, untamed desire.

Their mouths moved together, each kiss deeper, more intense than the last, as if they were trying to consume each other, to fuse together through sheer will. Cregan’s hands moved down, grasping Jacaerys’s waist, pulling him closer still, until there was no space between them, until they were one, bound together by the force of their need.

His lips left Cregan’s mouth, trailing down his jaw, his neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat. Cregan tipped his head back, a groan rumbling in his chest as Jacaerys found a sensitive spot, sucking gently, teeth grazing over skin.

The prince’s hands moved lower, finding hard planes of muscle, scars that marked his furry skin. He traced them with his fingertips, memorizing the shape of them, the feel of them, each one a testament to the man before him, to the strength and the honor that he embodied.

Cregan’s hands moved to Jacaerys’s waist, fingers digging into the prince’s hips as he pulled him impossibly closer, grinding against him, feeling the heat of his arousal through the layers of fabric. Jacaerys gasped, his head falling back, his eyes fluttering closed as pleasure coursed through him, his body arching into Cregan’s touch.

They moved together, lips meeting again in a fierce kiss, hands exploring, claiming, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The wolf and the dragon, fire and ice, together in the dark, bound by a passion that neither could deny. And in that moment, they were lost to the world, to the weight of their titles and the burdens of their duties, lost to everything but each other.Jacaerys gasped, his fingers tangling in Cregan’s thick, dark hair as he pressed ever closer, his body melting against the northerner’s like ice before a flame. Cregan’s lips moved to Jacaerys’s neck, finding the pulse there and biting down just hard enough to make the prince hiss in pleasure.

“More,” Jacaerys demanded, his voice breathless, his eyes half-lidded with desire. “Show me how fierce the wolf can be.”

Cregan needed no further invitation. He lifted Jacaerys effortlessly, the prince’s legs wrapping around his waist as it was Cregan’s turn to press him against the wall. The cold stone was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, but neither of them noticed. Their world had narrowed to this moment, to the taste of each other’s mouths and the feel of their skin.

They were fire and ice, light and shadow, opposites drawn together by a force neither of them could fully understand but neither wanted to fight. Here, in the shadows of the keep, they were free of the burdens of their titles and the weight of their responsibilities. Here, they were just two dandy men, lost in the madness of each other.

Cregan’s hands found the laces of Jacaerys’s lacy smallclothes and pulled, the fabric sliding down the prince’s hips and pooling at his feet. Jacaerys shivered at the sensation, his hands gripping Cregan’s shoulders as the northern lord knelt before him.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Cregan looked up, his eyes meeting Jacaerys’s, asking a question without words. Jacaerys nodded, a silent answer, a trust given and accepted.

“Stay still now, woman,” Stark commanded and Jace whimpered at the order.

Then, Cregan’s lips were on him, hot and wet and hungry, and Jacaerys gasped, his head falling back against the stone. The world narrowed to that single point of contact, to the heat of Cregan’s mouth and the rough scrape of his beard against sensitive skin.

Jacaerys’s breath came in ragged gasps, his hands fisting in Cregan’s hair as pleasure coursed through him, building and building until he thought he might shatter from it. And then, with a cry that echoed off the walls of Winterfell, he did, his body tensing, his back arching, and then collapsing against the stone, boneless and sated.

Cregan rose, his lips curved in a small, satisfied smile as he pulled Jace into his arms, holding him close as the prince caught his breath. They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the only sound their breathing, the only warmth the heat of their bodies.

Finally, Jacaerys pulled back, his eyes bright, a lazy smile playing at his lips. “Well, Lord Stark,” he murmured, “I must say, your loyalty has its rewards.”

Cregan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a thrill through Jacaerys’s already sated body. “And you, Prince Jacaerys, are a demanding wench.”

Jacaerys leaned in, his lips brushing against Cregan’s ear as he whispered, “Only because I know you can handle me, oh Wolf of Winterfell.”

Cregan’s grin widened, his eyes darkening with promise. “Then you’ll have to show me again, you feisty dragonling,” he said, his voice a low growl.

Jacaerys laughed, a bright, clear sound that filled the corridor. “Oh, I intend to, Cregan Stark. Many times over.”

And with that, they slipped away into the shadows, leaving only the faint echo of their laughter and the lingering warmth of their passion behind them.

End.

Hi! Hope you liked it 🥰 Any form of feedback is greatly appreciated! 🫶

[novaursa]

Chains of Flame

- Summary: Aegon conquers the North, breaks your betrothal to Torrhen, and takes you as his third wife.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen (one-sided)

- Note: These events happen right before The Broken Crown. @oxymakestheworldgoround I hope you like it. 🙂

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

The Northmen stand silent, their breath hanging in the cold air as Aegon Targaryen, now styled the Conqueror, steps forward. You watch from a raised platform, your heart hammering as you take in the sight below. Torrhen Stark, King in the North, stands proud and unyielding before the might of the dragonlord. His eyes flicker briefly to you, a look filled with sorrow and a hint of betrayal.

Aegon's voice booms over the gathered men, a stark contrast to the cold stillness of the North. "I accept your submission, Torrhen Stark. You are no longer King in the North, but Warden, sworn to me and mine."

Torrhen nods stiffly, his face a mask of stoic calm. He removes the crown himself, placing it at Aegon's feet. It is a small thing in that moment, the act of surrender, but it feels like a shifting of the world. You feel the weight of it like a stone in your chest.

Aegon gestures, and you see the great crown of the North picked up by Orys Baratheon’s hand. The sight of it, soon to be discarded, makes something in you clench.

But then Aegon speaks again, and you know this is not over. “There is another matter, Torrhen Stark, that we must settle.” His voice is iron, unyielding. “The betrothal arranged by your father—between my sister and you—is no more.”

A murmur spreads through the assembled lords and bannermen. Your breath catches in your throat, though you had known this moment was coming. The promise made to you, to the North, is shattered in an instant, and the sting of betrayal mingles with relief and fear.

Torrhen’s face pales, his jaw tightening. For the first time, his composure wavers. He glances at you again, and you see the raw pain in his eyes. He does not speak, but you can feel the weight of his silent agony. His mouth opens, then closes, as if words would betray the storm raging within him.

Aegon turns to the gathered Northmen, his presence commanding, his tone brooking no dissent. “I will take Y/N as my third wife, joining her to me as a true queen of Westeros. This is the will of the Conqueror. No man will challenge it.”

The crowd erupts, voices rising in surprise and dismay. The North had seen you as their own, a bridge between the frozen lands and the fiery South. And now, you are being taken from them, claimed by the dragon.

You feel Torrhen’s gaze on you, and you force yourself to meet it. His pain is a spear to your heart, for you had cared for him, in your way. He was to be your husband, your future, a man who respected and honored you. But it was not love, not in the way Aegon’s presence invades your thoughts, dominates your heart despite your resentment.

“I will come to Winterfell,” Aegon continues, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. “To claim her, as is my right. But I will grant you, Torrhen Stark, time to bid her farewell.” His eyes flick to you, and for a moment, the steel in his gaze softens. “I understand my sister holds you in high regard.”

You want to lash out, to rage at the unfairness of it all. He took your future and made it his own. Aegon’s jealousy, his possessiveness, had bound you to him in chains of blood and fire, and now he stands here, triumphant, while the North mourns the loss of its promised queen.

Torrhen bows his head, the weight of his defeat pressing down on his shoulders. “I thank you for your mercy, my lord,” he says, the words clipped and tight. He does not look at you again, and the distance between you feels like an insurmountable chasm.

The ceremony ends, and Aegon turns to you, his hand reaching out. The crowd parts as you descend, every step heavy, the eyes of the North upon you. When you take Aegon’s hand, his grip is firm, possessive, and something in you breaks.

“I will not forget this, brother,” you whisper harshly as he leads you away, your voice low so only he can hear. “You have taken everything from me.”

He stops, his eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you think you see regret. But then it is gone, replaced by the unwavering determination that has always defined him. “I would take the world for you,” he murmurs, his voice fierce. “And I will make you my queen, as I've promised you.”

You look back once, meeting Torrhen’s eyes across the sea of people. His face is unreadable, a mask of Northern stoicism, but the pain is there, deep and unyielding. You look away, because to hold his gaze any longer would be to shatter entirely.

As you leave, Aegon’s hand never leaving yours, you feel the chains tighten. You are his, now and forever, bound by fire and blood. And the North, once a promise of freedom and peace, is left behind, as cold and distant as a fading dream.

The shores of Dragonstone are shrouded in mist, the air filled with the scent of salt and smoke. The winds whip at the edges of your gown as you stand on the blackened sands, gazing out at the restless waves. The preparations for your wedding are underway, but you feel none of the joy such an occasion should bring. The weight of your destiny, twisted and reshaped by your brother's ambition, presses down on your shoulders like a leaden cloak.

Behind you, the great castle of Dragonstone looms, its towers sharp and jagged like dragon’s teeth. Within its ancient halls, the fires have been stoked, and the feast is being prepared. But all you feel is cold, an icy knot of anger and betrayal festering in your chest.

The sound of footsteps crunching on the sand draws your attention. You turn to see Aegon approaching, his silver hair gleaming in the faint light. He is resplendent in his Valyrian armor, the black and red of House Targaryen vivid against the stark landscape. His expression is set, determined, but you can see the flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something that looks almost like hesitation.

“You are avoiding the ceremony,” he says, his voice low, though there is a hint of frustration beneath the calm. “Our guests are waiting. Visenya and Rhaenys, our bannermen, they are all gathered for us.”

Your lip curls in a bitter smile. “For us? Or for you, brother? This is what you wanted, not I.”

Aegon’s jaw tightens, his gaze narrowing. “This is what you have always desired, to be queen. You spoke of it often as a child, remember? That you would rule by my side, united in fire and blood.”

“That was a game,” you snap, the words sharp and hot as dragonfire. “We were children, Aegon! Do you truly believe the dreams of a girl mean I must forfeit my future?”

He steps closer, the heat of him almost tangible, and for a moment, you can see the hurt flickering beneath his anger. “It was not a game to me,” he says, his voice firm. “When you spoke of ruling together, I saw it as a vow. I saw it as a promise that you would be with me, that we would shape the world together.”

You scoff, turning away, your eyes searching the endless horizon as if it could offer some escape. “A promise you forced me into. You shattered my betrothal, Aegon. You took everything I might have had—the North, my own choices—because you couldn’t bear to let me go.”

Aegon’s hand catches your arm, gently but insistently, turning you to face him. His eyes are fierce, blazing with that intensity that has always defined him. “I took what was mine,” he says, and there is a ring of possessiveness in his tone that makes your heart clench. “You were never meant for him, for anyone but me.”

“And what if I say I do not want this?” you demand, pulling your arm free. “What if I do not wish to be your queen, to be bound to you like some trophy to show your might?”

His gaze softens, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable. “You may hate me now, sister,” he murmurs, his voice low and strained. “But I know you. I know the fire in you, the hunger for more. It was not a game, not truly. I have seen the way you look at the world, the way you yearn for something greater. I have conquered Westeros, yes, but I did it for us, for the promise we made.”

“A promise I was too young to understand!” you retort, frustration boiling over. “You saw what you wanted and took it. You never asked what I wanted, Aegon. You never thought that I might have wished for something different.”

He shakes his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “I have always known what you wanted, even when you did not. You would have been wasted in the North, trapped in Winterfell with a husband who could never truly know the depths of your fire.”

Your hands clench at your sides, anger and confusion warring within you. “And now I am trapped here, with you. Trapped in a cage of gold and dragonfire.”

Aegon’s eyes darken, and he steps closer, his presence overwhelming, the heat of him almost suffocating. “Not trapped, beloved,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “You are not trapped. You are my queen, my equal. This is what I offer you—the world, to rule by my side. Everything we dreamed of, everything we spoke of, it is ours now.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you are caught between the pull of his words and the bitterness in your heart. You had dreamed of this, once, when you were too young to understand the price. But the reality is a bitter draught, and the man before you, the brother who has taken so much, feels more like a stranger than ever.

“I wanted freedom,” you whisper, the words breaking from you like a confession. “I wanted a life of my own choosing, not one bound by your will.”

Aegon’s face softens, and he reaches out, his hand hovering near your cheek, hesitant, as if he fears you will pull away. “And I wanted you, more than the crown, more than any throne. I have always wanted you.”

His words hang between you, heavy and fraught, and for a moment, the world narrows to the space between your breaths. You feel the weight of his longing, the possessive need that has driven him to bind you to him, and it terrifies you, even as some small, traitorous part of you is drawn to it.

But you do not yield. You cannot. “You have me now, brother,” you say softly, a bitter edge to your voice. “But do not think it is by choice.”

He flinches, the hurt plain on his face, but he does not look away. “I will make you see, in time,” he says, his voice almost a vow. “I will make you see that this is where you belong.”

And with that, he turns away, striding back toward the castle, leaving you alone on the shore. The wind howls around you, the waves crashing against the rocks, and you stand there, feeling the world shifting around you like sand beneath your feet.

Today you will be wed, bound in the ancient rites of your people, the words of Valyria sealing your fate. And though you feel the fire of your anger burning bright, you know that you are caught, trapped in a web of fate and desire, with no clear way to break free.

The dragon has claimed you, and whether you will burn or rise remains to be seen.

The halls of Dragonstone are alive with the glow of a hundred torches. The air is heavy with the scent of incense and dragonfire, a mix of smoke and the salt of the sea beyond. 

You stand in the center of the great hall, clad in the traditional robes of Valyria. The fabric is exquisite, a deep crimson embroidered with threads of gold and black that catch the light as you move. It clings to your form like liquid fire, and the weight of it feels both regal and suffocating. Your hair, usually left to flow freely, has been intricately braided and adorned with tiny dragon-shaped clasps of silver and rubies, each one a symbol of your house, your heritage, and the heavy legacy you now bear.

The hall is filled with guests, lords and ladies from the corners of Westeros, all here to witness this union, this cementing of power. The faces of those you know—Rhaenys, with her quiet strength, and Visenya, stern and watchful—are a comfort, but only barely. They stand on either side of you, dressed in their own gowns of silver and midnight blue, their presence a stark reminder of what you are about to become. Beyond them, the lords of the realm watch with a mixture of awe and apprehension, their whispers a dull hum in the background of your thoughts.

At the far end of the hall, Aegon waits. He is a vision in black and red, his armor gleaming under the firelight, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned proudly on his chest. His silver-gold hair falls loosely to his shoulders, and his eyes—those eyes that have seen the world bend and break under his will—are fixed on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

The words of the High Valyrian rites begin, spoken by a priestess who stands between you and Aegon, her voice echoing in the vast chamber. The ancient tongue flows like music, each syllable carrying the weight of history, of old gods and lost empires. The ceremony is one few in Westeros truly understand, its meaning lost to all but those of your blood.

You are asked to recite the vows, and though your voice is steady, you can feel your heart racing, a frantic, caged thing within your chest. You speak the words, pledging your loyalty, your soul, your very being to the man before you. Each phrase is a chain, each promise a shackle that binds you ever closer to him.

Tears sting at your eyes, but you blink them away, your vision blurring for a moment. You will not weep, not here, not before all these people. But the weight of what is happening crashes over you in waves, each one more suffocating than the last. You feel Rhaenys’s gaze on you, warm and understanding, but even she cannot help you now. This is your fate, your destiny, carved by your own brother.

Aegon steps forward, his gaze never leaving yours. His face is inscrutable, the mask of the conqueror, but there is something beneath it, something raw and almost hesitant. He takes your hands in his, his grip firm but not harsh, his skin warm against your cold fingers.

The priestess continues, her voice rising and falling like the tide, calling upon the old gods of Valyria to witness this union, to bless it with the strength of the dragon, the fury of fire. You repeat the vows again, your voice faltering only once, when the tears finally spill over, silent and unbidden.

Aegon’s eyes flicker, a brief, almost imperceptible softening as he watches the tears trail down your cheeks. For a heartbeat, he hesitates, his gaze searching yours, and you see it—a flash of uncertainty, of something almost like regret. But it is gone as quickly as it appeared, his grip on your hands tightening as if to anchor you both.

The priestess holds up a ceremonial blade, its edge gleaming wickedly in the firelight. You know what comes next. Aegon takes the blade first, drawing it carefully across his palm. Blood wells up, crimson and stark against his pale skin. He holds his hand out to you, his eyes locked with yours, unyielding and yet—there is a plea there, a silent question.

You take the blade, your hand trembling slightly. The metal is cold and sharp, and when you draw it across your palm, the pain is swift, a sharp sting that blooms into a dull throb. You press your bleeding hand to his, the warmth of his blood mingling with yours, a bond sealed in the oldest way.

“Fire and blood, my love,” he murmurs, his voice low, meant only for you. 

The words are a promise, a claim, and you feel their weight settle over you like a mantle. The tears fall faster now, but you do not look away, even as your vision blurs. You hold his gaze, refusing to flinch, to break, even as your heart shatters within you.

And then it is time for the final vow, the kiss that will seal your fates. Aegon hesitates, just for a heartbeat, his eyes searching yours as if seeking permission, understanding. The hesitation is gone as quickly as it appeared, and he leans in, his lips brushing yours with a gentleness that surprises you.

The kiss is soft, almost chaste, but there is a fire beneath it, a heat that speaks of all the things left unspoken between you. It lasts only a moment, a fleeting touch, and then he pulls back, his eyes dark and unreadable.

The hall erupts in cheers, the sound crashing over you like a tidal wave. You feel the weight of the moment, the finality of it, and it is all you can do to stand, to keep the tears from becoming sobs. You are his now, bound in the ancient rites, the queen to his king, the flame to his fire.

Aegon raises your joined hands, his gaze still locked on yours. There is triumph in his eyes, but there is something else, too—something softer, more fragile, hidden beneath the conqueror’s mask.

The feast that follows is a blur of sound and color, of toasts and laughter that seem hollow in your ears. Aegon’s hand remains on yours throughout, his presence a constant, inescapable force beside you. You smile when expected, nod when spoken to, but inside, you are adrift, lost in the sea of your own thoughts, your own grief.

As the night wears on, the guests begin to fade away, the torches burning low. Aegon turns to you, his expression still unreadable, his hand warm on your arm.

“Are you well?” he asks, his voice quiet, meant only for you.

You look up at him, and for the first time since the ceremony began, you allow yourself to speak the truth. “No,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “No, I am not.”

For a moment, just a moment, you see something in his eyes—a shadow of the boy he once was, the brother you knew before all this. But then it is gone, and he nods, his expression hardening once more.

“I will make it right,” he says, and you can hear the determination in his voice, the fierce resolve that has driven him to conquer, to claim. “I will make you see.”

But you turn away, pulling your hand from his grasp, your heart heavy with the weight of all that has been lost, all that will never be. You do not look back as you leave the hall, the cheers and laughter fading behind you, your tears falling silently in the darkness.

Tonight, you are queen. But you are also alone, your heart a battlefield, your soul caught between fire and blood, love and resentment. And the man you once called brother, the boy who once made you laugh, is now the king who has taken everything.

[theredneckerchief]

In which Melrin and the Knights are sitting around the campfire and Sir Percival is in charge of the story telling...

Percival: They call him...Emrys

Lancelot: *glances at Merlin*

Merin: *chokes on his soup*

Arthur: It's alright Merlin no need to be scared, Emrys doesn't actually exist

Percival: The Druids say, he was born from mortals in the time of the great purge, from a dragonlord who saught shelter and from a woman with a heart of gold. A child born from a love that could never be. The tripple goddess took pity on her peoples and gathered the lost magic of the dead felled by the Butcher King -sorry Arthur.

Arthur: *waves his hand for him to continue*

Merlin: *trying to catch Lancelot's eye and get him to change topics*

Lancelot: *looks at Merlin and nods* What happened next Perc?

Merlin: *mouths* traitor

Percival: Well, the babe was born with the lost magic of Albion coursing through his veins. A God in his own right. He can level any kingdom with a thought, create or destroy armies with the snap of his fingers.

Arthur: See Merlin? If he existed, I doubt "The Butcher King's" kingdom would still exist. *satisfied smirk at Merlin's pale face*

Percival: Ah you see Emrys was not born without purpose Arthur. He is the guardian of the Once and Future King. A King destined to usher a golden age of prosperity and unite the land of Albion under a banner of peace.

Gwaine: Sooo how would we know who this Emrys is? What if Arthur is that King?

Arthur: Whilst I appreciate the praise Gwaine, it's a children's story meant to scare people like Merlin. It can't possibly be true.

Percival: Well there is a way to test it... it is said that Emrys will respond to any prayer spoken sincerely by the Once and Future King.

Gwaine: Go on Arthur, try it *winks*

Merlin: I really don't think this is a good idea.

Leon: I agree with Merlin here, summoning a dangerous sorcerer is a bad idea...

Gwaine: We're not summoning him, just pray for something harmless, he can't refuse it right? So why not try? Or are you worried you're not this great King? *wiggles eyebrows*

Arthur: *growls* Fine. *closes eyes* As I sit here now I pray to Emrys to...uh...give Gwaine an apple.

Merlin: *Magics an apple infront of gwaine*

Arthur: *opens eyes* What? Why's everyone looking at me like that? *sees apple*...oh

Leon: Merlin...?

Merlin: *high pitched squeek* yeh?

Percival: I saw it too.

Gwaine: And me.

Arthur: What? What is it? I command you as the King of Camelot to tell me what the bloody hell is going on.

Leon: It's Merlin sire. His eyes... They blazed gold at your prayer...

Arthur: *laughing hysterically* Good one Leon.

*silence*

Arthur: You're serious? Yo- you mean Mer- *turns to Merlin, eyes fixed on his* As I sit here today, I pray to Emrys to sharpen my sword.

Merlin: *Eyes blaze gold*

*Arthur's sword unsheathes itself and starts sharpening itself mid-air*

Merlin: Um...tada? *jazz hands*

Elyan: *comes back from gathering firewood* So what was Percy's story about today?

(Inspired by this tumblr post:

)

[cynthia39100]

Merlin rewatch -- S2E13: The Last Dragonlord

Arthur & Merlin 2

Really like when it's just the two of them lying side by side and chatted about things that wasn’t the kingdom or duty. It’s almost an upgrade version of their night talk in Ealdor, except this time Merlin didn’t reveal anything… Sad. Is the one in Ealdor and the campfire talk in The Sins of the Father the only times Merlin talked about himself?

On the other hand, Arthur revealed quite a lot.

“It pains me to admit it but I do enjoy your surly retort.”

“There are loads of servants who can serve, but so few are capable of making a complete prat of themselves.”

It’s out of focus but Merlin smiled at that! And Arthur just looked at him fondly <3 If he couldn't get Merlin to speak at least he could try to cheer him up.

“I know I’m a prince, so we can’t be friends. But if I wasn’t a prince… we could probably get on.”

Arthur really tried a lot of ways to say "You can tell me." Even almost admitted that they were friends. I love how they always skirted around what they truly meant and downplayed their true feelings in every way possible, but they both knew what was left not saying. That's what makes it beautiful, the understanding that doesn't require words.

[S2E13] [other episodes]

[fantasybabygirlslutsworld]

---- The Prophecy - 2 ----

After the evening celebration, all the nobles and the royal family retired to their chambers except for the patrolling guards and maids.

Princess Mariana was seen sleeping under the care of the maids and wet nurses assigned by the good Queen in the chamber adjacent to her parents.

However, The tranquillity in the Redfort didn't last long. At the hour of the wolf, Something mysterious was happening in the King's chamber.

The king and the queen have had separate chambers since the death of Lady Daella Arryn and Princess Viserra Targaryen and the disappearance of Princess Saera Targaryen.

She believed that her brother-husband was the reason for all of her daughter's fates which made her fly to Dragonstone two times in which the now Septa Maegelle had convinced her to reconcile with the King both times.

Even though the queen forgave her valzȳrys for his mistakes, they now no longer shared a chamber.

___________________________________________

It seems that even the sky seems to know the significance of the night for the moon and the stars were hiding behind the dreary clouds which made the palace look more ominous than usual.

In his chamber, King Jaehaerys could be seen thrashing in the bed due to some unpleasant dreams with Sweat glistening on his pale skin.

No guards stationed outside seemed to hear the commotion inside. Suddenly, a bright red mist slowly started to occupy the chamber.

Soon, the thrashing on the bed stopped as the King finally slipped into a comatose sleep only to see a place looking like the exact place told by his ancestors - The Old Valyria.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

In The Dream,

King Jaehaerys glanced around him in a daze. He saw the beauty of the land where his ancestors once lived as wealthy Dragonlords in peace.

From afar, he could see the people living in harmony without any worry in their lives. Young children were seen flying on their dragon's back without any saddle, unlike his family.

He could also see some of the dragons flying in the sky without any riders to control them.

The wise King was so immersed in his surroundings that he almost didn't hear a voice calling him continuously.

" Come here, Son of the Dragon. Come here to know about your house's future.

"Come here to save your family from destruction."

"Come here, son of the Dragon "

A hypnotic voice full of wisdom called to him from a direction. As if in a trance, the rider of Vermithor followed the path where the voice was coming from.

After some time, the King abruptly stopped in front of a cave. A huge dragon with an elongated neck like Caraxes was carved out on the top of the cave. Cautiously, he entered the cave to see a wide hallway built inside.

Suddenly, the same hypnotic voice which called him here could be heard behind his back.

" You have reached here on time, Son of the Dragon." Turning around, King Jaehaerys was startled to see the owner of the voice standing near a cauldron.

Standing in front of him was a lady older than the King himself whose hair was the same colour as a Targaryen.

However, it was her eyes which caught his attention most. They were like sapphire gems glinting brightly in the dark cave.

" Welcome to Old Valyria, the Son of Aenys Targaryen "

the old lady said with her eyes trained on him. The king couldn't seem to turn his gaze away from her vibrant eyes.

" Who are you?   What am I doing here?  why did you summon me here? "

The wise King repeatedly questioned her.

" I am Daenys of House Targaryen from the past. I am a seer which means I could see the future because of the magic in our dragon blood."

If what she said was true, then she was the one who sensed the future of Valyria and told her dragonlord father to move out from Valyria before the great Doom. 

While thinking about this, the King suddenly snapped out of his stupor by hearing what was said next.

" You are here to know about what will happen to your house in the future. The gods have given our family another chance to change the future of our house from self-destruction"

Hearing this, King Jaehaerys's face turned stiff. He couldn't believe his family members would kill each other in the future.

" And before answering your last question. Shall we see the fate of our house in the next 30 years ?"

His ancestor asked him with a tiny smirk on her face.

Part 6

----------------------------------------------------------taglist - @girl-of-multi-fandoms @snowtargaryen @immyowndefender @sadmonke @rosecentury @cwallace02sblog @hc-geralt-23 @sunshine6438 @kpopfanfictionfantacies

@michelly09s @ayamenimthiriel @missbmc94

@satanskittles

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

EWAN MITCHELL INTERVIEWED BY TV GUIDE.

AEMOND HAS BEEN PRINCE REGENT FOR A FEW EPISODES NOW. IS RULING THE REALM WHAT HE EXPECTED?

"He's probably got a little more than he bargained for."

"I think he's starting to feel the weight of that crown on his head."

"In Episode 7, you had Rhaenyra raise new dragonriders."

"And so that puts into question that belief that Targaryens have always been closer to gods than [to] men."

"That divide between dragonlords and common folk has now been shrunk in Aemond."

"He recognizes that he's outnumbered, dragon-wise — out-dragoned, should I say."

"And so you start to see that in Episode 8, he starts to get a little bit desperate."

"But he's still got a few things up his sleeve."

SO WHAT RHAENYRA DID MADE HIM FEEL LESS LIKE A GOD?

"Definitely."

"And what he does as well, in retaliation — in a fit of rage, he burns the town of Sharp Point, which is the seed of Bar Emmon who sits on Rhaenyra's council, who very much pledged to the Black side of the war."

"And it's interesting because although it was an act of anger, geographically the town of Sharp Point is situated very close to the Gullet."

"And so maybe Aemond is warming up the blockade for things to come in Season 3."

"That's kind of how he kids himself, that's how he justifies his actions."

THAT'S INTERESTING. I'M ALSO WONDERING, WHO ON THE SMALL COUNCIL DOES HE TRUST THE MOST RIGHT NOW, AND WHO DOES HE TRUST THE LEAST?

"Well, is there any council member left? I think he sent them all away."

"[Laughs.] It was really interesting exploring those scenes as well, when Aemond was on one side of the table, and how he was serving the war effort."

"Then when he gets voted as Prince Regent, he sits on the other end of the table, and now he looks at all of these council members through a very different lens."

And it's like, "How can each of you serve me? Who's with me, who's against me?"

"He's very earnest in a way."

"And he ultimately disbands the council table, he's not one who cares that much for tradition."

"In terms of who my favorite is, it would probably be Criston Cole (Fabien Frankel)."

"I think Aemond trusts Cole to do his job."

"And the person that he doesn't trust, it would be Larys (Matthew Needham)."

"I think he can see through him a little bit."

LARYS TOLD AEGON HE HAS TO ESCAPE BECAUSE OTHERWISE AEMOND WOULD KILL HIM. WHY HASN'T AEMOND KILLEM HIM?

"I don't want to give away too much, but one of the things that I loved in Episode 6 is when Aemond gives Aegon the king's marker back, and he kind of presses it into his wounded stomach."

"Is he doing that to inflict pain on Aegon?"

Or is he doing it as a way to say, "Don't worry, the king's seat will be there for you when you get better?"

"So, Aemond's true allegiance is questionable."

"You don't necessarily know what his ambitions are, but that's what makes him scary."

WHAT YOU SAID AS THE SECOND INTERPRETATION — ABOUT THE KING'S SEAT STILL BEING THERE FOR AEGON — IS FASCINATING. BECAUSE AFTER HIS ACTIONS, I WAS DEFINITELY LEANING TOWARD THE FIRST INTERPRETATION WHEN I WATCHED THAT SCENE.

"Aemond, he raises those questions."

"One of the things that I love about watching film and TV, is the conversation it sparks afterwards."

"I love that almost as much as watching the film, and having that debate with friends — their angles on what characters' hidden motivations might be."

"And I love deciphering it all."

("HE NEVER ACTUALLY FELT THAT UNCONDITIONAL LOVE FROM ALICENT AND SO HE HAD TO FIND IT ELSEWHERE. HE HAD TO FIND ANOTHER SUITABLE SURROGATE, I THINK HE FOUND ONE IN VHAGAR, AN OLDER SHE-DRAGON," MITCHELL HAD TOLD TV GUIDE.) WOULD YOU SAY THIS DECISION SHOWS THAT HE'S GIVEN UP ON TRYING TO WIN HIS MOM'S APPROVAL OR LOVE?

"No, I don't think he's given up."

"I don't think he'll ever give up."

"I think he very much didn't want his mom at work."

"So he was like, mom, you just step outside for a minute."

"I'm going to finish this war, and then when it's done, I'll join you on a Dornish beach."

"We can share a Piña Colada, and I'll be the war hero."

"You can be the mother I always wanted you to be, and it'll all be good in Aemond's eye, and peaceful."

"Whether or not that's what Alicent wants, or whether that's her idea of happiness, is another thing."

SO HE SAW IT AS AN ACT OF PROTECTION.

"Yeah."

"Or maybe you could look at it from the fact that he just doesn't want his mom's voice on the council table."

"And he does have a grudge against her for the way that she raised him."

AND WHEN YOU SAID SHE CAN BE THE MOM HE ALWAYS WANTED HER TO BE, WHAT DOES THAT LOOK LIKE?

"I think one that just has love for him."

"That's how we beat Aemond, it's with love."

"We gotta give him a hug."

THERE'S ALSO THE BIG SCENE WITH HELAENA WHERE SHE TELLS HIM HE'LL DIE. FIRST, WOULD YOU SAY HE FULLY BELIEVES HER, KNOWING HER PROPHETIC GIFTS? AND HOW DO YOU IMAGINE THIS INFORMATION WILL AFFECT HIS CHOICES GOING FORWARD?

"I think he definitely believes some part of Helaena's foresight to be true."

He witnesses that when he's named Prince Regent, and Helaena stood behind him, she asks, "Was it all worth it?"

"And witnessing what Helaena says to him at the end of the [season], it challenges his beliefs."

"He always had an idea of how things were going to play out."

"He felt very bulletproof, to an extent."

"And so to hear that belief be put to question by Helaena, it kind of shakes his world."

"And I think Aemond, he's got to sit down and let that information marinate a little bit."

"But as we know, he doesn't sit still for long."

"He's going to be up on his feet and he's going to retaliate ASAP."

WE'VE SEEN HIM QUITE BOLD AND IMPULSIVE. DO YOU THINK HAVING THAT KNOWLEDGE OF HIM DYING WILL MAKE HIM MORE CAUTIOUS?

"I think it's interesting, because the knowledge that Helaena shares with Aemond, it's information that could make Aemond an enemy of her, or, on the other hand, it could actually make Helaena a very valuable ally for the Green side."

"Because with that perception, if you were able to harness that power and that foresight, I think if we listened to Helaena a lot more we might be in an even better position than we are now."

"And she could tell us about blows before they land, we can be one step ahead of the curve."

LOOKING BACK AT THIS SEASON, HOW DO YOU THINK AEMOND'S BOND WITH VHAGAR HAS GROWN?

"He's definitely got Vhagar on a leash."

"We acted more as a power couple in Season 2."

"Aemond learned from his mistakes in the skies of Storm's End from Season 1."

I think he listened to his grandfather Otto Hightower (Rhys Ifans) when he said, "You must get a grip on your emotions."

"And so I think he definitely had Vhagar on a tighter rein this season, and was a lot more in control, and that makes him all the more scary."

DEFINITELY AGREE ON THAT. AND DID YOU SAY YOU'RE A POWER COUPLE?

"Yeah, we're a power couple."

"She's beautiful, right?"

[agirlsawalittlerose]

SILK STRINGS

Aegon x OFC

Aegon Targaryen wanted nothing to do with that cursed crown. So, he fled to Volantis, hoping to live the good life amidst spiced wine, exotic whores, and strange customs, all paid for with the gold he'd stolen from the throne. But when he awoke outside the Black Walls of East Volantis, with no memory of how he had ended up there, he found himself entangled in the machinations of the Triarchy’s elections. With the help of an unlikely ally, he would come to understand the true value of power.

TW: Eventual Smut, Non-Con, slavery, sexism, inaccurate lore, canon divergent

Chapter 1: Volantis

Chapter 2: Dragonlords, C**ts & Tigers

Chapter 3: Marital Duties & Lust

CHAPTER 4: Cherries & Baths

Every breath Aegon took tasted of the warm, perfumed air of the room that had been given to him in the Maegyr palace. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar surroundings, tracing the contours of the luxurious silks and tapestries that adorned the walls. The weight of his new identity pressed on him as he laid on the bed, trying to piece together his situation in this alien land. Then, a soft knock echoed through the chamber.

He stirred, sitting up, his brow furrowing. His heart beat faster. Who could be calling on him at this hour?

He swung his legs off the bed, feet hitting the cool stone floor as he approached the door.

When he opened it, there stood Dila Maegyr, the lady of the house, in her flowing nightgown. She said nothing, her expression unreadable, but her eyes gleamed with something he could not place. Without a word, she stepped forward, crossing the threshold into his chambers.

Aegon opened his mouth, his voice low and confused. "What are you doing here?"

But Dila didn't answer. Instead, she closed the gap between them, her hand reaching for his chest as she pulled him down into a kiss-raw at first, even if not hesitant, then deepening into something more urgent, more demanding.

He felt the warmth of her body pressing against his, her breath mingling with his as her hands roamed over his skin. The world blurred around them, the air thickening with the heady scent of her perfume.

His own hands found their way to her hips, drawing her closer still, the heat between them undeniable. They stumbled together toward the bed, lips never parting. When her body met his, there was a moment of undeniable clarity, a moment where everything else ceased to matter but the feel of her skin against his.

Their bodies moved in a rhythm that felt ancient, inevitable, as though it had been written in the stars long before either of them had ever met. Aegon's breath came in gasps, his fingers tangling in the silk of her skin. And then, as he reached the peak of his pleasure, she whispered his name-his true name.

"Aegon..."

The sound of it pierced through the haze of passion like a blade, and suddenly, he was awake.

His eyes flew open, heart hammering in his chest, the sheets beneath him soaked with sweat. His breath came in ragged gasps as he sat up, staring into the darkness of the room. For a moment, he was disoriented, unsure of what had just happened, unsure if he had truly heard her voice or if it had been the remnants of the dream clinging to his mind.

His body still ached with the remnants of the dream, a burning desire that had not faded with his waking. He looked down at himself and cursed softly under his breath. His body had betrayed him, still hard and throbbing from the dream, and there was no mistaking the evidence of his arousal.

Before he could collect himself, another knock came at the door-this one real.

His heart skipped a beat, and he froze for a moment, his mind still lingering on the dream. He swung his legs over the side of the bed once more, but this time, there was no sign of Dila when he opened the door.

Instead, it was one of Qorlo's slaves, a girl with long dark hair, her eyes were pitch black like pools of night. She bowed her head respectfully.

"Our dear guest," she said, her voice as smooth as silk, "My Lord Qorlo has requested your presence at breakfast."

Aegon blinked, trying to shake off the lingering fog of the dream, but he couldn't help the flush of embarrassment that crawled up his neck. "Breakfast... right," he muttered, half to himself. He hesitated, looking down at his still-visible erection. There was no way he could present himself in front of Qorlo-or anyone else, for that matter—in this state.

The slave girl, whose name he couldn't quite recall-something long and full of consonants, noticed his predicament almost immediately. She glanced down, and then back up at him, her expression unchanging, as though the sight was entirely ordinary.

"If it pleases my lord," she said in a tone as casual as discussing the weather, "I can assist with your... discomfort."

Aegon stared at her, utterly speechless.

It wasn't that he hadn't heard of such things-Volantis, after all, was known for its excesses and strange customs— but hearing it so plainly offered made him momentarily lose his grip on words.

He chuckled, shaking his head as if to dispel the strangeness of it all.

“Volantis.." he muttered, mostly to himself. "You lot certainly are something."

The girl didn't move, waiting for his response, entirely unfazed by the absurdity of the situation.

Aegon ran a hand through his hair, still damp with sweat from the dream. "No, I’Il manage," he said finally, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Tell Qorlo l'Il be along shortly."

The girl bowed again, murmuring something he didn't quite catch, and disappeared through the door, leaving Aegon alone in the dimly lit room.

As the door clicked shut, he let out a long, exasperated breath, sinking back onto the bed. Volantis truly was a strange place.

Aegon entered the dining hall still shaken from the strange dream that clung to his mind like a lingering mist. His skin still tingled from the heat of it, his pulse uneven, but he composed himself, masking the remnants of his turmoil beneath practiced indifference. The scent of roasted meats and exotic spices hung in the air, mingling with the breeze that drifted in from the nearby river.

Qorlo, seated at the head of the long table, greeted him with a boisterous smile, arms wide as though welcoming an old friend. “Dear guest, you rise with the sun! Come, join us!” His voice boomed across the chamber, drawing every gaze to the Targaryen prince. Aegon had seen that enthusiasm before in men who wielded power as a weapon, their joviality masking something darker.

He approached the table, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment, and then he saw Dila.

She sat with an elegance that could only come from noble blood, her back straight, her pale hair cascading down one shoulder. She was delicately plucking cherries from a silver bowl, her slender fingers red with the juice. As she brought one to her lips, Aegon found himself mesmerized, the memory of his dream crashing over him like a wave. It wasn’t her—it hadn’t been real—but here she was, as vivid and beautiful as the fantasy had been, and something twisted in his chest and his cock betrayed him one more time.

“Good morning, my lord,” Dila said, her voice like silk, though her eyes barely flicked to him as she spoke, more interested in her fruit than the conversation.

Qorlo laughed, oblivious or indifferent to the tension in Aegon’s shoulders. “We have much to discuss, my friend,” he said, gesturing for Aegon to sit. “Days of celebrations and debates await you.”

“It is the way of Volantis, to test the worth of those who would be Triarch.” Dila added, casually wiping her chin with a finger.

Aegon settled into a chair across from her, his mind half-occupied by the words spoken to him, but the other half still captivated by the woman before him. Her lips, stained red by the cherries, moved as she spoke, though it took him a moment to focus on what she was saying.

“The endless posturing of men who think themselves gods among mortals,” Dila said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Ten days of hollow words and empty promises. A tradition, indeed.” She placed another cherry between her lips, her eyes gleaming with a quiet challenge.

Qorlo’s jovial smile faltered slightly, his eyes narrowing, though the smile remained. “Dila, my dear, always so full of opinions.” His voice took on a more measured tone, though it was clear that the remark had stung his pride. “You are as beautiful as you are clever,” he added, a half-hearted compliment that felt more like a reminder of her place.

Aegon watched the exchange, noting the undercurrent of tension between them. There was something unsettling about the way Qorlo praised her, the way he wielded her beauty like a weapon to silence her sharp wit.

She smiled sweetly, though her eyes betrayed the sharpness of her thoughts.

“Beauty,” she said, her voice soft but biting. “Such a fine thing for a woman to have when there’s so little else to be expected of her.”

Qorlo’s smile tightened, his annoyance evident now, though he tried to hide it behind a veneer of affection. “My love, you grow too bold.” His hand shot out, curling around the back of her neck, his fingers digging into her skin just enough to make her stiffen. He pulled her toward him, hard, the movement rough and unyielding.

Dila turned her face slightly, as if trying to avoid it, but Qorlo didn't relent. His other hand cupped her cheek, fingers pressing with enough force to make it seem like he was holding something fragile that might shatter if squeezed too tight.

The kiss that followed was not gentle, not tender-it was a show of control, a reminder of her place before their guest.

Aegon averted his gaze, unease creeping into his chest. The forced intimacy, the way her body tensed under Qorlo's grip, made him feel like an intruder in something too private and too wrong.

There was nothing of passion or love in that kiss, only power, and it left a sour taste in Aegon’s mouth. His mind drifted to his dream again, where Dila had been free, unrestrained by the weight of such dynamics. But this was not a dream, and here she was bound to a man who seemed to see her as little more than a trophy.

When Qorlo finally released her, Dila’s eyes flicked toward Aegon, a flash of something unreadable in their depths before she composed herself once more. The tension in the room was palpable, though Qorlo acted as if nothing had happened, returning to his food with the same easy smile he had worn before.

“So,” Qorlo said, breaking the silence as though the kiss had been nothing more than an affectionate peck, “What do you think, my friend? Will these next few days prove a challenge for you? Or will you impress the people of Volantis with your noble charm?”

Aegon forced a smile, his thoughts still tangled between the dream, Dila, and the strange, disquieting dynamics of this house. “I imagine Volantis has its own way of testing men,” he said carefully, vague, still unsure to be part of this scheme. His words were as measured as Qorlo’s had been moments before.

As he spoke, he felt Dila’s gaze on him once more, and despite himself, he couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts swirled behind those knowing eyes.

************

Steam rose from the bath, curling in lazy tendrils around Aegon’s head as he sank deeper into the warm water. The soft sound of water lapping against the edges of the marble tub echoed in the stillness of the chamber. A faint scent of roses filled the air, mingling with the sharp tang of oils. Orella, another one of the slaves Qorlo had assigned him, the only one with a name fairly easy to remember, knelt beside him, her hands working a damp cloth over his shoulders and chest, the oil leaving a slick sheen on his skin.

Aegon watched her from beneath lowered lids. She was a slight thing, a tiny slender girl in truth, yet there was a grace in the way she moved, a careful precision that spoke of years spent in service. Her long, pale hair—blonde, almost silver like his own—caught the light, framing a face that might have been Valyrian were it not for her eyes. They were a deep, endless black, so dark they swallowed the light.

He wondered how she had come to be here, in the service of a man like Qorlo, and if there were others like her within the walls of this great house. It was not often he saw someone who bore the traits of Valyria, yet was not of the blood. The thought gnawed at him, a curiosity he couldn’t shake.

Orella’s hands moved lower, stroking the cloth along his abdomen. Her touch was light, practiced, but Aegon sensed the flicker of something more. She was aware of him—his presence, his silence. And so was he, aware of her.

“You are a quiet man,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she dipped the cloth into the water again.

Aegon glanced at her, offering a faint smile. “I have little to say.”

Orella chuckled, her voice soft, as she worked. “You’re getting used to the palace.”

Aegon glanced at her, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Am I?”

She nodded slightly. “Not many outsiders take to it so quickly. It’s… large. Can be overwhelming.”

Aegon leaned back, stretching his arms along the sides of the tub. “I’ve been in bigger places,” he said, his tone light but nonchalant. “Though, I imagine not as… old as this one.”

Orella gave a faint smile. “Lady Dila’s family has had it for generations. Lord Qorlo’s done well to keep it running.”

“Done well, has he?” Aegon mused, his gaze flicking to her. “Qorlo seems the type who knows how to get what he wants.”

Orella didn’t immediately answer, her hands continuing their gentle task. “He does,” she said quietly. “But it’s easier when the palace already belongs to his wife.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow, amused at the candidness of her statement. “Ah, of course. A powerful family, then.”

Orella’s lips pressed into a thin line, though she nodded. “Very powerful. Old blood.” She shifted slightly, as if the conversation was treading on familiar, yet careful ground.

Aegon let the silence stretch for a moment, feigning disinterest as he traced the edge of the marble tub. “It must’ve been a good match for him,” he said offhandedly. “Though, it’s strange. For someone so… capable, you’d think he’d have found fortune for himself earlier.”

Orella’s movements slowed, the cloth still in her hand. She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “He did. With the woman before Lady Dila.”

Aegon stilled, the shift in her tone catching his attention. He didn’t press immediately, letting her words settle before responding, his voice casual. “Oh? I didn’t know.”

Orella looked down at the water, her fingers brushing lightly over the surface. “Not many speak of it.”

Aegon’s interest piqued, but he kept his tone light, almost disinterested. “What happened?”

Orella paused, her eyes still lowered. “Some say she was ill. Others… well, it’s not polite to speculate.”

Aegon watched her closely, his curiosity sharpening. “Volantis must be full of… accidents.”

Orella met his gaze briefly, then looked away, the cloth slipping back into the water. “It is a city of whispers,” she murmured.

Aegon leaned back, allowing the steam to rise around him again, his thoughts churning.

Orella paused for a moment, her hand stilling on his skin. She looked up at him, her dark eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “But Lady Dila is… strong,” she said slowly. “Lord Qorlo always speaks of her beauty, but her strength comes from here.” She tapped her temple lightly, her lips quirking into a small smile.

Aegon nodded, though he said nothing. His thoughts lingered on Dila, the way she carried herself, the power that seemed to radiate from her even in the quiet moments. He had seen her from a distance, but he had yet to truly understand her. There was more to her, that much was certain.

As his thoughts wandered, he muttered something under his breath, a curse in the Common Tongue. It was a small slip, a habit ingrained so deeply that it came without thought. But Orella’s head snapped up, her black eyes suddenly alight with curiosity.

“You speak another tongue,” she said, her voice soft but eager. “What did you say?”

Aegon blinked, realizing his mistake. He had been careful to hide his past, to play the part of the man with no memory. Yet, now, this girl—this slave—had caught a glimpse of something more.

“It is nothing,” he said, waving a hand dismissively.

But Orella wasn’t so easily deterred. “Teach me,” she said, her voice low, a quiet plea in her tone. “The words… what do they mean?”

Aegon hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. But there was something in the way she looked at him, the way her hands moved over his skin, that made him relent.

“That,” he said slowly, “was a curse. Nothing you should repeat.”

Orella smiled, a small, secret smile, as she continued to wash him. “And how do you say… this in your tongue?” She asked nodding towards his hand.

Her fingers brushed against his arm, her touch light and lingering as she waited for his answer. Aegon felt a heat rise within him, a flicker of desire that went straight to his head.

“This?” he repeated, his voice a little rougher now. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to remain composed. “We say ‘hand.’”

“Hand,” Orella echoed, her voice soft as she stroked his arm. She let the word linger in the air, tasting it as though it were something sweet.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, they simply stared at one another, the steam swirling around them. Orella’s hands stilled on the edge of the tub, her fingers slipping away from the cloth as she leaned slightly closer, her breath warm against his skin.

“And how do you say… this?” she asked, her voice a soft murmur, as if the words held a deeper meaning than what they implied.

The question hung between them, thick with an unspoken invitation. Aegon hesitated, the heat of the bath mingling with the sudden warmth rising within him. But before he could form an answer, Orella’s lips found his, tentative at first, soft and searching, as if testing the waters.

Aegon broke the kiss, breathless, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked at her, searching for any sign of hesitation, but her dark eyes were fixed on his, filled with a hunger he hadn’t expected.

“Kiss,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. “We call it ‘kiss.’”

Orella smiled, a knowing smile, before she leaned in again, her lips brushing against his once more.

Aegon didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands instinctively found her waist, fingers curling around the fabric of her dress as he pulled her closer, her body hovering just above the water. The kiss deepened, the initial hesitation between them melting away as he drew her closer still, his hands urging her forward until she stood at the edge of the tub, caught between joining him and lingering on the brink.

Aegon's grip tightened around her waist, urging her forward until Orella took a tentative step, her foot slipping into the warm water. The fabric of her dress clung to her skin as she carefully stepped into the tub, her movements slow and deliberate.

The water lapped around her legs as she sank down to straddle him, the once-tentative kiss deepening further as her hands came to rest on his shoulders, pulling him closer. Aegon's fingers trailed along her back, feeling the wet material stick to her skin, the heat of the bath enveloping them both as she settled against him.

He felt the heat of her body pressed against his, the scent of roses filling his lungs as the water sloshed around them. Orella’s fingers trailed over his chest, her touch growing bolder with each passing second.

Aegon felt strange once again, but that whole day had already been too much for him. Sometimes you just need to surrender to your dick, he thought, and as Orella started riding him he couldn’t help but tilt his head back, his eyes closing with pleasure.

In that moment Aegon could have sworn he saw Dila instead. The pale strands of Orella’s hair blended with the image of Dila’s in his mind. For just a heartbeat, it was Dila’s face he imagined before him, her touch, her warm slit welcoming his aching cock.

But as he blinked, reality returned, and Orella was still there, her pale hair cascading down her shoulders.

************

That evening, the celebrations carried on without Aegon. Qorlo had insisted on leaving him behind at the palace, believing it best to let the whispers of the “Vala” spread further before his formal introduction into Volantene society. The feasts and revelry were in full swing, with wine flowing freely and the laughter of men too loud for anything meaningful to be heard.

Dila watched her husband move from one conversation to the next, already tipsy from too many toasts, his focus wandering between the influential men of the Tigers and the beautiful women who hovered around them like moths to a flame.

He had barely acknowledged her presence all night.

Dila had tried—truly tried—to bring up her ideas. Her husband, however, had waved her off with the same disinterest he always reserved for her politics. She had approached another Tiger noble, attempting to discuss the nuances of her thoughts on Volantene foreign policy, the importance of learning from other cultures, of studying the people beyond the Black Walls instead of dismissing them.

But the man—a stout, thick-necked lord with a sneer fixed permanently on his face—had barely heard a word she said. He offered a condescending smile and, with a dismissive wave, suggested she take her ideas to his wife. Or was it his mistress? Dila wasn’t sure anymore. Both women sat at his side, and the line between the two seemed to blur, much like the respect these men gave their wives.

Dila had smiled tightly, but inside, her blood boiled. How easy it was for these men to patronize her, to push aside her intellect because of the body she was born into. They could listen to her for hours if she were discussing the color of her gown or the latest fashion from Lys. But strategy, diplomacy? No. That was a man’s game.

Feigning a headache, she excused herself from the gathering, though it had taken all her strength to keep her composure. Her husband had been too engrossed in his conversations, in his wine, to notice when she left. It was nothing new. He often became blind to her when surrounded by the company of his peers.

As she made her way back to the palace, her irritation grew. The streets were alive with celebration, the air thick with the scents of spice and smoke, the sounds of drums and horns echoing off the ancient stone walls of the city.

It wasn’t just the insult of being dismissed—it was the frustration that no matter how much she understood the game of politics, no matter how well she knew the histories of their rivals or the intricacies of Volantene society, she would always be seen as an accessory. Beautiful, yes, intelligent, perhaps—but not someone to be taken seriously.

She clenched her fists, feeling the sharp bite of her nails digging into her palms. These men, these arrogant, self-absorbed lords of Volantis—they would never see her for what she was. They didn’t care to.

As she passed through the palace gates, the noise of the city faded behind her, replaced by the quiet, cool halls of the Maegyr estate. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm that had been raging inside her all evening.

It was then she thought of Aegon—left behind, out of sight and out of mind, just as she had been. There was a quiet strength in him, something deeper than the haughty arrogance of the Volantene nobles. Something broken, perhaps, but not in the way these men would ever understand. She felt a strange kinship with him, though they had barely spoken.

She wondered what he was doing now, alone in that grand, empty palace. Was he thinking of the coming days, of the impossible charade he was about to play for the benefit of men like Qorlo? Or was he simply enjoying the peace before being thrust into the political games he likely wanted no part of?

Dila shook her head, her irritation still simmering beneath the surface. She would deal with the men of Volantis in her own way, in her own time. But for now, she needed a moment to herself, away from their sneering faces and empty words. She had never been one to sit idle, and she wouldn’t start now—not when there was so much at stake.

Volantis would learn to respect her, one way or another.

Dila found Aegon in the palace gardens, lying back on a grand cushion, gazing up at the night sky. The stars above glittered in the cool evening air, and for a moment, she hesitated. There was a stillness to him in that moment, a quiet contemplation that made him appear softer than the hardened man she had come to know. Despite the shadows under his eyes, the weariness that hung around him like a cloak, he was undeniably handsome. Handsome in a way that made it easy to forget he was just a pawn in her husband’s game. His silver-gold hair, unruly as ever, caught the faint light of the stars, and the outline of his strong jaw contrasted with the perpetual frown that rested there.

For a moment, Dila allowed herself the indulgence of simply looking at him.

She approached, her steps soft on the stone path, and finally broke the silence with a dry, teasing tone. “Enjoying your captivity, are you?”

Aegon’s lips twitched at her words, though whether in amusement or disdain, it was hard to tell. He didn’t look at her immediately, continuing to stare up at the sky. “Daor iā morghūljagon, ynot pikhibagon emagon” It’s not as bad as I thought it would be—he replied, his voice low, almost a murmur.

Dila stopped just short of the cushion and arched a brow. “Daor.” She corrected as she took a seat beside him, crossing her legs beneath her gown. “Try again.”

Aegon finally turned his gaze to her, eyes narrowing slightly, as if assessing her intentions. “Daor iā morghūljagon, ynot pikhibagon emagon,” he repeated.

Dila let out a small, disapproving hum. “Morghūljagon? The word is muñaragon—bearable.”

Aegon scowled, repeating slowly, “Daor iā muñaragon.”

“Better,” Dila said, and her smile this time was genuine, free of its usual sharpness. For a brief moment, the mask she so often wore slipped, and Aegon saw something else beneath it. Something real.

It was fleeting, barely there, but it stirred something inside him. He could feel the heat rise to his face, though he masked it quickly, turning his attention back to the stars. Dila, however, was not one to let the moment linger without turning it to her advantage.

“You should be honored, you know,” she said, her voice shifting back to its usual, calculated tone. “To be the Vala. You’re helping a worthy cause.”

The words hung between them, thick with meaning. Aegon frowned again, the warmth he had felt just a moment before slipping away like sand through his fingers. The way her tone changed, the subtle manipulation in her voice, was all too familiar. She had slipped back behind her mask, the one she wore so often—clever, sharp, always in control.

He sighed, rolling his head to the side to look at her, the weight of his doubt heavy in his words. “What am I gaining from any of this, exactly?” he asked. “What’s in it for me?”

Dila’s eyes sparkled with that same cunning light, her smile now half a smirk. “You’re gaining the fact that you have a bed and food and we didn’t leave you to wander outside the Black Walls,” she replied smoothly, her tone as sharp as the edge of a blade.

Aegon’s jaw clenched, the casual threat in her words not lost on him. He wondered again what game she was playing, and how far she was willing to go. Every conversation with her felt like walking a tightrope, never quite knowing when she might push, or whether she was trying to pull him closer.

Before he could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed through the garden. Qorlo appeared, his wide frame casting a long shadow over them. His eyes lit up in surprise when he saw Dila beside Aegon.

“Dila,” Qorlo said, his voice booming with mock surprise. “I thought you had a headache.”

Aegon tensed slightly at the mention of the excuse. He had not known that she had used it to leave the celebration. His gaze flicked to Dila, watching how she would answer.

Dila barely hesitated. “I had some lavender tea, it passed,” she said smoothly, with a grace that left no room for doubt. She smiled as if the lie was the simplest, most natural thing in the world, and Aegon felt his surprise deepen. The ease with which she lied to her husband was unnerving.

Qorlo, oblivious or unconcerned, extended his hand to his wife. “Come, it’s late. Time to retire.”

Dila hesitated only briefly before accepting his hand, rising from the cushion with reluctant grace. “Goodnight, Vala,” she said, her voice soft, though there was a glint of something unreadable in her eyes.

Aegon watched as Qorlo pulled her close, planting a kiss on her temple as if to remind her—and perhaps Aegon as well—where her loyalty lay. He nodded, murmuring a quiet goodnight as the pair turned to leave.

As their footsteps faded into the distance, Aegon remained where he was, staring once again up at the stars. The tension in his chest lingered, a mix of desire, confusion, and something darker he couldn’t yet name.

[dreamlandcreations]

Twisted fate

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader (eventually)

Summary: After the death of her sister, the twin of Daenerys meddles with magic, trying to change the past and ends up in the era of the Dance as Rhaenyra's daughter...

Warnings: this is like a note for the idea of a series (so basically a teaser) 🤷🏻‍♀️, canon-typical stuff, Reader is on a mission, fix it fic?, it's probably a mess as I am... writing at 1-2am with no idea where I wanna go with this

You were born after the storm... for the first time. While your twin was called Stormborn, you were given the not-so-catchy name of the Flame of Dawn after the red skies that could be seen at the time you had drawn your first breath.

Life was difficult for your sister, it seemed she had to bear all the burdens but you were always eager to learn. Dragons and Valyria being your favourite subjects but as soon as you were free to do so, you started to learn other things too. Your knowledge came useful when the dragons were born but flying them was seemingly not meant for you. You found solace in fighting and learning to use the magic in your blood.

After the war you asked Bran to teach you to see. First, it was just curiosity, as you wanted.. no, needed to see history with your own eyes. However, you soon found out that you can connect and perhaps shape the past through your visions. Bran warned you against it but you didn't listen.

You became obsessed with fixing the events that lead to the demise of your house and family. You have spent a lot of time observing, especially the Dance of the Dragons. Those events were the true end for the House of the Dragon, however, you wanted even more than they had and ventured back to Aegon then tried to see what you were most curious about. Valyria.

As you went further back, you found that some members of your family had stronger magic and could sense your presence. Although none like the dragonlord you came across in your first glimpse of your ancient home.

He lectured you and punished you by trapping you in the past.

You were born during the storm... for the second time.

Your memories of your old life surfaced as you re-learned things. It was a struggle until your adult years, keeping them. The memories and your old self came and went like waves of the ocean your not-blood-related father loved so much.

It didn't take long to realise you were not your father's daughter and that your mother's uncle, who mostly stayed at Driftmark but spent a lot of time with you whenever he could, was the one who fathered you.

When you could surface from the waters of oblivion, you were even prouder than otherwise. As a child, in both lifetimes, you idolized Daemon.

You were still a small child when your memories surfaced for a while, and you started to make plans to somehow avoid the Dance and make your new parents king and queen. In the gardens, you discovered a poisonous flower and decided to eliminate one major key for the war to come. Killing off all your villains was tempting, however, there were several problems with that idea.

You knew that would be too suspicious, even f no one would suspect a child. But for one cleverly timed murder, the innocent look of your current form would be a perfect disguise.

It was also the time your realised Rhaenyra having your Strong brothers was putting everything at risk and you had no good solution for that mess either.

The plan was to destroy the Greens but as you grow the memories of your past life become more like dreams than your reality and slowly, and ironically when they finally seem to settle for good, they don't feel like yours anymore. Of course, it's useful to know all that but you have a different life and you've become a different person too, loving people in this life and fearing losing them.

And that's the problem with the plan. You can't lose them. You can't lose him. Aemond, the only person in your childhood who understood you, besides your father of course. And even after the loss of his eye, and becoming distant, your uncle remained your best friend, who you couldn't give up on, hurt or even betray.

His sister was certainly not to blame for anything and you were fond of her too. After getting to know the Green Queen, you couldn't even blame her at times.

So, you put yourself in an even more difficult position, abandoning the plan and trying to make peace between these idiots of yours.

[bloodstained-porcelain-doll]

The Kneeling Queen, ch 13 - Aemond Targaryen x OC

Read on AO3

Summary: Aemond Targaryen and Maelessa Velaryon were childhood lovers. They were each other’s only comfort in a world full of darkness. When they grew up, their love blossomed until they were the only thing the other cared about. Their lives get increasingly complicated due to the fact that they’re supposed to be on opposite sides of the war. Will their love survive or will it burn to ash as the war ensues?

Chapter warnings: Noncanonical dragons, canon divergence, smut, domestic abuse, rough sex, choking, slapping, knife/blood play, breeding kink

“The king is dead!” “They found him in his own chamber, throat slit and his hand around the knife.” “Could he truly have taken his own life?”

Maelessa poured wine into the cups as the members of the council discussed the king’s death. Just as when Viserys had died, the doors to the council room remained shut, and news of the king’s death were kept quiet until the council figured out their next move.

“We cannot afford to ponder and wait, the realm needs a ruler. War is being waged on us, we cannot sit and grieve and do nothing. We will hold a public funeral for my brother and afterwards, crown me in the dragon pit just like we did Aegon.” Aemond’s words were harsh but true. This was not the time for patience and slowness to act. Lord Larys was hesitant, Lord Jasper eager to agree with Aemond, and Maester Orwyle was mostly silent.

“It does seem rather conspicuous that the king would pass so suddenly, before he could speak…” Larys spoke. “Are you insinuating something, Lord Larys?” Maelessa interrupted him harshly. A small smirk appeared on Aemond’s lips.

“Stand down, Maelītsos. You’ve proven yourself a most valuable servant of the realm but I have not granted you a voice on this council,” he reminded her. She bowed her head quickly.

“Yes, your Grace, forgive me.” Heat burned between her legs at the public scorn. Aemond wisely pardoned the Clubfoot’s words, speaking with a voice soft as honey.

“It is only natural that we should ask ourselves the true circumstances of Aegon’s death. But we must accept that we may never truly know. I mourn my brother, truly. I loved him dearly. But for the good of the realm we cannot stall. We must proceed,” he stated, and so they did.

Aegon’s funeral was held in the eye of the public. Commoners were welcome to see the as king Aegon’s body, swaddled in bandages, was laid atop a large pyre. Aemond himself carried the torch toward the pyre to light it, honouring Aegon in the way of the dragonlords, sending him off in a great fire. He would have had Vhagar light the pyre in the traditional way, but the dragon was too large and too frightful to involve in such a ceremony. He spoke of his brother in high regard, he reminded the public of Aegon’s heroic deeds in the battle of Rook’s Rest, and laid him to rest calling him Aegon the Dragonheart. Tears were shed among the commoners, and Aemond played his part so perfectly that none would ever suspect him of having a hand in the king’s death. None but Larys Strong, who wouldn’t stop looking between Aemond and Maelessa suspiciously. She would have to find a way to deal with him.

Once the funeral was over, the royal company moved along to the dragonpit. Maelessa had polished the crown, the one of Aegon the Conqueror, and she was eager to place it upon her husband’s brow. She was the one who spoke at the coronation. The music of trumpets followed Aemond’s walk towards the stage, and when they quieted, Maelessa began to speak.

“In the time of Aegon the Dragonheart’s injury, prince Aemond has wisely and valiantly served the realm and your city as prince regent! In his short time as regent, he has marshalled armies to keep you safe from the attacks of the enemy!” She twisted her own tongue by calling her mother the enemy, felt the words tug at her very soul, but she went on. “He has sent his dragonrider to burn the enemy’s blockade, allowing food into the city once more! We should all be honoured to lift Aemond Targaryen up as our king!” her voice echoed through the hall and the commonfolk cheered her. More music played as she lifted up the crown of the Conqueror and placed it on Aemond’s head. Maelessa was the first to kneel before him, the new queen on her knees before her king, and then the septon made the announcement.

“All hail his Grace, Aemond Targaryen, first of his name! King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men! Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the Realm! Aemond the king!” he announced. The bells rang, the commoners cheered, and Maelessa smiled proudly. Finally, their plans of many years had come into place. Their time was here. Aemond was king, and she was his queen.

The joy had been short lived, as during his first council meeting as king, they had been interrupted by a sighting of a dragon. It was the dragon Seasmoke, flying over the city with a rider on his back. Maelessa was shocked, she couldn’t understand how her mother managed to find new dragonriders. Aemond had been furious, commanding Maelessa to stay inside the city while he jumped onto his horse and rode as fast as he could towards Vhagar where she rested outside the gates. She knew he headed towards Dragonstone, but the pain of waiting for him while she knew nothing of his whereabouts was killing her. 

She tried to be reasonable, tried to think of ways forward, what their next step would be, but all she could think about was where Aemond was, if he was unharmed, if he had met her mother. Who Seasmoke’s new rider was and if there were more. If she had found riders for Silverwing and Vermithor, Aemond could be in danger. She wanted to take Catlys and their new dragon friends and follow him, but she remembered his words. Your king commands you to stay. So she did.

While Aemond was gone, Alicent returned. She was struck with grief upon hearing of the death of her son, and showed not a trace of happiness at the news of Aemond’s coronation. She retired herself to Helaena’s chambers, preferring not to see anyone else.

When Aemond finally returned he was covered in ash, blind with rage.

“My love!” Maelessa exclaimed as she ran to greet him, but was met with the back of his hand splitting her cheek. She crashed towards the wall and cried out in shock rather than pain. Quickly his hand snaked around her throat and pinned her to the stone wall.

“You mother has risen three new dragons against us! All of them have riders!” he spat, eye flashing madly. Maelessa clawed at his wrists. “I would have burned them all, but Vhagar and I were forced to retreat.” His grip softened and he leaned his forehead against hers, tracing his thumb over the tiny wound on her cheek. “I need you, Maelītsos, I am lost without you. I did something mad,” he whispered.

“What did you do, my king?” she asked, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. His breath was heavy, and his hands opened and closed, debating if he should strike her again, or touch her gently to still his rage.

“Sharp point. We burned it to the ground,” he confessed, bowing his head in shame, resting it against hers. She sighed in defeat and Aemond clutched her waist with his trembling hands. “I’m frightened, Maelessa. I don’t know what to do. Help me,” he begged, and she wiped away the tears on his face before anyone could see. Nodding, she took his face in her hands.

“I will, Aemond. Go talk to Helaena. Her dragon is the largest we have after Vhagar. See if you can’t persuade her to use Dreamfyre to defend the city. And speak with your councillors, too. Tell them what happened. But Aemond,” she said, grabbing his wrist before he could take off. “Be careful what you say to Larys. I don’t trust him.”

Aemond nodded, taking her advice. He ran his thumb over the cut on her cheek again and gave her a look, a silent apology, before he left.

News of the atrocities at Sharp Point spread quickly, and it seemed Aemond had no luck with his council or with his sister. He returned to Maelessa even more angry than before, this time he found her in their chambers.

“Helaena! That’s your solution!” he yelled, slamming the door behind him. Maelessa rose from the chair, looking her mad king in the eye.

“She refused to help?” she asked. Aemond’s hands twitched, eager to hurt something, or someone. She took a step forward.

“Don’t…” he warned, raising his hand to halt her. She took another step forward. “Maelītsos, stop, I’ll hurt you again.” His voice shook with pain and his hand still trembled. “I’m not scared of you,” she said, taking step after step towards him.

“I burnt a city to the ground because I was afraid and angry!” he yelled. “I’m not myself! There is something inside me that burns, that makes me…” he trailed off and looked away, beating at his chest in frustration, unable to look at her. “We are at war! There’s no one I can trust anymore save for you and I cannot ask you to fight your family! What I did to you upon my return, it wasn’t by choice! Burning that village, striking you… I’m so angry, all the time. You’re the only person that can still my rage and yet…” He let out a scream. Maelessa took his hand and brought it up to her chest, placing his fingers on the scars spelling out his name.

“Hurt me. I can take it,” she whispered. Aemond looked up at her, his eye wide. He shook his head.

“I don’t trust myself,” he insisted, but Maelessa smiled and remained calm.

“I trust you. Whatever you do now it’ll be done in fury. That’s no way for a king to act. Let me be your outlet. Hurt me as much as you like, take all your anger out on me and then we’ll resume talks of how to move forward. Trust me, my king. I can take it.” Her voice was just a whisper, but it was enough for Aemond to growl and wrap his fists around her throat, shoving her backwards against the wall and squeezing until she beat at his arms, clawing for breath. Just before she was about to lose consciousness he released her, slapped her face with his palm and then the back of his hand, leaving a purple bruise on her cheekbone. She yelped in pain but smiled at him, happy to be of service.

He crashed his lips down on hers, bit her lip, her tongue, her jaw, her neck, palming at her body through her clothes, ripping holes in the sheer pink gown she wore, rubbing his hands over her breasts and tearing the dress down. He slapped her tits, time and time again until she whimpered and cried, hunching over in pain, then he fisted his hand in her hair and forced her back up to look at him as he pinched her nipples tightly. Despite her tears, Maelessa felt herself grow wet and needy for her king. She would never tire of being used by him, training her body to take whatever abuse he wished to give her.

The tattered remains of her dress fell off when he pushed her towards the floor and she stumbled and fell. He threw the gown aside and shoved her face down into the cold floor as he mounted her. She panted with excitement as she heard him struggle with his belt and trousers. His mind was too clouded with rage and lust to even speak, all he could do was snarl as he dug his nails into her behind and rammed his hard cock into her eagerly awaiting cunt. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she moaned, tasting the floor beneath her as he set a rough and relentless pace, fucking her until her cheek and hips scraped against the stone.

She heard the sound of him spitting before she felt it on her face, and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. Angrily, he spat on her again before he rubbed his saliva all over her face, mixing it with the blood from the cut on her cheek. It stung deliciously.

“More,” she begged. “Hurt me, Aemond, I want it…” 

His cock hit so deeply inside her she swore it touched her cervix, and then he pulled the Valyrian steel dagger from his pants, bringing it to her throat. The threat of the cold steel against her skin at each thrust drove her mad with desire, and judging from the feral sounds coming from Aemond, it had the same effect on him. When he pressed her face into the floor again and thrust into her, the dagger nicked her skin, drawing blood. She winced, but he didn’t acknowledge it, lost in his own pleasure. The blade nicked her again and again before Aemond changed his angle. She now found her cheek being smeared in her own blood as he fucked her mercilessly, and the insanity of it all had her spiralling towards an orgasm in no time.

Three more rough thrusts up against her cervix had her coming undone, crying out his name, shaking beneath him as he sank his teeth into the skin of her shoulder, leaving his mark. When she came down from her high he pulled out of her and dragged her up by her wrist, smacking her bloody face one more time for good measure before he bent her over the table and thrust into her again, pumping into her wildly, chasing his own pleasure.

“I’ll fill you…” he growled. “I’ll put my heir into you… fill your sweet cunt with my seed until it takes root. You’ll bear an heir for me, Maelītsos, I know you will.” His words were ragged, punctuated by his snapping hips grinding into her. With his fists in her hair, he growled one more time and spilled his seed inside her, burying his cock deep. His thrusts grew slow and erratic and then he finally stilled. His hands released her hair and travelled down her back softly, scratching her skin. He pulled out of her and slumped back against the bed, and Maelessa tried to turn around to face him but stumbled, giggling. She sat back into the armchair and watched her husband breathe heavily.

Aemond’s seed dripped out of her wet pussy. What fun for the maids to clean, she thought. He looked at her and his face changed, regret drawing his brows together and he frowned.

“Look at you…” he mumbled. “I put you through too much.”

Maelessa smiled at him and rose, walking on shaky legs towards him and taking his face in her hands.

“Don’t go soft on me now, my king. You needed this,” she said, leaning up to kiss him. Then she was the one to find a wet rag to clean them both up with. As they sat down together, she in Aemond’s lap on the armchair, she decided now was the time. “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s good news. I’ve made a discovery.” “What sort of discovery?” he wondered, trailing his fingers down her thigh.

“One that will help us in the war. When Catlys and I visited the Kingswood we found dragons. Wild ones. Two are fighting size, two are babes,” she informed him, brushing through his hair with her fingers. Aemond’s eye widened.

“Wild dragons in the city? Impossible,” he insisted. “Even so, they’re wild. They won’t fight for us. And even if they would, we have no riders for them! I’m not putting low born bastards on dragons like Rhaenyra.” Maelessa smiled again, excited to tell him of her experiments. “I’ve trained them,” she said. Aemond furrowed his brows and looked at her on confusion. “Just like dogs. I taught them commands and gave them meat when they obeyed. They will fight with us, Aemond, even without riders, I’m certain of it.” “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, searching her eyes frantically.

“I needed to be absolutely certain before I told you. One of them must have been in the air and seen us when we flew to burn the blockade. It followed us and helped us burn the ships, without command, simply because it expected food in return. I’m certain they’ll help us protect the city if we throw some sheep at them. What do you say?” she asked and bit her lip eagerly.

“I say you’re fucking brilliant, Maelessa.”

***

After spending half the night speaking his his wife, Aemond made another attempt to talk to his sister. Her dragon was formidable, and despite the wild dragons Maelessa had found, they needed more. Dreamfyre would tip the scales in their favour again.

“Sister,” he spoke softly as he approached her on her balcony. “We share the same blood, you and I. I know you wish no harm to anyone. But in a time like this, when the good of the realm depends on us…” He extended his hand, reaching out to touch her, but stopped himself, remembering how he had lost control earlier and treated her much harsher than she deserved, just like he had his own wife. He would not touch her, he decided, fearing he would lose control again. He continued speaking. “Our mother is not a dragonrider. She cannot understand that you and I have a truer call to heed. Come with me,” he said, sounding much more vulnerable that he meant to. “To Harrenhal. We will lay waste to Daemon and his army. Let our enemies see that we will answer outrage with outrage.”

When he had told Maelessa of his plans to go to Harrenhal, she had cried. She didn’t like the idea of him leaving, she thought as king he needed to remain here in the city to protect it. Aemond saw her point, but he also knew that Daemon’s newly marshalled army needed to be defeated, and he thought the best way to do it was by taking Vhagar. Now that Maelessa was queen, she could stay in the city and rule in his absence. Helaena didn’t even turn to face him as she answered.

“And if I refuse? Will you burn me as you did Aegon?” she asked, and Aemond froze. His blood grew cold and he felt like his tongue grew in his mouth. How did she know?

“That is a lie,” he whispered. Now his sister turned to look at him.

“I saw it,” she said, looking at him with intent in her eyes like he’d never seen before. Usually, she looked off into the distance or her eyes were cloudy and lost in thought Now she seemed to be staring directly into his soul. “You burned him, and you let him fall.” “What you say is treason,” Aemond countered, desperately wanting to find a way out of this conversation. He didn’t understand how Helaena could know this, and it would only get worse. 

“Or will you let your wife cut my throat in my bed?” she asked. Now Aemond’s hands trembled again and he was fearful for real. How could this be?

“I could have you killed for accusing the queen of such an act,” he threatened, the words spilling out of his mouth before he could stop them. Coming for him was one thing, coming for Maelessa was another entirely. Helaena didn’t look menacing, though, she didn’t look angry, she did not appear to want to threaten him. She simply spoke as if she had read their story before it had played out.

“The Stranger looms over your shoulder wherever you go. She’s the only reason he will not catch you.” Helaena spoke ominously, then turned to leave him and return back to her chamber. But before she entered, she stopped. “I did not go with you to Harrenhal. But I rode Dreamfyre to protect your wife. That is my part, for the kneeling queen must live in order for you to see victory.”

Aemond returned to his sleeping wife, spooked. He nestled himself close to her warm naked body and held her tightly. If he could make any sense of Helaena’s words, Maelessa would play a more important part in this war than he had ever thought.

Tag list: @magnificentsapphiresoul @ner-dee @sadgirlxangel

[two-white-butterflies]

coaxed you into paradise - c. 23

Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of her uncle, that she's loved all her life.

(Coaxed You Into Paradise and High Infidelity Rewrite.)

masterlist for this series

Chapter Twenty-Three: Green and White.

Daegon settles beside Helaena, her fingers delicately dancing upon the silken beads of her new creation. “My mother speaks about the marriage between your mother and uncle,” she whispered in her earthly voice. “They were wed, and my father is cross,” he answered. He couldn’t understand his father’s anger - Alyssa told him that their father would never understand them. Harwin was from the Andals, and they were Valryians. Instead, he finds himself understanding his granduncle, Daemon, who has comforted him with every sleepless night. Daemon was his true father, not Harwin. 

“Mother says it isn’t right for a woman to take two husbands.” she mimicked her mother’s rants - he frowns. Queen Alicent was not a Targaryen - she wouldn’t understand them. “It is not wrong, the Seven Gods forbid it - but we are above their customs.” he mumbled, avoiding a conflict of interest with his friend. Helaena hums, and returns her attention to the embroidery. 

She and her siblings were always closer to men than gods. Their voices were hollow and thin, their faces were soft and unstriking. They were not dragons, merely shells of the dragonlords before them. “I suppose, mother rarely makes sense.” she agreed, prickling her finger with a tiny needle. 

A gasp escapes her mouth and Daegon takes her finger gently. “Are you alright?” he inquired, wiping the blood away from her bloodied pointer. “Yes,” she replies - and he takes the embroidery away from her lap. “I’ll do it for you, muña and Alyssa taught me.” he offered, navigating the design with ease. 

Finishing the gold and white dragon.

—

Harwin sits with his legs open, eyes drunkenly staring at his wife. His heart was pounding with betrayal - agony that coursed through his veins. “You have forfeited all rights in being disappointed with me.” she grits her teeth - his eyes were solely focused on her. “Your uncle has lied to you. He wishes to have you, as would any man that has the glory of your presence. There is nothing but respect between me and Rhaenyra.” he lied, pleading his fake innocence. 

She takes a step forward, taller than him by a few inches - as he was sitting down. “Do not lie to me,” she warns. He stands up, his armor clinks - and he stares at her blankly, a hint of desperation in his sad irises. “I have been your dutiful husband. This betrayal is harming me and our children.” he lied, avoiding her eyes. “Our children? Since when have you cared for them?” she antagonized. There was no point in swaying her - not when her decision was already firm. 

“I have loved our children since I first held them in my hands. Two babes that are born because of our love.” he confessed. 

“Rhaenyra’s children are yours, are they not?” she scoffed, his eyes turned to the ground. His lips were pursed, his eyes held nothing but shame. He was silent and sulking - a contract to her body that held nothing but confidence. “I know of the affair between you. I have been idle for all these years because of the vultures that seek my father’s throne. I love my sister, Harwin - and you’ve made it hard to do so.” she explained, fists clenched. 

“I’ve been a horrible husband.” he groans, heart threatening to collapse in his chest. “How can I make it up to you?” he asked, all efforts of reconciliation dying with the flames that came out of Melarys’ mouth. His wife’s anger was dangerous - slow to anger, and slow to forgive. He didn’t want to be at the end of her sword - not when he was still at her mercy. 

“Return to Harrenhal, forget about your life here.” she levied. 

There was a time that she cared for him, but those days were spent - gone with the wind. “You cannot ask me to do that,” he argued. 

“It is what I want,” she interrupted. 

“- I will kill you if you cannot give me that.” 

—

“Betroth your daughter to my grandson.” Otto opened his mouth, lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t a question - it was a demand. “Why should I do that, my lord?” Saera inquired - eyes glaring at his figure. There were lords across the realm aiming for her daughter’s hand, but she wasn’t letting go of Alyssa. 

“War is brewing, you are aware of that.” he pointed, attempting to dominate the conversation. Saera rolls her eyes - he wasn’t smart. “Brewing because?” she interrogated, prepared to bold towards her father’s chambers and accuse his hand of treason. “Aegon is the rightful heir to the iron throne,” Otto began, circling her with confidence. 

“Rhaenyra wishes to be Queen - and you are left defenseless.” he breathed, stating the plain obvious. “Your sister is heir because of decree, and it can be vanquished - because the Lords of Westeros are not in favor of her. Which leaves you where, my lady?” he proposed. 

“Are you suggesting that I help you supplant my sister as heir?” she insinuated, but he shakes his head with a delicate chuckle. 

“I’m merely suggesting a path to safety. We must engage Princess Alyssa to Prince Aemond, it is the only way for peace.” 

—

The fire had grown too high, and Harwin had just recently awoken. Behind him, he could hear his father's screams as he desperately tried to claw his way out of his room. "Father!" he screams as he takes a crowbar and begins prying the metal doors open.

Lord Lyonel bangs his hands upon the wall, "Harwin, leave!" he commanded but his son would not listen. He could not have his father die — the situation at court was a delusional one, they both had to defend their honors and succeed against The Rogue Prince's elusiveness.

"No," he refused as the fire gently stalked towards his foot. "Harwin, as your father. I command you to leave!" Lord Lyonel exclaims as his son continues banging across the door.

Harwin knew that he was powerful — that he was more than capable of saving his loved one. "And as your son, I apologize!" he yells back as he successfully derails the doorknob.

But by this time, the fire had grown too much to bear. He only realized that his flesh was burning, when the ringing in his ear halted.

He screamed loudly — and was brought back to rumors of Harren's Curse. He falls onto the ground, as his father's screams begin to drown out of his ears.

He desperately tries to extinguish the flame in his forearm. Only to fail, and for the fire to reach his entire body.

He yells in agony, as his flesh falls apart.

And with every last breath of Harwin Strong, he was cruelly reminded that those who try to fight fire are only destined to burn.

—

“I leave Princess Alyssa to you, Queen Alicent - may you guide her in my absence.” Saera smiles, placing hand on top of her daughter’s head. They were needed in Harrenhal - to guide her eldest son in his new position as lord of his house. “Are you sure that you don’t want to leave with your mother?” Queen Alicent asks the little girl, and she nods. Alyssa didn’t want to step foot inside of Harrenhal - in fear that her father’s ghosts would come to haunt them. 

Saera gently wiped the tears away from her daughter’s eyes. “We will return - for your nameday and all your cousin’s namedays. You can visit us, if you wish.” she explained, wrapping her arms around Alyssa in a deep embrace. 

“I love you, my dear.” she pressed a kiss on her forehead. 

next chapter>>

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[wholoveseggs]

Why is Daemon your favourite? Feel free to go full rant mode if you wish I’m very interested

Awww thank you Dex! I adore you ♡♡♡

I really went full rant on this one lol~ Had to put a keep reading bar on it because its a bit long...

To start off I'm a massive fan of the books and was beyond excited when they announced they were doing a spin-off about The Dance of the Dragons. Daemon was always a stand out character to me, and I couldn't wait to see him on screen. And when they cast Matt Smith, I... like a lot of people, didn't think he really fit the character.

I. Was. So. Wrong…

The moment I saw him, cocky as fuck, in full armor, I was completely hooked.

But it was more than just his looks that got me. His personality, the way he was so ruthless and so flirty at the same time was amazing. I love the way he's such a wild card, just so chaotic and charismatic.

Daemon's character is so complex and has a lot of layers to him, and I think Matt is amazing at portraying all of them. He just had this thing, this presence, and I was drawn to him instantly.

Is he a bad dude? Absolutely. But that makes him fun to watch. George R. R. Martin describes him as 'a man made of light and darkness in equal parts' and I think that sums up the character so perfectly. George also likes to write about a character being in conflict with themselves, and that's how I see Daemon. He's a bit of a mystery. He's a bad guy, but he's also not. He's a killer but he has his soft side.

I think he perfectly embodies what a Targaryen should be, in the books he's called the last dragonlord, and that's because he is such a nerd for his families unique culture, his brother Viserys loves to read all about the histories... but Daemon lives the lifestyle... He's hot and cold, he's dangerous and loving, he's the ultimate dragon loving bad boy… 

I also love the little moments where he seems like he's a genuinely good person, or tries to be, but his true nature always comes out in the end. There's just this vulnerability in him that makes you care about him, and I just want to give him a hug, and punch him at the same time.

&& Him and Rhaenyra.... I shouldn't like it... it's fucked up, its grooming... its incest... its really wrong... But... its so hot....

I don't want to get into spoilers for fire and blood, but his story ark is fucking incredible and how it ends for him is so insane and I can't wait to see it on screen!

Also, I just adore Matt Smith in everything he does, he so so so fucking talented!! Seeing him as the Doctor on Doctor Who, then Prince Phillip on the crown, and now House of the dragon... The man has incredible range (and he's the best thing about Morbius, he's the only one who understood what kind of movie he was in and he's a hilarious villain..) 

But, to summarize, I love him because he's sexy, funny, charismatic and one of the most complex and intriguing characters in the game of thrones universe.

Also, I have a weakness for any man in medieval armor...

With the short hairrr.. likeeee...... ♡♡♡ take me to dragonstone daddy ♡♡♡

[kateis-cakeis]

"No, it must go free."

"Dragons cannot be used like that! They must be left unshackled, free to roam the earth."

"Dragon’s are magical creatures! They belong to no man! They are for the benefit of all!"

These are Merlin's lines during his confrontation with Borden (34:50 S4Ep4)

I know many in this fandom assume that Aithusa was under Kilgharrah's care after they (using they/them here because of the canon 'he' vs the fanon 'she') were born. But there's nothing to actually suggest that's true.

Instead, with Merlin's lines here, it heavily suggests dragons raise themselves. They go free, unbound from men (even Dragonlords it seems), and are left unshackled - in a world that lets them.

And this is directly seen in S4Ep13 as Aithusa seems to just be hanging about when they fly down to heal Morgana (and while they do fly away after, maybe they just felt the need to check in and got attached to Morgana at some point :P so I don't think it was an explicit betrayal)

Likeeee, let's say this was the Triple Goddess's way of prophecy being like yeah no, to letting Morgana just rot on a forest floor :P

But based off this, I think it's more than likely that dragons in BBC Merlin mirror many lizard species - where they just lay the egg and leave. This seems true and coincides with how Aithusa's egg ended up in a tomb to be protected (hundreds of years before the Great Purge).

And because a Dragonlord is needed to hatch it, this very much seems to be the case - that dragons are not raised but rather left to the wild to fend for themselves.

So Kilgharrah was never looking after Aithusa, and Merlin was never meant to either. Both left Aithusa to their own devices because that's how a dragon is meant to grow and live. On their own.

I know from the deleted scene in S4Ep1 that Daobeth was destroyed by dragons, suggesting that dragons can work together and be known to one another - so it's not like they're entirely solitary.

But I don't know! I think this is one of those things where it's like there's an assumption that's turned into a kinda blame game. (A bit like how some people believe in that Kilgharrah theory that feels sooo out of place to canon and the real story of the show).

Anyway, here's a different interpretation that doesn't put the blame on Merlin, or Kilgharrah, or Aithusa. Little dragon is allowed to make mistakes!

And hell, Kilgharrah's theory about Aithusa doesn't have to be wrong, 'the light of the sun' being a positive and fitting meaning could simply be about a new dragon at all. It could be about post canon even. There's a lot there, Kilgharrah only had a theory, he literally says 'I believe'. Cut him some slack!

sdfhhsdf all this to say, I think you can do some fun worldbuilding with dragons based off canon, and this is just one example of that.

Dragons roam free and have no parents :D It's fine, that's nature and magic ;)

[nashiriel]

Figured I'd ask this here so as not to bog down my comment.

How would it go if Baela got her way on that Dragonstone double wedding?

Would she wake the other three up like "come on" like somethings happening... only what's happening is there weddings with a very befuddled if willing to along with this priest?

Jace unwilling to say no now that their here, Luke thinking Rhaena may still be with him on this but her face has gone all "oh but we'd be married" so Luke's pretty sure he's getting married?

(Rhaena complaining later because bedding ceremonies usually involve beds Baela...not travel cloaks on sand...)

That's certainly one way it could have gone!

Rhaenyra is not amused when the guards catch them sneaking back in, and of course Jace gets the biggest earful as official eldest daughter figure! Luckily, Mysaria's on Dragonstone to audition to be their new stepmother provide debriefing for the situation in King's Landing, and points out they may as well spin PR gold out of dross.

So you have a big deal being made of Rhaenyra's entirely legitimate sons being wed to their cousins like the dragonlords of old (anything Alicent's kids can do, Rhaenyra's can do better), with heavy emphasis on the new dynasty being secured. Perhaps a singer or two getting whistled up to emphasise the romance in the politics (Lady Rhaena, so beautiful and pure of heart that Prince Lucerys remained true to her no matter the treacherous demands of Storm's End, who FYI, have fully justified their kinsmen using lethal force for it! Prince Jacaerys and Princess Baela, who wed in the fashion of Jaehaerys and Alysanne and are truly their like come again...which really makes Aegon II the new Maegor needing to be kicked off the throne).

Perhaps too, a few of Mysaria's agents spreading word in the taverns and other choice corners of King's Landing to emphasise it - "Ah, Prince Jacaerys, so noble, so true to his lady wife! How unlike his uncle...oh, good ser, had you not heard the stories of what happens to any of those poor girls in the Keep who catch King Aegon's eye?"

Having both zero experience with human or dragon mating and the emotional regulation of a toddler, the Cannibal doubles down on his efforts to remain the centre of Luke's attention. Much like other domestic pets exhibiting jealousy, involves trying to physically butt in between Luke and Rhaena when he sees them interacting (Rhaena learns to develop lightning-fast reflexes to prevent getting crushed), performing tricks even without being commanded (look, Luke, his flamestrikes are so good, he can hit Silverwing at three hundred paces :D), and being a Provider (Luke still doesn't understand why he keeps getting rotting corpses chucked at him).

As a married woman, Rhaena has a (tiny) bit more status and autonomy, and is desperate to not be shunted off to the safety of the Vale...so likely she makes a pitch to go to Driftmark instead, so that she can learn the ropes as its future lady and ensure that one of the main branch are present while Luke, Corlys and Rhaenys are all at war. And you know, the attempt with Silverwing didn't work, but there's another dragon on the island if she fancies her chances...

Though, of course, Otto is still making advances to the Triarchy in the background, so who knows how that works out for her?

And on that topic...

Aegon is massively amused by the news and spends a council session cracking sleazy jokes and crudely envisioning the likelihood of Jace sexually satisfying Baela. It's not until he starts speculating how a pair as shy as Luke and Rhaena managed to get the job done that Aemond ends up cracking the council's orb in two with his grip, and abruptly deciding he and Vhagar have a new trip to make to strengthen the ongoing war effort...

[calisources]

MERLIN TV SHOW SENTENCE QUOTE MEME. all of these are taken from different source pages from the tv show, merlin. change pronouns, names and anything you see fit.

“Look, I’ve told you you’re an ass. I just didn’t realize you were a royal one.”

“How small you are, for such a great destiny.”

“I could take you apart with one blow.”

“If anyone wants to go and kill him they can go ahead. In fact, I’ll give them a hand.”

 ”None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin. And none of us can escape it.”

”I know I’m just a servant and my word doesn’t count for anything. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I want you to swear to me, what you’re telling me is true.”

"A half cannot hate what truly makes it whole."

“You’re strange. Uh, I don’t mean that in a nasty way. You’re just… funny. I like that.”

"You are but one side of a coin. Arthur is the other."

"I just want someone to see me for what I am."

“Sometimes you have to do what is right and damn the consequences.”

“I can’t order you to lie to the king, but you’ll be a friend for life if you do.”

"You belong at Arthur’s side. I’ve seen how much he needs you; how much you need him. You're like two sides of the same coin."

 "This is no time to be a hero, Merlin. It really doesn't suit you."

"I'm happy to be your servant, until the day I die."

"Well, I know you. You’re a great warrior. One day, you’ll be a great king."

“I warn you, I’ve been trained to kill since birth.”

“I cannot stay when there’s no longer a use for me.”

“Well, I’m not a knight yet, my lady.”

“The choice was mine. My punishment is mine to bear and mine to bear alone.”

“I am a dragonlord, it is my sacred duty to protect the last of the dragons.”

“There is no evil in sorcery, only in the hearts of men. My request is that you remember this”

"I Was Fearful That I Might Injure You, Sire."

"The King Is Dead. Long Live The Queen!"

"As long as I live, my feelings for you will never fade."

"I would die for you one hundred times over. Live for me, or everything that I am has been for nothing."

"I have thought of you often.Have you thought of me at all? "

"No matter what it takes, I'll find a way to get you out of here."

" I'm not leaving you. No. I will not leave you here to die."