#helaena my poor love

[rhaenyrathecruell]

The grief I feel for both rhaenyra and healana is soul shattering. They both lost their babies. Luke was so pure and he deserved better. Healana should’ve married Jace. He would’ve looked at her spiders :(

[beware-of-pity]

You believe me like a god (I destroy you like I am) I

Masterlist

- Next

Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Summary:

Your family was dead; everyone had been killed. The war had been fought, many had died, and the victor had ascended the throne in the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Everyone was dead…..except you, your mother and your little niece, Jaehaera.

TW: Self-hatred/Implied Self Harm. Complicated family relations. The reader is a Targtower.

A/N: This is a blend of both the show and the book, so if most characterisations (mostly the greens) don't add up to you, it's because of that. (since the show has been....something, as of late). Also, Silverwing is your dragon, for story's sake.

Cross-posted on Ao3

. 𓆰♕𓆪

Chapter I: I fell in love with a war (nobody told me it ended)

Your family was dead; everyone had been killed. 

The war had been fought, many had died, and the victor had ascended the throne in the name of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. 

Everyone was dead…..except you, your mother and your little niece, Jaehaera.

After the Blacks captured the capital and killed your brother Aegon and the rest of your family, your sister ruled the Seven Kingdoms unchallenged. Prince Jacaerys, her son and your nephew, was named the prince of Dragonstone in front of the whole of the realm. Her other sons were given high places of honour at her court, her family was praised and became the subject of songs and tales through the realm, while you and your remaining family became royal afterthoughts. 

Rhaenyra had been unsure of what to do with you when she had taken hold of the capital. At the time, you had the comfort of your older sister Helaena, who you comforted and held most of the time, especially after she had fallen into the grief of madness at the death of her eldest son. She had allowed you relative freedom, more than your mother was allowed, as she had been confined and chained to the dungeons of the keep, gaining her the name ‘The Queen in Chains’. In her ways, you suppose, she had tried to get close to you in an effort to reconcile the break the war had caused to your family, and despite how you had never seen her in the same way your mother had all her life, you remained unresponsive to her approaches. The wounds were too deep, and you weren’t sure you could forgive what had taken place the night Blood and Cheese stormed the castle, even with the knowledge that she had not been the one to orchestrate the siege but rather your uncle Daemon, in the name of revenge for the death of your nephew Lucerys. 

But when Helaena had thrown herself off the highest window of the keep, losing her life after getting impaled by the spikes surrounding it, Rhaenyra had given up hope for reconciliation.  Helaena was the closest family member you had, after your mother, never properly gettin' along with your brothers, except for Daeron. Safe to say, her death had broken you and left you unresponsive to each news of peril coming to your faction. 

When the news of Aemond’s death at the end of your uncle Daemon reached you, you did not shed a tear, and when Daeron died you said you had no time for them. They would be futile, tears did not reach the dead, after all. 

Amidst bloodshed and warmongering, there was but one person you allowed in the solitude your life had taken hold of; Your nephew, Jacaerys. 

It was he who had dismissed the attempts of his mother’s council of sending you away to Old Town to become a Septa or making you a lady in waiting to his step-sisters Baela and Rhaena, who they too took no comfort in the notion. You were their prisoner, yes, but no one must forget that you and Jaehaera were their family, of royal blood, and with peace now upon the realm, proving discord lingering still was not how the House of the Dragon would rebuild itself.  

Jacaerys had convinced them to keep you hostage, using you to keep in line the great houses that had fought alongside the greens - but that was a notion he used only for his allies and councillors. You were more than just a hostage for him, always having been. You were his aunt, one he cherished so. 

Since you were the same age, you had grown up together. You shared a wet nurse in infancy and were often taught your lessons by the same measter. 

You never shared the same dislike your brothers had for him and his brothers, and even so, you thought the notion of Jacaerys stealing Aegon and Aemond’s birthrights, which they and your mother believed in, to be utterly ridiculous. He couldn’t steal something that was not theirs in the first place; he got what he had from his mother, your sister, who had rights over the iron throne long before they were even born. To say you were heartbroken when your sister had taken residence on Dragonstone, taking her children with her, would be an understatement. You were more pained when the next time you saw him was the same night Aemond lost his eye. 

Aemond played the helpless victim of a deliberate attack by your nephews and cousins in public as he spouted devious words about them in private while gloating at his great accomplishment, claiming Vaghar for the greens. Words you tried to reprimand him for, which, in turn, turned his anger to you. It’s not that you didn’t condone his lost eye, but for him to be rid of guilt and his part in the ordeal always ticked you in the wrong way. His anger had always been his least strong suit, narcissism only growing from there, thinking himself invincible, which only resulted in him making rush decisions that gained him but a brief advantage, such as marching to Harrenhall and leaving King’s Landing undefended, giving the perfect opening for your sister to fly and claim as her own. 

You had been among the few asking for Aegon to send for peace. The damage was done, the throne was usurped, though everyone refused to call it so, and you couldn’t do anything about that. When Helaena suggested peace terms, she did so with your support as well as that of your mother and grandmaster Orwyle.

 But Aemond had to go and ruin everything. 

You thought of escaping then, wanting to bring Helaena and her little ones along, flying on Silverwing and Dreamfyre to Dragonstone, bending the knee and seeking protection before Rhaenyra’s wrath befell your family. But how could you? Helaena and you had been separated from Rhaenyra since you two were young, occasionally seeing her when her family visited King’s Landing, you didn’t know the woman or how she would react to you showing up at her doorsteps. 

Besides, you two had been securely under Alicent's thumb for your whole lives, and the thought of your mother thinking you a traitor filled you with panic. You couldn’t betray her or make her believe you had. You and Helaena had been robbed of autonomy your entire lives, but you did try to help Rhaenyra when you two could. So, when Helaena was punished alongside Aegon for something Aemond had done, you felt all the more guilty for not having done more for your siblings. 

If before you had been worried about losing everything, now that you had nothing, you spent your days mute, not doing anything. When your mother was allowed to visit, you turned her away, not wanting to hear of her maddening and secretive plans to place you or Jaehaera on the throne. 

You were told she mostly cried, ripped her old gowns and threw the books given to her out of the windows of her room. You cared for her still, but not enough to deal with her when you too were not doing any better. 

You were not allowed outside, in case you tried an escape, unless Jacaerys or a group of guards accompanied you. You were not allowed to dine with everyone in the great hall and most of all you were deprived of Silverwing. The last you saw or rode her was before Rhaenyra had taken King’s Landing…..and how long ago was that? A year….two? You couldn’t tell….you had lost perception of time.

Jacaerys always proved courteous and kind, just as he had before the war. Even when you were stripped of your room and placed in a smaller one, your staff diminished to only a few trusted maids of his mother, and your gowns relegated to simple, black ones, he always made sure you had everything you needed, which you were grateful for. What he couldn’t give you though, was the thing that pained you the most. 

He brought you books, needles and points to pass your time, and kept you company when he was free of his duties. But it was all futile, nothing could quelch the sting of pain in your heart. 

You wandered the halls like a ghost, the black of your gowns making you blend in the darkness. Some say you were dead inside or having died the day your sister had. Nevertheless, Jacaerys’ attempts at bringing light to your life never ceased. He brought you flowers which you kept in vases in your room, but that with barely any light or air in the smallness of it all, died by the days. As so, he’d let you plant your flowers in the gardens of the Keep. Even though you barely spoke after the death of your entire family, taking care of the flowers made you happy.

You were allowed to bring Jaehaera with you, the little girl taking to you as if you were her mother, and if you were mute, she was another case altogether. Jaehaera was born tiny and slow to grow. She did not cry or smile or act as babies normally would. Her lack of emotion continued as she grew older. She is sweet but a simple girl in mind.  She loved the flowers you planted, which you encouraged for her to pick and take with her to her room.

You two were often asked to attend court, to remember others of your presence and what they meant. Jaehaera would clutch your hand as you held hers, standing as close to you as she could and more so she could hide behind the panels of your skirt. Those days were those she dreaded most; she hated being looked at, especially by so many people, but your presence beside her gave her enough strength and courage to withstand the ordeal. 

Those were also the days you had begun begging your sister to allow you for things. You would kneel, if necessary, in front of the iron throne which she sat upon, asking her in front of the eyes of the court to allow you for simple things, the simple pleasures you had long forgotten the taste of, such as one more gown for you or Jaehaera, the companionship of more maids, or for you to see your dragon.

She would accept every request of yours except for the last, she never accepted the last. But you held the same stubbornness every Targaryen was born with, one she had, and saw in her children too. Your requests became more frequent, sometimes, they were frantic, at times, you cried, while at others, you just asked with the monotony of a dead woman. How low of you, some thought, a royal princess, the daughter of a King long gone, having to beg her sister on her knees. 

While it pained Rhaenyra to turn you down, the pain you felt was one she would never understand. Jacaerys would watch from the sideline all the time, knowing he couldn’t interject with his mother’s word, but none of it made it easier for him to see you so torn down by the reality which you now lived in.

So, one night, he went to his mother, suggesting the one thing he could only come up with.

“Let me take her on Vermax” he had said “if you’re worried about her flying away, with me beside her and on a dragon not of her own, she surely will have nowhere else to go”

Rhaenyra couldn’t object to her son’s words, as so, she relented, though not without a few warnings and orders on her part, which Jacaerys was more than happy to relent to. 

At last, when he came to your room the morning after, he did so with an air so light, it startled you. 

“You wouldn’t mind dressing in your riding fit, would you?” He asked, taking you by slight surprise 

“What do you mean?” You didn’t know if he was making fun of you, and if he were you thought he was doing so in a really bad taste

“I want you to come ride with me” he walked closer, taking your hand in his “Fly on Vermax with me. I know you wish to take to the skies, and Mother has agreed to my request,” he said.

Vermax was small, having grown only to the size of a middle-sized dragon. When you sat upon his saddle, which was tight for two people, such as you and Jacaerys, you only reminisced about Silverwing’s leathery one. Only having to hang around the handle, not being able to pull at the reins or command the dragon, only deepened your yearning for the many rides you had taken in the past and the freedom to do so again. 

You had thanked him, but the gratitude felt hollow when your heart ached so much, and perhaps he had seen through you too. You felt guilty for complaining about such an opportunity and the rarity you had been given. You should be grateful, but what was here to be grateful for when you were a caged bird, in a golden cage, whose wings were ripped from its body? 

You had become hot-tempered, wishing harm on others and yourself, cursing in despair, and picking up one of your mother’s most destroying traits, her nail picking. Your cuticles were often raw and bloody from you either picking at or chewing at them. You did the same to your lips, pulling at the dead skin, drawing blood, the sting making you hiss and following you for days.

You ordered for the curtains of your room not to be drawn, preferring the glow of candles and the scent of incense, even during the day. You visited the sept, the royal one in the Red Keep, not the Grand one in the city, always followed closely by your Septa and guard, lighting candles for the lost souls of your family and for those that had fought for you.

You picked at your food, often leaving it untouched; you had no fondness for meat and mead, leaving you famished and pushing down food when your stomach was begging you for substance. 

Eating yourself alive was the last thing you thought you would be doing if you were to look into your future long ago, but now even the feel of your skin made your fingers crawl over it with the intent to rip and tear apart. How hypocritical of you to send your mother away because of her descent into madness when you were carrying yourself down your own. 

But you weren’t mad, you were unhappy, and unhappy people often were also depressed, which you were.

You only wanted to be happy, to be free, to do as you pleased after years of having been conditioned to the bids of others. First, it was your mother’s, and now they were Rhaenyra’s and her family's. You dream of a time when you could live for the simple pleasure of living, not someone else’s life but your own, not the one others envisioned for you but the one you dreamt for yourself. To breathe the open air, to walk where you wished, whenever you wished so. 

Was it so wrong of you?

The gods are cruel, that’s why they’re gods, and the curse of your family being usurpers now laid all on you. You suffered from the sins which your mother perpetuated, from those her own father sowed the seeds he planted with his ambitions in the dirt laid and worked by your ancestors. You held the rage of all those women before you, your mother’s, her mother’s too, that of your sister and the people at her heel and call. 

All because of who you were. 

[my--strange--world--sg]

Do you know what I imagine? I think there will be a juxtaposition between Blood And Cheese and possibly a Jacegan scene, not only would it be cool because of the Jacegan (Well, actually it would be cool if it was just Jacegan, hehe), but it would show us a contrast while some suffer (My poor Helaena) and others enjoy (Jace, my prince), something like they put a knife to Helaena's neck and then we are shown a scene in which Jace receives a kiss on the neck, maybe I'm a little delusional, but you know? I don't mind.

S.G.

[iambecomeafangirl]

My poor bby Alicent 💔

[nicksolemnlyswears]

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME

(HAELENA’S TURN)

STAY WITH US

pairing: helaena targaryen x targaryen! reader, aegon targaryen x targaryen! reader

word count: ~3k

warnings: spoilers for s2e2 of HoTD, mentions of murder and death of a child, light cursing, angsty helaena, one single mention of sex. dont @ me if you find a haelena instead of a helaena. targaryen names are much too complicated for my brain

a/n: thank you guys for all the love on aegon's oneshot. i was bouncing on the walls when i saw how much love it received and that some people agree with me in terms of alicent being a shit mom. that being said you dont really have to read the first part to read this. it works as a stand alone although it is a continuation.

although the inspiration to write these oneshots was the death of a child i love how soft and comforting they've come out. it's about sympathizing and giving these characters the love they deserve.

helaena deserves so much love even more than aegon. she's an innocent in all of this trapped in the midst of war. hell even rhaenyra agrees and scolded daemon for his misdoings.

im thinking of writing one last part where it is all three of them together: reader, aegon and helaena. i'm leaning towards smut but i never know what my brain will come up with. if you’d rather have some more domestic fluffy stuff let me know and that can be arranged!

enjoy!

Your fingers close around your skirts as you fly up the stairs to Helaena's bed chambers. One of her maids leads the way. The young girl sought you out as you readied for bed, rambling about how Queen Helaena was in distress. Without further question, you slipped on your robe and followed her.

The Queen has not been well since the night her child was brutally taken from her. She continues to live day by day in constant suffering as her mind has a difficult time coming to terms with that night's events.

As it happens, saying Helaena is 'not well' is an understatement.

She might've been 'not well' after the fact, but the funeral proceedings broke the last thread of sense she was holding onto. If anyone is to blame, it is the Dowager Queen who forced her to attend and Otto Hightower who was the 'mastermind' behind it all.

It was torture to hear the people of Kings Landing shouting for her, screaming vile words about Rhaenyra, and offering condolences about a subject they barely knew a thing about.

Most had never seen the young Prince; his cold body and the gold thread around his neck were their first glimpses of him. They gasped and awed at her child as if he were a spectacle while she had no choice but to sit and watch with composure.

It is only natural she would fall apart under the pressure of such ill-conceived plans. Her overthinking mind couldn't handle it any longer when the carriage got stuck. Her thoughts coming up with the most of wicked scenarios. She had to run.

Then, there is Jaehaera, who continues to ask for her twin brother. The poor girl has never spent a day apart from him since they were conceived. It is difficult for Helaena to hear Jaehaera constantly ask where he is and when he will return. It's a never ending reminder of her loss.

Besides, how is she to explain death to a child when Helaena herself has not accepted it.

The newly assigned guard sworn to protect the Queen opens the door for you as soon as you round the corner. His anticipation worries you to no end, and you fear what lies past those doors.

Maids surround Helaena, attempting to comfort her. She screams at them to let her be, but they persist. The maids mean well. Helaena is clearly distressed, yet they don't seem to realize it's because of their overbearing presence.

The young Queen swats them away. Her fingers thread through her messy hair as she seeks an escape, and sobs rake through her slender body until she collapses on her knees. Her lips move in unreadable murmurs in between each yell.

Helaena barely appears like herself. Dark purple circles line her under eyes, and her hair is unbrushed and knotted. Her signature plump cheeks have hollowed out, indicating that she has lost weight.

"Please," Helaena cries to no one in particular, recoiling from their touch.

You barrel through the maids and kneel on the floor at an arms length from Helaena. "'Laena?" you softly call to get her to look at you, knowing that if you even attempt to touch her, she will shy away.

At the recognition of your voice, Helaena's face whips up. She falls into your arms, hiding from the other females in the room. The tears that stain her face wet your robe as you hold her close. She tucks her face into your neck, hiccuping from emotion.

"Leave us," you command with a stern gaze that borders on anger.

The maids move to leave the room, but only after notifying you that the Queen has barely eaten or bathed in days. Once the door closes shut, you coax Helaena from your arms.

"What is wrong, 'Laena?" You ask softly, cradling her face to brush away her tears. The sight of her red and blotchy face breaks your heart. She must've been like this for a long time.

"It is my fault," she hiccups as new tears follow the path of the others. Helaena hangs her head in despair. She should've fought harder to keep her son alive. There must've been something else she could've done.

"Look at me," you say sternly, forcing her to look at you. It is when her eyes meet yours that you continue, "This is not your fault."

"I was the one to point my finger," she argues while her fists clench and unclench around the fabric of her dress when a new wave of emotion takes over.

Helaena is an overly emotional person. She feels things deep in her chest. She wishes she could control it, but the more she holds it in, the nastier it gets when it gets out of her control. Her body freezes and pleads for her to run and hide.

"Helaena, this was going to happen whether you pointed your finger or not. If you hadn't done what you did, you and Jaehaera would be dead as well."

It's blunt and a bit cruel, but Helaena must understand that she had no other choice. The only way this could've been stopped was if she had been assigned a sworn protector, but the council underestimated their enemy and Ser Criston Cole was too busy getting his cock wet to do anything about it.

"I told them to spare him and kill me instead," Helaena confesses with a weep.

She lets herself go on your shoulder as you wrap your arms around her shaking shoulders. You kiss the top of her head to console her guilty conscience. Helaena did not deserve to be a victim of Daemon's terrible idea. She might just be the most innocent of Targaryens.

"I know, Helaena, you were so brave. You're a wonderful mother. This is not your fault, and nobody blames you. You did what you had to do. Jaehaera is alive and well because of you."

It's hard for Helaena to stop thinking in such a way once she starts. The thoughts cause her to imagine things that aren't really there and doubt her reality. She feels like the staff's glances are not of worry but of resentment for letting those men kill her boy. Aegon's absence makes it all the worse.

"Aegon will not look at me, much less speak to me," she whimpers, wrapping her arms around your waist.

A tear slides down your cheek. You will never compare your sadness to theirs, but seeing them hurt in such a way pains you. Their marriage was arranged, yes, but Aegon and Helaena hold deep affection for each other. They simply have a difficult time showing it.

In this instance, there is no one who understands them better than each other. It is tragic but this should bring them closer together not tear them apart.

"Aegon is grieving. He can barely stand to look at himself because he feels like he failed his family, 'Laena. I promise you he will come around."

Helaena nods with her head on your shoulder. She is not convinced, but your words soothe her for the time being. Tears continuously slide down her face, and there is nothing you can do about it. You much prefer she cries it all out than hold it in.

"Come," you tell her, holding her hand and guiding her to the bath the maids had prepared before they left. "Let's get you ready for bed.”

You keep her close to you, reassuring Helaena you're there to stay as long as she needs. You help her untie the strings of her dress, and as you hang it over the back of a chair, she slips out of her smallclothes.

She accepts your hand to step into the bath. The water has now cooled, but she doesn't complain. It is the least of her worries. Helaena sits in the tub with her arms around her knees and silently cries.

Your goal tonight is to get her to rest. You can tell she hasn't slept in a long time, which will make her feel better.

Settling on the wooden stool next to the bath, you lather soap into the sponge and ask for her arm. Helaena complies, and you gently swipe the sponge across her skin. The maids were thorough as the smell of a calming oils invades your senses. They sincerely wanted to help their Queen.

Scrubbing down her arm, you note her nailbeds, which are red and raw. You're gentle with the soap when you reach her hand to prevent it from burning. Once you rinse it out, you bring her hand up to your lips, kissing her fingertips much like your mother would do when you got hurt.

Her crying calms when she catches onto your gesture, watching you in awe.

It is easy to note how she's thinned out as you continue to bathe her. Her skin presses against her ribs, showcasing each indent, and the bony prominences of her shoulders are much more palpable. It worries you to no end. Everyone has different coping mechanisms, but this is by far the unhealthiest one.

In the morrow, you will make it your goal to get her to eat. For a start, you will ask the kitchens to bake her favorite dessert. There has never been a moment where Helaena has refused a berry tart.

"Tilt your head back for me, love," you whisper, grabbing the pitcher of clean water from the table. Brushing Helaena's hair back, you pour the water, being careful not to get it in her eyes.

As she tilts her head back, she keeps her watchful eyes on you. She is in one of the most intimate positions, yet her lilac eyes reveal the most vulnerable parts of herself. You offer Helaena a comforting smile. Moving on from this tragic accident will be difficult, but we have to start somewhere.

When you lather her hair with soap and massage her scalp, she closes her eyes with a shudder. In turn, her shoulders relax, and goosebumps appear across her skin. A quiet moan slipping past her bitten lips.

Moving on to her face, Helaena watches you closely as you grab a rag to wash her face. You're so careful and tender with her. She has not made mention of it, but your touch feels pleasant against her skin.

You dab her neck next, looking over the wound that was cast upon her. You wish for it not to scar. Helaena needs no more reminders of that night.

After finishing the bath, you help her stand and dry off. Then, you follow her to the bed, where her nightgown lies discarded. With your assistance, she quickly slips it on. Helaena is quiet as she dresses; no more tears well up in her eyes.

"Let's brush your hair," you whisper soothingly.

Delicately, you glide the brush through her silver strands. You tackle the knots methodically to prevent pulling on her hair. A couple of drops of rose oil help greatly with the task as the bristles move smoothly across the long length of her hair.

Helaena sighs softly, and, through the mirror, you can see her eyes are closed. The poor thing must be exhausted.

"How are you feeling?" You ask her, tying the plait you weaved and wrapping your arms around her shoulders. You prop your head upon hers, cuddling her into you.

"Better, I suppose," she nods gratefully, grasping your hand hanging loosely across her chest. "I am tired," she admits.

"Let's get you to bed then."

Before you can slip away, Helaena protests and holds your wrist. "No, please." You're taken aback by the desperation in her voice. Why is she refusing to rest when her body begs for it?

"Helaena, when was the last time you slept?"

Helaena appears guilty. She swallows the knot on her throat, preparing to answer. "Not since that night. The nightmares do not allow me respite."

You sit beside her on the bench, keeping a firm grasp on her hand. "Do you wish to speak about them? It might help."

Her voice is barely above a whisper. "It's always the same. They return when the nights darkest and take Jaehaera."

Helaena is terrified. Many of her dreams have become reality, and this is one she would not be able to bear witness to. The things they do in her dreams are unforgivable. She cannot lose her daughter to those monsters.

Silence takes upon the room. Helaena cannot survive in a sleep deprived state, there must be something you can do. "What if we bring her here? She can sleep with you. That way, you will know she's safe."

Helaena ponders your suggestion, her eyes drifting away. "Will you stay?" Although a question the way Helaena's voice cracks, it's more of a plead.

"Is that what you wish, my Queen?" You ask, caressing her cheek so she returns to you from that faraway place in her mind.

She's quick to nod and squeeze your hand in gratitude. "Please," she whispers, leaning into your touch.

"Anything for you."

Helaena accompanies you to Jaehaera's new chambers. The King saw it fit Jaehaera did not reside in the room where her twin brother was murdered. A wise choice.

If your memory serves you well, Jace used to inhabit the space once upon a time.

Helaena almost runs to her daughter's cot, ensuring she's alive and well. You sympathize with her, it's natural to worry about your child if another was stolen from your life.

"Mama," Jaehaera yawns when Helaena picks her up.

"You're sleeping with mummy tonight, yeah?" Helaena whispers, cradling the back of her head and kissing the crown of her head.

Jaehaera, too tired to reason or even question it, nods and nestles into the crook of Haelena's neck. The sight is eerily similar to that fateful night.

The guard posted to protect Jaehaera escorts you to the Queen's chambers, standing on the opposite side of Helaena's white cloak guard.

Once inside, you slip off your robe and join her and Jaehaera on the bed. The girl is safely nestled between you both, pale lashes fluttering shut.

Helaena reaches for your hand to ensure you do not leave, and you lace your fingers with hers. "Sleep, 'Laena. I'll keep you safe," you promise her.

All it takes for Helaena to sleep is a lullaby your mother used to sing to you. It was of great tales of the people of Old Valyria. It was your favorite growing up, and now it is Helaena's.

By the song's end, Helaena's breaths even out and she succumbs to slumber. Although her face reflects her tiredness, the resemblance between Helaena and Jaehaera is stark.

When your eyes begin to close, eager to follow Helaena and Jaehaera to the land of dreams, the door creaks open. Startled, you sit up on the bed to search for an intruder, ready to scream if need be.

Aegon stands by the door, his chest heaving and his face pale. His hair is in disarray, and his eyes are wild with worry. "Where is Jaehaera?" he asks.

"She's right here," you respond, lowering the sheets and moving your body to reveal her resting upon Helaena's chest.

Aegon sighs in relief, and after a moment of hesitation, he timidly steps closer to the bed, observing the scene in front of him. He has taken to visiting his daughter's chambers throughout the night. He doesn't trust the guards, even if he is the one who assigned them. Aegon needs to see with his own eyes that his remaining child is alive and not endangered.

He had been frightened when the guard who was supposed to be posted by her door was gone, and worse, so was his daughter. Before he could scream, a maid walked in and, upon questioning, told him Jaehaera was in the Queen's chambers with her mother and the Princess.

You lay back against the headboard and observe him. He sits on the edge of the bed, reaching over you to brush a strand of hair away from his wife's face. Then, his hand lowers as his fingertip traces the slope of his daughter's nose.

"You should talk to her."

Helaena's words are clear as day in your mind. After witnessing Aegon in the same position, you reckon it would be good if they spoke to one another.

"I wouldn't know what to say," Aegon responds with a shake of his head.

"Yes, you do," you insist, resting your hand upon his, which lays on the bed. He glances questioningly at you, silently asking you to explain.

Your voice is light and soft. The last thing you want is to wake Helaena, although your instincts tell you it is doubtful. "Nobody understands what you're going through better than Helaena. She lost a child as well and feels just as hopeless as you do. Talk to her and tell her the words you would've liked to hear."

"It is that easy?" He asks in disbelief with a scoff. He looks at you for guidance. You've helped him more than anyone in the council or his own mother.

"Yes," you chuckle, and he joins you, if only for a moment. "Would you like me to go so you can stay?" You wouldn't want to intrude in a moment that can unite a family yet again.

Aegon shakes his head and urges you to stay abed. "It is alright. I will soon talk with 'Laena."

For a brief moment, Aegon presses his forehead against yours to show his appreciation. He stands with a press of his lips to your forehead and one more glance at his family. "Thank you for everything. I hope one day I can repay you for all your kindness."

"There's no need."

He does not speak but shares a glance that says a thousand words. Aegon closes the door behind him and turns to the guards standing by it.

Their backs visibly straighten when he addresses them. "Under no circumstance are you to leave your post. Your goal is to protect the Queen and the Princesses."

After all, his heart and soul are in that room.

STAY WITH US

came out a little longer than aegon but there was much to do with lovely helaena. queen helaena is a big reason as to why i hate alicent so much. alicent has let her down time and time again. how can she fucking ask helaena not to say anything about her and cole? fuck, alicent, she's not even thinking about that.

did you enjoy this one shot? please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept keyboard smashes, emojis, words of encouragement, praise, virtual hugs and alicent and cole slander) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

[entitled-fangirl]

The crown.

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!wife!reader

Summary: the reader must attend the coronation of her mother's usurper. At least Aemond eases the blow.

A/n: this is so short but too long to be a drabble so 🤷‍♀️

Masterlist

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

She stood next to Aemond. Not confident, as he was. Not nervous, as Helaena was. Not arrogant as Otto. 

She wasn't like any of them, really.

How could she be, she was a Velaryon. 

She was married to Aemond when they were both five and ten. It was Rhaenyra's idea. She wished to bridge the gap between the families. 

And the two grew to love each other well. 

But like all marriages, there came strife.

Like Aegon usurping the throne. 

So there they stood, watching as Aegon walked through the crowd to be coronated.

Aemond looked to his wife, his fingers reaching to brush hers. His voice was soft in her ear, "Please pretend to be joyful. At least give me that."

She turned her face to him, their breaths mixing. "You'd have me lie?"

He hummed. "I'll not see what happens to you if you do not. I will not allow it."

…

She opened her eyes, cringing when the light from the window blinded her. 

Giving a light yawn, she stretched and sat up in the bed. 

Aemond had already left. 

It was not uncommon. His favorite time to spar was the morning. 

She waited a while, frowning when her handmaiden never came in to help her dress. 

She stood on shaky legs and moved to the door. 

Locked. 

She shook in vigorously. "Ser Erryk?!"

No response. 

She banged her fist on the door. "Please."

She stepped back, growing frustrated. "I am locked inside!"

"Ser Erryk?"

"Aemond?"

"Please! Take me to my husband!"

She finally sighed and tried one last effort, placing her hand gently on the door, "I do not know what I have done. Please."

When nothing came, she huffed and moved to dress herself.

…

"What?" Aemond asked lowly.

"The Princess, your grace. She has been calling for you."

He shrugged. "Why? She can come to me. She knows that."

"Her door has been locked, my prince."

His gaze hardened. "You've locked her inside our chambers?"

"By the Hand's command, my prince," Ser Erryk said. His eyes held remorse. 

"Why was I not made aware of this?" Aemond growled. "She is my wife. If she is of any consequence, it should be mine! If she wishes out of her room, bring her to me."

"Yes, Prince Aemond."

…

Aemond spent the next hour holding her as she wept. 

Her grandsire gone. Her mother's right taken from her. 

And this poor girl was stuck in the midst of it all.

"You and I both know… V…Viserys did not… want this," she cried into his chest. 

He hummed in thought. "No. But it does not change its coming."

"Your family sees no reason," she sniffled.

"Hey," he warned lowly as he cupped her cheeks to force her to look at him. "Our family. You must be more Hightower than Velaryon now."

"I hold none of your mother's blood in me, Aemond."

"If you stay a Velaryon, you will not last. You are married to me. You have my name. You have my titles. You have everything."

"I have you. I shall make that enough, dear husband."

…

She felt tears form in her eyes as the crown was placed on Aegon's head. 

The crowd cheered, but she saw nothing. 

A rubble stirred through the ground and the silver hair siblings all gazed at one another in confusion.

Rhaenys and Meleys emerged from below the boards, causing a shake to move though the building. 

Gasps and screams were heard.

Aemond's eye widened, and he immediately was on guard. 

Alicent moved to Aegon, shielding him from the dragon's jaws. 

In turn, Ser Criston shifted himself between the dowager queen and Helaena, ready to interfere anywhere he needed to.

But only when Meleys turned her head did Aemond move. 

He grabbed his wife's wrist in a desperate grip, pulling her behind him as his other hand was held near his sword.

They watched as Rhaenys and Alicent stared at one another, waiting for the other to make a move first. 

Meleys reared back, preparing herself to attack.

When her great jaws opened and they believed fire would escape from it, Aemond turned completely to his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist and the other holding her head against him. He was intent on shielding her from the horrors that laid on the other side of his body.

But when a mighty roar came from the dragon instead, Aemond relaxed slightly. His hands remained, but his body was eased. 

He turned when Meleys finished. His eye met Rhaenys'. It was clear she was thinking about something. Not something, someone. 

His wife stood behind him still, her eyes peeking over his sturdy shoulders. 

Rhaenys tilted her head at the sight of the two of them, mourning the loss of Rhaeynra's daughter to the Hightowers.

And Meleys flew away.

Aemond let out a breath, pulling her head to him to kiss the crown of it. 

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

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and claiming Cannibal

This is sort of an offshoot of my Being the Daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen where Reader claims Cannibal instead of Tessarion. Thanks to @katiekatluvz for giving me the idea! Sorry for the long wait I finally have time to write after exams!

Minor Rhaenyra x Reader (platonic)

This happens before Aemond looses his eye.

This was dangerous, possibly suicidal. But after Aegon's comments earlier you could not take it anymore. It was another forced family gathering where Viserys tried to get his eldest child's family to sit with his second wive's. Things started out okay, there was eating and the occasional conversation. You were merely concentrating on just finishing your meal and getting the hell out. Everything fell apart, with it simple being an innocent comment made by Helaena. She had simply said; "When will you get a dragon Y/n?" Oh poor Helaena. She had meant well but of course Aegon had to stick his nose in matters not his own. "Maybe you would like a pig. Call it the pink dread." Aegon threw you a nasty look. Face heating, you shyly looked down, avoiding his gaze. Of course Aegon would find it funny to make fun of other peoples misfortune. "Shove off." Jaecery's snarled at Aegon. Aegon was not done, even when you had gone back to eating. "I guess one day you shall have a dragon. After all, you are a very strong girl." A thick blanket of tension blanketed the door. Everyone, even those at the other end, heard. Helaena's breath hitched, a low exasperated sound escaped Alicent. Aemond snorted. Your cheeks burned with hurt and shame. "Some of us burn hotter than others." Aemond added.

A fist slammed on the table. Visery's, despite being well past his prime, struck the table with enough force that it quivered. Even your mother, normally so vocal, had fallen silent. "You will not utter such slanders in this house." He snarled. At that moment Visery's did not remotely look like the loving grandfather you knew. Visery's glanced at his wife before ordering Aegon to his study. Hanging your head, you ran out of the room, ignoring your mother's cries.

Your door was locked, barring anyone from entering. Even your beloved mother. As the hour grew late there was silence outside. Night did nothing to calm the raging heat in your heart. Of course Aegon thought he was better, riding on oh-so-great Sunfyre and his silver Targaryen hair. And who was Aemond to laugh at you! He didn't have a dragon either!

Here you were, deprived of Targaryen looks and dragonless. Tears rolled down your cheeks. Outside a roar echoed across the water. Wiping the remaining tears you opened the window. A gust of wind nearly blew you back. Bellow the sea surrounding Driftmark thundered, crashing against rocks. Far ahead was a great black lump, so dark that even against the sky it was easily seen. You would have thought it was Vhaegar except that Laena and Daemon were in Pentos. Beyond a stretch of sand were the dragon caves. If one exited the gaves and ran across the sand they could reach the dragons. Sunfyre and Dreamfyre were snoozing in their cave. Vermithor and Silverwing were back at Kingslanding. There were others, of course. You entertained the idea it might be Meyles until the dragon roared once more. It's screech was nothing like you had heard. It sounded like metal being scrapped together. Yet instead of being afraid, an idea came.

Any sane person would have thought twice. Then again, Targaryens were not exactly known for their sanity. Waiting till the early morning, you slipped out. When the sun was just pocking over the horizon that Driftmark was quietest. The guards would be tired and few would be up. Down the halls you slunk, nearing the exit. There was a small side door leading to stairs. These stairs took one right down to the courtyard. Passing a pair of sleepy guards you slipped behind a pair of barrels. Now it was just down the steps. That was when you heard a noise.

A familiar drawl could be heard. Great. Aegon was awake. Quickly you ducked behind a pair of barrels by the door. He stumbled inside and right past you. "I should have kicked him." Once he was gone you looked left and right. Then came the hard part.

The court yard was empty. Not even your father Laenor would be out training. Beyond was the gate, with two guards standing sentry. If you could slip past them, and across the sand, then you could take a small passage that lead to the dragon cave.

It was down to luck. The guards would need to be distracted for long enough. Fortunately, there was luck on your side. The walls supporting the gate were made of stone. And they just so happened to be uneven pieces of stone. Meaning all you had to do was climb up. The guards were so focused on the other side that you could get up without being spotted. Small hands grasped the rocks and you climbed. It occurred to you at that moment wearing a nightgown was likely not a good idea. But it was too late to turn back.

The salty air whipped your hair. Reaching the top you had a view of the caves beyond. There were soldiers guarding but none were looking up. There were four you could see. And now that you had reached the top there was yet another problem. You had no plan other than wait and hope. It was poor planning strategy. Though in your defense you were ten. The sun was rising higher in the sky. Would you even be able to sneak out!?

"Change!" A call nearly caused you to jump up. Looking over the side you saw the guards marching away. Taking the chance you jumped down. The force in which your feet hit the ground made them sting. "Hey!" To your horror you saw guards rushing toward. Shit. Taking a deep breath you plucked up the courage and ran. Having a head start helped. But these were full grown men, and running in sand was hard. The only thing on your side was that they were covered in armor. It meant you were able to reach the dragon cave that remained unguarded. It was was left unguarded for a reason. Because none would ever dream of challenging The Cannibal. For a moment you looked at the dark passage, and then looked back. You could hear them calling out. "I've come this far." And with that, you headed in.

The first few steps plunged you into pitch black. The air tasted stale and the rocks threatened to rip open your feet. Most dragon caves were well maintained, but even dragon-keepers would not dare go near this one. A few steps later and a few crack in the walls gave light. Step by step you walked forward. Now you could smell it and it nearly made you gag. But you had come so far that to turn back now was not an option. You heard a deep rumbling and stopped. Even the foundations of this cave seemed to hum. When the noise stopped you proceeded. Ahead you saw the tunnel end. Finally you met The Cannibal.

Despite the dragons infamy few could describe it. In fact many did not survive such an encounter. And it was enormous. Only slightly smaller that Vhagar, The Cannibal turned his head and mad poisonous green eyes met yours. Dragon eyes had always fascinated you. They held this terrifying imperious gaze. But when you looked into The Cannibal's all you saw was a wild raging fire. You had heard of Wildfire, created by the lords of Old Valyria to mimic dragon fire. While you had never seen wild fire, you thought his eyes might be close enough. Dragon scales came in all colours, but black was rare. The only other dragon known to possess such a colour was Balerion the Black Dread. Smooth pitch black scales glistened in the sunlight. His great jaw had uncountable razor sharp teeth larger than you. The large tale swung around and The Cannibals body was facing you. Then he opened his mouth and fire curled at the throat.

"I will die." In that moment you felt fear and rage. You were as good as the rest of them. Why should you not have a dragon! “Dohaerās, Cannibal! Lykirī!” Those were the only words you could say. Something akin to fire swelled within you at that moment. A defiance bordering on madness. The fire in The Cannibal's seemed ready to burst forward. "Lykirī!" You thought those would be your last words. It was not fear you felt in that moment, but the desire to prove something "At least I tried, like a true Targaryen." The blast of white hot flame which would encase and disintegrate your body never came. Your eyes met his. The Cannibal was looking down at you with his imperious glance. Was he not going to burn you?

That was when you heard voices. It seemed the guards had decided to go in. Better to perish in dragon fire than whatever your mother might do to them for failing to protect her only daughter. Then you stepped forward. Now was not the time to be afraid. Already you had braved possible dragon fire. Over rock and bits of bone you stepped, ignoring the stinging in your feet. From The Cannibal was a ladder attached to a harness. "So The Cannibal once had a rider." At that moment you did not ponder too much. They said The Cannibal had never been ridden before. But since his very being was a mystery you supposed it was possible.

Scrambling up the rough ropes you desperately hurried to the top. "There she is! She's...she's on the dragon!" The Cannibal jerked back nearly sending you flying off. "Daor!" You ordered loud as possible. To your astonishment the dragon listened. Reaching the top you fastened the harness, securing you in place. The Cannibal seemed to know what you wanted, for the moment you were settled the dragon gave a great huff and speed down the corridor. Every jut of his muscle sent you roughly inching forward. "This is much more uncomfortable than I thought." You always imagined dragon riding as a smooth ride. But now you realized that was untrue. Then what would flying be like? You barely had any time to comprehend anything before sunlight was visible. The Cannibal then picked up speed. Suddenly The Cannibal launched into the air with a great jerk. Had you not been harnessed in you would have fallen. His leathery wing beat the air as the ground became smaller.

You would have smiled if it had not been for the fact your voice has disappeared. The thrill, terror and excitement nearly paralyzed you. The Cannibal was not going up smoothly. The dragon seemed to be doing his best in order to shake you off. Despite this the harness was well made, and thank the gods. You had just enough sense to seize the reins and pull at them. It did nothing to slow The Cannibal down but you were suddenly possessed with a renewal in courage. Sitting straight in your saddle there was suddenly a level of control you felt. The Cannibal must have felt it, for he leveled himself. Soaring above the clouds you finally looked down. "We really are close to the Gods." You muttered.

You flew several laps in the sky. It was less about commands and more about the connection between dragon and rider. You had to remain in control of your emotions. Not being used to dragon riding, your legs started to cramp. Deciding it was time to descend you ordered The Cannibal down. Surprisingly graceful, The Cannibal started to climb down. His cave became more clear. A crowd was gathering outside of the cave. You were not too surprised since they probably thought you dead. With a great thud The Cannibal landed sending sand into the air.

"Y/n!" You had never heard your mother scream like that. Practically leaping off the rope ladder you flew into your mothers arms. "Oh Gods Y/n!" Rhaenyra clutched you close with shaking arms. You mother who was usually so indomitable and strong was shaking and weeping. Her arms held you in a vise grip. "Y/n...never do that again!" Rhaenyra had broken apart, gripping you by the arms. Normally you would bust into tears and apologize. But a fire was ablaze in your chest was burning bright. Taking your mother by the hand you lead her to The Cannibal. Rhaenyra looked hesitant but seeing your determination encouraged her. Reaching out you placed a hand on The Cannibals warm scales. "Touch him." Rhaenyra's fingertips grazed the dragon. Then she steadied and placed her hand directly on the dragon. The Cannibal crooned and for the first time seemed something close to calm.

Looking back you saw your brothers, aunt and uncles. There was pride such as you had never seen on your brother's faces. Your eyes met Aegon's and Aemond's, for the first time you did not look away. This time it was them who looked away from your defiant eyes. You were Y/n Velaryon. Daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Rider of Cannibal. And fire dwelt within your veins like any blood of the dragon.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Taglist:

@katiekatluvz

[lizzyiii]

just read “his lady love” and i’m completely obsessed with your writing, i definitely need a part 2 for that please 😭😭😭

His Lady Love (2)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.8k words

summary | you return to westeros, to find that the young prince has become a man and his burning infatuation with you has not died out and you reconnect with helaena

tags | no warnings? usual mention of targaryen incest (but let's be real, everyone who reads hotd fanfic has now normalised targcest), and child marriage (my poor bby Helaena), filler

note | oh my god, y'all 😭. idk what I was thinking with that dramatic ass mikaelson reveal. as we all know the reader is never described, but as we all also know the mikaelsons are white af. so I'm making it clear that the reader is NOT mikael's daughter, leaving the reader's description and race unknown, esther was busy getting her freak on and her real father will never be disclosed. because in my mind the reader or y/n is and will always be a curly-haired, brown-skinned baddie....so each to their own. AND I'm pretty sure this is going to be a series cause for the life of me I am unable to make a oneshot without further exploring a story.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Five long years had stretched into nearly two thousand sunrises since Aemond Targaryen last laid eyes upon you. Each passing day weighed heavily on his soul, a slow burn of a thousand bitter memories. Some days, the tempest of his emotions roiled within him, bidding him to hate you—for your departure, for the way you had vanished from court like a wisp of smoke, leaving only echoes and shadows in your wake.

But the flames of that hate flickered and faded, giving rise to a deeper yearning, a gaping void where love had once flourished. Even now, after all this time, your spirit held his heart captive, stolen under the very nose of fate when you chose to forsake the realm.

In the wake of your absence, thirteen year old Aemond had become a specter haunting the hallowed halls of the library, pouring over tomes and scrolls in a frantic quest for knowledge of House Mikaelson—a house that seemed to dissolve into the mists of myth with each turn of the page. The histories were silent, and when he turned to his elders, the lords and ladies of the court, their ignorance stung deeper than any sword. Your name was but a whisper lost amongst the louder clamor of dragons and destinies.

Desperation guided his steps toward the Queen’s solar, where his mother resided. He pressed forth, demanding answers of her, yet it was peculiar; though he sought her wisdom and guidance, she seemed to have forgotten the very reason of why she had made you one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her brows knitted with confusion as he spoke your name, her big brown eyes clouded with a nostalgia she could not place.

Yet Aemond could see it in the gentle curve of her lips, in the way her gaze drifted past him, as if searching for a phantom. She missed you, that was clear. Her heart held a chamber of memories crafted from your offered comfort amidst the whispers of court intrigue, from the grace of your presence that had brightened the darker days.

The weight of five relentless years bore heavily upon Aemond Targaryen. Through trials of fire and blood, he had forged himself anew, emerging both mentally and physically formidable. He was now the most skilled swordsman within the keep’s sturdy walls, a warrior of such caliber that even the esteemed Ser Criston Cole would struggle to match his prowess. Secluded in the dim light of solitary training grounds, he immersed himself in the ancient tomes of philosophy and the illustrious history of House Targaryen, dedicated to honing his mind as keenly as his sword.

Yet in this relentless pursuit of strength and mastery, the warmth of his heart had withered, leaving behind only the chill of calculated ambition. His facade, meticulously crafted, rendered him cold and unyielding — a visage so fierce that even the bravest souls flinched at the thought of meeting his gaze directly.

Thus, it was with a jarring dissonance that Aemond entered his sister, Helaena's solar that day. It was a ritual he had come to cherish against the backdrop of his darkening spirit, visiting her and the twins for a fleeting moment of respite. However, as he stepped across the threshold, the air thickened and his breath caught in his throat.

Helaena sat with delicate artistry upon a chaise, embroidering threads of vibrant colors while keeping a watchful eye on her children. But it was not the familiar sight of his sister that seized him. No, there, in the heart of the chamber, stood his mother, Queen Alicent, holding the hands of a woman whose features were obscured from his view. However, even with your back turned, he recognized you and your unmistakable figure.

Alicent’s large, expressive eyes caught his, shimmering with an emotion he had not anticipated. “Aemond,” she uttered softly, the sound piercing through the tension-laden silence.

With the calling of his name, you turned, and the breath in his lungs faltered. The years stretched out like an endless tapestry between the two of you, but as he beheld you standing there after all this time, it felt as if no time had passed at all.

Five long years had passed, and in that span, Aemond had transformed. His once-boyish frame had hardened, each line of muscle now finely chiseled, his stature soaring to a height that eclipsed yours. He had shed the skin of youth and emerged a man forged by the fires of ambition and vengeance, yet he could feel a familiar tug at his heart as he stared at you.

But you… you had remained untouched by time’s relentless march. Your face, flawless and luminous, bore no marks of age; not a wrinkle nor blemish dared mar your smooth skin. Your form he remembered was preserved in perfection, your hair framing your figure in the same glorious waves that had enchanted him years ago.

You were the embodiment of memories he cherished, the same as ever.

For a fleeting heartbeat, Aemond dared to believe you were but a haunting mirage conjured by his yearning heart. If not for the watchful eyes of his mother and sister resting upon you, he would have thought himself lost to despair, ensnared by the fantasies of his own making.

An eternity seemed to stretch in the daunting silence that enveloped the two of you, the world around forgotten as each of you engaged in a quiet, yet profound examination. Your eyes sparkled like the night sky in the light of the day, and when you smiled—the same saccharine smile that had once filled his heart with joy during the innocence of his childhood—it left him breathless. “My prince,” you spoke softly, your voice dancing in the air, “how you’ve grown.”

In that moment, something within him shifted—a profound balm against the bitterness he had nurtured like a dark plant within his chest. All the resentment, the stinging remembrance of your abandonment, and the shadows of sadness that once clouded his thoughts dissipated at the mere sight of your smile. His throat was dry as a winter's night, thoughts scattered like ash on the wind, and yet, the corners of his mouth began to lift involuntarily, mirroring the warmth radiating from you.

Mikaelson.

A name that struck terror into the hearts of countless souls. Yet, here, in this strange realm of Westeros, where dragons soared and the icy dread of White Walkers loomed behind the walls, such fear was but a whisper lost to the winds. No, this land, though foreign and fierce, offered you sanctuary—not the kind woven from solace and warmth, but the kind fortified by distance and the absence of your cursed siblings.

Here, there were no vampires lurking in the cloaks of night, nor were there werewolves howling beneath the pale moonlight. Instead, there were dragons, fierce and resplendent, and direwolves, proud and wild. Most crucially, there was no Mikael—a freedom that tasted of hope amidst you heart's turmoil.

True, you thought often on whether you should have brought your siblings along, for Mikael would never find this place. Yet, a heavy foreboding gripped you; you understood all too well that the Mikaelsons (Niklaus) very presence would shatter the fragile peace you sought. Westeros was far from a land of plenty, riddled with poverty and further burdened by the cruel fate of women, yet in its chaos lay distance.

So, you fled, slipping away into the shrouded embrace of night, abandoning the only family you had known—or, more accurately, what was left of it. It was the sixteenth century, a time when hope flickered dimly in the eyes of men and women alike. You had not laid eyes upon Finn since Niklaus, in his relentless wrath, had condemned him to a tormented existence, and staked a dagger in his heart. Kol fared no better; his defiance had earned him Niklaus' ire, leaving him to face the very same fate that had befallen their eldest brother.

Months had slipped by as you braved the tempestuous seas, each wave an echo of your desperation, each gust of wind whispering promises of a new beginning. You had set sail toward the edge of the earth, guided by an insatiable yearning for freedom—until at last, you had discovered Westeros.

You had arrived in Westeros with an unyielding ambition, your ethereal beauty concealing a fierce determination that allowed you to easily compel your way into the court of Queen Alicent Hightower as one of her ladies-in-waiting. The smell of dragonfire and the whispers of civil war clung to the air, a distinct reminder of the foreign heritage of the Targaryens.

The first time you had seen one of the great beasts aloft, its shadow sweeping across the land, leaving you breathless and in awe. Dragons were an embodiment of the Targaryen power, but alongside that power lurked a shocking underbelly of normalized incestuous unions and the festering decay of traditional familial bonds. For a girl raised among the Mikaelsons, who had danced among the vices of immortality, this was both familiar and grotesque.

Your new world was laced with intrigue—rumors skittered through the halls like restless spirits. The whispers spoke of Princess Rhaenyra and the seed of doubt surrounding her claim to the Iron Throne, the barbs of scandal raised even higher by her many alleged bastards. These complexities intrigued you, compelling you to observe from the outside, where the machinations of power were far more amusing than any political play you had encountered in your old life.

Queen Alicent, though esteemed and regal, bore the weight of her flaws almost indiscernibly, like a cloak of gold marred by rust. From what you could tell, the Queen wielded herself like a pawn—her father being Otto Hightower, an unseen puppeteer, tugging at the strings of her choices. Maternal instinct flickered in Alicent like the candle flames that lit the chamber at night; she faltered and stumbled but made an earnest effort to nurture her children as best she could, though in your opinion she had failed miserably with Aegon. And yet, her fund of effort, a raw and poignant endeavor, resonated with you. The Queen was imperfect, yet within that human frailty lay a semblance of motherhood that Esther Mikaelson had failed to give you.

Thus, in your role as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, you discovered a sanctuary of sorts. The court became a twisted labyrinth of alliances and betrayals, yet amidst the swirling intrigue, you found comfort in Alicent’s earnest attempts at kindness towards you.

In the two years you had spent in Westeros, you had found solace in the delicate friendship you created with Princess Helaena—a rare gem among the Targaryens, whose sweet and gentle spirit seemed devoid of the cunning that defined her kin. Helaena's quiet understanding struck a chord deep within you, reminiscent of a time before death had twisted your mind. Once, you too had lived in a world that felt like a dream, until Niklaus tore down the veil of your innocence with his ruthless reality check. He had carved fear into your heart, reminding you of the darkness that lurked within the world.

But as you observed Helaena, an overwhelming sorrow enveloped you. The Queen's decree to betroth the princess to Prince Aegon sank like a stone in her gut. Aegon—a broken soul, defined by indulgence and ambition—was a force of chaos that echoed the wickedness of their own familial bond. In many ways, he reminded you of Kol, with his infectious charm and volatile spirit, yet where Kol harbored a flicker of love beneath layers of darkness, Aegon radiated a depravity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart ached at the thought of Helaena being shackled to a boy so unworthy of her light. The specter of Aegon’s reckless nature loomed large, and you feared for the princess's fate. You could see it clearly: with every passing day of their union, Helaena’s spirit would wither under the weight of neglect and cruelty, her gentle soul extinguished in the fires of a loveless bond.

And then there was Prince Aemond, the second youngest son of Alicent's brood—a striking boy marked by a fierce determination to embrace his responsibilities as a prince. You often felt a pang of sympathy when you witnessed the relentless taunts from Aegon and the scornful jeers of his nephews, sorrow swelling in your chest at the knowledge that he was the only Targaryen without a dragon to call his own. And it was hard to ignore the tender glances he cast your way, his violet eyes lingering on you whenever you graced a room.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Aemond standing at your door during the elusive hour of the wolf, his ethereal silver hair, tousled and framing a face streaked with tears, the light of hope dimmed in his now singular violet eye. Fury ignited in your core when he confided the harrowing tale of how Aegon had dragged him to the Street of Silk, that dark sanctuary of vice—your heart shattered for the innocence that had been ripped from him, for the heavy shame that now clung to him, marked by his brother who should have looked out and protected him. By now, Aegon was six-and-ten, he should have gleaned wisdom from his years, yet he chose the path of cruelty instead.

In an effort to soothe the wounded prince, you opened your heart and your arms to him. You conceded to his requests, bathing him with tender care, allowing him the sanctuary of your presence as he lay beside you. Your intentions were pure, untainted by anything but the desire to comfort a boy you had come to deeply care for.

And yet, with a heavy heart, you turned your back on Westeros, your mind haunted by the echoes of family. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, you found yourself yearning for the bonds that had once defined you. The Targaryens, ensnared in their web of resentment and betrayal, made it clear that true loyalty and love were rare treasures. Their familial discord stood in stark contrast to the fierce devotion of your own bloodline. For all the chaos wrought by the Mikaelsons, love remained their unyielding anchor.

Niklaus, with his volatile nature, was both feared and revered by you; yet, beneath that fierce exterior lay a soul tormented by the shadows of his past, perpetually haunted by the specter of abandonment. Finn and Kol, locked in eternal slumber by Niklaus’s cruel whim, lay undisputed in their coffins, yet your brother stood sentinel over them, unwavering and steadfast. The thought of returning to him was chilling; the mere sight of you would surely earn a dagger in your own heart.

You resolved to escape, to steal away before Queen Alicent could impose a husband upon you like a gilded cage. It was meant to be a brief respite, a momentary retreat from your burdens. You had once believed that seamlessly integrating into the intricate tapestry of Westerosi society would be a simple endeavor. Yet, the relentless weight of expectations proved stifling. Each encounter demanded a dance of delicate grace, a façade meticulously curated to meet the desires of those around you, and in turn, it drained your very spirit.

Thus, you sought solace in the sun-drenched lands of Essos, a realm that defied the rigid conventions you had grown weary of. Essos was a land of vibrant colors and broken norms, where the sun shone unabated and the very air seemed to sing of possibility. Gone were the burdens of being gracious and demure, replacing those restraints with the intoxicating freedom to explore the wild tapestry of cultures sprawled before you. In a realm filled with mercenaries and traders, where the scent of spice mingled with the salty sea air, you couldn’t help but feel invigorated.

Shame washed over you like a cold wave, a sharp pang of regret settling in your chest as you sat in Princess Helaena's solar, surrounded by the laughter of her twins, Jahaerys and Jahaera. The children, mere five summers old, served as a vivid reminder of your absence; Helaena had brought them into the world at the tender age of fourteen, while you had been lost in the allure of Essos. Your own selfish pursuits had drawn you away from Westeros, leaving your dear friend to navigate the tides of motherhood without your companionship.

But now, fate had drawn you back to Westeros, though the reason for your return eluded you—perhaps it was mere curiosity, or a desire to witness the Targaryens as they embarked on a path toward their own ruin. Perhaps it was simply the lingering comfort of a maternal embrace that Queen Alicent had once offered you. One thing remained certain: you were back, unchanged yet bound by the curse that clung to the Mikaelsons. You still appeared as you had, forever encased at the tender age of six and ten, the same age at which you had died nearly six centuries ago.

The twins were a study in contrast. Jaehaerys, the young prince, was somber and introspective, casting shy glances your way from beneath the curtain of his silver hair. In contrast, Jaehaera exuded a lively spirit, her laughter as bright as the morning sun. She was a sweet girl, eager for your attention, her small hands clutching her beloved dolls as she beckoned you to join her in playful realms of castles and grand adventures. Every so often, Jaehaerys would join in, indulging his sister’s imagination by taking on the role of a fierce dragon, albeit with a reluctance that made his quiet demeanor all the more endearing.

“I have missed you,” Helaena said softly from her place on the chaise, delicate fingers working through the intricate patterns of her embroidery, her gaze never leaving the fabric.

You met her gaze, a frown momentarily shadowing your features, your heart tightening at the sight of her. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you replied, "As I have missed you, princess. I offer my sincerest apologies for my prolonged absence."

“But you have returned, and that is what matters,” she replied with a tranquil certainty, her expression unwavering.

With a nod, you maintained your tight-lipped smile, the corners of your mouth struggling to lift fully. “Indeed, I have, and I hope to stay here for as long as fate allows.”

As you resumed your playful moments with the twins — Helaena’s voice broke through the lighthearted chaos as she called your name. “Pray tell, how old were you when you came to court?”

Your lips pursed gently as you recounted, your tone tense but soft, “I was but six and ten years, my dear princess.”

An oblivious smile spread across Helaena's face, illuminating her features. “And yet you appear unchanged, as if untouched by time’s passage. Like a Lepidoptera,” she remarked, her imagination weaving images as vivid as the embroidered fabrics around her.

Your brows knitted in puzzlement. "A what, my princess?"

"A Lepidoptera," she patiently repeated, her eyes shimmering with youthful curiosity. "It is a classification that encompasses butterflies, which remain breathtakingly lovely until the end of their days."

A bittersweet pang echoed within you at her words, for you were destined for a far different fate, cursed to wander the shadows as a creature of the night. Yet, you offered a slight nod, managing a soft, "Thank you, my princess," as you absorbed the weight of her innocent compliment.

“And yet, I cannot claim to have missed you as intensely as Aemond has,” Helaena mused, her gaze distant as you idly threaded your fingers through Jaehaera's shimmering locks of silver.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp what you mean,” you replied softly, masking your understanding with a facade of innocence.

“I believe you are quite aware,” Helaena said softly, a melodic note in her voice, her smile lingering with a teasing warmth, “Aemond has loved you since he was a mere boy.”

You cast her a sidelong glance before adopting an air of nonchalance. “Love is a weighty term for one so young, Princess. Surely, it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy.”

Helaena shook her head, her needlework a steady rhythm in her hands. “No, I do not believe so.”

Deep down, you didn't believe so either. Ever since your return to the depressive halls of King's Landing, a sensation had accompanied your every step—a watchful gaze lingering upon you. Aemond had worked to keep it hidden, but your heightened senses revealed the quiet intensity of his interest, as vivid as the summer sun.

There had been numerous revelations awaiting you upon your return to the Red Keep—the prideful births of young Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, the scandal of Rhaenyra and her uncle Daemon's elopement, and the grim decline of King Viserys's health, shadows stained upon the Iron Throne. Yet, the most haunting transformation was that of Prince Aemond.

Aegon had blossomed into the drunken sleaze you had always anticipated, a replica of the whims that dictated his every choice, but Aemond—oh, how he was the exact opposite of what you had envisioned. The youthful boy, once soft and unassuming, had unfurled into a striking figure, sharpened like the blade of a Targaryen sword, each line of his form etched with the harshness of time and expectation. His stature now towered over you, his presence immense, a tempest contained within the boundaries of a man’s body.

He seemed to carry within him a quiet fury, a storm beneath the surface, and it stirred something deep within you, a memory of that boy who had once been desperate for approval and had hope for a dragon. His boyish softness had been replaced by the resolute presence of a true dragon, a stark reminder of the power and peril that resided within his bloodline.

[yandereunsolved]

Hello yan, bae its me who gave the isekai reader.

What if instead of isekai reader who is in a panicky state just matched The Cannibal's vibe, matching energy since riders and dragons at the least had some semblance.

Intimidating menace dragon with an equally intimidating, despite being short,menace rider.

Reader: Khan, fetch *pointing at the knight who pissed them off*

Cannibal who responds to the nickname: *roars before chasing the poor guy*

-

Aegon: you have a dragon that belongs to the house targayen give them back to us

Reader: boy make me

Aegon: I am no boy! I'm the king! And you shall bow before me

Reader: you're a bitch I was trying to be nice

Aegon:...

Thank you for the idea. I definitely love it. The Cannibal and reader being feral together is so much fun.

Here's my addition—

All of the Targaryens would immediately see reader as a threat. They would also be interested.

'Who is this man!?' kinda vibe.

Some would become obsessed with them because of the power they hold. Others would see them as a beacon of safety and hope.

🐉

The Cannibal loves Helaena because you like her. She's so sweet to you. She shows you all of her bugs and info dumps to you. The Cannibal is just sitting around the both of you. The fierce beast is ready to burn anyone who dares interrupt your time with her.

He also loves Dreamfyre. She's one of few dragons he can stand.

You giving her basic human decency causes her to obsess over you.

Helaena: "What do you want from me?"

Reader "Wot :?"

Helaena: "You're so cold with everyone else. Everyone fears your anger. You're so nice to me."

Reader: "That's because I enjoy spending time with you! I just want to hear your thoughts and have a friend."

Helaena: nose bleeds. "R-Really?" passes out.

🐉

Aegon II is jealous. Only because he's attracted to you, but you aren't attracted to him. He's needed a new plaything and you'd be perfect for it! You're so dom. It makes him salivate like a starved dragon.

Aegon II: "Darling—"

Reader: "No."

Every attempt by you is rebuffed. Even Cannibal has distaste for him.

He does what he does best. He threatens you and uses his power to make you bend the knee.

You have one dragon.

He rules seven kingdom and has many more.

🐉

Nyra is attracted to your fierceness. She recognizes it in herself. You feel like an escape for her. So naturally she becomes infatuated. She is a queen.

She tries her best to acquaint herself with you. She knows making friends with Cannibal is the biggest test.

Does Cannibal like her? Does he not?

[propheticbride]

Lamb to Slaughter I

𐙚 Following Aegon's crowning of King, you attempt to settle into your new reality, with absolutely idea of what is happening around you. Your only company? The one eyed Prince himself.

𐙚 Aemond Targaryen x Reader (tw: manipulation, slight non-con, incest)

The nights following Aegon’s coronation were chaotic, whisperings of Rhaenyra’s claim lay about plainly as others argued the whore was not the rightful heir after all. Doors remained closed tight, no one talked too loud, servants kept to themselves. War was brewing, that was for certain.

You remembered the night your father died, your mother had snuck into your room and had gently woke you up. Cradled you as she gave you the news, you being the only Viserys doted on after Rhaenyra. And in some sick way, Alicent was sure you were her favorite too.

At first you did not comprehend how he was dead. He was not in good health, but to die so suddenly had left you confused.

‘My sweetling, he was not well. You saw. So weak, so poor in health.’ she spoke as she pet your hair.

Tears caked your face, hair matted to your skin, ‘I just don't understand.’

She sighed, ‘My poor girl.’

When Alicent had left that night, you had felt a void inside. Heartbroken and scared at the news. You found yourself in a familiar place, slipping out of your own chambers and into Aemonds. You wouldn't bother Aegon at that hour, him too drunk to even wake or want to comfort you. So instead you slipped into your more understanding brother’s space, the one who gently held you when you were scared and kissed you so gently.

But now, everyone's attention had been guided to Rhaenyra and her war. Everyone in the keep insisting she would come with fire and blood. And where you would seek Aegon’s affections, it would now be shunned upon. He was married after all, with two children and now king. He could no longer lie in bed and keep you entertained with his flea bottom stories.

✮⋆˙

“He's too busy now brother, too busy for me.” you complain, stitching at Aemond’s ripped attire. “He drinks a lot, I know this. But never stops by my chambers anymore. He must be so occupied with being king.”

Aemond doesn't reply, just makes an agreeing sound as his one eye watches you sew.

“How is Helaena? I know you two spend time together, she will not speak to me either. I wish she would, I get so lonely.”

“I talk to you.” Aemond reminds you.

You nod, giving him a gentle smile, “You’re always so good to me brother.”

His hand finds your arm, gently rubbing you to calm you.

“No one tells me anything. It’s…” tears form in your eyes.

“My love…”

“No!” you slam his arm away, getting up and begin to pace. “You are not to call me that! You are gone for days, on that beast you claim to be a dragon. Mother will not come visit me, Aegon has completely shunned me. Cole will not look at me and my dear sister will not speak to me. I am going insane in my room. Please. Please, what is happening?”

Aemond studies you for a moment, as if he were examining your outburst.

“I’ve never known you to yell. At all people, me.” he finally speaks.

It hurts you. The pain that settles in your chest after his words are enough to make you sick.

“I did not mean-” you return to him, placing your hand on his shoulder. “Please forgive me. I cannot stand if you are mad at me. I am losing my sanity. I'm so lonely.”

“Am I not enough to keep you happy?” he questions.

“I miss our mother, and our brother.” you admit. “When father was alive I wasn't so…lonely.”

“Because he kept you company.”

“I just want Aegon to visit again. Or mother. Or even Haelena. Please just ask them. Ser Kavvin does not let me leave ever. It’s like I am a prisoner.” it’s almost as if you were praying to the gods. Gentle and begging. Please please please.

Aemond is silent again, until he rises and kisses your head, “I’ll tell mother and brother to visit you my sweetling, it must be so awful for you to be cooped up in here, I am sorry Vhagar has my interests as of late. My priority has always been you.”

You beam at his words, the remembrance of your outburst a memory it seemed. Although the court was terrified of Aemond, you were not. Perhaps some of you was, but he was gentle and sweet to you, you almost had no reason to be scared. He took care of you, bringing you jewelry and new gowns, dining with you in place of your mother. He was the only human interaction you had gotten as of late, everyone else so preoccupied with Aegon.

“Is it?” you ask. Out of place, and you know it, but you cannot help yourself.

“I always thought we’d marry. Aegon had Haelena, but who has you, but me.” Aemond begins to cup your face. “I enjoy our time together, but there are matters I must attend to this afternoon. But don't worry, I will have mother or Aegon visit you.”

You struggle to understand his words, “What do you mean. Have me?”

He smiles and shakes his head, giving you a kiss on the lips before finding himself out of your chamber.

✮⋆˙

If anything Aemond does well, it's keep a promise. As he said, Alicent finds herself in your chambers a little after nightfall. She had maids run you a hot bath, your white hair gently slipping through her fingers as she brushed it.

“Why haven't you visited me?” you finally ask after too much silence.

“Aegon is being prepared to finally rule, I have been attending to it.” she says. “I am sorry, I haven't seen to you. I do feel bad.”

“Why must I be confined to my chambers.” you turn to her, violet eyes looking up at her.

“I do not trust…” she tries to collect her thoughts, not sure how to word it for you to understand best. “Aegon thinks it’s best if you are under protection. He thinks you might be a target for Rhaenyra’s anger.”

“Rhaenyra.” you say your sister’s name. “Rhaenyra is upset that father replaced her as heir?”

“Yes my sweet. She is upset that your father changed his mind about the succession. He decided he wanted Aegon on the throne after all.”

“I miss him.” you say after a while. “He was very sick…but he kept me company.”

“I am sorry, I am. I know it is no excuse but you must forgive and understand how daunting this has all been. So much has been done and needs to be done, the realm may be at war soon-”

“At war?” you interject, worry in your tone. “War? Why war?”

Alicent catches herself, she has slipped.

‘Do not mention the mess with Rhaenyra to her, I would not have her worry’ Aegon’s voice played in her head.

“No war my sweet, I only forget myself. I am sure Aegon will come to peace with Rhaenyra, and maybe she will even be seen back in the keep. You’d like that, right? I know you were fond of her son, Jacerys, I know you two were close.” Alicent goes back to braiding your hair, scared her words have put unrest in you. You did scare rather too easy.

“I don't want anyone at war.” you murmur.

“No war.” Alicent nods. “Aegon will be a good king, and make peace. I know it.”

✮⋆˙

If you were honest, you were close to Jacerys, spending time in the garden together and studying. Rhaenyra had taken a liking to you, mostly due to your shared father also taking a liking to you. You were not close with Lucerys, you did not know him well. You did not spend time with him nor were you very thoughtful towards him. No time truly spent between you.

So news of his death broke the in the red keep, you found yourself indifferent. No tears were shed, but your heart hurt for Jacerys.

Aemond had returned from dragon back, Aegon so delighted of his brother's victory, the murder of a child, that a feast was thrown. You were allowed in your finest green silk and finally allowed out of your chambers, where you sat among several counsel members and your family along with some court attendees. Aemond had been silent for most of the feast, ignoring the praise he had received, most of them insults for Rhaenyra. You watched him closely, hoping, begging he would make eye contact with you. But he did not.

For hours it went on like this, Aemond slowly sipping and eating at the feast presented in front of him, not truly present at the party that was all for him and his victory.

Aegon, ever drunk, was quite present. Too present.

“My sweet sister!” his voice calls, and you turn to him. “Where have you been hiding?”

“My chambers, on your ruling.” you murmur.

“My ruling? Why would I ever…” he hiccups and slams himself down in the chair beside you. “I have missed you soooo much. Your absence has been noted, why do you scorn me so?”

His words don't make sense to you. Your mother’s words and now his, dancing in your head. You hadn't noticed, not truly noticed, until you briefly look at him, that Aemond is staring at you. For the first time in the entire night, he simply stares. But his gaze is far from comforting.

“I’ve been in my chamber, lonely.” you admit, looking back at Aegon.

“Well…I have missed you my girl, so much. It's so lonely…” he whispers the next part, “my bed… has been rather lonely.”

Aemond stands, everyone quickly glancing at him. He excuses himself from the table, with Aegon’s hand on you all you truly can do is watch.

“He’s upset” you mention.

“Ah yes. He’s been so moody since that business with the dragons. Don't know why though. They're all traitors. I’ll have all of their heads.” Aegon smells like alcohol, a smell you’re familiar with but still sensitive to.

“Aegon!” your mother’s voice rings. “I do wish you would not speak of such things with her, you know better.”

Alicent attempts to pull Aegon up from beside you, but he is quick to shove her away. You stand, shocked at the whole ordeal.

“I think I will head to bed.” you insist.

“I think that would be best, sweetling.” Alicent nods.

When you enter your chambers, you don't notice Aemond at first. He's facing the bookshelf, one your late father filled with stories of old and history. The one thing you both bonded over.

When you do notice him, it’s when you're half naked, pulling your sleeping slip on.

“Your skin is always so beautiful.” his voice startles you.

“Aemond!” you jump, clinging to your fur blanket, attempting to cover yourself.

“I've seen you already, have you forgotten me already?” you're not sure if he's as drunk as your other brother was, but his voice is calm and almost soothing.

“You should be in bed, the hour is late and I know you are upset.” you try to reason with him, knowing that when he is upset he is easiest to get to.

“But you always grant me so much comfort.” Aemond steps towards you, allowing his hand to cup your face, thumb lining your lips. “Do you remember the night I lost my eye. I was in so much pain. And you found me, alerted the guards to me. And that night, before we left, you let me in your bed for the first time. And we laid there together in peace.”

You watch his face as he talks, there's always been a certain amount of devotion you showed Aemond. That night you had found your cousins and him, screaming at the top of your lungs that alerted the guards to the situation. And he was not wrong. That night Aemond had been restless, in pain over his lost eye. Where your mother usually slept beside you, she had taken a leave of absence from your bed that night, allowing Aemond to replace her.

“You were always so sweet to me, where they laughed, you had always welcomed me. For dolls, for tea…for anything. So gentle. So kind.” Aemond sounds breathless, like he was praying.

“Aemond-”

“Shhhhh.” he licks your closed lips, causing you to gasp.

Aemond was always strict with the affection he gave you; always keeping his hands to himself, always to be careful that your mother did not catch a glimpse of how hungrily he would stare at you. But never this brazen. You did not know what to make of it.

“Please.” you beg. “We can't-”

“Can't what. You have no husband, and I have no wife. This is right. We were born to be together.” Aemond presses his forehead towards you. “Ever since that night I lost my eye, and you welcomed me so warmly into your bed I have wanted you since. Why won't you let me take you?”

“We can't…Aegon…he-”

Aemond’s face twists in anger, “Don't mention him! Do not speak of him!”

The outburst scares you, taking a step back and clutching your fur tighter.

“Drop it.” his face changes, as does his voice. His entire demeanor shifts. He unclips his cloak from his armor, letting the fabric fall to your chamber floor. “I said…drop it”

You drop the fur immediately, standing there almost bare for him. He looks over body, with a hungry gaze and a curious eye. Your slip was a thin silk, something your mother would die if she ever found you dressed in. But the sun had been hot as of late, and her nightgowns were too heavy. The several slips had been a gift of Aemond, now you had known why.

“I have waited years for you. Years for you to come to your senses of what I am to you. What you are to me. I am sick of waiting my sweet, I need you now. And I will have you now.” Aemond’s hands gently pull your slip down, allowing your naked body to be in full view for him. “You’re mine. You always have been. I just need to prove it to you."

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

Have you had enough?

Targaryen reader x Aemond Targaryen x Aegon Targaryen.

Your husband and brother, Aemond, have been taking everything that belonged to Aegon. You're tired of it, the drop that spilled the glass was Aegon's incident. Your brother, the one who you actually love, badly injured, that was the end of your patience.

Warning ⚠️: Credits of this images goes to whoever they belong to, I took them from the Tumblr blogs: bbygirl-aemond / Winterswake/ tarth. Grammatical and spelling errors, I haven't watched this chapter of HOTD yet, I just needed to take the idea out of my mind so I can continue with a new chapter of the story (By fire and heart).

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Everybody running and walking from one room to another, you didn't understand at first why all the scandal until you saw a group of guards carrying your brother.

Aegon and you were close, spending much time together which your mother clearly didn't see with good eyes, you loved him in the way you couldn't love your husband.

Aemond took you as a wife and treated you with respect but not love, he never loved you, he simply took you because both were single and your little brother was far away from home to save you from that terrible unhappy marriage, it was only you and him, when he heard about your little secret romance with Aegon, he made you his wife before you could dishonor yourself that was his argument, but the truth was he did it for the simple fact to not give Aegon the satisfaction to also be the owner of you, or your body, silly Aemond never thought what actually mattered it was your heart, Aegon was deep inside your heart. A thousand men could be between your legs but only one could have your heart, loyalty and devotion.

You walked behind the guards questioning what happened. None of them could answer you, once they're in the king's chambers, one of the masters asks you to not interfere and wait out of the room.

- My princess, please you have to wait and let us work. In your conditions the least you need is stress.

You're going to respond when you see Aemond walking inside, he doesn't even stop to see you, you're sure he didn't listen to what the master told you, he walks directly to Aegon's bed. You walk and stay behind him, your tears falling as soon as you see your beloved brother, his precious face now half burned as much as the rest of his body, you're sure Aemond was behind all that, you left the room looking for Ser Criston, you found him on the way to your mother's chambers.

- What happened?

- My princess, I don't know, everything was fast, I just saw the king and his dragon falling.

- Don't dare to lie to me. Did my husband have something to do with this?

He doesn't talk but silently nod at you. Your body is burning with rage, you're furious you would love to burn your husband alive. His thirst for... power? Revenge for the traumas of childhood? Whatever it was, has taken it too far. Your nephews death and now your brother fighting for his life, Rhaenyra claiming the throne, dealing with a war and the pain of her newborn and Lucerys deaths, the poor Helaena trying to accept her son's death too and now carrying with a husband who probably will end as your father ended, in that bed looking the days and nights go until the gods have mercy and let him die.

You've been avoiding Aemond since they arrived, you spent much of your time with Aegon, Helaena doesn't complain, she's okay with it, she always knew your feelings for her husband, she's glad you're taking care of him and occasionally visit the king's chambers to help you or at least to talk with you. Even your mother visited Aegon, but there were no signs of Aemond.

Until one evening, you were holding Aegon's hand, whispering something close enough to him hoping he somehow could listen to what you were sharing with him, when the doors of his room opened, you did not see him but you were sure it was Aemond for the sound of his boots on the floor, you know his way to walk by heart.

- Ao spend olvie jēda kesīr (you spend much time here)

- Se ao spend olvie jēda sitting va zȳhon dēmalion (And you spend much time sitting on his throne)

You don't Even look at him, you're still holding Aegon's hand, contemplating what once was his face.

- Perhaps my wife could support me as much as she's supporting our brother. Your devotion to him is admirable, but it's what I'm expecting you to give me, not to him.

- Why would I support you? All the atrocities you've been causing and you expect me to congratulate you, to love you?

- Are you accusing me of something, wife?

His jaw tensed, his eye looks at you full of anger.

- Don't pretend you're innocent, I know you. You always wanted to take Aegon's place. You always take what is not yours, tell me husband, have you had enough? What else do you want?

Before he can argue again, Aegon opens his eyes, with the few strength he still has, he squeezes your hand.

Aemond notices it and pushes you aside, he starts to talk with Aegon, asking him what he remembers, he insists it wasn't his dragon who attacked him. Aegon simply says he doesn't remember anything, but you know he's lying, Aegon always has been good to keep himself safe, his facility to preserve his own survival and right now his only chance to survive it was to pretend he did not remember what happened.

Aemond was not going to leave the discussion in the air. He left but you're sure he will be back to try to make you regret your accusations.

Just as you predicted, At the hour of the owl, he appeared in your chambers, you were awake, looking through your window, you know how much he hates your indifference against him.

- So, what else will you take from our brother this time?

You say without any worry. Aemond walks until he's right behind you, you can feel his jaw against your head.

- What he expected to claim too. You.

He whispered while placing his hands around your waist, you couldn't contain your laughing, Aemond confusion made it harder to keep. You laughed loudly on his face, you are now face to face with your husband, he has never seen that look, your eyes darkened and your smile was full of evil, giving him a small kiss on the lips, murmuring almost whispering.

- Oh Aemond, do you seriously think I was still a pure untouched little princess?

He stepped back, his face doesn't show any emotion but you can feel his blood boiling.

- I am pregnant.

- Liar. I made everything to be sure he would not put a finger on you.

- Ask the master, I'm waiting for my first child.

Seeing his body tensed and full of anger brings you a new kind of feeling, it's an addictive pleasure you didn't know could exist.

-You know what makes it funnier? Even if one day I have your child, he will be just like you.

- What do you mean?

- A Second son who will not inherit anything. Or even better you will never have a child with me because I will prefer to be burned alive before giving birth to your children.

He quickly takes you by the neck and slams you against the wall, pressing his body against yours, even with the lack of air in your lungs, the pleasure of seeing him frustrated makes you feel alive, excited. He released you and left the room without saying more.

Once you take some air, you smile to yourself, your husband and his poor try to keep you away from Aegon, expecting to have you all for himself, but not even your body belongs to Aemond, he never thought he would be so frustrated about such a little thing like that, not having your love or your respect was the last thing he thought he would care about, the last thing he would desire to have more than anything else.

[rhaenyrathecruell]

“For Men, Marriage Might Be A Political Arrangement. For Women, It Is Like To Be A Death Sentence.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 5: Sapphires and Cinnamon]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), references to war-related violence, Targ chaos terrorizes poor innocent House Corbray, Red and Jace have a lovers' quarrel, interesting news arrives from the Riverlands, bats!!!

Word count: 7.4k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

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Like game pieces on a board, he moves the coins he’s using as tokens around the ink-and-parchment Westeros that is rolled open across the table. He’s been underwater for weeks, but now he can breathe again. Aegon is starting to heal, through the worst of the danger and unlikely to die, and he has been tucked away someplace no enemy will find him: an unassuming farm in the countryside surrounding Rook’s Rest, under the protection of the knights of his Kingsguard and tended to by requisitioned maesters. Criston’s infantrymen and cavalry have rested and healed and reorganized to fill the gaps in their ranks following the battles to subdue the turncoat houses of the Crownlands. Yesterday, Aemond rode Vhagar to the stone gates of Claw Isle and accepted a tremulous, tearful surrender from Bartimos Celtigar’s lady wife, in whose care the castle was left. Rhaenyra will receive no further gold from the region, and she will find the treasury of King’s Landing empty, the wealth once stored there split and hidden at Tyland Lannister’s suggestion in Braavos, Casterly Rock, and Oldtown. She will try to tax the smallfolk to fund her war effort, and they will rise up and murder her. That, at least, is Aemond’s hope.

Criston walks into the room. He’s just come from the rookery, where ravens arrive carrying news from Green spies and allies throughout the Seven Kingdoms: the Triarchy will send ships to combat the Sea Snake’s fleet; the Hightower army in the Reach has won battles at the Honeywine, Tumbleton, and Bitterbridge; the Lannister army in the Riverlands triumphed at the Red Fork and Acorn Hall; Cregan Stark is marching south from Winterfell with ten thousand men to fight for Rhaenyra, and they will need to be dealt with.

This will all be over soon, and I can go home. Home to my family, home to her.

“Daemon is restless,” Aemond says, repositioning his coins. “He will tire of enduring Rhaenyra’s orders in the capital, and he will fly elsewhere on Caraxes. He yearns for battle, I know him. A hero’s glory, perhaps even a hero’s death. When he leaves King’s Landing, I will go there on Vhagar and kill Syrax, Vermax, and this new dragon Sheepstealer. I will retake the capital and then leave Daeron as its protector in my stead while I hunt Daemon. Daeron has proven himself in the Reach. He’s growing up.”

Faintly, fondly, Aemond smiles. But Criston appears stricken.

“Bad news,” Aemond says for him. “From where?”

“The Red Keep.”

“Mother?” He fears that Rhaenyra will have her executed like Grandsire, though this would be a grievous mistake. The people love the queen dowager, who has lived among them nearly all her life and selflessly nursed King Viserys while Rhaenyra seduced her uncle, plotted Laenor Velaryon’s death, and secluded herself and her vile nest of bastards and villains on Dragonstone.

Criston is hesitant to begin. Perhaps he isn’t sure if Aemond should know this. “No, your mother and Helaena are still held in the dungeon, captive but in relative safety. Jaehaera and Maelor are wards of Rhaenyra. I would assume she’s trying to win their affection and then arrange politically advantageous betrothals.”

There has been a name left out. Aemond stares up from his map, waiting.

“She’s been taken out of the city,” Criston says.

An impossibility, an irrationality. “What?”

“I don’t know where to, or for what purpose. But she’s not in King’s Landing.”

Aemond says nothing for long, cold, grey minutes. The sky outside beckons in the coming winter like a nefarious houseguest, one who shares your dinner table and then slits your throat while you’re asleep. When he finally speaks, his voice is low but fierce. “She’s no threat to them.”

“She isn’t.”

“She can’t travel by dragon.”

“No,” Criston agrees. “So they must have transported her by land or sea.”

Aemond shakes his head. “Why would Rhaenyra do that?”

Criston’s dark eyes are afraid. “I don’t know.”

“Where might they have sent her? Where could she be?”

“Anywhere, Aemond,” Criston says helplessly. “Anywhere.”

And it rises in him like magma through the earth: a scorching venom that pools in the capillary beds of his lungs, a fatal heat that burns away flesh and bones and reason.

~~~~~~~~~~

Rain falls from the sky, sea spray erupts from the waves, stinging eyes and the abrasions on your skin from falling on the rocks over and over again. You are a child, and you are tracking Vermithor on Dragonstone. The mist is so thick that Criston and the guards have lost sight of you, and you can hear them shouting for you to wait for them, but you can’t, you can’t, you’ve wanted this for years and now it’s about to happen. You can feel the volcanic stones, black and serrated, quaking as the Bronze Fury stomps in his hovel. The cave is shrouded in fog, but you know he’s in there. He is growling, a sound like thunder. You can see the glinting gold of his eyes.

“Vermithor!”you command him in High Valyrian, holding out your hands, your maroon gown billowing around you in the vicious wind. Strands of long silver hair are torn from your braid. Blood runs in thin rivulets from your ravaged palms down your wrists and forearms. Saltwater burns like fire in the gashes on your feet; you’ve lost your shoes while scrambling over the rocks. “All my life I’ve dreamed of you, and now we will fly together at last. We will be bonded to one another until death. We will preserve the realm and burn our enemies. Serve me, Vermithor! Serve me!”

He emerges from his cave: a colossal skull covered in scales and spines, steam rising from his nostrils, jagged fangs bared, eyes that are at once reptilian and mindless and wrathful and sage. He is a century old and unfathomably mighty; he is an inheritor of the sacred magic of Old Valyria. He judges you with eyes like kindling flames.

“Red, step back!” Aemond yells from where he watches, his black cloak like a banner in the wind, closed at the neck with a silver chain and with a constellation of silver buttons in the shape of Vhagar’s wings across his shoulders. He is the only person who has kept pace with you. “Give him room! Let him approach you!”

But Vermithor is yours, there is no other possibility, in your heart he has always been yours, he has been the beast you claimed in your soul when you first heard his legends as Aemond read them aloud to you, Aegon, Helaena, Daeron under the heart tree in the Godswood of the Red Keep, and now you will climb onto his back and fly with him and meet Aemond and Vhagar in the mist-grey sky. From deep in his throat, the Bronze Fury snarls.

“Vermithor, be calm! Don’t you recognize me? We are meant for each other. We belong to each other. The dragon egg I was given in the cradle didn’t hatch so I could come here and find you instead. I am not afraid of you. I will not flee from you. Serve me! Serve me!”

“It’s not working,” Aemond tells you with dawning horror. “Get away from him! Red, get away!”

“Serve me, Vermithor!” you scream, and now you’re terrified, because his jaws are opening and dragonfire is boiling up into his mouth, crimson and glowing. “No, no!”

You try to run but the heat is already everywhere, and the air is suddenly too hot to breathe, and when you touch your face with your bloody hands you can feel your cheeks blistering. And then something collides with you like a lance striking a jousting knight, and you are thrown to the ground. It’s Aemond, and he is shoving you down into a crevice between two slabs of black basalt, and when instinctively you try to push him away—you’re always fighting him, something wild to be tamed—Aemond pins your wrists to your chest and shields your body with his, shrinking from the lethal heat of the world outside and burying his face in the velvet of your gown.

Then Criston and the guards and the Dragonkeepers are here, and with their ancient spells the Dragonkeepers convince Vermithor to retreat into his cave. When Aemond helps you out of the crevice, you see that the buttons on the back of his cloak have melted, and if the attack had lasted even a moment longer he’d be dead.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you wake in your bedchamber at the top of a tower of Heart’s Home, Jace is already gone. You peer through the window and see him strolling in the castle courtyard with Lord Leowyn Corbray, both of them bundled up in heavy furs; there is a layer of powdery snow on the ground, just as high as the ankles. The pine trees of the surrounding forest sway in the cold mountain wind. Servants lead horses in and out of the stable. And you wonder randomly: Do they have bats in the Vale?

Maids hear you walking around and file into the room to show you the clothes your closet has been stocked with through House Corbray’s generosity and help you dress. They try to distract you, but you notice anyway: one of them strips the bed and takes the sheets away, blotted with a watery, pale pink stain of blood. You’re sore, but not terribly so, just enough pain to remind you—when you move in certain ways—that you are wed to Jace, and that he took you last night as any husband would, and that now you could be carrying his dark-haired heir. The thought stuns you; you’ve never been more than ambivalent to the prospect of bearing children. Your dreams were of Vermithor, and marrying Aemond, and being possessed by him in every sense possible. Motherhood would come later, and you had always assumed you would one day begin to dream of that too.

Do I dream of it now?

No, you feel in your bones. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The colors of the Vale are chilly and weak like the sky. The maids show you velvet gowns of dusky rose, icy blue, moss green, dove grey. After some consideration, you choose the blue. Then you wander the castle, your drafty stone prison, your new home. There are no tapestries of the Hightower or wrathful dragons or lovers ensnared like knotted threads, no familiar faces. Heart’s Home is austere, its primary embellishments being candlelit chandeliers and rugs made from dead animals, and the loudest sound you hear is the whistling of wind through cracks in the walls, frigid air that howls in from the Mountains of the Moon.

After much exploration you find the rookery, where ravens squawk in their cages and bed down in mounds of straw, and through the window is a view of snowcapped mountains that stretch on endlessly like a sea. There is no table to write on, and you see no parchment or ink or quills, and you don’t know which raven (if any of them) is trained to fly to Rook’s Rest. It doesn’t matter; you can’t write to Aemond without endangering your family held hostage in King’s Landing. And even if you could, what would you say to him?

Aemond, I’ve married Jace and I did it to save you. But don’t fear for my safety. I am protected here, I am content enough. I have no dragon, but I can help fight the war in my own way. Jace seems to like me. I might even be beginning to like him too.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” someone says, and you whirl to see Lord Corbray’s wife filling up the doorway.

You do not bow or curtsey. As a princess, you outrank her. “Lady Caroline.” No. Not quite. “Lady Carolyn. Lady Carolina.” Then you remember. “I am so sorry, Lady Carolei. Forgive me.”

She laughs boisterously. “Carolei is a common name in the Vale, but not elsewhere, I’ve been told. My closest friends here call me Lady Caro, you can feel welcome to do the same.”

“Lady Caro. Please allow me to apologize again.”

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure you had a late night.” Her eyes—large and round, almost bulging, and a very pale blue—sweep from your feet to your face. “But you didn’t have too bad of a time with it, I think.”

“The maids took the sheets,” you say like an accusation.

She smiles, perhaps a little guiltily. “As High As Honor,” she replies. “They are the words of House Arryn, but all the great families of the Vale aspire to be above reproach.”

“And you are a great family.” It’s more of a question.

“We are not grand or wealthy, that’s true,” Lady Caro concedes. “And I can imagine our little castle cannot compare to King’s Landing or the Hightower of your Mother’s house. But we are dependable and honest. What Queen Rhaenyra has entrusted us with is a tremendous privilege. We will abide by her instructions, and endeavor to satisfy her every request.”

“So she wanted to know that I bled.”

Lady Caro shrugs—I can’t tell you that—and then signals for you to follow her. “Join me in the Great Hall. We’ll have some cinnamon tea.”

The Great Hall of Heart’s Home is about the same size as your bedchamber in the Red Keep, with two rows of wooden tables and a crackling fire in the hearth. When you look into the glowing embers, you are reminded of Vermithor’s flames. Cool overcast light falls like snow in through the windows. Lady Caro gestures for you to sit with her at the table closest to the fire, and maids bring you fried eggs and bacon, fresh bread, butter, blackberry jam, and cinnamon tea, milky and aromatic and very sweet.

“It must be difficult for you,” Lady Caro says thoughtfully as she slurps her tea, steam wafting into the air. “Being so very far from your family. Even if they are traitors.”

She seems to be testing you for a reaction. You gaze into your tea and try not to let tears well up in your eyes as you think of them: Mother and Helaena in a dungeon, Jaehaera and Maelor with strangers, Jaehaerys and Grandsire dead, Daeron at war, Aegon burned, Aemond hating me once he learns of my betrayal. None of us are in the same place. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. “But you must be far from home too. Women get married off and sent across the world, it’s nothing new.”

“This is true,” Lady Caro muses. “I am originally of House Coldwater, and if you think Heart’s Home is plain and remote, I hope you never see Coldwater Burn. You’ve probably never even heard of it.”

“It’s up near the Fingers,” you say softly, remembering Aemond showing you dots littering the Vale on one of his maps, warm firelight, teasing hands, his lips murmuring against the shell of your ear. “The colors of its banner are blue, red, and white.”

She gasps and presses a palm to her chest, delighted. Her already ruddy cheeks flush pinker. “Mother have mercy, they teach that in the capital?”

“I have an interest in geography.” No, you don’t; but Aemond does.

“Do you embroider or sing?”

“Neither. Not well, anyway. Helaena works miracles with a needle and thread.” Absently, you touch your gown where beneath the pale blue velvet a scar runs from your left collarbone down to the top of your breast. So does Aemond.

Lady Caro observes this curiously, peering at you over the rim of her mug. “How did you occupy yourself before you came here? I do want to make you feel as comfortable as possible.”

Because you are kind? Because Rhaenyra told you to? Or because I might be the queen myself someday? “I spent a lot of time with my brothers and sister,” you answer honestly, dolefully. And I kept bats. You decide to omit this. “We all had our crafts. I made mosaics out of seashells.”

Lady Caro titters. “Seashells? Well, they aren’t exactly abundant, but there are some out near where the river meets the Narrow Sea. I’ll see if I can have a bucketful brought to you.”

“I can collect them.”

“The water is very cold, and the current powerful.”

“I like to choose my own shells. You can send knights to watch over me, I’m not hoping to drown myself or anything.”

Now Lady Caro laughs loudly. “Drown yourself! The things you say, princess…”

You decide to try to make conversation to encourage her affection, as Mother would want you to. “Do you have children, Lady Caro?”

“Oh yes, five of them. Four died though. Awful luck, isn’t it?” She goes somber, staring blankly out the nearest window for a long while, leaving you unsure of what to do or say. Eventually, she returns to the Great Hall and is cheerful again. “My daughter Jessamyn was married into House Mallister of Seagard. I get to see her and the children once every few years. And she’s nothing like you.”

You smirk cautiously. “What does that mean?”

“It means she’s very sweet and agreeable and naïve.” And then Lady Caro winks at you, and you realize you might be becoming friends. “Not like a Targaryen.”

You drink your cinnamon tea and think of last night, feeling a strange brew of fondness and shame and relief and loss. “Sounds a bit like Jace though.”

“Yes, well,” Lady Caro says, then wisely leaves the rest unspoken. He’s more of a Strong, isn’t he?

One of the Great Hall’s heavy wooden doors creaks open and Jace strides inside, wearing black accented with red and a bear fur coat overtop, speckled with snowflakes. More flurries are melting in his hair. You stand to meet him and he takes both of your hands. You smile uneasily, not knowing what to expect; then Jace playfully kisses the knuckles of your right hand, and after that your left, and he beams at you.

Instead of a greeting, he says: “We have a few more days together, then I have to go away.”

It’s the second time a man has told you this. “Go where?”

Jace shrugs evasively. No one is allowed to tell you anything. “Do you like horses?”

“Sure.” Aemond used to take you to visit his war horses, all towering and temperamental: Rusty, Apple, Fox, Ladybug, Pomegranate. Then he would watch as you stroked their forelocks and their downy muzzles, his remaining eye fixed on you, imagining sins that never felt like damnation but rather searing, tumultuous waves like an ocean of blood.

“Good. I’ll show you the stable.” Jace kisses you, a quick peck for modesty’s sake since you aren’t alone. He grins and licks his lips. “Mm. You taste like cinnamon.” Something warm, something red. He turns to Lady Caro. “Thank you for making us feel so welcome. The queen will be pleased to hear of your devoted service to the crown. We know that this is an imposition, and we appreciate your generous sacrifice.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Caro replies, and she seems to mean it. “It’s no imposition. It’s an honor.” Then she rises to her feet. “Let me find some boots and a fur coat for the princess.”

Once you are properly guarded against the cold—wrapped in a thick coat of fox pelts—Jace links his arm through yours and leads you outside, and you tread together through the shallow snowfall toward the stable.

“You’ve probably never even seen snow before,” Jace says, and you agree even though this isn’t true. You saw snow here in the Vale when you were very young—you don’t even remember which castle Mother and Father had been visiting on their royal progress—and that was the trip when Aemond pushed you into a frozen river and you caught a chill that almost killed you.

“Jace?” you ask, cutting him off mid-sentence. You hadn’t meant to interrupt him; your mind had been wandering.

He looks at you with some trepidation, as if he’s worried you might have a complaint. “Yes?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

He blinks at you, then exhales in a relieved chuckle. “You’re asking why I’m nice?”

“You never liked me before. And you had no reason to.” In your eyes, I was a traitor. If you could tell what I’m feeling, you’d know I still am.

He ponders how to answer as you walk. Now his expression is serious. “I always knew that when I married—to whoever it was, although for most of my life I believed it would be someone else—that would be it for me, and I would never be estranged from her or take another lover. There are so many families with…” He pauses, and you watch him closely. “There are so many children who suffer from the indiscretions of their parents.” There is a bloom of ashamed, gory pink in his cheeks, and you know he is speaking of himself, and of all the bastards anywhere in the world who have ever been made to feel lied to, less than, disgraced, disavowed. “I swore to myself that I would be a good husband and father, and that my own household would be…wholly uncomplicated.”

“So you would act this way with anyone. With whoever you were wed to.”

“Well…” He smiles softly. “As it turns out, there are things I like about you.”

“Really?” you tease, grinning, and when you reach the stable you shove the door open and step inside onto a straw-strewn floor. There’s no biting mountain breeze here in the shadows, and the body heat radiating off the horses makes the air more hospitable. Jace seems surprised you didn’t wait for him to open the door for you. “What things?”

“Several things,” Jace says, then—now that you are alone aside from the horses nickering and chomping on hay in their stalls—wraps his arms around your waist and holds you from behind, kissing the side of your neck. You have to resist the reflex to fight him off so he can overpower you, pin you to the floor, fuck you as you hiss and claw at him and tell him to stop. Jace wouldn’t understand it. Jace would be horrified by it. “Here,” Jace whispers, skimming a hand over your gown where he made you bleed last night. Then his palms travel up to your breasts. “And here.” Then he nuzzles your silver hair as he gently unfastens your braid and inhales deeply. “And I like this too. Although I’d be interested to see you wear it in a style that is a little…softer.”

“Softer?” you echo doubtfully.

“You’re not a warrior,” Jace says as if he thinks you will want to hear this, as if it will comfort you. It doesn’t. “And that’s alright. You can be soft. You can be ladylike.”

You don’t feel very much like a lady. You feel like a kettle full of boiling water, like lava bursting up through the cracks in the earth, like dragonfire hemorrhaging from a beast’s gaping throat. Now you and Jace are on the wooden floor of the stable, displacing straw as you kiss hungrily and pull off each other’s coats. Jace climbs on top of you, and you think: I can’t do this again, not like last night. I want to be fed too.

Jace stops to marvel at your face, his thumb skating over the curve of your cheekbone. “I want to make it as good for you as it is for me,” he says solemnly. “Last night it was over so quickly, and…I didn’t…I feel like I could have done more, but I don’t know…I’m not sure if…”

You grab his right hand and lace your fingers through his. “Can I show you how I touch myself?”

Jace’s eyebrows go up. “You touch yourself?”

“Don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” he admits bashfully, blushing. He does this a lot, you are learning. “But I’m a man.”

You smile. “Women experience longing too, Jace.”

“Yes,” he says, and now he’s breathing quickly and it sounds less like he’s merely intrigued and more like he’s begging for it. “Show me. Please show me.”

You take his hand and guide it beneath your gown, up the length of your legs, stopping where you are slick and needful, an ache so deep it hurts like the cramps when your blood arrives each month. You place two of Jace’s fingers on the right spot—he keeps inadvertently moving his hand just off the mark, and each time you put it back where it belongs—and lead him into a rhythm, a tight swift circling and pressure that makes your thighs open wider for him and your spine arch.

Jace murmurs as you pant on the stable floor, shadows on your face and straw in your hair: “Is this okay, am I hurting you at all?”

“You can press down pretty hard,” you assure him. “You won’t break me. I’m not glass.”

He’s trying not to lose his focus. “Okay…okay…”

“Jace,” you gasp as you sling your arms around the back of his neck and cling to him, your hips rocking, and he moans and kisses you—deeply, passionately, gluttonously—and under your dress his hand suddenly strokes you so forcefully it’s almost painful and then it’s on you, that feeling better than anything else on earth, being opened, being dragged under, being ignited, being devoured until you go weak and limp and boneless, aftershocks throbbing and your lips smiling drowsily. “Jace, Jace, Jace,” you breathe dizzily, still holding him.

He is gazing down at you, awestruck. “When can I watch you do that again?”

“Soon,” you purr through Jace’s dark curls. “Now…your turn.”

You are barely aware of it as he pushes the hem of your gown up to your waist and frees himself from his trousers, and you only come back to Jace when he enters you—your flesh still tender from last night, but wet and wanting him—and he is careful as he slowly pushes himself all the way inside, trying not to hurt you again. Then he thrusts and you are stunned by how good it feels, like your climax made everything more sensitive, more ready, more flawlessly tailored to fit with him. Jace doesn’t last much longer than the first night, and yet just before it’s over there is the ghost of something, a vague desire that is building, and you think next time (or the time after that, or the time after that) you will be able to finish again, and you will be drained like a slaughtered animal with its throat cut and its body hung by the feet, every last blood drop purged and collected in a bucket to be used for fertilizer or pig feed.

Lying together exhausted on the stable floor, you twirl one of Jace’s curls around your finger and—purely by instinct, because it’s what you and Aemond used to do—whisper to him in High Valyrian: “I love how you touch me, thank you, I needed this, I needed you.” But you can tell by the way Jace turns to you, startled and a little self-conscious, that he doesn’t understand what you said.

“I know some High Valyrian, of course,” he explains quickly. “But I’m…I’m still learning.”

“Oh.” It doesn’t come easily to him. Because he’s a Strong, and the Strongs have nothing to do with Old Valyria. And then, to temper the blow: “I can help you practice.”

“Who taught it to you?” Jace asks. He is suspicious, then hopeful. “Helaena?”

You should lie to him, but you don’t. At some point you have to start letting raindrops of the truth seep in. You are going to share a household with Jace, your bodies, your futures, your children. You want him to understand who you really are. You can’t pretend forever; already, it is stifling, a constant and trudging effort, a vanishing until you are transluscent like clear water. You are reminded of all the times when you’ve tried to hide pieces of yourself to please Mother, whose Hightower blood was washed away by the grim, intoxicating magic of the Targaryens. “No, Helaena doesn’t speak High Valyrian except when giving commands to Dreamfyre. She can understand it fairly well, though.”

Jace nods, studying you, but he doesn’t say anything else. The phantom of Aemond stands in the far corner of the stable. You think: I am a traitor to both of them, I am a house of no banners. After a moment, you ask Jace for your very first favor.

“I want Helaena freed from the dungeon in the Red Keep,” you say. “I understand Rhaenyra’s distrust of Mother, but Helaena is innocent. She should be confined to her chambers and permitted to see her children. And allowed to walk in the garden sometimes too.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jace says distractedly.

“You know Helaena. She is gentle, she is fragile. She deserves compassionate treatment.”

“So did Luke,” Jace replies; and though he takes your hands and helps you to your feet as horses snort and paw at the straw-covered floors of their stalls, he averts his dark gaze—an inheritance from his bloodline, the indomitable lineage of the First Men—and doesn’t meet your eyes.

Two days later he departs Heart’s Home for a destination that Lord and Lady Corbray know, surely, but you don’t. Jace bids you farewell at the edge of the field beyond the castle walls as Vermax waits impatiently for him across the clearing, not liking the mountain cold, not liking you. Jace wears black and red as he almost always does, the colors of his mother’s house. His curls are ruffled by the breeze, his red cloak flowing down from his shoulders like a trail of blood.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Jace touches your cheek, then your chin. “I’ll miss you and all those things I’ve discovered I like so much.”

You smile back. You have the beginning of a headache—a throbbing above your left eye, a fuzziness in your thoughts—but you’re trying not to show it. “I’ll be here.” Where else could I go?

“I love you,” Jace says, and then looks at you expectantly. It takes you a minute to realize he’s waiting for you to say it too.

You open your mouth, but your pulsing skull is clamoring with prayers you cannot voice. Please protect the family I have left. Please don’t find a way to kill Aemond. At last you manage: “I love you,” but it sounds hollow and unnatural and cold, like stark snowcapped peaks and the gales that shriek through them.

Nonetheless, Jace is satisfied. He tilts up your face to bring his lips to yours and then treks across the field towards Vermax, leaving footprints in the fresh snow. His sword hangs from his belt. He practices with knights in the castle courtyard each day, and he’s not bad, you’ve observed anxiously. Not as good as Aemond, but not bad.

That night you see the shadow of something interrupting the moonlight that floods in through the window of your bedchamber, and when you push open the glass a bat lands clumsily on the sill and then scrabbles inside. You squeal with delight and scoop it into your arms. It’s a male and a different sort of bat than the ones in King’s Landing, larger in size, black and white in color and with long fanlike ears. He sniffs at you and gazes up with small but intelligent inky eyes. Then, as a mark of friendship, he begins to lick at your fingertips.

“And what do you eat, huh?” you coo as you pet him. “Probably not honey or fruit if you live way up here in the mountains. Probably just bugs. Should I try to catch you some spiders tomorrow? This decrepit old castle must be full of them.”

You have to name him. And this is an opportunity to break all your old patterns. You could call him Seahorse for Jace’s false house, or Dragon for his true one. You could call him the High Valyrian word for bat or wings. You could name him after something black, the color that Jace favors. And yet as you hold him, old memories come screaming back to you, Aemond helping you tend to your bats, Aemond protecting them, moments of kindness and understanding that you now fear were illusions.

He never said he loves me. Not once in eighteen years.

You keep waiting for a glimpse into Aemond’s mind, a stabbing pang of loss and longing when he realizes you’ve been taken away, but it never happens. You keep waiting for him to find you and descend upon House Corbray with fire and blood.

Aemond, where are you? Aemond, have you forgotten me?

“Sapphire,” you whisper to your new bat—your only bat—and he looks up at you as if he knows his name.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jace is gone for weeks, and in his absence you try to learn how to be his wife. You ask Lady Caro to teach you how to wear your hair like the ladies of the Vale: soft waves, sedate buns knotted at the nape of the neck, delicate wisps that frame the face and blow in the harsh mountain wind. You attempt to cultivate an affinity for pale impassionate colors. You distract yourself so you don’t think of Aemond. You catch spiders and moths in secret to feed to Sapphire when he visits you each night. You spend days practicing quiet, feminine embroidery—ruining yarn scenes, piercing your fingertips with needles—until you give it up and fling the cursed tangle of threads away and return to your strange fixations that once confounded Mother.

Lady Caro sends knights to accompany you to the mouth of the river, and you wade up to your knees in the icy water plucking rare shells out of the silt and the pebbles. You are not permitted to collect bones from the forest—there are bears and wolves and shadowcats—but you arrange for the hunters to give you what’s left of the carcasses once they’ve been skinned and butchered. The carpenters give you boards of wood and the blacksmiths forge you a small iron mallet. Sometimes Lady Caro stands in the castle kitchen watching you boil animal bones in a caldron or in your bedchamber as you shatter shells and paint the shards with glue, and she shakes her head, surely thinking: What is wrong with these Targaryens?

You don’t dare to make any mosaics of Aemond. It’s too dangerous, and too painful, and too revealing of what you’re truly feeling. So instead you piece together visions of the rest of them: Aegon smirking over a goblet of red wine, butterflies landing on Helaena’s outstretched palm, Daeron riding Tessarion, Mother smiling at Criston, Jaehaera and Maelor playing together in the garden of the Red Keep. You hang them on the walls of your bedchamber and at night you sleep better.

When Jace and Vermax return to Heart’s Home, you and Lady Caro are in the inaptly named Great Hall sipping cinnamon tea and nibbling blackberry oatcakes, and Lady Caro is telling you about her flock of grandchildren who reside at Seagard on the shore of the Sunset Sea. “Jasper is clever but terribly loud, and then Joy won’t talk to humans at all but loves her cats…” She trails off as your husband rushes into the room, his steps buoyant, his red cloak flying behind him.

“Welcome back, Prince Jacaerys,” Lady Caro says as she stands to greet him. “I hope your travels were comfortable and all your ventures went well.”

“Very well,” he says, grinning, alight with victories that are yet unspoken. Lady Caro dismisses herself to give the two of you privacy, promising to bring cinnamon tea for Jace. As soon as she is gone, Jace bolts to the table.

“What happened?” you ask he sits opposite of you. The hearth throws off rage-colored heat.

Please let this be peace and not violence. Please don’t have harmed anyone I love.

He is beaming as he takes a messy bite of a blackberry oatcake, crumbs falling down onto the table. And he must have decided that he can begin telling you his secrets now. Perhaps he trusts you; perhaps he knows there’s nothing you can do to sabotage him anyway, no ravens to send, nobody to inform. “I found someone to ride Vermithor.”

The realization sinks inside you, dark and heavy, an anchor, a sickness. You murmur, knowing it is pointless: “He was supposed to be mine.”

“Well…he didn’t agree.”

This hurts you; Jace doesn’t seem to notice. You think of the tiny wooden Vermithor that Aegon once carved for you, and you wonder if it’s still on your dresser in Maegor’s Holdfast or if Rhaenyra has burned or broken it, or mistaken it for something of no value.

“Corlys’ bastard Addam has claimed Seasmoke,” Jace continues, as if this could not possibly be anything to you but good news. “Vermithor and Seasmoke are now helping Mother to safeguard the capital. Daemon and Nettles…” Jace gestures awkwardly. There was a falling out with Rhaenyra. “They’ve taken Harrenhal as a base in the Riverlands. So we needed more help in King’s Landing, and we found it.”

We have two battleworthy dragons. Now they have six. No wonder Jace is so pleased.

“And there are still other unclaimed dragons,” you say dully, nauseous with dread.

“Yes,” Jace agrees. “But unfortunately, Aemond realized what we were doing. So he took possession of Dragonstone, and he and Vhagar are always back and forth from there, and no one can approach the island and risk him happening upon them.” Another bite of his blackberry oatcake, more crumbs, more casual chewing. “Which brings me to my question for you.”

“For me?”

Jace nods. “I need you to tell me what he’s going to do next.”

You stare at your husband inanely. “What?”

“Aemond is the problem,” Jace says, more agitated now. He devours the last of his blackberry oatcake. “Even with all the dragons we have, it’s going to be difficult to destroy Vhagar. Our new dragonriders are inexperienced, and Daemon, he’s…” Jace waves a hand. “Unreliable. Self-serving. But you were there at the Red Keep with Aemond when he and Criston were drawing up their plans, and therefore you can help us.”

You lie immediately. “I don’t know anything.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Another lie. “Really. He didn’t discuss it with me.”

“Then tell me about him,” Jace says impatiently. “I know he’s good with a sword, but he must have weaknesses. Does he have lasting pain from his maiming, does he have vices that distract him?”

I’m not convinced I knew Aemond at all. “I’m not going to help you kill him.”

Jace glares at you incredulously. “How do you think this ends?”

“Rhaenyra promised Mother that Aemond would be spared, and you were a part of that bargain—”

“We said we would let him live if he’s still alive when the war is over, but we can’t win the war if he and Vhagar are seizing castles and territory and burning our men and supplies and nobody can stop him!”

“Does he know that…” You swallow, your throat burning. “Did Rhaenyra send him a raven to tell him about our marriage?” About my treason, about my ruining?

“No. Why would we provoke him like that? Why would we put a target on my back? The realm will be told when the battles are past and the surviving Green loyalists must be convinced to bend the knee.”

You close your eyes and you can’t picture Aemond as a warrior; you can only see him as a child with stitches and agony, as a man who gave you forbidden, bewitching pleasure. “I don’t know anything. I can’t help you.”

“I did as you asked,” Jace snaps. “I persuaded Mother to give Helaena more freedom, I ensured that Alicent is healthy and that Jaehaera and Maelor are well cared for and never lonely. I can probably even save Daeron. But Aemond must be stopped.”

“He’s my family too—”

“I am your family now!” Jace roars, jolting to his feet and pounding on his own heart. “Me and my siblings, and my parents, and my children, not them!”

One of the doors of the Great Hall swings open and Lady Caro is there with a tray of cinnamon tea and fresh blackberry oatcakes. She gapes at you and Jace, too shocked to remember to be polite. It’s too late for her to pretend she hasn’t heard. She stalls, trying to think of something to say.

“I believe we’re having venison for dinner,” she announces with feigned cheerfulness.

Jace looks at you one last time—with disappointment, with fury—and storms out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn’t come to bed all night, and you leave the window wide open so Sapphire can glide in and visit you: hanging from your bedposts, scrambling over your blankets, and then vanishing shortly before daylight. You have a headache that worsens until you are half-blind and sick to your stomach, and the maids hear you retching and bring you toasted bread and ginger tea and a bucket and wet cloths to cool your face.

Lady Caro wanders in and sits down beside you, her weight shifting the feather mattress, and pats your shoulder sympathetically. “I think you should tell the prince that his efforts have been successful.” To produce an heir, she means, and you’re convinced she’s wrong.

“That’s not what it is,” you moan, burrowing under the blankets. “I’m sick all the time.”

“You haven’t had your monthly blood since you’ve been here,” Lady Caro says gently, and of course she knows this because of her maids, her spies. You stare up at her vacuously, unable to comprehend it.

Pregnant with Jace’s child?

And this feels like a final severing of any possibility that Aemond will ever want you back. No other man was allowed to lie with you. Now Jace has wed you, bedded you, bred with you, turned your coat.

You force yourself out of bed and let the maids dress you and comb your hair, nursing the ginger tea—unappetizing, but good for nausea—as you gather your courage. You aren’t sure how to tell Jace. You aren’t sure that you want to see him at all.

Your skull still throbbing and your bare feet unsteady, you stumble through the cold stony corridors of the castle until you hear men arguing spiritedly in the Great Hall, their voices rumbling like thunder. Inside you find Lord Corbray, a number of lords and knights, and the maester of the castle. Jace is bent over one of the tables and reading, then rereading, a letter that the maester must have brought from the rookery.

Lord Corbray is saying: “They write that he has already razed Darry, Blackbuckle, Claypool, Swynford, and Spiderwood. The noble houses are constructing scorpions, but even with them, how many bolts would be needed to kill Vhagar? She’s massive, she’s monstrous. The Northmen are marching south, but now they’re saying they won’t go beyond the Twins without Caraxes and Sheepstealer as escorts, and can we count on Daemon for anything…?”

Jace looks up and sees you standing in the threshold. His dark curls hang over his bloodless face; his eyes are staggered and fearful. And twistedly, horribly, there is a flash of light that burns radiantly through the murky gloom of your skull and your ribcage, a forbidden vindication, a rapture you can never reveal.

Aemond remembers me? Aemond longs for me?

Jace says: “He thinks you’re in the Riverlands.”

[oosleepyfaeoo]

A Kiss Is All I Need

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Chapter One

Summary: 2 months ago, Alys, the love of his life, broke up with him. Their relationship of five years gone by a simple farewell note that she left on their, well now his, penthouse. 2 months crying and feeling like shit but that all stopped when he meet you on that dreadful clothing store.

Warnings: Some angst, Aegon being the wingman, she/her pronouns, slow burn, eventual smut

Words: 2k

Masterlist

A/N: English is not my main language so i apologize for bad grammar but i hope you still like it! Feel free to reblog and comment! It would make me really happy to know you guys thoughts (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

“Seriously, Aemond. Relax a little.” Aegon drawls, eyeing his little brother carefully.

Aemond stood beside his brother, tense as a rock, contemplating his surroundings while his long pale fingers toy with his old, stained t-shirt. They currently stood in the middle of the clothing store, waiting for their sister Helaena while she chose some new and clean clothes for Aemond.

His siblings finally, after a month of rotting in his penthouse, dragged him out of the house to get some fresh air and apparently, some new clothes.

Aemond just shot his brother a glare and continued nervously toying with his t-shirt. Aegon rolls his eyes. “She did a number on you, didn’t she?” He says with a small frown.

2 months ago, Alys, the love of his life, broke up with him. Their relationship of five years gone by a simple farewell note that she left on their, well now his, penthouse. He still remembers how his heart beat so fast against his ribcages while he searched the whole house for her, noticing that all her clothes and jewelry (which he gifted to her) were gone.

He met her at one of his family company parties. Alys was the secretary of Lyonel Strong. Aemond was completely in awe with her when his eye landed on her, the way she moved so gracefully, and how her green eyes sparkled with mischief and wisdom.

When they made their relationship public, it was quite a shock for everyone, especially his mother. He was 23 and she was 35 at the time which was entirely understandable since they had a big age gap, twelve years to be precise.

“I don’t want to talk about her.” Aemond murmurs, trying his hardest to not think about Alys.

Aegon sighs and wraps his arm around his brother's shoulders. “I know you don’t... But try to loosen up a little.” He looks at Aemond worriedly. “Everyone is worried about you... Seven Hells, even Jace, and Luke are worried-”

Aemond looked down with a frown when suddenly he felt a gentle pull on his jeans. By his feet was a little girl dressed in a princess costume, full of pink and sparkly glitter. Her black hair hangs in two cute pigtails and a small simple tiara on top of her head.

The child looks carefully at Aemond, her eyes fixed on his eyepatch. “Are you a pirate?” She asks with an excited grin, her big round eyes shining in mischief.

Aegon burst out laughing while Aemond just stood there, looking down at the small girl in shock.

She huffs in annoyance and pulls the fabric of his jeans again. “Well?”

Noticing that Aemond does not intend to answer the poor girl, Aegon kneels beside the girl and gives her a kind smile.

“Sorry kid but he’s no pirate.” His answer made the girl frown in disappointment. “But he’s a Prince!” Now that made her look at Aemond in surprise and then back at Aegon, eyeing carefully.

“If he’s a Prince then why he doesn't smile?” She asks.

That pierce a little Aemond’s heart. Kneeling, he grabbed her small hand and gave her a small smile. “I’m sad... So that’s why I don’t smile much, little Princess.”

The girl giggles at her nickname but quickly disappears as she frowns, looking into his eye intensely. Then she took a step forward, placed her tiny hands on his cheeks, and kissed the point of his nose. Aemond stood very still, his eye wide in surprise at the girl's gesture.

She pulls back and smiles in excitement. “There! A kiss always pushes the sadness away!” The girl says proudly. “My mommy always kisses me whenever I'm sad or hurt.”

//// \\\\

“Em!” You call while looking everywhere in the clothing store for your daughter. “Emily! Where are you?!”

You can’t take that girl anywhere without getting a panic attack. You love to the death, she was your sun and moon but sometimes you wish that your daughter wasn't so adventurous. You were finishing a client order when you noticed your daughter leaving the bakery and running into the clothing store right in front. This made you leave everything that you were doing and run after her.

Sighing in relief, you spot her by the men's section talking to 2 silver-headed men. “Emily!” You breathe out as you kneel and pull her into a hug. “Don’t you ever disappear on me again! Mommy’s heart can’t handle any more surprise adventures.”

Your daughter grins at you and points to the man with an eyepatch. “Mommy I found a Prince!” She says excitedly. “Don’t worry, he’s not a pirate.” She whispers that part to you which makes you chuckle.

You stood up, holding Emily in your arms. “I’m so sorry. I hope my daughter didn’t bother you too much.” You apologize.

The handsome eyepatch man stood still looking down at you. A light blush appears on your face as you study his face properly. He was tall, really tall, with beautiful silky long silver hair that was loosely braided. His features were sharp which made him even more attractive. His eye was colored in a lovely ice blue shade with a hint of light purple. A black eyepatch covers his other eye, and you notice a long scar coming out of it down to his cheek. He was dressed in a simple green t-shirt (which seems to have seen better days) some black jeans, and black Doctor Martens.

He seemed nervous as he began playing with his fingers. “Huh... It’s no problem. Your daughter is a very sweet child.” he smiles softly.

“Mommy! Mommy! The Prince was sad so I kissed his nose like you do to me when I'm sad or hurt. And now he’s happy!” Emily giggles while resting her head on your shoulder.

“That’s very sweet of you, Em... But you can’t go wander off and kiss strangers.” You sigh while giving an apologetic look to the silver-headed man. “You know that while mommy is working, you need to stay with Maria.”

Emily rolls her eyes and pouts. “Ugh, but Maria is boring! She stays in front of the computer all day and does nothing... I much prefer staying at home, at least I could play with Pumpkin.”

You adjust her tiara on her head and kiss her forehead gently. “I know but I can’t let you be at home alone, sweetheart.”

While you scold your daughter, trying to convince her to stay with your employee. Aegon stays silent studying the scene before him. He had noticed how Aemond suddenly couldn’t take his eye off you or how his pale cheeks suddenly turned pink when you smiled gently at him.

Aegon also noticed you eyeing his little brother which made him grin mischiefly. Oh, he had a plan forming in his head. A BIG plan.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to intrude but it seems you are in need of a babysitter for this lovely Princess,” Aegon says while smiling at Emily who grins at him. He wraps his arm around Aemond’s shoulders and pulls him to his side. “My baby brother, Aemond, is in need of a job and he’s great with kids. He usually babysits our nephews. So, he knows how to take care of children.”

Aemond shot Aegon a glare and opened his lips to disagree with whatever his brother had in mind, but Aegon just smiled at him and stepped on his foot to silence him.

“So, what do you think?” Aegon grins down at you.

You frown gently. It’s true that you seriously needed a babysitter for Emily, but you don’t have time to look for one since being a single mother and owning a bakery occupy your days. Also, it’s hard to trust a stranger to look after your kid. Your friend, Nat, tried to convince you to hire a babysitter after Emily turned one year old but you quickly refused, saying that you could perfectly manage taking care of Emily and your business alone.

Oh boy, how wrong you were. Since Emily started walking, your life has been a nightmare. She was like a ninja. One minute she was there and the next, she was gone. Every day you would have to run off from your work to go find her. She loves exploring and she makes sure you know that, every, single, day.

Maybe Nat is right.

“Okay,” You sigh. Aegon clapped in victory and smiled at his brother. “But I will be needing an interview with Aemond. To see if he has the training that is needed to look after a child.”

“Of course! When?” Aegon asked while Aemond just stood there petrified.

“Tomorrow at 2 pm.” You took your business card and gave it to Aemond. “You will find me in my bakery shop. It’s right in front of this store.”

Aemond nodded and took your card. “Thank you... I’ll be there.”

You smile gently and say your goodbyes, taking Emily back to your shop. “Bye Bye Prince!” The girl waved to him with a toothless smile which made Aemond smile gently and wave back.

When you and Emily are out of the clothing store, Aemond turns to his brother and slaps roughly on his shoulder. “What in the actual fuck was that, Aegon?!” He growled.

Aegon hissed in pain and pouted. “Ouch!... Is this how you thank your big brother for getting you a date with that hot girl?!”

Aemond rolls his eye. “By making me a babysitter?” He sighs. “Look Aegon, I'm not ready to be with someone yet... Also, did you not think that maybe she has a husband?”

Aegon grins at him. “No ring on her finger so she’s probably single. And you are more than ready to be with someone... It’s been two months since you and Alys broke up, you had your time weep and now it’s time to go back into action.”

Helaena pops beside Aegon with her arms full of clothes that she chooses for Aemond. “Our little brother has a date tomorrow!” Aegon claps excitedly.

Helaena gasps in surprise and then looks back to the clothes in her arms and back to Aemond, frowning gently. “We need more clothes.” She whispers while going back into the clothing store with Aegon on her trail.

Aemond sighs in defeat but a tiny smile appears on his thin lips. He’s not going to lie, you seem really interesting. 

Tag list is open!

Thank you for reading! Hope you like it! ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕

[dumbkiri]

𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖄𝖔𝖚 2

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐁��𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

@lionheart178

You both asked for it and I couldn't resist. If this is well received as much as the first part, part three will include Rhaenys v Aegon v Aemond

Apologies for any mistakes spelling wise and story wise. HOTD is confusing okay!

[Name] woke up at the beginning of dawn with a knock at the door. The knock only stirred him awake because he trained his body to wake at any sound, also because he stayed alert after what happened last night. He couldn’t allow another assassination to happen under his nose. 

He blinked his eyes open and looked around the bed. Somehow Daenerys and her dragons made their way in between him and Helaena, the little girl being embraced by her mother protectively. The man sighed at the peaceful sight and he took himself out of bed with smooth movements. He didn’t want to stir his family from their sleep, not yet anyways.

The person at the door had a great amount of patience, [Name] noted. So the list of names got shorter. It couldn’t be his twin, Aegon, or his younger brother Aemond. Both would have stormed in without a second thought. His mother had patience, but her anxiety would have made her knock on the door again. The other people on this list like the council members, he didn’t want to talk to at such an early time. 

Politics were boring. 

Even still, he slipped a loose shirt over his head and popped his arms into the sleeves. Then he walked over to the door, the sleep gone from his eyes and his lips ready to spew out a curse here and there at the person for wanting to have a conversation so early. 

His hand grabbed the handle of the door and he opened it up to reveal a disheveled Aegon. His twin brother looked like a terrible mess and [Name] swiftly brought him into the large room. Aegon didn’t need to be seen by the castle people. Lords and Ladies would be talking about him for days, maybe even weeks about how he looked. 

The curse words on his lips fell short when he caught a glimpse at his twin. [Name] led Aegon over to the couch and sat him down while he took a seat across from him. Aegon sniffled and looked over to the left where he saw bodies laying on the bed with relaxed breathing. 

“They’re making mother and Jeyne follow Jaehaerys on a cart,” Aegon said softly looking back at [Name], “they s..stitched his-”

“I know, brother,” [Name] responded with a defeated sigh. It was no secret what those ratcatchers did to Jaehaerys. The poor boy had no reason to go through that pain and suffering. “You can tell Otto not to go through with this. You can grieve in a healthy way, Aegon. Have you seen your queen at all?” 

Aegon looked down at the floor with his hands fumbling over with each other, “No.”

[Name] leaned back into the sofa and said, “You should go and see her.”

“She can’t see me like this!” He whispered, gesturing to his messy look. His red eyes puffy from all the crying he did. His breath smelled of wine too. 

“It’ll be good for her to see you like that,” [Name] replied, “because it shows Jeyne that you are a grieving father. She is a grieving mother, you think she looks pretty like a queen right now?”

Aegon processed his words and he wiped his nose with his sleeve. Then he asked, “How do you not look like me? How can Helaena sleep as if her son didn’t die?” The glare didn’t go unnoticed by [Name] and he leaned forward feeling animosity radiate off of Aegon’s body. If Aegon wanted to speak ill about him and his wife, he should have spoken to someone else. 

But he bit his tongue and relaxed, his twin just needed to understand. To learn how to grieve properly. 

“I don’t look like you because I leaned on my wife for support. Helaena could sleep knowing I was in bed with her along with our daughter. Listen to what I have to say Aegon, you need your wife and she needs you. Nothing is more important than her. You do your best to love your family and to protect them.”

The lilac eyed man clutched his knees and sneered, “I regret not being there for them. I regret taking Balerion on patrol when I should have been asleep already. But she lifted the weight of my shoulders and loved me. She understood my plight despite dealing with her own. A husband and a wife need a sturdy foundation to stand on. If the floor beneath her crumbles, I know I’ll be there to hold her hand. To repair that foundation with her. That’s what you and Jeyne need to do. Grieve together, love each other and repair the foundation.”

[Name] lowered his voice when he saw a small body rise up in her bed. The little girl looked around frantically and finally spotted her father sitting on the sofas across the room. Quickly she slid out of bed and her feet carried her over to her father. 

“Daenerys,” [Name]’s features softened and he opened his arms wide to capture his little girl in his arms, “why are you crying, little one?” 

Aegon watched how loving his twin was. He never admitted it out loud, but [Name] made high expectations in being a father. He didn’t drink every night, he trained his son every day, cared for their studies and even joined Daenerys in her embroidery classes. To which brought happiness to Helaena. 

“You weren’t in bed, I thought you left us,” Daenerys cried and hugged her father tightly. Meanwhile [Name]’s heart constricted with a little heartbreak. Left us, she said. Daenerys recognizes the danger without him, the consequences of an absent father. [Name] rubbed his hand up and down her back, bouncing the leg she sat on. 

“Everything is alright, Dany. I’m here, I’m here,” He repeated and pressed a kiss at the crown of her head. After a time, her sobs quieted down and she remained in his arms, not wanting to go anywhere else. 

Aegon with a small smile on his face said, “I forgot how close Dany was to you.” He spoke the truth. Daenerys very rarely left her father’s side besides when she had to go to classes. She often flew on Balerion with him and watched Rhaegar train in the fields. Daenerys admired her father a lot, no one could ruin his image. Not even the ratcatchers. 

“You hear that Dany,” [Name] peered down and nudged his forehead against hers, “Your uncle thinks you spend too much time with me.” 

Dany wiped her tears and said, “Not enough time, uncle. You always take Father away.” Her teasing glare made Aegon feign a surrender, his hands held up high. A chuckle left Aegon’s lips and [Name] came to another realization. Aegon didn’t need Jeyne to help him grieve. 

“Please forgive me, dragon warrior,” Aegon playfully responded, “but your father is an exceptional fighter. He protects this kingdom so well and always stands up for me.” 

Daenerys laughed and sat up wanting to play along with her uncle. The little girl wrapped her arms around [Name]’s neck and said, “But who will stand up for Father? Do you think you’re worthy enough to protect the Warrior of Light, the rider of Balerion?” 

Aegon subtly looked at his twin and [Name] mouthed, “She takes play pretend seriously, you’re in for it now.” 

To which, Aegon didn’t mind because this moment distracted him from the night before. His niece took away the pain, her demanding words and playful attitude brought him into a different world. Play pretend, [Name] called it. How often did his twin brother play like this with his children? 

[Name] knew exactly what Aegon was thinking and he spoke up, “Daenerys and Rhaegar are very creative and imaginative. She plays the role of a dragon warrior, defender of the realm while Rhaegar played as a priest, a man of truth and light.” 

Aegon smirked and before he could ask what was up with that, [Name] shook his head with a grin, “Don’t ask me why, Rhaegar was different in many ways. Anyways Helaena, chosen by Rhaegar, was the Queen and you could only imagine what they made me.” 

“Oh~” Aegon kept his smirk, “they made you a king?”

[Name] laughed and responded with mirth, “A bloody peasant in love with the widowed queen.” 

Aegon hollered and fell back into the cushions of the sofa. “Your kids hold you very high in opinion, but in their world they made you a peasant!” Aegon could not believe what he heard. 

“Yes, we all dress up for our game too,” [Name] laughed again, “my clothes are very itchy, I tell you.” 

The brothers laughed together, but [Name]’s died down a bit before Aegon’s. The older twin enjoyed seeing that smile on his brother’s face. Aegon needed him, [Name] told himself. Him and his family to cheer him up. But they were to leave, very soon. Guilt ate at him and he debated whether to tell Aegon of his plan, but his brother wouldn’t take it lightly. 

[Name] planned to move to the other side, taking Dreamfyre and Balerion with him. Taking Moonlight, Nightmare and Frostfang, his children’s dragons. That’s adding two dragon riders to the Blacks. Technically one because Helaena could never burn people. [Name] would have to make that point abundantly clear to the Blacks. 

“Aegon, there’s something I must tell you.” 

[Name] saw Aegon catch his breath, a faint smile still present on his face. 

“You are strong, brother,” [Name] kindly said, “Yes, others may think you’re only a drunk. But I’ve seen you in the throne room trying to help out your subjects. Only to have Otto strike you down. I’ve seen you try to take charge, only to have that fire stoked out by the council members.”

[Name] brought his lilac eyes to meet Aegon’s shining eyes, “Do what you must to keep your fire burning. Because once it’s out, who knows how long it’ll take to rekindle it. Don’t let Mother strike you down, don’t let Otto control you anymore and most of all, don’t let Aemond underestimate you. You are their King, not their pawn.” 

A spark ignited in Aegon’s chest. Little did [Name] know, his fire was already out. But his words ignited the hearth in his heart. And it burned with strength and passion. Then [Name] stood up, carrying a quiet Daenerys in his arms. 

Aegon followed quickly and shook his head, “You should have been King, [Name]. I don’t know why Father chose me when you were the perfect candidate.” 

Smoothly [Name] responded, “I never wanted it.” The confusion on Aegon’s face made [Name] continue, “The crown, the throne, it’s all a game. I don’t know how to play it and you don’t know either. But Otto does, he played it well too. Having his daughter court our father while he grieved for our half sister’s mother was a ploy to get one of us on the throne. To have someone he can control. Do you think you sit on the throne, brother?” 

Aegon blinked then casted his eyes onto the floor, “Not really. No one takes me seriously. The council meetings take place with my opinions never heard.”

“Which is why you announce your presence. Every member of the council is afraid of Aemond because he rides Vhagar. Everyone is afraid of me because I have Balerion. What can you do to make them afraid of you?” 

“I don’t know.” Aegon replied. 

[Name] shifted Daenerys to his other hip and said, “We all have something in common that people are afraid of. Dragons are dragons, beasts the normal folk cannot begin to understand. Not like us. So show them you’re a dragon rider and a king, make them afraid of you. You’re the rider of Sunfyre.”

Aegon cleared his throat and walked over to the door. He felt a shift in the room and he looked back at his brother. This moment, it felt too somber and Aegon had to tell him something too. 

“Brother, thank you for this.” 

[Name] nodded, “I always have your back, Aegon.”

After Aegon left, [Name] moved over to the bed and wasn’t surprised that Helaena woke up. Perhaps she had already risen long ago. 

“Hello, my sweet lady,” [Name] sang and placed Dany on the bed next to her mother. Then he leaned over and pressed a light kiss on Helaena’s lips. His hands held her face with love and he pressed into a little deeper. She returned his passion and asked in between his kiss, “Did you mean it when you said it to Aegon?” 

“Of course, I did,” [Name] pulled back and sat by her bedside, taking her hands into his own. He rubbed her knuckles and brought them up to his lips. He kissed her gently and put them back on her stomach. “Now we shall get ready for our journey before the rest of the castle wakes.” 

Helaena pushed herself upward and suddenly embraced her husband. His eyes widened in surprise and he looked down at his wife with questions. Nonetheless, he kept his mouth shut and embraced her back. She felt amazing with her chest pressed up against his. He could feel her heartbeat, hear the slow breaths her lungs took in. Without noticing, his hands dragged themselves lower holding onto her waist. 

He dipped his head down and his lips started leaving a trail of kisses on her neck. One hand held her back pressing her further into him while the other hand held her head. His fingers threading in her long hair and pulling the strands gently down, so she could look up at the ceiling. It gave him more access to her neck, to her breasts. 

He would have dived straight for them if she didn’t remind him who was watching. “This isn’t the place, [Name],” Helaena spoke timidly and he pulled back to see Dany covering her eyes with her small hands. He chuckled with an apology to his wife and daughter. 

“You’re very hard to resist, my love. Excuse my behavior.” He pressed a sweet kiss on her cheek and stood up, ignoring the beautiful look in her innocent eyes. 

Helaena smiled at his bashful look and pushed the throbbing in her core away. Yes, he was also very hard to resist. She’s surprised they didn’t have more children running around them. In due time, she told herself. 

……

They’ve been in the air for quite some time and the morning sun began to rise with soft yellows and pinks.  [Name] opted out on wearing his black armor while riding with his children, but kept Hellfire strapped to his waist. 

Viserys, given a medicine to help him sleep during the flight, drooled onto [Name]’s shoulder. The father didn’t mind and he looked down in front of him to see Daenerys holding onto the cages that kept the three tiny dragons there safely. Her long hair braided into two and she wore a light blue dress paired with her mother’s. 

[Name] looked to his left and watched Helaena fly quietly next to him. She was a good distance away from him because of Baelrion’s long wingspan. So he kept a careful eye on her from time to time as well as their surroundings. If the Blacks attacked them now, the fight would be devastating for his surrendering family. 

He came for answers and sanctuary. He didn’t want a fight. 

Finally Dragonstone came into view and [Name] commanded Balerion with a powerful voice to land on a beach near the Black’s base. Balerion roared into the sky to announce their presence, no doubt alarming the people in Dragonstone. The descent was a little too fast for Viserys and the tiny boy cried all the way down, alarming Helaena who followed after the Black Dread. 

When they touched, Balerion dug his claws into the sand and lowered his neck so the Targaryen family could climb down. [Name] being the first one off the giant dragon helped his daughter down. The small girl watched hopped into his arms, careful that the cage didn’t smack him. 

Helaena touched down fast next to Balerion and released the reins on Dreamfyre while [Name] moved the swaddle from his back to his front. 

He tried to ease Viserys and when he turned around to ask his wife for help, Helaena was already next to him. A worried mother is quick to help her babes, he’s always reminded. [Name] handed Viserys over to his wife with no hesitation and she soothed him with gentle caresses and hushed mumbles. 

Then a loud screech resounded in the sky and he looked up to see three dragon riders making their way to the beach. A golden dragon, a burning red one and a small one. [Name] knew these dragons and their riders, Rhaenyra, Rhaenys and Jace. Luckily for him, Daemon wasn’t with them.

The three landed on the beach a safe distance away from Balerion who challenged them a little too quickly for [Name]’s liking. The black beast held his head high and covered [Name]’s family with a wing. Daenerys awed at the sight and Helaena looked at [Name] wearily. 

“Lykiri, Balerion,” [Name] walked forward with a hand raised at his defensive dragon, “lykiri.” 

Balerion quieted down, his throat bobbing up and down a few clicks and groans rumbling in his chest. His tail swished about on the sand and he lowered his head down to his rider, pressing his large head onto [Name]’s side making the man stumble on the sand. 

With a quick pet, [Name] ran his hand down the scales and rough skin of Balerion’s snout. His eyes dragged away from his beast to the three hesitant dragon riders across from him. He looked back at his family and Helaena gave him a nod of approval. This wasn’t a fight, [Name] reminded himself as he walked forward. Be respectful and pledge your support to Rhaenyra. 

Offer yourself and Balerion to her cause, he told himself again. 

When he walked up to a respectful distance for a conversation, [Name] greeted his estranged family, “Sister, cousin and nephew, I don’t mean to alarm you.”

Was that a good start? To let them know that he wanted no fight. He didn’t use their titles, not quite used to addressing them as so since he acknowledged his brother as the king and such. 

“If not to alarm us,then what do you want?” Jace questioned, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. 

[Name]’s own fingers itched to rest on Hellfire, but if he did that Balerion would take it as a sign to defend his rider and his family. So he kept his hands at his sides and responded with a calm tone, nothing like Jace’s hostile tone. 

“Originally I came here looking for answers-”

“With two dragons at our front door, one bigger than the rest of ours?” 

Rhaenrya and Rhaenys both snapped their heads over at Jace to silently tell him to keep his mouth shut. Both being mothers and both wanting to know the reason why [Name] was here. But if the lilac eyed man kept getting interrupted, then he wouldn’t get to the point. 

“Please, nephew, let me finish my sentence,” [Name] gritted his teeth, his patience running thin, “I came here looking for answers about my son’s death. They are pinning Jaehaerys’ death and Rhaegar’s on your shoulders. So did you or did you not give the order to murder our sons?”

He directed his question to his half-sister. 

“Sons?” Her voice faltered and she took a step forward, “Rhaegar was killed as well?” Rhaenrya looked behind [Name] and saw a visibly concerned Helaena with Daenerys and Viserys by her. But no Rhaegar. 

[Name] sadly nodded, his throat constricted closing the airways painfully. He cleared it away and said, “He died trying to protect his cousin. They slammed him up against the wall and strangled him. My boy didn’t stand a chance against a ratcatcher.” 

“I-I,” Rhaenyra’s eyes watered up, “I did not give the order, this was done without my knowledge by my husband.” 

Immediately a scoff left his lips and [Name] looked over at the water. He muttered with a disdainful look on his face, “Of course he did, I’m sure he did it to get revenge for you. Aegon is looking to do the same, but I am not. I blame my mother and her cunt of a guard, Cole.”

“What happened?” Rhaenys asked, trying to get the whole story. They received word that Jaehaerys was killed, but no mention of Rhaegar. Now [Name] put the blame on his own mother and her sworn protector, Criston Cole. 

“I went out to fly Balerion in the night while Helaena and Jeyne entertained the children in their rooms. One ratcatcher and a man of the Night’s Watch came in claiming ‘A son for a son’.  They cut Jaehaerys’ head off while another strangled Rhaegar. This happened because the knights were relieved from their watch on the order from their Lord Commander. While the boys were on their way to their deaths, Jeyne and Helaena took the remaining kids out of the room looking for help. But there was none. So Helaena went into our mother’s room.”

He took a deep breath in and balled up his hands, he looked back at Rhaenyra and finished off his explanation, “My son died because my mother wanted to get a good fuck in before she turned in her bed.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t believe it, but at the same time she did. Alicent always posed as this woman of faith. Cole posed as a man worthy of the white cloak, ordering people here and there like he was above them. But they were scum, trash beneath her feet. They disgusted her. 

“We are very sorry to hear about this, [Name],” Rhaenys spoke for the emotional Rhaenyra, “We would never order something like this, we want to avoid fighting as much as we can. We tried reaching out to your mother-” 

[Name] rubbed his chin and pulled his sword out, it didn’t ignite into flames, but it unnerved the three members of the Targaryen family. Their dragons, mainly Syrax and Meleys, roared at the action. In turn Balerion puffed out his chest and let out a louder roar than those two dragons combined. 

The sand hit his back and [Name] took a knee, surrendering his valyrian sword over to Rhaenyra. With his head bowed, [Name] spoke, “I don’t care what happens to my brother or mother. I only care about my remaining family. As a father it’s my responsibility to choose them. So here I am, pledging myself and my dragon to your cause. If you’ll have us, Queen Rhaenyra, I will put an end to the Hightower-Targaryens. I will answer your call and go to battle with Balerion. You do  not have a need for an army anymore when you have us.” 

The three Targaryens looked at each other very shocked to see a Green kneel before them. Pledging his support to Rhaenyra, she couldn’t believe the rider of the Black Dread was doing this. The Blacks have always been afraid of the green monstrosity Aemond rode even more so of Balerion. 

Yet the rider, [Name] Targaryen, had different views in this war. 

“I accept you and your family, brother.” Rhaenyra walked up to [Name], her dress fluttering in the light breeze. She could hear the small protest Jace let out of his mouth, but Rhaenyra knew [Name]. 

He was the only brother she didn’t feel threatened by. He always stated that he was happy father named her his heir, saying that he never wanted the crown and its burdens. Plus she saw the love for Helaena in his lilac eyes. He would never bring her harm. 

Rhaenyra kneeled down and picked up his head with her hands. The tears running down his face cemented the fact that [Name] needed her to accept him and his family. His hands dropped his sword and he hugged Rhaenyra tightly, holding onto her like a son does to his mother when looking for comfort. 

“She didn’t apologize to us,” [Name] growled out, “She had my son killed and she defended Cole instead of admitting to her faults.” 

Rhaenyra accepted his hug and said, “I don’t know why she did that.” His words carried in her stomach heavily, he truly did blame the death of Rhaegar on Alicent. It almost felt like he hated his mother. Rhaenyra pulled away from him and wiped his tears away with a frown on her face. 

“You would fight for me? Kill your brothers if the situation calls for it?” 

[Name]’s eyes hardened and he didn’t falter in saying, “I pledged my help Rhaenyra, I will answer any call and support the Blacks in the battles to come. I will support you.” 

Rhaenyra’s frown curved upward into a gracious smile, “Let’s get you and your family settled in some rooms. You can send Balerion and Dreamfyre to hunt after we land in Dragonstone. Then we can talk about your place in the council.”

“My place in the council?” [Name] asked and picked up his sword from the sand and followed after her to stand proudly. He sheathed Hellfire back into its holster and watched Rhaenyra. 

His sister nodded her head and said, “There’s a lot of old men on my council. They say they support me, but disagree with me on almost everything. They want to spill blood, but we don’t have capable dragons to do so.” 

[Name] agreed with her words, “Yes, that is true. Father always said your dragon was more of a spoiled mother than a warrior. Meaning no offense to you or Syrax.” He chuckled seeing the expression on Rhaenyra’s face. 

“Yes, well the ones capable of fighting are Meleys and Caraxes, but we need them for Vhagar or even Balerion.” She looked over at the Black Dread and his red eyes pierced her bright ones. “Now that you’re here, we could do a lot of defending our supporters and their homes. I will pair you with Rhaenys, you two could pose to be a formidable duo. One with speed and the other power.”

“Well we do pose a huge threat to Aegon’s claim to the throne, sister,” [Name] looked back at his wife and remembered something important. 

“But I will not allow Helaena to fly Dreamfyre. Both of them will remain in Dragonstone, safe from any battle.”

Rhaenyra understood his demand, but she had to know why. “Any particular reason why she cannot fly her dragon to battle?” 

“Have you ever seen Helaena hurt a creature, crawling or walking?” [Name] shot back feeling defensive for his wife. 

“Well no, I heard she likes to keep bugs and take care of them.” Rhaenyra responded with a small laugh. 

[Name] smiled back, “That she does, sadly we had to leave the ones she had in King’s Landing behind. My point is she cannot give the command to burn people, sister. Please don’t make her do it.” He begged. 

“Of course not,” Rhaenyra reassured him, “She will remain here with your children.”

“There’s something else I would like to ask of you,” [Name] stopped Rhaenyra and looked back at Balerion. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Rhaegar…he’s with us too. We would like him to be honored here at Dragonstone in Targaryen tradition.” 

“We shall set it all up for you, will Balerion be the one to ignite the pyre?” 

“No,” He stretched his hand out and Daenerys immediately ran over to her father. As his little one ran towards him, Rhaenyra spotted the two dragons; one perched on her shoulder and the other clinging to her hip. “Daenerys has bonded to two dragons, Moonlight and Nightmare; Rhaegar’s dragon. She will command them and we shall see if Nightmare truly bonded with her or just smells Rhaegar on her.” 

“An interesting child, you have,” Rhaenyra commented lightly. 

And [Name] would have it no other way. 

……

The Targaryen family stood behind the Hightower family respectfully watching Balerion with weary eyes along with their council members and guards. If [Name] wanted to he could turn his attention on them and have his beast burn them in black fire. 

But Rhaenyra reminded them of his oath to support her. After all, [Name] came to Dragonstone to honor his son and protect his remaining family. 

Daenerys stood at the side of the pyre holding back her tears. She watched Rhaegar being tackled by the ratcatcher, heard his last words then the clang of his dagger when it fell from his hand. She was going to miss his stupid jokes and his protective nature. She held her hands out, Moonlight perched into her right hand and Nightmare on her left hand. 

They looked at her as if they waited for her command. “Brother,” Dany spoke quietly, no one could hear her over the crashing waves below the cliff, “In our next life, I hope we live long enough to rule the skies together.” 

A moment passed then she gave out the infamous command, “Dracarys.” The two dragons looked away from her and aimed their snouts at the pyre. Slowly they opened up their mouths and breathed out a stream of orange fire. The twigs caught on fire first before the chain reaction began. 

The funeral rite went slow and [Name] walked up to Daenerys, letting go of Helaena’s hand. He pulled his daughter away from the small fire, so he could finish it off with Balerion’s black fire. He gave a subtle nod to everyone surrounding Rhaegar’s body and immediately they all backed up. 

“My love,” He spoke to Helaena and handed Daenerys’ hand over to hers. Helaena hugged a crying Dany who could no longer hold her tears. Then he walked a bit forward away from his mourning family, holding the pommel of his sword tightly.

“Balerion!” He shouted over the waves.

The black dragon shook his whole body responding to his rider’s call. The ground beneath his clawed talons broke under the pressure of his weight. 

“Dracarys!”

Balerion puffed out his chest, his wings spread out and his neck peered over the pyre in a grim image to the rest of the people. His large mouth opened up and all they saw was a dark pit, the fire blending in the dark of his mouth. With a resounding screech, Balerion breathed his black fire onto Rhaegar’s body. 

[Name] watched on in silence, hearing his wife and daughter cry out in anguish. They couldn’t express their sorrow the night of. But here, they let the water flow out of their eyes like a river. The crackling of the fire, the waves below and their cries felt unreal to him as he lost himself in his thoughts.

If he ever sees Criston Cole on the battlefield, he’ll snatch him from the ground. He’ll bring the oathbreaker into the skies, above the clouds and let him fall to his death. He wanted to instill fear into Cole. He wanted to burn Cole, he wanted to behead him. There were so many ways to kill a man. 

The black smoke reached the skies and he turned away from the pyre. He outstretched his arms and embraced his girls. Daenerys clung to his leg while Helaena wrapped her arms around his neck. 

Aegon may have gotten to the ratcatcher first, but Cole was his. This he will make sure of.

[melrosing]

so stuff I’ve not liked about the finale and S2 more generally…. unfortunately it’s a lot and i'm thinking i might need to say this in several parts but first and foremost: the pacing really was shit and i don't just mean there weren't enough action scenes i mean the whole season they've had almost nothing to say about these characters and have just been making us think they do by having them repeat the same ham-fisted monologues about power and peace and the cost of war and whatever whilst moving at a glacial pace from one minor plot point to another and by the end of it most of these characters STILL haven't changed, and where they have it feels undeserved, and yes they really are at roughly the place they started so what have they even got to show for these eight hours of TV?? like damn

and I do get that the writer's strike has really effected them here and HBO hacking two eps off their season affected them too and that really can't be helped. but the pacing has been pretty poor from kick off and I can't just put it down to this being a more 'internal' season. i do not care about big battles. it's fine to have a season of a show that’s more about the characters’ interiority rather than plot action. that’s the exact reason why I like AFFC so much.

but these characters barely have interiority like idk what to say. some like Rhaenyra, Jace and Alicent have been spouting the same monologues every episode about wanting peace/wanting agency/wanting peace again etc etc, and the more interesting moments like Alicent's apparent suicide attempts, Rhaenyra's butchering of the dragonseeds etc... I mean where IS the interiority here?? unless they are spelling out a character's thoughts in the most literal way they can (as per Jace's diatribes about the dragonseeds), they leave their audience to do absolutely all the work by showing us nothing, and just leaving us to figure that the characters must be having some kind of thoughts but y'all can decide what they are.

and even Daemon, whose entire ARC was about his interiority.... like look I was so so ready to love this arc. i love fucked up little dream sequences. i love harrenhal. i was really enjoying the angle they took with alys. i was here for it. but now we've seen the whole of his S2 arc, im going to say yes, it was intended as a redemption adjacent kind of arc, and it isn't a very good one. Daemon has a handful of weird dreams, gets shouted at by some Riverlands folk, and he's a changed man.

consider the character everyone compares Daemon to (and who I'm always more than happy to talk about) and that's Jaime. and look at the sheer ground covered in ASOS: Jaime breaks out of a dungeon, Jaime meets a younger version of himself, Jaime gets his hand hacked off, Jaime reveals his anime villain backstory in the bath, Jaime deals with Roose Bolton, Jaime has a weird weirwood dream, Jaime fights a fucking bear - and at this point we're still only about halfway through.

now in contrast, what have they actually managed to do with Daemon this season. where has that finale moment with Rhaenyra been earned. this is not slow pacing for the sake of powerful character development, it's slow because they don't have anything else to say.

and also look at the state of characters like Aemond who seemed really promising in S1, yet in this season he barely reflects on the fact that he hadn't meant to kill Luke, and this war is an accident that he started, etc etc - he's just a killing machine lol. there were some nice touches in there, like i say i enjoyed Helaena telling Aemond how he'll die in the finale. but I no longer trust these writers to do anything with their more inspired ideas because they just consistently fail to do so.

look at Baela!!! like my god, has Baela had the opportunity to do anything except A) what she's told and B) counsel men on their feelings. she has like one moment looking at Daemon and you feel like the series is going to explore how complex it is to be Daemon Targaryen's daughter.... but my god they never do!! so where IS this interiority we've spent eight episodes on! what have they got to show for it!!

and i talked more weeks back about how frustrating i've found the writing of women more generally in this series and as of the finale I am finding it so egregious and so condescending. women want peace. women want to protect their children. women are tired of men. women are tired of war. women are trying to end this war peacefully. women are pacifists. women hate violence. and so on and so on and so on like jesus christ who am i even talking about here. even i don't know. it's so boring. it's so dry. and it requires female characters to always be the paragons of virtue, never do anything truly condemnable, never be unlikeable, never fucking anything except stand around saying how much they hate this. im bored of it and it makes me angry that they would do this in a series that specifically seeks to make everyone grey and everyone complex - they keep suggesting that might extend to the women before abruptly shutting it down again. see Alicent and Rhaenyra even STILL, after EVERYTHING, trying to peacefully shut down the war for the sake of love and friendship in the goddamn finale. I don't believe it anymore!! it's not cute! it's just dull!!!

and finally that just kind of brings me to how shortsighted a lot of the plot developments seem, when you see how the characters fail to reckon with their pasts or shit that just happened. Rhaenyra and Mysaria make out, and then that's never mentioned again and the tone never changes between them. Rhaenyra is done thinking about Luke. Helaena is done thinking about Jaehaerys. Aegon actually didn't mention Jaehaerys in the list of things he's 'lost' in that finale. Alicent's relationship w Viserys was just now condensed to 'we were fond of each other but he always liked your mum better'

like idk it's just. if this season's pacing is all about giving characters the chance to change and grow into the people they'll be when this war REALLY kicks off.... do it. write it. do not just write the same monologue a dozen times and hope it'll hit harder with each. doesn't work like that. sorry.