#hotd companion book

[noheteroexplanation]

Compilation post of the Rhaenicent Quotes in the House of the Dragon Season 2 Companion Book

The Companion Book discusses various aspects of the making of season 2, such as production, set design, costuming, writing and acting. In this post I will compile all the quotes that make reference to Rhaenicent. The quotes are below the cut.

Quotes on Rhaenicent in season 1

Expertly crafted, the first season breathed visceral life into an essential chapter in the history of Westeros by foregrounding the experiences of childhood friends turned reluctant adversaries Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower.

Hess was keen to explore the ways in which the patriarchy impacted the world of Westeros, and how circumstances conspired to drive an ever-greater wedge between the show's central protagonists, Rhaenyra and Alicent.

As the scripts came together, the two characters became the principal lens through which the episodes unfolded. Alicent and Viserys's marriage leaves Rhaenyra feeling betrayed, while Rhaenyra's brazen indifference to societal dictates infuriates Alicent.

Quote on Rhaenicent at the start of season 2

Both sides, too, appear largely determined to ignore the wisdom of the women in their midst. Despite having been crowned queen in an impromptu ceremony at Dragonstone, Rhaenyra struggles to fully assert her authority over the men who serve on her Black Council, many of whom simply wish for her to step aside so they might enact their own plans. At the Red Keep, Alicent, too, is ignored and dismissed by her sons and her father, who disregard her considerable political savvy and her years of experience serving on Viserys's Small Council.

Quotes on Rhaenyra and Alicent's arcs in season 2

For the writers, the characters' arcs were a means to continue their exploration of House of the Dragon's powerful central theme—that the patriarchy would rather destroy itself than see woman on the throne. "Rhaenyra is beginning to understand that even though she's the queen, it doesn't really matter," Hess says. "Because she's a woman, she's seen as a figurehead, not somebody who's actually in control. Alicent is realizing, Oh, I'm entirely disposable once the men are in charge. The season is about them coming to active reckoning with the patriarchy."

Adds Condal: "Alicent and Rhaenyra were doing much better in a time of peace and prosperity, when you could have more nuanced arguments about what power is and who should be in power. But once it becomes a real war, the men who trained their entire life for this expect to step up to the front of the table and say, 'Thank you very much, but this is what we're going to do now.'"

Quote on set design

In the second season, the young queen (Helaena) moves into Alicent's former chambers, while Alicent, now Queen Dowager, takes over Rhaenyra's former living quarters.

Quote on Rhaenyra and Mysaria that makes reference to Alicent

"Rhaenyra hasn't had a friend that she can be real with in a long time," Hess says.

Introduction to the Sept scene

"The Burning Mill" also afforded D'Arcy and Cooke a rare opportunity to work together, as the hour concludes with a confrontation between Rhaenyra and Alicent, one of only two scenes between the characters in the second season. The scene unfolds inside King's Landing's Grand Sept, where the Queen Dowager has gone to pray. Rhaenyra disguised as a septa, kneels next to her, and their tense exchange begins.

On writing the Sept scene

As he was writing the episode, Hancock, knowing the import of the sequence, worked in concert with Hess on the conversation in which the women finally express to one another their feelings of anger, suspicion, and resentment. "'It's not that either has betrayed the other,"' Hess says. "It's that all this stuff has happened that the men around them have facilitated, and now they don't know what to think about each other. There's this displaced fury, and they end up trying to fight it out with each other. That's often how women in high-powered positions are made to feel about each other—to be suspicious of each other and to struggle with one another over things that they should be [in agreement on]."

Input from Emma and Olivia on the Sept scene

During the period of rehearsals prior to the beginning of the shoot, D'Arcy and Cooke weighed in on the emotions their characters would likely be experiencing, and Hess made a point to reshape the sequence based on their feedback. "They both felt they could get more visceral and angrier," she says, "like, if they weren't who they were and in a sept, they would be punching each other."

The importance of the Sept for Rhaenicent

Setting the meeting inside the Grand Sept gave the scenes additional weight, as the characters had been present in the space together only once before: In the first season, a teenage Alicent brings her best friend there to help her process her grief over her mother's death.

Rhaenyra's point of view on the Sept scene

The fact that Rhaenyra makes the trip to the capital at all is a dangerous gamble, "It's quite a chaotic choice," says D'Arcy. "There's some slight irrational thinking going on and maybe a little bit of self-destructive tendency as well. I have this sense that part of her wants forgiveness. I think she also wants to look the person who's caused her such pain in the face and to declare it. I really loved that scene because while trying to negotiate as an adult on behalf of the kingdom, you also watch two children try to reconcile so much painful feeling."

Alicent's point of view on the Sept scene

Cooke played the scene as though Alicent still feels a deep and abiding love for her childhood best friend, despite all the pain and tragedy they've both experienced. "They grew up pretty much as sisters, and that is hard to break," Cooke says. "I think they both can tell when the other is lying or postulating. This feels like a complete breakdown of any pretense. They are showing each other their most honest and vulnerable side. They have this back-and-forth about what Viserys's intentions were and this discovery of what he wanted."

Aftermath of the Sept scene for Rhaenyra and Alicent

Each woman leaves the encounter in the Grand Sept fundamentally changed. Rhaenyra arrives harboring doubts that Viserys had indeed wished for his son, Aegon, to follow him onto the Iron Throne. But hearing Alicent allude to the prophecy of the Prince That Was Promised she feels newfound surety about the path forward. "For the first time, she has to choose it for herself," D'Arcy says of Rhaenyra's destiny. "Suddenly, there's this decision to kill the possibility that anyone else truly has the heirdom, and that causes her to reckon finally with going to war. She chooses her title. She doesn't just inherit it."

Alicent, meanwhile, is confused and confounded to discover that Viserys might have been referring to Aegon the Conqueror as he drew his last breath. "This throws Alicent's world into complete chaos," Cooke says. "She's been so solid in what she heard. That story, and what she's told herself, has given her such strength, even in the eyes of people that think she's completely out for her own gain."

Quote from Olivia on shooting scenes with Emma

During the shoot, Cooke found herself wishing she and D'Arcy could perform together more often, "It was great working with Emma," Cooke says. "lt's too few and far between [our scenes]. I get stolen snippets with them, but it's always so wonderful and juicy."

Rhaenicent parallel storylines in episode 2x05

As Alicent is undermined in the Red Keep, Rhaenyra is faring little better on Dragonstone.

Alicent's decision at the Lake to go to Dragonstone

"Alicent has lost pretty much everything—any power, any legitimacy that she held—and war is afoot," Cooke says. "I genuinely don't think she believes that [the Greens] can win, and I think she believes that they shouldn't win. She wholeheartedly believes that she got it wrong. Her need to escape King's Landing is to get some clarity on the situation and try to figure out what she needs to do."

Quote on the Dragonstone meeting

In the episode's final moments, Rhaenyra has a second fateful encounter: She returns to Dragonstone and, to her surprise, finds Alicent proposing an arrangement by which the Blacks could take the throne with minimal bloodshed. Set inside the Valyrian scroll library in Dragonstone, the sequence finds Alicent advising Rhaenyra that Aemond will leave the Red Keep to join Cole in the Riverlands on the march to Harrenhal. At that point, Helaena as Queen Regent could command the guards to lay down their arms, allowing Rhaenyra to take the castle. In return, Alicent asks that Rhaenyra allow her to live out her days with Helaena in the countryside. Aegon will need to be executed, Alicent acknowledges, but she believes his sacrifice is necessary to avoid war.

Alicent's decision to petition Rhaenyra

"It's massive that Alicent travels to Rhaenyra," Cooke says. "It's treason. If Aemond found out that she'd gone, [her] head [would be] on a spike. But it's to petition the friendship that she and Rhaenyra once had. It's to look Rhaenyra in the eye and be like, 'I'm not lying. This is me as my rawest self. This is me shedding whatever power or queenly status I had. It's yours. I was wrong. I don't want anything to do with it. I'm done. I'm tired, I'm so exhausted. Let me and Helaena go off and live in the countryside with a couple of chickens and a cow."

Ryan Condal on the decision to end the season on the Dragonstone meeting

For Condal, bringing Rhaenyra and Alicent together one last time was an ideal way to conclude the season, to remind viewers of the women's role in the narrative and their inextricable links to each other.

On Rhaenyra and Alicent's contrasting character arcs in season 2

"You have two characters who have these wildly divergent arcs [and they] come back around at the end to again find themselves on one another's doorstep," Condal says. "Rhaenyra has seen this meteoric ascent over the course of the season. She's gone from somewhat of a beggar queen, who is crowned on a hill, to a leader of an army of dragons and of men. Alicent began the season having put her blood on the throne, the thing that she sacrificed her youth and body to do. But she comes to a place where she is now looking at the cost of the choices that she's made and wondering what it was all for. She's realizing that neither of her sons is suited to rule the realm, and she wants to stop the spinning wheel that is the game of thrones."

On the filming of the Dragonstone meeting

Two days near the end of the production schedule were set aside to film the weighty scene, so that D'Arcy and Cooke would have enough time to thoroughly explore how their characters might react to such an unexpected turn of events. "The way we prepared for it was, they both came to the scene without a rehearsal so that they would be able to start fresh and feel things in the moment," Patel says.

On Alicent's choice to sacrifice Aegon

The trio agreed that for the scene to work, the audience would need to truly understand Alicent's motivations for risking so much in reaching out to Rhaenyra. "Alicent found herself in Episode 7, and who she found is someone who is honorable," Patel says. "Her honor lies in being responsible for her actions, and she knew that she had misunderstood Viserys on his deathbed, and because of that Aegon was now king. She needed to set the record straight and do the right thing."

On Alicent's love for her son Aegon

They also set about finding ways to convey that despite how deeply disappointed Alicent is in Aegon, how turbulent their relationship has been, deep down, she still loves him. Thus, the idea of offering his life to Rhaenyra was unimaginably fraught. "The entire season was going to end on this hinge, so for that to be effective, we needed to believe that she loved her son and that it was truly high stakes," Patel says, "It was important to feel that unconditional love of a mother that is hard to describe."

The aftermath of Alicent's choice in season 3

"The entire season finale hangs on the cliff of Alicent telling Rhaenyra, 'I'm going to give you son for a son,'" Patel adds. "But what she doesn't realize is that the son she has promised has escaped."

Hints for Rhaenicent in season 3

Amid the beautifully realized fantasy trappings, the family drama—grounded in themes of love, loyalty, and betrayal—remained the central focus, with Rhaenyra and Alicent continuing to serve as the fulcrum of the narrative. "They still have quite a bit to learn about who they are as people, and how far they're willing to go for their goals, whether those are personal goals or familial goals in either pursuing the throne and ambition, or protecting their blood," says showrunner Ryan J. Condal. "They both realize, certainly, that they are living through a historical period in this world."

Miscellaneous:

Picture descriptions

Olivia Cooke (left) and Emma D'Arcy filming Alicent and Rhaenyra's confrontation. (2x03)

A suspicious Rhaenyra (D'Arcy) greets her estranged best friend (Cooke). (2x08)

A quote from Sara Hess comparing Rhaenyra and Alicent to Sharako Lohar

"She's operating outside the system. Rhaenyra and Alicent are so much struggling with the patriarchy, it was super refreshing to have a woman who's like, Fuck everything."

[thesilverlady]

How would you write Aegon if you have the chance? You know making him a fleshed character and not just some plot device to give his mom and brother some character's development points. I like goofy Aegon (the only right thing that come out of his show portrayal) however I can't ignore that book!Aegon was always described as someone sullen, sulky and overall bitter😭

Young Aegon played by Ty Tennant was actually very entertaining and quite underrated in my opinion.

So I wouldn't erase that part of himself (basically being drunk, childish, irresponsible etc) just add more to him so he's not just that.

As you said, in the book he's sullen, bitter, and overall very envious of his half sister and nephews. I think the key in here is writing him with characters, making him active instead of a passive object the other characters act for.

Fixing the timeline is important but let's pretend we've done that already, I'd write him have interactions with his siblings, his mother and grandfather, and most importantly add a group of circle that he's in control of.

In the show you probably noticed neither Alicent nor Rhaenyra had any ladies in waiting or maids around them - which is insane if you think back to the worldbuilding rules asoiaf has. Similarly to Aegon (and eventually Aemond), they too would have a circle of "friends" to interact, build connections and entertain themselves with.

Personally i'd have them be sons of the council-men or highlords otto has pushed to benefit their agenda. Whether these "friendships" are genuine or not is another matter. But having the character interact with multiple people, changing sceneries from the court to some brothel to the training yard to the skies flying on a dragon can make all the small differences.

Another waste I thought about was how we never saw scheming behind the scenes or peasant people and what they think of the royal family. Public opinion is important and Aegon spending so much of his time in the brothels or in fighting rings would get him to witness what people whisper about the royal family.

So basically, have Aegon do things; whether it's getting drunk with highborn boys of his age, tormenting his sister, ignoring his mother, arguing with his brother. Anything can be used to show different sides of himself. You can see cruelty with his treatment of servants and his sister, arrogance with his interactions with his brother and grandfather, hurt and anger from his mother, bitterness and envy around Rhaenyra and his father.

Aegon might not be plotting like Alicent and Otto, or trying to prove himself like Aemond, but he's still a character. And while he's not an active antagonist before the war there are tons of things to have his character do.

[lady-ashfade]

Could I please have blueberry cookies with Jacaerys for hotd?

Made A Fool.

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

Bakery Event - closed

╰･ﾟ✧☽ summery: after the betrothal to the Prince Jacaerys, you thought it would be the happiest moments of your life given your years spent with him. Happiest is a sliver of what you feel, after he avoids your every move.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 2.2k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: Luke never dies, rhaenryas miscarriage is mentioned, angst, jace being dick, jace accusing you because he’s jealous, betrothal, angst with a happy ending, readers family being near the Starks and long family friends, arguing.

⤻ I got carried away so this is longer then it should be.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ 🍪 ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

During your young years at dragon stone, you found yourself becoming great companions with the princess’s sons. Rhaenyra took you into her home with open arms, she raised you like her own when your mother was a sea away. But her eldest son was easily the most precious thing you come to love, it started out when he gave you flowers— actually weeds— but pretty nonetheless and warmed your heart like dragon fire.

The both of you glued to each others side as the years went by, no one could deny the smiles and laughs you’d share like nothing else matter. Jace was a gentle man, held no grudge or power over you for being born a woman, even encouraged you to learn the sword with him. His blood was of the dragon so he had tendencies to be hot headed and rash when angered. All it took was the gentle touch of your fingertips on his cheeks to calm the dragon within him. Though, you two never knew of each others true feelings, he knew you cared very deeply for him.

“And what do you think of this?” Her grace looked softly at you, sitting down with a pained expression from the loss of the babe in her belly. The question of if you wanted the proposal to her eldest son, something your father wished for his loyalty to her claim. Throughout the years your father never mentioned that he even liked jace, in each letter sent he reminded you that your only duty was to the princess. So, you wonder is this had been his plan all along? A son for his daughter—Dragons for his grandchildren.

“Your grace, I ensure you that I did not come here for a marriage pa-” her smile and hushed laughter stopped you, and made your head tilt in confusion. Rhaenyra ran her hands along her lap, something was amusing to her and made embarrassment sit restless inside you. “I know, sweetgirl. There was never a doubt you were here for this, you care for my boys and me, that much is very clear.” her words made you relived. Her hands moved to the cushion beside her to signal you over. “Join me,”

You obeyed her wish and walked over nervously, the conversation to come was running in your mind of every way this could go. She didn’t see you fit for her son—not good enough. Or even worse, could call you greedy for being her only for her sons even it wasn’t the truth. Everything was spinning as you took your place next to her. “What I asked was if you wanted this marriage? I am forever grateful for you and your family and the support for the war to come, I will agree to the betrothal— but I believe you should have a say in this.”

Gulping the spit in your mouth to cover the butterflies in your throat you stare for a second to get the right words in your head. Jacaerys was the love of your life for years, your own prince from the story books told to young girls. To imagine actually get to be betrothed to him was a dream come true but also a nightmare to convey out loud. “My queen, I will do my duty if you wish.” You picked at your nails while avoiding her gaze. The queen reached her hand to caress your cheek, while turning your head to face her. There was no greater feeling then her soften gaze, “Do you want this? You’re answer will never hurt me.” and you knew you couldn’t refuse the offer because it made your heart happy.

“Yes, Your Grace. I would be pleased to marry Jacaerys.”

The announcement pleased the court of men, knowing your family’s army wouldn’t bend the knee to aegon, even though jace smiled at you- he walked to the other side right after and began to ignore you. Of course, you put it off as his duties were more important and he meant no offense. As men pushed your house piece along the board, giving your impression of what your father wanted, jace kept his eyes off you as you spoke. And you knew he could feel your staring. Again, at dinner while you took your place beside him— his attention was anywhere but on you. This didn’t go unnoticed by only you, his brother Luke happened to think it strange. He was always all over you and now he can’t spare you one look?

Luke decided to save you from feeling lonely and embarrassed so he decided to turn on his charm, something you always thought was adorable about the boy. He would whisper some jokes only for your ears, and as your cheeks flushed red from the wine served he finally asked you to join him for a dance. Though the dinner was small, and in the middle of a war- it was still a celebration of alliance. Decided to dance with Luke, you had a fun time and forgot about jace for a while. This was supposed to be a good day, so you’ll have to push yourself. Luke was like a brother to you, so it was easy to be entertained by him.

The absence of jace brought you down, it’s been a few days since you two actually had a conversation, or he’d actually look at you without someone else expecting him to. Yes, you understand the war at hand, and how much needs to be done and you can’t have his attention all the time. But he made no efforts to speak with you, or acted like he used to—Acted like your future husband. That’s what sprouted anger within you, and you were annoyed and snapped easily.

“My men with have a easier time rallying in the north, my letters to Cregan-” the words cut from your mouth when jace interrupted. His jaw tighter and a harsh glare made it harder to not burst into a screaming match. He had been giving attitude to his mother with the same expression. He hadn’t looked at you in weeks and this is what he was doing?

“You sent letters to Cregan? Why? I visited him nearly days ago,” his voice raised and made everyone in the room look back and forth wonder if they should cut in. “He offered graybeards.”

You roll your eyes at him, “The Starks have been my friends with my family for years, I convinced him to lend a few, young men. No old bones, no offense my lords, but men with stranger arms.” The way he was looking at you, you’d been dead. Many years you saw him angry, annoyed and ready to fight anything that crosses him. Never did you think you’d be on the end of his temper.

“Tell me, how exactly you persuaded him?” everyone could tell he meant nothing well by his accusing statement. You huff and get ready to comment when Rhaenrya placed and hand on your shoulder while Luke got in Jaces vision of you. “And I thank you for that, any swords are welcome.” She rubbed your skin and moved her head towards the door, allowing you to leave as you were visibly upset. Excusing your leaving, Jace watched you leave and turned his whole body. He couldn’t shake the feel inside when the meeting continued and didn’t speak a word, his thoughts only on you.

Jace marched through the halls with haste to your chambers, he saw no reason to knock so the door opened with him already flaring his nostrils. The surprise of the door opening with forced and quickly made you jump from your table, the ink dropped onto your skin from the quill in your hand dropping as you stood up from the chair. “What’s the meaning of this? You can’t just-” Jace walks towards you, making you back up at his pace.

“Me? It’s I who should be asking same question, what in the seven hells was that? Back in the war room?” he yelled at you. You stood only a few steps away and could practically could feel heat from him caused by his seething anger.

“What, are you accusing me of starting it? I simply stated my opinion with my houses army. You couldn’t handle me disagreeing with you?” You head twists and turn with your words, and eyes look all over the room.

He groaned and his eyes darkened, he stood closer to yell in your face. “I have a problem with my betrothed making it known she sends letters to another man. You must want me to look a fool. Have you and him been sending letters for years?” your mouth drops in disbelief at his ignorance words, “He told me he only could give old men, but you somehow convinced him to give us more? Has he declared his love for you, do you swoon in the letters for him?”

“You idiot, you think you have the right to ask me- To think that of me?” You push his chest back away from you, then walk away with a annoyed laugh.

Standing with your hands arching your back on your hips, you look back at him, “It has been you who ignores me frequently, pasted nights without a word from you other then small formalities.” rubbing the skin on your forehead, you breath heavily. “All I have done is be there by your side, never let my feelings get in the way of our friendship. I’d think you’d at least honor that, but somehow you hate the thought of marriage to me so much you pretend I cease to exist.” only now was he knocked off thoughts when your eyes became slightly glossy. Jace couldn’t tell if it was in sadness or anger, or both.

“So no, Your Grace. If you speculate I ever did anything to make Cregan think he’d fight for me, or give him the idea I wanted him. You’d be deadly wrong. Because I have spent years hoping, that one day, you’d care about me that same why I do for you.” turning around to hide the tears escaping, you grab the chair to calm yourself down. He deserved no tears from you or to see you broken, so you had to collect yourself before him.

Brown orbs stares at the back of your head, arms wanted to reach out and comfort you like he did before. Jace never meant to make you feel like this nor that he hates the idea of being with you, romantically. The one things he could never truly show was weakness and when he heard you’d be his, that’s all he felt. Knowing that his enemies would target you. That if you were in trouble you and hurt? It would be his fault.

“Seven hells,” he whispered and tugged at the skin own lips. “Forgive me, for being a jest. I never thought about how you would feel.” straightening yourself and whipped off the tears from your cheeks, you keep your eyes on the wall ahead with your back still turned.

“This betrothal…It brings me joy. From a little boy I have always thought you were a beauty, wanted to fight for your attention against my brother.” the memory of his youth made him smile, “I thought that if I distance myself from you— You’d be safer from the dangers from the greens. I would die if something happened to you just because I love you.”

Spinning around towards him, your brows frown, “You love me?” he nodded his head.

“I do. I have since our youth when you loved the flowers i brought you, even though you knew it was weeds, but you put them into your hair, and placed the prettiest behind my ear.” he admitted. The distant laughter filled both of your minds of that wonderful day, the same day you had also fallen for him.

“You have a strange way of showing it.” You mocked with a growing smile. Jace was hesitant to walk closer, he was unsure if you wanted him to after everything. Your eyes drew him close, and let him get so close that you placed your hand on his chest.

“I am at a threat with or without our marriage, let us face the dangers together. I don’t want either of us to be alone.” taking his heated cheek into your palm, you looked into his eye’s wishful for him never to pull away. The touch was simple, but it had him caving underneath you and wanted more. Licking his lips he stared at yours, hoping you would give him the consent to close the gap between the both of you. One small agreement of a nod he was pressing his lips against yours, his hands resting themselves onto your hips. First kisses are soft, gentle but he was passionate and a little edger to finally get his wish. His hold on you tightened protectively as if someone was threatening you in the moment.

Pulling away from the kiss, both your mouthes covered in wetness, and cheeks heated with hormones. “Are you sure cregan hasn’t declared anything for you? He’d be a fool if not-” you took his lips onto yours to shut him up and his playful jealousy.

A dragon protects what is theirs, and as his future queen consort, he was nothing if not overprotective over you.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

I’d honestly rather not talk about this topic because of the fandom toxicity that always surrounds it, but I think one of the more…should I say….interesting things to witness post HOTD has been the way fandom treats Jon Snow’s relationship with House Targaryen, and the effect that has on how they perceive his role in the larger (unfinished) narrative. Jon’s association with the Targs is more implied in the books because his parentage has not been revealed yet. But when you read the many companion stories released over the years like the Dunk and Egg novellas, The Rogue Prince, and Fire and Blood, you realize how much of House Targaryen is built around having Jon Snow as a foundation. I’m talking entire characters being Jon Snow clones or being created as a tiny hint-hint, nudge-nudge for ‘Jon the hidden Targaryen prince’. Sometimes, multiple characters within a certain period have elements of Jon; e.g., Jace, Addam, and Alyn Velaryon all being Jon Snow clones to varying degrees.

Jon was one of the very first characters ever created in this story many, many years ago. The first scene GRRM envisioned, of a family finding direwolf pups in the snow, gave birth to two characters who would be central to the entire series’ resolution: Jon and Bran. Then you read GRRM’s leaked outline and though he has since denounced it, it still says something important: Jon was always meant to be a secret royal prince. We can comfortably assume that he was created before most of the world’s history was set in stone. So when GRRM is building upon House Targaryen, which has thus far occupied the vast majority of the supplementary material, he injects elements of Jon into those characters. For example, Egg from D&E is very similar to Jon Snow personality wise. Bloodraven, who is from the same era and even has a role as Bran’s mentor in the main narrative, is created as foreshadowing for Jon Snow. Baelor Breakspear, also in these novellas, is how GRRM shows that Targaryen princes don’t always have the typical Valyrian look. Baelor favored his mother, as does Jon. Beyond just those novellas, he exists to inform on Jon, not just in look but in character too. Sometimes, Targaryen history is written to inform more tangentially on Jon’s own origins. Case in point, Prince Duncan and Jenny of Oldstones as parallels for Rhaegar and Lyanna.

Then we get to Fire and Blood which focuses so wholly on House Targaryen. And what I find interesting, and then frustrating at times, is how HOTD has morphed how we discuss this book. Because outside of HOTD, it’s easy to see how GRRM builds on Targaryen history with Jon in mind. And then we have the Dance of the Dragons. And this is where HOTD fucks up beyond measure. A lot of characters who existed during the Dance inform on Jon and his potential future. I’ve already mentioned the two Velaryon brothers, but I want to zero in on Jace because as one of the key players during this conflict, he is one of the most important ways in which GRRM links these historical characters to the (currently ongoing) main narrative. Jace is pretty much “Jon Snow if his Targaryen parent was actually the woman and he was raised as a prince”. He is so very similar to Jon in character, almost to the point of being an outright clone. And this important because one of his greatest accomplishments during the Dance was his alliance with Winterfell’s lord, Cregan Stark. This birthed the Pact of Ice and Fire, a union between the two most powerful and important families in the meta-narrative. This union went unfulfilled in Jace’s and Cregan’s lifetimes…..but Rhaegar and Lyanna flipped it over its head. Originally meant to be a union between a Stark lord and Targaryen princess whose children would have direct claim to Winterfell, the actual fulfillment of this Pact was that a Targaryen prince sired a son by a Stark lady. The result of this union, Jon, now has claim to both families’ legacies: Winterfell and the Iron Throne. Through the Pact of Ice and Fire, Jon Snow becomes one of the most important and most direct cases of narrative continuity between the current era and Targaryen history. The Dance of the Dragons unknowingly gives birth to Jon Snow.

What HOTD does is to entirely erase one of the most direct consequences of the Dance from its narrative. The show makes no meaningful reference to Jon, or the Pact, even though the author of the source material was careful in laying out just how important Jon is to the central narrative. What’s frustrating is how then they spend a lot of time talking about the prince that was promised whose song is the song of ice and fire. But then they erase Jon, the result of the pact of ice and fire, from the narrative. The worst thing about this is that HOTD has taken such a large space in fandom discussion, such that people use events from the show to inform how they engage with the written text. For all intents and purposes these have been two different narratives, but now I have to read the worst blood-supremacist takes about Jon; which is incredibly ironic given the subject matter.

I often see people celebrate that HOTD doesn’t talk about Jon, which has been a pretty big clue on either one of two things:

Many people who engage in fandom discussion post HOTD don’t actually engage with the text in its entirety. They’ve either never read the books and have only consumed them based on their online fandom bubbles, or what they have read is severely limited in scope.

Some of those who have read these books don’t like ASOIAF for what it is. They like it for what it should be for their headcannons and character-limited perceptions. Thats why they like it when certain sections of the text are outright ignored, because it’s better for their headcannons that way.

Beyond wanting new material, one of the worst consequences of these books going unfinished for me is that large sections of this fandom will be primed to ignoring one of the central characters, because all the material that’s been released outside of the published material has greatly mischaracterized the text itself. We’re now relegated to unhelpful (sometimes idiotic) arguments such as “HOTD says so, so it must be true in the books”. HOTD is taking creative liberties, and we should respect that. And we should also acknowledge that some part of HOTD is continued from Game of Thrones, which didn’t do a very good job of adapting ASOIAF or its characters in the first place. Cutting out the Pact of Ice and Fire (as far as we know) is one of the worst narrative changes made by the HOTD show runners in terms of establishing common context with the story many viewers are already aware of. And it sucks that with that show’s massive popularity, future ASOIAF adaptations will follow suit in completely disregarding important elements of the overall narrative. But hey, at least dragons look good.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

WANNA WRAP MY HANDS AROUND YOUR NECK. ( HOTD x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: Aegon ii Targaryen x Helaena's Lady-in-waiting! Reader prompt: After making a fool of you in Court, you sought your revenge on Aegon. Now, he plans on retaliating.  word count: 1, 000+ words

From the moment you had arrived at the Red Keep as Helaena’s Lady-in-waiting and companion, you and Aegon instantly did not get along. Neither of you could remember what exactly started this mutual hatred between each other. It could have been the crude comment he made about you, along with the subtle pinch on your butt in passing. Or it could have been the horrid comment he had made in passing about  his sweet sister-wife. 

Either way, he was the bane of your existence. He was crude, lazy, glutinous, quick to anger, and you would not be entirely upset if he were to be pushed down a flight of stairs. Sure, you could understand that the tension amongst the family would create a fester pool of spite and resentment within him. But, you thought it was no excuse as the rest of his siblings were decent enough. 

That seemed to trigger something within him. He started to do little things, subtly tripping you when you walked by or putting a book on a shelf that you could not reach. At first you thought nothing of it. It was minor and a little annoying. Then, it escalated. From moving books to high shelfs, to pouring wine on you or treating you like some lowborn servant. 

That was when you sought your revenge, in the form of his brother. Technically, you could not touch him as he was royalty. But, Aemond? He was more than compliant in helping you seek your revenge. He happily moved things in Aegon’s chambers, nothing drastic but enough to make him think he went mad, sharing giggles with you as Aegon descended into madness. 

Now it was Aegon’s turn for revenge. 

Watching as you walk side by side with Aemond, Aegon glares daggers at the two of you, his mind still reeling from the knowledge you two had been plotting against him with his own brother. It was the most proud and betrayed he had ever felt. He didn’t think that you had it in you to retaliate back. You were a proper Lady of the Court and one day made a good wife and Mother to some Lord. He honestly thought that you would just take it with a smile. No, instead you were a smart little thing. Working with his brother to make him go mad.

“Thank you for this, Aemond. I am in debt to you.” You explain, smiling at Aemond. 

“No, I do not need you to repay me.” Aemond shakes his head, “I found some enjoyment in tormenting my brother.”   

“Truly? I would think that you would wish for some payment for all you have done.” You ask, an innocent look on your face. 

“Nothing can make up for getting the pleasure to see my brother run around a fool.” Aemond jests, “Trust me when I say this, he deserves it after all the things he has done.” 

Scowling at the conversation between you and Aemond, he was not feeling jealous in the slightest at your closeness, it was nothing like that. Not in the slightest. He was not jealous. He was not jealous about this in the slightest. Aegon was not jealous. Why would he be jealous? It was just his brother. It was just you, you the irritating little Lady-in-waiting for his bore of a sister-wife. 

Seeing you wander closer to the edge of the dock with Aemond, he snaps out of his thoughts sprinting at the two of you at full speed. If he could not hurt you anymore with his little jabs and pranks, then he’d retaliate more strongly. Tackling you into the water, he stumbles for a moment on a wooden plank on the dock, before falling alongside you.

Letting out an ear piercing screech as you're roughly tackled, you’re pushed under water, your senses on fire at the clash of ice cold water on you. Swallowing a mouthful of water, you snap out of your daze, breaking the surface of the pond. Hacking and coughing up water, you stand up, ice cold water lapping at your waist. 

Shivering at the cold water that had now drenched you, you waddle through the water to the dock, her soggy shoes filling with mud. Cringing at the feeling of mud in your shoes, you look up at Aemond, a concerned look on his face. Pushing back your now ruined hair from your face, you take Aemond’s outstretched hand, pulling yourself up on the dock. 

“Thank you, Aemond.” You weakly mumble, “

“Let me find you a maid and something to cover yourself with.” Aemond nods, quickly departing. 

“Please.” You nod.

Hunching over for a moment, you cough up some water you had swallowed, your breathing labored and horse. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you glare at Aegon, still standing in the waist deep water. Resisting the urge to jump back in the water and strangle him right then and there, you wrap your arms around yourself, attempting to hide your now soaked gown. The fabric sticking to you is like a second skin and leaving plenty to imagination. 

“You white haired little cunt!” You sneer, “How dare you do that to me, I ought to strangle you myself for this!” 

“Tis’ a debt being repaid.” He snaps back, pulling himself up on the dock.

“A debt? You must have smashed your head on the dock and gone mad.” You snap back, scoffing.

“You made me a fool in my own home, thinking I’ve gone mad.”

“I did no such thing. Mayhaps you are truly going mad to think such things.” You scoff, your cheeks flushing a bright pink from anger. 

Standing toe-to-toe with him, you do not back down from him, your anger boiling up further and further. You had tried to be reasonable and handle the situation like a proper Lady would, gritting your teeth and taking it all on the cheek. Maybe even offering a soft chuckle to hide the bitterness that boiled up. But, for him to do such a thing, especially in front of Aemond. It was pushing your patience. No, he was bloody dancing upon it like it was some kind of competition. 

Curling your hands up into fists, your temper boils at the smug grin on his face, his face looking incredibly punchable in this moment. His stupid wet hair that stuck to his brow, the way his tunic was practically glued onto him. If he wasn’t a cunt, he’d look handsome. What? No, no, you did not find Aegon Targaryen handsome. He was a cunt, a handsome one. But, he was Helaena’s husband and brother. It would be improper, not to mention it would make him smug.

“Tis’ worth getting a little wet just to watch you get all angry.” He smirks, his voice cocky.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’d do it all again. Twas’ worth watching my brother look at you like some whore for the way you are dressed.” He taunts, only fueling your anger. 

Stopping yourself before you did something truly stupid, you take a step back from him, knowing that if you stood any closer to him you’d snap. Sharply turning away from him, you storm away from the dock, arms tightly wrap around yourself to hide your soaked gown. The last thing you needed was for him to catch a peek at anything that may be sheer.

You could not kill him. You could not kill him.

“You're a cunt, a vile little one praying for his Mother’s love like a wounded puppy.” You sneer, the words spill out. 

“You dare to insult me?!” He sneers, his voice booming.

“Oh, but I do, you're the cum shot that your Mother should have swallowed!” You snap back harshly, “If you dare to touch me again, I will personally see to it that you are punished.”

----

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

[kazz-brekker]

hotd episode 4 thoughts:

bro!! that was fucking BRUTAL! i've known it was coming all season but holy shit i was NOT prepared for all of that!!!

before this season started people were saying that blood and cheese was going to be this show's red wedding, but honestly i 100% think it's rook's rest, actually! do not argue with me!

okay hang on let me try to have some coherent thoughts.

as a lover of all things gothic and weird, i am absolutely loving daemon having a terrible time at harrenhal. get haunted by your past bad decisions, loser!

i've been waiting all season to see how the alyn and addam subplot will play out and i really like the choice to have rhaenys be aware of her husband's bastard children (in the book she never learned), it makes a lot of sense since she and corlys know each other really well and she's very familiar with driftmark.

also i was not emotionally ready for them to take the route of rhaenys learning hours before her death that her husband repeatedly cheated on her lol.

alicent taking the moon tea as a parallel to rhaenyra doing the same in season 1 was a bit unexpected but i actually liked it, i feel like if you're going to write a story that's supposed to be heavily inspired by medieval history then you should include how women deal with contraceptives and abortion in that world.

jace and baela trying to run the council in rhaenyra's absence…they're doing they're best! but they really are just kids and should not have to deal with all of this!

getting the sense that gwayne hightower is maybe not super down with this whole "war" thing after all.

aemond shit-talking aegon in front of the whole council and using high valyrian so they don't understand him was such a delightfully bitchy usage of the language that i actually yelled aloud.

i have not forgotten season 1…whenever alicent and larys have a scene together i live in fear.

i'm also loving alys rivers so far, she's so perfectly unsettling and i'm really pleased they let gayle rankin keep her scottish accent.

they mentioned the names of TWO of the muppet tullys! and benjicot blackwood! and the return of willem blackwood! and a laena hallucation! gosh, daemon's little harrenhal council scenes had so many delicious callbacks and namedrops this episode.

alicent snarking at aegon…oh she really is losing her patience with him and just doesn't care at all anymore.

it's so good to see rhaenyra really taking a stand and making decisions this episode, but my god the pit of my stomach really dropped when rhaenys volunteered to fly to rook's rest.

i really liked the parallel moments with aegon and rhaenys getting ready to go to war, especially how it emphasized that the targaryens see their dragons not just as weapons but as companions too.

truly did not have on my bingo card that one of the participants of the first proper dragon battle this season would be drunk.

rook's rest was just! man! it was brutal!

this show really made us wait for the first dragon versus battle dragon battle, and it really didn't let me down.

the bit where aegon realizes that he's severely outmatched by meleys…the looks on everyone's faces when vhagar arrives…the dragons just screeching and clawing at each other and laying waste the whole field below them without even meaning to…those soldiers being crushed beneath vhagar's feet without her even noticing…vhagar seizing meleys by the throat and just shaking her…the look on rhaenys's face when she's falling…the impact of sunfyre and meleys just totally crushing everything below them…it fucking slapped!!

the aftermath was just as brutal as the battle, tbh. the look on criston cole's face when he realized what he set in motion and that he maybe just killed the king…oh buddy you fucked up REAL bad.

on a better note…more harrenhal drama and jace in the riverlands next week?

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

HOTD S1: Aegon serially rapes servant girls and watches flea bottom children fight in the pits for his entertainment - his own illegitimate child among them. We follow Ser Erryk and Arryk on a tour of the worst of Aegon in a Green-centric episode, dedicating a huge chunk of the episode to building up to Erryk's moral decision to back Rhaenyra as Queen instead, choosing her not just out of duty but out of a meritocratic comparison.

TG: B-But it's because his terminally ill evil dad didn't love him 🥺 And he doesn't know what rape is, it was just a misunderstanding! And WHY is it his responsibility to look after an illegitimate child he didn't want 🥺 ANYWAY this was just Mushroom slander the show is just anti-Green and pro-Black and what do you mean Daemon didn't kill his wife in the book? What do you mean Aemond killed Luke on purpose? What do you mean Alicent bullied a child? What do you mean Criston groomed a 7-year-old? Did MUSHROOM tell you that-

HOTD S2: Did you know Aegon cares about the SMALLFOLK? He cares about the SMALLFOLK. Have we mentioned how much Aegon cares about the SMALLFOLK yet? He really does care about the SMALLFOLK- and he's a really really really good dad-

TG: 😍 SEE he's trying really hard and he cares about the SMALLFOLK! 😍 I bet Rhaenyra doesn't care about the smallfolk (when Aegon lands HIS dragon I bet they don't run away screaming, they know Aegon has a nice friendly dragon who wouldn't hurt a fly and is a nice nuke, unlike other evil nuke dragons that the evil bad coloniser targs ride 😡). And he's such a good dad he loves his son so much he's a good dad - and when he was watching the flea bottom children fight for his entertainment he didn't know one of them was his child so that's alright then-

Meanwhile Aegon III and Gaemon Palehair: Are we a joke to you?

Queen Alicent had reluctantly agreed to the betrothal of her granddaughter to Rhaenyra’s son, but she had done so without the king’s consent. Aegon II had other ideas. He wished to marry Cassandra Baratheon at once, for “she will give me strong sons, worthy of the Iron Throne.” Nor would he allow Prince Aegon to wed his daughter, and perhaps sire sons who might muddy the succession.

“Cut off one of the boy’s ears and send it to Lord Tully. Warn them he will lose another part for every mile they advance.” “Yes,” Aegon II said. “Good. It shall be done.”

“I mean to give the small folk peace and food and justice. If that will not suffice to win their love, let Mushroom make a progress. Or perhaps we might send a dancing bear. Someone once told me that the commons love nothing half so much as dancing bears. You may call a halt to this feast tonight as well. Send the lords home to their own keeps and give the food to the hungry. Full bellies and dancing bears shall be my policy.”

King Aegon himself, when asked, put forward his cupbearer, Gaemon Palehair, reminding the regents that the boy had “been a king before.”

Aegon seemed to have only one companion he cared about. Gaemon Palehair, his six-year-old cupbearer and food taster, not only shared all of the king’s meals, but oft accompanied him to the yard, as Ser Gareth did not fail to note. As a bastard born of a whore, Gaemon counted for little in the court, so when Ser Gareth asked Lord Peake to make the lad the king’s whipping boy, the Hand was pleased to do so. Thereafter any misbehavior, laziness, or truculence on King Aegon’s part resulted in punishment for his friend. Gaemon’s blood and Gaemon’s tears reached the king as none of Gareth Long’s words ever had, and His Grace’s improvement was soon marked by every man who watched him in the castle yard, but the king’s mislike of his teacher only deepened.

"And if I will not, who will you punish, ser?” King Aegon shouted down at him. “You may beat poor Gaemon’s bones, but you will get no more blood from him.”

[cdragons]

Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Chapter One

Prologue

Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), tiny!Aemond is delulu, tiny!Jace is delulu, Dark Themes, not betaread we burn like Harrenhal, etc. Also translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom! Also I used an online translator for the High Valyrian, so it may not be great 🫠

Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you all so much for the amazing support for this story's prologue, I did NOT expect so many positive reviews! I'm sorry this took so long, but I had a ton of applications and finals. But since I am on winter break, hopefully I will be able to upload more fics! Happy Holidays and big shoutout to @valeskafics, who continues to be the HOTD fanfic writing ICON that we all know and love! If you liked reading this work, reblog and comment if you want to be tagged in future installments of this work! Also I apologize for any grammatical errors, I wanted to post this as soon as possible.

You have known your entire life that you were going to be one of the many seamstresses that serviced the Royal Family.

By the age of three, your mother would teach you how to begin your very first stitches, which soon shifted to learning the most complicated patterns of embroidery. You still remember the tears in her eyes as you presented the silk-woven handkerchief that had lovely little purple and blue flowers embroidered on the borders for her birthday. Your face flushed to an almost too bright red when she insisted on showing all the other royal seamstresses and tailors your first handkerchief. But it made you smile in remembering how big her smile was that week, as she was so pleased by how much you’ve progressed at such a young age.

When you were only six, your mother had begun to teach you how to properly extract the dye from beautiful flowers and the scales of brightly-colored insects. So skilled and nimble were your fingers that you even gave your childhood playmate, Aemond Targaryen, a thick green wool cloak with green and silver dragon embroidery. The cloak’s wool had been dyed by your hand with copious amounts of goldenrod and indigo flowers. You then carefully stitched silk to line the inside of the cloak to prevent him from overheating, as even the harshest winters in the Crownlands were hardly anything compared to the summers in the North. It had caught you off-guard in the almost too-tight embrace he locked you in, but you eagerly reciprocated as you could tell he appreciated the gift more than words could describe.

It was not just a gift for is name-day from a childhood companion, but also a way to reassure him that he will one day have a dragon. And even if the gods do not grant him worthy in their eyes, he would always be considered a prince worthy of the Targaryen name in yours. After all, there were not many princes that would willingly spend all their free time with a lowly seamstress’ daughter – even if the supposed seamstress that was your mother was so heavily favored by the Queen.

“Pearl,” came a voice with a tone far too serious despite its youth, “what are you doing in the Godswood?”

You lifted your head from old tome you were studying, only to see a young boy of only nine name-days, that stood as straight as one of the stone pillars that stood in the Sept of Baelor. His white locks nearly blinded you with how the sunshine seemed to reflect on them.

“Well my prince, as you can clearly see, I have decided to take advantage of this fine day to do a bit of studying of my own.” You lifted the near ancient tome on your lap to show him the title, Myths and Legends of the Jade Seas.

Whatever outwardly beauty the book possessed had long diminished, the spine was bent from the hundreds of hours spent looking through its contents and the letters were near faded to a dull grey as the pages yellowed from age. But the colors of the ink remained as vibrant as when they were first painted on the frail sheets, accompanied by beautiful imagery of magical dragons and elusive mermaids. The details were so fine and intricate that it felt as if you only needed to touch the ink in order to be transported into the stories. You remembered how you begged either your mother or father to read it to you every night, as utterly transfixed by the colors back then as you remained so now.

“You are more than welcome to join me, but if – and only if – you share one of those apples hiding in your knapsack.”

Finally showing an expression appropriate for his age, the young prince reached in his pouch to show two gorgeous apples – the skin was practically gleaming in the sun as your mouth watered for its taste. Aemond handed one to you as he sat by your side underneath the plentiful shade of the heart tree. Scooting over to make room on the overgrown root you sat on, you eagerly showed him strange text.

“Look Aemond!” you exclaimed as you shoved the book to his nose. “This book says that there were dragons in Yi Ti! Isn’t that amazing?”

Aemond looked at you as if you had suddenly grown two heads and five eyes. “How can there be dragons in Yi Ti? All the dragons save the ones in the dragonpit and the rocky shores of Dragonstone had perished in The Doom that sunk Valyria. Everyone knows that pearl.”

“These dragons are different! According to my kepa, Yi Ti dragons don’t even need wings to fly!”

The young prince rolled his eyes at that. “How could they fly if they don’t have wings? Even Carraxes the Blood Wrym has wings, and he looks like an overgrown red snake.” Honestly, his pearl could be so silly. “Besides, what would your father know? He’s a bastard from the Iron Islands, that’s nowhere near the Jade Seas.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “He heard so on his travels with Lord Velaryon and Prince Laenor! Apparently, these dragons use magic and live in the ocean. And they don’t even breathe fire! They make it rain and control the oceans!”

“…Pearl, I think you’ve been spending too much time making those dyes. The fumes must have gotten to your head.”

You openly gaped at your friend’s comment, completely in shock for how blatantly he dismissed you. It made you want to pound your fists on his person until he took it back. So naturally, you did just that.

“Aemond Targaryen, you take that back right now!” you shrieked. Although your actions told otherwise, the smile on your face showed that you took no true offense to his words. If anything, it pleased you to know that you could still make the stone-faced prince giggle as a boy should at his age.

“Never!”

As the two of you giggled and played, several pairs of wandering eyes spied and grimaced at the distasteful display. Although your friendship with the next generation of the royal family was no secret, much of the court disapproved of how highly the royal family thought of you and Prince Aemond’s friendship. After all, he was the second born prince of House Targaryen, born of King Viserys and Queen Alicent. By the time the Targaryen prince could toddle, great things were expected from him. From a very early age, he immersed himself in his studies befitting of a prince of Westeros. You, on the other hand, were only the daughter of a seamstress and a bastard knight who became a lord of a holding so minor that it had no name. You only skills were that you could make pretty dye, and stitch pretty pictures with a needle and thread.

But he always treated you kindly and defended you whenever his eldest brother decided to use you as his latest target for mockery. You were a precious pearl – his precious pearl – Aegon may be his brother, but he could never love Aegon as much as he loved you. True, your father being a bastard did you no favors in the Red Keep’s court, but Aemond would never tell you that himself. Instead, he openly acknowledged his bravery and commended his loyalty to the Crown. After all, how many bastards can boast that they saved the Lord Corlys Velaryon, holder of the Driftwood Throne, from a siege of pirates during one of the lord’s many voyages to Essos?

In turn, you always made sure to provide comfort and support whenever his brother and nephews decided to pick on him. Without fail, he would seek out your company – his eyes red and puffy, while his cheeks were wet from hastily wiped tears. You would take his hands and the two of you would venture out to the library’s more secluded sections. You made sure to pack whatever you have been working on with you. While you were glad that he came to you for comfort, it would do little good for either of you if you were to be punished for not completing whatever tasks your mother assigned you.

“Who cares if you don’t have a dragon?” you once asked him as the two of you laid next to each other, surrounded by books. “There are plenty members of the Targaryen line that did not have dragons, but they still lived out important lives in serving their family however they could. King Jaehaerys was considered a great ruler for how he served the realm– not for riding Vermithor. And even if you had a dragon, is that all you wish to be known for? Your grandfather, Baelon the Brave, was wise and beloved by the small folk for how he tried to make their lives easier. But all he is known for in history books is how he burned down Dorne with Vhagar.”

“Better to be known for a dragon than to disappear, not being known for anything – not even a dragon worthy of the Targaryen name.”

Sitting up against a bookshelf, you repositioned Aemond to lie his head on your thighs. Luckily the candlelight made the area dark enough so that you wouldn’t see his ears turning red. Instead, he buried his face in the soft cotton of your blue tunic as you stroked his soft silver white locks. Although his heart was beating erratically, your sweet scent along with your body’s suppleness was enough to take away any ire left in him.

“Stop that,” you ordered, “you will not be forgotten, don’t be so dramatic.” Eyes softening at his tense shoulders, you eased on the sternness of your tone. “Nyke pendagon iksā brilliant. Eman dōrī rhēdan anyone else qilōni kostagon ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie hae sȳrī hae ao.  Kostā solve problems bona aegon ēza trouble lēda during aōha lessons lēda se Giēñatī.  Aemond, iksā ñuha sȳrje raqiros.  Gaomagon daor ivestragon kesā sagon daor rūnas.”

You pretended not to notice how tightly he clenched your dress as you ignored the how warm the spot where his hot tears grew.

As you continued to stroke his hair, Aemond made a silent vow that when he finally claimed a dragon, you would be the first person he would ride it with. He thought about how his bastard nephews would always try to take you from him, especially Jace, how he despised that boy. No, your touches would belong to him, and only him. Your sweet words and kind demeanor were his to cherish. You were his pearl – his pearl – and no one else’s, especially not the pretend Targaryen that was Jacaerys Strong.

Yes, it pleased Aemond to know that he was your best friend. But sometimes it frustrated him in how you refused to take him seriously as a man. For example, he once announced that when he claimed his dragon, he would finally be a noble dragon knight who would protect you from the most vicious of beasts. No matter how he insisted on his sincerity, you only rolled your eyes at the proclamation. You told him that you had no need for a knight, let alone a dragon knight. You had your dearest kepa for protection, and there was no finer knight in all the Seven Kingdoms in your eyes. So silly was his pearl indeed.

“Ashi’!” a new voice called out, interrupting the comfortable silence between him and his pearl. It belonged to the king’s eldest grandson, Prince Jacaerys Strong Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne after his mother, Princess Rhaenyra. “Your mother is looking for you! She said that she needs your help with Mother’s clothes!”

“Alright!” When you stood from you spot, you made sure to brush away any dirt or debris left on your skirts. You gathered your mother’s book in both arms when you made your way to the prince. “But why did my muña not send one of her attendants instead? It would not have been difficult to find me. Everyone knows that I enjoy reading under the Hearts Tree in the Godswood during my spare time. Are you not busy with your own duties, my prince?”

Straightening his posture to appear taller, Jace did his best to sound as authoritative as his father had taught him. “I just finished my lessons for the morning, and I volunteered to escort you. Besides, I figured that it would do me some good in practicing escorting you. I’ll need to do it in the future when I am king after my mother.” His round freckled cheeks reddened to a rosy hue at that last part.

Not at all catching the terribly obvious implication, you shrugged off his words as you figured that he meant that he was using you as practice for whichever future noble lady he would court in the future. However, the suggestion was not at all lost on your friend, who was still sitting on the overgrown root, glaring at his eldest nephew with a fury that rivaled the Great Doom that sunk Valyria.

“Well, we should be on our way then. Come on Aemond, we should get going!” You held out your held for your friend to hold on to, but were quickly interrupted by the brown-haired Targaryen at the side.

“He can’t! I mean-” stammered Jace as did his best in thinking of an excuse, “-I’m afraid my uncle cannot join us. You see, um – his mother, the Queen, requested his presence in her solar.”

“I’m sure my mother won’t mind waiting for a few moments while I join you in escorting my pearl to her favorite friend, nephew.” This wasn’t a lie on Aemond’s part. While he didn’t like the idea in keeping his mother waiting for him, he despised the thought of you being alone with the Strong Knight’s eldest bastard even more. Besides, his mother adored you as if you were her own daughter. It would have gone without saying that she would be happy with her son spending time with her best friend’s daughter.

“But why would you want to risk it, uncle?” Jacaerys wasn’t going to let his selfish uncle hog all of your attention. You were his friend too! It wasn’t fair that he had find crumbs of your time and affections, while his uncle got to feast on your smiles and laughter. He had spent hours with the dragon keepers of the dragonpit to help him train Vermax, all so that he could finally show you how close he was in riding him! But you were always too busy comforting his stupid dragonless uncle!

Enough was enough. Jacaerys may have been a Velaryon like his father, but he was also a Targaryen like his mother. It was he who carried the dragon’s blood, and dragons took what they desired or felt what they deserved. And he desrved to be with you more than Aemond.

“It’s alright Aemond, we’ll talk more later! Let’s go Jace, we shouldn’t keep our mothers waiting any more than we have.” Grabbing his hand before walking out of the gardens, you weren’t able to see the younger prince throw a triumphant smirk to his uncle before once more facing you with the story of how Luke accidentally got egg in his hair.

Watching his literal bastard of a nephew walk hand-in-hand away with his pearl, Aemond Targaryen felt his fury grow more potent with each step. He hated that you called his nephew by his nickname, all while he had none. What’s worse was the fact that you allowed him to refer to you as “Ashi.” What a ridiculous name, only a lowborn such as his nephew would refer to someone as precious as you as something as study and simple like “Ashi.” You were a pearl – his pearl, in fact. A fact that he felt was important to emphasize as he watched your head being thrown back in laughter. His anger grew to an all-time high when he watched you ruffle Jacaery’s hair with abundant affection.

Not wanting to make a scene, he walked to his mother’s chambers in fuming silence. While her presence wasn’t yours, maybe he could think of a plan to get you away from his whore of a sister and her illegitimate offspring.

If worse comes to worst, he might need to recruit his sister to his cause. He knew that Helaena would especially be thrilled in receiving your presence. You were the only one besides your parents that did not treat his beloved sister like an oddity. If you were not with Aemond, you were often found stitching with the young princess. It seemed that you were the only person in the entire world that could get her to smile.

Such a sweet girl, his pearl. Someone so kind was not meant to endure the presence of lowly bastards – even if they did technically carry royal blood.

He needed to come up with something fast.

Translations:

“Nyke pendagon iksā brilliant. Eman dōrī rhēdan anyone else qilōni kostagon ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie hae sȳrī hae ao.  Kostā solve problems bona aegon ēza trouble lēda during aōha lessons lēda se Giēñatī.  Aemond, iksā ñuha sȳrje raqiros.  Gaomagon daor ivestragon kesā sagon daor rūnas.” - “You’re brilliant. I’ve never met anyone else who can speak such fluent High Valyrian, especially at your age. You can solve problems that Aegon has trouble with during your lessons with the Maester. Aemond, you are my best friend. Don’t say that you will be forgotten.”

Tagging:

@valeskafics, @faesspace, @aphroditesmoon, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @nellychick, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @mckiquinn, @cvspians, @aemondslove

[asa-do-your-thing]

The Maelström

Alyrie Targaryen, the middle child of King Viserys and Queen Alicent Hightower, embarks on a diplomatic mission to the north just before her brother Aemond heads to Storm's End. Contrary to her mother's description of Lord Stark as a savage, she discovers a refined, honorable and handsome lord. However, her former fiancé, Jacaerys Velaryon is also present and tries to hinder her interactions with Cregan, wishing to have his attention for himself. When Jacaerys learns of his Lucerys' death at Aemond's hands, his rage erupts towards Alyrie. In a bid to protect herself and to escape a potential war, Alyrie urgently asks Crgan to marry her.

For the whole story, check out AO3 <3

Thank you @hotd-bigbang and @darushi-chan for everything ^-^ dividers by @targaryen-dynasty Below are some excerpts... :)

Jace.

She wondered what he had been doing these past few moons. Was Rhaenyra also looking for a new match for him? Who would he marry? Was he also being pushed around to try and convince Great Houses to support their side? Of course he was, she thought bitterly, he was Rhaenyra’s heir.

Her fingers halted their meticulous dance across the fabric, her mind awash with memories. Jacaerys — Jace — had been more than a cousin to her; he'd been her confidant, her companion through countless dreams and adventures within the castle walls. His presence had been like a beacon of light in the shadowy labyrinth of courtly intrigues, his laughter a cure for the lonely hours spent amid lessons and meaningless teas and dinners with her ladies.

She missed him - missed the sound of his voice, the way his eyes would twinkle mischievously before he pulled one of his harmless pranks. The memory brought a smile to Alyrie's face, quickly dimming as she remembered the circumstances that now separated them.

A sharp jab brought her back to reality, her thumb having strayed too close to the needle. Sucking at the small wound, she cast a long glance at the darkened window. The moon hung high in the sky. She wondered if Jace was looking at that same moon wherever he was, thinking about her.

Alyrie bit her lip, her mind spinning. Why was Jace in Winterfell and why hadn't she known about this sooner? She thought back to their last meeting, the words left unspoken, the feelings left unresolved. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked towards Lord Cregan.

"And why is he here?" She asked, striving for casualness but only managing to sound frail.

"I don't know," Lord Stark admitted with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. "He arrived unannounced a fortnight ago. He claimed that he needed some time away from court and that he would be staying here indefinitely."

Alyrie's brow furrowed in confusion. That didn't sound like Jace at all. He thrived at court, loved the thrill of politics and the bargaining of alliances. For him to abandon it all so abruptly... something was amiss.

"And you just accommodated him?" Alyrie questioned, her violet eyes flickering with suspicion.

Cregan held up his hands in surrender. "He is still Prince Jacaerys," he pointed out. "It is not my place to refuse him shelter. And if I might remind you, your Grace, that I have accommodated you just the same."

Alyrie nodded slowly, mulling over his words as she paced around the room, her eyes gently scanning the ancient books scattered across the shelves.

"Would you wish for me to leave?" She finally asked, turning to face Lord Stark once more.

"Well," Cregan began, his brows knitting as he mustered her carefully, “there is no need for that. Winterfell has welcomed you with open arms and I will be willing to listen to King Aegon’s… wishes. As long as you do not start a fight here, you are more than welcome to stay.”

Alyrie let out a soft breath she didn't even realise she had been holding. She knew she wasn't one to start brawls, but with Jace... well, things could go awry quite easily. If not physical, then emotional, at least. "I will do my best to avoid conflict, my Lord."

In her solitude, she hoped for a sign from the Seven or any gods that would listen – a sign that she was on the right path, but none came. Well, in one way or another it did come, a few hours later - as promised, Lord Cregan came to collect her to show her Winterfell’s glass gardens.

He leaned against the wall on the other side of her chamber’s doors, waiting patiently for her to come out. “Your Grace, I hope you’ve had a peaceful day, doing… your womanly things.”

Alyrie grinned and nodded. Gods, he was so charming, she thought to herself and thought back to her mother ranting about him. ‘He’s as hairy as a bear, has a child with no septa tending to it and has almost no manners, I’ve been told! I cannot fathom how a man like him can be a Lord Paramount. Or maybe it is even better like that… If he is such, then how are the other people from that frigid wasteland?’

“Oh, ‘twas very peaceful indeed. I played the high harp and embroidered. How was the fight with the mopey Prince?”, she cheekily asked back and took his offered arm. Gods, how big it was, she thought with a small blush and held her head up high as they walked through the corridors out towards the Godswood.

He chuckled deeply, a sound that resonated through his chest and caused the arm she linked with to vibrate slightly. "Mopey? Hm. The young Prince can fight, I'll give him that. But he definitely needs a stronger grip."

A curious smile spread across her face as they walked, her eyes darting around the corridor. “Oh?” She arched one thin brow at the lord alongside her and let out a soft giggle. “And what can you tell me about your grip, my lord?”

Cregan glanced down at their arms linked together, a slow smirk spreading on his lips. "Strong enough to hold my own in battle, my princess." He let the words hang in the air for a moment too long, loaded with double entendre.

[starogeorgina]

Book quotes I wish we got in s1/s2 HOTD

Word of Rhaenyra's coronation reached the Red Keep the next day, to the great displeasure of Aegon II.

“My half-sister and my uncle are guilty of high treason,” the young king declared. “I want them attainted, I want them arrested, and I want them dead.”

— Aegon ii Targaryen

“Little Luke Strong, the bastard. You are wet, bastard. Is it raining, or did you piss yourself in fear?”

—Aemond Targaryen

“Is Aegon king?” he asked Ser Willis Fell, “or must we kneel and kiss the old whore’s cunny?”

— Aemond Targaryen

The secondborn daughter of Lord Borros, less comely than her sisters, she was angry with Aemond for preferring them to her. “Was it one of your eyes he took, or one of your balls?” Maris asked the prince, “I am so glad you chose my sister. I want a husband with all his parts.”

— Maris Borros to Aemond Targayren

“Mother have mercy on us all.”

— Alicent Hightower after finding out her son killed Lucerys

With the princess in confinement on Dragonstone, about to give birth, Queen Alicent's greens enjoyed an advantage; the longer Rhaenyra remained ignorant of the king's death, the slower she would be to move.

“Mayhaps the whore will die in childbirth,”Queen Alicent said.

— Fire and blood

Though many lords & knights sought her favor, the princess had eyes only for Ser Criston Cole, the young champion of the Kingsguard & her constant companion. “Ser Criston protects the princess from her enemies, but who protects the princess from Ser Criston?” Queen Alicent asked.

— Fire & blood

Queen Alicent grew most wroth when she learned the babe had been named Aegon, taking that for a slight against her own son Aegon…..which, according to The Testimony of Mushroom, it most certainly was.

— Fire & blood

Ser Criston Cole spoke up. Should the princess reign, he reminded them, Jacaerys Velaryon would rule after her. “Seven save this realm if we seat a bastard on the Iron Throne.” He spoke of Rhaenyra's wanton ways and the infamy of her husband. “They will turn the Red Keep into a brothel. No man's daughter will be safe, nor any man's wife. Even the boys...we know what Laenor was.”

— Fire & blood

“Dark Sister was made for nobler tasks than slaughtering sheep. She has a thirst for blood.”

— Daemon Targaryen

“An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged.”

— Daemon Targaryen

“I will not throw our dragons against the usurper's unless i have no other choice. we must fight this war with words before we go to battle.”

— Daemon Targayren

“Six men or sixty, he is still Daemon Targaryen.”

— Fire & blood

Princess Helena was breaking her fast with her children when the Kingsguard came to her...but when asked the whereabouts of Prince Aegon, her brother and husband, she said only, “He is not in my bed, you may be sure. Feel free to search beneath the blankets.”

— Fire & blood

“But Jacaerys was fifteen, Lucerys fourteen; strong and strapping lads, skilled in arms, who had long served as squires.”

— Fire & blood

That left only Vhagar. No living dragon could match Vhagar for size or ferocity, but Jace reasoned that if Vermax, Syrax, and Caraxes were to descend on King's Landing all at once, even “that hoary old bitch” would be unable to withstand them.

— Fire & blood

“Our uncle calls us Strongs, and claims we are bastards, but when the lords see us on dragonback they will know that for a lie. Only Targaryens ride dragons.”

— Lucers Velaryon

“The princess will not meekly stand aside, she has dragons. And friends. Men of honor, who will not forget the vows they swore to her and her father. I am an old man, but not so old that I will sit here meekly whilst the likes of you plot to steal her crown.”

— Lyman Beesbury

“You only lost one eye, how could you be so blind?”

— Otto Hightower to Aemond after he kills Lucerys

The dead girl had been named Visenya, Princess Rhaenyra announced the next day, when milk of the poppy had blunted the edge of her pain. “She was my only daughter, and they killed her. They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it.”

— Rhaenyra Targaryen

Her first act as queen was to declare Ser Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent traitors and rebels. “As for my half-brothers and my sweet sister, Helaena,” she announced, “they have been led astray by the counsel of evil men. Let them come to Dragonstone, bend the knee, and ask my for-giveness, and I shall gladly spare their lives and take them back into my heart, for they are of my own blood, and no man or woman is as accursed as the kinslayer.”

— Rhaenyra Targaryen

“Perhaps you can tell us who he named as his heir and successor” the queen said, her crown upon her head. “You, Your Grace,” Orwyle replied. And Rhaenyra nodded and said, “With your own tongue you admit I am your lawful queen. Why then do you serve my half-brother, the pretender?”

— Rhaenyra Targaryen

“Whilst Princess Rhaenyra misliked her stepmother, Queen Alicent, she became fond and more than fond of her good-sister Lady Laena.”

— Fire & blood

“The boy is Alicent's own blood. She wants him on the throne.”

— Viserys | Targaryen

His Grace sat Jace upon his knee atop the Iron Throne as he was holding court, and was heard to say, “One day this will be your seat, lad.”

— Fire & blood

“King Viserys is dead, long live King Aegon.” Hearing the cries, Munkun writes, some wept whilst others cheered, but most of the small folk stared in silence, confused and wary, and now and again a voice cried out.

“Long live our queen.”

— Fire & blood

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Brave 🐲| Baela Targaryen Headcanon

GOT/HOTD Masterlist

Being the companion (and secret lover) of Baela Targaryen would look like:

You were childhood friends, your father a Lord who fought with Prince Daemon and Lord Corlys in the StepStones. The two of your families often dinned together and therefore you were close to Baela and Rhaena. Often seeking the gardens or library, and when the opportunity arose to the training yard, to get away from Septas. 

Your mother was friends with Lady Laena and Princess Rhaenyra. So sometimes you were to accompany your mother at Court when the Princess wrote to your mother to visit. During those times you exchanged letters to Baela and Rhaena, but more so to Baela--as you two had more interests in common. 

Baela loved a crossbow, you loved a sword. Together you read the histories of House Targaryen and the Conquering of Westeros. You did each other's hair, helped with dressing, and rode horses along the grounds. Baela would bring you sailing with her gransire. You helped her study when the Septas got on her for not paying attention during lessons. 

Growing up you had little interest in boys and marriage, opting to rather read books, paint the gardens, and learn to shoot. Baela was the same, and while you both had responsibilities and expectations, often you daydreamed together of taking a ship far away beyond the lines of the map. Where Baela could fly MoonDancer in free skies. Where you could captain your own ship. 

"Mother has begun telling me of her lady friends' sons. I fear she and my father are planning a match with the Tully boy set to become the Lord of the Riverlands once his grandsire departs." *gasp* "But he is barely of age!!" "From the looks of it, it is either him or a man older than my father. Gods, I'd rather go beyond the wall then marry either of them."

When you realized your feelings for Baela, it was years after the Driftmark incident when you both were ten and seven. Following Lord Corlys illness, Princess Rhaenys requested you to join her and Baela on Driftmark where she was ruling in Lord Corlys steed. She knew Baela felt lonely and missed you while you were back home in the Crownlands. So, with permission from your family--and since your marriage to Oscar Tully hadn't happened yet--you set sail to Driftmark. 

Not long after the relationship you had with Baela shifted. Both of you feeling the difference in the way you sought each other out each time you entered a room. Or how you waited until the other arrived to break your fast. Constantly exchanging glances and smiles when you knew no one was looking. When you both confessed, and started a secret relationship, the only people you told were Rhaena and the few servants you trusted. They of course loved you both considering you were lovely and gracious to your staff unlike most noble ladies, so your secret remained with them.

Princess Rhaenys, however, picked up on it rather quickly. But, out of love for her granddaughter and likeness of you, she turned the other way when questions arose from Lords and Ladies. Commenting how strange it was for the two of you to spend hours of the day by yourselves and made gestures usually associated with courtship. 

Leaving flowers from the gardens in each other's chambers. Baela taking you for a ride on MoonDancer. Spending nights without supervision. Hiding away during banquets and formal dinners. 

Rhaenys did remind the both of you of your expectations. Yes, she wished Baela happiness, but you were betrothed and Baela soon would be too. That conversation was tabled for another day, as neither of you were ready to face the reality of your situation. 

"My uncle was married to Rhaenyra for ten years and it is said he continued to see his lover. We can surely do the same. Our families would never put us in harm's way."  "Darling, my family plans to send me to the Riverlands. And I wouldn't put it past your stepmother to propose a marriage between you and her son. This....we cannot escape this."

But of course, you tried. For a while actually you managed to keep it under wraps. Then of course when Lucerys' claim was called into question, followed by King's Viserys' death and usurpation of the throne, people pretty much forgot about the rumors surrounding you two. Everyone more focused on threat at hand. 

And when years of blood, sweat, tears, fire, and a whole lot of death finally ended with the conclusion of the Dance of Dragons, your efforts in securing Rhaenyra's bloodline onto the Iron Throne were inked down by historians. Right next to the love of your life, Baela the Brave, who you continued to stay by until the end of your days. 

[noheteroexplanation]

Alicent and Water Symbolism

Something I noticed immediately when season 2 was airing was the water motif that surrounded Alicent. My thoughts were confirmed by the HOTD Season 2 Companion Book. It yielded some quotes, which I will analyse below.

On the scene with Alicent and the bathtub in episode 2x02 "Rhaenyra the Cruel"

In a smaller moment that points to the larger paranoia growing inside the Red Keep, the Queen Dowager, suddenly gripped with panic, sends away the women who are attempting to help her prepare for her bath leaving Alicent to remove her restrictive garments on her own.

(...) "It got me thinking about women's clothing and how it can get them caught up," Kilner says. "So, we did the scene with Olivia where she is alone and she's trying to get out of her clothing, and it's this battle." Once Alicent has finally freed herself, she submerges herself beneath the water and briefly finds peace.

Water and bathing became motifs for the character in the season, with the element serving as a counterpoint to the fire so strongly associated with the Targaryens. "Olivia sent me interesting images, paintings and stuff, of women in baths," Kilner says. "She was really on board with trying to find way to express what Alicent was feeling visually. When we shot those scenes, we put a camera under the water to mimic that feeling she has of being under the water, closing out the world around her and embracing the quiet."

Unlike what was often theorized, the scene with Alicent in the bathtub did not have suicidal implications. Instead Alicent finds peace in the water. The water she is being associated with stands in contrast to the fire connected to the Targaryens.

Perhaps interestingly when Alicent was first married to Viserys in episode 1x03 she was dressed in red and placed next to the fire in connection to Viserys. Now that he has died the color palette of her clothing is starting to shift back to the blue from when she was unmarried. The blue in connection to the water.

On the scene of Alicent at the Lake in episode 2x07 "The Red Sowing"

The culmination of the Alicent storyline was shot at the foot of the tallest mountain in Wales, Snowdon, at a body of water known as Station Lake. There, Cooke, dressed in a white chemise, wandered toward the water before plunging into the lake and floating peacefully. "You had this field that was filled with wildflowers," Peristere says. "It was this odd juxtaposition of stunning landscape with sadness.''

For the shots of Alicent floating, Peristere referenced the famed painting Ophelia by British artist John Everett Millais, which depicts the tragic Shakespearean figure in water surrounded by greenery. "Olivia did this incredible thing where she floats, and we see her hair from underwater," Peristere says. "She looks like this beautiful, dead thing. Of course, she's alive and very happy. She's getting baptized by clarity."

Once again, what is being emphasized about Alicent's connection to water is the peace and clarity that it brings her. Just like with the bathtub scene, there is no mention of suicide.

However as my friend @alicentalicent has pointed out in this reblog, a baptism can be seen as a form of metaphorical suicide, a killing of the old self. It is a moment of reflection for Alicent and out of the water she arises anew. Interestingly looking at her clothing as a reflection of the self, we see her in a light blue dress when she visits Rhaenyra on Dragonstone. She has not worn this color dress since before she married Viserys. At this meeting dressed in light blue she utters the words, I am at last myself. According to Olivia, Alicent was her "rawest self" at this meeting. The water has allowed her to return to her roots. She ends the season looking out over the water.

Season 2 however is not the first time that Alicent was connected to water. In episode 1x07 "Driftmark" Alicent is framed by fire throughout the episode. And yet at the end of the episode, she is seen on a ship sailing away from the titular island. The line that is spoken just moments before by Rhaenyra is: "The sea offers an escape." (Connecting that line to Alicent is a lovely catch by my mutual @judasalicent) However this line is spoken as Alicent becomes more entangled in the schemes of the game of thrones as she speaks to Lord Larys.

The above line about the sea offering escape by Rhaenyra is contrasted against her line "fire is a prison." As stated in an earlier quote above, the fire is connected to the Targaryens and being contrasted here against water and thus Alicent. Prison imagery was often connected to Alicent throughout season 1. ("You desire not to be free but to make a window in the wall of your prison.")

Now in season 2 Alicent has sought to escape her prison. She expresses this wish to Rhaenyra to be free in the meeting on Dragonstone. So we can see she finally explored the escape that the water had to offer. And yet even as she is framed against the open sky and the sea in the final shots of season 2, we know she is just as trapped by the narrative as Rhaenyra is. But maybe the water is still the answer.

For more of my thoughts on Alicent and water symbolism and for my ideas on how this might play a role in future seasons, you can check out my Rhaenicent fic "lately i've been crying (like a tall child)". Beware of spoilers for Fire & Blood.

[alvsanne]

thinking about hotd making my girl elinda massey go on errands and do seemingly the same job as talya like a lady in waiting isn’t a maid? and ofc that brings me to WHY don’t rhaenyra, alicent, helaena, baela and rhaena (or jeyne arryn, or rhaenys in her scenes on driftmark, or aemma in the two gd scenes we get with her) have friends? actual lady companions from the nobility. grrm is so bad at this in the books but it’s even worse in got and hotd

[zeroinetoheroine]

A Song of Swan and Dragons ch.2

Summary: Following Princess Rhaenyra as one of her ladies-in-waiting, Arianne Swann was woefully unprepared upon arriving at the Red Keep.

No scroll or tome could have captured the astounding amount of gossip that thrived within the Targaryen court. For a mere lady like her, it felt as though she had made a catastrophic blunder before even having the chance to place her pieces on the board.

Yet, if she allowed her heart to guide her—especially toward the man it had chosen—Arianne believed she could endure anything and emerge triumphant. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon would one day be king, and though her father often said that hope was a fool’s errand, she dared to dream she might one day be his queen.

If only his boor of an uncle would stop tormenting her.

ao3

ch.1

2. Vōs

tw: some swearing and canon-typical sexism. The story is safe for now but will get dark later (just to be fair).

Big thanks to my beta @kyonkyon69 , and as always my partner in hotd RPing @lacebvnny

Keep your wits about you; you will need them. - Michel Faber

(Arianne)

.

„Slow down!“ Arianne raised her voice, waving after the pale-haired prince who seemed intent on reaching the library first.

Aegon dashed behind Joffrey, though their race was quite unfair for the older boy's legs allowed for longer strides. Their younger brother – Prince Viserys – dutifully held her hand as they ascended serpentine steps from the holdfast.

Lady Elinda Massey strode to her right, a parchment of great importance in her hand. It detailed the princes' progress in High Valyrian, penned by Maester Gerardys himself.

„You are slooow, Lady Arianne.“ Prince Aegon complained with a shrug. His large, indigo eyes shone beneath hair as pale as moonlight.

They passed the few groups of courtiers gathered at the entrance to the Great Hall, which was more breathtaking than Arianne remembered.

'The stained glass!' Her eyes pored over sunlight streaming through the intricate scenes of dragons, flames, and sigils - what a wonderful kaleidoscope of crimson, gold, and ochre. 

The one time Arianne visited the capital with her father and brother, she had been young, and everything frightened her—most of all, that ugly, asymmetric monstrosity of protruding metal and vicious spikes.

The Hall buzzed with chatter, yet the Iron Throne was empty - the broken, melted blades gleaming ominously under the rays of colorful light.

„We shouldn't dawdle.“ Lady Massey remarked, stepping in front of Arianne and blocking her view of the Lord Hand holding court.

She could still discern the top of Otto Hightower's head over Elinda's frown - he was speaking to a man she couldn't recognize.

'He must be as tall as Prince Aemond.'

The briefest thought of that name burned her throat like the most bitter of tinctures. 

'It would be the other way around, wouldn't it? The Prince was tall like his grandsire...'

Arianne drew a steady breath, glancing at the youngest prince. She had to rein in her curiosity to look around because they mustn't be late. Viserys squeezed her hand with his tiny, chubby one.

They continued down the corridor, trailing after the youngest three sons of Rhaenyra. Lady Massey was only a few years her senior, but she had served their princess for far longer. As the most trusted companion, her list of duties was endless.

'Perhaps I cannot fault her for wanting to rush.'

The double wooden doors had two guards posted on each side.

„The princes are here for their lessons,“ Elinda offered the scroll to the one on the left and he nodded, disappearing to find the custodian.

Arianne smiled, she had been waiting for this since they arrived. Jace told her the Royal Library had two copies of a book she had yearned to read – two of only five in the entire Seven Kingdoms – and couldn't find anywhere.

Not even Dragonstone possessed Galendro's work.

„Excuse me, where does your ladyship think she's going?“ The custodian, an elderly man with hollowed cheeks, promptly barred her from following the princes.

Arianne blinked, momentarily stunned.

„I…I am to escort the princes to their lessons-„ His developing scowl made concern slosh around her stomach.

„You escorted them.“ the custodian snapped, his tone curt and final.

Arianne's palms grew damp. She wiped them off her skirts absentmindedly as Lady Elinda inquired about the hour when the princes should be done for today.

„Am I not allowed to come too? I always read while they are being taught.“ The young lady Swann pleaded despite the man's evident displeasure with her attempts.

„This is the Royal Library! Only members of the royal family and their advisors are permitted in here.“

'Oh.' Her lungs deflated.

If she hadn't loathed the Red Keep already, she certainly did now. No wonder Aemond was so grim and somber – what awful place forbade access to its library?!

'Prince Aemond…not only did he not seem to have forgotten about her, he'd sent her that note! Threatening her about some imaginary debt – twice that she'd owe him? He insulted her first!'

Arianne reluctantly nodded, noticing darkened spots on her dress where she had wiped her hands.

„This isn't Dragonstone, Arianne. Rules are rules,“ Lady Massey said, her tone firm yet gentle as she guided Arianne back with a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder.

„Mayhaps you should ask the princess to write on your behalf.“

No, she mused, the princess had plenty of things to worry over now.

„I haven't seen Princess Rhaenyra today.“ The confession didn't catch Elinda by surprise. When she entered the spacious chambers to collect the children, Rhaenyra Targaryen was absent. Nor was Prince Daemon anywhere to be found.

„She is with the King. I've heard he's gravely ill. May the Seven bless His Grace and grant him a swift recovery.“

Arianne nodded mutely, lingering in the heavy silence that followed, her thoughts as tangled as cobwebs in the cellars.

'The King is gravely ill.' The words loomed over her, foreboding and thick. 'What would it mean for the realm if he…?'

The two women passed by the Great Hall.

'Princess Rhaenyra...what burdens does she carry now by her father’s side?'

If the King’s health was truly failing, then the realm teetered on a knife's edge.

Her brows drew together. 

Another thought chewed at her with unrelenting persistence.

'Princess Rhaenys must be arriving soon...would...would Baela be with her?'

Her fingers tightened against the fabric of her gown, a rather futile attempt to ground herself against the wave of uncertainty.

Rhaenyra must have Driftmark’s support in sealing Luke’s position as its heir. Of course, if she were in her place Arianne would’ve wanted her grandson to inherit it, but who knew what Rhaenys truly desired? Did she dream of seeing both her granddaughter and grandson ascend to the throne?

The Velaryons were the wealthiest family in the Seven Kingdoms, but this marriage would elevate them to heights reserved for the Targaryens alone.

What better way to secure it than to tie Jacaerys to Baela? Salt and blood, sea and fire.

'But where does that leave me? Jace and I— '

The thought froze in her mind, her lip caught between her teeth as jealousy coiled tightly within her.

Couldn't Prince Jacaerys Velaryon be hers to wed? 

Arianne bit the tip of her tongue. Truthfully, she had asked the gods for many, many things but never did she beg them so earnestly!

She’d seen the way he looked at her, the way his smile lingered when they spoke. Or had she only imagined it? Deluded herself from all her wishful thinking? She didn't have much knowledge on the topic of love and even less on the creatures named men. But ever since she flowered, she'd seen those lingering looks from men sometimes, and his weren't much different and her mother had warned her they meant men would want to take her to wife.

Couldn't Jace take her to wife? She would much prefer him to some stranger who might be pox-faced and bald.

„When will Princess Rhaenys arrive?“ Arianne asked, her gaze drifting to passing several courtiers draped in green. Now that she thought about it, the court was more green than Targaryen black.

Several years ago, when she came with her father to the capital, she distinctly remembered crimson, three-headed dragons decorating each and every banner and gonfalon hanging about the walls.

„Whenever she wants, I believe.“ Lady Elinda halted in her step, her visage one of deliberation.

„Arianne, I need to find my father and see if he'd spoken with Darklyns and Lord Stokeworth. Princess must know how the crownlands sway on her son's inheritance.“

Oh.

„I will fetch the princes myself after their lessons are finished.“

Although her elder Lady Massey smiled so softly she appeared very young. Her large, blue eyes shimmered.

„'Tis favor you make me. Thank you, Arianne.“

Agreeing to fetch the princes herself was no hardship, but once alone, Arianne found herself in quite a morose mood, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken fears. This place, her impending marriage – to whomever her father chooses shall his hopes of a queen daughter wither - the question of Jace’s parentage…oh she couldn’t believe how awful those rumors were!

Young Lady Swann dared not enter the Great Hall alone – what if Jace's awful uncle were to recognize her, point his long finger at her, and demand her life for the perceived insult?

She groaned inwardly, realizing she had almost forgotten about wicked Prince Aemond and last night.

The memory of his vaguely threatening note surfaced, and Arianne scowled.

'Twice that you owe me…'

A regal, proper Valyrian prince her arse! He was so uncouth!

Aemond attacked her first with an insult so vile that merely recalling it felt like an affront to the Mother and the Maiden.

'To think I actually enjoyed playing cyvasse against him!'

As she walked, Arianne let her gaze wander over the portraits lining the corridor.

They depicted several silver-haired Targaryens, including the Conqueror himself. Her thoughts drifted towards her grandmother, wondering if her portrait still existed somewhere or if she had been erased completely once the scandal happened.

Apparently, there had been one in Stonehelm, the only trace of the exiled princess remaining to her grandfather after she made her escape from the imposed marriage. When he died, the painting was destroyed. Arianne was an inquisitive child and more than once, she met trouble by asking about Princess Saera.

Lord Donnel, her father, could scarcely bear any reminder of his contemptible mother.

The last time she dared to pry whether her grandfather loved his princess wife, he simply snapped that her grandfather had no choice because Targaryens do not ask, and the King needed a convenient fool to hoist his debauched daughter off to.

Arianne did not inquire further, for her father grew so furious he sent her to her septa and refused to play cyvasse with her for nearly a month.

'I should send him another letter – he'd know how to convert the defensive placement into an open battle against what Prince Aemond did.'

A sliver of dread cascaded down her spine at the spectre of Jace's younger uncle inside her mind. He'd been in there for hours now, threatening her over and over again.

'That vile douche!'

Arianne's face distorted into acrid grimace. She hadn't done anything to him before their conversation! What was his goddamn problem to say…to say those deplorable things!

He won their game.

She should replay their movements on her board and see where she had failed, and what she had missed. Perhaps the heart and the tactics should not mingle together because – well, Jace had been wrong. She should've stuck to her idea for longer.

Arianne sighed, gathering her skirts to descend a few steps to one of the inner courtyards.

'It is futile to ruminate on it now.'

But it stung that out of everyone it was that callous boor who'd defeated her. How could someone so disconcertingly beautiful, so seemingly blessed by the gods be so unkind? So wicked?

'Perhaps that hideous scar was the retribution from the gods for his abominable heart.' 

She politely greeted a group of court women, guessing them to be Princess Helaena’s ladies-in-waiting by the children in their arms A boy and a girl, so pale-haired they could only be the royal twins.

Princess wasn't with them, and Arianne had failed to see her last night as well. Jace said his aunt was strange. Then again, he also said Lucerys, prince Aegon, and himself often played fun jests, the recipient of which was Prince Aemond. Arianne could not for the love of Seven imagine anyone laughing at Aemond. He was so frightening.

Judging that enough time had passed, she turned and headed back toward the Royal Library.

The old custodian was once again curt with her, his brusque tone making her shift uneasily from one foot to the other as she waited. It was maddeningly unfair!

She really hoped she would be able to read The Fires of the Freehold and other rare tomes that were hidden within. It would also be a chance to improve her Valyrian, as she had often done at Dragonstone.

When the news of Lord Corlys Velaryon's injury arrived, she had been reading to Joffrey while Jace sat nearby, diligently practicing his native tongue.

'

"Guēsi ropakakson Āegon ūndas." Maester Gerardys was circling the large table shaped as the Seven Kingdoms.

Jace pondered it for a few short moments.

„Aegon demanded that the tree be…killed!“

„Felled,“ Rhaenyra corrected upon entering. Arianne, meanwhile, was silently wrestling with the word for "tree"—guēse—hoping to commit it to memory. Forming full sentences in Valyrian was still far beyond her current ability, though her reading had been improving rather quickly. Her fingertips were constantly inky from all the translations she scribbled down. 

If Jace hadn't felt better after her reassurance that the language took years to master, Arianne surely took comfort in the thought.

"A King should honor the traditions of his forbears." Jace insisted, motioning for the maester to continue.

„There is plenty of time to learn. Unless you think to depose me.“ Rhaenyra smiled fondly at her eldest son.

„There's news.“ Daemon's voice boomed from the entryway. Arianne glanced down, trying to appear very interested in the story about the magical horse. Whatever the news was, Prince Daemon spoke them in shushed, low baritone to his wife only.

„Are you certain? Shall Corlys worsen from his wound, Vaemond will call into question Luke's legitimacy!?“ Rhaenyra was aghast.

„He will set out soon, the longer we wait-„

Arianne couldn't quite hear them before being sent away and that evening she received instruction to pack her belongings, for in the morning they would leave for King's Landing.'

Lady Celtigar was the first to greet her when she returned to Maegor's Holdfast, her stately figure framed by the gates as Arianne followed with the three princes in tow.

“The princess awaits in her chambers,” the older woman informed her in an unflappable contralto.

“She wishes to speak with you.”

Arianne nodded, quickening her steps as a pair of attentive maids whisked away the princes. Viserys was ready to put up the complaint, as he often did upon realizing his mother was too busy to watch over him herself.

Princess Rhaenyra had five highborn ladies who waited on her, as well as several handmaidens and servants. Her spacious chambers on Dragonstone were never empty, so the soft hum of activity felt familiar to Arianne.

For the first time today, she’d felt…safe.

As she passed the ornate doors, she saw Lady Ellaria Strong folding silken gowns, her sister arranging fresh flowers in a vase, while the maid added logs to the crackling hearth.

Amid the bustle, Rhaenyra herself sat at a polished oak table, poring over a stack of letters. Her silver hair glowed in the firelight, and though her expression was composed, a shadow of fatigue lingered beneath her cerulean eyes.

To Arianne, she hadn’t appeared well rested since the most dreadful news arrived. No mother would want to see her son’s rights challenged.

When Rhaenyra’s gaze lifted, her lips curved into a faint smile.

“Arianne,” she said warmly, beckoning her forward. “Come, sit with me.”

Arianne obeyed, smoothing her skirts as she settled into the chair opposite her sovereign. “You wished to see me, Princess?”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra replied, setting aside the letter in her hand. “Tell me, how were the boys today? Did their lessons go well?”

Arianne glanced down, noticing, with slight mortification, the darkened spots from her sweaty palms.

“I believe so, Your Grace. They wouldn’t let me in.” Her voice warbled.

“ It is a rule, it seems.”

Rhaenyra’s amused chuckle caught Arianne off guard. What exactly was humorous?

“I didn’t think the Queen would keep up with those rigid, old rules,” the Targaryen princess noted wryly, her fingers tracing the edge of the letter she had abandoned.

“I snuck her in several times when we were younger.”

One of the errant curls fell over Arianne’s cheek – it tickled her nostril and she had to resist the urge to blow it away.

“Queen Alicent?” She could scarcely imagine it. The Queen seemed so…proper.

The corner of Rhaenyra’s thin mouth quirked.

“We were friends once.” She sighed and folded the letter before giving it to Lady Strong to be sealed with the wax and her signet ring. Arianne spent an absurd amount of time imagining the design of her own – and she’d have her own one day. Not her husband's, not her father's, but hers. Right now, her letters were sealed with a wax imprint of House Swann’s coat of arms.

‘But I’d want my house on my signet ring. Something to honor it. Aunt Johanna's Lyseni signet must be so pretty! Her letters are always sealed with two black waxen wings. Perhaps something similar for me, a swan playing cyvasse?’ She furrowed her brows. 

‘No, that is just silly. Not to mention, complicated –‘

„Any news of your father?“ Rhaenyra asked, her tone carefully measured as she reached for her cup of wine.

Arianne blinked, pulled from her musings. She quickly straightened her posture, suddenly aware of how childish her wandering thoughts must seem in the presence of a princess.

„I believe he's left Stonehelm and is currently traveling, Your Grace,“ she replied, folding her hands neatly in front of her.

„I should receive a letter from him soon.“

A pair of empyrean-blue eyes flicked to Arianne, studying her. She shifted in her seat.

„Arianne,“ Rhaenyra tilted her head. „I must speak with you frankly. It is vital that you think about this.“

The words incited something to lurch inside her stomach. Arianne had often seen the princess conversing frankly with older ladies, but she had rarely been privy to the words exchanged. She hoped it wasn’t something she had done. 'Did Prince Aemond tell her thatshe hit him?'

The sudden onslaught of the worst, most humiliating of reveries invaded her mind – Princess would have her punished and sent away – back to Stonehelm, disgraced – telling her she would never, ever, ever let Prince Jacaerys wed such a poorly-mannered girl.

„Will your father be able to bring house Peake to our fold?“ Rhaenyra’s expression remained unreadable, though there was an intensity in her eyes that made Arianne feel as though she were being tested.

'House Peake? How I…think, Arianne.'

Unwin Peake was a proud and brusque man she'd met many times when he broke bread with her Lord father. Though House Peake answered to a different liege lord – for Starpike was a gargantuan castle in the Riverlands, they shared a common Dornish enemy as House Swann and other marcher lords.

„Lord Peake and my father are friends.“ She gnawed on her bottom lip as she spoke. „I am certain he'd be able to persuade him.“

‘But persuading my father… that’s another matter entirely.’ She felt a twist of unease in her stomach. It stung an awful lot like treachery – her princess assumed House Swann supporting her was a given, yet Arianne had no heart – or bravery rather – to argue otherwise.

She knew deep down the truth however, her father held little love for any of his Targaryen kin. Rhaenyra might be his favorite, but only because she was the only one who reached out to him.

‘Surely, if you’d only wish my hand for Prince Jacaerys, Your Grace…my father would never waver in his support. He’d sit down with Lord Ormund Hightower himself and argue in your favor.’

„What about Lord Selmy?“ Rhaenyra continued unperturbed.

Arianne cocked her head, her confused gaze ricocheting between her princess and the polished mahogany wood.

„I…I am not certain, Your Grace. My father had been to Harvest Hall when I was young.“

Something shifted across the marble-cut features of the Targaryen Princess. The answer displeased her, Arianne realized.

„Mayhaps, I could…write to his daughter? If only to –„

„No,“ Rhaenyra shook her head resolutely.

„Forget Lord Selmy, then. I'll need you to reach out to Lady Tarth and gauge her opinion. Her husband swore an oath to me twenty years ago, but sadly, he no longer lives.“

Arianne nodded even before the older woman finished speaking. She would sooner let Prince Aemond take her to the gallows than disappoint her princess. Rhaenyra accepted her, a girl barely ten and seven – has it really been almost a year since she arrived at Dragonstone – as her lady-in-waiting. A girl of no importance and the granddaughter of a morally abhorrent woman.

Princess Saera's blood had only ever given her troubles.

„Lord Royce Caron will be arriving tomorrow.“ Rhaenyra opened another letter, though her eyes were still on Arianne.

„Just enough to make the feast.“

„I cannot imagine the Queen and the Lord Hand are content with another feast in your name, Your Grace.“ Young Lady Swann voiced thoughtfully, hoping she wouldn't have to talk to any of the Carons. They'd been at odds with her family since before anyone could remember.

Apparently, her grandfather was known to lament that his Targaryen wife came lacking a dragon – for he would've loved to turn Nightsong into ash. 'Mayhaps then they'd cease to insist on foolery! To call themselves the Lords of the Marches when we're clearly the elder house!' She'd heard his outbursts told in great detail when the wine flowed freely in Stonehelm.

„No, they are not.“ Rhaenyra leaned forward, her finely shaped chin resting against the back of her hand.

"But they cannot refuse me. The Crown Princess' return is a cause for celebration. Or at least would be, had they kept true to my father's words and wishes.“

A somber grimace overtook her features.

„I have received a letter from Lord Borros,“ Rhaenyra scowled, sharp eyes zeroing in on a parchment that appeared slightly crumpled. As if she'd attempted to rip it before changing her mind.

„Unfortunately, he writes that he would not be able to attend the petition, but he will send his firstborn daughter instead.“

Lady Ellaria Strong shifted uneasily on her feet.

„It means he has no intention of supporting me.“ The princess clarified to everyone present. Her words hung heavy in the air, and Arianne felt the gravity of them settle in her chest. She dared to glance at Rhaenyra’s face, taking in the harsh line of her jaw and the regal poise with which she carried herself despite the unsavory news.

Lord Borros held little love for her father – he was, after all, married to Lord Caron's daughter.

“But should the Dornish Marches firmly align with me,” Rhaenyra’s voice softened, though her gaze was unrelenting as it flicked to Arianne, “he would see no benefit in alienating himself from half the Stormlands.”

The unspoken meaning behind the princess’s words struck Arianne like a thunderclap.

'Father had been right.'

 Her heart raced as the enormity of her position in this game of alliances became clear.

The first time her father wrote about the possibility of her betrothal to Jace, Arianne was too stricken with delight to read the parchment with care.

She’d already imagined herself by his side, a delicate crown upon her head and the smallfolk throwing flowers as they passed – their beloved King and Queen. She’d envisioned Vermax carrying both of them, which was surely going to remain a dream as the idea of great heights made a mess of her palms. The reins would surely slip from the sweaty grasp and she’d plummet to her death.

‘ - It would be best you act without implying any knowledge on the matter, my dear Arianne. Princess might be my kin but she grew at Court and it is alliances she’s after. They are treacherous and self-serving, we should know. Your grandmother was like that. Rhaenyra could lure me into supporting her despite my liege lord’s designs and give me her thirdborn son’s hand for you. And what use are thirdborn sons, my beloved daughter, but to serve and die for their elder brothers?-’

“My father will support you, Your Grace.” Arianne knew her answer was practiced and perhaps, a lie, but she couldn’t possibly know what her father was going to decide. Surely, the princess wouldn’t want her to marry Prince Joffrey – he was several years her junior. She’d be considered old by the time he became a man and could make her his wife in truth.

‘…and I’d be the most loyal good daughter you could wish for. I’d love Jace so dearly and study even more earnestly than now to support his reign - trade, law, history, philosophy and everything a Queen should excel at.‘

Rhaenyra didn’t respond at first. Instead, she leaned back slightly in her seat, her long, tapered fingers brushing the edge of the letter still on the table. Her nails caught the light as she lifted the parchment as if considering it anew.

“You can go.” Her tone was as smooth as a hazelnut cream, almost detached. Just as the young lady straightened, the princess moved as if struck by a second thought.

„Arianne.“ She beckoned her back languidly. The sleeves of her deep red gown shimmered as they fell around her delicate wrists like liquid fire.

„The Keep is vast. Might you think of something to keep you entertained until I find the time to speak with the Queen.“

The confusion must have been evident on Arianne's features because Rhaenyra chuckled. A secretive tilt of her lips was one of merriment.

„To make an exception for you.“ Her princess nodded somewhat earnestly.

“Even her heart will soften once I mention how eager you are to peruse the illustrated Seven-Pointed Star.“

Arianne reddened and covered her mouth with her hand, lest she laugh. It was known how little Rhaenyra respected the Seven, and how devout the Queen was.

'Well, I wouldn't waste time on the Seven-Pointed Star when I've read it and there are so many other –'

„Thank you, Your Grace.“ She had to blink several times to clear the water gathering under her eyelashes.

„Thank you, thank you, thank you!“ Arianne sprang to her feet to bow in gratitude.

Rhaenyra waved her hand.

„Good. Go on, then.“ Her attention fell back to the letters. She pulled one from the pile, her eyes rushing over the yellow parchment.

„Lady Celtigar, I must speak with Lord Lefford-„

Arianne curtsied and turned on her heels. She'd be allowed in!

She could barely keep her legs in a measured gait when she wished to skip and jump and twirl and do all manner of unladylike celebrations.

If only exercising patience were easier because her fingers itched to pry open Galendro's greatest work. 

The carpet was plush underneath Arianne's bottom when she sat near Prince Viserys. He was arranging knights around the small replica of a Keep resembling one on Dragonstone. His older brothers were most likely due for their martial drills. Soon, Viserys would be summoned to join them, to exchange toys for weaponry, and she wondered how long this calm tableau of childhood might yet endure.

“Here, steady it so,” murmured Mathilda Strong, whose pale, freckled hands moved with maternal grace.

She knelt beside the boy, coaxing a wobbling stable into alignment. Arianne mimicked her gestures, though her thoughts flitted elsewhere.

„Do you know where Prince Jacaerys is?“ She whispered as if trying to weave her voice into the clinking of the toys.

„He is with his brothers in the training yard.“ Mathilda hummed noncommittally, brushing wood shavings from her skirts. Princess Rhaenyra’s melodious dictation to Mathilda’s older sister from the adjacent chamber faintly tickled their ears.

‘Training yard…’ Arianne mused, imagining, or rather remembering, Jace twirling a sword back on Dragonstone - the faint sheen of sweat on his brow glinting in the light, not from the struggle but from the joy of it all.

His untamed hair, dark as wet ink, would fall into his eyes and he’d brush it back – his warm, long fingers disappearing between the lush curls.

‘Oh, how gallant he was, asking for my favor during mere practice…He’d be a wonderful husband, wouldn’t he? The marital bed wouldn’t be so frightening if it were him –‘ Her heart quickened at the thought, though she told herself it was unbidden.

Arianne knew she’d be reprimanded quite severely if her mother or septa found out what was her mind conjuring. Lusting after beautiful men and imagining the happenings beneath the sheets were indisputable sins.

Her septa would swing her wooden stick and glower. 'The thought, Arianne, begets the desire, which is itself a sin. Worse yet, should a Lady allow a man to fulfill those desires, she’d fall from the Seven’s favor. Whores and bastards are of poisoned blood.'

Arianne swallowed around her dry throat.

‘A virtuous lady does not think on those things until her Lord Husband lies her down onto the sheets.’

She busied herself with adjusting the wooden stables, her fingers suddenly clumsy. Her mother had promised, at least, to tell her everything she needed to know before the bedding ceremony.

„You could go and find him,“ Mathilda murmured, her voice low enough that only she would hear. Arianne's head snapped to her sharply, before she glanced at Prince Viserys, still engrossed in his kingdom of wood and paint.

„Older princes are not under my care.“ She answered levelly. Lady Strong tilted her head, the slight upturn of her mouth quite mischievous.

„You'd rather spend time with him than play with wooden horses, lady Arianne.“ Mathilda declared with a note of wry amusement in her tone.

„You're free now, so you might as well.“

Arianne's cheeks flushed scarlet, yet she obstinately focused on painting the gardens. Her brush dotted green leaves on the clay trees decorating the prince's splendid replica.

It was near sundown when she departed Rhaenyra's chambers. Her feet carried her through the winding passages toward the less august part of Maegor’s Holdfast, where the ladies-in-waiting were housed.

Her room was no grand thing, but she did not mind its modesty. A soft bed, a sturdy chair by the window, and a wooden bathtub were all she needed from a room anyway. Though she did love a good bath, more so when she used those dried herbs and flowers from her aunt, they always filled the room with such a delightful scent -

„I thought you'd come to wish me luck, my lady.“ Arianne rounded a corner, her skirts brushing against the cool stone of the walls, when she nearly collided with someone. Jace smiled at her absentmindedness—a crooked, boyish smile that momentarily rendered her immobile.

„Arianne,“ His voice took a teasing lilt. „ The only reason you trip all the time is because you do not look where you walk.“

She crossed her arms and took in his damp tunic.

„I had been thinking,“ Arianne pouted, loathing the reminder of her unfortunate predisposition.

„Besides, I could not come to the training yard. Your younger brothers had their lessons today.“

The light from a nearby sconce flickered across his face, catching the faint sheen of sweat trickling down his brow.

Jacaerys Velaryon inclined his head, his dark eyelashes fluttering several times.

„If you hadn't disappeared on me last night,“ He proffered a slightly accusatory drawl.

„You'd be made aware that Joffrey and Aegon wanted to join me and dodge listing the nobility of the Crownlands.“

„Oh.“ Arianne deflated at the mention of her disastrous debut in the Red Keep.

“I was tired,” she rasped, her voice faltering slightly, though she tried to mask her embarrassment.

“The travel was long, and I shouldn’t have doubted Luke’s love for lemon cakes.”

That earned a quiet laugh from him, warm and unguarded, like the first bloom of sunlight after a storm. “You’ve learned a valuable lesson,” he said lightly, his lips curving into a smile.

“Never challenge Lucerys where lemon cakes are concerned. Defeat is certain.”

Arianne glanced at his lips then, despite herself. Jace still carried the flush of exertion from the yard, his cheeks blooming with faint crimson. The indigo tunic he wore, embroidered subtly at the cuffs, was rumpled from his training, a streak of dust smudging one side where his belt had rested. She noticed the faint tear near the hem—likely earned during the drills—and resisted the urge to tease him about it.

She realized she was staring and quickly averted her eyes to the nearby tapestry, her skin warming under his gaze, though he didn’t seem to notice—or perhaps he was simply kind enough not to mention it.

“Walk with me?” Jace offered, his tone softening, almost hesitant now, as if he was granting her the choice to refuse.

“I’d like for you to see where I spent my childhood, my lady.”

Her heart gave a faint flutter at his proposition. The comfortable familiarity between them suddenly unsettled her in ways she could scarcely name.

There was nothing unusual in the request, not between the two of them, but there was something about the way he stood before her now—his tunic wrinkled and dusted from the yard, his face still touched with the glow of exertion—that made the moment feel different, somehow.

He was a prince. The future King. 

A man grown.

She was only Saera's granddaughter and her House would be of no great importance if the Queen and Lord Hand weren't scheming with Baratheons.

Arianne nodded, her jittery nerves misfiring. Nesciently she wiped her hands against her skirts.

„Of course,“ she replied in a mellow tone.

At her words, he clasped his hands behind his back – a gesture that appeared practiced and deliberate. Arianne’s eyes lingered on his reddened knuckles and intertwined fingers as though they might betray something if left unrestrained.

„Was your day better than mine?“ She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Jace sighed and turned his face towards her, though his stride did not falter.

„If you like being ignored,“ He scoffed sullenly.

„By the seven, Arianne, it's as if Luke and I have the winter's fever because our hair is not pale.“ His eyes of burnt umber caught hers, brimming with emotion she could not quite give a name to.

Arianne pressed her lips into a tight line, uncertain how to answer as she tasted a trace of bitterness poorly veiled by the casual scorn.

„So I was quite bored as well, my lady.“ Jace added after a few moments, his shoulders falling ever so slightly.

Arianne felt the caustic bite of ire on his behalf – How could the Queen and her faction turn the entire court against someone as kind as Prince Jacaerys? He was Rhaenyra's trueborn heir! Why would they slander him with such vile rumors?

'Because bastards cannot inherit anything, least of all the crown.' Her mind worked even if she didn't want it to. 'If Princess Rhaenyra were to be accused of adultery…she could lose her hea-'

Refusing to even think of grim punishments for high treason, Arianne rather focused on the audacity of the Hightowers!

The Lord Hand couldn't possibly find any of Rhaenyra's younger brothers better suited to sit on the Iron Throne than Jacaerys Velaryon! Aegon was a drunkard and a wastrel! It took no more than one feast for anyone to miss the way he swayed on his feet, a drink and serving girls' skirts never far from his filthy fingers.

Surely, they couldn't be thinking of crowning him king instead!

His younger brother – a nauseating tingle descended her spine – was a wicked one-eyed fiend! Aemond would be even worse, she supposed.

„I was looking at portraits.“ Arianne bit her lower lip, hoping to change the subject – she didn't want to further sour Jace's mood. „There isn't any depicting my grandmother. The Old King really had them all removed?“

They ascended the serpentine steps and passed the Great Hall.

„I'm not certain…“ Jacaerys Velaryon mused, glancing around as if trying to remember something.

„Oh -“ The corners of his eyes crinkled.

„There are portraits in the west wing.“

Arianne hadn't been there, though it seemed she only needed to take the large corridor perpendicular to the archway she passed this morning with Rhaenyra's younger sons on their way to the library. The wonderful scent of aged parchment still lingered in the air and it brought the simmering frustration from this morning to the surface of her throat.

Jace had only chuckled at her vehement complaint.

„You knew!“ Arianne chided, resisting the urge to pinch his forearm.

„I might have had an inkling,“ he admitted unrepentantly.

„It is so unfair!“ She protested.

„You told me there were over twenty scrolls on the history of cyvasse! Not to mention-„ Her eyes narrowed at the indulgent smirk lifting the corner of his full mouth.

„The fires of the Freehold! Oh, stop enjoying my misfortune!“

Jacaerys Velaryon threw his head slightly back and laughed again, the sound echoing off the cool stone walls.

“I can’t help it,” he replied in a low, teasing drawl. “You’re much too entertaining when you’re cross, Arianne.”

She huffed, frowning and glaring at him. The polished stone underneath their feet glimmered faintly from the flickering torchlights.

„You know that book is downright awful. Gerardys often threatened me with it while we lived here.“ Jacaerys remarked, his tone tinged with aversion.

„I thought it was one of the only surviving stories on Old Valyria waging a war.“ Arianne contended as they ventured underneath the arches of the arcade. She was awed at the sheer beauty of the Keep's inner courtyards.

His dark eyebrow quirked.

“Surviving or not, it’s barely readable. Half of it is written in archaic Valyrian! It’s a nightmare!”

Arianne pouted.

„Well, I was hoping you'd help me,“ she lamented and let out a small puff of air. „-but I suppose it doesn't matter. If the Queen feels like it, I'll never get my hands on it.“

As Prince Jacaerys beheld her bubbling irritation, a cacophony of giggles erupted through his throat.

“Arianne, I’ve only ever been made to read it as punishment. I know it well enough to wish I didn’t.” He shook his head, as they paced underneath the arcade. The air had begun to chill as the sun set eastwardly.

Lady Swann bit the side of her tongue, refusing to dignify his remark with a response. She wished to know!

Having already pored through Histories of the Faith, The Conquest of the Andals, and tales from the Age of Heroes, Arianne found her curiosity not yet sated. The histories she scrutinized were incomplete, only a part of who she was. Her grandmother was of Valyrian descent, as was…well Jace.

Would it not be at least useful to know more about Valyria?

Jacaerys Velaryon grinned and unclasped his hands to offer her his elbow.

"I'll borrow it for you and help you translate the miserable thing – provided you don't expect me to enjoy it.“

Arianne turned to him, beaming. She had been hoping he could!

His countenance turned defensive.

„But do not hate me when you open it! And gods, Arianne, do not stay up all night trying to decipher it. Tomorrow's feast is going to be long.“

Arianne saw a glimpse of silver underneath the arches on the other end and froze mid-step, her answer turning to vapor.

'Was that..?'

She could discern the silhouette between the columns – the tall frame with those long tresses the color of a waning moon. It was Prince Aemond. The way he strode – his pace deliberately measured, his posture ramrod straight – like the haughty coiled dragon that he was.

Her pulse quickened at the acidic unease lapping at her innards.

„Ah, Jace!“ Arianne abruptly seized his arm instead and pulled him back toward the corridor they had just left.

Jacaerys stumbled at her sudden jolt, bewildered.

“What—Arianne?” he began, but she was already speaking over him.

„I changed my mind. Didn't you want to show me Balerion?“ She fretted, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to peer back and make sure Aemond One-Eye did not, in fact, notice her.

„We're almost there! Your grandmother's portrait -“ He stammered, his brow furrowing.

“But I’d rather see Balerion,” Arianne insisted dishonestly, her grip tightening as she quickened her pace, tugging him along.

He sighed, half-laughing at her sudden urgency.

“Arianne, slow down! What’s gotten into you?”

Once they were back in the corridor, she exhaled slowly and allowed herself a brief flicker toward the courtyard.

„Are you alright, my lady?“ Jace was now poring over her in concern. Arianne shook her head, her gaze tumbling to the marble floor to gather her thoughts.

"I'm perfectly fine," she muttered, though her voice was a bit distant. "It’s just... cold outside, Your Grace," she added, the excuse flowing easily enough.

Her fingers curled around the folds of her gown, and she quickened her pace, eager to move away from the uncomfortable thought of Aemond’s presence. She led Jacaerys back towards the Great Hall, hoping he wouldn’t press her further. What could she even tell him?

 ‘Your atrocious uncle wrote a threatening letter because I hit him in the shin, so I want to avoid him.’

Courtiers gathered near the towering double doors, eyeing them with suspicion as they passed. 'How strange - Jace is their prince and yet he’s more unwelcome than I am.'

Arianne released his warm hand, suddenly aware of her breach of decorum.

'Did they all agree with that One-Eyed twat? That she was a...paramour?' 

A chill skittered over the nape of her neck.

„It's best you hold onto me.“ Jace shrugged and offered her the loveliest of grins along with his elbow. Noticing the spacious, serpentine steps he was motioning to, Arianne was inclined to agree.

His muscles flexed underneath her fingertips.

The staircase spiraled down into the cellars. Arianne kept zeroing in on her feet, praying she wouldn't lose her footing on the polished stone. 'Yes, Jace, I know he's a Prince. Yes, it's a crime. It was his fault though, believe me!'

„Please don't change your mind again.“ Jacaerys shot her an exasperated look as they reached the bottom and the cavernous room swallowed the sound of their footsteps.

Arianne's breath lodged beneath her vocal cords as her gaze was drawn to the heart of the room.

It was gargantuan – cimmerian bones looming over the lit candles. She gasped, mindlessly stepping behind Jace as if the skull could suddenly come to life and open its maws to swallow them whole. Dozens of flickering flames made the teeth glint.

„It's terrifying!“ She squealed, wondering why on earth did he want to show her this.

Balerion's hollow eye sockets were two pools of eternal darkness and its jaws –

A tremor of genuine horror crept into her bones.

Jace shook his head, the candlelight swirling over his dark, warm curls.

„Arianne, it is a skull.“ His eyes glimmered with awe as he perused the monstrous relic.

„You just said you wanted to see it.“

Her mouth flew open to retort something but the skull made her blanche.

Arianne peered at the row of acuminate teeth in apprehension.

'I wanted to avoid something even more dreadful.'

She backed away a few steps much to Jace's amusement.

„But you know what the dragon keepers at Dragonstone told me before we left?“ Jacaerys continued, his tone transmuting into frolicsome caress.

Arianne's heart lurched.

Somehow, she already knew the blood-curdling sentence he was about to utter.

„That Vermax was large enough now to be saddled for two.“ She blinked several times, cursing herself for ever wishing to fly.

„Ah…well, that is…great news, my prince.“ Lady Swann forced a smile.

Jace tilted his chin slightly, grinning. A jovial spark ignited in his chocolate eyes, as though he were enjoying her reaction far too much.

„Please do not tell me you're frightened, Arianne.“ He teased lightheartedly.

Arianne clenched her hands, her palms slick with sweat. The last thing she wanted was for him to think her a craven. Fearful girls did not marry Targaryen dragonlords.

„I'm not.“ She pouted, lifting her face defiantly. Her lungs were seizing beneath her ribcage as her palms found refuge in the satin texture of her skirts. 'I don't know anything about flying! There's nothing to read about it, so how would I find out what to do?'

„Good,“ His voice was slightly hoarse, and before she could think on the propriety of being alone with him in the cellars, he took her hand in his larger one.

Arianne slid her fingertips over the callouses decorating his skin, a strange warmth ticking through her. The faint scars well-earned in the training yard made her heart flitter and lollop – it meant her future husband, if the gods allowed, was a warrior.

„Because I wish to fly with you.“

.

.

.

By the time Arianne reached her chambers, her blood was still rushing quite incessantly up her neck. She closed the wooden door behind her with a quiet click and carefully placed the thick tome wrapped in layers of fine cloth. Her room was pleasantly warm - the fireplace was crackling softly, clearly Miriam's work.

Arianne scuffled over to the window, observing the moonlit courtyard below. Her cyvasse set was arranged incorrectly.

„Because I wish to fly with you.“

Her hands were now so clammy that the heavy horse she picked up slid from her grasp and clanked against the lapis-lazuli square. Arianne sighed and surrendered the board back to Miriam's ideas. She could fix it tomorrow and even teach her maid how to play.

„Because I wish to fly with you.“

Arianne sat down on the edge of the bed and folded her legs underneath her. Did Jace mean it? She'd never been alone with a man – well, she'd been alone with Jace before, walking along the cliffs on Dragonstone, but that had been different – and the invitation felt somehow daringly intimate. Well, she wasn't quite certain what would being intimate entail but if he became her betrothed then –

he'd become her husband, and husbands were to be known intimately.

She unfolded the cloth now that the book was securely in her chambers. The last thing she'd want would be for Jace to get reprimanded for giving it to her. Arianne could feel her chest tighten again with that strange mixture of emotions—gratitude, longing, and something else.

Jace.

Her skin turned feverish.

Before her father wrote of her impending marriage, please, please, please let it be Jace – Arianne had settled quite idyllically on Dragonstone. Her duties weren't too difficult, the children were well-behaved, the library waiting to be perused, and Princess Rhaenyra treated her warmly. And Jace…He'd grown so painfully handsome and gallant, she was quite aware their childhood promise was moot. He was a Prince. The heir to the Iron Throne after his mother.

Yet, he introduced her to the most splendid spots to observe the setting sun.

But he was a Targaryen Prince and she was merely a lady-in-waiting.

Arianne had never been allowed much pondering on the existence of men. Her Septa would be furious, touting the never-ending list of sins in the eyes of the Seven, and her mother would mention Saera as a cautionary tale of what happened when such wonderings occupied the mind of an unwed lady.

'Is it so wrong that I want to kiss him?'

The cover was black and embossed with gold. She flipped it open carefully, the scent of old parchment embracing her serenely.

'Perhaps he could kiss me in the skies. That way, no one would see and gossip.'

Arianne leaned against the pillows and skimmed over the first pages, refusing to be daunted by the High Valyrian. She tossed the covers off the bed and got up to find the scrolls with translations. She'd made them herself, as it was easier than walking from one end of Dragonstone Castle to the other when she couldn't understand something.

"Lorath Norvos vostā.” (It was Lorath who came forth to attack Norvos first.) She began, settling back against the pillows, the book in her lap.

It took her quite longer than she anticipated, and by the time she was done with the first passage, she had to go back and re-read it to understand the gist of it.

‘Our House is not prominent enough. Father said I shouldn’t hope, but…’

Arianne ignored the incessant drumming of her heart and tossed her parchments around – looking for the translation of vēzos rhaeshisar. (Commander of an army.)

She found herself slipping further away from the world of marriages and manners, the world of duties she had been born into, and into a world that felt, for the first time, hers alone.

The soft rustle of pages was the only sound in the dim room as Arianne’s eyes grew heavy with exertion.

Suddenly, a sharp creak cut through the quiet.

Arianne froze, her breath stalling as the sound grew louder—a soft shuffle of feet —and then:

"My lady!"

The sharp whisper broke the spell entirely, and Arianne nearly dropped the heavy tome from her lap. Her wide eyes darted toward the door, where her maid Miriam stood, her night robe askew. She looked equal parts exasperated and amused.

"Seven save us, you frightened me!" Arianne hissed, clutching the book to her chest like a guilty child caught overindulging in honeycakes.

Her cheeks reddened as Miriam crossed the room with purposeful strides, the faint light of the candle casting flickering shadows across her stern face.

"And you frightened me, my lady," Miriam retorted, unperturbed. "Up at the hour of the wolf, with a feast on the morrow?!”

Arianne opened her mouth to protest, but Miriam was quicker. Her deft hands reached for the book, plucking it away in one swift motion.

"Miriam, give that back!" Arianne pleaded, trying to rise, but the maid had already stepped back, holding the book out of reach. "Prince Jacaerys gave it to me!"

“Absolutely not,” Miriam squinted at the gilded title. “I promised Lady Swann I would take care of you. That includes not letting you ruin your sleep with nonsense.”

Arianne’s annoyance melted into a pang of guilt. A promise. Lady Tarth. She had given Princess Rhaenyra a word to seek her out during the feast, to deliver her father’s regards and perhaps secure an ally.

How could I have forgotten? She groaned softly, cradling her face with her hands.

“Rest, my lady,” Miriam urged, her voice soft as honey, as she patted the blankets around Arianne’s legs.

Despite having read only through a couple of passages, Arianne chuckled weakly, her earlier frustration fading. Miriam was right, as usual.

“Fine,” she relented, letting her head sink into the pillow. “But wake me early. The lessons-“ She yawned. “Then, I’ll need time to prepare. Oh, Lord Caron is supposed to arrive. No song so sour.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Miriam doused the candle, leaving the room bathed in moonlight.

Arianne shut her eyes, her mind lingering on the book now resting on her table and on Jace. Would he hold her hand when they rode Vermax? How warm his hand was. But soon, those thoughts mingled with others - the feast, her duties, Quarlon the Terrible and poor, poor Lorath - and the dragonlords turning upon his army, high-cheekboned, sharp-jawed dragonlords with long, silvery hair – until sleep took her.

.

.

.

(Aemond)

Aegon had been glancing at his younger brother for a while now, as the one-eyed Targaryen was in a positively bad mood. For the older prince, the evening had been pleasant - wine was plenty, serving girls comely, and the hall was full of merriment and lords and ladies so his mother was too occupied to chastise him for one thing or the other. He didn't mind another fest, he'd rather enjoyed them.

Aegon gulped down the remainder of his wine and tried filling Aemond's cup as well.

His younger brother stopped him, resolutely shaking his head. He took it upon himself to pour just a tiny amount, not enough in Aegon's opinion.

Aemond had been sour and dour ever since their older half-sister arrived, as if something greatly bothered him.

Even more than Rhaenyra’s mere presence.

He noticed his nephew was busy conversing with a pretty girl in a dark gown bedecked with glittering feathers - Aegon was certain he had seen her before somewhere.

"Who is that?" He asked his sullen younger brother. Aemond always knew everything.

"Lady Arianne Swann." Aemond spat bitterly, refocusing back on his conversation about N’Ghai with Jasper Wylde’s eldest son, Jorlan. Truthfully, he’d found the debate tiring, as Lord Corlys detailed his voyage there in dozens of scrolls.

"Ohhh, isn't she the one you played cyvasse against -" The older prince chuckled, wondering if he had found what Aemond was glowering about.

"That gave you a run for your golden dragons -"

"I won." He gritted out.

Aegon's smile widened.

"Nephew's paramour in that scandalous white dress -"

Aemond wanted to snap how that was just stupid slander but he held his tongue securely behind his teeth - what did he care about some foolish girl's reputation?

She should fault her grandmother for it.

And the improperly ravishing attire in which she pranced around two nights ago.

Much to his chagrin, Jorlan Wylde reclused himself from disputing when N’Ghai ended and Mossovy began and raised his cup to the older prince.

"Delightful, isn't she?"

Aemond scowled.

"I had intended to see for myself if she would be an acceptable bride, but your royal nephew insisted she would dance only with him." Jorlan shrugged.

The frown lines decorating Aemond's face deepened.

Idiot Strong - first he parades her around in that white, offensive garment, and then he claims her so openly. Or did he really think she’d become his queen?

The Master of Laws’ son took another sip of his wine.

"Ah, that little Swann...as comely as they come...you know her grandfather's cousin...was sold to a pillow house during the war on the Stepstones..." He gave Aegon a look and the corner of his thin mouth curved.

"She somehow became the famed black swan of Lys -"

Now that was the name Aegon had heard of, he had even considered flying to Lys on Sunfyre but, oh well, – whores were plenty in King's Landing.

"- and your own great-aunt, Princess Saera," at which point he glanced around as if it were a great taboo to mention late King Jaehaerys' estranged daughter.

"I do wonder if that one has a magical cunt as well. Perhaps it runs in her blood."

Aegon threw his head back, guffawing stupidly before winking at Aemond.

"You'd like to know wouldn't you, brother?"

I’d like to cut your tongue out.

"Well, Prince Jacaerys certainly knows, Your Grace." Jarlon pointed at their nephew passing her a cup of wine, like a damn servant.

Embarrassing.

Baseborn fucking disgrace.

"He seems quite...cunt-struck. So, I would consider that they will marry...unless Lord Swann prefers selling the wayward daughter to some old, rich twat who wouldn't care about the prince having taken her maidenhead."

Aemond had had enough, and with great effort, he stood up and excused himself. Aegon was an idiot, and so was Jorlan Wylde. In the latter's case, Aemond attributed it to his father giving him no less than twenty-nine younger siblings to look after.

Must he hear about that annoying girl all the damn time?

Why was she even in the Keep at all? Couldn’t his whore sister find better-suited ladies-in-waiting? Arianne Swann wasn't betrothed to Jacaerys Strong yet, and already they went hand in hand, as if -

Paramour.

She wasn't, because Aemond suspected she was honest when she threw her pearls at him and screamed - not even a first kiss.

Was she mad or brave or both? Truly, he might even be impressed that someone dared to throw things at him.

She hadn't even thanked him for graciously returning her earrings. She hadn’t answered his exceedingly polite letter.

Yet, she kept reappearing inside his mind like an invader.

Arianne Swann was a new and unwelcome intrusion in his life. First with that riotous hair and stupid, girlish laughter, and then by prolonging their game so that he might start thinking there were intelligent thoughts inside that pretty head – to think he implied they should play again - even after she called him a twat, him! A Targaryen who rides the largest dragon in the world.

She had the gall to avoid him like he had greyscale after that. He’d seen her yesterday – just because he lacked an eye it did not mean he was blind - laughing with his bastard nephew, and saw how she abruptly pulled him away in the other direction.

So she’d rather not even acknowledge her bad manners. Not to mention, she should've been begging for his mercy after hitting him. 

Despite the avoidance, Aemond found himself annoyingly interested in deciphering her behavior.

He did the polite dance of introducing himself to his grandsire's allies whom hadn't yet met instead of rejoining Aegon.

The Secondborn Targaryen prince noticed Strong's little ornament curtsying to his mother. He knew the Queen would hold no high opinion on any of his half-sister's ladies in waiting. At least this time Lady Swann wore an appropriate gown, though still in her house colors - black and white.

Aemond wondered how was her dark attire bedecked with jewel-encrusted feathers when not even the Lannisters dressed so ostentatiously. Her lord father was not so wealthy. Though certainly, her ancestors had amassed riches by controlling the Slayne. It was a major route inland to the Stormlands.

The dress again served the purpose of drawing attention whenever she went to be introduced, which irritated Aemond to no end.

'Perhaps, it was a gift from one of her lovers. Maybe his nephew dipped his mongrel hands into the royal treasury.'

By the Seven, did those toads have to find her beautiful? She wasn't. Not at all.

It was just the Valyrian blood in her.

Her face was surely lovely, with a delicate chin, a full, heart-shaped mouth, and large eyes of polished malachite - as green as the decorations adorning the keep, his mother's dresses, Vhagar, -

It seemed that Arianne Swann had said something that the Queen wished to hear, for his mother had offered her a smile before dismissing her.

Preposterous.

So, did they perceive her as not only beautiful but clever and good-natured as well?

Treachery.

Aemond gripped his goblet tightly. He refused to drink more than a few sips.

'If his mother knew what that little courtesan had told him to his face, she'd have her banished!'

The One-Eyed prince hadn't realized the object of his ire had moved and was now regarding him.

Arianne held his gaze only briefly, her own wide and nonplussed - before attempting a quick curtsy and practically running into the mass of other people.

Fucking -

Aemond clenched his fists.

She was afraid of him.

Good.

She had yet to apologize and thank him for not tossing her gaudy pearls to the smallfolk below.

Did she think he was staring at her?

Did she think he, a trueborn prince of pure Valyrian blood, would be interested in her!?

She was in his Keep, and moved around like a frantically flapping bird, so where was he supposed to look!? Aemond Targaryen could look wherever he damn pleased, and he would like to see who would tell him he couldn't.

So he followed her with his eye out of pure spite.

He watched as his bastard nephew held out his hands for hers before they danced—clumsy idiot.

She'd need someone who was a better dance partner than Jacaerys Strong, who wouldn't let her sway so much.

Someone like him.

Except Aemond didn't dance unless required.

Lady Arianne had wiped her hands against her skirts. Her dress was long-sleeved, baring only her neck and the tops of her collarbones, but it wasn't modest, no -

It had to show him how perfectly tight it was around her pert chest, how the curve of her waist tapered into her full hips and behind - and with those annoying, glittering feathers so that everyone would turn after her.

Why was she always wearing such fetching attires? To trap weak-minded men like his stupid brother or nephew?

' "Brother, imagine if she were to marry dear sister's bastard! She'd be our little Queen."'

Aegon had laughed before succumbing to a half-awake state from which, once again, Aemond had been tasked to deliver him to bed. He'd blissfully forgotten everything about Arianne Swann and Jacaerys Velaryon's impending betrothal.

If only one-eyed Targaryen was afforded such blessings of a wine-addled mind.

'"You think he'll have a whole little bastard brood?"'

Aemond glanced at his mother and sister. Bastard brood on the throne that was rightfully his brother's, that he should sit on.

Not to mention…Lady Arianne certainly seemed like the sort of wife to give her husband many, many sons. Her hips curved from her waist like the body of a lute from its thin neck.

The thought of a Strong bastard sitting on the throne and siring children on Saera's granddaughter made Aemond nauseous.

If Jacaerys Velaryon were to take Arianne Swann to wife, perhaps he should interfere with such a blatant insult to the Targaryen legacy - perhaps he should bend that little courtesan over and fill her with his seed.

The Seven would not approve, but the Valyrian gods would.

The children he’d sire upon her would be the true blood of the dragon.

Her hair had been neatly tucked away into large braids that rested around the back of her head. Aemond was thankful for it, for those wild waves made something light up beneath his skin.

He should make her face Vhagar. Perhaps then she'd realize how much better than her he was - how much more of a dragon than her dark-haired bastard - realize how inconsequential she was and apologize for disrupting him and then -

She'd let him have his way with her.

She'd beg him to make her his paramour.

She wouldn't care that his face was marred and frightening. He'd fucking show her not to confuse a mongrel and a trueborn son of Old Valyria.

Maybe he really should, so he'd never have another disgusting nightmare that had left him hard and aching in the early dawn before he woke.

In it, she wasn't wearing a dress, rather it was nothing but Myrish lace and jewels that adorned her beautiful body as she sat at the bottom of his bed.

'"My dragon, I have been waiting for you."

The corner of her full lips quirked up as she stared at him adoringly, her delicate fingers playing with the jade dragon figurine from the cyvasse board.

He gritted his teeth and swallowed, wondering why he was not upon her already when she bared herself to him.

"I am going to fuck you when I win." It was rude and coarse and unbecoming language of his station yet he didn't care.

She came to him.

Arianne didn't seem to react other than to lower herself on her elbows, letting him see -

"And if I win?"

He didn’t really care.

“What do you want?” he spat harsher than necessary.

She laughed, and it was such a pretty sound that Aemond's throat ached.

"My only desire is to serve my King Aemond."

King.

Something in him snapped.'

- And Aemond roused feverish and painfully hard. He cursed the Seven and all Valyrian gods he knew before stroking his cock to completion.

He loathed her - how dare that little hussy take up residence in his head!? He was a dragon.

Aemond took a final sip of his wine, the tangy liquid coating his tongue before he decided to forgo it for tonight. He couldn't afford his wits to be addled with enemies in the Keep, his whore of a sister and her brood, and Daemon. He also couldn't afford a headache in the morning when today's training had been ruined by...her. He was rather pleased with his drills today when he’d happened to see her upon returning to his chambers and everything came thundering back to him.

He wrote her a note. How utterly humiliating.

It was the wine.

The accursed nectar of fools and simpletons.

Aemond frowned and shoved his cup further away lest he accidentally take another sip.

Jacaerys Strong kissed both of Arianne's knuckles before letting her leave their dance.

'She probably thought him handsome.'

The One-Eyed Prince wanted to barf.

What did she know about good tastes? Stonehelm was so far from the King’s Landing that she was a veritable country bumpkin.

It was all very disgusting.

Her thick, chestnut braids disappeared between the ladies and the one-eyed Prince cursed her for being so tiny.

He hadn't realized until he stood next to her the other day how much smaller she was than him. He wondered if he had pointed a sword at her, would she have flapped and screeched to her Jace to save her from the scary, one-eyed beast?

His stomach rumbled, sloshing the little wine he had around. Aemond almost found himself groaning - he had forgotten to eat. At least he had an excuse when Aegon tried to force him down so that they might drink together. The tables were still full of various meats, fruits, cheese, flagons of mead, and sweet cakes.

Aemond gestured to the nearby servant to fill his plate.

He would just eat and retire.

'It would be best to rise before dawn and go to the armory.'

He’d just have to trust his mother and grandsire to deal with Driftmark. Not like they’d accept his suggestion – to put the whore of Dragonstone and her bastard brood to the sword for treason.

"You've been to Morne, have you, Lady Tarth?"

Aemond stilled, the unwanted familiarity of the voice nudging at his steadily racing pulse. 

No.

No.

"Many times, girl. It is not too far from Evenstar Fall."

And then, as if the gods conspired to ruin what little good remained of his day, her voice chimed again, cutting through the whirlwind of his thoughts like a sharpened dagger through a silken bodice.

"Ah, so I was curious, Ser Galladon -"

What was she doing here when he just wished to appease his stomach and leave this tedious feast? 

Arianne seemed to be animatedly monologuing about the supposed honor of Galladon of Morne while Lady Tarth nodded indulgently. Two feasts a week for the whore of Dragonstone, and she'd only just arrived - Aemond decided then and there to notify his mother he would not grace the next one with his appearance, even if his father stood up from his sickbed.

"Your Grace." He stifled the grimace when old lady Tarth's eyes fell upon him.

 The gods are mocking me. 

...

Next

[darklinaforever]

While it’s not homophobic to disagree with a ship it’s also not demanding of this much vitriol either

I’m sure there’s plenty of ships you support that others don’t

As for your point of the text in F&B

This show is barely based on the text for better or worse

Historically speaking it’s actually a common place element that women’s queerness is hidden. How many female poets/writers and their “close female companion” been buried by straight male historians?

I’m no saying you have to like it, or agree, just the fact that there is room for flaw in some of these arguments

Let's be clear, if it is important to recall the original text.

Because without him, HOTD would simply not exist. It exists because of that.

Then, at the beginning the writers proudly claimed that HOTD was the truth about the events of Fire and Blood, it was after the broadcast of season 1 that they changed their tune by saying that F&B and HOTD had separate canons.

Without forgetting that Ryan Condal boasts about the consistency of the Lore which therefore comes from the GRRM books and therefore ASOIAF / F&B in all cases, while in the end, he does not respect it either.

Stop trying to tell me "yes but HOTD has almost nothing to do with Fire and Blood". You can't have one without the other, sorry.

On the other hand, you must be careful to differentiate them and not mix them up.

And I don't care if the context is ideal for queer stories. There are other queer characters besides Rhaenyra in the dance, including women.

Oddly, no one ever talks about their erasure to defend this shitty storyline with Mysaria in relation to the Queer community, which sounds like hypocrisy to me.

So take these characters, instead of inventing queer stories in Rhaenyra that have no basis, basis or consistency with what has already been established in HOTD and even with the source material. Rhaenyra isn't the character for that, that's all.

It's not hard to understand though.

[blissfulphilospher]

Is it me or the vibes of asoiaf books (and art, fanart, fanfictions) related to it is totally different than the one by the shows related to it like GoT and HotD and companion books like Fire and Blood?

Idk if it's the war or less targs but I feel like the asoiaf books (art, fanart, fanfics) are more alive, more vibrant and deep with awesome world and lore around which isn't present at all in other works of same series even the novellas.