#icons alice chambers

[editfandom]

Florence Pugh

[lunedits]

[peachy-ash]

𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 

[nosensedit]

⊹ ִ࣪ এ credits on twitter ִ࣪ ⌁ like or reblog if you save! ♡ ¸. • *

[saintlopezlov3r]

Alice Chambers🫖

Don’t Worry Darling

[lemonhemlock]

the reason why i don't think blood & cheese works without maelor is because it undermines the gravity of helaena's choice

in the books, as we all know, she has to choose which son to sacrifice. blood & cheese are going to kill one either way, so, whatever happens, if you want to get cynical about it, aegon will still be left with a male heir of his body. no, the horribleness of the choice lies not really in dynastic matters, but in basic humanity: which of your children are you willing to condemn to death? and helaena truly does try to make the best out of a bad situation, she picks not because she loves jaehaerys more, but because maelor is so tiny that she hopes he won't understand what's going to happen to him.

and she absolutely has to choose, because b&c threaten to rape her daughter if she doesn't. it's psychological torture. b&c just want to fuck her up in the head as much as possible and helaena tries her goddamnest to minimize the harm done to her family. to further compound on the tragedy, b&c kill the opposite child, so now she has to live out the rest of her days knowing that the son left alive is the son SHE herself marked for the axe. which is what understandably drives her to lose her mind

now, in the show, the "problem" blood & cheese have doesn't exist at all: that they can't supposedly tell the twins apart. but (as awful as it sounds, since it involves sexual assault) they could very easily check which child has male genitalia and be done with it. it's a "problem" that takes literal seconds to solve. they don't need helaena at all! it becomes irrelevant which child she points towards - b&c can always just check! she can't save jaehaerys in this situation no matter what she does, because b&c were never interested in jaehaera in the first place. in the books, she has the ability to save one child and this exact horrible "agency" bestowed on her torments her for the rest of her days. in the show, even had she pointed towards jaehaera, it would have been a narrative plot hole for the writers to have killed her without checking

likewise, in the books, she begs them to kill her instead, but, in the show, she offers them a necklace? you can't deny that the dramatic stakes are lowered substantially by making that change. which one of these options would have been more filled with pathos? personally, it just feels like this was phia's moment to shine and, while she did a good job with what she had, every narrative choice was somehow made to subdue this horrible event and left her only crumbs to work with. cinematically-speaking, this scene (as it was executed) does not even come close to the iconic moments that cemented GoT into the collective consciousness, which is very strange, as the subject matter is anything but mediocre

and that's not even getting into the rest of the plot holes that others have already pointed out, like:

- why are there no guards at helaena's door or anywhere else for that matter? not just on that hallway, but on many other hallways, she has to run quite a lot to get to alicent's chambers

- why is her room unlocked at the very least

- why is ALICENT's room unlocked, for that matter? she is having secret guilty sex with criston and she forgets to lock her door in a castle full of spies? anyone could have walked in

- not even getting into this whole thing just being one huge misunderstanding + minimizing daemon's and mysaria's roles :))

- NOT EVEN mentioning removing the trauma of alicent witnessing all of this, gagged and bound on her own bed, not being able to help or intervene in any way

i can understand the likelihood of these elements happening sometimes (maybe someone does forget to lock their door from time to time, maybe a guard does shirk their duties from time to time), but you can't write all of them at once without it turning all looney tunes. if you introduce too many aspects that defy logic in your story, it ceases to be believable and just becomes bad writing

___________________________________________

also, "they killed <the boy>"? not "my son" or "jaehaerys"? it sounds so removed, don't you think? helaena out there on her mother's floor dropping exposition for the audience 🥲

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Delicate Part. 5

Gwayne Hightower x Reader

Description: Hoping to sway her heart to him, Gwayne gifts Y/N with an heirloom of House Hightower. Gwayne displays his willingness to defend his lady when a Lannister lord insults her at a banquet. When Y/N, Gwayne, and Alicent go too far into their cups at the Tourney banquet, Gwayne makes sure the object of his affections makes her way back to her chambers safely.

Writer's note: Thank you to everyone who follows this series! I really appreciate all your lovely comments and the support for the ace rep, I just really wanted to see myself in a character. I'm so glad it resonates. And a special thanks to @just-some-random-blogger for your iconic commentaries!

Warnings: Female reader. Touch averse and Asexual reader.

As Gwayne pushed back the tissue paper of the box he was holding, a sense of doubt entered into his thoughts: that his gift might seem presumptuous to Lady Y/N. That it might displease her. Having shared his feelings about her friend with Alicent, she had been excited at the thought of her dear brother and best friend forming a union that would mean she would not have to part from either of them. Despite his attempts to temper her excitement by reminding her that the likelihood of Y/N accepting his suit or returning his feelings for her was minimal at best, he was unable to entirely repress his own joy at the picture that Alicent was painting of their potential future.

To have his two favourite ladies always with him would turn the ghostly halls of his ancestral seat into a paradise he scarcely dared to imagine becoming a reality. Still, her increasingly affectionate gestures towards him made him tentatively hopeful that such a future was not altogether impossible. He resolved to try and win her love if he could. With these thoughts in mind, he had sought to find a way of expressing his hope that she might accept his suit for her to become his wife and Lady Hightower one day. After first running the idea past Alicent, he had sent a raven back to Oldtown, requesting that one of his mother’s emerald encrusted necklaces be sent to him, forthwith. By making good on his previously expressed hope that the three should all wear green to the opening banquet, he hoped also to convey his earnest wish to Y/N that she would, one day, not only wear the colours of his House, but also belong to it.

Walking towards the library, where he knew he would find his love, he could not quash his fear that she would reject his gift outright, either frightened or displeased by his suit. He did not wish for her to feel that by accepting his gift she was also obligated to accept his love, he only hoped that she would permit him to try and win her love. This gift was intended to be a subtle indication of his hopes, without overwhelming her with outward displays of affection, which he knew would only serve to make her uncomfortable.

Upon entering the library, he immediately spotted Y/N ensconced within a dark corner of the room, the candles bolstered to the walls casting an ethereal glow across her features, which had him momentarily arrested in place by her beauty. Recollecting himself, he strode towards her and met her smile with his own, as she looked up from her book, hearing him approach.

“Ever studious. I wonder what you can be reading so intently. Plotting how to best me at the upcoming tourney, no doubt.”

Y/N laughed at this, before indicating that he sit in the chair next to her.

“What brings you to my sanctuary, Ser. Should not you be terrorising the other knights with your charm?”

Gwayne smiled affectionately at her, enjoying the joke that she had continued since they met, which had him secretly hoping she really did find him charming. Nevertheless, he sought to invest his voice with the levity that her tone suggested.

“Alas, there are plenty more hours in the day for me to do so, but I must first terrorise you with my charm.” He smirked at her, a glint in his eye, in an attempt to seem less nervous than he really was. Removing a deep green, velvet box from his tunic, he tentatively held it out to her.

“May I entreat you to accept this humble gift, in the hope that you will wear it at this evening’s banquet?”

A quizzical look passed over Y/N’s features, but she nonetheless accepted the box, carefully opening it and removing the papers that protected his family heirloom. Y/N emitted a small gasp at the beauty of the necklace she held in her hands, before her eyes snapped up to meet Gwayne’s uncharacteristically anxious expression.

“Gwayne, this is beautiful.”

Gwayne released a breath he had been holding, relieved that she should think so, before she continued.

“But I cannot accept such a gift.”

His heart momentarily stuttered before plummeting, as he feared she was rejecting his suit for her love outright, believing his gift to be presumptuous. He was relieved when she explained.

“It is far too beautiful and precious to be given to me, no doubt it is a Hightower heirloom.”

“The beauty of the trinket, I think, should befit that of the wearer.” His mouth upturned and his heart swelled as a light blush dusted her cheeks.

“You did promise that we should all wear green for this evening’s banquet, I distinctly remember. I would be honoured if you would accept this token. Both Alicent and I wish for you to accept it.”

Holding her gaze so that she would know that he really meant for her to accept the gift, whilst simultaneously attempting to convey the love he felt for her, in his eyes, he anxiously awaited her answer.

Her returning smile, as she clipped the chain around her neck, had his heart soaring at her acceptance of his gift and the image of her wearing his ancestral heirloom.

“I will gladly wear it then, if it so please you and Alicent. Thank you, Gwayne. It’s beautiful.”

Gwayne could not but think that the wearer was far more beautiful than the necklace she admired, but he rejoiced that she had accepted his gift and he grew hopeful that she would, one day, also accept his love.

Y/N placed her hand upon the cool chain around her neck, admiring how the green gems glittered and complimented the emerald gown she had chosen to wear at that evening's banquet. She had worn the gown partly as a homage to her and her two friend's constant refrain that they should all wear green to match one another. More than that, it was also her way of expressing her love for them and her intrinsic sense of affinity with their house. House Hightower's motto, 'We Light the Way', well expressed how much her friends had become a light in her own life, amidst the shadows of Court life. Before she had befriended Alicent and Gwayne, she had felt entirely alone, both within Court and within her own family. Now she was scarcely alone, always either accompanied by Alicent or Gwayne or both.

She had come to particularly value Gwayne's attentiveness, always eager to listen to anything she had to say and considerate whenever you spoke of her troubled family life or her fears for the future. His gift of a Hightower heirloom that morning had moved her greatly, seeming to suggest that he valued her friendship as much as she did his. She could not deny that she also hoped his gift might intimate that he harboured stronger feelings towards her, that it might symbolise his desire that she should one day join his and Alicent's family; the only family she could ever envision belonging to.

She quickly pushed the thought aside, rebuking herself for her presumptuousness and foolishness. Whilst she had found herself quickly falling in love with Gwayne, she resolved that she could not hope to ever marry him, even should he desire such a match. She would never be able to fulfil the expectations of intimacy required of marriage, the thought alone causing her intense anxiety. She would merely have to be content with loving him quietly, without imposing her feelings on him, when she could not hope to be the marriage partner he, no doubt, sought. The idea of him marrying another caused an intense feeling of pain to constrict her chest, but she knew that she had no right to such a feeling, and strove to squash it as it rose.

A knock at the door disturbed her from her thoughts and she called for whoever had knocked to enter.

"The Hightowers await your presence, my Lady."

A degree of nervousness seeped into her heart at the thought that Alicent and Gwayne might not like her dress, might think it too transparently a symbol of her emotional affinity to their House. Nonetheless, she would not leave them waiting, and she quickly turned on her heel to meet them at the entrance to her father's apartments. With trepidation, she entered the main hall to meet her friends and her heart was warmed to see them both dressed in green, matching each other.

Gwayne had spent the rest of the day at the training yard, after Y/N's acceptance of his gift, in a half-dazed state of happiness. The thought of her wearing his mother's necklace, the heirloom of his House, led him into potentially dangerous fantasies of her accepting him as her husband and becoming the future Lady Hightower. Perhaps he could convince his father to allow Alicent to return to Oldtown, so that the three could live together. He tried not to allow himself to be carried away by such visions of future happiness, but Y/N's sweet acceptance of his gift had him struggling to contain them. He did not believe that she yet fully understood the import of the gift from his side, symbolising as it did, for him, his hope that she would one day become part of his family. That she would be his wife. However, he hoped that her acceptance of the necklace could yet be a positive sign of her warm feelings towards him, and that he may yet hope to further cultivate them into a love like he bore for her.

Ahead of the tourney, set to begin the next day, Gwayne had dressed in a green velvet tunic. Alicent had similarly dressed in a silk, green dress, both in the shade of the lights of the Oldtown watch. As they made their way through the Keep towards Y/N's apartments, he could not but hope that she, too, would be wearing the colours of his House, and that he could hope to see her wearing his gift. The very thought of such a divine image left his stomach in knots, and he could scarcely conceal his nerves from Alicent, as she looked up at him with a knowing smile. They had barely been waiting a moment within the entrance hall to Y/N's apartments before she emerged in a forest green, velvet gown, the exact shade of his House colours, his mother's necklace glittering against her throat. The sight of her beauty, and the vision it conjured of her as the future Lady Hightower, had him opening and closing his mouth several times. A hit to his arm from Alicent reminded him that he must look like a fool in front of the lady he so wanted to impress.

"I'm so glad you decided to wear green, too, Y/N. We match perfectly!" Alicent cried, clasping her hands together delightedly, before embracing her friend.

At Y/N's sweet smile in both of their directions, Gwayne was once again at a loss for words, before a slight fall in her expression, perhaps at his silence, had him recalling himself.

Holding her gaze in the hope of conveying the truth of his feelings for her, which he dared not yet vocally pronounce, he addressed her with a level of adoration he did not attempt to conceal from his voice: "You are a vision, my Lady. I should like to always see you wearing the colours of my House."

Her light blush at his words lit a spark of hope within him that his feelings for her could one day be reciprocated. If he could convince her that he only wanted her, not anything she had been led to believe would be expected of her from marriage by her father and the Court, he could yet hope for his vision of her as his wife to become a reality. Her presence before him in his House colours, wearing his mother's necklace, seemed to him to be a happy harbinger of such a future.

Holding his free arm out to her, with more confidence now, knowing she would accept it, he felt a degree of contentment he had never before experienced, as he led his sister and his beloved to the banquet.

As the Hightower siblings and Lady Y/N entered the main hall of the Red Keep, a slight hush fell across the hall at the sight of them atop the stairwell. The matching shades of their dress, and their united front, arm-in-arm, recalled to the minds of many at Court tales of the lights of the Hightower watch burning green, when called to action. The three descended the steps and approached the end of the table reserved for the Hightowers. Gwayne was forced to slow his pace when he noticed that his love had stopped walking, tugging lightly on his sleeve.

He sought to ascertain the reason for her hesitant expression, as she looked between himself and Alicent.

"Should not I sit elsewhere. I am not a Hightower."

Realizing the reason for her hesitation, even as he quickly refuted it in his own mind, since she was already so deeply embedded within his own heart, he sought to reassure her.

"Not in name, but you are our dearest friend and we should be honoured by your presence at our table." He was quickly supported in this by Alicent nodding and pulling Y/N's arm forward, affectionately.

Rewarding him with a beatific smile, Y/N allowed herself to be led to their end of the table by Alicent, as Gwayne held a chair out, first for his sister, and then for his beloved. He held her hand and gaze longer than was strictly necessary, as he led her to her seat, before he seated himself in between his love and his sister.

The evening turned out to be one of the most enjoyable Gwayne had ever passed at a Court proceeding, as he spent the majority of it laughing with his dear sister and lady love at the antics of the Court's lickspittles and sycophants. Gwayne had both ladies doubling over with laughter at his description of Tyland Lannister's 'bizarre mating dance', as the fool continued to try and capture Alicent's attention. As the Lannister approached their table, Gwayne ineffectually gestured for the ladies to quiet their laughter, as they continued to break into it every time they made eye contact with each other. A condition made worse by the amount of wine Gwayne and Y/N had consumed, much to Alicent's disapproval.

Ostensibly unperturbed by their ill-concealed mirth, Tyland Lannister confidently swaggered up to their table, until he stood directly opposite Alicent. Holding his hand out to her, he pushed his chest out as he asked her to dance, seemingly assured of her ready acceptance. Gwayne sensed the danger when Alicent made eye contact with him and knew it was all over when she turned to Y/N, as they all broke out into laughter again.

Alicent was the first one to rally herself into some semblance of respectability, wiping her eyes of the tears that her laughter had elicited.

"I am sorry, my Lord, to have to decline your kind offer. I will not be dancing with anyone this evening."

Tyland's expression darkened as he surmised that he was the cause of their inordinate mirth. Realising that Tyland still stood before their table, a threatening presence before his sister, Gwayne decided to take control of the situation, and redirect his anger towards him.

"The lady has declined your offer, my good man. Be so good as to move away from the table, you are blocking the ladies' view of the dancing."

He said this with a light, but firm tone, which made clear this was not a request.

Growing irritated at the Lannister's continued presence before her friend, who she could see was becoming uncomfortable under his gaze, Y/N lost her cool.

"It appears that the lady does not care to partake in your particular dance, Ser. Did you not hear her decline?"

At the emphasis Y/N placed on the word 'dance', Alicent and Gwayne broke out in laughter again, at her reference to Tyland's 'mating dance'.

That was before Tyland addressed Y/N, directing a cold glower towards her.

"I do not remember asking for your opinion, Y/N."

Gwayne was immediately on his feet, glaring into Tyland's face, with fury behind his eyes.

"I think I just heard you address the Lady without the proper respect due to her, Ser. I would advise you to remove yourself from both ladies' presence before I am forced to do so."

Both Alicent and Y/N were surprised to see Gwayne so incensed, having never been on the receiving end of his anger, and Tyland seemed similarly surprised at his anger, taking a step back from the table.

Begrudgingly offering his apology to Y/N for the insult, he stalked away from the table. Gwayne did not return to his seat until Tyland had made his way back to the centre of the room, continuing to glare in the direction of his retreating back. Alicent pulled him back down to his seat by his arm, retaining a comforting hold on it. He patted her hand affectionately, and reached out to take Y/N's hand, which she quickly placed within his own.

"Pay him no mind, Gwayne. He is only a fool in Court clothing." Alicent said comfortingly, patting his arm. Gwayne nodded in response, looking down at her affectionately as he tried to calm his breathing, still angered by Tyland's presumption towards his sister and his rudeness towards his love.

Y/N squeezing his hand helped to calm him from his rage, as he turned to her, looking into her eyes with a look of earnest concern.

"I hope you were not distressed by that fool's behaviour, my Lady. I can have another conversation with him, if such be the case."

Correctly predicting by the emphasis Gwayne placed on the word 'conversation' that Gwayne meant more of a physical, than a verbal, altercation, Y/N indulgently swatted him on the arm.

"There will be no need for that, my good Ser. I think we have all effectually put that peacock in his place."

The feeling of her soft, delicate hand still placed within his own, and her playfully affectionate gesture, served to calm Gwayne, whilst her jest had them all breaking out into laughter again. Gwayne gazed down at her, the bell-like sound of her laughter filling his ears, as his eyes glittered with the love he felt for her.

The sound of muffled laughter could be heard, as Gwayne and Alicent made their way back through the Keep towards Y/N's apartments, with Y/N in tow. Both Gwayne and Y/N had drunk far more wine than was sensible, Y/N not having realised her limits, as she continued to stumble her way forward. Her movement was only made more haphazard by her inability to stop laughing at Gwayne's impression of Tyland's mating dance, as she wheezed, holding onto her stomach. When she nearly fell, as they rounded the corner, Gwayne caught her by her elbows and held her up.

"Steady, steady, how many fingers am I holding up?" he smirked at her, raising three fingers to her face.

She smiled blearily at him, before responding delightedly, "five!"

Gwayne chuckled indulgently, shaking his head as he looked downward, before sighing.

"Nothing for it, I shall have to carry you, though I can scarcely stand myself. You are to be blamed as a bad influence. If I had not been trying to best you, my Lady, I should still be in full possession of my cognitive and physical abilities."

Attempting to swat his chest, but missing, nearly careening past him, had not he caught her again, holding her waist with one arm, she laughed.

"I thoroughly bested you Ser, let there be no doubt."

Smiling at her, finding her antics adorable, he assumed a mock serious tone of voice.

"I would never be so bold as to suggest it, my Lady. Now if you could kindly get onto my back, I hope we might return you to your chambers before morning comes."

Turning away from her and lowering himself, he held his arms out behind him to lift her, as Alicent helped Y/N get onto his back.

They made it approximately half way up the turreted stairwell to Y/N's apartments before Gwayne, inebriated himself and laughing at the situation they found themselves in, slipped on a step, hitting his knee. A look of alarm crossed his face as he turned to assess whether his fumble had harmed his lady, but it was quickly replaced by a grin of amusement, as she swatted his head.

"Stupid horse, what do you mean by falling. Get up at once."

"Apologies, my Lady, your horse is not feeling very steady, himself." Laughing, yet secretly rejoicing at her touch, and that she should feel so safe with him, as she leant her head against his back, he raised them both and continued up the stairs. Whether by the grace of the Seven or Alicent's skillful steering of her brother and friend, the three managed to make it to Y/N's apartments in one piece. Hugging Alicent and patting Gwayne's head still, it seemed, under the mistaken notion that he really was a horse, Y/N retreated behind the door of her apartments. As the Hightower siblings turned to go back through the Keep to their own apartments, Gwayne wrapped an arm around his sister, a gesture of affection which also ended up being necessary, as he was now passed the point of being able to make it back in the right direction to their own apartments.

Waking up the next day with a headache, Gwayne couldn't find himself feeling sorry for it, when it was the result of a night of such merriment and joy with his sister and lady love. He had dreamt of Y/N standing at his side in his own ancestral seat, as his wife, and had awoken hoping that she might sometimes dream of him too. With such a happy thought to buoy him up, he rose and began to dress for the first day of the tourney, hoping that his lady's headache was not as bad as his own. At the thought that she could be suffering from one, he sobered a little and resolved to make a stop by the kitchens before he made his way to the tournament.

A knock on her door, early the next day, had Y/N grumbling for her maid to enter, her head throbbing from her indulgence at the previous night's banquet. Entering quietly, the maid bought a tea to Y/N, which she looked at quizzically.

"Thank you, but I don't believe I requested this."

Lowering her head in deference, the maid informed her that Ser Gwayne Hightower had brought it up personally, assuring her that it was a herbal remedy sure to cure her symptoms from the previous night's merriment. The maid also handed her a note, which Gwayne had left with the tea.

My Lady,

I do hope your pretty head does not hurt quiet so much as mine does, although I am assured by your stalwart claims to have bested me last night that it does not. I do believe I knocked mine own on several walls on my way back to my chambers last night, as if the wine were not already enough to give me a headache for several years. I swear by the efficacy of this tea for curing all manner of ill incurred by indulging in too much wine. I do hope you will be well enough to honour me with your presence and support at today's tourney.

Remember that your knight will require someone to charm, should his fellow knight's prove impervious to his charms. That failing, I shall allow you to carry my sword for me when I inevitably drop it, since I can barely see straight to write this missive.

Yours, most faithfully,

Gwayne

Laughing at his note, even as his consideration for her wellbeing caused her heart to flutter, Y/N rose to begin getting ready to meet Alicent on her way to the tourney stands to watch Gwayne compete.

As Gwayne urged his horse forth in a canter, in procession behind the other knights competing in the tourney, his heart soared at the sight of his sister and lady smiling down at him and cheering for him from the stands. Stopping below the balcony they were seated at, he called up to them, a boyish grin illuminating his features.

"Good morrow, fair ladies. Would my two favourite ladies care to grant their champion their favours, so that he may hope to compete with their blessing?"

Taking Alicent's handkerchief from her, Y/N passed both of their handkerchiefs down to him, and he quickly caught both in his grasp, smiling gratefully up at them both, before directing his horse to continue forth. Despite his nervousness at competing in his first tourney outside of Oldtown, the sight of his sister and beloved's favours tied to his sword belt made him feel as if he was already on the way to winning the only prize he truly cared for, the heart of his lady.

Both girls had anxiously held each other's hands in their laps as they watched Gwayne compete against knights twice his age, concerned for his safety. They soon found themselves cheering, however, at Gwayne's series of victories, both in the jousting and with the sword. His age did not seem to be a weakness, rather, it seemed to lend him a boldness and unpredictability in battle, which had the other knights struggling to anticipate his next move. Every time he took a hit, both ladies would hold their breath, before he would be up again, rounding on his opponent with a tenacity they had little expected for one so young and inexperienced in battle.

By the end of that day's tournaments, Gwayne had emerged the victor in many a fight. Instead of going to the podium directly beneath the King's balcony to receive the markers of his victories, he ran straight towards the balcony that his sister and lady were seated upon.

"Are you sufficiently pleased with your champion's victories on the field today, my ladies?"

Laughing at him, Y/N leant over the balcony, folding her arms on the railing, to address him.

"Your ladies are sufficiently pleased by your victories, good Ser. We shall expect you to do equally as well on the morrow."

Gazing up at his love, she appeared almost as an angel above him, so much so that he was nearly too stunned to speak. He hoped that she was impressed by his performance that day and that his victories might also go some way to convincing her that he would be a suitable choice for a husband, as someone who could protect her and would defend her with his life.

Winking at her, with a charming smile, he met her light tone with his own.

"Depend upon it, my sweet Lady, this knight shall not disappoint you."

With that, he reluctantly turned from her back towards the King's stand, the King having been left unexpectedly waiting whilst Gwayne had bypassed him on his way to meet his lady.

@liafiction @madamewhitesnake @rebeccawinters @ateliefloresdaprimavera @beebeechaos @darknessinside11 @read-just-cant @ganymede-princess @a-dorkier-book-keeper @leptitlu @ambrosia-v-black @labellapeaky @deltamoon666 @just-some-random-blogger

[kc-writes-sometimes]

Crown and Kin | Chapter Eight

Ao3 Account | Masterlist

Chapter Eight: Revelations

(Daemon’s POV)

Word Count: 3,513

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Summary: Daemon navigates the growing complexities of fatherhood and his place in the ever-changing Red Keep. The delicate balance between duty and personal desire becomes clear as old alliances and hidden truths come to light. Daella, now embraced as a Targaryen, faces a new chapter in her life, while Daemon finds himself torn between his past and the responsibilities that come with his newfound role.

Themes & Warnings: 18+, Character Death, Rape/Non Con, Future Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Incest, Angst, Dad Daemon Targaryen, Bastards and Brothels, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Team Black Centric, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance

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Daemon Targaryen

“Is it not bedtime for you too?" Daella asked, her head tilted in confusion as she gazed up at Daemon, her violet eyes reflecting the dim light of the chamber.

Daemon smiled faintly, catching the quizzical look on her young face. There was something about the innocence of a child’s question that had the power to pierce through the world’s weight. “Not for me,” he replied, his voice firm yet laced with the warmth that had grown in him since Daella entered his life. “I have business outside the Keep. You’ll be fine, little one. A guard will be stationed right outside the door if you need anything. Now, get some rest.”

She continued to stare up at him with wide eyes, still unsure, as if sensing there was more to his late-night departure. Daemon hesitated for a brief moment, feeling the tug of something unfamiliar: the urge to stay. It gnawed at him, but duty—an old, familiar companion—called louder.

He leaned over and tucked a strand of dark silver hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing her warm skin. She didn’t flinch away, her trust in him already unspoken and complete. He stood back up, his towering figure momentarily casting a shadow over the oversized bed before he turned toward the door. The heavy wooden frame creaked as he closed it, but his hand lingered on the handle for a moment longer than necessary. His mind was awash in thoughts of her—no longer just a bastard girl from Flea Bottom, but his daughter. His blood.

They had been sharing his childhood chambers ever since Daella’s arrival at the Red Keep. It had been his idea to keep her close—he told himself it was simply for convenience, but the truth ran deeper. He found comfort in her presence, watching over her as she slept, the rise and fall of her little form under thick blankets a reminder of how fragile and important she had become to him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, this quiet protectiveness, but it had rooted itself firmly in him.

Fatherhood had a way of creeping up on even the most untamed of men. Daemon, known for his reckless abandon and disregard for attachments, now found himself caring for this little girl more than he had ever anticipated. She had become the single tether in a life that had long been untethered.

These chambers had always been his refuge from the swirling politics of the Red Keep, a place he had once found solace. Now, they served as a barrier from the growing Hightower influence. Every day, the Keep felt less like the seat of Targaryen power and more like a fortress of the Faith. Alicent’s grip on Viserys—and the Keep itself—was tightening, and despite Otto’s removal, her presence had only grown stronger. The Faith of the Seven had crept into every corner, displacing the symbols of Old Valyria. The walls, once adorned with dragons, were slowly being overtaken by depictions of the Seven’s icons. It was as if the very soul of the Red Keep was being eroded.

Daemon clenched his fists as he made his way through the corridors. His boots struck the cold stone floor with sharp, measured steps, each echo a reminder of the battle that was being fought within the Keep’s walls—a battle without swords or blood, but one that was just as dangerous. The few servants still awake lowered their heads as he passed, avoiding eye contact with the Rogue Prince, their wariness a reflection of his simmering temper.

Once outside, the cool night air hit his face, offering a momentary reprieve from the tension knotted in his chest. He inhaled deeply, letting the crisp breeze fill his lungs. For a moment, he stood still, gazing up at the moon as it hung high over King’s Landing, casting long shadows across the sleeping city. The streets below, though quieter at this hour, still thrummed with life—merchants peddling their last wares of the day, shadowy figures slinking through alleys, the distant clang of the harbour.

He tightened his cloak around him as he moved through the streets, his silver hair hidden beneath the black hood. To most, he was just another shadow slipping through the night, but to those who recognized him, his presence was unmistakable. His reputation preceded him—the Rogue Prince, the Lord of Flea Bottom. Names earned through years of rebellion, of pushing against the chains of authority that tried to bind him.

But there was something different about him now. His steps were no less purposeful, but the fire that had always driven him was tempered by something new. He was no longer just a man acting on his own whims; he had a daughter, a child who was both his responsibility and his legacy.

Daella.

Her name repeated itself in his mind, a steady rhythm that beat in time with his footsteps. The thought of her stirred emotions he had long buried. Fatherhood was not something he had ever sought out. He had lived his life without attachments, without ties to anyone or anything. But now, everything had shifted. She was his, and that simple fact had rearranged the very fabric of his life.

The familiar streets of Silk soon came into view, the tension in his body winding tighter as he neared his destination. He had not felt this particular brand of tension in some time. Mysaria awaited him—the White Worm. She had been many things to him over the years: lover, confidant, spy. Her network of whispers had proven invaluable more times than he cared to count, but lately, something had changed. There was a distance between them now, a suspicion that had begun to fester ever since Daella’s presence had been made known to him. Had Mysaria known? Had she kept the secret from him all these years?

Daemon’s thoughts burned with the question as he neared her compound. The White Worm had always known more than she revealed, her words laced with riddles and half-truths. But now, with Daella in his life, the stakes were higher. If Mysaria had known about Daella—had hidden it from him—there would be a reckoning.

As he approached the dimly lit entrance to her chambers, the guards at the door said nothing as he passed, their silence expected. They had seen him come and go too many times to question his presence.

Inside, the familiar scent of incense and spice greeted him, a mixture that clung to the air, heavy and intoxicating. Mysaria’s chambers were draped in silk, the flickering light of candles casting long shadows across the room. She was there, waiting for him, draped in her customary white, her pale face framed by the soft glow of the candles.

"Daemon," she purred, her Lysene accent curling seductively around his name. She reclined on a low couch, her eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "You’ve come late tonight. What is it you seek from me?"

Daemon’s gaze was sharp, his patience worn thin. "You know why I’m here."

Her smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something—uncertainty, perhaps—in her eyes. "There are many things I know, Prince. You’ll need to be more specific."

Daemon moved faster than she anticipated, his hand shooting out to grip her throat, pulling her close with a force that left no room for games. "Don’t play games with me, Mysaria," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Did you know about Daella? Did you know I had a daughter?"

The tension in the room thickened, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. Mysaria didn’t flinch, her dark eyes holding his without fear, though his grip tightened around her throat. "I knew there was a girl," she rasped, her voice just above a whisper. "But I did not know she was yours. Not at first."

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his fingers pressing harder against her neck. "You’re lying."

"I’m not," she whispered, her voice hoarse but steady. "I didn’t know her parentage until recently."

With a sharp shove, Daemon released her, sending her sprawling back onto the cushions. He paced the room, his mind racing with the implications of her words. How many people had known the truth before him? How had it been hidden for so long?

Mysaria rubbed her throat, her eyes flickering with irritation, though her voice remained calm. "Daella was hidden well. Elyse kept her secret, and I only pieced it together when she was dead."

"Elyse," Daemon muttered, the name cutting through the air like a blade. "What did you know about her?"

Mysaria’s expression flickered, a brief moment of hesitation crossing her face before it vanished. "Elyse… was more than she appeared," she said slowly, her words carefully measured. "‘Elyse’ wasn’t even her real name. That was just the name she adopted when she came to King’s Landing."

Daemon’s brow furrowed, confusion tightening his features. "Then who was she?"

Mysaria sighed, leaning back into the cushions with a faraway look in her eyes. "I don’t know. She was secretive about her past. Our bond wasn’t built on trust, Daemon—it was born out of survival." Her fingers smoothed the silk of her dress absently before she turned her gaze back to him. "Did she ever tell you where she was from?"

"She said she was born in Dorne," Daemon answered, his voice tight, controlled. "A bastard. That’s all she told me."

A faint, knowing smile touched Mysaria’s lips, her eyes gleaming with something unspoken. "Dorne? No, but close. She was born in Volantis. And she wasn’t just any Volantene bastard, Daemon."

Daemon’s hand instinctively moved to the hilt of Dark Sister, his pulse quickening. "What are you implying?"

Mysaria’s tone softened, her voice more thoughtful now. "Did you never wonder why her hair and eyes were so… familiar? Did her manner never strike you as peculiar? The way she always had silver coins for the City Watch?" Her eyes watched him closely, as if trying to read his every reaction. "Both you and your brother saw something in her."

Daemon’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. Elyse had always been a mystery, a puzzle he never bothered to solve. She had been beautiful, and he had enjoyed their time together, but she hadn’t mattered to him beyond that. Until now. Now, she was the mother of his child—his legacy.

"What are you saying?" he demanded, his voice low, though the question was more for himself than Mysaria.

"She was more than a simple woman from Volantis," Mysaria continued, her gaze never leaving his. "I don’t know the full story, but there were whispers that she had connections to families of influence"

"Enough, Mysaria!" Daemon barked, his voice filled with frustration as he resumed pacing, his boots echoing against the stone floor. The flickering candlelight cast jagged shadows on the walls, mirroring the chaos in his mind. "I don’t have time for your riddles. Speak plainly!"

Mysaria’s eyes followed him, her expression calm but unyielding. "Elyse wasn’t a common whore, Daemon," she said, her voice steady as she leaned back, watching his every move. "There were whispers before she started dying her hair—whispers that she was of Valyrian blood."

Daemon froze, the weight of her words settling over him like a heavy cloak. How had he not seen it? The dark silver hair, the striking purple eyes—traits Daella now bore. He should have known. Perhaps, on some level, he did. Perhaps he just didn’t care. After all, one silver-haired whore was as good as another in King’s Landing.

His fists clenched at his sides, his anger surging through him like wildfire. "Why didn’t she tell me any of this?" he muttered, more to himself than to Mysaria. "Why keep Daella from me?"

Mysaria tilted her head slightly, her sharp eyes softening just a touch. "I can’t answer that for certain, but perhaps she feared what it would mean for Daella—for you. Perhaps Elyse thought it best to keep Daella hidden, to raise her as a child should be raised, away from the prying eyes of the court. She didn’t want Daella used as a pawn."

Daemon let out a bitter laugh, though the sound was devoid of humour. "And look where that got her. Dead. And Daella? A scared, lonely child living in the squalor of a brothel, so terrified that when the maid washed the dye out of her hair she nearly ripped her own hair out." His voice grew harsher, the bitterness seeping into every word. "You could have told me this sooner. You could have done something! You could have let me help her."

Mysaria’s eyes hardened at his accusation. "And what would you have done, Daemon? Elyse feared what your involvement would bring. She didn’t want Daella to live in the shadow of your name. She didn’t want her past or yours to devour the child."

Daemon spun toward her, his eyes blazing with anger. "I could’ve saved her!" His voice broke, just for a moment. "I could’ve kept Elyse alive."

Mysaria held his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the weight of the secrets she had kept. "Would it have changed anything, Daemon?" she asked quietly, her tone almost regretful. "Elyse made her choices."

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his fury simmering beneath the surface. Elyse’s secrets—the ones Mysaria had revealed and the ones that had died with her—no longer mattered. What mattered now was Daella. His daughter.

"Daella is my daughter," Daemon muttered fiercely, his voice low but resolute. "Whatever blood runs through her veins doesn’t change that."

Mysaria’s expression softened once more, her familiar tone slipping back into place. "Be careful, Daemon. The past has a way of catching up to all of us."

Daemon stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "If you’ve kept anything else from me, anything at all, you won’t live long enough to regret it."

Mysaria met his gaze, the tension between them taut as a drawn bowstring. "I’ve told you what I know," she said evenly, her tone calm yet unyielding.

For a long moment, Daemon’s eyes lingered on hers, the weight of unspoken threats thick in the air. But he said nothing more. With one final, cold glance, he turned and stormed out of her chambers, the door slamming shut behind him. As he passed through the familiar streets, Mysaria’s compound fading into the distance, Daemon felt the weight of his life shifting. He had been the Rogue Prince for so long—untethered, wild, a force unto himself. But now, he was something more.

He was a father. A protector. A force to be reckoned with, not just for himself but for Daella. His daughter. His future.

By the time Daemon reached the Red Keep, the sun had already begun its slow rise over the city. The early morning light cast long shadows across the courtyard, and servants bustled about, preparing for the day. But Daemon moved through them with a newfound sense of purpose. Nothing—not the past, not the whispers, not even the enemies lurking in the shadows—would take Daella from him.

He could picture her now, awake and preparing for her first lesson. He had arranged for the Maester to begin teaching her High Valyrian, as every true Targaryen should learn. Soon, she would know how to read, how to write, how to stitch and play music. She would learn the history of their house, the names of the great lords, and the powers they wielded. And one day, when the time came, he would teach her to ride a dragon and hold a sword, just as he did.

As Daemon walked through the gardens, heading toward his chambers, he spotted Rhaenyra in her usual spot beneath the weirwood tree. She sat with a heavy tome in her lap, her brow furrowed in concentration.

His footsteps were almost silent as he approached, though Rhaenyra, sharp as ever, glanced up from her book. Her violet eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze sharp as it landed on him.

"Back so soon, uncle?" Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the quiet of the Godswood, her tone laced with sarcasm, though beneath it was a softer edge, almost teasing.

Daemon smirked, but didn’t respond immediately. His eyes lingered on her, taking in the way the morning light caught in her hair, making it gleam like molten silver. Even in the simplicity of the Godswood, she looked regal, carrying herself with a natural majesty that both captivated and irritated him. She reminded him too much of himself.

"I had business to attend to," he finally replied, his voice neutral, though there was an unmistakable edge to it. A subtle tension simmered beneath his words, one she hadn’t heard before. "Not that it’s any concern of yours."

Rhaenyra closed the book resting on her lap, setting it aside gently as she met his gaze, her eyes sharp, searching. She could read him too well, sensing the storm beneath his calm exterior. "And what business was so pressing that it kept you out all night?" Her voice was light, but her eyes—hard, inquisitive—demanded answers.

Daemon’s lips curled into a sly grin. "You know me, Rhaenyra. I don’t answer to anyone."

"Not even my father?" she shot back, her tone sharpening like a blade. "Or is it just me you feel the need to play games with?"

The tension between them, simmering for so long, flared like fire meeting oil. Daemon’s smirk faded, his expression darkening as he stepped closer, looming over her. She remained seated under the weirwood, regal and unmoved, but his presence was undeniable.

"Viserys has always been weak," Daemon said, his voice low, heated. "And you—"

"What about me?" Rhaenyra interrupted, rising to her feet, her book forgotten as she faced him. "Do you think me weak, uncle?"

For a moment, the Godswood fell silent, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Daemon’s eyes flashed with something unspoken—longing, regret, or perhaps both. He had always been drawn to her, admiring her fire, her defiance. Yet the distance between them had grown wider, especially since that night in the city.

"You’re far from weak," Daemon said at last, his voice softer now, though the roughness remained. "But you’re playing a dangerous game, Rhaenyra. One you’re not ready for."

Rhaenyra scoffed, her eyes blazing with defiance. "And you think you know everything, don't you? You think you can decide what I'm ready for?" She stepped closer, her chin tilted upward, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—hurt, frustration. "Do you think I didn’t know what I was doing that night?"

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his gaze locking with hers. "You were a girl playing at being a woman, Rhaenyra. You didn’t understand what you were stepping into."

Rhaenyra’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. "I understood more than you give me credit for," she shot back, her voice trembling slightly, though she stood firm. "You didn’t force me to do anything. I wanted to see your world. I wanted to be free."

"Free?" Daemon echoed, his voice a low growl, almost a sneer. "You’ll never be free, Rhaenyra. Not as long as you’re tied to the Iron Throne."

"And neither will you," she snapped, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "You may pretend you don't care—that you're some rogue prince who doesn’t need the throne—but I see you, Daemon. You're just as trapped as the rest of us."

Daemon’s eyes flickered with something dark, something dangerous, as he stepped closer. His voice dropped, almost a whisper. "Perhaps," he admitted, "but I know how to bend the rules when it suits me."

Rhaenyra held her ground, her breath quickening as he loomed over her. She could feel the heat of his body, the scent of smoke and leather clinging to him. For a brief, reckless moment, Rhaenyra reached out, brushing her fingers against his chest, her touch light, almost daring. Daemon’s hand shot up, catching her wrist in a firm yet controlled grip. His eyes bore into hers, a smirk tugging at his lips once again.

"You shouldn’t provoke me, niece," he whispered, his voice rough, filled with a challenge that sent a shiver down her spine.

Rhaenyra’s lips parted, her defiance wavering as the fire between them burned hotter. "And what will you do if I do?" she asked, her voice barely a breath.

Daemon’s grip on her wrist tightened, just enough to remind her of his strength. He leaned in ever so slightly, their faces mere inches apart. His breath was warm against her skin, his presence overwhelming, and the tension between them reached its breaking point.

"Father?"

The voice was small, hesitant, cutting through the charged moment like a splash of cold water. Daemon turned sharply, releasing Rhaenyra’s wrist as he looked toward the source.

Daella stood a few feet away, her violet eyes wide with confusion as they flicked between Daemon and Rhaenyra. Her dark silver hair cascaded around her shoulders, and she seemed so small, so innocent, standing there in the soft light of the Godswood.

↞ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter ↠

[dreaming-of-the-reality]

Season 2 Alicent Hightower is not the same Alicent Hightower I loved and cherished from season 1

“I have sinned”

“We must proceed cautiously”

“Father I do not wish to be a spectacle”

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

Episode 6: The Princess and the Queen

• “Keep trying Ser Laenor, sooner or later you might get one who looks like you” - Alicent regarding Joffrey’s appearance.

• “Have I lost my sanity Ser Criston? Do my senses lead me astray, or is everyone else asleep dreaming the same woolly dream? - Alicent to Ser Criston about Viserys ignoring Rhaenyra’s bastards.

• “How sweetly the fox speaks when it’s been cornered by the hounds” - Alicent to Viserys after Rhaenyra’s offer wedding Jace and Heleana.

• “She is desperate, she feels the earth washing away beneath her feet and now she expects us to ignore her transgressions and for me to marry my only daughter, to one of her… plain features sons”

• “You may do as you wish, husband. When I am cold in my grave” - iconic Alicent quote to Viserys

• *Alicent leads Viserys into his chair and reaches for a blanket* - “I do not need the blanket-“ - *Alicent aggressively tucking the blanket over Viserys*

~~~~~~~~~~

Episode 7: Driftmark

• “Where is Ser Laenor?” - “Entertaining his young squires I’d venture” - Alicent responding to Viserys request.

• “There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her sons eyes in return” - and eye for an eye

• “If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon. He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son”

• “No you’re sworn to me!” - Alicent to Ser Criston

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

Episode 8: Lord of the Tides

• “Princess Rhaenyra… and Prince Daemon. It’s been so long since we were granted the joy of your presence”

• “and on the morrow, which authority will sit in judgment of my (Rhaenyra) sons claim on his own inheritance?” - “that would be mine (Alicent)… and the hands. But be assured, the Father is just and commands me to forget the accusations you have hurled in this room today *smirk*”

• “You’ll have the chance to make your own petitions Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard”

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

Episode 9: The Green Council

• “Am I to understand that members of this small council have been planning, secretly, to install my son without me?”

• “But the King did not wish for the murder of his daughter! He loved her, I will not have you deny this!”

• “One more word and I’ll have you removed from this chamber and sent to the wall!”

• “We do not rule, but we may guide the men who do”

• “Our hearts were never one. I see that now. Rather, I have been a piece that you moved about the board”

• “I have Aegon. We’ll proceed now as I see fit”

• “I wanted whatever you impressed upon me to want”

• “Reluctance to murder, is not a weakness!”

~~~~~~~~~

RIP to my iconic Queen Alicent Hightower of Season 1

[cinepughs]

florence pugh as alice chamber icons ♡ don't worry darling (2022) dir. by olivia wilde

[sabrinahawthorne]

Meet The Cowboy

[image ID: A black & white illustration of a white woman wearing a denim jumpsuit, leaping upwards and away from the camera. The woman wears her hair in a loose ponytail, and a single devil's horn pokes from the left side of her forehead. Her left hand is raised in a fist, which glows with a magical energy. From between each knuckle on that fist emerge three taut, immaterial threads, implied to lead off-screen and towards some number of other combatants. End ID.]

The Cowboy never has a plan of action - they never think ahead. They make a mess, and use their quick thinking and quicker mouth to fight their way out.

Cowboy Touchstones:

- Kakashi Hatake (Naruto)

- Hat & Clogs (Bleach)

- Spike Spiegel (Cowboy Bebop)

The Cowboy makes enemies wherever they go, but as a rule they themself don't hold a grudge. Correspondingly, they don't begin play with any Rivalries. Rather, they begin with two Loyalties, reflecting the surprising commitment and selflessness at the heart of their blasé attitude.

Allowing the Cowboy to wiggle out of all those tight squeezes are their seemingly endless array of tricks and feints. Their unique character progression mechanic, On Your Toes, exemplifies this, allowing them to swap out one known Technique for a new one of equal or lesser tier between scenes. This means that you'll never fight the same Cowboy twice; they'll always surprise you.

Cowboy Icon: Alice, Celebrity Thief of Lantis City

She/Her

Known to citizens of the Underworld as The Prince of Lies, Alice is a humanoid Chimera with a mysterious past. She spends most of her time menacing the upper class of Lantis; breaking into vaults, private chambers, and other high-security locations, stealing valuable trinkets and selling them on the black market.

Aiding her in her criminal life is Alice's Pneumatic Technique; Spooling Essence - Tapestry Thief. With it, she's able to pull on the strings of a person's soul, temporarily stealing attributes of their body or personality and taking them onto herself. She can steal their senses, their memories, or even their own Pneumatic Techniques - at least for a time.

To learn more about Alice, Lantis City, and CLASH!, Pledge to the Crowdfundr at Otaku: The Cowboy tier to get access to a mini-manga all about her adventures when you receive your physical copy of CLASH! Shonen Battle Roleplay.

[editfandom]

Jean Tatlock - Oppenheimer, 2023

[dirtytransmasc]

Yes, she decided. The moment she continued to go in his chamber, she could advice him to wed laena instead of trying to have a relationship with him, she could have remember him of his duty. She had a choice as everyone has

clearly logic is something that will not reach you no matter what I say but let's try again shall we.

first off, Viserys married for pleasure, not power or political gain. he knew his duties he knew what was best and had no interest. he married Alicent because that's what he wanted. it would be insanely inappropriate for a girl to advise a king on political matters AND it should not be the job of a 14 year old child to tell a king what he should be doing.

second off, she had a father to please, cause again, to reiterate, she was his daughter and she had a duty to him and her house. this was not a duty she wanted, but she didn't have a choice. she was young but se wasn't stupid she knew what her father expected of her, and if word got back from Viserys that she was actively advising him to marry someone else, she would then not only bring disobeying her father but going against him.

thirdly, and more minorly, "she should have pushed him to marry laena" isn't the gotcha you think it is. laena was even younger than her, and even if it was politically expected of him, still fucking gross.

lastly, cause I apparently can't stress this enough, SHE DIDNT HAVE A CHOICE, plain and simple. she had no agency, she had no power, she had no out, she was at the mercy of her father, she had to obey him, she had to do what he said, even if it meant walking herself to slaughter. once she met with the king, he took a liking to her and DEMANDED her presence, he the DEMANDED her hand. again, there was no point she could have said no. she couldn't say no to her father, she couldn't advise the king (he barely tolerated it when she was literally the queen, let alone if she had just been some girl entertaining him in his chambers), she couldn't deny the king of anything, she didn't have a choice.

she was 14 and scared, 14 and trying to survive, 14 and trying to please her father, 14 and sent to a man 3 times her age's chambers, 14 and lusted after by the king, 14 and knowing of her place in the world and what was expected of her. like every other woman in their history, she couldn't escape, she couldn't, there's no plainer way to say it. she faced her duty with poise and a stiff lip, cause that's what you had to do, but she was just a child.

you can't expect her to have been some radical icon, there were none, women who went against their station in life were punished or killed or put into god awful betrothals to lessen the shame brought to her family. she was a nobleman's daughter, she had a house to bring honor to. she did the heartbreaking thing of giving up, for the benefit of her father and house, doesn't mean she wanted it, doesn't mean it was ok, doesn't mean she isn't deserving of pity. giving in to your duty =/= wanting it.

"she had a choice as everyone has" she had a choice every woman has; accept it with grace, be forced into it, or damn herself to a fate much worse (and that's being generous, most didn't even have that many choices). it's the men who had choices, Otto offered his daughter up, he didn't have to, he had no obligation and nothing to lose if he didn't. Viserys had every choice, he could have married whoever he wanted, he could have denied her the second she entered his chambers. the men in her life had every choice to change her fate, yet they didn't take it, and you would rather blame her over them?

and listen, I know your set in your mindset of victim blaming a child bride who was raped until her husband didn't have the health or stamina to keep it up, and that you'll choose to blame her over the men in her life who damned her to such a fate. nothing I say will ever convince you, cause you clearly hate her past where logic will reach. you can keep sending asks with your terrible takes that have no backing or logic and actively ignore the political and societal state of the times and what it means for her as a young noble girl, and I'll keep answering them cause I have nothing better to do and I'll defend my girl to the grave.

[peachy-ash]

𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭'𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠

[nosensedit]

⊹ ִ࣪ এ credits on twitter ִ࣪ ⌁ like or reblog if you save! ♡ ¸. • *

[snowblack-charcoalwhite]

Thoughts on ep 6? I disliked most of it but I've been seeing a lot of praise and I'm just 😖. Am I crazy??

Hello!

Well, I don't think you are crazy. While there were a few scenes that can be considered good all-in-all (conversations between Alicent and Gwayne and Larys' visiting Aegon) but overall...

Aemond continues being Evil™ (to the point of torturing - completely unnecessary at that, IMO - his brother), Alicent keeps kind of shitting on both of her King's Landing born and raised sons (including Aegon who she has just apologized to with tears in her eyes), Rhaenyra keeps being Good, Kind and Righteous True Queen™ (that one slap did nothing for me), the mystery of Laenor Velaryon remains unsolved.

Sylvi getting her revenge on Aemond via shitting on him to ignite the riots (some viewers took her words as gospel truth which is... well), Rhaenyra feeding people who are starving because of people acting in her name - and people buying it (just like TB inclined audience). And, once again, scenes and sequences consuming time that could be used better: Daemon's walks down the paths made by his inner demons, Corlys walking around the council chamber on Dragonstone, unnecessarily long chase scene before Addam claims Seasmoke (the other way around actually) - and he does it off screen after all. And while I do not object against Rhaenyra/Mysaria romance (or whatever it is) on principle, if it becomes another TB plotline to take the screentime from TG, I am going to be pissed.

Plus my (and not only mine) personal grievance - looks like we've been deprived of Aemond wearing the Conqueror's crown and his iconic one-liner "It looks better on me than it ever did on him". Istg, it looks like the writers are afraid of the grip Aemond has had on the audience since season 1 (and still has, at least in part, no matter the shitty writing) so they are robbing him of his coolest moments.