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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year ago

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gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 5: Resolve

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, all! I know, it’s so soon! But this one is a cobbled-together piece of stuff you’ve already seen, just padded out a bit more. I figured I might as well push it on out now, so here ya go! Featuring Jason Lannister for the very first time, to finally bring all this shit together a bit more cohesively. As always, thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs for reading though this and reassuring me it isn’t total shite!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, age gap, general Daemon grottiness, allusions to non-consensual sexual situations.

According to most, Daemon Targaryen is a man in possession of little capacity for feeling beyond what is required to partake in lechery and barbarism. He knows himself; his disparagers are not entirely wrong. Except for one important, essential truth—he would die for his family. He loves his family.

Love, as he understands it, is what he has always felt when looking upon his brother, upon Rhaenyra. No matter the strife that has torn him from his kin time and time again, he can freely acknowledge that such sentiments will remain everlasting.

A kicked hound is one most loyal, he thinks with no small degree of bitterness. Or perhaps the meanest hound is more loyal. Either way, I am the hound—and my master, the king.

Love is what has wrenched harsh and twisting in his heart whenever he laid eyes on you, a toddling girl-child eternally eager for the cossetting attentions of your uncle, your kepa—and he had always been kepa, never Viserys, no, your father had never received an honour beyond being called ‘papa’ like any common pauper—now a stranger in so many ways.

The garden and the morning repast had served to ignite the wellspring of all his wildest desires, delivering to him seemingly all he had ever wanted in a prospective bride—young and beautiful, obedient and good-tempered, Valyrian of colouring and of status. But you had seemed smaller than your younger self, trapped in a prison of your own making, hidden beneath layers and layers of chaste courtesy and painstaking banality. And then, accompanying you to the Dragonpit had given him a curious glimpse into the power you kept hidden, the ancient strength of your lineage slipping through the cracks in your genteel veneer.

Regal. Arcane. These are the words that had come to mind watching you interact with your mount, none other than the famed Cannibal himself. Something of the majesty of the Conqueror lay within you, waiting for the necessary spark to kindle the flame. Your exchange with Athfiezar—your silent fearlessness, your devotion to your savage beast, your unassuming poise—reminds him that, for all your equally meek and mild-mannered nature, you are still Targaryen. You are still his sweetling.

It is this that elicits a consuming curiosity to know more.

You are an interesting puzzle, a strange contradiction, one whose buttermilk skin and pert teats and spit-shine lips should herald as a welcome to sample the delights hidden by the fabric of your darling little gowns. Yet, you act not as a silly young thing learning of her sway over men—teasing with fluttering lashes and bit lip and lilting tone as Rhaenyra had—but as a docile girl disinclined to press the limits of propriety as all maidens do. You ride the most savage dragon in the known world, and yet there is no such quality in you that echoes your mount’s disposition; instead, a loveliness that is near to cloying, pure and unadulterated and surely too good to be true. You are a fucking princess, and yet you are perfectly content to fade into the periphery, drawing little notice to yourself and seeking none from those around you, not even your own blood. A scholar, quick-witted and erudite, but somehow still so sweetly unknowing of the depravities that rule the minds of men who lay eyes on you.

You fascinate him. And his newfound realisation does not lessen his temptation to fuck you—to ply you with praise and charm and no small hint of avuncular affection (the reminder of your shared blood thrills him to the bone as always) so that, over time, you might be swayed to give your maidenhead to him—but, rather, that it results in a metamorphosis, a muddling, his longing mingling the base needs of the flesh with a rekindling of his fondness for you.

Which is why he cannot stand the presence of Jason Lannister.

“Why are you entertaining this farce?” Daemon asks, fists clenched at his sides. “A pompous fuck like him has no business anywhere near her.”

“Whatever is the problem, brother?” Viserys says distractedly, hunching over his miniature of Old Valyria and studying the replica of the Targaryen manse on the outskirts with intent. “Jason Lannister is Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. By any standard, I would think he is the best contender for her hand.”

That fucking model of his. Daemon resists the urge to smash the king’s stone city into rubble, though doing so might grant him the attentiveness he is sorely lacking from the man. “Are you not hearing me? He’s an arrogant cunt. He’d bore her in a sennight, let alone whatever hellish span of time an entire marriage would last.”

Viserys hums noncommittally. “She will make do”—he waves Daemon off—“as all noblewomen must when their fathers command them to marry. That is her lot in life. Besides, Lord Jason is one of the wealthiest men in the realm, and I am told he is rather pleasing to a lady’s eye. She could do worse than he.”

His brother’s remark is a fair one—of the trio, Jason is the preferable choice. And what a fucking miserable choice it would be.

He rolls his eyes. This is going nowhere. “And Tyrell? Your idiot son? Are they the ‘worse’ you speak of?”

Between that foppish peacock, his spiteful little twit of a nephew and the prancing lion, the latter just barely scrapes by as the best of the bunch.

“Enough, Daemon.” The king sighs, finally deigning to look up from his pile of rock. “These are the suitors she herself has chosen. I care not for the particulars, only that the girl should be wed before her eighteenth name day. Each of them possesses some quality I am sure she finds worthwhile…” At that, he pauses, brow furrowing. He squints up at Daemon. “What is your interest in the matter, anyway? It has naught to do with you.”

Shit. Daemon makes an evasive comment—something about sullying the purity of their noble lineage—and departs as quickly as he can, eager to escape the risk of Viserys’s suspicion falling on him. It would not do for the man to suspect his intentions toward yet another of his daughters.

He does not intend to seek you and the lord out, truly, but it nonetheless does not surprise him to realise that, upon freeing himself from the wrathful spiral of his own musings, his feet have taken him to the very same garden where he had first laid eyes upon you again after so many years, where you are now enduring the attentions of the insufferable Lannister patriarch. On this occasion, Cole is nowhere to be seen, and the entry is instead guarded by one of the Cargyll twins.

Daemon spies you on the path just inside, a careful distance placed between you and Jason. Though he cannot make out your expression from his vantage point, he observes well enough the flourishing bow the lord proffers in your direction, the polite curtsey you extend in return, his smug prancing step as he leaves your company. He sees the manner in which your shoulders droop, your head bowing as you turn to wander past the great tree and out of sight. My poor girl.

And then his view is blocked by a garish wash of red and gold.

“Prince Daemon,” Jason says with a haughty simper. With a curt nod, Daemon wordlessly returns the salutation. His lack of warmth is noticed. The Lannister lord hesitates for a moment before returning to his condescending civilities, forcing a relaxed stance. “I was most glad to hear of your return.”

He doubts that. There is little love lost between him and the lord. Jerking his chin toward the garden, he asks, “Leaving so soon, are we? I had thought the entire afternoon was devoted to this little outing.”

Jason chuckles awkwardly. “Well.” He scratches his beard. “The princess has another engagement to attend to. Something about a tutor.”

Thank the gods for that Lysan fellow. They had never met, but Daemon is certain he’d like the man well enough.

“Doesn’t concern you?” he asks, scarcely bothering to conceal the scepticism from his tone. At the confusion on Lannister’s face, he clarifies. “That she’d rather spend time with her tutor than with you?”

“Why would it, my prince?” is the answer, self-assured as ever. “He is old, and frail. Best for her to spend as much time with him as she can before she leaves for Lannisport.”

That genuinely irritates him, and not simply the notion of you being shipped off to the lurid monstrosity that is Casterly Rock. Even he knows that your meetings with your tutor are less obligations and more gatherings of friendship—your spirit would surely crumble if you were denied your dearest companion after being coerced to marry.

Daemon suppresses a sneer. “Your confidence is… admirable.” If misplaced, he wants to add.

“There is little competition to be found,” Jason says with a toss of the head. His tawny hair rustles in the gentle breeze, giving him the appearance of the sigil his house has claimed. Fucking ridiculous. Then, the man has the audacity to clap a palm against his arm. “Never fear—I shall take utmost care of her. She’ll want for nothing as my lady wife.”

He shrugs off the over-familiarity, stepping out of reach. “For a time, perhaps. And in a decade? Two? A princess of the realm has no business playing nursemaid to her husband in his dotage.”

He is older than I, he thinks. And if she is truly considering him above the others, then…

“I might be the eldest of her suitors, yes,” the man says, a tense smile disguising his offense poorly. “But I have a rather substantial inheritance, unlike the Prince Aegon, and my constitution is more… pleasing than the Lord Tyrell, I’m sure.” His mouth curves into a knowing smirk at that, leaving Daemon with no uncertainty as to what he really means. That little— “I would not dismiss Jason Lannister from the competition just yet. She will choose me. I suggest you accustom yourself to reality, Prince Daemon.”

He grunts dismissively, incensed. There is no reply he can give in this moment that won’t incite the Lannisters to break faith with House Targaryen; and so, he chooses to remove himself from the odious man’s presence entirely, stalking past with nary a word of farewell.

You sit where your younger half-sister had a scarce moon’s turn ago, eyes fixed toward your lap, turning an ornament about with your small fingers. As he nears, the lion salient glimmers in the sun, gold against gold in dazzling vulgarity. Of course, he’d gifted her something with his own fucking sigil on it. What a worthless bequest.

When he calls your name, you hardly react. Your gaze flickers up to him for a mere moment before falling once more, resuming your surveyance of the item in your grasp. There is a pensive expression lingering in your frown, the crease in your brow. It tells him all he needs to know of your true feelings for the Lannister lord, regardless of the man’s own delusions.

“Why—you look positively miserable, sweetling,” he says, settling himself beside you. You glance up at him again, sullen pout puffing out your lower lip. Though your disposition is so downtrodden, it is tempting to press his thumb to that lip, to push inside and feel the wet warmth of your tongue pulse against his flesh in a coquettish tease. “Not enjoying being courted? The gifts, the attention, the romance…”

You take the bait beautifully. Starting at his reference to the pendant in your hold, your nostrils flare exasperatedly. “No. No. I—I just—” You stop, shaking your head. “Never mind.”

“Go on,” he cajoles gently, lowly. “Tell Uncle Daemon.”

It is all the encouragement you need. “There is little romance to be found in this—this charade.” You sigh, eyes fixed on some minute detail past his head. He’s struck by the melancholy in your voice. “These men—Lord Jason, Lord Denys, Aegon—they do not want me. They want an idea of me. A Targaryen bride with pale hair and Valyrian blood. One who will give them children they shall make little effort to raise, a silent doll to clasp onto and show off at feasts and balls… as though possessing me is somehow meaningful. They do not—they do not see me.”

It’s here your voice cuts off strangely. He wishes it hadn’t, for he finds himself enthralled by the mournful monologue that paints a picture of the loneliest girl in King’s Landing. There is something yearning and haunted in that saccharine stare of hers, he thinks. A babe with her arms held out, wailing at the world as it leaves her abandoned in the crib. It’s an eerie echo of a conversation that took place a decade prior, though the lead role lacks the infantile petulance of the previous star.

He finds himself retracing those steps almost without realising.

“Idīnnon dēmalio syt verdilla mērī issa. Dīnakson toliot, gaoso gaomagon kostas.” He is testing, prodding, waiting for what might result from his efforts. Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like.

The words make your cheeks flush fetchingly and your brow wrinkle once more, glancing back at him apprehensively. Pretty pink girl with a pretty pink blush; how far down does it spread? You swallow—pause—look away, wrestling with a thought. You peep back up at him.

“Se skorverdon jessivo aōt kesrȳsi jiōrtas?” you ask with surprising cynicism. You exhale loudly, staring at some fixed point in the distance. “Ābrazȳri buttā, riñar daor, mērpāves… Tolī jaelan.”

And how much joy did this bring you? you say. A wife you hated, no children, loneliness… I want more. The quiet longing in your voice is palpable.

He grimaces at the mention of his bronze bitch—he’d rather not know how widespread the knowledge of the circumstances around her… accident… had been in the wake of his departure.

“What is it you want, then?” he asks, switching back to the Common Tongue, the corner of his mouth already contorting in anticipation of the naïve response. True love, a happily ever after… We don’t get to have happy endings, he thinks to himself.

“I want someone who loves me,” you say, pressing on crossly at the huff of laughter that escapes him. “I never said I would love him!”

The pessimistic elucidation takes him aback. Again, it is not exactly what he had been expecting. Full of surprises today. He tips his head consideringly at you, inviting you to continue.

You hesitate for a moment.

“I… They say my father loved my mother. I believe it, but—” You swallow, the corners of your mouth turning down as you mull over your words. “They say he had a choice when baby Baelon was born. That he could cut her open to get the babe out, but that it would mean her certain death.”

Gods above. Where in the seven hells had you learned that piece of information? Viserys had kept the circumstances of Aemma’s death under tight wraps, never even deigning to mention it to his own brother. It was pure happenstance that one of the maids he enjoyed fucking at the time had been present on the unfortunate day.

Your eyes glisten as you speak, limpid pools of lilac glowing like fire in the light. “I do not think I could ever choose my own life over my child’s—but they say he did not even ask her, that he just… held her down while they—How could I ever trust a man to raise the babe I bore him if he would be willing to butcher his own wife in her childbed?”

He watches as you clench your eyes tight, set your jaw and exhale a few shuddery breaths. When they blink open, they are no longer so tear-bright. Daemon suddenly admires you for it, for the way you so ruthlessly suppress weakness. He wonders how often you’ve been made to force back your pain for the good of your family.

“What happened to your mother was a terrible tragedy, sweetling.” He reaches forward to finally grip your small, pale hand in his. It is cold and dwarfed entirely by his own. “But you cannot live in fear forever.”

You make to pull your hand away. He closes his grip tighter upon it, coercing you to look up at him properly.

“When hope is gone, what choice left is there but fear?” It is a whisper, carried on the breeze, and the thinly veiled misery pains him in the chest, right in his heart.

I thought that beating thing was black and dead by now, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head, smile. The picture of the melancholy maiden fades from view as you affect an appearance of energy once more, gentle and muted as it is. “I know my father loved my mother, and so love is no guarantee of loyalty. But it would be helpful, I think.”

“You see love and loyalty as intertwined, then?” he cannot help but ask. He is intrigued by this rare showing of spirit, of vitality, a resurrection of his baby niece from long ago. It is you, finally—his little girl, only now you possess the curves of a gold-gilded whore and the thousand-year gaze of an ancient, arcane being.

“Do you not?” Your head is tilted like an inquisitive bird’s, artlessly assessing. “You cannot have one without the other. Loyalty without love makes for an easy traitor, and love without loyalty makes for an unhappy marriage.”

He laughs again at the latter part of your pronouncement. A sweet, trusting little filly waiting to be broken in.

“There are many ways to love someone, princess.” He ogles you shamelessly, savouring the affectation of outraged bewilderment painting your countenance. “I imagine you’ll find few of them in the marriage bed.”

He waits for you to question him—to ask him what he means, to ask him to explain, to teach you, show you—but instead, you pull back, taking all the warmth from his palm with you.

“I dislike your implication, Uncle,” you say stiffly, returning your hand to your lap and nestling it between your thighs to retain the heat.

Fuck.

He backtracks raising his hands in a jesting show of defeat. “I meant nothing by it, gevivys.”

Beauty. It is an apt title. An underwhelming one, even. Surely there is little else more beautiful than the sight you make here, now, a rich blush spreading along the unblemished expanse of your chest—regrettably enclosed by pale damask just above the protrusion of your tits—the planes of your throat, not quite travelling up to decorate your cheeks.

You sigh. “You never do.”

Daemon lets the conversation lull, deciding to instead look upon the little revelation before him. You are an interesting puzzle, one whose decorum in the face of his gentle compulsion—that same persuasion he had so often utilised to get fetching girls to strip bare for him and show off their equally-as-fetching cunts—had instead left him lacking. The body of a slut and the mind of a scholar, all wrapped up in wide eyes and honey-sweet words and wild hair the shade of Old Valyria. Of home.

A wild thought seizes him. If he leans forward, he could do it. He could grip you by the back of the neck and pull you to him, press his lips to yours and coax you past your panic and fear and into a hot, sweeping rhythm, a push and pull of tongue and teeth that would set you both alight. And from there, how simple would it be to murmur pretty praise as he lowers you down, raises your skirts up, cleaves you open until your blood wets his cock with the proof of his claim, incontestable, not even by the king himself? The deed would be messy, perhaps distressing and no doubt painful, but it would solve several issues at once. He would be free to do as he likes with his lascivious desires after you are made to wed him, and you would be free from your pitiful suitors and given a husband worthy of you. In time, the hurt and shock and fright would fade, he knows it.

He could. He could. He—

The spell is broken. Your attention is diverted by the yells of a dark-haired boy as he bowls his way to you, throwing himself across your lap with a cry of your name. Daemon tries not to glare at young Lucerys as he tries to roughhouse with you. Having somewhat learned the schedules of his family, it baffles him somewhat that the child is not at his daily lessons. Should Laenor not have him now?

The thought must conjure the man himself, the Velaryon scion appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Laenor’s expression is forbidding as he strides over to you and his son, silver locs swinging with the velocity of each step. With his glare affixed to his face, he reaches a hand down to you in silent command, staring daggers at Daemon all the while.

What the hells is his problem?

You take hold of your goodbrother, bewildered, and allow him to tug you gently from the bench beside Daemon. Lucerys slides from beside you with a rustle, easily revolving around to dart toward the grass. You are already grabbing at the boy’s wrist to stop him running off.

Daemon watches Laenor attempt to rearrange his countenance into something less violent. “Would you take Luke off to the training yards, sister?”

A look of vague incomprehension crosses your face at the question. At least she senses the oddity, too, he acknowledges.

Laenor’s head turns down to where he sits, and it is then that it dawns on him that his nephew-by-marriage has very possibly been watching him stare at his baby niece’s tits for longer than he can claim plausible deniability of.

Ah, shit. The darting, mistrustful gaze suddenly makes sense.

“Of course, Laenor,” you say sweetly, biddably.

Daemon cannot help but wonder what else you might comply with if gently persuaded. He glances up at you from where he sits, smirking as you turn to him.

“It seems we must part for now, sweetling,” he tells you. He ignores Laenor’s grimace from behind you.

“It does.” You shift lightly. It is clear to see that there is something about your shared conversation that has unnerved you. The notion sends a trail of perverse excitement through him. He wonders what other reactions he might prompt out of you with gentle teasing. “I—thank you, Uncle. For listening.”

The words are honest, free of artifice. It is surprisingly warming to hear. When you make to depart, he calls you back.

“What—no goodbye kiss for your beloved uncle this time?” he asks, hoping he’ll bait you into action. He determinedly disregards Laenor’s huff, eyes trained on you as you swallow with trepidation before quickly making the short few steps back to him.

Your knee settles on the seat beside him, clearly meant to be no more than a brief resting place so that you may carry out his implicit request and leave—if not for the way in which your skirts gather around your leg in a manner assured to result in your toppling over should you attempt to rise without fixing them. Daemon turns his head to yours as you free yourself from the tangle. Up close, closer than he would ever dare get usually, he can see each lash that frames your eyes, the hairs that sprout from your brows, the slick cherry bloom of your mouth—a whisper-sweet gather of plump, plush fruit he wants, needs, to take a bite from.

Would you let me, little girl? he wonders.

You gasp, a short little breath of surprise, and lurch away lightly at the closeness. A brave little thing, you return to him, pressing those precious petal-soft lips to the skin of his cheek. Your covered breasts press involuntarily against his arm.

Fucking hells.

“Sȳz bantis, kepus.” Good evening, Uncle, you say in that light little accent of yours, an unintended provocation of his basest yearnings.

With that, you bundle the boy up in your capable little hands and make for your destination, the Cargyll knight falling into formation behind you.

“Care to explain—well, all of that?” Laenor asks.

Oh—yes. Daemon pushes himself from his seat, deliberately stalling while he thinks of a response that isn’t what the fuck how the fuck when the fuck and why.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he says idly, slyly, glancing over at him.

“No!” His goodnephew leans forward into his space. He is taken aback by the vehemence in his tone, uncharacteristic of the bumbling, affable man. “You don’t get to do this to her. Not this one. Not this time.”

“Whatever do you think I plan to do to her?” Daemon laughs, wondering at the answer himself.

Whatever would she let me do to her?

Laenor sighs, steps back.

“Look.” He nudges him to walk alongside as they make for the garden’s entry. “She’s not one of your whores, Daemon. She’s just a girl. She’s not the type to play your twisted little games, so leave her be—please.”

He is warmed by the defence of your goodbrother, an admission of familiarity and care that is sure to have flourished since the man’s entrance into the family some years ago.

“What makes you think I have any intention of—how did you put it—playing games with her?” If he were a little less honest with himself, he would be affronted by the manner in which Laenor has jumped straight to an accusation. But Lord Flea Bottom’s reputation is inescapable, even after so many years. “Perhaps my objective is pure and wholesome.”

“Right.” Laenor snorts, shaking his head as he folds his hands behind his back. “You’re far more likely to fall in with her horde of suitors than to believably claim familial interest.”

True. And yet… why not? He’s conceived all manner of plots to satiate his wants, from drunken fumbles in the dark to his half-baked impulse from but a moment ago. Unlike his previous conquests, though, he doubts the need will dissipate after a single fuck. You are too important to him—his precious girl turned darkest desire, the only woman he could ever deign to carry on his line with.

Viserys has been pressuring him to seek out a bride. He mightn’t be happy with the prospect of his brother asking for his daughter’s hand, exactly, but there is surely no debate that he is the best contender. Not Jason. Not Denys. Not fucking Aegon. Daemon. And, well, if the asking should go poorly—how simple would it be to whisk you away to Dragonstone, to speak the vows and seal the deed before it can be undone? There is no risk this time, no Iron Throne to lose, no treaty or agreement that cannot be broken…

He can see it now. Your sweet little face peering up at him, marked with his blood, lip dripping red with the pledge of entangling your souls together in savage Valyrian custom. Your pretty little eyes wide with maidenly shock as he breaches your untried cunt, tight and pulsing and hotwetwarm, binding you to him irrevocably. The slow waddling of your gait as you round with child, his child, his sweetest babe bringing forth life of her own, belly ripe with seed and leaking his spend—

“Laenor,” he says slowly, eyes glinting as his lips upturn in a wide grin, “I do believe you have the best ideas.”

Read the story on AO3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/120880855

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franzkafkagf · 6 months ago

Note

The fact that Aegon loving his children it’s even book canon. TGC is describing Aegon’s personality as it is hinted in the book and yet people is mad.

Tom literally acknowledges he is not a good parent but he loves his children.It makes total sense that he would have a complicated relationship with fatherhood based on how his father treated him. Or that in his mind, he wants to be better than Viserys.

Thank you anon! You're exactly right, we've always known from the book that he loved his children. Adding onto that is that we have barely seen 20 minutes of Aegon until now, if the early reviews are true we'll get 15 minutes of Aegon in the first episode ALONE. Of course we find out much more about the character, we barely know anything about him!

This made me wonder; what do we know about Aegon?

We meet Aegon for the first time in episode 3 of season 1. He is just a two year-old who plays with a wooden dragon toy and yet the older characters around him only see him as a threat, a pawn or, by his father, as a replacement— watching the episode it's clear to me that Viserys wanted Baelon, Aegon cannot be Baelon. It's pretty telling that the only positive on-screen interactions Aegon has with his father are in this episode. He is a little kid still, Viserys can project his wishes and fantasies about Baelon onto him, something he isn't able to do once his son is grown up.

I think it's pretty crucial to understand this part of Aegon's and Viserys' relationship— the perfect ideal of Baelon (he killed the only woman he ever loved for the perfect son; you cannot come back from that) stands between them, like a shadow Aegon could never escape and a standard he could never meet.

We don't really see Aegon again until episode 6— he is a teenager now and thus a completely different person. The little baby from episode 3 has been shaped by years of neglect, unfulfilled expectations, and the toxic dynamics within the family. What has he become? He is a 15 year old with problematic relationship to alcohol that is used as the punching bag of the family. He jacks off from windows (welcome back Roman Roy!), leers at maids and bullies his younger brother.

Teen Aegon is perceived as a disappointment by his grandfather, who sees him just as a weakling and a pawn to be controlled (a belief he still holds at the start of season 2 apparently). His mother projects her own ambitions, resentments and fears onto him.

These behaviors are all very troubling and someone should've done something to prevent these habits from festering within him; no one did. I honestly feel like no one really cares about him that much.

And yet, there is also so much postitive to be said about this iteration of him too, glimpses of Aegon's potential for goodness and his capacity for loyalty. You might call it naivety, but Aegon seems to believe in the good in people— he trusted Rhaenyra not to hurt him or his brothers if she was to become queen (something I agree with). He also seems to treat his nephews well enough, he doesn't seem to care about the bastard-allegations -> he also seems to be friends with bastards as an adult! Eddard Waters belongs to his entourage, this informs his character— yes he is an entitled prince, but there's also an element to him that is endearingly down-to-earth.

Another notable example is in episode 7, he decided to protect his mother after Aemond blamed him for spreading rumors about his nephews' legitimacy . He never cared about the rumors, yet he stood his ground and shielded his mother when faced with his father's wrath.

Ty Tennant does such a great job here. The scene highlights his complexity— he is not simply a drunken disappointment, a villain or a victim, but a young man trapped in a situation he doesn't seem to be able to get out of.

When we next see Aegon, he is in his early twenties, and the toll his upbringing took on him is evident. His introduction in episode 8 is a hefty one. He is shown sleeping off a hangover, his drinking habit from his youth has fully established itself in him. His mother yells at him, tries to get him to understand the consequences of his behavior— he has raped a maid, something that, disturbingly, is not new for him. This moment speaks volumes about the man the little boy from episode 3 has become: flawed, morally compromised, and numbed by his vices.

Further even, Aegon engages in activities that reflect a deep-seated cruelty and a disconnection from others— watching toddlers rip each other apart in brutal fights shows his general desensitization and apathy to everything. These behaviors are obviously unacceptable, but this is a fictional character we are talking about and you know what these behaviors tell me about him? These are just manifestation of the dehumanizing effects of his upbringing.

He is desperate to be loved but destined to be hated — Tom Glynn Carney

Because characters can be multi-faceted and complex, Aegon fights off insecurities and still yearns for love and acceptance from those around him. Him acting out like this can be read as misguided attempts to drown out the background noise, to try to assert control in a world where he feels constantly undermined and unloved. However, his actions only serve to alienate him further from the people he wants to be accepted by.

Aegon's aversion to the throne and his rejection of the responsibilities that come with it are just other manifestations of his deep-seated apathy. He despises the very idea of kingship and what it represents. He doesn't want to take up responsibility become a pawn, he yearns to run away but he himself knows that he will never be able to run.

The carriage ride to the sept and the coronation are gifts that keep on giving. It's all so horribly tragic. He never wanted this. Crowning him will kill him, he knows this is his end deep down!

He is so preoccupied with what his father wanted, Baelon is absolutely still haunting the narrative— his father's desire for him to embody virtues he never possessed or could aspire to (BAELON) are still at the forefront of his thoughts.

As he walks to receive the crown, he is literally crying, this single moment encapsulates it all so well. He is man who, despite his privileged position, is trapped by the very power and responsibility he was born into but never desired for.

But then, at the very end of episode 9, we see a shift in Aegon— something else to him that will be at the forefront of his character in season 2. He finally gets the adoration and the purpose he always sought after with the crown. The moment he realizes that the smallfolk is cheering for him is the moment the apathy that defined him up until now begins to lose its grip, replaced by newfound determination.

This change in Aegon will be furthered by the death of Jaehaerys, a source of pride and a reminder for him that he is capable to create and care for something precious and pure (thank you TGC) -> I won't go into this deeper, let's wait until the season airs.

In conclusion, a wise woman once said that apathy is death. For so much of his life Aegon embodied apathy, only for the very thing he feared most (kingship) to make him rethink everything. Aegon will be driven by his determination, but this path will lead to his destruction, consuming him until there is barely anything left of him. It will ultimately tear him apart; he is both redeemed and ruined by the weight of a crown he never wanted.

#aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #hotd meta #hotd #princess i love you.#house of the dragon #ales.txt #asks #vizzy t you done fucked up #my writing #my creation #aegonposting

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daeneryseastar · 11 months ago

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why are alicent stan’s so gleeful about what the show has done to her character? book-wise she was an antagonistic, ambitious, manipulative woman who knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it; versus the show, where she has been turned into a constant victim to the men around her with no autonomy or agency what-so-ever. whether it’s otto, viserys, aegon, larys, she’s been reduced to a hypocritical, bitter, puppy-eyed woman with no want for anything in her own life; just a doll to be played around with and eventually discarded.

instead of being the calculating and intelligent woman who dog walks viserys up until his death (and even after) she's now his victim because of the decision to age her down to 15 rather than 18 like her canon age, and in turn age viserys up in order to further emphasize the age-gap and power dynamics. she is portrayed as an abusive mother on screen (physically and mentally to aegon, mentally to helaena and aemond), falling into the 'abused becomes the abuser' trope, which is a rather harmful stereotype. she told aegon that he would be king, but then began having 'second thoughts' when the actual usurpation took place, of which she apparently had no idea, "am i to understand that members of the small council have been planning secretly to install my son without me?" once again reducing her to a pawn of the men around her. these second thoughts took place because of her apparent 'reconciliation' with rhaenyra, as if a few words and hand holding could ever undue the years she spent undermining rhaenyra and attempting to have her and her children disinherited and shamed (mayhaps even killed due to the bastard rumors). she is now a victim to larys as well. larys, despite his lower standing than her THE QUEEN, is able to 'manipulate' her into doing sexual favors for him in order for her wishes to be granted. she has no control over the men around her and no respect from any of them because they know she is willing to bend over backwards to please them. she openly admits that she knew her father had been manipulating her for years, and she still fed into his bullshit. she only wants aegon to be king due to her 'misunderstanding' the words of a drugged up and dying man (and it being HIS 'wish' for aegon to succeed him, not hers). her only want in the show is 'to make a window in the wall of her prison.'

the greens were named for HER in the book. not aegon. not otto. not house hightower. her.

“the beacon on the hightower, do you know what color it glows when oldtown calls it’s banners to war?”

“green.”

except that it doesn’t in canon. house hightower’s only set color is grey, and their only beacon is the regular depiction of red and orange fire. there is no green to be scene anywhere to represent the hightower’s or oldtown or their beacon. the color green didn't have any meaning to her. alicent chose it for herself. she wasn’t ’showing off her allegiance to her father and house after being scorned by the targaryens’ it was a political statement that she CHOSE TO MAKE for herself. she was the leader of team green and was the main culprit in usurping rhaenyra and crowning aegon. she didn’t do it for her father, or her house, or viserys; she did it for herself, because SHE wanted aegon to be king.

there are ways to add complexities to characters without completely changing everything about them, and what they stand for. alicent might have partially fallen into the evil step-mother trope in the book, but considering it’s a historical account; we have next to no information on how she really feels. they could have deep dived into her feelings regarding the succession, how marrying the king without a male heir should have given her the privilege of being the future king’s mother, instead finding out the harsh reality; that viserys would not remove rhaenyra as heir, and that she was negated to only being the king’s wife and giving him spares. they could have played into how complicated her relationship with rhaenyra is, how angry and self-righteousness she would have felt considering the only reason viserys was made king was due to male preference primogeniture. why she felt the need to isolate and bully a child because of said child's father’s decisions. there were plenty of other roads that the writers could have taken to add actual nuance into alicent’s story, and not just adding in more unnecessary and brutal violence towards women.

all of this to say that aging her down and turning her into nothing more than a abused child-bride was not the way to go to add nuance to her story. women shouldn’t have to be tortured, neglected, raped, abused, etc. in order for the audience to like and feel sympathy for their character. that’s an inherently sexist and abhorrent point of view, and considering how virtue signaling a lot of her fans are it’s not surprising that they’re willing to overlook it for the sake of continuing their poor baby alicent ‘always a victim to the men in her life’ rhetoric; as if that was ever a core part of her character.

what they gave us in house of the dragon was not the real alicent hightower, just a cheaply made original character with alicent’s name slapped on her in place of a discount sticker. hotd's biggest crime was reducing powerful ambitious women to side pieces in the big bad men's war. why do women in this universe have to suffer in order for the audience to feel sympathy for them and their plight? and no, i'm not going to argue with anyone going, "b-but OBVIOUSLY you just don't understand her character uwu," i understand her plenty, thanks.

if you actually like alicent (or any of the women in general) in fire and blood you should be seething in outrage over house of the dragon's portrayal of them.

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darkpoisonouslove · 4 months ago

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HotD S02E07

Honestly, I do not have much to say about this episode (I think... it's still possible for my thoughts to spiral out of control as I start writing them out). There was barely any Greens content, which made me a little bored, I have to say. The thing is that they are kind of dragging their feet here. I get the feeling they're trying to get as many seasons as possible out of a single book but, like, maybe you could have explored the events of season 1 in two seasons then? We literally sprinted through more than 20 years in one season and now things are moving quite slowly. Anyway, more details under the cut:

Does Addam realize he could have just taken Seasmoke and fucked off to do whatever he wants? What was Rhaenyra going to do? Fight him and risk her life or at least losing Syrax to someone that isn't even her enemy in the war? Sure, he doesn't know Valyrian but Seasmoke didn't really seam to give much of a shit about that anyway. What I'm saying is basically that Rhaenyra is so lucky that Addam's ambitions of earning recognition only go so far because Seasmoke definitely would have fought Syrax tooth and nail to protect Addam if he had decided not to bend the knee.

Meanwhile Corlys during this whole episode:

His interaction with Addam was so awkward! Well, gee, thanks, dad, for the praise! Are we going to see him actually do anything as Hand?

Jasper trying to talk Larys into breaking the news of Rhaenyra's new dragon rider to Aemond was so funny. You can clearly hear him thinking "Well, he already hates Larys. Why should I draw his ire? Honestly, Larys should just take one for the team and tell him the news, which will 100% set him off!" Larys refusing to be the scapegoat by going "Tis' but a fable." The Larys content is popping off these last few episodes! I have to say that it's funny how ineffective Aemond has made his own Council by being so harsh and completely unwilling to listen to any of them. If he hadn't made it so clear he doesn't give a shit about their opinions and would trample them down for daring to say anything, they might have warned him earlier and they could have prevented Rhaenyra from getting more dragons. Not like she didn't have to outsource bastards from King's Landing. Had Aemond known about any of this, he could have intervened in some way but he brought this on himself.

I see we're not going to address the Rhaenyra and Mysaria kiss from last episode.

Oscar Tully, the man that you are! I don't really have much to say about the whole Harrenhal segment besides how fun it was watching this young boy completely destroy Daemon in front of everyone. He even forced him into a situation where Daemon has to do what Oscar wanted of him and after this obvious demonstration that Daemon will turn on his allies with the wind, he's pretty much further cemented the impression he made on the Riverlands lords that they should never consider him their leader. I like how they made it understandable why Oscar is so set on keeping old oaths since that's the way the Riverlands function. The choice to only make Daemon "succeed" through factors that he has entirely no control of is priceless, it has to be said. At this point they can just write "loser" on his forehead.

That red cloak for Rhaenyra's maid is such a baffling design choice. She's supposed to be incognito but she stands out like a sore thumb. Besides, only someone rich can afford to have clothes dyed in such a rich red color. It instantly makes it obvious she is working for someone of noble birth and makes her so very easy to keep track of even in a crowd. Why have they done this?

Someone pointed out that putting up fliers when the general population is illiterate is a really funny way to advertise and I have to agree.

Respectfully, I do not give a shit about Hugh and his dead child. Maybe I would have if they had actually shown the death and didn't make him act like that's in the past already. Also, maybe once let a woman want something? I mean, they just lost their daughter. Let his wife want to have the power and means to prevent that from happening to other people and to any future children they might have ffs. This show only pretends to be feminist but will not let women want anything for 3 seconds.

I wrote a whole essay on Larys and Aegon and I've decided to make it the focus of its own post that you can find here.

Rhaena's scene is a perfect demonstration of what I mean when I say that they're dragging their feet. They just hinted that there will be exciting developments in the next episode and didn't do anything to actually move that plot line along. They could have easily cut that scene and put a condensed version of it in the next episode right before Rhaena actually gets to claim Sheepstealer.

The focus for this episode is obviously Rhaenyra's plan with the Dragonseeds and that has had some very interesting developments.

First of all, love how they show us that Rhaenyra is exactly her father's daughter. She hasn't thought this through anymore than Viserys did. He wanted her to be his heir but still married and raped Alicent because he just wanted to have sex and then proceeded to ignore his children from her and the problem that having legitimate sons is creating for the entire realm. Rhaenyra just wanted to have sex with Harwin and had three illegitimate sons and now to win the war for her own inheritance she has to take away the only symbol of legitimacy that Jace has. By very clearly showing that just random bastards that know nothing of the tradition surrounding dragons and can't even speak the language of the dragons can just as successfully ride them, she totally destroys the idea that Jace is somehow more than any Targaryen bastard that you can find at Fleabottom. Great job, Rhaenyra!

To be fair, all her options are equally bad but she's the one that did this. If she hadn't had illegitimate children, she literally wouldn't have been facing this problem. She just thought that her being princess and heir to the throne will give her a pass for anything but she has set Jace up for another war now. When she dies and he ascends the throne, there will be people who will think him not worthy of it because he's not any different from all the other bastards that were raised as the lowest links of society. There will also be the other bastards with dragons that can try to steal his throne. People were saying that Alicent is at fault for everything bad that happens to her children because she put Aegon on the throne but Rhaenyra is doing the exact same thing to Jace now and it is for a crown. She knew from the start her claim was shaky and that Jace's claim as her heir is even more shaky. She still proceeded because she wanted that crown.

The dragon tamers revolting against Rhaenyra's actions was such a great representation of how interlaced the dragons are with the classism and the "divine right to rule" of the Targaryens. To win this war Rhaenyra literally has to tear down the very pillars on which the supremacy of her house is built. She's self-destructing in slow motion because yes, she might win and get to sit the throne but the people will get disillusioned about the dragons being gods and about the Targaryens having the sole claim to the throne if any bastard can walk in directly from the street and claim a dragon. That voiceover in the beginning of season 1 saying the only thing that can destroy the House of the Dragon is itself sure is getting proven correct.

They finally let Rhaenyra do something that would tear down her image of the hero partially. Isn't it funny how she was so horrified by what happened to Ser Stefan but had no problem leaving 30-40 bastards to die? Sure, she had proof that her wild idea can be done once Addam and Seasmoke bonded but she knew very well that a lot of those people would die and she just didn't really care. Good thing they don't know about Ser Stefan's attempt and her reaction to that. Otherwise, they could easily turn their new dragons on her since she clearly still thinks them lesser.

I liked the way they did the bonding moment between Hugh and Vermithor. Hugh really showed he meant business and earned Vermithor's respect. But on the tail end of that, Ulf's scene was a fucking joke. Silverwing should have eaten him whole. Especially since he stepped in her clutch of eggs. Him getting a taste of what riding a dragon is like was still kind of cute. Also quite a revolutionary step for Westerosi society, though I have a feeling Rhaenyra won't like what that step leads to in the end.

Stop teasing me with mentions of Daeron, show! I am almost 100% convinced that they won't get him in here until season 3 so what's the point? Especially since we already heard the exact same information in the previous episode.

The writing for Alicent is so unserious fr. The way they are letting her wallow in this self-pity because there's nothing else for her to do is atrocious. Especially since the last trigger apparently was the riot in last episode, which is just an insult. What do you mean that all of her sacrifice and service to the realm was just so she would be hated? She's supposed to be beloved by the small folk. I hate the writers so much for the way they're constantly throwing stuff in to make you hate the Greens, and switching plot beats around, giving all the ones that earn sympathy to the Blacks. I've been ranting about that all season, however, so I'll leave it at that.

People that still think Alicent was trying to drown herself are so baffling to me. I could have told you she wasn't going to do it just from the trailer for this episode. It was clearly shown that she took off her dress before entering the lake. (Btw did the music while she was removing her green dress remind anyone else of "The Green Dress" theme from Rhaenyra's wedding? But a lot more solemn and just straight-up resigned? Which would fit perfectly with her stupid arc.) You don't take off your clothes if you mean to drown as it'd be easier to drown with more clothes on. And also, are we talking about the same woman? Alicent? Committing suicide????? After she saved Criston from doing the same???? I know she's on a downward spiral but she was just chilling in that water. That didn't look like someone trying to drown themselves. I guess that "I'm not sure I mean to [return to the city]" line could have sounded suicidal but I have only one thing to say to that: Alicent, get your ass back to the Red Keep right this instant istfg. Aemond just torched Aegon and she and Helaena were attacked and she just... leaves?????? Girl, what about your children? They need you! At least the trailer for the next episode shows that she's back.

People saying that Aemond should leave Helaena alone and not ask her to join the fight, you don't even deserve the RIP. I am different from you aka better. Please, for the love of fuck, get her on Dreamfyre and let her do something at last! They have completely glossed over and erased the effect that her son's death has on her but that at least means that she is totally capable of getting on her dragon and frying a bunch of people. I am seriously hoping that she will!

P.S. I might have known I was going to write a whole essay despite "having nothing to say". *sigh*

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd spoilers #hotd season 2 #rhaenyra targaryen #oscar tully #alicent hightower #helaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #larys strong #thoughts

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complextheories · 4 months ago

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Okay HOTD S2E8 wrapped up. So many big moments this episode that I really really loved.

1) First, Corlys renaming his ship after Rhaenys. I love that so much. Corlys was constantly in search of more, his ambition was boundless. After her death, he realizes more. He realizes that Rhaenys was his life and that life, was good.

2) Aemond's actions lashing out at House Massey and burning Sharp Point -- he is so like his uncle. When he is scared or embarrassed, he lashes out. He is definitely the Blood of the Dragon, but I would say he's an example of the tragedy that comes with that. He's too eager and too zealous to stake his claim, whether through Vhagar or other means. If his arch follows Daemon’s, I expect we'll see that overzealousness cause some troubles for him.

3) Daemon's therapy in Harrenhal is finally complete. In his vision, he almost gets Greenseer powers. He sees Bloodraven, Dany's dragons dead at the foot of The Others, and Dany herself, with her three hatchlings. Then, Rhaenyra on the throne and Helaena. He finally understands -- I think -- what Harrenhal (or Alys) has been trying to teach him. In this moment, as Helaena says, he knows what he must do and he knows what it's all for. This is bigger than any one's desire for power.

4) The scene with Aemond begging Helaena for her help. Helaena really startles Aemond in this scene. In the past, Aegon has always dismissed Helaena's peculiarity while Aemond has vouched for her. When she shows him what she knows, he is definitely taken aback. Aemond thinks his desperation and desire for power is subtle but to Helaena and the people close to him, it's obvious and sad.

Helaena warns Aemond about his future, the path he's on. Of course, Aemond reacts by threatening violence. I think this is moment is when Aemond knows something is up, because Helaena tells him it won't change anything. He is definitely like "wtf" the whole scene but when Helaena said "it won't change anything" his face shifts and he leaves. As if fleeing what will ultimately confront him anyway.

5) Rhaenyra meeting Daemon at Harrenhal. This scene is huge for me. Daemon has gathered all these men and Rhaenyra must make sure he's done it for her. We know that at the beginning of this effort, Daemon wanted power. But now, he knows more. He knows this effort is for more. He acknowledges it not just by telling Rhaenyra of what he's learned, but by kneeling and showing him that he understands why his brother chose her. Hearing both Daemon and Rhaenyra speak High Valyrian in the same scene is reminiscent of S1 where they are constantly trading secrets in the language only known to them in the moment. Also, "Leave me again at your peril." "I could not. I have tried. My queen." -- I was swooning. Finally, Daemon is off his bullshit.

6) Lastly, (maybe) Alicent and Rhaenyra. I actually really enjoyed this scene. It's beautifully written. Alicent has always endeavored to serve. She mentions this as she talks to Rhaenyra. But now she understands that her idea of "service" might have been wrong. She's open to making compromises, even the death of her son, to prevent the war.

This is the same Alicent who took a knife from the King's hip and threatened to take an eye of a child as revenge. The same Alicent who cut Rhaenyra badly during that effort. The same Alicent who put her son on the throne and sat his war council. She knows she's been misled, admits it, and because of this, she seeks to be rid of it -- all of it. Rhaenyra points out that the histories will remember her as evil, but it doesn't matter how she'll be remembered. Alicent is done trying serve. This is very similar to Jaime Lannister’s story to me. The most honorable thing he's ever done was an act that dishonored him, an act that haunts him. Now it seems like the most honorable thing Alicent will ever do is what something she has been told is dishonorable. My favorite shot from the episode:

This scene showing us that even Rhaenyra's story, a story we are so enveloped with, will be history one day.

Goodnight yall. See you for more HOTD reactions in like 2027 lol

#rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #corlys velaryon #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd spoilers #daemon targaryen #daemyra #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #helaena targaryen #helaena the dreamer #the rogue prince #the black queen

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flowerandblood · 2 years ago

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A Winter Beauty (21)

[Aemond Targaryen x fem!Stark reader]

[warnings: sex content, smut, violence, fluff]

[description: Aemond and his family arrive at Winterfell for Rickon Stark's Name Day. There, Aemond meets his daughter, who arouses his desire. I changed some names and facts for the sake of the plot. Viserys is also slightly younger in this version.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next parts: Masterlist

_____

Several months have passed since Vaegon was born. Viserys's condition began to deteriorate significantly. It was so bad that he was given poppy milk. Viserys asked Alicent to organize a feast and gather his entire family. He felt that his time was coming and he wanted everyone to be with him.

The specter of his future death cast a shadow over the Red Keep. Lady Stark knew that Otto Hightower, her husband's grandfather, saw his grandson Aegon on the throne, not princess Rhaenyra. He was poisoning the thoughts of the queen all the time, who, although she stood up to him, was afraid when he told her, that her childhood friend would kill her and her children as soon as she took the Iron Throne.

Aemond shared with her what his grandfather had said. Lady Stark looked at him, frowning, as Vaegon sat on her lap, playing with the wooden horse she had just handed him, drooling all over it and trying to get it into his mouth.

"Your grandfather strikes me as more capable of such a thing than your stepsister." She said coldly, bending down to her son so he wouldn't choke on the toy. "Hey, don't eat that!"

Aemond gave her a pointed look, her words annoyed him, but the sight of her with their son on her lap always warmed him. Their child was loud and curious, everything amused and interested him. When he sat on his lap, he notoriously tried to take off his eyepatch or pull his hair. He squealed loudly when he wouldn't let him.

They were both happy to say that he was a trouble-free, happy child. He was now sleeping soundly almost all nights, growing fast and changing from day to day. From his dragon egg hatched a beautiful blue dragon. He was still small, as was himself, but Aemond was proud to think that his firstborn son had, what the gods hadn't given him.

He looked at his wife thoughtfully.

"You're too gullible. Just because she helped you give birth, doesn't mean she won't kill you and our baby if she considers you a threat." He said, looking away impatiently. Lady Stark shook her head, taking the toy from Vaegon, which he seemed to want to give her at that moment.

"And who would you see on the throne. Aegon, holding a goblet of wine in one hand and a whore's ass in the other?" She asked directly, and Aemond laughed loudly at her words. His wife had already become completely open with him and was not afraid to express her opinions. He looked at her intensely.

Lady Stark blinked and twisted in place, unsettled. She frowned, blinking, slowly realizing what he was thinking.

"You think I would be a bad king?" He asked quietly.

Lady Stark swallowed loudly, looking at him horrified.

"I… I think you'd make a great king. I really do. But I love our life. You always pay for a crown. The gods don't give anything for free and they'll take something from you. Again." She said with emphasis. Aemond pursed his lips at her words, and they both looked at each other, tension between them. Finally, he exhaled softly, resigned.

"Such speculations are meaningless. I am not the firstborn son." He said getting up from his chair. Lady Stark blinked, swallowing loudly, afraid she might have inadvertently hurt him. She took Vaegon in her arms and walked over to him, looking at him fondly.

"I know, Aemond." She said softly and he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "I know you sacrificed more. You studied and trained more. You understand and know more, you are better suited. I know it's not fair. But I can't help but enjoy our life as it is. Is it not enough for you?" She asked, looking at him with pain.

Aemond looked at her thoughtfully, his gaze softening. He moved closer to them, grabbed her cheek and kissed her passionately with a wet, loud sound. He pulled away from her, licking his lips.

"It's you alone that I want more than a crown."

***

Aemond fucked her hard, panting heavily, holding her buttocks tightly in his hands. She was wearing a flowing, sheer dress again, revealing her beautiful shoulders, her nipples showing through, driving him crazy.

As they were going to his mother's chamber to have dinner together, he entered the alley, turned her back to him, and pulled up her dress. He could hear her panting loudly, her juices running slowly down her thighs. Seeing this, he just lowered his pants slightly and entered her without warning.

A few weeks after Vaegon's birth, his wife let him take her again. They did it very gently and slowly, enjoying the closeness again. They made love several times that night, the last time they fucked like animals, panting and moaning heavily.

Aemond was surprised to find that they were even hornier than before their son was born. They already had an heir, they had done their duty as a married couple, so they could caress each other solely for their own satisfaction and fulfillment.

After the birth of their son, his wife's body changed. She still had a beautiful, slender waist and face, but her hips and breasts were bigger, and he couldn't keep his hands off them. When walking with her, he could just slide her dress off her shoulders and cup her breast in his hand, kissing her lips.

He liked that her temper never faded. She loved it when he took her to new places, when they were on the verge of being caught. That's why he often fucked her, like now, in the hallway.

Occasionally the servants caught a glimpse of them out of the corner of their eye, but they quickly looked away and fled, not daring to interrupt them. They reported this to the queen, who rebuked her son, but he pretended that nothing of the sort had happened and that it was mere slander.

"What's the point of you wearing these dresses, if they don't cover anything?" He hissed, fucking her mercilessly, his thighs hitting hers with tremendous force, a wet, perverted slap. They were both panting loudly.

"Maybe you should walk around the keep naked, hm? You like it when other men look at your body?" He asked enraged, sick with jealousy and the fact, that other men could look at her body, which belonged only to him. She moaned loudly, her face pressed helplessly against the wall.

Lady Stark licked her lips, panting heavily, her mouth twitching into a smile. She loved driving him crazy.

"Yes, I like it so much. When I see their eyes on me, I get so wet." She whispered laboriously, sweetly, her hands struggling to balance her body. She felt his hands tighten on her buttocks, his cock pumping harder into her.

"I didn't know my wife was such a slut." He hissed, his hand closing around her throat, lifting her up a bit, so that he leaned in to her ear as he continued to fuck her. He knew she was teasing him, and it infuriated him.

"Maybe I should start taking a closer look at the ladies in the keep, their breasts and hips, too? Would you like that?"

Lady Stark pursed her lips in defeat.

"I'd sooner pluck out your other eye." She mumbled, frowning. She heard his light laugh, both of them gasping loudly, close to fulfillment, slamming their bodies against each other with all their might.

"I think, that for your brazen words, you will kneel before your husband today and give him pleasure, right?" He gasped, his hand sliding down to her clit, massaging it with a slow, intense motion, he heard her loud moan of delight. "I think we agree on that, don't we?"

"Y-yes, I want to feel you in my mouth so badly" She moaned helplessly, and leaned back as a strong, wonderful orgasm surged through her body. Her husband came out of her just in time, coming to the floor, panting loudly.

Aemond quickly pulled his pants up and turned his wife toward him, breathing uneasily, looking at her with amusement.

"If you want to suck my cock, just say so. You don't have to make me mad." He grunted, cupping her chin in his hand, as she adjusted her gown with trembling hands. She snorted, smiling slightly.

"Where's the fun in that?"

***

The time came for a great family feast. Lady Stark could see, that her husband had not been in a good mood since morning. He was tense and ironic. The thought of meeting Luke made him meaner to her and more brutal with his words. She frowned, as she lifted the kicking Vaegon from his cradle, demanding attention.

"What's the matter with you? I don't recognize you. Are you going to act like a child at the table today? I already have one and I don't want to keep the other one behaving properly." She said, taken off balance by his behavior.

He looked at her enraged, his lips pressed into a line. The fact that she called him a child was like a slap in the face to him. She could see that he was boiling, but before he could say anything, she interjected.

"Be careful what you're about to say. Luke will leave eventually, and we'll stay here with anything else nice I hear from you today." She said resentfully, not understanding how such a wise man could be so carried away by his own grief.

She saw his jaw quiver, he lowered his gaze, turning his head away. He swallowed hard, his fists clenched. Lady Stark looked at him expectantly. Finally he looked at her.

"I didn't mean to offend you." He said coldly. His wife exhaled loudly. Better an apology than none at all.

"I didn't mean to offend you either. But I beg you, control yourself. You can't breathe fire on everything as you please." She said, skirting him with their son in her arms, leaving their chamber. Aemond tipped his head back, running a hand over his face.

When he entered the great hall, that now served as the dining room, practically everyone was already there. He saw that his wife, with their son in her arms, was talking to Helaena. Her twins were running under the table, laughing loudly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Luke and Jace watching him uncertainly.

He walked over to his wife and held out his hands to her. He knew he was exaggerating, and he took out his frustrations on her all day. He wondered how she could bear it so patiently.

"Give him to me. You carry him all day, your back will hurt." He said gently, looking at her softly. Lady Stark smiled slightly and glanced at Vaegon.

"Will you torment your dad a bit now? Hmm?" She asked, rocking him, and he began to kick happily in her hands, obviously delighted at the prospect. She handed Aemond his son, and he immediately tightened his hands around his black leather jacket, his fingers automatically going to his blindfold.

"No." He said, leaning back, so as not to let him reach there. Vaegon squealed loudly in impatience and looked desperately at his mother. Lady Stark laughed out loud.

"He's so funny!" She said to Helaena, who looked at them amused.

She smiled broadly as she saw Rhaenyra come over to them, looking tenderly at their child, behind her, a few paces away, Daemon stopped. She reached out her fingers to touch his tiny hand, which immediately tightened on her skin.

"Children grow up so fast. I hope he's in good health." She said, glancing at his mother. Lady Stark nodded.

"He's the liveliest baby I know. I don't know what will happen, when he starts walking and talking. I think we'll have to locked him up in a dragon's lair." She said amused, Rhaenyra and Daemon laughed out loud. Daemon wagged his finger at her.

"You have a fiery tongue. You fit in this family." He said with appreciation, his wife nodded.

Aemond was surprised to see how easily his wife was able to create a gentle, cheerful atmosphere with people she didn't know at all. Her directness, humor and warmth quickly won over everyone. He knew his uncle, knew that he could be nasty and picky with people he considered idiots, or people not worth his attention. His wife somehow immediately won his favor.

He thought to himself, that he was lucky, that she fell in love with him. That she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She could have anyone with her beauty and intelligence, but she wanted him, the crippled prince. With her, he never felt inferior, deficient. On the contrary, she brought his self-esteem to a level he had never reached before.

She was the best lover he could wish for, tender, understanding, fiery, thirsty. Best friend and companion, intelligent, prudent, patient, funny, understanding. Even when they argued, he couldn't stay mad at her for long, her charm making his fury evaporate like steam. Very often their quarrels ended in their bed, their bodies sweating, intertwined in a tight embrace of pleasure.

They all turned, when they heard that the king would appear in the hall. He was literally carried on his throne, apparently unable to walk himself. Half of his face was covered by a golden mask.

Aemond felt his heart clench at the sight. He felt his wife move closer to him, pressing her breast against his shoulder, looking at him reassuringly. He gave her a tender look and kissed her forehead.

Finally, everyone sat down at the table. Aemond and his wife, with their son on her lap, sat on one edge of the table, Rhaena and Luke sat on the opposite side of the table. Lady Stark watched uneasily how they cast glances at each other, as they took a sip of wine. Some pleasant toasts were raised.

She and Aemond watched as Aegon got up lazily, and walked over to Baela. He whispered something in her ear, and Jace, sitting next to her, stood up suddenly, slamming his fist on the table.

Lady Stark looked at her husband in horror, as she saw him stand up as well. Jace and Aemond stared at each other, Aegon sat back as if nothing had happened. There was an awkward silence.

Jace swallowed hard, smiled, and raised his goblet.

"I want to make a toast to you, dear uncles. I have wonderful memories of our youth together, and I hope we can be friends and allies now as well. All the best for you." He said, slapping Aegon friendly on the shoulder.

Lady Stark pursed her lips, trying not to smile, amused by the situation. Her eyes met Daemon's and they both covered their faces, trying not to laugh out loud.

"For you too." Aegon grunted.

Jace sat back down at the table. Aemond looked away, impatient. After a while he sat down again next to his wife, all tense. He gave her a questioning look as he saw her expression. She just shook her head, sighing loudly with pity. She thought they behaved worse than her baby on her lap.

Otto accosted his great-grandson by tickling his belly. Vaegon laughed out loud each time his fingers came close to him again. She thought with amusement that her son loved everyone and everything. She reached for a piece of watermelon, that she loved so much, and began to eat it slowly, rocking him on her lap.

Vaegon, seeing a new, interesting item in her hand, reached out to her. Lady Stark, knowing that the watermelon had a soft, almost watery consistency, decided to let him try a piece.

She broke off a small fragment and slipped it on her finger into his mouth, which her son licked greedily, smacking with interest. He started jumping up and down with excitement at this new, apparently delicious for him, taste. He reached out for more. Aemond looked at them uneasily.

"Is it safe?" He asked quietly as she gave him another piece of watermelon in his mouth.

"I've read in books that he needs to be slowly introduced to watery foods. He won't be drinking milk all his life. Right?" She asked, wiping Vaegon's mouth, which was sticky from his new favorite dish.

Aemond grunted, letting go, believing she knew what she was doing. He had to admit, that she was a wonderful mother. She had a lot of patience, love and warmth, but she also did not let their son get on her head. Even when he cried with anger, when she didn't want to give him something, she did not give up to him.

She was the one, who showed him how to properly hold their son, where to pat him after he ate. He loved watching her breastfeed him, there was something intimate and private about it, family and warmth. Here his wife breastfed his son, thus taking care of his successor and heir.

He was ashamed to ask for it, but several times when they had sex he tried her milk, unable to contain his curiosity. She looked at him then, amused and turned on at the same time, letting him do what he wanted.

The music snapped him out of his thoughts. Jace stood up suddenly and walked over to Helaena, asking her to dance. Aemond and Aegon exchanged quick glances. Lady Stark smiled to herself, continuing to bite another piece of watermelon, sharing it with her son.

After a while, hot food began to come in. A large roast of pig was placed in front of them, still steaming. She heard Luke chuckle softly and turned her gaze to him. She saw him looking at her husband. She didn't even blink, before Aemond slammed his fist down on the table, grinning, and raised his goblet.

"The last tribute." He said looking around the room. "To the house of my nephews. Jace, Luke and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…"

Lady Stark stared at him in disbelief, feeling what he wanted to do. Cold sweat ran down her back.

"…strong."

"Aemond." The queen reacted immediately, moving uneasily in place.

"Let's us raise our cups, for these three, strong boys."

"I dare you to say that again." Jace hissed, looking at him with hatred.

"Why? It's only a compliment. Don't you consider yourself strong?" He asked, and Jace punched him hard in the face.

Aemond didn't even flinch, shoved him effortlessly with one hand, so that he fell to the ground. He laughed to himself as he turned back to his wife, amusement on his face.

"Have you gone mad?" She hissed furiously, holding their son in her arms, who fidgeted restlessly.

"I just wanted to show how proud I am of my family, wife. It seems my nephews aren't quite proud of theirs." He said, almost laughing, Jace moved at him again, but Daemon stepped between them.

"Wait." He said, pointing his finger at him.

He turned his back on him and sighed heavily, looking at Aemond. Before they could say anything, Lady Stark brushed past them and left the room. Aemond, seeing her rage, pursed his lips and followed her.

"Wait." He said impatiently, walking a few steps behind her. She didn't respond to him. She entered her chamber and he followed her.

"Leave." She said dryly to him. "Tonight you sleep alone. Go lie down with Luke, maybe you can clear up a few more things between yourselves."

His jaw clenched in fury at her words. He moved closer to her and grabbed her cheeks brutally with his hand, making her suck in a quick breath.

Vaegon suddenly began to cry loudly, terrified. Aemond released her at once, realizing only now what he had done. Lady Stark stared at him in disbelief and pain, her lip quivering slightly.

"Forgive me." He said softly.

"Leave." She said softly, rocking Vaegon, trying to calm him down.

"I…"

"Get out! I've had enough! I only asked you for one thing!" She screamed in pain. There were tears in her eyes, but she didn't let herself cry. "You can't even…"

"They gave me a pig."

Lady Stark raised her eyebrows, shaking her head in disbelief.

"What?" She asked, completely helpless.

"When we were kids. They gave me a pig with wings, saying it was my dragon. That's why he laughed." He said low, looking at her with pursed lips, humiliated. "Forgive me for what I just did to you. Let me sleep by your side."

She swallowed hard, and Vaegon finally calmed down. She lowered her gaze and was silent for a moment, what he said made her anger melt away.

"I'm sorry too. You made me so upset." She said softly.

"I know." He whispered.

They both laid Vaegon in the crib, covering him with the duvet. Not even a minute had passed when he hugged her from behind, his mouth finding her bare shoulders and neck, kissing them hungrily.

He pressed harder against her, wanting her to feel how hard he was, how much he needed her. He heard her moan softly. He leaned over her and whispered in her ear:

"Let's go to bed."

_____

I decided to end the story here, not wanting to get involved with the king's death and Luke's death - next chapter will be an epilogue, set several years later when Vaegon is a little older. I think both characters have developed wonderfully through all these chapters, I love them and they live happily ever after in my version. Thank you all for such a wonderful reception of this series! And I invite you to read my other fanfic - Masterlist. 💖

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @snh96 @malfoytargaryen @opheliaas-stuff

Others: @dreamlandcreations @darkenchantress @moira-strangle-me-please @yentroucnagol @cloudroomblog @thehumanistsdiary @a-beaverhausen @avadakadabra93 @sirenangelroyal @aonungs-tsahik @xmaiaaa @writingaboutlove1998 @roxannequeen @alwaysholymilkshake

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nicksolemnlyswears · 5 months ago

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HOTD S2 EP2 THOUGHTS

SPOILERS AHEAD

I need to start this by the very strange scene at the brothel. It took me so much by surprise I had to pause it. Like we all know these boys have mommy issues but I always thought it was more Aegon than Aemond. Like wow. I was left like this

It was the intimate position, his hair was down, the lack of clothes. He was completely vulnerable. Aemond wanted to be coddled and to be told reassuring words.

I didn’t understand well the part where she tries to kiss him and he says “not here” like sure man. you’re just naked and telling the keeps secret but go off [ngl i was waiting for her to pop a boob out and breast feed him]

that woman is a dangerous woman. she had scheming eyes. we’ll see where that goes.

Following up with the mommy issues I am so disappointed in Alicent. Aegon is clearly not her favorite child I do not know how she can bear seeing him weep as he seeks her out and she just nopes out. WTF. No wonder your other son is seeking refuge elsewhere. Also forcing Haelena to do the funeral proceeding. What sort of mother are you? The Greens think they’re so high and mighty but they barely resemble a family. They are not a united front.

The funeral proceedings almost had me in tears. I didn’t think they’d show the poor child with its head sewn back together. I thought he’d be covered. Now more so than ever I curse Alicent. You are forcing your daughter who had to witness his death relieve this scene. You forced her to watch her son be paraded around the city.

Daemon fucked up and it’s because of him that a child is dead and yet I can’t bring myself to hate the Blacks. The Greens are terrible people.

Aegon is falling apart and mourning and he has no one to come to. He doesn’t know how to control his emotions and I can’t blame him for it when his mother and grandfather only use him as a puppet and not a real human being. I pity the Hightower children.

That being said WTF was that? Making Ser Criston Cole the hand to the king? Disgusting. He was projecting so hard during this episode. Bitching about Arryks dirty cloak and blaming him for Jaeherys death.

BITCH IT WAS YOUR FAULT FOR GETTING YOUR COCK WET. FUCKING CRISTON COLE I CANT FUCKING STAND HIM. I CANT EVEN SAY IM HAPPY ALICENT SLAPPED HIM CAUSE HE PROBABLY ENJOYED IT.

I’ve got more to say regarding the Greens but my blood pressure is going up. Let me recap I hate them and I pity them all at the same time because the three children are only products of Alicent and Otto’s parenting (Viserys up to some point to)

Oh and let’s not forget Otto’s kind words for Viserys. He probably just misses how easy he was to control.

MOVING ONTO THE BLACKS

Baby Jace and Baela I love that little moment and yet I fear it because she’s out there on cute little Moondancer and it sounds like trouble.

Love the Ser Harwin talk. They acknowledge it and they accept it. Talk about being progressive.

But also so sad that Baela feels that way towards Daemon. I had high hopes for their relationship considering that deleted scene in season 1.

RHAENYS HAVING RHAENYRAS BACK TALK ABOUT FEMINISM. HELL YEAH! I fully want Rhaenys to be Rhaenyras ride or die!!

Daemon fucked up, yes. Will we ever know what he told Blood and Cheese? No. Still I can’t blame Rhaenyra for doubting him. He’s a sketchy man who puts on his little cloak to commit war crimes.

Don’t get me wrong I’m a Daemon stan but if he didn’t act so sketchy maybe we would trust him more.

He’s a dramatic guy he’s out commuting yet another big declaration of love for Rhaenyra. Like “look i’ve got harrenhal for you” I think idk we’ll see next episode.

Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk how fucking tragic. and whose fault is it? FUCKING CRISTON COLE PIECE OF SHIT

breathe nikki breathe

a part of me thinks he killed himself because he knew they would live in doubt if he’s really sir erryk. but in reality they believed they share a soul so that was probably why. he killed his other fucking half. they might be divided by believes but they still love each other.

ELINDA IS A REAL HANDMAID. SHE FOLLOWED INSTRUCTIONS AND LOOKED FOR A GUARD. Haelenas maid could never.

I have so many more thoughts so if anyone wants to talk please feel free to hit me up. I’ll probably rewatch the episode tomorrow again to process

#hotd spoilers #hotd #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon #house of the dragon season 2

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lady-phasma · 7 months ago

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This specific use of the 180 Degree Rule has been nagging me since the last trailer came out. The 180 Degree Rule refers to how the camera frames the subjects in a scene so that they are "switched" when the camera moves. This is less disorienting to viewers than if the subjects stayed on the same side of the frame every time (see example below). It's a small trick, but it is noticeable when it isn't used. Logic tells us they should stay on the same side of the frame but it really doesn't work. If you are interested in understanding this further there is a great sequence in Satoshi Kon's Paprika (2006) that explains it better than I have ever seen anywhere else.

Daemon's War

The exchange between Rhaenyra and Jace in episode 10 conveys so much meaning in so few words. I'm not going to discuss Rhaenyra's desires in this post or if they conflict with Daemon's. That would need its own post all to itself.

Jacaerys: Where is Daemon? Rhaenyra: I don't know. Gone to madness. Gone to plot his war.

Daemon and his motivations are revealed so concisely. There is certainly foreshadowing here, but I appreciate that Rhaenyra knows him so well and has no expectations of him (at this point) beyond what she has seen in the past.

Daemon makes bold assumptions and is arrogant enough to think his way is the best way. When he lists Meleys in their assets there is no doubt in his mind that Rhaenys will side with them in the war. But why does he assume this? What isn't being said is intriguing.

We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer. There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmont, still riderless. Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.

Then, at some point in season two, we see Daemon presumably stop Rhaenys by grabbing her arm.

This man is manipulative and good at it. Rhaenys is not pleased with him touching her. With no context at all, we only have a few words and body language to interpret. I can't wait to see if I'm correct about this when this episode airs. There is a threat or ultimatum here. Daemon's posture is so self-assured, hand resting on Dark Sister as if whatever he is saying has only one response: agreement.

Correct 180 (from trailer):

Might be helpful to cover one while watching the other.

Incorrect 180 (my edit):

What made this 180 rule from the trailer stick in my mind is how tight the frame is on Rhaenys for her reaction shot. A medium shot on Daemon cuts to a medium close up on her in order to show her facial expression. We can't interpret too much from trailer editing as it is specifically designed to manipulate and distract viewers in a different way from the final product. However, we are given Daemon's dialogue for this particular shot: "We are going to King's Landing." But what next? Why show her disdain, frustration, irritation? Is there an "or else" or some other technique to coerce her and House Velaryon?

Rhaenyra's words are relevant here as well as in the foreshadowing of the upcoming war. Daemon is not asking permission. His hostility, animosity, and wounded ego combine to make him rash. Another example of the applicability of the title The Rouge Prince. This isn't an argument that his character is made more complex by this foreshadowing, but that he has rarely, if ever, hidden his motives. His motivations are always clear even if they shift from selfish to selfless (which is only evident a handful of times). He is morally ambiguous to viewers because much of the time he seems to be amoral. He can stomach things that others cannot. He believes the end justifies the means. I think it will be fascinating to see how the showrunners, writers, and Matt can navigate someone becoming a villain without making him completely one dimensional. He is irredeemable and many of his fans love him for precisely that. He doesn't want to be redeemed. He wants to be in control.

I started writing this last night and today this amazing gifset comes across my dash so I had to link it.

#film studies #film studies nerd #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd season 2 #hotd spoilers #hotd s2 #matt smith #eve best #daemon targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #no one asked #forgot my last gif had to come back and add it oops #auntiegifs

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alicentsgf · 3 months ago

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"No she didnt ask for his death, its more about the asumption we can make about it all. Speaking completely and only to the book exclusively, I have to ask, what do you think would have been Maelor's fate if he'd been brought back to the red keep and Rhaenyra?" mmm I understand where you're coming from, and I agree that there are assumptions we can make based on the book's context. But I think Maelor's fate would have depended on Rhaenyra's strategy at that moment. If he had been brought back to the Red Keep, she might have seen him as a bargaining chip or leverage against Aegon's supporters rather than killing him outright, especially if she believed doing so would further destabilize her own rule or alienate her supporters. I think Rhaenyra would have seen him as both a potential threat and a valuable pawn. Political decisions often involve more nuance, and she might have calculated that keeping him alive—at least for a time—could serve her interests in a different way, like future leverage, public sympathy, or dividing her enemies....I think there’s room for interpretation about how exactly Rhaenyra might have handled the situation. Then again, we can only assume, but as George himself said in his post, Rhaenyra didn't ask for Maelor to die—that wasn't her intention. Yet, people still insist that she wanted him dead?

I get that, maybe I didnt make it clear that I dont think he's dead immediately I'm talking exclusively about if Rhaenyra wins the war. In fact, at the point where she puts out a reward for the return of Maelor she is winning, as shes sitting the throne in that moment. It was Maelors death and Helaenas subsequent suicide that changed that. I just think on some level Rhaenyra must know when shes asking for Maelor to be found that he cant be allowed to live beyond her own death. Shes not completely blind to the realities of the situation, despite her political frailties. There would be another sucession crisis in some form, for sure. Rhaenyra and Daemon arent known to be particulary politically savvy so I dont hold out much hope for them playing any kind of long, political game and them like... holding Maelor as a prisoner when he has no male Targaryen relatives left? that makes no sense to me. When they can so easily remove the one potential claiment their enemies could rally behind, why wouldnt they? Its not like they dont have a history of removing their otherwise innocent inconveniences, e.g. rhea, laenor, jaehaerys, etc

To me theres just no eventuality where Rhaenyra rules peacefully and Maelor just exists living as Maelor Targaryen, even under lock and key. That would be a terrible look on her, to hold her nephew, a child, hostage. Whilst he lives he remains politically relevant, disturbing the peace just by existing. And that is Rhaenyras objective - to rule peacefully, and to have her heir (which would be Joffrey in this version of events) ascend peacefully. So on some level she must know Maelors claim has to be neutralised at some point, even if she doesnt want to acknowledge that directly. Like I dont think she would revel in the idea of killing him, I just think she would see him as collateral and be prepared to do anything to protect her own children, as you would expect!

At best shes smart enough to publically show "mercy" and send him to the wall or something (because theres no way he gets sent to Oldtown where he has allies), but lets be honest he'd probably still disppear or be killed in some ""accident"" at some point following that decision. A convenient little incident, like getting thrown from a horse lmao. More likely Daemons doing, if he still lives, or Rhaenyras council if not, but Rhaenyra wouldnt ask questions. One life to avoid another war would be totally justifiable to her, even if it was the life of a child.

#ask #anon #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd #its truly not a criticism of rhaenyra #i know that in this world she would have felt she had no choice but to get rid of him in some way #f&b

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geralehane · 1 year ago

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rhaenyra fussing over pregnant alicent ?

she feels it more than she hears it - the warmth of a body next to her going further away, the bed shifting and dipping - and so she rises to sit up before she’s even fully awake. ‘alicent,’ she breathes, blindly reaching for her wife in the dark. ’s’mthing wrong?’

then, she hears a quiet curse, and as her eyes adjust to the dark and the reality of being woken up in the middle of the night, she finally makes out alicent’s shape perched at the edge of their bed. she squints at the bedside clock. it reads one pm.

‘darling, it’s okay,’ her wife whispers. a soft hand cups her cheek; brushes hair from her forehead. ‘go back to sleep.’

rhaenyra, now finally conscious enough to process her surroundings, largely ignores that. ‘what happened? are you in pain? Is it your ankles again - do you want me to massage—’

no, no - I’m fine, my love, everything is fine,’ alicent shushes her. ‘i just wanted a pickle. we should really start keeping them by the bed.’ she turns to face rhaenyra more, one hand cradling her very noticeably pregnant belly. ‘I’m sorry i woke you up. in my defense, you’ve become a terrifyingly light sleeper.’

i need to keep you safe at all times, rhaenyra thinks. she doesn’t voice it. ‘pickles it is, then.’

alicent catches her wrist as she tries to stand up. ‘rhaenyra.’ there’s a fond, exasperated warning in her tone. ‘i’m perfectly capable of getting a pickle myself. Go back to sleep.’

she shrugs. ‘it’s alright. I’m already awake, aren’t i? might as well.’

her wife raises one unamused brow at her faux-nonchalant grin. rhaenyra tries again. ‘or we could go together?’

‘darling. it’s a five minute trip downstairs and back. i think i’ll manage. it’s only my second trimester.’ the hand still holding her wrist turns gentle as it slides over her palm. rhaenyra watches, eyes downcast, as alicent laces their fingers together. ‘rhaenyra. what is it, really?’

she sighs. how does she communicate this without sounding completely bonkers?

alicent’s eyes are soft as they watch her slowly stand up and circle the bed. they’re softer still as rhaenyra kneels in front of her, hands sliding up her warm hips to settle on the baby bump. this new curve of her wife’s body is rhaenyra’s new favorite thing about her. and this new curve of her wife’s body is rhaenyra’s new all-consuming fear.

‘i don’t like the thought of you alone out there, in the dark,’ she confesses quietly. alicent’s silent as she lets her say her piece, and her brown eyes are filled with the desire to understand. ‘of you both. i know - i know i sound positively mad right now, but — the stairs, and with your ankles having been so sore lately, what if you trip? what if you get that hicks contraction and it’s too much, and I’m too busy snoring my way through the night to help you? i just…’ she takes a deep, shuddering breath as alicent finds her cheek again. ‘what if something happens and i’m not there?’

alicent waits a second before replying, and her thumb never stops stroking her cheek. she’s always been like this, rhaenyra thinks with sudden, longing type of gratitude - always endlessly patient with her, even when she didn’t deserve it.

‘you’ve always been quite protective of me,’ her wife murmurs. ‘now that I’m carrying our baby, i can’t even imagine what you must be going through. i know you want to keep me - to keep us safe, and i understand, alright?’ her other hand finds rhaenyra’s, on her stomach, and squeezes. ‘i understand, my love. but we need to work through it so you don’t stress yourself into an early grave, worrying about me. but — that’s a conversation for daytime.’ brown eyes twinkle, even in the dark, as alicent grins at her. ‘Tonight, we’ll go get a pickle together, and then we’ll go to sleep. alright?’

rhaenyra breathes out. something in her chest uncoils and settles.

‘alright,’ she says, and leans up to brush her lips against alicent’s waiting ones. ‘alright. i love you. i love you so much my heart drowns in it, sometimes.’

‘oh,’ alicent sighs. ‘i know exactly what that feels like. that’s how i love you too.’

#rhaenicent #drabble event 2023 #yall im slowly but surely answering all of the prompts!!#there's still quite a number left but i'm working on it

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dragnsofthread · 3 months ago

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Since I'm sick to death of all the negativity surrounding the writing of HotD, here's my take (warning:venting ahead):

The showrunners make it clear within the first five minutes of 1.01 that they are not taking Fire & Blood at its literal word. Alicent Hightower being aged down and turned into Rhaenyra's best friend changes the dynamic of the Dance completely. If you don't want to see a show deviate from source material that you love, or if you don't like the way a piece of media has been adapted, then why do you keep watching, episode after episode, to the point where we are now two seasons in and you are still complaining that "that's not how it is in the book" or "but the LORE!!!" ??

It's an adaptation of a fictional history book. Just listen to the audiobook of Fire & Blood if that's the only version of events you want to hear.

It is the showrunner's job to adapt this meticulously detailed source material for a massive HBO audience, MOST OF WHOM have never read the book. Or ASOIAF for that matter! General audience does not care that Rhaenyra was "actually" fat or Alicent was "actually" 9 years older than her. No one wants Jacaerys hooking up with Sara Snow when Baela is literally right there. Television and literature are different mediums for a reason. There's less room for small detail in television, more for spectacle.

AND ALSO, George RR Martin and Ryan Condal are friends. GRRM picked RC specifically to adapt this part of Fire & Blood and he was majorly involved in its development. I'm sure they have the next two seasons carefully planned out. GRRM might not agree with every creative decision made in the writers' room, but that's the nature of selling your work to see it adapted in the first place.

Genuine criticisms of writing decisions are GREAT. They invite discourse and insight. But if the criticisms are consistently coming from a place of book purism, it may be time to turn the TV off. The show is meant to be enjoyed. Criticized, of COURSE, but ultimately enjoyed. I cannot for the life of me understand why people take the time to consume media that they dislike, on purpose.

Moral of the story: If you don't enjoy a piece of media, don't consume it, but rather let the people who DO enjoy it, enjoy it peacefully.

The end <3

#house of the dragon #sam posts

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atopvisenyashill · 9 months ago

Note

All of the adult female characters are supremely isolated from other women... friends or family. It's equally doled out. Alicent is in King's Landing. Rhaenyra is in King's Landing and then Dragonstone. Laena is in Pentos. Rhaenys is isolated on Driftmark (she essentially doesn't leave due to Corlys's wars and/or various strifes between her family in all those years).

The only female company any of them have are daughters, step-daughters or granddaughters and that is a relationship of responsibility, even if it brings happiness at times.

they establish that feeling of isolation in the show you’re speaking of too early & in a weird way by wholesale excising laena’s impact on the plot and also making rhaenyra look a bit nonsensical. the thing about this time period in the book is that everyone is building the families that are going to get destroyed by the dance. there’s an entire arc here wherein rhaenyra & alicent get their first true taste at what losing might mean with the driftmark fight and the harrenhal fire, and it makes both of them double down on their worst impulses in fear for their families and make the conflict more volatile & more irreparable. for rhaenyra, this involves first losing harwin and then laena, two people she is incredibly intimate with, and laena to childbirth to boot. it’s why she panic marries daemon so quickly, she’s afraid for the lives of her children and has convinced herself only daemon is capable of helping her do that. in the show, they gloss over rhaewin and cut out laenyra completely by isolating her in pentos and then telling that arc exclusively from daemon’s PoV instead of laena’s or split between them. laena’s death is what drives rhaenyra’s isolation to dragonstone. instead, in the show, it’s what drives daemon back home (because he wants to lay laena to rest at driftmark) and then to dragonstone with rhaenyra. this is exactly what they did in got btw - they told the war from robb’s pov not cat’s, then changed jeyne into talisa bc she was less complicated. they cut sansa’s entire vale arc bc they thought it was boring then put her in winterfell and focused more on ramsay gleefully torturing her than sansa’s actual story. they just shuffle laena around into what’s easiest.

the thing is that laena is a tricky part of the family because she is a daughter, but also has her own family, and her husband does not have his own seat, so he’s naturally an extension of yet another family. this nuance in her character doesn’t work so they just have her never interact with her own parents or brother & then die so daemon will go home. the reality is that laena loved her family and considered rhaenyra her family, and would have fought for her on vhagar but she dies before she can and vhagar is used to kill rhaenyra’s son. that’s the tragedy of laena. like alyssa t, like aemma, forced out of the story too soon. but idk, they just weren’t interested in talking about the tragedy of a woman who died too soon, so even if she died loved, she dies woefully unfinished in her life. reminds me of what brienne says - no one sings songs for the women who die in the birthing bed. not only that, but her entire family is sloppily racebent & they refused to think through the implications of a) what laena’s death in childbirth looks like now and b) what completely erasing her entire character’s impact and changing her personality looks like now. i think that’s wonky writing and i don’t understand people’s devotion to defending that weird choice!

#honestly i DO think this is a similar situation as talisa/jeyne and once again. kinda resent the pushback to people saying #hey i wish this adaptation of a book stopped making massive changes from that book that affect the core story.#hotd critical #laena velaryon

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asykriel · 1 year ago

Text

Love is the Death of Duty - 14.

® do not repost or translate !

☆ Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Male! Targaryen OC

☆ Status: Ongoing

☆ Summary:

“He is half of my heart.”

War made monsters of them all, but it also brought the two second sons together in a flurry of death, love, deceit and delusion. The story of Aemond Targaryen and the eldest son of Daemon and Rhaenyra, Maegor Targaryen, second of his name.

☆ Warnings: Sexual content, explicit violence, dark themes, targcest etc.

☆ AO3 ☆ || ☆ Wattpad ☆

☆ CHAPTERS: (Prologue) / ( 1 ) / ( 2 ) / ( 3 ) / ( 4 ) / ( 5 ) / ( 6 ) / ( 7 ) / ( 8 ) / ( 9 ) / ( 10 ) / ( 11 ) / ( 12 ) / ( 13 ) / ( 14 ) / ( 15 ) / (16 from now on upcoming chaps only on- AO3 || Wattpad )

☆ Masterlist ☆ || ☆ Spotify Playlist ☆

➸ Previous part

➸ Next part

CHAPTER 14

"You have never sheltered me all these years, why start now, mother?"

"Maegor, you almost died! You barely recovered and you want to leave again!"

"It's already settled, father gave me his blessing. You need to understand, the more you try to tighten the chain around my neck, the harder I will try to break free."

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It took a full two weeks for Maegor to reclaim his strength and fully recover after his perilous brush with the edge of the afterlife. The echoes of Rhaenyra's persistent nagging reverberated in his mind as King's Landing gradually appeared on the horizon. He couldn't help but click his tongue in mild annoyance at the memory.

By the time they reach the outskirts of the city, the sun is already high overhead, illuminating the imposing Red Keep. Despite their delayed arrival, the Princes took a detour during their journey, soaring through the clouds and relishing the freedom of the open skies. For Maegor, it had been an opportunity to reconnect with the thrill of flying on his dragon again since their conquest of Dorne. The sensation is indescribable, and he missed it just as much as he missed his uncle Aemond when they were apart.

"Tolvie run kessa sagon sȳz, ñuha jorrāelagon." Maegor's voice rings out as he brings Saagael to fly closer to Vhagar, their dragons soaring in parallel formation.

While Maegor exudes confidence and a sense of ease, Aemond can't shake his nerves. The impending reunion with their family and the uncertain reactions they might face weigh heavily on him. He despises the feeling of uncertainty, of not having complete control over the situation, not knowing how their family members would respond to both Maegor's return and his own unequivocal support for his claim.

Aemond's gaze shiftes to his nephew, a small, grateful smile gracing his lips. He hopes that Maegor could see the gratitude for his fierce support in his eyes.

As they draw closer to their destination, Maegor's unwavering confidence continues to radiate. He has faced countless trials and tribulations, fought death itself and won, and he is determined to navigate this one with the same tenacity that had brought them victory in the Stepstones and Dorne.

"Those green cunts will try to get under your skin. Walk over them. Show them why you're worthy."

He's aware that all could come crashing down in an instant, but he will control himself and keep his head held high, just as Daemon told him. Perhaps he can sway the Queen with some diplomacy and sweet talking, along with Aemond's help, but Otto Hightower would be his biggest opposition, he'll need to deal with him alone. Figuratively speaking. Although taking his head would be so much easier.

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"I don't get why he needs a welcoming party. Not like he's been gone for years." Aegon sighs in annoyance making sure to groan in protest behind his mother all the way it takes for them, as well as the rest of the procession, to reach from the halls of the castle to the main courtyard of the Red Keep.

The bells signaling Prince Aemond's return have started ringing in the towers laid out throughout the city.

Alicent watches Vhagar flying in closer and letting out a rumble, her heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. She has waited eagerly for the return of her son. His absence had weighed heavily on her, and their last argumentative interaction before he left for the Stepstones had left a lingering bitterness between them. Aemond has never been away from home before now.

Besides her, Aegon yawns, mindlessly kicking small rocks in his boredom. Until his grandfather notices his insolence and has him stop, much to his annoyance.

The Queen's breath catches as Vhagar finally lands, the ground shaking underneath her weight. She doesn't think she'll ever get used to being in the proximity of these beasts that positively terrify her.

Aemond climbs off and walks stiffly to their greeting.

"Mother." He keeps his facade stoic and calculated. The Aemond they know.

"My son, I'm glad to see you have returned safely." Alicent exhales in relief as she fusses over him, checking him for injuries. Putting up the front of a good mother under all the eyes watching her.

Aegon rolls his eyes next to her and his brother pretends he doesn't see him.

However their reunion is cut short as another distinctive rumble rings in the skies and they watch in disbelief how another dragon, black as night and almost matching Vhagar's size circles around the highest spires of the Red Keep, before landing next to Aemond's dragon in the courtyard big enough to accommodate both.

The Cannibal lets out a dangerous growl as he fixes the small gathering of people before he lowers his body, to allow his rider to climb down. Maegor glides a hand over the length of Saagael's neck, to the tip of his scarred muzzle, feeling the ripple of muscles underneath until he walks away, joining Aemond's side in silence.

It was definitely worth it putting up a show. Seeing the shock and fear on the faces of the Queen and her father, is priceless. It sends a shiver of delight down his spine

Amid the shocked reactions, Helaena's genuine delight at Maegor's return stands out. She claps her hands in joyful applause, captivated by the spectacle that has unfolded before her.

Aegon's jaw tightens as he surveys the scene, a mixture of surprise and suspicion etched into his expression. He exchanges a puzzled glance with his mother, the disbelief mirrored in her eyes. Otto Hightower, watches the proceedings with a furrowed brow, his mind undoubtedly racing to decipher the implications of the unanticipated arrival.

"Prince Maegor, what a surprise to see you, with a dragon as well." Alicent clears her voice, the uneasiness on her face is palpable as she tries to maintain her composure. Her gaze shifts between Maegor and her son, Aemond, silently seeking answers. The unexpectedness of the situation leaves her grasping for understanding.

"I came to request a hearing to be held. I'm sure you have received Prince Aemond's letter by now. Did you not?"

Judging by the evident confusion on the Queen's face and the way Otto noticeably shifts his demeanour, she did not even know about the existence of a letter.

Of course, that old snake. Still keeping his daughter in the dark to be more malleable even now.

"The Prince can make a statement during Princess Rhaenys's hearing later today. Until then he's welcomed to rest." The Hand interrupts before Alicent can question about the letter as expected.

Though she is itching to press for more information, Alicent holds her tongue, aware that the situation is not fully under her control. She is left with little choice, but to accept the Hand's intervention, despite the nagging frustration.

Ah yes, Maegor almost forgot about Rhaenys. Some days before him and Aemond left Dragonstone, the Seasnake arrived by ship - along with Vermax much to Jace's relief - to discuss and offer his gratitude to Daemon in the matter of the Stepstones. Maegor was passing by, when he overheard their conversation about Rhaenys coming to the Red Keep's on her husband's behalf, to be given claim and control over the islands.

If he plays his cards right this might be another opportunity he cannot miss.

"Very well, Lord Hightower." Maegor acquiesces, his tone masking a simmering determination beneath a veneer of compliance.

Rest is not what he needs, Aemond forced him to stay in bed for a whole week even when his body returned to its peak. He had plenty of rest. But time to think and plan in private is always welcomed.

Unfortunately, staying in the Red Keep also means keeping distance from Aemond despite being under the same roof. This was different than their stay in Dragonstone, where Maegor's side of the family all knew about their relationship and even though they did not approve, there were also no consequences. Not even when they got caught sneaking out on the beach at night or kissing in darkened corners of the many corridors built inside the castle. Even his parents stopped bickering with him over this when they realized they had no means to win against the stubbornness of their son.

Aemond actually came to enjoy the time in Dragonstone, despite the obvious tension, at least he was free to be himself, to act how he wanted around Maegor, not being confined and forced to be shaped into a washed down version of himself. Into the puppet his mother and grandfather wanted him to be.

Now Maegor is alone, lounging on a day bed in his guest quarters, the same ones as his last time in King's Landing, as he waits for time to pass until the hearing. Thinking and planning in private proves futile, his mind is blanked out by boredom and the irritation of having to pretend his uncle is well just his 'uncle' and the good terms between them are only due to growing up together and fighting side by side.

There's only so much staring he can do at the ceiling until he decides to wander off, at first with no real purpose in mind, until he passes by the gardens and sees the Seasnake's wife, alone, looking at the weirwood tree.

"Princess Rhaenys." Maegor greets her as he enters the gardens.

"Ah, Prince Maegor, I've heard you made quite the unexpected entrance." She turns on her heels to face him, a stern expression on her face that gradually softens as she takes in his presence.

"Given the shock on the Queen's face, I'd say so myself." Maegor lets out a chuckle, looking up at the red leaves, gently rustling in the wind.

As they exchange words Rhaenys studies him closely. She remembers the quiet, knowledge hungry child, how he always wanted to spend more time watching the dragons rather than causing trouble with his half brothers.

Their paths haven't crossed ever since and now she doesn't quite know what to make of him despite of everything the Seasnake told her about him. The contrast is intriguing; the shy young boy that was always so eager to please his parents, now stands as a fierce dragonrider and tactician, shrouded in a layer of complexity that came with age. She remains cautious, recognizing the influence of his heritage and the potential consequences of underestimating him. This is Daemon's son after all, and the apple does not fall far from the tree.

"Driftmark is indebted to you, Prince Maegor. I'm not sure my husband and the rest of our men would still be alive if it weren't for your aid." After a moment of silence Rhaenys confesses, watching how the pair of sharp eyes move their attention from the tree to her.

"Thank you, Princess. I'm relieved to hear that Lord Corlys is recovering well. I've learned much from his wisdom and experience during our time in the Stepstones." Maegor keeps his hands clasped behind his back, but his expression softens at her words, a genuine appreciation for her acknowledgment, evident in his eyes.

A small smile plays at the corners of Rhaenys's lips as she nods in response.

"However, if we're discussing debts, I must confess I have a favor to ask of you."

She was right, Daemon's son, just more sweet spoken.

"And what would that be?" Rhaenys's interest piques as she regards him attentively.

"I would like to request your support during the upcoming hearing. To stand by my rightful claim over Dorne. Aemond's endorsement alone may not sway Otto Hightower, but with your voice and, indirectly, the influence of your vassals, it could tip the balance in our favor." Maegor sighs, hoping that if he speaks bluntly and honestly Rhaenys would give in to his request.

Rhaenys assesses him carefully, her gaze unwavering. She is well aware of the political intricacies at play, the delicate dance of power that had brought them to this moment. While Daemon's influence is a big part of Maegor's identity, she also sees the sincerity in his request, a willingness to ally with those who share common goals.

"Lord Corlys has spoken highly of Prince Aemond's actions. He also spoke of his unconditional support for you in the Stepstones and how he saved your life in Sunspear."

"That he did. We've become quite closefighting side by side."

Rhaenys sees right through him. She smiles sadly as she's suddenly reminded of Laenor. Poor Laenor.

"I will vouch for you, Prince Maegor and you will consider the debt settled."

Maegor sighs in relief. This went easier than he expected. His father had warned him of Rhaenys's shrewdness, her capacity for ruthlessness, and the way she navigates the complex waters of politics.

"Kirimvose, dārilaros."

"Do not let Queen find out about just how close you became with her son."

With that Princess Rhaenys leaves the gardens, not before throwing Maegor a knowing look, leaving him to stare in surprise as she walks away.

Maybe his father was not entirely wrong about her. Maegor huffs, clicking his tongue before he walks back inside the Keep's walls. Lead by the impulse of the conversation he had with the Seasnake's wife, his legs carry him to Aemond's quarters where two guards stand by the door.

Flashbacks of his last visit to King's Landing flood into his mind as he smiles nostalgically. This time, however he doesn't hesitate when he opens the door to Aemond's quarters, eager to see his uncle again even if only a few hours passed since their arrival.

The sight of Aegon sprawled out in day bed with a glass of wine in one hand and Aemond trying to distract himself with a book in an armchair, obviously irritated, ruins all of Maegor's initial excitement.

What the fuck is he doing here.

The two must synch their thoughts with the way Aegon jolts on his feet at the sudden intrusion.

"Nephew, you're full of surprises." Aegon beams, trying to mask out his surprise and uneasiness with a nervous laugh.

Maegor curls his upper lip in annoyance, glaring coldly at his older uncle. The few occasions he has to spend time alone with Aemond in this god forsaken prison of stone and this fool has to be here.

"I should say the same thing about you." The youngest Prince clicks his tongue, obviously hinting at his unwelcomed presence here.

From behind his brother, Aemond stands up from the chair as well, his expression softening when he looks at his nephew, silently pleading him to let Aegon be. He'll leave soon, hopefully. He always does.

Whenever he breaks his routine or something unexpectedly happens, Aegon always barges into his room, pestering him while drinking and talking for hours. Obviously Aemond does not indulge him, he usually let's him hold a monologue until he gets too bored of being ignored and goes on his way or until he gets too pissed off Aegon and throws him out himself.

"Always so cold and angry, no wonder you get along with Aemond so well." Aegon feigns a pout, taking the glass of wine to his lips.

Oh how Maegor wishes he could rip it off his face.

"Finally claimed a dragon, fought a war and got poisoned or so I've heard. You've been busy Prince Maegor." The teasing doesn't relent, but two can play this game and Aegon will lose everytime.

"What was it that you always used to tell me when we were children, uncle? You'll die of old age on the back of a horse?" Maegor mirrors the tone of his voice, stepping forward to circle around him.

"Oh come on, those were jests. We all did them." Aegon shrugs his shoulders, maintaining his innocence.

But it wasn't just child play. They weren't simple jokes. Not to him, not to Aemond, not when they were the targets for all the cruel words and pranks for years.

"Do you know what he liked feasting on before I found him?" Maegor wraps an arm around his uncle shoulder, with firm grip.

The size difference between them has Maegor lowering his head to be on the same level as he leans in to Aegon's ear, smirking when he feels him stiffening and going silent.

"Other dragons."

"Enough. I wish to speak with my nephew alone." Aemond steps in, sensing the build up of tension.

In an instant Maegor, glances at him, eyes growing softer and lets his older uncle go with a light shove at the command.

"Holding secrets from your own brother, Aemond?" The older Prince sighs dramatically, but his tone is mixed with seriousness.

Even he could tell something is off with his brother. And has been off for a while now, even now with the way he tenses up at a light joke. His own mother told him that he changed after Aemond abruptly left for the Stepstones, but Aegon shrugged it off and blamed it for his thirst for power and warmongering and probably late blooming carnal urges.

"Aegon, get out." Aemond is not joking. He glares at his brother, pointing to the door with a straight finger.

Circling around them until he takes a seat on the day bed so he can calm down, Maegor watches the exchange closely, in silence, with his fingers gripping the edge of the cushion.

Why is this idiot so stubborn?

"No, I don't think I will baby brother. We should speak freely, we're family after all."

Probably fueled by the alcohol in his system, Aegon boldly takes a seat next to his nephew as if he wasn't just startled by his grim comment moments ago. Maybe the brothel whores who called him a masochist were right.

"I'm not telling you again Aegon. Get out or I'll have you thrown out." Aemond invades his space, staring him down from his feet, but it doesn't phase his brother.

The eldest Prince simply sprawls out, stretching his arms above his head much to Maegor's building anger at the invasion of his personal space.

"What matters are so important to discuss with your nephew, but you can't with me, Aemond? Or maybe you wish to bed him is that it?" Aegon mindlessly teases with perverted comments as always, not putting much thought in it.

Until he watches the reactions. His younger brother takes a step back, all stiffen up and wide eyed while their nephew jumps on his feet, fists clenched and jaw tightened, mirroring Aemond's shocked expression.

Aegon bursts out in a laugh, realization slowly creeping on to him. All the shifting in his brother's behavior, him begging his mother to go fighting in the Stepstones where he was also fighting. Showing up together with Maegor today.

"Oh gods, you're fucking our nephew!" He exclaims as he stands up and lightly slaps his hands over his face, but he's already sobered up completely by the news. In fact he's not drunk enough to deal with this.

Acting in the heat of the moment, driven by impulse and nerves, Maegor goes after him before either of his uncles can react. Wrapping one arm around his neck and using his other to secure one hand of Aegon's behind his back, he gets him into a tight chokehold.

Wrapping his arms at his chest in satisfaction, Aemond doesn't intervene - for now - despite his initial surprise. It's ought the time his brother learned to quit being a nosey pest and mind his own business.

"You spill a word to the Queen or Hand about this and I'll spill your guts, you hear me? Uncle?" Maegor growls in his ear, tightening the hold he has around his neck as a warning.

"Aemond...help." Aegon let's out a cough of distress, reaching out to grab on his brother's sleeve.

"Answer him." To his shock, Aemond takes a step back, pulling away from his touch.

"Fuck. Do you think I give two shits about who my brother fucks you twat?!" Aegon let's out a raspy groan of anger, trying to escape from his nephew's iron grip, but that only fuels Maegor to tighten the hold.

"Hold your tongue."

"Let him go. He won't tell anyone." Aemond rubs his temples with one hand, already drained of all of his energy by everything unfolding before him.

Reluctantly, Maegor obliges, pursing his lips in annoyance. He releases Aegon and steps away from him, still not quite convinced. Even if he has no ounce of trust in the drunkard he has in Aemond, and he knows his brother best.

Aegon catches his breath, rubbing a hand over his sore throat.

"If I knew you were such a prude and a maniac, I would've kept my mouth shut." He groans, glaring at his nephew.

"I think I haven't choked you hard enough. You're still talking." Maegor bites back riled up again, but Aemond's firm hand over his chest stops him from making any other reckless moves.

"Relax. Why would I tell anyone? Twas' just surprising, given that my brother acted like a shy maiden in all the years I've known him." Aegon takes a long gulp directly from the wine bottle to calm himself, instead of pouring himself a glass like a civilized person.

"I don't trust you." Maegor tells him bluntly, nose scrunching in disgust at the behavior and the continuous mockery that escapes his lips.

"That's a given nephew, I don't trust you either. But I see Aemond does, enough to let you almost kill me." Aegon pauses a moment to emphasize and glare at his younger brother. "So I guess that means something."

"Where are you trying to get at, you fool?" Aemond let's out an exhasperated sigh, beyond sick of having to put up with his brother's antics.

"At keeping your little secret between us. Although I doubt mother would make too big of a fuss if she found out you've been bedding Rhaenyra's son. She's more preoccupied with keeping me away from brothels and yapping about becoming king."

The idiot has a fair point for once. In fact it lights up a small hope somewhere in the back of Maegor's mind, but he buries the thought fast. It's too delusional.

"I'm not trying to test out your theory, brother."

"Just look at it from the bright side. At least you're fucking him and not one of the bastards. Mother would have been livid in that case." Aegon let's out a laugh and Maegor gathers up all the willpower he has left to not move a muscle. Because if he did, he'd have one less uncle to deal with.

"Aegon, enough! You had your fun and you've made your point, and now it's time for you to leave!" Aemond snaps, his voice loud and sharp as he steps forward grabbing him by the collar and pushing him towards the door, the frustration evident in his expression.

"Fine, fine." Aegon grumbles, setting down the wine bottle as he's being dragged with an exaggerated sigh. He shoots a smug grin in Maegor's direction.

"Keep your dog on a tighter leash, Aemond. He's quite feral."

Maegor clenches the edge of an armchair until his knuckles turn white and the fabric crinkles audibly.

Thankfully, Aemond doesn't dignify Aegon's comment with a response, his gaze steady on his older brother as he shoves him toward the door. When Aegon exits the room, he casts one last knowing glance over his shoulder at Maegor, before disappearing from view.

That leech.

In the quiet aftermath of Aegon's departure, the room feels like a sanctuary, a space where their connection can breathe freely once again. Maegor's thoughts are a swirling tempest, the weight of Aegon's discovery mingling with the warmth of Aemond's presence beside him.

"You didn't need to do that." Maegor finally breaks the silence, his voice tinged with frustration. "I can handle him."

Aemond's expression softens as he approaches Maegor, his eye filled with a mixture of concern and understanding.

"I know you can, but he can be relentless. It's better to put an end to his antics before they escalate further or before you murder him."

Maegor's shoulders tense as he looks away, his thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions. He had hoped for a quiet moment alone with Aemond before the hearing, a respite from the chaos of the outside world. Yet, Aegon's intrusion had shattered that illusion, and the revelation of their relationship had been thrust into the open.

"I never wanted him to find out like this." Maegor admits, guilty that it's partly due to his reaction that he found out. His voice quieter now, filled with a mix of vulnerability and regret.

Aemond steps closer, his hand gently finding its place on Maegor's shoulder, despite him offering reassurance, he is also uneasy and nervous himself.

As the tension gradually ebbs away, Maegor allows himself to lean into the embrace Aemond offers. Their bodies fit together seamlessly. The familiar scent of Aemond's tunic mingles with the soft leather of Maegor's attire, enveloping them in a cocoon of shared intimacy.

"Are you really certain he'll keep his mouth shut?" Maegor's voice is laced with uncertainty, his breath ghosting against Aemond's ear as he speaks.

Aemond's fingers twitch against Maegor's broad shoulders, his touch both grounding and reassuring.

"I am. He is a drunkard fool, but he has no interest in meddling into my affairs beyond jokes and pestering." Aemond replies, his voice steady and confident. He senses Maegor's lingering doubt and seeks to alleviate it, to offer a semblance of security in this precarious situation.

"And if he doesn't you can have your way with him."

That thought definitely comforts Maegor better.

After a few more lingering moments they eventually move to the day bed. Maegor sitting with his legs stretched out, resting the heels of his boots on the small table in front of them as his uncle sprawls out his body across the bed, his head in his nephew's lap while he allows himself a few moments of respite.

Aemond closes his eye almost letting out a groan when Maegor starts running his fingers through long locks, rubbing at his scalp soothingly.

"I was thinking of going to talk to the Queen before the hearing." Maegor's voice is thoughtful, contemplative, and it immediately captures Aemond's attention. He blinks his eye open, focusing his gaze on the sharp jaw above him.

Aemond takes a moment to process the statement, his thoughts racing as he considers the implications.

"I would advise you against this, but you already know this, nephew." Aemond clears his voice and his Maegor acknowledges with a faint sigh.

"Indeed. Perhaps I am a fool to think I could sway her into liking me enough to tolerate the thought of me as Prince of Dorne."

Aemond shifts his position slightly, a pang of sympathy tugging at his heart. He reaches up to place a hand on Maegor's thigh,

"She despises your mother and because of that she resents all of her children, however you might stand a chance given...your legacy." The hesitation in Aemond's voice doesn't go unnoticed.

"Given that I'm not a bastard. You can say it uncle, I'm fully aware." Maegor's response is laced with a hint of bitterness as he starts thinking if things would have been different, or even better if his mother didn't do the things she did. Performing her duties as heir and wife instead of going after knights.

"I will accompany you and offer my support in front of her as well." Aemond's fingers tighten their grip on Maegor's thigh, his touch a silent apology for the unspoken pain his words may have caused.

"Are you certain this will not raise her suspicions?"

"I can't guarantee, but I believe it's better than treating with her alone."

"You have a way of making sense, uncle," Maegor teases gently, his gaze softening as he looks down at Aemond.

"It's a gift I've honed over the years." Aemond chuckles softly, a light glint in his eye.

Seriousness reappears on Maegor's face as he takes a brief moment to gather his thoughts.

"I may have not said it outloud before. But I want you to know, uncle, that I am ready to face anyone and anything that may stand in our way. Regardless of who they may be."

His nephew's words strike Aemond's very core. The deep honesty and determination of this sudden confession makes his face flush slightly and he swallows dryly. Memories to the first time he confessed so brazenly flood into his mind. It's nostalgic. How far they have come.

After a moment of silence he takes to gather his words, Aemond sits up to be on the same eye level as the young Prince.

"Kesi laehurlion zirȳ, ñuha jorrāelagon. Hēnkirī."

Aemond leans in, only brushing his lips over his nephew's, on purpose, to see his reaction. As expected, Maegor hungrily deepens the kiss, cupping his face to pull him closer.

Despite their shared urges and frustration, kissing is the most they can do and even that feels quite risky given that anyone could barge in Aemond's chambers during the day. And by anyone that resumes to only three people who would intrude uninvited and without announcing their presence prior.

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With their unspoken agreement sealed in their shared gaze, Maegor and Aemond finally pull themselves from the comforting embrace of the day bed. A sense of purpose settles over them as they rise.

As they make their way together through the corridors of the Red Keep, the tension in the air is palpable. Every servant and guard is throwing them curious and wary looks.

They come to a halt before the King's chambers, guarded by Ser Criston Cole. The knight's stern expression revealed his reservations about their presence, particularly Maegor's. The arrival of Rhaenyra's son undoubtedly stirred a storm within the Red Keep, and a bigger one inside him.

"My Princes." Cole greets them both.

"Let us through Ser Criston. We seek an audience with the Queen. It is of utmost importance." Aemond demands, but the knight doesn't step out of the way as intended.

"My apologies, the Queen ordered to not let anyone come through." Cole's gaze shifts between the two Princes, uncertainty in his eyes.

With one hand purposely resting on the hilt of Nightbringer, Maegor stays silent, maintaining the cold eye contact with the knight who seems more focused on figuring him out, rather than Aemond's words.

"Would you disobey a direct order from your Prince, Cole?" Aegon has already thinned out Aemond's minimal patience by now. He's it no mood to deal with another nuisance.

"As the Queen's personal guard, I only take order from her, my Prince." Criston's audacity is heating up Maegor's blood as well, but he can't pull the same stunt he pulled on Aegon.

Thankfully, most likely from all the ruckus they are causing, the door behind the knight opens before either Princes escalate the situation. Maegor doesn't think seeing Alicent's face would be something he'd be grateful for.

"What is the meaning of all this noise! You are disturbing your King!" The Queen barges out, in irritation, but her scolding quickly dies out fast and is replaced by surprise seeing her son, with Maegor in front of her for a second time today.

"I wish to speak to you, my Queen." Maegor steps in keeping a stern face and a calm tone in his voice. "Away from any unwanted ears." He adds, throwing Cole a sharp glance.

Alicent blinks in astonishment, a momentary pause falling between them as she processes the unexpected encounter.

"Not here." She finally speaks, her voice carrying a blend of surprise and caution. With a decisive gesture, she closes the door to the King's chamber behind her, sealing off the space that holds her ailing husband.

Before the door closed fully, Maegor's sharp eyes flit to the interior of the room, catching a glimpse of the bed where Viserys lays. He can make out, through all the incense fumes and silk bed curtains, the form of his grandfather. A dry husk more than a man. He didn't have to be next to his bedside to realize that the King's state worsened tenfold since Maegor's last time in King's Landing. It would be just a matter of time now.

They follow the Queen to her private chambers, the sense of anticipation lingering in the air like an unspoken omen. Aemond breathes in relief that they did not bump into his grandfather on the way to his mother's quarters.

"Ser Criston, keep watch outside." Alicent commands as they enter her chamber, her tone brooking no opposition. Though Cole hesitates for a moment, the Queen's silent insistence spurs him to comply, leaving them in a tense silence.

"Heel, dog."

A faint whisper reaches the knight's ears alone when he passes by the younger Prince as he leaves the room.

Even if he doesn't bother looking at Cole, judging by the way Maegor feels a hot glare on the back of his head and hears the door slamming behind him, he reckons he understood. Maegor's lips curl into a barely suppressed smirk, though it is quickly extinguished as he turns his attention to Aemond and the Queen. He finds them standing together in the center of the room, their postures poised and their expressions guarded.

"What is it that you wish to discuss, Prince Maegor?" Alicent clasps her hands together, subtly picking at her fingers. A nervous gesture that doesn't escape the Prince's perceptive gaze.

"About the letter Prince Aemond sent and the reason for my presence here." Maegor plays it cool, and keeps a diplomatic tone, while his uncle listens carefully. If anything, Aemond is waiting to act like a buffer between the two if the situation arises. Which he hopes not.

Alicent's curiosity is piqued, her interest evident in the arch of her eyebrow. She nods silently, a wordless encouragement for him to continue.

This is Maegor's chance to sway her in as much as he can, show her honesty and perhaps she will indulge.

"I've taken Dorne after aiding the Seasnake in reconquering the Stepstones as you may have heard. I wish to show my gratitude to you, for allowing Prince Aemond to join our cause, despite the dangers involved. Without him I'm not sure we could have won and I certainly would have not been alive, standing before you today." The Prince chooses his words carefully and makes sure to leave out the detail where Aemond flew him to Dragonstone and spent two weeks with him and his family there. Otherwise, Alicent would surely lose her mind over it.

"Ah yes, I have heard you were poisoned, we are all relieved you are in good health again." The Queen fakes a smiles and a sweet voice that not even herself would believe and Maegor forces himself to return the smile, without rolling his eyes until he sees the inside of his head at her falsity.

"With Prince Aemond's generosity, he granted me the title as Prince of Dorne. Later at the hearing I will request the Crown to officially recognize my rightful claim over and the union of all Seven Kingdoms." He briefly glances at his uncle, just for a fleeting moment enough so that the Queen doesn't notice. An almost invisible gesture of affection.

Alicent turns her head to her son, all wide eyed and shocked.

"I assure you mother, there is no one better suited than Prince Maegor to receive that claim." He lets out a silent sigh but stands firmly by his words.

Warmth starts to travel to Maegor's head with every word Aemond's sharp voice lets out. He clenches his fists, itching to get just a tad closer to him.

"What about yourself, Aemond!?" She snaps without thinking and Maegor purses his lips in irritation at her, but he quickly gets distracted by his uncle again.

"The Prince conquered Dorne by himself by the time of my arrival in Sunspear. He is a great warrior and a priceless asset for our family. I stand by my decision, mother." Aemond presses on and Maegor is slowly losing his mind on the inside.

He wants to kiss him. Badly. He wants to do more than that. Shifting his gaze to scan the room with the corner of his eyes doesn't help, especially not when he spots the edge of the Queen's bed from the door to her nightroom left barely open.

All kind of filthy thoughts flood his brain, despite the stoic expression he holds on his face. What if he fucked Aemond in her bed, defile the very air she breathes until none of her seven gods can make it holy again. If that wouldn't make her drop dead, Maegor is not sure what will. Besides blades, fire and poison of course.

"My Queen, if I may, I am fully aware there is a lot of tension in our family, but my newfound alliance with Prince Aemond could be one step closer to building a bridge over that distance." He clears his voice, feeling his throat dry from getting lost in his mind for a moment and resumes his attempt at convincing her.

"I understand your perspective Prince Maegor, but I am not fully certain of your genuine intentions."

Of course she doesn't trust him, the green bitch.

"Your Grace, do you believe your son would have trusted me himself if he believed I had any ill thoughts?"

This seems to make Alicent contemplate and reluctantly realize he is right. Ever since he was a toddler Aemond was the sharpest one, she's positive he would have sniffed out the Prince by now if something was off.

"And what is it that you want from me Prince Maegor?"

"Your tolerance if I cannot get your full trust, your Grace. Your tolerance over my claim. I do not dare to ask for the Queen's support herself, but I would rather not have her stand in my way either."

Despite the Prince's smooth tone and silver tongue, Alicent isn't quite sure if the latter of Maegor's words hold a threat or not. He's cunning and well spoken. Dangerous, with the same kind of piercing eyes Daemon has.She hates his eyes. The way they look down on everyone regardless, as if everyone is just an insect to him, even now when he does a formidable job at acting like an excellent diplomat, Alicent can't help, but feel his subtle glare. Degrading her and making her feel small in front of him.

She debates with her inner thoughts a decision. It would be useful to have someone like him on their side, but at the same time she cannot trust someone she cannot bend to her will and Alicent is quite doubtful she has any chance of succeeding this with someone as unreadable and unpredictable like Daemon's son.

"Very well. I am willing to grant you that privilege, Prince Maegor." she admits, concluding that it might be on her family's best interest to be on good terms with a son of Rhaenyra's or at least pretend to.

And perhaps who knows, she might be able to sway him into doing her bidding eventually.

"However, remember even if I tolerate your claim, you are but to convince the Hand and the small council whether or not you are worthy."

Maegor would laugh in her face if he didn't have to keep up his peaceful, naive facade. Otto is next on his list, but he's not sure how long can he pretend to be someone he's not.

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Evening comes bustling with noise, the hall of the Iron Throne is filled with courtiers, nobles, and servants alike, creating a symphony of whispers and murmurs that reverberate off the grand walls. The atmosphere is heavy with anticipation as people impatiently await the proceedings. Despite the grandeur of the setting, Maegor can feel the air charged with tension as he stands besides Princess Rhaenys.

In front of them, Otto Hightower has the audacity to occupy the King's seat, a display of authority that doesn't go unnoticed by Maegor. His eyes narrow slightly, an unspoken challenge directed at the Hand's boldness. Close by, at the base of the imposing stairs leading to the throne, stands Queen Alicent and her three children, Daeron's still absent—he hasn't left Old Town, Maegor assumes.

The familiar setting triggers memories of his last appearance in this very hall, a confrontation that had changed the course of his life and brought him together with Aemond. As he recalls that memory, a surge of determination courses through him, reinforcing his resolve. The question isn't whether he's capable, for he knows his prowess all too well. The question is, what fool will he cut down this time?

Stealing fleeting glances with his uncle, Maegor loses focus on paying attention at the hearing of the Seasnake's wife. The proceeding goes swiftly and smoothly. Otto Hightower isn't a fool, he grants Rhaenys her request without demands due to the importance of the Stepstones and the control Driftmark has overseeing the Narrow Sea. Without them, all trade by water would be blocked to King's Landing. A lot of people would suffer, including himself.

"The Crown will now hear the petition by Prince Maegor of house Targaryen." The Hand announces, fixing a gaze full of scrutiny on the young Prince.

Whispers grow loud as, Maegor boldly comes forward, taking long strides full of confidence until he's next to the first step leading up to the throne. All eyes fix upon him, drawn to his commanding presence, including the only one he cares about.

"My Queen, Lord Hand." His voice rings out, carrying the well known authority of a Targaryen. "The Conqueror's dream was to unite all of the Seven Kingdoms under one Crown, he united six of them, but when it came to Dorne he failed. Along with other successors who attempted this."

As Maegor speaks, everyone else goes silent, his voice carries through the throne room, raised and steady, echoing in the large hall. He stands as a representative of history, of a legacy that runs through his veins, and he bears that with pride.

"Today I stand before you making history like my ancestors before me and finishing what the Conqueror couldn't, bringing union and stability under one rule, the one of the Iron Throne. For this I am demanding rightful claim over Dorne."

He continues, his eyes shifting from the Hand to the rest of the small council, to the Queen and finally to his uncle who gives his nephew a subtle nod of approval and support, urging him to press forward with his speech.

"Usurping a defenseless city does not give you the rightful claim over its kingdom, Prince Maegor." Otto Hightower tries to cut him short but Maegor anticipated this. The old cunt hates his guts for being Daemon's son, and the feeling is mutual.

"I shall remind the Queen and Lord Hand that house Martell of Dorne funded the Triarchy and attempted to take the Stepstones for themselves, disturb the trade routes and economy. Land which belongs to the King. Had Dorne been part of the Seven Kingdoms when they did this, it would mean treason. But since they were not, it was a declaration of war that I saw fit to uphold and see to its end, as Prince of House Targaryen and guardian of the realm's sovereignty."

As Maegor speaks, he can see Otto's jaw clench ever so slightly, his reaction a testament to the Hand's unease. Maegor's lips twitch, barely restraining a smug smile—a private satisfaction in stirring the Hand's temper.

Tension mounts within the hall. His words ignite fervent hushed discussions among the other members of the small council. Just as uncertainty prevails, Princess Rhaenys takes a step forward, captivating the room's attention.

Maegor's eyes follow her closely, his expression softening just slightly when he makes eye contact with her for a brief moment, grateful for keeping her word.

"My Lord Hand, it is thanks to Prince Maegor's steadfast support that we reclaimed the Stepstones. His commitment proved invaluable, without him we would have not been able to emerge victorious. With this, it is now my turn to offer Driftmark's support for his rightful claim over Dorne."

Hearing Rhaenys speak makes Otto wish he could have humiliated her in front of everyone gathered here today and deny the Seasnake's control over the Stepstones.

After the Princess holds her pledge, whispers started to erupt through the hall, the assembly abuzz with a renewed fervor. It's clear that this hearing has become more than a mere formality—it's a battleground of words and loyalties, where alliances are formed and tested.

And then, it's another person's turn to vouch for Maegor, the one who saved him from the embrace of death itself, the one who holds his heart. Prince Aemond, leaving his mother and sibling's side so he can take his place next to his nephew. The Hand is in disbelief, fury simmering just beneath the surface as he turns his head to his daughter, but Alicent lowers her eyes, avoiding his gaze.

"Like Princess Rhaenys, before me, I too stand by Prince Maegor's rightful claim and I wish to reinforce my decision of proclaiming him Prince of Dorne myself. I have been with him through the thick of the war, I have seen what he can do and what a formidable warrior he is. Denying him this right would be unwise, as it is he who managed to bring more stability to the realm by making it whole, doing the King an immense favor, risking his own life, when no one has asked this of him." Aemond's voice rings out, resonating with sincerity and conviction.

Hearing his uncle speak so passionately of him makes Maegor feel delirious with delight, he can hear all of his blood rushing in his ears. It was making him dizzy, but he had to stay strong until this is all over.

The Hand's frustration is palpable, his efforts to maintain control slipping through his fingers. With his own daughter's unusual silence bearing down heavy on him and his nephew's practical betrayal standing by Maegor's side, Otto Hightower's veneer of authority is crumbling as well as his self-assured demeanor.

"What of Prince Maegor's ambitions? After Dorne what will follow?!" The Hand's irritation is evident in his question, an attempt to regain control over the situation.

Maegor lets out an audible snort, his pretense of maintaining a peaceful facade finally giving way to the rawness of his emotions. The tension in the room is palpable, the confrontation between the two men teetering on the edge of eruption.

"Are you afraid I am aiming to be King next? Lord Hand?" A smug smile plays on his lips, his words a calculated provocation that seeks to puncture the Hand's inflated ego.

"This isn't a matter of fear, Prince Maegor!" Otto exclaims, but Maegor cuts him off quickly, his words laced with an undercurrent of defiance

"I have taken a whole kingdom in one afternoon, how long do you think I will need to take one throne?"

The gasps that ripple through the assembly are a testament to the audacity of Maegor's words. The room collectively holds its breath, the weight of his challenge sinking in. He has thrown down the gauntlet, and there's no turning back now.

"You dare threaten the Crown!?" Otto barks.

"I was merely posing a question, one that you surely have the answer for, Lord Hightower. Alas, no need to worry, My interest in seating the Iron Throne and bearing the weight of a crown that will imprison me, does not exist, I hold too much value on my freedom. However, the thought of a King who fights his own battles, wouldn't that be a sight?"

The tension in the throne room reaches its apex. Otto Hightower's face reddens with anger, his knuckles turning white from clenching his fists as he stands from the throne. His carefully cultivated facade of control unravels before the eyes of the courtiers and nobles gathered in the hall.

"You tread a perilous path, Prince Maegor. Your arrogance blinds you to the consequences of your words." The Hand's voice slightly trembles with suppressed fury as he retorts.

"Oh, I'm fully aware of the consequences, Lord Hand, I trust my father mentored me well. And if my words are deemed dangerous, perhaps it's time for the Crown to reevaluate its choices." Maegor's smug smirk remains intact, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of defiance and amusement.

Take the bait, fool.

The assembly is now divided between those who find his bravado compelling and charismatic and those who view it as reckless defiance. The Queen's gaze remains steady, her expression inscrutable, as she absorbs the unfolding drama with a measured calmness, recalling their earlier discussion.

"You play a dangerous game, Prince Maegor!" Otto hisses through clenched teeth, his voice a venomous whisper. "You underestimate the web of politics that holds the realm together."

Observing everything unfold before him makes Aegon slowly realize why his brother liked their nephew so much. And he has to admit, he's quite entertaining and well dabbed in putting people in their place, even his grandfather. He kind of wishes they'd be on better terms now.

"Ah, the web of politics that has left the realm on the precipice of chaos time and time again? How effective that web has been at ensuring stability?" Maegor leans slightly forward, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Watching his nephew metaphorically dragging his grandfather on the floor like this brings Aemond a new kind of joy and entertainment. It's quite amusing. He swallows the smirk playing on his lips. And Maegor's display of power using just words and his presence alone is intoxicating.

The audience watches on, captivated by the power struggle playing out before them. It's a spectacle that reveals the underlying currents of ambition and power that flow through the heart of the realm. And right now Lord Hightower is on the losing side.

As the standoff continues, Rhaenys steps forward, her presence commanding attention. Her voice is measured and calm as she addresses both men.

"Prince Maegor, Lord Hand, it is clear that this debate cannot be resolved in the heat of the moment. The Crown's decision must be made with careful consideration and consultation."

Her words cut through the tension, offering a moment of reprieve from the charged atmosphere. The room slowly begins to regain its composure, whispers and murmurs filling the void left by the confrontation.

Alicent's eyes shift from her to the Hand and then to Maegor. Her gaze is a mixture of contemplation and calculation, weighing the options before her. She rises from her seat, finally deciding to step in.

"The Crown shall deliberate on this matter thoroughly. Prince Maegor's claim to Dorne and the implications it carries for the realm will be examined by the small council. We shall take into account the arguments presented today and render a decision that aligns with the interests of the King." Alicent declares, her voice carrying authority despite the cold glare that comes from her father's direction.

Her proclamation resonates through the hall, a declaration that the fate of Dorne's rightful claim hangs in the balance of political deliberation. The gathered courtiers and nobles exchange glances, whispering among them, their anticipation and curiosity of the growing Prince's popularity stirred by the promise of future decisions.

As the tension eases, Maegor's gaze shifts to the Queen. He gives her a subtle nod of acknowledgement, still with the thought of swaying her into getting on her good terms in mind.

The throne room begins to disperse, courtiers and nobles mingling once more as they empty the hall. The echo of Maegor's words and the weight of the impending decision linger in the air.

Straying behind, among the last people to leave, Maegor makes sure to pass by Aemond when they part ways in the corridors, subtly brushing his hand against his, a faint whisper in his uncle's ear.

"Wait for me tonight."

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Under the shroud of the night, the Red Keep's corridors are cast in shadows, the only illumination coming from the flickering torches that line the walls. Maegor moves with the stealth of a shadow himself, navigating the winding corridors with a familiarity born of the memories of his childhood spent in the Red Keep. His purpose is clear—he still has work to do, and it's far from finished.

Thanks to the secrets passed down by his father, Maegor finds and navigates the hidden passageways of the Red Keep with ease. The cobwebs and dust that greet him serve as a testament to the secrecy that still shrouds these forgotten paths built by the one he was named after.

One passage in particular beckons, leading him through the labyrinthine twists of stone and mortar until he stands before a small, concealed opening. Through it, he spies upon the council chamber—a hidden observer in the shadows.

The council chamber is abuzz with heated debate, its occupants engrossed in discussions of utmost significance. Maegor's lips curl into a silent smirk as he watches the drama unfold before him. His gaze lands on Otto Hightower, whose frustration and disdain for Maegor are palpable.

"The boy is mad! His pride made him burn thousands to fulfill a dead man's failed ambition!" Otto's exclamation reverberates through the chamber.

In the darkness, Maegor's amusement grows. He can practically see the steam rising from the Hand's ears as he rallies against him. Otto's fear and resentment have become a weapon, a means by which Maegor can manipulate the Hand's emotions.

"I agree with the Lord Hand. He is dangerous and unpredictable, a clear mirror of his father. We do not need two Rogue Princes allowed to do as they please. Giving him claim over Dorne would grant him more power." Another voice chimes in, Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships, his words calculated and cautious.

Ah yes, the cat pretending to be a lion.

The Lannister's voice, though measured, is laced with the underlying currents of self-interest that define the political landscape. Maegor knows the game well by now, the dance of power and alliances that shapes the destinies of kingdoms.

"Indeed." Otto agrees, his tone tinged with a mix of certainty and concern. "We give him more power until he realizes it's not enough and aims for the Iron Throne. We would breed an usurper king."

Maegor's lips curl into a wry smile. Otto's paranoia is painting a vivid picture of his own fears. The Hand is beginning to spiral into obsession, haunted by the specter of Maegor donning the crown. He understands the fear that drives Otto to such desperate measures because they both know his fate if such a thought ever became reality.

"Which is precisely why we should keep Prince Maegor in our reach. I say we give him Dorne and demand his sworn loyalty, keep him in King's Landing under our close watch, away from Daemon and his mother." The irony of the Queen's proposal is not lost on Maegor as he chuckles under his breath.

Alicent really believes she can manipulate him, bend his will to serve her own ambitions, turn him into a guard dog for the greens. Little does she know that one of the first things Daemon versed him in was the art of subterfuge and scheming.

Nonetheless, he would accept this offer, play along with their plan. It would mean being able to be around Aemond and offer intel to his father at the same time, should the Hightowers get even more ambitious than they already have.

Riled up and no longer patient enough to listen to the council's mindless bickering, Maegor decides he heard enough. Moving through the hidden way the council's voices die out as he retreats from his vantage point, he takes long strides, with a new purpose in mind.

As the entrance slowly opens into the room, a small alcove nestled within Aemond's chambers, he steps through silently, his movements fluid and calculated. Shadows danced across the walls, their movements echoing the currents of uncertainty that swirls in the air.

His uncle's quarters are a haven of familiarity, each piece of furniture and ornament a testament to Aemond's persona in the dim light of the burning candles. It was the only place in the Red Keep where they could strip away the facades they wore in the world outside, revealing the raw truth that bound them. This was where they could be themselves in the dead of the night with no one to intrude and pester them—two individuals bound by blood and history.

As Maegor moves further, entering the bedroom, his senses heighten, and a faint smile graces his lips when his eyes fall on the back of his uncle's facing him. Taking advantage of his presence still not noticed, Maegor treads lightly and silently until he reaches Aemond.

He wraps his arms around him and buries his nose in his uncle's hair, feeling how he stiffens at the sudden intrusion, but then instantly relaxes realizing it's his nephew.

"Aemond..." he whispers, his voice a low, husky rumble that filled the chamber. He nuzzles the long silver locks and taking in the pleasant smell. His uncle must have bathed before he came.

"Is sneaking around like a thief in the night one of your new hobbies, nephew?" Aemond doesn't turn around, instead he places his hands over Maegor's arms, enjoying the sudden warmth around his body.

"Only if it leads me to you, uncle." Maegor smiles, slightly increasing the pressure around Aemond's waist.

"I thought you wouldn't come anymore, where have you been, nephew?"

"Sneaking around like a thief like you said, and eavesdropping on the small council gathered so late at night."

Aemond's curiosity is piqued.

"What are they planning?"

"Your mother wants to give me Dorne, but in return she wants to tether me to her machinations while your grandfather dreads the thought of my hidden ambitions of becoming an usurper King." Maegor chuckles, leaning his forehead against Aemond.

"Hm, the image of you sitting the throne and wearing the Conqueror's crown is quite ravishing indeed." Aemond chuckles, leaning back against his nephew.

"I'm not suited to be King, not like you, uncle." Maegor brushes his lips against Aemond's ear.

His words are genuine, besides the age difference, Aemond is far more capable of being a ruler, more patient at dealing with politics and the idiots involved in them while Maegor would be much more comfortable on a battlefield than on a throne.

"But if I were, there would be no small council. You would be my Master of Coin...." He leans in, kissing along the side of his uncle's neck.

The older Prince lets out a sigh of pleasure, closing his eye and absorbing every word he hears.

"Master of War..." Hands move lower from Aemond's waist and he lets out a breathy groan.

"Hand of the King..." They slide underneath his nightshirt, Maegor's fingers gliding against the hot, smooth skin.

"King consort..." He moves his lips from Aemond's neck, going back to nuzzling his hair until he finds the knot of his uncle's eyepatch.

Using his teeth, the younger Prince pulls at the thin straps keeping it tied around the back of Aemond's head and the piece of leather falls to their feet, revealing the sapphire.

"Maegor...let's marry."

Feeling his sudden stiffness, Aemond shifts around, turning in his nephew's arms so he can face him. Freezing in place and going silent, Maegor looks at him wide eyed, not sure if he heard right or if it was just a figment of his heated thoughts.

"In the tradition of our house. No one can contest our union that way." Aemond cups his cheeks with both hands as he continues, firm on his words.

Naturally the faith of the Seven forbids men to marry each other, but not old Valyrian customs. Targaryens answered to neither gods nor men. Free to do as they please, just like their dragons.

Still stunned, instead of trying to gather his words and offer an answer, Maegor's lips claim Aemond's in an instant. A hungry and passionate kiss that reignites the blazing fire between them.

With his hands falling to his uncle's hips and his mouth never leaving the older Prince's, Maegor pushes him backwards, starved, until Aemond's back is roughly pressed against the wall next to his bed.

The kiss between them deepens, a fervent exchange of desires that have been building up for a while, the quick heated moments in Dragonstone far from enough. They both need a night like the one spent in the Stepstones. That night, Maegor's thoughts were hazy with Arbor wine, but now, he is sober and everything feels ten times more heightened than back then.

He glues against his uncle, caging him with his body while they're grinding their crotches together. They keep kissing, biting and bruising until air is no longer a vital need, not how they are for each other.

Aemond's hands find the straps of Maegor's tunic, quickly unfastening it and yanking it off his body. Slender fingers trail down Maegor's back broad back, tracing the contours of his spine and muscles over his shirt with a touch that is both possessive and tender. The younger Prince responds with more desire, his teeth sinking into Aemond's lips, his hands roaming over his chest and shoulders, rememorizing every curve and plane of his uncle's lean body while they moan in each other's mouth like they haven't seen each other for decades.

Breaking away from the kiss, Aemond's one-eyed gaze locks onto Maegor's, the intensity of his emotions and raw, primal desire laid bare for his nephew to see. Maegor's lips graze Aemond's jawline, his breath warm against his skin.

"The thought of marrying you, of claiming you as mine in every way..." Maegor groans, his voice rough with desire.

Their lips meet again in a searing kiss, their desires merging and intertwining as they lose themselves in the heat of the moment. With a deft movement, Maegor's hands move to the fastenings of Aemond's nightshirt, his fingers working quickly to undo the buttons and reveal the expanse of his uncle's bare chest.

As the nightshirt falls to the ground, Aemond's body is exposed to Maegor's hungry eyes—an alabaster canvas of strength, for him alone to mark. The sight makes him delirious and painfully hot.

Maegor gasps when Aemond finally slides his hand inside his trousers, stroking his painfully hard cock too gently, teasing him. A few ragged breaths later, Aemond can feel him grow wetter with precum against his palm.

Moaning, Maegor bends forward to bite at the side of his uncle's neck, nipping lightly and then sucking harder before licking up the bright red marks he leaves behind as punishment for the torture.

"I've wanted you since we were boys." He admits again, breathing hotly into Aemond's ear as he feels himself tremble under his uncle's torturous touch.

At the sound of those words, Aemond squeezes him harder, stroking faster relishing in all the soft keens his nephew lets out against his neck. Until Maegor grips his wrists, stopping his movements and taking out his hands from his trousers.

Aemond throws him a questioning glance but before he can form a question, his nephew is already lowering down on his knees.

His hands and mouth travel lower, kisses pressed to Aemond's firm stomach. His lips press into the warm skin with need- want . Aemond gasps, mind hazy with what Maegor is doing to him, his hands move down to his nephew's shoulders, finding thin scars here and there, and watching with satisfaction.

Maegor kneels fully before his uncle.

He finally makes eye contact with Aemond, blown-out pupils matching a single one. Illuminated by the soft lights of the candles scattered in the room, his uncle looks perfect, the scar across his cheek and the shine of the sapphire only adding more to his beauty.

It's enough to make Maegor stop and stare, drinking in the sight, hands continuing to worship the other man's body. Aemond raises a hand to push the white locks back away from his nephew's eyes. A tender moment in between their raw urges.

Maegor bows his head in silent prayer because this is worship. He doesn't need the worthless faiths or to redeem himself before a septon. Not when he has this. Not when Aemond is his god.

They look at each other in silence, a timeless moment where Maegor savors every inch of Aemond's body. At the crest of pleasure, the older Prince lets out a soft breathy groan and his hands grip Maegor's head as he opens his pants, pulling them down his ankles.

Aemond steps out of the discarded trousers, kicking them aside before his nephew starts gliding his hands along his inner thighs. Maegor leans in, nuzzling the milky skin before he bites down making Aemond's already hard cock jump and throb at the sudden surge of sinful pain.

The young Prince smirks up at his uncle, his mouth still latched against the inside of his thigh, making sure to leave a long lasting mark. Then Maegor's hand finally wraps around his cock.

Letting out a blissful sigh, Aemond leans his head back against the wall.

The combination of lust and want reaches an almost unbearable level when Maegor licks the underside of the head, tasting the saltiness, before taking in the tip of his cock in his mouth, causing Aemond to suck in a sharp breath through his teeth.

What he lacks in inexperience Maegor makes up for his devotion and determination to make his uncle feel good. To make him lose himself in the pleasure. And Aemond does that exactly.

His uncle's hands have made their way into wavy curls and Maegor soon finds out he enjoys the guidance, the pulls and tugs telling him when he needs to speed up or slow down. When he tries to take Aemond in fully, feeling the head of his cock nudging the back of his throat, he hears his uncle moan aloud, wordless and carnal.

Riled up by the sweet sounds that are melody to his ears, Maegor slides up and down, taking as much as he can, moaning around the cock with every harsher yank of his hair. Despite the tears stinging in his eyes, he swallows the precious liquid that leaks out with each thrust into his mouth.

Maegor loves how his uncle tastes.

He digs his nails into Aemond's hips, a small way of marking him while his mouth is occupied..

"Maegor.." He hears his name through a cracked groan."Stop."

Aemond scratches along his nephew's scalp as he tries to tug him away.

Maegor doesn't stop, purposely looking up, maintaining eye contact as he speeds up the pace. He tries not to choke as he struggles to take his uncle to his base . Firm hands grip the older Prince's hips keeping him in place.

Aemond's eye shuts as he leans forward, with a loud moan, no longer able to restrain himself. He comes, hands digging painfully in his nephew's hair as he pulls him closer against his hips. Maegor groans, swallowing every drop his uncle gives him, teardrops dripping down his cheeks.

If he knew he could unravel Aemond like this he would have done it ages ago.

Maegor lets his uncle go, coughing a few times as he remains on the floor to catch his breath, wiping away at his wet eyes. His head is spinning and his pants are like a vice grip around his cock.

Suddenly, Aemond grabs him by his shoulders, pulling him up and forcing Maegor to stand. His uncle claims his lips again, tasting himself on his tongue. Maegor moans in his mouth as they start pushing while they're basically devouring each other. Too lost in the fire.

They navigate blindly around the room until Aemond's legs hit the edge of his bed. Maegor pushes him, his uncle's back falls against the soft sheets and he quickly follows, climbing on top of him. Desperate and already too scatterbrained.

Sitting on his knees between Aemond's legs, he pauses, quickly getting rid of his disheveled clothes. Maegor undresses, his uncle's violet eye incinerating him with the way he observes him, sprawled out on the bed.

"Jaelan naejot emagon ao." Maegor rasps out, his throat painfully dry.

Cheeks flushed and eyes glazed with lust. He is going crazy.

"Iksan aōhon, ñuha jorrāelagon." Aemond murmurs, extending his hand towards his nephew.

Almost letting out a groan, Maegor restarts his 'attack', crawling on top of his uncle and burying his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Finding their way in the soft bright locks again, Aemond wraps his arms around Maegor's shoulders, closing his eye in bliss as he willingly lets him take full control.

Prior to their last heated encounters, sword oil is used, for a completely different purpose than intended. Recalling his uncle's gentle treatment in the Stepstones, Maegor tries to do the same for him, stretching him out slowly while kissing and leaving bites on his collarbone and neck. He drinks up every moan and groan of his uncle's, pressed against his ear.

When he finally gets his cock inside Aemond, self control is barely within Maegor's grasp anymore. Seeing how his uncle's brows furrows, his parted lips as he lets out silent keens while trying to adjust to his nephew's size splitting him open.

It's too much. Only the thought of not causing Aemond pain is what's keeping him grounded anymore.

Until he feels heels digging in his ass, pushing him closer until his hips buck on instinct and he bottoms out. Both of them moan in unison, Aemond fisting at his nephew's hair.

"You feel so good, uncle.." Maegor gasps pressing his forehead against Aemond's, his eyes tightly shut together.

He clenches his jaw lost in the pleasure, taking in the tightness around him before he starts moving, trying to set up a slow pace. But it's delirium, every thrust, every gasp and sound that escapes Aemond's lips are poking at a wild fire that's different from anything he felt before.

Through gritted teeth, Maegor moans as his hips buck into his uncle involuntarily, no longer able to restrain that animalistic urge that claws from the inside. To make matters worse, Aemond's words still echo so vividly into his head, adding more fuel to his inferno. This isn't enough. He wants more.

Marry me.

Cursing through gritted teeth at his urges he never imagined he had, Maegor tugs away from Aemond's hot embrace and turns him around, laying his uncle on his stomach.

Before he can react, Aemond lets out a silent scream, buried by the pillows under him. Maegor sets up a relentless pace, rough and unforgiving, his hands gripping his uncle's hips until he can see the red streaks forming under his fingers.

The sound of their voices mix up together until they can no longer tell who is who. Both loud and breathless in the dead of night. Too lost in their lust to care about being heard. Right now the Red Keep was empty and only the two of them existed.

Maegor fucks him the same way he fights his enemies. Mercilessly.

Biting and bruising as much skin as he could. Marking Aemond and Aemond marking Maegor in return, scratching his arms, sinking his teeth into the knuckles of his hands.

"Iksā ñuhon."

Maegor presses his chest against his uncle's back, growling in his ear. Keeping up his tempo, hitting up as deep as he can. Dragging the head of his cock against his uncle's prostate everytime he snaps his hips.

"Iksan aōhon." Aemond repeats, through breathless moans, eye rolling in its socket as his hand finding his nephew's hair again.

He finds the strength to sit up on his elbows, turning his head from behind his shoulder to find Maegor's darkened gaze. A response is instant. Grabbing his sharp jaw, Maegor leans forward, pressing harder and deeper against his uncle's body as he pulls Aemond into a heated kiss, all tongue and teeth. Messy and wild.

They get lost in desire and flames throughout the whole night until both of them are too exhausted, with hoarse voices, bodies glistening with sweat and cum. Eventually they fall asleep in a tangle of limbs, clinging together instinctively despite the scorching heat still emanating from their bodies.

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Bothered by the crisp morning air and the ruckus in the corridors, Aemond slowly opens his tired eye and rests his gaze on the messy clump of hair glued to him. His whole body is killing him thanks to his nephew. The exhaustion and satisfaction mingle in a bittersweet concoction as he looks down at the slumbering figure nestled against him. In his arms, with his nose buried in his neck, Maegor sleeps soundly, all of his features relaxed and defenses lowered, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath.

Before he is allowed to properly wake up and drink the sight of his slumbering nephew any longer, the door to Aemond's bedroom is pushed wide open and the Queen barges in, urgently seeking her second son.

"Aemond wake up! It's the King! He has died!" She pants, her voice a mix of urgency and anxiety. Her eyes quickly scan the chamber, a rush of relief washing over her as she sees the back of her son in bed, appearing to sleep.

But Aemond wasn't sleeping. Beyond startled, he jolts upright, the sheets slipping down to pool around his waist. He quickly covers himself, his eye widening as he turns to face his mother.

"Uncle, why are you up so early?" Disturbed by the noise, Maegor stirs as well. He lifts up his head from the pillows, groaning in annoyance, and rubbing at his heavy eyes.

Alicent's gasp is a sharp punctuation in the air, her eyes widening with shock as she takes in the scene before her. The sight of her son and his nephew tangled together in bed sends a jolt of realization and disbelief through her. She freezes, her mind struggling to process what she's seeing.

Fully awake by now, with his instincts on high alert Maegor makes eye contact with her, instinctively ever so defiant. All three at a loss of words until Alicent's anger simmers as she takes in the image before her.

"What have you done Aemond?!" Her voice cracks with a mixture of anger and disappointment, her emotions roiling beneath the surface as she starts advancing towards her son.

Her eyes scan over her son's bare body, curling her lips in disgust at all the bite marks and bruises scattered on his pale skin. Maegor couldn't be more proud of his handiwork. His claim.

A sharp slap across his face leaves Aemond's ear ringing and his cheek stinging. Maegor's knuckles clench, his jaw tightening. He sees red.

Reacting on instinct, fueled by the burning need to protect Aemond, Maegor leaps off the bed, a surge of anger coursing through his veins. He disregards his own lack of clothing, his focus solely on the Queen as he steps between her and Aemond, his eyes blazing as he grabs her her hand.

Alicent winces at the iron grip around her wrist, fear creeping up on her as she stares in the pair of sharp eyes glaring daggers at her.

"Touch him again." Maegor's voice is a low, dangerous growl, his tone a chilling warning that cuts through the air.

Right now their relationship getting discovered did not even matter to him anymore. Only the burning desire to make anyone who caused Aemond pain, pay dearly.

"Maegor." Aemond's voice is a mix of caution and pleading, his hand reaching out to his nephew, a silent urge for restraint.

Scoffing, Maegor's grip loosens slightly at Aemond's touch, his eyes never leaving the Queen's face. He's a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, protectiveness, and a simmering defiance that threatens to boil over.

Pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes at the younger Prince, Alicent wrenches her wrist free from his grasp, a mixture of anger and unease flitting across her expression. She takes a step back, her hands trembling slightly as she steadies herself.

"All along, I should have realized." Alicent mutters under her breath, more to herself than the two Princes.

"Ah well, there's nothing you or anyone else can do. Your Grace." Maegor retorts, his voice laced with a sharp edge of defiance.

He finds his pants thrown on the floor and has the decency of covering his lower half at least before he crosses his arms across his chest. His posture unyielding while he stands his ground next to his uncle.

"For the sake of everyone, I will pretend this incident was just the curiosity of two young men and you will put an end to everything at once." Alicent's tone is laced with a mixture of desperation and authority, her gaze fixed on Aemond.

Maegor's chuckle is audible, a sound laced with bitterness and a touch of arrogance. He snorts at the Queen's attempt to quell their connection, the futile gesture only fueling him to rebel further.

"This is more than what you are attempting to convince yourself. And like I said, there is nothing you can do." Maegor's eyes lock onto Alicent's, a challenge in his gaze that speaks volumes.

What can you do? What will you do?

Before Alicent can formulate a response, a surprising and unexpected voice pierces the tense atmosphere. Aemond steps forward, as he addresses his mother as firm and determined as she always knew him.

"Wed him to me."

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Translations:

Tolvie run kessa sagon sȳz, ñuha jorrāelagon = Everything he will be fine, my love

Kirimvose, dārilaros = Thank you, Princess

Kesi laehurlion zirȳ, ñuha jorrāelagon = We will face them, my love

Hēnkirī = Together

Jaelan naejot emagon ao = I want to have you

Iksan aōhon, ñuha jorrāelagon = I am yours, my love

Iksā ñuhon = You are mine

Iksan aōhon = I am yours

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