#letters were sent to the lords of westeros!!

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

The King Who Cared is honestly such a boss title. A lot of the titles in ASOIAF are basically about how cool and mean or how pretty or how nice at killing stuff someone is. There was nothing for the workaholic…until Stannis. This is a title given to him because he clocked in to king-work and actually gave a damn. It’s basically medieval fantasy’s employee of the month because literally only Stannis chose to WORK. Everyone else clocked in to work that day but then dipped one hour in and went on extended break, and some never came back. Stannis was the one who stayed. The one who filed all the paperwork. He is Westeros’ greatest city hall employee!

[myladysapphire]

Seduction

you had always longed to be queen but with your brother Aegon married to your twin sister you had lost hope, but upon your nephews return to the keep you realise all hope of being queen isn't lost. there was just one problem: your mother would never agree to marriage between you and Jace. So you set in motion a plan of seduction.

based of this request

word count: 2,182

CW: MDI 18+,smut,p in v, incest, not proofread!

Jacaerys Veleryon x Fem!reader

Masterlist

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

authors note: i may have used maergery tyrell as an inspiration for reader.

Growing up in the red keep you had long been surrounded by snakes eagerly vying at the iron throne, doing everything in their power to win more favour and a higher station.

You had hated them.

The false niceties, the fake smiles and the false companions who only desired a potential match between one of your brothers.

But what you hated the most about them, was that you were the same, or at least your ambitions were.

All your life you had desired one thing: to be queen of the seven kingdoms.

As the second born, you had hoped to marry Aegon, and with your mother and grandsires plots to one day make him king, it seemed as if being queen one day was only natural for you. But when he married your younger twin Heleana instead of you, the dream of becoming queen became just that.

And with no reason to support any claim your brother had, you set your sights to your elder sister, Rhaenyra.  She had always been kind to you and Heleana, though you had never been too close. But it seemed she was now the only way for you to fulfil what you so deeply desired.

You knew your father would back her as heir no matter how many sons he sired with your mother, and so you realised you too had to support her claim, and then, and only then could you be queen, of course only if you marry her eldest first.

You had planted the idea in her head.

With Jace’s silly crush on you and you yourself hinting on how it would unite the family.

But your mother had rejected Rhaenrya’s suggestion.

And even know years after, you knew she would reject any suggestion of a betrothal between you both once more.

Instead, she favoured a marriage between you and one of the great lords of Westeros.

And even though you would still have a high status, and vast lands and riches, you would not be queen.

And no matter what, you would not settle for anything less.

You desired to be loved as a queen, to have the small folk lore and worship you, it was all you dreamed off. Not to rule, but to be loved by the masses.

You wished for songs and tales to be written of you, for many to compare you to the good queen Alysanne.

And, whilst you had focused your attentions on smallfolk, insisting spare food and leftovers be sent out to the smallfolk. Spent days in orphanages, commissioning the building of schools and healers’ offices.

You gathered up the love of the smallfolk, and though you were gifted the name of the ‘lady of the smallfolk’ and the ‘realms love’ it still wasn’t enough.

 You had plenty of lords vying for your attention, many from great and rich houses.

But none could give you what you wanted.  

That was until your nephews returned to the keep.

In your youth had ignored your plain-featured nephews, finding little in common with them and only seeing a potential marriage with Jace as a means to an end.

Perhaps that was why you had sent him letters throughout the years, claiming that you were egar to know your nephew and hated that he left before you could become close.

You wrote often, finding many things in common, and suddenly the idea of marrying Jace became a little more than just wanting to become queen.

You had grown to rather like your nephew, and now with his return to the red keep all you wanted now was not just be queen, but his wife.

There was one problem, however.

One being that Your mother would never betroth you willingly to him.  She had refused it before, seeing Jace as a bastard and unfit for her daughter.

But from the look he sent you as you greeted him, dragging him around the castle insisting on catching up.

And from the nonstop wondering eyes at his younger brothers hearing, you were sure she wouldn’t be an obstacle for much longer.

As you walked into the courtyard to greet him and his family, Jace thought to himself that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

His eyes were drawn to you so naturally, and the smile you had sent him had been warm and kind. A look he scarcely received in these halls.

The way you had talked to him, telling him how deeply you treasured his letters, how dearly you had missed him.

You seemed so perfect, and gods would he do anything to marry you.

He had stared at you nonstop, and yet found no words to say to you. Even when you had walked the hall of the keep together. You had talked to him no stop, smiling so beautifully.

He had only stared and blushed. Unsure of what to say or do.

And now at dinner, you had walked in in a black gown. The dress itself was the image of your houses, covered in black dragon scales, and with no sleeves, instead arm rings in the shape of dragon wings, mimicking a sleeve, down both your arms.  A deep v neckline, draped with a red scarf across one shoulder down to your waist, accentuating both your hips and breasts.

You were the very image of Targaryen beauty.

He couldn’t take his eyes of you. Even more so when you sat beside him, your legs brushing together.

You had smiled at him yet again, moving close to him as you talked to him.

His eyes were glued to your lips, watching as they moved to speak to him and those around you.

He had said little words to reply to your questions, only blushing whenever you spoke to him.

Then you had left, fanning you were tired and that you would escort the king back to his chambers before going to your own.

He had been sad you had left, with no longer your lips to stare at, or just your company to bask in.

Though he was glad you were not here to witness the infighting, his weak punch towards your brother Aemond, the mocking he had faced.

He had returned to is room in defeat, after facing a scolding from his mother and being sent to bed early like a child.

He entered his chambers, head down, kicking the door closed behind him in anger.  He didn’t look up as he entered, instead choosing to ready himself for bed.

If he had he would have seen, you.

Laying naked on his bed.

You laughed to yourself, biting you lip as he faced away from you.

He jumped at the sound of your laugh, moving his clothes to quickly cover himself.

“Aunt?” he started, blushing as he took in your naked form. He turned from you, covering his eyes. “I- what are you doing?”

You laughed again, standing up and walking over to him, “isn’t it obvious, my prince?”

He stuttered; eyes still covered “this is in appropriate I should- “

You shushed him, grabbing his arm and turning him to face you “leave your own chambers?” you teased “why is something wrong with me being here?”

“I-no, no I like that you’re here but… your- naked!” he stuttered out.

You nodded, “so it appears I am”.

“Would you like some clothes?”

“Why? Am I not pleasing to you, my prince?” you asked, moving back and turning slowly to show off your body to him.

“no-no- I mean yes! YIs, very pleasing but this is inappropriate” “is it?” you teased, “why? Do you wish for me to go? Perhaps I should get one of the guards, so that we are not alone” you said, making your way to the door.

“No!” he said a little too loudly. “don’t, I- why are you here?”

You smiled, moving towards him once again. “I have missed you, Jace” you said, your face inches away from his, “you have grown so handsome, so…so kingly” you mouth now inches from his, “and I wished to give you a gift” he swallowed, “a gift?”

You nodded, humming, before placing your lips on his.

Your lips moved slowly against his, he was unsure, inexperienced. The kiss was slow and soft. It was short, though your breaths were both heavy as you pulled apart.  

“Yes, Jace, a gift” you said, pulling your lips from his and reaching for his hand.

“Was that the gift?”

“Some of it” you said, grabbing his hand and placing it on your waist. “Did you know your mother planned to betroth us when we were younger?” he shook his head, “I was to be your wife, and now…we will soon be betrothed to others and I cannot have that, Jace” you breathed.

“Really?” he said, voice rough, his hands were both your waist, squeezing your hips softly, as if finally realising why you were naked.

‘Yes, for so long I dreamt of being your wife… I would even touch myself to the thought of you, of us”.

His breath was heavy, “you…you wish to give yourself to me?”

You answered him with another kiss, this one passionate, needy.

Pushing him down onto the bed, straddling him.

“I wish to be your wife, Jace” you breathed against his lips.

“You do?” he breathed, moving to kiss you once more, “but I am already betrothed,”

You looked down sadly, “I... Do not remind me, it pains me so”.

He sighed your name, “is that why you came here? To sleep with me so we must marry”.

“Oh, you must think me horrible” you said, moving to stand from his lap, only for him to pull you back down onto him.

“No, no not at all…I, I would be lying if I said I had never desired to marry you, but- “

“But nothing, my sweet prince” you said, moving in to kiss him once more, if he wished to marry you also, then this was only even more perfect.

Your seduction almost unneeded.

But gods did you want him.

He moaned, into your mouth, his hands desperately gripping your waist, before hesitantly moving up to cup your breasts.

You let out a moan as he gave them a tentative squeeze, before moving to roll your nipples between his fingers.

He was moved slowly, testing out what you liked, and egar to learn what made you moan.

You yourself started to kiss down his neck as he played with your breasts. Your hips still slowly grinding against.

His cock had grown hard beneath you.

His groans increasing as you continued to grind against him.

Your wet cunt coating his cock, her entrance teasing him with each movement of her hips.

“please” he begged, unsure of what exactly what he was begging for.

You stood up from his lap and pushed him to lie down on the bed.

You smiled as you took him in. his pretty face, full of lust and desire. The want clear on his face.

“Wait!” he said stooping you, as you crawled over his body, positioning your entrance above his long hard cock.

“Yes?” you sighed; breath heavy.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“of course, you want us to marry, yes?” he nodded, “and my mother would never approve of it unless…unless we give ourselves to one another.”

“Gods…I, I- your right” he said, reaching up to kiss you as he finally filled you. His cock stretching you out in a way you didn’t know possible. The pleasure near overwhelming.

You both moaned as he fully entered you.

“Gods!” he moaned, his hands going to grip your waist.

Your hands rested on his chest, preparing to move as you finally adjusted to his length.

Slowly you began to move your hips, trying to slowly build a rhythm and find what you both liked.

But it seemed the shy unsure Jace you had been witnessed to all night faded, as Jace gripped your hips and started to thrust up into you.

He set a fast past, and though you tried to keep up, Jace soon flipped you and instead started thrusting into you. His hips moved hard and fast, your moans were loud as you got lost in the pleasure.

Jace had buried himself in your neck, holding onto you as he thrusted into you.

Both of your peaks were fast approaching.

You felt his cock pulse inside of you as you clenched around him.

Moaning his name as you came, before he picked up the face, fulling your face to his as he came, filling you with his seed.

He collapsed on you, his breath heavy.

“Gods, that was…incredible” he smiled, reaching up to kiss you once more. “now all that’s left is for us to get married” he joked, pulling you in for a hug.

And from the scream of the maid as she came to wake Jace up in the morning, she was sure that in no time news would reach their mothers, and they would be wed.

And she would get everything she ever desired.

authors note: i hate this ending! there is so much i wanted to say but i just couldnt word it correclty, but i hope you all enjoyed it!

taglist

@now-i-have-a-new-obsession @apollonshootafar @flrboyd @zillahvathek @theanxietyqueen17 @dark-night-sky-99 @leavesmealobe @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunbl0gs @ka1afbr @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld @littlebirdgot @eddieslut69 @beebeechaos @jennifer0305 @rosedurin @clobo @aegonswife

to be added to taglist

[baelarys]

THE WOLF

Lord cregan stark X reader targaryen

word count : 2669

Warning : Fluff :)

The war had ended. Rhaenyra had perished, Aegon had died, and the dragons had ceased to exist. The letter you received from King’s Landing confirmed these events and proclaimed Aegon III as the new king.

The Stark army had already taken the capital, and ravens were sent to every lord in Westeros, urging them to bend the knee to the new monarch. Storm’s End was the first to submit. Lord Stark, who had assumed control of King’s Landing until the culprits of your brother’s poisoning were captured, ordered that you and your niece, Princess Jaehaera, betrothed to Aegon and the future queen, travel back to the capital.

The journey was long and tedious. Accompanied by Jaehaera and some daughters of Lady Baratheon, who had been sent to serve as the queen's ladies-in-waiting, you arrived in King’s Landing. Though these young women were likely hostages, their presence ensured that House Baratheon would not rebel again.

Upon arrival, the city felt both familiar and foreign. The people cheered for their new queen, hailing her as you and Jaehaera were transported in the carriage towards the castle.

The little girl clung to the sleeve of your dress as she observed the crowd. It was no wonder she was not an ordinary child; she had witnessed the death of her twin, lost her siblings, mother, and father. Though just a child, her gaze reflected a depth of sorrow acquired at a great cost.

You thought of your mother, the former Queen Alicent, now consumed by hatred and madness, according to what you had heard. Concern and sadness mingled in your heart as you prepared to face her.

Lord Corlys Velaryon greeted you at the entrance, accompanied by the young King Aegon III and Lord Cregan Stark. You could not deny Lord Stark’s imposing presence; his grand furs, despite the sweltering heat of the capital, spoke of his northern heritage.

Aegon III, at eleven years old, displayed a seriousness beyond his age. His features, inherited from his mother and father, bore the marks of ancient Valyria: dark violet eyes, almost black, and platinum-white hair. Beside him stood his cupbearer, Gaemon Palehair, the bastard of your brother, who was derisively called the "Rabbit King" by the people and his mother when they took the castle.

“My king,” you said, bowing to the young monarch.

“Princess,” greeted the Sea Snake, stepping forward. You observed Corlys, whose face, though lined with age, still radiated the authority and wisdom of yesteryears, qualities he had shown when your father was king. “Welcome back to your home.”

Corlys’s tone was firm but warm. The Red Keep, with its towering walls, seemed to whisper tales of glory and tragedy, and your return was just another chapter in that vast history.

As you moved into the castle, you hoped Lord Stark would say something, but he remained in quiet reserve throughout the journey. His presence was imposing yet unobtrusive, allowing you to acclimate to your surroundings in peace.

Everything looked as familiar as it was distant. The corridors, now enveloped in constant silence, were the same ones where you and your siblings used to play, filling them with laughter and voices now reduced to echoes of a distant past.

You were escorted to your former chambers. Before entering, you exchanged a final glance with Lord Stark. His eyes, filled with a silent understanding, seemed to offer you a tacit comfort amidst the confusion of your return.

Upon opening the door, you were met with a poignant sight: your belongings remained in the same place where you left them when you had to flee the day Rhaenyra took the city. The room seemed frozen in time, a sanctuary of unaltered memories amidst the ravages of war.

Every object, every detail, evoked a fragment of your past life. The childhood toys, the books you had eagerly read, the fabrics and adornments you had carefully chosen to make this space a reflection of yourself, were all there, waiting for you.

You hoped Aegon III’s reign would be peaceful. He and Jaehaera were to be married in two days, giving the realm something to celebrate. As you immersed yourself in your thoughts, one of your new ladies-in-waiting entered the room, announcing that you could see your mother now.

To be honest, the news did not excite you; rather, it filled you with dread. You nodded as you followed the lady to the Maegor’s Holdfast, where two guards stood watch over your mother’s chambers.

Queen Alicent appeared haggard. Her room, once adorned with greens and the Hightower sigils, had lost all traces of its former splendor. The tapestries and decorations that had once symbolized her power and status had vanished, leaving behind a coldness that reflected her current state.

Alicent turned to look at you, her eyes sunken and dim. You did not know what to do. The contrast between the mother you remembered and the figure before you was striking. The strength she had once shown seemed to have dissipated, leaving you face-to-face with a woman consumed by pain and despair.

“Mother,” you said softly, taking a step towards her.

Alicent regarded you with a mix of recognition and distrust. Her lips moved slightly, as if attempting to form words that refused to emerge. The room was in a deathly silence, broken only by the faint murmur of the guards in the hallway.

“Daughter,” she finally responded, her voice a faint whisper laden with contained emotion.

You approached her cautiously, unsure of how to comfort her in her current state. You sat beside her bed, taking her hand in yours. Alicent’s skin was cold and rough, a reflection of her suffering.

“I am here, mother,” you said firmly, trying to convey the strength she so desperately needed.

Alicent closed her eyes, a solitary tear sliding down her cheek. The pain of past years was palpable, and you knew that recovery would be slow and difficult. But in that moment, your presence was a small ray of hope in her darkness.

The conversation with your mother was brief and fragmented, but each shared word was a step towards reconciliation. When you finally rose to leave, you felt a small bond had been restored between you.

As you descended the stairs, you encountered Lord Cregan Stark in the vestibule. His presence, though silent, exuded a quiet strength. His eyes, serene but vigilant, regarded you with a mix of curiosity and respect.

“Princess,” he said, inclining his head slightly.

“Lord Stark,” you responded, returning the nod.

The silence settled between you, creating a tense but not uncomfortable atmosphere. The men of the North were not known for their friendliness or talkativeness, and Lord Cregan Stark was no exception. However, his presence conveyed a seriousness and commitment that did not go unnoticed.

“Are you enjoying your stay in the capital, Lord Stark?” you asked, attempting to break the ice with a question.

“I would enjoy it more if the circumstances that brought me here were different,” Cregan replied with a cold tone, his face as serious as ever.

You nodded. “I understand, milord. The circumstances surrounding us are far from ideal.”

Cregan looked at you for a moment, his grey eyes scrutinizing yours. “Do you not wonder who was responsible for your brother’s death?” he suddenly asked.

The question took you by surprise. The truth was, you had not deeply considered it. Aegon deserved that end; he was your brother, but perhaps it was for the best.

“Anyone could have done it, and besides, what purpose would it serve to torment myself with that?” you sighed, lowering your gaze. “Aegon III would have been his heir after all.”

Cregan nodded slowly, his expression showing a hint of approval. “True, the succession was clear. But justice is important, and the guilty must be found and punished.”

“Indeed,” you responded, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. “And will you be the new Hand of the King?”

Cregan shook his head. “No, my place is in the North with my people,” he replied firmly. “I will leave once I find someone to manage the realm until the king is old enough to fully assume his responsibilities.”

"Understood," you said, feeling a mix of respect and admiration for his sense of duty. "Your commitment to your people is truly admirable."

Cregan nodded, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. "The North has its own needs and challenges. I can't stay here forever, but I hope things stabilize soon."

"I hope so too," you replied. "The situation isn't the easiest, but with the right cooperation, I'm sure we can move forward."

"I hope so," Cregan said. "In the meantime, I'll ensure the kingdom has the necessary direction until I can return to the North."

"That's all anyone can ask for," you said. "I appreciate your willingness to help in this transition."

The conversation, though brief, was quite gratifying. You retreated to your room to resume your old duties, those you had set aside during the war. It was a moment to take up the tasks that once were part of your daily life.

A month had passed since your return to King's Landing, and life in the capital was beginning to find a new balance. Aegon and Jaehaera's wedding had taken place without incident, and most seemed to accept this new chapter in the kingdom's history. Lord Corlys Velaryon had taken on the role of Hand of the King with an efficiency that surprised no one, while Lord Cregan Stark and his men prepared to return to the North.

However, among the new debates in the council, a matter arose that directly affected you. Marriage was a topic that, in times of peace, was treated with the same seriousness as in times of war. You were already of age to consider a suitable marriage, and several lords had shown interest in your hand.

The council actively discussed the best path forward, considering both your personal needs and political ones. Marriage, in the context of nobility, was not simply a bond between two people but a strategy that could affect the balance of power and alliances within the kingdom.

Meanwhile, you found yourself at a crossroads. On one hand, there was a desire to preserve your autonomy and make decisions based on your own desires and aspirations. On the other, the reality that a marriage could be a crucial strategic tool to consolidate alliances and strengthen the position of your House.

You had shown interest in several knights, though your attention had particularly focused on the lord of the North. The encounters in the hallways and conversations in the gardens had revealed a connection that went beyond mere courtesy. The mutual attraction between you and Lord Cregan Stark was evident, though kept with the discretion that court politics required.

When Lord Cregan made the formal proposal of marriage, no displeasure was shown on your part. On the contrary, the proposal was received with a mix of pleasure and expectation. The connection you had established with Cregan, combined with the political stability that a marriage with the lord of the North could provide, made the idea a logical and acceptable option.

The council, upon learning of the proposal, recognized that this union could strengthen relations between the North and the rest of the kingdom, creating a valuable strategic alliance in times of reconstruction.

You prepared to travel to the North, bidding farewell to King Aegon III and your mother. The journey promised to be long and challenging, but you were determined to move forward with this new stage of your life.

The North greeted you with the cold welcome characteristic of the region. The cold was intense and penetrating, a stark contrast to the warmer climate of King's Landing. Despite the harshness of the weather, Lord Cregan Stark was attentive and ensured that your stay was as comfortable as possible. His efforts to provide warmth and comfort were a tangible sign of his care and concern.

The wedding ceremony was scheduled for that night. The atmosphere in the castle was imbued with a mix of solemnity and anticipation. The ceremony would take place before an imposing weirwood tree, a symbol of the ancient tradition of the North. This majestic tree, with its wrinkled bark and evergreen leaves, would witness your vow to spend the rest of your life alongside your new husband.

The preparation for the ceremony was meticulous. You dressed in an elegant wedding gown adapted to the cold of the North, decorated with embroidery reflecting the region's tradition. Every detail was carefully considered to honor both your new family and the customs of the place.

As night fell, the castle filled with a warm and soft light, contrasting with the cold outside. Guests gathered around the weirwood tree, while bonfires created a cozy and ceremonial atmosphere.

When the moment came, you approached the tree, feeling the weight and importance of the commitment you were about to make. Lord Cregan, beside you, was equally prepared for the exchange of vows. In the presence of the men of the North and the gods they worshipped, you would pronounce your oaths, hoping that this union would bring both stability and a new beginning for both of you.

"In the Presence of old gods, I bind these two souls, joining them for eternity. Look at each other and say the words," ordered the maester of Winterfell with a solemn voice.

Lord Cregan, holding your hands with firmness and tenderness, recited the vow with a clarity that resonated in the cold night air:

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am hers and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days."

You, with a pounding heart and a voice full of emotion, followed the ritual:

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days."

As you recited your vows, snow fell gently around you, creating a charming contrast with the warmth of the ceremony and the glow of the bonfire lights. The snowy landscape and the cozy atmosphere of the castle fused into a scene that seemed straight out of an ancient tale.

At the conclusion of the ritual, Cregan looked at you with an expression of deep emotion and devotion. Slowly, he leaned towards you, his eyes reflecting a bright intensity under the torchlight. With infinite delicacy, he placed a hand on your cheek, and his lips gently touched yours.

The kiss began with palpable tenderness, a light contact filled with promises for the future. It was a kiss full of the promise of support and unconditional love, one that extended and deepened over time. The connection between you was evident in every caress and in the way your lips moved in perfect harmony.

The cold night breeze, combined with the warm glow of the ceremony, created a magical atmosphere. The kiss, besides sealing your commitment, seemed to absorb the essence of the night itself, symbolizing the start of a new life together, full of hope and a love that promised to grow with each day.

When you finally parted, Cregan looked at you with a smile that spoke of his joy and commitment. The ceremony, although marked by the winter's cold, had been warm in spirit, and the future that awaited you seemed full of promising possibilities.

[danytherelentless]

A Heartfelt Goodbye

Eddard Stark x fem!reader

summary: after his wife's recent passing, Lord Stark is looking for a governess to raise his children

warnings! smut, cunniligus, p in v, pre-marital sex (big deal in Westeros), asoiaf typical sexism (if you squint)

word count: 3k

note: please forgive me if there are any mistakes or it appears a little disjointed, the editing was shaky at best

It was more than a year after the loss of his wife that he decided to take on a governess for his children.

He had refused marriage so soon after, and did not think he would ever take a wife again, and had not wanted to have a governess raise his children for it felt an insult to Cat, yet Maester Luwin had been advising him that his children would need such guidance in their lives, especially with them all being so young, and Eddard had finally relented.

He mulled over the options of Northern ladies for some time before deciding upon you. He'd never met you before, but he had known your father, brothers and some of your cousins. Your father had been one of his greatest and truest advisors during Robert's Rebellion, your elder brother one of his friends as well, and he remembers hearing much of you then, though you'd been younger at the time. Patient, caring and wise as a child. Surely you remained so as an adult? You were also unmarried which meant you had no other obligations nor children of your own to tend to. So he sent the letter to your Lord father asking if you would be suited and able to fill such a position in his household.

He received response soon enough and it was settled upon that you would be arriving to Winterfell within the next few weeks.

Your smile was the first thing he noticed upon meeting you, a kind and gentle thing which warmed him to you almost immediately.

"My Lord," you greeted with a curtsy after you had dismounted to stand next to your father and brother who had led you here.

"My Lady. I am thankful you have taken upon this position."

"It is a great honour, my lord. One I hope I shall be able to fulfil."

Robb was the most reluctant of his children to you, though that was expected and understandable as the eldest. His youngest three, however, were instantly enamoured with you, even baby Bran. But it was Jon which made him realise you were perfect for the role whom you treated well as any of his other children.

It took some time of course for the new dynamic to settle, for you to become comfortable with his children and vise-versa, but eventually, even Robb warmed to you. Even Ned himself found that he enjoyed your company. You had to ability to always make him feel at ease or give him the perfect advice for whatever situation he was put in.

He began to fall for you, which felt inevitable given how lovely you were. But he could not help the vicious guilt which he felt. It felt wrong, no matter how much time passed since Cat's passing, it still felt like a great insult to her memory, and to your own honour, though he never acted on his own feelings.

At least not until Robert called upon him when Balon Greyjoy rebelled against the crown.

He sat in the Godswood, the night before he would leave in contemplation. Many of his bannerman had gathered already at Winterfell with more on their way straight to White Harbour. He did not want to die so soon, though that was something he expected just as he had during Robert's Rebellion when he rode away from Riverrun, yet this time it felt so much closer to him. He couldn't bare the thought of Robb being made Lord so young, of his grief. Of the struggle and strife which he would face and the deceit he would no doubt face in spite of his youth. The idea of his little lady Sansa, or his wild little she-wolf Arya not remembering his face as they grew. Of baby Bram not having so much as a memory of him to place to his name.

He thought of you, of never seeing you again, of never confessing the feelings held within his heart. Though his guilt remained to an extent not as it once had, the idea of never getting to tell you made his heart ache something fierce. It overwhelmed any guilt he was feeling.

"My lord," your voice snapped him from his glum pondering.

"My lady. The hour is quite late, the air cold," he could barely see you in the darkness, the only light emitting from the lantern in your hand and the one sitting near his feet.

"I was worried for you," you confessed.

It was a normal thing to worry about. He was beneath no assumption that you felt the same as he, but he knew that you viewed him as a friend for you often spent hours drinking, exchanging stories and laughing well into late evenings together. So much so that he’d had to quietly had to expel rumours amongst the staff to the best of his ability, hoping you had not heard of them. He knew that it was a sign of the impropriety of your relationship, but he just couldn’t bring himself to stop.

"I'll be back soon enough," he found himself reassuring you.

He watches as you walk closer to him, "may I sit?"

"Of course," he spoke embarrassingly quickly.

You took your seat on the tangled roots at his side, shivering slightly as you burrowed closer into your cloak.

"You really shouldn't be out here, my lady. You may catch a chill," he voiced his concern.

"And neither should you. What sort of a friend would I be if I allowed you to wallow out here all alone?" there was teasing in your voice. He found a smile growing across his face.

He looked to you then. You looked truly beautiful in the low light of the flickering lanterns, shadows cast across your face. You seemed quite sad, though he could see a longing in your eyes has he stared at you.

He felt something get trapped in his throat, unable to say anything as he looked upon you. There was a vulnerability which always clung to you, in the way you smiled so freely, the way you spoke so kindly and could be so forgiving. He saw that in you now. Something raw. He craved it, craved you, craved you near him, in his arms. He felt a stirring in the pit of his stomach.

He craved you, completely and utterly. Entirely vulnerable, bare flesh beneath him, moaning for him. His name, not his title, he loved it when you said his name. Not Eddard, just Ned. He wanted to hear it. Now.

He kissed you instead, a hand on your cheek pulling you close to him. Regret flooded him immediately.

"I'm so sorry," he apologised, pulling away, yanking his hand from your flesh, suddenly feeling quite sick. Barely a moment of your lips on his, so sweet and true. The taste turned to ash on his tongue, however.

"That was dishonourable of me, my lady. Forgive me please. I lost myself."

"No," you grabbed at his forearm and moved closer, you leg leaning into his own, "I... I don't mind."

He looks to you then, a goddess at his side. Meant to be worshipped. It was fitting you were both sat beneath a Weirwood tree.

He feels your delicate hand upon his bearded jaw and he allows you to pull him to you, eyes closing as your lips are joined with his.

He can tell you're inexperienced, but he relishes in it. It has been so long since he'd had any company, and he wanted this. With the thought of possible death so close, he could hardly deny himself you, especially if you wanted him too.

He part from you, breathless, "I want you."

He hadn't quite meant to just blurt it out so bluntly, but can't bring himself to want to take it back. It is his truth, after all. And in this moment, it would be wrong for him to not tell you.

You seem shocked for a moment.

"I want you too," you admitted.

His heart stops for a split second before he crashes his mouth back on yours, your tongues tangling together in some dance.

He kisses you for what feels like hours before he remembers you are out in the cold, and then he guides you back to the keep and to your chambers. The walk is silent and you bump into no one, though guards trail you both outside the keep and through some of the hallways.

He is about to part ways with you and leave for his own when you grab his wrist.

"Wait. Why don't you join me?"

Your cheeks are beautifully flushed, and he can hardly refuse such a welcome invitation, though his honour is screaming at him to stop. His desires simply win over, he is a weak man for you.

He undresses you slowly, pulling away your cloak, helping you unlace your dress as you exchange kisses. You help him with his own layers, and soon you are both bare as the day you were born. He looks upon your beauty, across your smooth skin, your breasts, the mound of hair between your legs. He feels his mouth water. He would turn you around and simply sit gazing upon your naked flesh for hours, studying you like a tome of history.

He lays you down upon furs and kisses down your neck, sucking a bruise some too dark into the flesh which he may regret some the next day should he notice, yet he cannot help himself as he listens to your sweet sighs and feels were hands caressing his arms then his chest.

His lips continue down your body, sucking and licking at your breasts and listening to the melodic sounds you bless him with, hands pawing at your thighs as he further parts them. He kisses down you stomach, beneath your bellybutton and then your naval, before finding his place between your legs, eyes upon your cunt, so close to him and oh so delectable.

"What are you..." your sentence is broken by a surprised and quiet moan as his tongue parts your folds and tastes your sweetness. He licks and sucks at you observing each reaction from his place which he could. Every twitch which you body made and every sound which left your lips. Ned took one of your thighs in his hold and brought it up over his shoulder. His nose is buried in the mount of hair above your cunt as he sucks on that bundle he knows will have you see stars.

You moan and gasp, legs tensing around his head and fingers tugging at his dark hair. He cannot help but groan into you, grinding down into your sheets to attempt to relieve the ache in his cock. He resists the urge to fist his cock in hand by instead pushing a finger inside of you, curling it upwards to feel that spongy spot. You are tight and warm and so so wet. He savors every moment of it.

He curls a second finger inside of you, listening to you high keening whimpers and stretches you wider, and then a third.

"Ned!" your fingers tighten and tug harshly at his hair, and his eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels your body tensing as you climax on his fingers. He licks some of it up before he finds himself too impatient to see your face again. He hopes he will be able to do this again so that he may taste you for longer.

You are worn, face etched with sweet ecstasy. He kisses you with your own taste on his tongue, an action which should disgust you, yet you answer with fervour, a laziness to your motions. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him into you, deepening the kiss even further till your tongue is again in his mouth.

One of your arms caresses down his body as your lips part, your eyes hooded, breathing erratic. Your hand trails over his hip before it wraps around his hard cock.

He thrusts forwards as your fist closes around his tip, jerking downwards experimentally. He wraps his own hand over you guiding it up and down as he would his own in the privacy of his own chambers on lonely nights.

He guides himself within your hand to your cunt, nudging it over your nub, toward your sopping hole.

The thought suddenly hit him hard and fast. So suddenly he jerked back slightly from your touch.

"What... what is it?" you looked concerned, eyes wide, braided hair mussed.

"I shouldn't be doing this, it's wrong." It was dishonourable and an insult to such a fine lady as yourself for him to be debasing you so. You weren't married, after all. Not yet, he thought. He could see you at his side as his wife. But you were not his wife now, and you may never be his wife.

"No, no, no! Please, take me," eyes blown wide, cheeks flushed and chest heaving with each breath you take as you tug him down so gently, "if you'll have me?" His chest clenched at such tender words.

With you begging him so sweetly, he could not resist, though there was a part of him still demanding he stop now, for this was wrong. Yet it was drowned by his raging desire which he had harboured for for so long.

He takes his position once more over you, between your thighs, and pushes himself inside of you slowly and carefully. His eyes nearly roll to the back of his skull at feeling such pleasure, and he nearly thrusts into you as a wild man would, but he resists easily enough for he knew it would cause you harm. He listened as you groaned and your face tugged into a discomforted expression, he felt himself stopping then, ready to pull out should you change you mind.

"Just slowly. Be gentle with me, please," your hands grabbed onto his shoulders, you knees farther parting to allow him better access.

He moves his hips so slowly at first, thrusts shallow and experimental, before his lips captured yours in a passionate flurry of movements. You were so warm, so wet. He knew you were most likely a virgin, a lady such as yourself. That thought only made his feel more hungry for you.

His movements continued as a slow and steady pace, before you whined prettily into his mouth and grabbed at his hip.

"You can move more," you spoke, breathless as he parted from you.

He obliged, building up his pace, pulling one of your legs up and around his waist as his thrusts became deeper and faster with each moan that left you mouth.

He could not tear his eyes away from you, from your sweat slick brow, your squeezed shut eyes and 'o' parted lips. He felt his own release build, but wanted you to finish at least once more for him, so he brought one hand between you and felt for you nub and began to rub at it, listening and watching your reaction as to what was best.

You tightened further around him, legs squeezing at his sides as you came for a second time. He could no sooner hold onto himself and buried his face in your neck and lost himself to you, thrusting without abandon as he chased after his own climax.

He came with a low groan, sucking kisses into your neck, filling you with his seed so deeply that for a moment, he prayed it would take, the thought of seeing you with child so tantalising.

He stayed within you for a few moments, perhaps even minutes, catching his breath and listening to yours.

He presses a tender kiss to your brow before pulling his softened cock from you with a wince. He was unable to look away as he sat up and eventually saw some of jus seed dribble out of you. He had to supress a groan.

"I'm sorry," he eventually broke the silence.

"Whatever for?"

He looked back at you, a goddess much to perfect for someone such as himself, worth more than ten of him, "for dishonouring you, my lady. I would have wed you before bedding you, yet I have not."

"I don't expect you to wed me, my lord," you admitted.

"Please don't call me that now. I have no right to any title after the disservice I have given you," for even thinking of getting her with child.

"You haven't. I wanted to be with you, just as much. I hope you don't think any less of me for it."

"No, I do not."

"Then we are simply two friends having a long and heartfelt goodbye," your smile is sad and small, not one of any joy or happiness.

"Is that all you view me as? Your friend?" he found himself speaking before he could stop, pulling on his underclothes.

"No, no. I... I feel for you. In my heart. I..." you paused and he looked at you, "I have come to love you, Ned. For not only the just and honourable Lord which you are, but for the loving father, and kind man. I enjoy the companionship you have offered me in the time which I have known you, and I have desired more of you for some time now."

He found himself dropping his breeches from hand and returning to your bed where you sat looking at him.

"It is fine should you not feel the same--"

"I do," he interrupted, bringing his hand to your cheek, "I love you."

You leaned into him, smile broadening across your face.

"I will wed you upon my return, my lady. I swear it to you."

He kisses you once more, a deep and long kiss filled with his love, before dressing and bidding you goodnight, feeling wrong to leave you after you had shared something so intimate with him.

Despite himself, despite leaving for war and having bedded you, confessed his love and swore to marry you though he may not even live to see you again after tomorrow, he sleeps well and peacefully that night.

He wed you the same day of his return.

comments are looked upon fondly here so don't be a stranger ;)

(please no negativity, my heart can't take it. I am a delicate soul)

[rhaegonapologist]

rhaegon ch 3

Unfortunately for Alicent, Aegon loved his big sister.

An AU where Rhaenyra leaves shortly after the hunt to travel Westeros on Syrax. Her visits, now and then, are the brightest spots in Aegon's life.

ch 1

ch 2

Alicent has a meltdown after giving birth to Aegon. Rhaenyra helps. Sort of.

All goodwill for her brother dissipated when she returned to King’s Landing. 

Through his letters, Aegon seemed respectful and almost sweet. Like he had grown. But she forgot that he was still a young prince, and the only one at that, spoiled in the heart of the Realm. 

Aegon was throwing a tantrum. He was on the floor, screaming and crying, punching and kicking. There was a broken vase, water puddling on the floor, pillows thrown down with dirty footprints. His attendants warily tried to sweep away shards around him before he could hurt himself, but whenever he felt them move closer he only screamed louder. She saw Alicent in the shadows, lips pursed into a thin line, and it was as if she had never left. 

Rhaenyra remembered their first truce right after Aegon was born. She had avoided Alicent and her father before. It was difficult to be around them but it was twice as painful for her to finally take in Alicent’s warm pregnant glow. In a twisted way her best friend did end up getting what she wanted, despite everything being too much too soon. If Rhaenyra denied everything hard enough, if she entered rooms sideways to block off views of her father next to Alicent, if she kept approving only gifts in Hightower greens for the Queen’s babe, if she walked the long way round to avoid her mother’s chambers, she could pretend Alicent had married off to some lord and was with child. That was how she coped. 

She thought of that peculiar night. It was deep in the hour and Rhaenyra could still hear the babe wailing. This had been going on ever since it was born and she couldn’t understand why the nursemaids couldn’t just shut it up. Frustration overtook her and she barged into Alicent’s rooms. Even the guards seemed tired and let her pass. 

To her surprise, Alicent was alone. The babe lay on the floor, wailing, crying, with his mother ten steps away, eyes blown wide. Her hair was undone, her nightgown drenched in sweat, Alicent was a mess. She wrung her hands like she did whenever Rhaenyra tried to rope her into one of her schemes, but this time her hangnails were picked through, her fingertips bloody red.

Rhaenyra sidestepped the babe on the floor to comfort her friend. 

“He won’t stop,” Alicent said, her voice a strained whisper. “I’ve done everything, I’ve tried everything, he just won’t stop.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, where are the nursemaids?” Rhaenyra asked. She could feel Alicent shaking under her hands. The tremors wracked through her body and made its way up to her shrill voice.

“I can’t do this, I can’t. I thought it would be over by now. He’s out, I’m done, I should be done, I did everything he wanted,” Alicent said. 

Aegon let out another wail. 

Alicent wrenched herself out of Rhaenyra’s arms and screamed at her child. She grabbed a candlestick and threw it on the floor, uncaring if it would hit her son. Rhaenyra gasped and crouched down to check on Aegon.

“Alicent, stop,” Rhaenyra said. This time more firmly, “Where are they?”

“I sent them off to bed, they can’t see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see him, I think there’s something wrong with him, Rhaenyra don’t, don’t let him get close to me. He needs to be blessed before the Seven but the King keeps pushing it off, there’s something wrong,” Alicent said. She gasped before trying to breathe through another sob. 

“He won’t listen to me. I hold him, Rhaenyra, and I don’t feel anything,” she said. Alicent looked right at her, big brown eyes pleading. 

And just like that Rhaenyra felt like they were girls again. 

When she looked down at Aegon again all she could think about were the tears in her best friend’s eyes. This could go away. This could all go away. 

Unthinking, guided by ghosts of a past long gone, Rhaenyra picked up Aegon and walked towards the hearth. She was always one for action while Alicent fretted. Rhaenyra crouched down and tilted Aegon towards the fire. She bounced him lightly and cooed at him, and for some reason Aegon quieted, entranced. 

Rhaenyra knew she had to be the one to step into the dark, that Alicent’s hysterics would only be calmed after she’d had to yank her best friend through. Violet eyes looked up to catch dark brown ones, and she had the gall to wink. 

Alicent felt bile rise up in the throat. That wink. That same wink Rhaenyra gave before she threw herself backwards off a cliff, only to fly up with Syrax moments later. Alicent felt her breath stutter when the flames licked a cruel shadow across her friend’s face, rendering her more dragon than girl. No, she thought. But it was too late, Rhaenyra had lowered Aegon enough into the hearth and her hands were unfurling his wraps. 

She ran towards Rhaenyra, uncaring if the princess would fall into the fire, anything to knock her over, get Aegon out. But Rhaenyra was quicker, she always was, and a laugh bubbled up as she dodged Alicent, quickly tucking Aegon up to her chest again.

“See, you do care about him,” she said. She smiled at Alicent.

Aegon gurgled, reached up to play with Rhaenyra’s hair, oblivious to the danger he was in. 

It was a cruel prank, but it was enough to shock Alicent out of her hysterics. 

As if to soothe her, Rhaenyra ducked to nuzzle against Aegon’s little hand. Alicent staggered towards them and Rhaenyra welcomed her with her other arm. Aegon smiled up at his mother, warm and safe between the two. Rhaenyra felt Alicent’s breaths run ragged again, as it always did when she was about to cry, and she shushed her, pressed her foreheads together. Below, Aegon cooed and twisted their hair together, strands of brown entangled with white. 

“Do not worry, Aegon will be fine. I will talk to my father tomorrow,” she said. 

Alicent closed her eyes and whimpered. She nodded. 

Rhaenyra helped the young mother and her babe back to their beds and bid them goodnight. 

–

But, Rhaenyra supposed, that was then and this was now. Alicent had slightly been better with Aegon since then, but something about her firstborn still rendered her frozen at times. And Aegon was now old enough to pick up on his mother’s moods, which somehow always made his tantrums worse. He needed her to love him, but she thought she had already proved it that night years ago, and was too exhausted to prove it again and again. He could not ask this of her. She could not give any more. 

Nowadays, Rhaenyra regretted not throwing him into the fire. Back then she wouldn’t, because he was Alicent’s child. It was easy to hide the tuft of blond hair under cloth and pretend. He was just a baby anyway. Rhaenyra was already ready to start stuffing her ears with cotton if that night hadn’t played out the way it did. 

But now he was bigger and louder and so much more destructive. He had rifled through her bags without asking and wouldn’t stop touching her things. He was sticky and snotty and everything he handed her was sticky and snotty too. He was giving her a headache and today was the first day she’d gotten leave from him. She wondered if that was the cause of his tantrum.

No matter, he was much nicer in his letters, Rhaenyra decided. 

Rhaenyra remembered being excited for Baelon, but even then she didn’t really know what it was like to have anyone younger than her around. She turned her nose up at Aegon, still flailing in his meltdown, she was sure she behaved well at that age. And with that, she gathered up her skirts, and left before anyone in the room could see her. 

[thedovesaredying]

Flames of Green | CoD x GoT/HotD | Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader x John "Soap" MacTavish | Part 1.

Artwork by Elizabeth

You're the heir to the Iron Throne, the eldest child of the current king with the blood of the Targaryens flowing through your veins. Unfortunately, you're due to be married off to a mysterious Northern lord by the name of John MacTavish. At least your closest friend and member of your guard, Simon Riley, will be by your side throughout it all.

A/N: I'm back in my House of the Dragon era, so I'm mixing hyperfixations. The Cannibal doesn't get enough love, he's a nasty bastard and he deserves to cause some chaos. It will eventually be a Ghost x Reader x Soap relationship and likely a bit of a slowburn. Literally just for my own entertainment, but I hope y'all enjoy.

Warnings: None

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

Next

It’s times like this that you mourn the loss of your youth. Forced to sit in silence while discussions are held by old men around a table, weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of your future marriage to every potential high lord in Westeros. Your opinion is never considered, let alone asked for by any of your father’s advisors, your compliance expected regardless.  

If you had been born a man you could have your pick of any woman in the kingdom to take as a wife, but instead, you’re forced to simply accept whatever man is placed in front of you. Such is the burden of being the princess and heir to House Targaryen. You will be made to give up the right to rule the kingdom to the high lord assigned to you, never to touch the ever-elusive Iron Throne that should have been yours by right.  

You had never really taken the prospect of marriage too seriously in your youth, always considering it a problem for the you of the future to deal with. You didn’t care to forge lasting alliances with other ladies and lords, too busy dragging your poor best friend, Simon, through the gardens and dirtying your extravagant dresses. 

But those days were over. 

Talk of wedding a powerful lord and bringing forth the next line of Targaryen children is all that fills your ears now. You’re forced to entertain every man, young and old, that wishes to gain your favour with a polite smile and feigned interest. You don’t even have your dear Simon to offer you his companionship and a break from the cruel realities of the world. No doubt he would have entertained you with his dry remarks about each man set before you.  

It has been years since you last saw Simon. He was taken from the Red Keep by his father and sent to squire for another lord in the hopes of teaching him the art of warfare. Lord Riley was a foul man, constantly berating his son for spending his time with the Princess rather than roughhousing with his fellow boys. He considered the boy too soft and squeamish at the sight of blood to make a good future lord of their keep.  

You disagreed, of course, Simon was perfect just the way he was; gentle and kind to all those around him. Your friend couldn’t hurt a fly, but he was still one of the bravest people you knew.  

You dread to think just how much he would have hated being drawn into battles, forced to kill other men with his own hands. The letters he occasionally wrote to you always steered clear of depicting the violence you were certain he must have been subjected to, but you’re far from naive enough to hope he has yet to participate in any bloodshed. As the years dragged on, word from him has grown scarce, however, to the point where you can hardly remember when you heard from him last.  

What you do know, is that he had been sent to offer assistance in maintaining peace throughout the Stepstones, killing raiders and pirates that would endanger trade routes to King’s Landing.  

But that was almost six months ago, and there has been little else to soothe your vexed nerves over his safety. He had made a promise to you the day he left, that once his training was done he would return to your side, this time as a knight who would offer himself to your Queen’s Guard once the time was right. Never again would he leave you, more than happy to forfeit the ruling of his own homeland if it meant he could keep you safe.  

You had clung to that promise every day for years after his departure, but with each passing moment it become harder to hold out hope of seeing him again. After all, what is one promise between children in the grand scheme of things?  

It’s a blessing when you’re finally relieved from the meeting, escaping from the suffocating air within the council chambers and fleeing to the safety of your room. You don’t even pause to ensure one of your guards is following you, getting straight to stripping from your dress and replacing it with your riding gear.  

As the carriage carries you away from the city and toward the Dragon Pit your nerves begin to settle. The constant odour of sweat and excrement quickly gives way to fresh air the further away you get. It’s a beautiful day, with hardly a cloud in the sky and wildflowers blooming all along the road. It’s a genuine shame that your day has started so poorly, otherwise you’d have loved to wander the palace gardens and enjoy the midday sun.  

The ground is rocky outside of the dragon pit, and you’re jostled around a bit until the carriage comes to a stop. Although this is your destination, the dragon you seek is not here. Your dragon is far too large to be housed within the Pit.  

Unlike your younger sister, you were not blessed by the Gods to have your dragon egg hatch while you were in the cradle. All throughout your childhood you sat next to it and prayed for the hatchling to come forth, promising you would care for the creature and love it more than anything. But the baby dragon never arrived.  

Many said that it was a sign from the Gods, that you were unfit to be the heir if even your own dragon refused to hatch for you. It was a heavy sentence hanging around your neck, weighing you down and making you feel as though you are worthless, despite the fact you have more power than most of the people laughing at your situation.  

None of them are laughing now.  

You see your dragon stretched out atop one of the nearby ridges. He’s so large that his wings and tail drape over the edge of the rocks, entirely unconcerned by the humans fearfully gathered beneath him as he snoozes away in the warmth of the sun. His scales are like coal, absorbing every ray of sunshine that he can.  

The Cannibal may not be as large as Vhagar, but he’s far older and, as many would argue, far meaner than the old girl. Where most dragons have vibrant, golden eyes, you’re greeted by a pair of sinister green the moment you draw near. His go-to reaction to most things is aggression, and you’ve seen many people meet their end in a blast of emerald flame for merely disturbing him.  

It’s for that precise reason you’re stunned to see someone standing beside the grumpy old beast. There’s only one person other than yourself who could get anywhere near the Cannibal without immediately being swallowed whole. The man pauses his rubbing of your dragon’s scales the moment he sees you, only to earn a displeased whack from the Cannibal’s snout. You bite your lip to force down the grin that’s threatening to spread across your face when the man drops down to one knee, his head bowed respectfully.  

“Lord Riley,” you nod, “I do believe that’s my dragon you’re touching.” That earns a groan from the Cannibal, his massive head twisting away from you both, as though already bored of the conversation.  

“A thousand apologies, princess,” Simon grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth, “your dragon was growing impatient.” The dragon in question huffs, his tail twitching like an agitated cat.  

Simon looks so different from the last time you saw him. He’s both taller and broader, completely filled out with muscles. When he stands again, you’re face to face with the rather intimidating bone mask adorning his face. You’re not certain if it’s real bone, but at that moment you could have cared less, throwing yourself at the large man.  

He catches you easily, holding you tightly against his larger body. It’s entirely improper and if anyone other than your guards witnessed such an interaction there would no doubt be whispers abound. Perhaps it’s a good thing Simon decided to meet you somewhere so private.  

“When did you get back?” you ask, leaning back just long enough to look him in the eye.  

“We docked late last night,” he answers, and you can feel the way his chest rumbles with each word. His deep voice soothes something within you, your stress dissipating like mist at dawn. “We received word that the King’s Guard now has an open position,” he continues, and then much to your shock adds, “I’m here to fill that position.”  

You pull away from him almost completely, only your hands still gently curled around his gauntlets, “but I heard that your father was recently taken ill, don’t you need to return home?”  

While the mask hides the majority of Simon’s face, you can still see the way the skin around his eyes crinkles slightly, “I made a promise to serve my future Queen,” he takes your hand from his arm and presses the back of your palm to where his lips are beneath his mask, “if you’ll have me, princess.”  

You can feel your face burning with the intensity with which Simon stares at you. “I’m certain my father will be delighted to have such a well-regarded warrior in his service,” you smile, gently pulling your hands away from the knight, despite the urge to keep holding onto him.  

Before you can continue the conversation, the Cannibal turns his head back to your again, nudging at you with an irritated huff. His breath is scalding against your skin, yet it doesn’t burn you, thankfully. You place your hand against the beast’s snout, feeling the thick scales shift under your leather gloves. “Gīda,” you coo to the dragon, waiting until he lowers his wing to the floor to provide you with a way to climb onto his back. He’s far too large for you to mount the same way you would a younger dragon.  

Once settling into the Cannibal’s saddle, you grin down at your friend, “I look forward to seeing you in the keep, my lord.” You only have the time to see Simon’s quick nod, before your dragon is leaping from the edge of the ridge, forcing an end to your conversation. You can feel his clear exasperation through your bond and ensure to give the old dragon a scratch to the neck.  

[weird-addiction]

Dragons? No, yours are Wyverns.

Pairing: House of the Dragon x Male!Reader 

Genre: neutral

Warnings: none 

In the lands of Old Valyria, almost every house was made of dragon lords. Many were dragon riders even at a young age. However, since the doom the only house remained are the Targaryens that fled to Westeros and landed on what is now Dragonstone.

But, there was another house that also survived. This house, they had the same Valyrian features of silver hair, except they had red eyes instead.

This house was more ancient than any other house within Old Valyria, rumors had it that they were the first gods that fell from the stars. 

This family were the ones that found the true dragons. True born dragons have four legs, two or more sets of wings, and are bigger than any other animal that the earth has ever seen. What the Targaryens found were an off branch of dragons that were called Wyverns. They had two legs instead of four, the front two legs were instead where its wings are, they were also smaller than actual dragons though they grow bigger with age.

The ancient family’s name has been lost to time, but there was one descendant left to continue the legacy. This boy was born before the doom, however he was still here after hundreds of years. Even years after Aegon’s conquest he was still alive. 

Y/n was his name, the dragon he commanded was one hundred times his own size. His dragon’s name was Orme, an old word for the meaning of ‘wrath’.

He was never even heard of in Targaryen history, as he still was hidden away in the ruins of Old Valyria. But soon, he decided to leave as there was nothing left, getting onto the saddle that he somehow put around Orme’s body before yelling out his command for them to take off. 

Flying west for days above the clouds, but soon they arrived in Westeros at last. They flew down to where the desert was in the south, they had landed in Dorne. Where House Martell ruled. 

The people freaked when they saw an enormous dragon land in the sands, Y/n knew that they could not risk being seen. So, they fled until they were out of sight from civilization. This was new land they were settling into, they could not risk anything. 

The rulers of house Martell had sent for King Viserys, saying that they saw a dragon land in Dorne. When the letter got to King’s Landing, Viserys was confused as none of his children’s dragons were even big enough to fly yet. Rhaenyra was too busy taking care of Joffery to even fly, Daemon was in Pentos with Laena, there was no one that could have flown. 

There was nothing he could have done as there was no information. Weeks later, he began to get more letters from all over Westeros that there was a big dragon flying around its lands. The Starks said that it may have come over the wall, the others say it was always high up in the clouds for them to see properly. 

Then, one day King’s Landing looked up and saw something above the clouds. It seemed to be circling the castle of the Red Keep. It was so high up but hard to see still, the guards could do nothing but stare. Viserys looked out his window and saw it also. This confirmed the letters that he had gotten, there was indeed another dragon out there outside of House Targaryen. 

Y/n had blended in with enough smallfolk during the nights to know everything, every corner of the realm there would be rumors about the Targaryens; the supposed blood of Old Valyria. How their dragons made them the kings they were, how there will be more dragons with the king’s new children. Back in Old Valyria, the Targaryens were only a nobel house and nothing more. But here, they were the kings that conquered the realm. 

Flying to the skies above the crownlands, finally the building of Red Keep could be seen. Orme began to fly lower, his shadow covered all of King’s Landing and his roar could be heard from miles away. They did not land but instead got close enough but then went back into the skies once more. The winds of Orme’s wings created giant wind currents as it flew off. 

Viserys ordered his guards to discover where the dragon had gone, the guards nodded as they followed throughout the city until they were led outside of the city and into a nearby forest. 

They would search for hours but would only come out empty handed. They would search for days, weeks but still nothing. But now everyone at court knew there was a dragon in the forest just outside the city, probably a wild dragon and a big one at that. No one dared to go to the forest for any reason anymore.

Months later, someone had wandered too far into the forest despite all the warnings. They had found the sleeping beast, and apparently, attempted to claim it on their own. Orme woke up of course, but he had no interest in what the person was saying. And so they burned them on the spot, along with some of the trees in the area. When Y/n came back from buying food from the city, he saw the area was scorched with flames and a corpse. He knew someone had decided to try their luck with his dragon. 

Taking to the skies of King’s Landing again, this time circling the keep again but much lower. This was the warning that no one should bother him or he would burn it down.

Viserys had no choice but to send for his brother who was on Dragonstone now being married to Rhaenyra. Daemon got the raven and soon took to the skies with Caraxes. 

A couple hours later Caraxes could be seen flying over King’s Landing and up into the sky. Daemon could not see Orme as it was up in the clouds, he commanded Caraxes to fly forward but the blood wyrm refused. A roar came through the clouds as they were met with a giant dragon, it made Caraxes look like a flea to it. 

Orme had attempted to bite Caraxes in half but Daemon moved them out of the way, they flew for a bit around the bigger dragon before he saw a saddle strapped around its body; which meant this dragon did indeed have a rider. 

“Come out and show me who you are! To have such a beast, you must be from Valyria!” Daemon yelled out, unsure if his voice could travel that far. He flew up and saw where the rider was. 

The rider looked no more than a young boy, Daemon was surprised at such a rider. “If you land your dragon, no one would get hurt.” 

Y/n did not look scared, but rather gave the look like he was looking down at Daemon, like he was unworthy to even see him. “You are a Targaryen, and yet you refuse to fight?” Was all Y/n said as he stood up upon his saddle. 

Showing the sword that was strapped to his belt, a true Valyrian blade called the Dragon’s Bane. 

“My brother, the king wishes to see you and your dragon. Would you grant him the honor of admiring your ride?” Daemon chose his words carefully as he waited for an answer.

Y/n weighed his options, it was not like they could kill Orme anyway. “Alright. But I want no attempts at my dragon, I don’t need anyone else trying to claim him. He would refuse anyway.” He whispered that last part. 

Daemon let out a sigh of relief, he flew down first on Caraxes to tell Viserys to meet them somewhere next to the Dragon Pit. Y/n then followed him down, he landed next to Caraxes outside of the Dragon Pit. Getting off of his saddle, Y/n gave his dragon a soothing pat before seeing the size difference. Caraxes can be seen getting familiar with his dragon, Orme was tired and lying on the ground. 

The sound of the wheelhouse can be heard, soon it stopped and Viserys stepped out. 

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.” As they said Viserys’s titles, Y/n just rolled his eyes and looked bored.

“Your grace.” Y/n said plainly. “I was told by your brother you wanted to see my dragon. So here. Don’t get too close.” 

Viserys could only nod as he spared Daemon a glance before walking over to see Orme who had his eyes closed. “This..is your dragon?” 

“Yes. One of the last ones I have found during my time.” 

Hearing such words from the ‘youngster’, Viserys held a face of confusion. 

“What do you mean during your time?” The king asked.

“When I was younger I found him, I raised him and fed him.” Was Y/n’s answer.

“He is not the last dragon anymore. We also have dragons here.” Viserys said happily as he turned to look at the young boy.

Now that Viserys saw him properly, he realized Y/n had the silver blonde hair, but his eyes were red instead of violet. “You…are you from Valyria?” The king dared to ask.

“Is that not obvious enough? I can tell you guys were from Valyria just from one look.” He replied boredly.

Viserys could only nod as his eyes drifted back to his dragon, Orme who was still sleeping. “Our dragons have never grown this big before, well maybe Balerion.” 

Y/n let out a heavy and quick sigh before he spoke. “Yours are not dragons.” His tone was stern and harsh. His eyes have darkened.

Daemon had his hand on Dark Sister while the guard unsheathed parts of theirs as a warning. Y/n did not care, he continued to speak as he walked over to Viserys.

“Yours are not dragons. They are wyverns.” Orme woke up as Y/n walked in front of Viserys.

“My dragon can rival Balerion.” Y/n said as he had a hand on Orme’s snout.

“But since Balerion is dead, I have no competition. Isn’t that sad. No dragon in the realm can rival me.” Orme lets out a growl at his words as if agreeing with his rider.

“But our dragons-”

“Wyverns.” Y/n corrected.

“Wyverns, they were also from Old Valyria. How is it possible that they are not dragons?” Y/n could shake his head at the old king’s words.

“Like I said before, wyverns are not the same as dragons. My dragon is the last true born dragon left. Wyverns as far as I know are an off branch of the dragonic family. When the wyverns' eggs were found, they had been there for such a long time that the original dragon’s bodies had already been changed since they were in the egg. It could have been that a single dragon was deformed in some way that their eggs turned into wyverns instead.” Y/n explained.

“How do you know all this?” Daemon asked.

Y/n looked at him with a raised brow. “I asked you how you know this.” 

“I was there to see the Valyrians dig up the eggs, I was there to see it all.” 

Viserys thought for a moment before asking a single question. “How old are you?”

“I believe I am over 200 or so, I am…307 years of age as of this year.” 

His words shocked everyone, Viserys looked to Daemon as if asking if his brother knew this. The guards all looked at each other with shocked looks, some even confused.

“How?” 

“Well your grace, I do not know actually. Some said my family were gods that fell from the stars, some say we were cursed with immortality. Believe what you want to believe, but one thing is for sure that I am standing right in front of you.” 

Viserys paused as he thought things through before speaking. “Have you seen the doom?”

“Yes.” Y/n rolled his eyes again, as if he had heard this question before.

“If there is nothing else, I will be going.” Climbing onto the saddle again as Orme woke up fully.

“And where will you be going? You have nowhere to stay in the realm, you can stay here with us.” Viserys offered. 

“If there is nothing for me here, I will return to the ashes of my home. The ruins of Old Valyria still stand, and I bring it to its former glory. I will be the true dragon king.” 

The two Targaryens could only watch as the boy flew off on the giant dragon that is Orme, disappearing into the east, going past the Red Keep, Driftmark and Dragonstone. Back to Valyria where the old ruins lay.

Whatever secrets that Y/n held about Old Valyria would never be learned, even the secrets about his house and family will be kept with him until the end of times.

No matter how much Y/n’s secrets were worth, they would never know.

Valyria would soon have a new king, a true dragon lord.

[prophecyofwinter]

Across the Sea and to the East

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: Under your uncle’s usurpation of your brother you have been sent away to hide in Lys under House Rogare. You’ve found new purpose with the Lord of Light but you will be called home soon.

Tags: slight slow burn, actual burning, violence, smut, angst, tags will be added as we go.

Authors Note (new!): I will be releasing a prologue for another Aemond x Reader fic soon! I love writing about Essos so I had a good idea for a story about Saera Targaryens daughter. Keep an eye out! I will take turns for chapters between the two.

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Prologue

Chapter 4: A Womb and A Prophecy

It was a beautiful Lysene morning. It was raining therefore no morning fire, so you were able to go back to House Rogare to spend some extra time with your adoptive siblings.

Ten siblings you acquired, not including bastards, most are younger than you. Including your sweet sister Larra, she turned four and ten just a few moons ago. She has been sweetly attached to your side since you arrived in Lys.

The two of you sat in the greenhouse seating area snacking on small treats. The pitter-patter of the rain on the glass smoothed you greatly as you sipped your tea down. You wore a lovely red gown, made of light and airy fabrics to match Lys’s weather and style of fashion. You would have to find yourself a new wardrobe as to not be seen as a foreigner in your home country.

Larra curiously twirled her thumbs, thinking before she spoke.

“Father tells me you are to go to Westeros soon. Does that make you happy sister?”

You let out a breath of laughter out of your nose, leaning back in your seat.

“Why yes, yes I am happy to go to Westeros… though it is not to Winterfell, King’s Landing will have to do.”

Larra got a little pouty, you weren’t sure if it’s because she’d miss you or if she wanted to go to King’s Landing herself. Even if you wanted to bring her, you truly had no promise you would come out unharmed. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if Larra somehow got involved.

“I’m sure you will go to Westeros one of these days Larra, I don’t believe you’d quite like it though.”

Naturally you can’t have more than a few moments of peace and footsteps quickly approach your seating area. You sigh out loud and turn to a proper position to greet your interrupter.

You sucked in an abrupt breath, not expecting this visitor without a notice. One of the highest priests from the Red Temple in Volantis, she stood draped in red robes with a mask of gold covering her face. Her dedication to the Lord is commendable, she gave up all identity to have no obstructions in her faith. She was nobody but a faithful servant of the Light.

“Priestess, I had no word of your incoming arrival or I would have met you at the Temple myself.”

You stood to meet her, she bowed respectfully as one must do in your presence.

“It is raining so I knew I would find you here my Lady. Apologize but it was far too urgent to wait and it is too private to be sent by letter. I must speak to you privately.”

Goosebumps creeped up your body, her phrasing worried you immensely. You peaked over your shoulder to Larra and nodded your head to tell her you’ll be back shortly.

“In private is where we will speak Priestess.”

——————

You took her to one of the guest rooms, decorated beautifully with beautiful architecture like the rest of the house. The rain gave the room an odd darker feeling.

The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a sword. Even for someone as experienced as her, even she didn’t know how to go about it. That tells you it must be of extreme unique importance.

“I have many things to attend to today so if-“

“Do you remember the Azor Ahai prophecy?”

How could you not, it was one of the first things you learned about in the temples. It’s a tale every child in Essos hears tenfold.

“Of course I do but I don’t see how that was so important to come all this way for.”

For the first time you see the Priestess look nervous, or at least you could tell from over her mask. You assume there’s more to it so you allow her to speak uninterrupted.

“You must play your own part in the Prophecy my lady. I know R’hllor has told you, you make your own path and this is your choice as well. However, if it is to come to fruition there are circumstances to cultivate it.”

“You are beating around the bush, out with it.” You speak with slight frustration.

“Azor Ahai must come from your and a dragon lord's blood. If you are to go to Westeros it would be wise to secure something for yourself. It would be unwise to rely on your descendants to do it for you.”

Oh, well. Beat around the bush she did not. Yours and a Dragon Lord's blood? Targaryens are the only Dragon Lord’s left so that’s all she could mean. Oh.

“Oh. So I must have children with one of the Targaryens is what you mean.”

“Yes. Since you have a past with Prince Aemond I would hope the choice would be there. Do not leave Westeros empty handed my lady.”

This complicates things for you, going to Westeros was in part to see Aemond. But, what if he has moved on and has no desire for you. That is always a risk, and now the fate of the prophecy rests on you getting Aemond to marry you. If you were a man and Aemond a woman, it may have been easier to manage.

“I see. Is that all?”

“Yes, that is all. I will be seeing you for prayer this evening my lady. I look forward to it.”

As she leaves you feel a sense of weakness fill your bones, you have to sit down. This doesn’t feel right, you had been promised a life free from these exact circumstances, though it’s presented as a choice.

In reality, it really is not.

In less than 2 weeks you will be faced with more choices and consequences then you had ever wished for.

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Hey can u do one more about stepdaughter x daemon where she had enough of Rhaenyra and her jealous. They argue and she just call her mother a jealous Bitch and Rhaenyra insult one of the kids and daughter slap her. Daemon arrive just in time to see the slap. Stepdaughter is furious with her mother and even daemon is kind of scared of her.

A/N: I hope you like it!

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Stepdaughter!Reader

summary: where she had enough of Rhaenyra and her jealous. They argue and she just call her mother a jealous Bitch and Rhaenyra insult one of the kids and daughter slap her. Daemon arrive just in time to see the slap. Stepdaughter is furious with her mother and even daemon is kind of scared of her.

Word count: 1,2K

Warnings: Angst, slight fluff

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

"Your grace, Princess Rhaenyra is asking for your presence" The handmaiden spoke. You sighed tiredly hugging Baeron close to your body, you have barely had time to spend with your own children because of your mother, it seems she's finding duties out of thin air and giving them to you leaving you busy all day and when you are done your children are fast asleep and you have no energy to move a singular muscle.

You had just finished breaking your fast with your children, Daemon was out training with Jace and Luce. Jacaella looked at you with teary eyes, you had promised her to spend the day with her and her siblings, out in the gardens playing all kind of games she wished for and eating all the cakes her heart desired.

"Tell her I will come at once" You dismissed the maid, she curtsied and left to deliver your message.

"But Muña-" Jacaella whined pushing back her chair to stand to her full height. Maelon followed suit in support of his older sister.

"Hush darling, I will be back in no time" You handed Baeron to his wet nurse. Pushing back your chair with a tired huff but still with a smile on your face. You walked over to your daughter, crouching down to be on the same level as her.

"I promise to be back soon" You pulled her in for a hug seeing as her bottom lip wobbled and tear rolled down her cheek. She hugged you back tightly, as if you won't see each other for a whole year.

Pulling away with a heavy heart you moved out of the room with your handmaiden as company, you were determined to shut whatever your mother had in mind today, you had not seen your children properly for over a moon now. She was doing this doing all of this, causing you exhaustion and physical pain, in hopes of Daemon joining her bed instead of yours but it did not seem to be working as she had intended. From the very first day Daemon remained dutifully by your side, messaging your sore muscles and applying ointment on the blisters you got, even on the nights he spent with her he would sneak to check on you.

When you walked into your mother's room you noticed the lack of your younger brothers and the silence that filled the room. She was stood by the bed with a cup of wine in hand sipping slowly from it, waiting for you.

"Daughter" She greeted coldly once she noticed your presence in the room. She moved closer to you leaving little space in between you two.

"There are some letters from Lords all around Westeros and beyond, I presume most are well wishes for my upcoming nameday, be a dear and help me with them" She pointed at her desk where at least a hundred letters sat, if you were to read every single one and answer them yourself it may take a day or two and if she were to help you it would take a day, which you doubted.

"I have to decline mother, I am busy today" You crossed your arms in front of you, putting up and armour around yourself, an armour of strong will.

"Tis your duty daughter, you are in line to inherit the throne" She pointed out. Her eyes gleamed with frustration.

"If I were to read every single letter a lord or lady sent and answer them myself I would grow grey hair by the time I am to see my children again" You hissed. She smirked at you, taking a sip of her wine to hide her amused chuckle which fuelled your anger.

"I promised Jacaella to spend the day with her and I do not intend to break that promise" You excused. She placed the cup of wine on a nearby table, her smirk hardened and her jaw ticked.

"Your dimwitted child can wait" She sneered nastily. That was it for you, no one spoke ill of your child and lived to see the sun of the next day, although she was your mother you did not let it slid. A crack of skin meeting skin harshly echoed around the room in parallel to your palm meeting her cheek forcing her head to snap to the side.

"I have had enough of whatever tantrum you have been throwing!-" Your mother's hand rose to touch her throbbing cheek still staring at the wall, her brain had not comprehended what had happened.

"-for the past moon I barely saw my children because of you and your jealousy. I could not even bid them goodnight from the amount of duties you have given me and I stayed quiet-" You were fuming mad, your face had turned into a shade of red and your eyes were widened with anger. Spit flew everywhere as you yelled and your body shook from the furry you buried inside for so long. She turned to look at you, hand still over her red cheek and tears in her eyes. "-I stayed quiet because you are my mother and princess but you have the audacity to bad mouth my daughter, your own granddaughter may i add, I will not stay quiet" You took a threatening step closer to her. She stayed put glaring back at you but you could see a glimmer of fear behind her lashes peaking through like a ray of sun after a storm.

"If you speak about my daughter ever again whether it was good or bad intend then rest assured I will not only rip out your tongue but also I will kill you so slow you would regret the day you slithered out of your mother's body like the jealous snake you are" You pointed a finger in her chest. She was panting attempting to push back the tears of pain from the slap, and the sting of your words but you could not care.

A hand rested on your shoulder making you snap your head back to look at the person who dared interrupt the fight but softened when you saw Daemon standing behind you, sweaty from the training and his hair all over the place, you had missed seeing him like this.

"Jacaella is asking for you my love" You could see the glint of pride in his eyes, his chest puffed out more than usual and a smirk decorated his handsome face causing your heart to skip a beat. But he was still cautious with his approach, not overstepping almost like he feared you.

"Of course, I will attend to my daughter at once" You pulled away from him. Throwing your mother one last glare before storming off to find your children.

They were in the gardens waiting for you. jacaella's face brightened at the sight of you and you could have sworn she grew wings and flew into your arms from how fast she ran. Daemon joined the lot of you a while later with Aegon and Viserys. The gardens were quiet and peaceful as the sun shone down on you and the sound of the ocean meeting the sanded shores of Dragonstone echoed around you. Your children's laughter along with your brothers' would never leave your head, a relaxing picnic with the people you loved most in the world with no jealous snakes around was all you asked for, for the day.

[elegantsplendour]

Of Blossom and Betrayal

Summary:

AU: Green victory, the realm called for a new queen after Queen Helena's demise

Seraphina Tyrell did not belong to the worldly realm of Westeros; a lone child conceived of loyalty, love and devotion. A beacon like her attracts the darkest of souls, in the darkest of times.

💌 Aegon II Targaryen and Aemond Targaryen

Warnings: manipulation, abuse of power, mentions of rape, slight underage, dub con, violence. Specific warnings will be added at the beginnings of each chapter.

Cast

Chapter 1

Prologue: Highgarden

Tag list: @purple-writer8 @vhagarswar @femmechaotic

Other friends: @boundlessfantasy @arcielee @qyburnsghost

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Lord Lyonel Tyrell was a man of honour, loyalty and vigilance. Succeeding in remaining neutral, assuring his family’s survival and maintaining the influence of his house in one of the bloodiest war since Aegon’s Conquest, if not of all of Westerosi history, was an accomplishment that many of his position had dreamt of.

Loyalty? He laughed bitterly at the memory of the bright and confident smile on his long gone brother Bryan’s departing figure to King’s Landing to serve under Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Be loyal to no one but his family, his loved ones.

It was the code he had lived by since Bryan’s unexpected tragic demise at the hands of Rogue Prince himself, a man his poor brother, the innocent messenger sent by King Viserys, admired and sworn loyalty to, fourteen years ago.

Lyonel remembered the day the news of his demise reached his father, the former lord of Highgarden.

People sing that there were six stages of grief.

Shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

But when it came to a devoted seventy two year old father, the grief ended in the very first.

Two days later, Lyonel, the second son, whose ambitions never surpassed the allure of marrying Lady Jayne Lannister and sampling the finest wines and sugary with his beloved, inherited the legacy he had never been prepared for.

The Targaryens will always do what’s best for the Targaryens.

Those were his late father’s last words.

To survive the Targaryen rule, Lyonel played by their rules. Schemes, betrayals, deceptions and bloodshed? He did not shy away from them. He bore the burden so his family, his people, didn’t have to.

With his hands on the cold balcony, Lord of Highgarden bathed the fresh air of flowers, the peaceful chirping of insects, the giggling of young maids and the distant melodies from the small folks returning to their homes after a long day of labour.

This was his empire he defended.

One of loyalty, honour and love.

His beloved Jayne, her arms wrapped around his waist.

Seraphina, his precious jewel, his sweet little rose, the one and only fruit of his and Jayne's love's many attempts at blooming.

His Lancel, Bryan's illegitimate offspring, whom he had taken under the Tyrell bloodline, a fierce and honorable knight, a fine protector, his heir.

“Lord Ormund has written again,” Jayne rested her head on his shoulder, her golden curls soothing his skin as much as his mind, “The letter touched me, the words he’s chosen, the sincerity of his voice. He truly desires a betrothal between his first born and Seraphina.”

Jayne traced her fingers on her husband’s cheeks, “He wishes to introduce them in King’s Landing.”

“King’s Landing?” Lyonel frowned deeply, “It should be fit for them to present themselves to Highgarden, especially when Phina was the one who treated their wounded bodies in the woods, risking the slaughter of the ruthless Northerners.”

Jayne swallowed hard as she recalled the turbulent times of the war.

Although negotiations, strategies and armies kept the castle away bloodshed and dragon fire, the walls were not impenetrable to whimpers of loss and screams agony from the highborn’s well acquainted soldiers calling the Rose without Thorns to their rescue, even at the interdiction of her parents.

Every time the Rose sneaked away from safety, the Lord and Lady of Highgarden sobbed while the peasants and soldiers rejoiced. Her empathetic smile, attentiveness to their wounds and of course, the herbs and food she had carried with her ignited the flicker of hope in the darkest times.

One fateful day, Seraphina stumbled upon two injured knights bedecked in green armor, hidden in the woods—Ormund and Daryn Hightower, gasping for air, on the brink of death from the Battle of Tumbleton.

As Seraphina returned with the blood stained figures of the castle, Lyonel and Jayne’s anger and fear exacerbated.

Highgarden had remained unharmed because of its neutrality that their naive daughter had just broken.

Yet, the gods seemed to show them mercy, perhaps in honor of the lives House Tyrell defended. The Blacks remained oblivious to this act, which could be seen as a declaration of allegiance. Instead, Seraphina’s uncalculated move of benevolence eaned House Tyrell a favourable position in the new Targaryen court: an intimate alliance with the most influential house beside the new king.

As Lyonel contemplated the offer in silence, Jayne squeezed his hand, “Daryn is a handsome, brave and honourable young man. I recognized the look on his face when Seraphina brought him back from the wild,” she pressed a kiss on cheek, “It’s the same way you looked at me years ago, lord husband.”

Lyonel’s gaze softened as he enveloped his wife into his arms with a light chuckle, “Your jest on formality never cease, my love. If the young Hightower truly feels the same about our daughter as I did to you twenty five years ago,” he cupped her cheeks, “Then, perhaps, that boy deserves her hand.”

Jayne held her husband tightly, relishing his scent and warmth. In a world cruel as this, she thanked to the gods everyday for granting her a man of his devotion, wisdom and strength.

“To King’s Landing then?”

“To King’s Landing,” Lyonel nodded before rolling his eyes, his never dying youthful side emerging, “Where the drunken king will be holding a foolish lavish pageant while his people starve. Seven bless the poor girl he will choose as the new queen.”

Jayne laughed wholeheartedly before tending to his arm, returning to the warmth of the interior, “You know, fate favoured us immensely,” she whispered with a mixture of gratitude and anxiety, “If we had agreed to the Kinslayer’s proposal in marriage-“

Lyonel suddenly gripped the touch of her hand, “Thank the wisdom my father and brother had bestowed me. Never trust a Targaryen. The rumours of…” disturbance and disgust written all over his face, “Lady, now a Princess, Cassandra Baratheon’s screams of pain echoed through the Red Keep on her wedding night. I cannot imagine-“

He buried his face in his hands as he sat down with his wife next to the fireplace.

Jayne brushed his hair with adoration, “Don’t overthink about the past, my love. Phina is about to marry a good man.”

The lord smiled as he lifted his head to face his beloved, “Everything I risked, I fought for, it was worth it. For you, for her, for Lancel, and for our people.”

Jayne kissed him passionately before whispering, “You are too good for this world, Lyonel Tyrell.”

As the stars gracefully pirouetted around the moon in the embrace of the night's darkness, and with the imminent date of embarking on the journey to King's Landing drawing near, the wheel of fate began its inevitable revolution once more.

[sailorshadzter]

Jonsa prompt: Jon is a Targaryen who was with Daenerys in Essos.

HELLOOOO THEREEE.

*insert my usual apology about how long this has been in my inbox*

tbh anon i had to force myself to stop writing, i really love toying with ideas outside my usual settings, so this was really fun. i definitely can see myself writing more for this au!

hopefully you see this!!!!

send me prompts

When the raven arrives, she’s surprised by the seal it holds. 

She blinks, turning it over twice, thinking perhaps she’s only seen it wrong, that there was no way at all that a letter had come bearing the Targaryen seal. However, when she breaks it open, even more surprising is the somewhat familiar handwriting sprawled across the page- her one time husband, Tyrion Lannister, has penned this letter for the foreign queen he’s come to serve in their years apart. 

Reading the words written, she feels her heartbeat quicken its pace, her eyes widening ever so slightly. He writes that his queen, Daenerys Targaryen, intends on sailing for Westeros to reclaim the throne she believes belongs to her. Of course, Cersei Lannister sat upon that throne right now and something tells Sansa she won’t give that up without a fight, no, not without a war. Tyrion writes that Daenerys hopes for her support to claim the Iron Throne, as with her she brings Sansa’s own kin, a cousin born to her long dead aunt Lyanna Stark.

Ah, him.

Sansa has known of Aegon’s existence for many years now, her father had often lamented over not being able to bring the child into their home. He’d been spirited away at the very last moment by his father, sent away to live with his younger siblings Viserys and Daenerys, the latter of the two being just a little older than he was. Due to this, Aegon had lived away from Westeros and his Stark family for all of their lives- truth was, that was better for his safety these days, certainly Cersei would have him killed in his sleep at the first chance. After all, there were many out there who whispered that Targaryen or not, he was the best claimant to the Seven Kingdoms. Save for the North, of course.

“Your grace?”

She jumps at the voice, the letter falling out of her hands and back to the top of her desk. A very flustered Lord Royce stands there, stammering over an apology for startling her. “No mind, my lord, I was so lost in thought I didn’t hear you knock.” 

“I only wanted to let you know the other lords have arrived for the council meeting.” The older man says, her Hand to the Queen, her most loyal of advisors- perhaps the only man in this world she fully trusts. 

“Good, for we have much to discuss,” she says, rising up to her full height, giving the letter she holds a wave. “We are to have visitors.. And soon.” She doesn’t know what the right answer is, but she does know one thing- there would be no fighting back against three dragons, not in a physical fight that was. 

So she will discuss with the lords, but she knows Daenerys Targaryen will arrive all the same. 

[ x x x ]  

It is bitterly cold, but somehow, it feels like home. 

The Northern landscape is beautiful, with its freshly fallen snow drifts and gray skies, wild and wonderful in its own way. Daenerys complains bitterly, but she is a dragon and not built for such temperatures. Overhead her dragons soar through the sky, shrieking and belching fire as they weave in and around one another, surely terrifying the locals that gather to watch the arrival of the first Targaryen in decades. 

“How do you like it?” 

The voice draws him from his own thoughts and he casts his gaze to the right, where Tyrion has slid up beside him on his black horse. “How do I like what?” He asks in reply, never eager to entertain the dwarf’s conversations. 

The imp chuckles, his scarred face twisting with amusement as he leans over, just a little bit closer. “The North, I mean, it should have been your home after all.” Like everyone else, he knows that Aegon was never meant to live the life he has- he should have remained North, in the custody of his mother’s family, never to have his royal blood acknowledged. Instead, just before he was slain, his father had managed to find him and sent him with his most trusted knight to Dragonstone, where Viserys and Daenerys still lived with their nurses and maids. That knight never made it back to Rhaegar before the fighting began and would drink himself to death when the war was over.

“It is as I expected it to be,” Aegon says, flatly, returning his gaze forward. 

“Well, I imagine you are eager to meet your cousin,” Tyrion says next, eyeing the young man with those green eyes. “As am I, we were married, you know.” Aegon turns back to look at him now, arching a brow. “She was quite young, too young, even for me,” he goes on with a dismissive wave of his hand. “From what I’ve heard, she’s been quite unlucky in terms of marriage.” Tyrion had heard of her marriage to Ramsay Bolton and the rumors of what that marriage had cost her… And, in the end, what it had gained her. “My nephew would have been a saint in comparison to her last husband.” Aegon has heard all about the terrible boy king Joffrey, not just from Tyrion, but other men who had fled his rule over the years. “Ah, I see the gates now… I must fetch the queen.” He’s lagging behind now, for the queen rides several yards behind them, surrounded by her loyal Dothraki. 

Sure enough, when Aegon turns to look ahead once more, there’s the gates that will lead them all to a new chapter, a new life entirely. 

[ x x x ]

When the gates open, she’s standing there in her courtyard, looking every inch a Northern Queen. Her hair twisted back in braids, her finest furs draped over her shoulders, she holds her head high as the silver-haired Targaryen queen slides down from her mare with help from an older man she knows must be Jorah Mormont. She has learned the names and lives of all of the men who serve this woman- at least, the best she can, based on old records and the recollection of her lords who once knew these men. She’s learned as much as she can about the Targaryens and their past, more than she’s ever bothered to learn before. None of it prepared her for the sight of the dragons flying overhead, creatures certainly too fearsome to exist, despite them being there in front of her own two eyes. 

She forces herself back to the present, watching as the woman approaches; Daenerys is just a little older than she is and she’s beautiful. Silver hair hangs down her back in soft curls, though she wears elaborate braids and when she smiles, she dimples prettily, but her violet eyes are cold in their gaze, never once brightening up with the smile she wears. “You must be Lady Stark,” she says in an accent she doesn’t recognize- one born in Essos, she supposes- taunting her openly in her own home by choosing to not refer to her as the title she holds. “Thank you for welcoming us into your home.” 

Sansa knows she has but a split second to decide what to do- suddenly, she is fourteen again, caught in this very same game with Joffrey. And just like that, it all comes flooding back. Just like that, she knows what to do. “Welcome to Winterfell, your grace, I hope we can become fast friends.” It does the trick and the dragon queen smiles, again, the light never reaching her violet colored eyes. “I’m certain you are tired and cold from your journey, allow me to have someone show you to your rooms.” 

A moment later, Agatha is there to lead the way, but a single man remains in the courtyard, choosing not to join his queen as she enters Winterfell. 

And at once, Sansa knows who this man must be.

He has the look of her father, the look of Arya, a steady reminder of all she’s lost. “You’re Aegon,” she says without preamble, watching as he flinches, as if the name brings him nothing but pain. As if it is a name not his own, much as she once felt living as Alayne. “You are most welcome here, cousin.” Now that she thinks about it, he is all the family she has left in the world. Gone were her parents, gone were her siblings… The last of the Starks, but perhaps, not entirely. 

A smile crosses his features, foreign, but warm. 

[ x x x ]

He finds her on the battlements the third day of their arrival.

It has been a long three days, full of sharpened stares and venom laced words. Daenerys and Sansa Stark seem as if they will never get along, not that he can blame her, not really. Daenerys was hard to get along with, even for her most trusted advisors, even for him, her only living relative. “Your grace,” he greets, the only one in the Targaryen queen’s entourage to use her true title. “I’m sorry for interrupting.” 

She turns to him then, a smile curving on her lips, the beauty of it striking. “You aren’t,” she assures, gesturing for him to fall into place at her side. He does, their shoulders just barely brushing as she leans forward, gloved hands gripping the railing as she stares ahead into the forest that borders the palace walls. Once, she had jumped from these very same battlements, to run into the forest, to hope to escape the hell that was her life within the walls of Winterfell. “I was just taking a moment before the day began.” She shifts her gaze back to him, only to find he’s already looking her way; the realization of that makes her heart skip a beat. 

She doesn’t know it, but he does the very same thing each day. 

“You are an early riser,” he notes, for the morning call has not even yet sounded, though there she was fully dressed and her hair perfectly pinned. It’s hair so red, so vivid in color, he’s never seen hair such as hers before. The color of it reminds him of a sunset, crimson, yet with gold  woven into the strands. She laughs at this, nodding, her blue eyes bright as she turns to fully face him. 

“Shae hates me for it, but aye, I am.” She replies, thinking of her handmaiden who would always prefer the extra hour or two of sleep, but who never outwardly complained. “I find it is the only way to have any time to myself at all.” The rest of her days are consumed by council meetings, by running the North, by every little in and out of being their queen. It left next to no time for herself, save for these early mornings. “You, too?”

It is his turn to smile, only the second one she’s seen since his arrival- a stoic man, this Aegon seems to be, again, reminding her of the father she’s lost. “Since I was young,” he admits, thinking back to his earliest of days, running through the market streets of Essos with the sunrise warming his back.

“You are a Stark indeed,” she says next, thinking of her father who always rose before the morning call, of Arya and Bran who were always out causing trouble before the sun even rose above the horizon. “My father always said your mother would be out riding her horse before the morning call.” She hasn’t thought often of her long dead aunt, dead before her own birth, but she imagines Aegon must think of her often, must wonder how his life could have been different if only she’d lived. 

If he means to reply, he’s interrupted by the morning call, shrill in the morning cold. “I must go,” she says with an apologetic sort of smile. “Let’s talk again, Aegon.” There it was again, that flinch, as if he hates hearing his own name. He nods then, recovering, offering her a bow any courtier might offer his queen. 

When she heads back inside, she finds her heart is thumping madly. 

[ x x x ]

In the godswood, just after dinner, she finds him.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your prayers,” she says when he looks up at her from his place beneath the heart tree. Somehow, she finds it amusing how they’ve both stumbled across the other today. 

“I’m not praying,” he says, mirroring words she’s said before. “I’ll go, so you can…” 

He means to rise up, but she shakes her head, giving him enough reason to pause. “I don’t come here to pray,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand, closing the gap between them before she sinks onto the ground at his side. For a moment he finds himself staring at her, realizing then how much of a regular woman she was, this Sansa Stark. Queen or not, she was like a normal woman, easy to understand, easy to get along with. Easy to love, some might even say. “I have not prayed in years.” He blinks and in that instance, she was not the bright ray of sunshine she seemed to always be, but rather, a woman wrapped in darkness. A woman full of regrets, full of grief, a woman who had lived through things she could never put to words. 

“Neither have I,” he says softly, thinking how no god has ever answered any of his prayers before. 

Her blue eyes meet his gray and for a long moment, they are two people who understand one another in perhaps a way no one else could. Despite being little more than strangers, they understood the gravity of that feeling, the overwhelming sense of knowing that nobody was listening, no one was hearing their cries. “Can I ask you something?” She asks, her gaze never once wavering. He nods. “You don’t like your name, do you?” 

My name… He thinks about how for all of his life, he’s lived with this Targaryen given name, yet somehow, it has always felt foreign. It has never felt like his own. “No,” he admits, softer now, hands curling into fists atop his thighs. He’s never admitted such a thing to anyone ever before. 

Her eyes soften, rosy lips twitching with a frown. “My father intended to take you in, you know,” she says with a tilt of her head, red hair cascading across her shoulder. Jon nods, again, silent and somber. “He once told me that had he achieved bringing you home, he’d have named you Jon, after our ancestor Jonnel Stark.” Those gray eyes widen, his mouth falling open in silent surprise. “Somehow I find it fits.” 

Jon… Had he remained North, his name would have been Jon Stark, or perhaps Snow, if he’d been passed off as a bastard son. Jon… That could have been his name… It should have been his name. “I might like to call you by that name, if it pleases you,” she says, softer than before, the lightest of blushes staining her ivory cheeks pink. 

“It would,” he says with a nod, watching as her face lights up from within. 

[lya-dustin]

The Dornish Princess

Aemond x fem! Dornish!reader

Cw: mentions of murder, false identity, theft

Tag list: @valeskafics @queen--kenobi

You arrive in King’s Landing as a poor survivor of a shipwreck. All your nice things and clothes and servants and knights gone when the Wyldes found you on their lands.

The only proof of your identity was a waterlogged scroll naming you Coryanne Nymerios Martell, Princess of Dorne.

You looked the part, tan skin, dark hair and the haunting purple eyes of your Dayne mother and the manner of a gentlewoman. By the time you arrived at Court, you had been given all a woman of your station needed and letters were sent home to your sister to tell her of your rescue and invitation to court.

No one knew why your dead handmaid looked so much like you until you quietly explained she was your bastard sister and companion. But you didn’t really cry for her, she was just a bastard after all.

The bastard of Qoren Martell and a dragonseed from Lys.

“My congratulations on your betrothal, may the gods bless you and your intended, your highness.” You say quietly when you encounter the Prince Regent avoid his three and ten year old betrothed.

Little Floris Baratheon had been picked because it would be a good three years until she was old enough to be bedded, a smart move to prevent Baratheon from having too much power over the Greens and keep one’s freedom for as long as one needs it.

You were in a similar boat, your hand merited more than a vassal lord so your sister decided to sell you to the Prince of Pentos because she refused to wed. You were Aliandra’s heir; you were older than Qyle and next in line to be Princess of Dorne, you were everything Floris Baratheon and the rest of the ladies in Westeros were not.

Now it was all a matter of seducing the infamous kinslayer beside you.

His mother distrusted you, a smart decision, no one should trust you. If anyone looked too closely, they’d see it was not snake scales you wore.

“I am engaged to a child, and you are engaged to a man older than my dead father.” He said bluntly and you agreed. Both matches were bad, especially if you were a romantic at heart. It seemed the prince despite his appearance and cold exterior was one.

It wouldn’t be difficult to convince him you love him, or to make him love you. Everyone you met had that misfortune of loving you and becoming blind to your true nature.

It wasn’t the shipwreck that killed your sister, you had held her under the water until she stopped thrashing and came up with the story you fed to Lady Wylde and her company.

Aemond believed himself to be the exception to the faults of men, but he was only a man even if he rode the largest dragon since Balerion.

“A betrothed is not a spouse; the Prince of Pentos is not the first of my suitors to propose and die before the negotiations begin in earnest, you know.” You admit, hinting at the tragic and sudden deaths of all the men ---young and old--- who courted you since you first bled.

You sampled some of them when you grew older, those who didn’t satisfy you usually had hanger-ons who did, and tradition dictated that no bride prices cannot be returned should the groom die before the wedding takes place.

You had amassed quite a fortune in Essos, that was where you were heading. To find more unsuspecting men after your sister was forced to toss you out of Dorne after you slipped up and was almost caught.

Perhaps you could stay here instead. All signs pointed to the Prince Regent becoming King before the first chill came south.

If Prince Aemond was as good with his cock as he was with his sword, he’d be worth staying in Westeros.

Queen Coryanne, now that had a better ring to it than Queen Floris.

“And Lady Floris is not the first of mine to seek greener pastures.” His lips quirk slightly in amusement. He was notorious for evading matchmaking mamas and their daughters, Borros Baratheon may think a war would prevent Prince Aemond from going back on his word, but he’d never played against you.

“Shall we put it to the test?” you ask in a whisper knowing little Floris will be shuffled off to the youngest boy like an old shirt before the sun even sets.

You like him, despite it all, you cannot help but like him.

You are betrothed now, a small feast thrown in your honor as the Baratheon contingent leave and wage war against the Vulture King to spite both the Greens and Dorne at the same time.

But House Targaryen does not care, they got the better deal in you.

Gifts of money and finery and jewels were given to you by your soon to be husband, his mother and the nobles currying favor with the woman who is queen in all but name.

Your dowry would be partially paid in gold and in men. While Dorne was far less backwards than the rest of Westeros and women held equal rights like men, and end to the hostility between the realms.

“We can wed as soon as your dowry comes, my love.” he says as you lounge in your bed after a particularly trying morning. Aegon was growing weaker, Helaena and Jaehaera doing so terribly they had to be taken to the motherhouse in Oldtown to heal away from prying eyes and the need for men and heirs was as important as breathing.

Letters from Dorne had come, mainly thanking your prince and his mother for their hospitality and the promise of sending a proper envoy to negotiate the wedding. You pray the envoy comes by land instead of sea.

Who knows, perhaps Dorne would join the six kingdoms without bloodshed.

But it won’t happen.

The moment the envoy comes, you are fucked.

He won’t want you if he knew the truth. Loathes bastards, killed one even if the little fucker had his blood. Worse, you made a fool of him as you rob them all blind as you plan your escape before Aliandra exposes you as the fraud you are.

What would he do to you when he knows you are Y/N Sand and not your dead sister, Coryanne?

“Why wait, my love?” you kiss him to show how much you care for him, how little it bothers you to see him without his eye as he fucks a bastard into you as he calls you by a name you spit like a curse.

And like the lovesick fool he’s become, the two of you elope in the night. Two strangers stand witness, and you give your real name as a jape as a drunken septon names you man and wife.

Aemond will hate you and hunt you down, you know this you spend your wedding night in his rooms and see how happy you’ve made him.

“I love you, Y/N.” he breathes out and your heart catches in your throat. The boy he was under it all didn’t deserve it, but you can’t have him and no matter how much you pray for the envoy to drown, you know your past will catch up to you.

You are gone when he wakes.

Nothing, not even the furniture, is left in your rooms, nor is there a speck of gold left in the royal treasury except a valid marriage certificate signed and dated with your true name.

He will hate you, but you’d rather he hate you than ever forget you.

Part ii

[duxbelisarius]

Dune At Home: The First Dornish War, Part Three

Thank you to those that have followed along with this series; I hope you're enjoying it or have found it informative! if this is your first time seeing this series, check out the master post and my AO3 to read all the chapters.

Having established the basic issues with Dorne's strategy in the First Dornish War, any further assessment depends on our knowing Aegon's strategy for how he intended to conquer Dorne and the ways in which his efforts interacted with Dornish plans. This part will assess Aegon's strategy and the initial operations of both sides at the outset of the war, highlighting a stark contrast between how both sides are written in the process: Whereas Dornish strategy cannot be accommodated by the existing worldbuilding, the Seven Kingdoms appear to have no strategy at all. The outcome of the fighting in the first year of the war is the result of a distinct lack of planning or intelligent leadership by the Targaryens and their lords, which has significant implications for assessing Dorne's strategy as a whole.

We mentioned in part two that our knowledge of Dornish government and decision-making processes is not great, but this is fortunately not the case regarding the fledgling Targaryen monarchy. Aegon had his Small Council comprised of the Hand and his Masters of Ships, Laws and Coin, as well as his two sister-queens; when Argillac Durrandon rejected Aegon's offer of marriage between Orys Baratheon and Princess Argella, F&B states that Aegon called a meeting of his "friends, bannermen and principal allies," before he and his sisters settled on a course of action. We're also told that Aegon and his sisters each had a maester at their service during the Conquest, while as many a half a dozen assisted Aegon throughout his reign. The Aegonfort was clearly capable of seeking information and advice to a reasonable degree in order to pursue policies, as is made clear by Aegon's sending "a delegation of high lords, septons and maesters to Sunspear" in the year prior to the war to negotiate joining Dorne with the Seven Kingdoms. Aegon also possesses the famous 'Painted Table' at Dragonstone, a large wood-carved map of Westeros featuring fortresses, settlements, rivers and other important features, which we know was utilized by Aegon, Jaehaerys I, Rhaenyra and the Black Council, and most recently Stannis Baratheon to assist with planning.

There's no doubt that the Invasion of Dorne in 4 AC had been brewing for a significant amount of time; the letters sent by the Targaryens to the Seven Kingdoms and their lords made clear that there would only be one king in Westeros, and Rhaenys' promise to Meria Martell to return with fire and blood made it clear that Dornish unification with the realm was not optional. The Conquerors likely had at least some designs for attacking Dorne during the year of the conquest (1 BC), and there would certainly be continued discussions from 1 AC onward. The Three Sisters rebellion and the Iron Islands civil war had to be dealt with in between, but Visenya ensured the Three Sisters bent the knee soon after Aegon's official coronation, while the strife in the Iron Islands lasted only a year before Aegon arrived and ended the conflict in 2 AC. Negotiations with Dorne took the better part of a year before the invasion in 4 AC, so negotiations likely went on in 3 AC alongside a build up of troops and supplies in the Marches that may have begun in 2 AC if not earlier.

Aegon's strategy for conquering Dorne took the form of a three-pronged assault, with Rhaenys and Meraxes attacking eastern Dorne while Aegon and Balerion led a 30 000 man army through the Prince's Pass and Orys Baratheon led 1000 picked knights of the Stormlands down the Boneway. Strongholds were occupied in all three regions of Dorne: Skyreach and Yronwood in the Red Mountains, Hellholt in the western desert, and The Tor, Ghost Hill and Sunspear in eastern Dorne. Lord Jon Rosby was appointed Castellan of Sunspear and Warden of the Sands to rule Dorne on Aegon's behalf, while a host led by Harlan Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach, was stationed at Hellholt to respond to any rebellions. Aegon and Rhaenys then depart with a host of unknown size, with the Dornish rebelling and massacring the occupation forces just before the Targaryens reach King's Landing.

Before discussing the numerous issues with this strategy, I want to first discuss the size of Aegon's army and the supplies required to sustain it in order to give a sense of the planning that would be required for this invasion and the problems this creates for the narrative. H. G. W. Davies provides a helpful model for understanding the logistics of horse-drawn armies which I will reference here; if you have an itch to scratch that involves military logistics and/or the history of the Eastern Front in WWII, I strongly recommend his blog. The pre-modern army is in essence a kind of micro-economy, possessing demand which must be balanced against available inputs of supply and transport in order to output mobility. The demand of Aegon's army is substantial: according to F&B, the invasion force was 31 000 strong, divided between Orys Baratheon's 1000 picked knights and Aegon's host of 30000, which contained nearly 2000 mounted knights and 300 lords and bannermen. Aegon's force compares favourably to the largest host Westeros had seen in it's history at the Field of Fire: Mern IX Gardener brought 30-35000 men of the Reach while Loren I Lannister brought 20-22000 Westermen.

The daily requirements for Aegon's army would have been 30 tonnes of rations and 240 tonnes of water per day; we have no indication of the number of horses and pack animals the army had with it, but if we assume that the nearly 2000 mounted knights and 300 lords and bannermen each had two horses, then these 4600 horses would have a daily requirement of 43.7 tonnes of fodder or 64.4 tonnes of pasturage, and 188 tonnes of water. Aegon's options for supply would have been to forage locally (ie in Dorne), to requisition supplies in return for pay locally or within his kingdom, and to stockpile ahead of time using depots and magazines. Forage presents the greatest difficulties due to the Dornish burning their crops and poisoning their wells, but F&B tells us that after emerging from the Prince's Pass, "runoff from the heights provided water and game was plentiful in the valleys" in the foothills of the Red Mountains. Such 'natural' forage would reduce consumption of supplies somewhat, as would grazing the horses and pack animals, and reducing rations for short periods would also help to somewhat reduce demand.

Regardless, most foraging, requisitioning and stockpiling would need to be done before the invasion within the borders of the Seven Kingdoms, gathering the supplies locally in the Reach and Stormlands or bringing them from further afield via road, river or sea. Aegon and his subordinates would need to already possess estimates of their supply needs based on their routes of advance alongside information about local subsistence in Dorne. Transport would also need to be obtained in the form of pack animals, wagons, and remounts to replace sick, injured or deceased animals, as well as ships to resupply the army and build-up stockpiles within Dorne. This last means would be especially vital given the great distances to be travelled within Dorne, the sparseness of the now-vanished population, and the risks of overland supply lines being attacked or cut-off entirely.

In Firearms: A Global History to 1700, Kenneth Chase gives some numbers for the transport requirements of a pre-modern army: An army of soldiers carrying 80 pounds of equipment and rations with no additional transport might march 12 miles a day for 10 days before running out; adding pack horses, carrying 250 pounds and consuming 10 pounds of fodder per day, might allow that army to make the round trip if supplies of grass, water and forage could be ensured. Supply wagons with a driver and two horses consuming 23 pounds per day and carrying 1400 pounds of supplies could each support 30 infantrymen enough for an army to march 200 miles, assuming 1 day of rest in 6 for the horses and favourable terrain. To double this range and allow the army to make a round trip of 400 miles, would require the number of wagons to increase from 1 per 30 men to 1 per 5 men, while removing abundant water and grass from the equation would cut the distance fivefold (400 miles to 80) (Firearms, pg. 17-18).

Applying Chase's ratio of 1 wagon per five soldiers to Aegon's army would land him with 6000 wagons pulled by 12000 horses, bringing the army's 'herd' to almost 17000 horses with a human to animal ratio of less than 2:1, compared to the 3.4:1 ratio for a Roman legion (Logistics of the Roman Army, pg. 83). The size of Aegon's troop and supply column would also present problems; using Bret Devereaux's estimates, a 2-horse, four-wheeled wagon might take up 25 ft of road space which would make for a double-file column 2 wagons wide and 3000 deep covering 14.2 miles. Assuming a marching rate of 12 miles, the rearmost wagons would never leave camp before the foremost stopped to make camp, and this is excluding the soldiers. Aegon would have to divide his army into multiple columns moving a day's march ahead of each other to make any kind of progress; assuming three columns, each c.10 miles long including soldiers and baggage, would cover almost 70 miles through the Prince's Pass at any given time. Unless Aegon had ravens available that could fly to and from settlements within the pass, communications would rely entirely upon dispatch riders or visual and audio signals when feasible. As noted in the Dance series, a large dragon's flight speed is somewhere around 50 miles/hour, so Aegon could fly from the head of the first column to the rear of the third in just over an hour to further ease communications, but this would provide ample opportunities for the Dornish to attack without fear of the dragons (more on this later).

Assuming that water sources could be found and there was grass for grazing, a 200 mile march might carry Aegon's army from Nightsong to Skyreach, but the other 200 theoretical miles of mobility would be used up entirely with the march to Yronwood and then into eastern Dorne. Under these circumstances, resupply by sea would be absolutely vital to the continued advance of Aegon's army, although Aegon's decision to send part of his host against Hellholt before marching east would reduce their demand somewhat. Regardless, the disappearance of the Dornish population would almost guarantee Aegon's defeat by itself, as without a population to requisition supplies from the occupiers would have to resort to farming themselves and/or rely entirely on imports, the latter being ruinously expensive and risky given Dorne's proximity to the pirate-infested Stepstones and the inclement weather the Narrow Sea experiences during autumn and winter.

As should be clear, availability of supplies would make or break Aegon's invasion, and prior planning for the invasion would have been absolutely vital; unfortunately, the execution of the invasion suggests that neither Aegon nor George considered these implications. To start, we have the astonishing fact that none of the Westerosi fleets make an appearance in the war let alone the invasion. How this is possible when Aegon just fought two conflicts involving naval forces, the Three Sisters rebellion and the Iron Islands civil war, and his conquest of the 7K began with delivering his forces to Blackwater Bay by ship and sending the Velaryon Fleet against the Vale, is beyond me. What's worse is that Aegon was and is Lord of Dragonstone, an island, and his family's oldest bannermen also have their house seats on islands, House Velaryon of Driftmark and House Celtigar of Claw Isle; it is impossible for Aegon to be ignorant of naval logistics given that the provisioning of his home and it's defense (aside from the dragons) relies upon it. In fact, the only member of the Small Council with an explicitly military role is the Master of Ships.

It is true that Daemon Velaryon was killed fighting the Arryns and 2/3rds of his fleet were sunk or captured, the latter likely going up with the Arryns ships when Visenya burned them, but construction of a new fleet should have been a priority in the 3 or so years prior to the invasion of Dorne. Even without the Velaryon Fleet, the Lannisters, Redwynes and Tyrells all provided their naval strength to the invasion of the Iron Islands (I'm assuming the Hightowers and Shield Isles were the Tyrell forces here), and Braavosi ships were hired to transport Manderly forces to the Three Sisters. Between his own ships, his bannermen, the ability to hire sellsails, and the potential to enlist pirates as the Dornish do in 8 AC, Aegon has plenty of options for assembling a fleet to support his armies (and they will need naval support). Dorne also has the facilities to support Aegon's army via the sea between Planky Town with it's access to the Greenblood and The Tor and Ghost Hill; the latter two's ports accommodated large pirate fleets on two separate occasions, in 8 AC when Dornish forces raided Cape Wrath and burned half the Rain Wood and in 83 AC during the so-called 'Fourth Dornish War.' We also shouldn't rule out the potential for Yronwood to service shallow-drafted ships given it's proximity to the Sea of Dorne's coast and the mouth of a river to it's north.

A further example of the absence of naval forces of any kind from Aegon's invasion comes with the opening act of the war, Rhaenys' destruction of Planky Town. Torching Dorne's largest settlement, its major port and closest thing to a city, drowning hundreds in the Greenblood and depriving thousands of their homes and livelihoods, all but guarantees Rhaenys a place in the Seven Hells. Even worse, with the mouth of the Greenblood choked by the wreckage of hundreds of ships and the houses and walkways built atop them, sea-faring ships cannot unload at Planky Town or venture up the Greenblood and it's tributaries, and vice-versa for Dornish rivercraft carrying goods from the interior. Rhaenys' actions rule out using the Greenblood to resupply Aegon's forces, and severely damages the Dornish economy for both occupiers and indigenous population. This ignorance of the importance of sea power to the survival of Aegon's army is simply inexcusable and unjustifiable on George's part.

The apparent absence of any strategy or planning on Aegon's part is reinforced by the decision to occupy Hellholt, the seat of House Uller; this comes after the army emerges from the Prince's Pass, with Aegon continuing east via Skyreach while Tyrell takes a host into the western desert. According to F&B, Hellholt was thought to be well placed for responding to any revolts, but the march there from Skyreach cost Tyrell a quarter of his men and almost all of his horses due to dehydration, exposure and presumably the local water sources being poisoned. This decision makes no sense on multiple levels, the most obvious being that Hellholt's location on the map of Dorne is well within the western desert, far south and west of the Red Mountains and eastern Dorne respectively, where the bulk of Dorne's population lives. TWOIAF also tells us that the Qorgyles established their seat of Sandstone by "fortifying the only well for fifty leagues around," which allows us to extrapolate distances quite well. We can reasonably assume that Sandstone is 50 leagues/150 miles or more away from Hellholt, Starfall and Skyreach; a rough estimate from looking at our maps of Dorne suggests that Hellholt is likewise 150 or more miles from Skyreach, Yronwood and Vaith.

As noted already, Aegon could carry supplies for a 400 mile round trip assuming sufficient water, forage and grass was available locally; if the march through the Prince's Pass was 200 miles or so, a march of more than 150 miles to Hellholt would see Tyrell arrive with little to no supplies for his men, guaranteeing their starvation. Such a march through the desert with no access to water or grass would cut Tyrell's range from 200 to 40 miles, meaning his forces would have died of thirst and starvation long before they made it to Hellholt. F&B also claims that Aegon's forces were "already running short of food and fodder" by the time the exited the Pass, making Tyrell's march more unbelievable still.

It is also very likely that the march was unnecessary since we have evidence that Rhaenys had already passed that way: F&B tells us that the she stopped at Lemonwood, Spottswood and Stinkwater to receive their submission after destroying Planky Town. Lemonwood is southwest of Planky Town, and while we don't know the location of Spottswood (the seat of House Santagar), we do know of only one place in Dorne where the 'water stinks,': the Brimstone River. This suggests that Rhaenys was flying westwards and this makes sense given that she's effectively retracing her steps from when she first visited Dorne in 1 BC, when she flew over the Prince's Pass, over the red and white sands, and along the Greenblood before arriving at Sunspear. In this case she would be flying from the mouth of the Greenblood to the Brimstone before turning back to Sunspear, but she had ample opportunity to scope out Hellholt and Sandstone and then turn north to report her findings to Aegon. Lest we forget, Rhaenys is Aegon's younger sister and his favoured wife, the mother of his first child and whose death in the First Dornish War deeply affects him. Despite this, she offers no support to the invasion whatsoever despite having ample opportunity to do so, revealing once again the shocking lack of planning or strategy by Targaryens.

The last act of Aegon's invasion and the most egregious demonstration of the lack of strategy comes after he arrives at Sunspear with his host. Aegon declares the conquest of Dorne complete and departs with Rhaenys and a host, appointing Jon Rosby the Warden of the Sands and Castellan of Sunspear to rule Dorne in his name. The problem with this decision should be obvious: the Dornish have burned their fields, poisoned their wells and then some, their major port and settlement has been destroyed and their major artery of trade is compromised, and the vast majority of their population has vanished. Being a feudal, Medieval setting, Dorne cannot support Aegon's garrisons or yield income and taxes for the new lords and the crown without the labour of the peasants that are currently missing.

Aegon cannot leave, or at the very least Visenya should replace Aegon and Rhaenys in Dorne before they depart to support further operations: the Dornish population must be found, wells need to be restored, and the wreckage of Planky Town needs to be cleared. Aegon's garrisons will require resupply by sea immediately, or else they'll have to provide their own food and fodder via farming in addition to defending their strongholds and enforcing Aegon's reign. With a presumably sizeable chunk of the original invasion host now stranded at Helholt under Harlan Tyrell, one dragon at least will be required to respond quickly to crises and to deliver important messages across Dorne and to King's Landing. One also wonders why Aegon has not moved his court to Storm's End, Oldtown, or even Nightsong to better oversee the war, given how far away Dragonstone and KL are and the underdeveloped nature of the latter.

Regardless, the culmination of Aegon's 'strategy' sees the garrisons in Dorne effectively abandoned: they have no dragons or ships to assist them; the host intended to support them against rebellions is stranded in the desert even though it should already have starved to death; while their own supplies should be limited without the non-functioning Dornish economy. It is no surprise at all that the Dornish overwhelmed these forces as it would have been embarrassing had they not done so, but this brings us back to the flaws inherent in Dorne's strategy (or what passes for it). As we discussed in Part Two, Dorne's strategy relies on hiding it's population from invasion using means that are somehow never mentioned in their history before, and abandoning their settlements to the invaders and destroying their own resources while presumably surviving entirely with stored food in a way that is unprecedented in our history of George's story. This is then capped off by sudden attacks that commence only after George has ensured the Targaryens have sabotaged their own efforts, either intentionally or unintentionally. Dorne's plan for driving out the invaders ends up being riddled with so many single points of failure that it beggars belief how Meria Martell and her lords could have supported this plan to begin with.

F&B says that the Dornish rebel shortly before Aegon reaches King's Landing with his host, which is an improvement over TWOIAF's account that Aegon and Rhaenys flew back to King's Landing and the rebellions began on their arrival. A dragon should be able to fly from Sunspear to King's Landing in c. 18 hours or two days of travel, based on our calculations from the Dance series, and this would be far too short a time for the Dornish to coordinate their attacks. F&B instead has Aegon and his host march back the way they came along the coast of the Sea of Dorne and the foothills of the Red Mountains and back up through the Prince's Pass; per the distance map of Westeros, Nightsong in the Dornish Marches is c.625 miles from King's Landing as the crow flies, or c.52 days at a rate of 12 miles per day. I think we can safely double this to account for the march from Sunspear to the Prince's Pass and the routes they would have taken within the Seven Kingdoms, giving a passage of time of a little over 3 months.

Aegon's returning host would be a great deal smaller than the original force, between casualties, garrison detachments and Tyrell's force; indeed it would have to be a mere fraction of the 30000-man army if it hoped to return via the same route, past fields it's horses had already grazed and areas already heavily foraged for what little could be found. They should be returning by ship if they want to return at all given how desperate their supply situation should be, but regardless of this, Skyreach, Yronwood, The Tor and Ghost Hill fall within a fortnight of Aegon's return, with Sunspear falling soon after. TWOIAF dates the death of Harlan Tyrell to 5 AC meaning the fall of Sunspear and the loss of the other garrisons likely came just before or after the beginning of 5 AC. The only hints we're given about how this campaign took place is that Dornish spearmen 'appeared from nowhere' and that the Dornish 'swarmed in' from the Shadow City to 'retake the castle' at Sunspear. That it took close to a fortnight indicates that even with some level of surprise and subterfuge involved, not all of the castles were retaken simultaneously and without any resistance from their garrisons, which held out for two weeks at the latest.

The obvious problem facing this scenario is that of communications: leaving aside how the Dornish were able to coordinate their efforts, the idea that two weeks of fighting took place without any intervention from the Targaryens or Harlan Tyrell is extremely suspect. Based on our calculations from the Dance series, the conquerors dragons should have been able to fly them from King's Landing to Skyreach in 8 hours, while a raven could make that flight in perhaps 8 days. In order to avoid the Tyrell host or the Targaryen dragons supporting the garrisons, the Dornish have to count on a complete communications failure across all five castles. But this cannot have been the case given that word of the fall of Sunspear eventually reaches Harlan Tyrell at Hellholt, suggesting at least some degree of information being exchanged between King's Landing and the forces in Dorne.

Even if subterfuge ensured the fall of some of the castles, Aegon's garrisons have had weeks if not months to familiarize themselves with their surroundings, while the elderly, women and children left behind in the Dornish settlements should absolutely have been held as hostages by Aegon's men, limiting their ability to contribute to the rebellion. Had the Dornish infiltrated the castles using tunnels, we would also expect their fall to have taken much less than two weeks and to merit some mention beyond the generic phrase 'appearing from nowhere;' in fact, the attackers at Sunspear had to swarm into the castle from the labyrinthine Shadow City. The Dornish would had to have stormed or besieged the castles to retake them, and both options involve considerable risk, as Geoffrey Parker made clear in his ground-breaking work The Army of Flanders and the Spanish Road, 1567-1659. Between 1578 and 1590, the Spanish Army of Flanders captured 95 Dutch towns, of which 60 required direct military action to take and only 4 of the remaining 35 fell to ruse or surprise. Only 9 of the 60 taken by military action fell by storming and only after they had been besieged for some time, and this was all done with the aid of gunpowder weaponry and executed by perhaps the finest armed force Early Modern Europe had ever seen (Spanish Road, 7-8).

The result is that the Dornish strategy has multiple single points of failure of which any combination would surely doom their plans. Any communication with KL will bring a dragon and/or reinforcements down upon the Dornish; a single dragon remaining in Dorne will render siege operations unthinkable; not sending the Tyrell host into the desert for no reason whatsoever likewise makes siege warfare risky; and the presence of naval support to resupply Aegon's garrisons would further harm any chances the Dornish had for success. All of this is after the Dornish have abandoned their castles, destroyed their own resources, and allowed Aegon's army to occupy important locations in their country. As we said in Part 2, the scale of these efforts is simply too great for the story to accommodate, while the levels of contrivance required to ensure Dornish success render any suspension of disbelief impossible.

As promised in Part 2, there WILL be a 'fix-it' section now; it might seem strange given how bonkers a lot of the issues are, but there is an entirely plausible scenario for the invasion to be constructed from what George has given us. The common thread having been George's struggles with scale, all that really needs to be done is to rein in the scenario somewhat and render it more manageable. I would start by having the war end in 7 AC when Orys and his knights are ransomed in our timeline (IOTL). In this timeline (ITTL) I would keep Aegon's plan more or less the same, with a few changes: Firstly, the invasion would take place in two phases with a ground assault through the Prince's Pass, followed by a naval assault on Planky Town and the Greenblood by an invasion fleet, with the forces involved being 25000 and 5000 men respectively. Once Aegon has taken Skyreach and is through the Red Mountains, the plan is to send the invasion fleet to take Planky Town and then ferry supplies and reinforcements to Aegon, with further supplies being shipped from Stonehelm, Weeping Town, Estermont and Tarth to The Tor and Ghost Hill once these have been taken.

Secondly, while the timeline would remain the same in terms of 3 or so years passing between Aegon's Conquest and the invasion of Dorne, I would make it clear that the Dornish have not completely hidden underground. Farming continues so as to allow more food to be stockpiled while instead of ceding most of the country to the invaders and then driving them out, the Dornish strategy is instead to utilize the terrain of the Marches to their advantage and prevent Aegon from pushing any further south. Just because this scenario has Aegon actually use the three years to prepare and plan intelligently does not automatically mean he can defeat the Dornish without George's strategy; I would make it clear that maesters, septons, septas and merchants north and south of the Marches are communicating about the King's preparations, knowingly and unknowingly providing intel to the Dornish, with trade between the 7K and the Free Cities also acting as a source. In addition to the tunnels and caves in the Red Mountains, I would have the Dornish prepare additional tunnels and concealed fortifications, with ambushes being pre-planned and supply depots being hidden in forward areas to assist the Dornish forces. Deria Martell could even be sent by her grandmother to oversee these preparations and ensure the necessary coordination, and to reassure the 'Stony Dornish' of Sunspear's commitment to their defense.

Since their lack of strategic depth precludes the Dornish from making extensive retreats, in this scenario the other houses of Dorne move their forces into the Red Mountains to reinforce the 'Stony' lords, with the goal being to leverage the terrain multipliers offered by the mountains to attrite and destroy the invading army. The dragons still present a problem for any invasion scenario, but there are numerous factors that Dorne could use to its advantage, starting by having the weather affect the campaign in a different way than IOTL. 4 AC was the second year of autumn and so the rainy season for Dorne should have been well under way by this point with winter on the horizon; the Boneway could be rendered impassable by unseasonably bad rain and snow, forcing Aegon to commit his entire force to the Prince's Pass and allowing the Dornish to focus all their strength along the route from the border to Skyreach. The rain and snow would also make things miserable for the dragons and hamper Aegon and Rhaenys' efforts to assist their army. This would make mudslides an issue in certain areas while the Dornish could trigger rockslides and even avalanches to block certain parts of the Pass; the only way to clear such obstacles swiftly would be for the dragons to clear it themselves (dragons dig, more on this in Part 4!), preventing them from covering the column from above and rendering their riders vulnerable to missiles fired from the ground.

The danger of dragon fire could also be mitigated by having the Dornish engage the invaders as closely as possible, forcing Aegon and Rhaenys to risk killing their own troops in order to attack the Dornish from above. The sheer size of Aegon's army would also provide opportunities to do damage without risking dragon attacks: as we've already discussed, Aegon's original army of 30000 would had to have divided itself up into multiple columns, with a day's march separating them. Even if both Rhaenys and Aegon are routinely flying the length of the column to provide reconnaissance and communicate with their subordinates, this would still leave sections without their aid or protection even with TTL's reduced force of 25000 men. The Dornish could inflict serious casualties on those parts of the column without dragon support, while demolishing bridges and cratering sections of road would further delay the advance, and night attacks could also be made to inflict further loss and to sap the strength and morale of Aegon, Rhaenys, and their soldiers. More importantly, the delays imposed by these obstacles and ambushes gives the Dornish time to relay information and create a picture of Aegon's dispositions and present location along the entire route.

TTL's defeat of Aegon's invasion force would be much closer to the Teutoburg Forest or Roncevaux Pass than George's likely inspiration for the First Dornish War, the Vietnam War (I'll discuss this in greater detail when we get to the aftermath of the war). I would have the campaign culminate near Skyreach, with Aegon be alerted to an attack on the main body by Alester Oakheart, sounding his horn a la The Song of Roland; we don't know in which war the events with Oakheart and his horn took place, but this would be a fitting setting for it. With Aegon and Rhaenys flying to assist the main body and rearguard under Tyrell and Rosby, the Dornish move in and slaughter the vanguard while taking Orys Baratheon and his retainers prisoner. What happens next would depend on the fate of Rhaenys ITTL: Aenys is born in 7 AC IOTL, so he would have to be aged up a few years if Rhaenys dies in or before 7 AC instead of in 10 AC. She could be killed by falling from Meraxes after being wounded by a Dornish archer, with Meraxes going mad and attacking the Dornish and Targaryen hosts, forcing Aegon and Balerion to kill Rhaenys' beloved mount. With his army strung out and tired, a demoralized and heartbroken Aegon could withdraw his men, running a gamut of Dornish ambushes back to Nightsong with what remains of his host.

Conversely, Aegon could jump the gun at Skyreach and send Rhaenys with orders for the invasion fleet to set sail, at which point the final attacks would take place and Rhaenys could join him in ushering the host back over the border. Aenys is conceived not long after and Rhaenys dies sometime in 6 or 7 AC. Either way, I would also have Aegon's invasion fleet run afoul of the autumn storms and be destroyed, whether en route to Planky Town by mistake in the second scenario or returning to King's Landing in the first one. The loss of his fleet and the inclement weather in the marches, alongside Rhaenys' death either on the march or later, could even be interpreted by some members of the Faith as the Seven punishing Aegon for his hubris and 'other transgressions' (*cough cough* incestuous polygamy *cough cough*). TTL's 'dragon's wroth' takes place from 5 to 7 AC, and the war concludes with Orys and Dorne's other hostages being returned along with Meraxes' skull and Rhaenys' remains. TTL's First Dornish War is a year or two longer than the Dance of the Dragons (4-7 AC vs 129-131 AC) and about as long as Daeron I's Conquest (157-161 AC).

As we talked about in Part 2, strategy involves the identification of means and ends for the pursuit of policy, whether military or not. Although the term gets thrown around quite a lot in business, leadership and other facets of contemporary life, it's conceptualization of means and ends is quite relevant to the process of writing a story. George has often spoken about 'architects' and 'gardeners,' and while his adherence to the latter style has produced the excellent series of books whose history we are currently exploring, I think the issue with F&B may lie in his not adjusting to a more 'architectural' style in making a faux history. Many of the events that F&B covers have outcomes that are already known to us from ASOIAF and TWOIAF, but this unfortunately results in very linear depictions of events (see the Dance series for examples).

Just because you've already determined a side will lose a war does not mean that you can just write them to lose, anymore than you can have their foes take any risks they choose simply because you the writer have already decided they shall win. These characters exist in a world and possess their own ideas, beliefs and sense of self; they must have their own ends and their own means, with the goal of the writer being to have them arrive at an intended point by pursuing those ends with those means, modulated by their interactions with the world around them and the characters within it. The writer may have their own ends as the creator of the story and it's world, but they must grasp the means that they have given themselves to reach those ends within the world of their story, developing new means for progressing the story which are consistent with the story's prior development. This is crucial because it allows the reader to reasonably suspend disbelief and immerse themselves in the story, through understanding what the characters can and cannot do, the choices they can and cannot make, and the obstacles they can and cannot overcome.

Make no mistake, George is an excellent writer who has achieved more than I and most people reading this could ever dream of in life, let alone in his career as a writer. Nonetheless, I really wish he'd been able to devote more care to his 'strategy' for writing the First Dornish War, as I believe a more feasible but no less compelling faux-history could have been told using the 'means' already available to him within his own worldbuilding. Regardless, this finally concludes Part 3 and our discussions of Dornish and Targaryen strategy at the start of the First Dornish War. My deepest thanks for sticking around this long, but we're not out of the Prince's Pass yet; in Part 4 we'll be covering the tactics utilized and the operations conducted by both sides from the beginning of the war to it's end, with a lot to say about the dragons. Catch you on the flip side!

[buyukvalidesultan]

What I would do if I was Alicent Hightower in HotD

Prepare Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron for the throne by making sure they’re all well educated. Since the Lords weren’t sworn to fealty to Helaena like Viserys did with Rhaenyra her claim would mean very little.

Marry Helaena off to the Lord of House Tyrell to get their support.

Marry Daeron off to Lady Jeyne Arryn and put together a household of servants loyal to me to be sent with Daeron to the Vale and receive reports in case her loyalty begins to waver.

Encourage Daeron to lie with her until she was pregnant and had a baby, then assassinate her and have Daeron made Regent until the little grandbaby came of age and supports the rule of Aegon.

Allow rumors of Rhaenyra’s children to grow.

Continue the strange relationship with Larys and keep him on my side and have him help in my assassinations.

During Laena’s funeral I’d speak with Corlys about wedding Baela to Aegon. If he doesn’t accept, I’d have Viserys speak to him about it, then consult with Rhaenys.

Have Larys help in killing Laenor and conspire to make it obvious that it was Daemon and Rhaenyra. Then suggest again to Rhaenys while she’s vulnerable from her child’s death to accept having Baela wed Aegon.

When Aemond loses his eye I’d prepare to leave Driftmark with my children and Baela but not before having a servant sneak poison into Daemon’s food.

When Rhaenyra leaves for Dragonstone I’ll take advantage of her absence and start slowly allowing Viserys to get sicker.

In her absence, I’d start a secret personal treasury and take bribes and give favors to lords in the court to gain their support.

Meet with Mysaria under the pretense of stopping the secret fights, once we meet I’ll have her killed.

Have a lavish wedding for Baela and Aegon.

Invite all of Lord Borros’ daughters to the wedding and let Aemond mingle with them before asking him to choose one as a bride.

Have a nice talk with the greedy sons of lords I had yet to convince to join in supporting Aegon’s succession. I’d conspire with them and help in their ascension to their father’s seats.

A few days before the wedding I’d have all of Aegon’s servants replaced with eunuchs.

Put poison in Viserys’ milk of the poppy and have his body guarded by loyal servants. Then have any Lords whom I don’t know that are explicitly loyal to my children and I thrown in the dungeon.

I’ll also have the Kingsguard replaced with people loyal to Aegon. I’d also have multiple poison tasters put in Aegon and all of my children’s service.

During the wedding I’d send a letter to Dragonstone questioning Luke’s succession to Driftmark and have Rhaenyra come to King’s Landing.

While they’re traveling, I’d hold a private ceremony naming Aegon king in front of the Lords of Westeros. Then immediately have a public coronation as well.

To keep Aegon in check I’d buy the most beautiful women from Lys and have them keep him well pleasured, though I’d also encourage him to bed Baela in order to produce at least a single male heir though it wouldn’t be much of an issue since Aemond and Daeron are alive.

When Rhaenyra and her sons arrive I’d have Criston take one of Lucerys’ eyes and have it neatly put in an ornate jeweled sapphire box and presented to Aemond.

Rhaenyra and her sons would then live out their days peacefully on Dragonstone but heavily guarded. I’d have Jace married to a woman of House Hightower. Lucerys would be married to a woman of House Lannister and Joffrey would be a ward in King’s Landing.

After that I’d prepare a wedding for Aemond and whichever one of Lord Borros’ daughters he chose.

When the wedding is over I’d have Daeron dispatched with Tessarion to Winterfell and have Cregon’s son, Rickon, taken to the Vale and raised as a ward there.

Have dinner with Larys with his food secretly poisoned now that he outlived his use.

When all the tireless scheming is over with I’d spoil the grandkids and then die.

Should I make one for if I were Rhaenyra? Or other characters.

I made this purely for fun, I didn’t really put much logic into it.

[hazashiovo]

Imagine being Aemonds enemy yet biggest obsession.

TW!dark themes, yandere tendencies, sicko Aemond, rap3 Mention!, injury, bastard!reader, suicide! Mention

After Viserys's death and your mother's loss of baby, the news of the throne beeing usurped by Aegon didn't sit right with you nor your family at all. You love your mother and know she deserves the throne she worked so hard for, it's not like you also have a deep hatred for the Greens.

Soon enough your mother decided to send you and Jacaerys for allies, you offered to go instead of your little brother. You got on your dragons back and left for Storms end.

The ride was long but you and Ghost managed to get there in a day and half a night.

Finally landing, you look around. A loud is heard, Vhagar.If the huge dragon is here it means her vicious rider must also be here.

You and Aemond never got along, or that's what you like to think.You only started hating each other after the accident.You defended Lucerys when he mutilated Aemonds face , you knew Luke was guilty, but as his older sister it was your duty to protect and defend him.

Wich also means Aemond is here on his brother's behalf.

You quickly make your way to Lord Baratheon to hand him the letter your mother sent you here for.

The guards open the door for you one you identified your self , letting you in. You make your way to the dark hall , wich at the end Lord Baratheon sits down.

You search the room and notice the prying eye of Aemond Targaryen. The man who wants you dead most likely.

-Lord Boros, I come here on behalf on my mother,the rightfull Queen of the Iron Throne.-

Your eyes meet Aemonds once you said that, letting him know you're no longer the little kid he used to know.

You hand over the letter to one of Lord Baratheon's servants, wich he quickly deliveres.

-Curious, not to long ago I received a messenger from the King-

Aemond doesn't even hide the way he strips you naked from skin to bone in his vile imagination.

-wich is it? A Queen or a king after all? -

You don't fail to notice the way you're being stared at by the Second prince, he gives you the creeps.

-The house of the dragon can't seem to know who rules it-

Boris continues as in mocking your mother and you at the same time.He chuckles.

-what message does she have for me?-

You hand over the letter to a servant, who quickly delivers it, He than not so nicely calls for the Maester, the idiot can't read.

Aemond stares at you as if you killed his whole family, To reasure yourself you grip the dagger seated at your hip hoping to ease you a bit, wich it didn't since he smirked.

The long silence was then broken by Lord Boros's angry voice.

-Remind, me, of my fathers oath? -

God how you hate his attitude. He then continues.

-King Aegon at least came with a betrothal offer, what does your mother have to offer child? -

His arogant voice rings thought the large hall.

You were a bit shocked to hear that Aegon sent with a betrothal, you know he's already married to poor sweet Haelena, wich gives you a reason more to hate him, so that leaves...

That's why Aemonds here, once you make eye contact with him he smirks, an icy look on his face.

-My Lord, I'm already betrothed to Lord Cregan Stark, wich I cannot take in of your sons as Husbands I can assure you an alliance with my mother would treat you better rather than the usurper that Westeros is calling king. -

You confidently stated, looking at Boros than at Aemond.

Aemond wasn't pleased with the information he received, why didn't he know about this? Are his spies completely usseles?

He clenched his jaw in anger, he wasn't jealous, he despises you. Why would he be jealous of a bastard that doesn't belong to him, neither does he wish for, at least that's the little lies he fills his head with. He likes to think he will own you to make you suffer for what your brother did to him. Aemond finds it easy to blame you than a small child, imagine how pathetic it is to lose your eye to your nephew.

-So not only you come empty handed, you also insult the king of Westeros? -

Boros leans forward a bit on his chair, looking insulted.

-Leave, child. -

He waves you of as if you only wasted his time.You decided not to fight it anymore, as you were sent a messager not a fighter by your mother. You nod and turn around ready to head to dragon stone.

- I shall tell my mother the side you picked , my Lord. -

You chose to leave it that way and leave for home.

-Wait.-

The unfamiliar voice perked st your ears. You stopped in your tracks even tho your instincts were telling you to keep moving.

-My Strong Lady,-

Aemonds offensive voice made it's way to your ears.

-i tolerated enough slander you trew at me and my brothers ,my prince..-

You clenched your fists , not wishing to spend one more second there.

He smirked.

-Did you really think you could fly above the realm as a traitor to the crown?-

-Trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?

He continued.

You tolerated enough, especially when it's about your mother who you love and respect.

-My mother is he true Queen, I can say the same about you, my prince. -

You defend, venom lacing your voice in the last part of your sentence.

-the difference is my mother doesn't drink herself to death and share whores most of her time, unlike a known somebody.-

You glare at Aemond for daring to disrespect your mother.

-But today is not the day we fight, prince Aemond, I'm not here to start a war I cannot end, or take your other eye.-

You smirked, noticing the way his jaw clenched at the mention of his old wound.

-to battle with you would bring me no satisfaction. I want you to put out your eye... As payment for mine.-

Aemond took of his covered patch and revealed a beautiful blue crystal replacing his long healed wound

He stared at you , taking his dagger from his belt and throwing it at your feet.

-One would do, I won't blind you nor take away your... Beauty.-

He mocked you as you raised your head.

-Plan to make a gift of it to my mother.-

He smirked with his head help up high.

-I will not do such thing for a fight belonging to the past.-

You took a deep breath to calm down you anger st the mention of Alicent.

Lord Baratheon is staring at the two of you, tension so tick it could cut throats.

Once you refused, his look completely changed, from the collected calm prince to rage.

-Than you are craven as well as a traitor.-

-Give me your eye, or I will take it you bastard whore!-

he violently stepped towards you picking up his dagger in the process.

-Enough! Not in my house!-

Boros decided to break it before a disaster could happen.

The way Aemond glared at you would have made the strongest men turn to stone, yet you stood your ground.

You respectfully left the hall in a hurry, not wishing to see the prince for a second more.

Lord Baratheon had two of his knights escort you to Ghost, to make sure the two of you don't spill blood in his courtyard either.

You quickly make your way to Ghost, he's in distress, angry and ready to get home to.

He's also feeling shaken up , he knows Vhagar is here and he feels small. But Ghost is a great dragon that doesn't need to be saved by anyone, he's not one to intimidate easily.

Something isn't right, you think to yourself, The huge shadow of Vhagar isn't there. The storm doesn't make it any better.

You notice the way Ghost is reluctant.

-Dōhaeris Ghost!, ryabas, nūha taōba!-

You line your forhead with his to bring him comfort, gently peting his wet nose and looking into his icing eyes.

-let's go my sweet boy-

You climb on his back and with a fast move your in air.

You fly above storm's end, lighting and thunder surrounding it.

Ghost makes his way through the clouds fastly, advantage beeing that he's one of the fastest dragons at the moment.

He pays attention where to turn and not to crash. You're thankful you got a dragon like him choosing you.

After a few peaceful minutes of having your mind clear a huge shadow covers you and your dragon. You know who it is, that's why you command Ghost to sprint faster. Vhagar might be the largest dragon, but she's old, and not as fast as your dragon.

Ghost makes his way through places only he could fit and dodge.

You look behind to see if he's still there it catching up to you, he's not.

Once you look in front you see Vhagar so close to having you as it's next meal. You quickly move to dodge the Maniac who's chasing you, his laugh taunting you.

-Stop this madness Aemond! Have your limits!-

You yell knowing he will hear you.

In exchange you hear Vhagar groan.

Each time a but more closer to from you are, Vhagar so close to riping you and ghost in half.

Right when you were ready to give up a thought crossed your mind, Vhagar won't fit thought small places, and like the gods were on your side you notice a crampled coverage of stones, big enough for ghost to land and hide.

You directed Ghost that way making sure not to enter Vhagar mouth any time soon.

If course Vhagar followed, luckily enough you managed to make your way there.

Aemond's laugh never ceased, loving to see you scared and helpless at his mercy to do what ever he pleased,and oh how he loves taunting you , he barely waits to have you cornered.

-Jemēla gēlȳni enkā! Riña!-

His vicious laugh acompanies his sentence as he drags the last word out.

You and Ghost landed near a cave big enough for both of you.

You quickly got off the dragons back to get shelter.

Youre so shaken up you don't even notice the way Vhagar isn't in the sky any more.

You run towards the cave, you didn't manage to make it inside as you got pushed to the ground.

You quickly turn around and latch to your sword.

-you didn't actually think I'd let you go did you? -

The second Prince's taunting voice looked over you , you are a trembling mess, the coldnes and the water dripping from the top of your head to your bots, but that look in your eyes oh how he loved that.

You are cornered yet you still have that Strong look, ready to face the world .

You get your quickly, holding your sword in one hand ready to defend yourself.

-havent you've done enough? What do you want from me!-

Your voice speaks with anger.

-Oh I am just getting started-

He chuckled in a dark tone that sent shivers down your spine.

He takes his sword and the two of you skilfully fight. You slash his right arm as he almost stabs you in the side. You noticed he doesn't aim to kill you wich is very suspicious.

You got your sword to his neck once you find the opportunity.

-give up on that blind wish to harm me and my family!-

You demand with power in your voice.

With one swift movement he managed to get you on the ground dagger to you neck as he straddles your waist.

One knee he bend to keep himself up as the other rests on the other side of your waist.

-After all this time I finally got you bastard whore. -

And evil smile rests on his face.

You try to escape his hold on you.

-I wonder if your Lord Stark will want you once I'll tell him all the things I'm gonna do to you this night -

Once you hear that fear strucks you like a thunder, you could accept a lot of things but you were deadly afraid of what he was insinuating.

-Don't you dare lay a hand on me you cunt!-

You angrily treathen even though you know you're in no such position to do so.

He slightly pushes the knife deeper in your troath, enough to draw a drop of blood wich mixes with the water falling on you.

He forcefully grips your jaw and looks you in the eyes.

He doesn't say anything yet but a toxic smile fogs his face, his eye patch no where in sight, hair wet and eye whiden, giving him a Pshycothic look.

-I'm going to have you regret the moment of your useless existence, bastard whore, and I'll make sure you will fit for your nick name, whore, since you're already a bastard.-

You spit in his face.

-I would rather die ten times rather than fuck you once!-

you chuckled noticing he didn't like that.

-It's not like you have a choice, I'll Fuck you ten times then send the proof to your family to show them what I did with their pretty little bastard, then I will marry you and make your life so unsufarable that you would wish to take your own life, but i won't allow it, I'll fill you of children you won't even want and make sure you see everyone you love die in a war started by your own family.-

The look he had when he said those words was enough proof to tell you he meant each word.

-You're cruel, I've don't nothing but be kind to you when the others treated you like you were nothing! -

You shouted out of frustration.

-I was your friend! Your niece and your family and yet you treat me with such hatred you wouldn't even treat your worst enemy!-

You let you emotions out as you struggled to stay on your feet anymore.

You struggled against him as his grip was deadly.

-So follow your sick plan! Rape me, defile and make me wish for death, but I will not grant you satisfaction to hear me plead and yell for help!-

Aemond was left without words, he didn't expect you to let it all out, but that look in your eyes and the string demanor in your voice showed him you were terrified.

-Hurt me worse than I.. Deserve and.. -

Before you could continue you felt like you couldn't stand anymore, nor stay awake.

One thing you forgot is that when you were a child you used to get sick easily, especially in rainy cold weather.

Aemond also seemed to forget, since most of the times as children the two of you spent times in the rain and than you would be bed riden for two weeks, of course, get was a child so he never understood.

You crashed in the cold stones completely losing your conscience.

Seconds later he had you in his arms, he didn't know why, he says he hates you for what you didn't do for him and that you're undeserving of his love and care , but he just can't stop himself .

Everything goes just the way he wants. He tries to brush the words you doilled seconds before your fall but they just wouldn't bulge out of his mind.

He looked at your disheveled form, hair wet and sticking to your face, clothes so cold they almost froze on your body and face so red from tears and cold.

He couldn't deny, you are the most beautiful woman he laid eyes on, but if he has to get his hands dirty to have you, than do shall it be.

/Idk bout this, who wants a second part? /

Leave requests people, I'm open to everything basically

Hope you enjoyed thisss

[daenysthedreamer101]

Daughter of Steel and Bronze ~ HOTD

Ch 12 - Hidden secrets

HOTD x Targaryen!OC, Targaryen!OC x Harwin Strong

Warnings: make out session (nothing too explicit), inappropriate thoughts?

HOTD masterlist

"The year 115 was an eventful year for the Royal family. Princess Rhaenyra turned 18 and after an unsuccessful tour to find a husband she returned home to King's Landing. Destiny would have that her uncle, Prince Daemon, also returned to the capital on the same day. Shortly after, rumors began spreading of the Princess losing her maidenhead to her uncle. To quell the rumors, His Grace betrothed his eldest daughter to the son of the Sea Snake, Ser Laenor Velaryon.

In the Vale, the most unfortunate event occurred - Princess Daena was attacked on her 17th name day. The miscreant was a petty lord from the Vale who drunkenly assaulted the Princess. Her mother, Lady Rhea Royce, was furious and demanded his head. His Grace outraged that his niece was hurt, agreed with his good sister and demanded the lord be put to the sword. When the knights of the Vale were sent to arrest him, they found the man butchered in his cell. Many suspect this was the work of Prince Daemon avenging his daughter." 

(Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros, by Archmaester Gyldayn)

~

115 AC, King's Landing

An emergency Small Council meeting was called in the early morning hours. Once everyone was settled, Lord Lyonel spoke up.

"Troubling news come from the Vale, Your Grace. Ravens flew in from both Runestone and the Eyrie." 

This caught Viserys's attention. "What do you speak of, Lyonel?"

"A couple of days ago, a feast was held at Runestone, in honor of Princess Daena's 17th name day. It appears that she was attacked, Your Grace." 

"Seven Hells, Lyonel. What do you mean?" His Grace asked, worried that something awful happened to his niece. 

"During the hour of the bat, the Princess left the feast and walked by herself into the godswood of the castle. There, the miscreant cornered her and...harsh words were exchanged. She told him to leave her alone, but he was unwilling to listen. If what the letter says is true, he started choking her against the heart tree."

"Gods be good! Is she alright?"

"According to the castle's measter, she has severe bruising all over her body and her wrist appears to be sprained." 

His Grace was too stunned to speak. Lord Lyonel continued. "Lady Rhea is furious. She demands his head. She already spoke to Lady Jeyne Arryn and demands justice for her daughter."

Lord Lyonel gave the letters to His Grace. Viserys couldn't believe someone would be so foolish to assault a member of the Royal family. He knew if Daemon caught news of this, he would kill the man himself.

"Write to Lady Rhea. Tell her that she has every right to execute him for hurting a member of the Royal family." His Grace proclaimed. 

~

Runestone, the Vale

Days have passed in a blur. She barely left her room, hells, she barely left her bed. She barely spoke, her throat aching whenever she did. Her wrist was sprained, so she couldn't even dress herself, or brush her hair; she couldn't do anything by herself. The twins had to help her with everything. 

"Daena." Her mother came in. In her hands was a platter with many things on it. She put the platter on the table and sat on the edge of the bed. Daena's eyes were glued to the ceiling. "Look at me." Her mother said, moving her silver curls from her face. 

"No! Don't look at me! I'm hideous!" Daena exclaimed, turning her body toward the wall. Rhea sighed. It shattered her heart to see her daughter so broken. She rubbed Daena's back, trying to give some comfort.

"My love. You are not hideous. You will heal and come out of this stronger than ever!" Rhea said, patting Daena's head. 

Daena suddenly turned and looked at her mother with furrowed brows. "What lord will have me now, in this condition? Rumors will spread that I was...sullied. No matter what I say, people will believe what they want to believe." 

Rhea tilted her head, giving Daena a look of pity. What Daena said was true. She could only imagine what those snakes in the Red Keep would say once word of the accident spread. And no matter how hard Rhea tried, she could not protect Daena from such rumors. 

"Come here. I need to put the ointment on you." Rhea said as she picked up a jar filled with a cream the measter said would ease Daena's pain. It was a thick, viscous cream with a strong herbal smell. Daena huffed but moved closer. 

As her mother applied the cream to her bruises, Daena looked through the window and listened as the raindrops fell. Grey, heavy clouds were present in the sky, blocking out the midday sun. Daena wondered where Vermithor was. She hasn't seen him since before her name day. She wanted to go outside and greet him but her mother would not allow it. 

Back in King's Landing, Rhaenyra was going back to her chamber after the Small Council meeting. The possibility of her marrying Ser Laenor loomed heavy over her. Another thing on her mind was her dear cousin Daena. She was violently assaulted, at her name day celebration no less. She received a letter from her cousin, in which Daena told her how Ser Harwin valiantly saved her from the miscreant. 

For the past eight months, she and Daena have been exchanging letters. It seemed that both Princesses grew closer to their respective knights. If the letters were anything to go by, Daena fancied Ser Harwin. Nyra had her own knight to fancy. 

"Good night, Ser Criston." She said to her sworn shield as she entered her room. 

"Sleep well, Princess." Ser Criston replied. 

Nyra closed the door and sighed slightly. She took off her earrings, placing them on the table. She then noticed a strange bag hanging off one of the chairs. She picked it up and turned it upside down emptying it. She looked at what fell out of it; a bunch of peasant clothing. Besides the clothes was a scroll.

She opened it; it contained a drawing of what appeared to be the layout of her bed and instructions in High Valyrian. She followed the drawing and discovered her room was connected to a secret tunnel. She had an inkling of who could be behind this. 

At the end of the tunnel, Daemon awaited with a smirk on his face. The night proved to be quite eventful for Rhaenyra, just not in the way she expected. 

~

Back at Runestone, Harwin watched as the raindrops splashed against the window of his room. It had been raining the entire day. Ever since the accident, he barely left his chambers, too embarrassed to speak to anyone, especially Lady Rhea.

A soft knock on the door disturbed his silence. Joy came in and closed the door but his eyes stayed glued to the window. "Harwin." She called quietly. 

"The Princess has requested your presence." She informed him. This made Harwin turn around and look at his sister. 

Why would the Princess want to speak with him? Was it so that she could curse him out and banish him from her service? No matter what Hanna told him the previous day, he had a hard time believing the Princess wasn't angry with him. If he was so angry at himself, surely the Princess was as well. 

"Now, Harwin. She seemed quite eager to speak with you." Joy added and quickly left the room. He knew he had no choice but to go. He wished he didn't have to. He was scared; scared to be confronted, scared to look at her in the eye. How could he ever defend himself? 

~

Harwin sighed. He had been dreading this moment for days and it was finally happening. He gently knocked on the door of her room. "Come in." 

He opened the door and slowly walked into her room. This was his first time inside her chambers; they were half the size of her King's Landing chambers but spacious nonetheless. In the far left corner was her bed. In the center of the room was a large settee made of oak and covered in red velvet. 

To the right was the window and below it was her writing desk. She stood in front of her desk, her back turned to him. Her long hair was loose, falling freely down her back like a river of silver. She was in her nightgown; it was long, falling just above her ankles. Over that, she had a silk shall wrapped around herself. "Princess." He said quietly. 

"Sit." She said softly not yet turning to meet his eye. He sat on the large velvet settee. He nervously waited for her to speak. He was too embarrassed to look at her, so he looked at the rug. 

"I wanted to thank you. For everything you've done for me. Not just for saving me, but for being so loyal to me all these years. I couldn't be more grateful to have someone like you by my side." 

Harwin felt relief wash over him and some of his guilt disappeared. After a couple more seconds of silence, she finally turned around. A soft gasp escaped his lips - her ivory skin was marred with dark bruises all over her jaw and neck. Her left wrist was bandaged and a certain emptiness was in her eyes.

She quietly sat next to him, their thighs touching. Her hands were on her lap, nervously playing with her rings. Harwin observed the bandage on her left hand and eventually took her hand in his. "I've failed you, Princess...please, forgive me." He said, his voice breaking as he looked at her bandaged wrist.

"...You didn't fail me, Harwin." She argued.

Harwin argued back, saying none of this would've happened if he had been there to protect her. Words stumbled out of his mouth as he poured his heart out about all the shame and guilt he's been feeling. Once she noticed tears forming in his eyes, she put her good hand across his mouth, silencing him.

"It was not your fault. I am not angry, Harwin. Not with you. I could never be angry with you." She insisted. She brushed her thumb against his lips while she buried the fingers of her bandaged hand into his dark curls. 

She enjoyed the way his breath caught in his throat. She started caressing his cheek with her hand and admired his features while he stared at her in bewilderment. "My knight in shining armor." She whispered with a smile on her face. Neither of them noticed how she leaned closer to him and how her chest was pressed against his.

"My darling Princess." He whispered back as he snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her onto his lap. His blue eyes met her lilac ones. Their noses touched, and he could feel her breath tickling his face. He basked in the warmth of her skin, her pink lips only inches away from his own. Her hair smelled of lemon and rose oil and it all drove him insane. 

Everything she did, everything she said - it all drove him to the edges of madness. The sound of her laughter, the warmth of her skin, the softness of her touch, the way his name sounded on her lips; she was the only thing he could think about.

He held her tightly in his lap, caressing the edge of her hips with his hand. She laid her head upon his shoulder and looked up at him with those doe eyes of hers. She had a small pout on her lips and, gods, did she look angelic. Even with all the injuries, she looked like the Maiden herself. 

"How could I ever repay you?" She whispered softly, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

He gave her an inquisitive look and she straightened up in his lap. She spoke while playing with the collar of his doublet. 

"You have served me loyally for many years. I owe you a great debt." 

"It is my duty, Princess. You owe me nothing."

"I know...but still. I wish to reward you somehow." She replied with an air of playfulness in her tone.

"Truly, my Princess, it's alright, you don't have to-" He started saying but was cut off when she placed her plush lips onto his own. They were warm and so, so, so soft. It was a chaste kiss that lasted only seconds but for Harwin it felt like time itself stopped. 

She pulled away slightly to breathe but her lips still lingered above his own. He placed his hand gently around her neck, careful of her bruises, and pulled her back for more. He deepened the kiss this time, but was mindful not to overwhelm her. She was surprised but quickly gave in, relaxing her body against his.

Once he felt the need for air, he pulled back, and was met with her angelic face - her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, her lips red and swollen from his ministrations and her pupils blown wide with emotion. Then, a smile appeared on her face and she bit her lower lip and started giggling. 

"That was my first kiss!" She exclaimed and he couldn't help but smirk at that. Pride grew inside him at the thought of him being the first man ever to kiss those plush lips and caress her soft skin. His mind wondered, making him think about kissing the base of her throat, pulling her hair, nibbling at the skin behind her ear, all while his name fell form her lips-

"Harwin." She called for him, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

She couldn't help but chuckle at his expression. He stared at her lips and his eyes were wide with what she could only describe as hunger. She wondered what he was thinking about. Before she could ask, he gently grabbed her face, his thumb caressing her lower lip. Instinctively, she wrapped her lips around his thumb and licked it all while looking him straight in the eye.

She knew what was happening and she knew exactly what she was doing. Lady talk and gossip wasn't as innocent as men would think. Many ladies spoke of many different ways couples could pleasure each other and in the beginning, Daena blushed and ignored these conversations as they made her uncomfortable.

But as she matured, her mind started creating...interesting pictures, and many of them involved her sworn protector. They ranged from innocent kisses to him on his knees, his face beneath her skirts. She knew it was considered wrong and a sin, but she couldn't help herself, and him constantly gazing at her didn't help at all.

"You little minx." He said, his voice raspy. She bashfully looked away and he pinched her waist. She gasped and playfully slapped his arm. "Don't play coy with me now. Where did you learn that?"

She smirked and looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

He pulled her closer, their breaths mingling. Their noses touched and he kissed her again. He could feel her smiling against his lips. They kissed a bit more and then she finally pulled away. She couldn't stop giggling and the sound reminded him that despite being a Princess, Daena was just a young girl who just experienced passion for the first time. He was glad her first kiss was with him rather than someone else.

"As much as I enjoyed these...activities, I think it's time you leave, lest someone grows suspicious." Daena whispered like she was afraid of drawing unwanted attention. 

She got off his lap, allowing him to stand up. She stayed seated, looking up at him with wide eyes. She bit her lip playfully and looked down at her feet. He placed his hand beneath her chin and slowly lifted her head. He brushed her lips with his thumb and leaned in for one final kiss. 

"Good night, Princess." He bid her farewell softly. 

"...Good night, Ser Harwin." She barely uttered, too focused on the heat that was pooling in her lower belly. She crossed her legs instinctively and a sweet spark of pleasure danced across her body, like someone lit a fire inside her being. She laid back on the settee and focused her gaze on the embers inside the hearth. 

A/N - sorry for not uploading any chapters for a couple of weeks. Uni and exam season was killing me lol. But that's over so I can fully focus on writing new chapters.

Hope you like the new chapter. Next one will be sad, like real sad😭

Thank you for reading! 💕

If you have any opinions feel free to comment.