#like... jaehaerys your only claim is a cock

[notfeelingthyaster]

the thing is: jaehaerys didn't deny daenerys/rhaenys claims (the great council was a scam, he was endorsing viserys) to the throne for the "good of the realm" or only because he thought women can't rule/he didn't want corlys velaryon behind the power. he did it because if a women came upon the throne before her male brother/uncle, he would bring scrutiny over his usurpation of the far better claimant aerea.

[propheticbride]

Lamb to Slaughter Ⅳ

𐙚 Aegon and Aemond's personal war over you escalates as the truth of Aegon's crowning becomes true to you.

𐙚 Aegon x Reader/Aemond x Reader (tw: incest mention)

(AN- remember when I said lamb is gonna start getting her own personality... ☝🏻)

“I feel sad about Jaehaerys.” Helaena mumbles. You hand her back the small boy’s toy. A wooden dragon styled after Dreamfyre, Helaena’s personal mount. “Mm, but I ought not to, I think. People die all the time, especially babes.”

You nod, “They’re so little, so they’re taken so easily.”

She glances at you as you respond. “Sadness is a condition of motherhood, or so mother thinks. When you were born, she cried so much holding you.” Helaena speaks in a pained tone. “She could not care for us much when you were brought into the world. She loved you so.”

“There’s naught to be gained from it.” you shake your head.

Helaena does a rare thing, she reaches for you, and holds eye contact. “That horrid procession where the smallfolk all stared at me. I warrant they thought I had no more right to grief than they do. Surely they lose their babes more than highborn ladies.”

“No.” you shake your head and take a deep breath, holding her hands back. “The Stranger comes for us all…queen and commoner alike. You have as much claim to grief as anyone.”

“And you?” she asks.

“I loved Jaehaerys, but my concern has been for you. It broke my heart to hear what they put you through.” you insist. “Helaena, I…”

“I forgive you.” she breaks the physical contact and walks away, quickly glancing back at you.

“What?”

“I said that I forgive you.” she nods, a faint smile on her face.

“For what?”

“Sleeping with Aegon.” she spits out. She looks dazed for a brief moment, almost like she cannot fathom the words she had just spoken.

“Helaena…I haven't-”

“Mother told me. Weeks ago. After Jaehaerys was murdered…I heard Aegon had taken someone new to bed, but I did not imagine it would be you.” Helaena saw things, you knew it, but even she couldn't have seen this coming.

“I don't know what to say.” you admit.

“Do you feel sorry?” she asks.

“No.” you shake your head. “Helaena, his heir was murdered, and unless you are able to provide another, there is not much to secure your place beside him.”

The words simply bleed out, you’re not sure if you mean them or not. So much is happening so quickly and you cannot deny it. You have become Aegon’s lover, and he wasn't shy about finishing inside you. So where did Helaena fit into all of this?

“That was mean.” she grimaces.

“I am sorry, but I only speak the truth.”

✮⋆˙

“Drinks for all! At the pleasure of the crown!”

The entire brothel roared for Aegon, his little men following close behind.

“Woo! At the pleasure of the crown!” someone shouted.

“Sit down. Sit yourself down.” Aegon demands Ser Martyn’s squire. “Drink the wine, boy. Drink it now!”

“So what did your little queen say when you told her where you were going tonight?” Martyn sips his alcohol.

“She does not know?” Leon Estermont asks after watching Aegon’s smile spread into a wide grin.

“Why would I tell her where I am going…she does not tell me when she fucks my brother.” Aegon laughs.

“She's sharing both of your beds?” Martyn questions, a little confused on the way the Targaryens work.

“Oh I let her have her fun, she can not be glued to my cock forever can she. If she wishes to use that hound as a toy, why should I complain?” Aegon tries to convince himself that jealousy isn't there. That Aemond doesn't stare him down in the counsels or the halls when they pass. Oh well.

“Did I, did I tell you I came here as a lad?” Aegon asks the squire again. “It’s, mm, a little tame, but a good a place as any to get it wet. I know just the tutor for you, my boy.”

“Is it your toy?” Leon jokes.

The joke stabs at Aegon, but he simply laughs it off. “The blood of the dragon is not for…lesser men.”

His knights burst out into laughter as Aegon grabs the young squire and begins dragging him around room to room.

“She’s worth three times the price.” Aegon states cheerfully. “Her name is, uh, Sylvi. Or Selyse or, I don’t know, something like that.”

Aegon violently pulls apart two curtains, the white hair of the man looks familiar and follows Sylvi immediately lying up.

“Your grace.” she says.

Aemond shoots up and turns around, color leaving his face.

“Aemond, the fierce!” Aegon giggles out, he is the only one. “You have come so far, and, and yet you still lie with your very first.”

Aemond lays his arms on his knees, keeping his gaze strictly to the bed. He's embarrassed. More embarrassed then when he found out you had taken to Aegon’s bed following your first night together.

“Did you fuck her like a hound?” Aegon asks, following barking like a dog at his brother.

Both the knights and Sylvi were quiet, only glaring at Aegon and softly glancing at Aemond’s huddled form.

“Does she know you spend your time here? Oh do you think she'd fuck you again if she knew you spent time with your whore?”

“Again?” Aemond questions.

“Oh save it brother, I am well aware you have touched our little lamb, but that does not matter I do not care.” Aegon assures him. “But do you think she would share your bed if she knew where you spent your time? Do you think she would have even entered mine, if you had just stayed in hers?”

“This isn't about-”

“Oh yes it is you stupid dog.” Aegon laughs. “Why is it that you give me looks, and that you cannot make eye contact with me. You do not attend dinners anymore, nor does the lamb see you often. Of course it is about her. Would you even be with this whore if it weren't for your feelings of our lamb?”

“Our lamb?” Aemond is angry now.

“Yes, our lamb.” Aegon laughs. “You see, I do not exaggerate. Such is the madam’s prowess, that even now my brother will not sample another. Even my little sister is left bedded alone. Hard luck for your squire, though! As you can see, she…she’s now very much occupied.”

Aemond stands, his body in full view. “Your squire is welcome to her.”

Aegon glances up at him.

“One whore is as good as another.” Aemond steps off the bed and disappears into the brothel.

✮⋆˙

“Fuck.” Alicent breathes. “Fuck!”

“Mother?” you enter her chambers.

She looks disheveled, as she's tearing apart her private room.

“Rhaenyra’s dragons are restless. They smell battle.” Alicent cries. “Perhaps we will all die and none of this will matter anyways.”

“Mother?”

“Rhaenyra. Aegon. Fuck.” she immediately plants herself in the cushioned seat, her head in her hands.

“What is it?” you ask again.

“Where is Aegon?” Alicent looks up.

“Out, he said he was partying with his squires.” you reply.

“And where is this partying taking place?”

“I do not know.” you admit. “Aemond is gone as well.”

“Helaena?”

“Asleep. You told her that Aegon has taken me to bed. Am I not your baby no longer?” you sound hurt.

“My love-”

You sheethe away from her touch. A pout splays across her face, she looks hurt that for the first time, you have denied her affection.

“You said you loved me but you immediately ran to my sister to tell her of my doings! You knew that and in confidence perhaps you have betrayed me.” you shake your head. Who could you trust?

“You do not-”

“I will tell Aegon.” you say.

“You cannot.” your mother shakes her head, protesting.

“Yes I can. I have his ear. And I have his bed. Those are two positions of power you are not granted.” you remind her. “As Queen you were powerful perhaps. But now you are the King’s mother. There is not much power there I’m afraid.”

“I saw Rhaenyra.” she admits.

You look at her, as if she was a stranger. “You’ve done what?”

“My love-”

“Do you betray him at the very last? Aegon is your son, meeting with the enemy could be considered-”

“Treason, I am aware. She was dressed as a septa, she snuck into the sept-”

“And you did not scream for the guards? Are you without a voice?” you demand. “Are you?”

Tears swell in Alicent’s eyes. “I have made a grave mistake.”

“What mistake do you speak of?”

“Your father did not change his mind.” Alicent spoke codly. “He did not want Aegon as king-”

“Be quiet.” you say.

“But-”

“Stop!” you shake your head. “You have committed treason at the highest of offenses. Meeting with the enemy, and now you speak that Aegon is not the true king?”

“The Prince That Was Promised.” Alicent whispered.

“What?”

“He…spoke of the Song of Ice and Fire. This prophecy with Aegon the Conqueror.” Alicent nods to you, watching you take in all of the information.

“There’s been a mistake?” you ask.

“There’s been no mistake.” Alicent speaks coldly. “A terrible war is looming, and even victory may be so bloody as to be counted a loss. Cole is on the march, and Aemond…he is a monster and even you know this. You will continue to occupy Aegon’s bed, make him happy and perhaps maybe you will keep his ear. It will be needed in this brutal war to come.” Alicent kisses your forehead. “I wish for us to stay on the same side, our desires and beliefs as one. It was wrong for me to go to Helaena, you are my baby still. I hope you can forgive my transgressions, and keep this between us. If your brother found out.-”

“You mean when my brother finds out?” you pull from her hold.

[ginny-anime]

I really don’t blame people for wanting Aegon II to be on the iron throne instead of Rhaenyra. King Viserys should have seen this coming the second Queen alicent gave him a son. Viserys was only picked as king by the lord simply because he had a cock and princess Rhaenys didn’t. Like did this man think these lords picked him because he was the next aegon the conqueror or the prince that was promised?!!

No it was simply because he was a man and Rhaenys was a women. So when he named Rhaenyra heir and then a year later had a son, he should seen that some people were no longer going to be loyal to Rhaenyra because he now had Aegon.

It just shows a lot of hypocrisy. Like you saw that you were picked over your older female cousin simply you were a man and now you think you can change the ways by naming your eldest daughter heir and not changing it to your first born son.

All I’m saying is that I don’t blame alicent for wanting aegon on the throne. If anything she probably thought what happened at the great council was gonna be the same in favor for her son. But since Rhaenyra wasn’t chosen by a council and was remained heir by her father the king. Rhaenyra had the upper hand and greater claim.

Either was viserys was barely a good father to any of his kids. I think this man was obsessed with being like his grandfather king Jaehaerys that he couldn’t really see what was going on in his family.

[nrilliree]

https://www.tumblr.com/annes-andromeda/744216734222909440/long-post-incoming?source=share

LOL

Okay, this made me so happy that I wanted to write a long post myself and I'll tell you why in a moment.

GRRM himself (you know, the guy who… well, wrote these books) said that the laws of inheritance in Westeros are not clear "inheritance was decided as much by politics as by laws" and "laws of inheritance in the Seven Kingdoms are modeled on those in real medieval history… which is to say, they were vague, uncodified, subject to varying interpretations, and often contradictory".

Which brings us to the fact that, according to the same "Andal law" cited by TG, Jahaerys should never have inherited the Iron Throne. because the law says that a daughter is brought before her uncle, right? And who was Jahaerys? He had two older brothers, Aegon and Viserys, an older sister, Rhaena. Aegon the Uncrowned was the heir of King Aenys I, and since Aegon had no sons, his heirs were his daughters - Aerea and Rhaella. Aegon was usurped by Maegor, who, having no children of his own, appointed Aerea as his heir.

So, according to "Andal law", the line of succession is as follows: Aerea > Rhaella > Jaehaerys . Just as Rhaenyra is higher than Daemon, so Aerea was higher than Jaehaerys. And they were both minors at the time.

And after Maegor's death, both Aerea and Rhaella were very much alive. So who is Jahaerys? Usurper. According to "Andal law", because with the help of his supporters he took the throne from the rightful heir. As we already know, the daughter is brought before her uncle. So again - returning to the case of Rhaenys and Viserys, according to "Andal law", Rhaenys has a stronger claim to the throne than Viserys. Jahaerys knew this, so instead of granting the throne to Rhaenys, he called a council that established what? Precedent.

And what did GRRM say in 1999? "Things were often decided on a case by case basis. A case might set a precedent for later cases…"

So tell me why:

Jahaerys may have acted against the "law of the Andals" and instead of becoming regent for his brother's rightful heir, he declared himself king.

The council could have announced a precedent in which it appointed a man with lesser right to the throne as heir instead of a woman with greater right,

But… Viserys, whom the Council had chosen as heir and king, couldn't set his own precedent and appoint his own heir? Jahaerys chose himself king. Viserys was elected king. But Rhaenyra can't become queen even though 3/4 of the kingdom supported her during the war? What would it mean for the Council to choose her? Only the Greens preferred to steal the throne rather than convene it?

According to GRRM himself succession "laws" aren't actually laws, and just like in real-life medieval history, some lords will bend and twist tradition depending on their circumstances. We don't know many things about succession. Andal succession and Royal succession are not necessarily the same and the Targaryens are not Andals, so they're not tied to that custom.

And finally: Queen Alsyanne once said “A ruler needs a good head and a true heart. A cock is not essential. If your Grace truly believes that women lack the wit to rule, plainly you have no further need of me.”

Cytat GRRM: link

[fierypen37]

Held Captive XXXVI

Another chapter my lovelies!

“The son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.” Even said aloud in his own voice, the words sounded like something out of a bard’s tale, not his life.

Jon didn’t know how far he walked, only that soon the muscles of his legs burned, his lungs ached. A small clearing greeted him below a starlit sky. Wreathed in mist with a deep, damp cold, it reminded him of Winterfell. Jon paced the width of the clearing in quick, restless turns. The movement was calming, and he paced for what felt like hours. His mind followed a similarly narrow, repetitive track. Not a Snow, but Targaryen. Not a bastard, but an heir. Not Jon, but Jaehaerys.

“Lies! He lied to me,” Jon said, pausing to rest his head on the rough bark of an ironoak. The water was deep and dark below him, deep enough to drown him, holding secrets and lies. Powerless even in this, Jon felt the welter of emotions shift.

“He lied to me!” Jon shouted, punching the tree trunk hard.

The pain rattled up his arm, but there was relief in it too. Jon struck again, and again and again until blood slicked his knuckles. His hands throbbed, but he relished it. Jon panted, his breath coming in thick white clouds. He remembered his dragon musings and uttered a harsh, rusty laugh. A dragon indeed.

With a harsh sigh, Jon sank to sit at the base of the tree. In a rather eventful life, Jon now could count this as the strangest day he’d ever had. Seers and sorcerers, tree-men and secrets taken to the grave. Jon closed his eyes. Bran with his voice, devoid of emotion or color. Bloodraven and his twisted face. Daenerys . . . Daenerys’ face floated in his mind’s eye, pale as snow. Why would I bring you pain without cause? Her silence hadn’t softened the blow, no, his ears were still ringing with it. Not a Snow, but son of a line famed for dancing close to madness. Not a bastard, but a child born of rape. Not Jon, but someone else.

They were kin. Such matches didn’t cause any great fuss, especially amongst Targaryens. His anger against her slipped through his fingers, like trying the clench a handful of sand. He loved her. The truth of his parentage didn’t change that. To his shame, there was a faint tinge of relief in that realization. Jon heaved another, deeper sigh. The gods must be laughing, that Daenerys and I would meet and love as we do.

Jon climbed to his feet and began walking in the direction of what he thought was camp, hearing the flutter of a wings. A raven cawed from a branch, and soon he heard the crunch of leaves beneath heavy booted feet.

“Hodor hodor,” Hodor said, with Bran strapped to his back. Bran greeted him with a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He had changed from the happy boy he knew climbing Winterfell’s walls.

“You found me,” Jon said, looking up where he lay slung to Hodor’s shoulder.

“I did.”

“Anymore life-altering truths to share, brother?” Jon asked with acerbic humor. Not ‘brother,’ he remembered too late, but ‘cousin.’ Bran shrugged.

“You heard your parentage, but not the deeper truth of it. Lyanna and Rhaegar were a love match when they wed. Rhaegar intended to set aside Elia Martell once the war was won.”

It was a meager comfort, that it was not pain and horror that made him. Still, mother and father both were dead, and the man he’d grown up worshipping as his father was in truth his uncle by blood.

“The world would be quite different, had they lived,” Jon said, rubbing his aching hands.

“Aye,” Bran said. For a moment, silence reigned save for the sound of their footfalls on the dead leaves.

“Will you break your troth with Daenerys?” Bran asked. Jon scowled. “Why in the seven hells would I do that?”

Bran made no reply. They walked toward distant firelight, the night breathing silent around them.

“I’ve missed you,” Jon said. A glimmer of the old Bran darted across a world-weary face.

“I’ve missed you too, brother,” Bran said.

 The tent was dark, without so much as a flutter of movement from within. Jon kneaded the back of his neck. The turmoil of Bran’s revelations still churned so close to the surface. He needed time to restore his composure. Daenerys’ emotions were surely as volatile and confusing as his own . . .

Jon parted the toggled flap and slipped inside. Meera had lent him a tallow candle for their tent, and he cupped a hand to protect the flame.

“Daenerys?” he whispered. Through the cracks of his fingers, golden candlelight painted   her form in thin stripes. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot from weeping, her expression haunted. At a loss for words, Jon set the candle in the sconce carved in the support post and began the laborious process of disarming. Daenerys stayed curled on the bedroll, watching with unreadable violet eyes.

The stink of his trapped sweat wafted up as he shrugged off his gambeson. Jon took a testing step. Meera had spread pine boughs underneath the tent, creating a springy, sweet-smelling mattress beneath their bedrolls. The candle and their combined body heat made the tent felt slightly warmer.

“Father,”—Uncle—“always said the Reeds were the most overlooked and undervalued house in Westeros. I can see why he said so; they make excellent hosts,” Jon said. Daenerys gave a mute nod. She looked so small and forlorn with her knees upraised like that, her hair in wild silver snarls around her face.

“What are you thinking?” she said.

“I’m thinking I was a fool for running off to brood. You didn’t deserve to be left alone to face that,” Jon said, sinking down to sit cross-legged on his bedroll. A flicker of surprise danced across her face. What did she expect? A shouting match?

“It was quite the surprise.”

Jon snorted.

“An understatement,” he said.

Conversation stalled and Jon’s fists clenched and unclenched on his knees. Frustration built inside him, but he held his temper with some effort. He wasn’t the only one reeling from Bran’s news. Daenerys offered him a weathered curl of parchment.

“Lord Reed kept this. Ned Stark wrote it for you.”

Jon took it, his heart in his throat. The words written in his father’s hand stoked the banked blaze inside. He was tempted to wad the letter into a ball and throw it away. There was so much left unsaid. ‘I’m sorry for lying to you.’ ‘I love you.’ ‘I’m sorry for letting you go to the Wall.’ ‘Your mother loved you.’ Those were the words he wanted, and would never hear. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring the writing into black smudges.

“He would have let me spend my life on the edge of the world, let me die there without . . . without . . .” Jon said thickly, the words fading to ringing silence, torn between the fire of rage and the ice of sorrow. Jon clenched his eyes shut for a moment, passing a hand over his face. His abraded knuckles throbbed.

“I suppose I just need sleep,” he said, mustering a weak smile. Daenerys chewed on her lower lip as she did when she was conflicted.

“Then you don’t want to . . . sleep elsewhere?” she asked. Jon frowned, a cold emptiness opening in his belly.

“Why would I want that?” Jon asked, his tone ragged and harsh.

Suddenly, the space between them was intolerable. Jon lunged to his feet, dragging her upright with him. The anger was in his blood like a fever, as blisteringly hot as dragonfire. Beneath the anger was the cloying slick of cold fear, just as endless. No. She couldn’t leave him. She couldn’t. His breath came in harsh pants.  

“Do you think I care we’re related? Do you think this changes anything? It doesn’t matter!” he said, shaking her. Through her silent impassivity, a glimmer of her fire warmed her eyes. Daenerys swatted off his clinging grip. Jon clenched trembling fists, trying to fight down the towering rush of emotion.  

“This changes everything, Jon!” Her mouth twisted into a bitter smile, “Gods, that isn’t even your true name!”

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated stubbornly.

Daenerys gave a contemptuous snort, pacing the close space of the tent.

“Of course it does! You are Rhaegar’s only living son. You are the true heir, not I.”

Jon scowled. Was she jealous? As if he had control over who his bloody parents were! Jon turned to face her.

“You think I give a single fuck about that bloody chair? You can have it. I never wanted it.” Her violet eyes flashed murder, contempt stamped on her face.

“As if it’s yours to give! I care. I care,” she said thumping her chest for emphasis, “I’ve had to fight tooth and nail for everything I have. I’ve endured rape and defilement, enslavement and degradation to earn it. The Iron Throne is mine.” Jon’s blood pounded in his ears. Her ferocity enraged and enflamed him.

“Keep it. Damn it woman, haven’t I proven I will follow you to the ends of the earth?” he said, yanking her close by a grip on her folded arms. A flash of vulnerability streaked across her face. It was the leaving the struck her deepest, not which heir had a better claim. Though I’m sure it stings.

“Let go of me,” she said, her voice hoarse and small.

Jon slid one arm around her, the other fisting in the loose fall of her hair, like silver silk between his fingers. It looked as pale and luminous as spun moonlight against his tanned hands and bleeding knuckles. Her pupils were wide and dark like a wild thing.

“Never,” he whispered, feeling the incensed flutter of her breathing. Blood surged south, his cock twitching in his trousers.

“You are mine, Daenerys Targaryen,” Jon said in fierce undertone.

Jon sealed the words with a biting kiss, seeking to devour her mouth. Her soft sound of surrender touched the bellowing male part of his mind, enflaming him further. Mm, the plush texture of her lips, the thrust of her tongue, the hot, upward spiral of pleasure. Her mouth was tentative against his, stunned by his sudden passion. Jon’s hands clawed at the lacings of her trousers, shoving them down. The seams of her tunic whined as he yanked it over her head.

Yes, laid bare before his hungry gaze. The candlelight kissed her pale skin in a soft golden glow, catching the glossy shine of her silver hair. Jon’s eyes wandered over her puckered nipples, delicately pink, the ripe weight of her breasts, the delicate curls of her sex. Gooseflesh stippled her skin. She hugged herself, shivering.

Jon lunged close for another kiss, smoothing his hands over her breasts, the other cupping the swell of her buttocks. Daenerys’ hands made quick work of his trousers, shoving them down far enough to pump his cock. Jon broke the kiss to groan, yanking off his tunic. He swept her up in his arms, laying her down on a bedroll.

“Come here to me. I need you wet. I’m going to fuck you until you remember who you belong to,” he said, his voice so guttural it was almost unrecognizable.

Without waiting for her reply, Jon pried her legs apart and dove in. The scent of her musk and the soft flesh of her cunt under his tongue fed his arousal. He lapped and probed and suckled, drinking in the dew of her arousal. Her body knew, he thought, and pleasure would remind her. Her cries came in gasps and whimpers, and her hands tangled in his hair left no doubt she was willing. So good. The craving for her hadn’t lessened. Jon still ached for her, in his soul. Tension gathered in her arching hips, in the bite of her nails on his scalp, and . . . yesss, her thighs clenched around his head, mouth flooded with her juice.

Jon slid up her body and sheathed himself in her in one fluid stroke. Jon groaned at the tight clutch of her, slick muscle gripping him. Hot pleasure made his heartbeat roar in his ears, breath in deep gulps. It was that same glorious fire roaring between them, and Jon wondered if it would burn him to a husk. Daenerys wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms tight around his chest. He set a punishing rhythm, using his weight and strength to pound into her.

The tent was filled with wet slap of flesh meeting, the haze of heat and sweat. Beneath the musk of sweat and sex, he could smell the tang of resin and pine needles. Daenerys moaned with each thrust, raking her fingernails down his back. Jon snarled at the sting and reared back to pin her wrists above her head, not slackening his pace. Daenerys thrashed in his grip, arching to meet each of his thrusts. There was something in her that needed to fight, needed to hurl herself against his strength. Jon let her, aroused by her wildness.

The tenor of her cries grew sharper, tension gathered in her muscles. Almost . . . gods yes! Daenerys shuddered as her release swept her up. Jon grit his teeth, fighting off the rising tide of his own release. Her eyes slipped closed.

“No! Look at me,” Jon snarled, framing her face between his hands. Wide violet eyes deep and dark in the low light, met his, brows drawn together.

“See who has you,” Jon said. She held his gaze, transfixed as he was, as he thrust in hard, deliberate strokes. Mm, gods he would never stop craving her sweet cunt, the heavy, musky tang of her pleasure.

His own pleasure hovered near like a brewing storm. He growled, fighting it. Jon pulled out, pumping his cock in rough strokes. With a choked cry, Jon came, spilling his seed in thick white drops on her breasts and belly. It was a primal impulse, to mark her as his. Daenerys made a low sound, smearing his seed over her belly. Jon thrust back in with a hiss, bathed in her slick heat. He sank down, pressed chest to chest as they rocked together. Jon pressed his forehead to hers, clinging to the last dregs of it. Daenerys’ hands threaded through his hair, tender and sweet.

“I’m yours and you’re mine,” Daenerys said hoarsely, pressing a kiss to his chin. Jon moaned, seeking her mouth. Lips met and tongues thrust, sloppy and lazy in the aftermath. After the storm, there was only peace in her arms. Peace and belonging. Home.      

Jon gripped her hips, smoothing his hands up the soft, sweat-dewed skin of her sides, cupping her breasts. So beautiful. His bride.  

“I love you,” he whispered, choked with emotion. Daenerys’ eyes shone with a blur of tears.

“I love you too,” she said, pulling him close. The tenderness and trust in her gaze undid him.

Jon arched his hips, his cock surging back to full hardness. Mm, he discovered he loved riding that line between pain and pleasure in the attempt to fuck her again. Daenerys’ breath came in a soft whine, inner muscle shivering anew around him. Jon hooked his arms beneath her shoulders and drew her upright in his lap. Daenerys purred, legs wrapped around his hips. Her fingers threaded through his hair, cupping his skull as they kissed.

Jon enjoyed the novelty of tilting his head back to kiss her, arms supporting her back beneath the warm silken fall of her hair. Daenerys arched her hips in short, steady thrusts, milking his cock. Sweat dewed on their undulating bodies, their bellies sticky with his come. Jon hummed, pressing kisses in a jagged path down her throat to her breasts. Her pert nipples were sweet little buds to suckle, though he broke off at her soft cry. Jon scattered air-soft kisses on each breast in apology. Daenerys gave a handful of his hair a sharp tug in playful retaliation.

“More,” she hissed in his ear. Jon made a low sound, urging her up with a grip on her hips.

“Hands and knees,” Jon said, with a soft smack on her arse.

Jon noticed the way her hands trembled in handfuls of the bedroll and remembered too late what she’d told him. Offhand, as they toured camp and found Dothraki copulating beneath an open sky she mentioned they knew little other way to join. Her Dothraki husband, renowned for his brutality . . . he cursed himself for not understanding sooner. His arousal flagged a bit at the thought. Jon smoothed callus-roughened hands up her back, following their path with his lips.

“Are you well, love?” he asked. Over her shoulder, Daenerys’ eyes were wide and soulful.

“Yes, Jon. Come here,” she whispered. Jon palmed himself, feeling torn. His cock throbbed back to full salute, uncaring of this byplay and eager to return.

With a frustrated sound, Daenerys batted away his hand and guided him inside. A choked sound left him, a shudder racing through him at the welcoming heat of her. Jon leaned over her back, suckling on her neck and behind her ear. One arm wormed beneath them, cupping her mound as he thrust in slowly. Daenerys mewled as his fingers teased her pearl, her body stretched out almost flat on her belly beneath him. Jon crooned a string of half-coherent praise and love words, fighting the rising tide of his own pleasure: “So good my love, my Dany . . . Gods, you feel so good . . . oh fuck . . . I love you . . . so fucking good . . . I’m yours forever . . . gods, come for me. Be a good girl and come for me.”

Daenerys panted and squirmed in his grip as pleasure sobbed through her. She turned to bite on the inside of his forearm as cunt milked him. The sting of her teeth was the fine point of pain that sent Jon tumbling over the edge. When he returned to himself, Jon rolled over slightly, gathering her to his chest in the damp, trembling aftermath. Daenerys made a soft, sleepy sound, nestling back into his grip. Jon dragged the bedroll’s cover over them, already the cold began to seep in.

A stray thought floated by, and he chuckled.

“It’s a good thing not many people know Robb legitimized me. It would be very confusing now,” he said. Daenerys rolled over to face him, a frown lingering on her brow.

“We have much to discuss. What will we tell people? What name will you keep? We have proof, the scroll with your fathe--” she broke off, with a moue of distaste. Her fingers pushed his sweat-damp curls off his forehead in a restless, tender gesture.

“Ned Stark is my father. I cannot forgive him . . . not yet. But he was the man I knew as my father,” Jon said, kissing the furrowed spot between her flexible brows.

“As to the rest, we will puzzle it out. Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a tiring day,” he said, letting his eyes slip closed, soothed by her stroking his hair.

“Yes, we need to fly back to King’s Landing--”

“Aye, we will. But first, I want to marry you,” he said, lips curving in a smile. Jon cracked open one eye, and laughed at Daenerys’ stunned expression.

“Marry me? Here? Now?” she asked, wide-eyed. Jon grinned down his nose at her.          

“There is a heart tree and witnesses. As far as I’m concerned, that is all we have need of. Are you having second thoughts?” he asked, the last with a hint of teasing. Their bond reaffirmed, Jon felt lighter than he had in months. His smile fell. Something in her expression that made his gut clench.

“Daenerys?” he asked, his voice small. Jon tightened his grip on her, half-afraid she would bolt into the night. Tears filled her eyes, one trickling down her cheek. Jon cupped her face, smoothing away the tear with his thumb.

“O—Of course I want to marry you,” she quavered. Everything before the word ‘but’ is horseshit.

“But?” Jon prompted. His gut churning, Jon strove for composure. Daenerys looked miserable.

“Bran t—told me something else. He said . . . he said I was with child.” Jon blinked, his mind a blank white slate for a moment. A . . . a child? Emotion began to trickle in, surprise and joy and fear wadded in a dense ball.

“Is that possible?” he asked softly.

“There’s no way to tell yet, without my moon blood,” Daenerys said, chewing on her lower lip, “But the maester was trying to tell me something before Drogon made a fuss. My breasts have been tender; I’ve been tired of late. Those are early signs.” Jon smothered the smile growing on his face at her heartbroken expression. Gods above, my woman is a puzzle wrapped in a riddle.

“And how do you feel about this?” he asked.

The tears welled and fell faster now, a silent, silver trickle down rosy cheeks. His heart ached. Jon was at a loss as how to comfort her, and equally honored that she would share her vulnerability with him.

“It . . . it can’t be possible. I can’t bear the thought of it,” she said.

“Why, love?” Jon asked, wiping away her tears with gentle hands. Daenerys nestled closer, tucking her head under his chin. Jon pressed his cheek to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair.

“Because what if it isn’t true? I couldn’t bear to have that hope taken away from me again. I don’t think I could survive it.” The words emerged muted by the press of their bodies, garbled by thick emotion. Jon squeezed her tight to his heart.

“You are the strongest person I know,” he whispered into her hair.

“I couldn’t bear it,” she said again, a sob thick in her throat.

“Ssshhh, love. Let it out if you need to. I’m here,” Jon crooned, stroking her back.

Daenerys wept in his arms, soft, shuddering sobs that tore at his heart. Her tears were a chilly wetness on his chest, but he didn’t mind. Whether she wept for sorrow of the child she lost or the fear of what lay before them, he wasn’t sure. But soon the tide ebbed, and they lay in silence for a long moment, watching the candlelight waver on the canvas walls of their tent.

“Bran has spoken truthfully thus far. He wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. I think he’s right,” Jon said gently. Daenerys looked up at him, and for the first time he saw a glimmer of dawning joy in her face. She threaded her fingers with his and cupped her flat belly.

“A child, Jon. Yours and mine,” she said wonderingly.

“Yes. Our babe,” he said with a smile. Jon tilted her chin up to kiss her, tasting the salt of her tears. They subsided into silence, replete in love. Daenerys nuzzled his cheek, her skin smooth against the rasp of his beard.

“Bran also said you were a man of honor. That you would stand by me and my child.” The pence dropped.

“And you didn’t want to marry me before telling me about the babe,” Jon said. He heaved a sigh. Jon rolled her beneath him, pressed nose to nose—so close, he could feel the flutter of her eyelashes as she blinked.

“You aren’t trapping me in a marriage not of my choosing. In fact, I think I’ve been chasing you across this bloody continent for the past year. Marry me, Daenerys, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making you believe I love you.” Daenerys’ smile was like sunshine.

“I believe you. I’ll marry you anywhere.” 

[lovecomesinattheeyes]

Smutty Jonerys Drabbles Part 2

Click Here for part 1!

                          ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Daenerys moans and shakes. Her husband is relentlessly devouring the heat between her legs. She has lost track of her climaxes, is that three or four? She does not know.

Normally their couplings are sensual and sweet. He lavishes her body in kisses, whispers words of love in her ear as he brings her to pleasure once or twice before he himself takes his. They make love quite frequently and he’s never this… primal.

Her legs clamp down on his head, hard and her body twists, trying desperately to get away from his mouth but he holds her fast.

His warning from earlier floats in her conscience but she can’t help it. She pushes herself into a sitting position and delves her fingers into his hair, pulling him up and kissing him hard. The taste of her honey on his lips has her head swimming. He growls against her greedy mouth before he guides her back onto the bed.

He reaches for something and before she can react he has her hands pinned above her and is wrapping the shredded blouse around her wrists. She looks up at what he’s doing, momentarily stunned. She didn’t take him at his word, thinking he was just saying it so he could have his way with her for as long as he could.

In an instant he has his hands wrapped under her thighs and is repositioning them. He uses the longer end of the blouse and ties her wrists to one of the posts at the head of their bed.

“Jon,” she hisses. “I swear to the Gods, if you do not untie me I will scream.”

“Oh I know you’ll scream tonight my Queen. I told the guards to expect as much.” Her eyes narrow and he smirks at her.

“You do not want to wake the dragon.” She threatens him, every word laced with the Targaryen fire he has come to know and love.

“Aye wife,” He kisses down her body, his eyes never leaving hers. “That’s exactly what I want to do.” She gasps as he pushes her thighs apart again, a heavy wave of pleasure floods through her, settling between her hips. He runs his nose up her dripping center. “And your body tells me you’re enjoying it.”

“Jon, please…” She resorts to begging. Something she tries never to do. She hates pleading to any man, her husband being the one exception and even then only for the rarest of occurrences. Jon knows this, it was one of his goals tonight. He has three goals before he will good and truly take her the way she wants him. The first has now been fulfilled, he sets his sights on the next.

She’s unable to push her thighs together and around his head as he’s pinning them open with his strong arms. She moans loudly as his tongue dips into her once again. She’s locked in a battle of wills with her husband and he seems to be winning.

She loses herself in the overwhelming sensations. The coil deep in her belly is resetting itself tightening further and further. With her legs like this she is completely at the mercy of her King and it arouses her, as well as the dragon. The pressure is nearly unbearable as he continues to slowly tighten that knot between her legs.

“Oh JON!” She finally shouts his name. He groans against her and it reverberates through her spine, making her back arch and her head spin. “Please Jon, please I need you inside me. I need you to… to…”

“That’s it Dany, tell me what you want.” He says against her cunt. She bites her lip again. He wants her to say it and she doesn’t want to give in, but she knows it’s the quickest way to get what she wants.

“Gods Jon…” She moans. “I want you to fuck me. I want your cock inside me!” Her fiery gaze meets his as their stare down creates an inferno.

“Tell me true, who else has ever made you feel this way?” He asks her smoothly, lifting himself from her legs.

“Only you.” She gazes at him as she answers. “No other man has ever satiated or filled me as much as you.”

At her admission she sees something move in the reflection of the mirror. It catches his attention too. They both turn their heads to see what it is and catch the form of Daario Naharis walking out of their solar.

Daenerys’ eyes go wide and she looks back at her husband. The smug look on his face betrays him and she knows that it is not a coincidence.

“JAEHAERYS AEGON TARGARYEN!” She shouts his full true borne name and he winces. “What did you do?” She seethes.

Jon shrugs, looking very much like their son when they catch him trying to sneak off to play with Drogon and Rhaegal in the dragonpits without their permission.

“Release me from these binds.” She orders in the voice she reserves only for those that have threatened her.

He huffs as he moves back up her naked form, quickly releasing the knot. Her legs take advantage of his off balance position and she flips him onto his back. She tosses the makeshift binds to the side of the bed and plants herself firmly on his stomach. His hands come to rest on her hips.

“He needed to know what was mine.” He answers nonchalantly. “He needed to know that he has no claim on your body or your heart.” Her eyes search his for a moment before her shoulders fall.

“I should slap you.” She answers defeatedly before removing his hands from her waist. She dismounts him and goes to her silk robe. She covers herself and walks out into the solar. She runs her hands through her hair and sighs in annoyance. She debates whether to summon Daario back and apologize on behalf of her husband. Instead she drains the goblet of wine she had poured for Jon earlier and goes back to the window.

She looks down at the city again and her facade cracks. A tear escapes her eye. She hears the soft pads of his bare feet on the flagstone behind her and moves to wipe away the evidence of her tears.

“Daenerys,” Jon’s voice is calm, soothing and she fights the desire to melt into him. A minute passes as she tries to swallow the lump in her throat, not daring to turn and look at him, she’s still too angry, too hurt.

“You humiliated me.” She says quietly. Her words break the last of his prideful ego and he exhales heavily as he falls to his knees.

His hands grip at her hips and he presses his face into the small of her back. “I’m so sorry.” He says, his voice breaking. “I’m a northern fool who doesn’t deserve your love.”

She closes her eyes and takes a breath before she turns and looks down at him. His face is filled with regret and threatens to spill forth tears. She runs her hand along the side of his face and he presses into it, bringing his palm to rest on hers as his lips softly kiss the silk covering her belly.

“Never do that again.” She warns him.

“Never.” He concedes, dedication lacing his promise. She clasps his face in her hands and guides him back up to his feet. She pulls his mouth to hers and kisses him softly. He gasps against her lips as they slowly pour their love into one another.

Soon he lifts her again, this time wrapping her legs around his waist, their lips never leaving one another’s. He carries her back to their bed and sits, letting her knees hit the mattress. He scoots them back to the middle of the bed and lets her take complete control. She snakes her hand down between them, pumping his stiff manhood in her palm.

When he’s breathing heavily, she releases his cock and pushes him back to lie down. Her hands quickly undo the knot on the robe and she lets it fall away. Her eyes rake over his chest and she dips to kiss along the jagged wound over his heart.

He keeps his hands on her hips as he groans, pushing his head against the mattress. She kisses back up to his ear as she lifts herself, placing her entrance above him.

“You’ll apologize by putting another baby in me.” She whispers as she sinks down onto him. He groans, closes his eyes and nods as the tight walls of her passage relax around him. “I want another boy this time.” A shiver goes up his spine and he fights the urge to buck up into her. “ You better get to work Jon Snow.” Her cool voice overloads his senses and this time he does buck his hips, setting a slow rhythm that makes her body tingle.

She sighs as she looks upon her husband, rolling her hips in sync with his thrusts. “Look at me.” She commands. His eyes meet hers and he groans as he releases into her. She bites her lip at the sensation of his seed filling her.

It takes a moment for him to recover, but in one quick movement he has them flipped over. “I think we need to make doubly sure I get you with child tonight my Queen.” He says as he begins to move again within her.

Their passions reignite and they spend the remainder of the evening and early hours of the morning conceiving their fourth child.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

LESS THAN 12 HOURS UNTIL BOATSEX! Lessgo Fam!

[nanshe-of-nina]

Great Lovers of Westeros, part II

Ormund Baratheon and Rhaelle Targaryen In 245 AC Princess Rhaelle fulfilled her father’s promise and wed Ormund Baratheon, young Lord of Storm’s End. The following year she gave him a son, Steffon, who served as a page and a squire at King’s Landing and became a close companion of Prince Aerys, eldest son of King Jaehaerys II and heir to the Iron Throne.

Alysanne Blackwood and Cregan Stark Lord Corlys was spared a trial by the machinations of Baela and Rhaena Targaryen, who convinced Aegon to issue an edict restoring to him his offices and honors, then by Black Aly Blackwood when she gave Lord Stark her hand in marriage in return for the boon of allowing Aegon’s edict to stand.

Denys Darklyn and Serala of Myr “In Duskendale they love Lord Denys still, despite the woe he brought them. ’Tis Lady Serala that they blame, his Myrish wife. The Lace Serpent, she is called. If Lord Darklyn had only wed a Staunton or a Stokeworth … well, you know how smallfolk will go on. The Lace Serpent filled her husband’s ear with Myrish poison, they say, until Lord Denys rose against his king and took him captive.”

Joffrey Lonmouth and Laenor Velaryon He shattered Breakbone’s collarbone and elbow, leading Mushroom to dub him Brokenbones, but the worst injuries he meted out were to Laenor’s favorite, the handsome knight Ser Joffrey Lonmouth, who was called the Knight of Kisses. Ser Joffrey was borne from the field senseless and bloody, and lingered for six days before dying, leaving Laenor to weep bitter tears of grief.

Mors Martell and Nymeria But Mors Martell, the Lord of the Sandship, saw in the newcomers an opportunity … and if the singers can be believed, his lordship also lost his heart to Nymeria, the fierce and beautiful warrior queen who had led her people across the world to keep them free.

Brynden Rivers and Shiera Seastar Bloodraven proved to be a capable Hand, but also a master of whisperers who rivaled Lady Misery, and there were those who thought he and his half sister and paramour, Shiera Seastar, used sorcery to ferret out secrets.

Barbrey Ryswell and Brandon Stark “Brandon was fostered at Barrowton with old Lord Dustin, the father of the one I’d later wed, but he spent most of his time riding the Rills. And my lord father was always pleased to play host to the heir to Winterfell. My father had great ambitions for House Ryswell. He would have served up my maidenhead to any Stark who happened by, but there was no need. Brandon was never shy about taking what he wanted. I am old now, a dried-up thing, too long a widow, but I still remember the look of my maiden’s blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes. It hurt, but it was a sweet pain.”

Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen “The Others take your honor!” Robert swore. “What did any Targaryen ever know of honor? Go down into your crypt and ask Lyanna about the dragon’s honor!” “You avenged Lyanna at the Trident,” Ned said, halting beside the king.

Alysanne and Jaehaerys I Targaryen For forty-six years, the Old King and Good Queen Alysanne were wed, and for the most part it was a happy marriage, with children and grandchildren aplenty. Two estrangements are recorded, but they did not last more than a year or two before the pair resumed their customary friendship. The Second Quarrel, however, is of note, as it was due to Jaehaerys’s decision in 92 AC to pass over his granddaughter Rhaenys— the daughter of his deceased eldest son and heir, Prince Aemon— in favor of bestowing Dragonstone and the place of heir apparent on his next eldest son, Baelon the Brave. Alysanne saw no reason why a man should be favored over a woman … and if Jaehaerys thought women of less use, then he would have no need of her. They reconciled in time, but the Old King outlived his beloved queen, and in his last years it was said that the grief of their parting hung over his court like a pall.

Jaehaerys II and Shaera Targaryen Though King Aegon had acquired a distaste for the Valyrian custom of incestuous marriage during his years amongst the smallfolk, Prince Jaehaerys was of a more traditional bent, for from a very early age he had loved his sister Shaera and dreamed of wedding her in the old Targaryen fashion. Once aware of his desires, King Aegon and Queen Betha had done their best to separate the two, yet somehow distance only seemed to inflame the mutual passion of this prince and princess.