#lucerys x reader fluff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ichorai · 2 years ago

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balance the scales ; aemond targaryen. (m)

alternatively titled soda. track six of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x strong!f!reader

synopsis ; he flinched away when your fingers brushed against his eyepatch. despite this, you reached out once more to pull it off, your touch ever so gentle—and this time, he let you. you whispered that he was beautiful as your lips grazed against the marred skin of his cheek. aemond didn’t believe you, but he let you say it nonetheless.

words ; 40.3k (my longest oneshot!)

themes ; heavy angst, action, smut (minors dni!), mild fluff, enemies to lovers back to enemies trope, slowburn, betrothed au

warnings / includes ; violence/war, several character deaths, descriptions of injury/blood, birth scenes, oral (f recieving), unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, hotd s1 spoilers, reader is fiercely team black, implications of rape (aegon), really really heavy angst, harwin is reader's older brother, helaena is the sweetest ever :( jace and luke are reader's best friends, rhaenyra is practically reader's mother, lots of Emotions in this one, asoiaf politics and references for all of you book nerds

main masterlist. read on ao3!

It was said that you came into the world silent.

A problem with your lungs, the midwives had solemnly told your father, the Hand of the King, proclaiming you dead not three minutes after. Lyonel Strong was grief-stricken at not only having lost his dear wife to the perilous task of childbirth, but you as well.

But you were a fighter from the very beginning. At least, that’s what Harwin had told you. Once they’d laid you in your eldest brother’s arms, your airway had miraculously cleared up and you’d let out a hoarse, shrill cry—and the rest was history.

“I was twenty when you were born, you know,” said Harwin, voice rife with affection, reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from your face. “I was so scared that I’d lose you. Now look at you—eight years of age and healthier than ever. Are you excited to meet the new baby?”

“Yes! The babe gets a dragon egg and everything!”

You beamed up at your eldest brother, batting away his fretful hands and turning to your friends. Though—they’d always felt more like your brothers than merely friends.

Jacaerys and Lucerys, who bore a striking resemblance to Harwin (and you’d keenly noticed that they shared your smile), were playing with a wooden carving of a dragon, blowing raspberries and running around the spacious chamber. The taller of the two, Jace, was only a few moons older than you, whilst Luke was much younger and looked up to you—quite literally and figuratively. The two young boys roped you into their little game as well, screaming with laughter when you began chasing after them with a snarl, arms outstretched.

With a slight smile, Harwin watched over the three of you, hands comfortably rested against the hilt of his gilded longsword. Even though he was only but your older brother, he always treated you as if you were his own child—after all, you barely saw your father anyway, seeing as he was always busy serving the King as the Hand. The fact that he was a whole two decades older than you only made him all the more protective of his youngest sibling.

His attention was pulled away from the three kids clambering on top of each other when the doors creaked open. An exhausted Rhaenyra slowly limped in, Laenor Velaryon right behind her, holding a bundle of red and gold fabric.

“Mother!” exclaimed Jace, getting onto his feet to greet Rhaenyra. “Look!”

He scuttled away to pull the cover off of the stone incubator, revealing a scaly dragon egg of dark emerald hue. You and Luke were hot on his trail, peering over his shoulder to marvel at the smoking egg. A large part of you was jealous that Jace and Luke and the new babe each got a dragon egg, and you never did, despite having similar physical attributes to the boys. But they were royal Princes, and you were only the youngest child of the Hand, which really meant little to nothing other than fancy titles and polite honorifics.

“We chose an egg for the baby,” Luke excitedly told his mother, who leaned against a chaise tiredly.

Harwin offered his arm to Rhaenyra, helping her slowly ease down onto the seat.

“Ah,” she said, the beginnings of a smile to her lips. “That looks like the perfect one.”

“I let Luke choose!” chirped Jace, squaring his shoulders proudly. “But Luke couldn’t decide, so I asked Y/N.”

The purple of Rhaenyra’s eyes gleamed with affection when she looked at you, nearly shrouded behind Jace’s taller stature. “Sweet girl,” she hummed, briefly glancing up at Harwin, before returning her gaze to you. “You chose wonderfully. Thank you.”

Luke reached out to graze his fingers over the egg’s ridges, but flinched back from the heat, sticking them into his mouth. You pulled a grimace but laughed anyway, lightly shoving Luke away from the incubator.

“Not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, Princess,” said your brother. “I thought it best to escort the lads. They insisted on Y/N coming along, as well.”

“Laenor and I thank you, Commander,” replied Rhaenyra, dipping her head with gratitude.

Harwin’s eyes locked on the babe in Laenor’s arms. “Another boy, I heard,” he said.

The Princess nodded once, the corner of her lips lifting ever so slightly.

“Might I?” asked the Commander.

“Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey,” Rhaenyra told her husband, who finally ripped his loving gaze from the babe, and handed him over to Harwin.

With flailing hands, Luke reached out to Harwin, eyes trained on Laenor. “Please, father, may I hold Joffrey?”

“Ah, ah, ah, back to the Dragonpit for you two—before they send out a search party!” ushered Laenor as he led the boys out of the chamber. “Come, Y/N, would you like to join the boys?” he asked kindly, clearly wanting to give Harwin and Rhaenyra some well-earned time alone.

Excited at the prospect of seeing the boys’ dragons again, you scrambled out the doors after them, squeaking out, “Wait! Wait for me!”

Once the doors were shut and the kids were gone, Rhaenyra looked upon Harwin bouncing the babe fondly.

“You’re asleep in front of the Commander of the City Watch,” he gently scolded the tiny thing. “Terrible lack of respect.”

“A certain insolence runs in the family, I’m afraid,” commented Rhaenyra, subtly hinting to the baby being of Harwin’s blood, rather than Laenor’s.

Harwin tried his best to suppress his smile, failing miserably. He looked down at the baby once more, noting with pleased fascination that Joffrey had his nose.

The dungeons of the Dragonpit were dimly lit by sparse, flaming torches hanging by the stone walls. It stank of smoke and ash and stale blood, but you didn’t quite mind the smell. You bounced on the balls of your feet behind Jacaerys, eyes wide with anticipation as the dragonkeepers brought out Vermax.

He was a rather tempestuous beast, snarling at the lot of you as he stalked forward. The pale orange of his wings and the green of his scales warbled beneath the fire’s light. The keepers spoke in their lilting Valyrian tongues to command the dragon—foreign to your ears, but no less interesting.

Aegon seemed not to share your disposition, however, yawning loudly and rolling his eyes to the side, clearly bored with watching Jacaerys bond with Vermax. Ever since Aegon had won mastery over his own dragon, Sunfyre, his head seemed to swell twice its size and he held no interest in anybody else’s dragon but his own. Both you and Luke glanced up at him with a scowl. The younger of the silver-headed boys kept his gaze trained to the ground, used to his brother’s antics.

You’d always been much more fond of Aemond than Aegon anyway—he was far kinder to you than his brother. Though, compared to Aegon, it was barely a competition.

Watching on in rapt fascination, you turned your head to see one of the keepers bring out a bleating lamb for Vermax to feast upon.

“Can I say it?” asked Jacaerys, equal parts nervous and excited. He glanced at his uncles, before looking back at you, eyes gleaming. You gave him an encouraging smile. At the keepers’ hum of approval, he turned back to his dragon. “Dracarys, Vermax!”

With a grateful hiss, Vermax turned and blew a long breath of fire straight at his prey, pupils sharpening. Even from afar, you could feel the heat of the flames kiss your skin.

Vermax happily stalked forward and began biting into the charred flesh of the lamb. The keepers clapped Jacaerys on the shoulder proudly, before heading off to round Vermax further into the darkness of the Dragonpit.

Just as you were about to tell Jace how amazing that was, Aegon interrupted by cuffing his younger brother on the shoulder.

“Aemond, we have a surprise for you,” he glibly said.

The other two boys glanced at each mischievously. You tilted your head, feeling a bit left out. You weren’t aware of any surprises they had planned for the young Prince.

“What is it?” asked Aemond.

“Something very special!” chimed Lucerys, just before he ran off into the darkness.

Clearing his throat, Aegon continued, “You’re the only one of us without a dragon.”

Aemond frowned. “Indeed.”

“And we felt badly about it, so we found one for you!” exclaimed Aegon.

This came as a surprise to you. To your knowledge, none of the dragons had nested as of late, and there were no new eggs for Aemond to take.

The same skepticism colored Aemond’s tone. “A dragon? How?”

Aegon didn’t even try hiding his snarky smile. “The gods provide, dear brother.”

And out came Luke from the shadows, tugging along a large, oinking pig. Tufts of dried wheat were tied around the pigs back, made to mimic a dragon’s wings. You felt your lips twist into a frown. What a terrible thing to gift Aemond.

The other boys giggled as they announced, “Behold, the Pink Dread!”

They snickered in amusement at Aemond’s reaction—or lack thereof.

“Be sure to mount her carefully,” cackled Aegon, prodding his brother’s side. “First flight’s always rough.” He snorted loudly into Aemond’s ear, who stood still and unflinching.

Jace and Luke followed suit, making obscene pig noises and giggling. They turned to leave the Dragonpit.

“Come on, Y/N, let’s go see if they have any lemon cakes for supper!” said Luke, grabbing your hand.

You kept your gaze trained on Aemond, shaking the younger boy off. “I’ll be right there… just give me a minute.”

Shrugging, Luke scampered off with Jace and Aegon, still laughing between his pig-reminiscent oinks.

Uncertain, you stood a couple feet away from Aemond, toying with the fabric of your sleeve. You sympathized with him, really. All your life, you had no dragon of your own, despite always having wanted one. You knew it wasn’t the same because it was his birthright as a Prince to have a dragon—but you could still understand the feeling.

“I’m sorry about them,” you said, moving closer. “That’s a terrible thing to gift you.”

The Prince was silent for a few moments, before rotating on his feet to fix his glare on you. You shuffled back a step.

An amalgamation of anger and embarrassment etching crystal clear across his face, he spat out, “Go away! You’re not even of royal Targaryen blood—you don’t belong here!”

It was clear that he was merely projecting his frustrations onto you—after all, he himself was of Targaryen blood and yet he always felt like an outcast in his own family.

But you were only eight, and such complicated matters were lost to you.

Lips twisting in a frown, you blinked at the Prince, hands curling into fists by your side. “I just wanted to help,” you quietly mumbled beneath your breath, before promptly turning on your heel and marching out of the Dragonpit.

Aemond had heard your final words before your departure, feeling a twinge of guilt coil within his stomach. But after casting another look at the pig, his thoughts about you disappeared, replaced only with hot fury.

With a determined set of his jaw, Aemond trudged on further into the darkness of the Dragonpit.

“Your feet,” said Harwin, tapping the edge of his sword onto your scuffed boots. “Don’t stand like a pin needle. Keep them apart—steady your stance.”

You did as he told, and he nodded in approval. With your dull, wooden practice lance, you dove forward and struck the hay sewn dummy with quick strikes.

“Good,” your older brother commended, patting your shoulder. “Just remember to move with your feet, alright? Come now, drop the sword.”

“What?” you asked, allowing the wood to go limp in your hand. “Why?”

Kneeling down before you, Harwin brushed your sweaty, damp hair away from your burning skin. “Because this world doesn’t give little girls swords when they need it. They must only rely on their wit and their hands if the situation arises. Drop the sword, darling.”

Frowning, you relinquished your hold, waiting for further instructions.

You’d been doing this with Harwin for a long while now. Every other night for the past three years, he’d been teaching you how to fight, and how to defend yourself.

“Now, I’m going to pretend to hit you, and you have to do everything in your power to stop me. Do anything you must—hit back, bite, kick, run… just don’t give up. You promise?”

“Okay,” you told him, steeling your nerves.

He began slowly, motioning to strike your stomach and your sides. You managed to evade those easily, moving back or rolling out of his way. The faster he got, however, the more sloppy you were. One particular jab to your shoulder made you bite back a cry of pain, and you glared up at him.

“Must you be so rough?” you growled, to which Harwin only nodded, face stoic.

“In a fight—a real and true one—do you think they’d go easy on you? No. You must be prepared for it, Y/N. I will not always be there to protect you.”

His words made you pause. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you be there?”

“I’ll always be there for you, little sister,” he said, large hand patting your head. “But if there comes such a time where I won’t be, for some reason unbeknownst to me, you must be ready.”

With a reluctant bob of your head, he commanded you to get into a fighting stance again.

“Thumb outside the fist,” he gently reminded you. “Feet wider apart, knees bent—yes, that’s it.”

And without warning, he darted forward, using his foot to sweep across your legs, making you stumble back onto your arse, all the breath in your lungs rushing out.

“Harwin!” you yelled out, now fed up with him. “That’s not fair! You’re using your feet!”

“I never said I wasn’t going to use my feet. You will soon come to realize that life is not always fair,” he said, unable to help the small chuckle falling from his lips. “Up you get.”

Rubbing at your sore bottom, you mumbled out, “Why don’t I get to spar with Jace and Luke and Aemond and Aegon? I want to spar with them.” Though, as soon as the words left you, you realized that you’d really rather not spar with Aemond and Aegon. Especially not after that whole pig situation.

Surprised at your question, Harwin halted to lower himself down to your height once again. “Sweet sister… it is safer for me to train you in secret. In a fair and just world, you’d be able to train with whomever you wanted. But you are a young girl, and they are the royal Princes. The court would not find it proper if you were to spar with them.”

Tears welled up in your widened eyes. “But… that’s not fair…”

Harwin thumbed away the wetness on your cheek. “Come now, don’t cry. How about, next time the boys train, you get to watch—and I can teach you the same things they learn later in the evening? How does that sound?”

“O-Okay,” you hiccupped. “Can I have my sword back?”

With a faint smile, Harwin nodded, handing you the wooden stick.

From the shadows where neither of you could see, Criston Cole watched, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted.

Harwin was a man of his word.

The very next day, you had shot out of your bed like someone had lit a fire beneath you, hurriedly dressing and washing yourself, much to your handmaid's shock, and scampered out to the training yard.

“There you are,” greeted your brother, ruffling your already sleep-mussed hair. “I was afraid you weren’t going to show.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” you replied, bouncing on your toes.

Harwin could only grin down at you, before returning his gaze to the four boys dully smacking their wooden practice swords against the dummies.

Aegon twisted and turned and hit with speed rather than precision, grunts of exertion falling from his lips. Lucerys was clumsy and slow, but for the most part, he hit the targeted regions accurately. Jacaerys was nearly the same as his youngest brother, only a tad faster and more agile on his feet.

Ser Criston Cole was scrutinizing Aemond, despite him seeming to be doing the best out of the four. Fast, accurate, and strong strokes of his wooden blade thudded repeatedly against the hay.

“Soften your knees,” gruffed Criston, face betraying no expression. “Feet light. Light, Aemond.”

Training with the Dornish man seemed much different than training with your older brother. With your brother, as hard as he was on you sometimes, he was still kind and knew your limits. Cole was cold and rigidly strict, and seemed to care naught for the boys’ boundaries.

You glanced up at your brother, who watched on with a mildly distasteful expression.

Observing from the walkways above, you spotted your father with the King. Lyonel eyed you with a questionable gaze, wondering what on earth his youngest daughter was doing on the training grounds, rather than playing with Princess Helaena, whom you’d grown to be rather fond of, or entertaining Rhaenyra and the new babe, Joffrey.

You tilted your head when Aegon grew bored of smacking his own dummy, wandering over to Jace and knocking the younger Prince’s sword out of his hands. To none of your surprise, Criston chose to turn a blind eye to the eldest boy.

You will soon come to realize that life is not always fair, you could hear your brother’s words echo in your head. Perhaps he was right. Nonetheless, you could feel anger simmer within your stomach.

“Don’t stand too upright, my Prince, you’ll get knocked down,” commanded Cole.

Aegon halted in his terrorizing as two handmaids passed by, openly gawking at the poor girls as they hurried off with baskets of soiled laundry. Only after they were long gone, did Aegon catch sight of you, tilting his head curiously, as if trying to remember your face.

“Aegon,” Criston called out, pulling Aegon’s attention away from you.

“I’ve won my first bout, Ser Criston,” boasted the white-haired Prince. “My opponent sues for mercy.”

A ghost of a smirk graced Criston’s lips. “Then you shall have a new opponent, then. Let’s see if you can touch me. You and your brother.”

With dejected expressions, Luke and Jace slunk off to the side, watching Aemond and Aegon battle against Criston. It was only then that the two boys took notice of you. Luke waved excitedly, and Jace nodded his head with a smile. You grinned back at them, clasping your hands behind your back, itching to have a practice sword gripped between them.

Criston seemed to make a fool of the Princes, easily parrying away their strikes and sending them sprawling onto the ground several times.

“Weapons up, boys,” Harwin quietly advised Luke and Jace. “Give your enemies no quarter.”

It seemed as though his words were not quiet enough—Criston certainly overheard what he was saying, and didn’t look too pleased with it.

Your brother narrowed his eyes. “It seems the younger boys could do better with a bit of your attention, Ser Criston.”

Jaw squared, Cole bit out, “You question my method of instruction, Ser?”

“I merely suggest that method be applied to all your pupils,” said Harwin.

“My pupils? And not… your pupil?”

This made your brother blanche uneasily.

“Lady Y/N. Come. I want to see what Ser Harwin has taught you.”

Shocked, you looked up at your brother, lips falling open and shut, unsure of what to say or do.

Not wanting to disobey the tall, scary man, you timidly stepped forward. From above, your father seemed to want to end this nonsense, shifting his weight from foot to foot—but as the King trusted Ser Criston Cole, he had little he could say to put a stop to this.

“Aemond. You shall spar with the Lady Strong.”

The Prince seemed to want to do anything other than that, but reluctantly ambled forward anyway. Criston roughly shoved a wooden sword against your chest, which lacked any armor whatsoever in comparison to Aemond’s full chestplate and protective metal gloves.

“Engage.”

Desperately trying to recall what your brother had taught you, you spread your feet further apart and bent your knees, leveling your weight in preparation to move around.

Aemond was the first to attack, diving forward to strike your sides. He got one hit in at first, pain blossoming by your ribs. You winced, staggering back slightly.

By the second strike, you were prepared. Though he was half a foot taller than you, you used that to your advantage. It was little effort to duck away from his arc when he was about to repeat the very same maneuver, smacking the flat of your stick to the back of his left knee, sending him buckling forward. In the short time you had to watch him, you’d noticed that he favored his right side, and often left the other side unguarded.

The Prince was quick to recover, scrambling back up on his feet and glaring at you with the strength of a thousand suns. This time, he was smarter, waiting for you to attack next. You feigned a jab to his neck, forcing him to parry high up, before you used your feet to kick out against his exposed stomach. It was a dirty move—not a proper one in the least, but it was as your brother said the other night—life was not fair.

Aemond fell back with a muffled oomf, expression suspended into one of disbelief. He couldn’t believe he’d just been bested by a girl. Teeth clenched, you placed the tip of your sword against his chest, locking eyes with him. He stared at you with nothing but pure hatred within the deep purple of his irises. After a second, you moved it away, holding out your hand to help him up. You were willing to overlook what happened down at the Dragonpit the other day—after all, you still sympathized with him and didn't hate him in the very least. Especially not compared to his wretched older brother.

The Prince didn’t take your hand. He shoved it away with a grumble, standing up on his own and slinking off to the side. It was embarrassing. More than that—he was angry at himself, at you, at Cole. Tears pricked the corner of Aemond’s eyes, but he willfully staved them away.

Frowning, you made your way back to Harwin, who fondly cupped your face with one large palm, patting your cheek thrice. “Well done, Y/N. I’m so proud of you.”

You smiled wearily, though it didn’t reach your eyes.

Criston’s nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath, clearly unhappy with Harwin’s pupil beating his own. His gaze flitted downward to lock with yours for a brief moment, before looking at the crown Prince. “Alright. Jacaerys. You spar with Aegon. Eldest son against eldest son.”

Giving the boy no warning, Cole seized the front of Jace’s armor and all but dragged him to the center of the training yard. Helplessly, Jace looked to you and Harwin.

This was by no means a fair fight, but you had to remind yourself—life is not always fair.

As if reading your thoughts, Harwin called out, “It’s hardly a fair match.”

“I know you’ve never seen true battle, Ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn’t something anyone should expect.” Criston’s seething words made you shift uncomfortably. How dare he speak to your brother like that?

You glanced back up at your father and the King, still watching over. You wondered if he could hear what Criston was saying. If he cared.

“Engage,” said Cole.

And with that, Aegon roared, raining down attack after attack upon Jace. He shoved him down onto the ground, dried leaves fluttering upwards with his fall. Satisfied with himself, Aegon turned his back to Jace, bowing to you with a smirk and chuckling at his early win.

Jacaerys, however, was quick to get on his feet and charged forward with a snarl, wildly arcing the practice sword at his uncle.

In an attempt to get him to stop, Aegon shoved a dummy onto Jace, which prompted Harwin to step forward and say, “Foul play!”

“I’ll deal with him,” barked Criston, before stepping towards Aegon. “Plant your feet. You have a height advantage. Use it!”

It was becoming more and more clear that this spar was no longer an eldest son against an eldest son. It was between your brother, Commander of the City Watch, and the Queen’s kingsguard.

Whilst Criston roughly barked instructions to Aegon, Harwin moved to Jace, gripping the young boy’s chin in his palm and gently gave him advice and words of encouragement—not unsimilar to what he did with you during your training.

Once they were done, Aegon furiously stormed back to Jacaerys. “You!” he screamed, red-faced and furious at his nephew for having embarrassed him in such a way. The Prince was not at all used to not winning.

“Close with him!” yelled Criston when Aegon surged forward and hit him repeatedly. “Press him backward! Stay on the attack! Use your feet!”

With that, Aegon placed his heel squarely against Jace’s chestplate, kicking him back onto the dirt.

“Don’t let him get up. Stay on the attack!”

You watched on in concern as Aegon whacked the wooden sword over and over onto Jace—to the point where you panicked and frantically tugged on Harwin’s armor, afraid he was going to do some serious damage on your friend.

Deciding to put an end to this once and for all, Harwin finally stepped forward and ripped Aegon away from Jace.

“Enough!” he bellowed, so loud that his voice seemed to echo back against the stone walls.

This seemed to enrage Aegon all the more as he screeched out, “You dare put your hands on me?”

“Aegon!” yelled the King from above.

Nobody listened.

“You forget yourself, Strong,” said Cole, voice dripping with venom. It didn’t slip by your notice that he’d dropped the honorifics with your brother. “That is the Prince.”

“This is what you teach, Cole? Cruelty to the weaker opponent?” seethed Harwin.

Tone eerily level, Cole glibly commented, “Your interest in the princeling’s training is quite unusual, Commander. Most men would only have that kind of devotion toward a cousin… or a brother… or a son.”

With that, Harwin surged forward and planted a clean punch against Criston’s face.

Criston made no attempts to fight back. Not with the second hit, or the third, or the fourth. By the fifth, he was bleeding from the side of his temple, and red ran down a stream from his split lips.

Your hands had flown over your mouth, and you staggered back, against Jace. Luke’s small hand curled into the fabric of your tunic. A son… Criston had said. And it all made sense to you now—why Harwin loved the boys so dearly, why they looked so much like your brother, why you shared the same smile as them.

They were your nephews.

This only had you protectively stepping in front of them, shielding them from the sight of their true father beating up a knight.

Over and over and over again, your eldest brother struck Cole, until his own knuckles glimmered with dark ichor—belonging to both him and the man beneath him. Two gold cloaks had to rush forward and haul Harwin away from Criston.

“Say it again!” bellowed Harwin. “Say it again!”

Despite the beating he’d just undertook, Criston laughed through his blood-saturated spittle. “Thought as much,” he choked out, turning to his side to hack out a wad of red onto the dirt.

Your father was furious.

At you, yes, but the anger he felt towards Harwin a thousand times moreso. So much so that he had ordered Harwin be stripped of his title as Commander of the City Watch, and taken back home to Harrenhal as his heir. Though, it wasn’t a home to you, seeing as you’d never even stepped foot in the place.

Your father had also tried to resign as Hand to the King, feeling immense pressure and shame from the court. But the King insisted he stay, and to your relief, that meant that you could stay, as well.

However, that also entailed that you had to say goodbye to your beloved brother.

When he first told you, you scoffed and retorted, “A funny joke, Harwin, but I’m not in the laughing mood.” And when his expression remained solemnly unchanged, you could feel your heart sinking to your stomach. “No… no, you can’t be serious. Harwin, you can’t leave! No! What am I to do here without you? What of our training?”

The following hour consisted of you crying your little eyes out, sobbing into Harwin’s armor, begging him not to leave. He had little to say, afraid that if he opened his mouth, he’d join you in your crying. But he stroked your hair and assured you that he’d write as often as he could to you.

Father was to be joining him to drop him off at Harrenhal and ensure everything was going smoothly for the first fortnight, before he was due to return to King's Landing. You wouldn’t be missing him too much—at least he was coming back. You hadn’t a clue when the next time you’d see your brother might be.

And there was the other unspoken elephant in the room—Rhaenyra’s sons. Your best friends—and, as you’d recently found out, your nephews.

“Be good to your mother, lads,” said Harwin, kneeling by Luke. “I’ll visit when I can. But that may be some time.”

He turned to Jace, who stood tall beside his mother, rocking Joffrey back and forth in his arms.

“I will return,” your brother told his eldest son, lifting his chin up with the tips of his fingers. “I promise.”

Harwin and Rhaenyra locked eyes for a brief moment. Hers watered. Harwin’s softened. He bent down to press a loving kiss to the babe’s forehead.

“I will be a stranger when we meet again,” he whispered to Joffrey, but a part of it was directed to Rhaenyra herself.

You awaited by the door for him, wiping your tears furiously with the back of your hand.

Harwin’s final goodbye was saved for you. So much to say, with so little time. He cupped your face and kissed your forehead, nose slotted against your hairline. His first and final tear fell from his misty eyes.

“Remember what I told you. I’ll always be there for you, sweet sister. Always. Maybe not physically here,” he said, before pressing a thumb just above your duly beating heart. “But in here.”

Much to your frustration, you began to cry again, chest thundering with sobs.

“Goodbye, brother,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“Oh, no, don’t cry over me, darling. I want you to keep your head high, hm? By the time I see you again, you might be even stronger than me.”

Harwin pressed another kiss to your cheek, before swiping your tears away with the pads of his thumbs, and stood up again.

You watched as he pushed the door open and strode down the hall, disappearing from your sight. Jacaerys came to your side, threading his hand with yours in an effort to comfort you. You squeezed gratefully, releasing a shuddering breath.

“We will exchange letters by raven,” placated Rhaenyra, trying her best to alleviate both of your sorrows. “Won’t that be fun?”

Bluntly, Jace turned to look at his mother and asked, “Is Harwin Strong my father? Am I a bastard?”

Shock colored Rhaenyra’s expression.

“You are a Targaryen,” she affirmed after recovering from her initial surprise, stroking Jace’s hair away from his face. “That’s all that matters.”

She hadn’t answered his question, but both you and Jace knew the truth.

News of your brother and father’s death spread like wildfire. It was said to be an accident—a tragic product of Harrenhal’s Curse. There were rumors flying around, however, that it was no accident.

Rumors of Daemon Targaryen wanting to rid his niece of her lover. Rumors of Corlys Velaryon exacting revenge for Harwin cuckolding his son. Rumors of your last remaining brother, Larys Strong, murdering his own blood to claim his inheritance.

You paid no mind to the rumors. It was an accident, and that was that.

Life is not fair, you could hear your brother’s voice say to you. He was right—nothing was fair.

After their deaths, you spent days weeping in your chambers. Jacaerys and Lucerys often dropped by to check in on you, offering to take you down to the Dragonpits in hopes of cheering you up. You’d sniffled and shook your head, curling up in the center of your bed. Rhaenyra, who saw you more like a daughter than anything, took the liberty of bringing food to your chambers, urging you to eat something.

“It’s okay to cry, sweet girl,” she told you, sitting by the edge of your bed and stroking the hair away from your face. When you began to quietly sob, she wound her arms around your small frame, and held you close to her chest.

The fortnight after their deaths, everyone treated you as if you were hewn from glass. They spoke slowly and cautiously, treading on eggshells around you. Even Jace and Luke seemed hesitant to play with you anymore, afraid you’d burst into hysterical tears any second.

What made it worse was when Rhaenyra announced that she was leaving King’s Landing with her children for Dragonstone. It was devastating news—for she and her sons were the closest thing you had left to a family.

Jace hugged you goodbye, eyes teary and nose red. Little Luke clung to your legs and begged you to come with them. Even Rhaenyra had offered you a place on the ship to join them on their journey, her voice kind but so very tired.

“You will always have a place with us, sweet girl,” she had told you, lips pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline. The Princess considered you the daughter she never had—always fiercely protective of you. With Harwin gone, that feeling only increased thricefold. You were practically her family by now.

But you couldn’t leave King’s Landing with Rhaenyra and the boys. Not with Larys Strong anchoring you to the Red Keep—and certainly not with Alicent breathing down both of your necks.

And so you watched them sail away, face drenched with your tears and hands clenched into fists by your side.

You abhorred it all, wishing everything could just go back to how they were before.

Out of all the other children at court, Princess Helaena was the only one who treated you the same as she did before, all misty-eyed and odd-of-tongue. Because of this, you found yourself glued to her side, desperate for a sense of normalcy, which you ironically found in the strangest of girls. She was a fascinating person, far more intelligent than first meets the eye—with a peculiar interest in critters and insects lurking in the shadows.

She was rather fond of you as well, though not at all used to having friends, much less other girls who took her fixations seriously and didn’t think her gross for it. Queen Alicent was mortified at having a Strong girl befriend her daughter, and yet was simultaneously relieved that she finally had someone to call a friend. Besides, having you on her side was more of an advantage than anything—especially with Larys Strong backed in her corner, as well.

“The butterfly has two large, black spots on the bottom of its wings,” said Helaena as she crouched down beside you, holding her palms up to brandish the small insect. “They are to trick the larger animals into thinking they are eyes. It is a defense tactic. The butterfly is not who the rest thinks she is.”

You smiled at her, raising a finger to touch the little insect, only for it to flutter away before you could get too close, hurrying back to the gardens.

“They’re beautiful,” you said, watching it disappear amongst the flowers. “Masters of trickery, though.”

“Yes,” surmised Helaena, though her gaze was fixed on you. “Beautiful. Deceitful. Both equally true.”

It had been three weeks since your brother and father passed.

And yet, here you were, at someone else’s funeral in Driftmark. Laena Velaryon—the late wife to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

You’d pleaded with Larys, begged him to allow you to go back to Harrenhal to mourn your family—but he only supplied you with a crooked smile and told you that you belonged in King’s Landing. With Larys being your only kin left standing, adamant with his refusal to return home to properly grieve over Harwin and Lyonel, it seemed that you were stuck with him.

You were never very fond of Larys to begin with.

At Laena’s funeral, you made it your job to avoid him as much as you could, following behind Jacaerys and Lucerys. It was strange and pleasant under the worst circumstances seeing them again so soon after such an emotional farewell.

Rhaenyra wove through the crowd, bowing her head to you with soft eyes, before fixing her gaze on her eldest son.

“Your little cousins have lost their mother,” she said. “They could use a kind word.”

Jacaerys looked to you, then back up to his mother. “We have an equal claim to sympathy.”

Brows furrowing, Rhaenyra looked around to make sure none of the lords and ladies were listening in. “Jace—”

“We should be at Harrenhal, mourning Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin. It is not fair to Y/N,” he stressed, jaw clenched. Tears warbled over your irises, but you quickly blinked them away.

“You’re right—it’s not fair. But it would not be appropriate. The Velaryons are our kin and the Strongs are not. Look at me, Jace. Do you understand?”

Bearing a sour face, Jacaerys nodded, before trudging off to give his condolences to his little cousins.

You watched him go, looking up at Rhaenyra with wide eyes. “Nothing in life is fair.”

The silver-haired Princess shot you a questioning look, but you turned and made your way into the shadows, where you knew her half-sister, Helaena was playing.

“Hand turns loom, spool of green, spool of black, dragons of flesh, weaving dragons of thread,” she chimed, repeating the words over and over again, cradling a spider in her palms.

When she caught sight of you, she didn’t stop her mantra, but dipped her head in greeting. She offered you the spider, but you shook your head with a kind smile, allowing her to keep playing around with the spindly arachnid.

From about a meter away, Aemond and Aegon watched the two of you.

“We have nothing in common,” the elder of the two bemoaned, slurping wine from a golden chalice. He was referring to the fact that he was betrothed to his sister now, something that neither of them seemed particularly pleased about.

Aemond pursed his lips. “She’s our sister.”

“You marry her, then,” Aegon shot back.

“I would perform my duty, if mother had only betrothed us.” He watched curiously as you tossed your head back with a laugh when Helaena whispered something about collecting spider webs in a jar. Come to think of it, Aemond couldn’t remember ever hearing you laugh before. Memories of you besting him in combat flashed before his eyes.

“If only,” snorted Aegon.

“It would strengthen the family. Keep our Valyrian blood pure.”

Pulling a disgusted face, Aegon looked to his brother. “She’s an idiot!”

“She’s your future queen,” spat Aemond.

“I’d rather take the one beside her,” said Aegon, eyes glued to you. “She is growing to be a fine girl… considering how she beat your arse to the ground.”

Aemond supplied him with no answer. He was no stranger to Aegon’s lustful ramblings.

“Actually, we do have one thing in common—we both fancy creatures with long legs!” chortled the older prince, before sauntering away, off to hunt down a maid for another cup of wine. “Wench! Another!”

This left Aemond to shake his head with revolt, observing his brother go.

He spotted his nephew, Jacaerys, not too far. A part of him wanted to say something, offer his sympathies or apologies—but when Jace lifted his head and stared straight at him, Aemond could feel the words lodging in his throat, and he turned to walk away.

You observed the interaction from afar. Aemond caught your eye, merely for a brief moment, but it felt like an eternity.

And, much to your surprise, he made his way to you.

“I offer my condolences, Lady Strong,” he said, rigidly formal. “It is tragic what happened to your brother and father.”

You bowed your head, lips trembling. Though the two of you have certainly had your differences, Aemond was not heartless. He knew you were suffering a great loss.

“Thank you, my Prince,” you croaked.

The two of you stood in silence.

“I… I’m sorry. For snapping at you in the Dragonpit.”

Your head shot up in surprise. There was little you could think of saying, so you gave him a small smile—one that he mirrored after a moment’s hesitation.

Somewhere in the distance, the pained roar of Vhagar echoed over the seas.

It was the dead of night.

You were already sound asleep when Luke burst into your chambers, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you awake.

“Y/N, wake up, wake up!” he whisper-yelled.

Groaning, you peered open an eye and sat up. “What?” you mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Someone stole Vhagar!” he said, tugging you off the bed and ushering your bleary form along. Jacaerys, Baela, and Rhaena were already rushing out to see who had taken the old beast of a dragon.

Not at all sleepy anymore, your eyes widened upon seeing Aemond clamber off the dragon.

“It’s him!” gasped Baela.

Aemond cocked his head. “It’s me.”

Face contorting with rage, Baela gritted out, “Vhagar is my mother’s dragon!”

“Your mother’s dead,” said Aemond. Briefly, his gaze flicked to you, before looking back at the two Targaryen girls. “Vhagar has a new rider now.”

“She was mine to claim!” Rhaena gruffed.

“Then you should’ve claimed her,” retorted Aemond. “Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.”

A soft gasp lodged in your throat when Rhaena strode forward with a growl, aiming a loose punch at Aemond’s face. He easily dodged, grabbing her shoulders and shoving her off to the side. Baela rushed towards him next, landing a good punch to his face. He yelled out and struck her back, a bilious crack of his fist against her skin ringing out against the stone walls.

“Come at me again and I’ll feed you to my dragon!” threatened Aemond.

His words made Jace yell out and jump forward, driving Luke to attack, as well. Aemond made quick work of the boys, kicking Jace back and punching Luke so hard in the face that his nose cracked beneath the pressure.

You were hesitant to fight Aemond, you really were—especially when the two of you seemed to have just gotten over your grievances with one another.

But he’d hurt your friends, and you wouldn’t stand for that. Harwin certainly wouldn’t have.

“Stop this!” you told him, protectively standing between Luke and Aemond. When he only set his jaw, you gave him a hard shove back. The conflict that danced within the purple of his irises was tangible—you could see it.

He didn’t want to fight you.

Your push took him by surprise, sending him sprawling onto the hard ground. Baela, Rhaena, and Jace took advantage of this, jumping forward to rain punch after hit after kick on the young Prince. He was bleeding now—red leaking from his nose, his lips, his fists.

“Stop! Stop!” you screamed at them, grabbing at Rhaena’s hand and trying to pull her back, to no avail. “Jace, stop!”

Luke pushed away from you to join the skirmish.

To your horror, Aemond grabbed a large rock that had come loose from the cobblestone walls, curling his bloodied fingers around it. The other hand shot out to wrap around Lucerys’ throat.

“You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did! Bastards!” spat Aemond into Luke’s face. The words seemed to have fallen from his lips without thought, as if completely forgetting that you were there.

But what he said had struck a chord within you. How dare he speak of your brother in such a way? You wished to move, to hit Aemond until he was nothing but a bloodied pile of flesh and bone—but he still held Luke in his grasp, and the looming threat of the rock in his other hand.

Confused, little Luke choked out, “My father’s still alive!”

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Aemond looked to Jace then to you, then back to Jace. “Lord Strong?”

Furious, Jace unsheathed a small dagger.

No.

No, if Jace were to kill Aemond… it would only make matters all the worse.

“Jace, no—!” you began, but your warning fell upon deaf ears.

Jacaerys dove forward with the dagger, but Aemond knocked him down with the rock thudding against his cheek, the blade flying. to the other side of the corridor. Aemond let go of the younger Velaryon in his haste.

This was a mistake.

Luke crawled about in the sand, grabbing the hilt of the dagger Jace had dropped. Working in tandem, the elder brother threw sand in Aemond’s eyes, momentarily blinding him, and Luke stood up, slashing the sharp metal straight across the side of Aemond’s face with a sickening squelch. Blade slicing flesh.

Blood splattered everywhere. All over Luke’s hands, over the dagger, over the sand.

A scream erupted from Aemond’s lungs as he clutched his maimed face with his hands, falling to his knees.

Drip, drip, drip. The blood dripped through the cracks between his fingers.

You rushed forward to the Prince out of pure instinct, grabbing his shoulders and cupping the uninjured side of his face, your breathing staggered and rapid. All the hatred you’d felt for him—all the anger, the rage, the frustration—flew right out the window at the sight of him hurt so badly.

“Aemond!” you cried. The blood was too much—pouring down his tunic, onto your own sleepwear, staining your skin.

“Cease this at once!” bellowed a voice from behind you. “Get away!”

Criston Cole ripped you away from Aemond, under the impression that you were the one that was hurting him, kneeling beside the Prince.

You began to hyperventilate, scrambling back until you hit the wall. Blood on your hands, under your nails, dampening your clothes—

Someone, you weren’t quite sure who, hauled you up, dragging you through the castle, Jace and Luke in tow.

Everyone was gathered into a large room. A maester was stitching up Aemond’s wound by the fireplace, Alicent knelt by her beloved son’s side. You stood by Jace and Luke, trembling viciously and eyes warbling with unshed tears.

“How could you allow such a thing to happen?” King Viserys asked the guards, voice cross and brows furrowed.

“The princes were supposed to be abed. Prince Aemond was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace,” replied Criston.

With a snarl, Viserys hobbled onto his feet, leaning his weight onto a cane. “You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!”

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes—” began Criston.

“That is no answer!” yelled the King.

Worriedly, Alicent asked, “It will heal, will it not, maester?”

Hesitant, the maester pursed his lips. “The flesh will heal. But the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s expression seemed to fall at his words. She rounded to her eldest son, who stood behind her, not caring nearly enough for his brother who’d just lost his eye.

“And where were you?” screeched Alicent, rising to her feet.

“Me?” said Aegon, flabbergasted at the attention suddenly being on him.

A smack rang loud and true throughout the room as Alicent struck him across the face.

Crying out, Aegon shrunk away from his mother. “Ow! What was that for?”

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” she hissed.

Just then, the doors swung open, and Corlys Velaryon strode into the room, his wife Rhaenys just behind him.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, voice booming.

“Baela, Rhaena!” gasped Rhaenys. “What happened?”

The girls rushed to their grandmother.

Rhaenyra hastily came through a different set of doors, Daemon hot on her heels. Upon seeing her sons, she hurried towards them, immediately kneeling down beside Luke.

“Show me,” she told him, gently prying his hand away from his nose to inspect the damage.

A tear slipped down your cheek. The Velaryon girls had their grandparents. Jace and Luke had their mother. Aemond had his mother, as well as his siblings.

You… who did you have to comfort you? Harwin was gone. Your mother was gone. Your father was gone.

Your lips trembled. Never before had you wished to just disappear from the face of the world.

“Who did this?” barked Rhaenyra.

“They attacked me!” said Aemond.

“He attacked Baela!”

“He broke Luke’s nose!”

“He stole my mother’s dragon!”

The kids all began throwing accusations, their combined voices drowning each other out. Your head began to throb with their volume. You glanced at your dear friend Helaena, who put her hands over her ears to block out the noise.

“Enough,” ordered the King.

Nobody listened.

“He was gonna kill Jace!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Enough!” said the King.

Again, nobody listened.

“It should be my son telling the tale!” Alicent yelled.

“He was choking me!”

“He called us—!”

“SILENCE!” bellowed Viserys, knocking his cane against the ground repeatedly. The crowd fell into a lulled murmur. “Aemond. I will have the truth of what happened. Now.”

Brows furrowed, Alicent shook her head, auburn curls flying every which way. “What else is there to hear? Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched. “It was a regrettable accident.”

“Accident?” scoffed Alicent. “The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son!”

Voice raising, Rhaenyra defended, “It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them!”

Viserys tilted his head. “What insults?”

A beat of silence.

Rhaenyra gripped Luke’s hand in hers. “The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was put loudly to question.”

“He called us bastards,” Jacaerys said.

“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace,” Rhaenyra told her father. “This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”

Alicent’s fists clenched by her side. “Over an insult? My son has lost an eye.”

Viserys leaned down closer to Aemond. “You tell me, boy. Where did you hear this lie?”

Desperate to place the blame away from her son, Alicent cut in, “The insult was training yard bluster, nothing more—”

“Aemond,” Viserys sharply said, ignoring his wife. “I asked you a question.”

Aemond remained silent.

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The boys’ father?” asked Alicent. “Perhaps he might have something to say in the matter.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw twitched with muted anger. “I do not know, Your Grace. I… could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.”

Alicent huffed. “Entertaining his young squires, I would venture.”

Criston cracked an amused smile at her words.

“Aemond,” said Viserys. “Look at me. Your King demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

The young Prince swallowed heavily. “It was Aegon,” he reluctantly said.

“Me?” parroted Aegon.

“Where did you hear such calumnies?” snarled Viserys to his eldest son. When Aegon refused to answer, he yelled out loud enough for you to flinch, “AEGON! Tell me the truth of it!”

The silver-haired prince refused to meet the King’s eyes.

“We know, father,” he said. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

A tense silence folded over the crowd, only stifled by the flames of the hearth crackling. You shifted uncomfortably, stuck in the middle between Rhaenyra’s side—the side that you grew up with, the side you loved so dearly—and Alicent’s side—the side of the sweet Princess Helaena, and the Prince Aemond who’d just lost his eye. The side of your only brother left, Larys Strong. You felt stretched thin—uncertain of what to think of yourself.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” bellowed Viserys. “All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to each other. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!”

Thinking the matter over and done with, Viserys began to hobble away.

Alicent’s words stopped him in his tracks.

“That is insufficient,” she said. A thin film of tears reflected the golden light of the torches hanging on the walls. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, My King. Good will cannot make him whole.”

“I know, Alicent,” Viserys placated, “but I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken!”

Viserys shook his head. “What would you have me do?”

Alicent casted her gaze to Rhaenyra. “There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return.”

Gasps murmured through the crowd. You drew in a shaky breath, shuffling closer to Rhaenyra and her sons, until you practically stood in front of Luke. He was your friend—your kin—and you would be damned if you were to let anyone touch him.

“My dear wife…” began Viserys.

“He is your son, Viserys!” Alicent pleaded, her voice thick with emotion. “Your blood.”

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgement,” he warned.

Frustrated beyond relief, Alicent gnashed her teeth together and said, “If the King will not see justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston… bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

Scared, Luke grabbed onto the back of your sleeping shift, looking up at his mother with frightened eyes.

“He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son!” she gritted out.

“You will do no such thing!” hissed Rhaenyra.

Turning to Criston, Viserys ordered, “Stay your hand!”

“No, you are sworn to me!” asserted Alicent.

Cole’s eyes darted from the Queen, to the King, to Rhaenyra. “As your protector, My Queen,” he softly said.

“Alicent, this matter is finished,” Viserys said, voice heavy with finality. “Do you understand?”

A tear fell from Alicent’s cold eyes.

“Let it be known,” the King began, addressing the entire crowd this time, “anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.”

Blowing out a relieved exhale, Rhaenyra dipped her head. “Thank you, father.”

With sudden movements, Alicent unsheathed Viserys’ dagger from his belt and marched towards Rhaenyra and her sons.

Instinctively, you grabbed Luke and dragged him further back, shielding his body with your own. Luke began screaming out of fear when Alicent brought down the blade onto his mother, only barely held back by Rhaenyra’s hand wrapping around her wrist.

The crowd erupted in pandemonium, with guards frantically pushing each other back, not knowing who to defend. The king’s wife, or the king’s daughter and heir? Daemon came forward to stop Criston in his tracks. You tightly held onto Luke, eyes wide and heart beating frantically.

“You’ve gone too far!” Rhaenyra told the Queen.

“I?” Alicent’s voice trembled. The blade was held between them, shaking and glowing with the reflections of the hearth’s fire. “What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law! While you flout all to do as you please!”

“Alicent, let her go!” commanded Viserys.

They both ignored him.

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?” cried Alicent. “It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!”

For the first time since everyone was gathered, her father, Otto Hightower, the new King’s Hand, said, “Release the blade, Alicent.”

“And now you take my son’s eye, and to even that, you feel entitled!” said Alicent.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it?” replied Rhaenyra. “Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness! But now they see you as you are.”

With a yell, Alicent brought down her blade and staggered back. Its sharp edge had cut through the fabric of Rhaenyra’s sleeve, carving a deep gash across the inside of her forearm.

Blood. Dripping. Thick. Red.

Luke gripped your hand tightly. The dagger in Alicent’s palm fell to the ground.

Rising from the chair, you got a good look at Aemond's wound for the first time since you entered.

It was swollen and red, the stitches extending from the top of his forehead to the side of his ear. Your heart ached—whether it was for Aemond, for Jace and Luke, or for Rhaenyra, you couldn’t at all tell.

“Do not mourn me, mother,” said Aemond. “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye… but I gained a dragon.”

Viserys blew out a shaking breath. He was tired, and his body grew weary. “This proceeding is at an end.”

With that, the crowd began to disperse. You let Luke go, and he went rushing forth to his mother.

You watched as Aemond leaned his head on his mother’s chest.

A guard began ushering you out of the room and back to your chambers before you had the chance to tell him that you were sorry.

Barely a moon after Laena Velaryon’s funeral, Aegon and Helaena were getting married. It was held in haste, most likely to distract the court from the incident at Driftmark—give them something else to talk about for a change.

You sat in Helaena’s chambers as her ladies fussed over her, pulling the strings of her ivory dress, tying her hair into intricate knots, and applying rouge to her cheeks and lips. It was a much more elaborate process than what your own lady-in-waiting had done to you—all you had was a simple, ocean-hued dress with intricate patterns of deep green running down the length of the fabric. Your hair was pinned away from your face and a chain of silver pearls rested against your sternum. Though it was nice to wear such pretty things, you couldn’t help but feel as if you were just playing dress up—as if these clothes didn’t actually belong to you, like you were donning a charade for the night.

Whilst you were only nine, your name day having passed quietly a few moons ago, Helaena was at the ripe age of ten-and-three—she was barely of age to be married off—to her vile older brother, no less, but Alicent had insisted.

The young Princess’ eyes were clouded over, as if her mind was far, far away. She might’ve been here with you physically, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

“Three silver eggs, twisting, twisting, twisting… the blood curdles, the milk dries,” she murmured as the handmaidens finished with their final touches. Once they were done, they bowed their heads and left Helaena’s chambers.

You moved closer to her, your fingers grazing over her the smooth green-gold cloth on her shoulder.

“Helaena,” you whispered, heart aching for her. “I’m sorry. I wish I could whisk you away, keep you from the abomination that is your brother. If only I had a large dragon of my own to carry you off onto.”

“You will have a dragon,” she said absentmindedly. It didn’t slip your notice that she had completely disregarded the mention of her wedding, as if pushing it far and distant into the back of her mind. Perhaps if she didn’t think about it, the pain wouldn’t sting as much.

Helaena was not one to jest, but you waved away her words as if she had.

“If… if you need me to do something—anything, Helaena, I can’t just stand by and watch you suffer. It is not honorable. You deserve someone kind and loving… Aegon is not capable of granting you such luxuries.” It was as if you were pleading with her to say something—to try and stop this accursed union. In truth, you knew that you were powerless against the might of Alicent and her loyal subjects.

You were nobody. You were well aware of that fact.

But as of that very second, you would’ve gone to the ends of the earth for the sweet, cloudy-eyed Princess.

She fixed you with a fond gaze, though still far away.

“A dragon cannot hide the same way a butterfly can,” she whispered.

The corner of your eyes pricked with tears. “Princess, please—”

Before you could continue, the door to Helaena’s chambers swung open, and Alicent swiftly hurried in. You stepped away from your friend to give the Queen space to fuss over her.

It was time for the wedding.

The ceremony started with the septon reciting prayers, so lengthy and repetitive that your eyes drooped with the silent threat of sleep. Aegon stood beside the septon, shoulders slumped and muffling yawns every other minute.

Once the septon had finally wrapped up, the grand doors of the Sept swung open, and King Viserys walked in with Helaena on his left side. He parted with a gentle kiss to his second daughter’s forehead. It was no secret that Viserys very obviously favored his eldest child, Rhaenyra, but out of the four others, he had a certain muted soft spot for Helaena and her strange mysticism. You would’ve been surprised if he even remembered Aemond and Daeron’s names.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” The septon’s voice rang clear and true, echoing loudly in your head.

Looking none too pleased, Aegon all but threw the cloak over Helaena’s smaller frame, the Targaryen sigil seeming distorted from where you were standing.

“My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of the gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Now and forever.

Your heart fell lower to your stomach.

The septon tied a knot with red ribbon around their joined hands—Aegon angrily holding onto her palm while hers was limp in his grasp.

“Let it be known that Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, and Helaena Targaryen, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.”

With one tug, the red ribbon between them unraveled.

The Princess bore no emotion as she began to speak in unison with Aegon, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger… I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

A lie. Aegon would never be Helaena’s.

You let your gaze travel to Alicent at the side, wiping a tear from her eyes. Anger bubbled within your chest. Right beside her was Aemond, a leather eyepatch fixed over his injury. His face betrayed no expression.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Aegon said emotionlessly, as if he were reading from an invisible script. He held Helaena’s face and planted a quick kiss on her lips. The two turned to the audience, who burst into raucous applause.

You did not clap.

The wedding feast following the ceremony was, expectedly, large and extravagant. Lords and ladies from all over the realm milled about as they ate and chattered and danced to the music.

Helaena sat beside Aegon on the longtable, refusing to eat any of her pigeon pie, repeatedly poking holes through the chunks of meat with the prongs of the fork. Her brother—now husband—had refused to lead the first dance with her, instead choosing to crossly slump into his chair and knock back chalice after chalice of spiced wine.

With little appetite to eat, you had taken to ghost around the expansive room, head abuzz with thoughts of Rhaenyra, Jace and Luke. A few lords had halted you in your tracks, asking for a dance, but you’d politely declined them all. You hardly paid attention during dancing lessons with the Septa and you were sure you’d trip over your own feet and make a fool of yourself. That, and you were in no mood to dance with lords thrice your age.

During your fourth cycle around the large room, bored out of your mind, you felt someone’s stare burning a hole into the back of your neck.

Aemond Targaryen.

He was looking straight at you, unabashedly.

Memories of his blood on your hands flashed through your mind. You ripped your gaze away.

Suddenly feeling sick, you hurriedly wove through the packed room, murmuring apologies when you accidentally trod over a few unsuspecting feet, and rushed out of the hall, just about fleeing to your chambers.

As soon as you shut the doors behind you, you began to sob uncontrollably, sliding down the wood and burying your tearful face between your knees.

The next morning, you felt terrible for leaving the feast early, and consequently, Helaena alone, as she suffered through the trauma of the bedding ceremony. The ladies of the court gossipped between bouts of laughter as they recounted Helaena’s fearful face when men began tearing at her clothes and carrying her off to Aegon’s chambers.

It was said that Helaena’s pained cries could be heard echoing across the Keep for the first few minutes, until she fell utterly silent. The creaking of the bed, however, didn’t cease for the rest of the night.

The gardens smelled of fresh morning dew and sweet clementines. You walked alongside Helaena, her hand softly resting in the crook of your arm as she dreamily chattered about how she once found a ladybug with no spots eating a small spider in under five minutes. It’d been nearly two weeks since she was wed, and she often hastily changed the subject to something else whenever you tried to bring the matter up.

“The poor spider,” you said, stopping to admire a bush of white roses. “But I suppose a ladybug must eat.”

“Yes,” Helaena hummed in agreement.

The rest of your walk was comfortably silent when you led her to a shaded spot beneath the fruit trees, where you had a blanket laid out beforehand.

A small millipede crawled out from the grass onto the blanket, and Helaena smiled at the critter, holding her hands out to let it climb onto her awaiting palms. The princess watched it snake along her skin with her earnest purple eyes.

“People often confuse millipedes with centipedes,” she explained. “Centipedes have one pair of legs for each body segment. Millipedes have two.”

The millipede scuttled down her fingers as she set it back down on the ground.

You blew out a pleased sigh, turning your head up to the sky and shutting your eyes, letting yourself bask in the warmth of the late morning sun.

“You are a fascinating person indeed, Helaena,” you told her, a laugh to your tone. “No other in the entirety of Westeros can speak of bug legs and make it interesting.”

The princess smiled, all wide and toothy. It fell the next moment when she began speaking again.

“I am with child, I think,” she whispered.

Startled at the sudden confession, you snapped your head her way, eyes wide, searching her face for any sign of insincerity. But again, Helaena was never one to jest.

You gathered her hands between yours. “Are you certain, my Princess?”

Grey seemed to cloud over her vision. “Quite. I saw it in my dreams. Two pairs of legs for each body segment.”

Your brows furrowed. Was she speaking of babies or of millipedes?

Blinking in confusion, you shook your head, allowing for a small, fond smile to replace your miffed expression. “You will make a wonderful mother, Helaena. I’m sure of it. I will be there for you every step of the way.”

Wary that she wasn’t too keen on prolonged physical touch, you loosely tugged her into an embrace. She smelled of honey cakes and rich soil. Her cheek rested against your shoulder and she shut her eyes, grateful for your friendship.

“Two pairs of legs for each body segment,” she mumbled again, voice low. “A millipede regrows limbs that are cut off. A dragon cannot.”

Training without Harwin proved to be a challenge on its own—but you were nothing if not determined.

You often snuck out to a secluded part of the yard when the pale moon was high in the sky and the sun had hours until it was due to rise. At first, you weren’t entirely sure how to go about teaching yourself how to fight. But you worked on honing the same skills Harwin had taught you for three years. Speed, agility, accuracy, strength—all were important. Though, not as important as keeping a sharp mind.

You frequented the library often, reading voluminous tomes on the history of blades and the art of battle. The faded words on the parchment told you secrets to fighting that you had a feeling not even the most seasoned of knights knew. One that had certainly caught your attention was the fact that there were certain points in a man’s body you could strike that would render them temporarily paralyzed. You wished you had an excess of detestable men lying around to practice your newfound knowledge on.

As Aegon and Aemond continued their sparring with Ser Criston Cole, you watched from the shadows, observing their technique and creating mental notes on their habitual weaknesses. Ever since Aemond had lost his eye, he worked twice as hard to better himself. He wasn’t going to let the loss of an eye hinder him from becoming a warrior.

But that didn’t make him invincible. Aemond was still greatly disadvantaged with such a large part of his peripheral vision gone.

It wasn’t until a few moons later, when you were ten and Aemond was twelve, did he confront you again.

You were testing the accuracy of your knife-throwing, two small blades you had nicked from the armory gripped in your hands. Pulling your hand back, you narrowed your eyes at the target, and let it fly forward. It sank into the ringed wood with a dull thud, but had veered slightly off course when you released, resulting in a less-than-satisfactory result.

With a frustrated huff, you tried again, this time changing the way you had thrown it.

The blade whistled as it carved through the air, but strayed even farther from the center.

Before you could react to your disappointing performance, a voice resounded from right beside you, making you let out a small shriek and flinch away with surprise.

It was the Prince.

“You’re holding the knife wrong,” he said, voice not unkind, single eye observing your defensive stance. In three strides, he tugged the blades out of the wood, making his way back to you. “You use your thumb to neutralize the blade’s rotation. Like this.”

He demonstrated, and you watched in silence.

When he returned the blades back to you, you attempted to mimic what he had shown, glancing up at him for approval.

“Move your grip lower,” he said, lifting his hands to gently shift the knife in your palm. His touch was cold, but you didn’t quite mind.

“Thank you, my Prince.” Your voice was but a hoarse whisper. Aemond nodded once, stepping back to give you space to try again.

This time, when you flung it to the target, it was far closer to the center, only barely grazing the white marker of the inner circle.

You grinned, proud of the drastic improvement.

“I’ve seen you sneak out to train nearly every night by now. Why?” the silver-haired boy asked, almost suspiciously. He didn’t forget the way you had shoved him just before he lost his eye.

The memory of Harwin telling you that you had to be prepared for a real fight briefly flashed in the back of your mind. You swallowed down the lump in your throat.

“I want to be ready,” you replied, pointedly avoiding his burning stare. You thought back to Helaena’s wedding, when he hadn’t taken his gaze off of you the entire night.

“What are you readying yourself for?”

Squaring your jaw and straightening your posture, you quietly told the one-eyed prince, “Life is unfair, Aemond. I am merely preparing to balance the scales.”

Before he could think of a response to your cryptic words, a rivulet of electrifying pain struck his empty eye socket behind the patch, ricocheting into waves throughout the rest of his skull. Aemond let out a soft cry as he doubled over in agony, hands flying to his face. It reminded you eerily of when Luke had first slashed the eye out, a memory that haunted your nightmares far more often than it should have.

Panicked, you shuffled closer to him, one of your hands grazing his back, unsure of what to do.

“Aemond! Are you alright? Should I summon the maester?” you hurriedly queried, feet already moving away, getting ready to dash off as you waited for his answer.

“No,” he gritted out through the pain, glancing up at you with his features twisted with misery. It was humiliating—Aemond felt ashamed of himself for showing his pain, for revealing a crack through his usually stoic demeanor. He felt ugly. He felt vile. He felt weak.

A restless protest was on the tip of your tongue. “My Prince, you’re clearly hurting, please—”

“No!” he repeated himself, a sharp edge of finality to his tone. “They’ll just give me more milk of the poppy—!”

Again, he doubled over, a muted roar rumbling within his chest. Not knowing what else to do, you clutched his shoulders, eyes frantically searching his single one.

After a second, Aemond seemed to snap back into his senses, flinching from your touch and just about ripping himself away from you. Mortification flooded his quickly-paling features. He turned on his heel and ran off without another word.

Plumes of dust flew up from the covers of the heavy book when you set it down on a table. Grimacing and waving a hand in front of your face, you flipped the tome open. It was an old, lengthy volume on medicinal alchemy—a genre that you seldom read and knew little to nothing about.

But for Aemond, you supposed you’d give it a shot.

The chapter you began to read was on remedies for severe wounds, such as fallen limbs or shattered bones. You were learning far too much about the grotesque nature of the human body than you had initially bargained for. Illustrations of cauterizations, sanitizations, and all sorts of diagrams of nude men filled the large pages. For your young eyes, you couldn’t quite comprehend most of what you were seeing.

However, once you fell upon the optics chapter, you perked up, reading through the small text word by word. You were hoping that by reading more about problems with the eye, you’d be able to help Aemond out with his pain in some way. If there even was a way.

And as you read on, you found a small section on the near-magical works of a plant native to Dorne—a Sabar root. It was said to be all-curing and was often used to heal outer wounds. The footnote even detailed historical accounts of the root’s juices restoring the vision of those born blind. Though you doubted that to be true, you couldn’t help but hold onto the hope that it could help Aemond with the pain, even just a little bit.

You scampered out of the library with the thick book clutched to your chest, hurrying down the Red Keep’s stairs, scrambling towards the rookery, where they kept the messenger ravens. Beneath the rookery was where the Grand Maester resided.

You were but a small thing compared to the large wooden slab of a door. Knocking thrice, the door creaked open not two seconds later, revealing Maester Mellos, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Lady Strong…? What are you doing here? The hour is late, child, you should be in bed!” he scolded, fixing you with a narrowed gaze.

You shoved the book up into his face, a pleading expression on your face. “Maester Mellos, I have found something that might help Aemond’s condition!”

“Condition…?” he began, looking startled. It was late at night, and a ten year old was at his doorstep proposing a remedy to an issue he hadn’t even known existed. To his knowledge, Prince Aemond was healing just fine and had little to no complications since he had taken the stitches out. “Forgive me, my Lady, but I am rather busy at the moment and would really prefer to have this conversation with you when the sun rises. Sleep well, Lady Strong.”

Before you could get another word in, the large door croaked shut in your face, and you were left staring at the dark wood. With a dejected huff, you turned and marched straight back into the Keep. Up the stairs you climbed, arms growing weary with how long you’d been lugging around the heavy tome.

You came to a stop in front of Aemond’s chambers, right beside Princess Helaena’s old bedroom from before she was married to Aegon. A room you used to frequent to visit your dear friend, which resulted in several awkward, and silent passes with the Prince.

It didn’t occur to you just how improper this was—knocking on the door of the Prince in the dead of night when you should’ve been in your own chambers, fast asleep. But this was important, and you needed to let Aemond know since the Maester wouldn’t listen to a word you said.

The door barely opened, revealing only a small sliver of space, where Aemond peered through to check who it was. In his hand was a dagger he kept beneath his pillow in case of emergencies. His grip slackened when he saw you behind the door, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes fiery with determination. He opened the door slightly wider, both curious and confused as to what you were doing in front of his chambers at such a late time.

“Prince Aemond,” you breathlessly said. His gaze drew down to the large book you held, nearly larger than your small, ten-year-old form. “I found something that might help your pain. It’s a plant root that only grows in Dorne, you see, but I’m sure they can have some imported to King’s Landing upon your request. I believe it can be used to relieve you of your suffering.”

Shock dawned upon his features. You’d done all this research… for him? For an issue that he never spoke of to anyone? Even after he had rudely scampered away from you with his tail between his legs like a wounded hound?

He struggled to find the right words. Should he thank you? Tell you he was sorry?

Instead, Aemond found himself saying, “Why are you doing this?”

A moment of silence. Outside the Keep, the winds howled with the threat of a coming storm.

“I told you,” you whispered to the Prince, features softening. “I’m balancing the scales.”

The months passed by in a blur. You corresponded with Jace and Luke in the form of letters via raven quite often, always visiting the rookery with a bright smile and an excited bounce to your step at the prospect of learning about the boys’ stay at Dragonstone. It seemed that Jacaerys was struggling with learning Valyrian, and little Luke was growing like a beanstalk. Princess Rhaenyra had already birthed two new sons on Dragonstone with her uncle-husband, Daemon—respectively named Aegon the Younger and Viserys, after the King. In his writings, Luke took care to detail that both babes had silver hair and purple eyes, traits that he and his elder brother both lacked. It was his way of saying that he knew you were his kin—his true blood.

They always signed off with a promise of visiting soon.

Soon truly couldn’t come soon enough.

Your training continued as normal, and more often than not, Aemond would be there with you, offering tips and gentle words of advice. He was not strict in the way that Criston Cole was, leaving you the choice of whether to listen or not, taking no offense if you decided to forgo his teachings. The two of you sparsely spoke outside of that, but you sometimes caught his eye during mealtimes, in which you’d offer him a small, grateful smile. He didn’t return them, but would dip his head in acknowledgement instead.

Helaena’s belly grew large—larger than most pregnancies—and the maesters had concluded that she was bearing twins. It was shocking news, one that elated Alicent and Helaena to no end. This only sent you into a spiral of worry, however, knowing that births were but the gods’ dangerous gambles. Having twins only doubled the risk of complications during the labor.

Thankfully, when the time came around for Helaena to give birth, everything had gone smoothly with very few bumps in the road. She had begged you to stay by her side the entire time, and you were more than happy to comply. It filled you with a sense of pride that she asked you to be there with her over her own Queen mother.

The first twin to come out was a screaming boy with tufts of silvery hair and large purple eyes. He was the spitting image of his father, and you could only pray that he wouldn’t turn out like him in the future. More interestingly, however, the little boy had six toes on each foot and six fingers on his left hand. The midwives had shrieked in partial-surprise, partial-disgust upon their discovery, but you had swept the boy into your awaiting arms, gently rocking him up and down with a wide grin.

The second twin, a girl, came out mute. Your heart lurched in your chest—you had come out silent when you were a babe, as well. She was noticeably much smaller, and bore the same hair and eye color as her twin. Her features, however, matched that of Helaena’s, to your delight. The small girl was eased into Helaena’s arms, seeming perfectly healthy, other than the fact that she was strangely quiet.

“You did so well, Helaena,” you told her, kneeling down by the birthing bed to show her her son. Your dear friend grinned tiredly, murmuring a quiet hello to her eldest child. “They’re beautiful.”

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, their names were. You could already feel a protective love blossom inside of you, swearing to guard them with every fiber of your being. It occurred to you that this was what Harwin must’ve felt when you were born, though you were far younger than he had been.

The thought only had you clutching the wailing babe closer to your chest.

Helaena’s children grew at an exponential rate. The twins had quickly become your favorite part of the day—it was a rare sight to see you without one of the children clinging to your legs, or you without the Princess by your side.

Little Jaehaerys was loud and boisterous, being the first to crawl, to speak, and to run. He was a strong little boy, but often cried when not given what he wanted. His sister, on the other hand, was always quiet and much less active. She often took to staring aimlessly at random points of the chambers instead of playing with her brother, purple eyes scarcely blinking. You loved both of them despite their drastically different personalities.

You were well into your eighteenth year when the babes had their eighth nameday. During the later half of those eight years, Helaena had fallen pregnant again, and had a third child—a son named Maelor. He was a large baby, with a head of pale white hair and eyes a darker shade of mauve than his older siblings.

“Jaehaerys, don’t be so rough with your brother!” you lightly scolded when the boy began yanking at his baby brother’s cheeks with no restrain. A laugh slipped past your lips as you held Maelor out of his reach, which made Jaehaerys whine, as if you had taken away his most favorite playtoy. Helaena, sitting on the chaise on the other side of the room, glanced away from her embroidery to smile at her children, before returning her gaze back down to the needle and thread. Jaehaera sat beside her mother, staring into the fire with her lips parted.

Both you and Jaehaerys began playing a game of chase, where he was a fierce and mighty dragon whilst you enacted the role of a helpless knight. You had set down Maelor into his crib, where he suckled on a milk-soaked cloth.

The little boy roared, his face scrunching up with the action, before sprinting after you with outstretched hands. You were fast on your feet as you scampered away from him, but decided to slow down and let the little boy catch up to you, knowing he’d burst into tears if the game had gone on for too long without him winning. You shrieked in surprise when he grabbed at the ends of your tunic, yanking hard and yelling, “Dracarys, dracarys! I got you!”

“Indeed, you have,” you told the little boy, bending down to sweep him up into your arms with a grin.

From afar, Aemond lurked in the shadows, watching you play with his sister’s children. He watched the way you smiled with them, the way you laughed, the way you pressed chaste kisses into their chubby cheeks. It surprised him to find an inkling of jealousy for his nephews—how they had so freely enraptured your affections, whilst he was offered very little of them. No bother—all things came with due time. Besides, Aemond was not yet ready to admit his growing feelings with you.

The two of you had become considerably close over the past few years. You often frequented the library with him, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence as you read together. You trained together, dined together, and took walks together. Hardly a day ever passed by without you spending some time with the young prince.

Aemond would scarcely speak when he was with you, preferring to listen to you instead. The times he did speak, it was quiet and thoughtful and rife with endearment. It was no secret that Aemond was growing quite fond of the youngest Strong.

A tourney was held in honor of the twins’ eighth nameday.

You sat beside Helaena in the high platforms on the elongated arena, hands twisting in your lap. Tourneys usually bored you to no end—watching men hurt themselves over little else than theatrical show and bragging rights was not something you were very keen on. It felt like a waste of time to you—you’d much rather be reading, or writing to Luke and Jace, or playing with the twins. To your other side was Prince Aemond, looking equally disinterested in the event. You couldn’t help but notice his long fingers tapping impatiently against his knee, as if he were itching to leave. His older brother Aegon was nowhere to be seen, most likely somewhere in the bowels of the Street of Silk.

Round after round of jousting went by, until Harley Piper—a young, handsome lord with soft ginger curls and bright green eyes and freckled, sun-kissed skin, urged his horse closer to the platform, gaze trained on you. Draped over his armor were the colors of House Piper—gentle pink and silken white against a striking shade of blue.

“Might I be honored with your favor, my lady?” he asked, voice sweet and mellifluous.

At first, you’d thought that he had been speaking to Princess Helaena, finding it rather odd for him to ask a married woman for her favor. But when she made no move to hand him a favor, it dawned on you that he was asking you. Flustered, having never really received any sort of romantic attention before, you rose to your feet and dropped a crown of woven flowers down his long jousting lance.

You noted with muted curiosity that Aemond’s tapping fingers had curled into a tight fist.

Off Harley Piper went with your favor swaying by the lance’s handle, the metal grating of his helmet pulled down over his grinning features. You found yourself holding your breath as his joust began against another knight you couldn’t care to know the name of, eyes intently following his movements.

The crowd burst into raucous applause when the nameless knight easily unseated the young man—Harley flew off his horse with a grunt. They proceeded into hand-to-hand combat, where the larger knight leapt off his horse, grabbed a mace and swung it straight at Harley. A gasp lodged in your throat when the young man was struck cleanly in the back with a sickening thud, and he crumpled to the ground.

“I yield!” relented Harley, raising a hand.

From beside you, a ghost of a leering smile appeared on Aemond’s lips.

It disappeared when Harley struggled back onto his feet, clapping his opponent on the shoulder good-naturedly, and began limping back to your direction. You subconsciously straightened your spine, which made Helaena hide a knowing grin behind her hand.

“I’ve dishonored you, my lady,” winced the man with a head of flames. “A beauty such as yours deserves much better than I.”

“Nonsense, Lord Piper,” you replied, finding his humility rather endearing. “You are more than enough.”

Aemond’s shoulders tensed and his jaw clenched at your words. You didn’t spare him a glance.

Harley Piper beamed, as bright as the sun, bowing his head before you. “I shall take my leave, Lady Strong. Perhaps I’ll see you at supper?”

Before you could reply, Aemond coldly spat out, “I’m afraid Lady Strong will be dining with me tonight, Lord Piper. Take your leave.”

Shocked at his sudden hostility, you swung an incredulous, confused glare at the prince. Harley, equally bewildered, glanced between the two of you with narrowed lids, before bowing his head and striding away.

“Aemond, what the seven hells was that about?” you hissed, hand reaching out to grasp his forearm. His one eye darted between your touch and your furious expression—how you managed to become even more beautiful whilst angry was beyond him. “I liked him.”

The prince scoffed. “You have poor taste.”

“I thought he was sweet!”

“He lost his joust in a matter of minutes.”

“Losing a joust is nothing but a temporary blemish to one’s ego. Perhaps you could do with losing something, for a change,” you retorted, nose wrinkling at him.

The purple of his eye seemed to darken. “Mind your tongue, Strong,” he murmured, voice low. It didn’t slip your notice when he briefly glanced at your lips, parted and raw-bitten.

“Or what?” you shot back, leaning closer to him until your nose was but a hair’s breadth from his. “Will you take it from me? Will you take my tongue, My Prince?”

Before he could reply, Helaena cleared her throat, announcing that she would like to retire to her chambers. The noise was starting to get overwhelming for her. You practically ripped yourself out of your chair, eager to put some well-needed distance between yourself and the one-eyed prince. The skin on your cheeks and neck burned with heat—whether it was from Harley’s unadulterated attention, or from Aemond’s prickly behavior, you couldn’t quite tell.

His gaze burned into the back of your head as you left the arena to return into the Red Keep.

Larys Strong’s cane knocked against the uneven stone floor with each lurching step he took. The Master of Whisperers hobbled up to the Queen’s side, where she stood in front of the Weirwood tree, reminiscing her now long-ago childhood with Rhaenyra.

Hearing the echoing stamps of his cane, Alicent dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Lord Strong. Any word of Rhaenyra?”

There was an eerie smile to Larys’ face that didn’t quite reach his dark irises. “My sources tell me she has fallen pregnant again. Her third child with Daemon.”

A scowl flitted across Alicent’s wary features. “Certainly hasn’t wasted any time, I see.”

Larys spared her no response, merely humming thoughtfully.

The Queen gave him a sidelong glance, hastily deciding to change the subject. “Word has it your sister has taken an interest in the young Piper boy during a tourney.”

This time, it was Larys’ turn to frown. “Y/N is young and impressionable. She will take a liking to anyone who spares her an inkling of attention.”

Alicent tilted her head. “My children are rather fond of her—for reasons unbeknownst to me.”

“Hm. Indeed.” The Queen’s words seemed to get the cogs in Larys’ brain churning. “I am the Lord of Harrenhal—and I will sire no children. Harrenhal will go to Y/N once I have passed. Marriages are of political currency, these days, Your Grace.”

Eyebrows cinched, Alicent turned to fully face the man. “What is it you are speaking of, Larys?”

“I am suggesting… a marriage of alliance. Between my young sister and your second son, Aemond. They are already quite fond of each other, as you have mentioned before. This will do good for not only them, but the both of us and our houses, as well. Once I pass, Harrenhal will go to Y/N and Aemond and any of their children they have together. If a civil war breaks out… Harrenhal would be sworn to Aemond—and thereby you, as well, Your Grace. Not Rhaenyra.”

Shock colored the Queen’s expression. For years, she had been trying to figure out the entire picture behind Larys Strong, and his true intentions. He hated Rhaenyra so much for dishonoring his house that he had murdered his own family for it to gain inheritance of Harrenhal. And now he was willing to bargain away his young sister, practically Rhaenyra’s daughter, to Alicent’s son.

A sick feeling twisted within Alicent’s gut.

She considered the thought of Aemond marrying you. The two of you were together more often than not, anyway, and you were her daughter’s best and only friend. Not only that, but the political advantage of having Harrenhal truly backed to her family’s side was something she just couldn’t pass up, no matter how vile it made her feel.

“That is a splendid proposal, Lord Strong. I shall inform the King and my son with haste,” she told him, lips pursed.

A twisted grin etched into the corner of his mouth. “And I will break the wonderful news to my sweet sister. Good night, My Queen. I shall see you on the morrow.”

Alicent watched as Larys began limping away. It was only until his figure disappeared into the Keep’s walls that she buried her tired face into her hands.

When you were younger, Larys was but a scarce figure in your life. You practically only knew of him by word of mouth—he was only your family in blood and name—he certainly didn’t feel like your brother. Not in the same way that Harwin did, at least.

As you grew older, however, you began to notice Larys always lurking in the shadows, watching your every move like a vulture would a rotting carcass. Your second brother bore no love for you, that was glaringly obvious. Instead, he saw you as a pawn in his little game of thrones—a piece of the board he owned and was free to move around as he wished.

The Clubfoot leaned his weight on his cane as he studied you reshelving around half a dozen books you had borrowed from the library.

“Sweet sister,” he crooned, roping your attention away from the fraying spines of the tomes.

A disgusted shiver spidered down your form.

“What is it, Larys?” you sighed, already wanting the conversation to be over and done with. Later that night, you had planned to take the twins stargazing from the Keep's highest tower with Helaena, and you were hoping to squeeze in a quick bath before doing so. “I’m busy.”

“As you often are,” your older brother glibly murmured. “Forgive me for being so brazen… I couldn’t help but notice how close you and the young Prince Aemond have become.”

You blinked, the sudden mention of Aemond taking you by surprise. A pregnant silence fell over the both of you, heavy and tense. You were stiff as you waited for him to continue, but Larys was as relaxed as ever, a coy grin playing at the corner of his lips.

“You are ten-and-eight years old. Prince Aemond is twenty. Both of you have been of age to marry for quite some time. I have arranged a betrothal for you, Y/N.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, taking half a step back. “Larys… what did you do?”

The shelves seemed too close together, and you found the air within your throat thinning away. You fixed your brother with an incredulous glare, heated with the fire of a thousand summers.

“The Queen has agreed to this—you will be wed to Aemond Targaryen. The Strong bloodline will continue on through you and the Prince.”

“No…” you whispered, a sharp, betrayed edge to your tone. “How dare you? How dare you do this to me?”

The calm, nonchalant expression on your brother’s features remained unchanged. “I am helping you, dear sister. You are fond of Aemond—you cannot deny this, for it would be a plain lie. He is a prince—this is the best sort of marriage you can possibly get.”

“I am no sister of yours,” you spat, lurching forward to shove him back, caught up in a fit of rage. All you could see was red. Larys stumbled into a bookshelf, yet still appeared unfazed. “You took away my choice to marry whomever I wished. My freedom. When I asked—no, I begged—to return to Harrenhal to mourn Harwin and father, you simply brushed me to the side as if I were dirt on your shoe! All these years, and you’ve hardly acknowledged me as a person, much less your family! And now you… you use me for your political gain—to appease the Queen you are so desperate for, to further drive me away from Rhaenyra… you are vile, Larys. You are everything Harwin is not. Your very existence is a filthy stain on the memory of our family… of House Strong!”

The space between the two of you crackled as you stared at him, chest rising and falling in staggered motions from your anger-fueled tirade.

“Aemond will treat you well,” was all Larys said, completely disregarding your harsh words with not a care in the world. “The Queen has informed him of the arrangement… along with the King. There is no going back now, sister-mine.”

Rage clawed through your chest, scratching down your ribs and twisting within your lungs. With not another word, you stormed past him, your shoulder roughly knocking into his on your way out of the library.

You had been so angry that night, you completely forgot about your promise to Helaena and the twins, and they were left waiting in the towers for you for hours on end. Little Jaehaerys didn’t mind, occupying his time by chasing a moth and tripping over the edges of carpets, with his little sister staring at him with her large, unblinking gaze.

The sky was starless that night.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

You spun around the hay-sewn dummy, driving your sword into its motionless form over and over again in rapid succession, until the dried wheat began to cave in beneath the force of your hits. The poor dummy was taking the brunt of your frustrations—with Larys, with the arranged marriage, with Aemond. Grunts of exertion rumbled from your lungs and cold beads of sweat dotted your hairline.

Sure, it could be worse, you had initially thought, trying your best to see the silver linings. But the more you thought about it—the idea of being tied down against your will to a Prince, almost permanently anchoring you to your wretched brother’s side…

That was no future for you. You deserved better than that.

Just as you lifted your sword to strike the dummy again, you could feel a familiar, infuriating stare burn into your skin. With precise movements, you pivoted on your heel and swung your sword around, slanting the sharp blade right up against Aemond’s throat. The cold metal kissed his skin, but didn’t press deep enough to draw blood. It was a threat of sorts. You’d been training for more than a decade of your life by now—and you were more than capable of knocking him onto his arse, just as you had all those years ago during your first spar with him.

The silver-haired prince cocked his head, single purple eye blazing with an unreadable intensity you couldn’t exactly place. Ever so slow, he raised both hands.

A beat of silence. Somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed.

You lowered your sword.

“Go away, Aemond,” you spat, tone heavy with betrayal.

Sensing this, he stayed rooted to his spot. “It is not I who arranged the marriage,” he whispered, in an almost conciliating manner. It hadn’t yet occurred to you that Aemond might’ve been just as upset as you were—after all, the choice had been taken away from him, as well.

You spared him no response, turning your back to him and raising your sword to stab the dummy once more.

His next words made you freeze. “I know not why you are so upset about this. Am I that detestable, Lady Strong? Or is it because you’ve already fallen in love with that oaf from House Piper? You do know that their sigil is one of a naked maiden, do you not? It is no wonder he lost his tourney so quickly.”

With a choked yell, you rounded to face him again, lifting your sword and bringing it down with staggering speed. Aemond, however, had anticipated this, easily rolling to the side and grabbing a discarded sword from the yard’s ground, parrying away with ease. Unrelenting, you pulled back to land another blow on him. His sword met yours halfway, the blades singing against one another. You gritted your teeth, practically snarling at your betrothed.

The hostility was quick to wane away the longer you stared at him. He was your friend—the boy you had grown so fond of over the course of the last half a decade. Your vision began to blur with unshed tears as you started to physically shake. A hot droplet meandered down your cheek. You let the sword fall limp in your grasp.

Furious with yourself and embarrassed beyond relief, you swiped away the tears with the back of your palm, lifting your gaze to meet Aemond’s.

Something had changed within his features. It had softened considerably, pale and glowing beneath the moonlight. His lips were parted, as if deliberating between words and action.

He chose action.

With no warning, Prince Aemond surged forward, sword clattering to his feet as his hands came forth to cradle your face within his palms. His fingers were cold against the sweltering skin of your face, but neither of you cared. His nose bumped against yours, foreheads knocking into one another. Your eyes locked with his, intense and tumultuous and molten with yearning. His lips were but a hair’s breadth from yours—tantalizingly close.

When you made no move to pull away, he kissed you.

It was a desperate embrace, needy and clawing and furious. It made your heart lurch within your chest, your breath crystallized to the sides of your throat, your eyes wrenching shut. Aemond stepped even closer, chest pressed up against yours, his knee slotting between your legs in a way that made your neck flush with heat. The grip he had on your face tightened, as if he were ensuring that you were real.

This was real.

You just about melted into his touch, one of your hands lifting to hold onto his bicep, the other still clutching onto your sword, not daring to let go.

It was only when his lips left yours for a second of air, did your eyes snap open, and the trance you had so easily fallen into began to thin away.

You placed both palms on his chest and shoved the prince away, breathing heavily and eyes wild. Frustrated and so very conflicted about how you felt for him, you wiped the back of your mouth with your hand and shot him an offended look, before storming away angrily.

The sword clattered to the ground with your departure. Aemond found himself staring at his own warped reflection within the blade. He loathed what stared back at him—a taunting of his own tarnished image, and wrenched his gaze away.

He would talk to you on the morrow, he decided. For now, he would let you go, knowing full and well that he would not be able to find you even if he tried.

After all, a dragon cannot hide the same way a butterfly can.

Aemond didn’t talk to you the next day, or the day after that. The two of you didn’t speak to one another for weeks on end. You were quite good at hiding from him, always turning the corner and hurrying away when you could feel his attentive stare begin to blaze into you, or relocating your training to the darkest nooks and crannies of the Keep just so he wouldn’t be able to find you. Even Helaena and her three lovely children you adored so much had barely seen you as of late, because you knew that being around her would make it easier for Aemond to come and speak to you.

You hadn’t meant to avoid him for this long, you really hadn’t. By now, you’d expected the two of you to talk things out, clear the air between you, and return back to how the way things were before. But the more you waited, the more conflicted you became about the kiss and your own feelings for him, thus prolonging your inevitable confrontation with the Prince.

The two of you had keenly noticed that the longer this game of silence had drawn out, the less it became one of true avoidance, and the more it grew to be like a round of cat-and-mouse. Sometimes, you’d even find yourself waiting in places you knew the prince would pass by, only to scurry away just as soon as he came. Aemond himself was enjoying watching you dance away from his grasp, just as much as he was frustrated with it. He’d get you eventually, he oft told himself. You’d come around.

Alicent had pushed back anything related to their wedding the sicker King Viserys grew—wanting to prioritize her husband’s health first and foremost above all else. It was yet another example of Aemond being pushed to the side in favor of another.

Around you, however, he never felt second. Sure, you also loved Helaena and her children, but he did not feel as if they were competition for your affections. It was why he enjoyed drawing out this game of chase with you so much—having your attention constantly devoted entirely to him made his pride swell and a fire kindle within his lower abdomen. He wanted you more than ever before.

It was why the news of his nephews and his half-sister returning to King’s Landing to rebuttal the challenge to the heir of Driftmark soured his mood so badly.

Upon their arrival, your game of chase had come to an end—effectively stealing away any and all of your addictive attention. He saw you far more often than before, but you hardly ever paid any mind to him, instead focusing on the plain-featured boys.

It’d been nearly a decade since you last saw them.

You were the only one to greet them when they arrived at King's Landing. It was a rather sad affair, with no one to welcome Rhaenyra and her sons but a young Strong—practically a nobody in a den of dragons. It was an insult on Alicent’s part—as if she were indirectly saying she had more important matters to attend to than Rhaenyra.

You didn’t quite care for their little rivalry—all you really wanted was to see your nephews.

The boys had grown so big. It startled you to see that Jace was practically a man grown now, with a sharp face and eyes exactly the same as your late older brother, brown hair straight and neatly groomed. Luke, on the other hand, had softer features like that of Rhaenyra, but bore his true father’s nose and mouth, with a head of dark, messy curls.

You ran forward to greet them, excitedly shouting their names with a permanent smile etched over your lips. Little Luke—you made a mental note not to call him that anymore, seeing as he was no longer little—was the first to embrace you, yelling your name and barreling forward to squeeze you into a hug so tight that all the air was pushed from your lungs. Jace was gentler with his approach, but you gripped onto him tightly all the same, pressing kisses to both of your nephew’s foreheads. Then, you kneeled down and took little Joffrey’s hand within yours, kissing his palm, and his chubby little cheeks. The little boy looked mildly confused as to who you were, since they’d left for Dragonstone when he was only but a tiny little baby. You stood back up to face the three of them.

“My, how you’ve grown,” you told the boys, patting Jace and Luke’s cheeks affectionately. “Feels like just yesterday we were little children together. I haven’t seen you since…”

Since Aemond lost his eye.

“You haven’t changed one bit,” commented Luke, a wide smile to his face. “It’s nice to see you, Y/N. We’ve missed you dearly on Dragonstone. Exchanging letters just isn’t the same.”

“It really isn’t,” you hummed in agreement. “But you’re here now—and I couldn’t be more happy.”

It was then that Rhaenyra and Daemon joined you, each holding a white-haired babe in their arms. They must’ve been Aegon and Viserys. Lips parting, you dipped your head in greeting, a bright, watery smile painting your complexion golden.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” you said.

“Oh, sweet girl,” she murmured, shaking her head and using her free hand to rope you into an embrace. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman. My only regret is that I wasn’t able to watch you flourish into one.” Tears welled up in your eyes when she leaned forward and whispered into your ear, “Your brother Harwin would be so very proud of you.”

Your breath caught within your throat. “Thank you,” you told her, voice cracking with emotion. The purple of her eyes gleamed with gentle affection. You glanced, down eyes widening upon seeing her swollen belly. “Congratulations, Your Grace. Let’s hope the next one is a girl. You’ve had enough sons as it is.”

Your words made Rhaenyra huff out an amused laugh. “Yes, a daughter would be lovely. Though, you’ve filled that position for long enough, I would be happy with yet another son.”

A bright beam pulled your lips impossibly wider. After a few more minutes of exchanging pleasantries and catching up, you said hello to little Aegon and Viserys, before urging them into the Keep, not wanting to keep them waiting after such a long journey. Luke had talked your ear off about how he had puked thrice over the side of the ship from his relentless seasickness.

The entire time, you pointedly avoided making any mention of your betrothal to Aemond, wanting to remain in blissful ignorance for just a bit longer.

The Red Keep was almost unrecognizable to the young boys. As the years passed without Rhaenyra there to watch over the kingdom in Viserys’ stead, the Targaryen heraldry was taken down, slowly replaced by symbols of the Seven in the form of erected stone statues and carvings of seven-pointed stars. The change had been so gradual that you’d barely noticed, but to Jace and Luke, it was a shock to see their home completely different to how it used to be.

You took them on a guide throughout the expansive castle, exchanging stories of their times throughout the years. They asked you how you’ve fared here, and you hesitated to tell them about everything going on with Larys, with Harley Piper, with… with Aemond…

Instead, you chirped on about Helaena and her children, and how they were always the brightest part of your day.

“Have you still been training on your own?” Jacaerys asked just as you rounded the corner to lead them to the training yard.

You paused, thinking back to all the late nights you spent clashing swords with Aemond.

“Yes,” you replied cautiously. “My brother Harwin would’ve wanted me to keep honing my skills, even after he’s passed.”

A grim look passed over the two boys’ faces.

Once they began descending the stone stairwell to the yard, Luke’s nose wrinkled in disdain. The court was full of training men, a cacophony of steel against steel, of thuds against dummies, and exerted grunts all echoing across the expansive grounds.

“It’s much smaller than I remember,” said Luke.

You spared the younger Velaryon a sweet smile. “Perhaps that’s only because you’ve grown much larger since last you were here.”

“It looks exactly the same to me,” Jace said, bounding down the last few steps to hurry to the rack of weapons. “Come on!”

Though Jace was willfully oblivious to the stares of the guards and the handmaids and all the rest that were in the yard, keeping his head held up high, Luke was aware of everybody’s eyes on him. Glaring, judging, and piercing every which way. He shifted uncomfortably beside you.

Jacaerys patted one of the large dents in a while, a wide grin to his handsome features. “See? I told you this would still be here! And you thought you could swing Criston’s morningstar. You almost took your own head off!”

Luke gave him a half-hearted grin, but it was quick to melt away when he whispered beneath his breath, “Everyone’s staring at us.”

The older brother pulled a sword from the rack and playfully lowered down into an attack position, Lucerys’ words largely going ignored.

“Of course they’re staring,” you stated matter-of-factly. “You are the Princess’ sons.”

Luke shook his head, dark curls flying about his forehead. “That is not why they’re staring, and you know it. No one would question me being heir to Driftmark if… if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon than Ser Harwin Strong.”

Releasing a deep sigh, Jacaerys hung his head. “It doesn’t matter what they think, little brother,” he asserted.

You watched as Luke turned to you, as if silently asking you to back him. “Oh, Luke,” you murmured, unsure of what to say. “As I said before, you are Rhaenyra’s son, first and foremost—”

Before you could finish your sentence, a crowd from across the yard burst into raucous applause. Curious, Jace grabbed your hand, dragging you along to see what was going on.

It was Aemond—sparring against Criston.

Your heart sunk into your stomach. You hadn’t prepared yourself nearly enough to face him just yet.

At the sight of their uncle, Luke and Jace visibly tensed beside you.

He was beautiful—spinning around with ease and grace. Criston swung his morningstar at the prince, only for Aemond to duck, blocking the heavy weapon with a wooden shield. It splintered beneath the force, and he shirked it away to the side. Aemond used his speed to his advantage, dancing away from each of Criston’s swings, tactfully tiring him out. Seeing his opportunity when Criston’s arm dropped for but a millisecond, Aemond skidded around the ball-and-chain, pointing the tip of his sword right at his mentor’s throat.

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slowly slipped from your lungs just as the audience began clapping again.

“Well done, my Prince,” said Criston, setting down his weapon to yield. “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

The purple of Aemond’s eye blazed as he turned his head away from Cole to face you. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” he murmured, taking great pleasure in the way you physically stepped back. “Lady Strong, my sweet betrothed… have you come to train?”

Heat snaked up the skin of your neck and seeped into your cheeks at his words. My sweet betrothed. Jace and Luke both sent you deeply puzzled, almost affronted looks.

“Aemond, no, I—” you began, but he strode forward in no more than three steps, grabbing your forearm and pulling you to the center of the circle, much to Jace and Luke’s dismay.

The Prince paid no mind to your protests. “Criston. Give her a sword.”

The knight, none too fond of you ever since the first incident when you were only a child, thrusted a dull blade into your arms.

With your jaw set, you huffed out a curse beneath your breath, and stabilized yourself into a defensive position. If a fight was what Aemond wanted, then a fight was what he was going to get.

He struck first, darting forward to arc his sword into your side. You took half a step back and parried, guiding his arm up over your head and ducking beneath his swing. Using this to your advantage, you kicked at the back of his knee, sending him buckling down to the ground. A growl rumbled within his chest. Aemond was quick to react, twisting around to sweep his sword between your legs, knocking you back as well.

Winded and caught off guard, you desperately parried away his continuous strikes, the tip of his sword getting closer and closer and closer to your face. You scrambled to get back up on your feet, but Aemond was unrelenting, pressing on with no restraint. Aemond was practically on top of you at this point, his knee pressing nearly painfully into your thigh.

“Yield,” he hissed, breath hot against your ear.

You glared up at him. Briefly, you allowed your eyes to slip past Aemond, to the two young boys behind him, worryingly watching you.

Humiliated, you huffed out a shaking breath, wishing to just end this here and now. “I yield.”

The crowd began clapping for Aemond again, though, this time much more hesitant and sparse. Scandalous murmurs rippled through the audience. From the side, Criston smirked at your defeat.

Satisfied, Aemond stepped back, offering you his hand. You let him help you up, dusting your trousers off with a huff.

He briefly let go of your hand to wind his arm about your waist, tugging you closer. An internal part of you screamed in embarrassment, not wanting him to behave in such a way when Jace and Luke were right there—watching the two of you with bewilderment. He smelled of smoke and steel and leather, and you couldn’t bring it in yourself to push away. “You are skilled, Lady Strong—but your arrogance betrays you.”

“Arrogance?” you whispered back, eyes roaming over his expressionless features, your brows knitting together. “I let you win. Release me, Aemond. People are watching.”

The prince’s eye momentarily flitted down to your parted lips, then back up to meet your tumultuous gaze. He hummed in thought, before relinquishing his hold on you completely, swiftly turning to Jace and Luke.

“Nephews… have you come to train, as well?” he asked them, straightening himself, practically oozing with intimidation.

Jace’s mouth parted, still stupefied.

Before anyone could utter another word, a guard bellowed out, “Open the gates!”

The large metal gratings groaned as they were pulled open. Velaryon banners filled the training yard—and in the center of all of them, stood Vaemond Velaryon. Corlys’ brother, and, according to him, the rightful heir to Driftmark.

You swallowed down the bile that rose in your throat.

Fear splattered clear as day over Luke’s features. Aemond only grinned at that.

The gardens were much more intimidating in the nighttime. Large statues of the Seven hid behind the rose bushes in a menacing fashion, and the fountain bore a seven-pointed star in the center that looked sharp enough to cut. You never frequented the place after sunset, deliberately taking Helaena and the children out on walks when it was still light out.

Nonetheless, it was one of the only few quiet places in the Keep where you could be sure curious ears wouldn’t be able to hear your whispers over the gushing of the water fountain. Though, you couldn’t be too certain that your brother wasn’t lurking somewhere in the shadows.

Jace and Luke were standing across from you, both of their arms crossed expectedly.

The older of the two seemed disappointed, as if he’d expected better from you. Luke, on the other hand, looked crestfallen, feeling as if you’d betrayed him.

“I’m sorry for not telling the two of you earlier,” you quietly said. “I couldn’t find a way to break the news.”

The silence stretched thin between the three of you.

“I don’t want it,” you said, wringing your hands nervously. “My brother, Larys, and the Queen are forcing this upon me. I had no choice in the matter. Aemond is my friend, as much as I know you two mislike him… he’s my friend. He had no say in the matter, either. I don’t know—perhaps I should just be grateful I’m betrothed to him rather than a pure stranger. He would not hurt me, I’m sure of it.”

Jacaerys’ expression seemed to soften upon your confession. It was no wonder you were so afraid to tell them. You must’ve been so confused and scared. Silent, the taller boy reached out to pull you into a hug, gently patting your back. Tears of relief began to well in your eyes—you’d truly been expecting them to turn their back on you.

“I… I feel as though my control of my own life is slipping right through the cracks between my fingers,” you whispered, voice crumbling with emotion.

You began to softly cry into Jacaerys’ shoulder. Luke joined in the embrace, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

The three of you stood in the eerie garden, each of you equally upset and uncertain for the future to come.

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds…” Otto Hightower began, descending an instantaneous hush upon the throng of lords and ladies in front of the Iron Throne, “we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice in this—and all other matters.”

Otto’s last sentence made bile climb up your throat. Not too long ago, your own father held the position as Hand, and held it in a just, and unbiased manner. You were afraid you couldn’t say the same for Otto Hightower.

You stood a couple steps away from Rhaenyra and her sons, hands tightly clasped behind your back. To the right of the Iron Throne was Alicent and her children—Aegon with rumpled hair as if he had just rolled out of bed, Aemond with his gaze flickering back and forth between his nephew and his betrothed, and Helaena, who was staring at the warbling light of the torches on the wall. All you wanted to do was get this over and done with—the succession of Driftmark was not a subject you cared for, seeing as you strongly believed it should go to Luke. Bastard or not, it mattered little to you—he was Laenor’s son regardless of blood and deserved his own inheritance.

“The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon.”

The man stepped forward, head held high.

“My Queen. My Lord Hand. The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies… House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebears came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’ closest kin—his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.”

Tongue as sharp as ever, Rhaenyra interjected, “As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon. If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No—you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition.”

Looking down at the Princess, Alicent raised her brows. “You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing him to be heard.”

From the side, Aegon hid a snicker behind his palm.

Vaemond turned to Rhaenyra. “What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you—and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.” Luke took a small shuffle back when Vaemond rounded his scalding glare on the younger boy. “My Queen, Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood. Not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above it all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor—the Lord of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides.”

Satisfied, Otto nodded once. “Thank you, Ser Vaemond.”

Smug and confident he had swayed the decision in his favor, Vaemond stepped back to his respective side.

“Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

The white-haired woman took three steps to the center, one hand holding her large, pregnant belly.

“If I am to grace this farce with some sort of answer,” she began, already exhausted of the entire ordeal, “I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago, in this very—”

Before she could finish, the doors swung open. Everybody turned their heads back. Your breath caught in your throat.

It was King Viserys.

The last time you’d seen him… was most probably longer than a year ago.

And how the tall and mighty fall from such grace. He was practically rotting away, skin patched and peeling, teeth gnarled and black, figure fragile and bent. The white of his hair fell in but sparse strands from his scalp where the crown sat, lopsided but gleaming nonetheless. A gilded mask was placed on one half of his face, hiding the decaying flesh on right cheek, and the pulsing cavern where his eye used to be. He hobbled forth on his cane, one of his feet dragging along behind him, not unlike your brother Larys, shoulders heavy with his cloak. He was in a great deal of pain—that was made abundantly clear with his wincing and groaning. But he pushed forth nonetheless, determined to voice his support for his daughter, Rhaenyra.

The guard by the door announced his presence: “King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Shock fell upon the court at the sight of the King up and out of his chambers, much less walking on his own. It did not slip past you when Vaemond and Otto exchanged concerned looks. You bowed your head as Viserys passed by, biting down on your tongue.

The royal family seemed to have different reactions to the King’s presence. Rhaenyra was stunned into silence, which was quick to meld into one of subtle gratitude. Rhaenys turned her head away at the sight of her brother in such a pained state. Helaena smiled faintly, though you weren’t quite sure what she was smiling for. And Alicent appeared the most conflicted out of all.

“I will sit the throne today,” he told his Hand. Otto looked none too pleased, but dipped his head, stepping away to the side for Viserys to pass.

He began to lose his breath as he climbed up the steps, leaning forth on his cane. The crown slid from his head and clattered onto the stone floor. Prince Daemon—his brother—was the one to pick it up for him, and patiently helped him up the rest of the steps to his seat. He gently placed the crown back on Viserys’ head, before stepping back down to stand beside his wife.

“I must… admit… my confusion,” said Viserys, breathless. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes, is the Princess Rhaenys.”

His older sister lifted her head. “Indeed, Your Grace.” With cautious strides, she made her way forward. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son… Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

Your lips parted in surprise. The two boys… betrothed? Just two minutes ago they were both barely tall enough to reach for supper in the middle of the dining table, and now they were already going to get married? Though, you supposed you were speaking rather hypocritical, as you had just gotten betrothed not too long ago yourself.

Muted frustration befell Alicent’s expression.

“Well… the matter is settled. Again.” The King blew out a sigh. “I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

Clear disdain painted itself green across Vaemond’s face.

“You break law… and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

Confused, Viserys’ brows drew together. “Allow it?” he echoed. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

Suddenly raising his voice, Vaemond turned and jabbed a finger straight in Luke’s direction. “That is no true Velaryon! And certainly no nephew of mine.”

Desperate to keep the accusations at bay, Rhaenyra pushed Luke behind her. “Go to your chambers, boys. Vaemond, you have said enough!”

Taking great offense to his words, the King said, “Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.”

The man shook his head. “You… may run your house as you see fit… but you will not decide the future of mine.”

Gasps rang out across the court. What Vaemond had just said to the King was treason.

Despite this, on Vaemond continued, “My house survived the Doom—and a thousand tribulations more! And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this…”

Prince Daemon cocked his head, challenging, “Say it.”

“Her children… are…” said Vaemond. “BASTARDS!”

The audience murmured scandalously. Your brows raised in shock, gaze wildly swinging from Luke to the King.

Vaemond was not yet done, having one final blow to serve. “And she… is… a whore.”

Disgust coiled within your stomach. It made you even angrier to see a smirk toy with the corners of Aemond’s lips.

Viserys angrily limped onto his feet, unsheathing his dagger. “I… will have your tongue for that!”

In a blur of black and red, Daemon swung his sword as quick as a bolt of lightning, cleaving it clean through Vaemond’s head. A sick squelch of flesh and blood and steel rang across the court, quickly blending into the startled shrieks of Lords and Ladies. You had flinched back, hands raising to cover your mouth.

Helaena had gasped the loudest, her hands flying to rest over her ears and hurriedly turning her face away from the grotesque sight. From all the years you had been her dearest friend, you knew blood was one of the few things she could not handle.

Right beside her, Aemond had stepped back, hand defensively falling to his sword. His purple eye was wide and trained onto the body, but quickly flicked up to look at you, as if ensuring that you were alright.

Though you couldn’t see Luke’s expression, you could see the way his shoulders flinched and his feet began to panickedly shuffle away.

Vaemond’s body fell to the ground, dark red blood dripping over the stones and meandering into the cracks and crevices.

Satisfied, Daemon observed the blood begin to graze the bottom of his shoe. “He can keep his tongue,” he commented nonchalantly.

“DISARM HIM!” screamed Otto. Half a dozen guards drew out their swords, pointing it straight at Daemon.

“No need,” said the Prince, cleaning his sword with the bottom of his shirt, uncaring of Vaemond’s blood getting all over him. He sheathed the steel and backed away with a small, victorious grin.

It was then that Viserys collapsed back onto the throne, groaning in pain.

“Call the maesters!” Alicent yelled, rushing up the steps to her husband. “Please, my love, you must take something for the pain!”

“I will not cloud my mind…” said the King. “I must… put things right…”

The King commanded a supper—with all of his family to attend, as this was the first time they were all gathered in the Keep since nearly a decade ago. Seeing as you were now betrothed to his second son, you supposed you were officially considered part of the family now. Though, you had considered yourself one of Rhaenyra’s daughters ever since childhood.

Your handmaidens had washed you in a tub full of flower petals, the warm water heaven to your tense muscles. They scrubbed you with soap that smelled of honey and milk, a sweet scent that pleasantly burrowed beneath your skin.

Afterwards, they laid out a dress for you. It was a beautiful, dark green garment with golden linings, no doubt a gift from Queen Alicent. The dress fit you perfectly, falling over your form like a stream of water over a stony bank. The collar was modest enough, but dipped down just beneath your clavicle bone, where a necklace of gleaming silver pearls rested against your sternum. As you stared at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice that the dress looked nearly black in certain lighting.

It was strange to be so dressed up—you weren’t quite fond of skirts and dresses in the first place, finding it much easier and practical to don trousers for everyday use, uncaring of its impropriety. People of the court often joked that House Strong no longer had a Lady, as you were often seen doing traditionally male activities, such as sparring and educating yourself. You paid them no mind—fighting and reading made you no less of a Lady than all the other women in court.

There was a knock to your door just as the handmaidens finished with pinning up your hair. They rushed to swing it open, Princess Helaena stepping in with a mild grin to her lips, though it was not enough to mask the sadness in her face.

“Helaena,” you said, surprised at her sudden visit, grasping her hands within yours. “It’s lovely to see you. It feels as if we’ve hardly spoken as of late.”

The memory of Vaemond’s blood and Helaena’s distraught flashed at the forefront of your mind. If only you had the chance to speak with her afterwards—but Alicent was adamant on sending her daughter straight to her chambers that instant.

“Are you… are you alright?” you gently asked, not wanting to pry. “After all that happened earlier today… I know how much you mislike blood.”

“I’ll be fine,” the Princess wispily replied, carefully sidestepping the subject that made her queasy. “I miss you. The children miss you.”

A lump formed in your throat. “Oh, how are the little terrors? I promise to take them out on a promenade soon.”

“They are well. Jaehaerys never ceases asking about you,” she replied, before allowing her gaze to roam over your attire. “You look wonderful, Y/N. It is surely a rare sight to see you so dressed up.”

A laugh bubbled in your throat. “Well, I’ve certainly never had to go to a supper as important as this one. I’ve hardly ever had a reason to dress up in such a way before. Thank you, though. You’re looking radiant as ever, as well.”

Helaena smiled at you, wide and genuine. It disappeared after a brief moment, and her plum-hued eyes seemed to mist over.

“A storm is on the horizon,” she murmured. “A dance of dragons. They will keep dancing, even once the music has stopped. They care naught for when their feet begin to bleed.”

The Princess’ strange words echoed in your head for the next few hours. What had she meant by that? Before you had the chance to ask her what she was talking about, Helaena had excused herself to go check on the kids before dinnertime, floating out of your room as if she hadn’t just spoken the most mystifying words to you.

Overwhelmed and desperate for fresh air, you made your way back out into the gardens. The sun was just barely beginning to set, spilling soft clementine and dark tangerine hues across the canvas of the sky.

You stood in front of the water fountain, watching the clear water burble over the stone and fall into the pool below.

It was not long until your betrothed came to join you, his hands neatly clasped behind his back.

“Lady Strong,” he greeted with a dip of his head. “You are more beautiful than ever before, which says much as you were already beguiling enough to begin with.”

Firmly, you shook your head. You were still angry at him for humiliating you in front of Jace and Luke earlier that day. “Stop it, Aemond. Do not speak your sweet lies to me. I have no taste for your saccharine words.”

“Tis not a lie, Y/N,” he whispered your name, all soft and heavenly on his tongue. “You are beautiful.”

You blew out a frustrated breath. The two of you stood in a precarious silence for a moment longer.

The muttering of your question shattered the quiet between you. “Are you not upset, Aemond? About the betrothal?”

The Prince hummed, and took a few seconds to consider what you were asking. Finally, he replied, keeping his eye trained on the fountain. “I’m glad it’s you,” he simply said.

Your breath hitched within your throat.

Rotating on his heel, Aemond was now fully facing you, lifting his hands up. Cold fingers grazed over your jaw, before he cradled your face in its entirety, the pads of his thumbs smoothing over your flushed cheekbones. It was not unlike the first time he had kissed you—but there was something softer about this atmosphere.

Acceptance. Affection. Yearning.

His purple iris darkened, the orange light of the setting sun bathing him in a warm glow. Shadows arched over his face, only highlighting his most handsome, sharp features. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to his lips, curled with fondness, lax with temptation.

Aemond could see the conflict dance about your visage.

He dipped forward to press a kiss to your forehead, lips grazing against your hairline.

“I shall see you at supper,” he whispered into your skin.

With that, he stepped back, dipping his head respectfully, and left you in the garden, completely alone with only your tumultuous thoughts to accompany you.

Candles were lit everywhere, the flames warbling in the air, melted wax dripping down the sides. The servants were still placing down dozens upon dozens of dishes—ranging from grilled cod, to seared mutton chops, to creamed potatoes, to various platters of fresh fruits and cheeses. Chalices of wine and honeyed cider were passed around, all full to the brim.

You were seated with Helaena to your right, and Aemond to your left, at the end of the table. From across the room, Rhaenyra had flickered her gaze from you to your betrothed. She had only received the news from her sons moments ago, and was still processing the shock of it all.

From the center of the expansive feast, Viserys began to speak. “How good it is… to see you all tonight… together.”

“Prayer before we begin?” asked Alicent, ever the religious figure.

Viserys agreed, nodding his head weakly.

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

Daemon rolled his eyes in exasperation at the Queen’s last sentence. You clasped your hands together as she prayed, but kept your eyes open. Luke mirrored you, shooting you a look as if to say, “Do you do this every day?”

With small movements you shook your head, and the younger boy could only suppress a smile in response. Aemond kept his head down and his eyes closed as he listened to his mother’s prayers. He’d always been the more devoted out of the two of you.

Once Alicent was done, Viserys said, “This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons… Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena. The daughter of my former Hand, Y/N Strong… will marry my second son, Aemond. These marriages will further strengthen the bond between our great houses. A toast to the young princes… and their betrothed.”

Chalices raised, everybody took a sip. You exchanged a look with Aemond, offering him a small smile as you drank from your cup. Tentative, you reached beneath the table to take his hand—a truce of sorts. It was your silent way of telling him that you were willing to move forth with the marriage—that you were glad it was him, as well. Aemond showed little reaction, other than a small twitch of the corner of his lips, nearly reminiscent to that of a grin.

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman,” said Aegon to the dark-haired prince, somehow already quite drunk. Jacaerys set his jaw but paid him no mind other than that.

Again, King Viserys spoke, “Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys. The future Lord of the Tides.”

Luke’s betrothed, Rhaena, clinked her cup against his. “You’ll be great,” she told him kindly, eyes gleaming with warmth.

Unrelenting, Aegon bent to the side to lean closer to Jacaerys. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that…”

With a sharp tongue, Baela whispered, “Let it be, cousin.”

Jace scowled. “You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed.”

Aegon rolled his eyes, grabbing another cup of wine and knocking it back in no less than a few seconds. “Aemond is well versed in the art of bedding—are you not, brother?” Before giving him a chance to respond, Aegon continued on with his rambling. “I took him to the Streets of Silk when he came of age. Didn’t even see him come out! Must have been enjoying himself. At least Y/N will be in good hands… though I am always willing to show him the ropes lest he forgets how to man the ship.”

The eldest prince’s words made your skin flare with heat. Aemond’s grip grew tighter around his own cup, but he remained silent as ever. You were only grateful that the adults at the other side of the table were too busy chattering amongst themselves to hear the obscenities the children were speaking of.

With great difficulty, Viserys made to stand up. He nearly buckled under his own weight, but a gnarled hand shot out to rest against the table, steadying himself before he could fall forward into a bowl of soup. The mask that was tied to the rotten side of his face gleamed with the warped reflections of the candlelight.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world… yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” With trembling fingers, the King began to untie his mask, revealing the decaying flesh in all its glory for everyone to see. His empty eye socket was sunken and dry. “My own face… is no longer a handsome one—if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a King, but your father. Your brother. Your husband. And your grandsire. Who may not, it seems… walk for much longer amongst you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown… then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all so dearly.”

Tired, the King settled back down into his seat with the help of his wife. Alicent’s eyes were pained and misted over with unshed tears.

With pursed lips, Rhaenyra suddenly stood up, holding her chalice up high. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude… and my apology.”

As if wounded, Alicent reared back slightly and blinked away her tears. She refused to meet Rhaenyra’s eyes. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” Surprising you, Alicent stood up, holding her goblet in her hand. “I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine Queen.”

The rest of you drank to the toasts, an amicable atmosphere settling over the family.

Always one to ruin the mood, Aegon stood up, making his way over to Baela, pouring himself another glass of wine. He leaned down close to her, murmuring, “I, uhm… I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

At his limit, Jacaerys slammed his fists against the table, rising to his feet and glaring at Aegon. The white-haired Prince slunk back to his seat, a salacious grin toying at his mouth. Startled by the sudden noise, Alicent and Rhaenyra looked to Jace, who was now awkwardly standing up.

It surprised you when Aemond let go of your hand to stand up himself, as if challenging Jace, his single eye blazing with an unreadable expression. Your gaze bounced back and forth between the two, unsure of what was going to transpire between them.

Jacaerys pursed his lips, patting Aegon on the shoulder, with a bit more force than necessary. “To Princes Aegon and Aemond, and the Lady Strong. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. To my uncles, as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.”

Aegon cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the formalities thrust upon him. “To you as well,” he begrudgingly grunted out once his mother shot him a warning glare.

Reluctant, Aemond sat back down, and reached underneath the table to take your hand once again. He sought your touch to console the bitter green wildfire that roared within his chest.

“Beware the beast beneath the boards,” muttered Helaena as she fidgeted with a wooden carving of a cockroach. Suddenly, the Princess stood up, a dazed glimmer to her expression. “I would like to toast Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad… mostly, he just ignores you. Except sometimes when he’s drunk.” With a sweet smile, she sank back down into her seat. The rest of the table glanced at each other awkwardly, whilst Aegon just pulled at his face in exasperation.

In an effort to save the atmosphere, you stood up with your chalice in hand. “There have been many toasts this evening,” you murmured, a bit intimidated. It suddenly occurred to you that this was the first time you had the King’s undivided attention. “But I’d like to direct one to Princesses Rhaenyra and Helaena. The former, I owe the deepest of my gratitudes for treating me with kindness throughout my childhood, and taking me in as if I were her own. The latter, sweet Helaena, for being my dearest friend for years, and hopefully for many more to come. As I am to be married to Aemond soon, I look forward to being both of your sister-by-laws.”

Rhaenyra smiled at you kindly, raising her glass to drink to your toast. Helaena did the same, beaming into the rim of her chalice. The Queen, however, was far more reluctant to touch her goblet at your toast—which had pointedly avoided any mention of her.

“Good,” said the King, weakly nodding at you. “Let us have some music. Please, eat, everyone.”

A soft symphony of strings and bells and drums began chiming away, and you contentedly began digging into your food, nearly ravenous after all that waiting.

A few minutes into the feast, Jacaerys bent towards his betrothed, murmuring a polite, “Excuse me.”

He then made his way around Aegon, to Helaena, offering his hand for a dance. Surprised, the Princess took his arm and Jace led her away to the dance floor. You watched with a warm smile gracing your expression, happy that your friends from opposite sides seemed to be mending bridges together.

The table began engaging in amicable chatter—Luke and Rhaena were excitedly speaking about dragons and their eating habits, Rhaenyra and her husband began quietly laughing at how he already managed to splatter crab sauce all over his tunic, and Alicent spoke with her father about the gradual changes in weather.

“You and my brother will make a fine pair,” slurred Aegon, his eyes fixed on you as he lounged back on his chair. “He’s had his gaze set on you ever since childhood.”

“Is that so?” you responded, casting a fond gaze to Aemond, who only shook his head with amusement. “I can’t say I wasn’t the same. After all, how could I take my eyes off the handsome Prince who rode the largest dragon in the world?”

A ghost of a smile graced Aemond’s face. He was never one to take compliments well—for they were sparsely ever given to him.

Aegon, always one to spoil the mood, quipped, “I heard rumors that red-headed Piper idiot stole your maidenhood.”

Aemond’s head snapped towards his brother. You gritted your teeth, narrowing your eyes at him. “Lord Harley Piper was a friend. There was no romance between us, sexual or otherwise,” you hissed, lowering your voice to a whisper.

“Really? And here I thought my brother was marrying a whore,” snorted Aegon.

Before either you or Aemond could react, Helaena flounced back to the table with a joyful beam, taking your arm. “Come dance with us, Y/N!” she exclaimed, breathless and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Jace stood behind her, grin equally wide and hands clasped behind his back.

You shot a look at Aemond, as if telling him not to lash out at his brother during such an important supper, and stood up to join Helaena and Jace in their dance.

None of you were really that good—you hadn’t danced in years—but it was great fun, nonetheless. You twirled Helaena in your arms until she grew delightfully dizzy, and Jacaerys accidentally trod on your feet thrice, but you only laughed harder each time, cuffing his shoulder affectionately.

Amidst your dance, Alicent called for the guards to take the King away, for he was tired and aching. He departed the room with one last look to his family—all united, together as one.

It was surely a beautiful, rare sight to behold.

One that was destined not to last.

The dance came to an abrupt halt when Aemond suddenly slammed his fists against the table, so hard that the platters of food clattered with the sudden force. The music suddenly stopped, and all the conversations ceased. You turned your head away from your dance partners to see what was going on.

Oh.

In front of Aemond was a roasted pig, still sizzling with oil. And all the way across the table, Luke was not-so-discreetly hiding a laugh behind his palm.

Oh, no.

“Final tribute,” said your betrothed, lifting his glass. There was a dangerous fire to his eye. “To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…”

No, Aemond, you silently begged. The Prince kept his gaze trained on Luke, refusing to meet your desperate stare.

“... Strong,” he finished, after an extensive pause.

“Aemond—” Alicent began.

“Come,” her son quickly said, cutting her off. “Let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.”

From right next to you, Jace gnashed his teeth together. “I dare you to say that again.”

“Why?” asked Aemond, feigning innocence, pushing away from the table to step closer to Jace. “‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

A gasp lodged in your throat when Jacaerys dove forward, landing a punch right into Aemond’s face.

“Jace!” yelled Rhaenyra.

It did little effect on the taller man, and Aemond’s head merely snapped to the side but his body remained rooted to the same position. A smug smile etched across his features. Simultaneously, Aegon rose to his feet and grabbed Luke by the scruff of his collar, shoving his face straight into a searing hot platter of fish.

“A gift for the new Lord of the Tides!” Aegon cackled with glee, indulging in the chaos.

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” commanded Alicent to her sons, but neither of them listened to her.

Scrambling forward, you tried to stop Aemond from retaliating, but he shoved Jace so hard the younger boy went sprawling against the dance floor. Jace was quick to get back up on his feet, an angry growl erupting from his throat. Before he could reach Aemond, two guards sprung forward and held him back, another pulling Luke away from Aegon as well.

You found yourself torn between the two sides, resulting in an indecisive dance between Jace and Luke struggling against the guards, and your betrothed smiling into his cups.

Queen Alicent got to him before you could, grabbing her son’s arms roughly. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?” she hissed.

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother. Mmh, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs. It wounds me so, seeing as my sweet betrothed is soon to be my family, as well,” said Aemond, ripping his hand away from Alicent.

Breaking free of the guard’s hold, Jace made a charge at Aemond again.

“Wait,” Daemon ordered his stepson, striding in between the two boys before they could bash heads with one another once again. Jacaerys immediately halted in his motions, though not without great restraint.

Stern, Rhaenyra turned to her sons. “Go to your quarters. All of you, go. Now.”

The two boys were reluctantly led away by the guards, shoulders drooping with both embarrassment and anger.

Daemon released a sigh, fixing his gaze upon Aemond. They stared at each other for a moment longer, before Aemond huffed out a small, discontented hum, and began walking away.

“I’m sorry, Rhaenyra,” you told the Princess, so very tired of the ceaseless fighting and the constant torn feeling within you.

The stern expression she held softened when she looked at you. Her hand came away from her pregnant belly to rest gentle upon your cheek. “It is not your fault, sweet girl. Go on… get some rest. I shall have the servants send up food to your chambers since you didn’t get to finish your supper.”

With a grateful bow of your head, you took your leave, bidding Helaena and the Queen a quiet good night, before hastening out of the dining hall, and up the stairs to your chambers.

Your feet ached and your head pounded with stress. What a day it’s been.

Imagine your utter shock when you gently opened the doors to your bedroom, and slowly shut them behind you—only to turn and see your betrothed standing by your desk, scattered with quills and stained bottles of charcoal ink and stacks upon stacks of unopened letters you had yet to read or send off.

“Aemond,” you whispered, brows furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

The Prince remained silent, watching you keenly as you strode forward, until you were nearly nose-to-nose with him.

“What is wrong with you?” you murmured. Just moments ago, you were ready to forgive him, move on with all your grievances and accept your betrothal with not another thought. And he went and ruined it—all because his hatred for Jace and Luke were greater than his affections for you. “Are Rhaenyra’s sons that much of a bane that you must go out of your way to insult them?”

“And why do you care so much for them? For two little boys that you knew a lifetime ago? It is I who stayed by your side your entire life. It is my sister Helaena who never strayed from you. They have done nothing but leave you in their dust, retreating to Dragonstone with their tails tucked between their legs at the first sign of danger,” murmured Aemond, hands coming forth to grip your forearms, drawing you nearer to him.

“Because they are family,” you choked out. “And I love them. They are like brothers to me.”

A tantalizing hum fell from Aemond’s lips. He dipped forward, running the tip of his nose along the curve of your exposed neck, inhaling the addictive honey-lavender scent wafting from your skin. “Oh, but they are not your brothers, are they? Say it, my love. They are not only my nephews… they are yours, as well.”

“No…” you said, breathless when he began laying kisses along your heated skin. You couldn’t resist his deliberately light touches, melting against him for more. It was humiliating, how easily you caved for him. “What you are saying is treason, my Prince. Please, just think about what you—”

“There is no one else in the room but us,” he murmured, gently biting into the junction between your shoulder and neck. “Just us, jorrāelagon. You need not hide your true thoughts from me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you shook your head. “I can’t. I just can’t. Aemond, please… put this to rest. They are Rhaenyra’s sons, without question. That is all that matters.” You lifted a hand to grip his chin, forcing him to look straight at you. “If you have but a shred of affection for me… you will stop this relentless fighting. Do it for me, Aemond. It pains me that the most important people in my life are constantly at odds with one another.”

A beat of silence stretched thin between you. He dipped his head once more.

“Yes, my love,” he whispered, leaning forward until his nose was slotted against yours. “For you.”

For that moment, you let yourself believe him. And you allowed yourself to love him, unconditionally and without restraint—for it was only you and him in your chambers, and no other was there to waver your opinion.

You released your hold on his chin to wind your arms around his neck instead, tugging him close and melding his lips over yours. A soft sigh fell from your lungs. He tasted of fresh fruit and earthy smoke, something you wished to drown yourself into.

You began blindly walking in the general direction of your bed with Aemond’s guidance, falling against the feather-stuffed mattress once it hit the back of your knees. The entire time, you refused to separate from his kiss, willing to suffocate from lack of air if it meant you got to continue kissing him.

It briefly occurred to you how improper this was—you were not yet married to Aemond, after all. But you couldn’t find it within yourself to care, and neither did Aemond. He wanted you now—and judging by the look in your eye, he knew you craved him equally so.

He began reaching behind you, unlacing your dress and yanking the dark green fabric off your shoulders, shoving it down your chest and abdomen and hips, kicking the nuisance material away once it bunched to the bottom of your legs. As he began to expertly undo your shift beneath it, you hurriedly tugged his tunic off, a button ripping loose in your haste. Aemond could only smile at your desperation. You swallowed heavily upon seeing his toned chest, seasoned with training.

“It is a shame,” he gruffed once he finally got your thin shift off, admiring you in all of your nude glory, shamelessly allowing his eyes to roam over your breasts and arched back. “The dress looks so much prettier on your floor.”

You groaned at his words, yanking him back down to meet him for another kiss. It grew more frantic as more time lapsed—all tongue and teeth and bites and moans. A throbbing ache flowered between your legs—not a foreign sensation, but certainly the first time it was to be vanquished by something other than your own hand.

“Aemond, please,” you pleaded, unsure of what you were asking for. “I need you, please.”

“My sweet betrothed,” said the Prince, hands wandering up and down your sides, occasionally moving to squeeze your breasts and pinch your stiffened nipples, before moving further down, purposefully avoiding the sensitive parts between your thighs. “I’ll give you everything.”

With one final kiss to your lips, Aemond shifted himself further down your body, trailing his hot tongue along your skin in his wake. He met your gaze once he gently pried your legs open, his pretty hands gripping your thighs tightly.

The sight he was met with made his cock twitch angrily within his briefs. Your cunt was drenched and glistening with your arousal—and it was all for him. A greedy sense of possessiveness consumed him whole. You were his, and his alone.

He blew a stream of cold air right against your clit, which made you suck in a sharp breath, unconsciously bucking your hips closer to his face in a desperate seek for relief.

A pleasured cry—verging on a sob—tumbled from your lungs when Aemond surged forward, lips wrapping around your sensitive button, his tongue curling in the most devilish of ways over the bundle of nerves. Wailing his name, you fisted the sheets beneath you, unsure of what to do with yourself. Aemond just about moaned into you, one hand letting go of your thigh to prod your slick hole, slowly pushing in two fingers.

“Oh, please—Aemond!” you groaned, simultaneously trying to pull away from his touch and pushing yourself closer to his face.

“My good girl,” he praised, the vibrations of his words against your cunt making you keen with undulated pleasure, as he began pumping his fingers in and out of you. “You taste heavenly, jorrāelagon.”

A gasp hitched within your throat once Aemond yanked your hips closer, practically burying himself within your thighs.

“Aemond, my darling,” you sobbed, one hand falling into his hair, tugging at the long, pale strands, and the other squeezing your breast. “I’m going to…”

“Cum for me,” your betrothed said, unrelenting as he circled his wicked tongue along your clit.

And who were you to disobey the Prince?

With a breathy shout, you were pushed over the edge, clenching viciously around his still-thrusting fingers. Your orgasm slammed into you like a tidal wave, leaving you winded with green stars dancing about your vision.

“That’s it,” murmured Aemond, gently pulling away once you came down from your high, the lower half of his face gleaming with your arousal. He crawled back up your form, shirking his trousers off, leaving him just as nude as you, save for his leather eyepatch still fixed over his scar. His cock—long and hard and angrily weeping with pearly beads of precum, slapped against his lower abdomen.

You pulled him down again, kissing him with wild abandon, sighing when you realized that you were tasting yourself on his tongue.

He flinched away when your fingers brushed against his eyepatch. Despite this, you reached out once more to pull it off, your touch ever so gentle—and this time, he let you. You whispered that he was beautiful as your lips grazed against the marred skin of his cheek. Aemond didn’t believe you, but he let you say it nonetheless.

He was a monster—and no amount of sweet talk would be able to change his mind from such a cemented fact. Not even from you, whose opinion he valued the most in the world.

“I love you,” he whispered, nose brushing down your jaw, still appreciative of your efforts nonetheless. “You are my everything. My heart, my soul, my life. I only wish for nothing but your happiness.”

You wrapped your legs around him, his throbbing cock pressed right against your fluttering cunt, clenching around nothing in anticipation. Lowering your voice to a whisper, you gently bit at the outer shell of his ear. “And I love you, my darling Aemond. All I wish for right now… is your cock inside me.”

Your lewd words made his length throb impossibly harder. “Your wish is my command,” he softly replied.

And with that, he eased himself inside of you. Your warm, pulsating cunt was gripping him like a vice, a shuddering groan choked out from his lungs. You mirrored his reaction, squeezing your eyes shut and holding onto him for dear life as he began to rock into you.

With each snap of his hips into yours, you found yourself murmuring his name like a mantra, pressing sloppy kisses to his bare shoulder. One particularly hard thrust had you scratching angry red lines down the expanse of his back. Aemond didn’t seem to mind—in fact, this only seemed to spur him on further, as he growled an obscenity, grabbing your ankle to throw over his shoulder and slamming his length back into you with no abandon.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head once he snaked one of hands down to thumb at your clit, eliciting a lewd moan from your kiss-swollen lips.

“So good, Aemond,” you cried, cunt spasming around his cock once the beginnings of your second orgasm began creeping up on you. “Cum inside… oh—make me yours, darling, please!”

A near animalistic noise tore through Aemond’s chest and he began to pound his cock deeper into you, the thought of you growing round with his child filling his thoughts as he desperately sought his own release. You tightened around him one last time when your orgasm surged forth, so hard that it had Aemond’s quick rhythm faltering. With a broken groan and a mutter of your name, he spilled his seed into you, thick spurts of white coating your slick walls.

A content hum danced between you once you kissed him again, easing into a wince when he slowly pulled out of your overstimulated cunt. He drew back to watch his seed drip out of you, hot and thick and so very arousing, it nearly made his cock hard all over again.

“You did so well for me,” Aemond murmured into your sweaty skin, freckling kisses over the bridge of your nose and over your eyelids, hooded with exhaust. “Are you alright?”

“Quite,” you replied, smiling at him kindly. “I suppose Aegon was right. I certainly am in good hands.”

The Prince hung his head, shaking it fondly, mildly embarrassed by your praise. “Do not speak of my brother while we are in bed, dear betrothed. It is unseemly,” he said, though his words lacked any true bite.

“Forgive me, Aemond. I seem to forget my manners when I am with you,” you said, a laugh dancing alongside your words. “You make for a grand distraction.”

“Mmh, do I, now? I am glad to be of service.” Your betrothed gathered you in his arms, easing you down amongst your pillows and brushing away loose strands of hair that stuck to your damp skin. “Rest, my love.”

You let yourself acquiesce to his words, sinking into the comfort of your bed.

“Stay,” you whispered sleepily, pressing a light kiss to the back of his palm. “Stay with me.”

And Aemond did so, with little protest. His eye was soft and his touch was loving as he laid down beside you, holding you close to his chest, nose buried within your hair.

You fell asleep hopeful that night. Hopeful that your soon-to-be husband loved you more than he hated your nephews. Hopeful that perhaps marrying Aemond was the best thing for you. Hopeful that things would be alright, eventually.

Hopeful that a war was not on the horizon.

There was a cold stillness to the air the next day. Jace and Luke left early in the morning back to Dragonstone before the sun had a chance to rise, with solemn goodbyes and grim faces. You knew not when you were going to see them again.

It weighed heavy on your shoulders as you sat beside Helaena, sharpening one of your daggers with a small whetstone. There was a certain uncomfortable feeling twisting about your stomach—but you couldn’t quite tell what was wrong.

You had tried distracting yourself by playing with the twins, gifting them new wooden dragons you had bought from a carver in town, but it was not enough to take your mind off of the unsettled feeling within you. When the twins hadn’t worked, you thought about Aemond, and the time you shared last night… along with the early morning following, with his touch sweltering and his voice gruff from slumber.

It still didn’t work. Perhaps you were just having an off day.

“It is our fate, I think, to crave always what is given to another,” said Helaena, working on her embroidery of a spindly black spider with a red abdomen, seeming impervious to your nervous state. “If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away.”

“Balancing the scales,” you murmured. The princess hummed in agreement.

All of a sudden, Alicent burst into the room, strides quick and fists clenched into the fabric of her emerald-hued dress. Otto was hot on her heels, though his expression did not betray nearly as much as that of his daughter’s.

“Where is Aegon?” she asked, eyes wild.

The two of you exchanged worried, yet curious glances. Lifting her shoulders, Helaena stoically replied, “Not here.”

“He’s not in his room?” clarified Otto, as if angry at the two of you for not having kept an eye on the Prince.

You had to fight the scowl threatening to make an appearance across your face. Helaena dipped her head to avoid eye contact with her grandfather, but you held his gaze with a squared jaw.

Gnashing his teeth together, Otto turned on his heel and marched right out of the room.

“Father—” Alicent said, but he was already long gone.

The Queen glanced at the twins—Jaehaerys, babbling his father’s name and clapping his hands together, whilst Jaehaera only tightened her small grip around the wooden dragon you gave her.

“What has happened?” whispered Helaena, addressing her mother directly, something she sparsely ever did.

A morose expression folded over her features. Alicent sat beside Helaena, a film of tears misting over her eyes.

“Your father…”

Helaena’s usually calm features twisted into one of anger. Viserys was hardly a father to her. “There is a beast beneath the boards,” she hissed, repeating her whispered words from yesterday’s dinner.

Alicent’s conflicted eyes searched her daughter’s distraught form. “Oh, my dearest love…” She reached out to hold Helaena, but the Princess frantically flinched closer to you, smacking the Queen’s palms away.

“No, no,” she whispered, crossing her arms across her chest, as if to shield herself from her mother.

Crestfallen, the Queen shifted her stare onto you, her fists clenching even harder around her dress. It did not escape your notice when her pupils darted down to glance at the freshly-sharpened dagger in your lap.

“What has happened to the King, Your Grace?” you asked, tone cautious and wary not to overstep any bounds.

Before she could reply, Aemond stepped from the shadows out of seemingly nowhere, a jaded, nearly haunted look of realization befalling his features.

The King was dead.

Aemond’s hand tightly clasped yours as you sat in front of the crackling fire pit. The dagger you had sharpened was clutched in your other palm, having not left your side for even a second. These were dangerous times—the scales had never been this lopsided before.

Alicent paced in front of the chairs a few feet away, murmuring incoherently under her breath at the puzzling disappearance of her eldest son.

Not too long after, Ser Criston Cole made his way into the chambers, shutting the door behind him. “Prince Aegon is not to be found within the castle walls, Your Grace. Your father has sent Ser Erryk into the city to find him.”

The Queen hung her head. “Ser Erryk knows Aegon… he has the advantage.”

Both your and Aemond’s heads turned at her words. There were treasonous schemes brewing within the Keep, that was made abundantly clear. If Alicent was not the one who sent Erryk after Aegon… it must’ve been Otto Hightower. Known to show little remorse, you could only guess that the Hand wanted his own grandson on the Iron Throne rather than Princess Rhaenyra. A sinking feeling twisted your guts upon realizing that he not only intended to usurp Rhaenyra with Aegon, but to be rid of her entirely, knowing full and well the Princess would never bend the knee to her younger brother.

Criston glanced at you with an obvious disdainful suspicion painted crystal clear over his face. For once, however, you were on Alicent’s side on finding Aegon before Ser Erryk did. You would rather Aegon be crowned King than Rhaenyra be executed.

“I trust again to you, Ser Criston, and to your loyalty. Aegon must be found, and he must be brought to me. The very fate of the Seven Kingdoms depends on it.” She stepped closer to the knight, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Everything you feel for me… as your Queen.”

The Dornish man bowed his head. “I will not fail you.”

Surprising you, Aemond declared, “We shall come with you.”

Head snapping towards the two of you, Alicent strode away from Criston to her son. Aemond’s hand fell away from yours to hold his mother’s forearms in a placating fashion.

“That would not be my desire, Aemond. If anything has happened—”

“Cole needs us, Mother. Ser Erryk isn’t the only one who knows Aegon’s doings. Y/N has spent many a night prowling the streets outside the Keep. She knows much about the nooks and crannies Aegon might be hiding within.”

It was no secret that you often used to sneak out of the castle during your childhood, eager to see King’s Landing outside of the Red Keep. The habit continued on during your teenage years, where you would often explore trade markets and smithies. By now, you knew the town as if it were the back of your hand.

Though reluctant, Criston bobbed his head in agreement. A quiet sigh slipped past Alicent’s lips, and she let go of her son. You brushed past her, following after your betrothed straight out the door.

You may have hated Aegon, but you’d do anything to keep him away from Otto and his treasonous hands.

As Helaena had mystically informed you yesterday—a storm was on the horizon. A dance of dragons.

“Aegon brought me to the Street of Silk on my thirteenth name day,” said the Prince, dark grey cowl pulled over his long, silver hair. You and Criston both had matching cloaks draped over your shoulders. The cobbled steps of King’s Landing were uneven and often damp with an unknown substance. People milled about, chattering loudly and without care. None of them had a clue that war was upon them. “It was his duty as my brother, he said, to ensure I was as educated as he was. At least that’s what I understood him to mean.”

“How pleasant,” you replied, voice dripping with contempt for his older brother, and your soon to be brother-in-law.

“I don’t follow,” Criston said, brows furrowing.

The Prince leaned forward. “He said, time to get it wet.”

Criston recoiled ever so slightly in disgust. “Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.”

You scoffed at that, rolling your eyes to the side.

Humming, Aemond tilted his head. “He paid half a dozen whores and thrust them upon me, then left the room. Two of the girls there were younger than I, barely ten years of age and trembling like leaves… never before had I been more revolted by my brother. I crawled out of the window and ran back to the Keep.”

You glanced appreciatively to your betrothed, finding yourself once again glad that it was him you were to be married to.

Leading the two men in front of a wooden door, you gestured for them to knock, stepping back to give them space. It was a pleasure house—one of the most popular in all of King’s Landing. Aemond’s single eye roamed the building, a spark of recognition dancing within the mauve of his iris. This was where Aegon had taken him all those years ago.

The door creaked open, revealing a woman draped in a sheer assortment of yellow silks and dozens upon dozens of golden jewelry littered across her skin. She narrowed her kohl-lined eyes at Ser Criston, glancing at you and Aemond right behind him.

“Sometime last night, we… misplaced our drinking companion,” said the knight. “Knowing that he has been, in the past, a patron of your fine establishment, we thought to inquire here as to his whereabouts.”

“Describe him,” replied the woman, bracelets clinking loudly against one another with every small movement.

Cole shifted his weight from foot to foot, before quieting his voice to a mere whisper, nearly lost to the crowd. “That is… a delicate matter. You see, the man we seek is the young Prince Aegon. I may trust, I hope, in the discretion of your trade.”

The woman let out an amused chuckle. “The Prince is not here,” she told him.

“Has he been here as of late?” you asked.

Curious, she laid her eyes upon you, roaming over your cloaked form. “Not as of late. Years ago, yes.”

“But more recently?” pressed Criston.

She shook her head. “He does not frequent the Street of Silk any longer. His tastes are known to be… less discriminating.”

“Meaning what?” Criston queried.

The woman smiled, wisely keeping her cards close to her chest. “I wish you luck, good Ser. And my best to your friend.” She swiveled her intense gaze to Aemond, who had bowed his head. “How you’ve grown,” she told him.

Aemond’s jaw clenched. With a hum, he took your hand, and began leading you away from the whorehouse, Criston in tow.

“It seems you were mistaken to Aegon’s habits,” said the knight.

“He could be in the hands of mercenaries, on a ship to Yi Ti. He could be dead, for all we know,” Aemond replied, nonchalantly speaking of his brother’s death as if he were discussing tomorrow’s dinner.

You allowed a hollow, humorless laugh to bubble within your throat. “It would be a cause for celebration, would it not?”

Criston sent you a sharp glare. “Let us hope, for your Queen mother’s sake, that is not the case.”

On you strode, twisting and turning through the narrow streets. The further into King’s Landing you walked, the dirtier the roads became, and the more poor, homeless folk were seen scrounging through trash for food and drinking out of barrels of muddy water. The air was humid and stank of rotten flesh.

“Here I am, trawling the city, ever the good soldier in search of a wastrel who’s never taken half an interest in his birthright,” spat Aemond, growing frustrated at the fruitless search for his wretched brother. “‘Tis I, the younger brother who studies history and philosophy, it is I who trains with the sword, and I who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be…”

Aemond bit down on the inside of his cheek, effectively stopping himself from continuing his sentence.

It upset you that he was behaving this way—just yesterday he had whispered his promise into your ear that he would halt his treacherous tongue. Had his words meant nothing to him? The death of his father had surely spun his mind into one of frantic chaos, despite his calm outer demeanor.

Pursing your lips, you could only gently reply, “There is no doubt that you are the better brother, Aemond. It does not deter the fact that we have to find him—lest your half-sister, Princess Rhaenyra, be murdered by his command under the influence of the Hand.”

Your betrothed parted his lips, as if he wanted to say something, but wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

“I know what it is to toil for what others are freely given,” Criston told Aemond, stepping closer to the younger man.

Aemond quietly grunted in frustration. “We can’t find him, Cole. You are a decent man with no taste for depravity. His secrets are his own, and he’s welcome to them. I’m next in line to the throne—should they come looking for me… I intend to be found.”

Your lips trembled as you staved away the burning within your nose, threatening tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It seemed that Aemond was truly far gone in his thirst for revenge, for power—you were a fool to believe his promise, even for a short second.

It was growing more and more dangerous for you to stay in King’s Landing, surrounded by venomous Greens. You had to hold your Black-biased tongue, for it could now result in treason of the highest orders, and, consequently, your death. You were to pose as a Green now, for the sake of your own safety.

Helaena’s words from all those years ago rang in your head. “They are to trick the larger animals into thinking they are eyes. It is a defense tactic. The butterfly is not who the rest thinks she is.” Masters of trickery—beautiful and deceitful, both equally true.

The Prince could feel the slightest of regrets once you pulled away from him, surging several feet ahead with angry steps. Your loyalty to Rhaenyra and her sons knew no bounds, and Aemond was well aware that if it came down to it, you would've chosen them over him. He loved you, truly, more than anything in the world—but his deep-rooted hatred for the Blacks had festered strong for the majority of his life. That was something that not even you could remedy, no matter how much you tried.

It was by pure luck the three of you happened upon Sers Erryk and Arryk, along with Otto Hightower, speaking to the infamous White Worm by a spice market. You followed the twins in front of a great Sept—where Mysaria had hidden away Aegon for safekeeping.

Not five minutes later, a familiar voice began shouting out obscenities and colorful curses to his captor, Ser Arryk. Criston brandished his sword, and you unsheathed your dagger beneath the protection of your cloak.

“I do regret this, friend,” said Cole, blocking their path.

Seeing this as a chance to flee, Aegon kicked at Arryk’s foot and sprinted away, down the Sept’s wide stairwell. Criston engaged Arryk in combat while you and Aemond darted away to chase after Aegon.

Quick on your feet, you were the first to tackle Aegon to the ground, shoving the Prince’s face into the uneven stone of the ground. He choked out a yell, flailing about beneath you like a fish out of water.

“No! Stop, you wretched woman! Stop!” he cried once you grabbed his arm to yank him up. Aemond came to the other side of his brother, helping you drag him up. The older Prince began to laugh maniacally when he punched you across the face, sending you reeling back with stars dancing about your vision.

A growl caught in Aemond’s throat and he grabbed at the lapels of his brother’s tunic, hauling him closer. “I was hoping you disappeared,” he said, voice dripping with venom.

Purple eyes gleaming, Aegon asked, “Is our father truly dead?”

“Yes,” replied Aemond, “and they’re going to make you King.”

A sick feeling twisted within your stomach.

Equally angry at his brother’s words, Aegon spat a thick glob of saliva right into Aemond’s only eye, trying his best to escape the two of you, to no avail.

“Let me go!” he screamed when the both of you grabbed his arms. “Let me go! Brother! I have no wish to rule! No taste for duty—I’m not suited!”

Aemond barked out a dry laugh. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

With surprising strength, Aegon shoved you away, gripping his brother’s face in his filthy hands. “You let me go—and I will find a ship and sail away.”

His proposal was most certainly a tempting one—even Aemond had given pause to his words, freezing in place. If Aegon were to be presumed dead… he would be crowned King, and you would be his Queen.

“The Queen awaits,” said Criston, pulling Aegon away from Aemond, having bested Ser Arryk in combat.

You let out a soft sigh of relief. At least, with Aegon by his mother’s side, there was no way he would order the execution of Rhaenyra. The battle has been won, but the war was still lost.

Aegon was still to be crowned King.

Once you returned to the Keep, you had locked yourself in your chambers, refusing supper. You had little appetite, and hadn’t the heart to face any of the Greens. Aemond had stopped by to check on you, knocking on your door.

You opened it reluctantly, face streaked with reflective tear tracks and eyes red-rimmed.

“Aemond, my love,” you whispered, allowing him to step into your chambers. “I fear I am no longer safe in King’s Landing.”

It broke your heart when your betrothed had no words of comfort to spare you—for you were right to worry. As a supporter of Rhaenyra, you weren’t safe here.

The Prince remained silent, cupping your cheeks in his hands, and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

And though the two of you were enemies on rival sides of the war—you still loved him for the man underneath all that. And Aemond would never stop loving you, no matter how much he hated his nephews, and his half-sister.

For just a couple hours, the two of you allowed yourselves to be free of thought. No Blacks and Greens, no Princes and Ladies, no violence and hatred.

Only you and him.

The butterfly and the dragon.

Aegon’s crowning was witnessed by thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of people. You were forced into a bright green dress by Alicent’s ladies-in-waiting, your hair done up and silver jewelry pinned around your neck, and to your ears. You stood beside Aemond, playing your role as the faithful wife-to-be. On your other side was Helaena, in a dress of sweet blue, and her watering eyes trained to the ground. In front of you was Alicent, in a dark dress of viridescent hue, a golden seven-pointed star resting on her chest, her face grim.

“People of King’s Landing!” announced Otto Hightower. “Today is the saddest of days. Our beloved King, Viserys the Peaceful… is dead.”

The crowd murmured in surprise upon the announcement.

“But it is also the most joyous of days! For as his spirit left us, he whispered his final wish: that his firstborn son, Aegon, should succeed him.”

Shock spread across the audience. After a few moments, they began to cheer and clap. Your insides roiled with disgust at their blatant disregard for Princess—now rightfully Queen Rhaenyra.

Not too long after, trumpets were sounding, and Aegon began walking down a pathway cleared for him by Goldcloaks. His silver-white hair shone, standing out starkly from the crowd. His expression was stony, and the corners of his eyes were red with unshed tears.

“It is your good fortune and privilege to be here to witness this! A new day for this city—a new day for our realm! A new King to lead us!” announced Otto.

Queen Alicent pressed a kiss to her eldest child’s head and led him forward to the Septon. Aegon knelt down before him. Helaena stared at her brother-husband, purple eyes misting over.

“May the Warrior give him courage. May the Smith lend strength to his sword and shield. May the Father defend him in his need. May the Crone lift her shining lamp and light his way to wisdom.” With each sentence, the Septon dipped his thumb in blessed water and dragged the finger across Aegon’s brow.

The crown was then given to Ser Criston Cole, to place upon Aegon’s head.

“The crown of the Conqueror, passed down through generations,” he proclaimed, resting the heavy silver ring against Aegon’s silver locks. “Let the Seven bear witness: Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the Iron Throne.”

Aegon rose to his feet. Criston and Alicent bowed their heads before their new King. Helaena set her jaw, looking none too pleased that her monster of a husband was now the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, but bowed slightly nonetheless. You were next, dipping your head ever so slightly—a deceitful butterfly.

“All hail his Grace, Aegon, Second of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” said the Septon.

“Aegon the King!” bellowed Criston.

The crowd burst into raucous applause.

The newly crowned Targaryen let his eyes roam over the audience. They were all cheering… for him. All his life he’d been searching for praise, for validation, and now they were all giving to him on a silver platter.

“Aegon the King!” they all screamed. “Long live Aegon!”

He unsheathed his Valyrian steel longsword, Blackfyre, and held it up with a victorious smile. The crowd cheered loudly with every thrust of his sword into the air, and he spread his arms out, feeling powerful for once in his life. A ghost of a smile crossed Alicent’s lips. Helaena shut her eyes tightly.

A beast beneath the boards.

The ground shook as the stone of the floor gave way. Plumes of dust and smoke filled the air. Screams of terror erupted from the throng of common folk and they scattered every which way.

The shrill roar of a dragon echoed loud and true. It was Meleys, the Red Queen of dragons, her scarlet scales rippling with each movement, having burst out from the Dragonpit below. Dozens of onlookers were trampled beneath her large copper-hued claws as she snarled out an ear-splitting screech.

Out of pure instinct, Aemond had grabbed your arm, pushing you behind him protectively, placing himself in between you and the large dragon. You gripped his shoulder tightly.

Once the smoke and debris had vaguely settled, you could start to make out her rider—Rhaenys Targaryen. The Queen who never was.

Alicent grabbed her eldest son, standing in front of him, terror painted across her features. She shoved Criston towards Helaena, ordering him to protect her.

The large dragon growled as she prowled closer to the royal family—smoke falling from behind her bared teeth and golden eyes blazing. Rhaenys watched you from above, eyes narrowed. For a moment, she caught your stare, bowing her head ever so slightly in your direction.

It was as if she were offering you a way out. She was well aware of your strong allegiance to Rhaenyra, and your fondness for her granddaughters’ betrotheds.

You glanced at Helaena, then to Aemond, and swallowed the lump in your throat. How could you find it in yourself to leave them both?

The Princess met your eyes, her purple ones softening ever so slightly. “Go,” she mouthed silently, nodding once. Tears blurred your gaze.

Ever so slow and trembling slightly, you stepped out from behind Aemond, much to the rest of the family’s shock. Aemond held onto your wrist, unwilling to let you go—how could he? How could he let go of you, the person he was meant to marry? The woman he loved with the entirety of his being?

You turned to your betrothed just as a hot tear slipped down your cheek.

“Goodbye, my love,” you murmured, voice cracking with emotion as your free hand lifted to cradle his cheek. You surged forward to kiss him, one last time, uncaring of the onlookers. It was quick and chaste and you could only wish for it to last longer. Raw despair and anguish and muted fury flickered across his pale visage all at once. “Let me go, Aemond. I love you, darling, please, let me go.”

Not so long ago, you were begging him to stay. And now you were asking him to let you go.

You were the only thing he had left to himself—for everything else in his life was not truly his. The two of you belonged to each other, Aemond knew this to be true… and yet you were still leaving. He refused to cry, but could feel his throat burning with restraint. If he didn’t let you go, he feared the dragon would burn his entire family alive. His wretched brother, he would’ve been alright with, but his sweet sister and mother deserved a better fate. Aemond set his jaw, and loosened his grip on you.

You rotated away just as the second tear fell, and strode towards the terrifying creature that was Meleys. The rest of the Greens remained rooted in their spots, deathly afraid of the beast in front of them. She lowered herself for you to climb on behind Rhaenys—your green dress ripped loudly in your haste. The dragon’s scales were warm, nearly burning to the touch.

Alicent shut her eyes, accepting what she thought to be her fiery death.

No dracarys ever came.

Instead, the dragon only planted her feet and bellowed out another loud, ear-splitting shriek—a warning of sorts.

With that, Rhaenys urged her dragon to turn and fly over the terrified citizens, away from King’s Landing. Cold wind blew against your face, drying your tears, and undid the intricate hairstyle your ladies-in-waiting had worked so hard on. The two of you were going to Dragonstone, where Rhaenys was to inform Princess Rhaenyra that her father passed away and her half-brother had just been crowned King.

A clashing symphony of sorrow and relief buried deep within your chest.

You craned your head back as Meleys soared away, hoping to look upon Aemond and Helaena one last time—but they were too small to see, growing into blurred figures in the distance.

Lucerys could not take his eyes off of the map of Westeros, intricately carved into stone. His hand reached out to graze over that of Driftmark—which was to be his, when Lord Corlys Velaryon passed away. It felt as if there was a heavy stone sinking within his stomach.

“There you are,” said his mother, which made Luke’s gaze snap upwards.

Rhaenyra strode towards her son, both her hands rested on her pregnant belly.

“The Sea Snake is going to die, isn’t he?” asked Luke.

Shocked at his sudden words, Rhaenyra began to say, “Luke—”

“I can’t be Lord of the Tides! Grandsire was the greatest sailor who ever lived. I get greensick before the ship even leaves the harbor! I’ll just ruin everything, mother. I don’t want Driftmark. It should’ve passed on to Ser Vaemond,” the young boy said, brows furrowed.

Rhaenyra shook her head, long silver hair swaying over her shoulder. “We don’t choose our destiny, Luke. It chooses us.”

“Grandsire let you choose whether you’d be his heir. You told us so, Mother. Grant me the same mercy—I do not want Driftmark.”

Her features softened, understanding her son’s turmoil.

“Do you want to know the truth of it?” she asked, voice quieter. “I was frightened. I was four-and-ten… same as you are now. I wasn’t ready to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms—but it was my duty nonetheless. And, in time, I came to understand I had to earn my inheritance.”

Luke swallowed the lump in his throat, casting his gaze to the side. “I’m not like you,” he murmured.

His mother tilted her head. “In what way, sweet boy?”

“I’m not so… perfect.”

Rhaenyra could only smile at that, stepping closer to her second son and cupping his face, kissing the skin right beside his dark brown eyes. “I am anything but,” she whispered. “My father looked after me and helped to prepare me for my duties. Your mother will do the same for you.”

A small, accepting smile danced over Lucerys’ expression. He nodded, before noticing the guard approaching the two of them from behind.

“Good morrow, Princess,” said the guard, making his mother turn to face him. “Princess Rhaenys has just arrived on dragonback, with Lady Y/N Strong accompanying her. She urgently requests an audience with you and Prince Daemon.”

Shock flashed across Luke and Rhaenyra’s features. They hadn’t received any news of either of your plans to visit. Though he had just seen you a few days ago, Luke was excited to see you once again—you had never been to Dragonstone before.

“She urgently requests an audience with you and Prince Daemon,” the guard added.

Luke’s shoulders slumped. It seemed he’d have to wait a bit longer before he could greet you.

Your legs were sore from the long ride, and wobbled as you began walking into the large castle, hot on Rhaenys’ heels. It was not long until the guards led you into a large, expansive room, where Rhaenyra and Daemon awaited the two of you.

“Princess Rhaenys. Might we hope for news of Lord Corlys’ recovery?” she acknowledged as soon as she spotted the older woman, with not a clue about her father’s passing. Her purple eyes lit up when she saw you, but her expression quickly melded into one of unfiltered concern. You were a mess—dress ripped, cheeks still-damp with tears, lips bleeding with how hard you’ve bitten them in the midst of your anxiety. “Y/N, sweet girl, what is the matter? Are you alright—?”

Princess Rhaenys’ sharp words cut Rhaenyra off, loud and echoing. “Viserys is dead.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Daemon turned upon the unexpected news, eyes wide.

“I grieve this loss with you, Rhaenyra. My cousin… your father, possessed a kind heart.”

Rhaenyra’s expression faltered.

“There is more,” continued Rhaenys. “Aegon has been crowned as his successor.”

A sudden jolt of pain struck within Rhaenyra’s belly. “They crowned him?” she murmured, eyes darting between you and Rhaenys in disbelief. The green dress you were wearing finally made sense.

“How did Viserys die?” asked Daemon, heartbroken over his lost brother.

“I could not say,” said Rhaenys. You remained silent, hands clenching and unclenching into fists.

Pain lacing her tone, Rhaenyra asked, “How long ago?”

“A day ago, perhaps two,” said the older woman. “I was made a prisoner in my quarters while the Queen made her preparations. Y/N tracked down Aegon in an effort to keep him away from Otto Hightower, so as to not order your execution.”

If it were under any other circumstance, Rhaenyra would have smiled at you gratefully. But she couldn’t, doubling over in agony as more rivulets of pain struck her stomach.

“Viserys has been slain,” said Daemon, anger rising within his voice.

Affronted, Rhaenyra spat out, “Alicent demanded you declare for Aegon?”

“She did. I refused her,” replied Rhaenys.

“And yet you are still alive,” hissed Daemon, gaze suspicious and sharp.

Rhaenys cocked her head. “The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit. I witnessed it myself just before I fled on Meleys.”

For the first time you arrived, you spoke, voice hoarse. “There were thousands of people there, all bearing witness to Aegon’s coronation.”

“They crowned him before the masses,” Rhaenyra said, horrified at the news.

Rhaenys nodded. “They will see him as their rightful king.”

Accusingly, Daemon gritted out, “That whore of a Queen murdered my brother and stole his throne and you could have burned them all for it.”

Rhaenys stood her ground, remaining endlessly calm and patient. “A war is likely to be fought over this treachery—but that war is not mine to begin. I only rushed this warning to you out of loyalty to my husband and to my house. The Greens are coming for you, Rhaenyra. And for your children. You should leave Dragonstone at once.”

Tears glossed over Rhaenyra’s eyes. She glanced at you, practically her daughter in every way but blood and name—aware that your life was in danger now that you had run away from the Greens.

Another wave of pain. She cried out, hands splaying out over the table in front of her. With frantic motions, Rhaenyra reached under her dress.

Her hand came out from beneath the fabric bloody.

“The babe is coming.”

Rhaenyra had stripped down to her shift, walking around her chambers with her hands on her hips and breathing irregularly. She was sweating profusely, skin a blistering shade of red and silver hair sticking to her sticky flesh.

The midwives were all murmuring to themselves, unsure of what to do and how to help her, especially when Rhaenyra kept waving them away, telling them, “Just fuck off!”

Even the maester appeared worried, murmuring low beneath his breath to the eldest midwife, “Her term is far from complete… this should not be happening.”

Rhaenyra had stormed up to them, growling out behind gritted teeth, “It is fucking happening!”

“Keep your head about you, Princess,” the midwife crooned. “We’ve done this five times before—just keep your spirit and the sixth will be no different.”

“Get off, get off, get off me!” Rhaenyra hissed, yanking herself away from the fussing midwives. “Ow, ow, oh…”

Salt pricked the corners of her eyes when she turned her head in a frustrated manner, gaze landing on you. You were in the corner of the room, having been the one who ushered her here, hands shaking and cheeks damp with a constant stream of worried tears. Your mother had died giving birth to you—and you couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Rhaenyra died in front of your eyes, as well.

“Sweet girl, darling, fetch me some water, please,” she gasped, breathless, reaching out to you with a wince.

With a frantic nod, you scrambled to the bedside table to pour Rhaenyra a cold cup, rushing to the woman who had taken to leaning against a stone pillar, chest heaving. A cry left her throat as she felt another wave of pain overtake her body.

She collapsed into you as she screamed through the pain, and you braced yourself with her weight, clutching her close to your chest.

“Drink, Princess,” you urged her, holding the rim of the cup to her chapped lips. Rhaenyra tipped her head back and swallowed a few mouthfuls to quench her dry throat, nearly choking as agony struck her belly once more.

Ten minutes later, Jacaerys and Lucerys were summoned, descending down the stairs to their mother’s chambers with confused and concerned expressions.

“Mother?” asked Jace, mouth parting upon seeing you by Rhaenyra’s side.

“Fuck!” groaned Rhaenyra, huffing out a warbling breath. She turned to look at her two boys, both their brows furrowed and worry splayed plainly over both their faces. “Your grandsire, King Viserys, has passed.”

Both the boys straightened at the news, their eyes widening with shock.

“The Greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the Iron Throne. Aegon has been crowned King,” Rhaenyra said, through bouts of intense pain.

Jacaerys’ jaw set. “What is to be done about it?”

“Nothing yet,” she replied.

“Where is Daemon?” asked her eldest son.

“I don’t know. Gone to madness—gone to plot his war,” she bit out, lips trembling.

Furious that his stepfather wasn’t by his mother’s side, Jacaerys turned and began striding back up the stairs. “Leave Daemon with me,” he said.

“Jace!” called Rhaenyra. “Jacaerys!”

Jace halted in his strides.

“Whatever claim remains to me, you are now its heir. Naught is to be done but by my command. Do you understand?”

The young man dipped his head in a nod, and he disappeared out of the room.

Her purple eyes landed on Luke, appearing frightened beyond belief.

“Are you going to be alright, mother?” he whispered.

“Yes, sweet boy,” she replied, the lie falling off her tongue easy. “Go. You mustn’t see this.”

Hesitating once more, Luke caught your eye, and you gestured for him to leave, a reassuring warmth to your gaze. The boy scampered away, leaving you to Rhaenyra once more.

As soon as her boys left, she bent at the waist and began screaming again, nails digging into her thighs. You were the only one she allowed close to her, barking at the midwives to stay away anytime one of them tried to get near her. But there was little you could do, and so you just pressed a cold, soaked cloth to her head, wiping away her sweat and drew her hair away from her face.

The seconds blurred into minutes.

Blood stained her shift.

The minutes blurred into hours.

“Get out, get out!” she screamed at the babe within her, voice breaking, teeth clenched so hard it was a wonder they didn’t crack beneath the pressure.

The hours blurred into half a day.

Her agonized yells rang so loud it echoed across the entirety of Dragonstone. After a long while of strenuous pushing, blood pooled out from beneath her shift—and a minute later, a sick squelch befell the chambers as the stillborn baby came out of her. Its small, undeveloped body fell to the stone floors.

The babe was a girl.

And she was silent. Unmoving.

The midwives all turned away with tears in their eyes.

With tired, shaking, bloodied hands, Rhaenyra fell to her knees and picked up her baby, wrapping her shift around its tiny form. Red soaked through the fabric, drenching her skin, her hair, her face.

You wanted to cry some more—but you forced the burning urge away, steeling yourself to stay strong for Rhaenyra. And so you sat beside her, with a hand resting upon her shoulder, face stoically set.

The two of you stayed that way for the rest of the day, long after the sun had set, with Rhaenyra rocking her dead daughter in her arms and her other daughter dutifully by her side, swallowing down her tears.

Sparse few attended the funeral.

Visenya, the babe’s name was. Rhaenyra had whispered it to you right before she had gotten up to wrap up her daughter in linens for the burning.

It was a dreary event, the sky covered with grey clouds and the oceans quietly lapping at the shores of Dragonstone. You stood beside Luke, his hand held tightly within yours. Rhaenyra did not cry, for she had done so for hours on end and had no tears left to spare.

A familiar figure passing through the thin crowd made your brows raise in surprise.

“I mean no harm, brothers,” Ser Erryk Cargyll said when two guards drew their swords upon him. The man took off his helmet, kneeling down before Rhaenyra and Daemon. He then pulled out a golden crown from his satchel, presenting it to the two. “I swear to ward the Queen with all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor.”

It was, by no means, a lavish coronation. After all, it was unexpected and sudden, and took place during the funeral of her stillborn daughter.

But it was better than any amount of gold could ever buy for Aegon.

Daemon took the crown from Erryk and placed it upon Rhaenyra’s head. He was the first to kneel. “My Queen.”

The rest of her people followed suit, bending the knee towards the true Queen.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” announced Daemon, standing at the head of the stone-carved table of Westeros. “Your Grace.”

Rhaena Velaryon offered the Queen wine, and Rhaenyra graciously took the chalice, beckoning for her to come closer to the war table, along with her sister Baela.

You stood beside Jacaerys, staring at the glowing markers on the table, eyes fixed upon King’s Landing—where Helaena and her darling children were. Where Aemond was.

“What is our standing?” asked Rhaenyra.

Swiftly, Daemon replied, “We have thirty knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and three hundred men-at-arms. Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves a lot to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch—I’ll have some support there, but I cannot speak to the numbers.”

A maester chimed in, “We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton, along with Massey, Darklyn, and Bar Emmon.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “My lady mother was an Arryn. The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.”

“Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace,” said the maester. “With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I’ve already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

“Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed,” Rhaenyra said. “He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position, and that we will support him, should it come to war.”

Seeing as Grover was the head of the overlord house of Harrenhal, you knew much about the man, and were also aware that he was not one to put trust in. Feeling the need to speak up, you cleared your throat. “If I may, Your Grace—Lord Grover is old and sickly. He is bedridden, and far too aged to act with haste. It would do us well to address his grandson and heir, Elmo Tully, instead. Ser Elmo is sensible and loyal to a fault. He would surely support your cause.”

A ghost of a proud smile traced Rhaenyra’s expression. “That would be wise, Lady Strong. Maester, see to it that you do as she says.”

“What of Storm’s End and Winterfell?” asked Ser Erryk.

“There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath,” said the maester. “With House Stark, the entirety of the North will follow.”

Rhaenyra toyed with the ring about her finger. “We cannot speak to Storm’s End with surety—Lord Borros Baratheon will have to be reminded of his father’s promises first.”

Finally, the Queen turned to face Rhaenys. “What news from Driftmark?”

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone,” said Rhaenys.

Still ever so suspicious of her, Daemon narrowed his eyes. “To declare for his Queen?”

Rhaenys did not wither beneath his glare. “The Velaryon fleet is in my husband’s yoke. He decides where they sail.”

“We shall pray for both you and your husband’s support, then,” said Rhaenyra, “just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake’s return to good health. There’s no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet. What of our enemies?”

Fingers flexing against the hilt of his sword, Daemon replied with a venomous tongue, “We have no friends amongst the Lannisters. Tyland has served Otto Hightower too long to turn against him… and he needs the Lannister fleet.”

“Without the Lannisters, we are not likely to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth,” said Rhaenyra.

Daemon huffed out a breath. “The Riverlands are essential, Your Grace.”

One of the lords began speaking from the other end of the table. “Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.”

Rhaenyra’s mouth slackened. “The Greens have dragons as well—”

“They have three adults, by my count. We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer,” said Daemon, counting off on his fingers.

“Daemon, none of our dragons have been to war,” replied Rhaenyra, tone sharpening.

Unrelenting, Daemon pressed on, “There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmont, still riderless. Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.”

“And who is to ride them?” asked Rhaenyra, baffled.

“It does not matter. A dragon needs no rider to be an asset. We have thirteen to their four. I have another score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont. Now, we need a place to gather—a toehold large enough to house a sizable host.” Daemon stepped around the table to place a marker on the map. “Here, at Harrenhal. And Lady Strong is our key to that—she is its rightful heir, after her older brother Larys Strong—and he is not a favorable man. The people there are more likely to bend the knee if they know we have their Lady’s support. We’d cut off the west, surround King’s Landing with the dragons, and we could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.”

Surprise filled your expression at the mention of your hometown. Though you’d never been to Harrenhal, you knew Harwin and your father were well-liked. Perhaps they could be swayed in your favor instead of slimy old Larys, as well.

Before anyone could respond to Daemon’s hot tongue, a guard ran up to Rhaenyra. “Your Grace, a ship has been sighted offshore. A lone galleon, flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon.”

Your heart leapt to your throat. Could it possibly be Aemond?

“Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies,” said Daemon, already making his way out of the room.

Fully expecting to be sent to your private quarters, you were shocked when Rhaenyra laid a hand on your forearm. “Y/N, my sweet girl, you are of great value in this war. You are quick-witted in the political tongues of battle and a good fighter. You shall come with me.”

You blinked in surprise, before bowing your head. “Yes, My Queen.”

Otto Hightower was most certainly not a sight for sore eyes. His face was set in stone, powerful and commanding and pretentious all at once. This was the most power he’s held in his entire life, and he was relishing in it.

“I come at the behest of the Dowager Queen Alicent, mother of King Aegon, Second of his Name, Lord and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms,” he uttered, somehow managing to look down upon Daemon despite him being taller than Otto. “Where is the Princess?”

From the skies, Syrax’s roar rumbled the very clouds with its piercing volume. She descended upon the bridge you were standing on, yellow scales rippling as she lowered herself for Rhaenyra to climb down.

The knights Otto had come with cowered at the sight of the golden beast.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” Otto greeted, not even bothering to bow in the slightest.

“I’m Queen Rhaenyra now,” she coldly replied. “And you all are traitors to the realm.”

The older man narrowed his eyes. “King Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name… in his wisdom and desire for peace, is offering terms.” After a beat of silence, Otto took it as his cue to continue talking, despite Daemon’s restless fiddling with his sword. “Acknowledge Aegon as King and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne. Return Lady Y/N Strong to her husband-to-be, the King’s younger brother, Aemond. In exchange, His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your trueborn son, Jacaerys, upon your death. Lucerys will be reaffirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark, and all the lands and holdings of House Velaryon. Your sons by Prince Daemon will also be given places of high honor at court—Aegon the Younger as the King’s squire, and Viserys as his cupbearer. Y/N will be treated well and married to Prince Aemond, after which she can choose to live with you on Dragonstone if she so pleases, until it is time for her to collect her inheritance of Harrenhal with Aemond. Finally, the King, in his good grace, will pardon any knight or lord who conspired against his ascent.”

Otto Hightower was a clever man, with a sharp tongue of persuasive influence.

But Daemon saw right through him, scowling deeply. “I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a King.”

“Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne,” Otto reaffirmed. “He wears the Conqueror's crown, wields the Conqueror's sword, and has the Conqueror's name. He was anointed by a septon of the Faith before the eyes of thousands. Every symbol of legitimacy belongs to him. And then there is Stark, Tully, Baratheon—houses that have also received and are at present, considering generous terms from their King.”

Rhaenyra clasped her hands together. “Stark, Tully, and Baratheon all swore to me, when King Viserys named me his heir. Has that perhaps slipped from your mind, Lord Hightower?”

“Stale oaths will not put you on the Iron Throne, Princess,” reminded Otto. “The succession changed the day your father sired a son. I only regret that you and he were the last to see the truth of it.”

With deliberate steps forward, Rhaenyra marched towards Otto, grabbing the Hand of the King’s pin on the front of his coat, tossing it somewhere over the stone bridge. “You are no more Hand than Aegon is King. Fucking traitor.”

Otto seemed unmoved by this.

“Grand maester,” he said, holding out an awaiting hand.

“What the fuck is this?” Daemon muttered under his breath from beside you, fingers clenching and unclenching around the hilt of his sword.

The maester gave Otto a worn piece of paper—one that Rhaenyra seemed to recognize from her childhood growing up with Alicent.

“Queen Alicent has not forgotten the love you once had for each other,” he said. “No blood need be spilled, so the realm can carry on in peace. Queen Alicent eagerly awaits your answer.”

“She can have her answer now, stuffed in her father’s mouth, along with his withered cock!” spat Daemon. “Let’s end this mummer’s farce.”

With that, he drew his shield, prompting every knight present to also pull out their swords. You wrapped your hand around the hilt of your dagger, hidden within your cloak, but you made no move to unsheath it just yet.

“Ser Erryk, bring me Lord Hightower so I may take the pleasure myself,” growled the white-haired Prince, ever the impulsive hothead.

A tear slipped down Rhaenyra’s cheek as she stared down at the page. From behind Otto, Syrax gave an outraged growl upon seeing her rider upset.

“No,” Rhaenyra said, glancing back at her husband with a warning stare. Daemon put his sword down and hung his head with a sigh, deeply frustrated he was denied the pleasure of cutting off Otto’s head. “King’s Landing will have my answer on the morrow.”

With that, Rhaenyra turned to leave. Daemon followed close behind.

“Lord Hightower,” you said, drawing his attention to you. “Tell Prince Aemond he is on the wrong end of the scales. Tell him I will be forced to balance them, whether or not he is on my side. He will understand what this means.”

With not another word further, you turned on your heel, striding away from the former Hand, hurrying to catch up to Rhaenyra.

The next morning was much busier than last night. More lords had keener insight to offer, and plans were starting to roll into place.

“The Lord of the Tides,” announced Erryk Cargyll, “and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

You paused in your conversation with Jacaerys to watch the Velaryons descend the staircase. Baela came to Jacaerys’ side, the two of them nodding at each other stoutly. Rhaena strode over to Luke, a bright smile to her face, which was equally mirrored by the young boy.

Corlys’ cane echoed loudly as it stamped against the floor. There was a slight limp to his step, but there seemed to be nothing else dire in terms of his condition.

“Lord Corlys,” greeted Rhaenyra. “It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.”

The Sea Snake leveled her with a calculating gaze. “I’m very sorry about your father, Princess. He was a good man.” He hobbled closer to the stone-carved map. “Your declared allies?” he asked, glancing at the markers strewn across the table.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra said.

“Too few to win a war for the throne,” surmised Corlys.

Rhaenyra hesitated, before saying, “Well, we would also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark.”

“Hope is the fools’ ally,” the Sea Snake said.

The Queen drew herself to her full height. “Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me.”

Corlys cocked his head. “As did House Hightower, if I can recall correctly.”

Tone sharp, Rhaenyra responded, “As did you, Lord Corlys.”

The Lord of the Tides found himself at an impasse for a reply. He glanced back at his grandchildren—Jace and Baela, along with Luke and Rhaena.

“Your father’s realm was one of justice and honor,” said Corlys. “Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand. You have the full support of our fleet and house, Your Grace.” He bowed his head low to his Queen.

Gratitude shone through Rhaenyra’s expression. “You honor me, Lord Corlys. Princess Rhaenys. But, as I said to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war’s first stroke is to fall, it shall not be by my hand.”

Surprised, Corlys’ brows shot up. “You do not mean to act?”

“Taking caution does not mean standing fast,” said Rhaenyra. “I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war.”

Allowing yourself to play the fool for once, hope clutched at your ribcage. Rhaenyra would make for a good Queen.

“The consequence of my near-demise in the Stepstones is that we now control them. I took care to fully garrison the territory, this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already,” Corlys told Rhaenyra with a firm nod. “The triarchy has been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours. If we further seal the gullet, we can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King’s Landing.”

Stepping forward, Rhaenys offered, “I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself.”

You studied the positions of the Blacks on the map before voicing your input, “With the Narrow Sea obstructed by the Velaryon fleet, King’s Landing can be easily surrounded, and a bloodless siege could be levied onto the Red Keep. It is a strong castle, but more than vulnerable, given the right number of knights and extensive knowledge of the inside. I know the castle like it’s the back of my hand—along with the secret tunnels to smuggle people in and out unseen. Once the Keep is impregnated, the Greens’ would be forced to surrender.”

Rhaenyra smiled at you, perhaps the first time she’s genuinely smiled since the death of her daughter. “If we are to have enough swords to surround King’s Landing, we must first secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm’s End.”

The maester bowed his head. “I’ll prepare the ravens, Your Grace.”

From beside you, Jacaerys spoke, “We should bear those messages. Dragons can fly faster than ravens—and they’re more convincing. Send us.”

Corlys regarded his grandson with an impressed look. “The Prince is right, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra nodded her head once after a moment of thought. “Very well. Prince Jacaerys will fly north—first to the Eyrie to see my mother’s cousin, Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm’s End to treat with Lord Borros Baratheon. Lady Y/N will go with you, Luke. She is quick-of-tongue, has been trained in the art of combat, can bargain against Lord Borros’ temper if need be, and is around the same age as his four daughters. Hopefully that will make for some common interest.”

Surprise rippled around the room, but you determinedly bobbed your head once.

“I’ll do my best, Your Grace,” you said, earning you a warm dip of her head.

“We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore,” Rhaenyra proclaimed. “And… the cost of breaking them.”

The waters lapped voraciously against the tall, stony cliffs, the sea’s waves crashing loudly against them. You turned your gaze up to the sky, watching the dark, heavy clouds slowly shift with the whistling winds.

There was a storm on the horizon.

And it’d be your second time mounting a dragon.

“It’s been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men,” Rhaenyra said to her sons. “And the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms… we must answer to their gods. If you take this errand, you go as messengers—not as warriors.”

Luke sent a worried gaze to his brother and then to you. He was frightened and terribly nervous, of course he was—this was the first time he’s been sent off for something this high of importance—but he was immensely relieved that you were to go with him. He knew you were a formidable fighter, even if they were avoiding violence, it was comforting to know that he wasn’t going to be alone.

“You must take no part in any fighting,” Rhaenyra told them, expression solemn. “Swear it to me now, under the eyes of the Seven.”

“I swear it,” said Luke without hesitation.

Jacaerys took a moment longer to follow after his brother. “I swear it,” he parroted.

“You as well, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra said, turning her dark purple gaze to you. “I need this ordeal to be bloodless.”

“I swear it, Your Grace,” you whispered, bowing your head. “I’m honored you trust me with such a task.”

A smile traced Rhaenyra’s lips. The rolled up pieces of parchment in her hands shifted as she held one out to Jace. “Cregan Stark is closer to your age than is mine. I would hope that as young men, the two of you can take a mutual liking to one another.”

Jacaerys nodded determinedly. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra regarded her eldest son fondly, before turning to the younger boy. She noted the unadulterated worry in his eyes.

“Storm’s End is a short flight from here. You have Baratheon blood from your grandmother, Rhaenys. And… Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He will be honored to host a prince of the realm—and his dragon. I expect the both of you will receive a very warm welcome.” The Queen smoothed down his cloak, and brushed his curls away from his face.

“Yes, Mother. I mean, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, an affection glint to her eyes. Her sweet boy… grown far too quickly.

Finally, she turned to you, handing you the parchment. “Lord Borros is a temperamental man, but you are smart—smarter than most your age—I have faith you will easily persuade him for support. Let us hope he will see his daughters within you… you and his eldest, Cassandra, are of the same age.”

“I will not fail you, Your Grace,” you said.

Rhaenyra cupped your face, dipping forward to slant a chaste kiss upon your temples. “I will see you soon, daughter. Get to it, then.”

A warm smile brushed across your features. You pulled away, bidding Jacaerys a warm goodbye, before walking away with Luke.

“Are you ready?” he asked you.

“No. Are you?”

“No.”

The two of you grinned at each other, nervous.

You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder before he could mount his pearlescent dragon, Arrax. “Luke… everything’s going to be okay. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The younger boy rolled his eyes. “I should be the one saying that to you—I’m the one with a dragon.”

With that, he mounted the small beast, commanding Arrax to bend down so you could climb on, as well. The dragon seemed to purr contentedly when you stroked his pale scales.

And to the dark skies the both of you took, the howling warnings of the wind falling upon deaf ears.

Storm’s End was cold and dreary and grey all over. Pinpricks of frigid rain stung your skin.

The flight was short but uncomfortable, as the winds made for a difficult journey and the saddle was really only made for one person, since Arrax was still a young dragon. Nonetheless, Luke helped you down, and the two of you made for the castle.

A shrill roar in the distance made the two of you flinch, looking west to see Vhagar in the distance, shrouded with cold fog and smoke, more than five times the size of Arrax. The two of you exchanged worried glances.

Aemond was here.

Fear clutched at your chest.

Determined, Luke stepped forward to the guards manning the castle doors.

“I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon. I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.”

The guards nodded, turning to lead him through the massive stone archway.

Thunder rumbled angrily through the sky, rivulets of white lightning carving pathways between clouds.

Somehow colder inside than out, you drew your blue cloak closer to you, sticking close behind Luke.

The guards brought the two of you into the castle’s great hall, where Lord Borros was seated upon a stone throne. He was a burly man, with a mane of black curls and a thick beard shadowing his jaw. To his left were his four daughters, each tall and dark-haired and fair of skin.

To his right was your betrothed.

He was calm as ever, hands clasped behind his back, foot tapping rhythmically against the ground. His purple eye was fixed on you, expression unreadable. You could feel your heart stutter within your chest—despite everything, you missed him terribly.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon, son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen,” announced the guard. “Lady Y/N, of House Strong.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably at the sight of his uncle.

“Lord Borros,” he started, voice trembling. “I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen.”

The Baratheon lord showed little interest in the young princeling. “Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King. Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.” He began laughing to himself, loud and hollow, bouncing off the cold stone walls of the castle. “What’s your mother’s message?”

With your head held up high, you stepped forward to hand the Lord the bound scroll. He eyed you with disdain, a sigh falling from his lips.

“Where’s the bloody maester?!” he yelled, his patience growing thin. Borros was not a man of words, and could not read for himself.

Aemond’s stare pierced into Luke, nearly scalding. Subconsciously, Luke rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The maester stepped forward to read for him, before bending down to whisper the message into Borros’ ear.

Fury painted itself golden across his grizzled features.

“Remind me of my father’s oath?” he echoed, voice booming with anger. “King Aegon at least came with an offer! My swords and banners in exchange for a marriage pact!”

Your eyes widened, and you chanced a glance to Aemond. Had he offered his hand to one of the Baratheon girls? Had he already cast you to the side as if you were nothing?

“Aegon’s youngest brother, Daeron, is to wed one of my daughters. Prince Aemond was just negotiating dates and dowries,” said Borros in a boastful manner.

A strange sense of relief befell you, one that you didn’t quite understand.

“If I do as your mother bids… which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?”

Voice quaking, Luke shook his head. “My lord… I am not free to marry. I’m already betrothed.”

“So you come with empty hands,” said Borros, an incredulous scoff following his words.

A slight smile crossed Aemond’s features. You gritted your teeth.

“My Lord, if I may,” you began, holding the Baratheon’s graze strongly. “It matters not what we offer. This is a warning to you, from the Queen. The might of the Velaryon fleet has already sworn fealty to Queen Rhaenyra’s cause. Winterfell has never forgotten their oaths and will support Her claim, along with the entirety of the North. The Tullys and the Arryns and dozens more great houses are also to be loyal to the Queen’s cause. Will you be willing to risk your own noble house against the strength of the Blacks if war is to come?”

Borros Baratheon was stunned into silence. He wasn’t a man easily swayed, stubborn to a fault—but your words had struck a chord within him. The threat of the entirety of the North was not one he could hold defense against, not to mention the Velaryon fleet, the Vale, and the Riverlands.

A grumble resounded in his chest. Borros was not one to back down. “Rhaenyra has taken House Baratheon for granted far too long. A son—a male heir—is of higher order than a daughter. Aegon is the true King.”

You pressed forth, “Lord Borros, I beg you to think about the future of your house—”

“NOT ANOTHER WORD FROM YOU!” he shouted, effectively cutting you off, thick brows drawing together. You fell silent, angrily biting down on your tongue. The burly man drew out a heavy sigh, addressing Prince Lucerys once more. “Go home, pup. Tell your bitch of a mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not a dog she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

The both of you stiffened at his blatant disrespect.

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord,” said Luke.

The two of you turned to take your leave of the blasted place.

“Wait.”

You froze in place, turning only your head to see Aemond staring straight at his nephew.

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm with my dear betrothed… trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” he said, words as sharp as knives.

Luke straightened himself, remembering what he swore to his mother. “I will not fight you,” he told his uncle. “I came as a messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge,” said the one-eyed prince. You protectively moved to stand in front of Luke. Aemond hummed at this, regarding you with a heated stare. He reached behind his head to pull off his leather eyepatch—where a gleaming sapphire was placed within the scarred socket. Memories of when he had bared himself to you fully and wholly that one fateful night flashed across the forefront of your mind. You yearned for that time back. “No… I want you to put out your eye. As payment for mine. Just one will serve. I would not blind you. Hm… I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

With that, he reached down into his coat, brandishing a curved dagger. He tossed it down to the ground in between you, the blade glowing with the light of the torches lining the walls.

Revenge was consuming him. He was angry—infuriated that the Blacks had stolen his wife-to-be, and now they were parading about the realm, falsely claiming Rhaenyra to be the rightful Queen.

“Aemond, stop this madness,” you hissed, stepping closer to him, your hand resting over your own dagger hidden within your cloak. “He will do no such thing.”

“Mmh, then he is craven as well as a traitor,” said Aemond.

“Not here!” bellowed Borros.

The prince paid him no mind, surging forward with quick steps. “Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!”

You met him halfway, just as he scooped up the dagger he had tossed. One of your hands found his chest and you shoved him back, the other coming forth to slant your dagger right against Aemond’s stomach. The prince met your eyes briefly, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw regret dancing amongst the mauve of his iris. But it was gone just as quickly as it came.

“Touch my nephew and I will cut you open from head to toe,” you threatened in a hushed whisper, lips grazing his ear.

Aemond found himself chuckling lowly at your slip up. “So you finally admit it, my love. He is a Strong, just as you are, hm? Look at this sad creature, my sweet betrothed… little Luke Strong, the bastard. He is drenched. Is it raining outside or has he pissed himself in fear?”

With a growl, you shoved at him again, which only barely made him take a step back.

Luke had drawn his sword, hands trembling around the hilt.

“NOT IN MY HALL!” yelled Borros. “The boy came as an envoy. I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof! Escort Prince Lucerys and Lady Y/N back to his dragon. Now.”

Luke sheathed his sword, and Aemond twirled the dagger in his grasp, before doing the same. You were the last to put your weapon away, glaring at your betrothed with the might of a thousand suns.

“For what it’s worth, Aemond,” you told him as a lump formed in your throat, “I’ve missed you. Or, at least—I miss the man you used to be.”

You did not wait to see his reaction.

Instead, you turned to tell Lucerys, “Go, Luke. I will stay and try to barter with Lord Borros. With time, I think I can convince him.”

The princeling shook his head, wet curls flying. “No, Y/N, you must come home with me. We can tell mother together!”

You brushed his damp hair away from his face. “I can do this, Luke. Go. I will see you at Dragonstone—I shall take a ship back.”

Reluctant, Luke nodded once, before rotating on his heel and heading out the door.

When you looked back, Aemond was already gone. Unease settled within your chest.

The storm seemed to have worsened—the rains were far heavier and the gusts of wind were stronger. You made your way out of the castle to watch Luke go on his young dragon.

Vhagar was nowhere to be seen.

Your eyes widened. Aemond must have already taken her to the skies—no doubt to torment his nephew further.

Or… or worse than torment…

You ran out into the muddy clearing, screaming Luke’s name. Your voice was lost to the storm. Frantic, you made your way out of Storm End’s walls, desperately trying to see through the thick fog.

“LUKE!” you screamed. “AEMOND! No, no, no…”

Vhagar’s rumbling roars echoed loud and true over the stormy seas of Shipbreaker’s Bay.

Raw terror sank its dark hands around your ribcage, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing—

In the faint distance, you could see parts of a pale dragon streak from the sky.

A fluttering wing membrane.

A spined tail.

A gnarled talon.

A dragon head.

And along with it, the corpse of your nephew, falling down, down, down, into the waters below…

You screamed your throat bloody until your voice gave out.

In three days' time, you would find yourself back in Dragonstone, and be the one to tell Rhaenyra that her son was dead. You were weathered and broken, and had to write the words out for your own voice had failed you.

Daemon was enraged upon hearing the news.

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

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond fluff #aemond smut #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fanfiction #hotd angst #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #lucerys velaryon x reader #helaena targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen e2l #aemond targaryen x strong!reader

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lady-ashfade · 1 year ago

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Husband!Lucerys velaryon x pregnant!Wife!Reader

-£ I wrote this for @madame-fear I know it’s not the normal fluff but it’s what I thought of. I know you love him💗

-£ Warnings: Pregnancy, being tired, fluff.

“Just lay down,” his hands pressed on your lower back as he lead you to the shared bed in your chambers. Waddling over with him you sigh and lean against him tiredly, “That’s it love.” He praised in your ear.

When he finally got you to the bed he help you in with ease, making sure to rub your tummy when you sat down. The sparkle in his eyes never faded when he watched you even before you got married but now his eyes seem much for fuller. It was amazing that you were growing his child, it was amazing.

You leaned back on the pillows he had gotten. He was a amazing husband to have and waited on his hands and feet for your every wish. “Luke,” you yawned and reached for his hand when he pulled up the covers over you.

He hummed in response and looked at you, his curls moving with his head. They bounced beautifully and you hoped the child you carried would have them too. Even if you have curls, more then him of any type of hair. You wished they would be so much like him. He was a angel.

“Stay with me?”

The smile on his lips grew and blinked softly at you while admiring your beautiful face, “Of course my love.” He leaned forward to kiss your lips. His lips were so soft and fit with your perfectly.

He hopped in bed still in his clothes knowing you’d fall asleep quickly since your eyes looked so heavy. Luke found himself by your side as you laid your head on him, moving your arms to his. “Our little one isn’t going easy on you.” He rubbed the bump on your stomach that carried the babe.

Sighing into his chest with your eyes closed to relax yourself into his touch. He knew you just wanted to sleep and get back to being normal. This pregnancy wasn’t hard but wasn’t easy, you were so tired all of the time. Most of the time you stayed in your chambers but today you swore to get around. Luke was at your side but it didn’t last long, only a few hours. But it was nice to see the castle again and your mother in-law even though she sees you every day.

“Sweetheart??” He asked when he felt your breath go calm and quiet. He just smiled and kissed the top of your head, and you just looked so peaceful. “I love you both.”

#lucerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #fluff #lucerys velaryon fluff #husband lucerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon x fem!reader #hotd x reader #hotd x you #Drabble #<3 for my love

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 8 months ago

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stand and fight

── jacaerys velaryon x fem!targaryen reader

surprise i can’t contain myself so this is a series shdbxndjfvnsj

little a/n before we begin ── CHANGING AGES!! jace is only 13 when aegon is crowned king but in this, you and he are both 18. as with my aegon piece, i know everyone’s long names and titles but for the sake of not typing it out each time i use first names (i.e. criston instead of ser criston cole). reader is alicent and viserys’ child, but is living with rhaenyra and her family because she was always of the opinion that her father wanted rhaenyra to be queen. even once aegon was crowned, she refused to refer to him as king. as a result this caused a huge feud with reader against alicent, aegon, and aemond and she was all but banished from her home. about 2 weeks after aegon is crowned, reader and dragon (stormfyre) ran away and have been with rhaenyra and fam ever since. of everyone on team black, you’re closest with jace. everyone suspects something romantic between you both, but nothing has happened as of the start of this. takes place before, and during season 2 episode 4. you’ve been warned

wc: 1.6k (future chapters will be much longer and feature a lot more of jace, promise!)

PART ONE

Your relationship with Jacaerys (not that you could really call it a relationship), wasn’t always how it is now. He wasn’t the one you sought out when you wanted quiet but not alone time, and you weren’t the first person he searched for when he entered the room. Certainly not when you first arrived and Rhaenyra announced that you’d be staying with them.

In fact, in the beginning, you were sure he hated you.

Being on opposing sides of this ‘war’, part of the reason why he took such a strong disliking to you was because he thought he had to. You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite. You’d long since grown tired of hating people simply because you were told to.

On the evening you and Stormfyre ran away, the entire time you were flying was spent worrying and just praying to the Gods that you wouldn’t be turned away, or killed.

Rhaenyra was there to greet you when Stormfyre finally landed, and once you told her how bad things had gotten at home and that you didn’t know where else to go, she immediately offered you a room. Though you were Alicent’s daughter, you were still her half sister and had always been kind to her and her children. She knew you wanted no part in this feud, that you and Helaena were innocent in all of it.

After you wrote a note and Rhaenyra sent a raven to deliver it to Alicent, she informed you that they were just about to sit down and have dinner and she’d love for you to join them.

The first thing you noticed as you took your seat across from Lucerys, was how Jacaerys was glaring at you.

No one had taken more than a few bites before he put his fork down and loudly stood up.

“Why is she here?” He pointed at you, not even bothering to hide his anger.

“Jacaerys sit down,” Rhaenyra shook her head. “You know as well as I do that she is innocent in all of this. I have invited her—”

“To stay with us? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, she’s one of them! How do you know—”

Hearing that last part, Rhaenyra pushed her chair back and stood up. “Do not speak to me in that way, I will not tolerate it. I have invited her to stay for as long as she’d like and that is final. Now sit down.”

“Yes Your Grace.” The sarcasm was loud and clear, but Rhaenyra opted to ignore it since he did in fact sit down again.

You had your worries, but this confirmed it. You couldn’t stay. On the way over you told yourself that if anyone showed hesitation or anger at you being there, you’d leave as soon as you felt safe to do so. To live in a place where you were in fear of saying the wrong thing or suddenly being asked to leave, was no different than if you’d remained at home.

“Your Grace, I am a bit tired. Thank you for the lovely meal but if it’s alright I’d like to retire for the evening.”

Jacaerys once again didn’t even attempt to hide his anger. He rolled his eyes as he continued to eat.

“Of course, please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything you need.” She gave you a small smile, and as soon as you turned the corner you could hear her beginning to bicker with her eldest son.

After you’d been in your room about an hour, there was a series of soft knocks at your door. If you’d been doing anything other than laying in bed, you probably wouldn’t have heard.

When you opened the door and were greeted by Lucerys, to say you were surprised was an understatement.

“My Prince, I —”

He gave you that look, the I’m a kid please don’t use my title it’s weird look, and when you tried again and called him by his first name, he smiled. His hands had previously been behind his back and when he brought them forward, in each was a small plate with what appeared to be some sort of cake.

“Jace was rude and I know that’s why you didn’t finish dinner,” he said simply.

You opened your mouth to say that wasn’t true, but when he gave you that look again you couldn’t help but laugh.

“For being so young, you’re quite perceptive.”

He nodded as he sat down and handed you a plate. “Mom says I’m good at reading people. I forgot forks so we’ll have to use our hands.”

“You wish to stay and eat with me?”

Again, the young boy nodded. “It’s not fun to eat alone.”

The first few minutes, the 2 of you simply enjoyed the desserts in silence. You were relieved to find that it was a comfortable silence. When you were both finished, Lucerys, who insisted you call him Luke, took the plates and said he’d be right back. When he returned only a moment later, his first question surprised you.

“Why did you run away?”

“I — it’s complicated. Since Aegon was crowned king, there have been a lot of… fights.”

“You don’t think he should be king?”

You wondered how much to tell him, seeing as he was only 11. “No,” you decided to just tell the truth. “I think your mom should be.”

“She’s your… half sister, right?”

You nodded. “Yes, she’s my half sister. The same way that Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond are her other half siblings.”

“Do you not like them?”

“My other siblings?”

He nodded.

“I’m using this word too much, but it’s complicated. My relationship with each of them is different. Or was, before things went bad. Aegon and I used to be inseparable when we were really little. Everyone used to joke that we were twins. Though I’m a year older than Aemond, I always looked up to him. He’s the one who taught me how to use a sword, and I will always be grateful for that. Helaena and I are still close, she understands why I left. In fact that reminds me I need to ask your mom if I may send a raven to her tomorrow.”

“Even if you don’t think he should be king, why did you leave? Did they hurt you?”

“No, not yet anyway,” you gave a sad smile. “But it wasn’t just them that made me fearful. Other people haven’t been so kind. It’s why I’m so grateful that I’m allowed to be here, even if it’s only temporary.”

Luke looked surprised, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that you’d leave. “But you’ll stay with us for a while right? I’ll talk to Jace, I swear it.”

You quickly wiped a tear and smiled at the young boy in front of you. “That means a lot to me, truly. But please don’t talk to your brother on my behalf. He has made it clear I’m unwelcome and I fear that anything you say will make him angry with you as well.”

“If you don’t stay, will you have to return home?”

That was something you hadn’t even thought about. Initially while flying you feared being rejected. But even if that did happen, what would your plan have been?

“Possibly. I do not know where else I would go.”

“Jacer— there you are, you’ve had us searching everywhere,” Rhaenyra smiling as she saw how comfortable her son was around you. “Why don’t you let her get some sleep, hmm? You can see her in the morning.”

He groaned, but Luke did give you a hug and a “goodnight” before heading out of your room.

Rhaenyra turned to follow her son, then turned back around to face you again as she thought of something she wanted to say.

“I’d just like to apologize for my older son. I do not know what has gotten into him as of late but he had no right to speak to or about you that way. I will see to it that he—”

“Please, Your Grace—” she gives you that same look that Luke did, and you smile at how similar they look. “Rhaenyra, you and he have nothing to apologize for. I am technically one of them, and I’m intruding on your home.”

She is quick to shake her head. “You’re not intruding. I know what it can be like over there, and for your wellbeing I am glad that you felt safe enough to come here. We will think of next steps for tomorrow, although I really do hope you’ll stay a while. It seems Luke does too. I’ll let you get some rest now.”

“Thank you, I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you,” you get off of the bed and embrace your sister for the first time in who knows how long. She rubs circles on your back and it brings tears to your eyes, your own mom wouldn’t ever embrace you like this.

Rhaenyra leaves a few minutes later, and you finally crawl into bed.

As you lay there and wait for sleep to come, you think about the events of today. And you can’t help it, eventually your mind drifts to the boy who sat across from you.

With the dirty looks he gave you, how he spoke about you as if you weren’t there, there’s no doubt in your mind that he hates you.

It’s hard to believe that if Aegon weren’t crowned King, and Rhaenyra held her place on the iron throne, that Jacaerys would’ve been the next heir.

Even harder to believe is that to ensure both families remained united, you and he would’ve already gotten married.

You finally start to feel sleepy, and just before you drift off, your final thoughts are of Jacerys. If you do end up staying, you wonder if things will always be like this.

TAGLIST ──

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darknight3904 · 8 months ago

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

129 AC

Her chamber is suffocatingly warm, the soft morning breeze that she normally was indulged in was missing today. However, it was not the stifling heat that bothered her today, the news that was being spoken to her was.

"How long have you known?"

Her voice is stronger than she thought it'd be.

"Since Rhaenrya and Laenor's wedding. His...face that night gave his actions away."

Rhaella could scarcely believe what Rhaenys had just said. She had known for so many years and chosen not to tell her? Every night at supper she had looked at Rhaella and chosen to withhold information from her?

Her hands shook with anger. Anger for what might've been her life, for a mother she did not know.

"I will not return to Driftmark with you and my cousins on the morrow." She said

"I am sorry." Rhaenys said. As much as Rhaella hated it, she sounded sincere

"Get out!" She yelled, hoping no tears had escaped her eyes yet.

"I thought that if I kept my silence he'd tell you himself," Rhaenys explained

"He clearly had no intentions of ever telling me of Lady Rhea." Rhaella yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Rhaenys, "Just like you he is content with keeping me in the dark."

"You were a little girl when you came to me, I did not want to burden you with such a truth." Rhaenys said, trying to take a step closer to Rhaella.

"I am not a child any longer! You have had every opportunity to tell me!" Rhaella cried

"I know...I was wrong in withholding it...If you might-"

Rhaella lets her hands come down on the trinkets and ink well that sit on the table that separates her from Rhaenys. Papers and a jewelry box go flying to the floor while the ink well smashes into the wall.

"No. You knew how much I yearned for a family, for kin that were related to me, that is why I accepted your invitation to live with you. Because Baela and Rheana are my blood, yet you stood by and let me build a relationship with the very man who murdered my mother!"

Rhaenys' lips press into a firm line and Rhaella feels her face twitch in anger and sadness.

"I never wish to see you again." Rhaella declares, "Leave. Go back to Driftmark and let the tides swallow you whole."

She turns so her cousin cannot see the tears that are beginning to fall. The clicking of heels and the sound of a door shutting let her know Rhaenys is finally gone. Rhaella lets herself drop onto her bed. The blankets are soft and comforting as she cries into them. She's not even sure why she cries, mourning for a woman she has never met, a woman she will never know.

Aemond takes note of Rhaella's absence in the training yard immediately. She had just a day left her in Kings Landing and now she was standing him up after he offered to show her how to hold a longsword better. His spine was tight with anger as he searched the Red Keep for her. She wasn't in the library, her chamber, or even with Heleana. He was ready to even check in Aegon's chamber when the sight of his own chamber's door ajar caught his eye. Surely he had shut it entirely before departing for the training yard this morning.

He pushes it open, expecting one of Heleana's twins to be riffling though his things again. He'd had candy on his desk one time and now they expected it every time, they were truly going to be the fattest Targaryens if they weren't careful. Fortunately, it is not his niece or nephew who is in his chamber but Rhaella herself. She sits at his desk writing something. She had stood him up in the training yard to invade his private chambers?

"What are you doing?" He asked, still upset about her absence, "You have your own quill."

He crossed the room quickly and his dexterous hands snatched the quill from her hand. He expects her to laugh and try to take it back, like she usually would but instead is met with bright violet eyes tear-filled eyes.

"What has happened?" He asks, suddenly fearing the worse," Was it Aegon? I'll kill him if he touched you."

His hand jumps to the thin dagger he keeps at his side, a practice he had adopted after he lost his eye.

"It wasn't, Aegon. It's Daemon." She says sadly

"What has he done?" Aemond asks

Daemon was not eve in attendance for his name day celebration, he and Rhaenrya had stayed on Dragonstone.

"Rhaenys told me the truth of my mother's death. She did it today, I do not know why she chose to do it now, after knowing for so long. But Daemon is the reason my mother was taken from me, not a hunting accident like I was told for so many years." Rhaella explains, a stray tear escaping her eye

Aemond's fingers twitch with the need to wipe it away.

"I'm writing Daemon to tell him what a terrible person he is for doing that to my mother. I want him to regret it for the rest of his life." Rhaella says, glancing at a half-written raven scroll.

"I am sorry, for your mother," Aemond said

He doesn't know what to do. He has no experience with tears or feelings, even his own are a mystery to him. Most of all though the tears of a woman are something he has never been trained to deal with.

He is even more unsure of himself when she suddenly stands and wraps her arms around him. He's sure her snot is now wiped in his hair.

"Thank you." She whispers

He can feel the movement of her lips on his neck.

"What can I do for you? Is there anything?" He asks, tightening his own arms around her.

"Ask your father if I can stay here again. I cannot go back to Driftmark with Rhaenys and my cousins. I'll die if I have to see her again." Rhaella confesses

"Of course. I'll make sure he agrees." Aemond says

Soft silence settles around them as Aemond gently runs a soothing hand up and down Rhaella's back. He had seen the wet nurses do it to his niece and nephew when they cried so it seemed appropriate.

"I also ask that you let me use your quill and ink...I broke mine." Rhaella confesses

"Use as much as you want," Aemond says, a smile forming on his lips.

Okay, now our filler chapters can begin. A fluff arc is incoming. Also for reference, As of this chapter, Rhaella is 14 and Aemond is 13.

Next Part

Comment below to join the taglist. (The taglist is not by chapter, once added, you will remain there unless you ask to be removed.)

Taglist:

@caspianobsessed

@starryhiraeth

@franzelt

@holymusicalmothman

@koobratzy

@schelfinser

@mizuki80

@flusteredmoonn

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aeralux · 2 months ago

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"Dumb & Poetic" - Lucerys Velaryon

(part one/part two)

Modern!Lucerys x Reader

Summary: A clash of egos. A rich boy and a scholarship girl. Sounds like a match made in hell. So, obviously, your professor pairs you up for the semester's most important project. A week alone on the sea with the entitled Lucerys... How ever would you survive?

Modern!AU; Enemies to Lovers; Collage!AU

Warnings: enemies to lovers!au; kind of a slow burn; rich boy Lucerys; explicit fantasies of each other; foul language; slight Addam x Reader

Words: in this part 18k

Notes: No description of the reader (just that she has hair). No smut in this part (yet), otherwise, it would have been way toooo long. Just dirty thoughts in this one... English is not my first language. If you do not agree with any of the warnings, do NOT read.

Blackwater Bay Maritime University stood proudly before you, its large pale building glowing under the sun. The salty sea scent and the rich smell of varnished wood greeted you as you stepped onto the busy campus. You could see sleek boats bouncing gently in the water, their polished surfaces glistening in the sunlight, while students in high-end-looking outfits strolled by. It made you feel out of place. Sure, you weren't broke, but you felt out of your league among these trust-fund kids with their private yachts and endless resources. You were here thanks to a scholarship, one wrong grade, and you are out.

Determined not to let your sharp tongue land you in hot water, you needed to win over your professors and classmates. Unfortunately, none of your friends transferred to this prestigious marine university, not caring much about sea life and biology. But you had fought tooth and nail for your spot here, pursuing a major in oceanography and a minor in Business—and you had earned it. You were determined to prove you had just as much right to be here as those silver spoon types.

With those thoughts swirling in your head, you knew you had to find your housing on campus. You followed a few random university students until you finally located your residence hall and room number.

Should I knock? No, wait—this is also my room too. I'll just go.

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside. "Hey," you said cautiously, peeking in as you entered your new home for the year. "I'm your roommate," you said with a friendly smile. The girl inside caught your attention instantly. She was pretty, with white, curly hair that framed her face. Her smooth, dark complexion and the cute gap between her front teeth gave her a model-like appeal.

Her face lit up at your arrival. "Hi! So nice to meet you!" She exclaimed, jumping up from her seat as if she couldn't contain her excitement. You barely had time to brace yourself before she flew across the room to give you a warm hug. "Sorry! I'm a hugger," she said, her smile making you feel more at ease amid the unfamiliar surroundings.

"No problem," you chuckled, setting down your bags with a soft thud on the ground. The corners of your mouth lifted as you looked at her, feeling a playful warmth in the air. "I don't mind being hugged by pretty girls," you joked lightly, letting a teasing grin play on your lips. You felt an easy-going vibe from her, making you smile even more, knowing you got lucky with your roommate. The sunlight hung low, casting a golden glow around you, adding to the atmosphere. This might turn out to be a genuinely good year.

She laughed, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "My name is Baela Targaryen, I’m from Dragonstone," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. You leaned in, intrigued by her presence; something was captivating about her, something that drew you in.

"Yeah, I’m not from Blackwater either," you replied, your mind drifting back to stories of your life before university.

Suddenly, you realised something, brows lifting slightly. "Wait. You’re a Targaryen?" You asked with an amused smile on your lips. "You mean to tell me that my roommate is the heiress of Fire & Flight Enterprises?" Your eyes widened in disbelief. It was no secret that the Targaryens were among the wealthiest in the realm, but it was hard to accept that with the girl before you, who seemed so down-to-earth.

"Yeah..." she replied, her tone shifting to something softer, almost bashful. "Don’t make this into a big deal, though. I just wanted a break from my family and all their expectations. My last name makes it pretty hard to find genuine friends..." Her voice trailed off as a bittersweet expression crossed her face, leaving you feeling empathy for her.

"Hey, don’t even worry about that," you quickly reassured her, wanting her to know you weren’t just another person drawn to her status. "I’m really not that kind of person, I swear. I’m just curious—why not get a single room instead? You might risk getting a roommate who snores or talks in her sleep," you added with a light-hearted chuckle, trying to lift her spirits. "Not that I do any of those things... at least not often," you said with a playful grin as you began to unpack your things.

As you glanced over, you noticed her side of the room was already neatly organised. There was a certain charm in how she had set everything up, and somehow, it made you feel more at home as you settled in.

"So uh... what do you major in, Baela?" you asked her as you carefully unpacked your clothes, folding the shirts and stacking them neatly in the drawer. Thankfully, you didn’t bring too many items, making the task manageable.

"Oh, I’m going to major in International Strategy and Security, with a minor in Business," she replied, her eyes glued to her phone as she casually scrolled through updates.

"Really? I chose Business as my minor too! My major is Oceanography," you chuckled, exchanging smiles that felt warm in the newness of your surroundings. "Did any friends come with you here, or are you alone like me?"

"Well, my cousin is here too—Lucerys. He’s in another residence building... and actually in the same major as you," Baela said, her eyebrow slightly raised in surprise. "Funny how small the world really is, huh?"

"Well, if your cousin is anything like you, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine," you replied, finishing up your unpacking and arranging your beauty products on the small bathroom counter. Each item found its place, from toothpaste to moisturizer, creating a cosy little corner.

Baela fell silent momentarily, her brow furrowing as she contemplated your comment. "Yeah, he’s okay," she finally said, her voice rising slightly. She looked away, wide-eyed, as if pondering a hidden truth. "Just needs some time to get used to. You'll definitely recognise him though, he cannot be missed," she added with a hint of caution. You could sense the underlying tension; perhaps Lucerys had a bit of a reputation, even among family. After all, he could sometimes get on Baela’s nerves, and they had known each other since they were practically babies.

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. Was he supposed to be some jerk or something?

"I guess we will see tomorrow then," you said, a playful grin spreading across your face. With a light-hearted plop, you jumped onto your bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress after arranging your most essential items. Baela laughed at your silly antics, the sound brightening the small room, and walked over to sit beside you.

"We could check out some bars on Friday. How does that sound?" she suggested, her hopeful smile lighting up her face.

You nodded, feeling the excitement of new friendships and experiences in the foreign city. "Sure, that sounds like fun. Let’s just get through the first week," you said, rolling over to face her, the potential of the days ahead promisingexcitement.

You had braced yourself for an overwhelming first day of classes, but you weren’t prepared for the kind of guy who could set your nerves on fire with just a glance. The lecture hall buzzed with energy as you stepped inside, searching for an empty seat among rows of well-dressed students. Conversations filled the air, their posh accents swirling in a haze of privilege and entitlement.

That’s when you saw him.

He lounged at the front of the room, one arm casually draped over the back of his chair, exuding an easy confidence that seemed second nature to someone who’d never had to earn their privilege. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, igniting his tousled brown hair and highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline—a living testament to wealth and status.

You didn’t need an introduction to know who he was. Lucerys Velaryon—the heir of the Velaryon Shipping Empire, and, coincidentally, Baela’s cousin. The aura of superiority that surrounded him was nearly palpable, as students flocked to him like moths to a flame, captivated yet hesitant to sit beside him.

Annoyance simmered beneath your skin, but practicality won out. You chose the closest available seat—directly next to him. He glanced your way, his eyes skimming over you as if you were nothing more than a fleeting shadow, before returning his attention to the laptop sprawled in front of him, his things scattered all over the empty desk. Part of you was relieved; the less interaction with him, the better.

“Excuse me,” you said, sharpness creeping into your tone as you stared straight ahead. His fleeting glance turned into mild surprise as his eyebrows arched. “Is this seat taken, or are you too important to share a desk?”

To your astonishment, a grin spread across his face, a playful spark igniting in his eyes. "Sorry, I didn't realize my sheer presence was enough to make you feel unwelcome. Please, have a seat." His mock grandeur made you roll your eyes, the sarcasm dripping from his words.

With a frustrated sigh, you flopped down in the seat, pulling out your laptop. "Thanks for the permission," you muttered under your breath, trying to ignore the flicker of interest that sparked when you caught the gleam in his eye.

Leaning in slightly, he lowered his voice, almost conspiratorially. “So, what’s your deal?” His gaze bore into yours, mischief and curiosity swirling like a storm. Most girls here would be fawning over him, desperate to catch his attention. But you? You seemed blissfully unaware of the allure he held, and that intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

“My deal?” You replied, tilting your head, a bemused smile tugging at your lips as your fingers deftly powered on your computer. He was undeniably handsome, but the cockiness radiating from him was irritating. Your eyes met his, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. “What makes you think I have a ‘deal’?” you shot back, arching one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Maybe I’m just here to learn. Have you thought about that?”

As you leaned back in your chair, your hair brushing against your shoulders, you crossed your arms defiantly. The tension crackled like electricity, an undeniable friction forming between you two. At that moment, you both recognised something deeper at play—an automatic rivalry, two egos colliding.

Lucerys scoffed, rolling his eyes at your response. "Oh please. I suggest you tone it down with the attitude. Anyone could see you're out of place here." He glanced down at his laptop, clearly trying to ignore you now.

But you weren't about to let him off that easily. You leaned in closer, your voice low and challenging. "And what exactly is my 'attitude' supposed to be? Because from where I'm sitting, it seems like you're the one with the problem."

Your words hit their mark, and Lucerys' jaw clenched. He slammed his laptop shut, whirling to face you fully. "You know what? I don't need this crap from a scholarship 'beggar'. Find a new seat, princess."

But you just sneered, not backing down an inch. "Or what? Will you report me to the dean? Please, try it. I'd like to see you explain to your daddy how you can't handle sitting next to a girl who won't fall at your feet."

Lucerys' face reddened with anger, his hands balling into fists on the desk. He was so close now, you could feel the heat radiating off his body. "You have no idea who you're messing with," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

But you just laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea. The spoiled rich boy who thinks the world revolves around him. How original."

The professor walked in then, and Lucerys quickly turned back to face the front, his jaw clenched tight. You couldn't help but smirk, pleased with how easily you had gotten under his skin.

"You're all talk and no action, Lucerys. Just another rich boy playing at being a man. Just cause you act like one doesn't make you a man."

Lucerys' eyes flashed with anger as he whipped his head back towards you, his voice low and venomous. "Careful, or I'll show you just how much of a man I can be." He leaned in, his face mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You wouldn't know real power if it bit you on that smartass mouth of yours."

You held his gaze, refusing to back down, your heart pounding in your chest. "Is that a threat?" you asked, your voice steady. "Because if it is, I'm not impressed."

The professor cleared their throat loudly, and Lucerys reluctantly turned back around, muttering under his breath. But you could still feel the heat of his glare boring into you.

As the lecture droned on, you found yourself stealing glances at him. Despite his bravado, there was something vulnerable about him, a hint of insecurity beneath the superiority.

Lucerys struggled to focus on the lecture, his mind reeling from the fiery exchange with the infuriating girl beside him. Who did you think you were, talking to him like that? But even he couldn't deny the spark of interest that took over him.

His eyes flicked to your profile, taking in the delicate curve of your neck, and the fullness of your lips. He imagined what it would be like to silence you with a kiss, to feel those lips on his...

No. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the intrusive thoughts. He couldn't afford to get distracted, not by you. You were nothing but an ordinary girl, a nobody. He had to remember that.

But as the lecture ended and you both gathered your things, he found his eyes lingering, unable to tear away from your retreating form.

"Until next time, princess," he called out, a challenging smirk on his lips. You paused, glancing back at him with a raised eyebrow.

"We'll see about that," you muttered as you headed out of the lecture hall.

The rest of the day crawled by, and you found yourself counting down the minutes until you could escape back to the safety of your dorm. When you finally burst through the door, Baela was sprawled out on the plush carpet, her long curls fanned out around her like a halo.

"Hey you!" she called out, her face lighting up at the sight of you. "How was your first day? I bet you made all sorts of friends with that winning personality of yours."

You flopped down beside her with a groan, burying your face in your arms. "Ugh, you wouldn't believe the day I've had. Remember the dude you told me about, Lucerys? Turns out he's a total dickhead. Like, the worst kind of rich, entitled prick you can imagine."

Baela sat up, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. "Wait, Lucerys? As in, my cousin Lucerys?"

You nodded miserably, shaking your head. "One and the same. He's in my most important class of the semester, and let me tell you, he did not take kindly to being seated next to little old me. Threatened to get me kicked out and everything."

Baela's mouth fell open in shock. "What? That's insane! I'm so sorry. Lucerys can be a real jerk sometimes, but I never thought he'd stoop that low. I'll have a word with him, I promise."

You waved her off, sitting up and leaning back on your hands. "Don't bother. I can handle myself. I just needed to vent a little. But enough about that loser. Tell me about your day! I bet it was way more interesting than mine."

Baela sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Yeah, it was pretty uneventful. Mostly just a bunch of stuffy lectures and boring group work. I can't believe we're supposed to be here for four years."

She leaned back on her elbows, her curls tumbling over her shoulders. "But I met this cute guy during my business lecture. He sat next to me and we chatted for a bit, but that's about it."

A mischievous grin spread across her face. "Speaking of cute boys, you didn't mention meeting any in your classes. Don't tell me you were too busy fending off Lucerys' charms to notice anyone else."

She nudged you playfully with her foot, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Come on, spill. I know there has to be at least one guy who caught your eye today. And if not, well, we'll have to go on a mission to find you one!"

You couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, despite the stress. Baela seemed to somehow know how to brighten your mood, even when things seemed bleak.

"Alright, alright, you win," you conceded, holding up your hands in mock surrender. "There was this one guy in my Marine Biology lecture who seemed pretty cool. Tall, dark hair, really intense eyes. But I didn't get a chance to talk to him much. He seemed to be too immersed in the lecture, you know?"

Baela perked up at that, her eyes sparkling with interest. "Ooh, a mysterious man of few words. I like him already! You'll have to make your move soon."

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, but a small smile tugged at your lips. Maybe this university thing wouldn't be so bad, not with a friend like Baela by your side.

The two of you spent the rest of the evening gossiping and laughing, the tension melting away in the warmth of your friendship.

The air of peace was interrupted by your phone ringing with an email notification. "Hold that thought, babe," you said with a chuckle, reaching for your phone.

But as soon as you read the message, your heart sank. It was from your Marine Ecology professor, assigning you partners for a massive group project worth 70% of your grade. And who was your partner? You guessed it - Lucerys fucking Velaryon.

"No. No, no, no," you groaned, burying your face in a nearby pillow. This couldn't be happening. The universe was clearly out to get you.

Baela looked at you with a mixture of concern and amusement. "What's wrong?"

You shoved the phone into her hands, too defeated to even read the email out loud. She scanned it quickly, then burst out laughing.

"This is NOT funny," you whined, snatching the phone back.

Baela's laughter tapered off as she took in your miserable expression. "I'm sorry. That really sucks. But hey, maybe it won't be so bad. You two could surprise yourselves and actually work well together."

You shot her a withering look. "Yeah, right. More like we'll probably end up killing each other before the semester's over."

You flopped back onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

Lucerys leaned back in his chair, scrolling through his phone with a bored expression. The day had been dull, filled with uninteresting lectures and tedious work. He couldn't wait to get back to his room and forget about all this academic nonsense.

But then, he saw the email from his Marine Ecology professor. A group project, worth a significant chunk of his grade. He rolled his eyes, preparing to delete it without reading. But then he saw his partner's name.

You. That infuriating, insufferable girl from his major. The one who had dared to challenge him, to question his authority. How dare you be paired with him, as if you were his equal?

A slow smirk spread across his face as he contemplated all the ways he could make your life miserable. He could ignore you completely, forcing you to handle all the work by yourself. Alternatively, he could undermine you at every turn, sabotaging your project to watch you fail.

But then, a different thought struck him. What if he played nice? What if he acted like the perfect partner—charming and attentive, always ready to lend a helping hand? He could lull you into a false sense of security, making you believe he had changed. Then, when you least expected it, he could strike.

He could ruin you, not just academically. But also fuck with your head at the same time.

You turned up to the dreaded class, your heart pounding. The stuffy scent of the classroom mixed with the faint aroma of coffee drifting in from the corridor. You sank into your seat next to your 'partner', the one person you hoped to avoid for the entire semester.

The tension crackled in the air like static, each of you acutely aware of the silence between you—a silent standoff, similar to gladiators readying for battle in an arena.

Lucerys Velaryon sat with casual arrogance, leaning back in his chair like he owned the room. His dark hair fell perfectly as if the wind itself wouldn’t dare ruffle it, and his sharp jawline only served to emphasize that infuriating smirk he always wore. He was everything you despised: cocky, self-assured, and irritatingly handsome in a way that made you want to both punch him and… well, something else you refused to entertain.

It was apparent that neither of you was content with being partners for the entire semester. Yet here you were, forced into this arrangement that had your stomach churning.

The first part of the project was mercifully straightforward—strictly planning—which meant you could work at a distance, avoiding the hostility that flared whenever you were too close. You could pour over charts and maps, tapping out your ideas on the laptop while he could occupy himself with his own proposals.

But the real dread loomed in the shadows—the end of the project. Spending several nights on a boat. Alone. Just the two of you.

Your heart raced at the thought. The project required you both to venture out into the open waters, taking shifts to monitor navigation and keep the vessel on course. Being confined to a small space, away from others, with him made your palms sweat.

The thought of sharing space with him, and the way your different personalities might clash, made you feel like you were losing your grip on reality. But part of you was definitely curious. You wondered if your heated exchanges could turn into something else.

Whatever happened you were determined to hold your ground, to endure it no matter what. After all, failing was not an option; not for you.

Lucerys couldn't help but smirk as he watched you fidget nervously beside him. The sight of you so flustered was almost enough to make him forget his anger from earlier. Almost. Your discomfort was like a drug to him, an aphrodisiac that only fueled his desire to rile you up even more.

His gaze flicked to you, his smirk deepening as if he could sense your annoyance. “Lucky me,” he drawled, his voice low and smooth, with a hint of sarcasm that made your skin prickle. “Looks like we’re stuck together for this project. Should be fun.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “I’m only with you because I have to be.”

Lucerys let out a low, mocking laugh, the sound curling between you like smoke. “Oh, I can tell. That scowl you’ve been wearing since day one is so inviting.” He leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the desk as his gaze swept over you. “Tell me, princess, how do you plan on surviving a week stuck on a boat with me? Going to throw yourself overboard to escape?”

Your jaw clenched, anger bubbling in your chest as you turned back to your laptop with a loud clack of keys. “I’m not worried about surviving, Lucerys. I’m more concerned about how you’ll handle being away from your precious daddy and all his money for so long.”

"Ah, the daddy card,” he said, tilting his head with an amused expression. “How original. Remind me again—what’s wrong with having money?”

You huffed, refusing to look at him as your fingers flew over the keyboard. “Nothing, if you’ve actually earned it. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”

Lucerys chuckled, the sound infuriatingly warm, as if you’d just told him a joke. “Careful, you’re starting to sound jealous.”

Lucerys leaned back in his chair, his eyes flickering over to you. He could feel the tension radiating off of you in waves, and it only served to fuel his amusement. He knew you were just as unhappy about this arrangement as he was, but he couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement.

You turned to glare at him, your temper flaring. “Jealous? Of you?” You leaned closer, your voice dripping with venom. “Trust me, Velaryon, there’s nothing about you I envy. If anything, I pity you.”

“Oh, do tell,” he said, his smirk unwavering. “What part of my charmed existence do you find so tragic?”

You paused, letting your words sink in before delivering the blow. “The part where you think that dumbass smirk of yours is going to get you through life. Not everyone happens to be impressed by it.”

For a split second, his smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing as if you’d hit a nerve. But just as quickly, he recovered, leaning back in his chair with a shrug. “Good thing I’m not trying to impress you, then.”

Your lips curled into a tight smile, your voice calm but laced with steel. “Perfect. Then stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. Maybe we’ll actually get this project done without killing each other.”

He watched as you busied yourself with the laptop, your fingers flying over the keys as you poured over the project details. He couldn't help but admire the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way your tongue peeked out slightly as you focused on the task at hand.

The words hung between you like a gauntlet thrown to the ground. Lucerys held your gaze for a moment longer, his eyes dark and unreadable. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he leaned back in his chair, waving a dismissive hand. “Fine by me, princess. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when things get… complicated.”

As the class went on, Lucerys found his mind wandering to the prospect of being stuck on a boat with you. The thought of being confined in such a small space, with no escape, sent a shiver down his spine. He knew that his patience would be tested, that his temper would likely flare on more than one occasion.

But there was a part of him that looked forward to it. He imagined the way your eyes would flash with anger, the way your cheeks would flush a pretty pink as you argued with him. He envisioned the heated exchanges, the way your voices would rise until you were both shouting, your chests heaving with exertion.

And then, in the midst of it all, he pictured a different sort of exchange. A moment where the tension between you would shift from anger to something else entirely. A moment where your eyes would meet, and the air would crackle with a different sort of energy.

Neither spoke as the lecture began, but the tension between you remained, a simmering heat that neither of you knew how to extinguish.

And deep down, a small, traitorous part of you wondered if you even wanted to.

You gathered your things and quickly exited the classroom as the lecture ended, eager to put some distance between you. Not that you had much luck, with the universe seemingly conspiring to throw him in your path at every turn.

You sighed as you entered the math classroom, spotting Lucerys already two rows back like a dark cloud looming over your day. But your spirits lifted when you saw who would be sitting next to you - Addam. Tall, dark and handsome, with a kind smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

As the lecture began, you found yourself stealing glances at him, admiring the way his dreads fell over his forehead as he bent over his notebook. You wondered absently what it would feel like to run your fingers through them, to lean your head on his firm chest...

Suddenly, you heard a soft whisper and turned to see Addam looking at you, a shy smile on his lips. "Psst, you got a ruler?" he asked, his voice low and slightly rough. You felt a shiver run through you at the sound of it.

"Yeah, here you go," you stammered, rummaging through your pencil case and pulling out the ruler. As you handed it to him, your fingers brushed, and you swore you could feel the spark of electricity at the contact. He smiled at you, and you couldn't help but smile back, a blush rising to your cheeks.

Addam grinned at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Thanks," he whispered, his fingers lingering on yours just a second longer than necessary. "I'm Addam, by the way."

He paused for a moment, his gaze drifting over your features before meeting your eyes once more. "I have to admit, I've been hoping for an excuse to talk to you. Looks like fate just handed me one."

Lucerys sat two rows back, his brown eyes fixed on you. He watched as you flirted with the boy next to you, his jaw clenching with barely restrained jealousy. How dare you act so familiar with another man, when you had been so cold to him?

He shifted in his seat, his gaze never leaving you. He couldn't help but notice the way your cheeks flushed, the way your eyes sparkled with mirth as you interacted with your new 'friend'. It only fuelled his anger.

As the lecture droned on, Lucerys found himself growing more and more agitated. He couldn't focus on the equations scrawled across the chalkboard, his mind consumed with thoughts of you and Addam. The way your fingers had brushed, the way you had smiled at each other.

He scoffed, turning his attention back to the front of the class. He didn't care who you sat next to, didn't care who you flirted with. You were nothing to him, a mere nuisance to be dealt with.

But a small, dark part of him knew that he would never be able to forget you, no matter how hard he tried. You had gotten under his skin in a way that no one else ever had, and he knew he would never be able to truly move on.

You couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Part of you didn't want to look, already knowing the source of such intensity. But curiosity got the better of you.

Turning slowly, you locked eyes with Lucerys. His gaze was piercing, almost accusatory, sending a shiver down your spine. You glared back, your brows furrowing in annoyance. Of course, it was him, Throwing daggers at you with his looks, his jaw clenched tight.

Great, just what you needed. The one person who seemed determined to make your life miserable, now glaring at you across the classroom. As if being forced to be his partner for that damn project wasn't bad enough, now he had to interrupt your attempts to actually enjoy yourself?

You turned back to Addam, trying to focus on his kind smile and the soft rumble of his voice. But the damage was done. Lucerys' glare had already left an imprint on your mind, a dark cloud hovering over your thoughts.

You sighed internally, knowing that no matter where you went or who you talked to, Lucerys would always find a way to get under your skin. His mere presence was enough to set you on edge, to make you question every little thing you did.

You were your own person, and you would act like it, no matter how much it annoyed the arrogant bastard scowling at you from across the room.

Lucerys couldn't believe his eyes as he watched you turn to face him, your brows furrowed in annoyance. The sight of your scowl only served to fuel his anger further, his hands clenching into fists on the desk in front of him.

How dare you act so carefree and happy when you were supposed to be partners? How dare you flirt with another man when you should have been focusing on your project? He felt a surge of jealousy and rage as he watched you turn back to Addam, your smile bright and uninhibited.

As the lecture ended, Lucerys quickly gathered his things, slamming his textbook shut with a loud bang. He couldn't wait to get you alone, to have it out with you in private.

Lucerys stormed out of the classroom, not even bothering to hold the door open for you. Let you struggle with it. He didn't care. He was too focused on his anger, too consumed by the need to confront you.

He waited for you outside, his arms crossed over his chest, his foot tapping impatiently against the ground. When you finally emerged, he stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

“What the hell was that about?” Lucerys demanded, his voice low but laced with a sharp edge that could cut through steel. He stepped into your path, blocking your escape as the afternoon sun casts a golden glow over the dock. “You said we’d focus on the project, but then I catch you batting your eyelashes at Addam like you’ve got nothing better to do? That’s low, even for you.”

You froze mid-step, turning slowly to face him, the incredulous look on your face enough to stop him in his tracks. “Wait. Hold on.” You held up a hand as if to physically halt his nonsense. “You can’t be serious right now. This was Math class, Lucerys, not Marine Ecology. I wasn’t exactly about to break out our project notes in the middle of calculating derivatives.”

You rolled your eyes with enough force to see your past life. “And you waited through a full 90-minute class to give me this half-baked lecture? Cute. How very dedicated of you.”

As you brushed past him, you couldn’t resist throwing one last dagger over your shoulder. “Oh, and about Addam? Get over yourself. I’m allowed to talk to whoever I want. I don’t need your permission, Velaryon. Shocking, I know.”

His jaw tightened, and you didn’t need to turn around to feel the heat of his glare boring into the back of your head. You heard his quickened steps as he caught up to you, his hand snagging the strap of your bag and tugging just hard enough to spin you back around.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he growled, his eyes blazing as he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking to something suffocatingly intimate. “Watch your tone.”

“My tone?” you shot back, wrenching your bag free from his grip with a sharp tug. “You’re the one throwing a tantrum because I dared to exist within three feet of another human being. Here’s a tip: maybe focus on being a decent partner for once instead of some overgrown hall monitor.”

His lips curled into a frustrated sneer. “A decent partner? Maybe I’d focus on that if you weren’t busy flirting around campus with every pretty face that crosses your path.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head as you crossed your arms over your chest. “Oh, poor Lucerys,” you said, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Did my casual conversation with Addam hurt your fragile little ego? For the record, I wasn’t flirting. But even if I was, it’s none of your business.”

Lucerys opened his mouth to retort, but you weren’t finished. Leaning in just slightly, you stared him down with an infuriatingly smug smile. “Here’s a reality check for you, Velaryon: I can juggle my social life and this damn project just fine. Multitasking. Maybe you’ve heard of it? Or does your silver-spoon upbringing not teach you that skill?”

His eyes narrowed, his jaw ticking as he stared at you, his anger palpable—but a different kind of heat lingered beneath it. “You think you’re so clever,” he said, his voice dropping into a dangerously soft tone. “So self-assured. But you’re walking on thin ice.”

“Thin ice?” you repeated with a scoff, stepping even closer. “Funny. I didn’t realize ice was part of this project. Must’ve missed that memo.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The tension crackled like static electricity, your eyes locked in a battle neither of you wanted to lose.

Then, in a voice that sent a shiver down your spine, Lucerys said, “You talk a big game, don’t you? Always ready with a comeback. But I wonder...” His eyes flickered briefly to your lips, just long enough for you to notice. “Are you as tough as you act? Or is it just a front?”

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down, narrowing your eyes at him. “Try me, Velaryon,” you said, your voice low and steady. “You’ll find out exactly how tough I am.”

The corner of his mouth twitched—whether it was irritation or amusement, you couldn’t tell. “Fine,” he said, taking a step back, though his intense gaze stayed fixed on you. “Have it your way. But don’t come crying to me when you realise this project isn’t as simple as you think. I won’t go easy on you. Not because you’re a...” He hesitated, his eyes briefly flicking downward before returning to yours. “A grown woman,” he finished, the sarcasm dripping like venom.

Your lips twitched, fighting the urge to smile. “Oh, I’d never expect you to go easy, Velaryon,” you said, your voice as sweet as honey but sharp enough to cut. “Frankly, I’m counting on you to keep up.”

You turned on your heel, leaving him standing there, his jaw set and fists clenched at his sides. But as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze lingering on you, and for a brief, maddening moment, you wondered if you’d struck a nerve—or if he’d struck one in you.

Sighing, you flopped down on the couch, scrolling through the mess of notes and printouts scattered across the desk. The stupid project outline was more challenging to get a handle on than you thought it would be. For over a week now, you had been struggling with the navigation plan and practical math part of the assignment. You swear, Lucerys was probably doing the bare minimum, just to make things difficult for you. The jerk.

You glanced at the time on your phone and realized Baela was still MIA, probably out with her twin, Rhaena, for the night. You couldn't blame her, but it left you with no one to bounce ideas off.

Rising from the couch, you hit play on your phone and cranked up some Nu Metal playlist, the aggressive rhythms and screaming vocals filling the small dorm room.

Trying to approach the assignments with pure anger and hatred. Maybe that would do the trick.

Without a care in the world, Lucerys made his way to his cousin Baela's dorm. She still had his Apple headphones, which she had borrowed a while back and conveniently forgotten to return.

Lucerys hesitated for a moment behind the door, hearing loud music blaring inside. Had Baela changed her taste in music, or was her roommate some kind of crazy rocker chick? He wondered to himself before slowly opening the door, not even bothering to knock.

Lucerys stepped into the dorm room, immediately drawn to the loud, aggressive music pounding through the speakers. He spotted you standing in the middle of the room, your movements sharp and agitated as you paced back and forth.

His brows furrowed as he surveyed the chaotic scene before him. Papers were scattered across every surface, and empty cans of energy drinks were strewn across the coffee table. You looked as if you were ready to tear your hair out in frustration.

"Well, well, well," Lucerys drawled, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do we have here? Looks like someone is having a tough time focusing on our little project."

He allowed his gaze to wander over you, noting how your clothes clung to your curves and the flush of anger colouring your cheeks. Part of him felt a twisted sense of satisfaction at seeing you so worked up.

Oh my god, not him again?! Your heart sank, caught completely off guard by his presence. You couldn’t believe it—you just couldn’t catch a break! Your frustration boiled over as you spun around, ready to confront Lucerys.

"You've got to be shitting me," you exclaimed, your voice rising in pitch as you threw your hands up in exasperation. "Is nowhere safe from you? I swear, you're like the fucking plague!"

You stormed across the room, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached him, his posture relaxed as he leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe. With all your might, you attempted to slam the door shut right before him.

But Lucerys moved quicker than you expected, catching the door before it could slam shut. He stepped into the dorm room, his brown eyes flashing with amusement and annoyance as he took in your exasperated expression.

"Careful now," he chided, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You don't want to damage university property." He kicked the door shut behind him, the loud music still blaring.

"And I'm not the plague, I'm just... persistent," Lucerys retorted, his voice rising over the aggressive beat. "Besides, I couldn't help but hear all this noise from the hallway. What are you trying to do, alert the whole dorm that you'restruggling with this project?"

Sighing loudly, you rub your temples, trying to ward off the headache that's been building from staring at these project notes for hours. You glance over at Lucerys, annoyance flashing in your eyes.

"This just happens to be my taste in music, jackass," you mutter, storming over to Baela's side of the room. You bend down to fish out the headphones from under her messy bed, your short shorts riding up to expose more of your thighs and the curve of your round ass. But you are too preoccupied to even notice, let alone care.

Lucerys let his eyes linger on your exposed thighs and ass for a moment before snapping back to your face as you turned around. He couldn't help but feel a rush of blood going south at the way your short shorts clung to your every move, the way your toned muscles flexed as you bent over.

"I know you're probably here for these headphones. Baela mentioned something about someone stopping by. So, stop trying to torment me, and we can move on with our lives... for now." You retort and straighten up, tossing the headphones at Lucerys. "There, are you happy now?" You ask sarcastically, crossing your arms over your chest.

Lucerys caught the headphones with a smirk. "Yes, I am," he replied, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he held up the headphones. "But you seem to be forgetting one thing..." He stepped closer to you, backing you up against Baela's desk. "You're not moving on until we finish this project."

You scoffed, leaning back against Baela's desk and eyeing Lucerys with annoyance and grudging respect. "Oh please, don't pretend like you're here to help. We both know that's the last thing on your mind," You retaliated, raising a brow. You let your gaze rake over his tall, lean frame, lingering just a moment too long on his lips.

"Is this really your idea of helping me? I have to say, your methods could use a lot of improvement," I quipped, a smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. You crossed your arms under your soft breasts, causing them to lift and draw his attention.

Lucerys felt his heart rate quicken as he noticed your gaze lingering on his lips. He took another step closer, standing inches from you, his tall frame looming over your smaller one.

"Maybe you just need a different perspective," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "Sometimes, all it takes is just two heads together." He stepped closer, one hand coming up to grip the edge of Baela's desk, caging you in.

“And if you’re curious, yes, this is my way of offering help,” Lucerys continued, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the tempting neckline of your outfit. "Someone has to ensure you stay focused and on track with things."

His voice took on a playful tone as he added, “Do you always choose such... distracting attire when you’re trying to work? I must admit, it’s quite captivating.”

He leaned in further, the faintest hint of his breath brushing against your lips, making the air between you crackle with tension. “But for today, I’m willing to overlook it—just this once. How about you slip into something a bit more... modest?” His smirk was teasing, inviting. “Then we can finally concentrate on getting this project finished.”

You leaned back against Baela's desk, your heart pounding as Lucerys invaded your personal space. You could feel the heat radiating off his tall, lean body, his piercing gaze sending shivers down your spine.

"Oh please, you're not fooling anyone with this 'helping' act," I smirked, letting my eyes brazenly roam over his chiselled jawline and full lips. "But if you insist on sticking around, the least you could do is make yourself useful."

You crossed your arms, deliberately drawing his attention down again, the flimsy fabric of your top straining. You watched his eyes flick down to your cleavage, a thrill rushing you at catching him staring.

Lucerys' eyes darkened as they flicked up to meet your teasing gaze. He felt a rush of conflicting emotions surge through him - annoyance, frustration and a deep, carnal desire that he couldn't suppress.

"Unless you'd rather I give you a private show first?" You mocked him, your voice dripping with false innocence. "I could always change into something... more comfortable. For both of us."

Lucerys smirked at your mocking words, a glimmer of mischief sparkling in his eyes. "A private show, huh?" He shook his head slowly, chuckling softly. "As tempting as that offer is, I have a feeling we wouldn't be getting much work done if I agreed."

You continued without missing a beat. "But you've made it clear that you don't think much of me," you added, your voice barely a whisper. "It seems I’m just the 'scholarship girl.'"

"Is that what you think this is?" he murmured, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine as he leaned closer. His chin was a breath away from yours, eyes locked onto yours with challenge.

With deliberate slowness, he brushed a stray lock of hair from your cheek, his fingers grazing your skin with a warmth that ignited a flicker of desire within you.

"You're wrong," he said, his voice thick with tension. "This isn't about your background or your scholarship status. This is about..."

He paused for a moment, allowing the tension between you to grow. Then he leaned in and murmured heatedly against the shell of your ear, "And trust me, sweetheart, I have come to think very highly of you."

You eyed Lucerys sceptically as you called his bluff. "Oh really? From where I'm standing, it feels more like you're just here to torment me... and maybe cop a feel," you retorted, a sneer on your lips. You uncrossed your arms and planted your hands on your hips, inadvertently giving him an even better view of your front.

"But if you genuinely want to help, prove it. Sit down and actually assist me with this damn project already," you demanded. You turned and bent over to gather the scattered papers on Baela's desk, your butt thrusting out accidentally towards him as you did. The short shorts ride up even higher, exposing more of the smooth, soft skin of your thighs.

You could feel Lucerys' gaze burning into your backside as you worked, and a shiver ran down your spine at the intensity of his stare. Part of you revelled in the attention, while another part wondered how far he planned to take this little game. Only time would tell if he was actually here to help or to make your life more difficult in his own infuriating way.

Lucerys felt his heart race as you bent over in front of him, the sight of your perfect ass in those sinfully short shorts making his pants feel tighter by the second. He had to clench his fists and take a deep breath to keep from reaching out and grabbing a handful of your tempting curves right then and there.

But he held himself back, knowing that giving in to his base instincts would only lead to disaster. Instead, he forced himself to focus on your challenge, a smirk on his lips.

"Alright, I'll play along," he murmured, moving to the edge of Baela's desk. He leaned back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed. "But don't think for a second that this means I'm not still going to give you a hard time," he added with a smirk. "It's just too much fun to see you get all riled up."

You felt your cheeks flush and your pulse quicken as you caught yourself staring at Lucerys while he was talking, admiring the strong line of his jaw and how his hair fell rakishly into his piercing eyes as he focused on the project notes.

Why was he having this effect on you all of a sudden? You hated it.

"Let's start by going through what we have so far," Lucerys said, his voice tinged with a hint of huskiness that he couldn't shake. "It looks like you've got most of the research done, but the analysis is a bit... lacking." He paused, glancing up at you with a smirk. "I guess that's where I come in. I may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but I know my way around numbers."

"Uh yeah, sure, I'm gonna go make some coffee," you mumbled, turning away and moving towards the small kitchen corner. You needed a damn minute to yourself before you completely lost your mind and threw yourself at him.

Don't think about how tall and handsome he looks, lounging on Baela's desk like that, you told yourself firmly, rummaging around the cabinets for the coffee grounds. Focus on the caffeine, not the way his eyes crinkle when he smirks at you.

"My, uh, you want some coffee too?" You asked, trying to keep your tone casual and friendly, even as your hands shook slightly pouring the water into the Moka pot.

Just a minute alone, and then you can pull yourself together and get this project done.

He's just a guy. There are plenty out there, no need to fall for the first one with big brown eyes.

Lucerys watched as you made your way to the kitchen, admiring the sway of your hips and the way your shorts hugged your ass like a second skin. He couldn't help but smirk to himself, feeling a thrill of satisfaction at the way you seemed to be flustered by his presence.

"Sure, I'd love some coffee," he replied, his voice casual and friendly even as his eyes followed your every move. "You're not the only one who needs a pick-me-up to focus on this boring project."

As you poured the water into the Moka pot, Lucerys couldn't resist the urge to torment you further. He stood up and wandered over to the counter, leaning against it and invading your personal space again.

"Careful now," he murmured his warm breath tickling your neck. "If you spill that, I might have to take off my shirt to help clean it up." He chuckled mockingly.

His sleazy remark made you snort. "Oh please, like you'd ruin your Ralph Lauren polo, pretty boy."

Lucerys's smirk deepened at your quick comeback. "Oh, you never know," he said, his voice low and teasing. "I might just surprise you in more ways than one." He winked playfully, his brown eyes glinting with mischief, making your heart race a little faster.

As the coffee finished brewing, Lucerys reached around you to grab two mugs from the cabinet. His chest brushed against your back as he did, his scent invading your senses - a mix of expensive cologne and the faint, lingering aroma of his hair products.

You had to bite back a sigh that threatened to slip out as Lucerys invaded your personal space, his chest brushing against your back and sending a jolt of electricity through you. You could feel the heat emanating from his body.

Truth be told, it had been far too long since you had been intimate with anyone, and now even Lucerys' mere presence was enough to make you feel like a cat in heat. You could feel a familiar ache beginning to throb between your thighs, and you had to clench them together to try to alleviate the sudden discomfort.

Lucerys felt a rush of excitement as you pressed yourself against him, your soft curves moulding perfectly to his harder planes. He could feel the heat radiating from your body, and it made his own core temperature rise sharply.

As you both stepped back, Lucerys found himself face to face with your flushed cheeks and wild eyes. And he felt a surge of masculine pride at knowing that he was the cause of such agitation in you.

"So, um, about that coffee," you said, your voice husky as you tried to regain your composure. "I don't have any cream or sugar, so it's gonna be pretty strong."

Lucerys smirked, knowing full well that the only thing making your cheeks flush and your voice tremble was his proximity and the undeniable chemistry crackling between you. "No worries about that," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a hint of hunger as he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours.

He watched as you poured the dark, rich coffee into the mugs, the aroma filling the small kitchen. Lucerys couldn't help but let his gaze wander over your body, taking in the way the fabric of your top did little to hide anything, the way your shorts clung to every curve.

You raised your brows defiantly as you looked at him, his cheeks flushed with frustration and a touch of embarrassment at being caught ogling you like a horny teenage boy. "Can you stop staring at my tits and ass? Thanks." You snapped, your voice dripping with sarcasm and annoyance.

Lucerys felt his face flush redder at your blunt words, a mix of embarrassment and lust swirling in his gut as he tore his gaze away from your tempting curves. "Sorry," he muttered, though the smirk tugging at his lips suggested he wasn't truly sorry. "I can't help it. You're just so..."

This endless game of push and pull had to stop; it was becoming absurd. This happens when two hormonal young adults are left together in a room late at night.

"I thought we were going to focus on the project," you said, trying to steer the conversation back on track as you handed him one of the mugs. "Or do you have no intention of actually getting anything done?"

Lucerys took the mug from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours and lingering longer than necessary. He could feel the warmth of your skin, the softness of your touch. It sent a jolt through him, reminding him of the electricity that seemed to constantly crackle between you two.

"I have every intention of getting this project done," he murmured, his voice low and smooth. "But you make it so hard to concentrate when walking around looking like that." He gestured vaguely at your body with the mug, his eyes roaming over your curves once more.

“Are you admitting that you find me distracting?” you said with raised brows. “I thought I was just another pest in your life, someone whose presence annoys you. And yet here you are, flirting with me as if nothing is wrong. What is your deal? Do you think I’m some easy target?” You grew angrier with each word, his mind games making your head spin.

Your cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment and annoyance as you stared him down. "Is fucking with my head some sort of fetish of yours?" You demanded, jabbing a finger at his chest.

Lucerys caught your wrist before you could jab him again. "No, you're not an easy target," Lucerys said, his voice suddenly serious and intense. "Far from it, in fact. You're the most infuriating, frustrating, and maddening woman I've ever met."

At that moment, Lucerys felt the weight of his predicament pressing down on him like a storm cloud. He realized he was in deep waters, far beyond what he could handle. The pact he had made with himself—to make you suffer—was slipping from his grasp.

Every attempt to ignore you or provoke you only intensified the emotions he tried to suppress. Your fleeting glances and unexpected smiles stoked a fire he wished to extinguish, indicating the conflict within him. With each tense encounter, Lucerys found himself questioning his motives and the depth of his feelings for you, trapped in a tumultuous sea of regret and longing.

He stepped closer, backing you up against the counter, his body now flush against yours as he looked down at you with darkened eyes. "This isn't a game to me," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "Trust me, the last thing I want to do is fuck with your head. Believe it or not, I actually want to help you with this damn project."

At that moment, Lucerys knew that his obsession with you was no longer a game or a way to prove dominance. It had become an addiction, a desperate need that consumed his every thought. He craved your presence, your touch, your laughter - anything that would allow him to be close to you.

"Then help me," you demanded with a measured calmness, your voice barely above a whisper, but sharp enough to slice through the air between you. You held his gaze, refusing to look away.

As you stared into his eyes, a fierce fire ignited within you, mingling with the heat radiating from the slightest brush of his fingers against yours. It was maddening—the way he could infuriate you and yet draw you in at the same time.

The tension crackled, hanging heavy in the air around you. You wanted to hate him, to push him away, but there was an undeniable allure in your conflicting emotions, a magnetic pull that kept you rooted to the spot.

Lucerys's heart pounded as he gazed into your fierce, defiant eyes. The fire within them ignited a matching flame within him, consuming any lingering doubts about his true feelings. He knew he should back away, and put an end to this dangerous game before it was too late.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Instead, he leaned in closer, his lips a mere breath away from yours. "I will," he promised, his voice low and intense, "I'll help you with everything you need." His gaze flickered down to your mouth, lingering there for a long, charged moment before drifting back up to meet your eyes.

As he leaned in, Lucerys caught a hint of your scent—a blend of the coffee you brewed and a touch of perfume. It was intoxicating, and he felt an overwhelming urge to bury his face in the crook of your neck, wanting to breathe you in until your essence was imprinted on his very soul.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, cheeks flushed and breathless. Lucerys' hold kept you rooted on the spot, rendering you speechless and breathless. You could feel your chest heaving.

You found yourself leaning closer, inexplicably drawn to him like a magnet. Your body ached to close the distance, to feel his lips against yours, his arms around you...but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. The tension crackled.

Seconds before your lips met, Baela's cheerful voice rang out, shattering the charged moment. You staggered back, tearing your wrist from Lucerys' grasp. The sudden movement sent a mug flying on the counter, shards of ceramic and dark coffee splattering across the floor.

You gasped, pressing a hand to your racing heart. The sudden sounds felt like a shock after the scorching heat radiating from Lucerys' body. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze of lust from your mind.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry," you stammered, bending down to start cleaning up the mess. Your hands shook as you grabbed paper towels, dabbing at the spreading puddle of coffee. "I'm just... it's been a long day. I didn't mean to be so clumsy."

You couldn't bring yourself to look at Lucerys, scared you might tear up from the embarrassment you felt. The tension still hung heavy between us, the unspoken desire almost palpable.

Lucerys stepped back sharply as if burned by your sudden movement. The sound of shattering ceramic jolted him out of the lustful haze that had consumed him moments before. He blinked rapidly, trying to regain his bearings as he watched you bend down to clean up the mess, your ass sticking up in the air, and felt his cock twitch traitorously in his pants.

For a moment, Lucerys felt a pang of guilt for allowing things to go so far. He hadn't meant to overwhelm you like that, to push you to the point of breaking. But the sight of you bending over, your body trembling and flushed, only served to reignite the desire that coursed through his veins.

But as he watched you bend over, trying to salvage the shattered mug and spilt coffee, Lucerys felt a pang of concern. He couldn't leave you flustered and embarrassed like this, not with how his body thrummed with unleashed tension.

Lucerys picked up a roll of paper towels, kneeling down to help you mop up the spill. "It's okay," he said softly, crouching beside you. He gently placed a hand on your shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. "I'll help you clean this up. There's no need to be upset."

To his surprise, you flinched slightly at his touch, as if his fingers were made of fire and could burn you. Lucerys felt a twinge of regret for allowing things to go so far, for pushing you to the point of breaking. But as he looked down at your form, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to your sudden dismissal than just a spilt mug.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Lucerys, terrified that you might completely lose the little composure you had left. Your heart raced, and your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you crouched on the floor, fiercely gripping the damp paper towels.

“No,” you snapped, your voice harsher than you intended. “Just send your analytics to my email, and I'll create a shared file. We can discuss this more in class…” You trailed off, unable to meet his gaze.

You could feel Lucerys’s presence looming over you and practically sense the questions and confusion radiating from him. Your hair fell forward, shielding you from view as you focused intently on cleaning up the mess you had made.

You couldn’t let yourself get lost; you couldn’t allow yourself to be pulled back under by the tidal wave of lust and longing that threatened to drown you.

So you simply nodded curtly, your voice tight as you dismissed him. “Just go,” you said, still unable to look him in the eye. “Please.”

Lucerys felt hurt by your dismissive tone and obvious dismissal in your voice. He could sense the tension radiating from you, the embarrassment and confusion that hung heavy between you.

"Alright," he said softly, standing up slowly. "I'll send you the analytics. We can discuss it more in class, like you said." He wanted to reach out, to grab your chin and tilt your face up so that you had no choice but to meet his gaze. He wanted to demand an explanation for your sudden cold shoulder, to understand what had just happened between you.

But he didn't. Instead, he turned to leave, pausing at the door to glance back at your still bent-over form. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and rough with barely suppressed emotion. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Just focus on the project. I'll see you tomorrow."

As he walked away, Lucerys couldn't help but glance back at you one last time, his eyes filled with longing and regret. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew one thing for sure - he wouldn't stop until he had you, no matter the cost.

“Bye, Baela,” Lucerys said dismissively, his tone cold as he brushed past her. He didn’t spare her a glance, focusing on the door ahead as he exited the room, leaving an air of unresolved tension behind him. The silence that followed felt heavy, a stark contrast to the words he had left unspoken.

Baela stood by the doorway, stunned, with her lips parted in confusion. "Wh-what just happened?" She rushed over to help you with the spilt coffee, grabbing more paper towels and crouching down next to you.

You couldn't meet her gaze, tears streaming down your burning cheeks. You felt utterly humiliated and confused.

"I...I don't know what happened," you choked out, your voice shaking. "One minute we were arguing, and the next..." you trailed off, unable to put into words the intense, charged moment that had passed between you.

Baela's brows furrowed with worry as she gently pulled you into a hug, being careful not to cut herself on the broken ceramic scattered around us. "Shh, it's okay," she murmured, rubbing your back soothingly. "Did he say something to upset you? Or do something? You can tell me. You know you can always trust me."

You buried your face in Baela's shoulder, your tears soaking into the fabric of her shirt as you tried to regain your composure. The truth was, you didn't know what had happened.

Lucerys stalked out of the room, his mind reeling with confusion and frustration. He couldn't understand why you had suddenly pulled away, why you had rejected him so harshly after the charged moment you had shared.

As he walked down the hallway, he tried to push away the memory of your flushed cheeks and heaving chest, your body against his. But it was no use - the image was seared into his brain, taunting him with what could have been.

He knew he should focus on the project as he had promised. But all he could think about was you and the way your lips had been a hair's breadth away from his before Baela had interrupted.

By the time he reached his dorm room, Lucerys was in a foul mood. He slammed the door behind him and collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.

He couldn't stop thinking about the way your body had felt pressed against his, the way your breath had mingled with his own. He could still feel the heat of your skin, the softness of your curves. It was driving him crazy.

But most of all, he couldn't understand why you had suddenly pulled away, rejecting him so harshly after the charged moment you had shared. It made no sense to him, and it left him feeling confused and hurt.

Lucerys tossed and turned in his bed, unable to find a comfortable position. He kept seeing your face in his mind's eye. The memories made his cock throb and strain against the confines of his boxers.

Damn it, why did you have to be so fucking irresistible? He cursed under his breath, punching his pillow in frustration. He had promised himself that he would help you with the project, but all Lucerys could think about was how badly he wanted to bend you over the desk and fuck you until you screamed his name.

He imagined pinning your wrists above your head as he drove into you from behind, grunting with each powerful thrust of his hips. He envisioned the way your tits would bounce as he pounded you, your pussy clenching tight around his thick, aching cock.

Lucerys groaned aloud, palming himself through his sweatpants. Fuck, he needed to get a grip. He couldn't keep lusting after you like this, couldn't keep letting his dick dictate his actions. He had to focus on the project and get through the first year of university, not imagine all the filthy things he wanted to do to your sexy little body.

You arrived at class much earlier than Lucerys, the nervous anticipation gnawing at you, an incessant feeling that threatened to unravel your composure. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart, while your fingers hovered nervously over the keyboard, clammy with anxiety. Lucerys had sent over the analytics just as he had promised, but the brevity of your exchange left a lingering silence between you two. Ever since that day last week, you hadn’t seen him at school, and perhaps it was for the best—distance had its advantages.

As the theoretical part of the project drew to a close, you could take relief in your performance: an impressive 84% on the research. However, the practical segment loomed ominously over you like a rain cloud threatening to burst. A week alone with Lucerys, confined in a boat of all places—your skin prickled at the thought. You despised small, enclosed spaces; they made you feel trapped and vulnerable. And yet, even more unsettling was the reality of spending so much time with Lucerys. You repeated the mantra in your mind: you hated confined spaces, you hated moisture, and most importantly, you hated Lucerys. But deep down, you weren’t sure if your feelings were that simple.

Lucerys strolled into the classroom, his eyes immediately drawn to your tense form hunched over your laptop. He could see the way your shoulders were hunched, your fingers trembling slightly as you typed away. It made his heart ache in a way he couldn't quite understand.

As he approached your desk, he hesitated, unsure of how to greet you after the charged encounter you had shared. He settled for a gruff "Morning," before taking his seat beside you.

"Morning," you replied, your eyes fixed on the glowing screen in front of you, deliberately avoiding his gaze. The soft hum of the computer filled the air as you immersed yourself in the task at hand, the distant clatter of keyboards and muted conversations fading into the background.

Throughout the lesson, Lucerys found it impossible to concentrate on the lecture, his mind constantly wandering to the tension that still hung heavy between you. He could feel the weight of it, the unspoken words and lingering glances that passed between you both.

As the class drew close, their professor reminded them of the impending practical assessment - a week-long trip aboard a research vessel where they would put their theoretical knowledge to the test. Lucerys felt a thrill of anticipation at the thought of being trapped in close quarters with you for so long but also a flicker of trepidation.

He turned to face you, his brows furrowed with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice low so that only you could hear. You seem...nervous." He wanted to reach out, to take your hand in his and give it a comforting squeeze, but he held back, remembering your harsh dismissal of him last week.

Instead, he watched you, his eyes searching your face for any clue as to what you might be thinking. He could sense the fear and uncertainty emanating from you, and it made him want to pull you into his arms and promise that he would protect you from whatever demons haunted you.

But he didn't. He just sat there, waiting for your response, his heart pounding as he tried to steel himself for the challenges ahead - both in the assessment and his own battle to resist his growing feelings for you.

You jumped slightly at Lucerys' voice, your heart leaping into your throat.

"Oh," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, I'm...I'm fine." You lied, not wanting to admit the truth.

Your hands trembled slightly as you snapped your laptop shut, a blush creeping across your cheeks. You could feel Lucerys' gaze on you, intense and searching, and it made your stomach flutter nervously.

You avoided his eyes, focusing instead on shoving your things haphazardly into your bag. "I'm just...nervous about the practical assessment," you admitted, biting your lower lip. "Being stuck on a boat for a week..." you trailed off, mind reeling at the thought of being trapped in such close quarters with Lucerys. "I don't like open water that much..."

You knew you should say more, and acknowledge the tension that still crackled between you after your encounter last week. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it, couldn't bring yourself to put into words the confusing tangle of emotions that Lucerys always seemed to evoke in you.

He nodded, his expression softening with understanding. "I get it," he murmured, his voice low and gentle. "Being stuck on a boat for that long... it's not exactly my idea of a good time either."

He hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his tone carefully neutral. "But we'll get through it together," he assured you, his gaze finally meeting yours. "I promise, I won't let anything happen to you."

"So..." he said, breaking the tension slightly as he gestured towards your bag. "Need a hand with that?"

He stood up and reached out to help you gather your things, his fingers brushing against yours as he took your bag from your trembling hands. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through him, and he had to resist the urge to lace his fingers with yours.

Damn it, why did you have to be so enticing? He cursed under his breath, trying to will away the growing ache in his pants.

You glanced up at Lucerys, your heart fluttering nervously in your chest. "Thanks," you murmured softly, a faint blush colouring your cheeks as you avoided his intense gaze.

"But wait," you began, biting your lower lip anxiously as you rambled on, "where exactly are we supposed to find a boat from for this assessment? I know the school has some, but they always look so... unreliable. And I heard there's already a long waiting list with other groups signed up."

"I don't want to be stuck on some rickety old boat for a week," you confessed, your eyes wide with apprehension as you looked to Lucerys for a solution.

Your heart raced in your chest as you waited for his response, the warmth of his proximity making your skin prickle with a confusing mix of nerves and anticipation. You couldn't help but notice the way his arm brushed against yours as you walked out of the classroom, sending a jolt of electricity through you that made your toes curl in your boots.

Please, you silently prayed, hoping he had a plan.

Lucerys smiled reassuringly at your anxious question, his eyes softening with understanding. "Don't worry," he said calmly, "I've already taken care of it."

He paused momentarily, considering how to break the news to you. Finally, he spoke up, his voice low and slightly tentative.

"My grandfather owns too many private yachts for one man," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "And he's agreed to let us use one for the assessment. It's not exactly a 'rickety old boat'," he added with a cheeky smile.

Lucerys could see the relief washing over your face, and he felt a swell of pride knowing that he had been able to set your mind at ease. He knew how much this assessment meant to both of you and was determined to do whatever it took to help you succeed.

Your eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of excitement sparking in your eyes. "Really?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "That's...wow, that's great. Thank you, Lucerys."

Lucerys just shrugged nonchalantly, playing it cool even as his heart raced at your grateful smile and the way your eyes sparkled with excitement. "Don't mention it," he murmured, trying to downplay his role in ensuring your assessment went smoothly.

As you walked out of the classroom together, Lucerys couldn't help but let his gaze linger on your form, admiring the sway of your hips and the way your hair bounced with each step. He knew he should keep his eyes on the path ahead, but he found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Damn, but you were gorgeous. And not just on the outside - though fuck, the way your ass swayed in those jeans was enough to make a grown man weep. No, it was your spirit that truly captivated him. Your intelligence, your passion, your fire...it was everything he could ever want in a partner.

You glanced up at Lucerys, your heart fluttering nervously in your chest as you clutched your bag tightly. You knew all too well about his family's immense wealth and power, their name synonymous with the Velaryon Shipping Empire. It was almost impossible to fathom that someone like him, with roots tracing back to one of the most influential and richest families in the realm, would even give you the time of day.

"So, your grandfather... Corlys Velaryon, right?" You asked awkwardly, your voice barely above a whisper as you avoided his intense gaze, your cheeks flushing slightly at the mention of his wealthy grandfather.

Lucerys felt a flicker of amusement at your question, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He knew all too well the reputation that his family had, the way that people often treated him with a mix of awe and trepidation simply because of their name.

Lucerys chuckled softly, his purple eyes twinkling with mirth as he glanced down at you. "Ah, so you've heard of him," he teased, his voice low and playful. "I suppose it's hard to miss."

"He's agreed to let us use one of his yachts for the assessment," Lucerys said, changing the subject slightly. "It's a pretty big one, with all the latest amenities. You don't have to worry about being stuck on some rickety old boat."

Lucerys could see the surprise and disbelief in your eyes, the way your grip tightened on your bag as you processed this information. He knew it was a lot to take in, the realization that someone like him, with all his wealth and power, would go out of his way to help someone like you.

You glanced up at Lucerys, your heart fluttering nervously. You could hardly believe what you were hearing - a private yacht, owned by none other than the famous Corlys Velaryon himself! It was like something out of a movie.

"I've never been on a private yacht before," you admitted shyly, feeling your cheeks flush at the thought of being on such a luxurious yacht. "I can't believe you have access to something like that..."

As you walked side by side, you accidentally brushed your hip against his, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You felt a warmth pooling low in your belly, a longing for him.

Being this close to Lucerys had that effect on you - your body seemed to respond to his presence in ways you couldn't control.

You tried to focus on your conversation, but it was hard to concentrate with Lucerys' arm brushing against you with every step. You could smell the clean, masculine scent of his cologne, and could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

It was distracting, to say the least. The idea of being confined with Lucerys for a week, just the two of you...

You knew you shouldn't, but all you could think about was Lucerys... and the way his long fingers would feel around your neck.

Lucerys felt the brush of your hip against his, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to pull you flush against him, to feel the soft curves of your body melding with his harder planes. He could feel the heat of your skin even through your clothes, and it made his blood run hot in his veins.

He could see the longing in your eyes, the way your gaze kept flicking down to his lips before darting away again. He knew that you felt the same pull towards him that he felt towards you, the same undeniable attraction that seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

Fuck, he wanted you. He wanted to take you right then and there, to bend you over and fuck you until you screamed his name. He wanted to feel your tight little cunt clenching around his cock as he drove into you again and again, wanting to fill you up with his hot, thick cum until it was dripping down your thighs.

But Lucerys knew he had to rein himself in, had to focus on the task at hand.

So he simply smiled, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. "It's not as impressive as it sounds," he said, trying to downplay the extravagance of it all. "My grandfather has so many yachts, he's probably forgotten half of them."

He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "But I'm glad you're excited about it," he added, his voice lowering slightly. "I have a feeling this trip is going to be... memorable for more reasons than just the assessment."

Lucerys knew he was treading on dangerous ground here, but he couldn't help himself, not when being near you felt like this - like a live wire crackling with electricity, ready to ignite at any moment.

He desired you, plain and simple. Wanted to feel your naked body writhing beneath his as he fucked you senseless, wanted to hear his name falling from your lips as you came undone around his cock.

The weeks drifted by in a surprisingly mundane fashion, each day blurring into the next. You and Luke were acutely aware of the tension simmering between you, an unspoken energy that crackled in the air. Yet, for reasons unknown, neither of you dared to confront it; perhaps it was a silent agreement that some things were better left unresolved.

Baela, however, remained ever-watchful, her gaze sharp and prying. She pulled each of you aside, her curiosity palpable as she probed about your feelings for one another. It seemed her inner matchmaker was desperate for a confession, but you both skillfully sidestepped her efforts, exchanging vague reassurances that only fueled her frustration.

“He’s fine. We get along now, kinda,” you answered her pestering, the words feeling futile even as they left his lips.

“Yeah, she’s okay. I don’t know… we just mostly talk about the assessment and other homework,” Luke said, trying to downplay the complexity of your relationship.

Baela's exasperation was almost comical; you could practically see her wanting to tear her hair out in frustration. But instead of succumbing to that impulse, she turned her matchmaking energy toward a different target. Through a chance conversation in one of their shared lectures, she got you a date between you and Addam.

And so, here you found yourself, seated at a lovely restaurant, the soft glow of candlelight flickering in the dim ambience. Across from you sat Addam, effortlessly charismatic with a smile that could rival the sun. His striking features seemed almost ethereal as if he had stepped out of a fashion magazine. The rich, velvety Dornish wine cradled in your glass offered a welcome distraction, its warmth swirling in your stomach, soothing your nerves as you awaited the arrival of your food.

As you stole glances at Addam, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to feel drawn to him. The rustle of conversation around you faded into a gentle hum, while thoughts of Luke lurked just beneath the surface, complicating what was meant to be a straightforward evening. Could a simple date with someone charming ease the tension you had with Luke, or would it make the feelings in your heart more complicated?

As the evening wore on, Addam regaled you with fascinating stories of his travels and adventures, his love for life infectious. He had a way of making you feel like the only person in the room, his full attention focused solely on you. It was a pleasant change of pace from the charged silences and loaded glances that had become the norm with Luke.

Yet, even as you laughed and flirted with Addam, you couldn't shake the persistent thought of Lucerys from your mind. His smile, his scent, the way his hand had felt brushing against yours a hundred times a day... it all lingered, a ghostly presence intruding upon your date.

Addam seemed to sense your distraction, his smile softening slightly as he reached across the table to gently cover your hand with his own. "Is everything alright?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. "You seem a bit preoccupied tonight."

His gaze was warm and concerned, inviting you to unburden yourself to him. Yet even as you looked into his striking eyes, you felt guilty, knowing that your thoughts were consumed by someone else.

You startled slightly as Addam's fingers brushed against yours, his touch a grounding force that pulled you back from the tangled web of thoughts swirling in your head. You flashed him a small smile, giving his hand a gentle squeeze in return. "I'm sorry, I'm fine," you reassured him, hoping he couldn't hear the slight tremor in your voice. "Just a bit stressed about the impending exams, I'm afraid I have a tendency to get rather anxious..." you trailed off with a nervous little chuckle, taking a sip of the rich red wine.

You gazed into Addam's striking eyes, feeling almost hypnotized by their intensity. You silently thanked Baela for orchestrating this date, for giving you a welcome distraction from the constant pull you felt towards a certain someone else.

Shaking off the intrusive thoughts, you smiled at Addam and asked, "I'd love to know more about you, beyond your sailing adventures. What do you enjoy doing for fun, when you're not out on the open sea?" You leaned forward slightly, genuinely interested in his response and desperate to lose yourself in his charming presence. The candlelight flickered, casting a warm glow on his handsome features, and you found yourself wanting nothing more than to get lost in conversation with him, to forget about everything and everyone else.

Addam's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm at your question, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "Well, when I'm not out exploring the world, I have a few hobbies that keep me busy," he said, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his own wine. "I'm quite fond of playing the lute, though I'm not nearly as skilled as my brother. He's a true maestro with the instrument."

He paused for a moment, considering his following words carefully. "I also enjoy reading, particularly stories of ancient history and mythology. Something is fascinating about the way our ancestors perceived the world, the gods and monsters they created to make sense of the unknown."

Addam's gaze softened as he looked at you, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "But I must admit, I find the most enjoyment in the company of others. A lively debate over a good meal, a walk through the gardens in the evening, a cosy night in with a book and a warm fire... I believe the best moments in life are the ones shared with the people we care about."

As he spoke, Addam reached out to take your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "And I must say, I'm quite enjoying this moment," he murmured, his voice lowering slightly as he held your gaze. "You have a way of making even the most ordinary evening feel... extraordinary."

You felt a flutter in your chest at Addam's words, a warmth blossoming within you that had nothing to do with the rich wine swirling in your glass.

Almost as if compelled by an unseen force, you found yourself leaning closer to Addam, drawn in by the magnetic allure of his personality. "I feel the same way," you confessed softly, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand in a gentle caress. "It's rare to connect with someone like this, to feel so at ease in their company..."

But even as you lost yourself in Addam's captivating gaze, a small part of your mind drifted to Luke. Did he know you were out on this date tonight? Would he feel jealous if he saw you now, seen you through the softly glowing candlelight of the restaurant?

The thought sent an unexpected thrill through you that you quickly tried to push down. You had to focus on the present moment, on the charming company of the man before you. Luke, with his constant brooding and his unspoken words, would have to take a backseat tonight.

Addam's heart raced as you leaned closer, your soft confession sending a surge of excitement through his veins. He felt the gentle brush of your thumb against his hand, a feather-light touch that ignited a flame within him. The candlelight flickered in your eyes, casting a warm glow on your beautiful face, and Addam felt a sudden urge to reach out and caress your cheek, to feel the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips.

He had always been drawn to your beauty and admired the way your eyes sparkled with intelligence and wit. But it was your kindness, your gentle heart, that truly captivated him.

As the evening wore on, Addam found himself growing more and more enchanted by your company. Your laughter was music to his ears, your thoughts and opinions fascinating him in a way that few others had. He hung onto your every word, devouring each story like a man starved.

But even as he lost himself in the bliss of your presence, a small part of Addam couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else on your mind. He had seen the way your gaze sometimes drifted, a faraway look in your eyes as if you were miles away, lost in thought. Addam had a suspicion about what, or rather who might be occupying your mind so thoroughly.

The thought of Lucerys Velaryon sent a flicker of something dark and unpleasant through Addam's chest. He had never been one to shy away from competition, but the idea of losing you to that brooding, enigmatic fool was a bitter pill to swallow.

As the enchanting evening drew to a close, you found yourself standing outside your campus residence, the cool night air a pleasant contrast to the cosy warmth of the restaurant. Addam, ever the gentleman, had insisted on walking you home, a charming smile playing on his lips as he gazed down at you with those mesmerizing eyes.

You couldn't help but return his smile, your own eyes crinkling at the corners from the sheer enjoyment of our date. "Thank you, I had a lovely time, really," you murmured, meaning every word. It truly had been a wonderful evening.

Yet, even as you stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was amiss. It was like a small voice at the back of your mind, whispering a secret you couldn't quite comprehend. You tried to push it down, to focus on the present moment and the handsome man before you, but it persisted, an itch you couldn't scratch.

Still, you didn't want Addam to know that a part of your thoughts were elsewhere. He had been such a perfect gentleman, a charming and attentive date, and you didn't want to diminish the wonderful time you had shared. So you simply smiled up at him.

Addam's smile softened, a tender look entering his eyes as he gazed down at you. "It was my pleasure entirely," he murmured, his voice low and warm in the cool night air. "Seeing you smile like that, hearing your laughter... it's a sound I could get used to."

He reached out, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, lightly tracing the curve of your cheek, the delicate line of your jaw. Addam's heart raced as he leaned in closer, his gaze dropping to your lips. He wondered if they would be as soft and sweet as they looked, wondered how you would taste...

But then he paused, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He sensed that you were distracted, your thoughts preoccupied. The realisation that it might have something to do with Lucerys Velaryon sent envy through him, but Addam was determined to be patient. He wouldn't rush this and wouldn't risk scaring you away.

Instead, he stepped back slightly, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I hope we can do this again sometime," he said softly, his voice tinged with a hint of hopeful anticipation. "Perhaps dinner, or a walk through the gardens... whatever you like."

Addam's thumb brushed lightly over your lower lip, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver down your spine. "Goodnight, my lady," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper in the darkness. "Sweet dreams."

You could hardly contain your excitement as you practically floated into your shared room, your heart racing from the incredible evening you had just spent with Addam. You kicked off your heels with a contented sigh, a giddy grin spreading across your face as you turned to face Baela.

"Baela, oh my goodness, you won't believe how amazing tonight was!" You exclaimed, your words tumbling out in an enthusiastic rush. "Addam was the perfect gentleman, opening doors, paying for everything, even walking me all the way home. And let me tell you, that man is seriously gorgeous. Like, next level, ridiculously handsome. I swear I saw a few girls practically swooning as we walked by!" You giggled, still in awe of his devastating good looks.

You plopped down on the bed, your cheeks flushed and your eyes sparkling with joy. "I mean, I know you set this up, but seriously, thank you so much. I can't remember the last time I had such a wonderful time on a date. Addam is charming, funny, and so easy to talk to."

You couldn't wipe the grin off your face as you rambled on about Addam, your heart fluttering at the mere mention of his name. You knew you were gushing, but you couldn't help it. Tonight had been magical, and you were already looking forward to seeing him again.

Little did you know, Baela had been on a FaceTime call with Lucerys the entire time, and he had heard every single word...

Lucerys sat on the edge of his bed, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone screen. He had been chatting with Baela for the better part of an hour, catching up and lamenting the monotony of their shared lectures. But as he listened to his cousin, a sudden burst of feminine excitement caught his attention. His brows furrowed slightly as he realized that you were the one speaking, your voice high-pitched and breathy with barely contained glee.

"...let me tell you, that man is seriously gorgeous. Like, next level, ridiculously handsome...". Lucerys felt his gut clench at the mention of Addam, a surge of something dark and ugly rising up in his throat. He listened intently as you recounted every detail of their date, from the charming restaurant to the gentlemanly gestures to the sparkling conversation. With each word, Lucerys felt his blood run hotter, his jaw clenching tighter until it ached.

Lucerys had always known that Addam was a threat, a rival for your affections. But hearing you sing his praises so readily, so eagerly, made Lucerys question his own sanity. Had he been blind to the depth of your feelings for the other man? Was there even a chance for him anymore?

He didn't realize he was in love with you until that moment. Didn't realize that he had fallen somewhere between the charged silences and loaded glances, the constant pull he felt towards you. But as he listened to you gush about another man, he knew with a sudden, sickening certainty that he loved you.

As if sensing his presence, Baela turned to face the camera, her eyes widening as she saw the dark look on Lucerys' face. "Oh, sorry Luke," she said, a slightly cheeky expression crossing her face. "I didn't realize you were still on the call."

Lucerys forced a smile, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. "I heard every word," he said simply, his voice carefully controlled.

He watched as Baela tried to contain her own grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she listened to you gush about Addam and saw Lucerys' reaction to it. She knew exactly what she was doing, the little matchmaker, and it was clear that her plan was working perfectly.

"I'm so glad you had a good time," Baela said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. "Addam is a great guy." She paused for a moment, letting the words sink in before adding, "Though I must say, I'm surprised you're so eager to talk about him. I thought you and Lucerys had something special going on..."

That was the last thing he heard before the screen went blank, and Baela disappeared. Did she really just hang up on him? Lucerys felt the urge to throw his phone against the wall, but he reminded himself that he wasn��t 16 anymore, and this was a campus dorm.

You stared at Baela in shock, your eyes widening as you processed her words. "What? Me and Lucerys?" You asked, your voice pitching higher with disbelief. "For the most part, I thought your cousin hated me. We've only recently begun to tolerate each other."

You shook your head, grabbing a makeup wipe to begin taking off your evening look. "No, don't be ridiculous. Besides, you're the one who set me up with Addam. Why bring up Lucerys now?" You questioned, tossing the used wipe into the trash.

As you scrubbed at the dark smudges under your eyes, you couldn't help but think about how different Lucerys had been acting lately. There was still tension between you, sure, but it had shifted somehow. The constant scowls and snide remarks had faded into charged silences and lingering glances. You had caught him staring at you more than once, his eyes dark and intense in a way that made your heart race.

Baela's eyes narrowed as she studied your reflection in the mirror, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Hate is a strong word," she pointed out, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. "I wouldn't say Lucerys hates you. Quite the opposite, in fact."

She leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest as she considered her following words carefully. "Lucerys has always been... intense. Especially when it comes to the people he cares about." Baela paused, letting the implication of her words sink in. "He's not great with expressing himself, but he's a lot more sensitive than he lets on."

Baela's gaze turned speculative as she watched you, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Tell me, have you noticed anything different about Lucerys lately? Like, how he's always sneaking glances at you when he thinks you're not looking? Or how he gets all tense and broody whenever Addam is around?" She arched an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Face it, the man is smitten. And he's been smitten for a while now."

You rolled your eyes, a sceptical smirk playing on your lips. "Oh please," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "That man is always broody. It's like, his defining characteristic." You exited the bathroom, with Baela hot on your heels.

"It just isn't going to happen, Baela," you said firmly, your eyes flashing with determination as you began to rummage through your dresser for a cosy pair of pyjamas. "He doesn't like me, and quite frankly, I don't like him either. We're even." You shrugged, pulling out a soft cotton nightgown and holding it up for inspection.

Baela watched with amusement as you dug through your dresser, a sceptical look on her face. She couldn't believe how stubborn you were being about the whole Lucerys situation. Didn't you see the way he looked at you? The way his eyes followed you around the room like a lovesick puppy?

But Baela knew better than to push the issue further tonight. She could see the determined set of your jaw, the flash of stubbornness in your eyes. You were a hard nut to crack, and it would take more than a little teasing to get you to see sense.

Instead, Baela leaned back against the wall, a playful grin spreading across her face. "Alright, alright, I can take a hint," she said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "I won't say anything more about your little love triangle tonight."

She paused, then leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "But don't think you can hide from me forever. I've seen the way Lucerys looks at you."

Baela chuckled softly as she watched you change into your nightgown, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Goodnight," she said softly, a hint of laughter still colouring her voice. "Sweet dreams... and try not to think too hard about my cousin's brooding good looks while you're at it."

You scoffed loudly, rolling your eyes at Baela's persistent teasing. "Oh, stuff it, Baela," you muttered, feelings of annoyance and unwanted arousal warring within you. Her words echoed in your mind, planting seeds of doubt and desire that you tried desperately to ignore.

As you slipped under the soft covers, you couldn't help but picture Lucerys' chiselled face, his tall, lean body, the way his long fingers would feel skimming over your skin... you sighed, trying to dislodge the forbidden fantasies taking root in your thoughts.

Your heart raced, and your breathing grew heavy as you imagined scenarios that made your core throb with need. But the sound of Baela shifting in the bed beside me brought you back to reality, and you knew you had to push those dangerous thoughts aside.

You pulled the covers up to your chin, trying to focus on anything other than the persistent ache between your thighs. But it was no use—Lucerys' face haunted your mind, and you knew you were in serious trouble. Eventually, something would have to give.

Lucerys stared at the dark screen of his phone, Baela's parting words echoing in his mind. He couldn't believe she had hung up on him, leaving him with nothing but the echo of your voice raving about Addam's many charms. The thought of you falling for someone else, of losing you to another man, filled Lucerys with jealousy he had never known before.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave red crescent marks on his skin. The thought of you with Addam, laughing and smiling and gushing about his every word, made Lucerys feel physically ill.

But more than that, Lucerys felt a bitter, twisting resentment.

Lucerys couldn't shake the sickening feeling in his gut as he pictured you in Addam's arms, your lips pressed against his in a passionate kiss. The thought of another man's hands roaming your curves, caressing the soft skin that Lucerys had been desperate to touch himself, made him want to put his fist through the wall.

He knew he shouldn't care all that much about Addam and you dating. But the selfish, possessive part of him couldn't bear the idea of losing you to anyone else. You belonged to him, even if you didn't know it yet. He had known it from the moment he first saw you in class.

Lucerys had always been a man who took what he wanted, and he wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. He wanted to make you scream his name in passion, to feel your nails digging into his back as he brought you to the peak of ecstasy again and again. He wanted to mark your body as his own, to make sure that everyone who saw you knew that you belonged to him and him alone.

But more than anything, Lucerys wanted to make you fall in love with him. He wanted you to look at him with those stunning eyes filled with adoration and desire, wanted to hear you whisper words of love and devotion as he made slow, passionate love to you.

He was determined to make you his, no matter what it took. Even if it meant playing dirty.

Lucerys' phone lit up suddenly with a text from you.

"Pick me up from my campus at 9am, it shows clear weather for Saturday"

"We should be good to go this week???"

"Let me know!"

Lucerys felt a smug smirk curl at the corners of his lips. This moment was a golden opportunity, perhaps the best he would ever have. It was his chance to prove just how much he outshone Addam. He revelled in his advantages: he was not only wealthier, but he had also graduated at the top of his class, a feat that set him apart from the rest. To cement his superiority, his grandfather owned a shipping empire, a titan of industry. The very thought filled him with a sense of entitlement and pride, as he envisioned himself as the clear victor in this unspoken competition.

With fast fingers, Lucerys typed back a reply.

"9am. Consider it done. I'll have the ship ready. The Sea Dragon, she's a fast one and beautiful."

"And don't worry about the weather - I've sailed through storms far worse than any limits your boy could imagine."

As he hit send, a wicked grin spread across his face. Lucerys couldn't wait to see the look of awe and wonder on your face as he welcomed you aboard the Sea Dragon, the magnificent ship a symbol of his family's power and prestige. He would have to make sure everything was exactly as you needed it to be - from the cabin he would be sharing with you to the breathtaking views you would behold as the ship sailed across the Narrow Sea.

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damn-stark · 2 years ago

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Chapter 8 Chateau

Chapter 8 of Moonlight

A/N- You and young Rhaenyra would’ve been the bestest of friends.

Warning- Swearing, angst, NFSW, quickie before mc leaves, FLUFF, talks of blood, death, miscarriage, pregnancy, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 1x08-1x10

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

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“…and he said to me, well you’re sort of beautiful. So I look at him confused.” You tell Rhaena and Baela about a memory from your years in Winterfell. “I'm like, I'm either one or the other, tell me if I should be offended or touched.”

Rhaena giggles and leans in closer to you. “What did he say?”

You grab onto the edge of the dinner table and lean in between the both of them to whisper. “He went on to throw up on himself,” you grumble and Baela and Rhaena groan in disgust.

“But! The next day he said the same thing to another girl, so,” you snicker, “my friends and I grabbed him after he blacked out and laid him in front of Astraea. When he woke up he shit his pants in front of all the ladies he had been hitting on.”

The three of you burst out laughing at your story, causing Jacaerys to shove himself between Baela and you. “What’s so funny?” He probes.

You part your lips to answer, but Baela cuts him off. “Lady business.”

You peer over at him and snicker.

“Well,” he counters nonchalantly and smirks. “I suppose I won’t share what I just told Lucerys.”

Your curiosity piques and without an ounce of hesitation, you look back at him, noticing him looking all smug.

However, before he can even try and share his part, the hall doors open and guards carrying your grandfather in a chair walk in, silencing the chatter that fills the room, and making everyone, including you, stand from their seats in respect of the King's arrival.

“Tell us later,” you whisper to your brother.

He leans over and counters. “As long as you tell me what you shared.”

You meet his gaze from the corner of your eyes and nod in agreement. You then return your focus to the King getting carried to his spot in the middle of the table, and only return to your spot beside Aemond once the King is put down.

“How good it is,” your grandfather interjects in his raspy voice. “To see you all tonight…together.” He finishes strong and takes a moment to examine everyone gathered around the table.

“Prayer before we begin?” Alicent cuts in.

Your grandfather turns his head to look at his wife and nods. “Yes,” he whispers.

You sigh and clasp your hands together over the table, but you don’t close your eyes like Alicent and her family do.

Even if you do follow the Old Gods, you don’t much pray to them over dinner, nor do you make it your entire personality like Alicent with her New Gods, but out of respect you do stay quiet and listen to her.

“May the Mother smile down on the gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for too long.”

You slowly drop your head and roll your eyes at her comment because after all, who’s fault is this strain exactly? Your mother was nothing but patient during the years she lived here with you and your siblings; the boys only messed around with one another because they were just children messing around. The only reason you don’t like Aegon is because he’s a creep with the ladies, and you, but the hostility? The name calling? That was all Alicent.

So can she please stop acting?!

“…And to Vaemond Velaryon, May the gods give him rest.”

Okay, now that time has passed you have to admit even if you don’t want to…what Daemon did to him was…well deserved. You won't praise the man to his face, but it was impressive. After the disgust and horror passed of course.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” your grandfather interjects once the prayer is done, pulling your gaze back over the table—“My grandsons, Jace and Luke will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena.”

You smile at the newly betrothed and reach over for your goblet.

“Further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young Princes…and their betrothed.”

A grin spreads on your lips and you don’t fret to raise your cup to all of them.

“Hear, hear!” Daemon exclaims.

As you take a sip from your wine you reach over and interlace your fingers with Aemond’s as you remember your own wedding. He proceeds to immediately glance over at you, finding you a hundred times more interesting than the people he’s forced to break bread with and puts his goblet down to lean over and press a kiss on the side of your head, making you smile and tighten your hold around his.

“Let us toast as well to Prince Lucerys,” the King adds. “The future Lord of the Tides.”

You raise your cup again and this time you exclaim. “Hear, hear!”

Lucerys gaze finds you and a thankful smile shows on his lips before he drifts his gaze to Rhaena.

“You’ll be great,” you hear her compliment him, making you smile softly with joy because you're happy she's showing him a gentle kindness. He deserves someone kind like her.

“It both gladdens my heart,” your grandfather keeps speaking, but this time he stands on his feet so everyone can look at him. “And fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world…yet grown so distant from each other…in the years past.”

You swallow thickly and begin to caress the back of Aemond’s hand with your thumb.

At the feeling of the soft pad of your thumb caressing his skin, his eyes fall on you and linger while you watch your grandfather with hesitation as he begins to take his mask off.

You have seen him without it on a few times, but seeing the muscles of his cheek stick out still brings you goosebumps—Not his eye socket though, Aemond and him share that similarity, and you’ve helped Aemond clean his fleshy eye socket before, but the flesh on your grandfather's cheek is not the same.

“My old face…is no longer a handsome one…if it indeed ever was. But tonight,” he mutters. “I wish you to see me…as I am. Not just a King…but your father. Your brother. Your husband…and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems…walk for much longer among you.”

You let out a deep breath and avert your gaze to avoid having them cloud with tears. Aemond notices and pulls your hand to his lap so he can hold it with both of his hands.

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts,” he goes on and slams his cane against the floor. “The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown…then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all so dearly.” He lets out a heavy breath and sits back down, letting your mother abruptly stand up with her goblet in the air.

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen,” your mother interjects, catching you off guard. “I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood…more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with…unfailing devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude…and my apology.”

You grab your goblet again and take a small drink.

“I also would like to add,” your mother says a bit softer this time, and with a smile, she directs at you. “How thankful I am to my daughter and Prince Aemond, you have made me a grandmother…”

You smile brightly and share your glee with Aemond.

“…I am thankful for that every day. To Aerion, may he continue to grow and be happy.”

“Hear, hear,” Alicent says quietly, whilst Aemond, you, and everyone around the table take a drink.

“I will also like to add,” Alicent continues to say. “That your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers…and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” She goes to pause so she can stand up and raise her goblet. “I raise my cup to you…and to your house. You will make a fine Queen.”

You bring your cup to your lips and take the last sip of wine before you stand up as well, causing one of your hands to slip off Aemond’s. “I would like to toast to my mother and family. Six years was far too long and I'm glad to see you all again, I missed you all—And to my brothers.” You smile, whilst a servant refills your goblet. “And Rhaena and Baela, may you share a loving and fruitful marriage.” You sit back down and take a drink at the same time your family does too.

Silence falls after that, letting you reach over to grab some fruit from the trays. When you sit back down and plop a grape in your mouth, suddenly Jacaerys slams his hands on the table and gets up, pulling the attention of everyone to him, and bringing a deafening silence to the table.

You raise your eyebrow and squint your gaze in confusion, but Jacaerys just clears his throat and only provides you with more confusion. However, that confusion quickly washes away as Aemond stands up and stares your brother down.

“Aemond,” you whisper and take his hand.

Said man keeps his glare on Jacaerys, adding tension to the table. You follow his line of gaze and watch your brother playfully hit Aegon's arm before raising his cup and meeting your husband's gaze.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond…”

You swallow thickly and look up at Aemond again to plead. “<Aemond, my love, please.>”

Aemond blinks and meets your gaze briefly. You think he'll overreact, so you prepare yourself to try and calm him down, but he seems to find a solution to his conflict in your pleading gaze and sighs before he slowly sits back down to just listen.

“We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles.” Jacaerys makes a friendly toast and raises his cup, followed by Baela.

The awkward tension doesn't leave but you slowly drink to your brother's words while you wrap your hand around Aemond’s arm.

“To you as well,” Aegon adds awkwardly.

Now you want this to come to an end before things turn bad. Aemond is already more upset than he initially was. And you can’t just see it in his stiff body, and pursed lips, but he gives his emotions away by pulling his arm from your grasp, letting you know he’s upset that you were trying to stop him from overreacting.

You howbeit don’t take offense to his petty act, you find it funny and immediately put your hand over his again. Aemond slowly drags his eye to the side in annoyance, and you slowly do the same but shoot him a playful smirk when you meet his gaze.

Aemond sighs and looks away as he takes his hand away again, but you pull his hand down and rub his hand against your thigh before you lean close to his ear to whisper cockily. “You can be upset all you want, it makes for a more entertaining night.”

The corner of Aemond’s lips twitch to a smile, but he doesn’t let it show in front of the others.

“Just a little longer, okay?” You assure him and then press a kiss on his cheek before you look to your other side as Helaena gets up too.

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena,” Helaena says. “They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you…”

Aemond grips onto your thigh before you both share awkward glances due to his sister's speech.

“…except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Scattered laughs spread around the table, but you just blink and glare over at Aegon.

“Let us have some music,” your grandfather brings an end to the toast, letting you turn to face Aemond.

“So I thought,” you tell him, gaining his full attention. “If my family doesn’t end up staying long, after Aerion and I come back from Dragonstone, we go to the vacation house. We can present Aerion to the countryside, just be alone and have calm nights, hm?” You share your idea.

Nevertheless, Aemond’s attention drifts behind you rather quickly, you follow his line of gaze and notice Jacaerys and Helaena starting to dance.

“Aw.” You grin. “How adorable.”

Aemond hums dryly, letting you know he didn't like it one bit, so you block his line of gaze and distract him. “So what do you say? After I come back, do you want to take a nice trip?”

Aemond sighs. “All right,” he agrees as he holds your gaze.

You beam at him and steal a kiss from his lips before you face the table again. Yet just before you can grab any food, a shadow gets cast over you, and Aemond’s grip on your thigh tightens.

“Sister,” you recognize Lucerys say, making you look over at him standing beside your chair with his hand out. “Would you like to dance?” He asks and slides his gaze to Aemond at your other side to shoot him a small smirk. “If that’s okay of course.”

Even though he is playing some stupid game to annoy Aemond, you gladly take your brother's hand and don’t even ask Aemond for permission because Lucerys is your little brother. You don’t need permission to dance with him. However, as you do follow Lucerys out to the floor you do feel Aemond’s gaze on you. When you come to a brief stop and grab your brother's hands, you look back and see exactly that, Aemond watching Lucerys and you carefully, as if your brother was going to suddenly just steal you or something.

Thus just to reassure Aemond of his ridiculous concern you offer him a soft smile before you begin to follow Lucerys’s lead.

“You’ve come a long way from dancing on my feet,” you tell Lucerys as you pull apart and continue to dance. “I’m impressed.”

“There’s not much to do at Dragonstone,” he comments whilst you both hook your arms around each other to spin slowly to the beat. “Besides, mother made us take lessons.”

You giggle. “Well, you’ll make your future wife very happy. It’s always impressive when a man is a willing dance partner.”

“Is it?” Lucerys asks curiously and steals a glance at Rhaena.

You nod. “It is. It’s a way to a woman’s heart. For some anyway.”

He laughs and meets your gaze with a serious look in his eyes. “What’s the other?”

You grin in awe and respond honestly. “Attention, so don't make her feel alone. Listening. Affection and humor.”

Lucerys hums softly before you link arms again and begin spinning slowly once more.

“Dragonstone wasn’t the same without you,” he says again. “We missed you.”

You hold his gaze and offer him a sweeter smile. “I missed you. I’m happy you haven’t changed, don’t let anyone change you.”

You proceed to grab each other's hands and dance around Helaena and Jacaerys before you turn back to back, lift your arms as if forming wings, and then pull away to turn to face each other again.

Before you can finish your dance though, you both come to a slow stop as you notice your grandfather getting carried. When he's being taken away, all you hear him do is groan in pain and you can't help but feel pity that he can’t be the man he once was.

At least he got to witness a part of this family dinner. As tense as it has been, it must've been nice after only seeing the same four walls, and laying in bed all day.

Nevertheless, after he is taken out of the room, a higher tension fills the room at the same time a roasted pig is brought in. Thus you don’t continue to dance in a tense-filled room, instead, you point to the table.

“Let’s go eat some dinner, hm?” You suggest.

Lucerys nods before laughing as he walks you to your chair. “You sound like mother.”

You flash him a simple happy smile before you take your seat beside Aemond and watch your brother return to his seat across the table. And now that you are seated, Aemond fixes his chair to the way it was before.

“I’m still here,” you tease him and take his hand once again. “But if you were so worried you should’ve danced with me.”

Aemond hums, making you snicker before you change the subject. “I have something I want to give you later. It…took me a long while to perfect, but I think you’ll like it.”

Aemond blinks in surprise before he turns his head to face you with confusion and curiosity. “What is it?” He asks.

You shrug softly and bat your lashes. “You just have to wait and see. Or I’ll tell you now if you dance with me?” You tease him with a smirk. “Hm?”

Aemond looks at the dance floor that Jacaerys and Helaena still occupy before meeting your gaze and letting out a deep sigh. “Fine.”

You blink in surprise and pull back. “Really?” You ask him now. “You’ll dance with me?”

Aemond nods. “I will.”

You beam at him with awe and excitement, but…just as you stand up, and before you can pull him up, his gaze drifts away for a second, only a few moments, but it’s long enough for him to catch something that pisses him off so much that he rips his arm from your grasp and slams his hand on the table, cutting off all noise that traveled within.

“Final tribute,” he interjects. “To the health of my nephews.”

Your smile fades completely and instead, you begin to nervously bite the inside of your cheek.

“Jace,” Aemond names. “Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” he trails off and takes a long pause while he stares Lucerys down again.

“Aemond,” you warn him without an ounce of softness in your tone this time.

But of course, he ignores you. “Hm,” he hums. “Strong.”

You clench your jaw and fill with anger; not because he dared to say that to them, there’s no need fueling those comments. You're mad because he ruined this supper. Couldn’t he just hold it in and silently just glare and hate? That’s what you’re doing with Daemon.

“Aemond,” his mother attempts to stop him too.

“Come,” Aemond continues and ignores Alicent as well. “Let us drain our cups to these three…strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys snaps at him angrily.

“Why?” Aemond counters and faces him with his cup raised. “‘Twas only a compliment.”

He breaks away from his spot and passes you to stride to Jacaerys. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

You know Jacaerys has a short temper, you know Aemond doesn’t hold back, so you slowly follow after him and try to plead again. “Aemond, please stop.”

Yet now rather than ending up being hit after trying to stop a fight, Jacaerys swings his fist across Aemond’s face.

Your eyes widen in shock, and you reach your hands out to help your husband, but nevertheless, the punch doesn’t seem to affect Aemond, he doesn’t even drop his wine or sway. So you have to admit that it's impressive, it really impresses you, but now isn't the time, besides as Jacaerys and Aemond confront each other, from the corner of your eye you catch Aegon slamming Lucerys face into the table.

Now rather than staying put and trying to plead, as if triggered by your brother's pain and the anger Aemond made you feel, you charge at Aegon without hesitation and quickly slam your hand on the back of his head and clutch a chunk of hair. You then grab his shoulder and yank him back harshly. When Aegon finds his footing he looks at you bewildered, but that expression is quickly wiped away as you proceed to swing your right fist across his face harshly, causing him to stumble back.

“Try that again,” you snap at Aegon.

Guards head over to you to try and stop you, but before they can try and touch you, a threatening “don’t,” is snapped at them.

You quickly dart your gaze to the side and see Daemon stop by you, challenging the guards with his glare alone.

Of course, the guards don’t dare and move toward you now, nor do they hold Aegon back—Not like he made any attempt to hit you back, he just holds his cheek in complete surprise. When he catches your gaze he pulls his hand away and you notice a small bleeding cut under his eye that you had made.

You should feel bad, but you don’t, you actually feel proud that you managed to hurt him. Besides Aegon doesn’t seem at all affected, he notices the blood and begins to chuckle before he walks away.

You scoff and roll your eyes, catching the guards failing to hold Jacaerys back now.

“…Though it seems my nephews aren’t so proud of there’s!” You hear Aemond exclaim, and when you look over you see him stride to Jacaerys, so you quickly turn around to face the scene, but before you can even think of getting in between them, your mother's hand falls on your wrist, stopping you.

“Wait! Wait!” Daemon interjects and nonchalantly strides in between both young men, making the both of them stop in their attempts to continue fighting. He then proceeds to face Jacaerys and walks him back without the need to say anything.

“Go to your quarters,” your mother orders your brothers and cousins behind you. “All of you. Now.”

You glance over your shoulder and watch them all leave. When they’re gone you focus back on Aemond and see him challenge Daemon’s glare in silence.

You tighten your hold around your mother's and watch them both carefully in anticipation, readying yourself in case either of them snap.

However, Aemond then hums and walks away, bringing the entire supper to a dramatic end.

“If you still wish to accompany us to Dragonstone, my Sweet,” your mother interjects. “Pack what you need, we’re leaving tonight.”

You watch Aemond leave out the hall before you look at your mother and nod in comprehension. “I will. I’ll see you in a bit.”

She nods in comprehension and lets you let her go so you can leave the hall after Aemond. Yet when you see him walking toward your chambers you make no attempt to pick up your pace to catch up to him, you keep your own pace behind him, and try to calm yourself down before walking into your shared quarters.

Nevertheless, you ultimately fail when you are in the privacy of your chambers. You don’t speak to another right away. You let a tension fill the room since Vanessa walks in only a few minutes later.

“Pack for two week's worth,” you let her know as you walk to your closet. “We won’t stay long. After that please put Wolf in his crate, we'll take him too, and then take Aerion, we’ll ride with my mother and dare I say it…my stepfather.” You sigh deeply.

“Right away, Princess,” Vanessa says and walks up behind you to take the gowns you were picking out from your hands. “Should I pack riding outfits?”

“Hm.” You think for a second and briefly glance at her. “Yes, just two.”

Vanessa nods, but she then stops what she’s doing and meets your gaze. “I can do it. I know you well, I won’t be long.”

You share a soft and relieved smile before you let her do her job. Yet now you return to the tension, but! Of course, Aemond doesn't look bothered by any of it!

You can be upset at one another and he always looks nonchalant, and it irks you! You want him to be mad at you, you want him to react, not just sit there and brood in front of the fire.

“Whatever it is you want to say,” Aemond suddenly makes you jump. “Say it. You’ll bleed if you bite your tongue any harder.”

You clasp your hands together and slowly begin to fiddle with your hands as you begin pacing with your mouth shut. Vanessa is still here and you don’t want to have an audience.

“Unless you want to leave upset,” he adds and keeps looking at the fire.

When you don’t respond, he presses as he finally peers back at you. “Hm?”

You stop pacing behind him and let out a frustrated breath, but don’t start just yet, you wait. It's not until Vanessa is out and no longer in the hall that you start and give him what he wants. “Why did you do it?” You mutter out in frustration.

Aemond remains as he is and gives you what you want. “I didn’t do anything, I gave a toast, your brother—”

“No,” you cut him off and storm around him to stand in front of him so he can see your anger. “No, don't bullshit me, Aemond. Seven hells, you antagonized them.”

Aemond finally meets your gaze, and you deepen your scowl.

“He hit me first,” he spats but in a very collected manner. “Or are you choosing not to see that?”

You shake your head. “I’m not siding with either of you. It was stupid that he hit you, and it was stupid of you to provoke him.”

Aemond blinks in surprise and finally chooses to slowly stand to his given his height as if trying to intimidate you, but you aren’t at all affected.

“I try to be understanding, I always have,” you continue to argue and step back as he steps forward. “I never try to take sides or try to tell you how to feel, but when you provoke them I can’t help but get mad at you. I told you to wait it out, just for dinner, but…” you trail off and shake your head. “You can’t even do that.”

“He hit me first, what did you want me to do?” He argues and takes a step towards you again, this time you stay put, this time you’re the nonchalant one, making him finally give you a reaction that you want because your calm demeanor pisses him off; you can tell by the way he clenches his jaw, flares his nose, and curls his thin lips.

“You hit Aegon, do you hear me remarking on that?” He spats.

You scoff. “I don’t give a shit about Aegon. Your brother is a bad man, he deserved it.”

“Did I?” He cuts in bluntly.

“No,” you quickly assure him. “No. But I wanted you to just listen. To me. I told you to sit through it. I didn’t say get over it, but you started it,” you stop again to catch your breath before you turn away to avoid shedding angry tears. “If you have so much hatred for my brothers then,” you pause and huff, shoving away all your anger with that huff of air and leaving yourself vulnerable. “…how can you honestly love me?”

Aemond hears the quiver in your voice and sighs, losing all his will to argue with anger, and growing weak and gentle at the mere shift in your emotions.

“You aren’t the same as them,” he says softly and grabs your shoulders.

You want to say what he’s thinking; a bastard, but you can’t, so you bite your tongue and watch the flames as if you’ll find your solace amongst them.

“You never have been,” Aemond continues. “You’ve never been cruel to me, not when we were kids. You never laughed at me because of what I lacked. Even when I lost my eye and people looked at me with disgust, you never scrunched your nose. When we got older and I was distant you still picked me.”

…well…

“That’s why I love you,” he says and turns you around to lift your head with his knuckle so you can meet his gaze and show you that he's being honest and vulnerable with you. “Forgive me for upsetting you. I won’t apologize for what I did, I would be lying if I did.”

You scoff and roll your eyes.

“But,” he adds and cups your face to keep you looking at him. “I am sorry for upsetting you.”

You hold his gaze and then can’t help but glance at his lips after those words leave his mouth, feeling a spark of desire coil inside you.

“Say you forgive me,” he whispers. “I don't want to leave things like this.”

You draw in a deep breath and touch his chest. “Just,” you breathe out. “Please stop provoking them. Stop with the snide comments. It’s okay to still be upset, I could never understand what you feel, and I could never ask you to forgive him, but please for me, for Aerion, just leave them alone,” you plead and press your other hand against his jaw. “You are better than that, Aemond. I know it. You have a good heart, you always have.”

Aemond’s gaze softens and he immediately presses his forehead against yours, letting you then slide your hands to the back of his head.

“I’m sorry too,” you add. “I shouldn't have gotten so angry at you.”

Aemond shakes his head and assures you softly. “There’s no need for apologies, not from you.”

You flash him a grin and then gently press your lips against his.

He actually doesn’t kiss you back right away, he savors the taste of your kiss since you’ll be leaving him for two weeks. It’s only when you’re about to pull back that he pulls you back in, leading you into a slow and gentle kiss that neither of you try to rush and instead let fuel your burning desires. You let your affection and need for each other control you. All you know is that you were going to be late meeting your mother and the rest of your family.

“I,” you say between the slow kisses. “I’m not bleeding. It was a false alarm. We can do this. I want you, so I can remember how you felt when I’m alone.”

Aemond chuckles softly and meets your gaze with a smirk. “I wouldn't have cared if you were.”

You mirror his gesture and before long those slow and sweet kisses turn rougher and sloppier, lighting your body on fire with desire, and putting his member at attention for you to drool over.

When he notices your hungry gaze he grabs the back of your hand and presses your palm over his clothed member. You smirk and turn your wrist to grab a hold of his aching cock, but leave him craving your touch, and instead, you strip down to nothing, making him walk back to sit on the couch and watch how the firelight captures your body so perfectly for only him to see.

When you’re left with nothing on but the jewelry you wear, you walk to him and simply unbuckle his pants and pull them down and let his cock spring out and fill your mind with so many dirty thoughts.

Unfortunately, most can’t come to flourish today though, you have to satisfy yourself with one thing so you’re not left in shambles without him in Dragonstone. Thus you saddle his hips and press a kiss on the corner of his lips.

Aemond groans in complaint as he wants more, and wants nothing more but to make each other one, but you must want to keep people waiting because you begin to leave a trail of kisses down to his neck, making a chill travel down his spine, and a wicked smirk to play on his lips.

“Fuck me,” you demand him. “So I can go to sleep tonight thinking about how good you make me feel when you’re inside me,” you whisper so seductively that his breath hitches and his hands fall on your hips to push you down to his aching member because he can’t go on not feeling you gummy walls.

He wanted you since the moment you placed his hand on your thigh, but he kept his patience, and now that you’re in the privacy of your room and he’s no longer bothered by the mere sight of the visitors around the table, all he wants is you; your lips, your breasts, and your aching cunt that weeps for him, that squeezes him so tight he groans in your mouth.

You’ve felt him many times before, but still, each time his cock goes in it’s like the first time; he’s so long.

“Wait, wait,” you pant and take his hand that he keeps on your hip, and bring it up to his face. When he figures out what you want, he grabs his eyepatch and pulls it off his head. Once the firelight gleams against his sapphire you smile sweetly and give him a taste of what he wants by rolling your hips, making him push himself deeper inside you as his breathing falters and his hand slides back to grab a handful of your ass.

“Aemond,” you can’t help but moan.

He bites his lip and once he has his composure he captures your lips and rolls his tongue inside before he starts thrusting his length inside you, making you stop your attempts to suck on his tongue and instead claw his shoulders.

Now that pleasure that coils feels like wildfire. You’re overwhelmed with pleasure in the best way possible, not being able to think about anything but the way his cock keeps rubbing against your walls as he moves in and out of you even if you’re the one on top

You don’t even want to lose touch with his wet lips because it adds to the sensation and the pleasuring fire, but you can’t hold it in, and he’s not moving his lips anymore because he’s so lost in his pleasure; you pull back, but stay connected by a string of saliva for a moment as you catch your breath before you throw your head back and start to moan his name like prayer as his cock keeps penetrating you roughly.

“So perfect. So perfectly made for…me,” he babbles on with a half-lidded eye. “Fuck,” he hisses and grips your ass, leaving marks that you can’t feel because of how lost you are in the sensation of his cock bullying inside you.

You don’t bother to do any work until he fits himself all the way inside and hits that heavenly g-spot.

“Aemond, please,” you beg before you lean back and grab his thighs to start bouncing for him, leaving you in a perfect angle for him to watch how your tits bounce with your delicious movements.

He could keep watching you all day, but you have him too fired up, his insides are turning and threatening to snap, and two weeks without your touch is hell, so he cups your breasts and begins messaging them as he thrusts up to meet your hips, creating obscene sounds of skin slapping that echo around the room.

“Aemond,” you whine, making him moan to the ceiling and move faster.

You keep whining his name as the tip of his cock keeps hitting that perfect spot that is about to tip everything over and bring an end to this quick goodbye sex. And hearing him heave and moan your name isn’t helping, you begin to squeeze tighter, driving him further to the edge, and only fueling his roughness.

You want to prolong this moment, keep feeling him inside your guts, but the time is ticking and they will leave you behind, so you lean in and continue to kiss him, finding his weakness by pushing your tongue in his open-mouthed kiss.

Aemond lets out a throaty groan and starts rolling your hips for you, bringing you to a stop as you can’t hold it back anymore, a blinding pleasure slams in you, and all you see are stars as you drown his cock with your warm cum. He doesn’t last longer either, he grows sloppier, and his breathing grows ragged until he snaps and moans inside your mouth as he spills his hot seed inside you.

After a few sloppy thrusts, he falls back on the couch and you fall on his chest and hang your hands around his neck.

“I will never get tired of this,” you murmur as you caress the back of his neck and lose your gaze on the fire in the distance that makes you both gleam because of the sweat that sticks to your skin. “This is better than flying.”

Aemond chuckles. “I have to admit it is,” he says in that low voice that works to lure you and tempts you to go for a second round. But you hold back for the sake of your waiting family and instead smile and press a kiss on his shoulder before you pull back to face him.

“Once we move to Dragonstone, you will get tired of me.”

Aemond scoffs. “I never could. Never.”

You offer him a soft smile before you grab his shoulders as you remember something. “That’s right! My present!” You giggle and then slip off, making you both groan and leaving you both feeling empty.

Even so, you take no time to think about the chill or the good way you ache, you excitedly run to the chest in your room.

Aemond watches your naked body with a smirk and a craving for more.

“Since we did get married so suddenly I couldn’t have this made before, but…” you trail off and pull out a long-sheathed weapon. “…I do have it now. That’s what counts.”

You turn around and show off the sheathed sword. “This is for you, my love.”

You rush back to him, but he meets you halfway after pulling his pants on so you won't have to carry it all the way to him.

“I do hope you like it,” your voice grows quieter with worry and insecurity. “And any adjustments you may need let the smith know.”

Aemond takes the sheathed weapon from you with hesitance as if he doesn’t believe you’re being honest.

“Come on,” you encourage him. “Open it.”

Aemond takes a moment and looks at you first with awe before he unwraps the pommel first, showing off a dragon's head that is shaped like Vhagar.

You can’t contain your excitement even if you don’t know if he’ll like it, and point at the gems where the eyes are meant to be. “Tiny green emeralds for the eyes because your dragon is green,” you grin and shake his arm. “Go on, reveal the blade!”

Aemond drops his gaze and can’t hide his grin as he unsheathes the long blade that glimmers brightly against the fire's light.

“Now,” you add as you wrap your arms around his neck to admire the silver metal mixes with the dark metal that is Valyrian steel. “I know it isn't fully Valyrian Steel, but…I used my chain necklace to mix some in. Now you’ll always carry a bit of me with you, even when we’re apart.”

You look at him and admire him using his finger to trace the dark metal elegantly swirled in the blade.

“Do you like it?” You whisper and watch for any slight twitch on his face that could give away that he doesn’t.

However, Aemond doesn't let you read the side of his face too long at all because he lifts his gaze as he puts the sword down and turns around to face you with a soft awestruck smile that he only lets you see.

He's usually so stiff and nonchalant because there’s almost always people around, but when it’s just Aerion, and you, he lets go, he laughs with such deep and genuine amusement and lets his blue eye glimmer adoration that makes it hard not to fall in love with him.

“I love it,” he says before he kisses you. Yet it doesn’t last long because he pulls back and whispers against your lips. “I love you.”

You smile with awe and don’t hesitate to repeat those words that once tasted bitter when you spoke them to him. “I love you too. Now and forever.” You mean your words of affection. Truly.

“Now and forever,” he repeats.

With one more kiss from his lips, you then quickly dress yourself and fix what was messed up. Before leaving to meet with your mother though, you prolong the moment longer by bringing in Aerion.

“Now my sweet boy,” you tell him. “Say goodbye to your father.”

Aerion eyes fill with tears and his pout trembles as your words make sense in his mind.

“You’ll sleep again soon enough,” Aemond assures the cranky baby. “I’ll see you in two week's time.” He presses a kiss on Aerion’s head of curls and caresses his cheek one more time before he gives you attention. “Send a Raven if anything happens. I’ll write to you later.”

You nod and steal one more kiss, but linger in each other's taste before you pull away and force yourself to leave before you change your mind and stay with Aemond.

Once you finally meet up with your family to leave, Jacaerys groans. “What took you so long?” He complains.

You shoot him a glare and shake your head. “Don’t worry about it,” you brush him off.

Since your mother is already waiting in the carriage you quickly climb in with Aerion and apologize to her only once you’re sat down. You completely ignore Daemon.

“Sorry,” you breathe out. “We can leave now.”

The carriage door closes behind Lucerys and both of your brothers squeeze in with you even if there’s more space in this moving carriage beside your mother, or quite literally on the same bench.

“Come on little prince,” Jacaerys says and reaches over to take Aerion from you.

Aerion frowns at him albeit and looks away.

“Oh, I see,” Jacaerys murmurs and hits his hands on his thighs. “He takes after his father then.”

You scoff and shake your head. “No,” you counter quickly and smile at your baby boy. “He just got woken up from his slumber. He’s just cranky, aren’t you? But after he gets his sleep then he’ll let you carry him.”

You lift Aerion to get him comfortable, but before you can cradle him in your arms, your mother interjects. “Give him here, I can put him to sleep.”

“Okay,” you whisper happily and hand her your baby.

You expect him to cry or try to reach out for you, but his eyes just water for a moment before he exhales deeply and gets comfortable in your mother's arms.

“He just didn’t like you,” Lucerys teases Jacaerys. “It’s a you thing.”

You snicker and both Lucerys and you nudge him.

“Sure,” Jacaerys grumbles and rolls his eyes. “Anyway!” He speaks louder and hits his thighs again. “Let’s change the subject to what I heard happen tonight.”

They heard Aemond and you making love?

Couldn’t be, they're not on the same floor—seven hells. Your balcony door was open though…

“I heard you punched Aegon.”

Oh, oh! Good. That was scary for a moment.

“Yes, she did,” Lucerys cuts in with excitement. “That ring of hers cut him.”

You begin to smirk. “He deserved it,” you say smugly. “But I can’t brag…he’s a weak fighter. You can even take him,” you playfully jab at Jacaerys.

Your brother shoots you a pointed look, and Lucerys snickers.

“How did you learn to hit like that?” Daemon interrupts, causing your amusement to flicker with annoyance and distaste—“the swing seemed practiced.”

“From lurking in the shadows like a creep,” Jacaerys blurts to try and get back at you.

You roll your eyes and push him away. You don’t want to answer, but your mother is here and she’s also waiting for your answer with Aerion falling asleep in her arms, so as to not upset her, you spare one glance at Daemon and respond.

“I learned when I was young…since I’m a Princess I wasn’t allowed to train like the boys, so,” you sigh and smirk at him. “I watched everything they did and taught myself to do it better.”

A proud smile tugs on your mother's lips, and even if you don’t want to notice, a smirk flashes on Daemon’s lips.

“Besides,” you add and grin brightly. “Ser Harwin always said that nothing is more powerful than a strong right hook. He taught me how to throw a punch.”

“We’ll see how good you are with a sword,” Jacaerys taunts you, pulling your attention to him.

“Yeah,” you give in to his offer smugly. “We’ll see.”

——

*A DAY LATER. DRAGONSTONE*

Every day at King’s Landing can never measure up to moments like these with your family. You’ve missed it, all of the chaos and the comfortable atmosphere. Even if you have your differences with Daemon, his presence doesn’t bother you as much—you don’t let it bother you as much anyway.

At King’s Landing with Aemond’s family, it’s always so awkward, they’re never together as one. They spend breakfasts apart, dinners are hardly eaten together and there’s always some kind of uncomfortable tension. It’s why you just spend time alone with Aemond and Aerion, being with the Queen, her father, and the other kids is awkward. Besides, no one at King’s Landing besides Vanessa knows how to style your hair.

“Higher. Raise your blade higher!” Jacaerys scolds Lucerys.

“Mother,” you break your silence and look away from your brothers sparring to mindlessly watch the sand.

She hums in response, letting you continue.

“In our family history,” you pause and blink to glance over at Rhaena playing with Aerion. “Has there ever been Targaryen’s who may be…immune to fire?”

There has to be an answer for the impossible things you’ve noticed. A small mention in your history books.

“Hm, not that I can recall,” she responds and reaches down to pick up a golden cuff from your palm to put it on your hair. “We are known to tolerate heat more than an average person can, but no, there haven’t been any fire-immune Targaryen’s recorded. If there had been we would have known, right?”

Nothing but more questions.

“That’s right,” you agree softly and return your gaze to your brothers.

“Why?” She asks and leans closer to you. “Any particular reason?”

You debate telling her what you have been discovering about yourself lately, but you can’t tell her what you aren’t sure of yet, you'll sound mad without hard proof. What if you just have a higher tolerance than others who have come before you? You need to learn more before you can tell her or anyone else.

“Just curious,” you simply avoid the truth.

“Well you can always try the library,” she offers some aid as she reaches down to grab the last golden cuff from your palm before parting her lips again. “You can also ask Daemon those questions. He knows a lot more than I do. He spends a lot of time reading about our history.”

She’s attempting to have her husband and you bond again. She started this ridiculous mission when you climbed on the ship to come here.

And as thoughtful as her attempts are, she can wipe your father's blood off Daemon's hands, her attempts are futile, but you don’t want to discourage her yet so you just hum to keep her assured.

“Princess,” a different voice suddenly interjects, pulling the attention of all four of you seated on the sand—“A raven came to you from King’s Landing.”

The maester approaches your family and much to your surprise he comes to a stop beside you with the small scroll in his hands.

You immediately smile since you know exactly who it’s from, and quickly push yourself to your feet to gently take the scroll from his hand. “Thank you, Maester.” You tell him sweetly before sitting back down to read what Aemond wrote.

“My love, I write to you urgently to command you to return home at once.

Aemond.”

“Oh,” Baela says teasingly. “A raven from your beloved. What does he say? He beckons you home already?”

You blink repeatedly in confusion, finding his urgency concerning. Yet you don’t feel rushed to return home to him; you just arrived at Dragonstone and you told him two weeks. Besides, what if he’s just being difficult because of his indifferences with your family?

Tsk. He can wait.

“He just misses me,” you retort with a smile and roll the scroll back to tuck it in the bracelet cuff around your bicep. “He can stay missing me for the next two weeks.”

Baela snickers.

“I'm glad you can bring out something good from him,” your mother interjects. “Gods know how much Alicent poisons them.”

You mindlessly begin to fiddle with your ring around your finger and query. “You really think so?”

“Yes, I saw it, the way he looks at you. The eyes never lie.”

The corner of your lips tug to a soft flattered smile and your heart skips a beat.

“You!” You hear Jacaerys exclaim, and when you lift your gaze you see that he’s pointing at you.

“Come spar against me,” he taunts you and lowers his arm. “You keep saying you’re good, but I have yet to see it. Your words mean nothing unless you show us.”

You share an amused look with Baela before you shrug nonchalantly. “I’m not so sure now. I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego in front of your betrothed. Just…believe me and leave it at that, dear brother.” You tease him lightheartedly as you cross your legs over the other and lean back on your hands.

“Then you’re not good,” he counters smugly, knowing how to lure you in. “Accept my challenge and show me you are this great swordsman and I will shut up about it. Or don’t and I will annoy you forever and you reign you a liar.”

You roll your head back to pretend that his plan didn’t work the way he wanted it to, and quip, “you already do annoy me. But,” you sigh and sit up. “Fine, only so you’ll shut up about it.”

You walk to your brother nonchalantly as if you're not excited to show your skill, or happy that he wasn't a stickler for stupid sexist rules. When you pass by Lucerys you motion him to give you his sparring sword.

“Be careful,” your little brother says over his shoulder.

“You won’t change?” Jacaerys points to your gown.

You shake your head. “Don’t need to. I can beat you with it on.”

You shoot him a smirk and choose to stand across from him on the sand. “I won’t go easy just so you know,” you let him know. “I will play by your training rules though just so you won’t get hurt.”

“As if,” he grumbles while he fixes his grip around his blade.

You roll your shoulders back and shift your feet in the way Aemond stands. You then narrow your gaze on your brother and wait for his first move.

Thankfully, he grows impatient right away so he comes charging at you right away. When he gets close he swings at your neck, but you duck and then spin around him quickly.

Jacaerys watches you get away and quickly tries to meet your next move before you can give it away, but you surprise him by clawing one hand on his shoulder and using your other hand to grip his arm to shove him down.

Right away rather than staying down and giving you a path to a quick feat, Jacaerys rapidly pushes himself up and thrusts his sword at your side, but you manage to block him and then use your leg to kick him back.

Jacaerys glances down at his throbbing chest and quickly finds you again to flash a bothered frown that he's holding back from showing his impressed smile. You on the other hand shoot him a smug grin to work him up.

And just like you thought, he can't stand your cocky smile, it offends him too much so he comes at you again, and swings down this time, but you avert his blade by turning to the side.

That swift move infuriates him more so he uses his anger to keep swinging, but you just keep swerving his swings.

“Fight back,” he growls.

You click your tongue and roll out, “fight better.”

This time, however, you actually do as he says and charge at him before swinging up. Jacaerys brings his sword over to block you, but at the last second, you trick him and end up spinning around him, managing to hit his arm harshly with your blade before you face his back.

Your brother hisses and grabs his arm, but doesn't stop from trying to attack. You don’t let him move though, instead, you kick him down to the sand and proceed to stride over to him to flip him around and point your sword at his throat.

“What do I win?” You ask proudly.

Jacaerys huffs out in annoyance and throws his sword aside, letting you do the same to offer him your hand.

“Come on, get up,” you offer without that teasing air in your voice.

Your brother sighs deeply in defeat and seems to hesitate, but he ends up taking your hand to let you help him back to his feet.

“You did good,” you compliment him seriously. “A lot better than six years ago that’s for sure.”

Jacaerys snatches his hand away from yours and glances behind you, you follow his line of gaze and catch Daemon is now watching, but you ignore him and focus on your mother's smile instead while she holds Aerion now.

“You…did good too,” Jacaerys redirects quietly as he scratches the back of his head.

You giggle and shove past him to pick up the sword from the ground.

“You did good, Princess,” Daemon interjects, interrupting the pleasurable moment you had been sharing with your family. “But you can do better.”

His footsteps hit the sandy surface and approach you. When he stops near you his shadow casts over you, and your anger breaks out of that little box you wanted to contain it in for the purpose of this trip to go well.

“I don’t need your help,” you snap at him and don’t fret to meet his gaze with a burning glare.

You would have snapped at him and called him a murderer, but you don’t have evidence and you still don’t want to ruin this trip, so you just clench your jaw and stab the sword in the sand before you shove past him and stomp over to your son.

Your mother calls out to you and tries to talk to you, but you just gently take Aerion from her since your anger is not directed at her.

“Come on baby, let’s get you inside,” you whisper to your baby boy and then storm away.

Your mother calls out to you desperately, but you ignore her, and instead of going inside as you said, you take a detour to the hill by the castle when you catch Astraea resting.

“<Hello, girl,>” you greet the dragon as you press your forehead against her jaw.

Astraea growls softly and leans against you, making you smile softly and that frustration melt away.

“Do you want to feel her?” You ask Aerion and then grab his little hand to press it against Astrea’s hard purple scales.

Aerion grins brightly and kicks his feet, he tries to laugh, but he can’t do so just yet so he just gapes like a fish.

“<Goodgirl.>” You praise your dragon in High Valyrian before approaching footsteps interrupt your peace and work to deteriorate all the joy had felt.

Albeit when you check who’s approaching you’re relieved to see it’s just your brothers, and ashamed to say you got worked up without looking at who it was.

“I won’t apologize,” you mutter, knowing that your mother probably sent them to address your previous dramatic scene. “I just need time.” You say and turn to drag yourself down to the ground beside your dragon's head.

“We aren’t here you tell you to apologize,” Jacaerys rebuttals as both he and Lucerys slow down to a stop before you and Aerion. “Nor do I think Daemon cares if you do.”

You turn Aerion around so he can face you, and begin making faces at him so he can smile.

“We've come to tell you that we understand,” Lucerys shares, making you blink repeatedly. “We understand your anger and distance.”

You keep a lighthearted expression for Aerion’s sake, but your voice tells your anger and sadness. “How can you do it? Look at him in the eye every day after what he did?” You can’t help but ask without even a little explanation, you were angry, but they’re also old now, they grasp things better, they understand a lot more than before, and they must suspect what you do.

“What did he do?” Lucerys asks innocently, but you don’t hold back for his sake.

“He killed father to marry mother.”

“Your father,” Jacaerys deadpans. “Laenor was only your father.”

You snap your head to the side and look at him with a pointed glare. “Does that matter? He still raised you, he was still there and Daemon took him away. So how can you do it? Because I can’t…look him in the eye without thinking of father, without wanting to kill him.”

Jacaerys and Lucerys share a brief look before they sit with you. They remain silent for a while, most likely trying to find what to say to try and ease the pain you express to them for the first time.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought about that,” Jacaerys admits softly. “I don’t trust Daemon, but there’s nothing we can do about theories. We have no evidence, and he…makes mother happy.”

You sigh deeply and look down at Aerion watching you. “I know,” you whisper and look up at the sky to avoid crying. “I just have to suck it up. But…you don’t think I’m mad for holding that against him right?” You can't help but ask and look at both of your brothers and wait.

Lucerys meets your gaze and a variety of emotions run behind his eyes before he slowly shakes his head. “No, we—I understand why you’re angry, and it’s okay. You can be mad at him all you want.”

You hold his gaze before you share a soft admiring grin. “You've really grown up, huh?”

Lucerys scoffs softly. “It’s been six years,” he says timidly nonetheless.

You nod slowly in comprehension and glance down at Aerion with a soft smile before you glance at your brothers. “Thank you for coming up to talk to me, and trying to understand.”

Lucerys offers you a soft smile, and Jacaerys averts his gaze to interject. “We stand with you, sister. We need you to know that.” He goes quiet and slowly lowers his gaze to lock his eyes on you and finish. “On this matter, and all the others you may face.”

Lucerys nods in agreement, making your eyes fill with happy tears. “Thank you,” you mewl.

“Don’t cry,” Jacaerys mumbles uncomfortably.

You laugh and shake your head. “I won’t.”

You wipe away a stray tear and hide your face by looking down at Aerion putting a strand of your hair in his mouth. “Just let me enjoy this moment.”

At least now you know you don’t stand alone in the anger against Daemon.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

The difference between Jacaerys and Lucery's fighting style is that Lucerys is a bit too gentle and too slow, and Jacaerys is too angry and doesn’t try to be tactical. Jacaerys puts up a fight unlike Lucerys, who leaves himself too open. It’s why you find a way to shove his dominant hand before you raise your leg and kick him back on the sand.

“Lucerys,” you breathe out slowly.

Said boy groans and manages to hastily push himself up. “I know,” he grumbles in disappointment.

You walk over to him and grab his arm to help him to his feet. “You left yourself too open,” you point out the mistakes you caught. “Don’t think too much about it either, or else your enemy will get you a lot faster.”

Lucerys nods in comprehension and you can't stay too stoic, you offer him a small smile and pat his shoulder. “You did better this time though.” You assure him before you walk past him.

“You are speaking to him too gently,” Jacaerys scolds you as he takes your spot across Lucerys. “He won’t get any better that way.”

You spin around as you walk past him and shrug. “He won’t learn anything if you’re mean either,” you counter and plop yourself on the sand to watch Jacaerys spar against Lucerys now.

Once again Jacaerys is too aggressive, and Lucerys is too slow to catch up to his brother. It’s almost too hard to watch, you hate seeing Lucerys get hurt, but you watch for his sake so you can teach him his mistakes in ways Jacaerys is too impatient to do.

“What. Was. That?” Jacaerys spats as he shoves Lucerys to the ground.

“I'm sorry,” Lucerys grunts.

“You might go easier on him, my Prince,” an older Kingsguard knight interjects as he walks to your brothers. “So he can learn what you’re trying to teach.”

You hum in agreement.

“Your lady mother needs to see you!” The sound of your grandmother's voice carries out through the wind, stealing everyone’s attention and catching all of you by surprise. “The three of you!”

You had seen Meleys arrive not so long ago, but her armor wasn’t something you expected her to be wearing. Nor did you expect her to come see you all so soon. Should it be concerning?

“Is everything all right?” You ask your grandmother once you reach her under the cave.

Your grandmother Rhaenys lets out a deep sigh and points to where the castle is. “Go on, she needs you.”

That didn’t help anything whatsoever.

“All—”

“Have you received any news from your husband?” She cuts you off.

You blink in confusion and answer quietly. “No. Just a raven to demand me back home…why?”

She simply holds your gaze and answers nonchalantly. “I’m sure your mother will explain. Now go, all three of you.”

You share a concerned look with your brothers before you hurry into the castle and do as she says. Once inside you look out for anything suspicious, but Dragonstone is quiet as usual, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

That is true until you begin to approach your mother's chambers because as soon as you get close you hear grunts and cries of pain echoing out. When you make it inside her quarters you instantly freeze as you notice she’s in a birthing gown, bathed in sweat, and grabbing onto her waist to ease whatever pain she can.

“Mother?” Jacaerys calls out because you can’t muster even a breath.

“Fuck,” your mother groans.

The babe isn’t meant to come out yet.

“Princess,” Maester Gerardys calls out to your mother distracted by her pain.

When she slowly turns to face you and your brothers, you let out a shaky breath and climb down the stone stairs to fall by Jacaerys side and be under your mother's gaze as well.

“Your grandsire, King Viserys, has passed,” she announces with strain, making you gasp.

“V-Viserys?” Lucerys repeats in disbelief, whilst you try to progress the tragic news in silence.

Is that why—Aemond knew, didn't he? That’s why he wanted you home only a day after you left. He knew and he didn’t say a thing.

“The Greens have repudiated the succession,” your mother adds what was beginning to come across your mind. “And claimed the Iron Throne.”

The maester leaves hastily, and more grief piles on you, making it hard to breathe properly.

“Aegon has been crowned King.”

That drunk, rapist with no sense of any kind of responsibility?

“What is to be done about it?” Jacaerys asks what ran through your mind.

“Nothing yet,” your mother says.

“Where is Daemon?”

“I don’t know,” your mother's voice quivers. “Gone to madness.” She shakes her head. “Gone to plot his war.”

“Leave daemon with me,” Jacaerys cuts in and turns on his heels to storm off, taking Lucerys with him, while you stay there frozen to your spot, trying to wrap your mind around your grandfather's death and Aemond’s betrayal.

“Jace,” your mother calls out, but he doesn’t stop—“Jacaerys!”

You blink and slowly look at the entrance and watch him stop and turn to face your mother.

“Whatever claim remains to me,” she says through her pain. “You are now its heir. Naught is to be done but by my command.”

Jacaerys nods stiffly and lingers there for a few more seconds before he walks away to do as he had thrown out moments ago, and you…you look back at your mother and feel your heart sink. Whatever grief and anger you feel over the news, you shove that aside for now and rush to her side.

“I’m here,” you assure her as she begins grunting and crouching down. “I’m here.”

You grab her arm and hook it around your neck. “We should try sitting down, or lying,” you suggest.

Your mother shakes her head and clutches onto your shoulder as another wave of pain hits her.

What could you do to ease her pain? What can you do to make her feel more comfortable at this very moment? She cries and groans, she paces mindlessly trying to relieve herself of the pain, but the babe refuses to come out.

You’ve been through the pain of birth now, you know how much it hurts to have someone come out of your own body. You’ve also witnessed it after Lady Arra suffered through it for hours, but at this very moment, as your mother suffers through early labor, labor is still something you can’t comprehend, something you can’t find words for.

No matter how much you plead to let her ladies-in-waiting help her, she refuses. She refuses water and doesn't let you lay her down. All you can do is walk with her, hold her as she pushes, and hear her as the pain seems to become worse. She even calls out for Daemon, probably so he can comfort her, or so she can give him orders, but he never comes.

Not like that surprises you, not because of how you think he might be, but because he is a man. Men aren’t usually a part of the labor process, Cregan wasn’t there for Arra, and Aemond only came to you after you asked for him; you were so afraid you were going to die and Alicent refused to let your mother go to you, so all you wanted then was Aemond.

You can’t lie and say Cregan didn’t come to mind, he always had a way to comfort you with so much ease. He didn’t struggle like Aemond did, but you never let his name slip when you were on your birthing bed. And when Aemond was there you were grateful that he was and that he found it in himself to try as best as he could. So maybe that’s all you can do now too, try your best for your mother.

You rub her back and move her hair behind her shoulders so it isn’t bothering her. You let her squeeze your hand as hard as she wants and never let her go. There comes a point through her painful pushing that she finally lets you drag her down to the ground, but you can hear her cries are full of much more heightened pain, and the blood that stained the bottom half of her body becomes much more.

“Princess let us help you,” her handmaiden, Elinda pleads, but your mother doesn’t pay them any attention.

“Get out!” She bellows as she lifts her gown. “Get out!”

“Princess please.”

You slide your mother's arm off your body and crawl forward to help her, but she pushes away from you.

“Mother,” you beg between tears you try your hardest to fight away.

“Let us help you,” Elinda continues to press.

Your mother reaches out for your hand, and you quickly return to her side and let her clutch onto you as she screams sharply while she pushes out harder.

Now, however, with this push, blood pours out from her, surrounding your feet and staining the sheer white gown you put over your black training outfit. You want to help her pull the babe out, but she refuses your help and pulls out the baby herself with a long and painful cry.

The moment the baby girl comes out, that pain that riddled her body seems to ease, but the grief that hits her upon seeing the babe is probably worse than her pain.

The babe is so small, her bones are clearly prominent against her skin. There’s bumps you can’t identify poking out of her head, and her skin is…scaly, unlike anything you’ve seen on a human child; It looks like a dragon's skin. Yet throughout all that observation, you still search for a sign of life, you wait to see your baby sister's chest move…but her eyes never open, and a cry never fills the room.

It’s so deafeningly quiet now, your mother doesn’t cry anymore and the handmaidens don’t plead to help. And the baby, little Visenya is so still, so incredibly still. There’s nothing you can do now but be there and cradle your mother as she cradles Visenya’s body.

You don’t say anything, quiet tears stream out of your eyes—tears brought by your own grandfather's death, by the betrayal jabbing your heart, and by your sister's death before she could even take her own breath.

Even so, as paralyzed as you are, you find the strength to press a gentle kiss on the side of your mother's head and let her rest her head against yours as she sits there.

Who knows how much time passed before you moved, but even then your mind is moving too fast to grasp anything at all. It feels like you’re outside of your body just watching it move throughout the castle halls. And funny enough, the only person you want to comfort you is Aemond; the man who helped his brother usurp your mother's throne. You want him with you, hugging you and telling you that it will all be fine, you want him with you.

Flying home even crosses your mind, you want to run into his arms and let him hold you, you want to breathe in his charming scent, and tell him that you’re not really mad at him for what Aegon did, you know the influence his mother holds, and that poisoned him at a young age. You don’t blame him for Aegon’s coronation, you’re just upset that he didn’t say anything.

You still wouldn't side with the Greens though, not only because Aegon makes a terrible ruler, but because your mother is the true heir, your grandfather deemed it that way and never declared otherwise, his word is law and they broke it.

So much for following the rules.

Alas, Aemond can’t be here, and you can’t leave. Your mother needs you, and…if it’s a war that will break out then you want to fight for the right side.

So after a short bath and a change of clothes, you and your three brothers walk out and join your mother and Daemon for the funeral on a stony hill. Other people stand behind your mother and Daemon too; the other residents who live here, a couple of workers, your cousins of course, and your grandmother stands behind the crowd watching the pyre burn in silence

The moment is quiet, deafening so. You can even hear the flames from where you stand, the gentle breaths of your brothers near you, the waves lapping in the distance. After a while though, the sound of swords unsheathing breaks through the grieving silence. You break away from your stupor and see a knight of the Kingsguard who's not a part of the three that were already here walk up the hill.

“I mean no harm, brothers,” the man announces before he takes his helmet off.

Since you stand to the side it’s hard to identify who he is, so before your curiosity can kill you, you step forward and that’s when you see that it’s one of the twins; Ser Eryyk. He kneels before your mother and takes out…your grandfather's golden crown from his satchel.

“I swore to ward the Queen,” he doesn’t wait to proclaim loudly and with confidence. “With all my strength, and give my blood for hers….”

You gasp softly in disbelief, but you can’t help a proud smile from forming on your face.

It’s good that someone isn't afraid to break away from the man who calls himself King, that someone is loyal to your mother; the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

“I shall take no wife,” Ser Eryyk continues to preach his oath. “Hold no lands…father no children. I shall guard her secrets…obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor.”

You look at your mother and watch Daemon approach her with the crown. For once you watch him with pride and glee as he sits the golden crown over your mother's head before he kneels before her.

Your mother does seem a bit shocked that she’s getting crowned, but when it seems to pass you catch her eyes lift to the crowd as they start to kneel before her and declare their loyalty. Her eyes then find you and your brothers, and they proceed to bend the knee too. When her eyes then lock with yours, you shoot her a small proud smile before you lift your skirt and bend the knee before your Queen, making your choice between both sides clear to her and everyone else. She is your Queen from now and until the end.

——

*LATER*

There are words in high Valyrian that are often used in Velaryon funerals, “From the Sea we came, to Sea we shall return.”

You never really found deeper meaning behind those words, not even when your aunt Laena died. They were beautiful, and a part of your beliefs as a Velaryon, but they were words until your father was the one who returned to the Sea.

Now all you do is desperately look for him. He wasn’t put to rest in Dragonstone, he was put to rest in the sea around Driftmark, next to his sister, but he became one with the sea after death, he is everywhere the water touches, from here, to the coldest waters far North, beyond the tall wall.

Yet no matter how long you stand in the dark waters, all you feel is cold water hitting your legs and weighing your gown, you just feel the cold wet sand between your toes, and a sharp, unfriendly breeze sway you back. There’s no sign of your father's presence to comfort you when you need him the most.

Can't he see that you still love Aemond even if he betray your mother and in turn you? Doesn’t he know you lost a sister, and your mother got her throne usurped? Doesn’t he know you need him now?

Why can’t he be here to embrace you? Why can’t you feel his presence in this vast Sea? You ask yourself in your mind as if a response is given to your inner thoughts, your name is called out and travels over the sound of crashing waves.

You peer back and see your grandmother watching you with a hint of pity and also a bit of disbelief as she recalls his son within you.

“It’s cold, come out,” she urges and only takes a step forward so she won’t get wet.

You look back at the endless Sea, letting the breeze blow through your hair and over your face; drying the tears that roll down your cheeks. You hope to feel a sliver of your father's presence but…you’re left feeling empty, so you trudge out of the water and get met with hands on your shoulders.

“I miss him now more than ever,” you tell your grandmother with a quivering voice.

Your grandmother lets out a deep breath and nods gently as she moves her hands up to cup your cheeks and wipe away your tears.

“Me too,” she makes you feel less alone in your longing. “I’ll say that I see him in you all the time. And in your son. He’s still with us.”

You slowly meet her gaze and offer her a faint smile. Can you say you feel completely and totally comforted? No, nothing can ever heal the wound your father's loss left, but her words do bring you peace.

“Can I ask how you’re feeling? You must be torn,” your grandmother asks out of concern.

You sigh and shrug. “I know my side,” you confess that confidently, but you avert your gaze when it comes to bringing up Aemond. “But when I think about Aemond, my heart still races, and I'm still riddled with my love for him, but…I know where his loyalties lie and that he’ll never change and that confuses me because I want to be with him, but also support my mother…I don’t know what to do.”

Your grandmother caresses your cheeks and then slides her hands to cradle your shoulders and keep you facing her. “I could tell you to run back to his arms, I know love. I know you want to be a family for your son.” She nods softly but narrows his gaze to show determination. “But this strain right now will turn into war. You must think if you want to be locked inside a cage of their making, or be free here.”

You don’t want to be locked away, and you know…you can be certain that returning to Kings Landing will guarantee you a seat in a golden cage where Helaena sits because you can’t see Aegons council trusting you. Aemond would trust you after you took a moment to talk, and whisper sweet nothings in his ear, but he’s still no king. And you can’t see yourself soaring free unless he somehow takes control, or has a hand in controlling Aegon, otherwise they would most likely lock you away, and you can’t accept it. You won’t.

But Aemond…you want to see Aemond again…

“I see,” is all you can find yourself to tell your grandmother, and she doesn’t seem convinced but it can’t be easy coming to terms with your choice when there’s someone on the other side pulling you back.

“Let’s head inside the meeting should be starting soon, that’s why I came to fetch you,” she changes the subject so you wouldn’t be thinking about the subject a moment longer.

But you still have a lingering worry about Aemond so before you can walk inside the meeting room you share it with someone you know you can trust. “What if they demand Aerion’s return? Or worse they come and take him? He is Aemond’s son after all.”

She faces you with a smirk on her lips and she grabs your hands to reassure your concern. “They can try. They won’t reach my great-grandson, or you.”

You offer her an appreciative smile and walk inside reassured. You know she hasn’t faced war before, but she’s still fierce and a dragon rider you’d trust with your life.

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Daemon announces while your mother enters the hall with four guards stiffly around her. “First of Her Name. Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

You bow your head after he finishes, like everyone else in the room.

“Your Grace.” Daemon addresses her.

You lift your head and watch her approach the table shaped like the Westeros map, but then see her come to a stop as Rhaena approaches her with a goblet. “Wine, my Queen.”

You see your mother hesitate before she takes the goblet from Rhaena. “Thank you, Rhaena. Come,” she points to the table.

When she passes by Baela, she motions her over as well, letting her fall right by your side while you stand by your mother when she reaches the table.

However, when your mother does reach the table she stands in silence, you look over at her out of curiosity, thinking that maybe she’s taking in the markers on the map, but her gaze is taking in everyone around the table first before she finally breaks the silence.

“What is our standing?” She asks.

“We have a hundred crossbowmen, and 300 men-at-arms,” Daemon shares confidently. “Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest. Our army leaves a lot to be desired. I sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I’ll have some support there, but I cannot speak for numbers.”

He speaks with so much ease, it honestly makes you feel some sort of confidence even if your numbers aren’t impressive.

He’d never hear that from you though. Tsk.

“We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton,” the Maester cuts in. “Massey, Darklyn, Bar Emmon.”

Not much.

“My lady mother was an Arryn,” your mother interjects as you watch Jacaerys place markers on your curtain allies. “The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.”

“Riverrun was always a close friend to your fathers, Your Grace,” the Maester points out. “With Prince Daemon’s acquiescence, I already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

Oh by Daemon’s acquiescence? Who gave him permission to do such matters? Your mother when she was in labor?

“Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed,” your mother argues. “He’ll need to be convinced of the strength of our position, and that we will support him should it come to war.”

You lift your gaze off the table and drag your eyes to Daemon, knowing her comment was directed at him.

“I’m going to treat with him myself,” Daemon volunteers himself and keeps his gaze on your mother. When you glance back at her she holds his gaze as if challenging him and arguing over what he did while she was abed.

“What of Storm’s End and Winterfell?” Lord Darklyn asks, making you snap your attention to him at the mere reminder of Cregan.

Now Cregan is someone who would never betray his oath, he’s a Stark, and he’s simply Cregan; he’s loyal and you can swear by that.

And well he would also never go against you regardless of how things are between him and you currently.

“There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath,” Lord Bartimos defends Lord Stark. “And with House Stark, the North follows.”

You smirk faintly at the table and mindlessly watch the part of the map where Winterfell is marked.

“Lord Borros Baratheon will need to be reminded of his father's promises,” your mother inputs, causing a knight to put a marker over Winterfell, while Jacaerys puts one down too.

“What news from Driftmark?” Your mother asks your grandmother, turning everyone’s attention to her.

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone,” your grandmother simply says.

“To declare for his Queen,” Daemon assumes, boldly at that.

“The Velaryon fleet is my husband's yoke,” your grandmother counters. “He decides where they sail.”

You scoff smugly and pass a glare to Daemon before looking back at the table.

“We shall pray for both you and your husband's support,” your mother says. “Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake’s return to good health. There is no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet.”

She then turns and drifts the subject away to a different point. “And our enemies?”

“We have no friends among the Lannisters,” Daemon says. “Tyland has served the Hand too long to turn against him. And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet.”

“Without the Lannisters, we are not like to find any allies west of the Golden Tooth.”

“No,” Daemon quickly agrees before ducking his head and continuing. “The Riverlands are essential, Your Grace.”

“Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace,” a Lord cuts in, “but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.”

You pick up your gaze and remind the lord of your similarities with the Greens. “The Greens have dragons as well. Older dragons.”

“They have three adults,” Daemon keeps cutting in. “By my count. We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your daughter has Astraea, and your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes.”

Tyraxes? He’s a baby and too small, as well as Joffrey. He can’t possibly want little Joffrey fighting against three old and experienced dragons.

“Baela has Moondancer.”

“Daemon,” your mother argues. “None of our dragons have been to war.”

Without addressing that comment Daemon keeps going about more dragons. “There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmount, still riderless. Then there are the three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.”

“And who is to ride them?” Your mother asks what you’re thinking.

“Dragonstone has 14 to their 4. I also have a score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmount.”

And what good will that do? Does he want his toddler sons and your infant son to control hatchlings? Tsk, please.

“Now,” Daemon continues as he grabs a marker. “We need a place to gather. A toehold large enough to house a sizable host.”

He places the marker down and without as much as counseling the Queen he shares his plan. “Here, at Harrenhal. We cut off the west, surround King’s Landing with the dragons and we can have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.”

You swallow thickly and even if it’s absurd you still worry about Aemond.

“Your Grace,” Ser Eryyk interjects as he strides over. “A ship has been sighted offshore, a lone galleon, flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon.”

The Greens.

“Alert the watchtowers,” once again Daemon gives commands as if he’s King or hand of the Queen. He’s nothing but the simple Prince Consort—“sight the skies.” He takes his sword and storms out, leaving your mother behind.

“Mother,” you say and turn to face her.

“I’ll have Aerion brought in,” she tells you right away while she turns to face you. “I doubt there will be any sort of force, but we need to be assured and I will feel safe if you and Aerion stayed with Jacaerys and the guards.”

You sigh deeply and don’t feel unease until she leaves. Of course, only minutes later Vanessa is brought in with Aerion, but you only grow more worried. You do feel safe with Jacaerys, and you can protect yourself too…unless it’s against Aemond, but it’s doubtful he’ll make an appearance today.

You wait and watch the skies for Vhagar, from a nearby balcony, but as expected he doesn’t show. Your mother eventually returns and brings with her a list of commands given by Lord Otto, and amongst those demands is the immediate release of Aerion and you, as if you were captive here with your mother.

Ultimately though it is up to you, your mother gives you the choice to return to King’s Landing. But being loud and intrusive as he is, Daemon refuses to give you a choice, he finds no need for you to make a choice, or a “stupid choice.”. You’re needed here, he says.

But maybe he just wants to use you because he knows how important Aerion is to Aemond.

Your mother sees right through her husband but says nothing in that regard, at least not in public.

You could run away, you don’t want to be used by Daemon, and he wouldn’t be able to stop you. You can’t imagine it’s that hard to sneak out of Dragonstone. It’s true you don’t know the layout of this castle-like you know the Red Keep, but it can’t be hard.

But you don’t run away even if you’re tempted to go to Aemond. Not to join his side, but to talk to him about all this madness, to well…ease some sense into him.

But you don’t go. Eventually, morning rolls around and you sneak off for a short flight, but you still don’t leave, even if the sky is open and Astraea will do as you please.

“Again!” Jacaerys’ annoying and scolding hits your ears. “This is the third time Mother has sent me to come fetch you.”

You roll your eyes and spin on your heels to skip over and hook your arm around his to lead him to the castle. “Relax, brother, I was just walking and catching some air.”

“In the skies,” he spats. “You were flying on Astraea all morning. Mother told you to keep out of the skies. Have you even gone to see Lord Corlys? He’s here you know.”

You nod. “I know, but he was asleep. I was waiting until he woke up to visit him.”

“Well,” Jacaerys scoffs. “Now you have to wait until after the meeting. Mother is expecting you.”

You sigh. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

“You said you wanted to be a part of this,” Jacaerys continues to use that stern voice on you. “Well be a part of it.”

When you enter that hall though you’re consumed by the chaos you just wanted a small escape from. Everyone is talking over one another, pacing around the table, and shouting ideas. It doesn’t come to a stop until Ser Erryk cuts them all off with a booming announcement. “The Lord of the Tides, Lord Corlys Velaryon…”

You lift your gaze and see your grandfather on top of the stairs with a cane and a bandage around his neck. It’s an odd sight seeing such a great man wounded, but it’s the reality of war. He’s lucky he even lived.

“…and his wife, the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

You clasp your hands in front of you and begin to fiddle with the ring around your finger as you watch her, your grandfather, and your cousins trailing behind them, walk down the stairs so formally.

“My lords,” your grandfather greets the men around the table once he’s down the stairs.

“Lord Corlys,” your mother greets the Lord. “It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again.”

“I’m very sorry about your father, Princess,” he says, “he was a good man.” He then turns and faces the painted table to look around at all the faces gathered. “Where is Daemon?” He asks.

“There were other concerns which demanded the Prince’s attention,” your mother responds.

Your grandfather simply hums and passes your mother without as much as bowing, or addressing her as her proper title; Queen. He just walks past her as if she’s another one of the men.

“Your declared allies?” He points out to the few golden markers.

Your mother nods and approaches the table once more. “Yes.”

“Too few to win a war for the throne.”

Your mother spares him a quick glance before countering. “Well, we would also hope to have the support of houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark.”

“Hope…” your grandfather cuts in. “Is the fool's ally.”

You stop fiddling with the ring and lock eyes with your mother before she returns her gaze to Lord Corlys and hardens it. “Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me.”

“As did House Hightower,” your grandfather points out. “If I remember.”

“As did you, Lord Corlys,” your mother redirects with some spite that makes you proud.

Said man stays quiet for a moment, he looks back at you, your brothers standing by you, and your cousins standing by their betrothed for a brief second before focusing back on your mother.

“Your father's realm…” your grandfather interjects loudly. “Was one of justice and honor. Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand,” he makes clear as he proceeds to fix his stance. “You have the full support of our fleet and house. Your Grace.”

Finally.

You can’t help but share a small, faint smile at the sound of his words. Knowing the man he is, and how it’s rumored his son died, you didn’t think he’d bend the knee to your mother, but he did. Thank the gods.

“You honor me Lord Corlys,” your mother thanks him with a much softer look. “Princess Rhaenys,” she says behind her. “But,” she once again addresses the crowd. “As I said to my bannermen. I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war is first, stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand.”

“You do not mean to act?” Your grandfather questions.

“Taking caution,” your mother clarifies. “Does not mean standing fast. I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war.”

Your proud smile for your mother widens at the sound of her determination.

“The consequence of my…near demise in the Stepstones…is that we now control them,” your grandfather announces. “I took care to fully garrison the territory this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already. The tiarchy has been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours. If we…further seal the Gullet.” Your grandfather points to the areas on the map. “We can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King’s Landing.”

“I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself.” Your grandmother volunteers herself, seeming to surprise your mother that she did not need to command her, that it was out of her free will.

“When we drain the Narrow Sea,” Lord Bartimos interjects. “We can surround King’s Landing. Lay siege to the Red Keep and force the Greens surrender.”

It’s easier said than done, isn’t it? Aemond has the biggest dragon who has seen and been a part of war. Aegon, you must admit, has a good bond with Sunfyre, and Daeron…well you don’t know him well, but his dragon can be as impressive. You’ll have to deal with them first.

“If we are to have enough swords to surround King’s Landing,” your mother inputs. “We must secure the support of Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm’s End.”

“I’ll prepare the ravens, Your Grace,” the maester assures her, albeit you aren’t convinced by that or sitting at home, and you know your brothers feel the same.

“No,” you break your silence, “we should bare those messages. In my five years at Winterfell, I grew to befriend Lord Stark, and become familiar with Winterfell, I’m sure I can speak to him and gain his support.”

“Besides,” Jacaerys stands tall and finishes your sentence. “Dragons can fly faster than ravens and they’re more convincing. Send us.”

Sure you said that you needed to leave Cregan alone, but this is war and he is a loyal man so if it’s sides he needs to choose, he might sway easier to yours if you speak to him.

“The Princess and the Prince are right,” your grandfather supports your suggestion, surprisingly enough. “Your Grace.”

Your mother holds your gaze and her eyes soften. She lingers in silence as she watches you and your brothers before she gives her answer. “Very well. Prince Jacaerys and the Princess will fly North...”

You and your brother share a brief proud look before focusing back.

You meant to go to Cregan by yourself, but Jacaerys might help calm your temptations.

“First to the Eyrie to see my mother's cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn,” your mother adds. “And then to Winterfell to treat Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm’s End and treat Lord Borros Baratheon. We must remind these Lords of the oaths they swore. And,” your mother exhales. “The cost of breaking them.”

You smirk proudly and nod in agreement.

——

*LATER*

“We’ll just go on a small trip,” you tell baby Aerion. “Your uncle Jacaerys, you, and me.”

Aerion breathes out loudly and his blue eyes seem to search the room with a sad frown. He’s been…upset it seems today, he’s been crying more than usual, and squirming around in your arms. It frightened you at first but it then hit you, he misses Aemond. This is the longest he’s gone without being with him, and Aerion loves his father. He must be so confused as to why he hasn’t seen him, felt his warmth, or smelled his scent.

But as much as you want to cure your son's longing, he needs to wait a bit longer.

“We’ll see your father soon,” you assure Aerion. “I swear. After we return from Winterfell.”

Aerion simply blinks, making you smile at him. A silence once again fills the chambers, but it then is broken by the sound of your name coming from your mother at the entrance.

You turn around and face her with a smile. “Mother,” you greet. “I’m sorry I just came to pick up Aerion.”

Your mother blinks in confusion. “Pick up? Why ever so?”

You swallow thickly and sigh. “If the Greens find out I left him here all alone, I’m sure someone will come and take him. I can’t risk that.”

Your mother nods and then breaks away from the entrance to reach you and grab your hand. “My sweet, leave Aerion here, we will protect him. You won’t take long but with the way things are it’s too dangerous for him to accompany you.” She presses her reassurance as she cups your cheek and caresses it gently. “We swear it.”

You let out a deep breath and nod slowly before you look down at Aerion with sadness. “I’ll return to you, my boy. Soon, I promise.” You lean down and press a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Aerion reaches out to grab your face, so you let him touch your cheeks.

You giggle and then can’t help but snuggle him against you. “Oh, I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

Before you decide not to leave or sob you place him back in his cradle and walk out with a heavy heart.

For however long you’ll be gone is the longest you’ll be without Aerion since he was born. When he was first born even being apart from him for just a couple of minutes pained you, and now? You’ll be gone for days, you’ll probably die.

Yet the promise of seeing Cregan does excite you even if it shouldn’t. Even after the promise you made yourself.

How will he react when he sees you, you wonder? It hasn’t been long since you stopped writing to him, he probably hasn’t grown concerned as to why he hasn’t gotten a response from you, but will he know of your attempts?

You did write back with short sentences last time with attempts to stop yourself from talking to him, so will he know? Will he be upset?

Hopefully not.

Alas, before you could attempt leaving Dragonstone to be one mile closer to Cregan, your mother asks to speak to you and your brothers first before your departure.

“It’s been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men,” your mother says. “The Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms…we must answer to their gods. If you take this errand, you go as messengers…not as warriors.” She shakes her head. “You must take no part in any fighting. Swear it to me now, under the eyes of the Seven.”

Ser Eryyk brings forth the holy book of the Seven, and Lucerys has no hesitation to respect your mother's wishes. “I swear it,” he assures her.

Jacaerys and you hesitate, however. Only you don’t hesitate because of any objections to her demands, it’s just why those gods?

You don’t have faith in the New Gods, but if it’s what she wants. “I swear,” you assure your mother after Lucerys, leaving only Jacaerys left. He hesitates for a moment longer, but he then leans in and presses his hand on the book.

“I swear it.”

The book is then pulled away, letting your mother continue with the matter at hand. “Cregan Stark is,” she says, making your breath falter. “Closer to your age than to mine. I would hope that as men you can find some common interests. And well, as friends,” she shifts her attention to you. “You’d find no trouble.” She finishes and hands Jacaerys the messages.

“Yes, your Grace,” you assure her confidently.

Her attention then slowly drifts to Lucerys and her gaze softens at the obviously worried look on your little brother's face.

“Storm’s End is a short flight from here,” she assures him softly. “You have Baratheon blood from your grandmother Rhaenys. And…Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He’ll be honored to host a Prince of the Realm and his dragon.” She hands Lucerys the scroll and holds onto his hand a bit longer. “I expect you will receive a very warm welcome.”

Lucerys nods. “Yes, mother—y-your Grace.”

You share a teasing smile with Jacaerys at the sound of your brother's stammer. When he does return to your side though you caress his shoulder and assure his concerns.

“Go to it then,” your mother orders softly.

You offer her one last smile before you head to where your dragons await for all of you. However, before you can climb on Astraea’s back, you also assure Lucerys.

“Be careful, okay? We’ll see you after we return, hm?”

Lucerys glances at Jacaerys and then at you and nods softly.

You shoot him a grin and pat his shoulder.

“You be careful too,” he redirects.

You scoff softly and walk back to Astraea. “Always, baby brother,” you counter sweetly with one last glance at him.

Now when you turn to face your dragon you can’t help but fill with excitement to see Cregan again. You shouldn’t, but you can’t help it.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans

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escespace · 8 months ago

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Addam: We all agree that it's emotional when the compliment comes from a grumpy older lady?

Laenys: She was not a grumpy lady. that was my mom (⁠ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ⁠)

Addam: So... Aren't we denying that she is old?

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lovelykhaleesiii · 2 years ago

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Hey you, I enjoy you writing tremendously and I had an idea for Aemond x Reader where reader is from lets say the last great valyrian house next to Targaryens and Viserys wants to join houses. Reader meets Aemond and she is very witty, arrogant but also very kind and soft with Helena. I would love to see the reader correcting Aemonds valyrian and how he reacts to this (of course he has also growing feelings for her that he doesnt know how to show but he slowly opens up to her).

Hope I wasn't too all over the place and thank you a million times if you do this! Love u^^

thank you, I appreciate that! sorry it took me a while to get this done, I had my last week of work before my break <3 hope you like x

Always Meant to Be.

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,716.

WARNINGS: fluff, soft!Aemond.

A/N - in this AU reader is Rhaenyra's and Laenor's biological daughter, Rhaenyra gave it another go to have a child with Laenor, and that's reader :) So she'd be the second eldest born.

Plans of your future, specifically of your betrothal, had begun cementing since you'd first bled. You were a young maiden now, and as much as your family loved you for your wit, humour and kindness, you were a pawn that could be used as an advantage for this greater game.

Your beloved mother, heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen, and your dearest Grandsire, the Sea Snake, Corlys Velaryon, had both methodically contrived the plan to wed you to one of your Uncles, a son of your Grandsire the King's from his second marriage to Alicent Hightower. Although, the princes and princess were in actuality your mother's half-siblings, being much closer in age, you'd developed closer bonds to them, having grown up alongside them. Although since your mother decided to take leave to Dragonstone, it had been a fair, few years since you'd last seen them, especially after Aemond's incident with your youngest brother, Lucerys.

Nonetheless, they'd proposed the idea to the King numerous times and Viserys was keen as ever to the betrothal.

"A great idea to solidify the union between the great houses of Old Valyria."

And so it was decreed that Aemond Targaryen was to be wed to Y/N of House Velaryon, on her 21st Name Day.

From the earliest, fond memories you had of your older Uncle, Aemond, this union was something that did not displease you in the slightest. Although having not heard of his reaction to the news, and considering that the last time you'd seen each other, the young prince was engulfed in rage towards your family, having lost his precious eye. Your intuition led you to believe he'd probably felt ambushed and disproved of the arrangement.

Although, many of your closest maids convinced you that often no reaction also meant something good.

"It means he does not disprove of the union, your Grace-" Your dearest maid, Penny exclaimed, as she amended the final touches of your evening gown.

You took a deep breath in, feeling slightly less anxious having shed a new perspective on the matter. You were not normally this anxious, nor would you rattle so easily. So why the sudden change?

You'd rationalised that perhaps the haste preparations being made for your arrival to King's Landing, as your 21st Name Day was only a few short months away, the reality was becoming palpable. Your family would attend with you on your travels, until the marriage was certified and only then would they leave you to settle into the domestic life.

Your mother and many septas had trained you for quite sometime, although, you'd paid no mind, remaining blissfully ignorant to your lessons, for a betrothal felt a lifetime away. Seeing everyone's eagerness, and the arrangements being made however, you'd begun to feel the pressure build.

****

"Ah! Our beautiful bride to be, look at how much you've grown my dearest granddaughter," Viserys cheerfully gleamed, embracing you in a long, yet weak hug.

Since the last time you'd seen your Grandsire, it seemed that time did not treat him so well, for his health had deteriorated greatly. Although here he stood, unphased by his condition, he was adamant on sealing the union.

"Thank you Grandfather, I have missed you."

As your mother and siblings continued on with the reunion, did you begin to scan the room for your husband to be, and yet he was no where to be seen.

In fact the only one present, excluding Viserys and Alicent, was Helaena, who seemed much more excited for you and Aemond than you had yourself.

"Oh, thank the Gods, that you are to marry Aemond. I always did see you more as a sister than as my niece!"

As she released you from her hug, she'd noticed your friendly smile fade, and did not waste a second to question.

"Well, since my arrival I have not yet seen Aemond, nor has he sought me out, and he is the one I am to marry. Is he not keen on the marriage?" You uttered, low enough for no one else to hear your yearning. You held Helaena's hands tightly in yours, unable to maintain eye contact, as you looked towards the floor and then back up at her.

A half-hearted smile appeared on her face, tilting her head slightly to the side, as though slightly amused.

"Come come now, I will take you to him."

****

The gust of the soft breeze, blew across your face and though your hair, as Helaena tugged your arm, guiding you down the stony steps into the muddy training yard. You hadn't a split second to take study the scene, until your eyes were met with Aemond's.

"Brother, dearest-" Helaena called out longingly, as she braced her younger sibling into a warm hug, before standing by his side, as she turned to face you. Those training with Aemond pause for a brief moment, to respectfully bow out of both your presence before resuming their practice.

"Your beloved wife to be has arrived. Had you gotten so nervous that you'd forgotten? You were oh so eagerly counting down the days!"

"Enough, Helaena." Aemond deeply exclaimed. His face remained stoic, as he slyly rolled his eyes to his sister's childish laughter. Her innocence hadn't changed, you'd noticed.

He returned his gaze onto you. The boy you'd once remembered, gone, as a taller, much more brooding and dignified man stood in his place. The bloodied eye that was slashed out, now a prominent scar remained in place, hidden beneath a black, leather patch. His hair, much more longer now, paid greater homage to the unearthly qualities that belonged solely to House Targaryen, similar to your mother's.

Out of not control, you could feel your cheeks reddened with blush, as Aemond's eye remained fixated on you. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

"You have grown, Y/N. Nykeā ābra sir." He uttered, his eye wandering over your body slowly, very attentive to your every detail.

"That is the natural course of life, I'm afraid Uncle. Although, nyke umbagon nykeā riñnykeā nykeēdrosa, bona iksos lo ao issi nēdenka enough naejot complete se gaomon. [I remain a maiden still, that is if you are bold enough to complete the deed.]"

"Hmm-" Was all he managed to sound, a half-hearted smile gleaming on his face, as he took slow strides towards you, only inches apart, although his figure towering your own. Though, you remained silent and unphased.

"Gaomagon daor fret, byka mēre. Hae nykeā dutiful valzȳrys, nyke intend naejot satisfy se jorrāelagon hen issa ābrazȳrys... Thoroughly.[Do not fret, little one. As a dutiful husband, I intend to satisfy the needs of my wife…Thoroughly]"

Instinctively, you let out a giggle not in reaction to his response although much towards his pronunciation, his Westerosi accent was thick. The maesters in Dragonstone were not as foreign to the proper Valyrian vocabulary, alongside your mother's help, you excelled in the language.

"It seems I already have a task at hand as your wife. To teach my poor husband the proper pronunciation of our Mother Tongue. The maesters from Old Town have failed you, it seems-" Your hand modestly covering your mouth as you chuckle.

Vexed as he rolled his eye, his smug smile disappearing, as he heard his older sister rejoice in laughter with you. His head snapped towards her direction, causing her to freeze, before he stormed off into some passageway, leading to the castle.

Oh, I hope he knows I did not mean to anatagonise him. I just couldn't help myself!" You reasoned with Helaena, who reassured you that Aemond was a perfectionist, and had thought (up until now) that he peaked in the language.

"He is a man grown, Y/N, he will be fine."

****

Nonetheless, your guilt got the best of you. After giving yourself time to settle, and time for Aemond to cool off, you sought your betrothed out. Much to your relief, he was not difficult to find, your intuition had told you to search in the library, where you would find him from time to time as children, his nose buried in some book.

"A-Aemond, dearest-" The tenderness of your voice alerted him, as his gaze swiftly turned towards your direction. He did not seem displeased to see you, although nor did he seem jovial.

"Have you come to humour yourself more with my Valyrian? Probe for some more criticism before making judgement of your husband?" He spat, before returning his attention back on the pages laid before his lap.

"No, I-I do want to apologise about before. I truly, did not mean to vex you. Forgive me, it has been a while since I've heard such accents, I am only used to my family's."

A defeated sigh escaped his lips, before his focus softened on you. He shut the book closed, before resting it down on the wooden table beside his seat, as he stood himself up.

He walked towards you, both his hands gripping your sides. He's pressure was tight although not in a hurtful sense, although it felt more reassuring.

"It is alright, you should forgive me, Y/N. It has been so long since I had been exposed to your wit. It seems there is a lot we both need to catch up on."

One hand released its hold on you, reaching up to your soft cheek, as his thumb grazed over your skin, right down over your lips.

"Perhaps you'll still be interested in correcting my Valyrian, private lessons of course," He uttered, noticing his lips licking before emphasising on the 'private'.

He was focused on you, although his eyes festering over your moist lips.

Again, through no control of your own, you felt a gentle smile beaming across your face, feeling no shame this time.

"Surely we do not have to wait for marriage to kiss."

Your unfiltered response ignited a deep chuckle from Aemond, its sound warming your heart.

"Of course not, gevie [beautiful]. We were always meant to be."

Where his thumb grazed over your lips, his own crashed down against yours, as you shared a passionate moment. All the worries that had previously troubled your mind, of Aemond's feelings towards the betrothal, vanquished.

He was to be your dutiful husband, as you were to be his loyal wife.

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd imagines #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #lucerys velaryon

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princessbellecerise · 2 years ago

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Courting Headcanons

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | Headcanons of what it would be like to have the House of the Dragon characters court you (which is basically dating)

warnings | None

this is a work of fiction. i do not own these characters

divider by @princessbellecerise

Jacaerys Velaryon

Gentleman

Through and through, he’ll keep things between the two of you gentle yet playful

When he’s courting you, he’ll make sure that he puts his seriousness aside and let you get to really know the man you’re to marry

After all, Jace thinks it’s only fair to not keep secrets from you so you spend a lot of time learning about him: what he likes, dislikes and him you

The two of you will often take walks along the coast of Dragonstone, Jace sometimes even splashing you which causes an all-out war

The two of you will spend hours by the beach just messing around in the water, even if it’s something your parents disapprove of

Nevermind them, Jace will always cover for you and take the blame even if it wasn’t his fault that time

He’ll never do anything to make you uncomfortable or even remotely inappropriate

He’s a gentleman till the day he marries you, always picking you flowers and putting them in your hair. Or, he’ll request his cooks to make your favorite desserts and secretly leave them by your door

You’ll always know it’s him because he’ll leave sweet notes, or sometimes even love letters that make your heart long for him even more

Aemond Targaryen

It’ll be difficult in the beginning, and it’ll take some time before Aemond warms up to you

He’ll definitely be hesitant and will be closed off, but the more that he gets to know you, the more that he’ll open up

Your courtship mainly consists of Aemond taking you to the library, showing you his favorite books and even reading to you

Sometimes, he’ll even take you to the Godswood tree and let you lay your head in his lap while his smooth voices fills your ears

Don’t expect any grand gestures, for it’s the smaller things that’ll let you know he’s starting to care for you

For instance, once Aemond gets more comfortable with you he’ll let you see his humorous side and will even crack a few jokes. He’ll start to initiate your meetings, sometimes showing up in the afternoons to take you on walks around the gardens

Aemond will also let you touch him more. Offering you his arm as you walk, allowing you to hold his hand if you wish

At dinner time, you’ll see the dishes that you love more frequently and it’s all because you happened to mention it once to Aemond

He listens to you very intently even when you think he’s not, and he’ll be eager to please you in any ways he can

Of course, he will also be a gentleman and he won’t try anything with you until your wedding night, making a silent promise to himself that he’ll never be like his brother or treat you any less than you deserve

Lucerys Velaryon

Luke will court you through shy words and blushy gestures

At first, he’ll be beyond nervous but he puts on a brave face when he’s around you. You’ll never know that he’s silently freaking out, wondering if perhaps you hate him or if he’s doing something wrong

He wants to impress you, and he tries so hard to get you to like him. He’ll definitely want to show off his skills in High Valerian or even show you his dragon if it means seeing you smile

If he can, he’ll take you riding on Arrax. Boasting about how his dragon is finally big enough to host two riders, he’ll take you through the skies and will fall in love with the way you marvel at seeing the world from so high up

Since he is heir to Driftmark, he also likes taking you on tours and telling you the history of the land you both will soon rule

Of course, he also can’t resist taking you to the beach and sneaking in a little hand holding while he’s at it

On clear nights, Luke will sneak you out of your room and take you to the highest point of Dragonstone, where together you’ll sit on Arrax’s back and watch the sun go down. You’ll also stay to see the stars, excitedly pointing out constellations to one another and talking about your future together with big, bright grins on your faces

Luke’s favorite part however is when you sometimes sneak a peck on his cheek, causing the boy to blush redder than the scales on Caraxes

Dameon Targaryen

Courting Dameon will be fun

He’s a flirt, so he will forever tease you and crack jokes with you that he passes off as simple humor. Of course, most of these jokes are inappropriate but Daemon just likes seeing you all flustered

He’ll spoil you, that’s for sure. Buying all the finest dresses and jewelry just so he can watch you marvel at it and know you made the right choice by choosing him

He’ll even go a step further and offer you rides on Caraxes, showing you the true might of the house you’ll be marrying into

Of course, Dameon being Daemon will try a few things but if you’re not into it, he’ll let it be until you’re married

In King’s Landing, he likes to sneak you out of the castle and drag you to watch shows or go to markets. Basically anything that’s fun, Daemon will want to do with you

He’s also very touchy with you, loving to show you off by dancing with you at balls and placing his hands a little too low. Just enough to get the gossip going but oh well. By courting Dameon, you’ll have to get used to it

In general he just likes to test how far you’ll let him go to see if you both are truly a good match. And if you’re into it—well, Daemon won’t admit it, but he will enjoy the moments he spends with you

Secretly thanking the gods that he ended up with a partner he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys fluff #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fluff #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #lucerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon x reader #hotd x reader #hotd headcanon #hotd fluff #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd

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daemontargaryenwhore · 1 year ago

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At least I’m reading. Expanding my vocabulary. Theses authors are very creative with how they reference certain body parts.

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lady-ashfade · 7 months ago

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Keep Quiet, My Prince.

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Drunk!Lucerys Velaryon X Fem!Reader [Drabble]

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 479

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: Short, Lukes First Time Drinking, He’s A Lovely Idiot, They Are In Love, Luke Being Drunk.

The giggles spilling from his lips when his feet tripped over themselves as you tug him along the halls of the hidden pathways. His hand grips tightly on yours even though they are moist and sweat covered. “Maybe-” he hiccups, “you’d like to share another drink?”

Rolling your eyes at the drunken prince you shake your head, “Lucerys, it’s time to rest now.” he whines like a pup and you’re sure he looks like one. Getting to the hidden door you push it open and let him step inside his chambers, but he stops just a few inches and waits for you. It startled you when you face him, his eyes staring right at you as his body sways to kept itself balance.

“Is something the matter?” your amused smirk does nothing to him, usually he hides in embarrassment when you tease him. But all he does is stare at you and take in every detail of your face, and a spark in his dazed eyes you’ve never seen before.

“I must say you are very beautiful,” his hands flys up to your cheek and poked at the skin, “have I ever said it before? Because when I look at you I feel nervous- Flies swimming around my stomach and my heart bounds.” when he leans a bit to the left you catch him with your arm.

He pushes you off slightly to walk away like his words didn’t make your blush and swoon, he’s never been confident enough to say much. Luke walks, sloppy, and takes his night shirt off the chair where he left it the morning before but his haste movements almost knock something off the table beside him. You rush to aid him and make sure nothing is broken or makes much noise.

“Keep quiet, my prince. We mustn’t let anyone hear you.” He just shrugs and takes off the formal shirt to replace it with his evening shirt, you look away from him as he does.

“Well, I do feel quite tired,” you go to reply until his hands tug at your own and pull you toward his bed, making you fall on the soft mattress with him with a huff.

“I shouldn’t stay-” you try to convince him to let you go but he pulls you into his warm embrace.

“Stay with me,” his nose hits yours, “i wouldn’t have the courage in the morning to look you in the eye, just let me be brave with you for a little longer?” He pleads his case with his grip still latched onto you, how could you say no to his puppy eyes.

“You’ll have me until the sun rises.” he grinned and moves to get more comfortable in bed, his body turned against yours and hugged you from behind. A few silent seconds later and he fell asleep with his nose buried in your neck.

#Lucerys Velaryon #lucerys velaryon x reader #older!Lucerys Velaryon #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #fluff #Drabble #babble #fluff drabble

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madame-fear · 1 year ago

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˗ˏˋ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.ᐟ | 𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ˎˊ˗

ೀ amira speaks! : just a list of the upcoming requested drabbles for the 2300 followers celebration. This list contains drabbles for the HOTD fandom, for Enzo Vogrincic and also for Fran Romero. As soon as they’re posted, they will be uploaded to my masterlists! . . . → Drabbles are still open, from February 14th to March 1st. . . . → Check out my prompts!

˗ˏˋ 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐃 ˎˊ˗

→ Being on an arranged marriage with Jacaerys. Soft smut, prompts 1, 12, 22. → Comforting Aegon ii after he wakes up from a nightmare. Soft smut, maybe! Prompt 7. → Bard!Reader singing a lullaby to Lucerys. Fluff. → Aemond inviting you to dance on purpose, just to make Lucerys jealous. → Rhaenyra’s eldest child!Reader being betrothed to Aemond. Targtowers praising you for supporting Aegon’s coronation. Smut, foursome. → Helaena and Reader chasing a beetle together. → Lucerys teases you while both of you walk on the Dragonstone beach, and you begin to splash water at each other. When they return dripping wet, your parents scold you, but you are still giggling at one another. Fluff. → Newlyweds!Lucerys x Reader. You see him taking a bath and apologise all flustered to him, saying you can return later, but he encourages you to join him. Smut. → Jacaerys x Reader, betrothed to one another. Fluff, prompts 13, 45, 23. → Cuddling with Aegon after he gets scolded by Alicent. Fluff.

˗ˏˋ 𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐎 𝐕𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐂 ˎˊ˗

→ Enzo with an inexperienced!Reader. Smut. → Him encouraging you to sit on his face, since you’re scared and shy to do it. → Enzo x University Student!Reader. College dorm smut. → You re-encounter yourself with your cousin in a club after not seeing each other in a long time and your cousin touches your waist, which makes Enzo feel jealous. Smut, fluffy aftercare. Prompts 51, 74, 75. → Kissing for the first time. Fluff, prompts 21 + 30.

˗ˏˋ 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐎 ˎˊ˗

→ Sharing kisses with Fran. Fluff, prompts 20, 27, 50. → Stargazing with Fran. Fluff, prompts 84 + 112. → Fran admiring during sex the necklace he gave to you with his initial on it. → Taking a shower together, and him leaving you more bites & hickeys on your neck as the old marks are already disappearing. Slight smut, prompts 86 + 91. → You are on a small party with the cast. He keeps staring at you during the entire party, and under the influence of alcohol, he pulls you away to somewhere private. Smut, prompts 37, 96, 106.

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darknight3904 · 7 months ago

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Rhaella is 17, Aemond 16

132 AC

"Oh shit!"

"I'm fine." Aemond waved her off, avoiding the way she reached to soothe what she had just done.

They had been training for nearly an hour and Aemond suggested real swords instead of the boring practice ones. Rhaella had agreed not expecting to actually make any contact with him. She had been wrong and watched as a thin line of blood trickled down Aemonds face, just under his eye patch. Her sword had just grazed him, a result of his left side being blind and his slower reaction timing on that side.

"Perhaps we should stop," Rhaella suggested, feeling guilty over the small nick.

"I'm fine." Aemond huffed, wiping at the blood, and smearing it across his cheek, "I want to go again."

"You are tired, we can resume later. We should have lunch." Rhaella says, dreamily thinking of food.

"Once more," Aemond demanded

Rhaella knew why he was being so insistent on one more round. She had bested him multiple times today, Aemnd must've been thinking it was because she had better sword skills. Truly, he was the better one, Rhaella was just hiding in his blind spot and exploiting a weakness she knew he had. Something Daemon had taught her years ago.

"If an opponent has a weakness, you should use it. It's their fault for not fighting at their best."

As much as she hated the cunt, he was right about some things, fighting just happened to be one of his strong suits. Maybe his only strong suit, besides Craxes. Daemon's dragon was truly captivating.

She wasn't entirely sure how Aemond hadn't noticed what she was doing. Perhaps it was the heat. The sun was fierce today, she could feel the sweat making her skin stick to her training clothes.

"Call it a day, my Prince." Cole's words echoed across the training yard. He had been watching them while polishing his armor, "Lady Rhaella is clearly tired."

She was not tired. She was sweaty and hungry, and she felt bad for Aemond.

"Very well. Tomorrow then, and I'll be the victor." Aemond declared, taking the sword from her hands, and placing it in a barrel for the smith to sharpen later.

"Mmhmm, sure." Rhaella hummed

Aemond followed her back to her chamber where they ate lunch together, sitting on her balcony while the warm wind cooled them down.

"As my mother talked to you recently?" He asked

Rhaella's mouth was full of the sweet fruit from Dorne that her handmaiden had brought.

"No." She said, her voice muffled with food. She rarely worried about manors around Aemond, he never seemed to care if she stuffed her face full of food or sat with a slouch in her back.

"I was wondering if she and my father had arranged an engagement yet." He said, his eye fixed on the horizon.

"For you?!" Rhaella nearly choked on her fruit, Aemond wanted to be wed?!

"No, idiot." Aemond shook his head, "For you. You're of age."

"Don't remind me." She groaned, swallowing her food.

"Don't you want a family?" He asked

"I do...I just don't want to be shipped off like some broodmare to pump out heirs for my husband and then for my home. I want to live an exciting life, not some boring one." She sighed

"You fly one of the largest dragons alive and you feel like your life isn't exciting?" Aemond teased

"You know what I mean." She said

"I do...I'm presuming you want to actually get along with your husband as well." He said

"Yes well, if we have to marry, having someone I actually can hold a conversation with is preferred

"So every Lannister is out of the question then." Aemond said seriously

Rhaella laughed at his tone.

"I'm being serious." He said, looking at her

"I know. You're correct, that's why it's so funny to me. " Rhaella smiled

"Whoever you marry should expect our friendship to continue." Aemond declared

"I had no intentions of ever ending it." Rhaella said, "Daemon used to say marriage is a duty. I will carry my duty out to whoever I marry."

"You've spoken of Daemon quite a bit recently. Do you miss him?" Aemond asked

"Gods no. He has said some things that...come in handy at times. He's a fool but knows a bit about life I suppose." She said

"I suppose that's what happens when you're old," Aemond said

"I am sure Daemon isn't yet fifty," Rhaella said trying to remember exactly how old he was

"He is older than you and I, therefore old," Aemond said

"So does that make Maester Edric ancient?" Rhaella smiled

"Edric is simply a fossil, my dear." Aemond joked

Rhaella hated it when he did that. Calling her sweet names like it was nothing. It made her heart leap into her throat.

"I said to stop that." She blushed

"Stop what?" He asked, feigning cluelessness.

"The terms of endearment! How will I ever wed if you are standing next to me calling me names." Rhaella said

"Of course, I will stop. It was of poor taste of me to even call you those things in the first place" Aemond said

Rhaella looked over at Aemond. He looked ethereal today, even with dried-up blood on his cheek. Most notably though he had the slyest smirk on his face. It seemed to say "I don't plan on stopping, ever."

"You're a fool," Rhaella said, faux anger on her face

"Takes one to know one, my dear," Aemond replied

Aemond left Rhaella with her handmaids after another hour of conversation. Rhaella had declared she needed a bath after their training, her handmaidens had arrived and ushered him out of her chamber like he was on fire. Truthfully Aemond would've been fine, sitting there with his eye closed while she bathed. He hated not having her by his side. Having a companion was truly wonderful for him.

He found his way back to his own chamber and ordered a bath to be drawn for himself. He was sure the sweat was beginning to make him smell. Here in the hot water and soap, he found was the perfect time to think. His silver hair floated around him as he submerged himself up to his shoulders.

Aemond hated the idea of marriage. Not just for himself, but for everyone. He saw how truly unhappy his parents were, even if they acted as though they were not. Heleana was equally unhappy, although at least Aegon avoided her most of the time. His brother was a twat but at least he let her enjoy her bugs and such. Most of all though, he hated the idea of Rhaella marrying.

He tried to imagine her, whisked off to some castle, away from him, with some lord as her husband. He could feel the jealousy simmering in his chest. Aegon had teased him for it relentlessly. His usually drunk brother was surprisingly keen with his observations and discovered Aemond's crush about a year ago. Now, whenever Aegon caught his little brother staring at their cousin he'd make sure to whisper a remark to him.

"You are greener than the grass outside."

"Does she know about Madame Sylvi?"

Those being the most recent ones. Truly, Aemond hadn't seen Sylvi since his 13th name day. He hadn't even known her name until a year ago when Aegon had been retelling his times with her after stumbling into Aemonds room late at night.

Aemond was unsure of how he'd ever find a way to tell Rhaella not to run off and marry some other lord, to squeeze out heirs for Runestone with him. He could help her make the heirs for her families ancesteral seat. If only his mother could see that he was the best match for her. Not some Tully twat or a golden lion of Casterly rock, or gods forbid Benjicot Blackwood. As he often did, Aemond knew what he wanted, he was sure of it. He wanted Rhaella. He was just unsure of how to go about it all, getting what he wanted this time would surely be more challenging than in the past.

Next Part

Hope everyone is enjoying so far. I wanted to let everyone know I am on vacation I have one more part that is pre-written that I will release in a few days. I hope you all can hold on until I return and have time to write.

Also, am I the only one who, whenever Rhaenrya's kid Joffery is mentioned, gets violent-like flashbacks to Joffery as in Cersei's brat? GOT gave me PTSD I guess. Anyway, I'll share some fun pics of my trip when I return.

Comment below to join the taglist. (The taglist is not by chapter, once added, you will remain there unless you ask to be removed.)

Taglist:

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@holymusicalmothman

@koobratzy

@schelfinser

@mizuki80

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robbsstar · 2 years ago

Note

cute crush head cannons w jace ! pls 💕💕

of course, my love<3, will be my firs time doing a headcanon 😃

Jacaerys Velaryon has a crush on Reader- fluff

masterlist <-

-Jacaerys was known for being one of the most respectful man in the Targaryen blood line, also a gentleman. But he also had quite the pride being the heir to the iron throne and all that- ignoring that he IS a bastard.

-He would behave just like his mother had taught him. Respectful and kind. He had never met you or your family, he only heard from Daemon and his mother that your family was an important asset to theirs.

-Since he had never met you before, he of course would be struck by your beauty, he would make it known by lingering his eyes on you. His body posture immediately straightens after your gaze found his and your eyes checked him out with a shy smile.

-It was not a secret that your parents were trying to unite your houses with a wedding. While you stayed in Dragonstone, he would be the one showing you around Dragonstone and making you feel welcome.

-Your conversations would first be about your political views or random and awkward topics like the weather. Though after you grow closer you would share your interests and conversation in general would feel not so forced anymore.

-Jacaerys would be the type to recognize his feeling toward someone and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. Yes he would feel nervous around but he would have it under control- ignoring Lucerys in the backround, the younger one would so try to ruin your image of the 'Respectful and Kind Prince Jacaerys Velaryon'.

-Jace would make it his mission to 'woo' you as Daemon told him he had apparently done with Rhaenrya. His goal was to have you impressed by him and have you admire him.

-He would definitely be the type to get your attention by 'accidently' brushing your hand or hip. As his objective would be to impress you, Jace would gift you either a jewellery piece with a historical meaning behind it or he would surprise you with something you hold dear- like something from your hometown. He would memorize anything you tell him.

-When you aren't present he would make a list- a plan- and listed the things he wanted to show you- impress you with. Jace would so hide it under it somewhere in his room so Lucerys would not find it.

-He would ask you if you wanted to see his dragon. At first you would be a little sceptical about meeting the he-dragon since they weren't a stranger for burning people and sheep alive but your worries slightly vanished after Jace promised you he had Vermax under control and nothing would happen to you.

-Since Jacaerys is a gentleman, almost womanizer- I am a HARDCORE believer he would lead people- women- by placing his hand on their waist or hip while walking behind them. So on your way to his dragon, Jace would hold you by your waist and walk just half a step behind you while whispering reassurances in your ear, making his and you hearts flutter like crazy.

-On the outside he presents himself as confident and sure, especially in front of you. Hence Daemon likes to watch his stepson fidget in front of a mirror, checking his hair or attire for any stains or wrinkles before going to you. The rogue prince would often share the gossip with his wife, Rhaenrya.

-He would want to teach you more about the Targaryen history but most had important Valryian phrases which would make the stories way more exciting. So would Jace prepare and force himself to take more lessons in Valryian. He would ask his mother to teach him more, hoping she would not tease him. Rhaenrya loves her children- of course, so she would encourage all decisions by her sons. His nervousness would instantly be replaced by faith and self-confidence.

-The day would come where he wishes to tell you about all the historical events regarding the Targaryen's, wars and deaths. You two enjoyed the walk in the halls while you clung to his arm and he took you to statues or paintings.

-Since his attention is on you all the time, he would notice your eyes staring at him while he explained a Valryian Phrase, clear admiration shown in your eyes. So he his confident would spike and pride fill his heart AND head.

-Soon the pride would turn into a disaster. While Jacaerys spoke, he would feel your head lean on his shoulder and your hands squeeze his arm. You had meant to show him that you were paying attention but his thoughts left his mind like his confidence his body. He would begin to stutter and butcher his quick learned Valryian. He would feel so embarrassed, he tried to avoid you the next hours.

-He would shame himself and his efforts. Jace would think he had done too much and he was beginning to annoy you- he did not but he didn't know that. No one else before him had made you feel so appreciated, so you were deeply moved by his antics.

-After one time you had finally caught him and take him on a walk on the beach, he would muster up the courage and apologize to you for 'ruining' the day and trying to to avoid you. So he continued to make you feel joy with success and fails.

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damn-stark · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 2 Stars and scars

Chapter 2 of Moonlight

Chapter 2 Scars and stars

A/N- Are you guys enjoying it?

Warning- Swearing, Aegon, some fluff, LONG CHAPTER, blood, violence, ANGST.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 1x08

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

“We join today at the Seat of the Sea to commit the Lady Laena of House Velaryon to the eternal waters, the dominion of the Merling King where He will guard her for all the days to come.”

Not long ago a raven came with the tragic news of Lady Laena’s death not so long after arriving at Dragonstone. Ever since then your father has been quiet as he grieved his sister. And ever since then, you’ve wanted to have something to say besides “I’m sorry”, but you cannot find any words to make his pain any less. Not this time.

All you can offer him is your comfort as he stands watching the guards wrapping a rope around the casket.

“…As she sets to sea for her final voyage, the Lady Laena leaves two true-born daughters on the shore.”

You wish you could offer your cousins comforting words too. And you have shared a few sweet words since you saw them again after missing them, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It truly feels like you haven’t done enough to console them or your father.

“Though their mother will not return from her voyage,” Ser Vaemond says loudly to be heard over the crashing waves. “They will all remain bounded together in blood. Salt courses through Velaryon blood. Our runs thick, our runs true….”

You blink slowly as the words register in your mind. It doesn’t affect you right away, they were nice words, but you then follow his line of gaze and see Ser Vaemond looking at your mother and brothers as he spoke those words, and you realize exactly what he’s referring to. What an asshole.

“And our must never thin,” he adds and only further narrows his glare, making you begin to curl your lip to a scowl.

However, it’s at that moment as well that Prince Daemon laughs. He just laughs. It’s his wife’s funeral what's so funny to him?

Does he know?

“My gentle niece,” Ser Vaemond continues to say gently against the sea breeze whilst the guards begin to drag the casket to the waters below. “May the winds be as strong as your back, your seas as calm as your spirit, and your nets be as full as your heart. From the seas, we came. To the sea, we shall return.”

The casket splashes into the water, causing your father to drop his head and let out a shaky breath while tears fall and hit the stone below your feet. You can’t say you share his grief, she was your aunt but you hardly knew her since they lived so far, you only ever talked to her the times your grandmother Rhaenys took you with her to visit them.

You can’t say you feel grief and heartbreak, nor do you ever want to feel that ache, you don’t want to lose your parents…at least not yet, but you do hug your father's arm tighter and only nuzzle your head more on his shoulder.

He reacts to your touch this time. He doesn’t lift his head, he just lifts one hand off the other and gently caresses your arm with his thumb to tell you he acknowledges your comfort. So you remain like that for a while longer, even as the people join the festivity above you remain by your father's side just standing in the silence of his grief. Even as your mother and brothers go up you stay with him, and he never complains. It seems he appreciates having someone to quietly comfort him. And well, you also find relief in giving such comfort.

Perhaps you would have stayed with him all night if he wanted to stay there, but your grandmother then came to you.

“Darling, why don’t you come with me and eat something, hm?”

You lift your head off your father's shoulder to meet her gaze and hesitate. You don’t want to leave him alone, but maybe he does want some privacy, so you let him go and walk up with her.

“You’ve grown a lot more since the last time I saw you,” she mentions softly. “You’re almost a woman grown.”

You shift your eyes to meet hers and nod in agreement. “I am. Sometimes though, I do wish I could stay young forever.”

Your grandmother laughs softly. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll enjoy adulthood. There’s a lot to enjoy.”

You blink with disbelief and probe on that. “Is there? Sometimes I’m unsure.”

Your grandmother cups your shoulder and stops you as you reach the table of food. “I can guarantee you there is. Once you look past all our responsibilities as women and royalty.”

You muster a soft smile at her words even if you’re unsure whether to believe her or not. You don’t add anything on the matter though and soon sigh and begin to lose your smile.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her sincerely. “About your loss, grandmother.”

You reach over and give her hand a gentle squeeze. Said woman holds your gaze and softens her smile. “Thank you, darling, now why don’t you grab something to eat and go with your cousins. They might need a few kind words or just your company.”

You nod in agreement and do the first thing she told you to do, but then find yourself away from your cousins and against the balcony that overlooks the crashing waters below after you catch a glimpse of your father just standing on the shore. Lucerys and your uncle Prince Daemon stand at opposite sides, each doing their own thing while you just watch your father let the waves crash into his legs.

For once being still and doing nothing doesn’t bother you, you’re too worried about your father to do anything but be as close as you can out of concern. You just watch him with pity, and with annoyance at your own self that you can’t help him.

“Afraid he’ll drown himself?” A manly voice interjects.

You lift your eyes to look at who had spoken beside you and see your uncle Prince Daemon. He looks a bit smug about what he just said too—is his wife’s funeral some joke to him?

Or is this how he grieves?

You sigh. “I’m just worried,” you answer out of respect. “I’m sorry for your loss, uncle.”

Prince Daemon blinks and lets his gaze linger on you for a moment with his lips slightly parted, and then his eyes just partially narrow. You can’t read what he might be thinking, all you can do is watch as he steals a glance at the crowd. You quickly follow his line of gaze and notice that he’s looking at your mother; she has her back turned and there’s other people around her, but you know, you feel that’s who he’s looking at before he drops his gaze and sighs.

“Thank you, Princess,” he finally says after a few awkward seconds of silence of him just staring.

You hum softly and offer him a partial smile before you look back at your father. You were going to find comfort by slouching and crossing your arms over the balcony to rest your chin on your hands, but you then catch a glimpse of Lucerys’s even gloomier look and turn to face your little brother instead.

“How are you holding, Luce?” You ask him.

Said boy slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours and sighs deeply as if he feels the greatest sorrow of all when in reality he’s just sad because everyone is. He didn’t know Lady Laena, nor does he know that….his real father, Ser Harwin is dead—

A fire in his cursed castle, Harrenhal, they said.

Shame really, Ser Harwin was a good man. He really loved your mother and siblings, you could tell that much.

“Will mother die too?” Lucerys asks in a shaky voice.

Oh, sweet boy.

You crouch to get at his level and shake your head. “One day,” you tell him the truth. “Dying is a natural part of life. But you don’t have to worry, Mother won’t leave us anytime soon.”

Lucerys swallows thickly and doesn’t lose the grief from his face. “Will you die?”

You can’t help but smile as you shake your head again. “You’re stuck with me for a long time.” You assure him and reach over to ruffle his hair. “That sound good?”

Lucerys lets out a relieved breath and nods. “Yes.”

“Good,” you whisper and stand up straight. “Now why don’t we go to Baela and Rhaena?”

Lucerys turns to grab his wooden horse once again. “I’ll stay here a bit longer.”

You don’t force him or try to argue, you leave him be and steal one last glance at your father before turning to head to where Rhaena and Baela are. Albeit you do run into someone not so long after you depart.

“Where is your father?” Your grandfather Corly’s asks you as he pulls his eyes away from the crowd to meet yours.

You look out at sea and respond. “At shore. He’s been there for quite some time.”

He pats your shoulder and throws you a quick passing comment, “okay thank you, darling.” He then walks past you, and you look back and watch him approach Lucerys by the balcony railing.

You pay them no mind and then look ahead to walk to your previous destination, having to maneuver through the crowd of guests paying their respects. You pass by Aegon too and hope he keeps distracted by the serving girl he’s bothering.

But your hopes are futile since he quickly manages to run up to you and throw his arm around your shoulders. “Sweet niece,” he greets with his wine breath wafting in your nose. “How I've missed you so. Home is truly not the same without you, the halls stand quiet without your precious song, and the castle is dull without your beauty.”

You shove his arm off you and part your lips to rebuttal, but someone cuts in first. “Leave her alone, Aegon.”

It’s Aemond.

Both Aegon and you look at your side and see Aemond approaching you both. And you both smile, albeit you smile at Aemond out of awe, and Aegon smiles at his brother out of mockery.

“Oh, feeling protective already brother?” Aegon teases Aemond. “Such a gentleman,” he snickers. “But you need not worry, I was just telling her how much she’s missed at home that’s all. But,” he snickers. “If you wish me to leave her alone, I will.” He shoots you a smirk before he turns and chases after another poor serving girl, letting you turn to Aemond and making him walk with you toward your cousins.

“Do you miss me terribly?” You ask.

Aemond swallows thickly and then answers. “I suppose…sleepless nights are quite boring now that you’re not there to keep me company.”

You smile wider at his response as your cheeks begin to burn. “That’s good,” you say nervously, which is odd to feel around him. “I too have now spent my nights bored. Albeit, at Dragonstone in the middle of the night when the castle is quiet, I can hear the dragon's songs. They sing at the moon…at least I like to think of it that way.” You smile softly. “There was also one night when I was out on my balcony and heard a cry I never heard before. It was the howl from a wolf; it was the most beautiful thing I’ve heard. It filled me with so much joy.”

Aemond hums softly in comprehension and you look at the sky ahead.

“Well at home you can hear the occasional shout from a worker or a drunk from the streets below.” He says with a teasing smile.

You chuckle and nod. “Yes, I remember, but strangely I don’t miss it. I enjoy the silence.” You blink and look down, catching at that moment the distant narrowed gaze of the Queen trained on you.

Her narrowed gaze makes you uneasy, but you don’t leave Aemond’s side like she probably wanted you to, you stay and continue to talk to him. “I’m sure you’d like Dragonstone. It’s quite nice.”

“I'm sure I would,” he says in agreement.

You look away from Queen Alicent and notice that you’re now approaching your cousins, and your grandmother with them so you turn and face Aemond. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Aemond looks at Baela and Rhaena and then meets your gaze to nod before he parts away, letting you approach Rhaena, Baela, and your grandmother.

You offer both of your cousins a faint smile before you fall by Rhaena’s side and take her hand to give it a comforting squeeze. You proceed to stand in silence and can’t help but glance ahead, noticing Prince Daemon first and right away noticing he's focused on something ahead of him again, so you follow his line of gaze and catch your mother just across his eyesight.

Why do they keep looking at each other? Sure you might be young but you recognize those…longing stares.

What if he turns out to be your mother's lover just as Ser Harwin was hers, that’d be…well it would be good since Baela and Rhaena would be closer, but it’d be weird, no?

He’s sort of odd now that you’ve met him….

Regardless, you look away and focus back on your cousins before you notice more of what you don’t want to see. “Do either of you want anything?” You ask. “I can go get it for you.”

Rhaena shakes her head, and Baela speaks up quietly. “I'm fine, thank you.”

You’ve already said you’re sorry, so you just stay with them and wrap an arm around Rhaena to pull her in a hug.

She finds comfort in your partial embrace and wraps her arms around you to keep you close as she cries more. You let her stay for as long as she needs, you don’t mind, however, soon thereafter your mother walks over to your brothers nearby. “Go to bed,” she tells them.

“But mother,” Jacaerys rebuttals.

“Go to bed,” she insists as if in a hurry. She then looks over at you to meet your gaze and then points at your brothers with her eyes, and lastly, points at the building, letting you understand one thing; take your brothers to bed.

It's a speechless look, but you’ve learned to read what she means.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell Rhaena and Baela after you pull your gaze away from your mother's disappearing figure as she climbs down the steps that lead to the shore. “Goodnight. I’ll see you on the morrow.”

Rhaena pulls away from you and nods, letting you crouch to press a kiss on your grandmother's cheek before you meet up with your brothers and grab their shoulders to walk them to their chambers.

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

Quiet. It’s quiet and peaceful at Driftmark.

Much like at your new home Dragonstone, you can hear the waves crashing. That sound is loud but it brings comfort and lulls you to sleep right on top of Astraea.

Sure, you were sent to bed by your mother, but it was far too early for you and Astraea isn’t chained up and far like in King’s Landing, so you took advantage of her freedom and came to her resting by the shore. And! She also took no time to gently fly you under the stars, she loves your company and being around you, she also finds comfort in flying under the stars and skimming over the glimmering ocean with you resting on her back.

The only reason why you wake up is because she lands on shore, otherwise, you would’ve been perfectly fine sleeping on top of her all night even if it would’ve been uncomfortable.

“<You’re right,” you mutter to Astraea in High Valyrian as you sit up and stretch out your arms. “I should return to the castle.>” You let out a yawn before you swing your leg over your saddle and climb down.

When you hit the soft sand you keep your hand on your dragon and graze it along her as you walk to her head. “<I’ll return tomorrow,” you assure your dragon. “Promise.> You offer her a smile before you press your forehead against her.

Astraea mewls softly before she gently leans against you, causing you to grin brighter.

It hurts to leave her even if you’re still in the same place, but you must return before someone doesn’t find you in your quarters and causes a panic. Albeit you do take the long way back inside because you make sure to stroll through the grounds and really take in your father's home place.

It is rather small in truth, but it's still beautiful. And there’s a lot of room to roam. When you get close to getting inside, to avoid running into guards right away, you avoid the big doors and find a tunnel that leads inside.

Now you find that it is brightly lit by torches aligned along the stone walls, but it seems rather unoccupied, regardless of the fact. However, you're still careful and walk slowly in case there is someone.

And just as it seems like you’ll make it out of the tunnel without running into someone, you catch the sound of rustling feet against the sand and dirt floor and stop immediately to listen in.

“You will die screaming in flames just as your father did!” Someone exclaims; it’s a familiar voice that seems to belong to Aemond, but it’s filled with a rage that’s unknown to your ears. “Bastards!”

Your breath catches in your throat out of disbelief at the sound of his words, leaving you unable to move as you grow terribly confused as to why he would dare spit out such a venomous insult.

“My father is still alive.” You recognize that crying instantly, it’s Lucerys.

Why is he down here too?

Without waiting a moment longer, without waiting for any context over what’s going on, you break away from your spot and head to where the voices come from.

“He doesn’t know does he?” You hear Aemond snap. “Lord Strong?”

Is Jacaerys there too?

You quicken your pace and finally come across the scene, catching Baela holding onto Rhaena; whom are bleeding. You then notice Lucerys bleeding and crying on the floor, and lastly you notice Jacaerys with a blade gleaming in his hand, and then Aemond with his back turned to you with a rock in his hand. They’re fighting, but why?

Regardless, neither of the boys notice you, it seems Jacaerys is too focused on Aemond in front of him to notice you hidden under the shadows. The girls do notice you, but they don’t call out to you as to not startle Aemond or Jacaerys.

You take that in your favor to break into a sprint and charge at the spot between both boys. And yes, Jacaerys has a blade in hand, he looks the most guilty without any context, but Lucerys is crying and bleeding the most, and so are your cousins. Aemond might be your best friend, you might be partners in the future, but your brothers come first. Always. Without a fault.

It’s why you call out to Aemond first. “Aemond—”

However, just as you get in between Aemond and Jacaerys, suddenly something sharp and hard slices up over half of your face, triggering writhing pain, and causing blood to begin pouring out. And since you were caught off guard the power of the impact knocks you to the ground.

The moment your body hits the ground Baela and Rhaena cry out your name, as soon as Jacaerys snaps from his stupor he calls out for you too, and finally drops his blade and falls on his knees beside you.

Tears escape past your eyes because of the pain even if you’re trying to be strong. “Ar—are you okay?” You try to ask Jace as you slowly lift your face to meet his worried gaze.

But at that moment, Aemond interjects with your name uttered in disbelief.

You slowly meet his widened gaze and notice the cuts on his face that are bleeding as well, while that anger you heard in his voice before is gone now as he sees your cut barely hidden under your hand as you try to press on it.

“I,” he shakes his head and steps forward.

Yet before he can get any closer a cry breaks out in the stunned silence that filled the tunnel. “Don’t touch my sister!” Lucerys shouts as he charges at Aemond and swings the blade he has in hand up against Aemond’s face.

Right away Aemond cries out in pain and falls to the floor grabbing at his face, while Lucerys begins to slowly approach you.

“Aemond?” You call out and sit up.

“Cease this at once!” A voice booms and hurried footsteps rush inside.

You look back and see that it’s Ser Harold and other Knights of the Kingsguard.

“Get away!” Ser Harrold commands as he approaches Aemond writhing in pain.

“Give me your hand,” Rhaena breaks your attention away from Aemond.

“Princess,” a knight calls out and approaches you as Rhaena and Jacaerys are helping you to your feet.

“Gods be good,” you catch Ser Harrold mutter.

You try to look at Aemond, but then you’re led out of the tunnel by the knights.

“Lucerys,” you call out to the boy walking by your side. “What happened let me see.”

Your little brother turns to face you as you’re getting escorted to the main hall, and you see that his nose is bleeding and a bit crooked.

It must be broken.

“You’re bleeding,” he points out as the blood slows down but keeps trickling down your burning cheek.

“So are you,” you point out. “We’ll get you better, okay?”

He nods and raises his hand to let it hover over his nose. You then turn to your cousins to examine them, but it doesn’t seem like they broke anything. “Baela, Rhaena, are you two okay?” You ask anyway through your pain.

Baela meets your gaze and quickly finds your cut and nods. “Yes, we’re fine. You’re not.”

You hum and then try to look back at Aemond following behind all of you, but before you can see how badly he’s hurt you’re ushered into the hall. They sit you down by the doors, and your brothers and cousins surround you whilst Ser Harrold walks Aemond close to the fireplace to sit him down on a chair, blocking your view and only letting you hear his complaints.

Soon the room begins to fill as maesters are brought in, one for Aemond and one to tend to you. Queen Alicent, Helaena, and Aegon then rush in, your grandfather the King then follows and looks immediately bewildered by what he sees; Aemond getting his wound cleaned and stitched up, and you in the same predicament, but says nothing, he watches instead.

After the maester stops your bleeding and begins to clean your wound, you feel how long the cut is; it starts from your cheek and trails up to where your cheekbone starts. It's deep too, or so you heard the maester say through the stinging pain that clouds your mind as he daps the wet cloth on your cut.

You do hope the pain will be over soon, but it only worsens as the maester then begins to stitch up your wound. Luckily Lucerys and Rhaena are holding your hands, it comforts you.

However, you still don’t know why the fight was caused. Like the adults in the room, you’re just learning too.

“How could you allow such a thing to happen?” You hear your grandfather finally ask. “I will have answers.”

“The princes were supposed to be abed, My King,” Ser Harrold says.

“Who had the watch?”

“Young prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace,” Ser Criston interjects.

“You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood,” your grandfather argues.

“I’m very sorry, Your Grace,” Ser Harrold apologizes. Unlike Ser Criston.

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes,” the young knight counters.

“That is no answer!” Your grandfather cuts him off.

“Almost done,” the maester tells you as he impales the needle in your flesh once again, making you wince and hold on tighter to Rhaena’s hand.

“It will heal, will it not maester?” You overhear Queen Alicent ask about Aemond, causing you to hold your breath.

“The flesh will heal,” the maester responds, “but the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

You gasp softly and lower your gaze from the disbelief and guilt, even if it wasn’t you who caused it.

“Where were you?” Alicent then yells.

“Me?” Aegon asks and then exclaims. “Ow! What was that for?”

You look up and see her hitting him, but why? He wasn’t even near, you only came across them because you were sneaking back into the castle. Aegon is a creep, but he wasn’t there to deserve to get punished.

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” Alicent spats at Aegon with unnecessary fury against him.

“What is the meaning of this?!” The sound of your grandfather Corlys’s voice booms in, making you want to look back, but you can’t, so you're just left hearing him, and then your grandmother as she rushes in after him.

“Baela! Rhaena!”

Both girls look back, however, Rhaena doesn’t leave your side, but Baela does meet your grandmother halfway.

“What happened?” Your grandmother asks her before she calls out your name with worry and finally comes into view before you, along with your grandfather.

“Gods,” she mutters as she crouches down beside the maester and places her hand over your arm.

And now that you see her, now that she comforts you, the emotions get the best of you, the pain riddles you, and you can’t help but begin to cry.

“Will she heal?” Your grandmother asks, whilst your grandfather tilts his head to study your cut.

The maester finally pulls back and looks at your grandmother. “The flesh will, but it will scar.”

You gasp and your chest only gets heavier with more emotion.

“Who did this?” Your grandfather demands to know. “Who did this to you?”

You swallow thickly and without saying anything you look over at where Aemond is sitting. Both of your grandparents follow your line of gaze and find Aemond.

Before your grandfather can say anything though, the door opens and you instantly hear your mother call out to you and your brothers.

You drift your eyes over to her and see her rushing over, causing your grandparents to move to the side to let her reach you.

Now that you see her too, those emotions weighing you down find a way out through a shaky sob.

“Let me see, let me see,”

You slide your hands away from Lucerys and Rhaena’s hands to grab your mother's wrist as she cups your jaw and tilts your head to study the now stitched-up cut.

“Will it heal?” She asks the maester the same question just asked seconds ago.

“Mother,” you whimper out.

“The flesh will heal,” the maester repeats. “But it will scar.”

Your mother's gaze falls back on you filled with pity and hurt. “Oh my sweet,” she whispers and caresses your other cheek.

“Lucerys,” you point out now. “He’s hurt too.”

At the mention, her eyes snap to your brother still beside you. “Show me, show me,” she says as she moves to focus on him.

“I’m sorry Mother,” you instantly apologize. “I was out with Astraea and when I got there he was already hurt. They all were, I’m sorry.”

She swallows thickly and lets her gaze linger on Lucerys nose for a second longer before she meets your watery gaze. “It’s okay, my sweet, it’s okay. I believe you,” she assures you.

“I’m sorry Luce,” you now direct at him. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head very softly and assures you just like your mother did. “It’s okay it’s not your fault. Are you better?”

You sigh and nod to comfort his worry. “I will be.”

He grabs onto your hand again and stays close as your mother looks back at the crowd. “Who did this?” She asks.

“The twins and the boys attacked me!” Aemond blurts as he turns around on his chair, letting you finally see the injury he sustained—His eye is swollen and red, the cut is long and deep, and it starts over his eyebrow and crosses across his eye, ending on his cheek.

As the other kids begin to argue back in their defense all you can focus on is Aemond’s wound. The blood is now dry but to your own guilty eyes, it's bright, still fresh, and the cut is still open. All that you can think about is the fact that he’ll never see out of that eye again.

Will he hate you now too?

“It should be my son telling the tale!” Queen Alicent cutting into the kids' argument breaks you from your train of thought.

“He called us—”

“Silence!” Your grandfather cuts everyone off and only provides more tension.

“He called us bastards,” Jace whispers to your mother, making her stand and turn to face the crowd.

Before she can say anything though, your grandfather calls out to you, making you slowly drift your eyes over to him. “Tell me the truth of what happened.”

Your gaze snaps to your mother as she peers back. You don’t ask her anything out loud, but you ask for reassurance with your eyes.

She nods softly, letting you return your attention to your grandfather.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I was not there to see all of the fight,” you tell the truth. “I was out with Astraea and when I was coming back inside I ran into them already fighting. I tried to stop it, but…” you hesitate as you’re stuck whether saying his name even if everyone knows already.

Can you go against him? You ask yourself.

“Say it,” your grandfather commands as he notices your silence.

“I was hurt on accident…”

“I didn’t mean it,” Aemond blurts. “She got in the way.”

Your gaze drifts to where he is, and even if he doesn’t turn around, you keep your eyes there for a lingering second before you continue. “After that is when Lucerys hurt Aemond,” you finish and right away drop your gaze and begin to bite the inside of your left cheek.

“Now you, Aemond,” your grandfather continues as he begins to limp towards Aemond. “I will have the truth of what happened. Now.”

“What else is there to hear?” Queen Alicent cuts in. “Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.”

“It was a regrettable accident.” Your mother quickly cuts in.

“Accident?” Alicent quips. “The prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son.”

You quickly look up and begin to narrow your gaze on Alicent, knowing she was being overly dramatic.

“My daughter was maimed as well, and my sons were attacked and forced to defend themselves and their sister.” Your mother counters with anger. “Vile insults were levied against my sons.”

“What insults?” Your grandfather the King questions right away.

“The legitimacy of my son's birth was put loudly to question.”

“What?” Your grandfather presses your mother.

“He called us bastards,” Jacaerys cuts in, bringing a brief silence as everyone involved takes in what was said.

“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace,” your mother continues. “This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”

Said boy looks back with his eyebrow furrowed in what you can read as…annoyance?

“Over an insult?” Queen Alicent mutters. “My son has lost an eye.”

Over an insult that he had to learn from someone; your grandfather wouldn’t say it, maybe others at court would, but why would Aemond listen to them, which leaves the one person who spends the most time with him, her. He learned it from her.

“You tell me, boy,” your grandfather presses Aemond harder as he gets closer. “Where did you hear this lie?”

“The insult was training yard bluster,” Alicent quickly cuts in for Aemond. “The lot of boys, it was nothing.”

“Aemond,” your grandfather ignores her. “I asked you a question.”

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The children’s father.” Alicent cuts in again, this time with an off topic question, as if she’s nervous. “Perhaps he might have something to say in the matter.”

“Yes,” your grandfather agrees with her for the first time tonight. “Where is Ser Laenor?”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” your mother responds, “I…could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.”

“Entertaining his young squires, I would venture,” Alicent dares to rebuttal, making your face twist to a scowl, and for a scoff to escape past your lips.

Not only that but in the silence that consumed the hall you manage to hear a snicker, you quickly look over at where it comes from and see Ser Criston snickering like a gossiping girl. What a piece of shit.

You let go of Lucerys hand and fist your hands before you try to push yourself. However, before you can get up, a heavy hand pushes you down. You quickly look back and see that it’s your grandfather Corlys.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know not to pursue anything, even if all you want to do is call Ser Criston out.

“Aemond,” your grandfather the King cuts in and ignores Alicent’s comment. “Look at me. Your King demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

You let out an annoyed breath and tilt your head to try and see him, but there’s people in the way so you wait for an answer in the short silence.

“It was Aegon.” He deadpans.

“Me?” Said boy asks in confusion.

Now the attention goes to him, and your grandfather the King limps towards him as well to interrogate him. “And you, boy? Where did you hear such calumnies? Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!”

“We know, father,” you hear Aegon answer. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

All eyes drift to your brothers by your mother. Nothing is said but the tension heightens, making you sink further in your own seat.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” Your grandfather the King shouts as he slams his cane against the stone floor. “All of you! We are a family! Now make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!” He then begins to walk away from his children, no one adds anything else on the matter, but Alicent then interrupts and tries to continue the argument.

“That is insufficient. Aemond has been damaged permanently, My King. Goodwill cannot make him whole.”

“I know, Alicent. But I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken!” She cuts him off.

“What would you have me do?” Your grandfather argues.

“There is a debt to be paid,” she daringly shares. “I shall have one of her son's eyes in return.”

You gasp and stand up to pull back Lucerys as he backs away out of fear.

“My dear wife—”

“He is your son, Viserys!” Alicent cuts your grandfather off with a shaky voice. “Your blood.”

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment,” he counters regardless of what she said.

Albeit she continues. “If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

Your eyes widen with shock, whilst you also fill with fear. However, you still tighten your grip on Lucerys shoulder and continue to pull him back with you.

“Mother,” he cries out desperately.

“He can choose which eye to keep a privilege he did not grant my son,” Alicent adds.

“You will do no such thing,” your mother counters as she lifts her chin.

“Stay your hand!”

“No, you are sworn to me!” Alicent yells over your grandfather.

Considering Ser Criston was just giggling, you wouldn’t put it past him to do it, but he surprises you. “As your protector, my Queen.” He says, making you smirk at the ground.

“Alicent, this matter…is finished,” your grandfather tells her. “Do you understand?”

Alicent doesn’t say anything luckily, letting your grandfather turn again and add on. “And let it be known, anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.”

Your smirk deepens.

“Thank you, Father,” your mother says before she turns to face you and your brothers. “Come on, let's go to your chambers to put you to bed.” She says.

You nod and sigh with relief as you’re finally liberated from the tension of this hall. However, just before anyone can leave, shouting breaks in the hall again, this time it’s Ser Harrold.

“Your Grace—Stay with the King!”

“Alicent!”

You blink and look up, catching Queen Alicent storming over with a blade in her hand. “Mother!” You cry out.

Said woman quickly stands up and turns around, managing to slap her hands on Alicents shoulders.

“Hold your approach!”

You reach out for Jacaerys and pull him back with you and Lucerys, whilst your grandfather Corlys also begins to push the three of you away.

“Do not, Ser Criston!”

“Alicent!”

Your eyes fly to every corner of the room; to your terrified brothers, where your grandfather the King is, to Ser Criston as he begins to charge over at your mother and Alicent, but quickly gets stopped by Daemon. You then look at the house guards that begin to block you as they surround your mother and Alicent, and lastly, you look at your mother as she’s trying to hold Alicent back. Panicked tears fill your eyes and worry begins to make your heart pound.

“You’ve gone too far,” your mother spats at Alicent.

“What have I done but what was expected of me?” Alicent cries. “Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please.”

“Alicent!” Your grandfather bellows. “Let her go!”

“Where is duty?” She continues to spat. “Where is sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again.”

“Release the blade, Alicent!” The hand Lord Otto finally speaks but with no urgency.

“And now you take my son's eye,” she continues to add through tears. “And to even that you feel entitled.”

You let go of your brothers and take a step forward since neither let go of the other.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it?” Your mother rebuttals. “Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are.”

With those last words whispered suddenly you catch Alicent swing the blade down, causing your mother to stumble back towards your grandfather Corlys.

You quickly break away from your spot and approach your mother, catching now that Alicent had cut your mother's arm in her fury.

“Mother,” you whisper with shock.

Metal then clashes against the floor, and when you look over you see Alicent has dropped the blade now after she did what she did. Now she looks remorseful, but it’s too late.

“Do not mourn me, Mother,” Aemond cuts in, breaking away all the attention from the tension. “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye…but I gained a dragon.”

He briefly meets your gaze, but you look away out of guilt for what happened to him, and also anger for what just happened to your mother.

“This proceeding is at an end,” your grandfather once again ends the argument, but now it's finally finished, no one speaks, silence once again fills the hall with even thicker tension, and Daemon approaches your mother, your brothers by her, and you, as if protecting all of you.

It is…weird? But your father isn't here to do it either so it’s…nice?

Your mind can’t really give it too much thought though. So you leave it sort of weird since he’s just an uncle, but nice because he’s being protective. Instead, after all that madness you can find some sense of relief, worry still chokes you up since your mother is still wounded and a faint tension does cover all of you, but you aren't in the hall anymore surrounded by so many people, or having to listen to arguing.

And maybe you shouldn’t let the tension build, your mother has had the chance to scold all of you now that you’re alone, but she hasn’t.

“You will scar,” the maester lets your mother know. “But the wound will heal.”

You drop the tension from your shoulders as you let out a relieved breath.

“Valyrian steel cuts clean.” The maester finishes saying before the doors open. When you look over you see your father finally walking in. He walks further into the room where you all reside, and his eyes fall on the maester finishing stitching your mother's wound before he glances at Lucerys with cotton in his nose, and then at Jacaerys who probably only got bruises, and lastly his eyes fall on you and the wound on your face.

“Gods,” he says and studies your scar for a moment longer. “Is everyone all right?” He asks even if he sees his answer.

Even then you nod softly even if your cut fucking stings.

“The broken nose is the worst,” the maester lets him know.

“Thank you, maester,” your mother interjects. “Leave us.”

Said man doesn’t hesitate to get up and collect his things before doing what he’s told.

“You as well,” your mother then directs at your siblings and you. “You’ve already found enough trouble today.”

You part your lips to argue, but you consider her pain and just suck it up and nod. “Yes, mother.”

You gently grab the shoulders of Jacaerys and Lucerys and nudge them out with you. When you pass by your father you offer him a sweet smile and give his arm a gentle squeeze, he returns the acknowledgment before you walk away and leave the room.

“How about we take a stroll outside, yes? We can be by the shore and get our minds off all this matter?” You suggest to your brothers for your own benefit. “We can even bring Baela and Rhaena.”

Lucerys twists around to face you and begins walking back. “I want to do that!” He exclaims and then looks at Jacaerys. “Jace do you?!”

Your brother looks unsure, but he doesn’t deny the request. “Sure,” he gives in.

You beam at them and then focus on Lucerys. “Go grab a cloak while I get changed.”

Lucerys nods quickly before he turns and runs with Jace, letting you walk to your chambers. And just as you reach the doors there outside the door is Aemond.

He seems to get surprised when you approach your quarters, and you fill with disbelief at his own presence. Yet you can’t muster a word as all you focus on is his wound. Those emotions of guilt and shame that you wanted to avoid feeling come rushing back at that moment.

You wish to apologize to him even if you didn’t commit the act, but all you can do is part your lips.

Aemond licks his lips before he parts his mouth, he steps forward, but he too falls silent and just holds your gaze.

He was probably leaving soon too, which means you won’t see him for a long time, but still, nothing comes out. Instead, you turn and walk in your quarters. When the door is closed you linger there for a moment and fight with yourself whether to go and apologize and ask how he’s doing, or not. But the guilt doesn’t let you move so you walk further in your quarters and let him walk away.

You’ll speak on the problem when the event isn’t so fresh in your mind, and when the guilt isn’t as heavy. As of now, you change out of your old gown and into a new one to try and hurry up and meet up with your brothers.

However, when you leave your quarters and enter the hall, there they are at the other, but between them and you is a handmaiden, one of Queen Alicent’s.

“Princess,” she bows her head before continuing. “Queen Alicent and the King request an audience with you at the grand hall.”

You blink in disbelief and fill with worry. “Alone?” You ask.

“Your mother and father will be there,” she informs you, bringing some ease, but not enough.

“All right,” you sigh and walk past her to reach your brothers. “Go, I'll find you two later.” You offer them a small faltering smile.

Neither Jace nor Luce argue, they remain curious as to what could be happening, but they go and do as they’re told while you head to the grande hall alone. Before you reach the doors luckily your parents catch up to you.

“What’s going on?” You ask your mother.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs quite nervously, but she tries to hide. “We’ll find out.”

The doors open and there they are, the Queen and King. The King watches you all walk in, his gaze lingers on your mother before he averts his gaze, while the Queen stands straight up and firm with a fur cloak over her body, looking elegant and regal, and stern and intimidating for the first time.

Not because she hurt your mother, but because of what she might want.

Wait…

Is she going to accept the marriage proposal?

Your hopes rise now at the thought.

“I apologize for such a spontaneous audience,” Alicent breaks the awkward silence. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Your mother shakes her head. “No, Your Grace. We were just finishing catching up on last night's matters.”

Alicent nods and averts her gaze for a second before she draws out a deep breath and clasps her hands in front of her before continuing. “The King and I have come to an agreement on a punishment for what happened to Prince Aemond.”

Oh….

Just like that your hopes that had begun to rise and overtake the guilt, get squashed, heightening the guilt that riddles you.

“Punishment?” Your father counters and shakes his head. “It was a regrettable accident.”

Right away Alicent’s eyes snap to your father and she rebuttals all well collected. “The matter was discussed already Ser Laenor, it won’t be brought up again. If you had been there then you could have given some insight, but you weren’t.”

You glance at your father and see him drop his gaze and sigh.

“It’s decided that the Princess will be sent to Winterfell to be the ward of Lady Margaret Karstark, the wife of Lord Bennard Stark…”

Just like that, the guilt you felt disappears, it no longer torments you, now fear and shock slams into you, making your heart feel as if it skipped a beat, and causing a gasp to escape past your lips, whilst everything around you blurs.

Your greatest fear is coming true, you’re being sent away. Far from your mother, brothers, and father. Far, far away to the edge of the world where it never stops snowing, where the sun is a rare visitor. You’re being sent away...

“Mother,” you mutter in a broken voice and said woman grabs your arm and begins to pull you back behind her to shield you as if that would stop you from being sent away.

“She will reside there for five years, perhaps Lady Karstark will make a true lady out of her and she’ll drop this…wild and reckless behavior,” she continues to add on. “She will then go to King's Landing once she’s turned 17 to marry Prince Aemond.”

And you won’t even return to your mother after five years, you’ll go to her, the evil bitch Queen. A witch with no kindness in her heart to those who aren’t her kids.

“Is this your decision father?” Your mother asks your grandfather directly. “To send my only daughter away from me? She needs me. She’ll need me.” She says with a voice she was trying to keep serious and collected, but you can hear the cracks as tears threaten to spill.

“She did not do anything,” your father cuts in on your defense. “She was only protecting her brothers and trying to stop the altercation.”

“She’s a Princess, Rhaenyra,” Alicent ignores your father. “Beautiful at that matter, and part of two noble families, she will be sent away regardless...”

You shake your head and can’t stop your tears from breaking out. Your mother and father keep trying to argue against what was decided, your mother fought the most, but nothing after that comment traveled through your ears, your mind races with far too many thoughts to take in anything else. All you know is that nothing changed their—her mind.

It’s almost as if Alicent knew your fear and was toying with it on purpose just to be evil. She definitely knew how much your mother loved you and toyed with that too, using what happened as an excuse to be even more cruel to her. She made your nightmare come true.

It’s why out of desperation and heartbreak you run out of the hall. Your parents were probably calling out for you, but you didn’t hear that either with how loud your heart was pounding, and how loud your thoughts raced.

You run out of the castle even as your vision keeps clouding with tears, you continue to run and run until your feet trip over something, causing you to fall on your knees. It’s only after that moment that you realize you’re now out at the beach, on the rough grains of sand, far from the castle.

Maybe if you continue on you’ll be far away so you won’t have to leave. You can try and leave…

You lift your head to look at the miles of sand ahead and come to see Astraea descending from the sky. She lands before you and growls softly before she wraps her neck and body around you, keeping you safe from the clutches of the Evil Queen Alicent, and safe from going to Winterfell. She comforts you and keeps you from running away at that moment.

But maybe you should climb on her and fly away even still, she won’t argue or turn around if you don’t want her to.

Yet, of course just before you can think of climbing on the saddle, she begins to uncurl herself as you hear someone approach. You don’t check who it might be right away, you’re too upset to do it and wish to be alone.

You hoped that message would come across while you remained lying on Astraea. But it doesn’t.

Your name is called out by Aemond.

You almost don’t want to give him your attention, but you can’t help it, you wipe your tears away and slowly look over at him cautiously standing at a distance.

“Aemond,” you mewl.

Said boy swallows thickly and nods stiffly. “I’ve heard,” he mutters. “My mother told me.”

You draw in a shaky breath before letting out a shaky sob. “I-I’m being sent away. Far to the edge of nowhere.” You drag your legs up against your chest and hide your face on your knees as you hug your legs to find comfort. “I won't see my mother, or-or my father. My brothers…” you trail off and snap your head up to look at Aemond, noticing that he’s closer now.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble as the thought of what happened crosses your mind as well. “I am.”

Aemond shakes his head. “It was not you. You need not worry. Why don’t we,” he pauses to take a seat beside you against Astraea and then continues sweetly. “Talk about you.”

You scoff. “What is there to say? The…Queen,” you correct yourself before you can offend his mother in front of him. “…Decided. Unless you want to run away with me then there’s nothing to be done.”

Aemond keeps his eye trained on the sand below and remains quiet for a moment until he finds words he thinks will comfort you. “Why would we run away? We are meant to marry when you return to King’s Landing. I will be far older, more mature, worthy of you.”

You sniffle and slowly drag your eyes to the side to meet his single eye.

“If I leave, if we leave,” he continues. “I don’t know if I will ever be a worthy husband. We will be reckless, miserable.”

“I don’t think so,” you say and look at the clouds forming in the sky. “We will be free from any responsibility…Perhaps I will just run away alone,” you snap and turn your head away.

“I…don’t want you to run away,” he whispers.

You’re upset he’s turning you down, but you can’t help but look back at him in disbelief.

“Stay,” he adds. “Here in Westeros. Please.”

Please? And so softly spoken too?

Well…you don’t want to break your mother's heart either.

“Okay,” you whisper to Aemond without more of a fight. “Fine.”

Aemond releases a small sigh of relief and then lets a silence bask the both of you that lets only the sound of the crashing waves fill your ears. Neither of you move, he doesn't try to run off, and no one comes over yet to bring you back to the castle. You were left alone, in peace, and comfort, letting Aemond slowly reach for your hand to wrap his around yours and secure it in his hold.

You get surprised by the gentle touch, even if he's always been kind—he's just never been the first one to take your hand, it was always you. So it's a nice and heartwarming change that he reaches out first. It makes you smile.

“I will wait for you,” he breaks the silence. “I swear I will.”

As sad as you are about being sent away, that does heal your heartache.

If only your heart can fully heal by not being sent away, but, nothing will change this new fate that branched out in your path of life.

Nothing stops it.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“Here…I wanted to give it to you for your 13th name day, but now seems like the perfect time,” your grandmother says and opens a small golden box, revealing a beautiful dark gray glimmering chain necklace.

It was like your mother's necklace she wore often, the one made of Valyrian steel.

“Is it Valyrian steal?” You muse as you brush your fingers over the pendant that the chain necklace carries.

Your grandmother nods with a prideful smile on her face. “Yes. It is,” she assures you and picks it off the box, letting you study the three-headed dragon from your Targaryen family sigil that’s embedded on the pendant. She then turns it and you see the mythic seahorse from your Velaryon family sigil, and it only wows you even more.

“It’s beautiful, I love it!” You squeal and turn to let her clip the necklace around you. Once she’s done you turn and wrap her in an embrace. “Thank you, grandmother.”

She returns your embrace and squeezes you tighter. “I’ll write, all right? We will keep in touch.” She reassures you.

You pull back and nod with a wobbly smile.

Now it’s your brother's turn, and so far you’ve kept from crying, you’ve remained strong, but Lucerys is crying, making tears well in your eyes as well.

“Don’t cry, Luce,” you tell him and crouch down to wipe his tears away. “We will see each other again. I will write all the time. It will be as if I never left.”

“But it won’t because I won’t see you. Don’t leave me,” he cries and throws his arms around you before crying harder. “Please Mother, don't let her leave!”

Tears run down your cheeks and you squeeze him gently. “We’ll see each other again, don’t worry…I love you.” You try your best to comfort him.

He then pulls back and sniffles. “I love you too.”

Next is Jacaerys who is tougher than Lucerys, or so he's pretending to be. You can see the tears gleaming in his eyes.

“Promise to write?” You tell him. “All the time? So I won't miss you a thing?”

He nods. “I will.”

You offer him a soft wobbly smile before you pull him in an embrace. “I love you too, Jace. I’ll miss you, brother.”

Jacaerys lets out a shaky sigh and lingers in the embrace. “I’ll miss you as well.” He then pulls back and drops his head to hide the tears that manage to escape from his eyes.

Next is your father. Now those few tears threaten to turn into a sob.

“Every time I look at the sky I’ll think of you,” your father says as he cups your cheek, making you grin

“And I of you,” you redirect and hold his gaze for a lingering moment before you throw your arms around him and keep him close to you in hopes you wouldn’t be able to leave like this.

Albeit even if he doesn’t want you to pull away and leave either, he loosens his grip and lets you slip away to lastly move on to your mother. Now those tears no longer stay, you can’t be strong saying goodbye to her. You immediately hug her and sob into her shoulder.

“I will write to you every week,” your mother assures you. “Maybe even sooner than that. All right, my sweet girl?”

You nod and comfort her too. “I will write back each time.”

“If anything happens you tell me, come to me if you must,” she presses so you can always keep it in mind. “I love you, my darling girl. So much.”

She presses kisses on the side of your head and lingers before she forces herself to pull back. However, instead of letting you go, she presses a kiss on your forehead first. “We will see each other again.” She says tenderly.

You nod in comprehension and catch the tears that roll down the curve of her cheeks. “I love you, Mother,” you return just as affectionately. “I’ll miss you.”

Your mother offers you a sweet smile and caresses your cheek one more time before finally letting you go before she just didn’t.

But even then you make it your job to drag your feet and take as much time as you possibly can to board that ship. And once the ship does depart from the dock you stand at the end of it and watch as your mother's figure turns smaller and smaller, the others seem to have left, but she remained there until neither of you were visible.

After that the only companion you had left was Astraea, she followed the ship, casting a dark shadow over the deck for the month that it took to arrive at the harbor called the White Harbour. Once you made your way to Winterfell the shadow remained cast over you until you arrived

What was once bright blue skies, green hills, and warm air turned to gray dull skies, white hills as nothing but cold snow was seen for miles on end, and a bitter air nipped at your flesh. It was truly a bland place deprived of color, secluded with nothing around it. No oceans, no towns, or people.

The first person you laid your eyes on once arriving at Winterfell after miles of no one was a young man it seems. He stood on the wall that surrounded that gray castle. He wore a big fur cloak that stood out against all the others. Even if you weren’t close you do notice that his piercing eyes are dark, and intimidating as well, but it intrigues you; his face is pale too, and he isn't terrible to look at.

You always imagined northern men to be scary, to be huge men, but he wasn’t that. He's alluring and takes your breath away.

You are hidden in your carriage, but it seems he saw you too and that makes your heart skip a beat like nothing has before.

A/N- We’ll have two full chapters of Cregan content!

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