#lyman lannister

[goodqueenaly]

How did Lyman Lannister plan to marry his son to Rhaena Targaryen if she was already married? Was he planning on killing Androw?

It became apparent to her that the bedmaids and servants assigned to them were tattlers and spies, bringing word of their every doing back to Lord and Lady Lannister. One of the castle septas asked Samantha Stokeworth whether the queen’s marriage to Androw Farman had ever been consummated, and if so, who had witnessed the bedding. Ser Tyler Hill, Lord Lyman’s comely bastard son, was openly scornful of Androw, even whilst doing all he could to ingratiate himself to Rhaena herself, regaling her with tales of his exploits at the Battle Beneath the Gods Eye and showing her the scars he had taken there “in your Aegon’s service.”

I think Lyman Lannister's strategy was pretty unsubtle here. By having his castle septa question whether the marriage had actually been consummated, and getting reports from bedmaids and servants (who, presumably, would be using their personal access to the couple to see whether Rhaena and Androw were actually sleeping together), Lyman was establishing whether he could pursue the one confirmed avenue for Westerosi annulments - that is, non-consummation of the marriage. By having his bastard son rather bluntly try to show off his (by Westerosi standards) manliness, Lyman was likely trying to present Rhaena with an obvious contrast to (and, again by Westerosi standards, better choice than) the "half a girl" Androw Farman. Given that the Farmans were also Lord Lyman's bannermen, I can imagine that Lyman assumed that the Farmans would not fuss too much if he persuaded (read: forced) them into accepting the end of Androw's marriage to Rhaena (again, perhaps on the grounds that it had never been consummated).

It was not a particularly clever strategy, of course, and Rhaena clearly saw right through it. Having no interest in being forced into another political marriage, or pursuing a romantic relationship via marriage, and very much recognizing the ambition barely veiled beneath Lyman's actions, Rhaena was not the easy nuptial prey Lyman might have hoped she would be.

[asoiafandotherbooks]

TWOIAF/Fire & Blood: The Doomed Rebellion of Aegon the Uncrowned

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

Maegor Targaryen had put down the rebellion of the Faith. He lingers in Oldtown after reuniting with Ceryse Hightower, his first wife.

Prince Aegon, later known as Aegon the Uncrowned, ignores his wife’s advice of “run away and live peacefully”, instead choosing to attempt to overthrow Maegor. What is driving Aegon? Entitlement? Vengeance? Jealousy? A sense of duty?

Aegon and Rhaena leave Casterly Rock and sneak into King’s Landing, concealed beneath snacks of corn. Rhaena retrieved Dreamfyre while Aegon claimed Quicksilver. Aegon is now a dragonrider. Why did Aegon wait so long to claim a dragon? Did he have no interest until necessity demanded he have a dragon? Maegor waited longer but he was laser-focused on Balerion, who is unique in the pantheon of Targaryen dragons.

The duo was aided by unnamed “friends in Maegor’s own court who had grown tired of the king’s cruelties”. No details are given on the nature of Maegor’s cruelties. Maegor’s “cruelties” have only been noted against his opponents in the field. The exceptions are the beheadings of the Grand Maesters, an alleged stories of animal abuse (and a stablehand?) as a child. The decapitations were unnecessary and are indicative of Maegor’s violent impulses. The cruelites…I want details…was he like Joffrey Baratheon in tormenting people when he was bored/annoyed?

Aegon and Rhaena returned to the Westerlands to assemble an army. The Lannisters (wisely) refused to openly support the duo’s cause so Aegon’s adherents gathered at Pinkmaiden Castle, seat of House Piper. Jon Piper, Lord of Pinkmaiden, had pledged his sword to Aegon because his Melony, his fiery sister, won him to the cause. Aegon denounced his uncle as a tyrant and usurper and called upon men to rally to his banners.

The following came: The Lords Tarbeck, Roote, Vance, Charlton, Frey, Paege, Parren, Farman, Westerling, Lord Corbray of the Vale, the Bastard of Barrowton, and the fourth son of the Lord of Griffin’s Roost. Ser Tyler Hill, a bastard son of Lord Lyman Lannister, arrived from Lannisport with five hundred men. The Piper levies were led by Melony. The assembled forces were around 15,000.

No great lords rallied to Aegon’s cause. Queen Tyanna wrote to Maegor and warned him that the lords of Storm’s End, the Eyrie, Winterfell, and Casterly Rock were in communication with Alyssa Velaryon. The lords wouldn’t commit until they were certain Aegon could prevail. Some might see this as cowardly, but it is a smart approach. Why waste thousands of lives on a doomed rebellion? At this point, Maegor has only acted against Houses that rebelled against him. Add in the fact that Aenys was a disaster as a king and I can see why the great lords were hesitant to grant their support.

Maegor’s strength is warfare. In no time at all, he had a plan in motion to end this rebellion. Maegor devised a plan that had forces coming for Aegon from every direction: Lord Harroway from Harrenhal, Lord Tully from Riverrun, Ser Davos Darklyn of the Kingsguard marshalled five thousand in King’s Landing and struck out west, Lord Peake, Lord Merryweather, and Lod Caswell came up from the Reach.

Aegon soon found armies closing in on all sides. He didn’t know what to do (shades of Aenys). Lord Corbray, an experienced commander, advised Aenys to split their forces and meet the opposing forces individually. Aenys vetoed the motion and kept marching the entire force towards King’s Landing.

Aegon found the Davos Darkyln’s forces waiting for his south of the Gods Eye. Lords Merryweather and Caswell were advancing from the south, and Lords Tully and Harroway from the north. Aegon mounted Quicksilver to lead a charge when Balerion appeared in the southern sky.

For the first time since the Doom of Valyria, dragon battled dragon. Not that it was much of a battle. Picture Luke vs Aemond from the HOTD season 1 finale.

The battle between the ground forces were bloody and brief. The rebels realized their cause was doomed once Aegon died. By the end of the battle, a thousand of the rebels had died but only one hundred of the Maegor’s men. Among the dead were: Lord Allyn Tarbeck, Denys Snow the Bastard of Barrowton, Lord Ronnel Vance, Ser William Whistler, Melony Piper and three of her brothers, and Ser Davos Darklyn (slain by Lord Corbray).

The next six months were filled with trials and executions.  Queen Visenya persuaded Maegor to spare some of the rebellious lords but all lost lands and titles and were forced to give up their hostages.

Final thoughts on Aegon: Foolish and impatient. He had neither the intelligence, experience, nor strength to win against Maegor. He should have stayed under the radar and slowlu gathered alliances and waited until Maegor had eroded the last of the population’s goodwill/patience. Imagine if Aegon had waited until the death of Visenya and then claimed Vhagar? Now you have the power to fight Maegor and Balerion! Poor Quicksilver only knew pleasure rides, Vhagar knows how to fight!

Up next, Rhaena in the aftermath of the rebellion.

[gotham-at-nightfall]

Rhaena and the Greedy Lannisters

As the days passed, however, that very hospitality grew ever more disquieting to Rhaena Targaryen. It became apparent to her that the bedmaids and servants assigned to them were tattlers and spies, bringing word of their every doing back to Lord and Lady Lannister. One of the castle septas asked Samantha Stokeworth whether the queen's marriage to Androw Farman had ever been consummated, and if so, who had witnessed the bedding. Ser Tyler Hill, Lord Lyman's comely bastard son, was openly scornful of Androw, even whilst doing all he could to ingratiate himself to Rhaena herself, regaling her with tales of his exploits at the Battle Beneath the Gods Eye and showing her the scars he had taken there "in your Aegon's service." Lord Lyman himself began to express an unseemly interest in the three dragon eggs that the queen had brought from Fair Isle, wondering how and when they might be expected to hatch. His wife, Lady Jocasta, suggested privately that one or more of the eggs would make a fine gift, if Her Grace should wish to show her gratitude to House Lannister for taking her in. When that ploy proved unsuccessful, Lord Lyman offered to buy the eggs outright for a staggering sum of gold.

By 1oshuart

[laryssstrong]

Green council (Fire & Blood)

Gathering in the queen’s chambers as the body of her lord husband grew cold above were Queen Alicent herself; her father, Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King; Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard; Grand Maester Orwyle; Lord Lyman Beesbury, master of coin, a man of eighty; Ser Tyland Lannister, master of ships, brother to the Lord of Casterly Rock; Larys Strong, called Larys Clubfoot, Lord of Harrenhal, master of whisperers; and Lord Jasper Wylde, called Ironrod, master of laws. 

[feyhunter78]

The Small Council of Queen Rhaenyra, First of Her Name—TDQ Universe

Hand to The Queen: Lady Alicent Hightower, The Dowager Queen

Grand Maester: Maester Gerardys

Master of Coin: Lord Lyman Beesbury

Master of Laws: Lord Jasper Wylde

Mistress of Whispers and Confessions: Lady Mysaria, The White Worm

Master of Ships: Lord Tyland Lannister

Lord Commander of the Kingsguard: Ser Harrold Westerling

Adviser: King Harwin Strong

Cupbearer: Jacaerys Targaryen-Strong

[horizon-verizon]

The council convened in the queen’s apartments within Maegor’s Holdfast. Many accounts have come down to us of what was said and done that night. By far the most detailed and authoritative of them is Grand Maester Munkun’s The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling. Though Munkun’s exhaustive history was not written until a generation later, and drew on many different sorts of materials, including maesters’ chronicles, memoirs, stewards’ records, and interviews with one hundred forty-seven surviving witnesses to the great events of these times, his account of the inner workings of the court relies upon the confessions of Grand Maester Orwyle, as set down before his execution. Unlike Mushroom and Septon Eustace, whose versions derive from rumors, hearsay, and family legend, the Grand Maester was present at the meeting and took part in the council’s deliberations and decisions…though it must be recognized that at the time he wrote, Orwyle was most anxious to show himself in a favorable light and absolve himself of any blame for what was to follow. Munkun’s True Telling therefore paints his predecessor in perhaps too favorable a light. Gathering in the queen’s chambers as the body of her lord husband grew cold above were Queen Alicent herself; her father, Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King; Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard; Grand Maester Orwyle; Lord Lyman Beesbury, master of coin, a man of eighty; Ser Tyland Lannister, master of ships, brother to the Lord of Casterly Rock; Larys Strong, called Larys Clubfoot, Lord of Harrenhal, master of whisperers; and Lord Jasper Wylde, called Ironrod, master of laws. Grand Maester Munkun dubs this gathering “the green council” in his True Telling.

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin, pg 393-394

[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Note: The reader is the younger sister of Rhaenyra, and second daughter of King Viserys I Targaryen and the late Queen Aemma Arryn.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: under the dragon's eye

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: Unplanned post.

King Viserys fidgeted in his seat at the head of the small council table, clearly uncomfortable. His expression, usually jovial or preoccupied, now looked tight, and his hands drummed awkwardly against the armrests. One could sense that something weighty was coming. The usual small council faces surrounded him: Otto Hightower, Grand Maester Mellos, Lord Jasper Wylde, Lord Lyman Beesbury, Lord Lyonel Strong—and Tyland Lannister.

The atmosphere was charged, even before the king spoke. The upcoming nameday celebrations for Aegon were on everyone's mind, but it seemed there was another topic to address first. Otto Hightower caught Viserys’s eye and gave him a nod, one of those deliberate, knowing gestures that always preceded something unpleasant—or at least complicated.

Viserys cleared his throat, the sound too loud in the quiet room. "Before we set off for the Kingswood tomorrow," he began, shifting in his seat as if it were filled with thorns, "there is one... matter of great importance that I must discuss with you all."

A ripple of anticipation spread across the room. Lords exchanged brief glances, eyebrows raised in curiosity. Tyland, sitting to the left, straightened his posture, assuming this would be another discussion about logistics or finances—his usual domain.

"The succession is secure," Viserys continued, his voice more certain now. "But my youngest daughter, Y/N, has reached a marriageable age. It has been on my mind that securing an advantageous match for her would further stabilize the realm."

At this, the lords leaned in slightly, their attention sharpening. A royal marriage was no small matter.

Viserys paused, looking around the room, and then blurted, "I’ve decided to accept a proposal from House Lannister."

The silence was instant and deafening.

Tyland froze. His heartbeat quickened as the words echoed in his mind. House Lannister? His mind raced—there had been no recent talk of marriage negotiations involving him. Jason, his twin, had mentioned something, hadn’t he? But surely that had been just—

"Lord Tyland," Viserys said warmly, oblivious to Tyland’s growing panic. "I congratulate you. It will be a fine match for my daughter."

Tyland blinked, trying to process what had just been said. Did the king just congratulate me? His stomach lurched. Jason. Oh, seven hells...

The words stumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I... I beg your pardon, Your Grace?" He immediately winced, hearing how ungrateful it sounded. All eyes snapped to him. Otto's gaze, in particular, felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

Viserys tilted his head, confusion creeping into his features. "Does my decision offend you, Lord Tyland?"

Tyland’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "No, no! Of course not!" He practically yelped the words, feeling the heat creep up the back of his neck. "It's just that... well, that is to say... I wasn’t aware of—um..." His eyes darted to Otto for help, but the Hand of the King remained as still and impassive as a statue.

Tyland gulped, painfully aware that the entire room was staring at him. "I believe there has been a misunderstanding," he finally managed to say, the words tangled with awkwardness. "I—I believe the proposal came from... from my brother, Jason." His voice cracked ever so slightly. "He was the one who—uh... made the offer, Your Grace."

A long pause followed.

Viserys furrowed his brow. "Jason?" The king scratched his chin. "Are you certain, Lord Tyland?"

Tyland’s face was burning now. "Yes, Your Grace," he said, wishing more than anything that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "My twin... Jason, Lord of Casterly Rock, he... he made the proposal."

The silence was so thick that Tyland swore he could hear the soft rustling of Lord Jasper's cloak as the man shifted slightly in his chair, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Viserys blinked in surprise, then turned to Otto. "Did Jason propose this match?"

Otto, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat. "It would seem there has been... a minor miscommunication, Your Grace," he said smoothly, as though this entire scenario wasn’t spiraling into absurdity by the second. "But the intentions of House Lannister are clear, regardless of which brother made the proposal. I’m sure Lord Tyland is honored."

Tyland gave a tight-lipped smile that felt more like a grimace. He could almost hear his brother's laughter in his head. Jason would have a field day with this.

Viserys, still looking mildly perplexed, turned back to Tyland. "So... you do accept the match, yes?"

Tyland swallowed hard. This was it. If he didn’t speak carefully now, he could offend the crown—something no Lannister could afford. "I do, Your Grace," he said quickly, his voice betraying the slightest edge of panic. "I am honored, deeply honored, by your choice. I thank you... and House Lannister thanks you."

Internally, he was screaming. How in the seven hells do I explain this to Jason?

Viserys, oblivious to Tyland’s inner turmoil, clapped his hands together. "Good! Good. It is settled then." He smiled broadly, the earlier tension gone from his face. "We shall celebrate your betrothal after the hunt."

The lords murmured their congratulations to Tyland, who nodded stiffly, his mind a chaotic mess. Lyman Beesbury offered a clumsy clap on the back, while Lord Wylde smirked as if enjoying the whole affair a little too much. Tyland just sat there, smiling weakly, all the while contemplating whether he should flee to Essos before his twin got wind of this disaster.

Otto Hightower, as they began to disperse, leaned close to Tyland with a faint conspiratorial smile. "I'm sure Jason will understand," he whispered.

Tyland only nodded, his stomach sinking. Jason was going to kill him.

The morning sun cast warming rays over the sprawling procession as it prepared to leave the Red Keep. The royal carriages stood ready, gleaming in the early light, banners fluttering proudly in the breeze. Nobles and servants alike bustled about, finalizing the last details before the royal family set off for the Kingswood.

Tyland Lannister sat astride his horse with the other lords, stiff and silent, barely able to glance at the royal carriage where you sat alongside the king, Queen Alicent, Rhaenyra, and little Aegon. He could hear the soft cooing of the babe through the hum of voices and the clattering of hooves, and it made his stomach twist. He imagined you sitting there, likely still reeling from the news that had been thrust upon you as suddenly as it had upon him.

Tyland’s mind was a whirlpool of panic and regret. How did she react? He’d barely slept the night before, tossing and turning as he tried to picture your face when Viserys announced the betrothal. You were gentle, far more timid than your older sister, Rhaenyra, whose fiery temper and sharp tongue were infamous. But that gentleness... he imagined it must have made the news hit even harder.

He winced, recalling his awkward, fumbling response during the small council meeting. How could he explain to you that this marriage was never meant for him? That his idiot brother Jason had been the one to propose it? Oh, gods, Jason... He suppressed a groan, the thought of his twin's arrival at the hunting grounds filling him with dread. Jason would have questions—far too many questions—and worse, he'd find the entire situation hilarious.

Tyland could already picture his brother swaggering into the royal encampment, grinning like a fox in a henhouse. "So," Jason would say, clapping him on the shoulder with that irritating smirk of his. "You’ve snagged the princess, have you? Quite the achievement, little brother." Tyland could almost feel the sting of that teasing tone. And what could he possibly say to defend himself? "No, Jason, you were supposed to marry her!" Yes, that would go over splendidly.

He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, trying not to think about it. But it was impossible. The royal carriage, though barely visible through the dust of the departing procession, was like a weight on his chest. You were inside it, no doubt feeling as bewildered and blindsided as he did. Tyland wondered if you had spoken about it with Rhaenyra yet. Surely, your older sister must have had something to say.

The idea of Rhaenyra’s reaction made him shudder. She wasn’t one to take lightly any news concerning her family, least of all something like this. He could imagine her sharp eyes narrowing as she turned to you, her lips pursed in that stern, protective way. Maybe she had comforted you, maybe she had raged at the unfairness of it all, or worse—maybe she had decided to direct that fiery rage at him, as though he had schemed this entire thing.

The thought of facing Rhaenyra was nearly as terrifying as facing Jason. Seven hells, what have I gotten myself into? he thought, rubbing his temple. He forced himself to stare at the road ahead, the thick woods of the Kingswood just beginning to loom in the distance, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the thought of you in that carriage, the weight of the betrothal hanging over your head just as heavily as it did his.

“Are you well, Lord Tyland?” came a voice from his left.

Tyland jumped, startled out of his thoughts, and found himself looking at Lord Lyman Beesbury, who was eyeing him with concern. He managed a weak smile. “Perfectly well, my lord,” he lied, his voice sounding a touch too high-pitched.

Lyman raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but too polite to press the matter. “You seem... distracted.”

Tyland swallowed hard, forcing another smile. “Just... thinking about the hunt,” he said, though the thought of hunting was the furthest thing from his mind.

Beesbury nodded, though his expression remained curious. "Ah, yes. It will be quite the affair, I imagine. His Grace has spared no expense for Aegon’s nameday."

Tyland nodded absently, his gaze once again drawn toward the royal carriage, which had just begun to rumble forward. Inside, he knew you were seated with your family, no doubt preparing yourself for the days ahead, much like he was—except your thoughts were probably filled with confusion, maybe even disappointment.

Does she think I wanted this? The question gnawed at him. You barely knew him, after all, and yet here you were, betrothed to him. How could you not think that he had somehow maneuvered this?

His thoughts spiraled as the procession continued. The royal party’s banners fluttered in the wind, the road ahead long and winding. What am I going to say to her when we reach the Kingswood? he wondered desperately. What am I going to say to Jason?

The answers, much like the distant woods, seemed far out of reach.

Inside the royal carriage, the atmosphere was heavier, despite the sunlight streaming through the windows and the soft clatter of wheels beneath them. Rhaenyra sat rigid on one side, arms crossed tightly across her chest, her gaze pointedly fixed anywhere but on her father. The air around her practically crackled with silent fury, and her refusal to even look at Viserys was as loud as any argument could have been.

You shifted awkwardly next to her, caught between the simmering storm of your sister’s silent rage and the equally uncomfortable presence of your father, who was trying, and failing, to engage in casual conversation. Aegon’s gurgles and giggles echoed through the tense silence, blissfully unaware of the drama swirling around him.

Viserys sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair, his earlier enthusiasm about the betrothal announcement clearly dwindling. "Come now, Rhaenyra," he ventured after a long pause, his voice far too cheerful for the current mood. "This will strengthen the realm, and a marriage with House Lannister—"

Rhaenyra cut him off with a sharp exhale through her nose, still refusing to look at him. Her eyes remained focused out the window, as though the trees of the Kingswood held far more interest than anything her father could possibly say. Her jaw was set, and you could tell from the rigid line of her shoulders that she wasn’t about to let this go. Not soon, anyway.

Next to Viserys, Alicent shifted uncomfortably, caught in the crossfire. She glanced between the two of them, clearly trying to think of something to say that might ease the tension, but wisely choosing silence for now. Even baby Aegon, cradled in her arms, seemed to sense the discomfort in the carriage, looking up at his mother with wide, curious eyes.

You, sitting beside Rhaenyra, felt the pressure in the air like a weight on your chest. Rhaenyra hadn’t spoken to you directly about it yet, but you knew how she must be feeling. You had felt the same when your father first told you the news, dropping the bombshell without so much as a whisper of warning. A Lannister. Of all the houses, it had to be a Lannister.

Rhaenyra shifted slightly, still staring out the window, and muttered under her breath, “Without even asking us.”

Viserys, pretending not to hear the pointed comment, tried again, his voice growing more strained. “Y/N, you understand, don’t you? This is important for the stability of the realm—”

You blinked, caught off guard, and glanced at him. “I... yes, Father,” you said, but it was clear from the way your voice trailed off that you weren’t entirely convinced. You felt Rhaenyra’s eyes shift slightly toward you, just a flicker of movement, but she said nothing, letting her silence speak volumes.

Viserys, ever the optimist, took your weak response as a victory. “See, Rhaenyra? Your sister understands. This will bring us closer to the Westerlands, secure alliances—”

“She’s being polite,” Rhaenyra muttered, this time louder, her tone dripping with disdain. “Unlike you.”

Alicent’s eyes widened, clearly realizing this was about to escalate. She glanced at you apologetically, and you offered her a small, awkward smile in return. Alicent had always been caught in the middle of these family squabbles, trying to mediate between a stubborn king and an even more stubborn princess. Today was no different.

Viserys huffed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “What would you have me do, Rhaenyra? Ignore the future of the realm because you don’t like the idea of a Lannister wedding?”

Rhaenyra finally turned to look at him, her eyes blazing. “A Lannister?” she repeated, her voice tight with anger. “You betrothed my sister to a Lannister without even consulting either of us. How could you, Father? This isn’t a decision you can make lightly!”

Alicent, ever the peacekeeper, finally spoke up, her voice soft but firm. “Your father is trying to do what’s best for the realm, Rhaenyra. He—”

Rhaenyra scoffed, cutting her off. “Best for the realm?” She turned her gaze back out the window, as if the conversation was already over. “Or best for his pride?”

You shifted uncomfortably once again, wishing there was a way to disappear into the cushions of the carriage. This was exactly the kind of situation you had been dreading since the news of your betrothal broke. It was one thing to feel unsure about it yourself, but having to sit through this battle between your father and sister made it even worse. You felt like a pawn in some larger game, a game you hadn’t even been asked to join.

Aegon chose this moment to gurgle loudly, drawing everyone’s attention for a brief, blessed moment of distraction. Alicent cooed at him, her expression softening. “See?” she said, with a forced brightness. “Aegon isn’t concerned with any of this. Perhaps we could all take a lesson from him.”

Viserys looked at his son and smiled, though it was clear his heart wasn’t fully in it. “Yes, yes,” he said, reaching over to pat the boy’s head. “Aegon knows what’s important—family.”

Rhaenyra shot him a sharp look. “You didn’t seem to think family was important when you made this decision,” she muttered under her breath.

Viserys sighed again, looking utterly defeated. He sank back into his seat, rubbing his temples. “I am doing what I must,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

You stared at your lap, feeling the weight of their words pressing down on you. As much as you wanted to believe that this marriage would bring stability, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being swept along by a current you had no control over. Rhaenyra’s anger made sense, but what could you do? You were in this now, whether you liked it or not.

Alicent, catching your eye, gave you a small, encouraging smile, as if to say this too shall pass. But even she looked unsure.

The royal encampment in the Kingswood was nothing short of a spectacle. Pennants fluttered in the autumn breeze, and the smell of roasting meats filled the air. Courtiers and nobles mingled around the large tents, dressed in their finest hunting garb, though there wasn’t much hunting to be done—at least not yet. The festivities had only just begun, and the real event would come after the revelry. For now, it was a grand social affair, with the royal family at the center of it all.

Tyland Lannister sat stiffly by the fire, his goblet untouched in his hand. His mind was elsewhere—mainly on the royal tent a few paces away, where his twin brother was sure to arrive any moment. He could already feel the headache forming.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Jason Lannister’s arrival was as grand as ever, a striking figure atop his white stallion, wearing a tunic embroidered with gold lions. He rode into the camp with the kind of swagger only a Lannister could pull off. As he dismounted and handed the reins to a servant, his eyes scanned the encampment, and it didn’t take him long to spot the king. But before Jason moved toward Viserys, his gaze found Tyland, and a smirk crept across his face.

Oh no, Tyland thought, his stomach tightening. He straightened his back, trying to look composed, but every muscle in his body tensed as Jason made his way toward the king.

Jason approached with an air of casual arrogance, though there was something almost offended in his eyes, as if he had been personally slighted by the news he had received on the road. But, of course, knowing Jason, there was a glint of amusement there as well.

“Your Grace,” Jason began smoothly, giving a deep bow as he stood before Viserys and Otto Hightower. “It is an honor, as always, to serve the crown.” He paused, his eyes flicking briefly to Tyland, who sat motionless near the fire. “Though I must say, I’ve had some... interesting news on my journey here.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, glancing at Otto before returning his gaze to Jason. “Interesting news?”

Jason nodded, his smile as sharp as a lion’s bite. “Yes, Your Grace. It seems there’s been a bit of a... misunderstanding.” His eyes darted toward Tyland again, and Tyland felt the heat rising to his face. “I had petitioned for the hand of your eldest daughter, Princess Rhaenyra.”

A murmur rippled through the nearby nobles, and Tyland could feel the blood drain from his face. Oh no, oh gods...

Viserys blinked in confusion, then turned to Otto. “Is this true?”

Otto, standing tall with his hands clasped behind his back, didn’t flinch. “Lord Jason did make such a proposal,” he said smoothly, his voice calm and even. “However, after careful consideration, I advised Your Grace that it would be more advantageous to secure a marriage with your younger daughter, Princess Y/N.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly incredulous. “More advantageous?” There was a note of disbelief in his voice, but beneath it was a flicker of amusement. “My dear brother is an excellent match, I’m sure.” He shot a wicked grin at Tyland, who was doing everything in his power not to sink into the ground.

Viserys looked between Otto and Jason, clearly perplexed. “But Jason petitioned for Rhaenyra’s hand?”

Otto inclined his head. “Indeed, Your Grace. However, after further discussion with other advisors, it became clear that a match between Lord Tyland and Princess Y/N would bring greater stability to the realm.” His voice had that careful, measured tone that made it sound like he was stating facts as obvious as the sky being blue.

Jason’s smirk widened, though there was still an edge of irritation beneath the humor. “So, my brother has been... elevated in my place?” He placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “I had no idea Tyland’s charms were so irresistible to royalty.”

Tyland, at this point, wanted to disappear. He could feel every eye in the camp on him, and the weight of his brother’s teasing was almost unbearable. He shot a desperate look at Viserys, as if pleading for the king to make this end.

Viserys, however, seemed more confused than anything. “Is this really such a matter of importance?” he asked, looking to Otto again. “Jason is Lord of Casterly Rock. Wouldn’t his proposal be...?”

Otto cut him off smoothly, “Your Grace, Tyland is a far more suitable match for Princess Y/N. His position within the court, his skills in administration... not to mention, he is already in King’s Landing, closer to your family.”

Jason made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff. “Ah, yes. Tyland. Always the practical choice.”

Tyland clenched his jaw, finally finding his voice. “Jason,” he said through gritted teeth, “this is not the time.”

“Oh, I think it’s exactly the time, brother,” Jason responded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “After all, it’s not every day one finds out their younger brother has been handed the match of a lifetime.”

Viserys, growing tired of the back-and-forth, sighed and looked between the brothers. “Enough of this. The decision has been made, and it is final. I will not have squabbling over who is the better match.” His gaze settled on Jason. “You will respect the crown’s decision, Lord Jason.”

Jason bowed, his expression a perfect mask of decorum, though the twinkle in his eye remained. “Of course, Your Grace. I meant no offense. I only wished to clarify the misunderstanding.” He shot one last look at Tyland, his lips quirking into a grin. “I look forward to celebrating with my dear brother and his future bride.”

Tyland sank a little lower in his seat, his face burning. This was going to be a long celebration.

Tyland Lannister stood at the edge of the encampment, his eyes scanning the bustling crowd of nobles and courtiers, all caught up in the revelry of the hunt and the feast. He should have been mingling, perhaps engaging in light conversation or discussing the finer points of falconry. But no, his mind was preoccupied with a far more daunting task.

There you were, standing with your sister, Rhaenyra, by the fire, your head tilted slightly as she whispered something to you. The sight of the two of you together—especially together—was enough to send a shiver down Tyland’s spine. You, the timid younger daughter of the king, and Rhaenyra, the fierce dragon who never backed down from a fight. It was a terrifying combination, particularly for a man who was about to approach you for the first time since your betrothal had been announced.

The thought alone made him wish for a quick escape. Perhaps he could just... disappear into the woods. Yes, a hunting accident, perhaps? But no. He was a Lannister, and Lannisters did not flee from their responsibilities. Well, most of the time. With a deep breath, he steeled himself. You have faced worse, Tyland, he thought, although nothing immediately came to mind.

With all the courage he could muster—and a good dose of Lannister pride—he began the slow, excruciating walk toward you and your sister. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the very ground were trying to hold him back. His mind raced with what he might say, how he might begin this conversation without making a complete fool of himself. After all, he wasn’t exactly known for his charm like Jason. Gods, what he wouldn’t give to be able to send Jason in his place right now.

As he approached, Rhaenyra’s sharp eyes flicked to him immediately. Of course. She always noticed everything. Her gaze hardened, lips pressing into a thin line, and Tyland’s heart sank. This was a mistake. But he was already here, and it was too late to turn back now.

You, on the other hand, hadn’t noticed him yet, and for that brief moment, Tyland could breathe. You seemed at ease, standing beside your sister with a soft, thoughtful expression, your hands gently clasped in front of you. There was a gentleness about you that made this whole situation feel even more precarious. How was he supposed to talk to you about this betrothal when even he barely understood how it had happened?

“Princess Y/N, Princess Rhaenyra,” he greeted with a bow, hoping his voice didn’t tremble too much. He could feel Rhaenyra’s eyes boring into him, a silent warning already in place. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or run for his life.

Rhaenyra said nothing, only narrowing her gaze as if daring him to say the wrong thing. You, however, looked up at him, surprised but polite, offering a small, uncertain smile. “Lord Tyland,” you said softly, your voice as gentle as ever. “It’s good to see you.”

Tyland managed a tight smile in return, though he could feel his nerves jangling in his chest. “The pleasure is mine, Princess Y/N.” He hesitated, glancing at Rhaenyra, who stood like a dragon guarding her treasure. Right. Just get on with it.

He cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. “I... I thought it might be good for us to speak,” he began, shifting awkwardly. “Given... well, the recent developments.” His words trailed off into an awkward silence, and he resisted the urge to cringe at how clumsy it all sounded.

You blinked at him, clearly unsure of what to say. Rhaenyra, on the other hand, arched an eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest. “Developments?” she repeated, her tone dry and sharp as a blade. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

Tyland’s mouth went dry. This was exactly the kind of situation he had feared. He glanced at you, then back at Rhaenyra, who was watching him like a hawk ready to swoop down and rip him to shreds. “Yes,” he said, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “I thought it important that Princess Y/N and I... discuss our future.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched into something resembling a smirk, but there was no humor in it. “Discuss, yes. I’m sure you have a great deal to say about how this arrangement came about.”

Tyland swallowed hard, feeling the sweat prickling at the back of his neck. He tried not to let his eyes dart around for an escape route. Instead, he turned to you, his voice a little more steady this time. “Princess Y/N, I want to apologize,” he said sincerely, ignoring the way Rhaenyra’s expression darkened at the word apologize. “This... this was not something I expected either. I understand if you’re upset—”

Before he could finish, Rhaenyra interrupted. “Upset?” she echoed, a dangerous edge in her voice. “That’s putting it mildly.”

You, sensing the growing tension between your sister and Tyland, gently touched Rhaenyra’s arm. “Rhaenyra,” you said softly, giving her a small smile. “I’m sure Lord Tyland means well.”

Rhaenyra exhaled sharply but didn’t argue. Instead, she stepped back slightly, allowing you and Tyland some space, though she still stood close enough to pounce if she felt it necessary.

Tyland took a deep breath, grateful for the momentary reprieve. He looked at you again, his expression softening. “I don’t want you to think I... planned any of this,” he said carefully. “In truth, it was... well, a surprise to me as well. My brother Jason, he was the one who initially... I mean, the proposal wasn’t...”

He was babbling now, and he could see Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowing with impatience. You, however, listened quietly, your expression thoughtful. “I understand,” you said gently. “I don’t think this was your doing, Lord Tyland.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thank you,” he said, his relief evident. “I... I only want what’s best for you, Princess Y/N.” He paused, feeling awkward again under Rhaenyra’s scrutiny. “Whatever that may be.”

You smiled softly at him, though there was still a hint of uncertainty in your eyes. “I suppose we’ll figure that out together.”

Tyland nodded, his chest loosening just a little. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as disastrous as he’d feared. At least, not entirely. Of course, the sound of Jason’s laughter, still echoing in the distance, suggested that his troubles were far from over. But for now, he could count this small conversation as a victory.

[vikingmagic33]

The count now stands at 22.

It started with Josh Lyman, now I've got like 30 different traumatized men living in my head.

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter One

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Author's Note: After a lot of encouragement, I will be posting chapters in their entirety here and on AO3. Many many huge thanks to @acrossthesestars for being my co-pilot, and for holding my hand through writing this story. Thank you to everyone who has reblogged and commented. Your words mean the world to me.

CHAPTER ONE - THE WEIGHT THAT BROUGHT US HERE

Alicent watched the lords of the council settle into their seats, placing their markers in the proper place. Lord Tyland Lannister took his seat at the opposite end of the magnificent table, Lord Lyman Beesbury to his right. Maester Mellos and then Lord Larys at her own left hand. Jasper Wylde sat beside her father’s usual place at the right hand. The power of the realm all concentrated right in this room. They prayed to the Crone for guidance and wisdom at the beginning of every meeting, a practice that had thankfully not reached the ears of the king, as he’d been cloistered in his rooms since his illness had taken more of his body. It was one thing to allow her Faith to grace their dinner table. It was a whole other to have the Faith find its place at the Small Council. While his signature still graced the decrees, and his decisions still paramount for he was the King, Viserys had left the dealings of the realm to them. It was for the best - Viserys’ mind was giving way to his illness and the less seen, the better. Alicent didn’t know what she preferred: her husband demeaning her and neglecting her children, or him calling her Aemma when she came to care for him at night.

She grazed her fingers over the polished black marble ball in front of her as Maester Mellos began rattling off the never ending fighting between the Brackens and Blackwoods that not even the Father bearing down from the heavens himself could stop. They continued to tear themselves apart as if they would win all the gold in Casterly Rock for the longest, most ridiculous spat that the Tullys were no longer capable of handling. Sometimes she wished she could just drag charcoal lines along the map, piece off the floodplains to the north and the west and the mountains, let the other kingdoms take their pieces.

“Begs the question if perhaps it isn’t time to elect a new Lord Paramount to bring them to heel,” Lord Wylde harrumphed in his self-important way. The man was well and agreeable enough, Alicent thought, but every time he spoke, she missed Lyonel Strong. None of his proposals contained this ‘begging the question’ sort of nonsense, and none of Wylde’s attempts had any of the late Lord Strong’s well thought out solutions and easy friendliness.

“Unless grievous injustice is done, we cannot normally strip the title of Lord Paramount, but their inability to bring either house to heel since given the title is threatening the stability of the realm. Blackwoods own more land than the Tullys, and now we have reports they’ve gone undermining one another’s orchards, and putting others at risk.” Jasper turned his gaze to Larys, who had not spoken since the prayer. “Strong, your holding is Harrenhal. What do you have to say about this matter?”

Larys’ manner did not fool Alicent, but it worked wonders, as always, on Jasper. “This quarrel of theirs has lasted as long as the dynasty and longer still. King Jaehaerys brokered peace, and we cannot ascertain what sparked it again.” From the nervous licking of his lips to the fidgeting of his hands, he was a master at seeming far less dangerous than he truly was. “You might seek instead the opinion of my dearest uncle Simon. He is the castellan and knows both it and the Riverlands far better than I do, as I’ve been here during most of this recent infighting. ”

Wylde humphed, twitching his nose in such a way that his bushy mustache reminded Alicent of a walrus she’d seen at Driftmark. She dug her nails into her palm to hold back her laugh. “Should we offer the Tullys more incentive?” Wylde blustered, reaching for a solution that he could take credit for.

“Incentive for not letting their bannerman destroy harvests?” Tyland Lannister snorted, reclined in his chair as if he were the one running the meeting. “That’s their duty. If they can’t do it, then there’s a bigger issue to deal with.”

“Perhaps a betrothal,” Lord Beesbury spoke up, his eyes darting from Larys’ to hers. Alicent straightened, watching the man try to figure out how to present his own suggestion. “The Tullys are proud, and the Riverlands command a great host when they come together. Lord Tully’s great-grandson is around Princess Helaena’s age. It would be a show of friendship and goodwill.”

“A show of a dragon is what you mean, isn’t it?” Her father’s voice cut in smoothly, but she could see the annoyance in his eyes at the prospect of Helaena being sent to the Riverlands. She did not want her sweet girl sent so far away either, but his words hurt in their easy protectiveness of her daughter, when they had never done for herself.

“Dragons are a statement, my Lord Hand. If not the princess, perhaps… Lord Strong, your youngest sister is not yet married,” Beesbury continued, flush with ideas. Was Rhaenyra feeding them to him?

“If Grover Tully, or whomever is handling their seat, cannot bring them to heel, we should have the Lords Bracken and Blackwood come and explain themselves to the crown,” she cut in before Beesbury could really get his momentum going. Heads turned to look at her, and Alicent looked to the Grand Maester. “Send ravens today. By the moon’s turn, I want them before the Iron Throne explaining themselves.” There was a curl of satisfaction on her lips as the aging Mellos gestured to his assistant. “We should also have Lord Tully, or his son, also come to answer. I know Lord Grover has been recently ill,” she continued. Authority and compassion were the balance she must always strike, so that her decisions could not be questioned, her judgment nothing but sound. She was the Mother of the Realm after all.

“Well said, your Grace,” Larys said softly, that shadow blink of a smile on his face. Lord Beesbury’s suggestions were easily dismissed.

Tension knotted between her shoulder blades, and she shifted in her chair to relieve the pain. She drummed her fingers on the armrest of the chair as her father’s warning spun dizzily through her thoughts.

Either you prepare Aegon to rule, or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.

That morning, Ser Criston found the boy who might be king passed out in the stables with his cock in hand; at least her father hadn’t found out. Alicent felt nauseated at the idea of sacrificing a girl barely younger than she’d been in an attempt to corral her son into leadership.

The doors of the chamber opened. Ser Harrold Westerling entered the room with the head dragonkeeper, Arryx, following behind. Her father rose not in a show of respect for the Kingsguard Commander, but some show of power - the unyielding stone and height of the tower that would not bow to neither wind nor storm.

“Forgive my tardiness, your Grace, my lords.”

Her father waved a hand and sat back down. “We were told that you were attending to an urgent matter, Lord Commander.”

Ser Harrold clasped his arm across his chest and bowed to her. “This morning, I was alerted to events that transpired last night inside of the dragonpit. Keeper Arryx wanted to speak of the matter to you personally.” Ser Harrold stepped back to allow the aging keeper to take the floor. Alicent gave her own nod to the man as he rose from his prostration.

“Dreamfyre has laid another clutch of eggs. Only three, your Grace, and she will let no one near them. Vhagar has been circling,” Arryx said.

Alicent frowned. Dreamfyre had not laid a clutch in several years now, and Vhagar rarely came to the pit. She was too old, too large, with little desire to be kept with her smaller brethren. The horrific beast preferred a rocky outcropping far out into the bay.

Aemond had given her a quizzical look when she’d brought it up once, when he was still bedridden and recovering from his mutilation. Her sweet boy was now strung through with a confidence that she’d never seen ignite within him when he had both eyes. The dangerous glint that confidence took as he’d grown older was also new.

She’s protecting what is hers, mother. We both are, he’d said.

“I have spoken with the Commander of the City Watch, your Grace, to ensure that those in the areas closest to the pit keep their distance unless absolutely necessary. It has allowed us to take stock of the current state of those neighborhoods.” Ser Harrold turned to look at Ser Otto. “A full report will be on your desk.”

Her father nodded, and Ser Harrold looked once more to the keeper.

Arryx shifted on his feet, and Alicent watched his eyes flick to the Grand Maester with an expression that she could not discern. The Citadel and the Hightowers have always stood side by side for the betterment of the realm, Alicent, and you’ll continue to foster that friendship, won’t you?

“Five of the kitlings have also died, your Grace. They were unbonded, brought from Dragonstone before…”

Before Daemon had come back.

“How many dragons does this put us at?” Her father’s deceptively mild tone was the opposite of his glee when Aemond had claimed Vhagar. The numbers requested were ones he’d calculated in his head, monthly, since he’d come back.

“Claimed, my lord?” Arryx asked, pausing momentarily. “Eleven, throughout the family. Lady Rhaena’s dragon hatched, but it was born twisted and sickly and did not last. I have not received word otherwise of any intention for Lady Rhaena to come and try to claim another dragon.”

Half of the dragons were claimed. Alicent watched her father drum his fingers along the table. Identifying the pattern took only a moment. He was counting.

Specifically, the dragons that were on their side.

“I want reports of the necropsies upon their completion,” her father said with a narrowed and assessing look, disturbed by the news. “The last thing we need is some strange illness to rip through all of them.”

Alicent chewed on the inside of her lip and watched the shining outline of the seven-pointed star beaming down on the table.

“Syrax is almost big enough for two riders now. Will you come touch the clouds with me, Alicent? Please?” Rhaenyra had always begged, mouth close to her ear, hands stroking her arms, her wounded and bloody fingers.

The joyful look that Aegon once gave her now reserved for a beast: “I’ve never known love until Sunfyre, mother. It’s like the world has color now that we’re together.”

“Dreamfyre keeps me tethered to the ground even as I fly in my dreams. She’s the only anchor I have,” said Helaena, who would withdraw from her touch as if it were a sting from a bee.

Little Daeron and his dragon clutched in his arms: “I can’t leave Tessarion behind, mother! I won’t know how to be happy without her!”

Dragons had robbed Alicent of everything.

“Thank you, Arryx. I will speak to the children and see what Prince Aemond might do about Vhagar.” The idea of her sweet, once immaculate and tender-hearted child being near that twisted, hoary thing still terrified her, no matter how gently reassuring Aemond could be.

Arryx did not move to leave just yet. “Forgive me, your Grace, but Vhagar is no Vermithor or Sunfyre: she is old and willful, and although she is bonded with our prince, I would suggest caution. He is… young, and Vhagar was forged in the fires of battle.”

He bowed once more before taking his leave.

Even in indescribable pain, in the face of his own father’s disregard and disdain, Aemond sought to soothe her. “Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

What else would her father do to get more dragons on their side?

Nervous tension pulsed in the silence left when the doors closed behind the dragonkeeper, filled only by the soft creak of the Kingsguard’s mail and the gentle clink of the chain around Grand Maester Mellos’ neck as he shifted in his chair, barely audible. The enduring mystery and curiosity of dragons was a specter of The Stranger above them all. Alicent had heard her kingly husband remind Rhaenyra repeatedly: Dragons were not pets. The bond with them should not blind their riders to the power that thrummed ancient and thick in their veins.

She breathed slowly, letting the quiet ease, refusing to meet anyone else’s eyes as the tumult of feelings inside of her crashed upon the jagged edges of her broken ribs. This was the right choice. Her babies were only half-Targaryen, and Rhaenyra’s bastards were the same, whether she’d ever admit to it or not.

Everyone in the room had grown up with the stories that the Conquerors spread when they forged the throne: The Valyrian blood magic that had made them dragonriders was only to be found in their Targaryen blood. That bloodline needed to remain pure. Yet, Rhaena’s pure Valyrian blood did not save her first dragon from being born sickly and dying quickly, while Aemond - Targaryen only by half - bonded with Vhagar, the most powerful beast in the world.

There were no further reasons to believe the Targaryens were gods after all, and above the realm they had conquered.

The great chair of the King creaked as she slowly rose, taking in the council before her. There were no Targaryens in this room, even if she had birthed her own clutch of half-dragons. Alicent bore this task without joy or fanfare. It was a duty to be endured for the good of her family, for the good of her realm.

She stood with her hands folded in front of her, the image of the Mother of the Realm. Alicent had done this once before, when she had declared that she was standing in an official capacity for her husband.

“My lords of the council,” She hedged a glance at her father before moving her gaze to each man at the table. Ladies of the realm should be on the council. “It is with great joy and love that the King and myself, with Lord Larys Strong, announce to the small council that we have arranged the betrothal of our son, Prince Aegon Targaryen, and Lady Abrogail Strong.”

Each of the lords straightened in their chairs. Lord Beesbury frowned and glanced away from her. The uncertain and uncomfortable shifting in his chair belied the embarrassment he was attempting to hide. Alicent felt no need to point it out. It was a fine idea that he’d presented and not his fault he did not know what had already been decided. Even if he was Rhaenyra’s lapdog, Alicent would be the better person, and not rub his face in it.

The congratulations buzzed in her ears as she sat back down in her chair, and beneath the table, she tore at the skin along her left thumbnail. The pain was as dull as the congratulations in her ears. Her father’s voice was distant, jovial even.

They hadn’t even told Aegon and Abrogail yet. She remembered standing in the same position, knowing what was coming, knowing what it would destroy and desperately hoping that it might not.

I have decided to take a new wife. I intend to marry Lady Alicent Hightower before Spring’s end.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Rhaenyra forgive me forgivemeforgiveme.

“A feast is in order to announce Prince Aegon and Lady Abrogail’s betrothal,” Tyland’s jovial tone broke the silence. His suggestion—or statement, depending on how Alicent took it—was not one that she’d expected when she sat down in Viserys’ chair, but welcomed the confirmation of his support.

Meanwhile, Larys’s expression gave nothing away. He simply inclined his head in agreement.

Her son — her trueborn son — for all his faults, deserved to be celebrated. She was happy she didn’t have to fight for this. It was Mellos who spoke next: “Given the last wedding that was celebrated within these halls, it would be a reassuring gesture to the Lords of the Realm if they were given the opportunity, and for us to show unity within House Targaryen. With the Prince’s nameday in a few moons, perhaps we can celebrate with a tournament.”

Alicent’s eyes cut to her father, who smiled lightly, nodding in agreement but careful not to say a word, allowing the Maester to be responsible for the idea.

“Even better,” Tyland raised his goblet in agreement. “We haven’t had a proper celebration in years. What better occasion? Lord Rickard Reyne will be overjoyed to hear the honor bestowed on his granddaughter.” He looked over at her father. “I take it you’ll be writing to him, Lord Hand?”

The last time Alicent had seen her uncle Lord Rickard had been at her mother’s funeral: now no longer the worst day of her life, but the memory that was still seared into her mind. She recalled Lord Reyne as a stoic man, but he’d been kind to her in her grief. Alicent hoped the years had not taken that away from him, but they likely had.

Time always stole away kindness.

Lord Beesbury looked pensive. Alicent could practically hear the man pushing house markers along the map in his head as the conversation continued. “Was Princess Rhaenyra involved in such a discussion?”

“The Princess Rhaenyra has continued to seclude herself and,” he paused, his gaze heavy and considering as he took in those around the table. “Her second husband, Daemon Targaryen, at Dragonstone. Neither has she come to the small council as her status allows, nor has she engaged with matters of the realm that her being heir gives her right to,” her father said smoothly, and he was right. “The king still grieves his daughter’s choices, and she has yet to amend with him. I agree with Lord Lannister and our Grand Maester. This would show the strength and unity and willingness of House Targaryen to bond and celebrate with the realm.”

Beesbury gave a humorless chuckle. “And nothing to do with presenting Prince Aegon formally.” As a contender. As a choice - that was left unsaid.

Alicent felt a surge of anger inside of her, instinct compelling her to protect her children and pull the wool Viserys and Rhaenyra spun from Beesbury’s eyes so he could see the truths they refused to acknowledge.

Not long after Aemond had been born, Lord Lyonel had enlisted her in trying to get Viserys to hold another declaration to follow Rhaenyra, if she was truly his desired heir even with two healthy boys of his blood. The King had originally chosen Rhaenyra because of the loss of Baelon and Aemma. Everyone wanted to keep Daemon off the throne, lest he became another Maegor the Cruel… and now, he was to be Rhaenyra’s consort, and Viserys still would do nothing. Alicent refused to believe that Rhaenyra would kill her half-siblings, that she would kill Alicent’s children for whatever love had been there. Every dark, curly haired little boy caused her to fear not what Rhaenyra would decide, but what others would encourage her to do. Her father had not been wrong - her sons would be beacons of rebellion, damned by the man who had so desperately craved a son, yet now ignored. How bitter a pill.

Daemon terrified her. They should all be terrified of him. Daemon now had Rhaenyra’s ear and her heart and her body. Daemon was not one to hesitate if something stood in his way.

Did you fuck Daemon Targaryen in a pleasure house? Targaryens have such queer customs.

“Prince Aegon is eight and ten, an accomplished dragonrider, ah…” Mellos trailed off, and the uncertainty on his face clawed at Alicent’s insides. Failure was acid in her throat.

Either you prepare Aegon…

That boy who would be king had groped six serving girls at the last feast before drinking and whoring his way through the Street of Silk.

“My sister and heir is of unimpeachable character,” Larys’ quiet voice carried within the room. “As a child, Abrogail was a playmate of Prince Aegon and his siblings, and she has become a beloved ward of Queen Alicent, who has done a remarkable job of raising her after the deaths of our parents. I would consider her to be a prime example of all our realm offers to a family that has, if I may be candid, gone to great lengths to keep to their own since the conquest. Wouldn’t you agree, Grand Maester?”

That poor girl she’d now chained to him was a picture of the Maiden. It had taken everything to ensure that her father waited for it. She would not have another bride offered to the throne before she was of age, while her father wanted nothing more than for Aegon to grow up.

Tension crept back into the room at Larys’ words. Nobody would think to utter these thoughts had Viserys been sitting there. Mellos cleared his throat and avoided her father’s gaze to adjust the heavy chain around his neck. The title of Grand Maester had been his even before Viserys’ reign, and he was possibly the closest representative that was not her to speak to Viserys’ mind.

“I would agree, Lord Strong. Perhaps even exploring the eventuality of wedding Prince Aegon’s children to Prince Jacaerys’ would… reassure Princess Rhaenyra. She once suggested a betrothal between Princess Helaena and-”

“We already have other candidates in mind for my daughter,” Alicent cut in immediately. She wouldn’t say anything about Jace’s children and future grandchildren. She refused to entertain the idea that Helaena would marry Rhaneyra’s son to cover her indignity and insult to everything that she had been given and born into. “We have time before the wedding,” she said with a gentler tone. “A year should be more than enough to introduce them to the realm and start introducing Prince Aegon to newer responsibilities befitting his station.”

That was time enough to beat her son into someone who could be King.

Morning light streamed through the gauzy, sage curtains of the princess’ room. Abrogail licked the honey clinging to her fingers as she moved towards the washbasin, abandoning half-eaten bread and cold cuts of meat at the table. Helaena also ignored their meal as she lingered at the only window that could give her a good view of the Dragonpit. Vhagar had been on the prowl that morning, unusually territorial, and the change in the dragon’s temperament had entranced the friend whom she called sister. She jumped when Abby ventured near her, eyes wide and body tense as a startled cat, so the redhead pivoted in the opposite direction in order to retrieve Helaena’s bodice. Normally, she did not wear one unless the Queen noticed, but on days when her mind drifted, the structure of the garment seemed to keep Helaena focused on the moment instead of her dreams. The princess was somewhere else in her thoughts, mechanically holding up her arms to have the bodice slipped over her shift.

“I’m going to tighten the laces now, alright, Helaena?” Abrogail told the princess as she always did, walking through the process so she wasn’t surprised by anything.

Helaena gave no verbal indication that she was listening, but Abby noticed her pale blonde head bob in acceptance. Slowly, she began straightening the garment, mindful of keeping her touch on the lacing and the chemise from pulling and pinching uncomfortably and defeating the purpose.

“Pink and red, he might be dead. Blue and black, no coming back,” Helaena murmured. Her gaze drifted to Myrella Penrose, who approached with a yellow, diamond patterned dress for inspection. “I don’t want my scales to be so bright.” Helaena’s voice did not rise from her quiet tone, and her gaze flitted away.

“How about the new one from Sevenmas?” Abby offered brightly before Myrella’s face could twist into the uncertain and disturbed look it took whenever Helaena drifted. “The ocean blue one with the beading. That’ll be nice to feel, right, Helaena?”

The princess tilted her head about, humming. “Yes, that would be.” She threaded her fingers together, pressing in so the knuckles would crack. Myrella visibly winced at the sound, but Abby just shook her head and carefully tucked the laces into the bodice. “The perfect hug,” came the breathless statement, before Helaena’s bright lavender eyes finally focused away from whatever she was tracking to turn around and look towards her. Abby took the dress from Myrella and offered her cousin a smile as she held it up. She was used to Helaena’s inquisitive gazes, as if she was a bug under the pretty Maester’s glass Aemond had gifted his sister. “Do you need them, too?”

“A hug?” Abby frowned.

“Scales - armor to protect you,” she clarified. Helaena held her arms up to slide the dress over her head, and Abby left her to do the little buttons down the front herself. “Or would you prefer a pretty carapace? Silver and reds, greens and blue. Pinks and black and gold.”

Abby laughed at the idea of being covered in so many colors, and Helaena even returned the smile as she finished her buttons. It was a good sign, and the tingle of worry that had been crawling up and down along her spine immediately eased. “To be decorated in so many colors? That would make for lovely armor.”

Helaena’s mood was improving, which meant that when the Queen finally came in, she wouldn’t immediately launch into fretting and worrying about the princess being in ‘one of her episodes.’ Abby knew the Queen did not mean it badly, but it still made her uncomfortable. Were her mother still there, she would say something if Abby expressed her concern. She was alone here now, and things were as different as the day and night.

The door creaked open, but it wasn’t Alicent who entered. Helaena’s little smile turned bright and beaming: “Aemond!”

At four and ten, the boy was steadily growing with each passing turn of the moon. While bypassing Abrogail in height was no difficult feat, he now stood as tall as his sister and mother. Prince Aegon was the next family member he was bound to outgrow, and the Queen had already tasked her with ordering clothes to be made ready for when Aemond shot up again. Lord Otto towered over most, and he japed that Aemond might make it where Aegon had failed to surpass him.

Hearing Helaena’s joyous declaration, Abby caught a spray of pink blooming on his pale cheeks, and Aemond reached up to adjust the soft leather strap of his eyepatch. The scar no longer looked angry, but it was prominent; a ridge of thick skin that was only just smoothing out with time. The prince held a jar carefully in his hands. He took several steps before Abby clucked her tongue at him the way she would at her own cat, though Theraxis had not joined her that morning in Helaena’s room. Earlier, a maid brought along with their meals news that the cat was gallivanting in the discarded feathers while the scullery maids plucked chickens.

“Your mother will be up any minute. She said she doesn’t want to catch you in here anymore,” Abby warned with an arched brow. There was no censure in her teasing tone. Aemond was nearly her own little brother, although much was changing as they left their childhoods behind.

“She won’t be here for him,” Helaena said in a voice far more present than it had been before, Aemond’s very presence pulling her back down to earth and away from the clouds. “What did you bring me?” Even though her buttons were only half-done, Helaena rushed across the room to Aemond with her arms outstretched and fingers wiggling. “Oh! It’s beautiful! Abby! Look!” She held up the jar filled with little sticks and leaves – a fat blue and yellow cocoon precariously hanging from one forked stick inside. “I wonder if it belongs to the ones I released last year.”

“You’ll be the mother of all the moths and butterflies in the Red Keep,” Aemond said softly, so softly that Abby could hardly hear him despite standing close by.

Abrogail moved away from the siblings, smiling at Myrella and leading the woman to the opened door. “Thank you for your help this morning. I believe the Queen will need you more today. Let her know we’ll be going to the gardens later, if you please.” Lately, the Queen had been sending the Penrose woman to help Abby tend to the princess’ needs. It had made her nervous. When she asked the Queen if she was being replaced, the words stuck to her throat. Her Grace had been adamant that it was not the case at all, that it was only so Abrogail could learn from her in preparation for her own running of a household, and give Helaena time to get used to someone else helping her.

Another part of Abby wondered if the Queen knew Aemond was still coming to visit in the morning. Or worse, that Uncle Otto was spying. Abby was protective of her friends, her kin. They were siblings bonded through the years of fights in the mud and pranks and stories in the nursery. Bonds such as theirs were not so easily broken; they only changed as time passed, as things happened, like Aemond losing an eye.

Myrella Penrose gave her a tight smile and left down the hall. Abby watched her go, lingering in the door as Aemond and Helaena whispered in the room. Her friend’s quiet giggles were a rare sound, and Abby would do anything to protect those moments for her, for them both. She tugged at the embroidered cuffs of her dark blue-gray dress, thumbs brushing the little weirwood leaves sewn in delicate scarlet thread. Little golden dragons danced through them as a symbol of her ties with the family. Aegon had picked the golden thread, predictable as ever, when she’d asked his opinion.

She thought of the embroidered knot Helaena had been making – silver and green, tangling with red and black and gold. There were so many twists, but Helaena assured her that there was a rhyme to it, a dance with complicated steps. Aemond’s soft laugh cracked a bit, and Abby bit her lower lip to hide her giggle at the sound. She turned her head, and while she couldn’t quite make them out, she could see their shadows along the stone floor. They stood close together, heads bowed over something - maybe the jar, she couldn’t tell.

Heavy and purposeful footsteps echoed down the hall. Abby’s head snapped up from where she stood within the doorway, not immediately visible. She strained to identify the cadence, and her stomach twisted when she did.

“It’s him,” she hissed, glancing wide-eyed over her shoulder. Aemond’s head was close to Helaena’s with her hands resting on his shoulders. At Abby’s raised alarm, her fingers twisted in his dark green doublet and yanked him towards the partition, shoving him behind it. Abby snatched the jar with the precious cocoon inside and tucked it on the bookshelf behind the embroidered manticore Helaena had just finished. Otto Hightower’s footsteps were not alone, although the Hightower guards did not enter the Princess’ room when he swept in. Abby immediately dropped into a curtsy, a murmur of, “Lord Uncle.” Helaena bobbed slightly, twisting back and forth a bit. “Good morning, grandfather,” she said, bounding up to press a kiss on his cheek. If Otto had any weakness, it would be his unparalleled love and favoritism of his granddaughter. It was hard to tell how much Helaena enjoyed her grandfather’s attention and how much was one of her games, but whatever it was, it worked.

“Good morning, sweet girl. You look lovely today.” Otto’s voice was fond, his smile more gentle than he seemed capable of. He was an intimidating man. Abby had received nothing but kindness and vague disinterest, but he still made her nervous. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to borrow your cousin.” She felt her cheeks color as Otto’s gaze moved to her. Her mouth dried as her nerves returned to where they’d been when standing before the Queen, wondering if she was being replaced. Perhaps Larys was sending her back to Harrenhal or her sister was demanding she go to her in Casterly Rock.

Helaena smiled at her, though, with her hands folded across her stomach. “I’ll help you with your carapace later,” she reassured her. “You won’t be without armor.”

Closing the door behind them, the Hightower guards followed a few paces behind as Abby fell in step with him.

“Is everything alright?” she asked as they went left instead of right, towards the Hand’s tower. It had been years since she’d walked this path that had been as familiar to her as the gardens of the Red Keep. Her eyes glanced for the loose stone at the corner of the step, where she’d stow secret messages in the little hollow behind it. Had she left a note there? Was there perhaps a mystery one waiting for her?

“It is. And I hope you have been well yourself.” Lord Otto looked down at her gently, and she nodded. “The Queen says you pray often in the Sept?”

A prompt. A strange one, but a prompt all the same. She swallowed past her dry mouth and put a smile on her face. “Yes, I enjoy the quiet, and it helps me feel closer to my parents.” And brother, but she was careful not to mention Harwin around anyone but a handful. “It’s especially nice when her Grace joins me. It’s almost like I have my mother back.” No one could replace her mother, but the Queen had been there for as long as she could remember, and sometimes, when she tilted her head a certain way and the light caught in Queen Alicent’s auburn curls, she could pretend her mother was there once more.

“Her Grace speaks highly of you – how good you are with Princess Helaena, well behaved and polite. She said that you and the princess have made things for the poor children of the city. A very kind and admirable pursuit for you both. Your father would be very proud.”

“Thank you.” Abby wasn’t sure what else to say or what he was getting at as they began climbing the winding staircase. The familiarity of it hit her like a scent memory - one sudden and revealing of long-forgotten feelings. “I do my best to follow the Queen’s guidance and reflect well on my position within the family and her example.”

“Good. Very good.” She wasn’t sure if it was something she was supposed to reply to, so she hedged her bets and remained quiet. Her palms were sweating, and she discreetly wiped them on her skirt as she held the fabric. “I’ve noticed that you and Prince Aegon do not spend as much time together as you used to.”

Aegon? Why was she being asked about Aegon? Her stomach twisted, and she felt a prickle of heat along the back of her neck. It was true: they didn’t spend as much time together, but they hadn’t for years now, not since she spent more of her time with Helaena and… Aegon? Well, Aegon had been withdrawing slowly but surely for so long, like fraying threads at the seams. She’d be lying if she claimed to not miss him, because she did. She missed the happier boy he’d been, who did not constantly ply himself with drink and was more mercurial than a wild dragon.

Abrogail would also be lying if she claimed they saw little of one another, or spent no time at all because that was untrue as well. Until the past few moons, she’d gather lunch for the two of them when he finally rose well past noon, and he’d take her flying wherever he and Sunfyre desired to go. It had been something quiet and cherished, simply the three of them away from everything. Until Aegon had gotten in the tavern brawl all that time ago. Until Aegon started avoiding her. Until he barely acknowledged her at meals that he decided to join, even when he sat beside her. There was no way that Otto Hightower would not be aware of that, and she would not hedge around it. It wasn’t like anything untoward was happening.

“Not as much, but that is a natural casualty of leaving behind childhood. He found me earlier this week because it seemed there was a lack of honey cakes in the kitchen and I was the first to be interrogated.” There was a note of amusement in her voice, and Abby smiled in memory of his indignation and how silly he looked when she shoved honey cake into his mouth to stop his ranting. “He occasionally accompanies me in the Sept to pray. It’s incredibly kind of him to do so.”

She mounted a few more steps before realizing that Lord Hightower had paused. She turned to look at him. Morning light streaked through the narrow, delicate paned windows, casting shadow and illuminating dust in the air. He stared up at her, and with a few steps between them, she stood at his height. It was the first time she’d ever met her uncle’s eyes. Unlike her own unreadable brother, Otto’s face was not so impassive. He looked intrigued by her admission. Abby’s hands wound into her skirt so as not to fidget.

“He was not inappropriate, if that is your concern, my lord. Prince Aegon behaved with due respect.” To defend Aegon was second nature to her, and she would do so towards arguably the most powerful man in the realm if it meant to spare Aegon more shame and ire when, for once, he’d done nothing wrong. Which was true. Aegon hadn’t said a single thing. He knelt beside her, lighting candles, and simply stayed with her while she prayed for her family. He hadn’t even put a hand of comfort on her shoulder. She felt that was worth mentioning, given his current proclivities. She would not deny his vices, but she would not break confidence, and she would let no one, especially Lord Otto, think any worse of him if she could help it.

“Very good.” It took everything in her to keep the bewilderment off her face as she tried to understand what exactly he was trying to figure out. Otto resumed their progress, although now he rested a heavy hand between her shoulder blades like a father guiding a child. “So, you have no current complications with him?”

Complications? Did he think she’d lifted her skirts for Aegon? It wasn’t like she’d never thought of kissing him on those lazy afternoons when they’d lay in the grass and stare at the sky somewhere in the Kingswood with Sunfyre sunning himself like a cat. Of course she’d thought about kissing him, especially when he was at his most melancholy, with tears pooling in his eyes, making them pinker than normal. A kiss beyond the games children play, a kiss to comfort an angry prince in the firelight’s glow, his tears coursing down his cheeks with each snip of her embroidery scissors that sent locks of moonlight hair to the ground.

He’d never touched her more than a handhold, and far less than she touched him in her casual affections.

“No. No complications,” she confirmed.

They reached the landing, and Abby ran her hand over the stone dragon curled up in eternal sleep at the top of the stairs. Her fingers scratched along the smooth curve of its head the way she’d done every morning when she visited her father. She felt her uncle’s gaze on her, and she drew her hand away, hurrying to follow him into his office with her cheeks burning beneath her freckles, relieved only just by his vaguely amused expression.

The room was darker than it had been before. Gone were the stacks of books with various slips of paper sticking out haphazardly, or Theraxis lounging lazily along the cool stone floor by the door with his fluffy tail, sending motes of dust into the air. She instinctively clutched her skirt on the right to pull them away, so used to a giant paw the size of her hand grabbing at the fluttering fabric. But Theraxis was not there. The crumbling tome about the Andal invasion was absent from where it once rested on the side table. Instead, Larys stood by the fire with his back to her, as did the Queen, her lovely green dress covering her from neck to wrist with a golden pattern woven in the fabric that caught the firelight. Her face pinched in the way it did when she was uncertain and trying not to pick at her nails.

Abby noticed, of course. It usually meant that someone was about to get yelled at or she would send them away with the other ladies.

The figure in the chair slouched so far down that his silver head nearly vanished behind the back of it. At the clearing of Lord Otto’s throat, Aegon jerked up. His whole body held so much tension that it made Abby’s own hurt just by looking at him. He peered over his shoulder at them with glossy, red-rimmed eyes that give him a strange, ethereal sort of gaze, skin pale enough to prominently display the flushed pink mottling of a strike against his right cheek. He looked stuffy and uncomfortable in his dark green doublet, his fingers absently tugging at the buttons and collar. As his gaze focused, his eyes widened and darted from the uncertainty she knew was on her own face to his grandfather behind her.

The thud as Otto shut the door reverberated through her, and she and Aegon both flinched at the sound. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby could see the Queen flinch as well. Larys, as always, looked unphased. The heavy hand on her back pushed her towards the empty chair closer to the fire, and she had no time to bob a curtsy; courtesies stuck like toffee in her mouth.

The chairs once held the delicately embroidered pillows her mother made. She would curl up with them and read aloud from the books scattered around while her papa worked. He would-

“Queen Alicent and Lord Larys have received several letters expressing interest in you, Abrogail,” Otto said, walking behind his desk. She dug her thumbnail into the pad of her middle finger, and she saw Aegon’s booted foot twitch on the flagstone – a rocking motion from the ball of his foot to his heel before slapping it back down beneath the desk. Wood crackled in the fireplace. “Lord Farman is looking for a wife for his eldest, and Faircastle would be close to your sister.”

He plucked a scroll from the basket as he spoke, and Abby felt her stomach churn with nerves as a red heat clawed along her throat. She did not venture a look at Aegon, save for the foot he kept rocking back, the heel he repeatedly ground into the floor. He’d not gone back to slouching. He could be indolent and rude when he wanted, but not even Aegon dared to in his grandfather’s presence. Abby didn’t understand what this was about, or why Aegon was here.

“Edmund Vance, the heir to House Vance, recently lost his wife. A good man, and part of the Riverlands although a small seat. Or, if you married Jesper Celtigar, the heir of Crackclaw, you’d be able to remain in King’s Landing.”

Otto Hightower produced scroll after scroll and Abrogail felt the flush of embarrassment in her cheeks, confusion keeping her words locked away. How was she supposed to react to all of this? What was he trying to say? Were all these marriage proposals meant to make her feel better about herself? No, that was too odd to contemplate.

Why was Aegon here?

“Lord Grover has also written of his interest in you for his grandson. A Paramount seat would let you be close to your home at Harrenhal, and he already has an heir. He would take good care of you, and your children would have every opportunity.” Another scroll plucked from the basket. “It would bring Harrenhal into their holdings. Is that not correct, Lord Larys?”

Right. Harrenhal.

A woman’s lot is to only be worth what she could bring to the table.

Her brother was a man of few words, and he inclined his head with a shadow of a smile flickering across his face. Abby looked at the queen to find that her face was pinching harder. In the interim, Queen Alicent stepped away from the fire and moved instead to the desk with the gentle swoosh of her skirts gliding across the stone. She cleared her throat, a smile fighting its way on her face.

“All the offers were wonderful for you, my sweet girl, but none seemed right.” The Queen reached out to tuck a copper curl behind her ear, and Abby could not tell if this was supposed to be comforting to her or if the Queen sought comfort in the action for herself. Her lungs felt constricted, and it finally dawned on her.

Oh.

The sole of Aegon’s boot continued to drag across the stone in both a nervous fidget and to keep himself from slouching down even further into the chair. The only reason she could hear it was because of how focused she’d been on it, but now blood rushed into her head and Abby broke eye contact with her cousin to look down in her lap.

“What does seem right is for you and Aegon to be married, after your nameday. You’ll be eight and ten, and the pair of you will go to live at Harrenhal, and make your home there.”

Oh.

“Are you fucking serious?” Aegon’s voice was a hoarse, disused rasp from a night with endless drink. When she looked at him again, she noticed that his hair was still damp, and that beads of water from the wet ends had soaked little spots into the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t looking at her, but up at his mother, and then, incredulously, across the desk at his grandfather.

Otto’s face remained impassive following his grandson’s outburst. Abby wanted to grab Aegon and drag him out of the way of whatever was about to come out of the Hand’s mouth, as if the words would physically harm him.

The silence lengthened. Another log popped in the fireplace.

“He speaks.” The amusement in Otto’s voice caused Aegon to draw back further into his chair before he finally turned to look at her. His eyes were so red-rimmed, and his sullen face was so terribly pale that the pink-lilac of his eyes stood out ethereally, inhumanly like the drawing of a fae folk from a book she had as a child - wild and cornered. He’d bitten his pouty, chapped lips bloody.

Aegon searched her face for an answer to a question that she did not know. The only thing Abrogail could do was give him the gentle, reassuring smile she’d given him countless times before. It was what she did in this world: comfort her loved ones in any way possible, even as she needed to bury her own feelings on the matter. Feelings that, in this particular case, she couldn’t even begin untangling in the moment.

“Well, that makes us luckier than most, doesn’t it?” Abby cleared her throat and turned the smile onto the others in the room. She reached up to grasp the Queen’s hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze before she burst into a million pieces. Whether it was her, or the Queen, that might burst, she could not say. “We are fortunate to know one another so well and to be of an age. I thank you Lord Hightower, your Grace.” She looked at Larys, who remained silent in his observations, as always – an owl in a tree, eyes taking in everything. “Thank you, brother, for looking out for me.”

She felt Aegon’s eyes continue to pin on her. She looked back at him.

The wild and anxious expression was still on his face, and instinct compelled her, as it often did, to reach out her hand to take his - but he surprised her by beating her to it. His skin felt like fire engulfing her frigid hand and his fingers tangled with hers with easy familiarity. Before she could register what was happening, Aegon’s chair was already scraping across the floor and he pulled her from her chair with the momentum of jumping from his own. There was no pause in his movement as he dragged her to the door.

“How very fortunate we are.” A laugh bubbled from Aegon’s chest. It was a joyless sound when he laughed in the presence of his mother and grandsire. It was edged with the familiar mania; Aegon laughed when he was afraid, when he was anxious, when he was trying not to scream as his world was coming apart, or the laughter and joy on the back of Sunfyre. He tilted his head to stare up at the ceiling before throwing a look over his shoulder at the three across the room. “How very lucky we are.”

Aegon’s hand was clammy around hers, his grip bordering on painful. He yanked the door open with a protesting whine of the latch. Abby heard the Queen calling after him, but Aegon’s strides were purposeful as they ate up the ground to get away. Only the grip of their hands kept her from being left behind in the claustrophobic room where their future was being decided for them.

It might have been the second bravest thing she’d ever witnessed from him.

[Chapter Two]

[daemonsdivorcerock]

THE RED COUNCIL || d.targaryen

SUMMARY: viserys targaryen is dead. his succession left in doubt. all (name) targaryen has to her claim is a few words and a stolen right. war is coming to the seven kingdoms and the dragons will dance. sister against sister. kin against kin.

REQUESTED: yes/no

PAIRING: daemon targaryen x fem!targaryen reader

AUTHOR’S NOTES: part four of the shrew of king’s landing series. reader is described as having silver hair. cregan stark is slightly aged up in this btw.

WARNINGS: bucket loads of incest, parental death, allusions to murder, war, mentions of usurping, slight cregan stark/reader, mentions of “blood and cheese”, pregnancy, stillbirth, miscarriage etc

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

VISERYS TARGARYEN IS DEAD. HE HAD BEEN FOR LESS THAN AN HOUR. (Name) could not help but feel a form of guilt as she stood there, alone, with a hand on her stomach and tears running down her cheeks. Her father was dead. Her mother was dead. Her parents were dead.

Daemon had walked into the chambers after being summoned. He was respectfully quiet as he did so, hands on his wife’s shoulders. “The King is dead,” (Name) uttered quietly, as Daemon toyed with her silver locks.

“Indeed he is,” Daemon spoke, in a similar manner, holding his wife close. Everybody expressed their grief in a myriad of ways. Daemon preferred to bottle his feelings to avoid talking about them. (Name), on the other hand, sought comfort in others, “We must summon the Small Council,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

“Couldn’t we have begun this meeting when the sun has risen?” Tyland Lannister had asked, a smile on his face and a joking tone to his voice.

Sitting around the table, was the Red Council. Alicent had been informed the news firstly, as the Dowager Queen, then Otto as the former Hand of the King. Sitting at the head of the table, (Name) sighed. “The King is dead,” she revealed, causing the smile on Tyland Lannister’s face to drop and the room to fall silent.

“How long?” the Grand Maester queried, adorning beige-coloured robes, from across the table next to Ser Lyman Beesbury, a favourite in the council of (Name)‘s.

Daemon, who stood behind his wife, hand on her shoulder, confessed; “An hour ago, at most,” the Rogue Prince said, “(Name) was with him in his final moments and witnessed his death,”.

“He went peacefully in his sleep,” (Name) described, interlocking her fingers and resting her hands on the table. It felt odd, knowing that her father was dead, “He expressed…regret in not naming me as his heir and apologised,”.

“I believe we should confer the issue of King Viserys’ sucession,” Otto Hightower spoke, leaning forward slightly, “In regards as to who shall ascend the Iron Throne,”.

(Name)’s eyebrows furrowed. “My father has barely been dead an hour and here you sit, Otto Hightower, implying his succession!” (Name) snapped, “My sister, the Princess Rhaenyra, was named formally as heir twenty years ago by my father. The lords of the realm swore allegiance to her. To challenge my sister’s claim would be treason,”.

“That may be so, Princess,” The Grand Maester piped up, catching the room’s attention, “However, as in accordance with the King’s final words and the technicality of you being his firstborn child, you have every right to ascend the Iron Throne,”.

Alicent Hightower, who stood behind her father, uttered, “Princess (Name) also has a legitimate heir, the Princess Daenerys, who in turn also has a legitimate heir, the Prince Jaehaerys. Princess Rhaenyra has no legitimate children,”.

“It is well known that the people referred to my wife as “The Realm’s Joy”. She has a good relationship with the common folk and listens to their pleas,” Daemon said, as (Name) looked up at him.

Otto Hightower spoke up again, “I and others present in this council recall the Princess’ political and other suggestions in regards to the welfare of the Kingdom. In all valid points, the Princess (Name) would be an ideal candidate to be the next ruler of the Iron Throne,”.

“I acknowledge your points, councilmen,” the Princess spoke, “But Rhaenyra is my sister. What is stopping her from coming to the Red Keep and staking her claim? What is stopping her from putting me and my family to the sword?”.

“You do have allies in other Houses, Princess,” Daemon mentioned, “Lord Borros Baratheon. Lord Grover Tully. I recall you had a brief liaison with Lord Cregan Stark in your youths,”.

(Name) smiled, recalling the times she spent with Cregan Stark. “Houses Lannister, Tully, Redwyne, Tyrell and many minor houses have notably supported your cause as heir,” Otto mentioned.

“There has never been a Stark who forgot an oath,” (Name) backfired, “Lord Rickard Stark swore allegiance to Rhaenyra upon her ascension. My mother was an Arryn, yet the Vale would also have loyalty to Rhaenyra. I am also unsure about House Velaryon. Dorne is positively out of the question, House Martell remains neutral,”.

All this talk of war and politics made her head hurt. She let out a soft wince of pain, holding her stomach. Her white nightgown had been stained a dreary crimson, panic darting in her eyes. “Princess?” Otto asked, almost a hint of concern darting in his eyes.

“M-My labours,” (Name) muttered, holding her stomach, “I-I think I have begun my labours,”. She doubled over and scrunched in pain.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

It was the early hours of the following morning when the Red Keep had been awoken by the screams of blistering agony. Adorning a blood-stained nightgown, (Name) keeled in pain, her knees almost buckling.

The handmaidens begged her to let them help. She knew deep down. Her mind rebelled against the idea. Rejected it completely. But in her heart, she knew. She knew this baby was dying. Her ninth child.

Daemon was trying to keep the Small Council at bay, the lot of them like wolves begging for a scrap of instruction. She sank against a wall, screaming and sobbing. Her hair was mussed and wild and face drenched with sweat, pieces of hair sticking to her forehead.

Eventually, the physical pain subsided when the baby came out. But the emotional pain was only just beginning. She breathed heavily for a minute or two, the sound of silence was deafening. The maids were sobbing. Through teary eyes and a dishevelled heart, she picked up the blood-stained infant.

During the birth she felt inward how Meraxes was roaring she screamed. The link between dragon and rider must have been more real than she had assumed.

She wasn’t moving. Her daughter wasn’t moving. The baby felt warm still. She had tufts of silver-coloured hair and half-closed lavender eyes. (Name) pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead.

The baby was small and deformed. Her limbs were thin as twigs and her body was covered in grey scales. She was gaunt and slender and lacked a nose. Daemon had come in, finding his wife sitting emotionlessly, holding their child.

He joined her on the bloody floor, holding her as she screamed and sobbed, about how “it was unfair”, and how she “should have died instead”. She refused to let the Silent Sisters prepare the baby’s body for a funeral later.

Visenya Targaryen died loved and lived briefly, her corpse burnt by Meraxes’ flames. She knew that her mother and father would protect Visenya in heaven. Protecting her. Blinded by grief and mourning, the Shrew of King’s Landing took to the Red Keep.

Rhaenys Velaryon had declared her allegiance to (Name)’s cause before departing for Driftmark with Baela and Rhaena, to reunite with Corlys Velaryon after he was found at sea.

All that was left was the coronation.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

[asoiafandotherbooks]

TWOIAF/Fire & Blood: Aegon Sulks, Rhaena Gives Birth, Maegor's Builds, And Tyanna Whispers

Warning, Spoilers Ahead…

Maegor had made himself king, decimated the Faith, and taken a third wife.

Aegon, the former heir presumptive, has remained in Casterly Rock with Rhaena, his pregnant wife.

Almost everyone who accompanied the duo on their progress has abandoned them to swear fealty to Maegor, The only one to remain was Alayne Royce, Melony Piper, a former favorite of Rhaena, has arrived at Lannisport with her brothers to swear the loyalty of House Piper to Aegon.

Aegon is in a mood. He can’t grasp how his life went so wrong. One day he is the heir apparent, beloved of the smallfolk. The next day he is reviled by the Faith and abandoned by his friends and supporters.

Maegor’s supporters claimed Aegon was as weak as his father (Aenys). He’s not even a dragonrider! Aegon was referred to as the “Pretender” or “Aegon the Uncrowned”.

I can understand why no one is jumping up to support Aegon. First, Aenys was weak. There is nothing to suggest Aegon would be any different – he grew up pampered – how is he going to fight this war? Second, the Faith – which is dominant in the South – has radicalized the population against the Targaryens. Not many would risk their souls in a time era with heavy religious overtones. Third, Maegor has Balerion and Vhagar! Aegon’s side only has Dreamfyre, a rather young dragon. There is still a sizable population that were alive during the Conquest – they remember what those dragons are capable of! Maegor had demonstrated that he has no issue with unleashing Balerion. I don’t blame anyone for saying “no thank you” when it comes to this fight.

Lyman Lannister, the Lord of Casterly Rock, remained firm in his refusal to return Aegon and Rhaena to King’s Landing but refused to pledge his sword to Aegon.

I respect Lyman. It takes courage to tell Maegor the Cruel “no, I won’t be returning Aegon and Rhaena to King’s Landing”. Yes, Lyman has Casterly Rock and, yes, Visenya thought it might be difficult to take it but difficult is not impossible. Lyman is taking a risk that Balerion and Vhagar won’t show up at the Rock and perform a Harrenhal, part 2. Lyman is wise in not pledging his forces to Aegon’s cause. It has only been 40 or so years since the Field of Fire – Lyman must have heard the story from his father or grandfather of what occurred that day. The Westerlands have first -hand experience with the power of Balerion and Vhagar.

Rhaena gave birth to twin daughters at Casterly Rock, named Aerea and Rhaella. The High Septon wasted no time declaring the twins “abominations, fruits of lust and incense, accursed of the gods”.

Rhaena begged Aegon to take their family across the Narrow Sea to “Tyrosh or Myr or Volantis” for “I would gladly give up my own life to make you king, but I will not put our girls at risk”.

This is an interesting “What If?”. How would history have been changed if Aegon, Rhaena, and the twins fled across the Narrow Sea? Would Maegor have pursued the family? Would the family have become an early era Blackfyres with their descendants leading invasions and rebellions? The family would only have one dragon – would Dreamfyre have hatched eggs at any point?

Helaena Targaryen would have bonded with another dragon in this scenario. Aerea wouldn’t have died a horrific death. Rhaena’s life would have been so different – she would have been spared the numerous tragedies that made her so bitter and spiteful in her later life.

Another possible what if – what if Aegon and Rhaena had returned to King’s Landing? Maegor hadn’t committed any kinslaying yet. He remains childless. Aegon would be his heir as he is the next available Targaryen heir. Would Aegon have succeeded Maegor? Or would Aegon’s death only be delayed as Maegor becomes desperate to sire an heir? Rhaena is the only full-blooded Targaryen female of child-bearing years. Visenya is too old, Alysanne too young. Maegor might have executed Aegon to wed Rhaena.

The beginning of 43 AC found Maegor in King’s Landing, where he has taken charge of the construction of the Red’s Keep. The king ordered secrest passages and tunnels designed throughout the Keep and had a castle built within the castle, surrounded by a dry moat that would become known as Maegor’s Holdfast.

Maegor appointed Lord Lucas Harroway (Alys’ father) as the new Hand of the King. Men whispered that Maegor was ruled by three queens: Visenya, Alys, and Tyanna of the Tower. Tyanna was not loved by the populace – they referred to her as the “mistress of whisperers” or the “king’s raven”. It was said the vermin of King’s Landing (rats and spiders) came to her to tell of men speaking against the king.

Tyanna would be the first “Master of Whispers”. Did Maegor create the position? Did Jaehaereys, based off of Tyana’s success, institute the role as part of the Small Council?

Up next, the Faith hasn’t learned their lesson and decide to wake the dragon – again!

[witchthewriter]

𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 "𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐝" 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

ENFJ

Gryffindor

Lawful Good

The Fool Reversed

Aries Sun, Taurus Moon, Sagittarius Rising

Aegon was born to his parents King Aenys I Targaryen and Queen Alyssa Velaryon; second child and firstborn son. He was the heir to the throne.

Aegon and his young brother, Viserys, were present when Aegon I died on Dragonstone. Their grandsire had been telling them of his adventures and conquests, and then suddenly, he had a stroke. That same night he died peacefully in his sleep.

This put Aegon's father on the throne, however, he did offer to co-rule with Maegor. But his actions, particularly with how many wives he was trying to have, made Aenys exile his brother.

Although Aegon was attractive, charming and wooed many ladies at court, his father was set on the marriage between him and his older sister Rhaena. The incestuous relationship caused much uproar from the Faith of the Seven, which in turn made the common folk angry (as they were very religious during this time)

King Aenys was a gentle man but during the times of this match and marriage, he was firm in his decision, so firm that he went against the Faith of the Seven. When it came time for the royal progress, everything went wrong.

As Aegon did not have a dragon for his own, Aenys told Rhaena she could not bring Dreamfyre as it would make Aegon look weak. This decision led the newly weds on a dangerous course of action where they had to be hid from the crowds as they were attacked. Aegon, who felt utterly and completely angry at the time, had to be held back by guards as he wanted to fight whoever was attacking his wife.

Aegon and Rhaena were actually in the middle of the royal progress and trapped at Crakehall by members of the Faith when their father died. During this time, King Aenys died on Dragonstone and Dowanger Queen Visenya brought Maegor back from exile.

When Maegor usurped the throne, Aegon's family were hostages under the King, including all three of his younger siblings. Prince Viserys was at the Red Keep, as Maegor’s squire, and Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Alysanne were at Dragonstone along with their mother, all of them under guard.

Aegon and Rhaena escaped Crakehall as the Poor Fellows left to march on King's Landing. The pair fled to Casterly Rock where Lord Lyman Lannister protected them by extending guest right. A year later, Rhaena had twins daughters; Aerea and Rhaella, both Aegon and Rhaena's only children.

A while later, when Maegor had left to Oldtown, Aegon and Rhaena went to King's Landing to gather dragons. Rhaena was reunited with Dreamfyre and Aegon claimed Quicksilver.

During this time, Aegon and Rhaena's mother was secretly conversing with the great Houses; Baratheons, Starks, Lannisters and Arryns. However, all stated they would only support Aegon if he was truly crowned. As rumours had started to spread that he was weak like his father.

And so, Aegon denounced Maegor as nothing but a tyrant and a usurper. Finding allies wherever he could, he led an army of fifteen thousand, and atop Quicksilver through the riverlands. However, Aegon was still an inexperienced young commander.

Royalist armies marched toward Aegon from three separate directions, but the young commander didn't want to attack and defeat each one separately. But the armies on the ground would be of no problem as a bigger one soon arrived.

So, during the Battle Beneath the God's Eye, Maegor attacked while atop Balerion. The pair were no match, with Balerion four times the size of Quicksilver and with much more battle IQ. Eventually, Maegor and Balerion killed Aegon and Quicksilver. Aegon wasn't even eighteen when he died.

[drakaripykiros130ac]

Your blog is awesome and your arguments against TG are brilliant, I saw many of them, you ate!!

Imagine this:

The blacks win the war even before it begins so there is no war. However, the greens are still guilty, they tried to steal Rhaenyra's throne and they must be punished.

What kind of punishment would you give to each one of them?

Thank you!!! I’m glad you’re enjoying my posts.

As for your question, hmm…let’s see.

It’s best to start with the main conspirators:

1. Otto Hightower: executed for High Treason against the Crown. Lord Hightower has to publicly swear obeisance to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family, as well as offer a public apology for the conspiracy in which members of his family were involved in. House Hightower offers compensation in gold to the Crown Treasury in perpetuity. If House Hightower refuses to comply, Oldtown will be burned to the ground.

2. Ser Crispin Cole: executed for High Treason against the Crown, as well as for the murders of Ser Joffrey Lonmouth and Lord Lyman Beesbury.

3. Ser Tyland Lannister: executed for High Treason against the Crown. Lord Jason Lannister has to publicly swear obeisance to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family. House Lannister has to offer compensation in gold for the next 20 years to the Crown’s treasury. Given that “a Lannister always pays his debts”, there is no need for threats.

4. Alicent Hightower: sent to become a Silent Sister. She is not allowed to see her children or her grandchildren ever again.

5. Ser Gwayne Hightower: executed for High Treason against the Crown.

6. Lord Jasper Wylde: sent to the Black Cells in perpetuity.

7. Grand Maester Orwyle: sent to the Black Cells for 5 years for being part of the Green Council.

8. Larys Strong: executed for High Treason against the Crown and for the murder of his father, Lord Lyonel Strong and his brother, Harwin Strong.

As for Rhaenyra’s kin:

1. Aegon Targaryen: made to swear obeisance to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family. He is to remain in the Red Keep with his wife and children but obliged to do acts of penance for having abused servant girls. If he proves his loyalty, Queen Rhaenyra will offer him a place on her Small Council.

2. Helaena Targaryen: made to swear obeisance to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family. She remains in the Red Keep with her children.

3. Aemond Targaryen: sentenced to the Black Cells for life (if the Blacks win after Lucerys’ murder) OR made to swear obeisance to Queen Rhaenyra and join the Gold Cloaks, under the close supervision of Prince Daemon Targaryen and his men (if the Blacks win and Lucerys isn’t killed).

4. Daeron Targaryen: made to swear obeisance to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family. He is to return to Oldtown.

[gulnarsultan]

Imagine that after everything that happened, Lyman and Jocasta Lannister would want to be awarded, (they wanted to be closer to Iron Throne and possibly have a dragon), after protecting and keeping Rhaena and Aegon safe from Faith Militant uprising and Maegor the Cruel (Maegor demanded them to return Rhaena and Aegon, but Lannisters refused to).

Immortal Modern Reader: You will get reward, not now, but trust me, you will get rewards and Your House will be greater.

Lyman Lannister and Jocasta Lannister: Is that so? And when will we get awarded?

Immortal Modern Reader: When my future descendant arrives here. (Shh🤫 she’s talking about Modern Reader “The Brave” Lannister).

Well, that is a connection between House Lannister and Immortal Modern Reader’s descendants. And Immortal Reader was right as her descendant Modern Reader The Brave appeared and made House Lannister more powerful and glorious and was adopted by Tywin and Joanna Lannister.

Yn (baby lion)

It was such a great story. Thanks for sharing with me. 😘💞 I think the Lannisters would be obsessed with the reader's grandchild. After all, they have been waiting for years for the Cerus reader to arrive. Imagine the Lannisters and Targaryens feuding. For the brave reader. 🤭

[sikudastoner]

For ten facts, the boys Darren and Lymond?

Thank you for the ask!

Darren

I feel like I’ve said this before but he’s very Kendall Roy coded.

He has trouble sleeping. Not insomnia exactly but his sleeping schedule is a mess.

He’s my only hetero oc.

His favorite niece/nephew is Myrcella.

He’s similar to Jaime in which he prefers swordplay over books.

He enjoys horse riding. It gives him a sense of freedom and the opportunity to stay away from others.

He believes in the white walkers but never tells anybody.

He was picky eater when he was younger but Tywin bullied him into expanding his food palate.

I was gonna have him marry Sansa but that girl deserves a break.

He literally has no friends.

Lymond

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before either but he’s nonbinary.

His favorite niece/nephew is Tommen but he calls them cousins instead of niece or nephews.

He’s the one who told Eltyn that he’s a bastard, not because he was being a typical older sibling but because he hated how Nysa was lying to him.

He’s quite intelligent but never lets on.

Lymond sees Sandor as his father figure. I think Sandor left Nysa when he was 5-6 so he kinda has an attachment to him.

I thought about marrying him to Daenerys but that’s a pretty unlikely scenario… still fun to think about.

Keeps trying to change his last name and making his own house but it never sticks.

Named after Nysa’s brother, Symond but also another Lyman Lannister.

Tywin wants him to cut his hair so bad, he grows it out of spite.

His depression and anxiety is as bad as Darren’s, he’s just better at hiding it.