#lyman lannister | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

therogueflame · 2 months ago

Text

The Diplomat

Hi friends,

Since I'm a Daemon girly through and through and horny as fuck, I imagined what it would be like to have terrible, angry sex with Daemon. None of the fics were hitting the spot, so I wrote one instead. There are two parts to this story, but the second part can be read as a standalone if you squint a little. Here is part one, enjoy!

✨My Masterlist✨

🖊️ My AO3 🖊️

Summary: Your marriage to Daemon has been marked by tempers and tempests, but when he proposes setting the Riverlands ablaze, the need for reason has never been more urgent.

WC: 9.4k

Warnings: 18+, just fluff and a lil suggestiveness, no use of y/n, light descriptions of fem!reader, kind of a little jumping around (let me know if i put too many sword dividers in)

Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

The small council chamber was thick with unease. Though the warm spring breeze drifted through the high windows, stirring the black banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen, it did little to lighten the atmosphere. The men gathered around the long oak table wore the weight of the discussion in their stiff shoulders and furrowed brows.

Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, spoke first, his voice measured but edged with authority. “The Blackwoods insist their knight acted in self-defense. He claims the Bracken lord drew steel first and would have struck him down had he not defended himself.”

Across the table, Lord Lyman Beesbury adjusted his spectacles, his aged face lined with worry. “Regardless of intent, a Bracken heir lies dead. His father demands retribution, and he’s mustered men to see it done. This feud risks spilling over into open conflict, my lords.”

“It has always been this way between the Brackens and Blackwoods,” chimed in Lord Tyland Lannister, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. He leaned back in his chair with an air of indifference. “Their hatred for one another is practically tradition. Why should the crown involve itself in their petty quarrels?”

“Because they are sworn to the crown,” Otto replied sharply, his gaze narrowing. “Their lands and titles are held in service to the Iron Throne. If we do not intervene, their conflict will destabilize the Riverlands and undermine royal authority.”

Daemon scoffed loudly, drawing every gaze in the room. He lounged in his chair, though his posture was more calculated than relaxed. His dark eyes glittered with impatience. “Destabilize? Spare me your dramatics, Otto. This is nothing more than two dogs fighting over scraps. Let them tire themselves out.”

“And when those scraps include burnt villages and dead smallfolk?” Otto countered, his tone clipped. “You would have the crown turn a blind eye while the Riverlands descend into chaos?”

Daemon leaned forward then, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “I would have the crown remind them who they answer to. Send riders, summon their lords to kneel before the throne. If they refuse, then you send swords.”

Lord Beesbury sputtered, his hand trembling slightly as he adjusted his quill. “Violence is hardly the answer, my prince. Surely, diplomacy—”

“Diplomacy has done nothing but embolden them,” Daemon snapped, cutting him off. “Every year, it’s the same. Bracken blames Blackwood, Blackwood blames Bracken. It’s a waste of the crown’s time and patience. They need to be reminded that their squabbles end where the Iron Throne begins.”

“You speak of violence as though it’s the only solution,” Tyland interjected smoothly. “The Riverlands are already tense. A heavy hand might unite them—against us.”

Viserys, who had remained silent until now, raised a hand, commanding the room’s attention. His weary expression spoke of a man burdened by the crown he wore. “Enough,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “This matter is not so easily solved. Both houses have their grievances, and both claim to act in the right. I will need time to consider our response.”

Daemon’s chair scraped against the stone floor as he rose, his movements sharp with irritation. “While you consider, brother, they will act. And your indecision will be seen as weakness.”

Viserys’s gaze hardened. “Do not mistake thoughtfulness for weakness, Daemon.”

“Call it what you will,” Daemon muttered, turning on his heel and striding from the chamber, his dark cloak billowing behind him. The remaining lords exchanged wary glances but said nothing, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.

Viserys sighed heavily, the sound of a man long accustomed to the burdens of the throne. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair as he watched the doors swing closed behind Daemon’s retreating figure. For a moment, the chamber was silent, save for the distant cries of gulls from Blackwater Bay and the faint murmur of activity in the Red Keep below.

“This council is concluded,” Viserys said at last, his voice quieter now, the fight drained from it. He rose from his chair, and the lords followed suit, their expressions a mix of relief and unease.

“Your Grace,” Otto began, stepping forward as the rest of the council prepared to file out. His tone was deferential, but the gleam in his eye betrayed his eagerness to press his point. “Might I suggest—”

“Not now, Otto,” Viserys interrupted, waving him off. “I’ve heard enough for today.”

The Hand of the King inclined his head, though the tightening of his lips spoke volumes about his displeasure. One by one, the council members departed, their whispered conversations trailing behind them like smoke.

Viserys lingered for a moment after the chamber was empty. The answers would come, but not today.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Daemon stormed through the halls of the Red Keep, his boots striking the stone floor with forceful purpose. Servants and courtiers scattered at the sight of him, their eyes darting to the crimson and black of his cloak, the Targaryen sigil embroidered in rich gold on his tunic.

The prince’s mind churned with frustration, the council’s deliberations replaying in his head like a wound he couldn’t stop picking at. Otto’s pompous tone, Tyland’s smug indifference, Viserys’s endless dithering—all of it grated against his pride.

By the time he reached the chambers he shared with you, the heat of his temper had reached its peak. He flung the doors open with enough force to make them shudder against the stone walls.

Inside, the room was a picture of calm. Sunlight filtered through the open windows, casting soft, golden light across the chamber. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the sweet warmth of spring.

You sat near the hearth, cradling your young son in your arms. His small fingers grasped at a strand of your hair, his innocent laughter filling the room as you smiled down at him. The sight was a balm to any who might witness it—anyone but Daemon in his current state.

The nursemaid, standing a few paces away, froze at the sight of the prince’s thunderous expression. Her hands faltered mid-curtsy, and she looked to you for guidance, her face pale.

“Out,” Daemon barked, his voice sharp enough to cut. He didn’t bother looking at her as he strode into the room, his dark eyes locked on you.

The nursemaid hesitated for only a moment before gathering the child in her arms and retreating swiftly, her footsteps nearly silent against the rush of Daemon’s presence.

When the door closed behind her, Daemon’s pacing began, each step a sharp, deliberate motion that mirrored the storm in his mind. His hands flexed at his sides, as though longing to grip the hilt of Dark Sister and channel his anger into something tangible.

“This is what passes for leadership now,” he began, his voice low but vibrating with suppressed rage. “My brother, the king, sitting in that gods-damned chair, twiddling his thumbs while the Riverlands teeter on the edge of chaos!”

You set your book aside, folding your hands in your lap as you watched him. You had seen Daemon in this mood before, his temper a force of nature that could not be stopped but only weathered. It was better to let him speak, to let the storm rage until it spent itself.

“I told them what needed to be done,” he continued, his pacing growing faster. “Ride out, demand their fealty, remind them who they serve. But no—Viserys would rather sit and think.” His lip curled as he spat the word, as though it were a curse.

Daemon’s pacing was relentless, his steps carving invisible lines into the chamber floor. His voice rose as he continued, his words dripping with scorn. “Otto’s solution? Send letters. As if words written on parchment will mend generations of blood feuds! And Tyland—he all but shrugged! ‘Let them fight it out,’ he said, as though it’s his lands that will burn when the fighting starts. Useless, the lot of them.”

He paused, finally turning to you, his dark eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and expectation. “And my brother,” he growled, his hands clenching into fists. “The great Viserys, King of the Seven Kingdoms, paralyzed by his own fear of making the wrong choice. He’ll sit there until it’s too late, as he always does, and then expect me to clean up his mess.”

You met his gaze calmly, though you could feel the weight of his fury pressing against you like a tangible force. “Daemon,” you said gently, your tone an attempt to temper the flames threatening to consume him.

But he wasn’t ready to be calmed. “No,” he snapped, cutting you off before you could say more. “Don’t tell me to let it go. You weren’t there. You didn’t see the way they looked at me—like I was some brash fool for speaking sense. They undermine me at every turn, and Viserys allows it!”

His voice echoed off the walls, and for a moment, the room fell silent. The distant sounds of the Red Keep seemed impossibly far away, muted by the tension that filled the space between you.

You rose from your seat slowly, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you crossed the room to stand before him. He watched you, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger, his jaw tight.

“I’m not telling you to let it go,” you said softly, placing a hand on his chest. His tunic was warm beneath your palm, the steady thrum of his heartbeat betraying the tempest within. “I’m asking you to save it for when it matters most. You’ll have your chance to be heard again. But not if you burn yourself out now.”

For a moment, Daemon said nothing. His eyes searched yours, his expression still tight with frustration, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. He placed a hand over yours, his fingers curling around it as if anchoring himself.

“They don’t listen,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice had dulled. “Not to me. Not unless I force them to.”

“Then make them listen,” you replied, your tone firm but kind. “But not like this. Not in anger.”

His lips twisted into a smirk, though it lacked its usual sharpness. “You think you know me so well,” he said, his voice softer now, almost teasing.

“I do,” you replied simply, holding his gaze.

Daemon sighed, the last of his anger bleeding away as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was strong, almost possessive, as if you were the only thing grounding him in that moment.

“You’re too clever for your own good,” he murmured into your hair.

“And you’re too stubborn for yours,” you replied, earning a low chuckle from him.

When he pulled back, his expression was lighter, though the frustration lingered in his eyes. “The feast,” you said gently, steering him toward a different focus. “Rhaenyra’s wedding is in a few days. You should be thinking about that, not letting the council get under your skin.”

Daemon snorted, but there was no heat behind it. “Unity,” he muttered, echoing words he had likely heard too many times already. “A grand spectacle to pretend the realm isn’t fracturing beneath us.”

You arched a brow. “Then let them believe otherwise. Isn’t that the game of thrones you so enjoy?”

He let out a short laugh, the sound both bitter and amused. “You’ve been spending too much time around me.”

You smiled, brushing a hand along his arm. “Perhaps.”

Daemon released a long breath, the tension in his shoulders finally softening as he stepped away, his gaze drifting toward the open window. The warm spring breeze ruffled his silver hair, and for a moment, he looked less like the fearsome rogue prince and more like the restless man you had come to know so intimately.

“The wedding feast,” he said, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. “A spectacle of union for a realm that can’t even decide which house to favor in a petty feud.”

You stepped closer, your tone light yet pointed. “And yet it’s not the realm’s union we’re celebrating, is it? It’s Rhaenyra’s.”

Daemon turned back to you, his expression softening further at the mention of his niece. His lips quirked into a faint smirk, and he tilted his head. “I’ll admit, the girl’s managed to surprise me. Agreeing to wed Laenor Velaryon of all people. I thought she’d have burnt the keep to ashes before conceding.”

You chuckled softly, reaching for his hand. “Perhaps she learned from someone that rebellion isn’t always about fire and blood. Sometimes, it’s about choosing when to bend, so you can strike harder later.”

He raised a brow at that, his smirk deepening. “If you’re insinuating that I’ve taught her anything resembling restraint, I fear you’ve misunderstood me, my lady.”

“Not restraint,” you countered, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “Strategy. She’s clever, your niece. As clever as you are, and just as stubborn.”

Daemon’s gaze softened further, and he let out a quiet laugh. “She’ll need that stubbornness to endure what’s ahead. The Velaryons are not without their pride.”

“And neither are the Targaryens,” you replied with a small smile. “It’s fitting, really—a match to unite two ancient houses and bolster the realm’s strength. A necessary union, no matter how imperfect it may seem.”

He sighed, his free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “A necessary union,” he echoed. “And yet, Viserys sees it as more than that. He thinks it’ll heal old wounds and inspire loyalty. As if a feast and a wedding can undo years of division.”

“Maybe it can’t,” you admitted, your voice softening. “But it can remind people of what’s worth fighting for—family, unity, the realm’s future. Even if it’s only for a night.”

Daemon looked at you then, his expression unreadable. But there was a warmth in his gaze, one that seemed to melt away the last of his earlier frustration. He pulled you closer, his hands settling on your waist.

“You have a way of making everything seem simpler,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Even when it’s not.”

“It’s a gift,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Now, will you let me dress you in something appropriate for the feast, or will I have to endure your complaints the entire evening?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Oh, you’ll endure them regardless. But yes, my dear, I’ll wear whatever ridiculous finery you deem fit. I wouldn’t want to shame you in front of the court.”

“Nonsense, perish the thought,” you said with a grin, resting your forehead against his.

For now, the storm had truly passed, and in its wake, a fragile peace remained. The feast loomed ahead, a symbol of hope for some and an illusion for others. But in this moment, there was only you and Daemon, and that was enough.

��──── ⚔ ────▪

The grand hall of the Red Keep was resplendent, its vaulted ceilings adorned with streaming banners bearing the sigils of the realm’s great houses. Flickering torchlight and the warm glow of chandeliers lit the space, casting dancing shadows over the lavish feast laid upon long trestle tables. The scent of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and spiced wine filled the air, mingling with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

Rhaenyra sat at the head table beside her new husband, Laenor Velaryon, her expression poised but faintly distant, as though she carried the weight of the realm’s gaze with practiced indifference. Her silver hair was woven with pearls, and her gown shimmered with dragonfire embroidery, every inch the picture of Targaryen majesty.

The lords and ladies of the realm had gathered in full force, a sea of vibrant colors and glittering jewels, their movements a choreographed dance of subtle rivalries and unspoken alliances. Among them sat the Brackens and Blackwoods, carefully separated and positioned at opposite ends of the hall. Their faces were schooled into neutrality, their hands busy with goblets of wine or trencher bread, but the tension between the two houses was palpable to those who knew where to look.

You were seated at Daemon’s side at a table reserved for the royal family, a position that afforded you a perfect view of the festivities—and the undercurrents of unease beneath them. Daemon was dressed impeccably in dark crimson and black, his usual defiance tempered into a sharp elegance that suited him well. His expression was unreadable as he sipped his wine, but you could see the way his gaze flickered over the room, cataloging every interaction, every veiled slight.

“They’ve managed not to kill each other—for now,” Daemon murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear. His eyes flicked toward the Brackens and Blackwoods, a glint of amusement mingling with his sharp scrutiny.

“Give them time,” you replied dryly, reaching for your own goblet. “The wine hasn’t yet worked its magic.”

Daemon chuckled, his smirk deepening as he leaned closer. “Or its mischief.”

You arched a brow at him, though you couldn’t help but smile. “You seem far too entertained by the prospect of chaos at your niece’s wedding.”

He shrugged, his gaze shifting back to the hall. “Chaos keeps the night interesting.”

Before you could respond, a herald’s voice rang out, calling for the first dance. All eyes turned to Rhaenyra and Laenor as they rose from their seats, their movements graceful as they stepped onto the polished floor. The music began, a lively tune that seemed to ripple through the hall like a spark catching fire.

The lords and ladies soon followed, filling the floor with a swirl of color and movement. Laughter and applause echoed as couples spun and twirled, their steps weaving together in intricate patterns.

Daemon leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming idly against the table. “Are you going to make me dance, too?” he asked, his tone teasing.

You smirked, leaning closer to him. “I was going to let you off easy tonight. But if you insist…”

He groaned in mock exasperation, earning a soft laugh from you. For a moment, the tension of the evening faded, replaced by the warmth of shared humor.

But even as the festivities unfolded, you couldn’t shake the sense that the peace was fragile, a veneer that could crack at any moment. The Brackens and Blackwoods were not the only ones walking a fine line tonight, and in the shadow of the Iron Throne, every move felt like a gamble.

Daemon’s groan was followed by a mischievous grin, the kind that always made your chest tighten and your resolve weaken. “You’re insufferable,” he said, though there was no heat to his words as he extended a hand toward you.

“And you’re predictable,” you countered, placing your hand in his. His fingers wrapped around yours, firm yet careful, as he guided you from your seat.

The music shifted as you both stepped onto the dance floor, the melody lilting into a slower, more intimate tune. The crowd parted, eyes subtly following your movements as you took your place in the center of the floor with the rogue prince at your side. You could feel the weight of their attention, but you were no stranger to it.

Daemon’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his other holding yours as he began to lead you in the dance. His steps were confident, fluid, each movement purposeful yet unhurried. “They’re watching us,” he murmured, his voice low and for your ears alone.

“They always are,” you replied, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’re hard to ignore.”

His smirk deepened, his thumb brushing against your hand. “And you,” he said, his tone softer now, “make it impossible.”

You rolled your eyes at his flattery but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. The dance brought you closer, his hand at your waist pulling you just shy of propriety, but enough to make your heart race.

The world around you seemed to fade, the music and laughter becoming a distant hum as you moved together. Daemon’s presence was magnetic, his intensity grounding yet exhilarating, as though the two of you existed in a world apart from the one where alliances were made and broken over cups of wine.

“You’re rather light on your feet for someone who pretends to loathe courtly things,” you teased, letting him spin you gently before drawing you back into his arms.

“Don’t mistake talent for affection,” he replied, though his smirk betrayed him. “I’d burn this entire hall if it meant avoiding another round of politics.”

“And yet, here you are,” you said, your tone light but pointed. “Dancing at a wedding, pretending to tolerate the people you claim to despise.”

“For you,” he said simply, his voice low and sincere in a way that made your breath hitch. “Always for you.”

For a moment, the tension of the feast melted away, replaced by the warmth of his confession. But it was fleeting, a stolen moment in a night that promised anything but peace.

As the dance came to an end, Daemon held your gaze, his hand lingering at your waist. Applause filled the hall, but you barely heard it, your focus locked on the man before you.

“You’re going to set tongues wagging,” you said softly, stepping back as decorum demanded.

“Let them wag,” he replied, his smirk returning. “They’d do it anyway.”

The spell was broken as the music shifted again, and other couples moved to fill the floor. Daemon led you back to your seat, his hand brushing against yours one last time before he turned his attention back to the feast.

The hall was alive with revelry, yet beneath the surface, you could feel the fragile balance of the evening teetering. The Brackens and Blackwoods had kept to themselves so far, but there was no denying the sharp glances exchanged across the room, nor the tension lingering like a storm on the horizon.

Daemon, of course, noticed it too. He leaned toward you, his voice low and conspiratorial. “How long do you think it’ll take before someone breaks the peace?”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “Hopefully not before dessert.”

His laughter was soft but genuine, a rare moment of levity in a night that felt like a game played on the edge of a knife.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The revelry continued unabated, the music and laughter rising to fill the cavernous hall. Goblets were refilled, plates heaped with delicacies, and the scent of roasted quail and sweet pastries hung heavy in the air. Yet, despite the vibrant atmosphere, an undercurrent of unease persisted—an unspoken tension that seemed to ripple just beneath the surface.

At opposite ends of the hall, the Brackens and Blackwoods remained in their carefully orchestrated positions. Their eyes rarely wandered toward one another, but when they did, it was with the kind of simmering disdain that no amount of protocol could conceal.

Daemon leaned lazily back in his chair, one arm draped over the back of your seat. His eyes roamed the hall, sharp and assessing despite the deceptively casual posture. He sipped his wine, his smirk growing as his gaze lingered on the Bracken table.

“They’re twitching like hounds on a short leash,” he muttered, the words meant only for you.

“You’re not helping,” you replied, though your own gaze flickered toward the Blackwoods, where a young lord’s hand gripped the stem of his goblet just a little too tightly.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of a raised voice—a sharp, mocking laugh from the Bracken side of the hall. Heads turned as Ser Amos Bracken, a stout man with a ruddy complexion, leaned back in his chair, his booming voice carrying over the din.

“Tell me, young Blackwood,” Amos said, his words dripping with condescension, “is it true your family still claims descent from the First Men? Seems a bold thing to boast when all it’s earned you is a table in the corner.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter followed, and for a moment, it seemed as though the insult might go unanswered. But then, a young Blackwood lord—tall, lean, and barely out of boyhood—rose from his seat, his face flushed with anger.

“And yet we’re here,” the Blackwood retorted, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “Unlike your ancestors, who’d sooner kneel to any conqueror who offered them a scrap of power.”

The hall fell silent.

Daemon’s smirk widened, and he leaned closer to you, his voice a low murmur. “Here we go.”

You shot him a sharp look, but before you could reply, the tension in the hall snapped like a drawn bowstring.

Ser Amos Bracken surged to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. “You’ve got a sharp tongue for a boy who hides behind his mother’s skirts!” he barked, his meaty hand slamming down on the table.

“And you’ve got a lot of nerve for a man whose house clings to its titles like barnacles to a sinking ship!” the Blackwood shot back, stepping forward.

The two were separated by the breadth of the hall, but the air between them was charged, their mutual hatred igniting like dry kindling.

From his place at the head table, Viserys rose, his voice booming over the commotion. “Enough!” he commanded, his face flushed with the effort of asserting authority. “This is a wedding feast, not a battlefield!”

The hall quieted, though the tension lingered like smoke after a fire. The Bracken and Blackwood men glared at one another, their hands twitching near their sword hilts despite the king’s warning.

Beside you, Daemon watched with unveiled amusement, his smirk never faltering. “Viserys will tire of this soon enough,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And when he does, the real fun begins.”

You sighed, your hand reaching for your goblet. “It’s a wonder we ever manage to call ourselves united,” you muttered.

The feast continued, but the mood had shifted. The Brackens and Blackwoods returned to their seats, though their tempers simmered just beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest provocation to boil over.

And in the shadows of the great hall, as wine flowed and music played, you couldn’t help but wonder how long this fragile peace would last.

The feast dragged on long after the first sparks of conflict had settled into the deep, tense silence of uneasy truce. The Brackens and Blackwoods remained seated at opposite ends of the hall, their eyes darting sideways, but never meeting. The music played, but it seemed faint, muted by the hum of strained politeness. The air was thick with the weight of unsaid words and the knowledge that the night was not done with its drama yet.

Daemon’s hand never left your side, though he barely spoke throughout the evening. His gaze, sharp and watchful, moved across the hall with the same intensity he had shown in the small council, as if he were cataloging every movement, every slight. Yet, when he turned to you, the ever-present amusement lingered in his eyes, softened by the flicker of warmth that only you could evoke.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Finally, the night wore on long enough that the revelers began to tire. The hall was slowly emptied of its guests, many of them still nursing their drinks, their conversations lowered to murmurs. It was only then that you and Daemon rose from the table, both of you feeling the weight of the evening—its many unspoken tensions—and the need to retreat from it all.

As you made your way through the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, your thoughts were heavy, your feet quickening to match the pace of Daemon’s long strides. The air had cooled slightly, but the heat of the feast still lingered in your chest, the pressing weight of what had transpired and what might yet come. You were both silent, the quiet of the corridors filled only with the faint sound of your footfalls.

Upon reaching your chambers, the door was barely shut before Daemon’s mouth found yours in a fierce kiss, a hungry press of lips that spoke more than words could. It was a fire that hadn’t been stoked since the tension of the council, since the weight of the evening’s events, and now, it erupted between you both, a spark turning into a blaze.

His hands were quick, unhurried but firm, as they sought the fastenings of your gown, the fabric brushing over your skin like a whisper. He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear, as he murmured words that had no need for meaning—just the undeniable presence of him, the demand of his touch. You responded in kind, your hands threading through his silver hair, pulling him even closer, your own lips demanding, pushing, surrendering.

The world beyond your chambers ceased to exist, only the feel of his body pressed against yours, the heat of your skin mingling in the dim light of the room. The frantic pace, the shared desperation—this was the only way to truly escape the suffocating expectations of the night, of the court, of the world that always surrounded you both.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as you moved together, your bodies in perfect sync, the world beyond the stone walls forgotten. And when it was over, when the storm had finally subsided, you lay together in the coolness of the sheets, breathing heavily, the weight of the night still lingering but now softened, shared between you.

For a moment, there was only quiet, the kind that spoke of an intimacy deeper than any words. But eventually, Daemon’s voice broke the silence, his tone low and thoughtful.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his fingers trailing lazily down your arm. “I expected you to have more to say about tonight.”

You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow as you looked at him, his silver eyes darkened by the faint candlelight, the weight of the evening still present but subdued now. “What more is there to say?” you asked, your voice soft, though a trace of the earlier tension remained in it. “It’s all a game, isn’t it? A dance between houses, between power, between… everything we can’t control.”

Daemon’s lips quirked into a faint, almost rueful smile. “Not everything is a game,” he said, his voice low, his hand coming to rest on your waist. “But sometimes it’s the only thing worth playing.”

You let out a small laugh, but it was tinged with weariness. “And we’re all just pawns.”

He turned toward you fully now, his eyes sharp but softer, the edges of his smirk fading into something more sincere. “Not pawns. We’re the ones pulling the strings, whether we admit it or not.”

You met his gaze, searching his face for any sign of doubt or calculation, but found none. For all his cynical remarks, for all his posturing, Daemon was a man who knew the weight of power—and the way it could be wielded.

And yet, there was a part of you that wondered if, beneath it all, he still feared being pulled into the same web of politics, of manipulation, of being a player rather than a kingmaker.

“I suppose we have no choice but to play,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now, more resigned. “And if we can’t win, we make sure no one else does.”

Daemon chuckled, the sound low and dark, and he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead. “That’s the spirit. And if the night’s mischief didn’t satisfy you, you can always count on me to make things interesting tomorrow.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers idly tracing patterns along his chest. “Let’s sleep first,” you said, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you. “We can fight the battles tomorrow.”

Daemon’s arms tightened around you as he kissed your hair softly. “Tomorrow, then. But for tonight, let’s leave the world outside.”

And as the flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, you closed your eyes, the weight of the night finally lifting, knowing that come the dawn, the battles would still await—but for now, you were content to simply rest beside him, the world outside a distant echo. ▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The next morning, the tension that had hung heavy over the wedding feast still clung to the air in the Red Keep. Even the rays of sunlight filtering through the high windows of the small council chamber seemed to carry an oppressive weight, as if the very castle itself was holding its breath. The room, normally filled with the dull murmur of routine affairs, now buzzed with the friction of yesterday’s simmering conflict.

Viserys sat at the head of the table, his usually placid expression marred by a faint crease between his brows. The day after Rhaenyra’s wedding feast, it seemed the wounds were still fresh, not just in the eyes of the Brackens and Blackwoods, but in the silent resentments of the council members who had grown all too accustomed to the tense dance of alliances.

Daemon sat with his usual relaxed posture, though there was no hiding the coldness that lingered in his eyes. He had never been one to mince words or tolerate the games of court, and today, it seemed, his patience was thinner than ever.

The council’s discussion was still focused on the aftermath of the previous evening’s altercation. Some spoke of ways to soothe the ruffled egos of the Brackens and Blackwoods, but it was clear no one quite knew how to do so without further escalating the situation.

Lord Mervyn, a portly noble with the tendency to speak before thinking, suggested, "Perhaps we should offer them gold—some measure of coin to settle their quarrels, a show of goodwill."

The Master of Coin, Lord Ormund, a sharp-eyed man with a wry sense of humor, laughed aloud, his voice cutting through the tension. “Gold?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “And where, pray tell, do you expect to find this coin? We are in a constant state of debt, Mervyn. Should we start selling off the castle to please the Brackens and Blackwoods?”

The room shifted uncomfortably, though Lord Mervyn, his cheeks growing redder by the second, remained silent, his suggestion now hanging in the air like a poorly timed joke.

Daemon rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps we should all just stop speaking entirely, seeing as it’s become a contest to see who can drone on the longest about the same petty squabbles.” His words were not aimed at anyone in particular, but they struck a chord in the room.

The rest of the council fell into a strained silence. Viserys sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead as if to ward off the growing headache he surely felt. “Enough,” he commanded, his voice quiet but firm. “Let us take a break for now. I will consider all your suggestions and call upon you when I have come to a decision.”

The meeting, like so many before it, ended without resolution. There were no clear answers, no easy solutions to the brewing tensions in the realm. The room emptied slowly, each member of the council filing out, their faces etched with the same frustrations.

Daemon stood quickly, brushing past his fellow lords without a glance, his movements sharp and restless. He had never been one to tolerate idle chatter, least of all in a place that made him feel like a caged animal.

With a grunt, he headed for the exit, intent on blowing off steam in the training yard. It was there that he could find his peace, if only for a moment—away from the endless plotting and bickering of the council.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The council meeting had ended in a tense, uncertain silence. Daemon’s comments had left the room heavy with discomfort, and the usual murmurs among the lords had subsided into a quiet unease. The entire realm could feel the tension as it thickened in the Red Keep, especially with the lords now speaking in hushed tones about Daemon’s latest tantrum. His temper, unchecked and untamed, was becoming too much even for his own family to ignore.

You, however, were no stranger to Daemon’s anger, and as much as it threatened to boil over, you knew something had to be done. The matter was already critical—his pride had endangered everything, and the last thing you could afford was another of his impulsive decisions damaging the realm.

You had not attended the council meeting; there was no need. You knew that the key to solving this issue would lie not in words spoken around the council table, but in private action, taken swiftly and subtly.

When the last of the councilors had left the chamber, you’d already made your way to Viserys’s solar, your mind fixed on a plan. The moment you stepped into the room, you could sense the quiet weight of the king’s exhaustion. His shoulders slumped under the weight of the crown, and there was a weariness in his eyes that had grown familiar over the years.

He turned slowly as you entered, a faint glimmer of recognition in his gaze. “So, it’s done then,” Viserys remarked, his voice low and heavy with the same tension that clung to the walls. He knew. The moment Daemon’s rage had been unleashed, it had been clear that something would need to be done, but you had taken no part in the council’s discussion.

You closed the door softly behind you, moving closer to the king. “Daemon’s actions cannot go unchecked any longer, Your Grace. The Brackens and Blackwoods have made their demands clear, and the council is growing restless. This will escalate if we don’t step in quickly.”

Viserys’s lips tightened in a frown. “And you have a solution?” he asked, though the weariness in his voice suggested he was more than ready to hear one.

You nodded, settling yourself beside him at the table. “I do. I’ve already considered it carefully.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity but no doubt. “Speak plainly, then. What do you propose?”

You hesitated for a moment before diving into the details, your voice steady and measured. “The Brackens are proud. They demand recognition, something that will soothe their wounded egos and quell their desire for vengeance. We offer them a royal boon—a land claim that will satisfy their pride and keep them from seeking bloodshed.”

Viserys listened intently, his gaze not wavering. You knew that he understood the importance of keeping the peace, especially in the wake of Daemon’s volatile temper. “And the Blackwoods?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he sought clarification.

“The Blackwoods are more about justice. They’ll demand the life of the knight who wronged them, but we can’t allow that. Instead, I will offer them exile to the Night’s Watch. It’s a compromise—justice without bloodshed.”

Viserys nodded slowly, considering the weight of your words. “And how do we prevent Daemon from knowing about this?”

You smiled softly, though there was no humor in it. “That’s where you come in, Your Grace. This needs to be seen as your decision—your action. We will stage a public reconciliation ceremony, where both the Brackens and Blackwoods will swear oaths of peace before the Iron Throne. The realm will believe it was your command. Daemon will not suspect a thing.”

Viserys stared at you for a long moment, his expression shifting as he absorbed the intricacies of your plan. You could see the internal conflict on his face—he had always strived to maintain the appearance of unity between himself and his brother, but there was no denying the mounting pressure to act swiftly. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he sighed, his shoulders drooping.

“This will anger Daemon,” he said, the words heavy with the weight of a decision he knew he would have to make. “He will not take kindly to being excluded from such an important matter.”

You nodded in agreement. “I know. But we cannot afford to let his temper ruin everything. We need to act swiftly, before the situation spirals beyond our control. The realm depends on it.”

Viserys stood slowly, walking to the window and staring out over the city below. You could see the exhaustion and the weariness of ruling in his every movement. Finally, he turned back to you, his expression resolute.

“Very well,” he said, his voice carrying the heavy authority of a king. “I will handle it. But you must understand, this may not be the last time we face such a challenge with Daemon.”

“I understand, Your Grace,” you replied quietly, your voice resolute. “But for now, we act. This will prevent any further escalation, and it will protect the realm.”

Viserys gave a small nod, a faint trace of a smile appearing on his lips as he stepped forward, his resolve hardening. “Then we proceed as you’ve outlined. You’ve made it clear that Daemon cannot know, and I’ll ensure that the public sees this as my decision, not his. It will work.”

You bowed your head slightly. “Thank you, Your Grace. This is the only way forward.”

As Viserys turned back to his window, the weight of the crown settling back on his shoulders, you knew that the plan was in motion. The Riverlands would be pacified, the Brackens and Blackwoods would be brought to heel, and Daemon would never suspect that it was you who had orchestrated it all behind his back.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

The quiet hum of the Red Keep was always present in the early morning hours—footsteps echoing down long hallways, servants bustling with preparations, the distant sound of metal clashing as the guards went through their drills. But in the stillness of your chambers, there was no sign of movement save for the careful glide of your quill as it moved across the parchment. The dim light of the hearth flickered, casting shadows across the room, and the quiet whisper of ink meeting paper was the only sound you allowed yourself to hear.

The plan had been set into motion after a whispered discussion in Viserys’s solar. He had agreed, reluctantly, that action needed to be taken—but he had trusted you to carry it out. You had laid out the details of the diplomatic approach, and while it was Viserys’s seal that would adorn the letters, the intricate work, the precise wording, and the careful manipulation were all your doing. The king, though burdened by his crown, knew you were the one with the strength to handle the delicate negotiations.

You’d already sent word to the Brackens, a carefully worded letter crafted with precision. To them, you’d extended an olive branch wrapped in gold. A recognition of a contested land claim, something that would soothe their pride without pushing them too far. You had given them a reason to let go of their anger, without allowing them to feel they’d lost face.

Now, it was time to turn your attention to the Blackwoods.

You dipped your quill in ink once more, the tip gliding across the parchment. This letter was more delicate—more intricate. The Blackwoods had a deep sense of honor, and while they were willing to settle, their thirst for justice could not be ignored. You’d offered them the exile of the offending knight to the Night’s Watch, a compromise that would keep his life intact while still serving a form of justice. It would appease their pride, for their enemy would face punishment, but without the bloodshed that would only fan the flames of rebellion.

Each stroke of the quill was deliberate, forming words that sounded gentle but carried the weight of authority. You wrote as Viserys would, sealing your words in the king’s name, though it was clear to both of you that it was your own hands guiding the outcome. Viserys’s approval had been given with the understanding that the matter would be handled quietly, behind closed doors. The lords wouldn’t question the king’s actions—they would simply follow his lead, as they always did.

The letters were ready, each addressed to their respective families. You carefully rolled them, ensuring no trace of ink stained the edges, before sealing them with the king’s seal. You paused for a moment, looking at the waxen emblem, the sign of Viserys’s rule. It was a symbol of power, but it also carried the weight of everything you were trying to protect.

Ravens were summoned, and you entrusted them with the sealed letters. They would carry your carefully crafted words far from the Red Keep, bearing messages that would shape the future of the realm. And while Viserys would ultimately take credit for the decision, it was you who had orchestrated it all.

With the letters dispatched, you turned your attention to the next step of the plan: ensuring that the public reconciliation ceremony would go smoothly. But for now, you allowed yourself a rare moment of quiet. The ravens were on their way, and there was no turning back.

The small council chamber fell silent as Viserys took his seat at the head of the table, his weary eyes scanning the gathered lords. The air was thick with tension, remnants of Daemon’s outburst still hanging in the room.

“Let us be clear,” Viserys began, his voice steady but firm. “The situation with the Brackens and the Blackwoods has been resolved. There will be no bloodshed, no more open hostilities.”

Daemon, who had been sitting quietly, his expression simmering with frustration, leaned forward slightly, his voice low but sharp. “And you believe you can simply end this, without consulting me?”

Viserys’s gaze met his brother’s, unwavering. “I did not consult you, because this matter required swift and delicate action. It needed to be handled quietly, with the authority of the crown, not driven by emotion or pride.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, but Viserys continued, his voice cool. “I’ve sent a message to both houses. The Blackwoods will receive the justice they desire, but in a way that preserves peace. The Brackens, meanwhile, will be granted a significant boon—a recognition of their claim to disputed lands. A small price to pay to prevent further bloodshed.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “And what of my role in this, brother? What role do I play in this ‘delicate’ matter?”

Viserys looked at him, unflinching. “Your role, Daemon, is not to interfere. You are the Commander of the City Watch, but this was not a matter for the City Watch. It was a matter of diplomacy. Of keeping the peace.”

He paused, allowing the words to settle in the air. “The reconciliation ceremony will take place before the Iron Throne. Both the Brackens and the Blackwoods will swear oaths of peace, under my direct orders.”

Daemon opened his mouth to speak, but Viserys raised a hand, silencing him. “The matter is settled. There will be no further discussion. The lords of the realm will see this as a wise move—one that ensures peace in the Riverlands.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his expression softening as he glanced around the room. “Now, we move on. We have more important matters to discuss. The realm cannot wait.”

The silence in the room was palpable as Daemon, his temper barely contained, stood up abruptly. His chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as he stormed out, leaving a tense stillness behind him.

Viserys turned to the remaining council members, his voice once again calm. “Let us proceed with the agenda.”

And with that, the council resumed, but the air was thick with unspoken words.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

You weren’t expecting to find yourself outside the council chambers today, but the moment you heard raised voices echoing through the halls, you knew something was amiss. You didn’t need to hear the words to understand what was happening—Daemon and Viserys were locked in yet another heated argument.

As you neared the door, you paused, quietly listening to the tension that hung thick in the air between the two brothers. You knew this wasn’t a casual disagreement. No, this was deeper, more volatile than anything that had come before. Daemon’s temper was a fire that could not easily be quenched, and Viserys’s patience had long since reached its breaking point.

“—and you’re willing to let them do this without me?” Daemon’s voice rang out, full of disbelief and fury. “You sit there in your throne and make decisions that should be mine to make!”

Viserys’s voice followed, sharper, colder. “I am the king, Daemon! Not you. And you’re not in charge of the Riverlands. You’ve made it abundantly clear that your temper will only make matters worse, and I will not let you jeopardize everything we’ve worked for.”

You couldn’t help the tightness in your chest as you slowly opened the door. You knew that Viserys had been under pressure, but hearing the raw anger in both of their voices made your heart ache.

Daemon’s eyes snapped to you as you entered, his features momentarily softening when he saw you. But it didn’t last long. His frustration was too much to hide.

“You heard all of that, didn’t you?” he growled, his words aimed not at you but at the air around him. “He undermines me, as always.”

Viserys, still seated at the council table, gave a weary sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s for the good of the realm, Daemon. Your actions, your temper... they’ve made it impossible to move forward.”

Daemon took a step toward him, eyes blazing. “And you think I haven’t sacrificed enough for this family? For you?”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on Daemon’s arm gently, though the weight of the argument still hung between the brothers.

“Daemon,” you said softly, “let’s not do this now.” Your voice was calm, but firm, a gentle anchor amidst the storm. “You can talk about this later, after you've both had time to breathe.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, his eyes still locked on his brother, but his posture softened ever so slightly as your touch worked its magic. He exhaled deeply, frustration still etched in every line of his face, but he made no further move toward his brother.

Viserys looked between the two of you, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. There was a faint flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he stood, straightening his robes. “I’m done with this conversation for today,” he said coldly, and Daemon shot him one last, bitter glance before Viserys turned to leave.

As the door closed behind the king, the weight of the room seemed to lift, but Daemon’s anger still simmered beneath the surface. You could see it in his clenched fists, his furrowed brow, and the way his shoulders tensed with each breath.

You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you gave him a moment to calm himself, knowing all too well that a conversation now would only lead to more frustration. Slowly, Daemon turned to face you, and when his eyes met yours, they were softer, though still clouded with the storm of emotion he was struggling to contain.

“You shouldn’t have heard that,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, the anger in it fading, replaced by a weariness that had settled deep within him. “It’s not for you to hear.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “I know you’re frustrated, Daemon. I don’t like seeing you like this.” You paused, your gaze steady. “But this fight... it’s not one you’re going to win. Not now.”

Daemon was quiet for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all this,” he admitted, his voice raw and vulnerable. “I don’t know how to make it stop.”

You held him a little tighter, feeling the weight of everything pressing on him. “I know. But we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

His arms tightened around you as he buried his face in your hair. For a moment, the tension seemed to lift, and all that remained was the two of you, holding on to each other in the quiet aftermath.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

A week passed since the resolution of the Bracken and Blackwood dispute, and while Daemon’s anger had simmered down to a quiet brooding, the tension in the Red Keep was palpable. The lords had spoken their piece, the council had concluded their deliberations, and the kingdom, for now, appeared to be at rest. Yet you knew better than to believe in a calm that came too easily. The peace had been achieved—quietly, subtly—without Daemon’s direct knowledge.

It had been your plan, executed with careful precision. The letters sent under the king’s seal, the meetings with the Brackens and the Blackwoods, the subtle maneuvering to avoid bloodshed—all of it was your doing. Daemon remained unaware of your role in it, and you intended to keep it that way. His temper, as volatile as ever, had quieted somewhat since the ceremony in the throne room. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet between you both was fragile, and the whispers of the court only added to the unease.

The public reconciliation between the Brackens and the Blackwoods had been nothing short of a spectacle. The Iron Throne witnessed their sworn oaths of peace, pledging loyalty to the crown under Viserys’s direction. And while the ceremony had been regal and well-executed, the true work—the work done behind the scenes—remained a mystery to most.

But not to you. The weight of the success felt heavy, and you knew it would not stay secret for long. Even as you stood in the shadows of the throne room, observing the lords of the Riverlands make their pledges, you could hear the faint murmurs beginning to stir. First, it was a passing remark. A raised brow. Then, it grew louder, until it was impossible to ignore.

It was Daemon’s wife who had orchestrated it, they said. Not Viserys, not the king—Daemon’s wife. The rumors spread like wildfire. How had she managed to bring two feuding houses to the table? How had she secured the peace when all seemed lost? The whispers spoke not of Daemon’s involvement, but of your quiet influence. It was you who had orchestrated the peace—through your diplomacy, your steady resolve, and your deep understanding of the delicate balance that held the realm together.

At first, the whispers were faint, almost unnoticeable. But the longer the court simmered in its quiet post-celebration lull, the louder they became. A glance here, a sidelong comment there, as courtiers spoke behind their hands, careful not to draw too much attention. You overheard their theories—the reader of the letters, the one who had soothed the lords’ tempers, the one who had convinced the Brackens and the Blackwoods to lay down their swords.

Daemon had been busy in the training yard, his mind focused elsewhere, and so the whispers were a quiet storm that he hadn’t yet noticed. Yet, you knew it was only a matter of time before he pieced it together. For now, you kept to your silence. Your role in the peace had been deliberate. The credit, you were certain, would fall to Viserys. He was the king, after all, and it was his decision in the eyes of the realm. But it didn’t make the whispers any less insistent, nor did it quiet the growing suspicion in your heart that your husband might soon learn the truth.

You didn’t seek attention for your actions; your only goal had been the realm’s safety. But with each passing day, you could feel the weight of what you had done. Viserys had given you the freedom to act, trusting you to handle it, and you had. But now, as the court grew more talkative and the truth became less veiled, you couldn’t help but wonder: When would Daemon learn the full extent of your involvement? And what would his reaction be when he did?

The whispers only grew louder as the days wore on, echoing in the hallways and chambers, but for now, you remained tight-lipped. The peace had been secured. The rest, for the moment, didn’t matter.

250 notes · View notes

novaursa · 5 months ago

Text

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.

- Pairing: 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.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #hotd tyland #tyland lannister #tyland x reader #tyland x you #tyland x y/n #house targaryen #house lannister

309 notes · View notes

vikingmagic33 · 2 years ago

Text

The count now stands at 22.

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

90 notes · View notes

asoiafandotherbooks · 1 year ago

Text

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!

8 notes · View notes

witchthewriter · 2 years ago

Text

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.

77 notes · View notes

drakaripykiros130ac · 1 year ago

Note

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.

#house of the dragon #team black #rhaenyra targaryen #pro team black #anti alicent hightower #hotd #anti team green #queen rhaenyra #anti greens #anti otto hightower #anti jasper wylde #anti criston cole #anti gwayne hightower #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #daemon targaryen

46 notes · View notes

gulnarsultan · 1 year ago

Note

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. 🤭

#yandere game of thrones #house targaryen #house of targaryen #house lannister #lannister oc

40 notes · View notes

sikudastoner · 4 months ago

Note

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.

#oc: darren lannister #oc: lymond lannister

5 notes · View notes

deadlymaelstrom · 2 years ago

Link

#game of thrones #my ocs #lyman beesbury #tyland lannister #alicent hightower #house of the dragon #original character #jasper wylde #orwyle #queue #baela targaryen #a song of ice and fire #asoif fanfic #got fanfiction #queued post #hotd spoilers #asoif/got

0 notes

eden031 · 2 years ago

Text

Here‘s to courage

Aemond Targaryen x reader/original female character

About 6k words long

Modern! AU

TW: sexual harassment (not by Aemond though), talks of infertility

With a loud sigh she let herself fall into her chair, the light of the computer felt like it was burning into her eyes. The pounding headache was still not gone, even after taking painkillers it did not get any better. Maybe she should not have drunk that much last night, knowing that she would have to drag herself to work the next day.

„Good Morning.“ the voice of Otto Hightower brought her back to reality. He was standing in front of her, his long coat draped over one arm and the suit he was wearing looked like the newest edition to his wardrobe, a deep navy blue with a white dress shirt.

„Good Morning, Sir.“ she smiled at him, his eyes wrinkling slightly at the sides. He looked a lot more happy than he usually did. Most of the time his expression seemed to be sulking or unhappy with something, but on this particular morning he looked like a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

„How was your weekend?“ he asked, hanging up the coat on the rack. The young woman was slightly startled by the question, Mr Hightower had never been a rude employer, but he had also never been particularly interested in his employees personal life.

„Good. My brothers and I drove up north to visit family, it was nice. Both my brothers thrived on being up there again. How about yours?“ she laughed softly and shook her head at the thought of how happy her older brother had been to see their older sisters again and how good the air up north had been for her other brother‘s lungs after he had developed severe pneumonia. She could, however, not tell him about the more bitter and sad part of the weekend, which led to her thundering headache.

„That is good to hear. My weekend has consisted of the usual business.“ he waved his hand in the air and sighed softly. She knew what that meant, it meant that his grandchildren had driven him up the wall and his daughter had probably ranted about her husband and maybe his oldest grandson had even brought around his new girlfriend or even one of his many kids.

„Could you call a few people for me before the normal issues of the day come flooding in?“ he asked her as he picked up the briefcase again, which he had sat down before hanging up the coat.

„Of course.“ she held back her comment that this was exactly her job, calling people for him, taking calls for him and scheduling every event while keeping track of all the requests that came into the Mailbox during the day.

„Here is the list and what I want from them or what you have to tell them. Some calls are internal, others are external.“ he handed her a large piece of paper, which he had drawn out of his breast pocket and unfolded with one hand.

She just nodded and smiled at him, with that he disappeared into the room which was behind her office. It was not really an office, she was only a secretary after all and that meant no big office for her.

As she looked down at the list she let out a drawn out groan, it was long and a few of the names on it were not her favorite ones to call. His handwriting was neat and tidy, yet it was elegant, which made it easy to read.

Lyman Beesbury

Ask about the debt to the Lannister Banks and how much of the budget for the new project has to be loaned to the Company

Jason Lannister

Tell him that we will not be able to pay the debt back with the current interest rate, negotiate (if he is not willing to cooperate put him through to me)

Harwin Strong

Put through the list of attendees for the Gala and the current security guidelines that have to be taken into consideration for such an event

Hobert Hightower

Also put through the list of attendees for the Gala and tell him that I want him to prepare a separate account for the donations for the Gala

The list went on and on with tasks like these, most of them either relating to some form of finance or the Gala coming up in a month. With a heavy sigh she placed her head on the table, closing her eyes before looking at the last point on the paper.

Aemond Targaryen

Tell him that he will be attending the six o‘clock meeting with me tomorrow.

She rolled her eyes at that, but also felt some kind of relief. Aemond was always polite when she called and never snapped at her so at least there was something to look forward to while she was making some of the more dreadful calls on the list. With a glance at the clock she picked up the phone on her desk and started to dial the number of Lyman Beesbury. She had exactly one and a half hours before the usual rush of the day started to flood in and then she would be buried in work.

With a groan she hung up that second to last call and dropped her hands on the keyboard in front of her. She had a deep resentment for that Baratheon man, he always made disgusting comments about her and her professional relationship with Otto Hightower. She looked at the clock again, it was now almost an hour into the normal work day and she was already stacking up work for the rest of the day, making copies of certain documents, putting things away, sending Emails to different people with requests or telling them that they did not do their job correctly. One more time she picked up the phone and dialed the number of Aemond Targaryen. After one ring he picked up.

„Hello, Aemond Targaryen speaking.“ his smooth voice came through the speaker.

„Hello, Mr. Targaryen! Here is-„ she was interrupted by him.

„Ah, dear. How can I help you?“ his voice was calm and she could hear the tapping of a keyboard in the background. It always flustered her that he called her dear, but she never said anything because it did not make her uncomfortable.

„I am just calling because Mr. Hightower wants to let you know that you will be joining him for his six o‘clock meeting tomorrow.“ she waited for him to say something.

„Alright. Tell him that I will be there. I just have a quick question: who else is attending the meeting?“ he asked, the tapping in the background had stopped a few moments ago and scribbling had come into the audio now.

„Uhm…I can answer you in just one moment.“ she hacked the date and time into the calendar, which she kept for Mr. Hightower’s meetings.

„The meeting is with Ms. Rhaenyra Targaryen,“ she paused and continued to read the other names, a bad feeling settling in her stomach. „Mr. Corlys Velaryon, Mr. Vaemond Velaryon and Mr. Daemon Targaryen. As well as Mrs. Targaryen and of course Mr. Hightower." She licked her lips and waited for him to say anything. There was only the sound of his breathing now.

„Thank you. One more question; is my grandfather currently available?“ he sounded angry about something and she really did not want to know what he was angry about. She knew a lot about the problems within the Targaryen family, but by far not everything.

„Uhm, yes he is. He is in his office right now.“ she said calmly.

„Thank you, goodbye.“ Before she was able to say anything he hung up. Quickly she sat down the phone and now stared at the documents laying in front of her. With a sigh she took the stapler from the side of the desk and started to look through the dokuments, wanting to know which of them belonged together and which of them needed to be put away separately.

While she was stapling and putting away all the documents she remembered why she had such a blaring headache. It had not been a pleasant night, normally she did not drink that much, but due to her unnerving aunt she had drunk one glass of whiskey after the other and had realized too late that drinking almost three quarters of a Whiskey bottle was not a good idea. The woman had been asking about when she would get married and why she was not engaged and when they would be able to welcome more children into the family. Her aunt was particularly cruel when it came to things like these. The woman never kept it to the annoying enough questions, but always started to insult the other person the drunker she got. The best insult of the evening that had been thrown at her head had been:“defect breeding cow“, which would have not affected her as much if it was not for the fact that her Gynecologist had recently told her that the chance of her ever having children was slim, not zero but close to. She shook her head to get rid of the images and the feelings associated with that night, pushing the stapler aggressively into the paper and then putting it in the hole puncher to even more aggressively punch the holes into the papers.

Suddenly the door flew open and Aemond strode into the room. His face filled with annoyance as he closed the door behind him. Closed was the right word, he had not slammed it, he never slammed doors unlike his older brother who seemed to be always slamming doors.

„Mr. Targaryen,“ she nodded at him, her eyes turned back to her work. She did not want to bother him, especially not when he was angry about something. He smiled softly at her, greeting her and continuing to Otto Hightowers office.

After Aemond had entered, muffled voices were audible from the room, however only a mere moment later the muffled voices turned into something that sounded much more like shouting.

She tried hard not to listen to anything they were saying since it felt like a huge invasion of privacy. Luckily their voices were only muffled again after a few moments.

The young woman was not sure how long their talking continued, but after some time Aemond left the office again. He walked slowly and also closed the door gently again. Now she was finally able to get a good look at him. Aemond Targaryen was in his mid twenties, lean and had gorgeous platinum blonde hair, which shone softly. Otherwise he was also very good looking and always well dressed, on this particular day he accentuated his frame with a tight fitting, emerald green dress shirt and black slacks.

„Would you like to come to the kitchen with me and get a coffee?“ he asked her as he was about to leave the room.

„I would love to!“ she smiled softly and got up from her chair, her back aching since she had been sitting since the early morning.

He opened the door for her and let her pass, he left the room after her and gently closed the door. Together they quietly walked through the corridor.

„You have probably heard that my dear father will be hosting a Gala next month.“ Aemond broke the silence as they continued their way to the kitchen.

„I have, actually I have been making calls about that all day and sending Email out about certain regulations that have to be met.“ she chuckled softly as they turned a corner.

„Oh, well that is also good to know. At least I now know that someone competent handled the bureaucracy of the whole event.“ he said.

„Thank you, but to be honest: Mr. Hightower did a lot of the bureaucracy things, I just sent out the Emails for him and made the phone calls.“ she laughed softly.

He just hummed in what seemed like disagreement, but she was not able to place the sound combined with his nonchalant facial expression.

„Have you received an invitation?“ he asked, seeming genuinely interested in the answer.

„Oh no! I do not get invited to any events of the sort. After all, I am just a secretary that does not have that much influence. There is no need to invite me.“

Aemond looked over at her, his eyes opened wide and his eyebrows raised.

„Well, then. If you have not received an invitation yet then please see this as your invitation to the Gala, as my plus one.“ he said.

She stared at him in shock for a moment. He had seriously asked her to come to the Gala as his plus one. She took a shaky breath and swallowed the lump in her throat.

„Thank you, Mr. Targaryen.“ she said quietly.

„Aemond.“ he responded plainly.

„Excuse me?“ she asked, not quite understanding what he wanted to say with that.

„Please call me Aemond. I believe that I have told you on a few occasions already that I do not like to be called by my last name.“ he smiled softly as they reached the kitchen.

„Thank you, Aemond.“

„Have you finished up everything for the day?“ Otto Hightower asked as he exited his office. He seemed to be in a hurry to leave, which made sense since tonight was the big night in which hours and hours of planning had been invested. He probably also had to get changed since his usual plain suit would not be doing well at the Gala.

„Yes, Sir. Everything is finished, all the pile up of the last few weeks is also gone and you can go to the Gala with a good conscience.“ she smiled at him as he put down the briefcase.

„Good, good.“ he paused for a moment, „You do know that Aemond told me that he invited you as his plus one, right?“ he asked.

She felt her face heat up slightly as she looked at her hands. All the time after Aemond had invited her she had not told Mr. Hightower since she did not know what he would say, but the fact that Aemond already told him made things much easier.

„No, he did not tell me that he informed you about that.“ she laughed softly, trying to cover up how flustered she was. The older man hummed slightly, but just nodded.

„You should also leave, I believe getting ready will take you some time.“ his expression was kind as he picked up the coat and draped it over his shoulders.

„Until later.“ he said, after she also said goodbye he left, shortly after she also took all of her things and made her way home.

She took a deep breath as she looked at herself in the mirror. The light green dress was smoothed out perfectly and her hair had been done perfectly by one of her friends who worked as a hairstylist, falling loosely over her shoulders and complementing the color of the dress. For her shoes she had opted for cream colored strap heels, which blended nicely with the color of the dress. A pair of small golden hoops dangled from her ears as she took the clutch.

Aemond had told her not to worry about what she would be wearing and wear something she felt comfortable in, which turned out to be harder than she thought at first since most of the dresses she owned and already knew felt comfortable in were not appropriate for a Gala in any way. As she looked away from the mirror she glanced at the clock, it was almost time for him to come pick her up, nervously she smoothed out the dress once again and made her way over to her coat rag. It was not too cold, but still rather cool, especially since she was wearing a dress that unfortunately did not have any sleeves. Before she was able to grab her coat the bell rang and she walked towards the speaker in the wall.

„Hello, Aemond?“ she simply spoke into the microphone. For a moment there was silence.

„Yes, dear.“ as she heard his voice she pressed the unlock button for the door and went to take her coat and her clutch. She opened the door and made her way into the stairwell, closing the door and locking it behind her.

As she was about to call the elevator the doors opened and Aemond stood in front of her. She felt like someone had knocked all of the air out of her lungs. He stood there, looking like a model. His lean body was clad in a beautiful black suit with a black dress shirt, but no tie or fly. The soft platinum blonde hair was brushed back, but still hanging loosely over her back and shoulders.

„Hi.“ she whispered softly as she stepped into the elevator, almost realizing too late that she had been staring at the man.

„Hello, dear.“ he smiled softly at her as he pressed the button for the ground floor and seemed to relax.

„You look beautiful in that dress.“ he looked at her with an expression that she was unable to read. His one eye looked her up and down while the glass eye, which he had chosen to be a sapphire, shone bright in the light of the elevator.

„Thank you. You look rather handsome yourself.“ her eyes traveled up and down his figure again, the first two buttons of his shirt were opened, which made it look a lot more relaxed than it would have looked if he had been wearing a tie. At the statement he chuckled softly.

With a soft ding the elevator came to a stop, as the doors opened he stretched out his arm, signaling her that she should take his arm. Her hand landed on the crook of his elbow, making her feel like she gave up some sort of control, a fact that would have terrified her under normal circumstances, but this was different, right now she was happy that someone was guiding her.

They approached a car that was standing in one of the parking spaces in the area. It looked to be an older Porsche model, but she had in all honesty no idea what kind of car it was. Aemond opened the back door for her and she took a seat in the back of the car, putting on the seat belt, greeting the man that was sitting at the wheel. The young man rounded the car and took a seat beside her.

As the car was set in motion by the driver she looked out of the window. His voice brought her back to reality.

„I will give you a fair warning before we arrive. There will be a lot of people taking photos, especially while we exit the car.“ he adjusted his cuffs as he spoke.

„Oh.“ she swallowed harshly, knowing that that would be hard for her, she had of course expected it, but it still felt odd.

„No need to worry.“ he chuckled softly. „I will guide you. Wait for me to get out of the car, then I can help you exit.“ he paused again and studied her face for a moment. „While we are in the main hall, you can just mingle. Before the buffet there will be many speeches, they are not the most interesting, but you will be able to pass the time. Afterwards it is just food, polite conversation and dancing.“

„Thank you. I am good at mingling and listening as well, that is a positive.“ she smiled softly as Aemond raised his eyebrow and looked at her with confusion written across his face.

„Well, mingling and listening is my job after all. I do not only send out emails, but make calls that need a sensible tone and an open ear.“ she smiled softly. „And if I may say so myself; I have gotten quite good at listening to people talking about things that I have no idea about.“

He laughed softly and shook his head. „Then I should keep you close since listening to the ramblings of my father‘s business partners is not my strong suit.“ There were a few moments of silence then he spoke again. „Also I would recommend you leave your coat in the car as well as the bag, there will not be many places to hang it and things can easily get lost at these Galas.“

„Oh, alright.“ She began shrugging off her coat, knowing that the hall which they had booked for the Gala was only a few minutes away from where they currently were. A slight shiver ran through her body as she felt the warm coat leave her body. Only shortly after she pulled it out from beneath her and folded it on the middle seat.

„I have never seen someone take a coat off so elegantly while sitting, even my dear my mother is not able to do that.“ he laughed and shook his head in amazement.

„It comes easier when you spent most of your childhood in a car. You actually learn to do a lot of things while in a moving car.“ she laughed softly.

The short rest of the drive was spent in silence. The car pulled up beside the hall and stopped at the height of a red carpet. Smoothly the driver reached for her coat and clutch and put it on the passenger seat before Aemond opened the door. As he did so she heard and saw the flashes of cameras going off. Waiting a short moment she scooted over and also got out of the car, taking Aemond‘s hand in the process. The only thoughts on her mind were to keep your legs together while getting out of the car and your hand on the neckline of your dress. Luckily, she exited the car smoothly and without issue.

As she stood securely Aemond offered her his arm again, she took it and they began to walk. She smiled softly as they made their way to the entrance of the hall. The flashes of the cameras were truly blinding and she was happy that Aemond seemed to be so confidently strudding towards the entrance.

It became apparent immediately that they entered the building since the flashes stopped. She took a deep breath and looked up at Aemond, looking to find some kind of reassurance, which she also found: he wore a gentle smile and nodded at her. They continued into the main room of the hall and she again felt like someone knocked all the air out of her lungs.

The ceiling was made of glass and shimmered softly, but the most impressive thing of the whole building was the massive chandelier, which was hanging in the middle of the ceiling. It was made of glass and what seemed like crystals, the light cascading down from it made the room feel like a scene from a fairy tale. This feeling only intensified as she looked at the people in the room. All of them were immaculately dressed as well as having some kind of regal air about them.

He moved his arm away from hers, but quickly placed his hand on the small of her back. She tried to follow his gaze, which led her eyes to a group of people with the signature blonde hair of the Targaryens.

„Come, my family is there. I think we should greet them.“ his voice was soft, yet it still carried over the muttering and talk of the crowd with ease. She just nodded and he directed her effortlessly through the crowd, people parted to let them through.

Finally they arrived at the group. She recognized a few people; Viserys Targaryen and his wife seemed to be the first to notice the pair approaching. Alicent Hightower, the wife of Viserys, was a beautiful woman with big brown eyes and a soft face, she was clad in a dark green evening gown with black heels and her hair pulled back in a slick bun. Viserys Targaryen himself was seated in his wheelchair, the suit he wore looked similar to the one Aemond was wearing, just that he wore a red tie with it. The other people were Aegon Targaryen and Helaena Targaryen, Aemond‘s older siblings, as well as Daeron Targaryen, Aemond‘s youngest brother. They all looked immaculate, Helaena wearing a golden dress with long sleeves, Aegon looked the most casual out of all of them with his white dress shirt and black slacks. Daeron wore a dark green satin suit paired with a black dress shirt and a green tie. Moreover there were Rhaenyra Targaryen and her husband Daemon along with Rhaenyra‘s sons and Daemon‘s daughters. Rhaenyra and Daemon‘s daughters, Baela and Rhaena, wore black dresses with varying accents of red. Daemon in a black suit with a black turtleneck pullover and all of Rhaenyra‘s sons seemed to be matching their grandfather.

„Aemond! I knew you would bring the cute secretary!“ Aegon shouted as they approached. His face lit up as he saw his brother, she saw as much, but felt a wave of nervousness hit her as all eyes were on her and Aemond. The large family all seemed to expect her to say something.

„Good evening everyone.“ Aemond greeted politely. He let go of her for a moment to go over to his mother and kiss her on the cheek. „Mother.“

„Hello.“ she smiled as relaxed as she could, but still felt like anyone from the group would be coming at her at any given moment. Before anything else could be exchanged Aemond took his place by her side again, looking positively annoyed by the fact that his nephews were present.

„Just a fair warning Aemond, the waiters have not finished setting the table. Take care so that they don‘t get to your other eye.“ Lucerys, one of Aemond‘s nephews, snickered. She felt how his hand slit over to her hip and the grip on her seemed to get stronger.

„You should be careful as well, nephew. We do not want an accident to happen to your eye, would we?“ Aemond seemed so calm as he said it, but there was a very definite threat behind these words. She felt a lump form in her throat as hateful glares were exchanged between the men.

„No, we wouldn‘t.“ a new voice came from behind her. She turned around, looking for the person that had just spoken. It was Otto Hightower and she never felt relief wash over her quicker before. A warm smile spread across her face as she saw her employer.

„Mr. Hightower.“ she nodded at him. He looked away from both of the young men and sent her a kind smile, his expression turned stony again as he looked at his oldest grandson.

„Aegon, come. Some people want to meet you.“ his voice was stern as he said those words, clearly displeased that they wanted to meet the young man.

„Do I really have to?“ he whined.

„Yes!“ Mr. Hightower snarled, turning around again to make his way back into the masses. Aegon followed him silently.

They stood there in silence for a few minutes then Aemond spoke again.

„If you would excuse us.“ Aemond already started walking away, almost dragging her behind him.

„Goodbye.“ she hurriedly said as she walked with Aemond. He seemed annoyed as they walked through the crowd.

„That was intense.“ she muttered under her breath, happy about the fact that she was able to escape that circle of hell. After Aemond had asked her to accompany him to the Gala they had spoken more and he had invited her for coffee and cake from time to time. That led to her knowing a lot more about the formidable Targaryen family than before and not all of the things she learned were good. However, she had not expected things to get out of hand so quickly once they were all gathered in one place.

„There have been worse things to happen during family get-togethers.“ he muttered under his breath. Before she was able to say anything to him about the interaction again a large man swept in front of them. He was broad shouldered with shoulder long black hair and clear blue eyes.

„Now, now Aemond Targaryen!“ the man laughed and held out his hand. It was Borros Baratheon, the current head of the Storms End company, a man she strongly disliked for many reasons. Sadly, she had to interact with him regularly on a professional level. Before he was able to say anything to her someone took her hand and tugged on it.

„Come, I want to show you the balcony.“ the voice of a woman said. She looked at the woman, it was Helaena. Looking at Aemond for a moment she just nodded.

„Of course.“ Helaena dragged her to the balcony and stopped once they overlooked the city. Kings Landing was beautiful during the night, many lights were shining from all the buildings and even some of the smaller quarters of the city were alight. This city was never truly asleep, everywhere at any time people were making their way through the city and working.

„Thank you.“ she whispered softly as she leaned against the railing, looking down at the magnificent city.

„There is no need to thank me. I know how much you hate him.“ she hummed softly. Her eyes seemed distant, like she was somewhere completely different. She had been well acquainted with Helaena for most of the time she had worked for Otto Hightower, however their friendship had only begun shortly before Aemond had asked her to join him for the Gala.

They stood outside for what felt like half an hour, looking at the city and speaking hushed whispers, giggling softly at each other's jokes. Suddenly she realized that she was freezing and needed to get inside if she did not want to get hypothermic.

„Helaena? I need to get back inside, I am freezing.“ she muttered softly. Helaena just nodded and hummed.

She entered the warm hall again and felt her skin prickle at the warmth of the air. Now the next step was to find Aemond again, she did not want to be alone for too long. While walking through the crowd she greeted a few people politely and even held short conversations with them. Most of them she knew, having already met them at meetings or similar events. Out of nowhere a warm hand landed on the small of her back. She turned, fully expecting to see Aemond but she was wrong, very wrong. It was Jason Lannister.

„How nice it is to see you here!“ he greeted her with a polite smile, his hand not leaving the small of her back the whole time.

„Mr. Lannister, it is a pleasure to see you.“ she nodded politely, trying to writhe her way away from his hand, but it stayed there, moving up to her hip. It was easy to smell that the man was drunk out of his mind, his breath reeking of alcohol.

„Now tell me, doll. What did Aemond Targaryen promise you if you showed up here with him?“ Now she heard that his speech was slurred, only confirming her theory.

„I do not quite understand what you are talking about, Mr. Lannister.“ she felt how his grip on her hip only got more intense.

„You know, did he promise you money? Maybe a promotion? Or a good fuck? Because the last thing he can‘t give you, however I know someone that might.“ his face was dangerously close to hers now and she felt like she was about to throw up as her brain fully processed what the man had just said. As he was about to press his lips against her he was pulled back from her, it was such an aggressive pull that she stumbled back slightly.

„Back off Lannister. She does not want to talk to you.“ Aemond hissed as he wrapped his arm around her waist, still placing himself slightly in front of her. Before Jason Lannister was able to say anything to her or Aemond, Aemond pulled her away and into the crowd.

After they had put a good distance between them and Jason Lannister, Aemond let go of her.

„Are you okay?“ he took her hand and looked her in the eyes. For a moment she was contemplating lying to him, telling him that she was okay that this had not affected her in the slightest, but it had. It had scared her and she felt like she was about to throw up.

She just quietly shook her head and took a step closer to him, Aemond understood the gesture and pulled her into a warm embrace.

„Alright, let's find you a place to sit down.“ he took her hand and guided her through the crowd to one of the tables. He sat her down on the chair in front of him and gently rubbed her arm as he scanned the crowd. She tried to follow his gaze, she spotted the same person he did or rather the two people. It was Aegon and Otto Hightower: Aemond shouted Aegon‘s name and the man turned right away. Aemond waved his hand, signaling him to come over, Otto Hightower followed behind his grandson. As they arrived Otto‘s eyes immediately fell on the young woman sitting on the chair, she looked like a scared deer, eyes glossed over and hands shaking.

„What happened?“ he asked right away as they arrived. His face was hard and he seemed displeased.

„Jason Lannister happened,“ Aemond snarled. Otto raised one of eyebrows, Aemond leaned in and whispered in his grandfather‘s ear. His expression became furious.

„I will get one of the security people to deal with him.“ Otto disappeared after that. Aegon now stood there, looking like he had no idea what to do.

„And what do you need me for?“ Aegon asked.

„Get two lemon cakes from the buffet.“ Aemond‘s voice was commanding and Aegon quickly obliged.

The rest of the evening went by without incident. Jason Lannister had been escorted out of the building by a group of security people and no one else had dared to come near her after that, the fact that she was attached to Aemond‘s arm for the rest of the evening probably also played its part.

Just like Aemond had said the speeches were boring, but she just let her thoughts wander during that time. After the buffet had opened and people had started dancing, the shock of the encounter with Jason Lannister slipped off her like a blanket and she began to enjoy herself. While she was chatting with Helaena she looked over at Aemond who was just speaking to Criston Cole, one of the private security people of the Targaryen family. He looked a lot more relaxed now, but there was still a certain tension in his shoulders.

As he returned to the table she got up from her seat.

„Is everything alright?“ Aemond asked, surprised that she seemed to get up so abruptly.

„Yes, I just wanted to ask if you wanted to dance?“ she smiled at him, this request seemed to have taken him by surprise.

„Of course, why not?“ he smiled and took her hand. As they reached the dance floor a more upbeat song started playing. Aemond twirled her as they danced to the song. Moving towards each other, then apart again, twirling and turning. She laughed as Aemond dipped her down and pulled her up again. They continued like that for what felt like hours. She was in a bliss of pure enjoyment, especially when the slower songs played and he would place his hands on her hips and just gently sway with her. As one song came to an end she looked up at him, seeing how he looked down at her with an unreadable expression, but it was not unfamiliar, he looked at her like he had looked at her in the elevator. Then suddenly he leaned down and gently kissed her, their lips met and she was unable to breath for a moment, she was shocked, but in a pleasant way. He pulled away again, a soft smile on his lips as she looked up at him with big eyes.

„I hope that was okay.“ he whispered softly as they continued to dance.

„It was.“ she laughed softly.

The rest of the evening they danced, they danced and laughed. Aemond knew that it would not be easy for him, but courage was a first step in the right direction.

#aemond x original character #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye targaryen #aemond one shot #aemond one eye #house of the dragon s1 #house of the dragon #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon fan fiction #aemond fanfiction #fan fiction #alternate universe

30 notes · View notes