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iltuoangelodifiducia · 11 months ago

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Mirti’s favourite Good Omens fics

Hello hello hello! I’ve been reading lots of fics recently, and I’ve decided to share here some of my favourite ones ♡

Canonverse

Through the years

✧ Mean It by Fyre [one-shot, 1991 words, rated G]

In 1650, a little tradition was born.

✧ Technicalities by curtaincall [one-shot, 1610 words, rated M]

Aziraphale is always very careful with his wording. Crowley's never really been in a position to question it.

Post Season 1

✧ When all of the stars in the sky align by gallantrejoinder [3 chapters, 9k words, completed, rated G]

It was approximately three years after the apoca-wasn’t that Crowley fell into a baptismal font.

It was extremely uncool of him to do so, and years afterwards, he would deny that it had happened like that. All right, maybe he still had trouble with the whole owning four limbs thing after all the years of snakehood - still, that didn’t make him clumsy.

But the point remained. Crowley fell into a literal vat of holy water.

And survived.

✧ Wrong Turn by anticyclone and D20Owlbear [10 chapters, 37k words, completed, rated T]

Lots and lots of somethings are wrong. First, Crowley's nearly hit by a car. Then he almost brains himself tripping over new and excessive piles of books at the bookshop. To add insult to near-injury, Aziraphale starts throwing knives at him. Safe to say his day could be going better.

The thing that's the most wrong of all is the universe, of course. In this one there was never an Arrangement. Aziraphale and Anthony (they can't both be 'Crowley') aren't friends and they certainly never agreed to prep for Armageddon. Unfortunately, the end of the world is two days away.

So that's something Crowley really has to fix before they can figure out how to get him home.

✧ Temporary Tattoo by cyankelpie [6 chapters, 9k words, completed, rated G]

Crowley’s snake tattoo goes on a little adventure and visits Aziraphale. Crowley doesn’t notice it’s missing until halfway to their next assignment, by which time their only option is to write to Aziraphale and ask him to keep the snake safe until Crowley returns.

They wish they’d thought to mention that they can still feel every touch to the snake, but how could they have known how affectionate Aziraphale would be with it?

✧ It's a new craze by attheborder [one shot, 5k words, rated T]

CROWLEY: I try not to make a habit of gratitude, but I must give our appreciation to everyone out there who’s been listening and subscribing to The Ineffable Plan.

AZIRAPHALE: Ooh, yes, we’ve become quite popular, haven’t we?

CROWLEY: Yeah, just hit number eight on the advice charts … No advertising at all.

AZIRAPHALE: Mm. How … miraculous.

CROWLEY: … Aziraphale. You did not.

Crowley and Aziraphale are very possibly the people least qualified, on the entire planet, to start up an advice podcast. But what else is there to do when the world isn’t ending anytime soon, you’re technically on indefinite sabbatical from your lifelong careers, and you need a plausible excuse to spend more time with your best friend who you’re definitely not, absolutely not, maybe just a little, actually maybe overwhelmingly in love with?

✧ I am just the (new invention) by littlesnowpea [one-shot, 7k words, rated T]

A list of hobbies Crowley has picked up over the past 6000 years: gardening, cooking, fashion, pining for Aziraphale, making YouTube videos

A list of hobbies Aziraphale has picked up over the past 6000 years: reading, book restoration, music, pining for Crowley, commenting on Crowley’s YouTube videos

When Aziraphale starts giving Crowley flowers, Crowley takes to his YouTube channel to discuss the meaning behind it, where Aziraphale comments encouragement to confess his feelings – under an alias, of course. There is absolutely no way any of this could ever go wrong.

✧ Heavenly Dues by IneffableDoll [one-shot, 2074 words, rated G]

Months after Armageddon, Heaven still receives receipts detailing Aziraphale’s daily miracle usage. Michael makes the mistake of checking them one idle day.

Aziraphale reheats a lot of tea and admires his demon, scandalizing an archangel in the process.

Post Season 2

✧ Shinin' down like water by contritecactite [one-shot, 2163 words, rated T]

He's always been late, himself, so perhaps it's not surprising that he finds himself in this situation: politely avoiding eye contact with the Voice of the Almighty on an interminable ride in a flawless white lift. Well, not so flawless after all; there's a scuff mark in one corner that looks just a bit like a snake, if he squints. Yes, in fact—just like the kind Crowley used to leave behind in casual acts of vandalism in the places they visited. Stone walls, sidewalks, picnic tables, bar tops—there must be thousands around the world by now, little breadcrumbs, proof of Crowley's existence.

✧ You Can't Take It With You by curtaincall [one-shot, 1377 words, rated M]

Celestial Lift Maintenance Technician is an easy job. Or it was, until Aziraphale took over as Supreme Archangel. With everyone heading back and forth from Earth all the time, Alex’s gig has become a lot more demanding.

And, weirdly, also a lot…stickier?

Outsider POV

✧ Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon and Airbnb Superhost by TheOldAquarian [one-shot, 3027 words, rated G]

What are you supposed to do when you've been fired from your sweet job in Hell for thwarting the schemes of Satan, you've got a swanky flat in Mayfair, and you're looking for an excuse to spend all your time in someone else's bookshop? Obviously, you turn to the dubious world of short-term vacation rentals.

The resulting Airbnb property has been variously described as "an instagram trap," "a vampire den but make it botanical," and "the weirdest bed and breakfast in the shared history of beds and breakfasting."

✧ I live next door to a haunted bookshop owned by an immortal cryptid bastard. AMA! by kyaticlikestea [one-shot, 6k words, rated T]

Before anyone reports this post, I got this AMA authorised by posting proof to a mod, so there.

Hi, Reddit! I’m no-one special, but about 6 months ago, I moved into a flat above a cafe next door to a bookshop, and my life has never been the same since, because the man who runs the bookshop is some sort of ageless (mostly) benevolent eldritch being. By all accounts, he hasn’t aged a day since at least 1944, sometimes he seems to have just too many eyes, and I once saw him turn water into wine (a nice rosé). His coworker / best friend / boyfriend / shadow entity is also definitely some kind of cryptid, but despite trying harder to be a bastard, he’s somehow less successful at it.

So, if you have any questions about what it’s like to live next door to an eternal bastard man, AMA!

Canon divergence

✧ Living Proof by theinkwell33 [one-shot, 6k words, rated G]

Due to a Huge Misunderstanding when they first meet, Crowley spends the next six thousand years thinking Aziraphale is a demon, and Aziraphale thinks Crowley is an angel. By the time they figure out the truth, they've only got eleven years left until the end of the world.

Alternately, the one where Aziraphale and Crowley are enemies, but neither of them ever got the memo.

AUs

✧ My Immortal Beloved by Fyre [one-shot, 3666 words, rated T]

A couple of centuries ago, Crowley had a Thing with an average normal human. Only for some reason, every letter he ever sent to that average normal human has just turned up in a museum exhibit. Including the ones about licking.

✧ With you, with me by NohaIjiachi [6 chapters, 41k words, completed, rated T, priest Aziraphale and demon Crowley ;) ]

“Oh, shit,” Crowley muttered, but it came out more like ‘ohkjfd—‘

The man— A bloody priest was still keeping his umbrella over Crowley. The fabric of his button-up had darkened on his shoulders, now throughly drenched.

He could see more details, now, and Crowley stared. The priest had round, gentle features, and a shock of hair so blond it looked white collected in messy, soft curls. There was some sense of deep-sedated sadness in his grey-blue eyes, as he looked down at Crowley.

“I’d imagine that you need to get back up on your feet, then, son,” the priest said, sounding somehow tired. “You can’t stay here.”

“…I have nowhere to go,” Crowley replied, feeling like his tongue was double in size in his mouth. It was a lie, and wasn’t one at the same time.

He could technically go anywhere he wanted, as long as the Bentley stopped pouting at him for getting high again, but he had nowhere to go.

#good omens fic recs #mirti's fav good omens fics #good omens #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #my fav good omens fics #aziracrow #my post #good omens fics

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jimblejamblewritings · 4 months ago

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The Dragon Heir | part 10.

Summary: What happens when King Viserys' only current heir is a choice between his twin daughters? The realm will not accept a woman but you have no care for what the realm thinks it won't accept.

Warnings: it's the game of thrones realm, and obviously incest comes with the Targaryen package but it still deserves a second warning. extra warnings because they are needed for this part — child death and violence.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x black!reader, Daemon Targaryen x targaryen!reader

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: So Season 2 started off way darker than I thought would happen. Anyway... I'm so sorry for what y'all are going to read.

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

The doors of Dragonstone opened early in the morning as Jace came running through. He looked around for his aunt but couldn’t find you anywhere, going to his parents and brother instead before moving to his betrothed. Baela and Rhaena’s tears fell silently, creating a puddle around their feet.

“I’m so sorry I missed the funeral. The raven did not arrive very quickly,” Jace said as he sat down in between the two.

Rhaena rested her head on his shoulder while Baela grabbed his hand. She tried to breathe evenly as he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. The entire hall seemed silent. No one really knew what to do or what to say. Rhaena finally looked up.

“He was so young. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else but…”

“We’ve all prepared for war,” Jace said in understanding. “He and Naelyra haven’t. Joffrey hasn’t. Even Viserys hasn’t. We are all prepared to die but they shouldn’t even fear it.”

Daemon came back with Viserys and Naelyra, having taken them to eat and wash up. Unless they were with Baela or Rhaena he didn’t want his youngest children out of his sight. He didn’t want his eldest out of his sight either. No one heard you enter the hall. You almost made it to the end of the war table before Laenor spotted you, calling everyone to attention when he stuttered out your name.

Everyone said “Your Grace” as they saw you. You didn’t acknowledge any of them as they bowed to you. Your hair wasn’t done, you were in a sleeping gown without even an overcoat on it, there was nothing on your feet, you had no crown. Everything about you was a hot mess. You bit your lip as you knocked on the table. Daemon looked on in concern as you wobbled a little.

“Please sit down, Your Grace. We have much to discuss with less and less time before war.” He took off his cloak, giving it to Ser Erryk to hand to you.

You tried to smile at your husband, even if it was only a little. He was trying to take care of you without making you look weak. You had to be a queen. And queens are not weak. Despite smiling, you were shaking your head as you took your seat.

“War is already upon us. They declared it when they murdered our son. We let Otto walk out of here without a scratch on his men’s armor. I was a fool to believe the rules of warfare, including not shooting messengers especially when no war has been declared, would be followed all the same by them.”

Daemon shook his head. “No, My Fire, please do not keep hurting yourself. We were all fools to try and belie—”

(Daor, Ñuhys Perzys, rāelagon aōle ōdretā daor. Kostilus.)

“No. I am the queen. It was my decision to send the children. I did not have to listen to anyone but I did. That was my choice. Only mine. I killed Aerys.”

(Daor. Nyke dāria iksan. Riñar jikagon ñuhon iderennon iksin. Ryptegon va mirtys bēvilin daor yn gaomin. Bonir nyke dāria iksan. Mērī nyke. Nyke Aerys ossēnin.)

“No.”

(Daor.)

“Daemon.”

“I am your husband and king. You will not burden this choice alone.”

(Aōhys valzȳrys se dārys. Ao busy dāria mērī maghilā daor.)

“Alright.” You nodded, wiping at your face to get rid of any stray tears.

Daemon adjusted his sword. “So, what do you want, my Queen?”

(Sepār, ñuha Dāria, skoros ao jaelā?)

“I want everyone to know. The Greens must pay for what they have done to Prince Aerys. I want all of Westeros to know what they did to our son.” You turned to your Queensguard. “Ser Erryk, please bring me every bit of paper in this wretched place.”

“All of it, Your Grace?”

“Yes. Every scrap, every wax seal and spare candles, everyone’s stamps, the spare ones as well, and all the ink you can find. I want every inch of Westeros covered in letters of their betrayal. I want everyone here to write until your hands fall off and then write some more. Tell them what you saw left of Aerys. Tell them what happened. We do not have a lot of time before they scheme for something else.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Baela, Rhaena, please help your mother. I should like to get dressed.”

That brought a smile to everyone’s face. Baela kissed your cheek.

“I’m going to find your dress, Your Grace.”

“Yes, thank you.”

She didn’t leave until she was sure Rhaena had a good grip on you. Your second eldest child helped you stand with ease. You were feeling less dizzy than when you first came into the room. Rhaena’s gasp garnered everyone’s attention as you began walking. Everyone, you included, looked down at what she was staring at. Blood trailed behind you. Daemon’s eyes went wide as he ran to you, stopping short of just touching when you shook your head.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you said with almost no feeling. “I stopped taking the moon tea just for a little bit. If it didn’t happen within the two months then I would have started drinking it again. I’ve had no pain, no illness. I thought it would be easy this time.”

Daemon shushed you, finally closing the gap. He rested his forehead against yours before giving you a hug. You let him try to comfort you. Your hands gingerly stroked the part of his arm that you could reach. Turning your head, you looked at your husband.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Rhaena, please get the midwife and help the maester prepare what is needed. I need you, Rhaenyra.”

Your sister wasted no time being at your side. She wiped your face for you, telling your daughter that she can let go of you. Leaning most of your weight on her, you let Rhaenyra begin to lead you up the stairs to exit the hall.

“Wait.” You turned around, looking straight at Daemon. “You must wait for the day we send out the letters. They must know why we’ve done it. Promise me you will wait until I tell you.”

“I promise.”

(Nyke kīvio.)

“I want the usurper prince’s head.”

Rhaenyra looked at you. “You are going to get Aemond Targaryen? Now?”

“A son for a son.”

(Trēsy syt trēsy.)

Daemon nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. Please go see the midwife, My Fire.”

You let Rhaenyra take you away. Ser Erryk and the other Queensguard members came back with the first round of letter making supplies. Paper started going around as people found whatever surface they could to write on. Maids came in with a wooden bucket of water and some rags. Daemon stopped them before they could bend down.

“Don’t, I’ll clean it myself.”

“Your Grace?”

“Please let me do it. Just start writing letters for your queen.”

“Us too?”

“Yes, everyone, smallfolk included. Whenever you aren’t working please just write some.”

They finally relented the bucket, feeling sorry as they did. Daemon set his sword on the table. The scuffing sound of his boots as he took stiff steps towards the blood grated on everyone’s ears.

His hand plunged into water to grab a rag before beginning to clean up the floor. Everyone looked over after what felt like minutes of Daemon on the floor. Laenor came over to him. Daemon only looked up when the rag was taken from his hold.

“The blood is gone, Your Grace.”

“No, I’m not done cleaning.” He took the rag back, soaking it in water once more before scrubbing.

Laenor tried to grab his shoulder. “Cousin, cousin, the blood is gone.”

“It is everywhere.”

“The blood is g—”

“It is everywhere.”

Daemon’s small voice shook the hall. The Rogue Prince was never one for quiet whispers. He nearly knocked over the bucket as he stood up, throwing the rag back into the soapy water. His gaze turned icy as he stared at everyone. His eyes only stopped when he landed on Rhaenys.

“If you’d have acted when you had the chance, Aegon’s line would be extinguished and Aerys would be alive.”

Taking his sword from off of the table, Daemon left the hall. Rhaenys shook her head when Laenor approached her.

“I am fine. He needs someone to blame here where he can get to them. Come, our queen has requested we write. I’m afraid we must do so before the King consort flies to the Keep by himself.”

Daemon reached your door. His eyes went wide at the sight of bloody rags in concern that it was too much. The midwife shook her head.

“She wasn’t far enough along for there to be anything more than blood.”

“This is all of it?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“We’ll take them. A small funeral, just us, no one else… My Fire.”

You were in the bath still, beckoning him over. Daemon set his sword and the sheets by the chair. Taking off his outer top, he watched the maester leave before kneeling by your tub. He dipped the large seashell in the water, pouring it over your hair and repeating until it was clinging to your skin. He started combing your hair from the ends.

“I want him dead for killing our son. I want his brother dead for starting a war over my throne. I want his mother dead for going into my father’s chamber that day. I want his grandsire dead for being the Hand to a sweet king.”

(Hen ossēnare īlvi trēsy ziry morghe nyke jaelan. Hen rhaenare vīlībāzma tolmiot ñuhon dēmalion zȳhon lēkia morghe nyke jaelan. Hen jare iemnȳ ñuha kepus vumbiarzy kona tubis zȳhon muña morghe nyke jaelan. Hen issare Ondos syt dōnys dārys zȳhon kekepa morghe nyke jaelan.)

Daemon took the washrag to your skin. “And what of Helaena?”

(Sepār spare hen Helaena?)

“The only flower to come from those weeds. I want a boat for her and her children.”

(Hen zirȳla sepār zȳha riñar lōgor jaelan.)

“Where will they go?”

(Skoriot pōnta īlzi?)

“Here. Dreams did make us kings.”

(Kesīr. Ēdruryr dāryr īlōnda sētetis.)

Daemon sighed. “Not these dreams again. Visery–”

(Daor ēdruryr arlī.)

“No, listen to me. Dreams made us kings. Dreams saw the Doom. Helaena is a dreamer.”

(Daor, va nykēla ryptēs. Ēdruryr dāryr īlōnda sētetis. Ēdruryr Vējes ūndisi. Helaena urnekio iksis.)

Daemon nodded. He helped you out of the tub and dressed you. The two of you embraced, allowing yourself another moment before having to face everyone. You both took the sheets and left for the beach. Ser Erryk, an ever familiar and slightly overbearing presence, was understanding enough to take more than a few steps back.

Caraxes and Cannibal tried to bury themselves in the sand as much as possible. They only lifted their heads when you set down the sheets. You looked at your dragon for a moment before taking one of the smaller sheets out of the pile and keeping it by you. You held onto Daemon, taking his hand when it started to shake.

“Cannibal, draca— teinbran.”

The green flames from before burned stronger and brighter than before, hints of orange in it this time. Daemon turned his head to look at you when the flames subsided and the sheets were nothing but ash.

“You’ve seen the flames. He isn’t a Valyrian dragon, not completely. If the orange fire holds any truth then at least one ancestor must be Valyrian but that’s not all he is. Why would they say Cannibal is older than our arrival on Dragonstone? That would make him older than Balerion and that old bitch lived to be two hundred. It isn’t possible, not for our dragons. But that’s not what they said about Westerosi dragons.”

“They all fled or were killed by us. If not by us then by others past Westeros.”

“Wild dragons make their own rules. Cannibal responds to my Valyrian commands because we are bloodbound. He understood Old Tongue because that is the fire he was born in, a fire of First Men. He eats our dragons because they aren’t his kind. He is only nice now because I am his kin.”

“His flame is green,” Daemon conceded.

“His flame is green.”

He rolled his eyes and smiled the first genuine smile of the day. “I suppose most of his characteristics are different. What are you going to do with him? Since you don’t own a Targaryen dragon.”

“I’m going to burn Aegon Targaryen and feed his mount to my dragon. Let us go back to them.”

You took the final small sheet with you as you made your way back to the castle. Daemon looked back once, painfully aware of the Cannibal’s silent stalking behind the two of you.

You could have thought a tragedy hadn’t occurred two weeks earlier based on how serene Dragonstone appeared. Everyone had been busy writing for you. The only thing out of the ordinary was the blockade catching some smuggler ships trying to sneak by. Daemon had a prisoner that you promised you would see after Aemond was handled. Anything she wanted, if the price wasn’t too great, you would give her for her valuable information.

The sound of giant staffs knocking against the floor made everyone look up. The herald cleared his throat.

“Queen Laelara Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Rightful heir to the Iron Throne of Westeros.”

There was already a nice stack of letters finished and people were writing more. It helped that the letters weren’t very long. It was easy to fly through them. Picking up one, you read over it:

Written on the Day of the Father,

A few days ago, on the Day of the Crone, the usurper prince Aemond Targaryen used his dragon to murder Aerys Targaryen. On a visit to Lord Baratheon, as a messenger during a time of peace, Lucerys Velaryon and Aerys met their cousin already at Storm's End. Lord Baratheon himself had to put a stop to Aemond's threats.

An alliance between the Baratheons and the Targaryens was forged when Lord Baratheon agreed to betroth his young daughter to the youngest prince. A betrothal that last no more than half a night. Aemond's mount, Maemar, tried to burn Lucerys when Aemond couldn't succeed in taking his eye. As Lucerys ran, Aemond and Maemar didn't stop but kept spewing fire.

Aerys wasn't even alive when they returned to Dragonstone. The screams from Queen Laelara were horrifying. Aerys was completely unrecognizable on half his body. I saw the corpse with my own eyes. In a time of peace, under Aegon Targaryen's command, they have murdered a child to solidify their false claim to the throne. Aerys was only five, his nameday hadn't even come.

I swear this to the best of my knowledge by the old gods and new,

Princess Baela Targaryen

You nodded approvingly at the stack, calling over a maid. “Every time they finish enough letters to be stacked this high, put them in a basket. Split the baskets evenly amongst Cannibal, Meleys, Seasmoke, and Syrax.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“We don’t need to write an individual letter to every man, woman, and child in King’s Landing. We just need enough for gossip. Lord Corlys, you are relieved from this duty to tend to the seas.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Rhaenyra will go to Dorne and Oldtown. Laenor will go to The Reach, the Westerlands, and the Iron Islands. Rhaenys will go to the Riverlands, the Stormlands, and the Vale of Arryn while Daemon and Caraxes take over watch of the Gullet. Do not stop unless you need rest, do not meet with lords or ladies longer than handing them a letter and taking a drink or some more food. Drop the letters from the sky and continue moving. Wait, Jane.”

The maid came back. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Please take the kitchen servants with you to prepare meals for our riders to take with them. Enough for two days. The dragon keepers can abandon their lettermaking as well. Make sure the dragons are fed, cleaned, and in presentation armor. Nothing threatening.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Is that all?”

“I’ll need a saddle for Cannibal. It doesn’t have to be perfect, I just have to stay on without worrying for my life. But please have them get started on making one.”

“What would you like on it?”

“I need two extra seats behind mine. Big enough to fit adults but with proper straps for children. Bags, lots of them.”

“Where are you going with Cannibal, Laelara?” Rhaenyra asked as she placed another letter down on the new pile.

“I am going North, north of the North… and King’s Landing.”

“You can’t.”

“When we kill Aemond I must be there to answer the question why. Otherwise anything the Greens say will become truth.”

Jace cleared his throat. “Let me fly out on Vermax and I can wa—”

“No.”

“Your Grac—”

“I’m going. I will not let another one of you get hurt. I’m sorry but I can’t let you go out. Not this soon.”

Rhaenyra put a hand on her son’s shoulder, letting him know to just stop arguing with you. Everyone understood that there was no getting through to you. Whether it was smart or not, you were going to King’s Landing.

“Are your Goldcloaks ready?”

Daemon nodded.

You turned to everyone else. “If something should happen to me while we are getting Aemond, Daemon will be in charge until Viserys is old enough to rule on his own. If something should happen to both of us, Rhaenyra will be Queen Regent.”

Rhaenyra stood to attention. “I will watch over your children well should it come to it. Baela and Rhaena will want for nothing. Naelyra will be raised alongside Joffrey. Viserys will never be without love and protection.”

“Thank you, sister.”

Daemon put a hand on your waist. “It will take them four days to prepare the body. No doubt they will host a funeral. Whether the task is accomplished or not we will be back before the sun rises. We’ll return to King’s Landing in two days’ time. Her Grace is going to stay hidden in the Kingswood with her dragon. I will come back to take over the Gullet. You all must be ready to fly out when we return.”

Because of the nature of the mission, and because you had to come back later, you and Daemon rode together on Cannibal. His silent nature and frankly disturbing ability to blend into the night was exactly the cover you needed. Your dragon landed on the beach, allowing Daemon to get off before leaving to hide on the cliffs. You didn’t untie yourself, in case a quick escape was needed. Even though he told you to leave him should he not return before the sun rises, you didn’t want to. No more lives needed to be lost.

Daemon wandered through King’s Landing easy enough. Not only were his Goldcloaks loyal but a lot of guards could be bought with gold and the right amount of hatred. He didn’t stop moving until he found who he was looking for. Blood and Cheese only needed money and a name to carry out their task.

“And what if we can’t find him?” one of the men asked as he began to walk off.

Daemon turned around. “A son for a son. Maybe their other brother is home. Either way, there’s a king who roams those halls, sleeps in those halls, lives his every waking moment in those halls. A false heir’s head sits as nice as the dragon rider’s one. Don’t spill any blood past your target. Only a son for a son. You won’t be paid for anything else.”

You waited with Cannibal, your dragon listening for the signal from Daemon. The whistle reached the giant creature’s ears even when you didn’t hear it. He stayed at the gate on the beach while you unstrapped yourself. The guard at the gate didn’t look up from counting his money as the gate opened for you.

“She the Queen?” he asked with what could be mistaken for indifference.

“Yes.”

He bowed only his head before starting his journey to lead you through the tunnels to meet the ratcatchers. “Your Grace. When they get him, that whole Keep will be up in flames. You have a boat? It better be quick.”

“We took a dragon.”

The guard scoffed. “Impossible. You can hear a dragon. Even the quiet ones don’t land all that pretty. Hope that boat’s quick. Hope you run quick too. Go straight down that tunnel, it’ll take you back to the beach.”

You just smiled. Somehow a silent dragon was impossible to people… that have seen dragons. Daemon pushed you behind him when you all heard footsteps. You saw the man nicknamed Blood, Cheese not too far behind him. They presented you the bag with the head in it. A hand flew to your mouth as you tried not to scream at what you just saw. Daemon picked up the bag from where it had dropped on the ground, taking a peek inside. He ran a hand down his own face.

“This isn’t Aemond Targaryen.”

“Couldn’t find him. You said a son for a son. He’s a son. He’s a false heir.”

Daemon wanted to scream but opted for whisper yelling to avoid getting caught. “I meant Aegon! What part of a king didn’t you understand? He’s a king, a false heir, a fucking son. This child isn’t even an advantage to winning this war. You couldn’t possibly believe a child was useful enough to be ki—”

“What were your exact words, Daemon… I must know. A child is dead. I need to know it was a mistake. What did you say?”

“A son for a son. Maybe Daeron is there. There’s a king who roams those halls, sleeps in those halls, lives his every life in those halls. A false heir’s head sits as nice as the dragon rider’s one. Don’t spill any other blood. Only a son for a son. I won’t pay you for any other bodies.”

You nodded your head as you wiped the tears and snot away from your face. On one hand you knew exactly what he meant. On the other hand, you understood completely how it could have been interpreted. Most of your life, your side has seen Aegon as the false heir. But others would see him as the false king, or just the king if they didn’t believe you. Gently, you took the bag and handed it to the guard.

“Please make sure he goes back to the Keep. Don’t let anybody else harm him.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Daemon gave him more money before turning to the assassins. “We can’t pay you the other half. This isn’t what we asked for. This is not what your Queen asked of you.”

The chaos above you all distracted everyone for a brief second. Daemon looked down first.

“You better run. We cannot pay you nor can we protect you but I imagine the half you got is more than enough.”

The assassins nor the guard had a chance to answer. You and Daemon began to run. You tried not to be a wreck before Cannibal sensed something and enacted revenge on the Red Keep. Daemon didn’t try to touch you when you landed. It was like your grief had come back tenfold.

He was the one to wake up the entire castle and tell them of the plans ahead. Dragons’ saddles were being filled with supplies. Riders were dressed in armor they seldom wore or thought they needed when on dragon back. Baskets of letters were being attached to each dragon, ropes thrown onto the saddles so they could be pulled open with convenience. Every rider got little sleep in between getting dressed in armor and waiting for their final meal in the castle.

You grabbed your kids as they ran to you, giving each of them a kiss to the forehead. Rhaena and Baela held onto you and Daemon a little longer, more aware of the potential consequences then their younger siblings.

Ravens would be sent out immediately or in a few hours, you all had to act now. This wasn’t Aemond. The Greens weren’t going to hesitate in telling everyone of the tragedy. You climbed up Cannibal, placing your sword in the sheath on the saddle and tying it in. The Crownlands were your goal. Then after that you were going to King’s Landing.

Just as you suspected, when morning came, ravens flew past you and Cannibal, going to where you had just been. You took your dragon to Harrenhal for a rest in their woods. It would be a day or so at best and two days at worst. You’d fly over to the Kingswood tomorrow and see for yourself. As Rhaenyra began her journey back to Dragonstone, you passed her in the sky. She dropped her extra letters along the path before flying off to where you couldn’t see her or Syrax anymore.

You heard the beating of the drums which meant the funeral procession must have started. Your hunch was correct. They chose to throw one. Scorpions sat at the Red Keep but nowhere else in the city for now.

There was no good place to put them without destroying a building or so. They didn’t go very far either. Cannibal was tough as nails and a stupid little arrow wouldn’t hurt him but you didn’t want to take the chance of him getting shot in the eye trying to protect you. You wanted no more death for at least a little while. Avoiding the keep, you began dropping letters. You’d catch up with the funeral later.

The funeral procession made great progress through King’s Landing as people grieved with Helaena and Alicent. The shouts were overwhelming. All she wanted was her son to be burned like her father. A small affair. Then she could grieve in peace without the eyes of every citizen staring her down.

Everyone looked up when the first few letters hit their heads. The smallfolk cowered at the sight of a black dragon, bigger than what they were used to seeing, perching on the tall columns built so they wouldn’t break tile roofs.

You didn’t move, allowing them to see you but trying to eliminate the intimidation they might have. Fingers began to break wax seals as they all started to read. You looked out to see the funeral procession with Alicent and Helaena.

Cannibal was reluctant but he eventually bent down his head so you could get off. You grabbed the flowers from his bag before stepping down. You stayed underneath your dragon, knowing that none of the guards would make a move to step to close. Making sure everyone could still see you, you held up your leather sheathed sword.

“I mean no harm. I came to pay my respects.”

“Is it true?” a smallfolk asked. “The letter.”

“Yes.”

“You wanted the kinslayer?”

“Only him… and his dragon.”

Alicent finally opened one of the letters that had dropped into her lap. Her face paled. You turned away from the smallfolk and towards your sister.

“I am grieving too. You must know, Helaena, I never asked for this. We would never har— I was going to bring you a boat, keep you safe in Dragonstone. I understand your pain. Please believe me, I would never do this to another mother. I cannot lie to you. I wanted Aemond Targaryen. I wanted Aegon Targaryen. I never thought anyone besides Aemond would be capable of murdering a child. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You held your breath when Helaena got up. There was no moment where you believed you would get out without harm but you had to come to King’s Landing. You needed to let them know that it was never your plan. She turned to the guards.

“She is alright.” Helaena went to you and grabbed your hand. “Would you like to see him?”

You nodded and let her lead you to the small casket. Your nephew looked peaceful, at least the assassins didn’t beat him beyond repair or recognition. The smallfolk watched as you tucked the flowers around him before kissing his forehead. Taking off the necklace with the Valyrian steel flower and yellow jewel, you placed it in his hands. You gave Helaena a hug, squeezing her tightly. Without you asking, she accepted that you were telling the truth.

“Will you give him the honor?”

You sighed. “I don’t think it smart for me to stay much longer.”

“Please. Just until the Sept of Baelor. I don’t want to go to the dragon pits.”

Knowing this was incredibly stupid, you gave in. “I trust you… Just until the Sept.”

You were worried about the news spreading to the Keep faster than the cart could travel as more of King’s Landing saw you on the cart. You would have brought a cloak if you had expected to stay. A lot of the streets had already opened their letters before the cart arrived to where they were waiting along the sides. You understood Helaena’s uncomfortableness. Now, they were staring at you with the same sadness as they threw rice or screamed.

And if not you, then your dragon who’s only presence was the shadow he casted over everyone as he flew. You were relieved to see no guards at the Sept aside from the ones that had been with the cart. The part of the cart carrying Jaehaerys was taken towards the steps per Helaena’s request. The people hung onto every word of Alicent’s speech.

“Do you want to say anything?” you asked your sister.

She simply shook her head. You stood from the cart, bringing Cannibal to high alert. He calmed when you looked at him, showing that you were alright. The fire that came from your dragon was controlled, only aiming for the casket without burning down the city. Everyone looked in awe at the green flame that despite being a small stream still radiated so much heat.

You gave your sister one last hug. “I really must go before your brother realizes I am here.”

Helaena grabbed you before you could step down. “Two men must die under a watching god’s eye. A crown can choose which two.”

You nodded. “Thank you, Helaena.”

Alicent grabbed her daughter. “What did you tell her? What did you tell her?”

“I’d be careful,” you whispered, making the other woman stop and look at you. “A city is made with many eyes.”

Helaena smiled at your poor attempt to understand and speak her riddles. You gave her a final nod before stepping down from the funeral cart.

“Your Grace!”

You stopped to look for who had called you. It was a man, something that shocked you a bit. You hadn’t expected any resident of King’s Landing, especially the men, to see you as queen. He squared his shoulders back.

“The Gullet is presenting a problem. I know you have to fight. I’m not saying you don’t but we’re starving here. The lords and ladies don’t need anything. They can send their pretty knights out to the Kingsroad. If us smallfolk did, then we wouldn’t have enough wages to afford the food. It’s hard out here, Your Grace. We work, we don’t eat. We eat, we’re out of work.”

“I can’t let you have the Gullet.”

The man swallowed. “I understand, Your Grace.”

You sighed. If the smallfolk started to be on your side then you won. You needed them and right now they were giving you a way in. But you meant it. You couldn’t give them the Gullet. The blockade was almost finished. Rhaenys’ dragon wouldn’t need to be there to manage the gaps. Letting it open now would be sabotage.

“Do you have anyone responsible for food? A collector of sorts?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“What is your name?”

“Calrin Bole, Yo—”

“It is fine.”

“Yes, Your Gra— Yes.”

“What do you do, Ser Bole?”

“I’m an axeman. Ladywife’s a laundress.”

“Do you have any children?”

“Two. Both boys. Our eldest just finished his apprenticeship as a swineherd. Full fledged man, now.” He smiled proudly when you smiled. “Youngest is too sick to work. Might work for his mother.”

“How much does being an axeman pay?”

“Depends. I usually work in the Kingswood. Get six silver stags for bringing in a cartful. Do it every week. Sometimes they send me to Harrenhall or the Stormlands. Get only three silver stags for that.”

“Hmm. Did you get this work alone or under a trade?”

“A trade.”

“Please tell your trade that I will pay them ten silver stags for each week you are out of work. From now on, you and whatever men you deem worthy will bring food into King’s Landing for the people. Only for the people. You will be paid two gold dragons each. The food will cost nothing. I understand this is not an ideal manner to go about but I cannot let the Gullet go.”

“The food will cost nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“What if you can’t pay for the food? Will it cost us then?”

“No. If I must farm every wheat stalk myself to pay a debt should it occur then I will. The smallfolk should not suffer from a dragon blowing smoke. There will be Winterfell graybeards to escort the carts and make sure only the smallfolk are fed.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“It is no matter. Expect a raven in a week’s time. It’ll be delivered to the Dragon Gate. Please hold out until then.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“I really must go now before my dear brothers put an arrow through my face.”

Everyone bowed as you began to walk back to the Cannibal. He bent his head once again. You began to climb up when you were stopped once more.

“Your Grace!” a small boy said. “I’m sorry to hear what happened to your son. The kinslayer should be held responsible.”

You tried not to cry as you gave him a nod, finally climbing aboard Cannibal. The smallfolk watched you hold on tight to Cannibal’s small spikes before the dragon took off without making a sound. Cannibal went just outside of King’s Landing before slowing down immensely so you could stop holding on for dear life. Now that no one was watching, you finally strapped yourself in properly. You patted the scales.

“Alright, you old bitch, to the North.”

You got a snort and a face full of dragon smoke in reply. Now that you were used to it, dragon riding was peaceful. Probably because you weren’t with Rhaenyra or Daemon who liked to go as fast as they could possibly handle. You were content with not blowing your face off. Cannibal was faster than any horse but he wasn’t going the fastest he could.

“Can you go all the way without stopping?”

In the pitch black night, the only thing that could be seen were the occasional huffs of green fire Cannibal let out so you could see. Even though his main source of food was dragon, Cannibal did eat other things. One of the large saddle bags was dedicated solely to dragon food, which meant carrying overcooked and practically jerkied meat. Lots of it.

“Supper.”

Cannibal slowed down immensely as he let out a stream of green fire. You threw the overcooked lamb in front of you and him, your dragon catching the meat. Was it going to fill him up for days? No but you would restock at Winterfell. Plus, it was impractical and probably very smelly to keep more than three days worth of meat on your saddle. Even if it was cooked.

“I’m going to sleep.”

You earned a response in the form of a puff of fire. You undid your leg straps before loosening the cables of your hip harness so you could stand up. You were grateful they sewed a wolf pelt to the borrowed saddle before you left. At least you would have something comfortable for your butt.

Getting off of your knees, you readjusted yourself so you were sitting in the saddle instead of kneeling it. You retied the leg straps around your ankles now and tightened the harness back. Taking off your crown, you placed it in another saddle bag before reaching for the water canteen and some bread with jam for yourself.

“We’ll need to stop when we wake up. I’ll have to take a piss.”

Another puff of fire.

“Goodnight, Cannibal.”

The bright light of the morning sun woke you up. You were going to pat Cannibal to get down but discovered you had already landed. The men at the gate of Winterfell stiffened up at the sight of a new dragon and technically their Queen. You started to unstrap yourself and get down from your dragon as they went inside to fetch the one person you were looking for.

Cregan Stark looked confused as his men called him to greet someone outside. He stood up straight when he noticed you. Then he noticed the beast behind you. Cregan squared his shoulders as if to tell you that he won’t be intimidated by a dragon. His eyebrow went up as you handed him a letter.

“I need the rest of these baskets to be handed out to your subjects. I’ve already dropped them in the rest of the North. Don’t worry. He won’t bite unless I say.”

A scoff escaped Cregan’s mouth. Now he was sure that you were trying to intimidate them.

“Your Grace,” he said with a bow of his head. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your son. The previous raven never said it was Aemond Targ—”

“I’d like to see the wall of ice.”

(part 11)...

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