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eurydycee · 4 months ago

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Winter’s Thorn: chapter III

⚘ cregan stark x tyrell!OC

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format: series (ongoing) word count: ~ 4k warnings: women in westeros :( , not reread a/n: hello! The Kings Landing arc has ended with this chapter. The next arc will be their journey to the north where they spend time as betrothed

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“There had been decided that you—” Crayn began his confession, holding her hand steadfastly.

Until a voice interrupted them, causing both to turn their heads toward the intruder. “Good morning, I see that you have awakened. You had us both worried, brother.”

“Aah, good to see you too, Adlyn,” the knight responded with a tight smile, silently thanking the gods that his brother came at the right moment.

Adlyn turned to Euphemia while simultaneously letting his hand stroke her coral weaves, a gentle motion that sharply contrasted his demanding words, “You need to quit coddling your brother and return to court and the celebrations immediately.”

“You made us look incompetent. Just so you know, people get wounded and killed—it's part of the game, a fact you should be well aware of. I will not have you pulling stunts like rejecting your title as Queen of Beauty and Love.”

“He was mocking us—”

“He is a friend.”

“Is that what you tell yourself as you act like his lapdog?”

That made him snap, grabbing a fistful of her hair before yelling, “It is not your place to talk back to me or any man in the Keep. If I were to tell you to go back to Cregan and beg his forgiveness like a true lapdog, you will do so. I am responsible for you, and thus you will comply with my commands.”

He then let go of her and went back to a calmer version of himself.

“I expect you tonight to attend the ball in honor of the tournament winners and their assigned ladies. This is my command, and you shall obey it. Understood?”

Euphemia wanted to yell at him, to insult him, but all she could feel was pity. The death of their parents, his cursed inheritance, the near attempt on his life, and Crayn’s injury had turned him into an ugly man with an even uglier temper. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to obey. When her words failed her, her actions became her pillar, so she nodded obediently.

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Upon her walk back to her chamber, Euphemia couldn't help but notice the hushed whispers shared between courtiers, servants, and guards as she passed them. She had truly underestimated the impact of her absence. Though the walk to her chambers cost mere minutes, it felt like it took an eternity to escape the malicious gossip swirling around her. Even upon reaching her chamber, she was plagued by the overwhelming number of tasks that still awaited her: promenading with her dear friend Cerelle of House Lannister, joining the court ladies for lunch, visiting the sept, getting her dress fitted for the ball, and engaging in endless talking and gossiping.

Just when she felt like losing her sanity, Cerelle entered her chambers to fetch her, like the heroine she is, for their promised time together. The golden-haired Lannister moved with the grace of a lioness, her presence commanding attention.

“There you are, Phia. How I have missed you,” Cerelle exclaimed, stretching her hands out for Euphemia to grasp.

“How have you been after… well, everything? Once our time here is over, you must return with me to Casterly Rock, like when we were children. I long to relive our days there as young maidens, even for one more day.”

“Sister,” Euphemia gazed at her friend with genuine affection. Cerelle had always been the older sister she had wished for, possessing great beauty, sharp intellect, and an uplifting nature. She grasped her hand firmly, thinking how fortunate she was not to face the cunning people of court alone.

“Oh, I am even more thrilled to see you. It has been far too long,” she replied, her smile warm and sincere.

“Court has been both boring and heated lately. With your return, I hope to find some company and to bring some peace to this place.” The two girls stood up, leaving the chamber and allowing their feet to decide their destination.

“Tell me,” said Cerelle, turning to look at her friend. “Have you truly insulted Lord Stark, The Hand, the man who essentially holds the Seven Kingdoms in his hand?” Cerelle had heard many rumors about what had transpired but preferred to hear it directly from her friend.

“If you put it that way, then I suppose I did,” Euphemia scoffed, feeling her anger rise once again. “But I felt wronged, being crowned with such a loving title after what happened to my brother .”

“Whatever happened is in the past, you mustn’t let the blame fall on him. Show yourself as a devoted sister, the ever-dutiful nurse,” Cerelle warned sternly.

Euphemia considered her words. It was indeed wiser not to speak ill of others, especially when she was still uncertain of her place in the court. She needed to present herself as a rose—opening her arms like petals and hiding her thorns beneath them.

The two friends walked through the castle's winding corridors, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. The scent of fresh flowers from the castle gardens wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread from the kitchens. Servants bowed as they passed, their eyes filled with curiosity and respect.

As they strolled, Cerelle shared stories of her time at Casterly Rock, her laughter like music to Euphemia’s ears. The memories of their carefree days as young maidens brought a sense of nostalgia, a brief respite from the burdens of court life.

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As the evening approached, Euphemia stood in her chamber, surrounded by maids bustling about, preparing her for the ball. The scent of lavender and rose water filled the air as they brushed out her long, ginger-pink hair, pinning it up into an elaborate coiffure adorned with delicate pearls and golden filigree. A stunning gown of sage green silk, embroidered with golden thread, lay draped across a nearby chair, shimmering in the light of the setting sun.

Euphemia took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. The whispers and stares she had endured throughout the day still lingered in her mind, casting a shadow over her thoughts.

“My lady, you look absolutely radiant,” her lady-in-waiting said, fixing the final pin in her hair.

“Thank you, Liora,” Euphemia replied with a soft smile. “It is beautiful work.”

Just as she began to relax, the door to her chamber opened, and Adlyn, strode in. He glanced around the room, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the scene, but there was a warmth in his gaze that belied his serious demeanor.

“Leave us,” he commanded the maids, who quickly curtsied and exited the room, leaving the siblings alone.

“Adlyn,” Euphemia began, but he cut her off with a firm raised hand.

“Euphemia, you must understand the importance of this night,” he said, his voice resolute. “Your return to court is not merely a personal matter. It is a matter of our family’s honor and standing. You must shut down these rumors and reassert your place in court.”

She sighed, feeling the weight of his words. “I know, Adlyn. But it’s not easy. The things they say…”

He stepped closer, his expression softening as he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You are stronger than you realize, sister. You have always been a beacon of grace and dignity. And there is another matter. Your relationship with Cregan must be mended. The hand´s support is crucial.”

Euphemia’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Lord Stark is attending? I haven’t seen him all day. Where is he?”

“He has been working in his office, dealing with important matters of the realm.” he answered

Euphemia nodded slowly in agreement. “I will do what I must. But, Adlyn, you must promise me something.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”

“Promise me that we will find a way to honor our family without sacrificing your own or anyone else's happiness,” she said, her voice steady but pleading.

Adlyn’s stern demeanor softened further, and he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “I promise, Euphemia. But first, you must attend the ball and show them all the strength and grace of our house.”

She nodded, her resolve strengthening. “I will, Adlyn.”

Adlyn's gaze softened even more as he looked at his sister, adorned in her splendid gown. “You look absolutely stunning, Euphemia. Your presence alone will silence many of those whispers. They cannot help but be captivated by your grace and beauty.”

Euphemia blushed slightly, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, Adlyn. Your words mean a great deal to me.”

With a final glance in the mirror, she left her chamber, ready to step into the ballroom and reclaim her place in the world she had once known so well.

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The ballroom was a dazzling display of opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the assembly of nobles, their rich attire creating a sea of vibrant colors and shimmering fabrics. Music filled the air, and the scent of roses and fine food wafted through the room. Lords and Ladies of many houses could be spotted introducing themselves and greeting the royal couple.

Euphemia descended the grand staircase holding her brother's arm, feeling eyes turn toward her. Whispers and murmurs rose as she made her entrance, but she held her head high, her expression serene.

They moved gracefully through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and smiles, determined to show no sign of the turmoil within. As they approached the throne where the king and queen were seated, they both did a deep bow to the couple. The young children of the royal couple returned a courtly nod, still visibly affected by the Dance that had impacted House Targaryen.

The winners of the tourneys were soon summoned, and they stepped forward to claim their appointed Queens of Love and Beauty. Each champion approached their chosen lady with a graceful bow, extending their hands to invite them for a dance. The room watched with bated breath as the tradition unfolded, the air thick with anticipation and admiration.

Euphemia stood at the edge of the gathering, observing the pageantry with a mixture of admiration and longing. She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find Cregan standing before her, his expression softened by a warm, earnest smile.

“Lady Tyrell,” he began, his voice steady and kind. “May I have this dance?”

She hesitated for a moment, memories of their previous discord lingering in her mind. But the sincerity in his eyes and the gentle strength of his presence reassured her. She placed her hand in his, and he led her to the center of the ballroom.

As they took their places, the musicians struck up a harmonious tune, and the dance began. Cregan guided her gracefully across the floor, their movements synchronized and fluid. The murmurs and whispers in her head faded into the background, leaving only the music and the rhythm of their steps.

“I owe you an apology,” Euphemia said softly as they danced. “I acted out of anger and grief, and I regret the rift it has caused between us.”

Cregan’s gaze softened, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I understand. These are difficult times for all of us. But we are stronger together, and I want to put this behind us.”

She nodded, a sense of relief washing over her. “Thank you, my Lord. Your support means more to me than you know.”

As they continued to dance, the court watched in awe. The once turbulent rumors seemed to dissipate, replaced by admiration for Euphemia’s grace and poise.

The dance ended, and Cregan bowed deeply to her. Euphemia returned the gesture with a graceful curtsy, her heart lightened by the reconciliation. And as they parted, Cregan noticed the smirks and snickers of his friends.

“Your time here has turned you into a true southerner, my lord,” one of them commented, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Good thing we’re returning home on the morrow,” Cregan replied, trying to maintain his composure as he chugged his wine, hoping to calm his nerves.

“She really has you in her grasp, doesn’t she, son? I’ve never seen you visibly shiver like that,” Lord Mormont added, his voice low and mocking.

“Can’t blame the lad. Have you seen her? In that piece of silk she calls a dress, she’s a living torment. I saw her today at the sept, praying like a good, devoted follower, while she carries herself as the embodiment of a siren at night.”

“Why are you lusting after her like a starved dog? She already has a thing with the Lannister,” a third friend chimed in, giving his friend a harsh push.

“What?” Cregan’s voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing .

“She apparently lived her childhood there as a ward. While there was never a confirmed betrothal to Leonore, everyone knows he’ll be the one to take her as bride.”

Cregan’s blood began to boil. Losing her meant losing the treaty for the North. That sly fox of Highgarden had misled him. Cregan could not hope for any aid if the marriage pact was not honored, and he couldn't take revenge anymore by marching his army across Westeros and the Reach to cleanse the lands of remaining supporters of the usurper. Blinded by rage, Cregan marched to Adlyn, his steps heavy with purpose, requesting a private word. Adlyn followed, his face a mask of concern, praying it had nothing to do with whatever his sister might have said.

“You liar,” Cregan hissed, his voice low but venomous.

“My lord?” Adlyn replied, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“The betrothal. With the Lannister,”

“What? No, you misunderstand—” Adlyn began, but Cregan cut him off.

“You take me for a fool? You think you can just break your word to me and get away with it? I let you off the hook the first time, but now it is war.”

“What do you mean by bethroting the Lannister? If that is what you want with yourself, you can just go and ask Tyland and leave me be. I have little influence there, friend,” Adlyn said, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his unease.

Cregan’s hands itched to lash out at Adlyn´s fake innocence, to punch that pretty face, to burn his lands, to take his sister as a war prize, but he restrained himself, opting to finish this fight with the same fire the southerners played with.

“You lied to me about your sister’s hand. She is already set to marry the heir of Casterly Rock.”

“Leonore? No, no. I mean, Father intended for it, and I suppose if I hadn’t promised her to you, I would have given her to him, but there was no actual promise made to them. Cregan, she is yours, just as we discussed,” Adlyn said, his voice earnest, his eyes wide with sincerity.

“Then why do people still spread rumors of them?” Cregan demanded, his voice rising.

“This is court. People love to spark fights they can’t extinguish. Besides except for us and Crayn, there really isn’t anyone I have told,” Adlyn replied, his voice calming, hoping to soothe Cregan’s anger.

“She doesn’t know?” Cregan asked, his voice now quieter, but still tinged with anger.

“I wanted to tell her, believe me, but I feared making her upset. While a marriage with the house Stark is an honor, I suppose she preferred a marriage that wouldn’t drift her far from home. That’s why Father was keen on marrying her to the Lannister. She was a ward there, her dearest companion is his sister, and she and Leonore get along. It might have been a marriage filled with love.” he explained

“Are you implying that I am responsible for an upcoming ruin in her life?” Cregan’s voice was low, dangerous.

“Possibly. But a marriage with Leonore would only serve her. I might have allowed that if I had many others in my house to make use of, but I don’t. My child is unborn, my brother is already married to the Hightower to keep Old Town under supervision. So, it is on her to do her part in serving our house and the realm,” Adlyn said, his voice firm but not unkind.

“What of the Lannisters?” Cregan asked, his voice softer now.

“They love her whether she is married to them or not, and therefore they love us. Furthermore, she’ll prevent bloodshed in their lands, so I think they owe her gratitude,” Adlyn explained, his voice calming, trying to diffuse the tension.

“So, when will you announce it? Our betrothal?” Cregan asked, his voice steady but demanding.

“I was hoping to depart with you to the North for the Great Harvest festival before the winter and announce it there. The later she knows, the easier she’ll accept it,” Adlyn replied, his voice steady but his eyes once again betraying his concern.

“I don’t care about you protecting your relationship with her. I want it announced tonight in front of everyone, or I’ll have His Grace announce it in your stead,” Cregan smirked, turning on his heel and leaving Adlyn with no chance to protest.

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The grand hall was filled with the buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses as the nobility of the kingdom gathered for the annual midsummer feast. Tapestries adorned the walls, and chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the assembled guests. Adlyn, standing at the head of the room, tapped his glass with a silver spoon, the chime drawing the room to a hushed silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Adlyn began, his voice carrying with the authority and ease of one accustomed to command. "I have an announcement of great importance to make this evening."

Euphemia, standing beside him, smiled politely, unaware of the storm about to break over her head. Her delicate fingers played with the edge of her gown, her mind wandering to the music and laughter echoing through the hall.

"Tonight," Adlyn continued, his eyes scanning the crowd before resting on Euphemia, "I am pleased to announce the betrothal of the Lord Hand Cregan Stark and the Lady Euphemia Tyrell."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. The hall erupted into applause and cheers, but Euphemia stood frozen, her smile faltering only for a moment. Inside, her heart raced and her mind struggled to process the shock, but she quickly composed herself, maintaining a calm and graceful facade.

Adlyn leaned in, whispering, "It is for the best, Euphemia. Please, trust me."

Euphemia's lips curved into a faint, practiced smile. She nodded subtly, acknowledging the congratulations of those around her, while a tempest of emotions churned within. Hurt, betrayal, and confusion welled up, but she swallowed it all, determined to uphold the decorum expected of her.

Cregan, who had been standing quietly by, looked at her with a mixture of triumph and concern. He reached for her hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "Euphemia," he said softly, "this union will strengthen our families and our kingdom. It is an honor."

Euphemia's eyes met his, her smile never wavering. "Of course, my Lord. I am... honored." Her voice was steady, though her heart was not.

The room's atmosphere remained jubilant, the guests blissfully unaware of the turmoil beneath Euphemia's composed exterior. She moved through the throng of well-wishers, accepting their congratulations with grace, while her thoughts spiraled inward.

"How could they decide this without me?" she pondered silently, her heart aching. "How could they assume I would agree without even asking?"

Her inner turmoil was a stark contrast to the celebratory air of the evening. The weight of the decision made on her behalf pressed heavily on her, but she knew better than to show discontent.

As the feast continued, Euphemia found a quiet moment to herself, stepping out onto a balcony overlooking the moonlit gardens. The cool night air was a balm to her heated thoughts.

Adlyn approached her, his expression softening. "Euphemia," he said gently, "I know this is sudden, but it is for the greater good."

Euphemia turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You could have asked me, Adlyn. You could have considered my feelings."

"I thought you would understand," Adlyn replied, his voice tinged with regret.

"I understand duty," Euphemia said quietly, "but I also understand respect. I wish you had shown me that."

With that, she turned back to the gardens, her calm exterior belying the storm within. She knew she would face the future and move on , but the wound of this night would not soon heal.

For the rest of the night, Euphemia played her part perfectly, expressing her contentment with the marriage and sharing dances with Cregan that were all but stiff and cold. Each step was measured, each smile a mask. She even found a moment to approach the Lannisters, offering her apologies for any perceived slights and successfully earning their forgiveness.

When the ball finally drew to a close, Euphemia excused herself, her facade cracking as soon as she was out of sight. She fled back to her chambers, the tears she had held back all evening finally spilling over. She collapsed onto the floor, weeping into the plush carpet, the weight of the night's betrayal too much to bear.

It wasn't until her lady-in-waiting, Liora, found her that she stirred. Liora gently helped her out of her uncomfortable gown and into bed. "My lady," Liora whispered, her voice full of concern, "you must rest."

Euphemia nodded weakly, her tears subsiding as exhaustion took over. "Thank you, Liora," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

As she finally drifted off to sleep, Euphemia clung to the hope that tomorrow would bring clarity, even as the pain of betrayal lingered in her heart.

Euphemia's sleep was sadly cut short by a harsh knock at her chamber door. Groggy and disoriented, she whispered for her guard, Ser Wayne, but received no answer. With trepidation, she stood and opened the door, only to find Cregan standing before her.

Cregan's gaze lingered on her for a moment, taking in her swollen eyes, a clear indication of her grief, and her nightgown, which left her in a somewhat indecent state. He quickly turned his back to her before speaking.

"The king wishes to see you," he said curtly. "The young man cannot seem to fall asleep. He has been plagued by nightmares," I assume.

"And what can I offer my lord?" she asked curiously, fearing that the king wished for her to warm his bed

"Your singing," he replied, "I thought that might sedate him."

"Of course," she continued, relieved, "please allow me to fetch a proper gown and a chaperone."

"You think I will allow anyone else to witness the king in this state?" Cregan yelled quietly, turning back to her, taking off his coat and handing it to her. "You must come alone and now."

Euphemia hesitated but knew better than to argue. She took the coat and draped it over herself, its warmth providing little comfort but enough decency. As soon as she was covered, Cregan grabbed her wrist and led her through the dimly lit halls.

The journey felt interminable, each echoing step amplifying her anxiety. She struggled to keep pace with Cregan's brisk stride, her mind racing with worry of being caught and having her virtue but to question

Finally, they reached the king's chambers. Cregan paused outside the door, his grip on her wrist loosening slightly. "Do your best to calm him," he instructed, his tone softer now. "The king needs his rest,"

Euphemia nodded, her heart aching with the sight of the troubled child. She gently stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. The young king was huddled alone on the large bed, eyes wide with fear.

"Mother," the king's weary voice called from a nearby chair, his face etched with concern, mistaking her for his dead mother. "I miss you mommy."

Euphemia gave a small, respectful bow before approaching the bed. She sat down on the edge, cradling the boy and began to hum a soothing lullaby, her voice soft and melodic. The child's tense body began to relax, his eyes growing heavy as her song filled the room.

As she sang, Cregan felt a surge of tenderness. Despite having outgrown his childhood, Cregan felt yearning for joining them and laying his head on her tender breasts.

When the song ended, the king was sound asleep, their nightmares banished for the night. Euphemia stood and turned to the Cregan, who snapped from his absurd thoughts and gave her a grateful nod.

"Thank you, Lady Euphemia," he whispered. "You have done us all a great service."

With a final nod, Euphemia quietly left the room, Cregan followed her just outside, grabbed her wrist once again and escorted her back to her chambers, neither of them speaking a word. As they reached her door, he finally broke the silence.

"You did well tonight," he said, his voice devoid of its usual sternness.

Euphemia merely nodded, too exhausted to respond. She slipped back into her room, closing the door softly behind her. Alone once more, she allowed herself a quiet reflection before finally succumbing to sleep, hoping for a respite from the day's emotional upheaval.

#cregan fanfiction #cregan stark #cregan x euphemia #cregan x oc #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #oc!tyrell #house tyrell #house strak #house lannister #aegon iii targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #cregan stark fanfic #cregan x reader

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aemonds-sapphireeye · 2 years ago

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Googled GRRM and damn okay

I hate hate hate when writers have a stick up their ass about fanfiction as though it hasn't been going on for literal centuries.

It's not like anyone's making money off it; they're doing it because they enjoy it and it brings people together.

Not to mention sometimes you sell your work to shitty writers who give your story a terrible ending and fans have no choice but to fix it themselves.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #aemond targaryen #daenerys targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #alicent hightower #hotd #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #cregan stark #house stark #house lannister #got oc #hotd oc #fire and blood #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

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valaenatargaryensdragon · 1 year ago

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Trevyr Lannister aesthetic (3)

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #game of thrones #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra fanfic #rhaenyra imagine #queen rhaenyra #princess rhaenyra #hotd rhaenyra #rhaenyra targeryan #rhaenyra x oc #rhaenyra targaryen x female!reader #rhaenyra x male!oc #trevyr lannister #house lannister

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ilikefelines · 1 month ago

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Looking for a beta reader. Preferably someone experienced with fanfiction but beggars can't be choosers lol.

This link provides the specifics. It's Fire and Blood/House of the Dragon fanfic and none of the characters will be placed on a pedestal/overhyped/bashed. Please be nice in the comments.

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xxpeppermintxx109 · 1 year ago

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“a princess she was, but a girl all the same; and was it truly so terrible for a girl to simply be just a girl? why couldn’t she have a childhood like all the rest? why couldn’t she read stories and dream of knights and love whomever she wished? why couldn’t she be happy too?”

- rhaenyra, act ii, tdod

ser arthur dayne may have sworn his sword and life to his king, but it was the sweet princess he swore his heart to. some whispered not even the stranger themself could break such a promise. how cruel the gods can be.

always a melancholic prince, rhaegar seemed to create grief itself when none could find the silver princess. his sister. his twin. he loved her, and she swore she loved him. and yet, gone. dead, he thought she must be. and madness would follow.

appointed by the mad king himself, jaime lannister was her guard, if only to ensure she never left the red keep again. the last time any had seen the dragon princess and the young lion together, there was no love lost between them. what reason could the king ever have to worry? young jaime shadowed rhaenyra’s every step, but he was just a knight of the kingsguard, and she was just a lone princess.

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yxlxnabxlova · 3 months ago

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House of the Dragon and/or Game of Thrones rp Request

I am over 18 so, absolutely NO minors allowed! Rules:

NO minors, pls dni if you are under 18

Semi Lit to Literate and above

AT LEAST two paragraphs for responses

oc's are allowed! i can do cc x cc ships but i prefer playing as oc's

doubles are allow

open to bxb but i do prefer bxg and gxg

pls be okay with angst, i can live without smut haha but i need my angst

I'm pretty open to triggering topics but SA (for example) can be implied but I don't want details about it. I understand that kind of thing exists in that world and can affect characters behaviors (much like irl) but if it happens I'd rather not go into the details it's just disgusting. Only implying for the character arc, or plotline. Not because you enjoy it 🤢

no pedo's or bestiality, that sort of thing is just NO 🤢

pls tell me if you don't like something i write and I will do the same, communication is key to enjoying role plays

absolutely LOVE plot

If you want our hotd universe could always lead into a got universe!

I have multiple oc's once we start discussing and depending on who you play for me will determine on the oc I share with you. Love Interests I like:

Criston Cole♥

Aegon II Targaryen♥

Daemon Targaryen♥

Addam of Hull♥

Aemond Targaryen

Hugh Hammer

Corlys Velaryon

Harwin Strong

Willem Blackwood

Viserys I Targaryen

Otto Hightower

Dyana

Gwayne Hightower♥

Rhaenyra Targaryen♥

Helaena Targaryen♥

Alicent Hightower♥

Characters I'll play:

Daemon Targaryen

Aemond Targeryen

Aegon II Targaryen

Viserys I Targaryen

Laenor Velaryon

Harwin Strong

Larys Strong

Willem Blackwood

Otto Hightower

Corlys Velaryon

Gwayne Hightower

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Rhaenys Targaryen

Helaena Targaryen

Laena Velaryon

Alicent Hightower

Jeyne Arryn

Aemma Arryn

Mysaria

Dyana

I have multiple oc's once we start discussing and depending on who you play for me will determine on the oc I share with you.

Love interests i like:

Robb Stark♥

Jon Snow♥

Jaime Lannister♥

Tyrion Lannister

Viserys Targaryen

Jorah Mormont

Ramsay Bolton♥

Khal Drogo

Tormund Giantsbane

Oberyn Martell

Daenerys Targaryen♥

Cersei Lannister

Margaery Tyrell

Sansa Stark♥

Characters I'll play:

Eddard "Ned" Stark

Jaime Lannister

Jorah Mormont

Viserys Targaryen

Robb Stark

Jon Snow

Theon Greyjoy

Tyrion Lannister

Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish

Samwell Tarly

Bronn

Benjen Stark

Oberyn Martell

Loras Tyrell

Margaery Tyrell

Cersei Lannister

Sansa Stark

Daenerys Targaryen

Brienne of Tarth

Gilly

Ygritte

Missandei

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the-flower-named-fire · 1 year ago

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Specific Trope of the Day

The most interesting family's ocs (ocs that are related to other characters) are the children - that-could-have-been-born-or - survived

Like Petyr and Lysa's child, Cersei's black-haired firstborn, Clegane's baby sister, Rhaenyra's daughter, even Rhea Royce and Daemon's children (Diana Targaryan begin my fav fanfic until now)

Perhaps a couple with a (forbidden? ex? legendary?) romance and no canon kids

Or maybe children that died early like Rhaenys and Aegon or Elurin and Elured.

Or Princess Anastacia or the two Princes in the Tower

#silmarillion #asoiaf #specific trope of the day #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #elurin #elured #ocs #oc #original character #aegon targaryen #rhea royce #asoiaf oc #lannister oc #targaryen oc #stark oc #tolkien oc #princess anastasia #two princes in the tower

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dragonstonelurker · 6 months ago

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Sketches of my Oc’s for firstborn of Rhaenyra according to the AU’S in my series “The Husbands of Rhaenyra Targaryen” https://archiveofourown.org/series/3082740

1. Visella Targaryen. Firstborn daughter and heir of Rhaenyra Targaryen/Samwell Blackwood from The Time of the Young https://archiveofourown.org/works/54566476

2. Visenya Targaryen. Firstborn daughter and heir of Rhaenyra Targaryen/Tyland Lannister from Dragon's fire, Lion's Teeth https://archiveofourown.org/works/43941288

3. Aerion Targaryen. Firstborn son and heir of Rhaenyra Targaryen/Qoren Martell from The Beauty of Marriage https://archiveofourown.org/works/41258193/chapters/103439316

4. Baelon Targaryen. Firstborn son and heir of Rhaenyra Targaryen/Baelon Targaryen from Bloody, Bare and Untamed https://archiveofourown.org/works/41970378

#asoiaf #hotd fanart #oc art #sketch #house of the dragon #tyland lannister #qoren martell #Ormund Hightower #They are all so beautiful and cursed #The Husbands of Rhaenyra Targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #The curse of the heir #fanfic #fic writing #hotd fanfic

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a-song-for-ages · 2 years ago

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Dragonheart | tyland lannister (+ other ships)

In which Maegelle Targaryen is made of love and light and fire which burns so bright it turns her to ash with her mother's passing

Warnings: contains a LOT of oc's - all of which will get their own little one shot/ficlets on the side (later on, I think) ; mentions of childbirth, death of a parent, etc

Chapter takes place before and during HOTD episode one

i: Death of a Dragon an Arryn

Maegelle was born in Spring, two years following her older sister, Rhaenyra, in a time when sickness plagued the land - it was a common sickness, though at the time, it had spread with haste and left few survivors… until the birth of the Princess.

They called it a miracle, especially since the Queen herself had the sickness throughout her pregnancy, and neither mother nor babe were thought to survive.

But they did. The both of them - and the child, though little and frail, had been given a title that matched her grandsire; the Spring Princess, and indeed, she was a Princess of Spring, for her hair glowed like the sun, and her cheeks reddened like freshly flowers bloomed.

She was the heart of her mother, and the eye of her grandsire, but her father - who so dearly wished for an heir; a boy, he only smiled at her and called her his greatest joy, when only her mother had recovered from the sickness, so as to only hold her and hush her cries. That gave her another title, which matched her sister's - The Realm's Joy, and what a joy she was, for her eyes were soft as her hands, and her smile as gentle as her touch, and her voice as sweet as lovesongs sung by the bards (though only few were fortunate enough to hear her sing.)

She was beloved by her parents, and she was beloved by her people, and the realm. And she would continue to be beloved, for she was her mother's daughter, long before she was her father's - and it was a thing she learned when she was but a child.

Rhaenyra, her older sister, was her father's daughter - there had been no enmity between them, for it had only seemed natural when Viserys would take Rhaenyra and put her atop his head, or make her seat at his knee on the Iron Throne, leaving Maegelle - wherever it is she was, which was almost always beside her mother.

She noticed that, while Viserys paid more attention to Rhaenyra than her - for reasons she did not know - she had another who had her mother's attention, and that was her parent's bastard cousin, Aelor Targaryen - or Darkling, which was the last name his mother, a bastard from the Riverlands, had given him, for his uncanny black and blue hair, but clearly Valyrian eyes - a near black purple. It matched her Uncle Daemon's - who, Maegelle had also taken to notice, would spend much of his time with her mother.

She was a little thing - for she was the littlest of them all, and yet, her Uncle Daemon had taken to call her, "Little Maegor," for she would screech and cry and wail when her mother's attention was taken by Aelor, who was not so many years older than her - only two, having being born in the same year as her sister, Rhaenyra… the year that his father, the youngest child of Jahaerys and Alysanne Targaryen, Rhaelor, disappeared without trace.

His mother, whose name was Alys Rivers - herself, a bastard - had brought him to court when he was only a few months old, hoping that there, he would bring some joy to them as he brought to her; a parting gift to her (and them, if they would have him) from her beloved Rhaelor, the Reckless.

Jahaerys turned her away - having the guards separate her from her child, a bastard, though one with the blood of the dragon, and thus, who should be kept under close watch of the King.

Alys left, but from Daemon's mouth, he said it was with a great fire in her eyes - a fire different to the one that their dragons breathed, a fire old and cold and one that burned green and blue in place of purple.

Daemon said that Alys Rivers was a force to be reckoned with - even though she did nothing but utter a curse at the King for separating her child from her - which was probably why she gained the favour of the Good Queen, Alysanne, who fought with the King not a moment later when the mother had been taken away, and when that dark haired babe refused to hush. It was the last time they fought - and it was the last time the King and Queen were seen together, for that very night, the Queen took her bastard grandson atop her great dragon, Silverwing, and flew them both to Harrenhal, where the bastard girl hailed from.

Maegelle had not known much of Aelor's mother - people rarely spoke of her, but when they did, they muttered under their breaths horrid words; bastard… whore… witch… - she only knew that she was a shadow of a lady, who only entrusted her son to the Targaryens once Jahaerys had died, and once Viserys had called her to court, and named her son Aelor Targaryen, a true one son of Rhaelor Targaryen, the youngest of Jahaerys and Alysanne Targaryen.

Daemon had told Maegelle that everyone at the time - every Targaryen, that was - had urged the King to legitimize the boy, if only to provide some comfort for the Queen.

Alas, he did not, and while Alys appreciated the good-nature of the new King Viserys, she told him that she'd already given a name to her bastard - Darkling, for his was dark of hair, and dark of spirit and mind (though she did not say that… Maegelle had only assumed, from the way Aelor would steal her mother's attention from her. It often left her furious, and had her crying, until someone else took her attention and entertained her.)

The new King Viserys, ever kind and gentle (like his daughter), had told her then, that out of love for his grandmother and her beloved son (who some said, his brother Daemon had taken after), the boy Aelor would be free to use whichever name he wished…

And out of undying love for his mother - Aelor chose Darkling, and as such, he was given the title; The Dark Prince.

It was a title clouded in mystery, in trepidation and fear of the unknown… for that was precisely who Aelor Darkling was - unknown. His mother was not known, as was her family - she'd only said she was a bastard of the Riverlands, of House Strong, nothing more, and nothing less, telling the King Jahaerys that it was of no consequence.

He did not further question it, and at his cue, neither did anyone else. (Of course, his Hand was not entirely convinced, but who her family was did seem to be entirely of no consequence, for she was a bastard, who birthed a bastard… who just so happened to be legitimized. But Otto ignored it, as he often did to things that were not of importance.)

While many treated the boy Prince as a shadow - and while Maegelle wished she could, too, the Prince Daemon and Queen Aemma did not.

"His mother's left him in our care for the time being," she told Maegelle when she was younger, but smart enough to ask why it was that Aelor had to stay with them, near their quarters, and dine with them more often than not. "To be acquainted with his kin."

Maegelle was not pleased, especially since her mother hardly failed to dote on him - as she did to her, her little Spring Princess - but she grew used to Aelor's presence, and when she did, she found that he only grew in annoyance - smirking at her when he stole her mother or father or Uncle's attention… taking little stones and throwing them in ponds when she'd walk by, if only to mess up her dresses… pointing at her and then speaking in the Valyrian language her Uncle often spoke in, before giggling like a villain whose plan was going exactly the way he wished.

He infuriated Maeg, and more often than not, her fury caught hold of her and had her behaving cruelly - or so, it was what her mother said it was, when she'd hold a dirtied Maeg and a sad-eyed, pout-lipped Aelor, begging each other to put their differences aside and be friends, for her sake.

Maegelle had cried and said Aelor was mean, while Aelor only wobbled his lip and said he was only playing with her, before crying and saying no one loved him and he wished to go home.

Maegelle would get a stern eye from her mother, only bringing her to cry more - before she'd scream and throw herself at Aelor when she found his tears had suddenly stopped, and he'd peer up at her would a horrid glint in his eye.

The bastard, she'd think, before her mother would yank her from the boy and tell her, "Gentle, Maegelle! Be gentle!"

But Maegelle was never gentle when it came to Aelor - and Aelor loved it, calling her a dragon who had just been woke from her slumber, edging her on as she had yet to claim a dragon, whereas he had one of his own.

Alas, things changed when the two grew older - and Viserys often joked that they would one day marry, and that Aelor would finally be a son to him, as he had treated him so, in place of the many sons he never had…

Such comments burned Maegelle and Aemma - but Aemma never responded in anything but kind, explaining to Maeg (when she once complained of her hurt), that there was nothing stronger than being soft in the face of unkindness. And so, if there was one lesson that Maegelle had taken from the life of her mother - it was to be soft. Brutally so.

But it was difficult to remember that when the horrid day came - when her mother had gone into labour, and the realm had been made to begin its celebrations for a boy who was promised, and had yet to come.

But come he did - and it was at a price. The price being, Maegelle's mother.

She remembered it clearly - that day, being in the stands at the tourney, rolling her eyes at her Uncle-Cousin Aelor, who had just unseated a knight from House Celtigar. Him, urging his horse towards the Royal Box, teasing Maeg by dramatically asking her for her favour.

She denied him, though, every time, and had only teased back, telling him that his insistence on her favour had her thinking that he truly wished for it - "Why else would I ask for it, Princess?" He asked, voice charming as ever, but the crooked smile on his face had only made Maeg want to throw a lance at his face. He was prodding at her - knowing that his attention on her would only bring on her father to insist that one of his daughters should take him to husband.

Maegelle refused - not because she thought of Aelor as a brother, but because she knew where his heart lay.

It lay with tourneys, and adventures, and danger and swords and fights.

Not with her or her sister - not that she minded, for Aelor's love of adventure and danger only meant that he would be apart from her, and that he would possibly face death and she'd finally be rid of him, for good.

"You are a greater fool than our Uncle Daemon, if you expect me to believe such lies," Maeg had said, with a smile on her face as she leaned over the railings.

"Oh just stop it you tqo," Rhaenyra said, pushing her shoulder into her sister while Maegelle's other side was accompanied by a hesitant Alicent Hightower, who Aelor had only greeted with a curt nod of his head. Both of them had already given their favors away - Alicent to Daemon, and Rhaenyra to a Dornish knight, whose name Aelor could hardly be bothered to remember.

"The both of you's love story is ruining the day."

That brought Aelor to mimick a man vomiting, while Maegelle leaned away from Rhaenyra, before inching towards her and asking, "Do you want me to die?"

"What I want, is for the chatter to end and for the fighting to continue."

Maegelle had only raised a brow at her sister, before looking to Aelor, and saying, "As the Princess commands," before she threw her wreath of dragon's breath flowers at his head. She intended for it to hit his helmet, which was near-black in colour, but expecting just that, he caught it with his jousting stick, and smirked at her, looking to Rhaenyra and bowing his head, "Ever the dragon of you to spit fire, Rhaenyra."

"Ever the fool of you to dramatize everything."

"How else am I to entertain you, dear Princess?"

"By getting back to the jousting."

"Oh, and the violence and the bloodshed and the -"

"Oh just get back before I get on a horse and show you how it's done."

"That would be a pleasing sight to see, my Princess."

"If it is pleasing to you then have no doubt the Princess shall not do it," Alicent spoke up, and Aelor looked to her with that damned smirk of Daemon's he seemed to adopt.

"Then shall I not rely on you to aid me in my quest, my lady?"

"And earn the ire of two princesses? I think not, Ser." Maegelle had smiled at Alicent's lack of use of Prince - many had called Aelor Prince, but the ones who did not had either earned Maegelle's ire, or indifference… and it just so happened that Alicent, too, was kind of heart, and a friend of Maegelle's - enough to know that addressing the boy knight as "Prince" would irritate Maegelle, if only because it would make Aelor full of himself.

"Go on then," Maeg called out. "You are not wanted here," she said, waving spectacularly as she leaned over the railing.

She saw it in his eyes, just then, the urge to knock her on her head with his jousting stick - but, they were in public, and spectators had their eyes on them�� not to mention, she was in the Royal Box, and there were many members of the Small Council who did not like his presence in King's Landing, if only for the favour he held with the King and his family.

Aelor only bowed his head, saying in Valyrian, "Then I shall go where I am wanted, then?"

"To the dragon pits?" While Maeg laughed, knowing that Aelor had intended to go flying later that day (without having to tell her, of course), and that she would ruin his plans of self-reflection and loneliness atop the back of his dragon , the bastard Prince only seemed to accept defeat with a bow of his head.

"We shall see then, Princess," he said, before his horse trotted off - Aelor riding his horse which cantered with ease, leaving Maegell feeling a little bit jealous, before she sat back down in her seat, and turned to face the Hand with shining eyes.

"Any word of mother?" She asked, her eyes darting to the empty seat that once occupied her father. In truth, she barely noticed his leave - but when she did and enquired about him, the Hand informed her that some business pertaining her new sibling had risen. Panic had flared in Maeg's chest and eyes - but the Hand managed to do away with it, by mentioning something that had to do with the choosing of names.

"If it is a girl, I hope it will not be Visenya," she told the Hand, to which he only smiled before her attention was drawn away by the cheers of the crowds, and Aelor's appearance on the field.

Now that her Uncle-Cousin had trotted off the field, though, she remembered her father and her mother, and a tinge of worry had made a home for itself in the back of her mind.

"Not yet, Princess," the Hand answered her. "But you should not worry. Your mother is a woman experienced in such matters."

Maegelle had only turned to the crowds, thinking that her mother was as experienced in childbirth as any other woman of the Realm - but she was more so experienced in the throes of death that her long labours brought her close to.

And so, Maegelle had stood up and turned to her father's Hand, stating, "I should like to see my mother, Lord Hand," and from the tired look on Otto Hightower's face, Maegelle got the impression that he did not want her visiting her mother, for whatever reason he had - but Maeg didn't care much for him or his impressions, all she cared for was her mother, who she wished to be beside even in the birthing rooms… as terrifying as the thought of it was, Maeg would do it - she'd go to her mother and hold her hand and wipe the sweat from her forehead, as her mother had done for her so many times when she had fallen sick with fever in her youth. (Not that Maegelle was not still in her youth - but she was nearly of age, being thirteen years and already having flowered, around the same time as her sister.)

Maegelle had moved from her seat and gone to the side, where she saw ser Lorent Marbrand rouse and greet her with a bow of his head - he was the White Cloak who usually accompanied her wherever she went, like how Ser Harrold Westerling often accompanied Rhaenyra wherever she went.

The sudden roars of the crowd brought Maegelle to pause in her step - and she turned to the field, only to witness her Uncle Daemon take his sword to his opponent.

A part of her wanted to see the fight, but knowing Daemon, who mentored Aelor as only a father would, blood would soon be spilled, and Maegelle would have rathered not see it.

So Maegelle turned, and bowed her head to the Hand, before she saw her father's cousin, Rhaenys, catch her eye - and she nodded at her, to which the Queen Who Never Was gave a curt nod with pursed lips in return.

Maegelle looked past her knight as she walked, following close behind her, and said, "I should like to see the Queen, Ser Lorent."

"As you wish, Princess," Ser Lorent said, before he walked ahead of her and she followed him to where the wheelhouse was sat.

"Would it not be faster if we were to go on horseback, Ser?" She asked, and Ser Lorent had only paused momentarily, before he looked back to the Princess and said it would be safer for her in the wheelhouse.

"I ride a dragon, Ser," she said. "And there is nothing more dangerous as such. So, saddle me a horse, Ser Lorent, and know that it would greatly please me." And Maegelle gave him a smile as he nodded his head to her and did as she bid him to, returning with two horses in tow - one brown, and one grey.

Maegelle took the grey horse - both steeds were unfamiliar to her, but from the way the grey horse followed the brown one, with head slightly bowed, she found that it would perhaps be a better ride for her.

"She's docile, Princess, shouldn't give you much trouble," Ser Lorent said, and Maegelle smiled, greeting the horse by running her fingers through it's mane.

"Has she a name?" She asked.

"Most probably, Princess, though it is not one that I know."

"A shame," was all Maegelle hummed, before she left the horse so that she may be saddled, with the help of her knight - and then they were off, starting at a slow pace before Maegelle urged her horse forward, before Ser Lorent understood her and they galloped to the castle.

They left the horses at the stables, and Maegelle had made her way into the castle, finding a sudden sense of eerie set in the heir.

She did not waste a moment before she began walking hastily in the direction of her mother's birthing chambers, trying to calm her nerves and anxiety which had her entire body feeling as if she were on fire, and trapped somewhere, unable to move, unable to flee.

Tis alright, tis alright… Mother will be fine.

There was no sound - no cries of her mother, no cries of a child.

If Mother is not crying then that means there is no pain. No pain means Mother is not at harm or at risk. No crying means that Mother is alright - she. is. al.right.

Still, Maegelle did not slow in her walk as she reached the corridors that led to her mother's room - and it was filled, not that it was strange for family members to flood the halls while a woman gave birth…

And one of those family members was the Lady Jeyne Arryn, whose late father was the half-brother of Maegelle's mother.

Maegelle hadn't greeted her - not as her steps slowed when she saw each person in the corridor turn to face her slowly.

Maeg felt as if she was under watermarking, when she found Lady Jeyne was saying, "Princess…" but something was wrong.

Lady Jeyne acknowledged her presence - but not as she usually did when she'd see the Princess in the hall, but there was something entirely horrible, dreadful, pitiful beneath her words.

Maegelle could only say, "My mother." She breathed. "I must see her," and she moved to the door which was flanked by two guards - but Jeyne's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Your father is with her, Princess," she said, and Maeg turned to her half cousin with confusion clouding her eyes.

"What is it? Why is - why is everyone out here?"

"We are simply awaiting the arrival of the babe, my Princess," Lady Jeyne responded, her voice calm enough to have her shoulders relax in the slightest as she looked to the Lady of the Vale.

"And my father?" Maeg asked, her stomach dropping as she looked to the door. "You said - he was with her?"

Lady Jeyne nodded her head, stating, "He wished to be the first to meet his son."

But that did not settle nicely in Maegelle's stomach.

She knew, from the countless of births and miscarriages her mother had suffered, her father had never once sat in the birthing chambers with her - never stood his ground and demanded to be in the rooms with her, when the Maesters and midwives and maids had told him it was no place for a man, seeing so much blood… Maegelle found it entirely hypocritical - if the birthing rooms was no place for a man due to the amounts of blood staining the bed, then how could the battlefields ever be considered theirs?

Cold water seemed to be poured over Maegelle as her lips began to wobble - and her teeth began to chatter. Understanding drowned her, and her eyes teared.

"My mother," she whispered, voice soft. "She does not cry."

Lady Jeyne had only put an arm over her shoulder, and pulled Maegelle into her, squeezing her, as if she could hold the dragon princess together.

"Is it because the labours have ended?" She'd heard a baby's cry - her little sibling, that was, but her mother… she hadn't heard her mother. She couldn't hear her - her voice. Her voice, her voice, her voice. Where was her voice?

And as tears began to fall from her face, Maegelle reached a hand out for the door, the other hand holding onto Lady Jeyne's dress - trying to push her away as she yearned to get closer to the door, closer to her mother, her new brother or sister…

"Mama," she cried. "Mama, please, Mama!"

And the doors - she wished they would open as she managed to push Lady Jeyne off her, who had only whispered meekly, "Princess…" - remained shut while she took off towards it in a run.

The doors were thrown open by her hands -

And Maegelle saw blood.

And she saw her mother.

And she saw the once-white sheets, stained beyond recognition, laying over her mother's body.

A heaviness set itself over her throat, and she heard a familiar voice call her name - concern, worried, bereaved…

And Maegelle only let herself succumb to the numbness that took over her limbs, her mind, the colour red painting horrid pictures in her mind.

The last thing she heard was the cries of the babe her mother died bringing into the world.

K so it's done - had a bit of writer's block when it came to writing Aelor and Maeg's interactions because originally Aelor wasn't supposed to be participating in the Tourney, because to do so you'd have to be a knight - but then I thought, Daemon would SO knight his nephew at 15 so as to make him the youngest knight ever. Like he'd do it just so his nephew/cousin could have ANOTHER title to his name. And not to mention, Aelor in my head is meant to be a skilled fighter whom the ladies in the land all have secret crushes on - secret, because while he is legitimized, he will still have the name "bastard" attached to him - and not to mention, he has land of his own which was gifted to him but he does not manage it so... not to mention everyone's pretty sure his mother is a witch and that he isn't actually Rhaelor's son, but is like Maegor in the sense that he was made from blood/black magic. But that's a story for another time.

Anyways,

We probably won't be seeing Tyland for a while - we may get glimpses of him, so that Maeg knows who he is and is familiar with him (what with having seen him out of the corner of her eye when she walked the halls of the Red Keep), and not to mention, her ladies in waiting will also not make an appearance until much later on... I'd say maybe they'll make an appearance in the third or fourth chapter or so.

But until then,

Adios!

#oc×tyland lannister #tyland lannister #wip: dragonheart #maegelle targaryen #oc: maegelle targaryen #oc: aelor targaryen/darkling #aelor targaryen/darkling #daemon targaryen #viserys targaryen #aemma targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen

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countrymusiclover · 2 years ago

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Ch 40 - The Targaryen Queen

Part 41

Fire OF A Stark

@dragonixfrye

A Few Years Later

The Iron Throne had been destroyed. The throne that kings and queens fought over for thousands of years until a dragon burnt it to the ground. The six kingdoms have been faring quite well over the years. It took a lot of long hours and council meetings to get the country back into shape. Sansa had her hands full running the North as an independent kingdom like our brother Robb wanted it to be before he died. “What if I am not good enough, Father. They may have accepted Bran as King but he isn’t the last dragon?”

Lifting my head up in the room I shared with Jaime in the rebuilt Kings Landing castle I was still feeling uneasy about all this. Eyeing myself in the large mirror leaned up against the wall I slumped my shoulders. The dress I had chosen was red and golden with gray and black designs across it. It was short sleeved showing a banner seal of the

Lannister lion and the Targaryen dragon split together to combine one house seal. I had my riding boots on like normal running my hands down the fabric until arms wrapped around my waist from behind. “You have nothing to be nervous about, my dragon wife.”

“Jaime…” Spinning around in his arms I draped my arms on his shoulders lifting my gaze up so I could meet his green orbs. “We have been traveling so much with the kids. Casterly Rock to here and then Dragonstone. All over too many times to count, I just don’t want the people to think that I am not looking out for them too.”

He tilted his head to the side, raising his left hand up to cradle my cheek. Leaning into his palm he slowly spoke to me. “Listen, little dragon. Ruling isn’t easy and you are a mother first. I told you once that the rest of the world doesn’t matter, it’s just us.”

“But that can’t be true-“ He cuts me off with a quick kiss resting his forehead against mine.

He whispered back where my fingers gripped onto his armor that he was wearing. He wasn’t a Kingsguard but he decided to wear the golden armor on my coronation day. He was wearing the Lannister colors underneath like usual. “It is still true, Lynesse. As long as we are in this room or one of our chambers in either place we call home. We don’t have to worry about responsibility…all we focus on is our family.”

“Daddy!” A child’s cry came from the other side of the door making us break away from each other. He opened the door getting his legs tackled by our youngest daughter Guinevere.

The girl wrapped her arms around his legs giggling. She had taken after her father with the green eyes that almost would match my eyes at some points . But she had fully taken to having my white hair that looked blonde when she was in the sunlight. “Be careful there, little G.” I responded, bending down on my knee tugging her off her father’s leg and up into my arms.

“Mommy, Eddie keeps asking to see Uncle Tyrion.” Another girl’s voice that belonged to our eldest Rhaenyra ran inside the room where I could see her wearing a red short dress and trousers coming towards me. Her hair was in two separate braids falling over her shoulders.

Finally as if on cue Eddard entered afterwards. The locks of golden hair scattered everywhere in a set of messy curls almost on top of his head. He was wearing a training sword, reminding me so much of Arya. “He is Hand of the King, Rhae!….oh and Queen. Sorry mother.”

“It’s alright, Ed. I am not the Queen just yet.” Bouncing Guinevere on my hip I sent him a smile enjoying that he accepted his uncle with such happiness. Everyone in the world had hated the dwarf for long enough.

Guinevere tugged on my dress strap asking in her sweet voice. “Does that make daddy King?”

“It’s not like that, little lioness.” Her father stepped up taking her from my arms, ticking her stomach making her giggle loudly. “Your cousin Bran is king. I am simply the husband to the Queen of the Six kingdoms.”

Eddard raised his sword in the air with his right hand following his father with being the best young swordsman in the young King and Queensguard. “I will be a Knight, like father.”

“Nah Eddie. Dragon rider is better.” Rhaenyra crossed her arms over her chest sticking her tongue out at her younger brother. She had been riding Joanna with me since the day we told her she was old enough to ride a horse on her own.

Guinevere made a raspberry noise at her. “Princess….”

“Enough all of you. Whatever path you may choose is important. You are my children and you will be able to choose whatever you want. We have taken away the old traditions of the Gods.” I waved my index finger at the three once Jaime had placed our youngest girl on her feet so they were all looking up at us.

Someone knocked on the chamber door altering all of us. Jaime crossed the room opening the door meeting the gaze of our First Lady Knight Brienne. “Ser Jaime, My Lady. Everyone is ready. I shall escort the children downstairs.”

“Go on young dragon-lions.” Jaime nudged them with his knee sending the three of them forward. The three ran forward following closely behind the woman that was now named Commander of the Kingsguard/Queensguard. “Shall we, my dragon queen.”

He offered me his left arm that I looped my hand through tightly. Intertwining our hands together I stared up at him before we started walking through the hallways. Scanning my eyes around I felt nervous walking down their halls when we first came back here. At first glance I could only see my father Ned being killed even though I wasn't here the day it happened. I could still see a dream of it happening. But Jaime isn't without his own nightmares as I am well aware. Some scars stay with you. "What if not all the remaining houses accept me as their Queen?"

"What will it take for me to convince you that they will. Shall I drag you back to our chambers for a private reminder?' He sent me a glare tugging our walk to a halt, smirking that cocky grin he knew usually works on me.

"Jaime-" I attempted to say but he squeezed my hand still in his.

"Lynesse, this whole coronation is more for the Lords and Ladies to show their support for you in a formal way. You have been ruling the six kingdoms beside your cousin since the day the small council declared your name. You will always be their chosen queen from now and always. Just like you will forever be my loving wife." He pressed his forehead against mine, leaning down kissing me. Leaning forward I deepened the kiss until we needed breath starting our walk to the former throne room.

Walking in almost sync with each other there was a thought that kept crossing my mind. “Does it seem or feel weird to you. That I am queen but you aren’t the king of the six kingdoms?”

“Gods no, I never thought I could handle the job as Hand of the King. I most certainly couldn’t handle taking on the role of being king.” He snorted out, making me think that he was more used to sword fighting than anything else in his life.

Shrugging my shoulders I turned my head seeing that we were standing outside the main doors. "Here we go, my lion…" I muttered under my breath squeezing his hand a little tighter in mine.

"You'll do just fine, little dragon." He kissed the crown of my head watching the doors opened by two guards standing on either side. Together we strides through the aisle of people who all had their eyes on us. The train of my dress got dragged behind me when I walked. Before our eyes I noticed that Bran was sitting in his chair on the top set of the stairs where the Iron Throne used to be.

Sansa was standing beside him being on the front row of the crowds. Brienne had Rhaenyra, Eddard and Guinevere standing beside her. Arya would have been here but she was traveling the world so she was only here for Bran's coronation. Jaime and I finally stopped where he stepped to the side nodding at me with a proud smile. "Today we are gathered here to witness a beautiful moment for our time of new reign. My cousin and I may not have wanted the power but we shall keep doing our best to rule..Lynesse, please take a knee. Brienne, I will need your assistance."

"Of course, your Grace." She bowed her head stepping up to stand beside his chair ready to assist his help.

Bran glanced over to a Septon that walked forward carrying a pillow with Rhaenyra Targaryen's crown sitting on it. He held it out, never breaking his gaze with the king. "Lynesse Stark-Targaryen now married Lannister. I am here to ask will you honor the duties of the realm. Will you wear the crown and uphold the safety of the realm. Will you defend the houses and keep the peace from this day until the end of your days?"

"I will, King Brandon." I declared resting my elbow on my knee that I didn't have bent on the stone steps. Above his head was a painting made of glass that showed an image of the Iron Throne before it was destroyed and a Targaryen banner behind it. In place of the throne there was two separate thrones now on either side of the burnt swords that had been cleaned up.

Bran nodded at the Lady Commander simply. "Commander Brienne." She stepped forward pushing his chair forward where he could reach me closer.

She then handed him the crown, stepping back with a light bow. "Your Grace. My Lady."

"By the power vested in me by the Crown and law of the Six Kingdoms I hereby declare you Lynesse Lannister, formally born Targaryen, raised true as a Stark, Lady of Casterly Rock, Protector of the Realm. Now decried to be Queen Lynesse, The Last Targaryen." He lowered the crown down onto my head gently. I shut my eyes, sucking in a breath feeling the weight of the jewelry on my head. Rising to my feet I turned to face the crowd seeing Tyrion standing beside Sansa's side.

He raised a cup of wine in his hands declaring. "I, Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King swear fealty to the Queen Lynesse Targaryen-Lannister!" He bent down on a knee nodding his head at me.

Ser Bronn of the Blackwater now known as Lord of Highgarden and Master of Coin. "I swear fealty to Queen Lynesse Targaryen-Lannister."

"I, Yohn of House Royce swear fealty to the Queen Lynesse Targaryen-Lannister." Another lord bent his knee to me.

Young Robin stepped forward, dropping down. "I, Robin Arryn of the Vale swear fealty to the Queen Lynesse Targaryen-Lannister."

"I, Edmure of House Tully swear fealty to the Queen Lynesse Targaryen-Lannister" Catelyn's brother got up bending down by his wife Roslin's side as she was holding their son in her arms.

Sam, Jon's friend from the Wall raises his hand coming to bend the knee next with a king smile. "I, Samwell of House Tarly, Grand Maester, swear fealty to the Queen Lynesse Targaryen-Lannister."

Davos Seaworth, Master of Ships. "...swear fealty to the Queen Lynesse Targaryen-Lannister."

"I, Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End…" Who used to be Robert's bastard son. "swear fealty to the Queen Lynesse Targaryen-Lannister."

The two final Lord and Lady finished their vows. "I, Howland of House Reed….I, Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands."

"I, Jaime of House Lannister, Lord of the Rock and Husband pledge to swear fealty to the Queen Lynesse Targaryen-Lannister." Jaime was the last person to bend the knee to me. His green eyes only focused on me as he sent me a proud smile.

My gaze fell down onto him watching the rest of the guests in the room bend down on their knees and bow their heads. "Gods save King Bran and Queen Lynesse!" From that moment I knew our story was far from over.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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universe-of-heart · 1 year ago

Text

The House a Dragon Built

A Rewritten History of Fire and Blood Masterlist Ocs in fic

Author's Note: So this broke me out of a long writer's block. This is a new passion project of mine with the encouragement (and ocs) of my friend @dreaming-of-illusory-flowers so if you have any questions, you can ask either of us lol. This is a Fix-It au!! No Dance of the Dragons! I will put an explanation of Jae Briarwood at the footnote of the chapter for yall to read so there's a little more information. Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 8.5K (Yes I know that's crazy) Footnote is around 400 words

Warnings: Same warnings as the show basically. I would rate this explicit just as a general rating, just to be safe. So 18+ pls and thank you. This part covers the first half of the first episode semi-vaguely, semi-in detail. Covers the tourney, so there are fights, and also there is more content involving Aemma just before the birth

The Old King was dead and his grandson finally sat the Iron Throne. Jae remembered the day in the throne room when the old king had the Great Council choose his grandson as his heir, how their fist had clenched behind their back when his name was said and not Rhaenys. They remembered custom, remembered tradition, but the look of pain that crossed her face before the mask fell back into place would never be forgotten. The Queen that Never Was and the one no one would let forget. And her cousin didn’t seem to notice.

However, Jae could not say Viserys was a bad king; the fact that his moniker had quickly become known as the Peaceful was not lost on them. It was refreshing to be without wars during a king’s reign, to enjoy the flourishing kingdom and the joy of a growing family within the Red Keep once again. It was something sorely missed after the death the House of Dragons had been plagued with in such a short amount of time. However, it seemed as if the plague didn’t wish to relinquish its control of the family just yet.

Jaeda should have realized that a calm kingdom had to be counterbalanced elsewhere. For the peaceful king, it was within his own chambers. His wife, as kind and lovely as she was, struggled. They had only had one child survive past infancy and to every lord that had experienced the previous line of succession, they viewed the small family with a sense of anxiety and contempt in their stares. To them, the king and queen’s beloved child was a disappointment.

Their child was a girl. And the kingdom had made it abundantly clear they would not have a queen named heir.

And yet, Princess Rhaenyra was the realm’s delight. She was also her family’s advisor’s delight; Jaeda found herself tutoring the princess herself more often than not and Jayse found himself teaching her the broadest skills of defense he was allowed. He often defended that the princess would have to learn to hunt eventually; it was a tradition of the king to have a great hunt and his daughter was never one to sit idle with her elders fiddling needlepoint and tea. The girl was a dragon as much as her hatchling was, the same fire burning in their twin souls, and she would no doubt burn the world around her if she felt the need to.

The latest pregnancy had been hell on Aemma and Jaeda couldn’t help but feel an ache in her chest every time she smiled tiredly at the advisor. It was her last try for a boy, just to please her husband and kingdom, and it seemed like even the unborn child knew it, too. It had made the last few months pure misery for the poor queen, her nights were usually spent soaking in lukewarm water despite her claims that hot water wouldn’t harm either of them. Targaryens never burned, never boiled, and her baby would be the same. Even still, the maesters and septas wouldn’t allow it. Jaeda remembered how much she hated the feeling that she was powerless to help. Childbirth had never been pleasant for her.

Rhaenyra moved the game piece across the board, steepling her fingers in front of her as she watched the woman across from her. The table had been dragged out into the gardens within sight of the weirwood where Lady Alicent sat under the limbs with a book in her lap. The three of them often found themselves there now that the weather was agreeable, either studying history or testing skills of strategy on a playing board. In fact, Rhaenyra went very few places without Alicent, the back of her dragon and the sky the only places Jae had noticed her leaving the lady behind, but even then the princess had begged her friend to join her. They’d become close companions, she mused to herself with a smile playing on her lips. Closer than most ladies would be with their princess in the same situation.

Jaeda moved her piece and heard Rhaenyra release a heavy breath through her nose. It nearly sounded identical to when her dragon snorted in annoyance. The princess’ move had been good in strategy, but Jaeda had been playing far longer.

“Your mind seems distant, Princess,” her fingertip circled a knot on the wooden table, head tilting with a certain interest she always held. “What troubles you?”

“Nothing specific.” Her silver braid slipped over her shoulder as she shifted to reach across the board. “And yet, just about everything.”

Jaeda knew the princess was nervous for her mother. The entire kingdom seemed to be holding its breath with the quickly approaching day the baby was due to make an appearance into the world, as if they knew what hung in the balance the same way the queen’s family did. For the kingdom, it was the line of succession. For the family, it was Aemma herself.

“Any news from your uncle, darling?” She decided to change the subject, drawing her mind away from the shadow looming over the keep. Her uncle casted a similar shadow, however, it was smaller at the moment and one Jaeda could actually cast light on to make it disappear.

“Only in the way I haven’t had news that he’s died,” Rhaenyra sighed, resting her cheek on her fist. “Father has said he is to return before the tournament, but you know how he tends to be.”

“He will be there,” the advisor soothed. Even if I have to drag him from the brothel’s bed myself.

Rhaenyra flashed her a smile laced with sadness. To be an only child in the line of the Targaryens was a rare thing and a lonely thing. Jaeda often thought the princess lucky to have Alicent as her companion, though she could see how the distance in her family hurt her. Each fractured relationship sent a spiderweb of cracks down the family line and the princess had the unfortunate luck of being at the end of that line. Distantly, Jae considered how well a trip to Driftmark would fair. Being near her cousins would do her good.

Jaeda heaved a dramatic sigh, catching both the younger girls’ attention as she stood from the table. “I will have to call this a forfeit on my part, Princess.”

Alicent chuckled from under the weirwood, tucking a scrap of fabric between the pages before she closed her book. Rhaenyra’s eyes danced with a mixture of confusion and mischief as her father’s advisor made a show of looking toward the direction of the sun, musing over her thoughts, and tapping her chin. At the end of it all, she turned to the princess and smiled with a look of mischief to match her.

“If you hurry, I do believe you can fit a flight with Syrax in before the Small Council is called to order.”

The princess nearly went scrambling across the courtyard, grabbing Alicent’s arm as she passed her to drag her with her. Jae simply chuckled, cleaned up the game on the table, and set off back within the winding halls of the Keep.

The Keep was ever busy, people milling about endlessly on their own individual journeys, some carrying supplies from one end to the other, some walking side by side discussing their daily lives. It had all become background noise to Jaeda, the environment fading away as she stalked down the halls to check on the queen. The colors on the walls all bled together, a mix of grey and the black and red of tapestries until they swirled into a singular color.

Jayse swung his sword quickly against the shield of the knight training with him, the world coming into clear focus around him. He ducked when the knight swung, a wide arc angled too high above his head, and the poor man went crashing into the dirt with a thud when Jayse’s shoulder connected with his chest. A few of the other knights jeered from the sidelines, one telling the man now struggling to his feet he’ll have better luck next time. He won’t, but the thought was what truly counted.

“Ser Westerling!” Jayse called out, the commander acknowledging the man with a slight incline of his head. “Have you seen the princess yet this morning?”

“Can’t say I have, Lord Briarwood,” the older man adjusted his seat on his courser, hands resting on the front of his saddle.

Jayse peered up at the sky, brows furrowing in thought. “‘Bout the time she goes to the dragonpit to fly Syrax, isn’t it?”

Ser Westerling muttered something under his breath before having two other kingsguard mount up to follow him. The rest of the guards went scrambling, causing the lord to stifle a laugh at the panic caused by such a simple sentence. Perhaps if they spent less time peacocking for the maids milling about with the younger ladies of court, the princess would not suddenly go missing from the stone walls of the Keep.

Though, Jae supposed that was their fault.

Putting his training sword back in the rack and passing off a few other training garbs to a younger squire, Jayse began his walk to his quarters to change into something less sweat-stained and marred with dirt. A few ladies and lords bid him a greeting, each in passing and never more than a brief word and glancing look. Such was the way of court, more often than not, far too many people with far too little time if it wasn’t the king. Though, he mused once within the walls of his chambers, many of them would be preoccupied by the upcoming tournament being held in honor of the king’s next - and last - child. Even without it being said, everyone in the kingdom had come to the understanding that this had to be the last, no matter which sex it was to be.

Part of his heart wanted it to be a girl, just to see the look on the face of the Hand himself.

“Slowest brother of mine, are you going to visit the Queen before the Small Council?”

Jayse looked up from the fastenings of his gambeson, smiling at the sight of his sister leaning against the doorframe with a weary look. “And send the maesters and midwives into a fit at the sight of a knight within the Queen’s quarters? Wouldn’t miss it for the world, dearest sister.”

Jaeda’s eyes narrowed, though a grin grew across her lips to match his. “You sent Westerling after Rhaenyra, quite a good idea.”

“It’s almost as though I thought of it.”

“Mm,” she hummed, a knowing look sparking in her eyes before she turned away, the world now in a sharp focus around her. “Don’t doddle, you know how I hate it when Lord Hightower looks at us when you’re late.”

“Only when I’m late?”

She threw a grin over her shoulder. “Dearest brother, I am never late.”

Jayse grumbled under his breath, falling silent as the door shut behind her.

A young maid dropped a small curtsey as she passed Jaeda on her way to the council room, already anticipating the presence of the king and his Hand to be there. She already knew she would be asked the whereabouts of the princess the moment greetings were exchanged and no doubt Otto would have something to say on the matter, but it was nothing new; it all fell into the daily routine she’d grown accustomed to.

“Lady, Briarwood,” the guards at the door bowed slightly before pushing the door open for her. A quiet word was said by her, a brief thank you and good morning before the sight of the table became her view.

At the head was the king, Viserys, deep in a familiar and friendly conversation with the two men at his table. Not all had arrived yet, as expected, though she had no doubt the Grand Maester and Lord Beesbury would be arriving sometime soon. The only one she held little hope for actually making an appearance was their commander of the City Watch. Poor Prince Daemon. He surely would not be missed at the council table.

“My lords, my king,” Jaeda dropped a small bow, just enough to be respectable to the station of the men before her while also maintaining hers. “I trust you haven’t been having too much fun without me?”

Viserys’ expression was happy and pleased and she couldn’t help the smile that played at the corners of her lips. “Jaeda, my dear, it’s a delight to see you.”

Otto Hightower inclined his head, giving her his usual tight-lipped smile that never sparked at his eyes. “Lady Briarwood.”

Corlys gave her a brief, troubled smile and she knew that something would be brought up at the council. “My lady, pleasure as always.”

“Same to you, Lord Corlys.”

She sat across from the Hand, Lord Hightower, and she knew it vexed him from the way his hand on the table flexed and then moved to fidget with the heavy sphere that sat within a marbled ring. Hers was placed by one of the kingsguard stationed around the room; a dark, swirling sphere of red and black that curled together into the color of blood, marred only by a streak of white that cut through the side like a serpent’s pupil. Or, perhaps, a scar, old and faded and pale against the cloudy expanse behind it. Her fingers curled over the top of it, shifting it until the white slash faced upwards. An eye watching the space above.

The conversation continued, small jokes passed from King to Hand and Master of Ships and to her every now and then. Jayse had joined them since then, bringing news that the Queen was well but quite ready for the babe to finally enter their world and leave her. Viserys chuckled at that, eyes softening at a spot on the table. Jaeda knew that look accompanied thoughts of his future; wife holding a son, Rhaenyra placed safely at both their sides until she came of age for her own union. His son as king, continuing the line of peaceful kings, fulfilling a prophecy only two of them knew. It sounded like a wonderful future of love and contentment.

That was half the reason Jaeda felt a growing pit in her stomach, sharing a look with her twin as he took his place behind her.

As expected, Grand Maester Mellos and Lord Beesbury arrived about the same time, though Lord Strong arrived before, and that was when the council well and truly commenced.

Though, commenced was a strong word for what exactly began.

It was more jokes, more stories, along with a growing agitation brewing in the seat of the ship master. All knew the king simply wanted to focus on King’s Landing now, that his sole focus was on his unborn child that he was set on being his heir. And still, the world outside kept on without him and would continue to do so as much as he ignored it.

Another round of chuckles gave way to the heavy sigh at the end of the table, Corlys finally taking the attention for himself. A modest ask when the entire point of the Small Council was for the king to hear about these types of matters, though all acted as if that use had been put out of practice in the early years of the Old King’s rule.

“My lords.”

Corlys sounded tired, strained and burdened with his news of the Free Cities. Newly named the Triarchy, they had traveled to Bloodstone to wipe out a group of pirates that had made the Stepstones their home as of late. Jaeda hummed thoughtfully, turned fully in her chair as she watched the map unfurl on the empty place at the table. She knew the King would not bite at the thought of a war beginning; it was not how he wished his reign to go. No matter how many of his advisors may advocate for a war to simply end tensions, she knew he did not wish to send men to their deaths, though in the end, it was inevitable and unavoidable. Men would die one way or another at the end of a sword - either on a battlefield or in their own streets while their children screamed.

She blinked, feeling Jayse’s hand on her shoulder grounding her back to the topic at hand.

“They call him ‘The Crabfeeder’.”

The door creaked open and the princess hurried through, trying to make herself smaller and hidden from the council members. Smaller wasn’t the way of the Targaryens, however, so she simply readjusted, trying to appear as if she’d never been late before, that this was the exact time she was meant to be there and not a moment sooner.

“Rhaenyra, you’re late.” Her King father wouldn’t let it pass, however, and Jaeda chuckled as the princess shot her a look, pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek.

“A king’s cupbearer must not be late. It leaves people wanting for cups.” His tone was teasing and gentle, a smile playing on his face the entire time.

“I was visiting mother.”

Viserys sniffed, brows furrowing slightly. “On dragonback?”

Rhaenyra huffed out a laugh. “Ask Lady Jaeda.”

The king sent his advisor a look as she simply smiled, Rhaenyra stopping at her cup first.

Lord Beesbury went on to comment about Daemon’s absence and his City Watch and again Jaeda lost her focus. Otto had been suspiciously silent and Jayse behind her had been paying enough attention for both of them. So, instead, she stared at the Hand, trying to pick apart his thoughts from within his head, her fingers skimming the surface of the orb in front of her. When the Hand was silent, she knew he was plotting and she was determined to discover what it exactly was.

Jaeda had never been thrilled at the idea of Otto Hightower becoming Hand of the King even in Jaehaeyrs’ reign. Viserys’ own father had been named Hand just before the man now in front of her, though that had only lasted the better part of a week before he had passed. She refused to believe it a coincidence and had kept her eyes and ears trained on the current Hand since his place in court had been announced. All that was left to do was wait.

“The Crown has heard your report, Lord Corlys.”

Jaeda bristled. Report, not request. A plead for aid by the Crown and yet they acted as if the Sea Snake had merely stated the weather or worse - he asked for a second helping of a meal. He looked from Otto to his King, as if trying to see if the sentiment was shared. A second great sigh was heaved by the lord at the foot of the table and Jaeda’s nail tapped at the marble plate under her sphere.

“Shall we discuss the Heir’s Tournament, your Grace?”

“I would be delighted.”

“The king is a fool if he is so blind to turn away from his kingdom.”

“Evermore the fool to ignore his pregnant wife.”

The door swung closed behind Jayse as his twin stalked her room. Every council set her on edge and the two of them often held their own sort of council in private after. While he stood at the door, ever her guard, she sat before a mirror to tug at the pins in her hair.

“The queen will die,” she murmured, catching her brother’s eyes in the mirror. “She’s lost too many.”

He hummed in thought. “Meanwhile, the princess fills the role of the perfect heir.”

“The kingdom won’t want her.”

“No. She’s missing the one thing they believe an heir should have.”

“Don’t be crude,” she chided, standing with her hair spilling down her back and shoulders. “But we know it’s the reason they passed over a better heir towards the end of Jaehaeyrs’ reign.”

Jayse hummed again. “Every moment I spend in the Small Council, I miss Princess Rhaenys more and more.”

“Perhaps we should change and advise Driftmark instead.”

There was a humorous tone to her voice as he held the door open for her to pass through and he couldn’t help but chuckle as he followed.

“Westeros would burn to ash the moment we left.”

Jaeda hummed. “Just like home.”

“Have you seen to the king’s injuries lately?”

The conversation turned as they melted back into the business of the Keep, where people milled about them and they couldn’t speak as plainly as they wished. While neither was afraid to speak their mind to the King, very few others deemed it appropriate of an advisor and knight to discuss the king in such a manner and the twins would prefer to keep their current record as spotless as they could. No hidden riddles could be passed outside the heavy doors of personal chambers and conversations had to veer away to more mundane discussions.

“The maesters have asked for my knowledge of herbs to make a strong tincture for the ones that refuse to heal. Though, I fear that natural remedies will only do so much.”

Jaeda’s hand folded over her brother’s arm, bumping their shoulders together. Jayse ducked his head slightly so only she could hear him.

“Then, perhaps, we will have to see what unnatural remedies will do.”

It was early the next morning, too early, that Jaeda found herself back in the council chamber, glowering at Daemon from across the table. Her brother was stood behind the prince at the moment, stoic-faced as the King and Hand made their entrance and everyone but Daemon and her stood in respect. He looked oddly pleased with himself, unable to sit still and the hint of a smile playing on his lips like a cat who finally caught its master’s bird. The expression fell into one of challenge, daring Otto to continue his thoughts and looking all the more like a predator staring down its prey as the Hand sat beside Jaeda.

The prince was a mess. The smell of blood flowed off of him in waves and it would take patience to sort out his hair after the helm and chaos of the night had blown it every which way.

“Carry on. You were saying something about my impunity.”

“Don’t be difficult,” the advisor scolded, leaning back in her chair. She looked the most at ease out of everyone at the table, though a simmering fire burned behind her eyes that still remained locked on the king’s brother.

“I’m simply asking for the Lord Hand to continue his conversation, I fail to see how that makes me difficult.”

Her eyes sparked and Daemon leaned back from the table.

“Darling, I wouldn’t push your luck tonight.”

His armor creaked as it met the backrest of the chair.

Daemon and the king’s advisor were often far too similar to get along. Many at court had once joked that they had to have been engaged somehow; it was seemingly the only reasonable explanation as to why he plagued her so often. However, since they’d both been given a seat at the Small Council, many saw it for what it truly was, with both twins.

Jaeda acted as the brother’s older sister and they fell into line accordingly. Viserys valued her insight endlessly and sought her out for multiple matters, mundane and extravagant. Daemon seemed to be driven by the sole mission to have her attention, regardless of what consequences followed. The baby brother in every aspect. Jayse was no exception to the family dynamic and Daemon growing up would challenge him endlessly. If there was ever a sword in one of their hands, everyone knew the other was clashing steel against it. It had been that way for years. However, Daemon just couldn’t seem to grow past the years of sword fighting.

Otto cleared his throat and Daemon’s eyes snapped back to him, the predatorial gaze returning after being scolded like a child. “You are to explain your doings with the City Watch.”

The prince bristled. It truly was no secret that he hated the Hand of the King, a feeling he shared with Jae entirely, and it felt as if the entire Small Council heaved a sigh as the battle began at the table. Because it was always war with Daemon; it was as deeply entwined with his soul as his dragon was. It seemed fitting, honestly; the Blood Worm and his bloodthirsty rider. A pair created within the Seven Hells themselves.

“Your new ‘Gold Cloaks’ made quite the impression last night, didn’t they?”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Jayse muttered, catching how Jaeda’s brow quirked over the prince’s shoulder. Right. Now was not the time for that.

Later, however…

“The City Watch is not a sword to be wielded at your whim; they’re an extension of the Crown.”

Daemon leaned forward against the table again, turning to stare at Otto. The man spoke with enough contempt that he was halfway convinced he could threaten him with treason. If his brother was more often on his side, he might’ve been tempted further. He still wasn’t fully blind to how quickly he’d fallen into the role of Hand after his father’s death; how eagerly he gave council both publicly and privately to Viserys. Otto wasn’t like Jaeda. Otto Hightower was a man too often pushing his own agenda under the guise of the Crown.

Daemon loathed him.

“The Watch was enforcing the Crown’s laws. Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Strong?”

The attention shifted to Lyonel Strong, who looked like he wished to be anywhere else. Jaeda wondered in slight amusement if he had mentally traveled back to Harrenhal.

“My prince,” he sighed, preparing himself for a back and forth that always occurred with the second prince, “I don’t think-”

“We are not here to argue whether you were enforcing laws, Daemon,” Jaeda rubbed at a spot above her left brow, as if the mere discussion gave her a migraine. Perhaps it did, it was Daemon after all. “We are here to discuss the monstrous brutality demonstrated and encouraged in our streets.”

“‘Monstrous’?” He nearly laughed, a not entirely sane humor glittering in his eyes. “Nobles from every corner of the realm are right now descending upon King’s Landing for my brother’s tourney. Do you want them mugged, raped, murdered-”

“Daemon.”

“And, forgive me,” he turned towards the Hand, tone the slightest bit sharper, “but you mightn’t know this unless you left the safety of the Red Keep but much of King’s Landing is seen by the smallfolk as lawless and terrifying.”

“You aren’t exactly helping to improve that outlook with the way you carry about.” Her hand was resting on her sphere again. The prince nearly relaxed; that posture for her was often one of disinterest or at least detachment from the subject at hand. However, the look on her face said otherwise.

And then her nails tapped sharply against the smooth marble and he knew she was only holding it to keep herself from grasping his throat from across the table.

“Our city should be safe for all its people,” he continued, looking to his brother for some support on the matter. Any support at all. Viserys glanced at Jaeda who watched him the same way.

“I agree.” That one sentence broke much of the tension, Daemon’s own shoulders dropping ever so slightly within the metal walls of his armor. “I just hope you don’t have to maim half my city to achieve this.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of the prince’s mouth. “Time will tell.”

Jayse smothered a scoff.

“We installed Prince Daemon as commander to promote law and order,” Lord Corlys, for the first time since the council rejoined, spoke on behalf of the rogue prince. “The criminal element should fear the City Watch.”

The prince nodded towards the Lord of the Seas in as much appreciation as he typically showed others. “Thank you for your support, Lord Corlys.”

“If only the prince would show the same devotion to his lady wife as he does his work, Your Grace.”

Jaeda couldn’t control her eyes rolling. “Spare us another argument over marriages, Lord Hightower, tis not the time or place for such discussions.”

“The prince has a duty and has yet to fulfill it in a manner befitting his station-”

“And you would know what befits my station, Lord Hand?” Daemon questioned, voice raising.

Watching from behind the prince, Jayse wondered if Otto had blinked once since he began staring down Daemon. Jaeda’s head tilted back in barely contained annoyance, biting back a groan that threatened to upset the flimsy façade of decorum the council now wore like a curtain. More than likely a sheer curtain, based on the nervous shifting of the kingsguard around the room.

Otto’s hand curled into a fist on the table, though his expression remained stoically cold. “Lady Rhea is your wife, a good and honorable lady of the Vale-”

Daemon gave a lopsided smile in response, deeming the conversation merely a joke. “In the Vale, men are said to fuck sheep instead of women.”

Viserys’ head dropped with a sigh before he looked at his advisor.

“I assure you, the sheep are prettier.”

Jaeda’s chair scraped against the stone loudly, the wood creaking as she stood and picked up the orb from the marble plate. “If we are no longer discussing the actions of the City Guard, I believe the council has finished its duty for the morning. My King, any closing words before I threaten both your brother and your Hand for using the Lady of Runestone as a Cyvasse piece in a disagreement?”

The chamber fell silent for only a moment. In that moment, the king looked half relieved, Daemon looked ever so pleased to get a rise out of someone, and Otto looked as though he would help her strangle the prince himself. Viserys nodded and her sphere rested back on the marble as she remained standing, awaiting a dismissal.

“This council has, at great expense,” the king pulled his brother’s attention back to him, still smiling to himself, “bettered the City Watch to your exacting standards. Enforce my laws, but understand, any further performances like last night’s will be answered.”

“Understood, Your Grace.” Daemon stood, then looked at his brother’s advisor as he gathered his gauntlets and helm. “Do you require an escort, my lady?”

She just sighed, turning to walk through the old wooden doors. “Not the type you require, my prince.”

Jayse slung his arm over the prince’s shoulder as he began to stalk out of the room. The knight knew the prince’s penchant for blowing off steam always included liquor, women, or fighting, sometimes all in one night, and considering how the entire meeting was about the amount of bloodshed within the kingdom already, well. Perhaps a guard for the prince was needed.

The next day started just as early for Jaeda. One of the queen’s maids had rushed into her chambers, telling her the queen had requested her presence before the bustle of the day’s events began. Jaeda felt her heart sink for a moment before she was following the young girl down the ever-winding halls to the queen’s quarters. She could hear the memory of the queen joking a moon ago that perhaps she should begin referring to them as her dungeon; she hadn’t been able to leave them in so long, they might as well have been.

The first thing Jaeda was hit with upon entering the chamber was how heavy the air was. It was a pressure no heat could compare to, weighing like armor on her shoulders the moment she was past the threshold and saw the queen half bent over with an iron grip on the foot of the bed. She was standing at least, that was good. Moving would help the birth go quicker. As long as they didn’t lay her on her back.

“My queen,” her voice was soft as she came to her side, reaching to hold her hand tightly.

Aemma reached blindly for her husband’s advisor - her friend - and managed a shaking, wobbling smile. “Jae,” she breathed, “it is today.”

“He’s impatient, it seems.”

The laugh the queen let out was shallow and faded into a sigh. “It seems. I-I want to see Rhaenyra before…before.”

Jaeda nodded, her other hand reaching to cup the queen’s elbow. “Is it only labor pains so far? It hasn’t fully begun?”

From the lack of blood on the white gown the queen wore, she could only assume it was only the beginning pains of labor wracking her body. The five previous births had instilled a primal fear and anxiety into both of them, neither truly knowing how any of them would end. It was always tears, always another scar on the heart. And still, there was always another.

Aemma shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line as another wave of pain passed through her. “At least the lords will not have to fear the tourney being for nothing.”

“If you can still joke, there is nothing to fear.”

The door creaked again and Rhaenyra leaned through the doorway before moving past some of the maesters and maids. “Mother?”

“Darling,” Aemma’s tone sounded relieved as if the presence of her daughter made her labor all the easier. “Darling, come here.”

Rhaenyra flanked her mother’s side across from Jaeda, brows drawn down in worry. It made her look older than her ten and four years and Jae felt another pang in their chest at the sight. For a moment, their vision shifted and it was Rhaenyra clutching their hand, begging for it all to be over.

Aemma’s thumb soothed over the lines between her daughter’s brows. “Today, my love, I want you to enjoy the festivities.”

“I would rather stay with you.”

The queen just shook her head with a kind smile. “You are allowed to enjoy it even while I am here, my darling girl. I want you to.”

Rhaenyra frowned again before her mother’s shaking hand cupped her face and pressed her forehead to hers. “As soon as they are over, I am coming to see you.”

“And you will tell me all about the fights and who wins. I must know which knight will be your favorite.”

Finally, a small smile appeared on the princess’ face as she pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “In excruciating detail, I promise.”

Aemma laughed breathlessly.

Reaching the door, Rhaenyra looked back at the two still standing at the bed, nodding to her father’s advisor before leaving. Aemma’s demeanor shifted again, falling against the structure of the bed more in support.

“Your Grace-”

“Jae, please,” she pleaded, halfway between a joke and truly begging.

Jae let out a short laugh through their nose. “Aemma…I worry for you.”

“This is the last one, I’ve made Viserys promise me. No matter what happens.”

“That is what I fear. The ‘no matter what’.”

Aemma hauled herself to stand upright again, stumbling slightly as it felt like fire dripped from between her legs. Her grip on Jae’s hand changed as well, now holding it tight enough to bruise anyone else’s hand. Jae was different, however; it barely felt any different.

“Oh, gods be good,” the queen whispered, a pool of fluid forming at her feet.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of robes around the both of them, just outside of Jae’s realm of concern as they simply held onto Aemma. They couldn’t shake how final it all felt.

No matter what. This was the last one.

Jae pressed a kiss to the queen’s silver hair, brushing it away from her face. “No matter what happens, I will protect your family. Rhaenyra will be safe.”

“Thank you.”

It was the last words the queen said to her before Grand Maester Mellos shooed Jaeda out of the room. The last image of Aemma being guided back into the bed seared into her mind.

Just outside the door stood Rhaenyra, arms crossed over her stomach in a way that mimicked an embrace. It was one of the moments that Jae’s well-structured walls they’d put in place all but crumbled from years of neglect. The current house of Targaryens had wormed their way into the old Valyrian’s very soul, the queen and princess most of all.

It was a family they dreaded losing after centuries of detachment.

Jaeda pulled the princess into her side, arm wrapped over her shoulders as they began the long walk back to Rhaenyra’s chambers to dress her for the day. There were no words of comfort that would make a difference to her.

No matter what.

The stairs to the royal box felt endless, especially in a tight stay, and Rhaenyra made a vow to herself she wouldn’t allow anyone to lace it so tight again. However, she’d been in a hurry, had rushed the kind handmaidens that had been dressing her, and had all but bolted from the seat before her mirror the moment the last pin was in her hair. Jaeda had walked with her out to the tournament grounds, but her being missed from the box wasn’t as worrying as the princess. She gathered herself behind the chairs before picking her way quietly and calmly as her father’s voice rang over the entire field of people, announcing how special this occasion was now that her mother had begun her labors. Jaeda glanced over at her as she ducked to run to her seat, falling into it beside Alicent with very little grace.

Jayse laughed beside his sister and Jaeda smiled, brows still creased in silent worry.

The crowd erupted in deafening cheers. It felt less like a celebration and more like a war cry to her.

“May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!”

The king and princess exchanged a look as he sat back down, though he cracked a small smile when she adverted her eyes. She was late, yes, but it would be fine. He knew how important her mother was to her.

The crack of lances echoed with each hit, the ringing of armor following soon after. It was dizzying and filled to the brim with crackling anxiety as each house’s boys and men raced toward each other on horseback with the intent to unseat the other. Quite a few were bold enough to ask a few of the ladies in the box for their favors, wreaths of leaves and flowers woven into circlets that slid down the lance onto the arm of the knight.

It was every bit as amusing as it was sobering, watching these men play war with each other.

Alicent and Rhaenyra studied each crest on the shields as they jousted, muttering between each other as they pointed out the houses that did the best. An Arryn there, a Baratheon there, even a Tully and Tyrell and Greyjoy had appeared and fought for their place in the Heir’s Tournament. Neither had expected it to be nearly as fun as it was and yet both remained enthralled in their own little space together, the princess’ hand resting on her lady’s arm.

“What house is that?” Rhaenyra pointed to the knight that had just unseated a knight of house Tarly, his shield of green with the archer standing proudly still on the ground by his challenger’s horse. “A mystery knight perhaps?”

Alicent hummed softly. “No, a Cole, of the Stormlands.”

The princess made a noise as she nodded. “I’ve never heard of House Cole.”

A Baratheon knight soon came to ask for the Princess Rhaenys’ favor, boasting that he didn’t truly need the luck, but requested it nonetheless. Jaeda bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snickering at the princess’ face as she turned back to her husband, conspiring in whispers only they could hear.

And when the knight was unseated in a rather embarrassing way, his feet nearly meeting his helm as he toppled ass over head, well. He simply deserved it for calling her the Queen who Never Was.

The knight of House Cole was reigned back in, banner removed from its stand as another squire placed a bright red banner where it had stood. It was an unfamiliar sigil, a blonde-haired figure that looked like the Maiden herself draped in a red dress that bled into the fabric behind her. Above her head was a golden loop crossed over itself and connected in a way you could trace it forever if you wished. The knight that rode past the banner held a shield with the same house symbol, though even many of the older members of court now whispered over which house that was. Perhaps a new one?

Alicent frowned, absentmindedly picking at her fingers. “Now, that is a mystery knight…”

Rhaenyra covered her hand with hers. “A new house could make this quite fun.”

Both girls tilted and turned their heads to try to glimpse what the knight looked like under his armor and when they couldn’t, both leaned back into their chairs with a sigh. It would make sense with the armor trying to protect the knights as best they could that no sight would be visible without moving the visor.

Still, it was disappointing.

The knight rounded his horse, settling into the saddle as a squire handed the lance to him, letting him rest it on the stirrup of the saddle. The mystery knight sat quietly, calmly, as his opponent was announced and armed opposite of him, shield glimmering dark blue in the sunlight. The white bird swooped downward as the shield came up.

The start was called and the horses bolted.

Another crack, another knight fell, and the Maiden’s knight lifted his shield as the crowd cheered.

Drums announced Rhaenyra’s uncle as he raced past the man draped with the symbol of House Targaryen. The mystery knight fell into the line of other knights as they all awaited a chance to go against the City Watch’s commander. Jayse wondered how many of them were pissing themselves at the idea of it.

The king watched with a content smile as his daughter laughed to herself, watching her uncle preen on the top of his horse as he watched each knight closely. This was the peace he craved, even amongst such chaos and “wanton violence” as his Small Council had called it. The kingdoms needed this, he thought. Just a moment to live and experience the strength of the men that lived within it and protected it.

Daemon’s lance lowered at Otto’s son, Gwayne Hightower, and the King and Hand exchanged a look. Jaeda smothered a smirk as she rested her cheek against her fist. He truly did make a sport of getting a rise out of his brother’s hand.

Rhaenyra reached for her friend’s hand again, Alicent now chewing at her nails out of fear for her brother. It was one of the reasons she had been dreading these games, even in good fun there had been blood drawn. Knowing Daemon, it was anything but good fun, if fun at all.

Daemon looked up at the stands, a smile on his face as he found the narrowed eyes of Otto Hightower. That was all he needed. He snapped his horse into action and the fight was on.

The first contact of their lances had them both shattering against their shields, Daemon leaning back over the back of the saddle at the force. He wasn’t unseated, though, and he was able to pull him back up before his horse circled back around the fence and another lance was thrown into his hand. The next pass saw Daemon leaning down, his lance used against Gwayne’s horse instead of the knight.

The horse tripped, folded, and nearly landed on top of the boy. Alicent jumped, grasping for Rhaenyra, and Otto found himself nearly out of his seat. The horse stood, other men came to help the stunned and injured Hightower boy, and Alicent looked to her father. Nothing could be done at the moment and the fact he was alive was enough for now.

Daemon trotted his horse in front of the stands, smiling up at his niece and her companion as they leaned against the fence around them.

“Nicely done, Uncle.”

“Thank you, Princess.” He looked to Alicent, who still wore a thinly made mask of neutrality over the worry. “Now, I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but guarantee it.”

Rhaenyra gave her uncle a look as Alicent fetched her green wreath, nervously dropping it down the lance. “Good luck, my Prince.”

Daemon grinned, turning his horse away before looking at his next opponent. However, he frowned and snapped loudly as a squire carried a red banner with black dots across it.

“Bring the Maiden Knight out instead! If he wishes to join the Great Houses, let him prove it!”

The crowd cheered again as the banners were changed and the mystery knight reappeared, though didn’t fall back into line when the lance was given. Instead, he too also rode up to the stands where the princess still stood with her friend, stunned at the demand Prince Daemon had given.

Rhaenyra looked down at the knight, catching the sight of green eyes behind the spaces in the visor. She smiled at the thought that there was finally a feature to pair with her image of the knight in her mind. “Do you wish my favor, ser?”

The Maiden’s knight nodded, bowing slightly on horseback. Still, he didn’t speak and the princess wondered if that was part of the game. Still, she hummed and fetched her ring of red and black, missing the fact her father was no longer seated behind her.

The wreath slid down the lance, resting just above the curve that protected his hand.

“I wish you the best of luck, my Maiden Knight.”

The knight tilted his head before lifting the lance to press the favor against his helmet, just about where his lips would be.

When Rhaenyra turned, Jaeda was watching her and her father was missing. Ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut, she smiled, returning to sit next to Alicent. No one else had left the stand and a part of her reasoned that perhaps her mother had asked him to be beside her or the babe had been born quickly and safely and he was to be the first to meet his new child. Especially if it was the son he wanted.

The first pass had the mystery knight’s lance splintering in his hand. Rhaenyra reached for her necklace with a gasp, worrying her fingers over the grooves of the Valyrian steel. Lances were changed quickly, horses turning to face the other again before bolting down the path again. The mystery knight adjusted his shield, the image of the blonde maiden flashing briefly before it was a blur of red and gold.

The next pass, Daemon twisted from the hit, foot caught in the stirrup still. His body hit the metal rail, grinding horribly against the back of his armor that sent chills through Rhaenyra and rattled in her teeth. The necklace was held tighter between her fingers and she leaned further in her chair as her uncle tumbled off his horse and rolled.

The crowd was deafening as the Maiden Knight dismounted, Daemon screaming for someone to bring him his sword. The Valyrian steel sang as he drew it, swinging around to face the knight with a snarl. Now that he was off the horse, the princess noticed two swords were attached to his belt, one on each side, and she wondered if he used both at once. He only drew one, leveling it with Prince Daemon with a tilt of his head.

Did he want to do this?

Daemon’s first swing hit the red shield, glancing off of it as his dragon shield rose to hit the knight’s helm. He was quicker than he thought he’d be, moving smoothly in his armor as his sword rose again and again to hit the prince’s shield. The corner cracked and splintered, though a good hit to the outside edge of the knight’s own shield sent him off balance for a kick to the side, sending him sprawling. That couldn’t be it, could it? The crowd roared, echoing in the steel helmet.

She didn’t want it to be it.

The knight twisted, sweeping his leg before throwing the shield at the prince, scrambling to his feet in the same movement. The shield caught the prince’s helm and stunned him for the moment it took the second sword to unsheath. The princess gasped and felt Alicent reach for her, but it wasn’t out of fear. It was out of amazement, out of awe.

Daemon dropped to his knees, shield shattered next to him with two swords at either side of his throat. A silent order to yield met with an equally silent denial until his eyes glanced up at the box behind the knight. His niece, watching with wide eyes, Jaeda sat with a stony expression, and his brother nowhere to be found.

Dark Sister dropped to the dirt and the swords at his neck left, leaving both of them heaving for breath in their armor. Someone announced the victor behind them, shouting how the knight of the Maiden had made the gods and his family proud. He didn’t care a thing about that, however, all he cared about was seeing who had dared to make a fool of him like that.

When the knight turned, Daemon rose, grabbing the top of the helmet and pulling. The crowd that hadn’t stopped screaming suddenly fell silent as bright gold curls fell down to the knight’s shoulders, weighed down by sweat and sticking to her face.

Her face.

In the crowd, her brothers and mother pushed away from the others, no doubt journeying to meet her where her armor would be removed and she would once again be faced with her reality.

Fallon Lannister turned to face the prince, smiling through her gasps for air. Despite it all, she was proud. She’d unseated and beaten the Rogue Prince of Westeros. No matter what happened after, she would always have that to her name. She turned again, looking up to the princess who now stood to see her clearer. Fallon took great effort in bowing, arms out as she did, before grinning up at the girl who had given her her favor.

“It seems the Princess’ luck is all I required!”

Rhaenyra laughed, turning to her father’s advisor before she noticed how many people were leaving. Important people. Small Council people. Except Jaeda.

Jaeda, who just looked at her with a neutral expression, but eyes that filled with sorrow.

Rhaenyra dropped into her seat.

When she returned to the Keep, she didn’t even ask what had happened. The look from Jaeda had been all she needed to know.

It was the last one, no matter what happened.

Born to a noble Valyrian family nearly 300 years before the Doom, Jaeda was never meant to survive. She was a cursed dragon's birth and was a test subject on artificial life used by her father. She was hidden away due to her more draconic appearance for most of her childhood and teen years. Jaeda was able to explore only through books and experiments of her own. She was able to hone her magic abilities to glamour herself to be able to hide her scales, horns, wings, and tail. With her draconic appearance gone, Jaeda was able to fit in Valyrian noble society. As she aged, Jaeda discovered her gender fluidity and transitioned magically into a more masculine form, Jayse. While switching back and forth between genders, Jayse felt like home while Jaeda felt like the strong stone walls protecting it. When the close family friends, the Targaryens, moved across the Narrow Sea, Jae followed some time after. Jae, knowing that they were moving to a less accepting world, started the experiment their father could never finish. To fit in once again, Jae made a magical construct to pass off as a twin so they could peacefully exist as both of their genders. The construct could not exist without their magic nor without a part of their consciousness at all times. Just like Jae, the construct's gender could be changed at will, much like a glamour. When they settled near Dragonstone after the Doom, Jae was one of the last surviving noble families of Valyria. During the Conquest Jaeda assumed the role of an advisor to Aegon and his sister-wives while Jayse assumed the role of protector. Switching fluidly between gender and roles, the "twins" had almost everyone convinced they were two separate people. As the conquest proceeded in Aegon's favor, Jae had decided to change their surname to something more Westerosi as a show of faith to the newly conquered kingdoms. Jaeda and Jayse of House Briarwood were seared into history. When Aegon was crowned King, Jaeda officially stepped into the role of the King's Advisor, separate from the Hand of the King. Jayse did not step up into an official protection role, but rather a more informal one. However, he still kept a watchful eye on the new royals. And these roles were theirs for the centuries to come. The Lord and Lady Briarwood remained unchanging as the Targaryen Kings came and went. Advisor and the Watchful Eye.

#my writing #rhaenyra targaryen x oc #rhaenyra targaryen x harwin strong x oc #harwin strong x oc #a rewritten history of fire and blood #jae briarwood #fallon lannister #house of the dragon

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xxpeppermintxx109 · 1 year ago

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the dance of dragons | robert’s rebellion

#thedanceofdragonswip #xxpeppermintx109 #roberts rebellion #the dance of dragons #rhaenyra ii targaryen #rhaegar targaryen #jaime lannister #lyanna stark #robert baratheon #fanfic #ao3 #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfic #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #fanfic edit #oc #a song of ice and fire #fanfiction

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aprilcolours · 4 months ago

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blackheart

A/N: OC is Visenya, daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon, second eldest child after Jace and before Luc. She rides Vermithor, the Bronze Fury. This is about SHOW Benjicot Blackwood NOT book!! The three seconds we’ve seen of him at least lol <3 Valyrian is translated at the bottom

part two - part three - part four

—

When Vermithor landed, a slew of muck and water sprayed into the humid Riverlands air. Visenya the Second wrinkled her nose and brushed some of the mud specks off her riding leathers.

She reassured her dragon, “Sȳz, jikagon arghugon,” and slid promptly off onto his shoulder, before deftly sticking the ten foot drop to the ground. The marshes were full of tents, troops mustered from across the realm to gather here in this central region, where the flags waved black. She had made sure to land a little ways away, wouldn’t want to crush any of our own now would we, she thought with a slight smirk.

She was the daughter of the Rogue Prince, and carried herself as such. There was a latent danger in the way her lithe form prowled forward, a ferocity to the confident tilt of her shoulders. Despite her stature as a young woman, and a slight one at that, she cut an imposing figure.

The bannerman watched her approach, most tilting their head in recognition at least, some falling into deep bows. She stalked through the lines of troops, searching for the central war council.

Visenya had flown to the Riverlands a fortnight hence, to guard their troops from a possible attack by Vhagar, to see her mother’s will done in the strategizing, and for a third purpose that was known only to her and her mother. At the center of a camp, a large table had been brought forth, encrusted with maps of the region and the current positions of hosts. Gathered around the table were a group of knights and lords sworn to Rhaenyra: Lords Darklyn, Staunton, Massey, and a group of young lords that had come to be known as the Lads: Lord Kermit Tully, Ser Oscar Tully, and Lord Benjicot Blackwood.

Benjicot Blackwood had come into his lordship quite recently, with the death of his father mere months ago at the beginning of the war. Despite this, he had already made a formidable reputation for himself as ruthless, bloodthirsty, and a force to be reckoned with. He was not necessarily physically imposing, favoring a lean build, but he had a certain gleam in his eye. Almost rabid, Visenya had thought to herself with a small laugh.

She looked at each of the gathered as she reached the table, daring any of these older men to show anything other than submission. Each of the lords bowed, averting their eyes. Bar one. Lord Blackwood always held her gaze as he bowed, eyes gleaming and a crooked smile playing at his lips.

She raised a brow, unimpressed.

It only seemed to make his smile curl even wider.

“The Western front has shifted closer, your Highness,” Lord Massey informed her. Visenya finally tore her eyes away from the Blackwood to observe the map. Indeed, the Green host mustered at Lannisport had crept closer in the night. It now dared to encroach on the edges of Tully land.

“The numbers mustered are not insignificant,” Lord Darklyn added.

“They are when compared to the whole force of the Reach that soon converges upon us from the South,” Lord Staunton argued. The combined Tyrell, Hightower, and Florent host was decidedly large.

“A problem only made worse if the Lannisters are allowed to join them,” Darklyn shot back. It was clear this argument had been happening for some time at this point.

As she considered the map and heeded the advisors, Visenya felt a certain piercing dark gaze boring holes into her. She did not indulge him further with another look, but she could feel the unending weight of his stare as it did not abate.

“We march on the Lannisters,” Visenya declared, voice carrying high and clear. The council ceased their squabbling.

A short silence descended, as the Lords who disagreed weighed whether they would be endangering themselves if they expressed their opinion.

“We will cut them off at Lydden, before they can turn southwards,” she continued, gesturing to the spot on the map. “Darklyn is right, they cannot be allowed to join the Reach. Lannister forces will have supplies from Lannisport, so they will not have been affected by the blockade. Time is our greatest ally at the moment. We have the whole of the North marching to us,” Visenya spoke plainly and matter-of-factly, but at this point she smiled slightly and tossed her silver braid over one shoulder.

“Furthermore, the Green houses are well… green. The longer they wait, they longer they have to ponder tales of fearsome Northmen who need neither food nor sleep, to whisper legends of Rhaenyra the Cruel and her fleet of dragonriders,” she paused to shoot Blackwood the barest hint of a grin, “to hear word of Bloody Ben and the carnage they march towards.”

The Lads laughed and jostled Ben’s shoulders.

“I hear he slew fifty men in a single evening over his cup of tea!” Ser Oscar teased, voice mockingly high. Blackwood ducked his head and laughed, rustling the other two men back.

“The flower knights will quiver and shake their way back to Highall,” Visenya finished, looking to the council members for dissent.

“What of Vhagar, your highness?” Lord Staunton asked, “The kinslayer will surely come calling.”

Visenya tilted her head.

“That is why I am here,” she answered.

With that, and a few more details of the march agreed upon, the council was adjourned. As he began to walk towards his troops however, Visenya called out to him,

“Oh and Blackwood?”

Ben turned back to face her, taking the address as an invitation to step closer. Closer than any other dared step. She had to tilt her head back slightly to look him in the eye.

“Be sure to give them something to talk about,” she commanded. Her voice did not falter even as she felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest.

With a lopsided grin and another bow, “I swear it, my lady.”

—

The battle at Lydden was a roaring success. Vermithor made sure to roar it across the skies. Together, Visenya and her dragon burned whole battalions and paved the way for the Black troops to carve through the Lannister forces. It was not without its casualties to the numbers, but still a resounding victory for the Queen.

In the aftermath, they had landed in a small forest slightly away from the troops, who she could hear were already carousing. Visenya used the flat of one of her blades to scrape dried blood from Vermithor’s scales.

“Messy business, isn't it,” a voice rang out from behind her, with his signature teasing lilt. Ben stood at the other edge of the clearing, grinning, also covered in blood and mud. She turned, raising an eyebrow at his antics.

“What I thought was courage I see now might be stupidity,” she responded with a teasing tone of her own, “to approach a dragon on your lonesome.”

He approached further, despite her warning, and like a moth to a flame she was drawn closer.

“Ah but I am not alone, am I?” He said, almost breathless still from the battle they had just fought. They drew near together in the center of the clearing. “And my princess is a great dragon rider who would not allow harm to befall me,” he intoned in a low voice.

“Ha! I have left court only to find flatterers in the fields,” she replied. Perhaps the bloodlust had gone to her head but Visenya ignored any thoughts of impropriety, choosing to match his grin with one of her own. “

“What is it you want, Lord Blackwood?”

Surprisingly, his expression shifted. The giddiness receded, and what rose upon his features then was a simmering focus. It was not unlike the expression he wore in the midst of battle. After a heartbeat of tension, Benjicot Blackwood stepped even closer. Gazing down at her with that signature glint of crazed gleam in his eyes, he confessed,

“Since meeting you, your highness… my desires have become uniquely singular.”

Even with her years of courtly training, Visenya could not hide her shock. Or her blush.

“Let none say you are not bold,” she whispered, stupefied. He chuckled slightly and noted,

“So you think me both bold and courageous.”

“Did I say that,” she teased breathlessly, still gathering her bearings.

“You did,” he replied simply, eyes dark and hooded.

He was enjoying watching her on the back foot for once, she could tell. She felt a flicker of temper rise and latched onto it. Visenya leveled her haughtiest at look at him and remarked,

“Our surroundings are hardly appropriate for a marriage proposition, do you not think Lord Blackwood?”

Her indignance only seemed to amuse him further.

“On the contrary, my lady, they are perfect. Together, we have won a great victory and live to see another day. In war, this is the best one could hope for.”

She considered his words, considered the whole of Benjicot Blackwood and his proposition.

Certainly an unconventional choice, she thought. I think mother would like it.

She considered her third purpose for venturing out across the realm: to seek a husband.

And she kissed him.

Benjicot Blackwood kissed like he was drowning man and she was air itself. He kissed like she might change her mind at any moment and he would make every second count. He was all teeth and tongue and grasping pulling hands at her waist, her arms, her face.

“Do not get blood in my hair,” she broke away to command, voice breathy but firm.

His laugh echoed into the night.

—

A/N: Truly insane that I wrote this and he's not even in the show yet lmaoo

Sȳz, jikagon arghugon - good, go hunt

i will post this on ao3 too, and i might add more if i feel so inclined!!

#hotd #house of the dragon #benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood x oc

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mmogurl · 2 months ago

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In The Shadow of Dragons Chapter 1: Requited Passions

18+ | 7.2k | Daemon Targaryen X Female OC | possessive, protective, objectifying, simping, raunchy Daemon | Uncle / niece incest, Smut, Dragons, Political Intrigue, Plotting, Murder, lots of old timey concepts that don't make a lot of sense today, but are still kind of hot/fun.

The second born daughter of King Viserys Targaryen, Ryna, is nine and ten years old and still unwed. Despite being surrounded by suitors, she has yet to find a man who captures her interest, and bristles at the pressure to select a husband. But a chance encounter with her enigmatic uncle, Daemon, promises to disrupt all her assumptions and to set her on a path she could never have anticipated. (Loosely set in episode 6, but Laena has already died a year prior)

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6 | CH 7 | CH 8 | CH 9 Also on AO3

The Great Hall was bristling with celebration held in honor of Viserys’ latest grandson, Joffrey Velaryon. The massive chamber was alight with dancing shadows, decorated grandiosely with Targaryen tapestries hung where all could witness to demonstrate wealth and power. Long tables filled with the most toothsome of fine delicacies lined both sides of the throne room. Perhaps Father was trying to distract the noble assembly with pomp, away from the very obvious fact that Rhaenyra’s children were all bastards.

Numerous guests filed in with their entourages in tow, announced by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Criston Cole. Ryna grimaced at who he declared next.

“House Lannister with their lord, Jason Lannister, Lord Paramount of the West, and Master of Casterly Rock,” Cole’s voice was stout enough, but had nowhere near the authority his predecessor, Lord Harrold Westerling had in his day.

The Lannister strode at the head of his retinue, like a preening peacock adorned in so much crimson and gold that one might think he were royalty and not the hosting family.

Ryna sat sandwiched between her good-brother Laenor Velaryon and Lyonel Strong, a position that made her feel most irritable as she was not even allowed the courtesy of being placed next to her own kin. The Hand was pleasant enough, albeit mostly a stranger, but she had never grown close to Laenor given how much time he spent preoccupied with affairs outside of his marriage.

As always her father, Viserys, sat proudly next to Rhaenyra, his named heir and, one might wonder at times, favored daughter, despite how much he protested to the contrary.

When the Lannister party drew close to the high table, Lord Jason bowed before them with a flourish and as his party withdrew, he climbed the steps and approached the King.

“Congratulations, Your Grace,” he fawned in the manner only a Lannister could muster, a tone both disrespectful and servile at the same time. “Healthy babes are a worthy cause for celebration. Where is the strapping lad? I had hoped to pay my respects.”

Rhaenyra piped up this time, looking exhausted and not fully recovered from child bearing even though it had been days since Joffrey’s birth. Ryna supposed the wee babe had been keeping her awake more often than not.

“Prince Joffrey is resting. He would not tolerate staying up any longer. You know how babes are, always sleeping,” she replied, playing into Jason’s feigned deference.

It was then that the Lannister shot a glance down the table at Ryna. She tried to smile just politely enough so as not to encourage more attentions from the man, but it was without success.

“Your Grace…” he started off in that same falsely sycophantic tenor. “Has the Princess given any more thought to the courtship I proposed?”

Father looked down the table at her, leaning forward slightly so that he might see the expression on her face. Ryna’s eyes were pleading ‘No’ while trying to remain civil in the lord’s presence. Viserys’ features hardened with annoyance and he rested back into his chair.

“The Princess should be happy to consider your attentions. After all she is but ten and nine summers and still not wed,” his voice was stony and strict, markedly cross with her for shirking her duties even longer than Rhaenyra had.

Jason Lannister ruffled his feathers as he voiced appreciation to her father and stepped down the length of the table until he came to stand before her. Ryna had to choke back a smirk when the thought occurred to her that the Lannister’s sigil should be a primping cock instead of a lion, for Jason had more in common with a fowl than the fearsome and proud predator.

“Princess, I trust you will save me a dance?” he squawked and it took all she had to keep from rolling her eyes.

“I shall try, Lord Jason,” she answered with a prim smile through grit teeth. “But, I have not been feeling well. It might be something I ate.”

Father shot her an irate look and Ryna had no doubt that if they had been seated next to each other, that she would have felt his palpable frustration.

“The Princess is in good health,” Viserys said, with a snide smile. “Expect her company once the revelry starts.”

With a pompous smirk, Jason Lannister excused himself and made his way down the steps and back to the banquet. Ryna heaved a sigh, finding it difficult to hide her true feelings on this subject, despite years of learning to comport herself in the presence of refined company.

Viserys was still glaring at her, and she reckoned he might be wrathful enough to cause a row amongst guests and their kin alike.

“Ryna, draw near,” he called out and she rose from her seat and came to where he sat.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the birth of my grandchild, but unofficially, I had hoped you’d make use of the congregation of eligible lords and find a husband once and for all. Enough of this procrastination. Find a man worthy or I shall make the choice for you.” His voice was low so that the company in attendance of the great feast could not hear them.

“You would wed me to a Lannister?” she practically spat. “Just to fill the coffers with his dowry?!”

“Watch your tone with me, girl. You have heard me and I will not suffer your insolence any longer. Leave me so I might enjoy the festivities.” Viserys turned his head back to the next guests approaching the King’s table. He was done with her, his decision final.

Ryna could not help but to stomp swiftly away with a childish petulance that did not become a lady. Leaving her family behind, she slipped into the shadows of the great pillars that lined the throne room and made her way down a short corridor until she was outside in the crisp night air.

She let out a troubled sigh, wishing now that she had brought a goblet of wine with her. Ryna walked to the edge of the stone parapet and looked down at the splendor of King’s Landing in fall of the leaf. The color marking the trees was apparent even at nightfall and the sea was glittering in the moonlight just past the city’s edge. The sight made her feel both reverence and panic in equal measure, with a mounting desire to climb atop her dragon and take flight away.

Why should a princess of Valyrian blood be constrained to laws of man when she had the power to tame a dragon? She should be free to do as she longed to - to wed whom she desired, and not be forced to play along to such formal vulgarities, duty or not.

Ryna was so deep in thought that the nearby sound of a clearing throat startled her back to awareness. She turned sharply and could just barely make out the figure of a man leaning against the massive stone bricks of the castle wall behind her. Then her eyes caught the blinding billow of moonlit tresses and she knew it must be her uncle, Daemon, for no other Targaryen males yet had his height.

Daemon had returned from exile a year ago to attend to the funeral of his wife, Laena Velaryon, who had died in childbirth. Although to be more technically accurate, her dragon Vhagar had incinerated her once the baby would not come out. The end result was the same; Daemon widowed once again.

She had been closer with her uncle in the past, back before Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor, but her uncle had made himself scarce as of late. He spent much of his time away from King’s Landing, presumably finishing up his business in Pentos or simply behaving restlessly as Daemon was wont to do. Often she had observed his comings and goings from a distance by the sight and screech of Caraxes in the sky outside her window.

Daemon stepped forth from the shadows and approached her, yet halted at a pace’s length, his eyes roving up and down her form in keen appraisal.

He leaned in closely, his eyes of violet hooded as he whispered in a velvety, ardent tone, “My you’ve grown, niece.” His closeness and the heat of his gaze caused her cheeks to flush, and she could not help but feel a flutter in her chest.

For a moment, Ryna just stood there incredulously, unable to think of how to respond. He had never shown any interest in her before, no matter how much she had desired it. Daemon had only ever had eyes for Rhaenyra it seemed, and Ryna had always remained a child in his eyes. She had honestly forgotten those long lost unrequited desires until his simple greeting brought them all rushing back like a wave breaking hard as the tide comes in.

“Uncle,” she acknowledged him, yet scarce a word could she find in answer to his bold suggestion.

“Such beauty should never be sullied with a frown,” he continued, his demeanor charming without effort as he brushed a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Tell Uncle what is troubling you.”

His inquiry proved to be somewhat of a balm to her tensions, providing a welcome transition into a topic she could put words to.

“Father has given me ultimatum to choose a husband lest he choose one for me,” she pouted, her lips pursing and her eyes sullen.

“Surely it cannot be so grim, sweetling,” he reassured her smoothly and she now saw he was holding a silver chalice adorned with the the three-headed dragon, likely filled with wine. “I imagine you’d have your pick of many fine and wealthy lords.”

“I’m afraid the selection is quite lacking,” Ryna scoffed gently, feeling a fondness stir as she recalled the old pet name he’d given her in many years past. It had been some time since she had heard him utter the word, but the fact that it sounded so well when spoken by him did not escape her notice.

Daemon quickly turned her around by the shoulder, then with a firm yet gentle hand placed against the small of her back, he led her towards the balustrade. His hand remained steadfast even as they halted, and Ryna shivered involuntarily at the feel of his fingers tracing the fabric of her gown with a tender and possessive touch.

“Let me guess,” he relished with sardonic glee. “Some old and fat oaf of a lord… No doubt a widower with a dozen children?”

“That and much worse,” she scowled thinking of all of the potential suitors that had approached her father for her hand. “A Lannister so full of himself that is makes my skin crawl to think of his paws upon me.”

An easy laugh escaped Daemon’s mouth and she thought with a wry smile that many must share her disgust for the lions.

“Ah, Lannisters. What a bunch of cunts,” he chuckled condescendingly, stealing a wanton glance down her bodice. “And the rest? Are there none suitable, niece?”

Ryna pondered the question, but could not think of a single man that had caught her attention. Except for Daemon of course, but that had never been a real option, especially after his transgressions with Rhaenyra some years back. Father had tried to keep it secret, but she’d crept into the throne room upon hearing his furious yelling and had heard the entire ordeal take place between the brothers.

Even still, she could not imagine marrying anyone of plain blood. In fact, it repulsed her to think that Father would ever marry a Hightower without an ounce of Valyrian heritage. And even though her brothers were technically half Targaryen, they were both young, and while Aemond seemed sweet, Aegon was a reprehensible human being.

The answer it seemed was simple after all. “No,” she replied curtly with a rueful sigh. “There are none who please me… But, I fear Father will not be thwarted this time. He will not permit me to celebrate my twentieth nameday without a husband.”

She glanced over at her uncle and took in the almost ethereal way his pale skin glowed in the moonlight. He hadn’t changed at all, like an ageless god from the legends she’d so loved as a girl. His hair swayed against his shoulder in the slight breeze as he took a sip from his cup.

“Ah yes, sweetling, It would seem your father has you in quite the bind,” he said matching her somber tone. “No doubt he believes that time is running short. That you must fulfill your duty to the family and start producing heirs before you get much older.”

“He has been patient with me. Rhaenyra shirked her duty at first, but still acquiesced to marry at seven and ten years, but I… Well, they will be calling me an old maid soon.” She hung her head down, feeling ashamed for the way she’d behaved towards her father. He had meant well for her after all, and Ryna had done nothing but rebuke him as reward for years of lax freedom.

Daemon removed his hand from her back, sliding it gently up her arm until it came to rest below her chin. He tipped her jaw up to meet his face and she was met with a kind smile.

“Do not ever lower your head, sweetling. You are a dragon,” he said warmly, letting go so that he could sit against the stone wall beneath the balustrade. “Now, perhaps we can solve this little problem.. What would make a suitor worthy of your hand in marriage?”

She felt a hot wave of embarrassment rise within her, for she knew well the answer that rested upon her tongue, yet dared not speak the words aloud. Surely, Father would never let her have him even if she begged on her knees. Even so, Ryna didn’t see the point in lying completely. She would be honest about the qualities she sought in a partner, even if not being direct about the person whom she had in mind.

“It is important to me that my offspring remain pure. I do not wish to mix with those who are laden to the ground. That doesn’t leave me with many options,” she spoke softly, her head tilting up towards her uncle as she finished.

There was an intrigued sparkle in Daemon’s eyes as he comprehended her words and a smile wove its way across his face. “A dragon’s clutch should remain undiluted and pure, I agree. The blood of Old Valyria is powerful and should be preserved.” He hummed in approval as he wrapped his free hand around her waist and pulled her a touch closer. She gasped softly, unaccustomed to being so close to him.

“Tell me, little dragon. Have you never considered your uncle as a match before?” Daemon’s words cut like his sword, Dark Sister, through the cool night air.

Ryna’s lips parted as if to speak, unsure of how to proceed. He had taken the bait she’d unintentionally laid out and given he suggested it himself, the prince must be partial to the idea. But, Daemon was an enigma and she found it difficult to gage his intentions at all times.

“I have,” she said concisely. “It is the only obvious choice when it comes to such aims, but… It is… complicated.”

She saw his eyes flare, brow rising in challenge as he gripped more tightly around her waist. He placed his chalice down on the stone and drew her even closer to him. His knee wedged between her skirts to rest between her legs and her breast was now pressing indecently against his chest. It was not a position she was familiar to enduring. Ryna knew she should pull away, but Daemon had lulled her into compliance like a Dragonkeeper.

“Oh? And why is it so complicated, sweetling?” he asked with a smug grin and mock concern as he looked down at her.

Her uncle’s words snapped her out of it. How could he feign ignorance to the current situation?

“After your,” she began but found her mouth grow exceptionally dry after only two words. She turned her head to the side and brought her hand to her lips, clearing her throat before she continued. “After your exploits with Rhaenyra, Uncle… I doubt Father would consider letting us wed.”

Daemon’s gaze darkened with the mention of Rhaenyra. “Ah yes, that little indiscretion.” He said with an air of indifference that turned into an irritated smirk. “What do you know of it?”

“I overheard the two of you in the Great Hall that day. Father’s booming voice drew me in and then I stayed once I saw you lying on the floor with guards on either side. I was worried for you, but then I heard Father’s words. That you had taken Rhaenyra’s purity in some brothel… And you did not deny it.” The memory was not a fond one for Ryna. She could remember the inebriated state he’d been in as he asked her father for Rhaenyra’s hand in marriage as a result of their transgression.

“No, I did not deny it. And I did not confirm it either,” his voice was harder than usual, sterner as though upset by her knowledge of what transpired that day. “In all truth, I didn’t do much. I merely took her to a decent establishment to show her the reality of life outside the castle.”

“If you did not sully her virture, then why would you not refute such slanderous claims made against you, Uncle? Why accept exile for it… Again?” she asked furrowing her eyebrows, her hands with a mind of their own coming to rest on his shoulders.

He chuffed like a dragon, the only aspect missing was perhaps smoke escaping from his nostrils. “Why would I deny it? What would be the point?” his words were gruff. “What could I have said to convince your father that Rhaenyra was still untouched? Was I supposed to prostrate myself before him as a loyal dog to prove it?”

“You were already at his feet. Why not tell him the truth? Unless you hoped only to make him believe you besmirched her honor, just so you might wed her and recover your claim to the throne,” there was a certain amount of hurt in her voice as well as misgiving.

Ryna had never spoken to her uncle in this manner, or anyone so far her elder for that matter. But, part of her felt scorned, wronged for how much stock he had placed in Rhaenyra instead of her. She had to know what his true motivations had been and what he was capable of carrying out in order to get what he desired.

“You are treading on thin ice, little girl,” he voiced dangerously as his grip on her hips tightened. “How dare you make me out to be some incorrigible fiend. If anyone has been wronged in this whole… ordeal it has been me.”

His knee shifted a bit higher between her legs as he pulled her hips forward onto his lap, his thigh pressed firmly against her center. She whined faintly with the force of it, even through the layers of her skirts it made her core throb with unknown want.

“Iksos bona skoros ao pendagon hen issa?” he resumed in a more measured tone, his voice lower now. Is that what you think of me?- “That I only wanted Rhaenyra for the throne?”

His hands slid up her back, pulling her flush against him. Ryna’s lips pressed against the leather of his collar as he whispered in her ear, “Or do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

Was she so transparent? The very thought of him reading her so accurately made her feel about as obvious as the sun is bright. Despite Daemon’s embarrassing insinuation, it was impossible to think whilst being held in such close proximity to him. She attempted to regain her composure, but his hot breath against her ear and the way he dug into her heat with his knee was driving her mad.

“And what if I was?” she finally blurted out. “You never once glanced my way, not like you did her. I do not wish to be second best even to my own husband.” Ryna tried to make distance, attempting to push away from his chest.

Daemon wouldn’t allow it. His grip was strong and possessive, making it clear that he was not willing to let her go just yet.

“Who said you would be second best?” his words spilled out gravely, sweet, yet viscous as they fell from his lips. “Have you so easily forgotten how I used to dote on you? How I called you my little sweetling? Do you not remember how I would let you ride with me on Caraxes before you claimed your own beast?”

Ryna was taken aback by his perception of the past, not realizing that her uncle had remembered her so fondly. Perhaps she had spent too much time dwelling on inconsequential matters. She peered up at Daemon as he held her forearms tightly in front of his chest. The matter of Rhaenyra was still of some concern, but clearly she was mistaken about a great deal.

“Yes, Uncle, I do recall. And that is what made my envy all the more dire when you attempted to pursue my sister, barely noticing me as I tried to bid you welcome home. I felt you had forsaken me in favor of her.” She didn’t feel obligated to mention how desperately lonely she had felt when he was sent away once again, nor the deep sense of heartache she had experienced upon hearing about his wedding to Laena.

Dameon’s grip on her lessened and the softness now present in his features made her feel a little more relaxed. His hands caressed up her back once more as he sat down on the stone parapet and brought her fully onto his lap. Ryna’s dress protested, the skirts fighting as he pulled her knees forward to straddle him. It was an obscene, intimate position for a young maiden, but she couldn’t help be reminded of better times when she found great comfort in that same lap.

“Your envy?” he mused almost sympathetically. “Have you been pining away for me all of this time, sweetling?”

“No,” she answered abruptly, feeling the hot sting of mortification as he continued to reveal the inner yearnings of her heart.

He let out a deep, hearty chuckle as he brought a hand to her face. Long fingers traced the outline of her cheek before wrapping around her chin. She had forgotten the contentment of his affections even though the way she recieved them had been altered now that she was grown.

“No?” he echoed with mock disbelief.” He gently gripped her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at only him as he spoke harshly. “Do not attempt to deceive me, niece. You could never tell-tale when you were young, and you still lack the talent.”

Daemon’s hand released her chin, sliding it down to rest against the base of her throat. “You forget I can see right through you… I know what you’re really thinking.”

“What am I thinking then?” Her voice was not haughty, but tinged with awe as his rakish wiles seduced her into calm once more.

“You’re thinking…” he paused, bringing his hand to brush a strand of hair from her face before caressing her cheek. “You’re thinking that you would welcome my touch further. You’d welcome my affections. My attention.”

His hand slipped further down, sliding along the neckline of her bodice he drew a finger against the top of her breast. “You’d welcome more than that. You want so much more than that. No matter how you pretend otherwise.”

Ryna’s breath stuttered out disjointedly, her chest heaving not just from his capricious words, but the unfamiliar touch of his hand at the swell of her breast. It was not at all unpleasant, but it was unseemly. The sounds of the banquet carried on from inside, but nobody had disturbed their solitude yet. She would venture an allowance, just this once.

“And what do you want, Uncle?” Ryna gazed at him, entranced at being the object of his focus after having been starved of it for so long.

As Daemon looked into her eyes, his expression darkened with what appeared to be lust and longing. His palm lowered over the curve of her breast, cupping her soft mound gently as he leaned his forehead against hers. A low whimper struck against Ryna’s closed mouth as his fingers grazed lightly down her bust, traveling over her ribcage and then rounding to her hips.

“Nyke jaelagon ao, jorrāelagon mēre,” he purred deeply. I want you, dear one- His lips brushed against hers as though trying to lure them open. “I’ve always wanted you, but thought it too wicked, even for the likes of me, to tarnish you with my degeneracy.”

His hands slid around to the small of her back, pulling her closer with a satisfied grunt. “But, now that I know you’ve been hungering for me, sweetling, I’m beginning to think… that you’ve always been mine. That I’ve wasted so much time hiding from the truth.”

She could feel the heat of his breath upon her face, coaxing her so enticingly into his thrall. Her lips parted to release a quiet breath, but before the air had fully escaped her mouth, Daemon sealed them with a kiss. Even though she had never kissed a man, she was consumed by his fiery passion. She closed her eyes, her fingers wrapping around his back as she whispered hushed, sultry mewls against his lips.

His tongue swept her lower lip, teasing at her mouth until she yielded to him and allowed entrance. The kiss was urgent and demanding, filled with untold desire she’d only read about in old tales of Valyrian mythology. One of Daemon’s hands roamed to the exposed skin at her right knee, bunching the fabric up higher and groaning as his fingers felt the bare skin of her thighs. His lips tasted of Westerosi strongwine and spices, his tongue plundering her mouth as though it were an indulgent ambrosia all its own.

“I should stop before I go too far, sweetling,” he groaned, tearing his mouth away as he regarded her. “I don’t want to ruin you out here in the open… Or at least I do not wish to get caught doing so.” A wicked smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, but the yearning was still present in his eyes.

Ryna fussed at the loss of his sweet kiss, an aching throb now coursing throughout her entire core. Lost in the affections she’d always wanted, she could not possibly think to stop now.

“No, please,” she pleaded without meaning to. The words were barely a soft gasp against his neck as her lips found the pulse of his throat and pressed a gentle kiss to it.

Daemon chuckled at her protestations, leaning his forehead against hers again. It was a simple gesture he had always used in the past to ease her distress, although there was an entirely new meaning to it now, it still made her feel at peace in much the same way.

“What will people say if they see us?” he whispered with feigned anxiety, his hot breath skimming against her dampened lips. “A wicked prince spoiling a young innocent maiden with his turpitude. What sort of debauchery is this?”

Her uncle’s words were laced with a sense of mockery, but she knew he spoke true. She sighed and kissed him once more, making sure to keep it brief lest she become unable to refrain from continuing. Ryna slipped off his lap, feeling her senses slowly return to her. She glanced at the glowing light coming from the hall and exhaled with relief when there was nobody present to see their misconduct.

She smoothed her skirts so that they were not so unkempt and tucked away any loose strands of hair back against her scalp. Daemon took his time in rising from his seat on the parapet, adjusting the front of his trousers slightly as he did so.

“You should return to the party,” his voice was rough with lust and did not sound pleased by the prospect. “At least for now we should keep up appearances. For now…”

“And what of our earlier conversation?” she asked almost demurely, with a submissive tone she was not frequently used to employing. “What of Father’s ultimatum?”

Daemon took a few steps forward, crowding into her as he rested his hands firmly at her waist. “I won’t suffer any suitor but myself to claim you,” he hissed possessively. “Especially not some timid lordling whose ineptitude would bring your heart naught but bitterness, my sweetling.”

Ryna couldn’t help but smile with the ornery way he insisted no other man should wed her, but it would still be difficult to convince Father to allow it.

“How shall we persuade my father that you are worthy than, Uncle?” she peered up at him, her fingers gently clutching the sleeves of his doublet.

“Worthy,” Daemon said with a scoff. “I have the blood of Old Valyria. I am the Prince of the City. I am a dragon, little niece.” He let his hands slide around to her back, gripping her hips greedily. With a swift tug, he yanked her flush against his chest and whispered quietly in her ear. “Name another who is more worthy?”

Gods, he was too good at this. With barely his low trill in her ear, Ryna’s knees felt weak.

“I do not question your value, Daemon. There is no better match in my eyes,” she placed her small hands on his chest and pushed him back so she might look upon him face to face. “But I fear Father will think the worst of your intentions.”

He let out a gruff chuckle at that, a knowing smile spreading wickedly as he tilted his head. “Intentions?” he mused with thick sarcasm. “Yes, how horrible it would be to bed, wed, and impregnate his sweet innocent darling daughter. I’m sure the thought of the latter will be a dagger to his heart.”

“I am speaking in all earnestness, Uncle,” she ruffled, her lower lip pouting out at his jest. “He will think you wish to claim the throne by way of wedding me.”

Daemon chuffed, clearly amused by her petulant scolding. “So, my brother thinks me a scheming opportunist, does he?” With a shrug he dismissed the notion, yet added, “Well, he isn’t wrong.”

A wolfish smirk pulled at his lips as he leaned his head down to her ear once more. “Although, if the throne comes to me as a result of seeding your belly with my babe, my sweet niece, then I certainly won’t complain.”

“You are awful…” she scoffed with disbelief, making space between them again. “How can you not take this seriously? I don’t want you to be sent away again. You know you should renounce any claim to the throne.” Her pale lilac eyes grew wide, peering at him with thinly veiled worry and beginning to gleam as tears threatened to come.

He clenched his jaw at the mention of relinquishing the Iron Throne. “Daor. Nyke jāhor daor,” he growled. No. I will not.- “Do not ask me to lie down like a whipped dog. And do not bring tears to your eyes in an attempt to soften me.” Daemon’s eyes remained cold as they narrowed at her, the fondness all but gone from his voice as he continued.

“I have spent my entire life living to the expectations of others. I will follow the path I know I am destined for.” He gripped her chin roughly, forcing her to look up at him and meet his gaze. “I will claim what is mine by right, and you will be a part of it whether you wish it or not, little niece.”

Ryna attempted to speak, but he stopped her by placing a single finger over her lips.

“You have made it clear that you are mine. You will do as I say. You will wed me and stand at my side when I ascend to the throne. Those are the only outcomes I will accept,” he ordered sternly. “And to ensure it, I will have to use any means necessary. If that includes ruining your innocence to ensure you do not wed another… So be it.”

There was a palpable tension in the air between them. She wished to have the sweet man she had shared her first kiss with back and not the tyrant that stood before her. But, Ryna understood his ambitions, just as everyone in their family did. She knew she had touched upon a sensitive subject, perhaps too insistently, and now regretted digging into a wound that ran exceptionally deep.

Most distressing of all, was that she believed his purpose to be true, even though the thought of what lengths he might have to go to achieve it sometimes haunted her. Now, he might not even trust that she had any faith in him or his calling at all.

“I am grieved,” she replied with a quiet whisper. “I did not mean to say that you should not seek the throne, Uncle, but use it as pretense so that Father lets his guard down. He knows you want it and he does not wish you to have it.”

The truth of it was that between Rhaenyra’s bastards and the Hightower half-blood mongrels, the pairing she’d make together with Daemon would have the strongest claim to the throne. If something were to happen to Rhaenyra, the throne would pass to Ryna, but the realm was still not wont to have even a Targaryen Queen rule over it. If she wed Daemon though, then there would be no question of a higher authority. She had no desire to rule and would pass it to her uncle gladly.

His grip on her chin faltered, the anger leaving his voice and replaced by a tired sigh. “My sweetling, you know not how difficult it has been for me to restrain myself for all these years. You have grown more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.” He spoke low and deliberate as he gently brushed along the line of her jaw. “It was a challenge unto itself, not to ravish you the moment you became a woman, but I was certain your father would geld me for it.”

She could not help but laugh at his admission, although Father had certainly not opted to castrate her uncle for his supposed transgression with Rhaenyra.

“You laugh but only I know how it felt to resist you day after day, year after year,” he growled, voice husky with need. “I was tempted on so many occassions to claim you as my own, to steal you away to Dragonstone and keep you there.”

He leaned closer, burying his nose in her platinum tresses and inhaling deeply of her scent. “And now you’ve left yourself vulnerable, sweetling. Now that I know you want me as much as I desire you… There is nothing that can keep me away.”

“Not even the King,” he added with a huff, his lips moving to trail the smooth skin along her neckline.

She was not sure how to reply to such conviction, especially when it concerned her father. Ryna did not wish ill of him, but then she was sure Daemon would not hurt his own brother. Well, mostly certain at least.

Daemon must have sensed her hesitation, for he murmured softly against her temple. “Let me handle your father, my sweet little niece… Just focus on being my good girl, alright?” His grip was firm, but tender on her shoulders as he pushed himself away from her. “Now, you must head back, before anyone comes. I wouldn’t be surprised if Viserys hasn’t had the servants upturning the keep for you by now,” he chuckled wryly and pressed a kiss against her forehead before disengaging from her completely.

As he released her, Ryna suddenly felt an unbearable emptiness. His lips left her skin feeling warm and wanting more, but he was already taking steps away from her, retrieving his chalice from the surface of the parapet. The tone of his voice told her he would brook no disagreement in this and she knew it would be for the best that she return.

“Return to the celebration, sweetling,” he said with his back to her as he looked out over the city. “And do not worry your pretty little mind of all this. I will take care of your father. You have my word.”

Ryna had so wished to ask him if he would dance with her this evening, but soon realized something as she turned and headed back inside. That once they were wed there would be a week-long celebration and she would have as many chances to dance with her uncle as she liked.

She paused for a moment as she stood in the flickering shadows of the hallway that led back to the Great Hall. Ryna had seen it clear as day when she was only but ten and two years old. She did not understand what it meant, but had spent weeks combing the library for information trying to understand it with no answers to be found.

She’d had a strange daydream or perhaps a vision. In it, Ryna had seen a beautiful young woman with flowing silver-gold hair standing beside her uncle Daemon as he sat upon the Iron Throne.

It had befuddled her for years until finally she began to mature, her skinny, tomboyish body blossoming outwards like the petals of a flower. And, one day she looked in her hand mirror and realized that the woman she’d seen, was none other than herself.

It did naught but break her heart when she then found out that his affections, nay his ambitions, laid with Rhaenyra. And, she’d forced herself to tuck that long lost song of what might come to pass away, when she heard Laena gave birth to twins. Ryna locked it all tightly, somewhere she might never think of it again.

And yet now, it might all be coming to pass regardless. She didn’t know whether she should be excited or aghast at what might happen in the coming months.

She stepped into the Great Hall and was pleased to see that most every guest had imbibed much of her father’s generosity since her departure. Nobody seemed to take notice of her as she walked through the crowd aside from Ser Criston Cole who eyed her wearily. She cared little for the man, thinking him a miscreant since observing him beat a man to death at Rhaenyra’s wedding. Ryna wondered how it was he still held such an esteemed post regardless.

Heading right up to the King’s table, she was not surprised to see that most everyone had abandoned her father as they always tended to do once a banquet got underway. He sat alone in his chair without a soul to even pour his wine. Ryna lamented how lonely he appeared. The most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms and here he sat deep in his drink and completely alone.

Father’s eyes brightened as he saw her, a slur in his voice, “Daughter! I was wondering where you ran off to. Come and pour your father another.”

“Do you think it wise, Father?” she asked with a playful tone, knowing he would not be denied despite her pestering.

“Your King demands it, girl,” he jested with a smile and she obediently filled his cup.

“I’m sorry, Father,” she apologized, her voice demure and meek in an attempt to show him the deference he deserved, not just as her King, but as her forebear.

He waved a hand, scoffing as though it mattered not. “I should bid you apology, my child. For suggesting you dance with that Lannister fellow. He is truly insufferable.” Father’s eyes grew wide with joy as he let out a boisterous laugh and she could not help but join in the royal ribbing of Jason Lannister.

“But you still must choose a husband, Ryna,” he said somberly, the mirth still poking at the edge of his words.

“I know,” she replied with a smile, trying to show her appreciation for the years of independence he’d allowed her. “I will perform my duty for you and the realm, Father.”

“That’s my good girl. Disobedience never suited you,” he took a long swig from his ornate chalice. “Besides, I have all that I can handle of that with Rhaenyra,” he quipped with a chuckle and quick raise of his brow. “Now leave me, child. I have wont to pass swiftly from drink to slumber tonight.”

“Good evening, Father,” she bowed her head to him slightly and turned to give him the space he desired.

She glanced around the hall looking for a certain blond uncle, but did not catch sight of him. Perhaps he was being cautious by not being seen together with her in front of the masses gathered for the celebration. It was an intelligent idea that she thought she would abide by as well for now. After all, she’d had enough excitement for one night.

Ryna nodded at several lords and ladies she know of, but barely knew as she retired from the banquet hall. The path to her chambers was quiet and uneventful and after minimal effort undressing, she soon found herself comfortably lying in her bed, ensconced in plush blankets.

Thoughts swirled of the moments she’d shared with Daemon on the balcony. Ryna could still taste him upon her lips and feel his hands upon her body. As though attempting to reprise the memory, she ran her fingers gently over her breast in much the same way he had. It was too much to bear. She clenched her thighs together and turned harshly on her side with a squeal of flustered arousal.

She tried to clear her mind of lustful thoughts and peered out the window at the high moon. Would Daemon be able to convince Father that he would be a worthy suitor? Truly there was no better man in terms of Valyrian descent, but her father had been so angry with her uncle, so many times over the years. She worried he might not be able to let it go.

Given all that had occurred and the pressing marital matters at hand, she’d thought it might be difficult to sleep, but surprisingly it found her quickly.

Notes: This was the longest chapter I have ever written! I could not stop - a woman possessed!

So, I know this is not entirely necessary, but I thought I would write up a little post-chapter introduction to explain some of the setting I’ve chosen for this story.. And why I decided to make these choices.

I wanted the OC to be young, but not too young as it wouldn’t make sense that she would remain unmarried if allowed to get too old. I also did not want such a huge gap of time to pass after Rhaenyra and Laenor’s wedding. Ten years is such a huge amount of time, and I wanted the OC to have been within a comparable age to Rhaenyra when she last sees Daemon.

Now, with that in mind, the timeline of the show is also very confusing when you compare it against the timelines on the wiki, which is based on lore. There is an understanding of an approximate amount of time that has gone by on the show, but even when using those estimations, the years don’t come close to the dates on the wiki. I know I shouldn’t focus on such trivial matters, but it did in fact bother me while planning my own outline. I decided that I would base it more loosely off the official lore dates of events and ages of characters, and not the show's. This is something you may or may not notice, but it is worth mentioning. Any changes made are not necessarily for lack of being informed about it, they are just conscious changes.

One glaring issue is the birth of Rhaenyra’s first three children.. All of which are born in pretty quick succession, 115 AC, 116, AC and then 117 AC. That means that technically, this fic should be starting in 117 AC.. Only 4 years after the events of Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor (114AC). And Baela and Rhaena were born in 116 AC, which certainly causes some difficulty in lining these dates up with the show. Laena dies in 120 AC and yet her children look much older than 4 and the same can be said for Rhaenyra’s as well.

So, I’ve decided after much deliberation, that Joffrey’s birth will take place in 119AC instead of 117AC, meaning that instead of 10 years, only about 5 years have passed since the wedding. And Laena’s death will be moved to 118AC, 2 years earlier than in the lore, and much earlier in the show. I think if you add the time skips together.. That the (10 years later) jump that occurs ends up being about 126AC which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me, except for the fact that they’re likely trying to line things up for the Dance of the Dragons, but the timing still feels off.

I also wanted to say that I had several starting points in mind for this story, but this was the one I just happened to like the most in terms of the timeline and how close it is to Viserys’ death and all the major events that take place afterwards! So please enjoy, and I do hope I can capture the tone and feel of the show and characters without stepping on my own feet too much. I have never attempted to write a story in this time period or style, so I guess we’ll see how it goes. Expect some growing pains until I’m more practiced and do not judge me too harshly.

Another thing worth mentioning is that I wrote the first chapter in a rather obsessive flurry that lasted most of one day and all of a night. Suffice it to say, it slipped my mind to add in the High Valyrian, given how much I had my hands full with grasping a more Shakespearean take on English. I will likely add placeholder Valyrian in, so that it does not hold me up too much as I write. When finished, I’ll take the time to research how to make it more accurate. So don’t worry too much if you do happen to know High Valyrian and find any glaring errors.

But! Please DO tell me what you thought! Also.. Yes, there will be a lot more. This is planned to be a rather big story... Read Chapter 2 here.

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bucknastysbabe · 10 months ago

Note

Hi, could you write something that deals with this? ......

https://www.tumblr.com/mhsdatgo/737617577019408384/gorgeous-little-piece-of-shit-king-that-lives-in

So at first I was like lmfaooooo but then I was like wait I can put this little blonde bitch in the WORST situation. I shall do my best, thanks for the request, I hope to get back to my pathetic Aegon roots for this one.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dark divergence from canon, Aegon is more cutthroat, King Aegon, Lannister!Reader, she’s a daughter of Tyland, Tyland is on his king behavior, meanwhile dumbass Jason, Aegon has the wife parade, he’s literally still little baby man, Manipulative and morally gray reader, Aegon Is A Pain Slut, ye olde cock ring, ruined orgasms, Degredation, bratting for like 1s, breeding kink, boobs fixation, overstimmimg, pnv!sex

A/N: Wayyyyyy off canon and just so I can make this guy cry also I try to stray from making oc’s but bc it’s a Lannister reader y’know. Body type/face/skin/hair texture is up to you, just know gold hair and green eyes. Also kinda got into a storyline? Idk smut is here!!!

As Tyland Lannister’s only daughter, he sought to keep you on Casterly Rock. It was rare for a house as proud and mighty as yours not to have their fairest ladies sent to catch a dragon’s eye. Or merely have it chosen for you. Jason would’ve had you wedded and bedded to any of the white haired boys by now. Your father was stated once in a letter, “I’d liken it to a den of snakes rather than dragons.”

From his reports they were strange or downright deviant, controlled heavily by their green side of the family. Rhaenyra’s brood was of a better nature but obviously born from the seed of Harwin Strong. So you went about your duties, becoming a fine educated highborn lady to sit around and pop out babies. Maybe order fancy dresses out of boredom.

Although you childishly dreamt that a handsome white-haired man would take you dragon riding, that was not your future. Fate had other plans. Firstly, you were barred from going to the grand wedding of Prince Aemond to Lady Cassandra Baratheon. Strangely enough, it was to be held at the Hand’s gloomy accursed Harrenhal. You wrote an angry letter to your father and another to Jason, downright distraught over missing another royal wedding. You could find a potential mate at one of these gatherings!

Tyland wrote back simply, “I do not want you in that bewitched place. I have an uneasy feeling about this. I pray for you and love you dear lioness of Lannnister, still roaring her heart away.”

The initial anger faded into fear. Then the news had returned. Your Maester read the report. Dragon against dragon, blood to blood, they would call the failed union the ‘Green Wedding.’ Crown Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, all children dead but her toddling boy and blonde babes on Dragonstone

King Viserys had died the night before. Otto Hightower took matters into his own hands. Some would say it was well executed but not thought out. Princess Helaena had perished, the Blood Wyrm Caraxes attacking her in a fury before she could make it to her own dragon.

Prince Aemond and Aegon had taken to scorching Rhaenyra’s tent and all of her accompanying vassals. Harrenhal was lit aflame again— the Strongs burning up in a sea of smoke. The rest of the Hightowers had been haphazardly thrown into a wheelhouse, Queen Alicent purportedly retching and sobbing, crying for her daughter and late husband. They lay in boxes behind the cart. She had the young Daeron only for comfort.

Your mouth twisted up at the retelling of the scene of kin slaying and wretchedness. Your family had no love for the Blacks but for the Greens to so vilely destroy their own flesh and blood? You idly wondered about all of those dragons without riders. What Corlys and Rhaenys would do? She was fierce yet only had the young Baela and Rhaena.

Tyland had written to stay put, the Westerlands swore to the new King Aegon. War broke out as expected. The dragons saw an end to the strife rather quickly due to the help of Targaryen bastards mounting the riderless beasts. The realm was back under the control of the inept and horrid King Aegon the Second. They called it the half-year’s war. People spoke in hushed tones even at Casterly Rock.

Accursed family, we’re all doomed.

Otto Hightower should be sent to the wall— alas, then we’d have an idiot as a king.

Is the King going to marry soon?

You personally hoped he would marry soon. Jason had requested a portrait of you. There was no hidden reason why— he wanted lion’s blood on the already drenched Iron Throne. Your own father was staunch against that, writing that he had received a proposal from the Reynes of Castamere. You had smiled at that, their heir Ser Lynden was particularly handsome and kind. They had the riches to keep your lifestyle the same.

Not like the Targaryen’s didn’t. King Aegon could maybe see for a Dayne girl with their ashen hair and purple eyes. Or a Celtigar, they still had Valyrian blood. Mayhaps import one from Old Volantis— they claimed strong ancestry.

Alas. The raven came, your father’s anger poorly concealed.

“Even after all of my duties and help to the crown, asking for the Hand to keep my only daughter out of this, you are requested to be shown before the king along with the other highborn ladies of the Realm. I thought about setting my fool brother’s portrait on fire. Regardless, it shall be good to see my young lioness. I will be there every step of the way. Be kind.”

Your stomach sank to your toes before rising back up with anger. If that kinslaying mongrel deviant whore thought for a second he would enjoy your company? He would be sorely mistaken. Dragons may have claws, but so do lions and they are long and sharp. Huffing in anger, you stormed away from the letter.

The trip to the Red Keep was abysmal. It rained the entire way, you had to stop at Deep Den for a night to let the rains up. Their stony, cold castle was damp and you barely slept a wink. You awoke to ride to the Gold Road until the city walls and the Red Keep towered in the distance. You awed at the Dragonpit and the great Sept and it’s crystals.

Regardless of the magnificent buildings, the stench of the city was vile, air putrid with rotting fish and dung heaps. Nasty little peasants ogled your gold and red wheelhouse. Your frown deepened, anger boiling your blood. There was no way one could enjoy living here, fight to be here! King's Landing was a pile of shit with a Castle on top.

You were warmly welcomed by your father, a maid holding your dress aloft so the golden filigree wouldn’t get all mucky. Tyland hugged you and exhaustion fell over your body. You missed him dearly, the singular parent. Although your grandmother was very dear, she too had passed not too long ago.

Heads were still on pikes behind you. The smell of rot was stronger in the courtyard. You said in a miserable warble, “I detest it already, please dress me up ugly, maim me.” The fool Jason patted your back and laughed, “Ah, I missed your acrid tongue. King’s Landing is an acquired taste. Your quarters are facing the Blackwater so you can get some fresh air.”

“Others take you and that damn portrait,” you hissed at your nuncle.

Tyland led you quietly into the huge keep, prying eyes from all around. No pale-haired Targaryens to be seen. You could hear them whisper about the gold of your hair, the wealth oozing from the gown. Yes, like any of you have seen true class since the Conciliator Passed.

Once in the room you snapped at a servant to pour wine, sipping while other’s shuffled in and out to bring your trunks of goods. Tyland even spoke up, “Careful with that dress, please, it is for tomorrow.” You spat, “Tomorrow?”

He held a finger up, exhaustion lacing his face. Swirling the wine around you watched the bay and waited until it was just the two of you in a comfortable silence. Tyland had taught you that— know without speaking, listen when to listen. Tyland looked aged as he sank into the cushioned chair. He ran a hand over his face and sighed, “I thought the Dowager queen would have my back. Her son is much more willful than we thought. Otto wants our coin.”

“Borrow it from a bank and maybe they’ll root these vipers away,” you whispered under a covered hand. You’d been informed of the spies all about under Larys Strong. Tyland hummed a laugh, beckoning you over. Crawling into his lap, you felt as if you were a child again, emotions welling. You began to weep softly.

He rubbed your heaving back and shushed your cries. You hiccuped, “I-If he-he-he ch-chooses me!” Tyland sighed and finished in a quiet murmur, “You will show him that a lion is nothing to play with. King Aegon may be a pandering fool but he is easily swayed. Most of us think he has eyes for the Tyrell cousin.”

“Good,” you heaved. You cried in your father's arms until he put you to sleep at some point, kissing your forehead. Sleep was restless and pointless, you managed to gather some hours before the maidservants came to dress you.

They bathed, scrubbed, and used imported Westerland items. The smell made you homesick. They braided and twisted your hair, pinning a red and gold piece on top. The dress was just as proud— gold, rubies, pearls decorating the sleeves and neckline. Myrish lace was up to your chin, secured by a choker of more exquisite jewels and peridot to bring out your eyes. It cuffed at your wrists too. Maybe it would be too much for the weak-willed king.

The choker represented who you would always belong to— House Lannister, the sigil in solid gold and red enamel. A larger version cinched your waist. He could take the maiden with her tits corseted to her chin. The king merely needed a broodmare. A lingering voice tutted, “He may find holes where he pleases, but the king needs a queen.”

The door opened, Tyland extended an arm, lips in a tight line. He knew what you looked like. A queen.

The hall was full of highborn Ladies as you entered, you instantly recognized most of the sigils and house colors. King Aegon sat on the monstrous throne lazily, sipping wine while Otto ordered around women. A girl in the colors of Rosby didn’t even make a step up before he said, “No chin, next,” he looked down at Otto, “I’ll never believe a portrait. The Lannister girl probably looks like Jason with teats.”

Anger bubbled in your chest at his flippant demeanor and comments. The queen sat next to Otto, chiding Aegon. Thankfully you had a while in line. A while to get rightfully furious with this brat of a king! You had met squires with more dignity than he!

As you neared the imposing throne, you gauged the King’s looks. Definitely Valyrian with his pretty white waves and big violet eyes— hazy with drink and boredom. He was not of a warrior’s build, much to your chagrin. Aegon had shapely thighs but the rest seemed to be softened from his infamous gluttony.

Aegon yawned and pointed, “Redwyne? Not bad, Cole, go put her in the ‘perhaps’ section. Green eyes moved to the score of ladies looking fearful over toward the side. How crass. You could cut his cock off. So embroiled in coming up with torture scenes you blinked suddenly at the boom.

“Lady Lannister of Casterly Rock, daughter of Tyland. Aged 19.”

You stepped forward and kept your chin high, holding Aegon’s gaze intently, lips stiff. The king perked up, moving forward to get a look. He laughed, “Your father is on my council and you don’t pay obeisance?” With a grimace, you gave a weak curtsy to the young King.

Jason looked wide eyed from the side, mouthing, “PLAY NICE!”

Aegon hummed, standing up to walk down the throne, crowds gasping. As he drew closer you noticed the burns going down his cheek to curl below his collar. His violet eyes swam with something, a ringed finger tapping your tilted chin. He rasped, “A lioness for sure. Just overjoyed to get yanked from your golden castle. Is that why you out-dressed the entire kingdom?”

“I had to make sure you knew who I would always be, my liege,” you hissed, “Dragons can be tamed.”

“So can lions,” he quipped back, full lips splitting into a grin. He curled burned fingers into the lace guarding your neck. Aegon cooed, “I do wonder what you’ve got hiding under here. I’m guessing you have some nice teats. That’s my favorite game at the brothels.”

“You’re a vile little kinslaying creature.”

Otto and Alicent seemed to panic before Aegon laughed— a shrieking giggle. He stepped back up onto the dais and cheered, “I have chosen! The Lioness shall be mine blushing bride. Cheers!”

There was the sound of more defeated ladies but their fathers were likely inwardly cheering. Tyland looked ghastly grim, nuncle coming to peel him away. You refused to face the crowds, stepping over to the queen and the hand, fully curtsying. The queen grasped your palms and pled, “Please, guide him the best you can. I see a strength in you I haven’t seen since…,” she looked off and grew drawn. Lord Otto smiled, “More Lannister’s the merrier. Maybe Tyland can lighten his load.”

Aegon asked, “Alright, so when do we begin planning?”

You huffed and went to your father, hot tears soaking your cheeks. You misjudged. You thought he would be repulsed by a powerful woman. Instead he plucked you right up and now held you in this cage for a home.

‘A caged lion is still a lion, yes, yes’, you thought.

Tyland stated with a fury you had never seen before, “You will make that spoilt dragon break and bend.”

“Of course father.”

Aegon whined from between your feet, a dainty gold chain clasping his wrists, connected up to a gold collar engraved with rubies. This king you once hated belonged to you- heart and soul. He’d do anything, but you just preferred him to listen and be your pretty fuck toy. You felt love for him, differently, still love.

You wore a lace shift, the fabric barely covering anything, full tits and the gold curls of your cunt showing through. Aegon made to lave at your knee, getting slapped off. The blonde mewled, “Whyyyyy? I’ve been good?” Toeing his flushed cock, the pathetic thing whimpered and his prick oozed on the marble. You asked, “Tell me why you’re in trouble, My King?”

He swallowed around the collar, doe eyes watery and lashes clumped. Aegon’s cheeks turned red and he barked, “I’m the fucking king, I can say what I like!” You picked up the oak paddle and slapped his soft pooch of a belly, Aegon whining and writhing— the freak spurting more cum, hunching over and wheezing at the pain to his tender tummy.

“If you aren’t going to be my special boy, then I’ll just let you sit here and think about your actions.”

“No! No, I’ll be your special boy. I should not have japed at that squire over dinner.”

You cocked your head and leaned closer, “Why is that hm?”

Aegon sobbed sharply, pouty lips blubbering, “Be-be-because Iburnedhisfamilyscastleafterkinslaying.” You smiled and patted his unruly waves, smiling, “Good boy. The Seven may give you a chance. Probably not because you set your sister and uncle aflame, then proceeded to burn half the kingdom. You should be at the Wall with other war criminals.”

He nodded and cried, spreading his creamy thighs out for you. It was vastly amazing how much Aegon loved to be degraded yet praised. Your special boy. Sliding down the chair you perched on the king’s thighs, cradling his head with your sharp nails. You cooed, “Just needed a guiding hand, look how the kingdom has blossomed since you became my special boy? So pathetic and hopeless. My pretty little baby needs his queen."

He whined, arching into your touch, begging for a kiss. You relented, letting the needy little thing lap and press fervently to your own. He drooled, you wiping it away and taking over the lip lock. Nibbling gently at bitten lips, lapping into a tongue that tasted like sweetened wine. Aegon relaxed into your embrace, leaking all over your thin gown.

He began to rut and rut against your cunt, whining into your kisses. You indulged him until he was swelling and stuttering, backing off and fitting the gold ring around his cock. Aegon wailed and fell back pathetically, the ruined orgasm fucking up his senses.

“Noooo, no, no, I apologized!,” he protested meekly.

Shaking your head you shrugged, “I decide when you are absolved, not a thought in that pretty blonde head. Above men, we are gods, pfft.” He grumbled and squirmed, digging his toes down in frustration.

You returned to play with him, massaging his soft belly while suckling on the tip of his purpling prick, fingers rudely shoved up behind his heavy balls. Aegon moaned and shook, calling your name and begging for release. You drank down his bitter cum, leaking from the attention to his sweet spot from below.

You pulled off to thumb around the crown of his cock, cooing, “Oh you’re so gorgeous. My pathetic, soft little dragon. Feels so so good, yes?” He was practically riding your fingers, shying away from the intensity of the stimulation to his cockhead. The blonde keened, “S’good, g-gonna!” He wailed and thrashed harder, tears streaking a blotchy face. Only a thin stream leaked from his second ruined orgasm.

Aegon was babbling apologies now, promising dresses, jewelry, lands, his heart in a box if he could. It was garbled with his heavy tongue and fervent need. Gibberish really, if one didn’t see this side of their pouty king. What the wretch turned into when denied a good release— a snotty, sobbing, wonderfully broken mess.

He heaved sobs now, oversensitive to even the cool air. But his balls were full and swollen. Patting a limp thigh you asked gently, “Do you want to come now? Inside me? Your punishment is over.” Aegon sniffled, “Please my love.” You would keep the ring on for now but take it off once it didn’t seem he may blow on sight.

Aegon whined high in his chest, more tears falling as you eased onto his plump prick, extra swollen and hot. You gasped and grabbed blonde hair, praising, “Mmm- yes my darling precious boy. Filling your queen up good.”

He groaned and feebly arched, grabbing your tits and holding them as you rode his overused cock. Aegon cried and whined for a suck, you allowing him to take off the shift and shudder as plump lips enveloped your tits. He squirmed and lapped eagerly, loving to have a mouthful of your teats. Especially during that first pregnancy.

You were already close from the intensity of the punishment, swirling fingers around your button while unlatching the gold ring from behind. Aegon’s eyes flew open as he moaned vigorously, balls pumping you full immediately as he writhed around, still attached to your full chest. Your lashes fluttered at the warm feeling, cunt sucking and enjoying the heat, slick, and pressure of so much seed..

Hopefully this would take too. Another little one to dote on. Aegon was full on sobbing now, overwhelmed with emotions. You helped him to sit upright, still inside. He mewled, “S’too much.” You hugged his frame and cooed, pressing little kisses to his tender scars, “It’ll numb out, we want this to take do we not? Be good.”

“M’ still your special boy?,” he asked with reddened eyes.

Petting a full cheek you responded, “Knew whether I liked you or not, you would be. Hush now, relax, we’ll get some dinner and a warm bath my sweet. Tomorrow is a busy day.” He nodded and nuzzled between your tits like a babe. You smirked. Who knew this power could be claimed without bloodshed?

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #Lannister!reader #Aegon ii Targaryen x Lannister!reader #sub!aegon #aegon ii imagine #Aegon ii targaryen x reader

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