#order of the sunspears

[msmorningstaarr]

let me be yours. | part I

ao3 | masterlist | part II >

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x F!Martell!Reader

Word count: 3.1K

Summary: You, a Martell princess who was recently brought into Rhaenyra's courtyard as a sign of goodwill to ensure the unification of the Seven Kingdoms. With time passing on, you feel trapped under the enticing aura of the Dragon Queen and sees yourself desiring her more and more. However, in a delicate situation, is it worth the yearn for your Queen? Would you give in to your needs to have your way with her and find some indulgence?

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), afab reader, bisexual rhaenyra, canon divergence, longing, age gap (you early 20s rhae mid 30s), fingering, masturbation, oral sex, sub/dom dynamics (rhae dom you sub), overstimulation, scissoring, queen rhaenyra targaryen, nipple play, possessive rhaenyra

Ever since you left your homeland to be a ward in King’s Landing, life has become a journey of too many changes and mixed feelings. The sense of homesickness and fear of the unknown was present and huge within your heart.

You were a princess of Dorne, the second in line to inherit Sunspear after your brother. After the rise of Rhaenyra Targaryen as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she successfully united the relations with Dorne and finally brought it into the feud and unifying the realm once and for all. You, after all, were presented at her courtyard as a sign of good will from the Martells and forge a prominent marital alliance between you and the heir to the Iron Throne, Prince Jacaerys, in order to legitimise the coming of the dornish to the courtyard.

You obviously missed the sultry dunes of sand, the sweeteness of Dornish Red, the incandescent sky, with a fiery burning sun crashing your skin and the sense of community amongst your siblings and the freedom your country provided. You felt less lonely in Dorne, for the life in King’s Landing could prove to be challenging under the judgemental and prejudicial nature of the rest of the Westerosi. Some became outraged by your presence, others just spoke in whispers around the corners of the Red Keep, yet, it was undeniable that as soon as you stepped into the city, you became the centre of attention, always remembered by the courtyard for your mysterious peek, luscious, long hair and exquisite beauty or your luxurious sense of fashion. It distanced yourself from the standard beauty of the other ladies in the realm, putting yourself easily as the fairest maiden of your time.

You had no idea if this title came over the fact that you hold a big status as future consort and people wanted to fuss around you or if you were indeed the most beautiful lady in Westeros. However, you knew well that ever since the Queen has met you, she had been enchanted by you and held you in high regard, always complimenting you and your astonishing beauty. Her Grace enjoys calling you by terms of endearment, being “sweet girl” her favourite name for you, showering you with jewellery and plenty of expensive gifts or simply having your company along the day, to have long walks throughout the royal gardens and even show you the Dragonpit became a regular routine when she arranged time between her royal duties. You barely had time to bond with Prince Jacaerys, given the fact you became her loyal companion.

Speaking from the back of your mind, you cared not much, once you found yourself drowning into the alluring beauty of Rhaenyra. The Westerosi average accent for you was dull and ugly on everyone else; on her, it was perfection. Her touch was gentle and her violet eyes were rather attentive, careful of you. You spent your nights having supper with her and her other sons or simply sharing a good conversation. She made you feel less lonely in that castle.

You questioned yourself if what you were feeling was no more than a delusion, a projection over your neediness for attention. But you could swear you caught yourself in a moment with her where your gazes locked on each other and she lightly pinched your chin, getting too close to your face. Queen Rhaenyra was a daydream. You never indulged in kissing or having any romantic interaction with other ladies but Rhaenyra lit a fire within you - a liability only Her Grace could solve.

And now there you were, another night where she requested your company for supper. You wore an orange dress with silky cuts giving a slight volume to the gown, although it was a more simplistic dress, more adequate to the occasion. Her Queensguard announced you at the door and she received you with a polite smile before you gave her a courtesy.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” You speak, bending your body on a polite greeting gesture to Rhaenyra.

“It has been a far cry since we are done with courtesies, sweet girl,” Rhaenyra said, silently commanding her servants and guards to leave her with you. Her peek examined your features and smiled softly at you.

“It is a costume I would rather not lose, Your Gra-… Rhaenyra.” You corrected yourself, remembering she wanted you to address her by her name only, as a sign of how much she enjoyed your presence. She giggled and guided you through her chambers, ever so caring and jolly.

“I should warn you,” Rhaenyra began, walking through her private apartments. “I commanded the cook to prepare you something special.” Her Grace spoke to you, graciously raising her eyebrows and excited, yet contained beam. Your eyes lit up, already knowing what she was talking about.

You sat after her on the small table fetched for the two of you and a set of plates strategically placed for the duo to have dinner. Even before you would open it, you already knew. “The dornish recipe of roasted lamb.”

Rhaenyra grinned and joined her hands once she realised how much you enjoyed the said surprise. “I had the cook searching for this recipe for days, sweet girl. I hope it is of your liking.”

And then, after waiting for Your Grace to start eating, you hummed in satisfaction eating your meal. The spicy flavour exploded in your mouth, invading your taste and drooling your mouth by the slightest of satisfaction. “I take for your expression that you enjoy it a great deal.” Rhaenyra told you, after taking a bite of her own dinner. You nodded eagerly tasting it and had to contain yourself to not lose your composure in front of the Queen.

“Thank you, Your Grace. It tastes delicious, I have missed this.” You reply to her and involuntarily touches her hand, squeezing it delicately. Once you tried to take it away, Rhaenyra held it tighter, forbidding you to take it away and stared at you, silently reassuring you it was acceptable. Her hands entangling on yours was almost electrifying, causing goosebumps on your skin just with a simple touch or an exchange of looks. Her face, however, was tender and calm, with a soft smile whilst looking at you.

Rhaenyra put her hand over the table once again and her fingertips traced patterns over your soft skin. “My pleasure, sweet girl.” She muttered at you and tension was thick in the air. “Do you miss Dorne, my dear?” Rhaenyra asked you and her other hand grasped the cold metal of her cup of wine, taking it to her mouth to drink it, but her gaze never left yours.

You craved her attention, thirsting for more of Rhaenyra. Her presence sparked questions in your mind about her prowess as a lover; with so many sons, it seemed plausible her husbands found her passionate and fulfilling in bed, particularly Daemon. Could she bring that same intensity and allure to you? As Rhaenyra doted on you in your future role as a daughter-in-law, you could not help but ponder how she might express her affection in a more intimate relationship. Her gestures and glances, filled with warmth and intrigue, hinted at depths of passion waiting to be explored. The thought of her as a lover stirred your curiosity and desire, wondering how her charm and grace would translate into romantic moments.

"I do," you replied, your voice tinged with anticipation and full of honesty, grappling with the allure and uncertainty of what lay ahead. Would she meet your expectations, exceed them, or perhaps offer something entirely unexpected? The prospect both thrilled and unsettled you, as you navigated the complex emotions and possibilities that Rhaenyra's presence brought into your life.

“Well, darling, this is your home now. Your Queen will make sure you feel enoughly accommodated in my court,” Rhaenyra replied, breaking the contact between them to cut the tension shortly after it. The Valyrian Queen cuts a piece of her meat and fidget her fingers on her cup, tracing the boards as her eyes rested on your features. You, on the other hand, smiled gently at her words, deeply touched by her kindness towards you. It was not supposed to feel right to yearn for a full desire of Rhaenyra, you had to get rid these ruminations from your mind and replace them with Jacaerys. But how could it ever be possible when she is just in front of you, cornering you to fully focus on you and your relationship with her?

“I should hope you’re preparing your cloak with your ladies-in-waiting.” Your marriage, however, was a sensitive subject. Jacaerys was a dutiful boy and the interactions you had with him were more than pleasant, still, he was not what you were looking for. His long, brown curls had its appeal, but his mother unveiled things she wished she felt for Prince Jace. “I was done with the embroidery yesterday. I can bring it and show you on our next encounter, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra lifted her eyebrows and lowered her eyes, smirking at her food as she ate it, seemingly thinking about something. You laughed, nervously drinking your wine. Your hands felt sweaty and heart beating just as it was about to rip open your chest out. “I would be most glad, sweet girl. Are you nervous about your wedding?”

You nodded, with your eyes sly and cautious while lingering on the Queen and she smiled at you again, on an attempted shared empathy. “I was a little thing like you when I married my first husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon, Jace’s father,” Rhaenyra began. “He was not my choice of husband, earnestly.” She giggled and drank a sip of her wine. “But we had a good marriage. Laenor was a good man and provided me with children and good company. We loved each other in our own ways. Jace will treat you well too, sweet girl.”

“Thank you, Your Gr-...” The Queen lifted an eyebrow, reminding you of her request. “Rhaenyra.” You corrected yourself again and she mumbled something as ‘much better’. You giggled alongside her as she shook her head in amusement.

“A marriage is just a piece of paper,” Rhaenyra began. “You and Jace will understand you both can perform a duty and still find your happiness.”

Her words sounded suggestive, was the Queen motivating you to commit treason before your marriage? Was Rhaenyra testing you? You raised your eyebrows and Rhaenyra smiled mischievously again, her eyes gazing at you intensely and in quietude. You rummined what was going on within her mind. Rhaenyra's violet eyes held a depth that made you feel seen and understood in ways that no one else ever had. The silence stretched between you, charged with unspoken words and possibilities. Rhaenyra's touch was a lifeline in the vast sea of desires you were feeling. Her thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, sending shivers down your spine. You wanted to ask her so many things, but the words seemed to fail you in the face of her overwhelming presence.

"Sweet girl," Rhaenyra began softly, her voice a soothing melody, "My first marriage was also born out of duty. I can relate to the worry in your eyes. I want you to know that your happiness means a great deal to me, equally as my son’s. Your marriage to Jacaerys is a duty, yes, but it does not have to be the entirety of your existence."

By this point, you both had finished your plates and no desire for dessert rose for any of you. Rhaenyra had her wine by a window, feeling the cold breeze blow on her face with you by her side. The moonlight casted a silver glow, contrasting with her fair skin and silvery locks. Her words were a lifeline, pulling you from the deep core of your anxiety. The way she looked at you, with such intensity and sincerity, made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

"Rhaenyra, I..." You hesitated, unsure of how to articulate the storm of emotions swirling inside you. She squeezed your hand reassuringly, her eyes never leaving yours. “Are you testing me?”

Rhaenyra stared at you, grinning and confused. “Why would I test you, sweet girl?”

The proximity of her and the warmth of her breath on your skin, was intoxicating. You found yourself leaning closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her nearness was both a comfort and a temptation, stirring feelings within you that you had never dared to acknowledge before.

“Rhaenyra, what are you asking of me?” You finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

A slow, knowing smile curved her lips. “I am asking you to trust me, to let me guide you through this. Do you trust me, sweet girl?”

“I trust you.” You simply replied, sighing heavily. You should not desire her this much. However, being this close made you want to touch her, kiss her perfect lips and beg for her to claim you as his. She smiled at you, relieved and her fingertips stroked your hair, pulling it behind your ear. Her scent was a blend of lavender and something uniquely her. You felt the pull towards her, a magnetic force that you couldn't resist. Tentatively, you leaned in, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure she could hear it.

“Good.” She mumbled against your skin as Rhaenyra came closer. You never had been this close to her before. Her fingers reached your chin, lifting it to bring it closer to her lips, but her kiss was redirected to your cheek, so gently and delicate, yet so intense and slightly lustful. “Will you visit me next evening, my sweet?” Her Grace asked you, whispering words softly and close to your ear. It was a dangerous game you two were engaging in and you knew it well. But what is duty compared to what you are feeling now? You nodded in silence, quietly responding to her question as her hands embraced you slowly, bringing you closer, like a viper defeats its prey.

“I shall leave you to rest now.” You whispered at her, trying not to look into her eyes. Rhaenyra did not deviate her eyes from you, caressing your hair and staying close enough to feel her breath close to your face. “If you excuse me, Your… Rhaenyra.” You corrected yourself for a last moment and she giggled briefly to your face and finally let you go.

You were right in front of a windy window and your body was catching fire after having that moment with Rhaenyra. The cold breeze contrasted sharply with the heat that had built up inside you. As you left her chambers, your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Making your way back to your quarters, the corridors felt longer, each step echoing with the memory of Rhaenyra’s touch and her whispered words. You couldn’t shake the feeling of her fingers against your skin, the promise and peril in her gaze. It was a heady mix of excitement and apprehension, knowing that you were treading a fine line between duty and desire.

Once in the privacy of your room, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it, taking a moment to catch your breath. The room felt different, almost foreign, as if it no longer fit the person you were becoming. You moved to the window, looking out into the night, the stars twinkling like a thousand silent witnesses to the secrets you now held.

You changed your clothing for a simple nightgown and decided it was time for your slumber, laying on the mattress and allowing you to rest. However, your mind recalled the way Rhaenyra was too close to you, the way her hands had touched you, her soothing voice in your ear felt as the prettiest of melodies, made just for you. It was by far, the most erotic encounter you ever had and you found yourself silently begging for more. Her words echoed in your ears, a constant reminder that your happiness was just as important as your duty. Your hands wandered throughout your body, pinching your nipples, squeezing your breasts and closing your eyes to imagine it is her touch on them. Your hand then passed down on your clothed belly and thighs, teasing yourself before actually going all the way to your pleasure. A soft moan left your lips as you played with your nipples, fantasising about Rhaenyra taking over that liability.

When her body was enoughly worked up and her cunt ached, your hand had encountered your centre over the thin fabric of your dress and when you could feel a small trace of wetness staining on the undergarment, you hummed slightly. Your hand was not a regular tool, you tried it a few times only, but her touch was so recent and her scent was well alive in your nostrils, it felt logical for your body to demeanour in that manner, begging to be touched. You moaned lightly when your fingers pressed against your swollen clit, causing your body to shudder under your own touch. You reminded her sweet talk so close to you, how soft her lips were kissing your cheek and your mind screamed, pleading for those lips to kiss your lips, your chest, your cunt…

As you moved your hand south, your fingers circled around your clit in a slow, tortuous motion and caused your body to arch your back, mumbling words of ‘please, Rhaenyra’ , begging to release for her. Alternating between circles and light taps on your sweet spot, you drove yourself to madness, humping your crotch in the air. Traces of sweat fell down your face as heat grew inside your body. Your breathing was quick to become erratic, just as the pace of your hand became more urgent on your sweet spot. Soon enough, your moans were a bit louder and the pleading became more insistent, desperate. When you least expect it, your body convulsed violently, and orgasm hits you, making your legs quiver, spread wider, hips bouncing against nothing and lungs breathing heavily, your entrance clenched around nothing. You never came this strongly before, and all thanks to your Queen. Trying to gain consciousness, you stared at the ceiling, reflecting about what you just did. Not even a single trace of guilt had reached your body and you considered doing it again if your eyes were insistent to be closed and put your body to sleep.

———

a/n: missed writing and hell yeah i got inspired by THAT scene. please consider leaving likes, comments and reblogs. it’s very important for the writer! <3

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody @pet1t3

[k4marina]

— iii. Stormborn || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: as plans to conqour westeros begin, daenerys and i are met with an unknown visitor

warnings: got cannon violence, war, battle nothing super graphic. this chapter follows the storylime of Stormborn (S7 Ep2) so spoiler warning ig

a/n: all dialogue italicized is in Valyrian & important note at the end!!

series masterlist || next part

4.9k word count

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif found on pinterest]

“Your Grace summons you to the Painted Table.” The servant had said after I had gotten back to my room from my morning training. Daenerys had gotten busier in the last few weeks as she planned ahead for the upcoming war. 

I found her standing by the fireplace with her back turned towards me and the table that was in the shape of the Seven Kingdoms. A few figurines of different houses of Westeros were laid out in their appropriate places. 

“You called?” 

She takes a moment to turn, collecting her thoughts. 

“In a few days Olenna Tyrell, Ellaria Sand, and Yara Greyjoy will be here to pledge their allegiance to me and further discuss our plans to take the Iron Throne.” She rounded the table, walking closer to me. “But before they arrive is there anything I must know?”

I furrowed my brows, thinking back or ahead in the future? Nonetheless, I wracked my brain for anything that would be useful. 

“Oh,” I remembered. “An ambush. There’s going to be an ambush.” 

A flash of concern comes across her face. “Who?” 

“Euron Greyjoy. After your meeting you ordered Yara to escort Ellaria and their troops to Sunspear. But along the way Euron ambushes them.” The whole ordeal was hard to read. Daenerys’ campaign was going so well until that point. 

“It was catastrophic. So many died and so many ships destroyed they were still finding wreckage when I was born.” I turned towards the map, thinking back to where we were told the ambush had taken place. 

 “Here. 50 miles north of Sharp Point in Blackwater Bay.” I pointed out. “That’s where they were ambushed.” 

“The damage?”

“Significant. Euron, Yara’s uncle, takes her and Ellaria Sand and her daughter as hostages for Cersie and imprisons them in King's Landing. And, his ships are equipped with Scorpions.” 

She takes in a deep breath, trying to keep her composure. Her eyes look down at where I’ve pointed just a moment ago, weighing her options and thinking of a new plan. 

“So what do we do?” 

I smile. “I have a plan.”

—

Rain had been pouring down for the past three days and it showed no signs of letting up all while the entire castle prepared for the arrival of Houses Greyjoy, Martel, and Tyrell. I sighed, walking away from the floor to ceiling windows of the library and back to the roundtable full of books. With the rain getting heavier Grey Worm had decided to postpone my lessons which left me in the library of the castle, hunched over a mountain of books.

“Not very fond of the rain?” Missandei asks from the table, peering over a book. “I am. Just not very fond of the dreariness of it.” I reply, sitting down across from her. “It’s interesting how something as simple as the weather can change a person's entire mood.” 

She nodded, setting the book aside. “In Essos it barely rained. Whenever it did, the sky would be clear and the temperature hot. Here, the rain is so…” 

“Heavy.” I finished off. “Whenever the weather gets like this all I want to do is sleep.” 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Missandei beams. “I just want to curl up under the hearth with a cup of tea and a good book.” 

I laughed, “after all the reading I’ve done, it’s the last thing I’d want to do when I’m relaxing.” 

We both shared a laugh before falling into a pregnant pause. I could tell that she was still apprehensive about me. When she came to me this morning, asking to join me in the library, I was shocked. Out of council meetings and occasionally bumping into each other we had barely talked. 

“You don’t trust me,” I said. 

She watched my expression as she replied. “Can you blame me?” 

I shook my head. “No, I’m glad that you are, though. I’d be more concerned if you’d blindly trust me. Especially with my.. sudden appearance.”

Out of everyone in Daenerys’ council I knew from the start that Missandei would be the hardest to build a relationship with. She’d been with Dany for years. She’d seen her at her lowest and highest. Which is why she would be one of my most important allies, other than Daenerys. 

“You also don’t trust us,” Missandei says. 

“Wrong,” I correct. “I trust Daenerys. You. Grey Worm, and Tyrion.” 

“Not Lord Varys?” She asks. 

“No. Varys is… different, in a lot of ways.” I needed to tread carefully. I couldn’t just outwardly say that he would betray Daenerys and be the reason why Misssandei would die. But, I could sew in the seeds of doubt. 

“He’s.. somewhat unpredictable.” I pursed my lips. “His origin and journey is admirable, don’t get me wrong. It’s just his methods and means and history that are a bit questionable.” 

Everyone knows that Varys has his “little birds” but they don’t know the truth behind them. Missandei didn’t say much after that, letting my words sit in her mind for the rest of the day. I knew what I had said had left her stumped and that she would tell Daenerys of our conversation. I just hoped that the seed had been planted deep enough. 

—

The storm had raged on into the night. I was getting ready to turn into the night when a servant informed me of a small council meeting at the Painted Table. Quickly, I made my way over, seeing that everyone else was already there. 

“I hope I’m not late.” I say to no one in particular. Missandei and Grey Worm give me a few nods while Tyrion and Varys watch Daenerys who had her back towards us, deep in thought. 

“On a night like this, you were born,” Tyrion remarks. 

“I remember that storm. All the dogs in King’s Landing howled through the night.” Varys adds.

“I wish I could remember it.” Daenerys says, finally turning around. Her face was somewhat stoic as she walked over to the table. “I always thought this would be a homecoming, this doesn't feel like home.”

She’s upset, I noted. Did Missandei and I’s conversation work?

“We won’t stay at Dragonstone for long.” Tyrion reassures. 

“Good.” She says, looking at the figurine on the table. “Not many lions.”

“Cersie controls fewer than half of the Seven Kingdoms. The lords of Westeros despise her. Even before your arrival, they plotted against her. Now…” Varys says. I don’t know why but the tone of his voice makes me want to jump into the sea.

“They cry out for their true queen? They drink secret toasts to my health?” Daenerys walks closer to Varys, almost as if she were sizing him up. “People used to tell my brother that sort of thing, and he was stupid enough to believe them.”

Everyone in the room watches carefully as she picks up a dragon figurine from the table. “If Viserys had three dragons and an army at his back he’d have invaded King’s Landing already.” 

“Conquering Westeros would be easy for you. But you’re not here to be the queen of the ashes.” Tyrion interjects. 

“No,” Daenerys puts down the dragon figure. 

“We can take the Seven Kingdoms without turning it into a slaughterhouse,” I say. “We already have three great houses supporting your claim.” 

“I agree,” Tyrion nods my way. “With the Tyrell army and the Dornish on our side, we have powerful allies in the south.” 

Daenerys looks at Varys. “I never properly thanked you for that.” Though, her voice lacked any bit of gratitude. 

“They joined our side, my queen, because they believe in you.” Vays says.

“You served my father, didn’t you, Lord Varys?”

“I did,” He replies. 

“And then you served the man who overthrew him?” Her tone shifted. 

“I had a choice, Your Grace– serve Robert Baratheon or face the headsman's axe.” Varys says defensively.

“But you didn’t serve him long. You turned against him.”

“Robert was an improvement on your father, to be sure. There have been few rulers in history as cruel as the Mad King. Robert was neither mad nor cruel. He simply had no interest in being king.” Varys countered. 

“So you took it upon yourself to find yourself a better one.” She pressed further. 

Tyrion, feeling the tension in the room, comes to Varys’ defense. “Your Grace,” Daenerys turns towards Tyrion. “When I was ready to drink myself into a small coffin, Lord Varys told me about a queen in the east who–” 

“Before I came to power,” Daenerys turned back to Varys, “you favored my brother. All your spies, your little birds, did they tell you Viserys was cruel, stupid, and weak? Would those qualities have made for a good king in your learned opinion?”

“Until your marriage to Khal Drogo, Your Grace. I knew nothing about you, save your existence and that you were said to be beautiful.” Varys deflects. Daenerys looks past and towards me. 

“Are you sure?” I hummed, catching everyone’s attention. Varys’ face hardened and he glared towards me. “Because from what I remember, you’ve always known about Daenerys.” 

I stepped forward, standing behind Daenerys. “Matter of fact, you were the one who planned Daenerys’ marriage to Khal Drogo with Illyrio.”

Varys opened his mouth to speak, but Daenerys beat him to it. 

“You and your friends traded me like a prized horse to the Dothraki.” 

“Which you turned to your advantage.” He was starting to panic. It was clear the Varys didn’t like to have his back against the wall. 

“Who gave the order to kill me?” 

“King Robert.” He replies quickly. 

“Who hired the assassins?” She steps closer to Varys. “Who sent word to Essos to murder Daenerys Targaryen?” 

“Your Grace,” you could hear panic set in his voice. “I did what had to be done–”

“To keep yourself alive.” Daenerys says firmly. 

“Lord Varys has proven himself a loyal servant.” Tyrion says, trying to calm the situation. 

“Proven himself loyal?” I scoffed. 

“Quite the opposite.” Daenerys, turned towards her hand. “If he dislikes one monarch. He conspires to crown the next one. What kind of a servant is that?”

“The kind the realm needs.” Varys says firmly. “Incompetence should not be rewarded with blind loyalty. As long as I have my eyes, I’ll use them. I wasn’t born into a great house. I come from nothing. I was sold as a slave and carved up as an offering. When I was a child, I lived in alleys, gutters, abandoned houses. You wish to know where my true loyalties lie? Not with any king or queen, but with the people. The people who suffer under despots and prosper under just rule. The people whose hearts you aim to win. If you demand blind allegiance, I respect your wishes. Grey Worm can behead me or your dragons can devour me. But if you let me live, I will serve you well. I will dedicate myself to seeing you on the Iron Throne because I choose you. Because I know the people have no better chance than you.”

Silence lingers in the air as Varys’ words settle into the room. The rest watched the three of us carefully, holding their breaths. 

“Swear this to me, Varys.” Daenerys’ voice is calm, and no longer holds any edge. “If you ever think I’m failing the people, you won’t conspire behind my back. You’ll look me in the eye as you have done today, and you’ll tell me how I’m failing them.” 

Feeling satisfied that he’s in the clear, Varys stands straight. “I swear it, my queen.” 

“And I swear this– if you even betray me, I’ll burn you alive.” She quickly warns. 

Varys smiles. “I would expect nothing less from the Mother of Dragons.” 

Amidst back and forth a servant had entered the room, informing Grey Worm of a visitor. 

“Forgive me, my queen. A red priestess from As’shai has some to see you.” 

––––

The doors to the throne room open, revealing a woman in red standing alone. She had red hair and dark red-ish eyes. Could this be?

The woman bows, her eyes linger on me before addressing Daenerys in Valyrian. “Queen Daeneys, I was a slave once, bought and sold, scourged and branded. It is an honor to meet the Breaker of Chains.” 

“The Red Priests helped bring peace to Meereen. You are very welcome here. What is your name?” Daenerys replies. 

“I am called Melisandre.” 

“She once served another who wanted the Iron Throne.” Varys says from behind us. “It didn’t end well for Stannis Baratheon, did it?”

“No, it didn’t” Melisandre replies with no emotions. 

Not only did it not end well for Stannis, but it also didn’t end well for his daughter who he burned alive under Melisandre’s orders, but if you ask her it was the “Lords” doing. 

“You chose an auspicious day to arrive at Dragonstone.” Daenerys turns to look at Varys. “We’ve decided to pardon those who served the wrong king.” 

Varys doesn’t reply and just bows his head, thankful that Daenerys hadn’t fed him to Drogon. 

Daenerys turns back to Melisandre. “The Lord of Light doesn’t have many followers in Westeros, does he?” 

“Not yet. But even those who don't worship the Lord can serve his cause.” 

“What does your Lord expect from me?” Daenerys questions. 

“The Long Night is coming. Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn.”

I sucked in a breath through my nose. We were getting closer to Jon’s arrival and everything else that would follow suit. 

“The prince who was promised will bring the dawn.” Daenerys repeats. “I'm afraid I'm not a prince.”  

“Your Grace, forgive me, but your translation is not quite accurate.” Missandei corrects from the side. “That noun has no gender in High Valyrian, so the proper translation for that prophecy would be the prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn.”

“Doesn’t really roll off the tongue, does it?” Tyrion comments. 

“No, but I like it better.” Daenerys turns back to Melisandre. “And you believe this prophecy refers to me?” 

“Prophecies are dangerous things. I believe you have a role to play, as does another. The King in the North, Jon Snow.” Melisandre explains.

“Jon Snow?” Tyrion says, shocked. “Ned Stark's bastard?” 

“You know him?” Daenerys asks. 

Tyrion nods. “I traveled with him to the Wall when he joined the Night's Watch.” 

“And why do you think the Lord of Light singled out this Jon Snow aside from the visions you’ve seen in the flames, that is?” Varys inquired. 

“As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch he allowed the Wildlings south of the Wall to protect them from great danger. As King in the North he has united those Wildlings with the northern houses so together they may face their common enemy.” 

Even after hundreds of years after the events of this time, Jon’s heroism is still marveled  upon. The North still remembers the King in the North.

“He sounds like quite a man.” I say.

“Summon Jon Snow. Let him stand before you and tell you things that have happened to him, the things that he has seen with his own eyes.” Melisandre urged Daenerys. 

Tyrion nodded, “I can’t speak to prophecies or visions in the flames, but I like Jon Snow and I trusted him, and I am an excellent judge of character.” 

“If he does rule the north, he would make a valuable ally. The Lannisters executed his father and conspired to murder his brother. Jon Snow has even more reason to hate Cersei than you do.” Tyrion added. 

She glanced up from Tyrion to me, asking if it were true. I gave her a subtle nod and she turned back to Tyrion, smiling. 

“Very well. Send a raven north.” She says. “Tell Jon Snow that his Queen invites him to come to Dragonstone… and bend the knee.”

–––

Our new allies arrived early in the morning, just as the sun rose over the horizon. I wore a black dress with a wool outer layer with silver clasps running from my collarbone to above my navel. The shoulders, forearms, and collar had a dragon scale pattern. It was simple, but still full of detail, but most importantly it kept me warm in this dreaded weather.The rain had stopped overnight, but the clouds had stayed, blocking any sunlight.

Everyone was gathered at the Painted Table, all ready and waiting for Daenerys to make her entrance. As I entered the room, conversation between our guests dulled down as they couldn’t look away. I didn’t have to look to know what they were thinking. 

Another Targaryen? 

The room was cold from the night's rain and the cold sea so I threw more wood into the hearth and stood by Missandei as we waited for Daenerys. I glanced around the room, watching as Yara, Ellaria, and Olenna talked but occasionally glanced towards me. 

“They seem to be interested in you.” Missandei comments. 

“I thought they’d have a bigger reaction,” I say. “Maybe a few jaw’s on the floor, or a few gasps of shock.” 

Missandei chuckled. “I’m afraid all you’ll get is a few stares and gossip.” 

“I guess I can take that.” I hummed. 

The doors swung open as Daenerys entered. Everyone stood at attention as she made her way to the front of the room. 

“I want to thank you all for making the journey to Dragonstone. Now, let us begin.” 

Yara was the first to speak. “If you want the Iron Throne, take it. We have an army, a fleet, and three dragons. We should hit King's Landing now. Hard. With everything we have. The city will fall within a day.”

“If we turn the dragons loose, tens of thousands will die in the firestorms.” Tyrion shook his head. 

Ellaria looked towards him with disgust, which was noticed by all. “It's called war. You don't have the stomach for it, scurry back into hiding.”

“I know how you wage war. We don't poison little girls here. Myrcella was innocent.” Tyrion bit back. 

Ellaria scoffed. “She was a Lannister. There are no innocent Lannisters. My greatest regret is that Oberyn died fighting for you.” 

“Oberyn was a grown man. He made his choice, no one can change that. Myrcella was a child, she didn’t do anything. I think we all here know that a child isn’t responsible for their fathers sins.” I said from the sidelines, giving her a pointed look. 

“That's enough. Tyrion is the Hand of the Queen. You will treat him with respect.” Daenerys reminded. Both Tyrion and Ellaria backed down, Ellaria giving me one last look. “I am not here to be the Queen of Ashes.” 

“That's very nice to hear.” Olenna said from across the table. “Of course, I can't remember a queen who was better loved than my granddaughter. The common people loved her, the nobles loved her. And what is left of her now? Ashes. Commoners, nobles, they're all just children really. They won't obey you unless they fear you.”

“I'm grateful to you, Lady Olenna, for your council. I'm grateful to all of you. But you have chosen to follow me. I will not attack King's Landing. We will not attack King's Landing.” Daenerys says, genuinely. 

“Then how do you mean to take the Iron Throne? By asking nicely?” Olenna asks. I smiled at the older womens sass. 

Daenerys looked towards me and I stepped forward. “We will lay siege to the capital, surrounding it on all sides. Cersei will have the Iron Throne, but no food for her army or the people.” 

“But we won’t use Dothraki and Unsullied.” Tyrion adds. He walks around the carved table, “Cersie will try to rally the lords of Westeros by appealing to their loyalty, their love for their country. If we besiege the city with foreigners, we prove her point. Our army should be Westerosi.” 

“And I suppose we’re providing the Westerosi?” Ellaria clarifies. 

“You are.” Tyrion reached down, picking up a figurine that resembled a Kraken in a longship. “Lady Greyjoy will escort you home to Sunspear and her Iron Fleet will ferry the Dornish army back up to King’s Landing.” He walked over to the south of the map and picked up a figurine that resembled a sun. Taking both figurines, Tyrion places them at King’s Landing. “The Dornish will lay siege to the capital alongside the Tyrell army. Two great kingdoms united against Cersie.”

“So your master plan is to use our armies? Forgive me for asking, but why did you bother to bring your own?” Olenna asks Daenerys. 

Tyrion reached down, picking up a figurine that looked like an Unsullied helmet. He walked around the map. “The Unsullied will have another objective. For decades House Lannister has been the true power in Westeros. And the seat of that power is Casterly Rock. Grey Worm and the Unsullied will sail for the Rock and take it.”

He stops in front of Casterly Rock, a lion figurine sitting on the Rock. Tyrion takes a moment before knocking over the lion with the Unsullied figurine to everyone's pleasure. 

A clam settles and Daenerys addresses the room. “There is another matter to discuss.” Everyone looks at her, caught off guard. “I’ve come to learn that there will be an ambush in Blackwater Bay led by Euron Greyjoy under Cerseis’ order.” 

“What?” Someone says. 

“Your Grace,” Varys steps forward. “Forgive me, but I’ve heard no such thing to take place.” He eyes me suspiciously. “Perhaps you’re mistaken.” 

“There have been no mistakes, Lord Varys.” Daenerys says. I moved to stand on Daenerys' side. 

“Euron will strike at night.” I explain. “His ships are equipped with Scorpions, they’re deadly and will tare your ships to shreads.” 

Yara’s face drops. “What the hell do we do? Our ships aren’t fully equipped to take on his.” Theon, behind her, is equally terrified. 

“We know,” I say, calmly. “That is why I’ll be escorting you.” 

“Forgive me, my dear, but what can you do?” Olenna asks. 

“I’ll be on dragonback. I’ll be flying high enough to go unnoticed, but close by to help when the attack happens. There will be casualties on our end, that's certain, but this is war.” The others look at Daenerys and I in shock as they try to find the words to speak.

“But you’ve never flown into battle.” Tyrion says. 

“So?” I shrug. “I’ll have to fight at one point, might as well start now.”

“My Lady, you’ve never flown out that far, you’ll be all alone.” Missandei says. 

“No I won’t. I’ll have my dragon and I’ll have our new allies besides me.” I say, nodding towards Yara and Ellaria. “When I bent the knee to Daenerys and promised to get her the Iron Throne, I meant it. This is what I have to do.”

Daenerys gives me a reassuring look. She turned towards the room. “Do I have your support?”

Yara glances between Daenerys and I. “You have mine.” 

“Dorne is with you, Your Grace.” Ellaria says. 

Lady Olenna nods her head in agreement. 

“Thank you all.” Daenerys says, somewhat relieved. “Lady Olenna, may I speak with you alone?” 

Everyone bows and leaves the room. Before leaving I turned towards Daenerys, “I’ll go get ready for my departure.” 

She nods. “Stay safe, sister.”

I smiled. “I will. When I’m back I’ll let you put a braid in my hair.” I say, leaving. 

I stepped out into the hall and down to where my room was where everything was already ready for me. When I first had my conversation with Daenerys about the ambush I had also asked for some armor to be made for me. And with the help of the servants I was able to get into it quickly. It was simple but protective and it allowed me to ride my dragon without hurting either of us. I took two daggers that I’d also had made and placed them into their places on my hip.

Afterwards I headed to where the ships were docked and where Viserion was waiting for me. I stepped outside and saw everyone getting ready to leave. I spotted Yara and Theon were still on the docks giving orders to their crew. 

“Is everything ready?” I ask. 

“It is, My Lady. We’ll be leaving shortly.” Yara says. 

“Good. You’ll leave first and I’ll be behind you not far off. We need to make it look like you’re alone and unsuspecting.” I explained. I glanced back at Theon who still hadn’t said anything, but had something on his mind. “Is something bothering you, My Lord?”

Theon looked taken aback, surprised that I was talking to him. “I’m not a lord.” 

“You’re not?” I repeat. “You are Balon Greyjoy’s son, are you?” 

He nods, not fully looking up at me. 

“That makes you Lady Yara Greyjoy's brother, yes?” 

He nods again, still not looking up. 

“Then that makes you a Greyjoy, an Ironborn. You are every bit of a lord you are now and when you were born on Pyke, do not forget that. What’s happened has happened, no one can change that. All we can do is move forward. We Do Not Sow, yes?”

He nods, finally looking up at me. 

––––

The ships had cleared out of the docks and were making their way into Blackwater Bay. I stood near the cliffs, ready to leave, when Tyrion came to stand beside me. 

“What you’re doing is heroic, My Lady.” He says. 

“I guess it is. I’ve never done anything like this.” I flexed my fingers. “My entire body’s buzzing. Was this what you felt before the Battle of the Blackwater and defeated Stannis’ army?” 

Tyrion nodded. “It did. I felt like throwing up and shitting the floor at the same time.” We both laughed. “I had to drink a few glasses of wine to calm myself down. Perhaps it would help you, My Lady.” 

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, I’m fine. I need a clear head. But, you can save me that glass for when I get back. Then we can talk about everything that needs to be talked about. Don’t you agree?” 

“I do.” 

––––

It was pitch black and cold. The heat from Viserion’s body was still keeping me warm, but the cold wind blowing past my face was getting to me. Even from up there I could hear the waves crashing down which meant that I’d be able to hear when Euron’s fleet attacked. 

“How you feeling, big guy? Good?” I asked Viserion. He let out a small purr, his entire body vibrating. I sighed, looking up at the sky above. The stars and the mood were my only light as we flew further out. 

“Okay,” I say out loud. “Let's go over our plan. When they attack our ships we fly down and torch them, but we have to be careful not to get too close or else we’ll be caught and we have to watch out for the Scorpions. One hit with that and we’ll be recreating Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes. And keep your eye out for Euron, we need him alive.” 

Viserion purrs again and I take that as a sign that he agrees with the plan. The last few weeks I’ve flown with him were good, we’d stay around Dragonstone, the furthest we’ve been was Driftmark, so this was a huge risk. 

When I had explained to Daenerys my plan she was apprehensive. It was clear that she didn’t want either Viserion or I to get hurt, but she knew that we also couldn’t risk our fleet and our army. 

A loud crash brought me out of my thoughts, and a glow erupted from below. The steady waves of the ocean now clashed against one another as Euron began his assault. 

This was it. 

“Now.” I command. 

In an instant Viserion flies down past the clouds and we’re met with Eurons fleet fighting against Yara’s. Almost instantaneously my body and mind knew what to do. Without a word Viserion flew down and prepared himself. 

“Dracarys.” 

Fire erupts out of his mouth and lights the enemy ships below us ablaze. He lets out a loud scratch, gathering everyone's attention below before striking again. It takes them a minute before they aim their Scorpions up towards us. The massive arrows fly past us as Viserion weaves between them while burning Eurons fleet. 

It doesn’t take long for the battle to die down, the air filled with the smell of burnt wood and flesh. Our fleet was damaged but Eurons was completely destroyed. Anyone who could have survived the dragonfire were either killed or taken hostage. Like planned, a Targaryen flag is flown under the Greyjoy’s on Yara’s ship, Black Wind.  

–––––

Once I’d landed back on Dragonstone I quickly said goodbye to Viserion, letting him rest, and made my way down to the docks where everyone, minus Grey Worm, would be waiting for me. 

Daenerys was first to see me, giving me a tight hug while the others nodded my way, smiling. 

“Well done, My Lady. You’ve done well.” Tyrion says. 

“Thank you, but we’ve still got work to do.” 

Right on que, a ship comes into the docks. The crew works quickly to anchor down and disembark. The Ironborn and a few Dornish step off before Theon and a few of his men step off. He’s a little bruised, and he’s got dirt and ash on his face, but overall well. He bow’s towards Daenerys and I, giving me a small smile before he steps aside and allows his men in front who are dragging a beaten up Euron Greyjoy. 

“We’ve got him, Your Grace.” Says Theon. 

“Good,” Daenerys’ eyes never left the unconscious Euron. “Bring him to the dungeons.” 

The men hull him off and everyone makes their way back into the castle. I turn over to Tyrion. 

“Let’s have that drink.”

@wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @daenerys713 @ministark @laanswife @idohknow @jromanoff @bdudette @bitchyfestivalbouquet @glitteryobjecttaco @cantbecreative @lovelyteenagebeard @the0twst0shrimp0mc @sucker4seresin @marytargaryen @naneko31 @9tailedfoxfire @illsenewman @natblidaclexa @bluebirdseatblueberries

!! A/N: I will be going on a hiatus for a few months. I've got some personal stuff going on so I won't be updating any of my series including this one. I don't know when I'll be back, but when I am I'll get you guys a new chapter so hang on tight. Thank you for all the support you've given so far. I know thing are only just getting started story wise but I have a lot to do and I'll make it up to you all when I'm back.

[naggascradle]

thank god for elden ring honestly because its really busted my eye open for grrm's thing for dualities in his writing. like you cant make me look at radagon & marika's dual natures and then have me turn back around and look at a series literally titled a song of ice and fire and not start noticing how much he plays this parallelism game here. the knights of the vale behind their gates of the moon to the dornishmen in sunspear. the dothraki and ironborn as cultures built on pillaging off of others while the dothraki way fears the sea and where horses cannot travel, the ironborn dislike being tethered to the shores for too long, or their shared aversion to spilling blood as a spiritual belief leading them to find ways to kill in a much more brutal fashion. the titular icy other who shall never be named to rhllor the lord of light and fire. the last children of the forest finally found so far north as the last dragons are hatched in the known world. robb stark has the world in his hands and loses it all for a nobody named jeyne. theon greyjoy who has nothing left and yet saves a nobody named jeyne in order to regain what little self he can. the ice covered wall to keep the wights out to the hot burning sea that holds the doom of valyria. you take the black and you take the white its all the same vows to guard the realm or guard the monarch, never have a family, but the difference is a matter of prestige and location. the blood of old valyrians being dragonlike and few of them left with an almost ethereal nature to them vs the blood of the first men passing down the chance to have the ability to warg and be connected with nature itself. following with that the exile of the last targaryens and distrust of their "mad" nature despite formerly being desired & seen as godlike, compared to the first men's descendants being mostly wildlings who are shunned and kept away from most of westeros. there's really nothing i love more than a good parallel

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

in asoiaf, what is the order of succession for nobles and for the throne (as i’ve read they are different)?

They are indeed different. In most of Westeros, they use traditional Andal succession, known in our world as male-preference primogeniture. This puts women at the back of the line, so to speak, but does not exclude them. A lord's eldest son inherits, even if he has older daughters, followed by the remainder of his sons by age, and then his daughters, and then would move up to the previous generations with his brothers and then his sisters. "A daughter comes before an uncle," as they say. For example, with the Starks, Ned's succession is Robb-Bran-Rickon-Sansa-Arya. (Benjen is excluded for being a man of the Night's Watch; Jon is excluded by being a bastard and a man of the Night's Watch. But of course there's complications.) This succession also includes the heirs of the heirs, so for example Hoster Tully's succession is Edmure-Catelyn-Robb-Bran-Rickon-Sansa-Arya-Lysa-Robert-Brynden.

Note there are exceptions to this, even after King Jaehaerys I Targaryen codified the laws across Westeros. Sometimes these exceptions appear to be cultural. For example, somehow House Stark has never had a ruling lady in all its reported 8000 years of existence, and the time we know they should have, Cregan Stark's eldest (and late lamented) son Rickon's eldest daughter Sansa was (forcefully?) married to Cregan's eldest son from his third marriage, her half-uncle Jonnel, who became the lord instead. Another example - after Balon Greyjoy dies, a maester insists that "By rights the Seastone Chair belongs to Theon, or Asha if the prince is dead. That is the law", and Aeron Greyjoy dismisses it contemptuously as "green land law", and thinks the Iron Islands will never follow a woman.

Sometimes these exceptions appear to be just plain misogyny - like when Big and Little Walder Frey discuss the succession of the Twins, they don't count the women in the line. Mind you the Walders are children and may not know true details; but time will tell if Edwyn's daughter Walda will inherit or if her uncle Black Walder will seize the Twins. (Probably the latter.) Of course little Walda also has the problem of being a child heiress, but child heiresses have become ruling ladies before -- like Jeyne Arryn, whose inheritance was contested multiple times by her male cousins -- or like Cerelle Lannister, who inherited at the age of 3 and ruled for a year before dying suddenly and her uncle Gerold became lord. Um. It's hard out there for a girl. 😭

And in Dorne, they use a different form of succession entirely -- Rhoynar tradition, what we call absolute primogeniture. Much simpler, there the eldest child inherits regardless of sex. So Doran's heirs are Arianne-Quentyn-Trystane-{Elia}-{Rhaenys}-{Aegon}-Oberyn. Of course, Dorne has its own exceptions: per GRRM, a few houses in the mountains, least affected by the Rhoynar, may sometimes follow Andal tradition instead, which is likely the reason why Cletus Yronwood was considered the heir instead of his older sister Ynys. (Mind you, Cletus is dead now, and Anders Yronwood only has daughters left, so sucks to be a man compared to Criston Cole, doesn't it?) And Arianne was worried that Doran was going to have Quentyn inherit instead of her, but she didn't know that Doran was actually planning to make her queen of Westeros, which would take her out of the Sunspear succession (in the same way that Myriah Martell married Daeron II Targaryen and her younger brother Maron became Prince of Dorne).

Now. The Targaryen succession to the throne is a different matter. For them, they've had the competing issues of tradition, king's choice, sexist lords voting sexism, even more tradition, and politics. (Sooo much politics.) Putting the rest of this behind a cut because it was already a long post but it got longer:

From the start, as far as we know the pre-Conquest Targaryens in Westeros used traditional Andal succession. (It's unknown how succession was handled in Valyria, or if there was a difference between the dragonrider families and any others.) There is a brief mention that Aenar the Exile's grandchildren, Aegon and Elaena, ruled together, but every other Lord of Dragonstone was indeed a lord, and hardly any daughters are even referred to. By the time we get to the Conquest trio, we know that Visenya was the eldest child, and yet her younger brother Aegon was Lord of Dragonstone. And later, Aegon was the king, with his sister-wives as his queens (though unlike later queens, they sat the Iron Throne and handled day-to-day governance of the realm).

The first time we see an issue with this succession tradition was when King Aenys died and his half-brother Maegor usurped (and later killed) Aenys's eldest son Aegon. By Andal tradition, Aegon and his sister-wife Rhaena's eldest daughter Aerea should have succeeded after Maegor died (he considered her his heir until he had children of his own), but instead Aegon's younger brother Jaehaerys became king. Political issues there: Jaehaerys actually successfully contested Maegor's rule, he was a strong teen boy with a sword and a dragon where Aerea was a girl of six who'd been in hiding most of her life, her mother Rhaena had been forcefully married to Maegor and had few supporters, Aerea had been named heir by Maegor specifically to cut out Jaehaerys, etc. Though note Aerea was considered Jaehaerys's heir... until he had children of his own. And as for Rhaena (Aenys's eldest child), she never actually vied for the throne after Maegor's death, but later in her life she bitterly told Jaehaerys "you have my throne, content yourself with that."

As for Jaehaerys and his children, from the start there were problems, when Queen Alysanne expected their eldest child Daenerys to be queen one day (why Alysanne expected the throne to follow absolute primogeniture at this point is unknown), and Jae was like, sure, our second child Aemon will be king and she'll be his wife! But Daenerys died as a child, and as for Aemon, he died too, albeit as a father of a grown daughter with a child of her own on the way. And there you have Jae sexism part 2, instead of naming Rhaenys as his heir, he instead named his second living son, Baelon, as his heir. So here's the precedent where the throne deliberately denied Andal succession tradition, and instead went with king's choice.

Then 9 years after Aemon's death, Baelon also died, and Jaehaerys held the Great Council of 101 AC, for all the lords of Westeros to decide between all of Jaehaerys's potential heirs. In the end, the final choice was between Aemon's daughter Rhaenys's son Laenor (Rhaenys herself was also in competition, though her claim was dismissed early) and Baelon's son Viserys. By a large percentage, the lords chose Viserys. According to maesters,

In the eyes of many, the Great Council of 101 AC thereby established an iron precedent on matters of succession: regardless of seniority, the Iron Throne of Westeros could not pass to a woman, nor through a woman to her male descendants.

This female-exclusive tradition is known in our world as agnatic primogeniture, or Salic law. However, this "iron precedent" was not that iron even from the beginning. Viserys and his wife Aemma only had one living child, Rhaenyra, so Viserys's brother Daemon was considered his heir until a son was born. And, well, if you've seen the first episode of HOTD you know what happened, because of Daemon's fuckup Viserys deliberately dismissed him, "disregarding the precedents set by [...] the Great Council in 101", but used the precedent of king's choice to name Rhaenyra as his heir and make all the lord of Westeros vow to obey that decision. Again, you've seen what happened next -- Viserys then remarried and had sons, whose grandfather used the Andal tradition to try to make Viserys name as heirs, but he refused to bypass Rhaenyra. In the end, though, when the Green Council formed after Viserys's death,

Ser Tyland pointed out that many of the lords who had sworn to defend the succession of Princess Rhaenyra were long dead. “It has been twenty-four years,” he said. “I myself swore no such oath. I was a child at the time.” Ironrod, the master of laws, cited the Great Council of 101 and the Old King’s choice of Baelon rather than Rhaenys in 92, then discoursed at length about Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters, and the hallowed Andal tradition wherein the rights of a trueborn son always came before the rights of a mere daughter.

So the law cited to name Aegon II king was one king's choice vs another king's choice, as well as Andal tradition and the "iron precedent" of the Great Council. And thus we got the Dance of the Dragons, Rhaenyra vs Aegon II.

But what about afterwards? What does Fire & Blood say about Aegon III, how did the maesters decide he inherited, through Aegon II (as his only living male relative), as Daemon's son, or as Rhaenyra's son? Well, it doesn't actually explain this point! The moment Aegon II died, Corlys Velaryon's men were freeing Aegon the Younger from his hostage prison, and then when the late Rhaenyra's (finally) winning army showed up at the gates of King's Landing, we just have Corlys saying, "The king is dead, long live the king." No maester commentary on the precedent at all, much to the frustration of backseat lawyers and historians in the fandom, who keep arguing one way or the other, or the various fandom teams, who keep arguing which side actually won.* 😅

*The answer is nobody. Nobody won.

And note that because Aegon III had no known living male relatives at the time (his brother Viserys was missing and presumed dead), his half-sisters Baela and Rhaena were considered his heirs, again despite this supposed "iron precedent". Leading to one of my favorite quotes from F&B:

Yet it was Grand Maester Munkun who put an end to the debate when he said, “My lords, it makes no matter. They are both girls. Have we learned so little from the slaughter? We must abide by primogeniture, as the Great Council ruled in 101. The male claim comes before the female.” Yet when Ser Tyland said, “And who is this male claimant, my lord? We seem to have killed them all,” Munkun had no answer but to say he would research the issue.

Though Aegon III's council and regents really wanted Baela to have a proper son, and when she rejected their (fat old guy) intended husband and instead eloped with a legitimized bastard, they wasted no time getting her sister Rhaena married to someone suitable, though she actually chose her husband, an older knight she'd become friends with in the Vale. And then Unwin Peake killed off Aegon II's daughter Jaehaera in order to marry Aegon III to his own daughter, and Baela and Rhaena did an end run with a new wife for their brother, a very young girl he didn't touch for 10 years... Of course, all this plotting came to nothing when Viserys did show up alive, so the lords could be satisfied with no need for an icky girl queen, the very idea.

The next time we see any competing issues of precedent for the succession to the throne was after Aegon III's second son, Baelor the Blessed, died without any children. By rights, per Andal tradition, his successor should have been his sister (and ex-wife) Daena. However, because Baelor had imprisoned Daena and her sisters in the Maidenvault for 10 years, they had few supporters, complicated by the fact that Daena had also recently had a bastard and refused to name the father. And of course, the Dance was still on everyone's mind as it had ended only 40 years before. So,

The precedents of the Great Council of 101 and the Dance of the Dragons were therefore cited, and the claims of Baelor's sisters were set aside. Instead the crown passed to his uncle, the King's Hand, Prince Viserys.

And Viserys II was followed by his son Aegon IV and so on. After this point, we do not have any real questions about gender and succession for a while. (Though some wonder, when Daemon Blackfyre vied for the throne, if he ever cited his mother Daena's stolen claim, in addition to being the unstated choice of his father Aegon IV. Also Aerys I named his niece Aelora as his heir after her brother-husband Aelor died, but she also died before Aerys did.) By the time of the Great Council of 233 AC, the claim of Vaella, only child of Maekar's eldest son Daeron, was dismissed immediately, though note she was also considered "simple", and Maekar's fourth son came to the throne as Aegon V.

And then in 283 AC, Robert Baratheon took the throne from the Targaryens. While many believe he took the throne by conquest (killing King Aerys II Targaryen's heir Rhaegar, while Aerys was killed by Jaime Lannister), maesters cite the fact that Robert was the grandson of Rhaelle Targaryen, daughter of Aegon V! So where is that "iron precedent" now, with Robert as the descendant of a Targaryen woman? And Robert's brother Stannis considers his daughter Shireen to be his heir, and people in Westeros in general consider Robert's daughter Myrcella to be his heir (after her brothers Joffrey and Tommen). Not to mention the fact that (claimant king in exile) Viserys considered Dany his heir, naming her Princess of Dragonstone.

So. Theoretically by the time of the main books, this "no women allowed ever" precedent for royal succession is still out there. In practice, however, the throne currently either follows Andal tradition of sons before daughters (but yes, including daughters), or the "whoever has the larger army" tradition of old. And that will be what truly decides the question of Aegon (or Jon) vs Daenerys, whether Rhaegar's line was disinherited by Aerys II or whether any maesters pop up to say "but iron precedent!" or what. Fire and blood, as always.

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 15 | chapter 16

Holding off another moan, you curled your fingers into a fist as you clutched against the sheets tightly. Early in the morn, when the sun hadn't greeted the horizon yet, Cersei started to torture you with her mouth as you laid on the bed.

She was having a way with your cock at her own leisurely pace and you weren't allowed to touch her.

One wrong move and she'd stop whatever she was doing.

Cersei's hand lazily stroke your hard shaft up and down, while she occasionally licked the length, her eyes trained on you watching your every reaction.

Your cock twitching against her hold brought a proud smirk on the Queen's face.

"Cersei," you moaned, "I don't think I can hold it anymore."

She only chuckled softly, her hand wrapping tight around you, making you pull the sheets.

Cersei stared at you as she wrapped her lips around the head, sucking lightly, then letting go.

"I enjoy this so much," she said, her hand never stopping.

You laughed, only to be cut off with another moan as she nipped the tip. "I . . . I can tell."

When you came for the nth time that day, you pleaded rest for an hour making the Queen Mother laugh.

"Clearly, I overestimated your stamina," Cersei said, chuckling as she laid down next to you. "You seem to be getting old."

You joined in laughter, still breathless, wrapping your arm around the woman as you placed your head on top of her stomach. "Father has just been exhausting me from training."

Fighting your eyelids from drooping to sleep, you began caressing the skin of her upper thigh, mesmerized by the creamy color of her skin.

"I see you've been obtaining injuries as well," Cersei added, her fingers carefully dancing around the fresh wound you got on your shoulder from falling a number of times riding Nymeros.

You wished to tell Cersei everything, about you being a Targaryen, about the dragon, about Daenerys, wanting nothing to hide from the woman anymore. But it was a story for another time, as you started to pepper kisses on her lower stomach past the faint blonde hair above her cunt down to her dripping center.

"Y/n—"

Seeing the Lannister woman like this was what kept you from telling the truth. Oberyn's warning still hadn't left your mind, doubting Cersei would still choose you if she only knew. And you didn't want this to stop just yet.

~~~

Nymeros had been patient with you. If it wasn't for the Targaryen blood running through your veins, you knew you'd be burned to ashes for how poorly you had trained with the dragon.

The dragon had no experience when it came to battles, having been imprisoned inside the cave for decades. At first, you were afraid how Nymeros would react to the outside world, seeing him hesitant from stretching his wings. But it didn't stop Nymeros from flying across the sky the second it saw birds flying in groups. Later on, you let it wander around near places with you on its stead.

Besides keeping a low profile training in deserted islands near Sunspear, it was a challenge training the dragon.

You had no idea how monstrously huge Nymeros was out in the open and against the sun. The wings could create a tsunami if the dragon wanted to and the talons could tear skin through bone if one would suffer such misfortune.

It had been a living dream to be able to ride a dragon, let alone petting and ordering it with what few High Valyrian words you learned. You just wished you could share all your tales to the woman you loved.

Uneasy with the way your days had been going with Nymeros, Oberyn and your guardian father had been silent on their own, always changing the subject whenever you tried to bring up how things were with Daenaerys.

You knew they had only been contacting in secret so as not to catch any attention from Prince Doran, yet it didn't lift your spirits up having been kept out of the discussion.

The marriage between Trystane and Myrcella was to push through. Servants and other guests were busy as they began with the preparation, with other houses flocking to Sunspear to witness the union of two strong houses.

However, there was something in your gut telling you to keep wary of Myrcella's safety as she chose a number of colorful wedding dresses with her mother inside her chambers. So you picked one of your trusted guards to keep them company at all times.

It was when Prince Doran called for you when you realized you had underestimated his patience.

"I believe your father has been a great influence on my brother Oberyn, and I'm truly grateful for that," Doran began. "But if something I have been forbidding happens anytime soon, trust me when I say I can never be forgiving on second chances."

"I am not—"

"Do you think I'm not aware of what's happening with the Sands' rebellion in the open desert? I have eyes and ears, Lady Y/n."

Your eyesbrows furrowed deeper.

"That's why I called for you," he went on. "Because I trust you out of all would ensure the Lannisters' safety given your fondness over Myrcella's mother."

Swallowing a nervous gulp, you replied, "I promise not to let harm come their way, Prince Doran."

"I surely hope so," he said. "Treason is punishable by death. I've reminded Oberyn of it, but I trust you will talk some sense out of him and your father."

~~~

The creaking of bed and breathless moans filled the entire room in the middle of the night. Illuminated by the candle on the desk, the shadows danced passionately along the walls of the Dowager Queen's chambers.

Cersei's legs were wrapped around your waist as you pounded into her. Her nails dug behind your back, keeping you in the present. Your arms on both sides of her head, supporting you from resting your entire weight on the Queen.

When Cersei grabbed your face to hers as she pressed her mouth against your parted lips, you let out a strained moan.

Resting her forehead against yours, she looked into your eyes as she panted, "Marry me."

You opened your eyes wider, pausing your movements as you looked at her.

"What?"

Her fingers brushed along the sides of your lips before she clarified. "Marry me after my daughter's marriage. I want you beside me as I go back to King's Landing."

A smile slowly crept into your face as you continued to stare at the woman, wondering if it was the bliss from your lovemaking that made her confess to such a thing. But you treasured every moment of it.

"Are you—"

"I am sure," Cersei confirmed, chuckling softly seeing your adorable face. She brushed a strand of your hair over your ear before she cupped your cheek. "I've grown quite fond of you, my Lady, if you don't know that yet. . . Marry me and make me the happiest Lannister there is in Westeros."

You nodded back enthusiastically as you murmured against her lips. "Yes, yes, Cersei, my Queen, I will marry you."

And you swore you could hear happy sniffles from her end as she kissed you back, the movement urging you to continue thrusting into her.

When you both fell asleep from tiredness that night, with your head on her chest, you didn't notice Cersei's hands playing through your hair as she lulled you to sleep.

You didn't notice her lips pressing a longing kiss on top of your head, smelling your hair and loving it.

And you surely didn't hear the tiny whisper she made before she let sleep consume her.

"I love you, Y/n."

~~~

But all happy things would eventually come to an end.

Tywin's death had reached Dorne some time in the morning while you all were breaking the fast, somehow ending the bliss between you and Cersei. It was a week before Myrcella's wedding.

And it was Tyrion that delivered his father's untimely demise, surprising you. But you doubted if it was a setup when another innocent whore was also murdered in Tywin's chambers that night, not expecting Tyrion could do such a thing.

Cersei avoided you for two nights until you finally had enough. When she let you enter her chambers that night, you embraced the Lannister woman for comfort, ready to accept whatever insults she may have your way.

You knew the Queen felt it deep inside that you were to blame. If Tyrion was only executed, her father would still be alive.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, leaning your forehead against hers.

She sniffled as she pulled away from you. "It's going to be fine. My brother Jaime will hold the fort after our father's death. I trust he would advise Tommen just as wise as our father did."

You nodded, sitting beside the woman, waiting for her to permit you to touch her.

And you thought she never would when she rode you that night, coming on top of you for a few times with your hands tied to the bed posts, helpless.

When you both came for the final time, tired and out of breath, Cersei finally let you loose.

"I hope you know now how being kind is a form of weakness," she whispered as she laid on top of you. "And weakness only create multitudes of problems."

~~~

Why would you support a usurper?

It was the only thing in Cersei's head since she received a raven from her brother Jamie, how Varys was involved in helping escape Tyrion from King's Landing and how Jamie had overheard Daenerys has been waiting for your arrival in Dragonstone.

Were you keeping things from her? You of all people were the only Martell she could trust and yet you chose to betray her.

Saving Tyrion in exchange to her father's death, she would forgive you in an instant. But if what Jaime said was true, it was certainly unforgivable.

The Lioness could only grit her teeth as she crumpled the tiny scroll with Jamie's handwriting.

Of course, Jamie just wants to destroy whatever relationship Cersei has with you.

"Mother," Myrcella called, making Cersei look at her daughter. She could see the sheepish smile displayed on the younger Lannister. "Is something going on between you and Lady Y/n?"

Cersei forced a weak smile. "Wherever you hear this, my child?"

"People talk, Mother," she replied, giggling. "And before you deny any allegations, I would just like you to know that it's okay. You deserve to be happy too, Mother. With all the things going on, in King's Landing, my brother's death, the war across the narrow sea, I think we all do deserve to be happy at least once."

"How did you grow up so fast and get so wise?" Cersei said, smiling from ear to ear as she embraced her daughter.

There was little hope inside Cersei that Jaime was just being Jaime. Envious of you.

~~~

Making love with you was the only thing that kept the Queen Mother occupied and away from worries in the world. In your chambers or hers, there were only you and her, no one else.

"Y/n," Cersei moaned in your parted mouth, holding your head behind her and your hand that was gripping her hips.

The sound of wet skins slapping was the kind of music Cersei had grown accustomed to, your groan even more memorable as you thrusted into her cunt from behind.

"Cersei." One of your hands went to cup and squeeze one of her breasts, enjoying the way the woman's chest was rapidly rising and falling with every thrust you gave.

Cersei felt so wonderful having herself be fucked by you, your cock stretching her out, filling her good. It had immediately erased any thought there was in the Queen Mother's head, even her own name that kept on replaying in your mouth as you didn't dare stop.

When your fingers slipped forward to roll her swollen clit, Cersei lost her composure as she leaned forward and held tight against the sheets.

It felt so good, Cersei thought of speaking yet only whimpers and moans came out of her throat as she thrashed before you.

You weren't faring well as you held her ass and fastened the pace when you felt her clenching around your cock. And when she finally came, shuddering beneath you and juices dripping down both your thighs, you fell down on her back as you came just seconds after.

"Cersei, Cersei," you groaned, head buried into the back of her neck as you spilled more cum inside her. "I love you so much."

When you said it, the blissful smile on Cersei's face eventually disappeared as every thought and doubt began appearing inside her head.

The older woman crawled out from under you as she laid her back on the bed, making you wonder if you said something wrong. Laying next to her and still panting, you let out a chuckle in the silent night.

"I swore one of these nights, Oberyn may come down knocking on our door just to silence us out."

"Do you?" Cersei's sudden serious voice made you frown in confusion.

"Do I what?"

"Do you really love me?" she asked.

Breathless, you turned around to face her. "I do. I do love you, Cersei. What's wrong?"

Cersei licked her lips, denying any doubt she had seeing your innocent face. No, you wouldn't do such a thing towards her. You weren't that capable of hurting her, were you?

"Hey," you called again, caressing her cheek, bringing her to look back at you. "I can tell something's bothering you. You can tell me anything."

"It's stupid—"

"It's not stupid if it bothers you this much," you said.

Cersei regained her breathing before she spoke. "I received a letter from Jaime saying you and the Martells are set to meet and serve Daenerys in Dragonstone, make plans to overthrow my son from the iron throne," she sighed, "I know it's just one of my brother's ways of destroying what we have—"

You stiffened, making Cersei's eyes widen because she surely noticed it.

"It's not true, is it?" Cersei asked, her voice unsure.

You pulled back to a sit, looking before you, avoiding the woman's gaze.

"Y/n!" Cersei demanded. "It's not true, is it?"

She could see you troubled and the only instinct she had at that moment was to fight before you could move. You may had planned to murder her after the sex you had.

Fast as lightning, Cersei grabbed the dagger she gifted you from the table, straddled herself on top of you as she held it against your throat.

"Cersei—"

The cold steel pressed against your skin as she asked, "Is it true or not?"

"It's true," you replied, holding your hands up in the air in surrender. "It's true. But it's not what you think—"

"What I think is here I am not believing a word Jaime has said when I have every reason to," she spat coldly, leaning forward towards you as you pulled back from the weapon.

"Cersei, let me explain," you began. "Please."

The small drop of blood from your neck made the Lannister woman climb off you, hastily getting dressed.

"Cersei, listen to me," you said, dressing up as well. "Tommen is not the rightful heir—"

"How dare you use me—"

"I did not use you, Cersei. Believe me," you begged. "I do love you. I have loved you desperately. My heart calls your name. I swear my loyalty to you. You're my Queen."

There was a tiny pause before she laughed evilly.

"Is that what you call to one of your whores? My Queen of the Martell Chambers?!"

Cersei headed towards the door before you got ahold of her. "Cersei, I was planning to tell you."

"When? When you and I have already gotten married and I have no choice but to attack my son just because the true heir wants to sit on his throne?!"

"The iron throne belongs to Queen Daenerys —"

"I am your Queen!"

"You are, you are—"

"I was wrong," she said with a scornful tone. "Whatever this is, it's over."

And it broke your heart as much as hers did. She fought herself not to cry.

"You betrayed me," she said in a low voice, you almost didn't hear it.

"Cersei—"

"Stay away from me!"

"Cersei, she's my sister, I can't —"

"What?" Bewildered eyes met yours as you took a step forward towards her.

"Daenerys.  . . She's.  . . . She's my sister," you confessed, tears on your face. "I recently found out about it, I swear it was not my intention to betray you. I have no choice."

Cersei gritted her teeth as she tried to absorb the information.

Dragons, the witch had said. Cersei's greatest love and heartbreak. You.

"Then choose," Cersei said, her voice hitched.

"What do you mean?"

"Choose between me and her. Choose between me and Daenerys. "

"Cersei, it's not that easy—"

"Just choose!" Choose me.

But you only fell silent, lost on what to do. She scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Once we leave Dorne," she started, "do not ever attempt to contact me. Do not ever set foot in King's Landing, for I will not hesitate to order the Kingsguard to have you beheaded for treason."

Cersei left, slamming the door harshly behind her.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

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Thank you so much ❤🥰

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Prince Rhaegar as a character often gets some deserved criticism - and a lot of underserved hate. And one of the things that I think he unfairly gets blamed for is Elia Martell's tragedy. Elia's death is one of the primary objections people have towards Rhaegar and Lyanna being depicted as a romance, with readers believing that if they were just tragic lovers, then that diminishes Elia's own tragedy.

I...disagree. It is understandable (and honestly right) that readers would rally behind Elia. Not only was she horribly brutalized and murdered, but her children suffered absolutely terrible fates as well.

However, in trying to center Rhaegar and Lyanna's doomed dalliance in this, a lot of readers are missing the answer that has been already provided to us within the narrative. Not only that, but this line of thinking also ignores the key context in which Elia's senseless murder is portrayed.

As far as the text goes, Elia’s death is laid squarely at the feet of Tywin Lannister and his men, Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch. It's House Lannister's burden to bear.

Doran for one, Elia's brother, directly blames Tywin Lannister:

“You mistake patience for forbearance. I have worked at the downfall of Tywin Lannister since the day they told me of Elia and her children.”

The Princess in the Tower, AFFC

Even Oberyn agrees:

“Dwarf,” said the Red Viper, in a tone grown markedly less cordial, “spare me your Lannister lies. Is it sheep you take us for, or fools? My brother is not a bloodthirsty man, but neither has he been asleep for sixteen years. Jon Arryn came to Sunspear the year after Robert took the throne, and you can be sure that he was questioned closely. Him, and a hundred more. I did not come for some mummer’s show of an inquiry. I came for justice for Elia and her children, and I will have it. Starting with this lummox Gregor Clegane … but not, I think, ending there. Before he dies, the Enormity That Rides will tell me whence came his orders, please assure your lord father of that.” He smiled. “An old septon once claimed I was living proof of the goodness of the gods. Do you know why that is, Imp?”

Tyrion IV, ASOS

“Is that the game we are playing?” Tyrion rubbed at his scarred nose. He had nothing to lose by telling Oberyn the truth. “There was a bear at Harrenhal, and it did kill Ser Amory Lorch.” “How sad for him,” said the Red Viper. “And for you. Do all noseless men lie so badly, I wonder?” “I am not lying. Ser Amory dragged Princess Rhaenys out from under her father’s bed and stabbed her to death. He had some men-at-arms with him, but I do not know their names.” He leaned forward. “It was Ser Gregor Clegane who smashed Prince Aegon’s head against a wall and raped your sister Elia with his blood and brains still on his hands.” “What is this, now? Truth, from a Lannister?” Oberyn smiled coldly. “Your father gave the commands, yes?” “No.” He spoke the lie without hesitation, and never stopped to ask himself why he should. The Dornishman raised one thin black eyebrow. “Such a dutiful son. And such a very feeble lie. It was Lord Tywin who presented my sister’s children to King Robert all wrapped up in crimson Lannister cloaks.”

Tyrion IX, ASOS

“Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne,” the Red Viper hissed. “You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children…“I came to hear you confess.”

Tyrion X, ASOS

Varys and Tyrion both understand that House Martell (but more specifically Doran) hates the Lannisters.

“The Dornishmen thus far have held aloof from these wars. Doran Martell has called his banners, but no more. His hatred for House Lannister is well known, and it is commonly thought he will join Lord Renly. You wish to dissuade him.” “All this is obvious,” said Tyrion. “The only puzzle is what you might have offered for his allegiance. The prince is a sentimental man, and he still mourns his sister Elia and her sweet babe.” “My father once told me that a lord never lets sentiment get in the way of ambition … and it happens we have an empty seat on the small council, now that Lord Janos has taken the black.” “A council seat is not to be despised,” Varys admitted, “yet will it be enough to make a proud man forget his sister’s murder?” “Why forget?” Tyrion smiled. “I’ve promised to deliver his sister’s killers, alive or dead, as he prefers. After the war is done, to be sure.” Varys gave him a shrewd look. “My little birds tell me that Princess Elia cried a … certain name … when they came for her.” “Is a secret still a secret if everyone knows it?” In Casterly Rock, it was common knowledge that Gregor Clegane had killed Elia and her babe. They said he had raped the princess with her son’s blood and brains still on his hands. “This secret is your lord father’s sworn man.” “My father would be the first to tell you that fifty thousand Dornishmen are worth one rabid dog.” Varys stroked a powdered cheek. “And if Prince Doran demands the blood of the lord who gave the command as well as the knight who did the deed …” “Robert Baratheon led the rebellion. All commands came from him, in the end.” “Robert was not at King’s Landing.” “Neither was Doran Martell.”

Tyrion IV, ACOK

Really, all the nobles know where to look at when assigning blame for Elia's murder. Tywin.

“Prince Doran comes at my son’s invitation,” Lord Tywin said calmly, “not only to join in our celebration, but to claim his seat on this council, and the justice Robert denied him for the murder of his sister Elia and her children.” Tyrion watched the faces of the Lords Tyrell, Redwyne, and Rowan, wondering if any of the three would be bold enough to say, “But Lord Tywin, wasn’t it you who presented the bodies to Robert, all wrapped up in Lannister cloaks?” None of them did, but it was there on their faces all the same. Redwyne does not give a fig, he thought, but Rowan looks fit to gag.

Tywin, for the most part, quite shamelessly tries to disassociate himself from his own moral failings; this is nothing new, because he follows this same MO with squarely blaming the Freys for the Red Wedding even though he played an integral part in planning for it.

“Then why did the Mountain kill her?” “Because I did not tell him to spare her. I doubt I mentioned her at all. I had more pressing concerns. Ned Stark’s van was rushing south from the Trident, and I feared it might come to swords between us. And it was in Aerys to murder Jaime, with no more cause than spite. That was the thing I feared most. That, and what Jaime himself might do.” He closed a fist. “Nor did I yet grasp what I had in Gregor Clegane, only that he was huge and terrible in battle. The rape … even you will not accuse me of giving that command, I would hope. Ser Amory was almost as bestial with Rhaenys. I asked him afterward why it had required half a hundred thrusts to kill a girl of … two? Three? He said she’d kicked him and would not stop screaming. If Lorch had half the wits the gods gave a turnip, he would have calmed her with a few sweet words and used a soft silk pillow.” His mouth twisted in distaste. “The blood was in him.”

Tyrion VI, ASOS

“And when Oberyn demands the justice he’s come for?” “I will tell him that Ser Amory Lorch killed Elia and her children,” Lord Tywin said calmly. “So will you, if he asks.” “Ser Amory Lorch is dead,” Tyrion said flatly. “Precisely. Vargo Hoat had Ser Amory torn apart by a bear after the fall of Harrenhal. That ought to be sufficiently grisly to appease even Oberyn Martell.” “You may call that justice …” “It is justice. It was Ser Amory who brought me the girl’s body, if you must know. He found her hiding under her father’s bed, as if she believed Rhaegar could still protect her. Princess Elia and the babe were in the nursery a floor below.”

Tyrion VI, ASOS

Tywin tries to alleviate himself of any responsibility by blaming his men, but the narrative actively calls bullshit on this (through Tywin's own son no less).

So the narrative shows through multiple POVs that Elia's murder is contextualized exclusively as a failing on Tywin Lannister and his men; not only was it a moral failing, but Tyrion also questions if it was politically necessary in the first place. It's also important to note that ASOS is when we really dive into the matter of Elia and her children (mostly through Oberyn), but we also have to remember that this is the same book as the Red Wedding. The Red Wedding, another one of Tywin's senseless massacres that he tries to postulate as politically necessary.

So, we have agreed that the blame and context for Elia's (and her children's) murder is presented through the lens of Tywin as an immoral politician who often makes politically unnecessary moves. But then we ask ourselves, can the responsibility of this tragedy be extended? Well, yes it can. And it has been in the text.

Ser Barristan extends this tragedy beyond Tywin and his men

...to King Robert.

“Prince Rhaegar had two children,” Ser Barristan told him. “Rhaenys was a little girl, Aegon a babe in arms. When Tywin Lannister took King’s Landing, his men killed both of them. He served the bloody bodies up in crimson cloaks, a gift for the new king.” And what did Robert say when he saw them? Did he smile? Barristan Selmy had been badly wounded on the Trident, so he had been spared the sight of Lord Tywin’s gift, but oft he wondered. If I had seen him smile over the red ruins of Rhaegar’s children, no army on this earth could have stopped me from killing him. “I will not suffer the murder of children. Accept that, or I’ll have no part of this.”

The Kingbreaker, ADWD

Ned Stark does as well.

Ned did not feign surprise; Robert’s hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar’s wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, “I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.” Not even Jon Arryn had been able to calm that storm. Eddard Stark had ridden out that very day in a cold rage, to fight the last battles of the war alone in the south. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Lyanna’s death, and the grief they had shared over her passing.

Eddard II, AGOT

And so does Tywin, who uses Robert's tacit approval as justification for this senseless act.

Lord Tywin stared at him as if he had lost his wits. “You deserve that motley, then. We had come late to Robert’s cause. It was necessary to demonstrate our loyalty. When I laid those bodies before the throne, no man could doubt that we had forsaken House Targaryen forever. And Robert’s relief was palpable. As stupid as he was, even he knew that Rhaegar’s children had to die if his throne was ever to be secure. Yet he saw himself as a hero, and heroes do not kill children.” His father shrugged. “I grant you, it was done too brutally. Elia need not have been harmed at all, that was sheer folly. By herself she was nothing.”

Tyrion VI, ASOS

So if we can't extend the blame to Rhaegar, because the narrative doesn't do so either, what can we hold him responsible for? Let's take a step back and look at Rhaegar's culpability in this whole thing.

Was Rhaegar (and Lyanna) responsible for starting the war that would eventually lead to Elia's murder?

No. GRRM doesn't think so. The war actually started when King Aerys murdered the Lord of Winterfell and his heir, a bunch of other northern nobles, and then called for the heads of Robert Baratheon (Lord of Storm's End) and Ned Stark (the new Lord of Winterfell). Aerys broke the feudal contract, and so Jon Arryn declared war.

I don't think I would have stayed loyal to the Mad King. Do I think they were justified? Yes, and no. [...] There was no doubt that the Mad King was mad. He was paranoid and he was abusing his power. And Westeros has no Magna Carta or anything like that. There was no way to handle this within the rule of law. But was what they do justified? Especially when you consider that it was triggered by a personal grievance. The execution of Ned's father and brother was really a thing that radicalized Ned and put him in opposition to it. Robert was just rolling for a fight and didn't like the fact that he'd lost his girlfriend. So you know, the personal informs the political.

source

Rhaegar and Lyanna's disappearance was merely the spark - it led to a misunderstanding that caused Brandon Stark to ride to Kingslanding. What really caused the war was Aerys' Targaryens subsequent actions as the king. So if we want to blame someone for causing the chain of events that led to Elia's death as well as her children's, the author himself says to blame Aerys; even though I don't think this is right either because we once again stray from the necessary (and sole) context of Elia's murder - Tywin's bloody hands.

Fine. Rhaegar was not responsible for the war. But surely he is responsible for leaving Elia in King's Landing, right in the clutches of Mad King Aerys. Well, this again, is not true. As far as Rhaegar knew, Elia was in Dragonstone with Aegon and Rhaenys where he left them.

As cold winds hammered the city, King Aerys II turned to his pyromancers, charging them to drive the winter off with their magics. Huge green fires burned along the walls of the Red Keep for a moon’s turn. Prince Rhaegar was not in the city to observe them, however. Nor could he be found in Dragonstone with Princess Elia and their young son, Aegon.

“The Year of the False Spring”, The World of Ice and Fire

At some point, Elia was called to King's Landing. And it was Aerys who kept her hostage there as insurance against possible Dornish betrayal (remember, he was paranoid).

Side Note: Aerys kept another important political hostage in King's Landing along with Elia - Jaime Lannister; this is to deter anyone from trying to blame Jaime for doing nothing. He was a teenager and a hostage himself!

“My Sworn Brothers were all away, you see, but Aerys liked to keep me close. I was my father’s son, so he did not trust me. He wanted me where Varys could watch me, day and night. So I heard it all.” He remembered how Rossart’s eyes would shine when he unrolled his maps to show where the substance must be placed. Garigus and Belis were the same. “Rhaegar met Robert on the Trident, and you know what happened there. When the word reached court, Aerys packed the queen off to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys. Princess Elia would have gone as well, but he forbade it. Somehow he had gotten it in his head that Prince Lewyn must have betrayed Rhaegar on the Trident, but he thought he could keep Dorne loyal so long as he kept Elia and Aegon by his side. The traitors want my city, I heard him tell Rossart, but I’ll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat. The Targaryens never bury their dead, they burn them. Aerys meant to have the greatest funeral pyre of them all. Though if truth be told, I do not believe he truly expected to die. Like Aerion Brightfire before him, Aerys thought the fire would transform him … that he would rise again, reborn as a dragon, and turn all his enemies to ash.

Jaime V, ASOS

Ok, fine. So Rhaegar did not abandon her with Aerys then run off to Lyanna. But he should have done something when he came back, right? Why didn't he leave more Kings Guard with Elia and the children?

Well....this is a war. The knights of the KG are important assets on the battle field. Kings Landing, at the time, was not the most dangerous location. The KG were better off at the Trident, as a victory there would protect those who were left behind in KL.

And it's not that Rhaegar didn't do anything. Beyond going off to lead the battle himself, he tried to make moves that would help those who were back in KL (Elia and the children included).

He floated in heat, in memory. “After dancing griffins lost the Battle of the Bells, Aerys exiled him.” Why am I telling this absurd ugly child? “He had finally realized that Robert was no mere outlaw lord to be crushed at whim, but the greatest threat House Targaryen had faced since Daemon Blackfyre. The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Dornishmen coming up the kingsroad. Jon Darry and Barristan Selmy rode to Stoney Sept to rally what they could of griffins’ men, and Prince Rhaegar returned from the south and persuaded his father to swallow his pride and summon my father. But no raven returned from Casterly Rock, and that made the king even more afraid. He saw traitors everywhere, and Varys was always there to point out any he might have missed. So His Grace commanded his alchemists to place caches of wildfire all over King’s Landing. Beneath Baelor’s Sept and the hovels of Flea Bottom, under stables and storehouses, at all seven gates, even in the cellars of the Red Keep itself.

Jaime V ASOS

And Jaime's POV once again shows us that Rhaegar banked on victory at the Trident, and was fully expecting to come back to KL and amend the fraught political situation.

The day had been windy when he said farewell to Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate. “Your Grace,” Jaime had pleaded, “let Darry stay to guard the king this once, or Ser Barristan. Their cloaks are as white as mine.” Prince Rhaegar shook his head. “My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour.” Jaime’s anger had risen up in his throat. “I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard.” “Then guard the king,” Ser Jon Darry snapped at him. “When you donned that cloak, you promised to obey.” Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “When this battle’s done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but … well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return.”

Jaime I, AFFC

So Rhaegar wasn't leaving with no care about what happened back in King's Landing. We don't know what he wanted to do with Aerys, Elia, Lyanna, and the aftermath of the war because he died at the Trident. But we do know that he, at the very least, was planning to do something.

So we can't blame Rhaegar (and Lyanna) for starting the war and we can't blame him either for abandoning Elia in King's Landing with no care about what happens next. So, again, what can we blame him for?

“It's not entirely correct that the Martells stayed out of the war. Rhaegar had Dornish troops with him on the Trident, under the command of Prince Lewyn of the Kingsguard. However, the Dornishmen did not support him as strongly as they might have, in part because of anger at his treatment of Elia, in part because of Prince Doran's innate caution.”

SSM, 09/11/1999

GRRM states that Dorne was angry about Rhaegar's treatment of Elia. What is this treatment, though?

Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty’s laurel in Lyanna’s lap.

Eddard XV, AGOT

Specifically, Rhaegar riding past Elia to crown Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty. Yes, that is a humiliation. And it's undeniable that no one was happy.

The crowning of the Stark girl, who was by all reports a wild and boyish young thing with none of the Princess Elia’s delicate beauty, could only have been meant to win the allegiance of Winterfell to Prince Rhaegar’s cause…Yet if this were true, why did Lady Lyanna’s brothers seem so distraught at the honor the prince had bestowed upon her? Brandon Stark, the heir to Winterfell, had to be restrained from confronting Rhaegar at what he took as a slight upon his sister’s honor…Eddard Stark, Brandon’s younger brother and a close friend to Lord Robert, was calmer but no more pleased.

“The Year of the False Spring”, The World of Ice and Fire

But, humiliating Elia is not the same thing as being responsible for her death. The narrative never equates these two things in any way. Elia's death is about Tywin's immoral and blood thirsty political actions. It's about Dorne's desire for justice (or is it vengeance?) which they know they will not get from the Lannister regime. House Lannister's downfall in King's Landing will be brought about by Prince Aegon's rise - Aegon who is proclaiming to be the long lost son of Prince Rhaegar, and who is being supported by House Martell as of now.

We can criticize Rhaegar for some things, but Elia's death is surely not one of them.

[arcxus-of-altihex]

Rhenium Darkstar | Sunspear Operative

"Me, dress like I'm in the order of shadows? Vlast forbid. There exist forms of magic beyond your wildest imaginations, my dear—I've merely found a specific kind."

-- • -- • --

I made a thief!! A magical thief who likes his shinies. Rhen was a former Mistwarden turned Sunspear following the exodus of the gods. Somehow, he still believes the best of people, and has hope for Elona's bright future.

[softpascalito]

Pedro Pascal Kinktober Day Twentytwo

Washing hair - Oberyn Martell/F!Reader

Summary: A few weeks after you and Oberyn begin to try conceiving and days before he leaves for Kings Landing, he finds you cooling down in the baths during a hot day.

Relationships: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader

WC: 1700

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Mild Smut, Bathing/Washing, Hair Washing, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mentions of Pregnancy, Kissing, Female Reader, Oberyn Martell Lives, this turned into a fix it fic along the way

AO3 LINK

notes: this is a direct continuation of kinktober day eight - breeding. highly recommend reading that one first! :)

_________________________________________

It had been a few weeks since that night, since she had first tasted the red tea leaves that were supposedly going to help her conceive, that Oberyn had had shipped to Dorne for that sole reason. It hadn't been until the next day that he had admitted to her that he had ordered a large quantity of them and that, if she chose to, there would be enough for several months.

So, every night, next to her dinner, a steaming mug sat waiting for her.

Most nights, it was followed by Oberyn waiting for her in their chambers afterwards. Though there had been several occasions where he hadn't waited on their bed or balcony or even the baths. He had waited at the table in the dining quarters, sitting next to her, his hand on her thigh and his gaze fixed on her movements. He watched, ready to pounce, just like a viper. And he did.

As soon as she would get up, he would be there, by her side, leading her out of the dining room. She felt his gaze on him in those moments and they were both thinking the same way, causing them, more than once, to not even make it back to their chambers before giving it another try.

He had taken their conversation to heart, the way she had mentioned that it was a lot of pressure to “ be his ” and so he had made a point to not bring it up too much, never asking if it had taken or if she felt any different.

Still, the man had noticed that she hadn't mentioned bleeding in a while and maybe, just maybe, he hoped it could mean something had shifted.

Oberyn found himself wandering the palace on a hot summer midday. The sun had been shining relentlessly on Dorne for days now and despite the Southerners being used to heat, even they had started hiding from the sun in the afternoon, not wanting to get burned. While nothing compared to the water gardens with its many chances for one to cool down and wade through the shallow pools, there was a small, closed-in pool at the palace in Sunspear as well. The outer wall was missing, replaced by thick columns and a beautifully crafted balustrade. One could bathe while overlooking the sea but without being burned by the sun. Over the years, plants had grown up the walls and columns and spread over the once open beams of the ceiling. Now, the greenery served as protection from the heat, only occasionally letting one or two rays of direct sunshine filter into the small pool.

Oberyn could smell the spices that hung in the air, the scent mixing with that of the salty sea as he stepped into the shade around the pool. And there she was.

He smiled as he watched her. Her back towards him, her hair tied up on her head, her naked body glistening under the water that was completely still around her. He stood for a moment, simply admiring the scene before he approached, silently letting his shawl and pants fall to the floor. The prince let himself glide into the water and reached out to touch her. Just then, feeling the ripple from him moving behind her, she turned her head towards him. A small smile formed on her face, matching his own.

“Greetings.” She mumbled as he closed the distance between them, ”What is my little sun doing out here, all by herself?”

“Hiding from the big sun.” That earned her a small laughter from Oberyn, ”I see.” His arms came to lay around her waist, his lips quickly finding that spot on her neck that made her whimper softly.

“Tell me, are you teasing your prince?” It was her turn to smirk, ”I would not dream of it, your highness. I am quite sure that would be a rather … unhonorary offense in Dorne.”

“That is right.” Teeth scratched over her neck lightly and she let out a surprised gasp as Oberyn continued, ”I should have them lock you up for such an offense. Or at the very least, I should tie you up.”

She smiled again but this time, it didn't quite reach her eyes. Oberyn sighed at that, stopping the assault on her neck and he let her head fall back against his broad chest. She watched the sea they were facing, the waves far below them building and crashing in a never ending circle. How powerless the water must feel, she thought.

Oberyn's gaze was trained on her, watching the slight crease between her eyebrows that told him something was off.

“What is it, my love?” He asked quietly. He did not care for small talk or for sneakily trying to get something out of her. He wanted her trust. And if something was wrong, he expected to know.

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, ”I would rather not speak about it.” Her voice was quiet and soft and Oberyn felt like there was a small tremor in it.

One of his hands came up to her face, caressing her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, ”And I would rather you did. Please tell me, my love.”

She opened her eyes again at that, slowly turning so that she was facing Oberyn. Almost automatically, he brought one strong arm under her to support her in the water, her legs wrapping around his hips. Their sexes were touching and at any other moment, the red viper would have made his move, slipped a hand onto her bundle of nerves or squeezed her round behind- but not now. He could feel that this was important to her and therefore, by extension, to him.

The woman took a deep breath, working up the nerve to say what she had not wanted to yet reveal, ”You're leaving for Kings Landing tomorrow.”

He gave a small nod, ”I am. It will be a rather boring trip, truly. A few council meetings, a wedding. Two events where every minute spent with the Lannisters will feel like one minute too much.”

Her gaze shifted slightly at that and he fell silent, sensing that this was not what she was referring to. She opened her mouth to speak but he was faster, ”You do not wish for me to leave.”

Oberyn's gaze softened slightly, ”Do you?”

Her mouth closed again as her gaze fell and she gave a small shake of her head, confirming his guess, ”No. I wish you would stay here.”

The viper took her face in for a moment, his free hand still gently caressing her cheek, ”I asked you a while back. You said it was alright with you if I left for a few weeks.”

He had had doubts too, never having been separated from her for so long. Even knowing that he left her in a safe place like Sunspear could not cancel out all the doubts he carried about leaving her alone.

“I thought-” He started once more but she cut him off.

“I think I'm pregnant.”

Oberyn stared at her, his eyes softening as a smile played around his lips, ”My sun, you-”

The legends that would speak of the Red Viper, of the prince of Dorne, of Oberyn Martell years and years later, would claim that he had never been speechless. They were wrong.

He was speechless now.

It took him a few moments to gather the words, his own voice now shaking slightly as he spoke, ”Are you certain?”

“I think so. I mean, I have never been before but- I have not bled in two moons,” she said quietly. His expression changed slightly, his smile faltering, ”Why do you not sound happy about it?”

“I am,” she quickly reassured him, ”I am, it is just-” Finally, she let the strong facade fall and as her shoulders slumped, tears sprang into her eyes, ”I am just so scared, Oberyn.”

His heart broke at the sight in front of him, her round eyes looking up at him with so much uncertainty in them, “Is that why you did not tell me before?”

Her look was confirmation enough and he quickly pulled her closer, hugging her naked body. “Oh, my sun,” he whispered, ”You do not have to be afraid. I will take care of you. Of both of you. You are not alone in this nor will you ever be.”

She hiccuped softly, ”But you said-”

Oberyn shook his head softly, ”I will not go. I will stay here. With you.” His hand left her cheek and wandered to her stomach, gently caressing the curve of it, ” And with our little Martell. ”

She looked at him, her lip quivering slightly, ”Oberyn, you said it was important that you go to King's Landing. You said that because of Elia-”

“Shhhh,” he mumbled, his hand rubbing small circles into her skin, ”That was before. Besides, Elia would want me to stay. To take care of you.”

It became clear to her then, that Oberyn had lost a child before- two, in fact. Despite them not having been his own, they had been his sisters and that had meant they had been as good as his. He was never going to let the same thing happen to his little sun.

She nodded softly, raising her head to get a better look at him and Oberyn kissed her gently, using his hand to push a strand of dark hair behind her ears as he smiled at her, “Come here. Let me take care of you.”

He reached for the soap bar that was resting on a small plate at the side of the pool, rubbing it over her hair for a moment before he placed it back in its spot and brought both hands to her head, massaging it gently.

Oberyn washed her hair and told her about his plans for the future. The things he would buy for the baby before it even saw the light of day, the things he had already ordered to hopefully lessen her discomfort during the pregnancy, the things he wanted to teach their child, the books he wanted to read to them to put them to sleep.

She smiled, listening to his plans for their future as he rinsed her hair.

It didn't seem so scary anymore.

[starkskeep]

From amongst the clouds came the flames (r. stark)

From amongst the clouds came the flames r. stark imagine

Pairings - Robb Stark x Targaryen!Reader

Word Count - 2,307 words

Warnings - Brief mention of assault (non-descriptive), arranged marriage

A/N - A lot of the thoughts of the reader in this imagine, I do not agree with. I wanted to experiment with an unreliable narrator, and thus, mc's experiences will alter how they see the world around them.

Request - don’t know if you still accept requests but could you please write an imagine with Robb and a Targaryen reader who have agreed to an alliance in order to conquer against the lannisters but they always butt heads and she always goes against his words until one night he kind of admits his feelings for her mid argument and they kind of… you know.

You had never expected to be where you were now. As the only living child of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen, you knew that it was your blood right to sit upon the Iron Throne. The gods had spared you when Tywin Lannister’s Mad Dog stormed the Red Keep and brutally murdered your mother and siblings. A childhood illness had kept you in the arms of your nursemaid that night the woman was quick thinking enough to sneak out through the servant’s quarters amidst the chaos. Pretending you were her child until you were well enough to sail, the faithful servant brought you to Dorne where you were raised by your mother’s family. Treasured by the Martells as the last living connection to Elia, you grew up wanting for nothing. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. There was never anything that stood in the way of you getting what you wanted.

That is why it was so surprising, as you stood in Oberyn’s chambers at Sunspear, that you heard of how Oberyn was planning to take you far north. He planned to align with the self-proclaimed King of the North and the Trident. “Doran should have never agreed to take Myrcella Baratheon as a ward, much less give her a place in our family. Accepting a Lannister’s deal? It is an insult to Elia’s memory.” Your favorite uncle spits out. He stops pacing and whips around to face you, looking like his moniker amongst the flickering candles. “Dearest niece. I have arranged an alliance in order to combat my brother’s moronic decisions. Tomorrow morning, you will board a ship that will take you to the Riverlands.”

You stare at your uncle in shock. “The Riverlands? But that is where…You are giving me to the Starks? Selling me off to the boy king? I thought I meant more to you than that. I thought the memory of my mother meant more to you than that.” All your life, you had been told of how your father abandoned your mother for Lyanna Stark. He left your family—his wife and children—to die in the Red Keep in the most horrific of ways because he wanted to pursue the Northern woman. You do not fully blame Lyanna. She was a young girl and Rhaegar was the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms; it would have been hard for her to deny your father. Yet, you do not hold much kindness in your heart for the Starks. From their blood came the final thread to unravel the tapestry of House Targaryen.

The blood rushing past your ears limits how much you actually hear from your uncle, but you know the words that made it pass ring true. “This is a marriage that you are talking about. You know that they will not agree to an alliance unless it is bound by an oath. The Starks believe Lyanna to have been stolen away by my father. They sided against the Targaryens in Robert’s Rebellion. An alliance with them will have to be ironclad for them to even begin to think about helping me. They are not like us. They despise the Dornish tendencies. I will be trapped in a marriage with a man that I do not even know, much less love, unable to find comfort outside of it.” There is pain lingering in the shadows of your words. Dorne is the only home you have known and now you are being forced out of it by your very family. Being sent into the cave of the wolves nestled in an environment very different from the one you grew up in.  

Oberyn looks at you with pity. He wishes that there was another course of action that he could have taken in order to give you the Iron Throne on a golden platter. “Yes. It will be a marriage. I will not deny that. It is what Catelyn Stark and I have arranged. She has assured me that her son will not harm you. That is the only thing I can promise you from it. You will have your power. You will have your revenge. In that, you will find your happiness.” Your uncle walks over to you and draws your shaking form into his arms, trying to bring you comfort after his words took it from you. “You will sail to Riverrun in the morning. I have ensured that you will be allowed to bring your dragon. Nym, Obara, and Tyene will join you. They will serve as your companions and as your protectors.” A kiss is placed on the crown of your head. “You will not be alone. I swear to you.”

The journey from Dorne to Riverrrun was long. Made longer by a route carefully constructed in order to avoid detection. Extended even more by the events that will occur once you reach your destination. You are not someone who appreciates being married off. As you exit the ship, swallowing the rising bile in your throat, you spit the bonfires burning in the wolf king’s war camp. Though you do not want to admit it, the army that fights for him seems quite large and will likely fit your needs quite well. 

Your small retinue is met by one in turn. A woman you infer to be Lady Catelyn Stark greets you with pity in her eyes. She sees her daughters in you. A young woman suffering from the actions of her parents and their cruel world. The others that join her are most definitely not pitying you. Their eyes are hardened. The Northmen do not trust Targaryens or the Dornish and your hair and features certainly mark you as the blood of both. You are led into the castle of Riverrun and then escorted into the makeshift war council room. Your cousins are forced to wait outside, not allowed inside, and not trusted enough to be privy to the inner workings of the Northern Army. Silencing what you know are protests brewing with one glare, you step inside. Robb Stark and his closest advisors are huddled around a table. Tension fills every crevice of the room. It suffocates you.

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. The words of your mother’s house ring in your head as you curtsy. You may show deference to your future husband at the moment but you will never be something to be controlled. “Greetings, Your Grace. It is an honor to be welcomed here in Riverrun.” The words are like poison on your tongue. They taste vile. It is a miracle that you are able to keep your voice and your expression from betraying your true feelings.

Robb looks you up and down. He observes the way you stand, your facial ticks, and the controlled lilt of your voice. You are pretty. The proof of the stories told about House Targaryen’s beauty stands in front of him. With the looks of a queen and pure ambition burning in your violet eyes, there is no doubt that you will make a powerful ally. A true leader fit to rule beside him as long as his people can overcome their historic distrust of your ancestors. You are the blood of the dragon. To Robb, you are an enigma that can never be tamed. “Aye. We have prepared what we had for your arrival.” The Northern king eyes those that surround him, judging their reaction to you before continuing to address you. “I did not want to be a king that had his wife chosen for him. I was raised as a lord with the promise to marry for love. It seems like we are both being forced into this marriage. I do not want to meet you in the Godswood full of false hope. This will be a transactional marriage only. The buildup to this will not be extended. You and I will marry tonight once you have bathed and rested. Do you have any objections to this?”

There are no objections from you nor from anyone else in the room. They all know why this marriage is occurring. You will being Dorne into an alliance with them. Though Robb has expressed no desire for the Iron Throne, those on his council that do believe that you will provide legitimacy for him in the eyes of the people. A Targaryen returned to power by a Stark that rules beside her. The ceremony is rushed. You are wedded and bedded before the sun rises the next morning. A new era begins as the first rays shine over the lands of Westeros. 

A marriage of equals proves to be much more butting heads rather than intriguing conversations. There are very few conversations between you and Robb that end in anything other than an argument. How you should act, how you should speak, how Robb should address you etc. The previous argument was about how the food being served at Riverrun was too bland for your taste. You and your cousins were used to the flavorful spices of your home’s dishes. You won that argument and watched on in barely concealed glee as the faces of Robb’s men reddened as their palates were introduced to new tastes. The argument before that was about how the dragon has taken to antagonizing Robb’s men. You explained that your dragon was bored. You were not being allowed to take it on flights as you were in Dorne for fear of your safety. Robb won that argument and your dragon was moved to a field a good distance away from the war camp.

“My queen, you cannot expect a man to be comfortable with sending his wife onto the battlefield.” Robb looks you dead in the eyes as he speaks. He is in total disbelief that his wife wants to join him in the march south. He was raised by his mother and Lady Catelyn is a proper lady. The only girls Robb knows who would willingly ride into battle is the Mormonts of Bear Island and his little sister. 

“Me aiding your army with my dragon is one of the reasons we were married. You need me and my beast just as much as you need the Dornish men.”

“I do not care if it is for a second or for a week. A battlefield is not a place for a noblewoman, especially if that woman is my wife and the queen of my people. You will not be put in harm’s way. I have already made up my mind. I will not have my queen join me in battle. This decision is final.”

“I have brought you my dragon and my uncles’ armies yet you still deny me a place beside you. I cannot believe this!”

Authority seeps into Robb’s voice as he responds once more, frustrated with your lack of understanding. “My queen you do not—cannot—understand where I am coming from because you never lived in war. Your entire existence has been one of privilege and freedom. You have never been denied a meal. You have never had to lose a friend to war. You have never had to deliver news of a son’s death to a weeping mother.” Robb shakes his head. “I will not risk the safety of my wife, not while I still draw my breath.”

“I lost my entire family to war and the Lannisters when I was just a babe. It was pure luck that I was able to escape. My mother was brutally assaulted and killed by the Mountain when Tywin Lannister seized the capital. Because of them, I had to grow up without my parents and my siblings. Do not lecture me like I am one of your men.” You spit out. Indignant fury coats every word.

“I am sympathetic but it will not change my decision. Bringing you into battle with me would put everything and everyone at risk. The Lannisters will want your head even more than they want mine. You are the greatest threat to their reign.”

You know you will not be able to win this argument nor will you be able to convince Robb to let you join him in the march. Instead, you turn to leave with a plan already forming deviously in your mind. When you reach the doorway, you turn to have the last word. “I shall sleep in my own chambers tonight. Do not expect me in your bed tonight, Your Grace.” The title is sneered mockingly upon your departure. 

A/N - I'm sorry this took so long to post. My life was consumed by schoolwork. I wanted to get this out for the anon who requested it. There will be a second part that reveals MC's plan and it will include the requested smut. It wasn't meant to be two parts but the imagine was already quite long by the time I reached this end. It would be far too much if I were to include the plan and the smut in one part.

[spectorcomplex]

golden ↦ aemond targaryen x martell!reader

Unfortunately for him she truly was unbowed and unbent. Aemond thinks it’d be satisfying to walk the path of breaking her.

pairing: aemond targaryen × fem!martell!reader (she/her pronouns)

warnings: nothing really? but probably the existence of such characters in canon are dubious at best so forgive a silly girl like me.

word count: 0.6k words

my masterlist

It has always been a garish color for him. Yellow, the color of sunlight. Prince Aemond has always preferred the moon, with its accompanying dark clouds there he flies Vhagar. The old lady does not seem to mind.

And yet, he cannot seem to look away from the golden silks that grace the floor of the throne room. He bows. Aemond does not recall the last time he has bowed for a woman besides his Queen Mother.

In a rare event, the Martells has agreed to visit King’s Landing. In all of his nineteen years as a royal Aemond has not met or even seen a seat holder of Sunspear. He only wishes he was prepared to invalidate the poetic waxed about their beauty. Much to his dismay, he rather agrees with their words.

“Princess Y/N Martell and Prince Oberyn Martell!”

Peculiar, how the lady was announced first. Later he comes to learn that you were to inherit Dorne as you were born minutes before your male twin.

He then sneers once realization hits him. Of course it was his half sister who invited you to King’s Landing. Female heirs uniting under patriarchal challenges. You’ve barely spoken to one another when Aemond makes up his mind about you. Disdain for Rhaenyra clouding his judgment. If you acquiesced to his half sister’s invitation after centuries of tension between the Iron Throne and Dorne then that means you were on her side. Aemond also decided that he was to avoid you at all costs during your visit. He wanted nothing to do with you.

But he also could do nothing against his mother’s orders. She told Aemond to accompany Helaena as she walked the gardens with you. And his infuriating nephew.

Any other noble lady would’ve scattered at the sight of Prince Aemond’s frown. He’s been told once or twice that his reputation precedes him. Right now he was not sure if the frown was genuine or just for show; to intimidate the Dornish Princess.

Unfortunately she truly was unbowed and unbent. Aemond thinks it’d be satisfying to walk the path of breaking her.

Her spirit, he means. Aemond shakes his head.

“Is there a problem, Uncle?” Jacaerys asks, in a surprising move of making conversation.

Aemond only huffs, eye focused on the caterpillar skittering on his sister’s hand.

“I dislike her too.”

That gets his attention.

“Then why are you here?” Aemond sneers, hating how he wanted to hear his nephew’s answer.

“I do not trust her,” Jacaerys shrugs.

Neither the two of them look at each other as they speak but only look forward at the two princesses.

“Your mother invited her,” Aemond replies.

“Still.”

And that was that. Only the soft whispering of the two ladies echo in the wind with the chirps of birds perched on the trees.

Jacaerys moves and Aemond’s hand instinctively goes to the hilt of his sword. The Velaryon does not see and sits down next to you with a smile.

“Princess Y/N,” Jacaerys starts. “How are you finding the warm weather here in King’s Landing?”

You mirror the smile and Aemond watches in caution. Was his bastard of a nephew lying to him? Pulling a joke like some child?

“It is lovely, Prince Jacaerys,” You answer, voice sweet and high pitched, “I have had hotter temperatures in my ancestral lands.”

The smile on his nephew is familiar. Deceitful.

“Ah yes, Dorne,” Jacaerys says. “Forgive me, Princess, but you do not quite look Dornish.”

You keep smiling, “And you do not look like what books say about Valyrians. My prince.”

Aemond gulps, a smirk itching to show on his face. Maybe you were not so awful. Maybe.

-+-

this will have multiple parts teehee 🤭 i was in the process of writing it and decided that it would be so much better to divide it (yes i did write oberyn no i am not sure if an oberyn martell existed in rhaenyra’s time) also my first time writing a longer fic in aemond’s pov and expect more of that because it’s so fun

reblogs and comments are appreciated <3 messages too i promise i will be reading them giggling and twirling my hair

[duxbelisarius]

Dune At Home: The First Dornish War, Part Three

Thank you to those that have followed along with this series; I hope you're enjoying it or have found it informative! if this is your first time seeing this series, check out the master post and my AO3 to read all the chapters.

Having established the basic issues with Dorne's strategy in the First Dornish War, any further assessment depends on our knowing Aegon's strategy for how he intended to conquer Dorne and the ways in which his efforts interacted with Dornish plans. This part will assess Aegon's strategy and the initial operations of both sides at the outset of the war, highlighting a stark contrast between how both sides are written in the process: Whereas Dornish strategy cannot be accommodated by the existing worldbuilding, the Seven Kingdoms appear to have no strategy at all. The outcome of the fighting in the first year of the war is the result of a distinct lack of planning or intelligent leadership by the Targaryens and their lords, which has significant implications for assessing Dorne's strategy as a whole.

We mentioned in part two that our knowledge of Dornish government and decision-making processes is not great, but this is fortunately not the case regarding the fledgling Targaryen monarchy. Aegon had his Small Council comprised of the Hand and his Masters of Ships, Laws and Coin, as well as his two sister-queens; when Argillac Durrandon rejected Aegon's offer of marriage between Orys Baratheon and Princess Argella, F&B states that Aegon called a meeting of his "friends, bannermen and principal allies," before he and his sisters settled on a course of action. We're also told that Aegon and his sisters each had a maester at their service during the Conquest, while as many a half a dozen assisted Aegon throughout his reign. The Aegonfort was clearly capable of seeking information and advice to a reasonable degree in order to pursue policies, as is made clear by Aegon's sending "a delegation of high lords, septons and maesters to Sunspear" in the year prior to the war to negotiate joining Dorne with the Seven Kingdoms. Aegon also possesses the famous 'Painted Table' at Dragonstone, a large wood-carved map of Westeros featuring fortresses, settlements, rivers and other important features, which we know was utilized by Aegon, Jaehaerys I, Rhaenyra and the Black Council, and most recently Stannis Baratheon to assist with planning.

There's no doubt that the Invasion of Dorne in 4 AC had been brewing for a significant amount of time; the letters sent by the Targaryens to the Seven Kingdoms and their lords made clear that there would only be one king in Westeros, and Rhaenys' promise to Meria Martell to return with fire and blood made it clear that Dornish unification with the realm was not optional. The Conquerors likely had at least some designs for attacking Dorne during the year of the conquest (1 BC), and there would certainly be continued discussions from 1 AC onward. The Three Sisters rebellion and the Iron Islands civil war had to be dealt with in between, but Visenya ensured the Three Sisters bent the knee soon after Aegon's official coronation, while the strife in the Iron Islands lasted only a year before Aegon arrived and ended the conflict in 2 AC. Negotiations with Dorne took the better part of a year before the invasion in 4 AC, so negotiations likely went on in 3 AC alongside a build up of troops and supplies in the Marches that may have begun in 2 AC if not earlier.

Aegon's strategy for conquering Dorne took the form of a three-pronged assault, with Rhaenys and Meraxes attacking eastern Dorne while Aegon and Balerion led a 30 000 man army through the Prince's Pass and Orys Baratheon led 1000 picked knights of the Stormlands down the Boneway. Strongholds were occupied in all three regions of Dorne: Skyreach and Yronwood in the Red Mountains, Hellholt in the western desert, and The Tor, Ghost Hill and Sunspear in eastern Dorne. Lord Jon Rosby was appointed Castellan of Sunspear and Warden of the Sands to rule Dorne on Aegon's behalf, while a host led by Harlan Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach, was stationed at Hellholt to respond to any rebellions. Aegon and Rhaenys then depart with a host of unknown size, with the Dornish rebelling and massacring the occupation forces just before the Targaryens reach King's Landing.

Before discussing the numerous issues with this strategy, I want to first discuss the size of Aegon's army and the supplies required to sustain it in order to give a sense of the planning that would be required for this invasion and the problems this creates for the narrative. H. G. W. Davies provides a helpful model for understanding the logistics of horse-drawn armies which I will reference here; if you have an itch to scratch that involves military logistics and/or the history of the Eastern Front in WWII, I strongly recommend his blog. The pre-modern army is in essence a kind of micro-economy, possessing demand which must be balanced against available inputs of supply and transport in order to output mobility. The demand of Aegon's army is substantial: according to F&B, the invasion force was 31 000 strong, divided between Orys Baratheon's 1000 picked knights and Aegon's host of 30000, which contained nearly 2000 mounted knights and 300 lords and bannermen. Aegon's force compares favourably to the largest host Westeros had seen in it's history at the Field of Fire: Mern IX Gardener brought 30-35000 men of the Reach while Loren I Lannister brought 20-22000 Westermen.

The daily requirements for Aegon's army would have been 30 tonnes of rations and 240 tonnes of water per day; we have no indication of the number of horses and pack animals the army had with it, but if we assume that the nearly 2000 mounted knights and 300 lords and bannermen each had two horses, then these 4600 horses would have a daily requirement of 43.7 tonnes of fodder or 64.4 tonnes of pasturage, and 188 tonnes of water. Aegon's options for supply would have been to forage locally (ie in Dorne), to requisition supplies in return for pay locally or within his kingdom, and to stockpile ahead of time using depots and magazines. Forage presents the greatest difficulties due to the Dornish burning their crops and poisoning their wells, but F&B tells us that after emerging from the Prince's Pass, "runoff from the heights provided water and game was plentiful in the valleys" in the foothills of the Red Mountains. Such 'natural' forage would reduce consumption of supplies somewhat, as would grazing the horses and pack animals, and reducing rations for short periods would also help to somewhat reduce demand.

Regardless, most foraging, requisitioning and stockpiling would need to be done before the invasion within the borders of the Seven Kingdoms, gathering the supplies locally in the Reach and Stormlands or bringing them from further afield via road, river or sea. Aegon and his subordinates would need to already possess estimates of their supply needs based on their routes of advance alongside information about local subsistence in Dorne. Transport would also need to be obtained in the form of pack animals, wagons, and remounts to replace sick, injured or deceased animals, as well as ships to resupply the army and build-up stockpiles within Dorne. This last means would be especially vital given the great distances to be travelled within Dorne, the sparseness of the now-vanished population, and the risks of overland supply lines being attacked or cut-off entirely.

In Firearms: A Global History to 1700, Kenneth Chase gives some numbers for the transport requirements of a pre-modern army: An army of soldiers carrying 80 pounds of equipment and rations with no additional transport might march 12 miles a day for 10 days before running out; adding pack horses, carrying 250 pounds and consuming 10 pounds of fodder per day, might allow that army to make the round trip if supplies of grass, water and forage could be ensured. Supply wagons with a driver and two horses consuming 23 pounds per day and carrying 1400 pounds of supplies could each support 30 infantrymen enough for an army to march 200 miles, assuming 1 day of rest in 6 for the horses and favourable terrain. To double this range and allow the army to make a round trip of 400 miles, would require the number of wagons to increase from 1 per 30 men to 1 per 5 men, while removing abundant water and grass from the equation would cut the distance fivefold (400 miles to 80) (Firearms, pg. 17-18).

Applying Chase's ratio of 1 wagon per five soldiers to Aegon's army would land him with 6000 wagons pulled by 12000 horses, bringing the army's 'herd' to almost 17000 horses with a human to animal ratio of less than 2:1, compared to the 3.4:1 ratio for a Roman legion (Logistics of the Roman Army, pg. 83). The size of Aegon's troop and supply column would also present problems; using Bret Devereaux's estimates, a 2-horse, four-wheeled wagon might take up 25 ft of road space which would make for a double-file column 2 wagons wide and 3000 deep covering 14.2 miles. Assuming a marching rate of 12 miles, the rearmost wagons would never leave camp before the foremost stopped to make camp, and this is excluding the soldiers. Aegon would have to divide his army into multiple columns moving a day's march ahead of each other to make any kind of progress; assuming three columns, each c.10 miles long including soldiers and baggage, would cover almost 70 miles through the Prince's Pass at any given time. Unless Aegon had ravens available that could fly to and from settlements within the pass, communications would rely entirely upon dispatch riders or visual and audio signals when feasible. As noted in the Dance series, a large dragon's flight speed is somewhere around 50 miles/hour, so Aegon could fly from the head of the first column to the rear of the third in just over an hour to further ease communications, but this would provide ample opportunities for the Dornish to attack without fear of the dragons (more on this later).

Assuming that water sources could be found and there was grass for grazing, a 200 mile march might carry Aegon's army from Nightsong to Skyreach, but the other 200 theoretical miles of mobility would be used up entirely with the march to Yronwood and then into eastern Dorne. Under these circumstances, resupply by sea would be absolutely vital to the continued advance of Aegon's army, although Aegon's decision to send part of his host against Hellholt before marching east would reduce their demand somewhat. Regardless, the disappearance of the Dornish population would almost guarantee Aegon's defeat by itself, as without a population to requisition supplies from the occupiers would have to resort to farming themselves and/or rely entirely on imports, the latter being ruinously expensive and risky given Dorne's proximity to the pirate-infested Stepstones and the inclement weather the Narrow Sea experiences during autumn and winter.

As should be clear, availability of supplies would make or break Aegon's invasion, and prior planning for the invasion would have been absolutely vital; unfortunately, the execution of the invasion suggests that neither Aegon nor George considered these implications. To start, we have the astonishing fact that none of the Westerosi fleets make an appearance in the war let alone the invasion. How this is possible when Aegon just fought two conflicts involving naval forces, the Three Sisters rebellion and the Iron Islands civil war, and his conquest of the 7K began with delivering his forces to Blackwater Bay by ship and sending the Velaryon Fleet against the Vale, is beyond me. What's worse is that Aegon was and is Lord of Dragonstone, an island, and his family's oldest bannermen also have their house seats on islands, House Velaryon of Driftmark and House Celtigar of Claw Isle; it is impossible for Aegon to be ignorant of naval logistics given that the provisioning of his home and it's defense (aside from the dragons) relies upon it. In fact, the only member of the Small Council with an explicitly military role is the Master of Ships.

It is true that Daemon Velaryon was killed fighting the Arryns and 2/3rds of his fleet were sunk or captured, the latter likely going up with the Arryns ships when Visenya burned them, but construction of a new fleet should have been a priority in the 3 or so years prior to the invasion of Dorne. Even without the Velaryon Fleet, the Lannisters, Redwynes and Tyrells all provided their naval strength to the invasion of the Iron Islands (I'm assuming the Hightowers and Shield Isles were the Tyrell forces here), and Braavosi ships were hired to transport Manderly forces to the Three Sisters. Between his own ships, his bannermen, the ability to hire sellsails, and the potential to enlist pirates as the Dornish do in 8 AC, Aegon has plenty of options for assembling a fleet to support his armies (and they will need naval support). Dorne also has the facilities to support Aegon's army via the sea between Planky Town with it's access to the Greenblood and The Tor and Ghost Hill; the latter two's ports accommodated large pirate fleets on two separate occasions, in 8 AC when Dornish forces raided Cape Wrath and burned half the Rain Wood and in 83 AC during the so-called 'Fourth Dornish War.' We also shouldn't rule out the potential for Yronwood to service shallow-drafted ships given it's proximity to the Sea of Dorne's coast and the mouth of a river to it's north.

A further example of the absence of naval forces of any kind from Aegon's invasion comes with the opening act of the war, Rhaenys' destruction of Planky Town. Torching Dorne's largest settlement, its major port and closest thing to a city, drowning hundreds in the Greenblood and depriving thousands of their homes and livelihoods, all but guarantees Rhaenys a place in the Seven Hells. Even worse, with the mouth of the Greenblood choked by the wreckage of hundreds of ships and the houses and walkways built atop them, sea-faring ships cannot unload at Planky Town or venture up the Greenblood and it's tributaries, and vice-versa for Dornish rivercraft carrying goods from the interior. Rhaenys' actions rule out using the Greenblood to resupply Aegon's forces, and severely damages the Dornish economy for both occupiers and indigenous population. This ignorance of the importance of sea power to the survival of Aegon's army is simply inexcusable and unjustifiable on George's part.

The apparent absence of any strategy or planning on Aegon's part is reinforced by the decision to occupy Hellholt, the seat of House Uller; this comes after the army emerges from the Prince's Pass, with Aegon continuing east via Skyreach while Tyrell takes a host into the western desert. According to F&B, Hellholt was thought to be well placed for responding to any revolts, but the march there from Skyreach cost Tyrell a quarter of his men and almost all of his horses due to dehydration, exposure and presumably the local water sources being poisoned. This decision makes no sense on multiple levels, the most obvious being that Hellholt's location on the map of Dorne is well within the western desert, far south and west of the Red Mountains and eastern Dorne respectively, where the bulk of Dorne's population lives. TWOIAF also tells us that the Qorgyles established their seat of Sandstone by "fortifying the only well for fifty leagues around," which allows us to extrapolate distances quite well. We can reasonably assume that Sandstone is 50 leagues/150 miles or more away from Hellholt, Starfall and Skyreach; a rough estimate from looking at our maps of Dorne suggests that Hellholt is likewise 150 or more miles from Skyreach, Yronwood and Vaith.

As noted already, Aegon could carry supplies for a 400 mile round trip assuming sufficient water, forage and grass was available locally; if the march through the Prince's Pass was 200 miles or so, a march of more than 150 miles to Hellholt would see Tyrell arrive with little to no supplies for his men, guaranteeing their starvation. Such a march through the desert with no access to water or grass would cut Tyrell's range from 200 to 40 miles, meaning his forces would have died of thirst and starvation long before they made it to Hellholt. F&B also claims that Aegon's forces were "already running short of food and fodder" by the time the exited the Pass, making Tyrell's march more unbelievable still.

It is also very likely that the march was unnecessary since we have evidence that Rhaenys had already passed that way: F&B tells us that the she stopped at Lemonwood, Spottswood and Stinkwater to receive their submission after destroying Planky Town. Lemonwood is southwest of Planky Town, and while we don't know the location of Spottswood (the seat of House Santagar), we do know of only one place in Dorne where the 'water stinks,': the Brimstone River. This suggests that Rhaenys was flying westwards and this makes sense given that she's effectively retracing her steps from when she first visited Dorne in 1 BC, when she flew over the Prince's Pass, over the red and white sands, and along the Greenblood before arriving at Sunspear. In this case she would be flying from the mouth of the Greenblood to the Brimstone before turning back to Sunspear, but she had ample opportunity to scope out Hellholt and Sandstone and then turn north to report her findings to Aegon. Lest we forget, Rhaenys is Aegon's younger sister and his favoured wife, the mother of his first child and whose death in the First Dornish War deeply affects him. Despite this, she offers no support to the invasion whatsoever despite having ample opportunity to do so, revealing once again the shocking lack of planning or strategy by Targaryens.

The last act of Aegon's invasion and the most egregious demonstration of the lack of strategy comes after he arrives at Sunspear with his host. Aegon declares the conquest of Dorne complete and departs with Rhaenys and a host, appointing Jon Rosby the Warden of the Sands and Castellan of Sunspear to rule Dorne in his name. The problem with this decision should be obvious: the Dornish have burned their fields, poisoned their wells and then some, their major port and settlement has been destroyed and their major artery of trade is compromised, and the vast majority of their population has vanished. Being a feudal, Medieval setting, Dorne cannot support Aegon's garrisons or yield income and taxes for the new lords and the crown without the labour of the peasants that are currently missing.

Aegon cannot leave, or at the very least Visenya should replace Aegon and Rhaenys in Dorne before they depart to support further operations: the Dornish population must be found, wells need to be restored, and the wreckage of Planky Town needs to be cleared. Aegon's garrisons will require resupply by sea immediately, or else they'll have to provide their own food and fodder via farming in addition to defending their strongholds and enforcing Aegon's reign. With a presumably sizeable chunk of the original invasion host now stranded at Helholt under Harlan Tyrell, one dragon at least will be required to respond quickly to crises and to deliver important messages across Dorne and to King's Landing. One also wonders why Aegon has not moved his court to Storm's End, Oldtown, or even Nightsong to better oversee the war, given how far away Dragonstone and KL are and the underdeveloped nature of the latter.

Regardless, the culmination of Aegon's 'strategy' sees the garrisons in Dorne effectively abandoned: they have no dragons or ships to assist them; the host intended to support them against rebellions is stranded in the desert even though it should already have starved to death; while their own supplies should be limited without the non-functioning Dornish economy. It is no surprise at all that the Dornish overwhelmed these forces as it would have been embarrassing had they not done so, but this brings us back to the flaws inherent in Dorne's strategy (or what passes for it). As we discussed in Part Two, Dorne's strategy relies on hiding it's population from invasion using means that are somehow never mentioned in their history before, and abandoning their settlements to the invaders and destroying their own resources while presumably surviving entirely with stored food in a way that is unprecedented in our history of George's story. This is then capped off by sudden attacks that commence only after George has ensured the Targaryens have sabotaged their own efforts, either intentionally or unintentionally. Dorne's plan for driving out the invaders ends up being riddled with so many single points of failure that it beggars belief how Meria Martell and her lords could have supported this plan to begin with.

F&B says that the Dornish rebel shortly before Aegon reaches King's Landing with his host, which is an improvement over TWOIAF's account that Aegon and Rhaenys flew back to King's Landing and the rebellions began on their arrival. A dragon should be able to fly from Sunspear to King's Landing in c. 18 hours or two days of travel, based on our calculations from the Dance series, and this would be far too short a time for the Dornish to coordinate their attacks. F&B instead has Aegon and his host march back the way they came along the coast of the Sea of Dorne and the foothills of the Red Mountains and back up through the Prince's Pass; per the distance map of Westeros, Nightsong in the Dornish Marches is c.625 miles from King's Landing as the crow flies, or c.52 days at a rate of 12 miles per day. I think we can safely double this to account for the march from Sunspear to the Prince's Pass and the routes they would have taken within the Seven Kingdoms, giving a passage of time of a little over 3 months.

Aegon's returning host would be a great deal smaller than the original force, between casualties, garrison detachments and Tyrell's force; indeed it would have to be a mere fraction of the 30000-man army if it hoped to return via the same route, past fields it's horses had already grazed and areas already heavily foraged for what little could be found. They should be returning by ship if they want to return at all given how desperate their supply situation should be, but regardless of this, Skyreach, Yronwood, The Tor and Ghost Hill fall within a fortnight of Aegon's return, with Sunspear falling soon after. TWOIAF dates the death of Harlan Tyrell to 5 AC meaning the fall of Sunspear and the loss of the other garrisons likely came just before or after the beginning of 5 AC. The only hints we're given about how this campaign took place is that Dornish spearmen 'appeared from nowhere' and that the Dornish 'swarmed in' from the Shadow City to 'retake the castle' at Sunspear. That it took close to a fortnight indicates that even with some level of surprise and subterfuge involved, not all of the castles were retaken simultaneously and without any resistance from their garrisons, which held out for two weeks at the latest.

The obvious problem facing this scenario is that of communications: leaving aside how the Dornish were able to coordinate their efforts, the idea that two weeks of fighting took place without any intervention from the Targaryens or Harlan Tyrell is extremely suspect. Based on our calculations from the Dance series, the conquerors dragons should have been able to fly them from King's Landing to Skyreach in 8 hours, while a raven could make that flight in perhaps 8 days. In order to avoid the Tyrell host or the Targaryen dragons supporting the garrisons, the Dornish have to count on a complete communications failure across all five castles. But this cannot have been the case given that word of the fall of Sunspear eventually reaches Harlan Tyrell at Hellholt, suggesting at least some degree of information being exchanged between King's Landing and the forces in Dorne.

Even if subterfuge ensured the fall of some of the castles, Aegon's garrisons have had weeks if not months to familiarize themselves with their surroundings, while the elderly, women and children left behind in the Dornish settlements should absolutely have been held as hostages by Aegon's men, limiting their ability to contribute to the rebellion. Had the Dornish infiltrated the castles using tunnels, we would also expect their fall to have taken much less than two weeks and to merit some mention beyond the generic phrase 'appearing from nowhere;' in fact, the attackers at Sunspear had to swarm into the castle from the labyrinthine Shadow City. The Dornish would had to have stormed or besieged the castles to retake them, and both options involve considerable risk, as Geoffrey Parker made clear in his ground-breaking work The Army of Flanders and the Spanish Road, 1567-1659. Between 1578 and 1590, the Spanish Army of Flanders captured 95 Dutch towns, of which 60 required direct military action to take and only 4 of the remaining 35 fell to ruse or surprise. Only 9 of the 60 taken by military action fell by storming and only after they had been besieged for some time, and this was all done with the aid of gunpowder weaponry and executed by perhaps the finest armed force Early Modern Europe had ever seen (Spanish Road, 7-8).

The result is that the Dornish strategy has multiple single points of failure of which any combination would surely doom their plans. Any communication with KL will bring a dragon and/or reinforcements down upon the Dornish; a single dragon remaining in Dorne will render siege operations unthinkable; not sending the Tyrell host into the desert for no reason whatsoever likewise makes siege warfare risky; and the presence of naval support to resupply Aegon's garrisons would further harm any chances the Dornish had for success. All of this is after the Dornish have abandoned their castles, destroyed their own resources, and allowed Aegon's army to occupy important locations in their country. As we said in Part 2, the scale of these efforts is simply too great for the story to accommodate, while the levels of contrivance required to ensure Dornish success render any suspension of disbelief impossible.

As promised in Part 2, there WILL be a 'fix-it' section now; it might seem strange given how bonkers a lot of the issues are, but there is an entirely plausible scenario for the invasion to be constructed from what George has given us. The common thread having been George's struggles with scale, all that really needs to be done is to rein in the scenario somewhat and render it more manageable. I would start by having the war end in 7 AC when Orys and his knights are ransomed in our timeline (IOTL). In this timeline (ITTL) I would keep Aegon's plan more or less the same, with a few changes: Firstly, the invasion would take place in two phases with a ground assault through the Prince's Pass, followed by a naval assault on Planky Town and the Greenblood by an invasion fleet, with the forces involved being 25000 and 5000 men respectively. Once Aegon has taken Skyreach and is through the Red Mountains, the plan is to send the invasion fleet to take Planky Town and then ferry supplies and reinforcements to Aegon, with further supplies being shipped from Stonehelm, Weeping Town, Estermont and Tarth to The Tor and Ghost Hill once these have been taken.

Secondly, while the timeline would remain the same in terms of 3 or so years passing between Aegon's Conquest and the invasion of Dorne, I would make it clear that the Dornish have not completely hidden underground. Farming continues so as to allow more food to be stockpiled while instead of ceding most of the country to the invaders and then driving them out, the Dornish strategy is instead to utilize the terrain of the Marches to their advantage and prevent Aegon from pushing any further south. Just because this scenario has Aegon actually use the three years to prepare and plan intelligently does not automatically mean he can defeat the Dornish without George's strategy; I would make it clear that maesters, septons, septas and merchants north and south of the Marches are communicating about the King's preparations, knowingly and unknowingly providing intel to the Dornish, with trade between the 7K and the Free Cities also acting as a source. In addition to the tunnels and caves in the Red Mountains, I would have the Dornish prepare additional tunnels and concealed fortifications, with ambushes being pre-planned and supply depots being hidden in forward areas to assist the Dornish forces. Deria Martell could even be sent by her grandmother to oversee these preparations and ensure the necessary coordination, and to reassure the 'Stony Dornish' of Sunspear's commitment to their defense.

Since their lack of strategic depth precludes the Dornish from making extensive retreats, in this scenario the other houses of Dorne move their forces into the Red Mountains to reinforce the 'Stony' lords, with the goal being to leverage the terrain multipliers offered by the mountains to attrite and destroy the invading army. The dragons still present a problem for any invasion scenario, but there are numerous factors that Dorne could use to its advantage, starting by having the weather affect the campaign in a different way than IOTL. 4 AC was the second year of autumn and so the rainy season for Dorne should have been well under way by this point with winter on the horizon; the Boneway could be rendered impassable by unseasonably bad rain and snow, forcing Aegon to commit his entire force to the Prince's Pass and allowing the Dornish to focus all their strength along the route from the border to Skyreach. The rain and snow would also make things miserable for the dragons and hamper Aegon and Rhaenys' efforts to assist their army. This would make mudslides an issue in certain areas while the Dornish could trigger rockslides and even avalanches to block certain parts of the Pass; the only way to clear such obstacles swiftly would be for the dragons to clear it themselves (dragons dig, more on this in Part 4!), preventing them from covering the column from above and rendering their riders vulnerable to missiles fired from the ground.

The danger of dragon fire could also be mitigated by having the Dornish engage the invaders as closely as possible, forcing Aegon and Rhaenys to risk killing their own troops in order to attack the Dornish from above. The sheer size of Aegon's army would also provide opportunities to do damage without risking dragon attacks: as we've already discussed, Aegon's original army of 30000 would had to have divided itself up into multiple columns, with a day's march separating them. Even if both Rhaenys and Aegon are routinely flying the length of the column to provide reconnaissance and communicate with their subordinates, this would still leave sections without their aid or protection even with TTL's reduced force of 25000 men. The Dornish could inflict serious casualties on those parts of the column without dragon support, while demolishing bridges and cratering sections of road would further delay the advance, and night attacks could also be made to inflict further loss and to sap the strength and morale of Aegon, Rhaenys, and their soldiers. More importantly, the delays imposed by these obstacles and ambushes gives the Dornish time to relay information and create a picture of Aegon's dispositions and present location along the entire route.

TTL's defeat of Aegon's invasion force would be much closer to the Teutoburg Forest or Roncevaux Pass than George's likely inspiration for the First Dornish War, the Vietnam War (I'll discuss this in greater detail when we get to the aftermath of the war). I would have the campaign culminate near Skyreach, with Aegon be alerted to an attack on the main body by Alester Oakheart, sounding his horn a la The Song of Roland; we don't know in which war the events with Oakheart and his horn took place, but this would be a fitting setting for it. With Aegon and Rhaenys flying to assist the main body and rearguard under Tyrell and Rosby, the Dornish move in and slaughter the vanguard while taking Orys Baratheon and his retainers prisoner. What happens next would depend on the fate of Rhaenys ITTL: Aenys is born in 7 AC IOTL, so he would have to be aged up a few years if Rhaenys dies in or before 7 AC instead of in 10 AC. She could be killed by falling from Meraxes after being wounded by a Dornish archer, with Meraxes going mad and attacking the Dornish and Targaryen hosts, forcing Aegon and Balerion to kill Rhaenys' beloved mount. With his army strung out and tired, a demoralized and heartbroken Aegon could withdraw his men, running a gamut of Dornish ambushes back to Nightsong with what remains of his host.

Conversely, Aegon could jump the gun at Skyreach and send Rhaenys with orders for the invasion fleet to set sail, at which point the final attacks would take place and Rhaenys could join him in ushering the host back over the border. Aenys is conceived not long after and Rhaenys dies sometime in 6 or 7 AC. Either way, I would also have Aegon's invasion fleet run afoul of the autumn storms and be destroyed, whether en route to Planky Town by mistake in the second scenario or returning to King's Landing in the first one. The loss of his fleet and the inclement weather in the marches, alongside Rhaenys' death either on the march or later, could even be interpreted by some members of the Faith as the Seven punishing Aegon for his hubris and 'other transgressions' (*cough cough* incestuous polygamy *cough cough*). TTL's 'dragon's wroth' takes place from 5 to 7 AC, and the war concludes with Orys and Dorne's other hostages being returned along with Meraxes' skull and Rhaenys' remains. TTL's First Dornish War is a year or two longer than the Dance of the Dragons (4-7 AC vs 129-131 AC) and about as long as Daeron I's Conquest (157-161 AC).

As we talked about in Part 2, strategy involves the identification of means and ends for the pursuit of policy, whether military or not. Although the term gets thrown around quite a lot in business, leadership and other facets of contemporary life, it's conceptualization of means and ends is quite relevant to the process of writing a story. George has often spoken about 'architects' and 'gardeners,' and while his adherence to the latter style has produced the excellent series of books whose history we are currently exploring, I think the issue with F&B may lie in his not adjusting to a more 'architectural' style in making a faux history. Many of the events that F&B covers have outcomes that are already known to us from ASOIAF and TWOIAF, but this unfortunately results in very linear depictions of events (see the Dance series for examples).

Just because you've already determined a side will lose a war does not mean that you can just write them to lose, anymore than you can have their foes take any risks they choose simply because you the writer have already decided they shall win. These characters exist in a world and possess their own ideas, beliefs and sense of self; they must have their own ends and their own means, with the goal of the writer being to have them arrive at an intended point by pursuing those ends with those means, modulated by their interactions with the world around them and the characters within it. The writer may have their own ends as the creator of the story and it's world, but they must grasp the means that they have given themselves to reach those ends within the world of their story, developing new means for progressing the story which are consistent with the story's prior development. This is crucial because it allows the reader to reasonably suspend disbelief and immerse themselves in the story, through understanding what the characters can and cannot do, the choices they can and cannot make, and the obstacles they can and cannot overcome.

Make no mistake, George is an excellent writer who has achieved more than I and most people reading this could ever dream of in life, let alone in his career as a writer. Nonetheless, I really wish he'd been able to devote more care to his 'strategy' for writing the First Dornish War, as I believe a more feasible but no less compelling faux-history could have been told using the 'means' already available to him within his own worldbuilding. Regardless, this finally concludes Part 3 and our discussions of Dornish and Targaryen strategy at the start of the First Dornish War. My deepest thanks for sticking around this long, but we're not out of the Prince's Pass yet; in Part 4 we'll be covering the tactics utilized and the operations conducted by both sides from the beginning of the war to it's end, with a lot to say about the dragons. Catch you on the flip side!

[acjrven]

The Red Viper and The Wolf (Oberyn Martell/Dyron Stark) 18+

WC: 4.1K (upload from my AO3)

SUMMARY: (A GOT AU) Dyron Stark has fled from King's Landings and the Lannisters' grasp before he is captured in Dorne and placed in front of Prince Oberyn where he is given a chance to live in freedom alongside Oberyn Martell. (If requested I will add to it!)

WARNINGS 18+: Capture to SunSpear, Mild violence (swords), Oral Sex, Teasing, Mild smut.

AO3 / Request Form /Updates at @acjrven / MASTERLIST

Horse galloped rapidly behind.

Bannerman and knights shouting.

The borderline trees seemed to narrowly disappear as Dyron Stark desperately ran through. He instantly regretted the fact he crossed the Dornish border a couple of hours ago. Almost as if when he touched the borders, his foreign scent was picked up and now he was notoriously being chased by the sun-speared bannermen.

Dyron knew why.

By rumours, he was now part of the Lannister family even with his title still pronounced as Lord Stark.

Part of him should have known of the hatred the land of Dorne has towards the Golden Lions.

Yet, the other part of him knew that the Dornish were notorious for welcoming people into their lands.

But for someone like Dyron

Fleeing from King's Landing?

Now that his name is now known for being betrothed to a Lannister.

For him?

Odds were slim of a ‘warm welcome’

His feet ached in pain as he navigated the emerging sandhill deserts.

The sand swept into his eyes blinding him as if sensing his non-Dornish blood before engulfing his feet making his knees cry out giving into resistance.

His face crashed against the sand, and the few horses, which felt like hundreds, surrounded him pointing their spears at him.

A single knight dropped down his feet walking towards his lying body.

“Pick him up!” the commander ordered as Dyron felt his arms encaptured into one ball. Before his legs were picked up and thrown over one man's horse.

The motion of the horses started slowly following their commander’s horse.

“Where is my commander?” one guard spoke up holding the reins of his horse. The dread was already washing over him just by the question.

“To Prince Oberyn” The lord commander spoke. Since those words left the commander’s mouth. Dyron felt his eye bore onto him, holding eye contact watching a sniggering smirk plaster over his face. Whilst the Dornish sun speared against his skin.

****************************************************

After what felt like hours, Dyron was forced to his knees. His eyes were blinded by the bag over his head being ripped off.

His hands were still tied in a tight knot, almost burning him.

His gaze faltered over the Prince. The decorated mustard robe complimented his tanned Dornish skin. Brunette hair was almost perfect as his steps towards Doryn were long and heavy.

The Dornish throne room was vibrant with warm colours, the stark opposite of how he felt waiting on the cold stone floor.

His fingers curled under Dryon’s chin,

“Speak. Why did you cross our borders?” His voice was laced with venom.

Dyron’s mouth stays closed. Forcing his hands to stop trembling. Not because of fear but because of dehydration. Oberyn chuckled before crouching and looking at Dyron directly, “Speak! Lannister.”

Dyron’s ears perked before the blood within him burned. Being associated with his name to the Lions?

“Lannister?” Dyron mumbled before staring at the Prince directly as his eyes flickered with anger. Oberyn had not looked away from him once, smirking as his Dornish accent sliced.

“Aren’t you? No?” his grip found its way to his chin forcing him to stare directly at his gaze and not letting go.

His Northern snark overcame him, “I am Lord Dyron Stark no Lannister, my prince.”

“But you are betrothed to one?”

Dyron stayed silent.

“Listen, Lord Stark. I will not ask again… Why did you cross our borders”

The Red Viper glanced at his commander before back to the Stark clutched onto his knees. The cold press of metal glazed against his neck. Inch by inch it pressed closer to piercing his skin.

His mind paced back and forward with options. Imprisoned in a Dornish prison for years and years of serf work or beheaded.

He knew the Prince was wearing out his patience by his pacing.

Dyron felt the blade gently deepen against his skin. A prick of blood shows a warning.

“Why shouldn’t I cut your head off? Lannister”

Dyron sighed.

“I am no Lannister!” his voice rising at the hiss of the prince's hand gripped tightly onto Dryon's shirt.

“Then tell me Stark, why did you cross into Dorne!” his sworn tightened grip dropped suddenly watching as Dyron slumped to the floor forcefully.

At first, he was reluctant to tell him the truth, why should he? He knew none would take him seriously.

Dyron sighed, going with the option to make it believable, “I fled because I did not want to join the two houses! The Lannisters and Starks conjoined!” Dyron spoke, his voice barking with his northern accent.

The prince laughed, amused, “Do you know how much of a price is on your head little wolf? Hm?”.

Dyron should have anticipated that the Lannisters would have placed a bounty on his head the second he disappeared from the tight grasps of Kings Landing.

Stark sighed, defeated not knowing the best of the two options, “Behead me, if you wish to dip your fingers into Lannister gold. I would rather be dead than live upon Kings Landing again.”

Dyron could have almost heard the small laughter from the Red Viper as the shift of the Prince's feet echoed through the room. Almost adding to the silent pondering of Prince Oberyn’s decision.

“Take him to the cells whilst I think about what I want to do with him.”

Within not even a click Dyron was wished away being forced into the Sunspear cells.

Keys rattled as the lock turned before the guards took their watch right next to his cell door.

Claustrophobic, dingy and unclean.

Dyron shifted towards a corner furthest away from the bars. The heat crisped through the tiny metal bars, almost burning his skin.

Even he knew that a Northern man did not belong in the South.

****************************************************

Days had passed and no news came to him. No guards, no prince and no papers.

Even the sun kept piercing his wolf skin while he lay on the sandstone. Becoming more pink rather than pale whilst his smell invaded and rotted his nostrils.

It was oddly silent throughout the day before the rattle of the keys jangled on his cell door.

“Stand Stark” the guard demanded before the Red Viper crossed through.

Dyron stayed there staring at him with almost a drop of hate in his eyes.

He watched the prince lean against the wall with a smile trying to encourage him to speak.

“Enjoying your home?” the Viper spoke an inch of mock hitting him.

“Partly, it could be cooler.”

Oberyn grinned playing with his ring, “I should send you back to the Lannister. Hm. But I rather loathe the Lions and send back their precious little wolf? Well, I see holding you here in Dorne as part of my revenge.” He shifted closer to Dyron smiling.

“Stand up Wolf” he ordered.

He found his feet off his knees with his arms still tight in a lock.

Oberyn stood there ominously, “Walk with me, Lord Stark.”

He wandered over to him wearily as he followed his order as they stepped out of the cell, “Release him” the tight shackles dropping into the guard's hands.

Oberyn led him out of the chambers, “Come with me, let us talk to Stark.”Oberyn led Dyron into the gardens, backing off to his home. In truth, the gardens were much cleaner than the ones in King Landing.

Flowers were bright and colourful melting with orange and yellow as the red ones bloomed from the seeds of the flower bed. The smell was better than King Landing but the sun kept burning his skin. Oberyn gestured to a stone bench in the shade where they watched people pass by.

The humid air blew against his hair. Whilst to his side, Obyern sat there pondering what to do with the Stark alongside him.

Silence filled the air until Oberyn spoke, dropping what Dyron needed to hear. “You have two choices. Have your own chambers, I heard you are a trained knight, therefore, I will train you to be acquitted with a spear and serve in the army” he paused, “Or I can pack you up and turn you in for gold”

Dyron lifted his chin as his eyes rested on him, “I will be fine with acquitting you with my services, Prince Martell”

“Good, very good,” Martell replied.

Birds chattering filled the silence as both men waited for the other to speak. A small laugh escaped from Dyron’s lips, “Forgive me for asking my prince, do you have any oil?” as Dyron butted into the deafening silence.

He watched the prince's head turn looking at his bare arms.

“I might. You are turning pink from the sun.”

“The sun must know I am foreign.”

Oberyn gave out a small laugh before standing up.

“Come let us find you some oil for your northern skin”

****************************************************

Oberyn led Dyron into the maesters office where he sat alone watching the elderly man rummage around the endless bottles,

“Aha. Palm oil mixed with aloe vera” he hobbled over to where Dyron sat.

“Put out your arms” He complied as the maester rubbed oil into his peachy red-turning skin. It was cool, a complete contrast to how hot his skin felt.

Maester turned to him holding out a little jar, “Keep applying this when you feel the sun pricking your skin.”

Dyron took the jar inspecting it more closely, “Thank you maester”

Upon exiting, he saw Oberyn waiting for him outside his arm dropping to his side as he inspected the jar before asking him, “Come along, you must be hungry. I suspect?”

“That I am my prince”

They made their way to the dining hall where the cooks brought over their lunch, bread with some mutton and potatoes. Dyron had not eaten a full meal in what felt like years.

Warm mutton that was cooked? Fresh bread freshly baked. He felt he was treated like royalty here. Unlike in King's Landing, where even if he was betrothed to a Lannister, he was feeding off scraps like the wild dire wolf he was.

Even now sitting in front of Prince Oberyn, his hunger was making him eat like a savage. Oberyn watched keenly as part of him found it sickly how barbaric the Stark ate in front of him and how the meat dripped down the sides of his mouth.

Oberyn sat there cleaning his mouth before his eyes darted to the Stark-born, clearing his throat and whipping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Disgust ran through him before he forced a smile,

“I assure you are not hungry now?”

Dyron lifted his head and smiled,

“No, my prince, Thank you for the food.”

Oberyn’s chair dragged against the floor, “Good now come along. No rest for you Stark”

Even with it being hours since he got out of the cell he followed him like he was Oberyn’s hound.

Even if it was out of fear of being turned back to the Lannisters.

****************************************************

As the afternoon sun blazed upon them both. Oberyn chucked him a blunt spear entering the drawn circle.

“I trust you are acquainted with a sword Stark” he grinned as if he was excited to bite him with his spear. “But let us see how you handle a spear”

Dyron gripped the weapon in one hand as he adjusted his temporary armour and he joined Oberyn in the circle.

They both taunted each other by circling showboating and dragging the spears along.

Dyron noted Oberyn's light and elegant footwork complimenting his fighting style.

He estimated Oberyn’s lung forcing his spear into the air to jock it.

“Good! Now try to strike me”

Dyron struck forward jousting at him but with ease, Oberyn slashed back at him defending every movement he shot at him, daring him to go further.

His arrogance blowing, as in the north he was one of the best swordsmen. Yet he was merely average against the great warrior known as Red Viper. Even if deep down he did admire Obeyrn’s quick agility and balance.

Moving his hair out of his face, Dyron slashed forward again as the spears clucked and slid against each other. Oberyn matched his spear against Dyron’s and he pushed him making his footing slide throwing him off balance.

The viper stroked him again making sure he fell to the ground, pointing the end of the spear at him.

He left him there for a moment before he reached a hand out to a panting breath Dyron.

As Oberyn pulled him up, he chuckled.

“Now, my wolf this is only the start of training” he spoke as his hand gripped the side of his shoulder smirking.

****************************************************

A few weeks had passed since his capture to Sunspear.

Dyron was adjusting to the Dornish way of life. He made lighter fabric clothes before spending hours and hours in training with a spear whilst the heat still blistered him. As well as feeding on as much food as he could in case Prince Oberyn changed his mind.

He spent most of the afternoon training with the Red Vipers' sparring partner. He sat on the bench, sipping his water before he jumped up grabbing the spear. He must admit over the weeks he had to learn to become more skilful and creative with his combat.

The clinking of metal spears whilst the shifting of feet ran across the sand.

Dyron’s strength and agility always end up in him winning as he pushes with one kick, pointing his spear at him. He let out an amused laugh helping him up.

“Do you think I am getting any better?”

“I think you are, my Lord” the other replied, shaking off the sand and dust from his armour.

Dyron looked over at the emerging serf holding a roll of parchment,

“My Lord” He spoke out, holding it out. Dyron gently took it, unravelling it.

After studying it for a moment he let out a quiet laugh, turning to his fellow sparer,

“Forgive me, it seems Prince Oberyn has requested me to dine with him.” A few ideas ran through his mind about what it could be, most on the pessimistic side. “Take me where he is” were his last words before he disappeared with the serf.

Upon arriving he was met by Oberyn sitting at the table with his lovers upon him. Kissing them like some wild hungry beast.

Dyron let out a clear grunt letting him know he was there. Oberyn’s mouth did not stop kissing. Dyron wasn’t even surprised, countless times he had been made to report to Oberyn and he just watched him kiss his lovers more than he wanted to.

He shifted to the seat, picking up his wine glass and clearing his throat again, “Prince Oberyn?”

Oberyn's lips parted from the woman's tapping her thigh commandeering her to leave.

He dug at his food before Oberyn spoke, “How are you finding training?”

“Fine, my lord”

Oberyn studied him for a moment, “Forgive me for taking you away from your training I merely just wished to speak to you”

Dyron's ears perked up, “About what, My Lord?”

“If you accompany me to this feast for the tournament, we hold it here in Dorne sometimes”

He knew he had no choice, “that I will My Lord”

“Good, we leave at sunrise. I’m sure you know how to ride?”

“I do My Lord”

He watched Oberyn dig into his food, “Eat up, it will make you feel better for the ride tomorrow”

****************************************************

It Must of felt like hours.

But it was not the hot sticky heat clamping Dyron’s clothes to his skin.

Oberyn rode close next to him for most of the journey and when they arrived he stuck close to Oberyn like the good wolf he wanted him to.

The feast itself was a treat, tons of highborn mingled with those who weren’t yet still were invited around tables. Dyron stood next to Oberyn as he watched him progressively drink more and more wine with a lover sitting on his lap.

He had never seen the man so drunk in his presence.

Oberyn sipped more wine, “Shame, shame a real big shame that my brother does not have it in him to indulge in such a beauty” he kissed her lips before she pressed the wine glass to his lips.

Dyron had never felt so out of place.

Without warning, Oberyn snapped his head at Dyron almost sensing his discomfort.

“Wolf, haven’t you seen such a beautiful whore?” his words fuelling the fire of his discomfort.

He cleared his throat, “No, my lord she is quite the beauty” he muttered loudly just to appease him.

His ears heard the amused chuckle from Oberyn before he kissed her cheek, “Or maybe he just prefers the savage whores from the north?” he spoke as the lover wrapped her arms around his neck kissing him deeper and deeper.

In truth, Dyron couldn’t tell if Oberyn was mocking him or just stating the truth.

But as he watched his prince get drunker and more fuller with food the more brazen and hunger for something else grew.

Oberyn pushed up watching his lover run off,

“Escort me to my chambers Stark”

Dyron nodded, helping a stumbling and smiley Viper to his chambers.

The corridors echoed Oberyn's laughter and constant yap of his tongue.

Dyron opened his chamber door for him,

“Goodnight my lord” he went to turn away but Oberyn grabbed his hand.

“I wish to have company”

“I can send a few whores here if you like?”

Oberyn hummed for a moment, “No, I would rather you accompany me, Lord Stark”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes now stop keeping me waiting”

Dyron timidly walked into his chambers, hearing Oberyn shut it behind him.

He felt the other man walk over to him, finding it entertaining at his on-edge aura.

The shifting of pillows emerged from the bed followed by Oberyn’s order, “Come sit, take the armour off you won’t need it”

Dyron slowly removed his guarded metal armour leaving him in just his linen tunic and trousers. He shifted to wear Oberyn, his scent intoxicating his nostrils.

He didn’t know what Oberyn wanted and he probably never will. His eyes watched over Oberyn as he drank some wine before offering him, which his fingers took with ease acceptance, “You never did tell me why you fled from the Lannisters”

The wolf shifted a little, taking another sip before sighing, “Trying to loosen my tongue?”

“I would say, more like trying to understand why a wolf likes you. Came into the hands of the Lannisters in the first place”

Dyron wasn’t sure how the Viper would act. He had heard rumours about him, but deep down the fear of his tongue being cut off or worse rose within him or it was just the smooth wine loosening his tongue.

He rubbed his temples, soothing his throat with some warm wine,

“I came into the Lannisters' hands after my father died, they held me there and slaved me in their castle walls… Then the queen found someone, her daughter, to be married to me. I didn’t want that. Let’s say…” he groaned a little before continuing, “whilst I was at Kings Landing I practically made acquaintances with the brothels there. Not for the women, the men…”

He practically felt the small grin plastering Oberyn's face mixing more anxiety but he continued, “My lover told me I should flee south to Dorne to escape, I tried to bring him with me but I could not.”

Oberyn shifted onto his side looking at Dyron, “I am sorry about your lover”

“Don’t be, I do not need your pity” Dyron drank again, “anyway he is happier in King’s Landing”

Oberyn’s eyes fell over onto him, “Hm but what about you?”

He couldn’t deny his weeks in Dorne had been some of the best even if it was him being Oberyn’s serf knight,

“Well, I do miss home… I miss my brothers. But Dorne hasn’t been so bad”

“I am glad to hear little wolf.”

Dyron lay there, staring at the ceiling thinking deeply, not speaking a word as his mind crossed and teased the thought of stepping his feet in snow rather than sand.

The way the cold nipped against his ears and blew his long black curls.

His breath hitched, being forced to crash into reality. His eyes checked to his arm now where Oberyn’s fingers gently touched his arm, dragging it slowly to his palm before going back.

“What are you doing?” Dyron asked, watching Oberyn tease his skin.

“We all deserve to be touched don’t we?” the Prince murmured

He gave into the touch like couldn’t help it, it had been months since he had laid with someone let alone a man.

He turned onto his side leaning into Oberyn's touch before Oberyn let out a small laugh.

Dyron raised his eyebrow, “What? What's so funny?” a smile betraying on his face listening to the Prince’s teasing tongue, “The wolf letting the Red Viper poison him with his touch” His breath picked up as Oberyn's hands dipped under his shirt pulled off his tunic slowly,

“You must be warm? Riding in the Dornish climate all morning.” Dyron’s shirt disappeared falling onto the ground, whilst Oberyn’s hands grazed over the other toned body. His voice dropped low in a murmur, “Standing next to me all afternoon… getting all sweaty and bothered under that armour,” he continued as he kept overwhelming Dyrons skin. Breaking him out into goosebumps as his muscular stark body was on show for a prince to see.

Oberyn’s fingers danced along pulling him closer before their breaths mingled and noses crashed into each other. Dyron swore he would never be mesmerised again by another man, but here he was melting into his touch like he was for his ex-lover. His weakness.

He growled when he stopped, “Don’t tell me that teasing is your thing?” he called out to him.

“Hm, what do you want, little wolf?” his eyes trailing over his body. As the desire overcame Dyron’s body he leaned closer to Oberyn lingering their breaths together. Without warning, Oberyn leaned in kissing the wolf's callus lips in one gulf.

It was hungry and desperate.

His hand grasped Oberyn's curls pulling him closer to his body and raising the temperature between the both of them.

The loud groan escaped from Dyron when he found the Viper's fingers pulling at his trousers leaving him in skin and flesh only.

Oberyn kissed down Dyrons body looking up at the world and sighing in pleasure, “You, little wolf look so desirable right now”

Dyron's smile grew lazy and pulled him up, “Kiss me then.” his lips found the other man’s as they devoured each other roughly. The wolf’s hand gently untied Oberyn’s mustard robes and smiled, “How do you like it?” the wolf asked as his hand reached his lap palming his hardening length.

The viper's hand rested on top of Dyron’s, “My way” he reported pushing Dyron to the bed pinning him there as his lips kissed down his body finding his cock already hardened.

Oberyn loved nothing more than teasing his lovers in cruel ways. His tongue lavished the tip.

Teasing him, making sure Dyron was grasping at the sheets before he engulfed the other man in his mouth.

Dyron's head ran back against the pillow and he laughed, “Fuck” he grumbled.

Oberyn kept bobbing on his cock. His hand massaged the jewels at the base of his cock, and Oberyn pulled out Dyron’s throbbing cock, “You like that Stark?” he cooed, tipping Dyron closer to where he wanted him.

All Dryon could reply was a loud grunt as Oberyn quickly engulfed him, taking him deep and deeper into his mouth and holding back his gag. The wide smirk emerged on his face as Dyron’s hips thrust into Oberyn’s mouth, almost testing the Prince’s non-existent gag reflex.

The Viper's masculine hands grip down his hips willing him to stay in place almost asserting that dominance over him. His cock throbbed needing release.

“Oberyn… please” Dyron begged to unleash Oberyn’s self-control to leave his body.

His mouth moved rapidly as his fingers wrapped around what he couldn’t take in his red swollen mouth.

Dyron couldn’t last much longer. Hand gripping his Dornish curls before his cum shot out coating Oberyn’s throat.

Oberyn's head pulled off swallowing his load before dipping his head to Dyron’s stomach. Placing a gentle few kisses there before kissing back up to make him taste himself.

“You tasted wonderful Stark” Oberyn exalted before lying next to him, his fingers gently soothing him with his touch.

“Hm? But what about you?”

Oberyn smiled at the Starks's willingness to return the pleasure to him.

“Oh my little wolf, the night is only young and so much more pleasure to be found” he smiled taking Dyron’s chin and gently kissing him.

————————————————————————Authors note:

this is upload from my AO3!! Thank you so much for reading it means a lot <3

I don't really like how this turned out but hey ho.

(let me know if you want me to add any more as i can think of some future things, just focusing on other works atm)

[earenwen-leafwhisper]

Marital life

---- Masterlist ---- Rules for request ---

Pairing: Daemon x chubby Martell reader

Abstract: a headcanon on the marital life of Daemon and Martell reader

Author’s note: Hello, to my dear Martell anon☀️ I hope that this headcanon will please you, I gathered here several ideas that I had in mind and the time of all the writings, it would have taken much too much time, so I propose this as an aperitif, if it is good for you. :)

This is the first time I’ve written a headcanon.

-The first days of your engagement announcement were complicated.

-You were running away from him as much as you could rather spend time with your family.

-Daemon on his side was amused by your behaviour, he could see that you were fleeing from him, not out of fear but out of irritability.

-But as you meet with him, you have come to know the prince.

-He was not the most tender, to the extent of mockery; he liked to see you irritated, and to hear you reply with sarcasm.

-The guards had orders to prevent Daemon from meeting you the night before your wedding, so Dornes has more open opinions about free love. Your father knew exactly what Daemon was like.

-It was only after your marriage that you spent your nights together.

-You thought Daemon would only come to your room once for his duty as a husband.

-But he came every night.

-On your first nights together, you watched him, not finding sleep.

-That’s how you began to caress the burning of Daemon, the fresh one, he have during the war against the tryarchy.

-It sometimes awakened Daemon, but he let you do it, finding himself a form of peace in this form of affection.

-Your meeting with Caraxes surprised Daemon.

-Everyone feared the dragon, but when you met him, you spoke to him.

« So you’ve had to put up with him all this time? How do you do it? »

-Caraxes surprised by the fact that you are not afraid of him and that you speak to him, looked at you, leaning slightly to the head.

-When Daemon asked you how it was that you were not afraid of Caraxes, you answered him that Dorne had never fallen in front of the dragons, and that if you died, Dorne would go to war with the rest of Westeros.

-On the first trip to the desert outside the dragon’s back, Daemon refused to wear light colours and traditional Dorne clothing.

-Ill at ease, his leather and black clothes made him so hot that he had to remove them, the leather sticking to his skin.

-The little time he spent in the sun was enough for him to catch a huge sunburn.

-For several days, the mestres had to fight tooth and nail with Daemon to treat him with ointments who was nauseating, but effective.

-One event that melted Daemon for you, was the day when you went to one of the Sunspear markets.

-There, although you are not obliged, you helped as you could some orphans asking for money or food.

-Seeing you so tender and sweet, made Daemon smile, and not in a taunt but sincere way.

-You agreed not to check in on King’s Landing.

-On the one visit, you responded with more than one sarcastic response to Viserys, defending Alicent/Rhaenyra (choose your favourite, or both).

-What damaged the relations of the two brothers, already the second marriage of Daemon, then still marrying Lady Rhea was frowned upon, but your character was even more so.

-Letters from the city were rare, but you lived well in this.

-You had no use for quarrels over the throne.

-Your day was full of your desires.

-Let it be a day in Dorne, in the gardens of the Old Palace.

-Or a trip on the back of Caraxes to Essos.

-The war between the Greens and the blacks did not even touch you.

-You were simply watching, in Dorne’s safety, the rest of Westeros go on fire.

[prettymuchteddy]

A Welcome to Dorne

The Yellow Toad of Dorne knew they were coming. The moment the sky cried out a thunderous roar, she knew that they were upon Sunspear. The ground shook briefly. They had landed. Still, she did not move from her seat. They would see her on her throne as her subjects had done before. 

Hollow steps approached the throne room. The doors creaked open.

“Who are you?” a voice demanded.

She did not reply. The tone was already testing her temper.

“Where are the guards? The servants? Or is this an ambush?” the voice asked. “If it is, Meraxes is waiting outside, unless you wish this castle to be burned to the ground, I would advise against it.”  

She hummed. “You’re one of his consorts, aren’t you?”

“I am the wife of the future King Aegon, Rhaenys Targaryen.”

“Ah, the second one.”

“You’ve heard of us.”

“Here and there amongst the usual ramble of attempted invaders.”

“There is nothing usual about us.”

“So, I’ve heard. You have a different kind of weapon…a living one.”

“Our dragons have already defeated the Lord of High Garden, the Stormlands, the Riverlands, and the Isles, that is not to mention the submission of House Stark, Arryn, and Lannister. We have conquered most of Westeros. Would you count that as usual?”

“You believe a few bent knees are worth anything?”

“Those bent knees have welcomed us into the continent.”

“Some plots of land and six divided unruly kingdoms, what a prize you’ve won.”

“We’re looking to make it seven.”

The Toad smiled—a cruel smile.

“We both know what I’m here for”, Rhaenys said. “I will give you the same choice as the others, bend the knee or else.”

“I’m afraid, I can’t barely sit up, much less bend a knee.”

“Do you think this is a jest?”

“Hardly, if it were I would be laughing.”

“Who do you think you are?”

The old woman frowned. “I am Princess Meria of House Martell, ruler of Dorne.”

“Former ruler”, Rhaenys added.

“You are on my land, my lady. Not yours. Your blood does not flow into the sand of these desserts. Your ancestor’s hands didn’t build these castles. You hold nothing to this place.”

“I intend to change that.”

“I will not fight you, nor will I kneel to you. Dorne has no king. Tell your brother that.”

“I shall but we will come again, Princess and the next time we shall come with fire and blood.”

“Your words. Ours are Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. You may burn us my lady…but you will not bend us, break us, or make us bow. This is Dorne. You are not wanted here. Return at your own peril.”

A deadly silence fell over the throne room. The same hollow footsteps eventually began walking toward the doors. They creaked open before shutting close.

Moments went by before hushed steps went across the marble floor.

“Princess, are you alright?” the timid voice of a servant asked.

Meria turned her head. The young girl had stayed despite her orders.

The girl went to her side. “She’s one of them, those Dragonriders. She’ll come back again, won’t she?”

“She will.”

“What will we do? She flies on a dragon.”

“Do you fear little birds because they can fly?”

“No?”

“We hunt them, don’t we? They can soar above in the air yet we can still hunt them.”

“Yes, with arrows but they aren’t the same, dragons breathe fire”, the girl insisted.

“And birds can peck your eyes out. Just because something can fly doesn’t mean they are invincible.”

“But then how can we kill them? They’ll return to try and conquer Dorne.”

Meria crossed her hands together. She neither smiled nor frowned. “Then we’ll have to shoot this little bird out of the sky.”

Technically not part of Martell week but I'm glad it fell on it :) Lowkey dedicated to @martellspear

[shiverpeakstraveler]

Character Roster 2/3

Honorary DW Members/Allies (in order of appearance)

Kaja Ravenseeker | She/Her (Trans) | Norn | Shaman of Raven, Vigil Tactician | 62 | Reaper | Panromantic Demisexual | ❤️ Signy Ornkin

Signy Ornkin | She/Her | Norn | Shaman of Wolverine, Whispers Agent | 59 | Soulbeast | Demisexual | ❤️ Kaja Ravenseeker

Gabriel Rohland | He/Him | Human (Krytan/Ascalonian descent) | Vigil Captain/Crystal Bloom Knight | 41 | Dragonhunter | Bisexual | ❤️ Elizabeth Farwick

Sebastian Rohland | He/Him (Trans) | Human (Krytan/Ascalonian descent) | Order of Whispers Lightbringer | 41 | Daredevil | Gay | ❤️ Open Relationship with Logan Thackeray and Rytlock Brimstone

Elizabeth Farwick | She/Her (Trans) | Human (Ascalonian descent) | Order of Whispers Lightbringer | 39 | Reaper | ❤️ Gabriel Rohland

Physician Prizza | She/Her | Asura (Rata Sum Exile) | Doctor/Medical Droid engineer in Lion's Arch | 65 | Mechanist | Bisexual |❤️ Instructor Reoxx

Instructor Reoxx | He/Him | Asura (Thaumanova) | Vigil Weapons master and Captain | 70 | Guardian | Bisexual | ❤️ Physician Prizza

Zaahira Qadir | She/Her | Human (Elonian) | Sunspear | 34 | Scourge | Bisexual | ❤️ Spearmarshal Zaeim

Kokoro Sato | She/Her | Human (Canthan) | Private Investigator, friend of Rama and Yao | 28 | Virtuoso | Pansexual

Hikaru Sato | He/Him | Human (Canthan) | Ally/Guardian of Kuunavang | 48 | Willbender | Gay | ❤️ Trahearne

Asra al' Rajihd | She/Her | Largos | Hunter | 30s | Soulbeast | Bisexual | ❤️ Sayeh al' Rajihd

Isla Rhosyn | She/Her | Pale Tree Sylvari (Secondborn, Dreamer) | Former Aetherblade Captain turned Pact Privateer | 33 (Sylvari years) | Deadeye | Lesbian | ❤️ Caithe

Crispin Steeleye | He/Him | Charr (Formerly Blood Legion) | First Mate to Captain Isla | 45 | Warrior | Bisexual

[writeforfandoms]

Birfday - Oberyn

For my birfday bash!

A fun little idea I had for Oberyn, a bit of mischief, and one of my favorite winter things. GN!reader, swearing, a bit of pranking. Mentions that Oberyn is blind.

Word count: 621

Sunspear had many different things than you were used to from home. Most of these things you enjoyed. Especially when you got to escort the prince around. 

But sometimes, you still managed to find something new. 

“What is that?” You blinked down at the round yellow… thing on display. There were tons of them, an entire pile. 

“These are lemons,” the vendor told you with relish, holding one up to you. You gently nudged it to Oberyn instead, noting the way he perked up. The fact that he could not see had not slowed the prince any. 

“Fresh?” Oberyn asked, holding one hand out. 

“Of course,” the vendor agreed, placing the lemon in Oberyn's palm. 

Oberyn lifted that hand to his face, rubbing the outside of the lemon before sniffing it. The smile that crossed his lips had a distinctly mischievous cast to it. 

“You've not had the pleasure of trying one yet?” He asked you, head tipped to one side. Though cloth covered the ruins of his eyes, he still had an uncanny knack for focusing directly on people. At least those close to him. 

“No.” You eyed the lemon mistrustfully. “What is it?”

“A type of fruit.” Oberyn held out the fruit to you. “Sniff. It is delicious.” 

You sniffed it, cautiously. The scent was pleasing, and vaguely familiar. “Not bad,” you agreed. 

“Try it.” Oberyn wiggled the fruit in front of you, gently demanding. 

You plucked it from his hand, deeply uncertain. The texture was a little rough, pebbled, and didn't seem pleasant. But, well, your prince had told you to.

You bit into the lemon. 

And gagged as sour juice flooded your tongue. You dropped the lemon, spitting to try to get rid of the sourness. Oberyn tipped his head back and laughed, clearly delighted with the little prank he pulled on you. 

“What,” you gasped, a shudder of revulsion sliding straight down your spine. 

“Sour, no?” Oberyn was clearly delighted, the absolute bastard. 

“Why,” you deadpanned before spitting again. Gross. 

Oberyn shrugged, fluid and eloquent. “It did you no harm.” 

You made a face. “That,” you said, slowly and clearly, “was disgusting.”

Oberyn simply laughed at you again. The vendor merely gave you a shrug that tried to be apologetic… except his expression gave him away. He was amused too.

And, of course, Oberyn ordered two full bags of lemons to be delivered to the palace. You kept your disgust to yourself… mostly. 

“That was mean,” you informed Oberyn once you were a few stalls away, once again meandering through the market, the prince's hand tucked into your arm to help guide him. 

He hummed. “A simple joke,” he said, squeezing your arm. “I will not do it again.” 

You eyed him for a moment before you puffed out a breath. You forgave him, as you both knew you would. “Good.” 

His lips curled, amused and pleased, but he remained quiet for the moment. 

The rest of the day passed normally for you. You spent much of it with Oberyn, except when one of his daughters or Ellaria stole him away. 

It was typical now for you to sit next to him at dinner, so you could help him. (Less than you once had to - Oberyn was incredibly stubborn and hated to be helpless, so he'd learned to adapt to not having sight.) 

The meal was, as always, delicious. Conversation and wine flowed freely. 

Dessert was something new. You frowned down at the yellowish bars. 

“What are these?” You asked Ellaria, who sat on your other side. 

“Lemon bars.” 

You shoved the plate of lemon bars away from you with an absolutely disgusted sound. Oberyn laughed so hard he had to brace himself on the table.