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entitled-fangirl · 4 months ago

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A perfect match indeed.

Cregan Stark x Targaryen!reader

Summary: the reader is forced alongside her father for a hunt, pestered by him to consider accepting a betrothal offer.

Masterlist

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"Lord Tyland," Y/n mused as she looked to the Lord.

Tyland turned and smiled warmly to the girl, "Princess, I did not expect your presence at a hunt."

"Well, I'm a woman of surprises."

"That you are." He looked around at the various tents and the men that walked around the camp. The princess was one of the few women there. "Do you hunt, your grace?"

"Hmm? Oh." She picked at her fingers, a nervous habit she had no doubt picked up from her mother. "I have before but… father has dragged me alongside him this time, I'm afraid."

"Unwillingly?"

She hummed. "In the name of 'betrothal opportunities'."

His face flushed, "My." He cleared his throat in an uncomfortable manner. "Any… any men catch the eye of our princess then?"

She shook her head as her eyes scanned the crowds. She sighed. "None at all. I'm afraid I'm not interested in such affairs." She looked back up to Tyland. "Father tried this with my elder sister years ago, didn't he?"

Tyland stuttered over his words, "I… I… Yes, Princess… yes, he did."

She huffed, "Perhaps he'll always be cursed to have strong Targaryen women encircling him at all times, for I will not be doing his bidding."

"I see it more of an opportunity to choose for yourself. He's giving you this as a freedom."

"Some freedom," she mocked.

"Careful, your grace. He is merciful for this." He sighed. "Not many fathers give their daughters such a chance. Just consider it."

"Fine. But… I will not actively search it out."

"And that's enough."

…

"No!" She yelled as she stood in the middle of the tent in front of her father, King Viserys.

"My daughter," he commanded softly. "Do not yell at your king."

"Father, I wish for the freedom to live as I see fit," she tried to reason.

"Well, that is not your right. Your right is to serve the crown, and you have yet to do so."

"I may only serve you by bearing the children of a random lord?" She scoffed.

"I am not going to send you to war in armor that would hang from your frame," he scoffed back, his tone becoming annoyed and biting.

At this point, various people in the tent began to stare.

"Oh, you'd rather have me close my eyes and merely point to a lord and fuck him?"

Viserys tilted his head challengingly, "Exactly."

She let out a mocking laugh in shock. "Fine," she snorts. "I will do so."

She marches from the tent, confident that her father would follow her.

She looked out over the sea of men around the tents. "I will do it."

Viserys' challenging look grew, "Very well."

"I…" She faltered a moment, expecting him to give in. When he didn't, she huffed and covered her eyes with one hand. "Then… then I will."

Her arm rose up, her index finger pointing.

"Him."

A hum came from Viserys.

"Alright."

She pulled her hand from her face and dropped her arm.

She spun around to speak to her father, but he was gone and a voice boomed from inside the tent.

"My daughter has accepted a betrothal to Lord Cregan Stark!"

Y/n's eyes widened incredulously. Her head snapped over to the direction she had been previously pointing in.

She was met with equally wide dark eyes.

Cregan Stark stood stiffly outside of his house tent, his sword almost dropping from his hand.

The two barely heard the cheers from inside the tent as they just stared at one another.

Finally, she broke the contact, turning and moving into the tent.

She dodge and swerved around the various people that tried to stop her to give their congratulations.

She caught up to her father, whisper-shouting, "What are you doing?"

Viserys turned, "You stated your intentions, and so have I. Stark is a wonderful match. I could not have made a better one myself."

Otto Hightower stepped in, "Your grace, it is a perfect match indeed."

"I thought we were jesting with one another. I do not want to marry him."

"It is too late for that," Viserys mused. "You're now betrothed to the Warden of the North."

She remembers him in small details from the Stark family visits to King's Landing. But they were just children then.

Since then, she had heard rumors of the man. Brutal. Harsh. A formidable enemy as cold as the Wall. Rumor has it, he could hack a head clean off with a single swing of his sword.

What a betrothal indeed.

…

She had avoided Stark the entire day, not missing the way his eyes would follow her any time she stepped outside of the tent.

Mortified from her actions, she gained little sleep that night.

…

The day of the hunt, Y/n was on edge. With little sleep and a horrid feeling in her gut at her father's insistence of the betrothal, she clicked at her horse, sending it into a light trot and moving past some of the other riders.

She recognized the Stark hair, pulled up in a messy updo and she rode passed him with no motion of resistance.

She could feel his eyes on her.

And when one of the men remarked something quietly about the fair-haired Targaryen princess, she heard the rustling of Cregan punching the man in the arm harshly.

"I do not understand the true action of a hunt like this," she said when she rode up next to her father.

"It is about adrenaline! Men live for the chase!" Viserys exclaimed excitedly from his horse.

"But it is an entire band of men against one animal. How does that bring about adrenaline, Father?"

Otto quipped beside them from his horse, "It brings fellow huntsmen together. 'Tis better than gossiping in the tents with the women. Gossip does nothing to bring food to the table."

"If you truly do not believe women to appreciate this, then why was I forced to ride alongside?"

Viserys grinned, "You're to speak to your betrothed."

She let out a low chuckle and looked up at the clouds, "You are… truly to be the death of me, Father."

"Give the boy a chance."

"He's not a boy anymore."

"Even more reason to try."

She sighed and looked over her shoulder to see him, noticing his eyes were already on her.

"Get to know him just a little. For my sake," the king finally reasoned.

"Fine."

She pulled the reigns, steering her horse from the group. She rode back down the band until Cregan moved to pass, and she quickly righted her horse next to him.

He was a bit thrown off from her actions but made no move to show it. "Princess," his deep voice acknowledged.

"Lord Stark."

The corners of his lips quirked up, "Have I done something, your grace?"

"Hmm?"

"Have I done something?" He repeated. "You've made no motion to speak to me until now. I hope I have not offended you in some manner."

Of course he was a fucking gentleman.

She shook her head. "I… I just thought that perhaps I'd give you a chance."

His head tilted, "A chance, Princess?"

She bit her lip in thought. "I wish to know you better. That is all."

"Ah."

The two rode in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say to one another.

Finally, Cregan broke it. "What do you wish to know then, Princess?"

"Tell me of Winterfell."

He leans back in his saddle with a smile at the mention of his home. "Where to begin? Perhaps it will not be as interesting to you as you live in the Keep, but…" He tilted his head back and forth, "It's warm. Quite warm, despite the biting cold that lives outside its doors." His smile grew as he looked at her, "And I shall keep it warm enough for the Dragon blood that will be within its walls, I promise."

She chuckled lightly at that. "I shall depend on your word then, I suppose."

"If I may," he questioned. "Why did you accept my proposal?"

"If I am being entirely honest to you, Lord Stark, I did not know that you had made one until we were already betrothed."

He hummed, taking in her words. He looked back to the path. "That is perhaps a blessing and a curse."

"How so?"

"I did not expect a Targaryen Princess to accept a Stark betrothal and therefore I… I did not try very earnestly."

Her brows furrowed, "How is that a blessing?"

He smirked as he looked at her, "Cause it wasn't memorable enough for you to recall in this moment. I have not embarrassed myself completely."

She nodded along with his words before a thought came to her. "Do you not wish to marry me, then?"

"I never stated that." He was quick to defend.

"But you-"

"-I am honored that I am yours, Princess. Do not think differently."

She felt like she could get lost in the dark eyes of the Stark of the North.

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A/n: There will def be a part 2

Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne

#fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x y/n #cregan stark x y/n #game of thrones fanfiction #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x reader #house of the dragon #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan fanfiction #cregan x you #hotd cregan #cregan stark x targaryen!reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark fanfic

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nyrasvoid · 4 months ago

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A Knight’s Prize

Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: in a tourney to decide her future, Rhaenyra Targaryen’s eldest daughter must choose a husband. Ser Gwayne Hightower, a charming yet unexpected suitor, captures her attention.

Warnings: i don’t think there is any warning yet but it might contain smut if I write more parts (idk tho)

A/N: this is the first fanfic I have ever written so any criticism as long as it’s respectful will be accepted 🙃 btw english isn’t my first language so some expressions might not make any sense for you guys lol

- Word count: ≈1.1K

As the eldest daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon, you carried the Velaryon name with pride. At almost ten and eight years of age, you knew your time had come to marry and strengthen your house. Though your mother felt guilty about marrying you off against your will, she decided to organize a tournament, allowing you the choice in selecting your future lord husband, just like she had wanted when she was younger.

The Red Keep buzzed with anticipation as knights and lords from all over the realm gathered to compete for your hand. Among the spectators sat King Viserys, Queen Alicent, and their children, observing the events unfold. The tension between the blacks and greens was palpable, especially since Alicent had rejected the offer of Princess Rhaenyra of marrying Jacaerys to Helaena, calling her sons ‘plain featured’.

You and your brothers had always noticed the looks and whispers of the highborn lords and ladies each time you walked around the Red Keep. You sometimes resented your mother, not for finding comfort in a lover, as you very much did not care, but for finding a lover with such strong genes.

Your mother approached you as you stood in the balcony of your chambers, overlooking the field. “Are you ready, my daughter?” she asked, her voice filled with a mixture of concern and determination.

You nodded, your eyes scanning the assembled knights and lords below. “Yes, mother. I am very excited to marry a lord I will most possibly not be fond of and bear his heirs, for it is my duty to the realm.” You said sarcastically as you looked down sadly.

“See,” Rhaenyra said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I know that you did not ask for any of this, but it is our duty as princesses of the realm to bear heirs for the iron throne”. You looked at her “I know it is, mother. I am just scared” you paused as you took a deep breath “What if he mistreats me?”. You mother chuckled “Then you must let me know and I shall fly to you and make Syrax devour your lord husband”. You both giggled at your mother’s words, you saw her capable of it, she had always been protective of her only daughter.

As the herald announced the beginning of the tournament, you couldn't help but feel a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. The knights and lords paraded before you, each hoping to catch your eye and win your favor. Your gaze lingered on Ser Gwayne Hightower, the eldest son of Otto Hightower and brother of Queen Alicent. Why was he even here if Alicent had already rejected the opportunity to unite even more your houses? Wasn’t he also defeated by your uncle Daemon in a tourney years ago? It would have been funny to see Otto’s face then, the man he hated the most in the seven kingdoms, knocking his eldest son of his horse. Perhaps his father had sent him, he had always been known as an ambitious man.

The trumpets sounded, signaling the beginning of the tournament. You glanced over at Ser Gwayne, who stood confidently with his head held high. He caught your eye for a moment, and you quickly looked away, feeling a surge of irritation.

As the day wore on, you noticed Ser Gwayne’s victories. His fierce determination and honorable conduct impressed you. He fought with courage, that was both inspiring and captivating. After winning a round against a lord from a minor house you had never heard of, he approached the gallery to ask for your favour.

“Princess, it would be the greatest honor if you would grant me your favor.” He said as he took off his helmet revealing his beautiful blue eyes and charming smile “May your blessing guide me to victory in this tournament for your hand”.

You smiled in amusement “Take this flower crown, Ser Gwayne, and wear it with pride.” You reach for the flower crown resting beside you, it blooms the vibrant colors of Houses Targaryen and Velaryon. “It bears the colors of my house and the faith I have in you”. You lean forward, gently placing the flower crown on Ser Gwayne’s lance.

Ser Gwayne bows once more, his voice filled with gratitude. “I am deeply honored, my lady. With your favor, I shall strive to be worthy of your hand”

During a brief intermission, you found yourself wandering through the gardens of the Red Keep, seeking a moment of respite from the intensity of the tournament. Thinking about how your future was about to be decided by a stupid tourney. It was there were you encountered one of the knights fighting for your hand.

"Princess," he greeted, bowing deeply. "I hope the tourney is to your satisfaction."

You studied him for a moment, noting the easy charm in his smile and the glint of mischief in his eyes. "It is, Ser Gwayne. You fight well and with honor.”

"Thank you, princess," he replied, stepping closer. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to find such beauty amidst the flowers.”

“Ser Gwayne,” you reply, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Shouldn’t you be resting for your next fight?”

“I find the gardens far more refreshing than the company of annoying knights,” - he steps closer “Besides, I couldn’t resist the chance to speak more privately with my future lady wife.” he says confidently.

There’s a playful spark in his eyes that makes your heart race. “You seem very confident, Ser Gwayne. Aren’t you worried about the competition?”

He leans in slightly, “The only competition that matters to me is winning your hand, princess”

You laugh softly, both flattered and intrigued. “Bold words for a knight who hasn’t yet proven himself.”

His gaze becomes more intense, a hint of cockiness in his smile. “Then perhaps I should start proving myself next round.”

Before you can respond, he gently takes your hand, placing a tender kiss on your knuckles. You could feel your cheeks heat up. It wasn’t the first time a knight or a lord kissed your hand, but this time was different, you actually felt something.

As the distant sounds of the tournament begin to echo through the gardens, you know it’s time to return. Ser Gwayne till holds your hand, as if he is reluctant to let go.

“I suppose we must go back,” you say softly.

He nods, as his eyes remain fixed on you. “Duty calls us both, it seems.” he said as he let go of your hand “But know this, Princess. My intentions towards you are sincere, it would be a great honor to marry you”

You give him a small smile, though you doubt his real intentions “Words are easy, Ser Gwayne. Proving them is the true challenge.”

“Then I shall accept your challenge, for you are worth every effort.”

You can’t help but wonder if his charm is genuine or simply a tactic. You recall the reputation of the Hightowers, a family known for their ambitions. Are Ser Gwayne’s intentions truly genuine, or is he merely following his father’s orders, seeking to gain influence through marriage?

You walk back to the main grounds of the tournament, his words echoing in your mind. ‘My intentions are sincere.’ Could it be true? Or is this just another scheme by his father, Otto Hightower, to strengthen their hold on power?

As you take your place, you steal a glance at Ser Gwyn. He catches your eye and offers a reassuring smile, but the seed of doubt has already been planted in your head.

The tournament continues, but your thoughts remain divided. You weigh the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes against the ruthless ambition of his family. Should you trust your heart, which yearns to believe in his genuine affection?

Pt. 2???

P.S. if you guys have any suggestions for part two, to improve my writing or anything you think, please let me know 🫨 Btw just in case you want to know, the lady in the picture at the beginning is Kosem Sultan, played by Beren Saat (there are others) she has great dress inspo if you want them for your DRs or fanfics.

#gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower x reader #hotd season 2 #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #gwayne x reader #ser gwayne hightower #gwayne x you #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne fanfic #gwayne hightower fanfic #gwayne hightower x female reader #hotd fanfiction #fanfiction #gwayne imagine

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queers-gambit · 1 year ago

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Mother Knows No Bounds

prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader -> technically Velaryon!wife!reader, but you can pick and choose

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.7k+

note: 10,000 points to your Hogwarts House if you can find the Lord of the Rings quote

warnings: cursing, vilified!Alicent, Aemond needs his big brother. descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, toxic family being toxic; um is this technically neglect? abuse? potentially triggering description of medical phenomenons, i guess OC Aemond ?

please note again and do not proceed if you are triggered by any of the following content: descriptions of potentially triggering content: miscarriages, natural abortions, involuntary termination, depiction of medical procedure.

you are not missing anything by skipping this, please value your comfort!

The city had come to a screeching halt the moment extreme temperatures skyrocketed, citizens unable to bear the scorching sun during waking, working hours. It was only the brave, stupid, poor, or accommodated persons that dared venture about their lives when the heat index had tripled; silent, since the heat was so sweltering, nobody wanted to add to it by talking. Even the animals were quiet and scarce around the streets, most seeking shelter under any shade they could find.

Women skinny dipped. Children ran around without their clothes. Men forewent any and all armor, most even going shirtless.

The guards were on short patrols and constantly rotated to try and save them from heatstroke. The fishermen all left port to spend time on the water since it was cooler than being on land. Whores wore less than ever before. Vendors constructed makeshift fans for their own air current.

The temperature spike was truly murderous. At dusk, gravediggers traveled the city with a bell and horse-toted cart, announcing if anyone wanted their dead disposed of, now was the time. The heat caused any elderly to dehydrate, their hearts simply stopping; and for young children to overheat and catch too-high fevers.

It was a dreadful time to be alive in King's Landing because the city had next to no coverage, so, the sun beat down on citizens in a suffocating, unbearable, offensive manner. None stood a chance: the young, old, rich, poor, everyone was a target.

For some reason, the fat Lords of the Realm had demanded the King hold court to voice their complaints; temperatures making many operate on short fuses. However, due to his sickly, deteriorating state and wicked weather, King Viserys was unable to sit the Throne; the responsibility falling onto the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower. And because she was Queen, his daughter, Alicent was always in attendance.

Yet for some reason, she had sent guards and servants to retrieve her children - including you.

You'd been married to Aemond about 21 months, and while a seemingly short time, certain single days felt more like three when loved by a man you considered your best friend. You had known the One Eyed Prince back when he had no need for an eyepatch, sapphire, or silly nickname, and for years, you were decent friends before growing to attach at the hip. He was kind, sweet, intelligent, and best of all, he was a wildly good listener. Even as a child, he didn't talk too much, but still more than he did now; and all his life, he was simply a listener. It made for a peaceful and trustworthy marriage.

21 months of marriage, and now, (almost) 7 months pregnant.

Aemond was over the moon with pride, joy, and excitement when you told him the news. He was eager to meet the babe, and the moment he learned, Aemond started gathering whatever material and furniture he could. He commissioned 11 Septas to knit a series of baby blankets; most with Targaryen colors and / or design. Otto was happy to see his grandson looking forward to married life, and Helaena was elated for you both. She's always liked you like a sister, always thought you were kind, just, and fair, with a healthy balance of being stubborn - all topped off with heaping loyalty. To everyone's surprise, even Aegon sincerely offered congratulations to you both when you broke the joyful news, telling you and Aemond he was excited to meet his newest niece or nephew.

However, amongst the fanfare and triumph, two women remained permanently dismayed by the entire marriage that the prospect of a child genuinely angered them.

The first woman was your mother, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, but she was annoyed simply because she knew the Targaryen Curse was real and thought this was not something you should endure. You were her firstborn, her brightest star, her dearest love; she worried herself to the brim about you, and while she respected your marriage, she's never offered approval.

The second woman was Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent Hightower, who chose to silently seeth to herself (for a time) instead of voicing any opinion or emotion. Years ago, she and your mother were the closest of friends, and after she married Viserys, Alicent lost her friend and the tension has only festered from there. However, now that Rhaenyra was living on Dragonstone, you were the only person close enough to take the brunt end of Alicent's anger and she found new ways to project that. Simply put, she despised you - but she would've hated whoever "took" her (unofficial) favorite child "from" her; who became the leading lady in his life. Alicent's anger was justified, but only towards Rhaenyra - not you.

Yet communication and emotional intelligence was rare in this day.

Alicent knew you were innocent of everything. Yet somedays, she could not restrain her anger and would lash out like a dog chained-up; but you had thick skin. You always endured her quick jabs, sharp tongue, and snarling insults because you loved and respected Aemond too much to bite back at his mother. However, while most days, Alicent was amicable, some days, she was a downright bitch, and other days, she was absolutely diabolical.

Alicent's anger took over and when this happened, she was powerless towards impulse; resulting in usually terribly stressful events that honestly have no business being so fucking stressful - or even further, by becoming catastrophic. For example, years ago, when Luke cut Aemond's eye from his socket, she took the King's dagger from his person and tried to attack Rhaenyra. She ended up slicing the Crowned Princess' forearm, but far more damage was already done, and nothing would ever be the same.

Alicent's anger often blinded her and drove her to impulsive decisions or reactions, and this today, in this heatwave, she went too far.

You were sat in your bedchambers, Aemond at your side as you both listened to a sweating Grand Maester; both your hand and your husband's resting on the curve of your pregnant belly.

"Now, remember, Princess, in these conditions, it's important to lay low for the sake of your health and the baby's. Don't be on your feet in the heat too long, don't exert yourself, drink more water than you usually would, and rest as much as possible." He handed you a tea bag, explaining, "For the nerves before bed."

"Thank you," you agreed, taking what he offered. Aemond saw the Grand Maester out of your chambers as you sighed, using a handheld fan to wave cooler air over your face.

"It's criminal, this heat. Gotta get someone in here with a fan," Aemond mumbled to himself, leading you to a lounge chair to rest on. "Can I get you anything, sweet love?"

"Water, if you'd please," you smiled.

He agreed and stood, but just then, a knock sounded at the door. "Come in," Aemond permitted, moving to the table in the room to pour you a goblet of water. The guard who entered wasn't known to you by name, but Aemond greeted him casually, "Ser Mythos. What do we own this pleasure?"

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Do you know why?" Aemond grit.

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"I've asked you why."

"The Queen's requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince."

"Fuck's sake," you snapped, "we heard you! Yeah? Gods," you cursed, head tilted back in annoyance; eyes squeezing shut as your child kicked your bladder.

"The Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Lady and my Prince."

Aemond glanced at you, sighed shortly through his nose, then turned to Ser Mythos to snap, "I will be along shortly, but my wife was told to rest in this heat for our baby's health. We'll need palms brought in for fanning."

"And the Queen has requested you both in the Throne Room, my Prince, both of you. Both, my Prince, both."

Your eyes rolled, telling Aemond, "I think the Queen wants us both, my love." Then shifted your glare towards the messenger, sounding as tired as you looked, "All right, fine, fine, fine, fucking fine, give us a moment to dress and we will be there presently."

"My Lady," the guard accepted, turned, and left the room.

"What could Mother want with us both?" Aemond snipped at you when the door shut with an echoing-clang.

"Does it matter? She's called for us," you frowned.

"They can at least call you by your proper title - we are married now. You are a Princess of the City, they should address you as such."

You waved him off, "Who cares about that? C'mere. Help me up, my love, please. Your kid's sitting heavy."

You and Aemond dressed for court in thin clothing before fixing your hair so it didn't cling to either of your necks. It was already far too warm to even think properly, and surely, nobody would judge if you attended court with your hair pulled up, nor judge Aemond for the fashionably bun you convinced him to wear. No make-up was used, no heels; no corset, nor any pinch of leather. Aemond didn't like the last bit, but you were stern in your worry, telling him that leather would retain his body heat and today was already stifling enough.

When ready, you vacated your chambers and walked to the Throne Room, seeing it filled with a sizable crowd that surely would do nothing to help the sticky heat hanging in the air. Aemond held your hand tightly with his head held high to lead you towards his mother, who stood at the base of the Iron Throne. When close enough, Aemond asked, "You called for us, Your Grace?"

"I did," she eyed you both. "This is a good learning opportunity for you both, I thought it best we were all here."

"Mother, it's too hot for - "

"We are all suffering the same heat," she cut Aemond off.

"Yes, but my wife is pregnant, Mother. The Maester told her to rest, not stand in court with a hundred bloody people."

"You mean to tell me she has a higher priority than - "

"Yes. That is what I am saying, Mother. My wife certainly has priority over everything else as far as I am concerned."

Alicent shook her head, "For as long as we hold places in court, we will attend court. All of us, as a united family. Now, pay attention, you both will hold places here after King Viserys, best you know this all now."

So, you stood there like an obedient dog as slowly, one person after another approached the Throne to tell Ser Otto Hightower their grievances. They yapped up all the advice and court rulings; Aemond standing at your side, and while he was listening to what was being said, he also kept an eye on you out of sheer worry. There was no air to blow, no window to open; mediocre fans and palms brought in to manually wave by a few sets of servants. Yet it wasn't enough.

Sweat bulleted on brows. Pale cheeks flushed with heat. Legs started to shake from stress. Clothes dampened and clung to skin.

You were all of the above and then some!

The heat felt criminally offensive, and you knew you wore your displeasure on your face. Discomfort while pregnant isn't easy to hide, your hand smoothing over your belly as you exhaled a slow, calming breath that did literally nothing to aid your tangible anger. The common folk still reported to Otto, but you knew this was far from over, trying to blink back your discomfort as your stomach churned; twisted; started to cramp with increasingly stabbing pain. The heat festered a headache and soon, the nausea set in.

Taking another deep, long breath, you focused on the man complaining about his neighbor stealing his crops, his silver, and how the other man was fucking his wife - in his very own barn! The man asked for permission to sentence the neighbor to trial by combat, and for the life of you, you could not understand why you needed to be present for this.

Another farmer came up, saying there were too many maggots in his fields and needed the King's coin to bring in specialized mulch for himself and all the farmers in all of the Riverlands - who were plagued by this contagious maggot infestation.

Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place came up and asked for an increased patrol of "the King's Men", sell swords sent to "keep the King's peace." A group with radically different tactics than Daemon's Gold Cloaks.

This "Some Lord of Some Lineage From Some Castle of Some Place" even presented his daughter, saying she was fit to marry the Prince Aemond. Eyes turned to you and for whatever reason, you felt embarrassed by the sudden attention. So, you shied away from it, shifting slightly closer to Aemond as Otto spoke with a bored expression, "Prince Aemond is wedded already. As is his brother, Prince Aegon."

"What 'bout the li'l one?"

"Pardon?" Otto blinked.

"The Queen's last son?"

"With respect, my Lord, our son is still a child learning the ways of the world and is no way fit to marry quite yet," Alicent cut in, your feet going numb and making you sway slightly. "The Crown has learned from other marriage pacts to examine all offers carefully," but Alicent's sharp words flew over your head as something in your stomach pinched sharply like a severe period cramp. Your breathing came out in shudders; holding onto Aemond securely as he looked down at you with worry.

Your entire face, neck, and chest glistened with sweat. It clung to your hair, raced down your chest, and when he got a closer look, he didn't like the discoloration to your skin. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong...

"Then it shall be a long engagement so you might consider my daughter well!" The Lord barked, laughing gruffly. "She is not a disappointment, my Lord Hand."

"The Crown will consider your offer, Lord Peregrin, but the Crown must weigh other presented offers before marrying young Prince Daeron to anyone," Otto spoke diplomatically.

"Aye, I'll offer her dowry. Twenty thousand good men for your army, and I can spare about 500 Gold Dragons."

"Our army? Are we at war?" Otto faked a chuckle, your vision starting to blur but you refused to cause a scene. Your mouth had cotton in it; tongue sticking to your roof and your cramps were getting worse. You sweat so much, it was running down your neck, forehead, shoulders, lips, thighs, chest.

"Well, no, perhaps not in this moment, Lord Hand - Your Grace - but we know the rumors about the King's lineage," the Lord spoke boldly, making your blood boil, but the pain was over-powering your ability to speak. Tears actually coated your eyes. "Prince Aegon should be named the rightful heir to the Throne, so, if the time comes that he needs an army, my daughter's marriage to Prince Daeron would guarantee those men and swords."

Otto sighed as you gulped harshly, wincing in pain, a single tear rolling down your cheek. The cramping intensified, the bolts of pain setting your muscles on fire and radiating into your organs - or so it felt like. The Throne Room was too hot for you to withstand much longer; there was no water, and you'd been standing there going on three hours. Not to mention, you had been throwing up terribly violent in the night and mornings, meaning, you were probably (very likely) very dehydrated and that wasn't good for you nor the baby.

The longer you stood there, the sicker you felt. The longer you stood there, the more Aemond worried. The longer you stood there, the more time you had to develop a strong resentment towards Alicent. Your hand went to your belly, trying to regulate your breathing, but even your dress gave you away - sweat darkening the hemlines. Since finding out you were pregnant, you and Aemond agreed you would no longer wear corsets, and for a whole weekend, he took you to Highgarden to visit the tailors. They created a whole new "maternity wardrobe" that was loose but still womanly by being formfitting. They were made of breathable material, since Highgarden was tropical and often warm; and Aemond adored the sight of your bump.

"Aemond," you whispered, your husband looking down at you but so did Alicent. "I'm not feeling well, my love. I-I need to sit, I need water."

"We're almost done - "

"This is not the time to distract everyone," Alicent snapped quietly at you. "Focus, and let Aemond focus, too, he's the Prince. You don't need him for your every whim."

You only nodded and closed your mouth, clearing your throat of emotion, knowing something didn't wasn't right. It was more than a gut feeling now, you just inherently knew something was wrong. Disconnected. Short circuiting.

The hall was too hot.

Stifling hot. Suffocatingly hot. Stuffy sort of hot.

Overwhelmingly hot.

Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot, so fucking hot!

Your nausea got worse to the point you were going to hurl at any moment. You know that feeling? C'mon, yes you do! You start to feel a little shaky, then your mouth starts "sweating" (or watering) and you even get a little clammy; maybe you even start to look gaunt? Maybe your skin changes color? That feeling? Yeah, that's exactly what was happening!

So, to keep calm, you just start taking long, deep breaths. The last thing you wanted to do was panic when surrounded by so many members of court... Then something that felt like urine raced down your inner thighs, yet you barely noticed it, too distracted with keeping upright. Blood puddled beneath your skirts on the stone but nobody noticed yet. More Lords came and went, some Ladies, more and more farmers with trivial disputes. Fathers, sons, uncles, neighbors, you name it!

However, to your earnest shock, when a particularly amusing man came to speak to the King('s Hand), Aegon had glanced at his brother with an amused smirk, but caught sight of you, requiring a double-take. "Brother," Aegon turned from his 'front row seat', showing a rare moment of emotion by looking concerned at your being. "Oh, Gods, fuck," he worried, looking ready to extend his arms to you.

"Fuck," Aemond breathed, turning you to face him. "Can you hear me, sweet love? Hey, hey," he spoke your name, "can you hear me?"

But it was as if you were in a trance. Waves crushed over your ears, sweat rolling down your skin, appearing clammy and as if not in your own body. Aegon jolted forward when your eyes rolled back in your head, knees buckling, forcing your husband to catch you before you began your descent to the ground. When he caught you, it revealed the blood from under your skirts, and when Aemond got you on the ground, he realized your legs were coated in slick, mucus, and both dried and fresh blood; indicating you had been bleeding for hours.

"Call the Maester!" Aemond barked. "Get the bloody Maester!"

"She's bleeding," Aegon pointed out.

"I have eyes to see, brother, I know she is bleeding!" Aemond snapped, his panic tangible. "Love! My sweet love, please, open your eyes, please. Fuck's sake, please, open your eyes - let me see them. Sweetheart, please, c'mon - FUCK! Brother! Brother, help, please, there's blood! There's too much blood! Aegon! What do I do!? Aegon, please! What do I do!?"

"Let her breathe, brother, the Maester's are coming, it's gonna be all right, I-I've heard this can happen. Okay? Just gotta wait for the Maesters, Aemond," Aegon nodded, reaching a hand to his younger brother's shoulder in comfort. Otto descended the Throne to get a closer look as guards surrounded your unconscious body and Aemond's panicked, kneeling form.

"What happened?" Otto demanded.

"She passed out," Helaena frowned in worry, looking as if tears would soon fall. "And there's blood - she's been swaying, I-I think she was ill."

"It's the heat," Aemond snapped, tears down his cheeks. "We were told she needed rest in this temperature, but no." His glare turned to his mother, "We were both expected here."

"You saw the Grand Maester?"

"We did."

"He told her to lie down?" Otto asked, looking and sounding confused.

"To rest," Aemond nodded, supporting your limp head and neck.

When the Grand Maester arrived, he wasted no time in demanding your limp form be brought to his chambers for monitoring and examination. Aemond picked you up and carried you, leaving everyone else behind - or so he thought. The Maester spent a grand total of 43 minutes conducting diagnostic tests, and when the last exam was brought up, he asked Aemond to step out of the room as the examination would turn more intimate.

When Aemond stepped out, he was surprised to see Aegon and Helaena standing there. Aegon instantly pushed off the wall, asking, "Well? How is she? What's happening?"

"One last test," Aemond answered in a low mutter. "What're you doing here?"

"We wanted to make sure you were both all right," Helaena, his sweet sister, answered.

"Mother didn't demand you stay?"

"No, Mother actually called an end to court," Helaena told Aemond. "Grandfather was very angry."

"He was?"

"Never seen him like that," Aegon agreed, telling Aemond of the words Otto raged at Alicent.

When the chamber doors opened, Aemond was invited back inside. He took to your side instantly, but there was a knowing look in your eyes. You never looked at the Maester, only at your husband, as it was explained that due to the heat, you had become dehydrated over time and then spending the day in court, it was just too long a time being on your feet without water or fresh air. You had toppled over the side of heat stroke, the lack of hydration causing you to involuntarily miscarry.

The child would not grow and for your safety and health, the Maester would have to preform essentially what is an abortion to eliminate exposure to rot. Aemond blinked in astonishment, feeling confused about the turn of events, but when he realized you weren't able to respond, he looked at you.

He made the decision, seeing tears streaking your cheeks and the dead look in your eyes.

You were prepped for the procedure and while the Master tried to escort Aemond out, nobody was able to move him from his place at your side. It took the better part of an hour, but when it was over, not only were you given an additional dose of Milk of the Poppy, but Aemond was also given several vials for you in the coming days. He was also given a plethora of herbs, spices, remedies, salves, therapies, and treatments; being given explicit instruction and detail about all he was given, being told when to use what to best help you.

Aemond stooped to pick you up, again, refusing to let anyone else touch you, and the Grand Maester held the door for him. Aegon, Helaena, Alicent, and Otto were all revealed, but Aemond didn't even so much as blink at them; whatever life might've been left lurking behind his eye being completely snuffed out. He made a direct beeline for your chambers with the intention to let you rest in a soft, familiar bed for however long you needed, but he was followed by his family and knew this would be anything but a peaceful time.

"L-Love?" You whimpered when your husband laid you on your marital bed. "Aemond? Aemond?" You asked a little more frantically, being soothed swiftly.

"I'm here, I'm right here, sweetheart," he hushed, ignoring the audience; one hand holding yours as the other pet your hair back. "Hey, just breathe for me, darling, I'm right here. I've got you."

"I-I might be sick," you complained in a whisper, eyes unable to open as sweat bulleted on your skin.

"'S all right," he assured, grabbing a basin to leave on the bed beside you so he could sit at your side. "'M right here, you're not alone."

Aemond watched the way you harshly gulped, a hand dragging up to press to your belly. "W-What happened?" You mumbled, making his heart clench. "I just... There was a lot of heat and then pain." Your eyes finally opened to meet his, "I remember pain, Aemond."

With a glance up at his family, Aemond told you stiffly, "You remember correctly, love. The, uh... The heat was too much for you to handle, sweet girl, and that wasn't your fault." He took a long breath, clutching one of your hands in both of his, "But it was just too much. We couldn't save them... We couldn't save her."

"I-It was a girl?"

"It was," Aemond confirmed, reaching for your other hand to hold tightly. "And you didn't do this. Hmm? You hear me? This is not your doing."

"But my body - "

"No," he refused with a harsh tone. Realizing you were not the one to take his anger out on, he cleared his throat, "Sorry, love, I just," he took a breath. "Listen to me, okay? No, my sweet love, we were told to rest - you and I were told this heat was too much for the babe and that you would need rest. We meant to, we had every intention to follow the Maester's orders, but..." Another pause as he fought off the emotion clawing through his chest. "But for some reason, royal obligation was more important than our family, and Mother refused to let us miss today's court appearance."

"Huh...?" You breathed, still relatively drowsy from the day. But the emotion was real, your husband saw your pain. "What're you talking about, love? Aemond? What's - What the hell happened to our baby? Where's our baby?"

Aemond's jaw steeled and a tear streaked down his cheek as he forced himself to explain, "The Queen demanded our attendance in court today. And standing in the heat for hours cost us our daughter's life. I am so sorry, my sweet love, but we do not have our daughter because she is... She isn't in your womb anymore," his hand laid over your belly, your own automatically following. "She can't ever join us, our family," he spoke slowly, then tearing his glare away from your tired figure to his mother, sneering, "because my mother can't let go of a decades-old feud with a woman no longer living in this very city."

"Aemond," you whispered, heart shattered in your chest but still managing, "do not take this out on her."

"No?" He snapped, still glaring at his mother but clutching your belly, "If not for her, our daughter would still be safe in her mother's womb and we'd still have the chance to one day hold her. But no," he spoke as slowly as he stood to his feet, pulling his hands away from you, "no, we were unjustly denied that chance."

When her (favorite) child faced her with such hatred, dread, distraught, soul-sucking eyes, Alicent frowned with tears in her own eyes. She had so much to say, but only managed, "I did not intend for this."

"This hatred you feel for Rhaenyra is literally costing lives! For the love of all the Gods, my wife is nothing like her mother! They are not one in-the-same, this does not make her your new target to unleash Hell upon - she has done no wrong and yet suffers these heinous consequences!"

"I did not intend for this! You must know that!" She repeated in desperation. "I only wanted you both to partake in your duties - soon, you will be the ones conducting business at court and you must be readied for what may come!"

"That does not give you the right to forfeit her health!"

"How was I to know - "

"The bloody Maester told us - but evidently, the word of the trained professional is not good enough for you!" Aemond raged, something in his heart snapping. "We are denied the right to meet our daughter because, what? What is it? You cannot reach Rhaenyra right now so you will take the closest thing - being my fucking wife!?"

"Aemond," Otto tried to step in, "perhaps this is getting out of hand."

"It was already out of hand," Aegon defended with a sharp snap, "the moment the Maester was ignored."

"You refuse to respect us," Aemond snapped at his mother, everyone silencing themselves when another tear fell down his cheek. "You refuse to respect us, to listen, and all for why? You think you know better than the Maesters? Or because she is daughter of Rhaenyra?"

"Aemond," Alicent warbled through her tears.

"You've gone too far," his head shook, devastation taking hold, "and I do hope you find deliverance from the Gods, because from me? I do not see how I can find a shred of ability to forgive such a sin."

It was quiet. Helaena's head was bowed, Aegon glared at his mother like Aemond; Otto frowned as he avoided all eye contact.

Imagine everyone's surprise when bare feet padded over the stone ground, two shaking hands raising to press into Aemond's stomach from behind. "My love," you mumbled softly, "please, do not speak so hatefully in this prolonged grief. We will do all we can do now and pray on this, but if we want to heal, we will need to learn to forgive. This was not a malicious, thought-out plan executed in partner with the co-conspiring weather; it was a terrible circumstance that the Gods have chosen us to endure. Your mother can pray for forgiveness, she's owed that right; and we will say our own, but I know that one day, we will be blessed and bring a child into this world. Because it's you and I, Aemond, and our child would be the full embodiment of the purest, truest love - and for something that perfect, we'll need time." You took a breath, looking sickly, gaunt; eyes full of tears as you ended, "But it is not this day."

Aemond turned to wrap his arms around you, insisting, "You should be resting." When he got you to turn to move for the bed again, he snarled at his mother, "She's the one who just lost a child and yet still defends you."

"Perhaps it's best we leave them alone," Aegon recommended. "We'll have meals sent for you both," he told his brother with a meaningful nod. "You both just take your time."

"Thank you," Aemond sighed, easing you back to the mattress; laying a single, thin sheet over your body. When Aegon had ushered everyone out, Aemond just stared down at you for a long moment, sighing sadly and whispering, "I'm so sorry, sweet love."

"Just lay with me," you requested.

He moved to strip himself of his linens, the heat still sweltering, and laid beside you; instantly cuddling you into his bare chest. Aemond knew you didn't want to talk, but this needed said, and he whimpered, "This is my fault."

"What?" You gaped, looking up at him in shock. You quickly pulled his leather eye patch off to force his full attention, holding his cheek and demanding, "What did you just say?"

"If you and I did not marry, if I had not pursued you - courted you," he shook his head, brows crinkled from restrained sobs, "we would not be in this position, you would not know this pain. We knew the tension in our family, we knew the hatred between our mothers, and still I wanted you. This is my fault, I shouldn't've done this - you should not have to endure this."

Your hand reached up to caress the side of his face; foreheads pressed together to breathe the same air, warm the same space, sweat onto one another, but never wanting to be apart. It was a sticky embrace but you both needed it, and you hushed, "I regret nothing about us. Nothing, Aemond. If I knew how this would play out, I'd do it all again because I know I love you beyond words. Beyond," you giggled lightly, "rational thought, even. Aemond, everything you are, I adore, and all we are together is... It's the greatest pleasure of my life. My greatest honor."

"I do not deserve a woman like you."

"Perhaps not," you teased, "but you have me anyway. And what do we do with rare women, my Prince?"

His lips found yours in a sweeping kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. When he pulled back, he whispered, "We love them well."

A week later, King's Landing would find relief from the unwavering, record-breaking heatwave - only to be blasted by a wave of dragon fire. It was only then the Prince Aemond was seen with his wife for the first time since "The Throne Room Incident", and both were dressed in the traditional color of funerals: black.

You were bestowed an incredibly small bundle of black cloth, and with the rest of the Royal Family following, ventured to a distant hill where a funeral was to take place. Because your daughter was still so very tiny, she was laid in a fiery basin with only you and Aemond to preside over; offering prayer in High Valyrian. He held you close, the wind from the coast whipping all clothing around, and just behind everyone, Vhagar landed with a distinct thundering thud.

You didn't move, staring into the flames.

Aemond looked back, and when Vhagar saw the tears in her master's eye, noting the way he turned back to comfort you and grieve over your daughter, the dragon roared. A roar so loud, it was heard from the Riverlands. A roar so powerful, it shook the ground they all stood on. A roar so terrible, it made a few throats swell in emotion. A roar so sad, ballads would be written about it.

King's Landing might've been relieved from the weather's temperature, but as Vhagar felt her master mourning his daughter, she released an angry flame into the air that the citizens all felt.

For years, on the contrary, the entire city would feel Prince Aemond's cold shoulder to his mother, Queen Alicent, but for now, the heat of grief demanded to be felt.

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#aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x f!reader #hotd #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen angst

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controld3vil · 3 months ago

Text

𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐞

pairing(s): young!rhaenyra targaryen x velaryon!reader (can be read either as romantic/platonic) synopsis: Rhaenyra always seemed to like her position as the only dragon rider in King's Landing. Besides her uncle who rarely visits, she flys with Syrax whenever she can as proof of her imperial lineage. When word comes that you claimed Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, Rhaenyra becomes strangely jealous of your newfound attention.

notes: this takes place closely timeline-wise to the first season. cw: reader experiences a near-death incident, slight angst

Rhaenyra always felt at ease after riding with her dragon, Syrax. She had a distinctive bond with Syrax that no one could replicate. No one could discourage the truth. Her ancestors rode dragons and conquered the Seven Kingdoms. And rightfully so, as she acknowledges its power on the world. They were fierce beasts, little in number, but ferocious and praised as Gods to the people. The Princess of Dragonstone understood that well when she climbed off of Syrax’s saddle. Her golden scales glisten gloriously from the sunshine.

She gleams brighter than before. Switching into a rich blonde gown, Rhaenyra rushes to the Court Council. Hoping none of the Councilmen would be bothered by her disturbed presence, the princess fixates on flattening down her silvery hair with her fingers. Combining through her tangled locks, the princess enters, drawing attention to haste and bewildered looks.

“I was visiting Mother,” The Realm’s Delight she was named, smiled at her father, the King when asked about her whereabouts. She knew he would be displeased by the fact that she was dragon riding incredibly early. But she told the truth wholly. Rhaenyra did visit her mother.

“On dragonback?” Viserys asked after catching a whiff of his daughter’s distinctive scent. It smelled of smoke and sea, resembling the dragon’s nature and their fiery breath. His daughter returns with a cheeky smile when she goes about to collect the pitcher, full of wine. There was much pride in the princess of her ancestral lineage. It was clear as histories can be able to tell of Old Valyria. A dragon was considered a rare delicacy despite having an abundance around the world. King’s Landing, Dragonstone, and Driftmark. Yet people did not consider them to be flesh and blood. Surprisingly, most were wild and had never been bonded with a dragon rider.

“Haven’t you heard? There was a sighting of the wild dragon, Vermithor along the coastlines of The High Tide,” Coryls Velaryon spouts, in cautiousness and weary. His clenched fist was unmistakable to Rhaenyra as he leaned forward with agitation. “My men are terrified, Your Grace. Surely we can think of a way to return the dragon’s course to Dragonstone.”

The silvery-haired girl looks to her father, King Viserys who beams with fazed delight. He thinks in light of the Master of Ship’s concerns. A dragon flies as it pleases. It did not flee far from Dragonstone as her familial home was a mile away from Driftmark itself. Eventually, Vermithor would have to return to rest. “And I’m sure he will return to Dragonstone when he deems it appropriate.”

The lighthearted remark sparked some casual laughter from the table. A few lords shamelessly coughed between their coats while Hand to the King, Otto Hightower could only contemplate silently how to move the conversation to something more time-consuming. Rhaenyra has witnessed enough Council meetings to know that her father is restless. He never wanted to stay in the room for far too long before becoming disinterested in every political matter. What a dull position, she thought, to be the King of the Seven Kingdoms, you must abide by everyone's opinion and request.

Rhaenyra traces her thumb around the handle of the pitcher. It’s glass and gold melded together. Its purity reflects wonderfully when she’s shown it to the light. As she strides around every seat of the table, the princess notices the little nuances each lord has. The old and cold pin of the Hand on Otto’s chest. The chainmail rings around Maester Mellos. And the rustic bronze rings Lord Corlys carried on his right hand. She recognizes why they are so distinctive now.

“Nyra!”

It was like a bell went off in her mind when the Princess of Dragonstone blinked again. Now the Council meeting was left in their final moments. The doors that connected the room to the passive hallways opened, and flooded with the lords, one by one exiting. Well-mannered and poised was she when Rhaenyra placed the pitcher back onto the tabletop. Greeted by her father with a brief smile, she heard the sound of sweet nectar. Did you expect she did not hear you?

“Princess,” Rhaenyra laughs, coming down the stairs. You appeared eager to be near her, as you wrapped your arms tightly around her waist. A warm ache grows in her chest as Dragonstone’s darling caresses your shoulders, pushing you aback to see your face. “My you are eager this morrow.”

Your cheeks were plastered in rosy plums. Pink and delicate. As you burst into unfathomable joy at her proximity, you couldn’t contain your giddy blubbering. “I missed you! Is it so wrong to miss you?” She’d imagined your energy and heart beating simultaneously in the rhythm of a hummingbird. You were such a lively spirit, it complimented well with her own. Can she say that?

She peers at you, fondly. As you were the most precious being one could ask for. If she could, Rhaenyra would shield you from every inconvenience and proposal your way. Even when you would become of age and pursued by your parents, she still would protect you from anyone who deemed you accessible. She brought both of her hands around your small one. They were adorned with rose-colored jewelry. Each is a colored gemstone to match your House colors. Rhaenyra slowly traces the flesh of your palm, “Of course not, Princess! It’s- I haven‘t seen you in so long,”

Your name is hollered and echoed against the looming halls you both stood in. She was sure for a moment, you two would be alone. A pang of discomfort flourishes in her throat when Rhaenyra becomes mute to the person to grab your attention. You, however, were deemed unbothered by it all, and held onto her grip tighter, and firmly, radiating heat and sweat.

“There you are,” Your father, Lord Corlys groans in relief. It was evitable to find you lost around the castle, King’s Landing was a vast place. However, for how long you have visited, Rhaenyra depicts you knew the structure of it all and simply faked being clueless around. She saw it once. When you vaguely asked a guard where the library was to distract him, knowing you would be off avoiding your lessons with the Septa. She wishes she could chuckle out loud for that memory. “Do not get yourself carried away with the Princess, we have important matters to discuss with the King.” Your father seemed adamant about separating you from Rhaenyra, she recognizes. Which offends her greatly. You were a good friend and cousin. But more importantly, you were the only person to enjoy her company and mischief.

For the longest time, the eldest daughter of King Viserys was lonely, not having anyone to relate to with her ancestral blood. The ladies in waiting were shy and polite. They were not her forte, Rhaenyra disliked how courtship worked. The daughter of the Hand, Alicent Hightower was a pleasant fresh air and surprise. When she had arrived at King's Landing years ago, Rhaenyra was rather avoidant of her. Now, they were good friends, only ever to be in each other's presence. Daemon, her uncle, is rarely seen nowadays. His position to the City Watch had in truth bothered and encouraged him to wreak more havoc with the townsfolk. She dismisses everyone clearly, anyone closest to her Targaryen bloodline is old or distant.

But you, and your siblings, Laenor and Laena were much needed in the capitol. Your brother and sister visit rarely, they listen to your father and mother. On the other hand, you weren’t as uptight. As the youngest member of the Velaryon family, you had fewer expected duties compared to her and Alicent. Rhaenyra envied it truly, forever longing for your freedom.

“Yes father,” You mope, an obvious frown on your lips when you depart from Rhaenyra’s side to your father. He stares at you with amused eyes, much contrast when he turns to her direction with a cold glare. It brings a chill down her spine as she quickly bows her head at the Master of Ships. She meant no offense. You did not notice the demeaning tension between your father and cousin. Because childishly, you excitedly tugged on Rhaenyra’s golden sleeves. “We’ll meet again soon, alright?”

God, she can only smile at you. You were so sweet, endearing, and innocent. All traits she could find in any other lady. But you were much lively, more genuine than the girls she watched by the courtyard. They were pretentious and fickle. Alicent was also sweet and innocent. Innocent in the ways of adventure and courage. She was attached to duty and for that, Rhaenyra could not blame her. But for how much it mattered to her, she believed it to be an outrage. Out of everyone, you were just right.

The next time you met Rhaenyra was unconventional. Somehow you managed to convince your father to journey beside him to King’s Landing once more to meet the King’s family. Corlys hardly shrugged, putting little effort to stop you from climbing aboard the Sea Snake. Under unfathomable moments, you were condemned to sail to the capitol to tell the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms the great news. The last islanders left behind were your mother, Rhaenys, and sister, Laena who waved at you, earnestly, honing her fond smile as your figure grew smaller and smaller. Your mother, the Queen who Never Was, stood warmly with her arms crossed, with a look of pride on her face.

Yes, your mother was ecstatic about what you had accomplished. No other dragon rider besides The Old King, Jaehaerys could claim the beast, the Bronze Fury. Many attempted, and many failed. However, because of your efforts, create a sense of joy and relief in your mother’s eyes. Never would she imagine her youngest child to claim one of the largest dragons alive. Vermithor was an untamable beast with a feisty personality. Perhaps it takes likeness to your spirit and simply bonded. She would have to ask you again to recall how you did it.

The walls of the grand castle were empty and welcoming. You felt adrenaline scorch through your veins when you climbed up the stairs of the grand hall. The exterior was glorious. You could holler and scream and it would echo throughout all the corridors like a never-ending chamber. You held a skittish smile, as you made your way up, placing one hand on the rails for support. You could hear your father’s voice echo behind. Careful, you mustn’t fall, my love!

Even if you dropped to the ground, you would immediately pull yourself up and climb the stairs again. It was how desperate you were to meet Rhaenyra. You desperately wanted to tell her!

Across the royal chambers, Rhaenyra was lounging outside notably. She sat under the Weirwood tree at leisure with Alicent beside her with a book in hand. She read aloud one of its stories, a romantic tale of a Dornish princess. But the dragon princess barely paid mind to what the Hand’s daughter was reading, she was more in tune with the moving sky. The baby blue ocean from above and the fluffy clouds that looked like soft cushions. The Realm’s Delight longed to ride with Syrax, despite only returning from her morning ride. If she could live in the sky forever, Rhaenyra would want to.

She spotted a few of the Kingsguards that patrolled stop in front of someone. It looked as though they were permitting passage but seconds later, she saw them nod in unison simultaneously. They cleared the path and there you were. Striding in happy and irregular steps with your flowy dress of blue seashells and gemstones. She is reminded each time of your wealth and beauty. Cool-toned colors were your style as there was no other pigment you dressed in confidently and proudly, Sometimes she wonders how you would look in crimson red and black.

“Princess!” Alicent was the first to speak on your behavior. It was not every day to see you all of a sudden in King's Landing. After Lord Corlys’s many disagreements with the Council. he chose to be absent from court. This irritated King Viserys and the rest of the Council, knowing without their Master of Ships, their collaboration would be deemed incomplete. Nevertheless, your appearance would confirm that your father had once again returned to the capitol. “I didn’t expect to see you here!” The brown-haired princess gleams, shutting the book entirely, and rising to meet you in a short embrace.

Your giddiness is affectionate. It makes Rhaenyra feel light and blissful of your unannounced arrival. “It is good to see you, my Lady!” You’re teasing, tightly wrapping your arms around Alicent before releasing with sweet laughter. Alicent snickers, as the highlights of her dimples flush in soft pales of the color rose.

“I told you, Alicent is fine!”

“I know!” The two of you seemed to be in your world whenever your visits happened. You would appear, and Alicent bursts excitement and jitteriness. Rhaenyra finds it amusing to watch it unfold. But for not witnessing your presence for so long, she rather feels a little hurt and apprehensive of your attachment to the Hand’s daughter. If your mere attendance brought such delight, then your words brought an abundance of warmth and tenderness. “Nyra!”

Finally, the Princess of Dragonstone looks up, feeling slightly closed off from your welcome. Yet when she lays her velvet eyes on you, she can’t help but feel you are forgiven. Your expression was gentle and serene. “Princess,” Your name feels light off her lips as it always did. You playfully roll your eyes before releasing your grip on Alicent to hold onto Rhaenyra’s hands. They were inviting and delicate.

“I missed you,” You whine, dramatically, dragging out the last part as though you haven’t seen each other in months. When really, it has been less than a month. The most you have visited were a full three days, staying overnight in the guest's bedrooms. It was when your father had an important mission to relay with the lords he chose to stay longer. You, on the other hand, wanted a sleepover. And by now, you should have a bedroom, personalized for whenever you wish to come to visit. You have on many occasions to irk your father and mother’s minds.

“The last time we spoke you were whisked away by your father,” She scoffs lightly which earns a questionable raised brow from Alicent. Your expression does not falter at her offense. “even though you said we would meet again.” Petty and stubborn were the words you describe Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was rather protective and loyal to the people closest to her. You importantly, she greatly values you. And weeks ago, you promised her, however, things took a turn with your father and you had to abide.

“And we have,” You grin, lovingly, holding her hands up to your chest. It was a subtle sign of an apology and care. You carried your promise, even if it had taken weeks to fulfill because of interpersonal matters. But you are here now, in front of her, your energetic personality never failing. “I have great news.”

The silvery-haired princess seemed to take your understated gesture sincerely as she closed the gap between you two. Curiosity caught her gaze as her lavender orbs did not move away from your own. “Well, what is it?” Suddenly you’re aware you’ve kept a tight grip on Rhaenyra as she allowed you to trap both her hands. The close intimacy is acknowledged by you when you try not to break away your gaze from hers. Alicent seemed visibly bothered by it but you are not facing her to know.

The wind whistles in anticipation, and the Weirwood tree heaves and blows the dead leaves off of its branches. The luscious green fields dance back and forth in little tiny unison. The scent of dirt and fresh mint is present. As you inhale deeply before revealing, “I claimed a dragon.”

A moment of silence before a heaved gasp came from the Hightower princess.

“Congratulations!”

You can feel the butterflies float up to your chest when you see both of the girl's expressions in a state of happiness and revelation. You give an animated smile, “Thank you!”

“Are you joking?” You can see on Rhaenyra’s face, she is still in shock which morphs into pleasure and ecstasy.

You shake your head enthusiastically, and repeatedly, shaking both you and the Princess in a hop. “No!”

“Oh thank the gods!” Your cousin blurts, embracing you in a well-deserved embrace. Her arms coil around your back with a squeeze. The encouragement both Rhaenyra and Alicent had given you was something you cherished dearly. For the longest time, you blame yourself for not being able to claim a dragon. No egg would hatch or a wild dragon would approach you. You studied and performed all the ways to encounter them. Yet none had prevailed and up until recently, you felt exasperated on the idea of bonding with a dragon. You were extremely jealous of Laenor and Rhaenyra for their impeccable bond. You and Laena longed for it for your entire lives, it made you moody and neglectful.

Therefore their support had kept you least tolerable. Your mother and father were understanding and patient with your fits. Even King Viserys and Queen Aemma sometimes consoled you that one day you would claim a dragon. Whichever dragon you did not care for, you knew your companion was out there.

“Which dragon did you claim?” The brunette girl comes to your side, eager and curious to know what of your new beast.

“Yes, which one did you claim?” Your silver-haired cousin urges, shaking your hands back and forth.

You felt like a bubble waiting to pop with excitement. You wanted all the streams and ribbons the castle could offer to be released for your accomplishment. You took a deep breath before letting out a slow exhale to calm your beating heart. “Vermithor.”

In an instant, Rhaenyra’s face falls. “Vermithor.”

“Yes, Vermithor!” You were blinded by the enthusiasm Alicent portrayed with her hands, clapping and squealing in awe at you. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Vermithor!” The Hand’s daughter takes your left hand and swirls her thumbs around your knuckles. “I’m so happy for you!” Again the call of your name is murmured frankly and in reverence. “One of the largest dragons alive in the world and you had claimed it!”

Satisfaction filled your chest. Nothing could compare to the prideful looks your friends and family had for you on this day. It truly was something to celebrate something this spectacular. Not since Jaehaerys, your great grandfather rode the dragon. Your mother would surely want you to ride Vermithor immediately as he was still considered wild. But if Jaehaerys managed to tame the beast, you knew you could.

She could not explain it. Rhaenyra had always thought highly of you. She would disparage you out of anything. You were too pure for her frustration. What is she angry about? The princess could not explain. But whenever she passed the corridors of the Keep or the chambers of her mother’s ladies in waiting, she would hear the praise and compliments for your achievement. My, haven't you heard? The youngest daughter of Corlys Velaryon claimed Vermithor! The dragon King Jaehaerys rode! It must be fate.

To what end was it fated? Dragons chose their riders. It was unclear how the bonds between rider and dragon existed but it was something genuine. So it shouldn’t confuse her when she sees you when on Driftmark, practicing to fly with the Bronze Fury. You struggled the first few times. She recalls those moments well, laughing and teasing you to no end of the amount of times you fell into the mud. Mounting on a dragon was a gradual adjustment. As she stared into the view of the ocean shore and deep gray-blue waters, you and your dragon were by the shorelines, attempting to be in sync with one another. A few feet from you was Rhaenys. As commanding and benevolent she was to you and not to her.

Rhaenys Targaryen was quick-witted. She never had a great relationship with the Queen who Never Was. But in contrast, she was soft to you and held untainted remorse for her youngest child. Meleys was beside her rider, cooing and staring at you and Vermithor in inquiry. Much similar to her companion, Rhaenys said something Rhaenyra could not understand before watching you shake your head in disbelief. Vermithor was a grueling and deadly creature. The fact that you were young did not change its attention. It croaks and cranes its neck down for you to climb on its upper back.

A saddle was neatly strapped on the beast. It must take ages to put on. Vermithor was known for his savage behavior. Yet if you were present with him, she deems he would have been docile to take care of.

“Why are you pouting?”

It was the late evening on Driftmark when she proposed a walk with you along the beach line. It was the many hobbies you both enjoyed in your homeland. Salt and sea were everywhere as opposed to her home, King’s Landing filled with endless brick walls and dust. The island is peaceful and serene when there are no fishing ships in the water. Rhaenyra can never be tired of the view and the sea salt air Driftmark supplies. It’s refreshing and so calm.

“I’m not pouting.” The Princess of Dragonstone argues, her off tone marks it remarkable that her fickle state of mind. She should know better. You know her well, more than most of her maids and sometimes father.

“You are,” The corners of your lips curve as you kick a few clumps of sand off the ground. “I’ve noticed since coming here, you’ve been…distant.” A personality all of your siblings share is your tenderness. Laena had a graceful heart and Laenor a compassionate one. Yours was resilient. You held onto things for far too long and you’re incredibly devoted to the people you love. You become easily attached to things, people, and the attention. Can she blame you? For a long time, you felt ridiculed and ashamed for your lack of a dragon. Your sadness must be more out of sympathy than Laena’s. By the time your sister claimed Vhagar, you were left as an outcast.

The Realm’s Delights huffs, crossing her arms behind her back. “Seasick I suppose,” In truth, she never was seasick. Rhaenyra had traveled to Driftmark many times to be immune to the sickness. She knew it was a weak lie, one you would catch easily. But she did not like being confronted on whatever was on your mind.

“Nonsense,” You jest, before stomping both your feet firmly into the brown sugar sand. Your stance makes the princess stop. “I know you dislike Vermithor.”

She looks at you, astonished. “What?”

You push further into the dirt until your heels are engulfed. “I can see it, Rhaenyra. You do not like him.” Your assumption makes her head spin. Because in what world would she have any disregard against a dragon? Rhaenyra adored all dragons the same. They were a part of her family’s legacy. But she figures you must’ve seen her sometimes glare in the direction of your dragon to believe she had no love for the Bronze Fury.

The silver-haired girl shakes her head. “No, it’s not that.” She did not want to explain this to you. Feeling ashamed and embarrassed at her feelings, Rhaenyra deems you unfit to hear such nonsense. “It’s more childish than that.”

Your head quirks sideways. You looked confused as your eyebrows rose as well. She can feel the winds pick up as the tides come toward you both. Its cold water brushes past your feet but you ignore it completely. “How so?”

Must she explain at such a time? “I must admit, for the past few days, I’ve been feeling remorseful.” She quipped, finding the freezing chill of the sea comforting for this kind of conversation. “I’m sure you’ve seen me grow bitter, even resentful towards you and Vermithor. For that I apologize but- it’s a small feeling.”

“You feel resentful towards me and Verm?” She can see your eyes flicker, as you contemplate and allow your mind to take in her words. Your loose hair is down, you’re gorgeous. Even in your night clothes and were of the absence of jewelry and pretty colors.

“Was,” She reaffirms, unable to look you in the eye. Rhaenyra feels ashamed for feeling this way. She does not want to hurt your feelings. “The attention, the people, they spoke of you for days about what you have done, claiming King Jaehaerys dragon. All everyone wanted to do was talk about you and how you proved yourself to become the greatest rider.” The more she rambles, the hot tears flood her vision. She does not seem weak to you. She was spilling her truth to you, she had to let it out.

You held a calm expression. “But I’m not the greatest rider,” Yes, you were not. Your bond was still young. You still struggled with communicating with Vermithor sometimes daily. How can you be considered the greatest even when you struggled to mount your dragon?

“That is what the people say,” Accidently your cousin snaps but quickly regains her composure. She looks at her feet and the sand below. It was as if she pleaded for forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive, you’re angry. You’d say but she continues. “I was sick and tired of it all. Even my father spoke highly of you and it offended me. Why do I feel this way? I should be happy for you!” The mist around you clouds the floor. It’s sombrous and cool to touch. Everything Rhaenyra had held back was gone and it felt somewhat cathartic. She knows you must’ve felt hurt by her words, she was harsh.

She was afraid to touch you. But you did not care, gripping her forearm suddenly. Rhaenyra’s gaze finally breaks and stares at you, wide-eyed. Her tear-filled eyes shattered your heart, fully aware of her fragile condition. “I don’t blame you for what you feel, Rhaenyra. I too felt the same way when Laena claimed Vhagar, do you remember it? I was restless, unable to sleep at night - why couldn't I do what she had done.” The Princess of Dragonstone does not pull away from your grasp but simply gazes at your quivering lips. “I grew to be resentful of my sister. My heart grew dark and left people in danger. I regret feeling this way towards her now because of it. Do you understand?”

The expression on your face said it all as she observed. The strained look flashed before you as you recounted the painful memories. In the days after Laena’s bond, you were cruel and cold. You spoke less to your family, ashamed and poisoned by jealousy. You would snap at the sailors more often and drive them into more dangerous scenarios to spite them. Your pettiness was revolting to watch, your father, Corlys growing instantly tired of your immature tantrums for something you could not control. He would cry out to you about how ignorant your actions were and then dismiss your privileges to sailing his ships. All while your mother felt she could do nothing to stop you in your frustration. She watched from a distance as her husband criticized you openly for your infuriating flaws, making it known to all you had gone too far.

Slow but surely, when you stepped closer to her gave you the courage to tell her what needed to be heard. “I cannot change what you feel, but if you wish for me to leave, then please tell me.” You huffed in pain as your cold fingers traced along her arm and then moved to her hands. In some ways like this, you were fragile like porcelain. Sometimes Rhaenyra forgot you were younger than her. And now she felt like the childish one.

“No, I—” She gulps, her fear evident. She didn't want to lose you as well. “Please don’t go.”

Your eye-opening conversation marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life. Connecting with the Bronze Fury required some time to adapt to both yourself and those around you. As the newest rider, you felt the world embracing you. However, what you cherished most was the experience of riding. You hailed from Old Valyria, with the blood of the Dragon in your veins. Riding with Vermithor became a daily routine, a privilege you savored. It was the most incredible gift you could have received.

Rhaenyra slowly became accepting of it as well. You can tell by the way her lips curl when you mount off of your dragon, that she was proud of you. You were a dragon rider! Now, you and she could soar through the skies for eternity if you wished. It was a dream come true, and you were overjoyed that she had forgiven you.

When you were above the skies, it was breathtaking. No view from below could compare to the ones over the clouds. You admit now why you found Rhaenyra’s obsession with flying to be so addicting. It was. When you’re up there, it feels as though nothing matters but you and the pale blue heavens. Vermithor would always groan in his grumpy way to show affection. He enjoyed riding above, you’ve felt his calm heartbeat and knew he too felt as relaxed as you did. When Rhaenyra joined you, which was a regular occurrence, you two would race. Up and down the clouds, like both of you danced in between the midst.

She looked dashing in her rider’s uniform. Black leather, plastered to resemble dragon scales alongside matching gloves. You resembled a familiar approach, having bronze leather strapped all over to stimulate Vermithor’s charming scales. You reminisced that he even once nudged at you from behind as a sign of appreciation for it.

Vermithor, the ruthless wid dragon growing soft because of you. You always had your chance to mention it to him before riding as a reminder of your sincere relationship. As a rider and dragon, the two of you bonded over adventure and tricks. You loved exploring the faraway lands to only encourage the Bronze Fury more driven to fly.

But there were also moments when you were reminded of how reckless you could be with him. On the morning of your uncle’s name day, you convinced Rhaenyra to fly out to the Estermount Sea, close to the Triarchy of Essos. At first, the princess urged you of the danger, the Triarchy were pirates who paraded in raiding others for fun. Additionally, they had been targets of your father’s ships, disrupting trade. Yet you dismissed her pleas and pursued with an eager grin.

The first few moments entering the sea territory were quiet. Both of you were mindful of the harsh waves there and how foggy it was similar to the Stormlands. But Rhaenyra persisted with her worries when you wanted to challenge her to dive down close to the sea.

“We shouldn’t be here!” Her lilac eyes were defined with anxiousness as the princess held her dragon’s reins tightly. However you were indifferent, all too casual in uncharted areas.

“We’re fine! We’re high enough in the sky!” you shout, a broad grin stretching across your face as you gaze at the small islands of Essos below. They look both foreign and beautiful. You’ve never ventured this far from home before.

But that was the last moment of calm you experienced. Suddenly, a harpoon appeared out of nowhere, narrowly missing you and Vermithor by the shoulder. The weapon moved with such speed and force that you had no time to process what was happening. Rhaenyra saw it clearly—she watched as the massive arrow zipped past you, inches away from your body, before plunging into the sea below. Someone had attempted to attack you. The worst followed: the harpoon's impact sent you and Vermithor into a chaotic frenzy. You leaped as your dragon swerved violently, causing you to be thrown from your saddle. For a moment, your body was there, and then it wasn’t.

The princess screamed in desperation, urgently commanding Syrax to dive into the water in an attempt to catch your falling body. Your dragon was beside hers, plummeting and speeding towards the sea floor as you descended. With a whoosh, Vermithor swooped in at the last moment, grabbing you from a fatal plunge. His claws, though sharp, gripped you with surprising gentleness, and you stared in terror as he held you safely.

The memory was deeply distressing. Your hair was now disheveled and tangled from the fall. Tears streamed down your cheeks, leaving your skin glistening and drenched. Rhaenyra could only sob with relief, feeling utterly exhausted and wishing it were all just a nightmare. Yet it was all too real. She felt Syrax’s comforting purr in response to her discomfort. Her father and yours would have been shouting endlessly about this.

Despite everything, all she could remember was the devastated look on your face.

It was madness. Jacaerys would tell her, her son parading around her room as they waited for all of the Targaryen bastards to arrive. Here she was, Rhaenyra Targaryen, in Dragonstone, pursuing the inevitable. The idea of recruiting Dragon Seeds was bizarre but what choice did she have? There was no one left in her family who could claim one. Distant Houses with the blood of Valyria were risky. She had to sacrifice one of her knights to do it. Perhaps this was the only way to win the war.

Years without your presence brought Rhaenyra sorrow and time to reflect on herself. It had been long since she was gifted to speak your name so openly. Everyone knew of her relationship with you. The princess cherished you deeply and with your absence, left the Realm soulfully longing. Rhaenys despises her because of it. She wondered if part of the princess's resentment was directly tied towards you or the fact she was given the title of heir or both. Yet after Alicent’s son had taken her throne, Rhaenys stood by her side, as did her husband.

Meeting all of the Targaryen bastards was daunting at first. Rhaenyra knew many infidelities were common for any lord to allow their seed to spread. To witness so many of them in a room made her all the more encouraged to believe her plan would succeed. It must, it should. She could feel all of their eyes focus entirely on her like a beacon of hope. They believed what they were doing was right to protect the realm. And for that, she will use it to attain.

The Dragonpit had never felt so cold or so secure. It was secluded within a murky cave, miles tall and wide. It’s humid, water drips everywhere as the Black Queen strides down onto the platform where the dragon would be summoned. Forty or so Dragon Seeds followed her, paranoid and trembling about what was to come. She would have to believe in the gods, Rhaenyra sighed. If there is a strategy better than this, she would take it. But Alicent’s son had taken something from her by force and for that, she could not comply.

“Come forward, Vermithor.” Her accent revealed her fluency in the High Vayrlian language. Rhaenyra readied herself for the beast. Seconds of silence loomed over all those in the Dragonpit like a neverending time bomb. The wait was excruciating yet the inevitable was daunting to witness. Out of the shadows comes a growl, which causes a few of the Dragon seeds to slightly panic. But the Queen knew better. And Vermithor as well.

He looms, towering over the cockpit like a living nightmare. His crooked teeth glowed an intimidating appearance for all, and the simmer of his bronze scales shined. “Obey! Stay calm, Vermithor!” Commanded by Rhaenyra as she stares up at the beast, unafraid. She holds an imposing scowl before witnessing the Bronze Fury lower his snout. The Black Queen reaches out of her hand, cautiously and slowly.

Her hand makes contact with his snout and calmly Rhaenyra recognizes the sense of calm Vermithor had with her whenever you were around. It felt as though he resembled your presence and familiarity. This intuition puts a warm smile on her face.

637 notes · View notes

novaursa · 3 months ago

Note

okk hear me out!

gwayne x daemon daughter // kink repro

We all remember the tournament in s1, just imagine viserys decide that his niece (who is younger than nyra maybe 16) should marry sir gwayne to make more strength between their houses.

time pass they fell in love in oldtown and they raided Daeron as their own. They all come back when Luke was name heir of drifmark (during the audience). Daemon is furious to see her with gwayne.

But their chamber is right next to daemon and nyra, and at night gwayne is way more than ready to make understand that she is his 😏🔥

In Defiance of the Dragon

- Summary: When your uncle, King Viserys, promised your hand to Gwayne, your father was least pleased about it.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The air in the tournament grounds is drenched with the scent of crushed flowers and churned earth, the banners of noble houses fluttering like the wings of restless dragons. The sun casts a golden shine over the scene, making the polished armor of the knights gleam like fire. You stand at the edge of the royal pavilion, a place of honor, though it feels more like a cage at this moment. Your heart pounds in your chest as the king—your uncle, Viserys—raises his hand to command silence.

The crowd hushes, anticipation hanging in the air. You can feel the weight of a thousand eyes upon you, but none as heavy as the gaze of Ser Gwayne Hightower. His presence is unmistakable even among the throng of knights, his armor adorned with the sigil of his house, the beacon of the Hightower shining bright against the steel. Your breath catches as you meet his gaze, a fleeting moment that seems to stretch into eternity. There is something in his eyes—an unspoken promise, a plea for understanding.

Viserys’ voice booms across the grounds, his words carrying the weight of royal decree. "Today, before the tilts commence, let it be known that my beloved niece, the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, shall be wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower. This union shall strengthen the bond between our noble houses, binding the blood of Old Valyria to the steadfast walls of Oldtown."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Otto Hightower, standing beside the king, allows himself a thin, satisfied smile. The whisper of steel, the low hum of murmurs, and the occasional startled cry from the gathered lords and ladies mingle with the pounding in your ears. Beside you, Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent Hightower exchange a glance, though their expressions reveal little. You know Rhaenyra's thoughts well enough; her small hand squeezes yours briefly, a silent assurance.

Your eyes dart to the stands where your father, Prince Daemon, lounges. His posture is deceptively relaxed, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drum against the arm of his seat. His eyes—those unmistakable violet eyes—burn with an intensity that sets your nerves on edge. When he rises from his seat, you feel a tremor of fear run through you, though you fight to keep your face composed.

Daemon’s voice, sharp and cutting, pierces the air. "I would face Ser Gwayne in the first tilt. Let us see if this union has the favor of the gods."

The crowd roars in approval, eager for the bloodshed and spectacle that is sure to follow. Gwayne’s gaze shifts, now locked onto Daemon’s. You see the flicker of concern in his eyes, quickly masked by the steel of resolve. He inclines his head, accepting the challenge with a courtly grace that belies the danger he now faces.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The fear gnaws at you, a beast with claws that rake against your insides. You force yourself to remain still, even as every instinct screams at you to intervene, to do something—anything—to protect Gwayne from your father’s wrath.

Alicent notices your distress, her voice a gentle whisper in your ear. "Do not fear, my lady. Ser Gwayne is a skilled knight. He will honor you in this contest."

Her words are meant to comfort, but they do little to soothe the storm raging within you. Your eyes dart between the two men who now occupy your every thought—the father who has always shielded you with his fierce love, and the knight who has stolen your heart with his quiet strength. What would your father say if he knew how often Gwayne had filled your thoughts, how often you had dreamed of a future together, away from the politics and dangers of the court?

As the knights prepare for the tilt, you can barely breathe. The cheers of the crowd fade into a dull roar in your ears, and all you can focus on is the two figures facing each other across the field. Daemon’s black armor, dark as night and adorned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, stands in stark contrast to Gwayne’s silvered plate. The dragon against the tower—a battle that feels all too symbolic.

Rhaenyra leans in close, her voice urgent and low. "You know your father, sister. He won’t hold back. You must steel yourself."

"I know," you whisper, though your voice trembles with the effort of holding back the fear that threatens to overwhelm you. You cannot let anyone see how deeply this affects you—not Rhaenyra, not Alicent, and certainly not your father.

The trumpets blare, signaling the beginning of the tilt. The horses rear, their hooves pounding the earth as Daemon and Gwayne charge at each other. Time slows to a crawl, and you can only watch, helpless, as the gap between them closes.

The impact is thunderous, the sound of steel against steel ringing out across the field. The force of the blow unseats Gwayne, and he crashes to the ground in a heap of armor and dust. Your heart lurches in your chest, and you rise to your feet, barely aware of the gasps and cries around you.

"Gwayne!" you hear yourself cry out, the name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

The crowd is on its feet, roaring with excitement, but all you can see is Gwayne, motionless on the ground. The world blurs as tears well in your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to show any weakness.

Daemon circles back, his expression inscrutable behind his helm, but you can feel his eyes on you. This was no accident; he wanted to make a point, to remind everyone that no one—Hightower or otherwise—would take what belonged to a dragon without consequence.

But then, Gwayne stirs. He rises slowly, his movements pained but determined. Relief floods through you, but it is quickly replaced by a renewed sense of dread. Daemon is not done—not yet.

Before you can react, Gwayne is back on his feet, his eyes locked onto Daemon's. The defiance in his stance is clear—he will not yield, not even to a prince of the blood. You feel a swell of pride for him, despite the fear gnawing at your insides.

Daemon, sensing the mood of the crowd shifting, raises his lance once more, ready for another pass. But this time, something in Gwayne’s demeanor gives you hope. His gaze flickers to you for the briefest of moments, and you see the silent vow in his eyes—a promise to fight for you, no matter the odds.

The horses charge again, and this time, Gwayne meets Daemon’s strike with a fierce determination. The impact is brutal, but Gwayne holds his ground, refusing to be unseated. The crowd roars its approval, the tension in the air is felt.

When the dust settles, both knights remain in their saddles, battered but unbroken. It is Daemon who finally raises his hand, signaling the end of the tilt. There is no victor, no vanquished—only two men who have tested each other’s mettle and found themselves equally matched.

The relief that washes over you is overwhelming, and you sink back into your seat, your hands trembling in your lap. You dare a glance at Gwayne, who inclines his head to you with a slight, weary smile. It is a small gesture, but it fills your heart with warmth.

As Daemon dismounts, he casts a long, lingering look in your direction. There is something unspoken in his gaze, a challenge, perhaps—or a warning. But for now, you do not care. You have seen Gwayne survive your father’s wrath, and that is enough for you.

For the first time since this day began, you allow yourself a small, secret smile. The road ahead may be fraught with danger and intrigue, but you will face it with the courage of a dragon—and with Gwayne by your side.

You stand at the window of the Hightower, looking out over the sprawling city of Oldtown, where the cobbled streets wind like serpents beneath the autumn sun. The air is cool, tinged with the salt of the Whispering Sound, carrying with it the scent of the sea that you’ve come to know so well. The bells from the Starry Sept toll the hour, their sound reverberating through the stone walls of your home.

Your home. It’s a thought that still brings a small smile to your lips, even after all these years. The Hightower is vast, imposing, and ancient, its walls steeped in the history of Oldtown and the Hightowers themselves. Yet within these walls, you have found something unexpected—peace, and more than that, love.

Gwayne is beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back, a comforting weight. His touch is gentle, yet there’s a strength in it that you’ve come to depend on. He’s watching you with that soft expression that always melts the last of your worries away, the lines of his face relaxed, his grey eyes bright with the warmth of the afternoon light.

“He’s arrived,” Gwayne says, his voice low and calm, a grounding presence. You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, the unspoken question in your eyes.

“Prince Daeron,” he clarifies, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Alicent’s letter arrived this morning, and they’ll be here within the hour.”

You nod, the familiar flutter of anticipation and duty stirring in your chest. Prince Daeron, the youngest son of Queen Alicent, sent to Oldtown to be raised and educated under the care of your husband’s family. It’s a great honor, of course, but more than that, it feels like a trust, a bond that ties your houses closer together.

Gwayne’s hand moves from your back to your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “He’s young, but from what we’ve heard, he’s bright and eager to learn. He’ll thrive here, I’m sure of it.”

You smile at his optimism, leaning into him slightly. “We’ll make sure of it,” you reply, your voice carrying the quiet determination that has grown within you over the years. Oldtown has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you and Gwayne have built a life together, despite the stormy beginnings of your union.

You can still remember the day of the tourney, the way your heart had pounded with fear as your father had chosen Gwayne as his opponent. The memory lingers like a shadow, but it’s one you’ve learned to live with, just as you’ve learned to live with the man who became your husband.

Gwayne, sensing the shift in your mood, squeezes your hand gently. “He’ll have the best tutors, the finest training. And he’ll have us.”

“Yes,” you agree, turning your gaze back to the city below. “He’ll have us.”

The grand hall of the Hightower is filled with the warmth of a roaring fire, the stone hearth dominating the room. The thick tapestries that line the walls soften the sound of footsteps on the stone floor, and the smell of spiced wine and roasted meat fills the air.

Daeron is smaller than you expected, a boy of perhaps seven years, with a mop of silver hair that falls into his eyes. Those eyes, so much like his mother’s, are wide with curiosity and just a hint of nervousness as he stands before you and Gwayne.

“Welcome to Oldtown, Prince Daeron,” Gwayne says, his voice kind but formal, as befits the occasion. He kneels slightly, bringing himself closer to the boy’s level, a gesture of respect and warmth that seems to put Daeron at ease.

The boy glances up at you, his lips parting in a small, shy smile. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” he replies, his voice small but clear. Then, turning to you, he adds, “My lady.”

You kneel beside Gwayne, reaching out to take Daeron’s hand in yours. His fingers are cold, and you can feel the slight tremor in them. “You’ll be safe here, Prince Daeron,” you assure him softly. “This is your home now.”

Daeron looks up at you, his young face a mix of emotions—fear, uncertainty, but also trust. It’s a look that tugs at your heart, and you find yourself wanting to protect this boy, to give him the guidance and care that only family can provide.

“We’ll take good care of you,” you promise, your voice gentle but firm. “Just as we would our own.”

The boy nods, and you can see the tension in his small shoulders begin to ease. He looks around the hall, taking in the grandeur of the Hightower, the vastness of the space that is now his home. There’s still fear in his eyes, but there’s also a glimmer of something else—hope.

Gwayne rises to his feet, offering his hand to you. “Come,” he says to Daeron, “let’s show you the rest of the Hightower. There’s much to see, and I believe the maester has prepared something special for your arrival.”

Daeron hesitates for just a moment before he takes Gwayne’s offered hand, his small fingers gripping tightly as though seeking reassurance. You stand beside them, a silent guardian of this new bond that is being forged.

As you walk through the halls, Gwayne points out various tapestries, statues, and paintings, telling stories of the history of the Hightowers and Oldtown. Daeron listens intently, his earlier nervousness slowly melting away under the gentle guidance of your husband.

When you reach the maester’s chambers, you’re greeted by the sight of a table laden with books, scrolls, and an array of strange instruments that immediately capture Daeron’s interest. The maester, a kindly old man with a beard as white as snow, greets Daeron with a deep bow.

“Prince Daeron,” the maester says warmly, “I’ve prepared a special lesson for you, one that I think you’ll find quite interesting.”

Daeron’s eyes light up with curiosity, and for the first time since his arrival, you see a genuine smile on his face. He looks up at you and Gwayne, his eyes shining with excitement. “Thank you,” he says, his voice more confident now.

Gwayne squeezes your hand, and you can’t help but return the smile. This, you realize, is what it means to be a family—not just by blood, but by the bonds you choose to create. In this moment, with the warmth of the fire and the promise of a new beginning, you feel something settle in your heart, a sense of fulfillment that you hadn’t known you were missing.

As Daeron sits down with the maester, already engrossed in the lesson that has been prepared for him, you and Gwayne share a look, a silent understanding passing between you.

And in this moment, as you both watch Daeron eagerly absorb the knowledge being offered to him, you know that you wouldn’t have your life being lived in any other way.

The halls of the Red Keep are as imposing as ever as you and Gwayne make your way through the corridors. It's been years since you last walked these halls, and yet they feel as familiar as ever—haunted by memories both bitter and sweet.

Gwayne’s hand rests on your elbow, guiding you through the maze of the castle with practiced ease. He’s dressed in the colors of his house, the green and silver of the Hightowers, his expression calm and composed as always. But you know him well enough to sense the tension beneath the surface, the way his gaze sharpens when he hears a distant sound, always vigilant, always protective.

You both turn a corner and nearly collide with a small entourage, led by none other than Rhaenyra herself. She’s flanked by her husband—your father, Daemon—and their children, their steps purposeful, their expressions tense. Rhaenyra’s silver hair gleams under the flickering torchlight, her violet eyes widening slightly in surprise as she sees you.

“Rhaenyra,” you greet her, your voice soft but steady, betraying none of the uncertainty you feel. So much has changed, yet seeing her here, a part of you yearns for the easy camaraderie you once shared as children.

“Cousin,” Rhaenyra replies, her voice warm despite the strain visible on her face. She glances at Gwayne and then back at you, her gaze searching, perhaps for some sign of how the years have treated you. “It’s been too long.”

“Far too long,” you agree, your eyes flicking to Daemon, who stands slightly behind Rhaenyra, his gaze locked on Gwayne. There’s a tension in his stance, a stiffness that wasn’t there before, and you know immediately that your father is displeased.

Daemon’s eyes are dark, and though he remains silent, the disapproval is clear. His gaze travels from Gwayne to you, then back again, lingering on the clasped hands between you and your husband. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and for a moment, the air seems to thicken with unspoken words and unresolved history.

“You’re back in the capital for the petitions, I presume?” Rhaenyra asks, breaking the silence, her tone carefully neutral. The mention of the petitions brings you back to the grim reality of why you’re all here—the matter of Driftmark, and the question of succession that has thrown the court into turmoil.

“Yes,” Gwayne answers before you can, his voice firm. “We came as soon as we heard.” He glances at Daemon, his expression respectful but guarded. “It seems the crown’s decision is in favor of your son.”

Rhaenyra’s face softens at the mention of Lucerys, but before she can respond, a voice from behind her interrupts. It’s Jacaerys, his young face set in determination. “The matter should have never been in question. Luke is the rightful heir to Driftmark.”

You see the fire in his eyes, the same fire that once burned in Rhaenyra at that age. It’s both heartening and concerning, especially now, in these treacherous waters.

“That he is,” you say gently, offering a smile to Jacaerys. “And it’s clear to anyone with eyes that he’ll make a fine lord.”

Before Jacaerys can respond, Daemon steps forward, his presence commanding attention. His eyes are locked onto yours now, and there’s a storm brewing behind them, a mix of emotions you can’t fully decipher. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, carrying the weight of a warning.

“You’ve found happiness in Oldtown, I see.” The words are directed at you, but his gaze shifts to Gwayne as he says it, his tone laced with something darker. “Though I wonder if the cost was worth it.”

You feel Gwayne’s hand tighten around yours, a subtle gesture of support. “Happiness is not something to be questioned, Father,” you reply calmly, meeting Daemon’s gaze without flinching. “Nor is the loyalty I hold to both my families.”

Daemon’s lips twitch, almost as if he’s about to say something more, but Rhaenyra places a gentle hand on his arm, silently urging him to hold his tongue. There’s a brief moment where it seems he might ignore her, but then he lets out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“We’re here to support our family,” Gwayne adds, his voice measured, addressing Daemon directly now. “In whatever way is needed.”

Daemon studies Gwayne for a long moment, the silence between them stretching thin. Finally, he gives a curt nod, though the hardness in his gaze doesn’t entirely soften. “As you should,” he says, the words clipped, before turning back to Rhaenyra.

“Come, we have business with the king,” he says to her, his voice brooking no argument.

Rhaenyra hesitates, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “We’ll speak later,” she promises, offering a small, genuine smile before following after Daemon, their children trailing behind her.

As they walk away, the tension slowly dissipates, leaving you standing beside Gwayne in the dimly lit corridor. You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, leaning slightly into your husband’s side. Gwayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his warmth a comfort against the chill that lingers in the air.

“That went… better than I expected,” Gwayne murmurs, a touch of wry humor in his voice, though you can hear the relief beneath it.

“He’s never going to fully approve,” you say quietly, your eyes fixed on the spot where your father had stood. “But he’ll have to accept it.”

Gwayne turns to you, his expression softening as he looks down into your eyes. “I don’t need his approval,” he says, his voice firm. “I have you, and that’s all that matters.”

You smile at that, a genuine smile that reaches your eyes, banishing the last of the unease. “And I have you,” you reply, your voice filled with the love and certainty that have grown between you over the years.

The heavy oak door of your chambers shuts behind you, a soft thud echoing through the room. The warmth of the fire flickers across the stone walls that dance in tandem with your heightened pulse. Gwayne stands before you, his emerald eyes sharp and intense, still simmering with the tension of your earlier encounter in the halls. He says nothing as he approaches, but the way his hand reaches for your waist and pulls you flush against him speaks volumes.

You’ve grown accustomed to the feel of him—the strength in his embrace, the heat of his breath against your skin—but tonight there is something different, something more urgent. The lingering traces of your father’s displeasure hang between you, and you know, without words, that it fuels Gwayne’s every movement.

His lips descend upon yours, fierce and claiming, tasting of the wine shared at the evening’s feast. You respond in kind, your hands weaving through the thick strands of his hair, pulling him closer, as though you could erase the earlier tension through sheer proximity.

His hands roam across your body with practiced familiarity, fingers curling around the ties of your gown, loosening the laces with deliberate slowness. Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and rough. “I will make you scream for me tonight,” he promises, and the unspoken words hang heavy in the air—Let him hear.

Your heart flutters in response, not with fear, but with anticipation. The thought of your father just beyond the walls, likely brooding over his anger, stirs something within you. How often had Daemon whispered venom into your ear about the Hightowers, about how they were a poison slowly strangling your family? And yet here you are, wrapped in the arms of one who bears that very name, bound to him not only by vows but by something far deeper, something that even your father’s fury cannot tarnish.

Gwayne’s touch turns rougher, more insistent, and your breath catches in your throat as he lifts you with ease, laying you down onto the bed. The covers crumple beneath your weight, the mattress giving way as he settles over you, his eyes burning with a hunger that matches your own. “I want him to know,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips trailing fire down your throat, “that you belong to me.”

Your back arches involuntarily, and you bite down on your lip, the need to hold back your cries warring with the knowledge of who might hear. Gwayne’s hands grasp your hips, his grip possessive as he moves against you with a rhythm that leaves you breathless. Each movement, each deliberate thrust, is a challenge—a challenge to the walls that separate your chambers from those of your father and his wife.

The pressure builds inside you, the familiar heat coiling in your belly, and you grasp at Gwayne’s shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you fight against the wave of pleasure threatening to drown you. His mouth hovers over yours, demanding, coaxing you to give in, to let go.

And then you remember—Daemon’s chambers are just beyond. The thought of his reaction, of his barely concealed rage at the idea of you finding joy with a Hightower, sends a thrill through you. You gasp aloud as Gwayne drives into you harder, his breath ragged in your ear, “Louder,” he commands, his voice a mix of authority and need.

You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, letting the sound of his name tear from your lips, louder than before, louder than you ever have. You imagine the look on your father’s face, his fists clenched in helpless fury, and the thought sends you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it nearly blinds you.

Gwayne’s name tumbles from your lips again and again, each cry more fervent than the last, as he brings you to the edge and beyond. You feel his satisfaction in the way he groans your name in return, his hold on you unyielding, as though he could anchor himself to you through sheer force of will.

When it’s over, when the last echoes of your cries have faded into the night, you lay beside him, your body spent and trembling, but your mind still racing. Gwayne’s hand rests possessively on your hip, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of exertion. “He heard you,” he says, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

You can only nod, the thought of what tomorrow might bring swirling in your mind. But for now, there is only this—only you and Gwayne, and the knowledge that whatever storm your father’s ire might bring, you would weather it together.

In the silence that follows, you curl closer to Gwayne, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest. “Tomorrow…” you begin, but your voice trails off.

“Tomorrow,” Gwayne echoes, his tone firm, reassuring, “we will face whatever comes. But tonight, you are mine, and that is all that matters.”

You smile softly at his words, closing your eyes as sleep finally begins to claim you.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd gwayne #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #gwayne x y/n #gwayne hightower #ser gwayne

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artist-ellen · 8 months ago

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Alicent wears her mother’s dress

As someone who held off watching the show properly for a long time, I thought that the dress that Otto Hightower convinces her to wear for Viserys was the green dress. Imagine my surprise when I was listing all the costumes/plot points to redesign that the seduction dress is the "blue-ladder dress". Curveball for the ages. (It's also what happens when only two actors are portraying an almost 20 year time jump over the course of a season.)

When I saw the Blue ladder dress for the first time I nearly laughed. The bodice pattern and the fabric catch the light in a pretty way but the peak-a-boo cut-outs make it a strange modern hybrid that really needed something between the skin and the blue gown. I can see the slashing inspiration but it's just another choice that highlights the lack of chemises and rich layers of fabrics. And we want rich, luxurious fabrics and draping that really highlights what the height of Targaryen power looks like. So... here we are. I kept the blue so the actual Green Dress can stand out later as a bigger change, and I tried to imply that this was a less-Targaryen (Byzantine) inspired fashion. The cut, silhouette, and shape is different. Hopefully creating a visual contrast that Alicent can find ways to replicate later in the season as well.

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me over on: instagram, tiktok or check out my coloring book available now \ („• ֊ •„) /

https://linktr.ee/ellen.artistic

#alicent hightower #team green #fire and blood #house of the dragon #redesigning hotd #ellenart #ellen artistic #character design #digital illustration #costume design #historically inspired #valyrianscrolls #house hightower

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insomniakisses · 1 year ago

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An eye for an eye | One

Characters: Aemond x sister reader (platonic), Rhaenyra x sister reader (platonic), Alicent x step daughter reader (Platonic) (hotd characters)

Reader type: Female

Warnings / Notes: tw viserys, tw otto, tw daemon, events of driftmark, absent and shitty father viserys, metions of torturous, dragons, graphic violent scenes. I think thats it. Possable targcest in the future.

Parts: Two.

You couldn’t help the giggles that escaped your lips as you ran around the gardens, aemond chasing after you soft giggles falling from him two. The younger boy declaring he was going to catch you but he was at a disadvantage you were 4 years older than him, though even at the age of 10 he was gaining height and strength.

You begin to slow as tiredness kicks in and he smirks, using the last of his energy to surge forward catching up with ease as he wraps his arms around you and pushes you both to the floor. Laughter escaping you both on impact. Though its short lived when rhaenyra comes bolting over pulling you off the ground a hard glare fixed on her face.

“That is most un-lady like sister,” she hisses before her gaze fixes on your brother, “Aemond do you not know how to properly behave around a lady?” She scolds and you roll your eyes seeing jace and luke laughing behind her.

“I- we were playing! Only playing! Shes not hurt i promise-“ the young prince stutters clearly afraid of the much older royals wraith knowing just how protective of you your sister can be.

“Really?” She draws out with a scoff bringing ur arm into view and he sees the smallest of scrapes along your forearm his eyes widening.

“Rhaenyra!” You call shaking off her grip and moving to stand by Aemond, “its barely an injury, it doesn’t even hurt. You needn’t worry yourself!” You exclaim hand clasping Aemond’s as you continue. “He will take me to the maesters to get it checked out now, won’t you Aem?”

The boy nods with a small smile when you squeeze his hand in reassurance making sure he knows your not in the slightest mad at him and that everything is okay.

Spending the rest of the day inside the two of you resigned to the library reading up on family histories and practicing your High Valyrian. Save the brief interruption from Alicent, the queen asking to check your injury having been informed by Rhaenyra that her “undisciplined” son had caused you harm.

Though as soon as she saw you two laughing and joking around she knew in her heart that there was no way he would have hurt you. Especially not intentionally.

You simply smile at the queen greeting her by her title and allowing her to gently lift your arm inspecting the wound before she left you be leaving a soft kiss to both of your heads as she bid her goodbyes. On her way to the king no doubt.

— one year later —

The whole family was being taken to Driftmark, apparently for the funeral of Laena Velarion. Though the two of you had only spoken once, having accidentally ran into her and Rhaenyra, she seemed nice enough and you were sad that she had died so early into her life. Your half-sibling however didn’t seem to care. Aegon was ceaselessly complaining as usual, Helaena of in her own world like always and Aemond, well he was respectful enough to understand why you were going but he clearly wasn’t saddened by the news.

The king and Alicent were set to arrive by boat accompanied by the four of you, but Aegon having recently mounted Sunfyre for a real flight insisted he go by dragon back the king uncaringly agreeing and shooing of Alicent’s protests. Her visible worry evident the whole way as she picked and chewed at her fingers you and Aemond sharing a concern look before going over to her. Grasping a hand each you held her tightly and she smiled. You couldn’t tell if it was forced or not, but she let out a small exhale as she held you giving away she was more relaxed even if it was only slightly.

Once the ship had docked Alicent all but ran to Aegon though he rolled his eyes and told her to leave him be as he wasn’t a child anymore. He failed to see how she flinched when Sunfyre moved or how she stood still till the dragon moved away. One of her biggest fears dragons were, something you had picked up recently.

You latch back onto her arm when she’s beside you again, having grown rather attached to her in the years of Rhaenyras absence. She had left without warning or a goodbye. You can still remember the nights you laid crying for her hugs or her soft touch when she braided your hair helping you ready yourself in the morning. All of that was Alicent’s job now, not that she minded, she loved you as her own and enjoyed how you curled against her needy for a mother’s touch. She just wishes you wouldn’t call her Alicent, it always hurt her not hearing the word “mother”.

———— That Night ————

The funeral had been somewhat uneventful, Aegon had gotten drunk and was sent to bed early by Otto and Daemon had made a scene laughing during the ceremony. But that was all really, soon you were all sent to bed and you had fallen asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. Exhausted from the day of traveling no doubt.

However, the sound of whooshing and a dragons deep roar had woken you, slipping on a cloak and your shows you had gone to investigate. By the time you came downstairs there was shouting and a trail of blood into the main hall. Following it you entered seeing Aemond holding his eye and the adults screaming at each other. Jace with bloody hands and Luke with a broken nose yet Rhaenyra, Daemon and Laenor were nowhere in sight. You rushed to Aemond side feeling Alicent pull u into her body your hand grasping her dress as you stares at the bloody sight.

Then in came Rhaenyra and you completely zoned out staying by Aemond’s side and holding his hand throughout the whole ordeal. Crying for your brother when the king seemed not to care and made no move to punish the boys for attacking him.

After all was said and done Aemond was given milk of the poppy and essence of night shade for the pain and to help him sleep. While the rest of you were ushered to your respective chambers though you slept very little worried about Aemond and so saddened at Rhaenyra’s intention of having someone torturing him. Afterall he had just lost an eye.

———— Back in Kings Landing ————

“ALICENT ENOUGH!” the king roared, having had enough of her nagging.

“THEY TOOK HIS EYE, YOUR GRACE, SOMEONE HAS TO PAY!” And he sighs sitting on his throne looking half dead.

“My dear wife,” he starts voice bored and tired. “Lucerys is just a boy. Children fight. Get over it.”

She scoffs at this, fighting the urge to yell again knowing his power out matches hers. “A debt is due your grace, an eye for an eye. He is your son!”

“What would you have me do?” He scoffs, “The boy is at dragon stone and he is my grandchild.”

“I dont care!” The queen protests, “You have to do something! Rhaenyra’s son has taken the eye of my own, a punishment is deserved. Someone must be punished!” If the queen had known her lack of precise words would lead to the events that would unfold that night she would never have been so careless.

“Fetch Y/n” is all he mutters and a guard sets of at once, Alicent so caught up in her thoughts not quiet hearing what he had ordered. Its only when a sleepy and confused you is escorted in that her breath quickens.

You stand there rubbing the sleep from your eyes, blinking away exhaustion as your blanket lays draped over your shoulders giving you a slight waddle when you walk.

“What is she-“ Alicent is cut of by the king. “Bring me her eye, a debt is to be payed and she is like a daughter to Rhaenyra. Lets settle this now”

Your heart fills with fear and dread as does Alicent’s as your grabbed by two guards another forcing his knife into your flesh. Alicent screaming protest as she herself is restrained tears falling down her face at your pained crys and shrieks. Your father simply holding his head in his hand as he feels another migraine coming.

“MOMMA PLEASE! IT HURTS MOM PLEASE MOMMY HELP!” you continue to scream and thrash around the knife in your flesh leaving messy cuts until your eye pulls out with a sickening wet pop and you scream loud.

You both released and alicent runs to you scooping you up and rocking you as you cry, hands balling up her dress as a mumbles mantra of “momma” escapes your lips she holds you as the maesters tend to your wounds and give you all the same teas and treatments Aemond had gotten in drifting mark. The king and guards now long gone.

“Im so sorry baby” is all she keeps saying kissing your head and carrying you to her chambers. You spend the night there, tucked into her embrace as she holds you swearing to protect you from this day swearing that one day the king will get what he deserves. And praying to the gods for all her children to be safe.

A/n. So this was part one hope u liked it 😁

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lady-pug · 3 months ago

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Written Between the Lines

Chapter III - Parallel Lines Intertwined

Summary: You are now betrothed to Aemond, with the promise of being crowned together when time comes, your family no longer headed unquestionably on warpath, but now you can’t help but wonder if this is truly what he wants, if he’s as happy as you are with this arrangement.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 3,6k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece), nudity, making out, allusions to sex, canon-typical misogyny regarding sex and female virginity, some steaminess (but nothing more than that really)

Notes: Another chapter is here! Yay!

I’m tagging this as mature because there’s some steaminess in it but not full blown smut (yet).

I’ve accidentally fallen in love with these two and cannot stop thinking about them, I have so many installments planned out you guys have no idea.

I decided to use some High Valyrian as I had mentioned before Aemond and reader are used to speaking it with one another (does it break consistency, as I haven’t used it until now? yes, but better late than never). For this I used an online translator (I don’t know if it’s grammatically correct, I’ll just roll with it, if someone spots any mistakes please let me know and I’ll correct it right away), translations are in the end notes.

Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you have enjoyed this story! <3

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The steaming water was doing wonders for your sore muscles. You hadn’t realized how tense you had been until you had reached your chambers and felt as if a weight had been lifted off your chest, your shoulders slumping with the force of everything falling into place. No sooner had you stepped foot inside your room you requested that the maids fix you a bath, the water steaming hot. Now, with your body submerged and the steam clouding your thoughts, you felt like you could finally breathe properly.

It had worked. Your mad, crazy, stupid idea had worked. At least as well as one could expect. Alicent and Otto, of all people, had agreed to it, and now it seemed like there would no longer be a war inside House Targaryen. The promise of their blood eventually occupying the Iron Throne seemed to appease them enough to, most likely, support your mother’s claim as King Viserys’ heir, apparently no longer questioning her legitimacy as ruler just because she was not a man.

But now, alone in your chambers, you were no longer sure of yourself. While, yes, this idea could just fix things within your shattered family, you weren’t exactly sure if everyone involved was on-board with it.

After your dance with Aemond was cut short due to the King feeling unwell and needing to be escorted back to his chambers, to which Alicent nudged Rhaenyra to follow and spend some moments with him (something that lit a flicker of hope in your chest that things could indeed be mended), you hadn’t managed to speak to him for the rest of the night. Once you returned to the table, you caught Luke giggling under his breath, and when you realized what exactly he was laughing at you were quick to pull him from his seat and request a dance. You swiftly poked Helaena on your way to the open area of the room, who in turn pulled Aemond for a dance before he could notice, signaling her mother to alert the servants to move the offending dish to the middle of the table and away from his seat.

The night ended not long after, Baela and Rhaena keeping you company, the three of you giggling like little girls at the thought of your respective betrothals. However, once you were all excused by the Queen, you didn’t even manage to catch a glimpse of Aemond, who was whisked away by his grandsire with his mother following behind them.

And here you were. Although you had no doubt this plan of yours was the right thing to do, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was what he wanted. Even though you knew this was the right thing for the realm, for your family even, was it the right thing for the two of you? As you stared at your face reflected upon the surface of the water, dark thoughts simmered in your mind. Perhaps you had been blinded by his words regarding his mother’s wishes to find him a wife, or by the resentment he felt towards the treatment his brother received. What if he wanted nothing to do with you? What if he wanted to ascend to the Throne of his own accord, or what if he wanted to be wed to someone else, one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters, maybe?

At least there's no doubt about the purity of their blood.

He could have any woman on the realm if he wished. He was just so regal, all sharp edges and cunning eye, and you were merely… you, your mind tried to convince you.

Would you give up your freedom and be trapped in a loveless marriage just for the sake of your family and the realm?

Not loveless, that nagging voice in the back of your mind spoke out of turn again, just unrequited.

The answer was most definitely yes. You’d rather have him, even if not the whole of his being, than not have him at all. And if you could prevent the realm, and your own family, to succumb into flames and ashes in the process? All the more reason to do so.

Lost in your thoughts you barely heard the unmistakable sound of stone sliding against stone, as the wall suddenly pulled back to reveal the man in question.

“A-Aemond?” you stammered, sliding further into the water in order to preserve some shred of your dignity “What are you doing here?”

A deep, low hum was his only response as he stepped further into the room and closed the secret door behind him. The soft patter against the stone cold floor indicated that he was barefoot; that, along with the white linen shirt and soft looking breeches he was wearing, meant he was just about to go to bed before he decided to come visit you, for whatever reason.

“Qȳbor…” you bristled when he refused to elaborate.

“Can I not visit my future wife’s chambers to check on her well-being, mandianna?” he spoke lowly, his eye never leaving your frame.

“We are not yet married.” you squirmed under the intensity of his gaze “This hardly seems proper.”

He again only hummed, eye flitting around the room, before pulling his shirt over his head.

A sudden heat rushed to your cheeks as you stared at him. Much like you had noticed before, he was slim, his form lithe and elongated, making him appear even taller now that he wasn’t covered in green leather. His muscles, on the other hand, were well defined, taunt under his skin as if sculpted in the finest of marbles, his years of training with a sword under Ser Criston Cole reflected on his flesh.

His lips pulled in a smirk as you basked in his image, swiftly untying and pulling down his breeches as well. That caused you to avert your eyes immediately, going as far as to hide your peripheral vision behind your hand.

“What are you doing?!” you squealed in surprise, not at all expecting him of all people to pull a stunt like this. Aegon? Sure, but him?

“You once told me it was nothing you hadn’t seen before.” he spoke, amusement dripping from his tone as he walked closer to the tub.

“Yes, when we were children. Not like this.”

You felt the ripples of warm water beating against your skin as he joined you in the bath, leaning back against the side of the wooden tub with his legs extended in front of him, only slightly bent at the knees as they brushed softly against your own. You quickly pulled your knees to your chest, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“Why do you hide from me?” he asked, his lips curling in a smirk “You are to be my lady wife, we ought to see each other like this on many occasions.”

“Like I said” you hissed, crossing your arms over your breasts and straightening your spine, his eye following your every move “we are not married yet.”

He hummed in response, pursing his lips as if annoyed with your resistance, but you could see the mirth swimming in his eye. He extended his arms over the rim of the tub on either side of his body, and when your eyes involuntarily followed his movement, retaining your gaze on his chest for a tad too long, he smirked. Heat burned your cheeks as you averted your eyes, realizing that he enjoyed watching you squirm.

“Why are you here?” you questioned, annoyance simmering in your voice.

He stared at you for a long moment, like he was assessing you, searching for something, but what you couldn’t tell.

“I wanted to see you.” he spoke before glancing away from you, his once jesting tone having turned soft, betraying his sincerity.

That statement had you feeling all your annoyance dissolving, your body uncurling and legs extending closer to him. If you were to be honest with yourself you wanted to see him too, you desperately wished to know what was going through his mind during supper and after. You wished to know what he thought about you.

His mind seemed far away for a moment as he chewed on his lip before his gaze fell on you once more.

“My grandsire had interesting things to say about your proposal.” the corner of his mouth turned up almost imperceptibly “More so than my mother.”

That caught your attention.

“What did he say?”

“She was, albeit vexed by your choice of timing for the delivery of said proposal, delighted.” he completely ignored your question, choosing instead to talk about Alicent Hightower instead of Otto “Like I mentioned earlier, she’s been nagging me to find a wife, and now you’ve just delivered the solution on a silver platter for her.” his smile softened “She wished to know if I was happy with this arrangement.”

“And what did you say?” your throat felt as dry as the Dornish desert, and you wondered if he could hear you swallow nervously. But from the way his grin turned again into a smirk you knew you wouldn’t get the answers you craved for.

“My grandsire on the other hand was perfectly satisfied.” he shrugged, as if Otto Hightower’s opinion didn’t truly matter to him “He believes the Seven have answered mother’s prayers of having one of us be crowned king, and that this gives us the perfect opportunity to seize the throne for ourselves.”

“What?” you physically recoiled, shoulders curling into yourself once more, as if you were physically struck by his words.

“He told me” he continued, either not noticing your reaction or wanting to push forward regardless “that when time came for us to be crowned, you and I, I was to usurp you of your ‘birthright’ and be crowned the sole King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

You let your arms drop from their position over your chest, not even being able to revel in the way pink dusted Aemond’s cheeks as his eye followed down our body to your now exposed breasts, so much was your shock. You felt so stupid, so humiliatingly naive in having believed such a ridiculous idea could ever work. Otto Hightower would never respect you, or your mother, or any possible daughters you came to have simply because you were all women. Just remembering the way you stood before him, before your entire family, before Aemond himself and said those foolish and rehearsed words, dragged yourself practically as low as the streets at Flea Bottom, made your eyes sting in embarrassment.

You were so caught up in your own swirling thoughts you barely noticed Aemond’s smirk slipping from his face, a frown now adorning his features.

“You cannot possibly believe I would do such a thing.” he let his own arms fall back into the water, his back straightening as he looked at you almost… hurt? “Do you truly think so lowly of me?”

You couldn’t hold his stare any longer, shame clawing at your chest and climbing up your throat. The truth was you didn’t know him. It’s been six long years since you’d last spoken, you couldn’t possibly know who he was anymore. Had he turned out like Aegon? Or had his grandsire shaped him in his image, a mere puppet for him to manipulate and do his bidding for him?

His stare hardened, a resigned exhale leaving him as extended a hand in your direction.

“Come here.”

You didn’t dare move a muscle, too scared to embarrass yourself even further. That wouldn’t do it for him tho, if the annoyance that took over his features was anything to go by, and his hand found your ankle underwater and tugged. Hard. Unexpectedly you found yourself almost on top of him, holding onto his naked shoulders for balance as the contents of the tub sloshed around the two of you and over onto the ground.

“Aemond-!” you chastised him, trying to pull away but one of his arms snaked around your waist, holding you firmly in place. Something about the whole situation, the way his eye was locked on yours, as if studying you, felt strangely intimate, making your heart skip a beat.

Then, with the lightest of touches, he grabbed one of your hands almost reverently, removing it from its place on his shoulder and holding it in his own, the back of your hand against his palm so your own was facing up. He brought it closer to his face, examining it closely, his thumb caressing your skin in slow movements. Where his palms were calloused, you noticed, his fingers were silkily soft, the gentleness in his touch making shivers run down your spine and goosebumps prickle your skin all the way up your arm.

“Your line of life is quite long, thankfully.” he hummed, not taking his eye off your palm, so he didn’t notice the confusion brimming in your eyes “And your line of heart not only tilts upwards, but it is also incredibly long, almost touching the place where your palm meets your fingers, right here.”

“And what does that mean?” you whispered, not daring to speak any louder for it might break the spell that befell upon the two of you.

“You will be the most beloved woman in the entire realm.” he whispered back, his eye finally meeting yours, a storm of emotions threatening to spill over in the form of unshed tears “Your lord husband would burn the whole of the Seven Kingdoms to the ground just to see you smile.”

Wetness dripped down your cheeks but you could no longer distinguish between tears and the lukewarm water from the bath. Your heart clenched and twisted painfully in your chest as his gaze turned to your palm once more.

“And would you look at that,” Aemond gently turned your palm towards you, pointer finger tapping against a faint line near your wrist “it’s the line of the king. Or should I say queen.” he glanced at you once more, a soft smile growing on his lips “You once told me it only appeared on the hands of those destined to rule over the realm.”

You bit down hard on your bottom lip, a choked sob threatening to escape, desperately clinging to his every word.

“I may not be like my sister, for the future eludes me.” the arm around your waist tightened its grip, bringing you even closer to him as he rested his forehead against your own, bringing your intertwined hands close to his chest “But if there is one thing I can promise you is that you will be queen.” his next breath came out of his lips trembling with barely contained emotion “And I’ll be right by your side when that happens.”

The sound that left your lips was a perfect blend of a laugh and a sob, your lips quivering as you tried so very hard not to collapse into his arms as all your previous worries vanished. His own face lit up in a genuine, full blown smile that brightened his face; you couldn’t even remember when the last time he allowed himself to smile as brightly as he was now. It suited him.

Warmth filled your chest, quickly climbing up to your face, as he nuzzled his nose against yours, but one detail made you pull back. His face twisted in confusion, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek, thumb tracing the line of his scar.

“I wish to see all of you.” you spoke softly.

“You already have me bare before you, woman. What more could you possibly want?” Aemond tried jesting but you could notice the way his entire body tensed against your touch.

“I want to see all of you.” you whispered, thumb catching against the edge of his eyepatch.

Before you could lift it, though, his hand shot out unexpectedly, halting your movements by encircling your wrist. His fingers were firm against your skin, but his touch didn’t hurt; you didn’t think he ever could, not again. You didn’t press any further, nor did you retreat, waiting for him to either give you permission to continue or push you away. He did neither. Instead, his other hand reached up and removed the eyepatch from his face, throwing it somewhere around the room.

You didn’t truly know what exactly you were expecting but were surprised all the same. Where you believed you’d find an empty socket lay a small round sapphire, hidden from the world beneath his eyepatch most of the time. It was alluring, glimmering under the light emitted from the candles, contributing to his mystifying nature. His grip on your wrist loosened, and you took this as an opportunity to cradle his jaw, tilting his head to be able to see his eye from different angles. The gem suited him, the deep blue contrasting with the violet of his other eye.

“Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?” you breathed out.

“Not a single soul.” he shook his head, his own breath coming out trembled.

“Well, then, they are utterly blind, the lot of them.” you caressed the corner of his mouth, bringing your own lips impossibly closer to his “You are beautiful, Aemond.”

Something shifted in him, the last of his restrain melting away under your touch, as he leaned forward and closed the gap between your lips, sealing them in a tentative kiss. His lips were a contradiction on their own. For a man so taunt and sharp and strong, his lips were incredibly soft, akin to his voice, as strange as the comparison sounded. He kissed you unhurriedly, almost chastely, his hands finding hold in your waist. You pulled back for a moment and his lips chased your own, unwilling to part from you just yet.

His mouth then started tracing a path of lazy kisses down your body, first against your jaw, then slowly down your neck. It was when his grip on your waist tightened, trying to bring your hips closer to his own, that you pulled back, a hand against his chest.

“We can’t.” you mumbled regretfully. He tried sitting up again, get closer to you once more, but you pushed him back gently, cupping his face in both your hands “Aemond, please.”

“Why must you deprive me of what I long for so desperately?” he whined against your lips.

“I cannot risk losing you…” you exhaled, voice barely above a whisper.

It was his turn to pull back, eyebrows curling in confusion, and you knew he wouldn’t let you go without an explanation.

“When I was close to reaching marrying age, mother pulled me aside to explain some of the more… intricate details of what goes on between a husband and a wife.” you shrugged, the same embarrassment you felt back then flooding you now, before you sighed “She also told me what befell her before she married my father.”

Realization dawned upon him, remembering all the times his mother uttered words unbefitting of a queen to address not only her successor, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but also a former dear friend. Words more suited to the women who worked on the Street of Silk. From what he had gathered over the years this was the very last nail on the coffin of their friendship.

“I will not allow the same to happen to me.” your tone and your eyes alike hardened, fingers grasping his face more firmly as you forced his gaze to remain on you. Not that he could look at anything else with the way you spoke with such determination “I will not allow my virtue to be made a spectacle of, I will not give the opportunity for some lesser man from a little house to question it, to question me.”

Aemond couldn’t help but swallow thickly, the fierceness in your voice doing humorous things to his heart.

“If I was born a man this wouldn’t be a concern, but alas I was not.” something in you softened, fingers letting go of his cheeks and sliding softly to cradle the place where his jaw met his ears “If your mother so much as hears word of any misdemeanor, at least in her eyes, on my part she will tear us apart. Kesan daor ivestragī zirȳla gūrogon ao hen nyke.”

I will not let her take you from me.

When questioned later, he wouldn’t be able to tell you what came over him, but something inside his very soul snapped as he surged forward, claiming your lips in a desperate kiss. His lips moved against yours with the intensity of a man starved, like he was overcome in a thirst only your mouth could quench. It was passionate, it was harsh, it was… honestly kind of clumsy, all tongue and clashing teeth, like he didn’t truly know what he was doing. Huh. You would store this information away for later.

He pulled back with the last bit of self control he had, practically whimpering when your lips parted, resting his head on the crook of your neck.

“Kesan umbagon.” his breath was labored as he spoke, placing a tiny kiss on your shoulder before raising his head to look at you “I will always wait for you, ābrazȳrys.”

Your heart soared at the term, but when he went to gently move you away from him so he could stand up you gripped his hand to stop him.

“Stay.” you pleaded “Just a little while longer, please.”

Aemond smiled lovingly, helping maneuver you so you were sat between his legs, with your back against his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. His arms wrapped protectively around you, his fingers absently drawing patterns against the skin of your arm. The water from the tub had since run cold but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when you were in his arms.

Aōha valzȳrys. Aōha dārys.

High Valyrian translations: - qȳbor - uncle (mother’s younger brother) - mandianna - niece (older sister’s son or daughter) - kesan umbagon - I will wait - ābrazȳrys - wife - aōha valzȳrys - your husband - aōha dārys - your king

Also, this two were getting quite steamy while Viserys was literally dying in the other room. At least this time Rhaenyra was the one with him so, you know, no mixing up names this time (I stand by my argument that if Alicent’s eldest son was called Godofredo none of this would have happened, but the Targaryens were not known for their creativity when naming their children).

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x niece!reader #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic

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vanilleandclove · 5 months ago

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rings of fire | chapter two

ser erryk cargyll x targaryen! reader | chapter one: the twin of politics

After your mother is laid to rest alongside your brother Baelon, your father's council is urging the King to choose another heir, though to Otto Hightower's and the council's distaste, the heir and the spare, are both women. The princess's as fierce and ruly they are, they are still women at the end of discussion.

word count: 2.6k | warnings: reader gets her lick back over viserys, reader gets compared to daemon (when i catch you otto), reader also only cares about honorifics if they aren't used by people she hates | author's note: i kept listening to "grace" by jeff buckley and "so tonight that i might see" by mazzy star while writing this, that is why the reader is progressively irritable. AGAIN (just in case you didn't see my update), preaching to the choir, never talk to or engage into a situationship with a man who plays guitar, even if he looks like kurt cobain.

previous - next

Upon hearing the news of your mother's death, you remained staying at the godswood, standing still, looking intently on the branches that grew above ground. The leaves that were painted crimson, a pop of color from the trees white and pale branches. You've been here time and time again, often gravitating to it whenever you needed an extra-bit of seclusion from the outside world. It has been a day since your mother's death, you awoke from the handmaidens removing the blood-soaked birthing blankets and Otto Hightower announcing the death of your brother, Baelon. You remained in your chambers as you heard your father's curses ring through the Keep, your wails were whispers amongst the walls.

"Y/n" a voice spoke up, a voice belonging to none other than Alicent Hightower, "It is time to ready yourself for the funeral, your father is looking aimlessly for you". You closed your eyes, sclera's both damp and dry from crying endlessly. You did not look back, or show any sign of acknowledgment, simply just walked off from the godswood, when you brushed shoulders, you simply stated.

"Princess".

Walking the halls of the Red Keep, you were only met of looks of pity and fear, fear for your consequences that may become of you from your father's yells and shouts of your name, pity for the obvious reason, you were a motherless child, whose father hardly treated her like that of a daughter. Once you walked past your father's chamber in the Holdfast, you simply nodded at Ser Ryam, who alerted your father of your presence before you wandered to your own chamber. Only then you were met with the likes of Erryk, his brother guarding your sister's chambers.

You nodded whilst looking into his eyes, he saw your pain, your anguish, he only wished to carry it rather than let you go through it on your own. Though he feared it would not be his place, as you entered your chambers, closing the door almost immediately, your handmaidens quickly ran to your side.

Undressing your clothes, to change into your funeral attire. Your handmaiden, Hana gave you a look, seeing the littered healing bruises that were cascading down from your breasts to your inner thigh, only then taking note to the almost fully faded bruise on your neck. You closed your eyes as Hana excused all the other handmaidens out of your chambers.

"I take you had company not so long ago" Hana clicked her tongue, before she helped you dress, carefully choosing her words, "Perhaps some makeup can cover-". You shook your head, knowing your hair would easily cover the lovebite that looked like a near tiny mole. Hana did not press you on the matter only helping you dress before aiding you on your hair. Truth be told, Hana was a second mother to you, in the gaps Viserys left you with as a father, Hana doubled as a mother and father, but amongst all the things she was, she was a trusted confidant.

After dressing, you exited out of your chambers, meeting the gaze of Erryk. "I did not think you would still be taking post Ser Erryk" you broke the silence, stepping out and taking his arm that he held out, keeping eye contact only led for your heart to begin to thump erratically.

"I keep my vow to protect you princess" Erryk answered, "That means both physically and emotionally. Arryk is escorting your sister to the pyre as we speak" he continued as you both walked throughout the halls, "I meant to return Blackfyre to you princess, but I do not believe it to be appropriate at this moment" you glanced over to his hips, where two swords laid to rest. You nodded before responding to the knight.

"I fear Blackfyre dons better on your body than mine" you exasperated as chills ranked throughout your body, "Though the distaste I earned from the Hightower's might spill onto you Ser Erryk".

"I believe it to be worth it, my princess" Erryk told you, upon making it outside, the cold air rushing against both of your faces. He gracefully placed his hand on your waist, situating itself comfortably amongst the fabrics, he squeezed lightly. It was like the stagnant spin of electricity between you, every time you met eyes or laid touch on each other; a spark or multiple.

Once reaching the pyre, Erryk excused himself to be stationed next to his brother and the Kingsguard as you stood next to Rhaenyra- just in front of your father. Daemon muttered to you and Rhaenyra as everyone made their positions upon the pyre, you began to muster a few sobs under your breath. Rhaenyra held your hand tightly; Daemon placed a hand on your shoulder. They wanted you to do it, to burn your mother and brother. Though, Nymeria laid in the Dragonpit, you would not be able to command Syrax.

You bit your lip tightly, looking to your left to see the Kingsguard standing in position, Erryk staring at you intently before nodding at you. Unbeknownst to you, Otto Hightower took note to the glances, as all Kingsguard stared at the pyre, Erryk only stared at you. You nodded to yourself as you let go of your sister's hand, stepping up. Rhaenyra shall be the daughter of the Seven Kingsdoms, whereas Y/n, shall be the daughter of the dragons. Just as Rhaenys and Visenya.

"Syrax" you spoke up, "Dohaeragon issa" you became to gulp, staring at the graves, hearing the voices of your sister and Daemon, looking back at them, earning a simple nod of proceeding from both of them, "Dra-Dracarys" you ordered, Syrax did not relent, seeing to the cremation of your mother and brother, to become ash.

Taking place back to your sister you spoke up, "Visenya, istan se kostōba se nēdenka tala- nykeā diplomat se nykeā drēje jentys" looking at her with glassy irises, "Muñnykeā va moriot compared issa naejot zȳhon, se ao naejot Rhaenys. Though, nyke pāsagon zirȳ naejot sagon keskydoso, ziry iksos Visenya qilōni iksos honored syt zȳhon cruel yet nēdenka temper" your voice did not falter as you spoke to your sister in your mother tongue, earning looks of those around you, "Baelon would emagon issare se prince naejot sagon idealized hae Aegon, lu īlon raqagon ziry nykeā daor" before ending your speech to your sister, "Avy jorrāelan jorrāelagon mandia, īlon issi ry īlon emagon hen each tolie. Ao shall sagon dāria mēre tubis; nyke shall sagon se idañnykeā hen diplomacy".

"Perzys se ānogar" Rhaenyra told you, your house words. Fire and blood.

"Perzys se ānogar" you repeated, looking back at the fire that burned.

Walking the halls of the Keep, hearing the indistinct mutters of your father's meeting as the council posed the question of the succession. Looking across the hall to see Erryk and Arryk walking the way to the chambers of you and Rhaenyra, you sensed Erryk caught a glimpse of you, though he kept to his direction. You sneakily snuck your way into the halls of the council room, a window peeping into the room, just as you overheard more distinctly the conversation.

"Daemon would be another Maegor- If you pass the title of heir to Rhaenyra, if she does not have children, we will see Y/n- another Visenya and Maegor- ascend the throne" Otto pressed. Your jaw clenched tightly; you have shown nothing but peace to the Hightower's. Otto quickly saw his advantage of besmirching the name of your house and forebears.

To hell with 'Maegor the Cruel', whether you liked it or not, he was still of Targaryen blood. Visenya's direct blood might not be flowing through yours, her appearance was yours, her attitude, pride, and drive. Visenya, rider of Vhagar, a woman of politics, a conqueror, a warrior, though only remembered for being the mother of Maegor. Maegor was born cruel they said, though they forget the lack Aegon was a father to Maegor, even as Maegor wielded his blade and rode his dragon- Aenys, as much as a spectacle his parentage was, was Aegon's favorite. Say what you may about Maegor, but for Visenya, she loved and cared for her son and house, for the betterment of each- to the very fucking end.

You would be a mad woman to allow a cunt such as Otto Hightower to blatantly attempt to shame and dishonor your house's name and forebears in order to usurp. You were aware of Otto's other attempt to bring his daughter closer to your father. Your father was weak. Your mother always kept him somewhat strong, she made a man out of him, without her, he was lost puppy. Nevertheless, you left the council room, heaving with anger but with a new sense of pride. They would rather be clueless enough to tear the entirety of the realm apart, than sit a woman, your sister in question, on the Iron Throne. Even though it is the women who conquered the realm as their brother made them as a spectacle for jealously or rivalry, only exemplified in their sons that followed. It is women who united the realm, it is men who want to tear it.

"Valar morghulis" you muttered under your breath.

It was a quick gesture, inviting Erryk into your chambers shamelessly. Undressing yourself in front of him unabashedly, undressing his armor and detaching his cloak, all quick with no regrets. You stood naked and bare in front of him, not a care for oaths sworn to your father. That shameless behavior extended to the fire that ignited within the two of you as Erryk made love to you. He knew what made the daughter of dragons burn.

Your nails clawed at his back as his cock kissed the innards of your walls, his hand finding itself rubbing your clit slowly as it led you tightening on him, it was a fair exchange. Your back arched in response to his cock hitting the anchor of your pussy, though it hurt, the pain was overwhelming masked with the carnal bliss. Kissing his lips intently in order to soften the moans that exuded from both of your mouths. It was a treachery that sex was frowned upon for women who had not been betrothed or married, you had him once, now you cannot get enough. You envied the married and the men of the realm, not enough to find yourself wanting marriage, but enough that you wished you could scream at the top of your lungs the name of the man between your legs.

"Where do you want me to finish princess?" Erryk groaned as his thrusts unrelented, your eyes, the once pale lavender, were closer to black from lust. Your irises were glassy and your face glistened under the candlelight.

"Inside of me" you moaned, Erryk hesitated, afraid of the repercussions, "Please" it was until he sees your face, though mourning, needy, nonetheless. He obeyed your request, seed spilling into your pussy, filling you with enough warmth to keep you warm for the winter. You stood still for a minute, bones shaking with the pleasure. Erryk grunted as he removed his cock from you, breathing erratic as he laid next to you.

A moment of silence ensued before you broke it, "Do you believe it to be true?".

"What to be true princess?" Erryk quirked an eyebrow, repositioning himself to be facing you.

"Valar morghulis and dohaeris" you further stated, "all men must die-".

"And all men must serve" Erryk cut you off and sighed, fixing your hair to be out of your face, "I believe I must believe it in this line of service princess" you looked him intently, "Being a knight, a Kingsguard no less, you must serve the royal family even with the looming idea you might die serving them".

You shook your head in disagreement, "It must be torture to succumb someone of such service" you hand found itself on his peck, as his heart thumped, "I do honor the tradition of the Kingsguard as Visenya wrote it to be true, though living your life in service to another is just as much as a slave and their master".

"You and I see it differently".

"Then, help me understand" you whispered, looking into his eyes once more.

"I took an oath, I chose my path as a knight, granted Arryk and I were chosen" Erryk told you, "Just as they say Targaryens are closer to the gods than that of man, the Kingsguard are their protectors, what makes us different than men?" he posed the rhetoric question, "There are thousands of men roaming the realm, none of whom know how to protect the King and his family, or on my chances, protect the princess who needs no protection".

"It is a great service" you said before teasing, "Though no man in the realm can also, make the princess cum as you do" Erryk's eyes shined of sin, you were an addiction to the man.

"The King has not named an heir" your handmaidens spoke up as you awoke mid-morning, your face urged intrigue, "Daemon shall be the heir interim, though everyone believes and hopes it to be Rhaenyra before the moon turns".

"Daemon?" you spat at your father as Rhaenyra stood idly in the background, your father remained at his model of old Valyria. "Rhaenyra and I have endlessly shaped ourselves to be the heir to the Iron Throne and Dragonstone, that was our seat as it was since the moment we breathed" you started, "You killed mother for your urgency of siring a son! Unless you plan to marry-".

"Y/n!" Viserys shouted, standing up from his seat, "Daemon is my brother-".

"We are your children!" you screamed, "Rhaenyra is your first born, I your second, you forget yourself! Our grandsires Alyssa and Baelon would have proudly sat a woman on the throne!" you continued only before saying the words you needed your father to hear, "Daemon will not be another Maegor, I will be. I will proudly, take back the crown that belongs to my sister as she is more suited for such role, not a man who draws his sword before thinking. Nymeria is much bigger than Caraxes, do not forget, heirs are a diplomatic decision, you choose Daemon, you lose your strongest asset".

"And what would that be?".

"Your second born daughter".

taglist: @wolvestitches @callsignwidow @majoso12

#hotd #house of the dragon #game of thrones #ser erryk #ser arryk #ser erryk cargyll #ser arryk cargyll #rhaenyra #rhaenrya targaryen #alicent hightower #house of the dragon fanfiction #ser erryk cargyll x reader #erryk cargyll #erryk cargyll x reader #angst #smut

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averagewriter-inthedark · 4 months ago

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A Golden Rose 🌼 | Alicent Hightower Headcanon

GOT/HOTD Masterlist

Alicent Hightower having a secret relationship with the daughter of Lord Tyrell would involve:

Becoming a lady-in-waiting to the young queen early on in her marriage to King Viserys after you were sent to King's Landing upon the request of his Grace. Leaving the Reach and your family for the capitol, where you would remain indefinity. You'd only been in the proximity to the royal couple once on the day of their wedding, though you never exchanged words. It came as a surprise when two years later at ten and seven the raven arrived to accompany the Queen as she nears the end of her term. Pending the birth of her second child.

It was pretty much love at first sight for Alicent, who was drawn to your beauty and personality. The sharp wit and charm of a Tyrell, you had her a blushing mess nearly every day. Alicent requesting your company more often rather than all her ladies. Pretty much leaving them to the winds. You didn't mind. In fact, you relished in the attention.

You clocked onto her affections early on, not blind to her lingering gazes, soft smiles, and how her eyes drew to you each time she entered a room. Walking closely beside you, while the other ladies trailed behind. It only took four months for you to confront her, as you developed strong feelings for the Queen and no longer had the strength to keep them hidden. "My Queen, forgive me for speaking freely, but I cannot go another day with us not saying what we so desperately want. I know what you feel for me, and I want you to know I feel the same."

Yeah, she was a goner. Her heart soaring with happiness...and fear. Of course you two could not explore a relationship openly. She was married--to the damn King! And you were a lady-in-waiting expected to marry a nobleman or knight. If anyone found out about your relations, you'd be exiled or facing the sword. Alicent surely would face the King's wrath, and neither of you wanted to picture that.

So, you both did what you had to do: you loved in secret. Behind closed doors and wondering eyes. Gifts of sentiments on namedays, brushing hands when passing teacups, seeking one out in a crowded room, walks in the garden. Anonymous notes of admiration, kisses at night when the Keep was asleep. Reading to each other in the library, picking flowers to put in the other's hair. Saving sweets from lunch and supper to share later on in your chambers. And on most nights, you'd run your fingers through Alicent's soft hair to lull her to sleep.

The love you shared blossomed like the golden rose that represented your house. Growing stronger by the years. You and Alicent had the biggest secret in all of Westeros. One you would go to war to protect.

Viserys was always occupied with King duties and entertaining his council to see what his wife was up to. Otto kept a close eye, and you often felt his suspicious gaze on you at events, but never once did he comment. Though you'd never admit it to Alicent, you were grateful when he was dismissed as Hand. It was one less person you had to worry about. The maids and guards turned a blind eye, all except Criston Cole. Once he became Alicent's sworn protector, he followed you two like a dog on a leash. And when he did catch you two in a compromising position roughly a year after she had Aemond, Alicent made him swear on his life to be silent.

Rhaenyra was....complicated. For one you knew of her friendship with Alicent prior to her marriage to the King, and the love they shared for each other. Admittedly, you were slightly jealous, but got over it once Alicent assured you she no longer harbored those affections for the Princess. Still, you were not Rhaenyra's biggest fan. Her behavior and comments toward Alicent had you fuming, but you remained calm in the presence of others. Once she finally married and had children you were pleased.

Speaking of children, you were close to Alicent's sons and daughter, despite hating Viserys for putting her through four pregnancies and treating her like a broodmare after what he did to Queen Aemma. The resentment towards the King only heightened when he seemed to forget about the children he sired, preferring Rhaenyra and her sons. Daeron was sent to Oldtown young, leaving the older three, who you helped Alicent raise.

As the children grew up, they were not blind to your relationship. Why their mother always broke fast with you and invited you to the table at supper. Why she asked for your opinion on certain things. How she ordered golden roses to be planted in the gardens of the Keep on your 19th nameday when you mentioned feeling homesick. The fact there was always your favorite pastries at banquets. And when she went to light a candle in the sept, you were right there with her. You were dressed in the finest silks compared to the other ladies-in-waiting.

Where they confused in the beginning? of course they were. They didn't understand why their mother was more devoted to you than their father. Why Alicent's eyes sparked when looking at you, much like when she looked at them, instead of the King. But they never once spoke of it. Understanding there was a deep affection between the two of you that the realm would never accept.

Yet when the dragons danced years later as the kingdom split between Greens and Blacks, the history books would write about the Hightower that bloomed with golden roses. Why Highgarden did not hesitate to raise their banners in support of King Aegon II Targaryen. Covering the southern lands that would further weaken Rhaenyra's defense. Making the Princess and her council realize their mistake of undermining the influence you had on the Alicent.

For a rose is so beautiful to the eye, one forgets about its thorns.

#alicent hightower #alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower headcanon #alicent hightower x you #alicent hightower x y/n #alicent hightower fluff #hotd headcanon #hotd imagine #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon headcanon #the greens #team green #tyrell!reader

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laenyrasdarling · 4 months ago

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Hiii! Can i ask for an Haelena/ fem! Targaryen reader headcanons? No nsfw but romantic. Reader is the daughter of Rhea Royce and Daemon

.ೃ࿐helaena targaryen x fem!targaryen/royce!reader

✦ some notes on the setting; pre-dance, with helaegon and the twins (+ aegon’s debauchery) still present, daemyra being alluded to whilst he’s married (frostily) to rhea and she to laenor, vizzy t’s in a somewhat fortunate state of health, i am here for helaena her only and the worldbuilding Shall reflect it

ׂׂૢ having spent much all of your formative years residing in the grassy hills and wild thatches of runestone with your mother and her family, your varyingly absent father’s request to depart to king’s landing not long after your coming of eight and ten felt like something not very far between a dare and a terror.

ׂׂૢ as abbarantly furious as this suggestion had initially made your dear mother and grandsire, over the course of some weeks your gentle insinuations that some winters in the red-roofed capital may be of benefit to a silver-haired, violet-eyed lady such as yourself before she returned to her homeland to continue her path ontoward ruling runestone in her mother’s footsteps, you successfully found enough cracks in your doting family’s bronzed armour to see them abate.

ׂׂૢ so armed with enough belongings to last you from late spring to the following summer and the strongly pressed guidance from your grandsire that this temporary dalliance was only so you’d return equipped with better skills and knowledge with which to one day rule over your true homeland, you set sail for king’s landing. knowing all at once that you were only permitted to embark on this journey for varying ploys that were not yours - your grandsire’s to see you evolve to a competent ruler, your father’s to better his standings in your all but estranged uncle viserys’ eyes - you tried to not let these meddling hands of fate dissuade you from also using this time for your own endeavours.

ׂׂૢ and none so prevalent was that mission made to you than when you first laid eyes on the princess helaena upon your arrival to the red keep.

ׂׂૢ this was around the time you first found yourself thankful for your father’s meddling, as his suggesting in his letter that you make yourself of use to your hosts and aid the lady helaena in her childrearing and courtly duties meant that you arrived pre-prepared with a reason to find yourself in her company so often. as frostily as things began, with you nervously hovering around the edge of the room as the twins played and she sewed stiffly, with suppertimes just as cold with the added intrusions of her fool husband and snide-tongued younger brother, summer had barely begun to depart on your first year when things began brightening.

ׂׂૢ your transition from outcast to dearly-held began in benign ways - jaehaera growing familiar with your shadow-still presence in the family’s quarters and growing bold enough to beckon you forth with a chubby-fisted hand, that held aloft a dragon figurine for you to join her in play with. then came your wine-fuelled back-and-forths with aemond at the dinnertable, earning you both your cousins’ delicately-balanced respect, along with that of ser otto - and later, when helaena would find herself peering from over parapets to catch a glimpse of you besting even some of the kingsguard in the training yard with your bow skills.

ׂׂૢ the gradual quality with which you immerse yourself into her life escapes even her, until she begins to find herself noticing when your relentless energy and imaginative ploys are absent from the twins’ mornings and when you deem to take ale with aemond and his goons instead of joining her and alicent for supper.

ׂׂૢ her status as a crown princess, and one betrothed to the king’s eldest son at that, taken into account, means that it’s probably once in a blood moon that helaena needs to ask for anything. which is what makes it mean all the more than it already does when she starts asking for your company.

ׂׂૢ and oh, how unendingly glad is she that she did.

ׂׂૢ her droll mornings become filled with your endlessly interesting talk of runestone, and your studies, and the things you’ve noticed since your arrival here (much of which she may not quite understand, but loves to listen to all the same). you’re by her side for each meandering stroll through the gardens that seems to take longer and longer each passing day, for every family meal that you manage to instill life and laughter into, for each lavish ball that she no longer fears now that she has you on her arm to keep her grounded and safe.

ׂׂૢ it’s the confident ease that you carry yourself with that endears helaena to you so much. how no task, no conversation, no idea is below or above you; that you’ll see the good and the worth in everything and everyone like it’s as easy as breathing.

ׂׂૢ so really, it’s no wonder that when it’s drawing late one night and you haven’t swung by her quarters with that darling smile of yours to wish her goodnight like you always do that when she goes in search of you, she finds you having dismissed the handmaids for the night and taken to tidying up the twins’ toys and study materials yourself. in the light of the still-flickering hearth, you look as heavenly a woman as helaena’s ever seen; so she’d be forgiven for finding herself kneeling so very close to you on the stone floor as she helps you stow figurines and charcoals away, and for losing herself in your lilac eyes that she doesn’t realise she’s leaning in until her lips are already on yours.

ׂׂૢ from there, it’s another slow descent - but helaena ensures not to miss a second of it this time around.

ׂׂૢ linked arms as you stroll through the gardens become held hands and guiding palms on the smalls of backs when no-one’s looking. the sewing lessons she’s insisted on walking you through end up looking more like you sitting back against her legs, as she loops her arms around yours and guides you through each stitch with her own hand, and now it’s a heatwave in the north before you’ll trade an evening with her for drinking with her fool brothers.

ׂׂૢ and you best believe, that’s only the very beginning.

ׂׂૢ she has dreamfyre saddled for two, and laughs through your terrified screams as she takes you so high into the clouds that you fear she’ll never possibly find her way back down. but really that’s your fault, as if you didn’t hand so tight onto her waist and bury your face into the crook of her neck, she would have no reason to delight in your flights as much as she does.

ׂׂૢ none of the articles of clothing you arrived with are now without alterations from her hand. a tiny, glittering arrow on a dress sleeve, a bronze-threaded neckline that seems to merge with an emerald-toned green as it sweeps down your back, all so subtle but done with love that they ease a smile onto your face every time they catch your notice again. and that’s not even taking into account the garments that are her design and commission alone, which now make up more than half of your wardrobe - rich, silken robes in every colour you could dream of, soft undershirts better suited to the warm climate of king’s landing than the heavy cotton ones you brought with you, gowns to match hers for all the balls she now drags you to on her arm.

ׂׂૢ her demure nature accounted for, she personally rejects any talks of vows for your hand - right down to seeing to it that all visiting noblewomen who appear to find too much interest in your bright eyes or warm laughter won’t find themselves having any business being in your company again.

ׂׂૢ on nights where she really just can’t bear to part with you until the morning, she’ll have her most trusted maidservants beguile her guards with a lie about her feeling poorly and asking you to stay with her for company; ensuring there’ll be no questions if anyone were to find the princess and a noblewoman entwined in bed together, cuddled so close it’s doubtful they could ever be parted.

ׂׂૢ it’s in moments like those, so sweet and so sacred, where the safety of your arms emboldens her so that she’ll dare to speak beyond the here and now. about her dreams of renouncing aegon, of taking the twins and you and flying as far as dreamfyre will take you, until you find a place that’s safe. safe for her to take you as your wife, for all the issues of succession and war to be a distant memory, where she can be a seamstress and you a farmer and the twins whatever they so want to be.

ׂׂૢ and torturously, those moments where she feels brave enough to speak plainly are the ones you find you just don't have the heart to give her the same honesty. so you kiss her forehead, brushing back silvery strands of hair as you settle in against one another and pray that your dreams lead you both to the same place where you may be able to live out that fantasy if only for a night.

#i cannot understate how much i enjoyed writing thisss thank you so so much nonnie!!! helaena has my whole heart and even more so now #requests/q's about this little universe or any other helaena requests are so more than welcome!!#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #helaena targaryen headcanon #helaena targaryen #helaena targaryen x reader #mine 🏷️

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mypearlsareclutched · 3 months ago

Text

We're Sinking Into The Sand

High By The Beach | Chapter Eleven

Modern!Aegon II x Original Female Character, Modern!Aemond x Original Female Character

After the chaos that was Viserys' funeral, Mila heads back to Old Town to help the Targaryen she loves. But it was Aemond who brought her and Aegon together, will it be him who tears them apart?

BTDubs this was where I was originally planning on ending the series but I had SO MUCH MORE TO SAY about Mila and the Targs and ole Creggie and the homies. So (as you can tell from the masterlist) there are a further six chapter coming after this mwah. Also I updated hella quick, huh? Who's proud of me <3

Song inspiration | High By The Beach, Lana Del Rey

CW//TW: Sexual Content (MDNI, 18+), smut, angst, joking at an inappropriate time Aegon style, Old Town and the beach house, drugs, mentions of addictions, HELLA angst at the end, British lingo, morning sex, passionate missionary yuh, consent is sexy, Aegon is OOC in that respect, enjoy the good vibes while they last because I'm here to hurt your feelings <\3

Word count | 5.2k

previous chapter // next chapter

It took almost a whole day to drive back to Old Town. Which was good time. She drove like a bat out of hell, never stopping. Except for traffic lights, because having the police on her ass was not in the cards. By the time she arrived to her destination, the sun was falling down in the sky once again.

Parking Laena's car in the driveway of the Old Town beach house, Mila breathes out a sigh she didn't realize she had been holding in her lungs since leaving the Targaryen home.

Just the sight of the house relieved tension inside her very bones, the smell of the sea air drifting through the open windows and the sound of seagulls flying high above all made her feel like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders.

Another car was parked beside the house, expensive looking and clearly the car Aegon had stolen from Viserys' garage. Mila walked past it to the house, holding the front door's handle with shaky hands.

The house is unlocked, the keys discarded on the table near the door, next to Aegon's alien sunglasses. He must be here.

"Aegon?" Mila calls out, stepping into the entryway.

The house is silent, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock against the far wall. No lights have been turned on, the room is shadowy and painted with strips of sunlight from the surrounding windows. A small sliver of darkness catches Mila's eye, and she crouches down to pick up a black tie.

A pair of sandy, black dress shoes lie a few feet away, the discarded garments leading a bread crumb trail right to the bedroom. Mila stands, walking to the door in search of the MIA Targaryen. A relieved sigh leaves her when she sees him.

He's lying on the bed, legs splayed out over the edge and eyes closed. His black suit from the funeral is still in tact, save for the tie and his shoes.

"Hey-"

"Seven hells!" Aegon exclaims, sitting up. His wide eyes blink at her, before he exhales out a laugh, "Jesus, Em, you scared the shit out of me."

Mila laughs as she shakes her head, her own spirits lifting as she looks at his smiling face, a much prefered alternative to the grimace he wore during his father's funeral.

"So, you took a page out of my book and fled the Targaryen prison?" He asks, standing up.

"Yeah, and Otto is going to drag you by your short and curlies right back there." Mila shakes her head, smoothing her hands over the crinkled black dress she still wore.

"Let him try." Aegon chuckles, "I can disappear if I want to."

He wraps his arm around her waist, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate yet gentle kiss. Mila sinks into it, letting out a please hum as he licks along her lower lip.

The kiss grows heated, and Aegon's hands are quick to wrap around her and pick her up, spinning her around to deposit her on the bed. Mila's legs open automatically to welcome him in, his weight a comforting presence against her sore body. Soft hands run through her hair, over her thighs. Chapped lips run along her neck.

Aemond's hands... Aemond's mouth...

"Baby, stop." Mila says softly, guilt wracking her body as she pushes him away gently. Aegon's face falls, but not from disappointment. Concern is evident on his cherubic features, his hands leaving her as he sits up and looks at her worriedly.

"What's wrong? We don't have to if you don't want to-"

"I fucked Aemond." Mila bites out, closing her eyes.

Aegon is silent, and her stomach drops. He blinks at her, and she can see his mind processing what she just said.

"Oh." He says, voice soft and robotic.

"Aegon-"

"Okay."

"What?"

"I said okay." He shrugs, lying back down on the bed, "That's fine, it's your body, babe."

"Aeg-"

"I don't want to talk about it." Aegon sighs, one hand coming to cover his eyes, as his other hand takes hers. Mila looks down at their clasped fingers, squeezing his hand.

"I'm so sorry."

"Hey, shh." He sits up, eyes once again soft and face warm again, taking her hands in his, "I'm not mad at you, baby. I would never be. This shit is complicated. I just... don't want to hear the details. It'll make me want to cut open my stomach and pull out all my internal organs.

"I wouldn't tell you." She smiles weakly, reaching a hand up to move a stray strand of his hair out of his eyes, "It meant nothing, really. It was just... a moment of weakness. I got too caught up in who I wanted him to be, instead of who he really is. I want you, for who you really are."

Aegon smiles sadly, "If you saw me for who I really am, you would run for the hills."

"Maybe I'll surprise you."

"All you do is surprise me." Aegon laughs, nosing at her hand as it fiddles with his shoulder-length hair, "Wherever you were yesterday doesn't matter to me. I'm just glad you're here now, with me. I really do love you, Em. So much."

"I love you, too." Mila reaches a hand up and cups his cheek, his face leaning in to hers, "Otto is still going to come for you."

Aegon is silent, his head lifting so he can look over at the ocean through the window panes. The sun has begun to set, casting the bedroom in a hue of blush pink and burnt orange. A far away look forms in Aegon's blue eyes, a small crinkle appearing between his pale brows as he thinks.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Mila asks, prodding his temple playfully.

Aegon sighs, looking at her, "Suicide pact?"

"Aegon."

"So that's a firm 'no' on the suicide pact?"

"I need you to take this seriously." Mila says, taking his chin in between her thumb and forefinger.

"I am." Aegon says as smiles, taking her hands in his, "I'm taking this seriously."

"This?" Mila laughs, confused.

"This. You and me. This. Us." Aegon smiles, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Us?"

"Us."

The next morning, as the sun rose over Old Town, Mila woke up encased in the warm arms of Aegon Targaryen.

She slept like the dead, immediately falling into the land of dreams after Aegon had helped her get out of her dress. He grimaced at it, throwing it in the bin, waving away Mila's complaints.

"You look better in the crappy clothes we got from big Tesco anyway." He grins, tossing her an oversized shirt with the words 'Straight Outta Old Town' written on the back. She rolled her eyes with a smile of her own as she put it on, laughing at Aegon's ogling as he removed his own clothes and threw on some joggers.

The second her head hit the pillow, and Aegon wrapped around her from behind, Mila was out like a light.

When the sun rose, she never wanted to leave this room again.

Aegon murmurs sleepily behind her, offering a quiet 'good morning' when he realises she is awake. Mila hums back, turning around in his arms. He gives her a dopey grin, eyes barely open. She returns his smile, reaching her hand up to trace along his face from his eyebrow, down his nose, and across his jaw. When Mila's fingers dance across the skin of his lips, Aegon purses his lips to kiss her finger tips.

She leans in for a kiss first, and he meets her halfway. Their lips meet in a loving dance, noses brushing and hands grasping onto whatever was in reach.

In an instant, Aegon rolls on top of her, kissing her feverishly as he covers Mila's body with his own. Her thighs open for him to lie in between them, flushes skin pressing against one another.

"Is this okay?" Aegon asks softly, desperate to feel more of her but unwilling to go beyond her boundaries.

"More than okay." Mila affirms, leaning up to kiss him again. He groans against her lips, his hands continuing their exploration as his hips buck against her one.

The hot tip of him presses against her wetness, and they gasp into each other's mouths. Aegon shifts forward, slowly fucking into her as she mewls against him, throwing her head back at his familiar, euphoric size.

"That's it, baby." Aegon murmurs, pressing his face into her neck as he begins thrusting into her sensually, dragging his hips back and forward in slow, loving strokes, "Fuck... feels so good."

"Aegon..." Mila moans out, running her hands over his hair and kissing his temple, "I love you."

"I love you too... so much..." His words trail off as his speed increases, fucking her in earnest. The sound of Mila's breathy whines and Aegon's grunts fill the room, mixed with the sounds of skin meeting skin.

Mila's orgasm creeps up on her, making her body jolt as a loud moan leaves her parted lips. Feeling her tighten around him, Aegon speeds up, breathing out curses and praises.

"You feel so good, baby, fuck!" He grits out around clenched teeth, grabbing the back of her knees to press her thighs to her chest, opening her wider. Mila gasps as he fucks her harder, hips pistoning into her with passion yet great care. Her peak subsides, and her body trembles with overstimulation.

"Aegon, fuck... 's too much..." Her eyes roll back, her hands weakly gripping onto the sheets below her and the pale, soft skin of Aegon's thigh.

"Doing so well for me, doll. Making me feel so fucking good. I can feel you getting tighter, wanna feel you cum again. You can give me another, right baby?"

"M-hm!" Mila bites her lip, words leaving her as Aegon angles his

"Right there? That feel good? Fuck, look at you." He praises, his eyes trained on her writhing body below him, "Come on, baby, need to feel you cum again. Please, baby."

"Aegon, fuck!" Mila shrieks, shaking uncontrollably as her legs tighten, her cunt gushing around him as he pushes her over the edge again.

The feeling sends Aegon over the edge, his pace faltering until he shudders and thrusts into her as far as he can go, painting her walls with his spend. Eyes rolled back, Aegon mumbles praises and promises and recites Mila's name like a prayer as his cock throbs, releasing all he has into her soft heat.

The Stark below him feels boneless and content, her knees still pressed to her chest and her cunt still full of Aegon's softening cock, her walls trying to push him out as she moans softly in overstimulation.

When he finally pulls out, both of their releases leak out of her, making Aegon groan at the sight, "Fucking beautiful."

Mila smiles sleepily, eyes blurry. She winces when she stretches her legs out, her hips and thighs burning.

"I'll be right back, Em." Aegon says softly, kissing her knee before rising off of the bed.

As hus weight disappears, Mila whines as she waves her hand to try to stop him. His tired chuckle makes her heart flutter, and after a minute he returns. A cold rag presses against her inner thighs, cleaning the mess they had made. Aegon's hands are gentle as he soothes her aching muscles, pressing kisses against her flushed skin.

"Sit up, baby." Aegon softly orders, and Mila rises slowly onto her elbows. The cold feeling glass presses against her lips, and she swallows down the offered water.

Satisfied that she's clean and hydrated, Aegon kisses her forehead before getting up again, putting the empty glass and soiled rag in the adjoining bathroom.

"I'm going to have one hell of a time trying to walk later." Mila smiles, dazed. Her eyes follow Aegon as he enters the room again.

"Oh, so you think you're leaving this room?" Aegon asks with a mischievous grin, diving back into the bed atop a laughing Mila.

The next day, Aegon drags her along an unfamiliar street. It's old, all ancient cobblestone walkways and winding alleys covered in ivy.

"Woah, Aeg, chill." Mila finds herself laughing, gripping onto Aegon's hand as he pulls her along like an overexcited puppy.

"Come on, we're almost there!" Aegon says, a beaming smile across his face.

Mila had never been to Honeyholt before. She had woken up this morning to Aegon laying on top of her, his chin against her sternum as he watched her sleep.

"Creep." Mila murmurs, a smile on her lips. Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes with his own cheeky grin as he presses a kiss to her collarbone and stands up.

"Come on, lazy, we've got things to do."

"Lazy? You're the one who twisted me up like a pretzel from dawn to dusk yesterday, no wonder I'm tired." Mila laughs, exasperated as she fluffs up her pillow and gets cozy again, "Also, what things? I don't know if I have the energy to do that last thing we did again."

"As much fun as that was, no. We have more fun things to do." He says as he pulls on his jeans, searching the room for a clean shirt.

"What's more fun than a sixty-nine bridge?"

"If you want the answer to that age old question, you should get your perky ass out of bed." Aegon wiggles his eyebrows as he tosses her a shirt.

Honeyholt was beautiful. Cultural, historic, full of tiny shops and homes. They pass smiling faces around every corner, including a flock of old ladies who chuckle as Aegon drags Mila down the street towards the unknown location.

Out of breath from running and laughing, Mila is grateful for when Aegon halts with an enthusiastic, 'Ah!'

She tosses her windswept curls over her shoulder as she watches Aegon walk into an old shop, dusty and seemingly disused. When he realises she is not following him, he pops his head out the doorway.

"Come on, then!" He calls, beckoning her forwards.

Mila laughs as she follows him in, her jaw dropping when she gets a good look at the place.

It had long been abandoned, cobwebs and dust covering most surfaces and furniture. But underneath the years of misuse, was a work of art. Antique chairs and tables dotted around, dark wooden floors covered in floral rugs. The wallpaper was peeling, and some mould had begun to grow, but the dark coloured spirals of the painted paper remained vivid. Along the back wall were ancient bookcases, and dirty chandeliers were hung from the ceiling.

Aegon bounces around the room, picking up fallen chairs in his wake before he leans against a fireplace across the room, looking at her for her reaction.

"What is this place?" Mila asks in awe, eyes wide with wonder as she walks around the small yet beautiful shop.

"It's just some old litt place. It was like a cafe or something until the lady who runs it, you know, bit the dust."

Mila rolls her eyes at his candidness, running her fingers along the dusty bookshelves that lined the far wall, "It's beautiful here."

"And cheap, too." Aegon comments, walking over to her to wrap his arms around her waist from behind, "The old owners son wants to get rid of it so the price is beyond reasonable."

"You're thinking of running a cafe? Aw, will you wear a frilly little apron while you're at it? You'll look so cute." Mila jokes, turning around in his embrace to kiss along his jaw.

Aegon rolls his eyes, but his smile never falters, "It doesn't have to be a cafe, dumbass. It could be anything we want once we buy it."

Mila stops, looking up at him with wide eyes, "Once we what?"

"Buy it." He says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm thinking bookshop in the front, tattoo parlour in the back. Our own little haven."

"That's absolutely crazy." Mila laughs, wrapping her arms around his neck, "You're crazy."

"You love it." Aegon smiles as he leans in to kiss her.

"I love you, you crazy Targaryen."

They stayed like that for a while, standing in the cramped and dirtied room of a shop that promised a future for them both.

They had stopped off to get petrol on the way back from Honeyholt, when Aegon's phone began to ring.

Mila was paying inside the station, chatting idly to the woman behind the counter. Leaning against the car, Aegon watches her with a small smile, studying the movement of her lips as she spoke, and they way her eyes lit up when she laughed.

His phone ringing caught him off guard. Looking around, he noticed it lying in the back seat where he had flung it over his shoulder on the way here the night of Viserys' funeral. Helaena had given it back to him, chastising him ever so gently for leaving Weirwood without any of his belongings.

Grabbing it, he looks down at the caller ID, a groan escaping him as he rolls his eyes at the name.

"Piss off." He sighs into the phone.

"Hello to you to." Aemond scoffs, voice already sounding annoyed, "Is she there?"

"Who?"

"Hilarious. My fucking girlfriend."

"Which girlfriend? The hot one, or the dinosaur? Oh, wait, the hot one abandoned you after pity fucking you and came back to me."

"...So she is there."

"...No."

"Aegon." Aemond sighs, his rings knocking together as he seemingly runs a hand over his face, "Stop being childish for five minutes, and listen to me."

The older brother laughs, "Listen to you? What could you possibly say to me right now that won't make me hurl this phone into the sea?"

"What did you buy?"

"Should have bought condoms the way this is going." Aegon chuckles, eyes flicking to Mila once again.

"No, Aegon." Aemond's voice takes a dangerous tone, "What did you buy? On your way back to Old Town."

Aegon's blood runs cold, ice water in his veins. He swallows, turning around, as if looking in Mila's direction suddenly hurt to do, "How the fuck did you know?"

"You forget that I've known you all my life, and how you operate as a scumbag junkie for almost two decades." Aemond laughs cruelly, the sound prickling Aegon's eardrums like needles.

"I haven't done anything." He emphasises, "I wasn't going to-"

"Yes you were. If Mila hadn't turned up when she did you would already be stoned beyond human capabilities, possibly even dead. Now, wouldn't that be a shame."

"What the fuck do you want, Aemond?!"

"For you to end things with her."

"Then you are out of your goddamn mind." Aegon bites, knuckles going white around the phone as he grips onto it, "I won't. You can't make me."

"I'm not going to make you, Aegon." His brother chuckles humorlessly, "You've proved time and time again that you won't listen to a single thing we ask of you, even when we try to help you. But it's not you I want to help, not now."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

"I mean, Mila should not be around a bad influence like you, Aegon. She's a recovering addict. She's unstable, and delicate right now. And she's going to relapse if she's around you."

"She won't-"

"But she will. Because you will." Aemond explains, simply as if he were educating a child, "You've been down this road far too many times, brother. You will go back to your vices the second things get too hard. Mila stopped you from getting high this time, but at some point, the thrill of being with her will wear off for you. As it always does."

"She's different."

"Oh they were all different to you!" Yells Aemond, startling Aegon into docile silence, "It's all different until it's mundane. Until you get used to those feelings she inspires within you. Then you'll go back to drinking, or to snorting, or injecting, until it's fucking. It'll be all of those and she won't be able to handle it, Aegon. She will relapse."

Aegon flinches, his hands twitching as he takes a shuddered breath, feeling his heart crack at the thought, "I wouldn't do that to her."

"You wouldn't try to, Aegon." Aemond says, his voice softer now, "But you can't protect her from yourself."

It's silent. Aegon swallows this information like a bitter pill. It leaves an aftertaste like bile in his dry mouth, his heart beating like the hooves of a racehorse and his stomach twisting into knots.

Because he's right, a voice whispers inside his head. You are beyond saving. No matter how many times you try, you always go back to your wicked ways. Can you live with yourself? When you poison her, like a spec of black dye in a basin full of crystal clear water? You will ruin her, because that is what you always do.

It is almost like Aegon can hear Aemond reeling back for the final punch, his brother's voice like a siren's when he states...

"Mila deserves better than you."

A blow to the gut, because it is true. Aegon knew it from the second he met her, from the second he saw her smile and heard her laugh. She was good and she was kind and Aegon will kill her.

"Rot in all of the seven hells, brother." Aegon bites out, ending the call. He takes a shaky breath, blinking away tears he hadn't realised had formed. He throws his phone as far as he can, watching it flicker with light reflected by the sun before it disappears into the long grass.

Turning in place, he watches as Mila waves goodbye to the shop clerk, smiling to herself as she walks out the station and heads his way.

If only he felt the contentment she feels. But all he feels is sick.

Mila knew something was wrong the second they got in the car. Aegon wouldn't respond to anything she said, except a few hums and one-worded answers. His smile had vanished, the light in his eyes dimmed.

It broke her heart, because she had no idea what could have caused it.

When they finally got to the beach house, Aegon disappeared inside, walking on autopilot like a ghost. Mila watched him with wary eyes, biting the skin around her gnarled thumb nail.

Inside, he was nowhere to be seen. The taunting ticking of the grandfather clock was the only noise that greeted her, and she glared at it as she walked past, heading towards the bedroom.

Aegon was standing beside the bed, looking down at the rumpled sheets with a frown.

"Aeg?" Mila says softly, standing in the doorway. The room felt cold, the beginnings of winter making the overall temperature drop, but an icy chill surrounded Aegon.

"You need to go." He says, voice quiet.

Mila freezes, staring at him with furrowed brows, "Huh?"

He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face, groaning against his palms.

"I need you to go. You can't be here anymore." With a shrug, he finally looks at her, face emotionless and eyes stony.

Standing before her, was the Aegon she never met. Something in him had changed, switched gears inside his head. His entire aura became somber, uninspired... broken.

Looking into his dulled eyes, Mila took a step forwards. But he took a step back, working his jaw as he flexed and unflexed his hands beside him.

"Aegon... I don't understand what you're saying." Mila pleads, hoping to the old gods and the new that he's not saying what he .

"We can't be together." He shrugs, "Aemond was right. I'm going to fall back into old patterns, and when that happens, it's going to fuck you up. Worse than Aemond did. I'm not good for you."

"It was Aemond on the phone wasn't it?" Mila chokes on a bitter laugh, looking up to the ceiling as she runs her hands through her hair, "I saw you talking on the phone. Aegon, baby, please, let's just talk this through."

"You're wasted on me." He mutters to himself, "You should get out while you still can, before I make you worse."

"All you've done is make me better, Aeg." Mila insists as she takes another step closer to him.

Hearing her insistence, Aegon stares off into the distance, his face hardening while his eyes remain shining with unshed tears.

"Quick question." Aegon says, his voice turning cruelly playful, "Did Aemond tell you to come here when he was balls deep inside you or was it kind of like a pillow talk conversation afterwards?"

Shocked by his impersonal voice and crude statement, Mila is take aback, a shiver running down her spine, "Aegon-"

"No, no, don't answer that." Aegon waves his hands, "I'm sure it doesn't matter."

"It's different with you. All of it is different. What I have with you is so much realer than what I ever had with him."

Aegon scoffs.

"Aegon, I want this. I want us. We can do this."

"We can't." Aegon chuckles, "Because Aemond was right. At the end of the day, you're going to go back to him and I'm going to go back to all of the other shit."

"No, you're not, Aegon. You're not-"

"Will you stick by me?" Aegon asks, his voice taking a taunting tone, "When I come home drunk or high or smelling like some other pussy would you just sit back and forgive me?"

"You're not going to do that, you're doing so much better, you wouldn't-"

"No? I wouldn't? What's this then?" Aegon stomps over to the bedside table, opening the drawer hard enough to send it clattering to the floor. Various items scatter against the faded carpet, but one item in particular makes Mila's heart stop.

A ziplock bag full of various coloured pills and powder filled baggies, "You didn't...."

"Oh yes I did, baby. Stopped round an old buddies house the night after the funeral. Got all the best flavours here; LSD, ket, some molly too, I know you love that... ooh, and some crystal, didn't even realise that was in there-!"

"Stop it." Mila says, trying to keep her voice level though it shakes.

"Ah, come on, baby. Let's have a little fun, eh?" He taunts, shaking the bag in her face, "We both know I will, so are you just going to sit pretty and watch me?"

"Why are you being like this?" Mila yells, frustration building as she watches the man she's loved turn into the nightmarish, fictitious man Aemond warned her about.

"So boring." Aegon groans dramatically, flinging the bag away across the room, "I'll go back to one of my addictions, doll, so pick one. Maybe you would prefer it if I did what my brother did, hm? What if I found myself my own Alys Rivers? Some hot, older lady that I can stick my dick into every time I get sick of you. Maybe I was too quick to judge my dear brother. If I had you on my ass every second of every day I'm sure I would also be dying for some other cunt-"

Aegon is silenced as his head whips to the side, Mila's palm stings as it lingers in the air.

She slapped him. She can't believe it for a second, too shocked

Mila stumbles back, cradling her hand to her chest as sobs wrack her body.

He watches her, cheek slightly red from where her hand struck him, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"You're right, Aegon." Mila sobs, "We can't be together."

Though she fully intended to drive away, Mila sat in Laena's car, suddenly struck with an uncertainty of where she would go.

Her apartment in Kings Landing was stained with memories of Aemond, every item of furniture lines with scars where he once sat, stood, lay. Mila used to think fondly about how his cologne could be smelt in the air, on her blankets and on her couch cushions, but now the thought of smelling his scent turned her stomach.

It no longer felt like the comforting aroma of the man she loved, but the scent of a man who claimed her, used her, broke her.

She could go to Cregan's. Or Baela's, or back to Dragonstone where Rhaenyra would always wait with open arms.

But the beauty of Old Town boiled down to its distance. The distance from King's Landing and all the sordid experiences Mila had there that haunted her past. The parties, the clubs, the bars. The drinks, the drugs, the men, the women, the people whose genders mattered not to her in the moments where their lips touched. All the nights spent drifting from reality with magic in her veins, the mornings crashing back down to the real world in fits of sweating and throwing up the contents of her stomach.

The year where she made new memories no longer wrapped in a drunken haze, were ones she made by Aemond Targaryen's side.

Mila could not go back to King's Landing, because the ghosts will be waiting for her.

But she could go to another haunted place.

Pulling out the pay-as-you-go phone, she dialed Baela's number. The sound of her best friend's soft voice greeting her made her feverish skin cool a bit, "Hi, gorgeous. Are you okay? Mom told me you borrowed her car and left the city."

"Yeah, I needed to get away, needed to talk to Aegon." Mila says, her voice thick with her tears.

She can hear Baela sit up straight in her chair, her voice taking a concerned lilt, "Mila? What's wrong? Talk to me."

"It doesn't matter." Sighs the Stark girl, "I'm going home."

"Okay, babe. Do you want me to set up my sofa so you can sleep on it?"

"No, Bae. I'm going home."

It's silent on the other end for a moment, seagulls caw in the near distance, and another tea tracks a warm trail down Mila's face.

"Holy shit... really?" Baela asks in a soft voice.

"Yeah." Mila sniffs, wiping her nose on her sleeve. The sun looms behind the beach house, casting the patio and driveway in shadows. Within the darkened windows, the shadow of Aegon watches from behind the sheer curtains.

"I'm going back to Winterfell."

AN// nOW LISTEN PUT THE GUN DOWN I CAN EXPLAIN. Don't hurt me for making Emiliaegon fight :( we are all children of divorce. TRUST things will get better. The sadder the angst, the sweeter the subsequent fluff <3

Lula x

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