#poor caraxes

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

Caraxes greeting his girlfriend, Syrax, after he’s had the worst time of his life in a haunted house.

[ashblooddragons]

The Red Queen (Chapter 8/?)

112 ac

Your Pov

It's the day of Mama's funeral. I try not to cry again as I sit in the bath as my maid wash hair. 

“What oils would you like today, Princess? Your usual jasmine?” Orchid asks already reaching for the oil bottle ready to pour it in the tub and my hair.

But instead, I stop her and think about Mama's calming scent and Ali's vanilla scent, or at least that's what she calls it.

“What was Mama's oil?” I ask and I see the flash of sadness cross Orchid's face before she smiles and grabs another bottle. 

“Lavender, the late Queen loved Lavender.” She says filling the dropper before letting the oil drip into my bath and hair.

“Can I have vanilla too? Or would that smell bad?” I ask curiously before biting my lip nervously.

“Lavender and vanilla would be lovely together, Princess.” Orchid says before reaching for the small vial of vanilla oils.

Once she has them both in the bath and my hair I feel safe, like a warm hug, like I can breathe again. I start to cry again but Orchid acts like she doesn't notice, most of the maids act like they don't notice. I don't understand why, why can't they wipe my tears like Kepus and Ali do? Why can't they hold me so close like Kepus and Ali do? They hold me so tight it's hard to breathe but I can feel their hearts beating feel they're alive feel they're here.

But what confuses me the most is why Mama had to leave me? She promised after this baby was born she would play with me finally, that she would come to my leasons and see how smart I'm getting. But now she can't do that, because she's gone forever. 

Everyone keeps saying that, but they won't tell me how long forever is, only that it is forever. It doesn't make sense, I just want to know when I can see my Mama again when she'll be back to play and see how smart I am. 

“All done, Princess.” Orchid says wiping my face of the water from the bath, but from her frown I can tell she was also wiping my tears. 

I stand in the bath and use my step stool to get out so she can wrap me in a warm towel that always feels warm against my skin because she rests it next to the fire, and smells of something woodsy. 

I'm quickly dried and dressed in a black dress. Put on thick wool stockings as it's chilly today and my hair braided so it's a crown upon my head. Orchid helps me put on my bracelet and necklace from Kepus like always before someone knocks on the door.

“Come!” I call out rubbing my already raw and painful eyes. I then look down in case it's Papa, he seems to not be able to look at me anymore. I don't understand why though I haven’t done anything wrong. 

“Ñuha riña, it's time to go.” I hear Kepus say.

Not Papa, I don't have to hide my face. 

I turn and look up and see him frown at how bloody my lips and how red my eyes are. 

“Can't I wear red, it's a much prettier color than black.” I say frowning

This seems to make him happy as he chuckles with a shake of his head before he kneels down so he can hold my hands in his. My hands always seem so small when he holds them, not like the big girl hands I like to think they are. “No, I'm afraid not ñuha riña. Black, is traditional mourning colors you will be wearing them for a while yet.” He says inspecting my hair to see how well done it is.

“I did it today, M'lord.” Orchid says from her spot behind me with her head down.

Kepus made sure to tell Orchid only she and him can do my hair now, maybe the ‘little Hightower’ but I don't know who that would be. 

“I figured as much, it's not in her eyes.” He responds with a nod to my maids before picking me up and walking out of my room.

Once in the carriage I see Nyra who is glaring at me as usual but this time it sends chills down my spine. Had I done something? And then I see Papa next to her and he won't look at me, as if doing so brings him pain. I must have done something bad, but what?

The ride is quiet, almost suffocatingly so, so I feel I need to break it. 

“When will me and Nyra know when to tell Syrax and Stromchaser to dracarys?” I ask Papa but when he doesn’t answer I turn to look up at Kepus instead.

“I’ll count down from five, once I say zero you two command them to light the pyre.” He says glaring at Papa or some reason.

I only nod and look out the window watching as the smallfolk cry for Mama. They miss her too, hopefully their Mama’s aren’t goen too. 

When we make it to Rhaeny’s hill Kepus picks me up again and whispers to me “it’s quite steep, ñuha riña, don’t you tripping and getting hurt.” 

I feel the wind against my back, it makes me shiver as I cling to Kepus hoping he'll keep the cold away. Once we make it to the top of the hill he sets me down on my feet. He lets me cling to his leg as the Valyrian priest chants.

I try and ignore them as I look at Mama and baby Baelon, they're wrapped in a brown cloth so tight I can see the outline of Mama's arms, legs, and belly. Her belly looks weird but I ignore it as it's probably because she's dead. 

Once the priest is done and walks away I let go of Kepus and walk forward with Nyra. 

“It's time girls, are you ready ñuha riña?” Kepus says standing between us.

I want to scream ‘NO’ but I know that I must, that Mama and Baelon must be ‘put to rest’ or at least that's what Ali said. So instead I nod my head as I wipe my tears.

Kepus looks between us one last time before sighing and nodding his head, a lmost like he's defeated. 

“Five.”

I gasp realizing I'm never going to be ready this, to let Mama go. At least before I had to turn her to ash in the wind I could pretend she was just on a long trip, that she wasn't gone that she was only seeing her family in the Vale.

“Four.”

I feel my heart clench, feel it about beat out of my chest. It's painful, it hurts, but not as much as when I burn Mama away.

“Three.”

I can't breathe, why can't I breathe? I can feel my heart practically beat out of my chest. I feel my lungs constrict so I can only take in small gasps of air.

“Two.” 

I feel Kepus rest his hand on my shoulder giving it a squeeze. I still can't breathe, still feel my heart beating out of my chest, but for some reason, it's all getting easier to deal with.

“One.” 

I hear Stromchaser let out a cry of pain, Kepus says they feel our emotions, our pain, I have to stay calm for Stromchaser. But I can't I can't calm down, I'm losing Mama forever.

“Now.” 

I figured out what forever means, and all it took was me screaming with Nyra, commanding our dragons to make Mama and Baelon ash in the wind. Make them gone forever.

Once Stromchaser and Syrax stop their flames I turn to Kepus leaping into his arms and sobbing. Sobbing that I'll never get to see Mama again and play in the gardens with her. Sobbing because I'll never get to meet my baby brother. Sobbing that Mama and Baelon are gone forever.

Daemons Pov

I stand leaning against the Weirwood tree waiting for that blasted Dornish man, Cole. 

I knew after that fucking Sarwyck lost in the first round you needed a better guard. Though my pride was hurt I can't deny that Cole proved himself, that he would be the perfect guard for you. 

I remember the look of hos face when I grabbed him after, it was a look of horror, of fear of what the Prince of the city would do to him. Instead I only whispered one thing.

“Meet me at the Weorwood tree in a week's time at the hour of the wolf.” 

He quickly agreed of course but now I'm wondering if I should have threatened him instead of letting him go on his merry way. 

I hear a twig snap under someone's foot and turn to see him. He seems to have rushed here if the sweat on his brow is any indicator.

Must have realized he was almost late. I think with a cruel smirk. 

“You wished to see me, my Prince?” He says winded and bent over with his hands on his knees catching his breath.

“I have an offer for you, though if you take it you'll answer to me and no one else.” I say standing straight and walking towards him.

“Wh-what do you mean?” 

“You took down one of my Gold Cloaks, he was in charge of the care and well-being of the youngest Princess. Can't have someone who can't even beat a stewards son protect my sweet little niece, now can I?” I say in a calm voice that has always led men to do as I please, even my brother, the King. 

“And what does that have to do with me?” He asks standing straight again hands behind his back.

I know that stance, I know it well. 

“You're a soldier aren't you.” I say but it was rhetorical

“Yes, my Prince.” He responds curtly but I catch the scowl that he was read so easily.

Oh just you wait, Ser Cole, you'll learn to hide everything in this pit of vipers soon.

“If I could make it where you have a very high chance of becoming a Kingsguard, would you?” 

He seems shocked from the way his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. I can't fight the chuckle that leaves me, nor would I want to. 

“It would be an honor, my Prince. But why would they choose a stewards son over a lord's son who has also been to war?” He asks, curious and skeptical to this offer.

“And what I'd I said they wouldn't be others who have gone to war?” 

He freezes for all of ten seconds before a smile comes to his face. “And what would you need from me? Of course after you give me such a high ranking at court you will want something in return?” 

I stop and look at him surprised. Most who are not from Kingslanding would have taken this chance by now, I can't tell if I'm proud, annoyed, or impressed. I think before responding.

“You see, I noticed something about our match. I had my blade to your throat, I let you live, and yet at the first chance you got back up and made sure I'd be the one to yield.” I say smiling when he starts to shift uncomfortably.

“It was a fair fight, you know it just as much as I.”

“Never said it wasn't, you never said you yielded, so by all rights you could, and did get back up to continue to fight.” I say smirking when I see the tension leave his shoulders.

“That still doesn't explain why you need me.” He says obviously getting annoyed.

“It's simple, I want- no I need a man who will use suck ‘dirty’ tactics when defending my niece. If I was to help you, you will defend the youngest, the Realms Darling they call her.”  

“Why her and not the eldest?” He asks confused.

“Rhaenyra has at least three guards at her demand, none are truly hers but they may as well be. The youngest…well she has only had the spares or the ones I give to her. I wish for her to have one I know I can trust. One that will give me the information I desire, when I desire it.” 

He seems to contemplate his options, though before he even says it, I know what he'll do.

“I'll do it.” 

I can't fight the smirk that comes to my face as I shake his hand, a symbol of a good deal. 

Once he's out of my sight I look down at the gold cloak against my back.

Fuck I could use a drink and a whore. I think before walking towards the most depraved parts of the city looking for a night to forget all I've lost, if only for one night.

Viserys Pov

After that ‘talk’ with my small council and the very long day I've had I knew when my head hit my pillow I'd be asleep. 

All I saw for a while was darkness, I figured it was because I was still awake but then I saw a light far away and knew what was going on.

Not this blasted dream again! I thought as I stormed forward knowing what I'd find.

The throne room was dark, not a candle lit on the walls, but there was fourteen candles lit in front of the iron throne. They always seemed to dance, I swore if I moved closer I would hear the sounds of childlike giggles. Most are on their own, standing on their own candle sticks, but three have two prongs with two candles on the stand. 

It's all the same, even those damned faces are still blurry! I think ready to turn around until I hear the booming voice of my Grandsire.

“You will stay, boy!” I feel my bones rattle just from the sheer force my Grandsire has spoken to me.

I now don't feel like a King, I feel like a little boy again being scolded for trying to steal a sweet…again.

“Why do you bring me here Grandsire? You have made me come to this room with its candles every night ever since my dear wife has passed! Well before that I was having this dream once a moon!” I cried out looking up and around me searching for my Grandsire.

“It is not our fault you are not Brave son. That you will not face what you already know.” I then hear my Father, the one man I always wished I could be, but Daemon has always been more like him than I'll ever be.

“What is there to see? Fourteen candles, two blurry faces on the throne? I've seen it! I understand I must have a son to put on the throne!” I sob out feeling their disappointment, their regret, knowing I'm far from the monarch they wished from me.

“Have you thought that perhaps if you moved closer the faces would be clear? Or are you that daft Viserys?” I hear their voice now combine, hear my fathers furious tone mixed with my Grandsires disappointment.

I shake my head but still listen to their advice. As I move forward I begin to hear the sounds of a woman giggling at something a man had said. Another step, and I can make out the woman's curls and theans long straight hair. One more and I see a gorgeous woman on my brother's lap, though it is not him that wears my crown but her.

The two of them stop their chatter, my brother is the first to turn to look at me.

“How lovely for you to finally join us dear brother, I was beginning to wonder if you ever would.” I teases with that smirk of hos that always make me want to punch him right in the lip. 

That'll show him who's older still. I think with a smile before I leaves me and a pained gasp leaves me.

The woman has turned her head to look at me, I would have never recognized her if it weren't for those eyes. One of Lavender and one of Ice Blue, the ones I can not look at, the ones who only bring me pain.

“You know what you must do, Father. You always have.” You say but it is not your little voice, it is a woman's voice.

I wake with a gasp before turning and letting my dinner meet my chambers floor.

“You know what you must do, Father. You always have.” Those words keep running through my head as I try to catch my breath.

I have, haven't I?

Series Masterlist

Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header for this fic, I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl @sachaa-ff

[imjulia-andilikecats]

"With Haste"

[dcsmdcsm]

This guy...

[thequeenwechoose]

Targaryenweek Day 2:

Favourite Dragon:

Caraxes

[sweetestpopcorn]

in an au where the dragons survived: what do you think of bloodraven becoming caraxes's rider?

Hi there Anon and sorry for this huge delay!

Actually this might be an unpopular opinion but to me Caraxes would go to either Daena or Aegon IV, but gun to my head, I would give it to Aegon IV. To Daena I would give Syrax.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

〄 BORDERLINE

⤷ Aemond Targaryen x F!Reader

{ CHAPTER I ; LOST & FOUND. }

You save a man from drowning and he claims he's Prince Aemond Targaryen who you know died in 130AC, surely he's just crazy, right?

Warnings: f&b spoilers, nothing too triggering really, reader thinks he's gone bonkers, fake dates, 1024 is basically 2024 + not proof read.

masterlist ; next >>

He felt Vhagars body giving up beneath him, her poor wings too exhausted to hold up her own weight to fly anymore as they battled, her croaks as she struggled to breathe fire onto the enemy before him.

His uncle, Daemon targaryen.

Aemond is sweating, he had been waiting all his life for this moment- to fight his uncle and at last his dream came true because of the witch he had taken in.

It was an open trap.

She envisioned that he'd win the battle, that he'd be alive.

That was a lie.

“Dracarys!” Daemon yelled distantly the fire being spit out by Caraxes, Vhagar— in a final attempt at protecting her rider, shielded Aemond with her wings, but that sudden movement caused Aemond to lose hold on her reins, His body falling down from the dragon's.

He only realised the lie as he fell through the skies, piercing through the wind at an intense speed as the dragons continued to fight before him.

Nonetheless he had no other choice but to accept his death, and so he did.

The waters welcomed him as if they had been waiting for him, he felt his life slowly slip away just like his sister had predicted that he would die, he closed his eye, just accepting his own fate, hoping that at least he'd find peace in the after life, or maybe he wouldn't; maybe he'd suffer in hell, after all he hurt many innocent people.

“You were swallowed up in God's eye, never to be seen again.” Helaena's words rung through his head, voice clear as day, feeling more suffocating than the water he's drowning in.

Just as Aemond's mind was reeling through the possibility, he felt a gust of air which made him breathe on reflex as he was pulled up by someone. He opened his eye in surprise.

He was… alive?

Someone saved him? Was it Alys? Was her prophecy right?

Many questions ran through his mind as he adjusted to his vision, but it was then he realised that he didn't recognise this place. Neither did he recognize you.

“Sir! Are you okay?!” You ask in a panic at the man who almost drowned before you. You were just taking a walk nearby the lake when you saw bubbles floating up to the surface with a silhouette of a man below, you immediately jumped in; knowing how to swim and ended up saving this man's life.

You took a note of his attire, noting that it might be very old fashioned style, perhaps he liked the medieval aesthetic? His shiny locks clung onto his clothes.

He coughed, water spurting out from his mouth and nose as his body desperately tried to get rid of the liquid that he drowned in. Aemond stared at the ground in shock.

His careful eye took note of the surroundings that were around him. Tall buildings that had square openings that shone brightly, even during what was supposed to be called a nighttime.

Quite frankly, it hurt his eye, the lights blaring into his cornea. He shut in reflex, not adjusted to whatever place he was at. You watched in silence as he sat up completely. His clothes were sticking to his body in an uncomforting manner.

“Where am I?” He asks, his face and tone sharp, behavior notwithstanding someone that was just drowning mere moments ago. “Uh? We're currently at God's eye lake.” You reply, not wanting to be too judgemental.

“God's eye? Where's Harrenhal?” He asks and you laugh at the mention of that place. “You mean the old castle? Yeah that was towed down years ago, they tried reconstructing it but weird incidents occurred, now that area is nothing but a memory.” You inform him.

“This doesn't look like God's eye.” He states out loud, taking in the difference in sight, a few boats floating on top of the waters, tied to a ledge, they did not look like the wooden boats.. They seem like they were made of steel. His eye widens. “Metal floats on water now? What is this sorcery?” He exclaims.

“Sorcery? Chill out with the medieval vocabulary, my guy. Aren't you too invested in your aesthetic?” You reply, shrugging his behavior off. “You mere— peasant, I am a Targaryen prince. Dragon blood runs through my veins, how dare you speak and mock me?” He grits his teeth, his voice low and dangerous.

You blink for a few moments before bursting out in laughter. “Oh gods! You're quite hilarious for a man that was drowning mere moments ago, say you didn't damage your brain did you?” You chuckle, checking his temperature.

The air gets knocked out of your lungs when he grabs you by your throat, pushing you onto the ground as he gets on top of you. “I will have your tongue, shall you speak any further mockery.” He whispers cruelly, his grip tightening around your neck. You gasp for air as you claw at his hands trying to pry them off, but he's too strong.

Great, is this how you're going to die? By the hands of a man who seems like is homeless or on drugs whom you saved? The seven are indeed cruel.

Your cursing to the God's was probably heard when you feel the oxygen rushing back in your lungs as he removes his hand away, but still straddling you. You look at him with doubt, wondering if he'd gone insane.

“I am Prince Aemond Targaryen, what is the Lady's name?” He asks, referring to you while getting off you and you wanted to laugh once again but you decided not to.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen? Are you serious? If you're Prince Aemond Targaryen then I'm Alicent Hightower.” You roll your eyes at his words waiting for him to act embarrassed as you made fun of him, but he doesn't say anything. He squints his eye in disbelief.

“Seriously? Cosplaying a historic character is one thing but claiming you're them seems more of a mental illness.” You tell him, getting off the ground and standing before him, looking down at him from above.

You waited for him to drop the act, yet nothing came out of his mouth. “What year is this?” He asks and you blink in confusion. “Uhm 1024, why?” You reply and his mouth drops in shock.

He had been sent 894 years into the future. His heart begins to race as he takes in his surroundings once again, nothing looking the same way as it did before.

He looked at you, the one who pulled him into this world, was it magic? No, you were too much of an airhead for this to be magic. Aemond sighs.

He had nowhere to go in this world. All his family was likely dead. So he stares at you in thought, acknowledging that he probably looks like an insane person to you right now. A person from the future.

He gulps as anxiety eats away at the pit in his stomach. “You alright?” You ask, but he suddenly stands up grabbing you by your shoulders. He had only you now.

“Watch.” He tells you, one of his hands travelling to his eyepatch before pulling it off and revealing his eye. Hoping that it would convince you that he's not crazy.

“A sapphire.. in your eye like Aemond Targaryen, wow the dedication is indeed there.” You clap lightly but Aemond tuts, annoyed at your skepticism.

You couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by him, the subconscious of your mind seemed to know more than you did, for some reason, it believed him.

He didn't look like a crazy person while claiming those things, he looked you dead in the eye while claiming that he was a Prince, and Aemond Targaryen himself. So you couldn't help but wonder if it was really true.

“Can I touch your hair?” You ask, the question leaving your mouth unexpectedly and you cover your lips in shock. Fuck, you needed to hold your tongue. He tilts his head.

“Nobody except the Targaryens have platinum blonde hair, the hair colour now cannot be inherited genetically as they are long extinct. Every last one of them died. Now you can only see this hair color if you bleach your hair or wigs.. But they have weird textures so.. I need to see if you're telling the truth.” You explain yourself as fast as you can before he gets mad. He processes your words and gives you permission to touch his hair, and you touch it indeed.

Your eyes widen at the smoothness, his hair showing no signs of dye or bleach, it's way too healthy and non frizzy. Out of curiosity, you pluck one of the hair strands which makes him wince. “You wench how—” He begins to speak.

“Shh!” You shush him, holding the hair closer to your face, as you stare at the root part of the hair, platinum blonde just like the rest. Your heartbeat starts picking up its pace as you stare at the shiny hair intensely.

You turn your head to look at him, his features stoic, way too calm and collected. You ignored this before but he radiated off such a mightier energy, his posture was prim and perfect, his sapphire eye glinted and stayed snuggled up in his eye. His working eye just stared at you, the pupil shrinking and expanding, mimicking the turmoil of emotions within him.

Your gaze took in his features intently, the nose, the lips, the eyes, the face shape all were similar to the painting you had seen when you were in high school, studying history.

That's when your history teacher's lesson replayed in your memory, recalling the memory, pulling you into a flashback.

//

“Aemond Targaryen, fell into the Lake God's eye during the battle with his uncle.. His dragon, Vhagar, was found at the bottom—” You write down the notes as the teacher speaks, writing down the dates of the incident.

“However, eerily enough, his body was never found. Not at the bottom, nowhere. It was as if he just vanished. Never seen again.”

‘His body was never found.’ you scribbled.

‘As if he vanished, never seen again.’ you took out your highlighter and highlighted the point.

//

You stared at the man in front of you before you looked at the lake you guys were standing at the edge of, the water coming to your feet, pulled by the wind, towards you.

‘His body was never found.’

‘Never seen again.’

The words repeated in your mind as you look at him again.

“So you really.... are Aemond Targaryen?” You question, your body shaking with the realisation, the weight of it feeling heavy on your shoulders, you hoped it was a joke, that the man in front of you was playing a joke. But everything fell in place way too perfectly.

‘never found ; never seen again.’

“Hmm.” He hums.

[writingsofwesteros]

Imagine Daemon and his Baratheon wife he don’t love at first, bratty prince. He would at least consummate their marriage but only because she’s Valyrian and scared of Rhaenys oops. He hates that Caraxes is obsessed with her, his scary dragon getting grumpy if he hasn’t seen the princess at least once. It’s not until the maesters announce she’s with child that he has a change of heart. The blood wyrm refusing to leave the capital or storms end because he knows the prince is trying to avoid her. He won’t admit it til later but he use to love watching his dragon cuddle the princess belly for far away, happily screeching when the babe kicks. The princess would be surprised to hear that her husband had been eagerly waiting outside the doors of her labor chambers. The couple sharing a quiet moment together with their babe, a chubby little pink boy with lots of silver hair adoring his head. Daemon would be in love at the sight of his wife holding their little boy but it doesn’t mean he won’t get grumpy at his clingy dragon. The dragon refusing to take flight unless the princess joins them for the babes first flight.

THE CUTEST! Why is Caraxes so sweet, I can't deal with him.

Stupid Daemon and his ways as his poor Princess is trailing behind him :(

She would hear the comments of the Ladies in court too, but his dragon was a great comfort to her and now their bouncing baby boy

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 5: Sapphires and Cinnamon]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), references to war-related violence, Targ chaos terrorizes poor innocent House Corbray, Red and Jace have a lovers' quarrel, interesting news arrives from the Riverlands, bats!!!

Word count: 7.4k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

Like game pieces on a board, he moves the coins he’s using as tokens around the ink-and-parchment Westeros that is rolled open across the table. He’s been underwater for weeks, but now he can breathe again. Aegon is starting to heal, through the worst of the danger and unlikely to die, and he has been tucked away someplace no enemy will find him: an unassuming farm in the countryside surrounding Rook’s Rest, under the protection of the knights of his Kingsguard and tended to by requisitioned maesters. Criston’s infantrymen and cavalry have rested and healed and reorganized to fill the gaps in their ranks following the battles to subdue the turncoat houses of the Crownlands. Yesterday, Aemond rode Vhagar to the stone gates of Claw Isle and accepted a tremulous, tearful surrender from Bartimos Celtigar’s lady wife, in whose care the castle was left. Rhaenyra will receive no further gold from the region, and she will find the treasury of King’s Landing empty, the wealth once stored there split and hidden at Tyland Lannister’s suggestion in Braavos, Casterly Rock, and Oldtown. She will try to tax the smallfolk to fund her war effort, and they will rise up and murder her. That, at least, is Aemond’s hope.

Criston walks into the room. He’s just come from the rookery, where ravens arrive carrying news from Green spies and allies throughout the Seven Kingdoms: the Triarchy will send ships to combat the Sea Snake’s fleet; the Hightower army in the Reach has won battles at the Honeywine, Tumbleton, and Bitterbridge; the Lannister army in the Riverlands triumphed at the Red Fork and Acorn Hall; Cregan Stark is marching south from Winterfell with ten thousand men to fight for Rhaenyra, and they will need to be dealt with.

This will all be over soon, and I can go home. Home to my family, home to her.

“Daemon is restless,” Aemond says, repositioning his coins. “He will tire of enduring Rhaenyra’s orders in the capital, and he will fly elsewhere on Caraxes. He yearns for battle, I know him. A hero’s glory, perhaps even a hero’s death. When he leaves King’s Landing, I will go there on Vhagar and kill Syrax, Vermax, and this new dragon Sheepstealer. I will retake the capital and then leave Daeron as its protector in my stead while I hunt Daemon. Daeron has proven himself in the Reach. He’s growing up.”

Faintly, fondly, Aemond smiles. But Criston appears stricken.

“Bad news,” Aemond says for him. “From where?”

“The Red Keep.”

“Mother?” He fears that Rhaenyra will have her executed like Grandsire, though this would be a grievous mistake. The people love the queen dowager, who has lived among them nearly all her life and selflessly nursed King Viserys while Rhaenyra seduced her uncle, plotted Laenor Velaryon’s death, and secluded herself and her vile nest of bastards and villains on Dragonstone.

Criston is hesitant to begin. Perhaps he isn’t sure if Aemond should know this. “No, your mother and Helaena are still held in the dungeon, captive but in relative safety. Jaehaera and Maelor are wards of Rhaenyra. I would assume she’s trying to win their affection and then arrange politically advantageous betrothals.”

There has been a name left out. Aemond stares up from his map, waiting.

“She’s been taken out of the city,” Criston says.

An impossibility, an irrationality. “What?”

“I don’t know where to, or for what purpose. But she’s not in King’s Landing.”

Aemond says nothing for long, cold, grey minutes. The sky outside beckons in the coming winter like a nefarious houseguest, one who shares your dinner table and then slits your throat while you’re asleep. When he finally speaks, his voice is low but fierce. “She’s no threat to them.”

“She isn’t.”

“She can’t travel by dragon.”

“No,” Criston agrees. “So they must have transported her by land or sea.”

Aemond shakes his head. “Why would Rhaenyra do that?”

Criston’s dark eyes are afraid. “I don’t know.”

“Where might they have sent her? Where could she be?”

“Anywhere, Aemond,” Criston says helplessly. “Anywhere.”

And it rises in him like magma through the earth: a scorching venom that pools in the capillary beds of his lungs, a fatal heat that burns away flesh and bones and reason.

~~~~~~~~~~

Rain falls from the sky, sea spray erupts from the waves, stinging eyes and the abrasions on your skin from falling on the rocks over and over again. You are a child, and you are tracking Vermithor on Dragonstone. The mist is so thick that Criston and the guards have lost sight of you, and you can hear them shouting for you to wait for them, but you can’t, you can’t, you’ve wanted this for years and now it’s about to happen. You can feel the volcanic stones, black and serrated, quaking as the Bronze Fury stomps in his hovel. The cave is shrouded in fog, but you know he’s in there. He is growling, a sound like thunder. You can see the glinting gold of his eyes.

“Vermithor!”you command him in High Valyrian, holding out your hands, your maroon gown billowing around you in the vicious wind. Strands of long silver hair are torn from your braid. Blood runs in thin rivulets from your ravaged palms down your wrists and forearms. Saltwater burns like fire in the gashes on your feet; you’ve lost your shoes while scrambling over the rocks. “All my life I’ve dreamed of you, and now we will fly together at last. We will be bonded to one another until death. We will preserve the realm and burn our enemies. Serve me, Vermithor! Serve me!”

He emerges from his cave: a colossal skull covered in scales and spines, steam rising from his nostrils, jagged fangs bared, eyes that are at once reptilian and mindless and wrathful and sage. He is a century old and unfathomably mighty; he is an inheritor of the sacred magic of Old Valyria. He judges you with eyes like kindling flames.

“Red, step back!” Aemond yells from where he watches, his black cloak like a banner in the wind, closed at the neck with a silver chain and with a constellation of silver buttons in the shape of Vhagar’s wings across his shoulders. He is the only person who has kept pace with you. “Give him room! Let him approach you!”

But Vermithor is yours, there is no other possibility, in your heart he has always been yours, he has been the beast you claimed in your soul when you first heard his legends as Aemond read them aloud to you, Aegon, Helaena, Daeron under the heart tree in the Godswood of the Red Keep, and now you will climb onto his back and fly with him and meet Aemond and Vhagar in the mist-grey sky. From deep in his throat, the Bronze Fury snarls.

“Vermithor, be calm! Don’t you recognize me? We are meant for each other. We belong to each other. The dragon egg I was given in the cradle didn’t hatch so I could come here and find you instead. I am not afraid of you. I will not flee from you. Serve me! Serve me!”

“It’s not working,” Aemond tells you with dawning horror. “Get away from him! Red, get away!”

“Serve me, Vermithor!” you scream, and now you’re terrified, because his jaws are opening and dragonfire is boiling up into his mouth, crimson and glowing. “No, no!”

You try to run but the heat is already everywhere, and the air is suddenly too hot to breathe, and when you touch your face with your bloody hands you can feel your cheeks blistering. And then something collides with you like a lance striking a jousting knight, and you are thrown to the ground. It’s Aemond, and he is shoving you down into a crevice between two slabs of black basalt, and when instinctively you try to push him away—you’re always fighting him, something wild to be tamed—Aemond pins your wrists to your chest and shields your body with his, shrinking from the lethal heat of the world outside and burying his face in the velvet of your gown.

Then Criston and the guards and the Dragonkeepers are here, and with their ancient spells the Dragonkeepers convince Vermithor to retreat into his cave. When Aemond helps you out of the crevice, you see that the buttons on the back of his cloak have melted, and if the attack had lasted even a moment longer he’d be dead.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you wake in your bedchamber at the top of a tower of Heart’s Home, Jace is already gone. You peer through the window and see him strolling in the castle courtyard with Lord Leowyn Corbray, both of them bundled up in heavy furs; there is a layer of powdery snow on the ground, just as high as the ankles. The pine trees of the surrounding forest sway in the cold mountain wind. Servants lead horses in and out of the stable. And you wonder randomly: Do they have bats in the Vale?

Maids hear you walking around and file into the room to show you the clothes your closet has been stocked with through House Corbray’s generosity and help you dress. They try to distract you, but you notice anyway: one of them strips the bed and takes the sheets away, blotted with a watery, pale pink stain of blood. You’re sore, but not terribly so, just enough pain to remind you—when you move in certain ways—that you are wed to Jace, and that he took you last night as any husband would, and that now you could be carrying his dark-haired heir. The thought stuns you; you’ve never been more than ambivalent to the prospect of bearing children. Your dreams were of Vermithor, and marrying Aemond, and being possessed by him in every sense possible. Motherhood would come later, and you had always assumed you would one day begin to dream of that too.

Do I dream of it now?

No, you feel in your bones. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

The colors of the Vale are chilly and weak like the sky. The maids show you velvet gowns of dusky rose, icy blue, moss green, dove grey. After some consideration, you choose the blue. Then you wander the castle, your drafty stone prison, your new home. There are no tapestries of the Hightower or wrathful dragons or lovers ensnared like knotted threads, no familiar faces. Heart’s Home is austere, its primary embellishments being candlelit chandeliers and rugs made from dead animals, and the loudest sound you hear is the whistling of wind through cracks in the walls, frigid air that howls in from the Mountains of the Moon.

After much exploration you find the rookery, where ravens squawk in their cages and bed down in mounds of straw, and through the window is a view of snowcapped mountains that stretch on endlessly like a sea. There is no table to write on, and you see no parchment or ink or quills, and you don’t know which raven (if any of them) is trained to fly to Rook’s Rest. It doesn’t matter; you can’t write to Aemond without endangering your family held hostage in King’s Landing. And even if you could, what would you say to him?

Aemond, I’ve married Jace and I did it to save you. But don’t fear for my safety. I am protected here, I am content enough. I have no dragon, but I can help fight the war in my own way. Jace seems to like me. I might even be beginning to like him too.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” someone says, and you whirl to see Lord Corbray’s wife filling up the doorway.

You do not bow or curtsey. As a princess, you outrank her. “Lady Caroline.” No. Not quite. “Lady Carolyn. Lady Carolina.” Then you remember. “I am so sorry, Lady Carolei. Forgive me.”

She laughs boisterously. “Carolei is a common name in the Vale, but not elsewhere, I’ve been told. My closest friends here call me Lady Caro, you can feel welcome to do the same.”

“Lady Caro. Please allow me to apologize again.”

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure you had a late night.” Her eyes—large and round, almost bulging, and a very pale blue—sweep from your feet to your face. “But you didn’t have too bad of a time with it, I think.”

“The maids took the sheets,” you say like an accusation.

She smiles, perhaps a little guiltily. “As High As Honor,” she replies. “They are the words of House Arryn, but all the great families of the Vale aspire to be above reproach.”

“And you are a great family.” It’s more of a question.

“We are not grand or wealthy, that’s true,” Lady Caro concedes. “And I can imagine our little castle cannot compare to King’s Landing or the Hightower of your Mother’s house. But we are dependable and honest. What Queen Rhaenyra has entrusted us with is a tremendous privilege. We will abide by her instructions, and endeavor to satisfy her every request.”

“So she wanted to know that I bled.”

Lady Caro shrugs—I can’t tell you that—and then signals for you to follow her. “Join me in the Great Hall. We’ll have some cinnamon tea.”

The Great Hall of Heart’s Home is about the same size as your bedchamber in the Red Keep, with two rows of wooden tables and a crackling fire in the hearth. When you look into the glowing embers, you are reminded of Vermithor’s flames. Cool overcast light falls like snow in through the windows. Lady Caro gestures for you to sit with her at the table closest to the fire, and maids bring you fried eggs and bacon, fresh bread, butter, blackberry jam, and cinnamon tea, milky and aromatic and very sweet.

“It must be difficult for you,” Lady Caro says thoughtfully as she slurps her tea, steam wafting into the air. “Being so very far from your family. Even if they are traitors.”

She seems to be testing you for a reaction. You gaze into your tea and try not to let tears well up in your eyes as you think of them: Mother and Helaena in a dungeon, Jaehaera and Maelor with strangers, Jaehaerys and Grandsire dead, Daeron at war, Aegon burned, Aemond hating me once he learns of my betrayal. None of us are in the same place. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. “But you must be far from home too. Women get married off and sent across the world, it’s nothing new.”

“This is true,” Lady Caro muses. “I am originally of House Coldwater, and if you think Heart’s Home is plain and remote, I hope you never see Coldwater Burn. You’ve probably never even heard of it.”

“It’s up near the Fingers,” you say softly, remembering Aemond showing you dots littering the Vale on one of his maps, warm firelight, teasing hands, his lips murmuring against the shell of your ear. “The colors of its banner are blue, red, and white.”

She gasps and presses a palm to her chest, delighted. Her already ruddy cheeks flush pinker. “Mother have mercy, they teach that in the capital?”

“I have an interest in geography.” No, you don’t; but Aemond does.

“Do you embroider or sing?”

“Neither. Not well, anyway. Helaena works miracles with a needle and thread.” Absently, you touch your gown where beneath the pale blue velvet a scar runs from your left collarbone down to the top of your breast. So does Aemond.

Lady Caro observes this curiously, peering at you over the rim of her mug. “How did you occupy yourself before you came here? I do want to make you feel as comfortable as possible.”

Because you are kind? Because Rhaenyra told you to? Or because I might be the queen myself someday? “I spent a lot of time with my brothers and sister,” you answer honestly, dolefully. And I kept bats. You decide to omit this. “We all had our crafts. I made mosaics out of seashells.”

Lady Caro titters. “Seashells? Well, they aren’t exactly abundant, but there are some out near where the river meets the Narrow Sea. I’ll see if I can have a bucketful brought to you.”

“I can collect them.”

“The water is very cold, and the current powerful.”

“I like to choose my own shells. You can send knights to watch over me, I’m not hoping to drown myself or anything.”

Now Lady Caro laughs loudly. “Drown yourself! The things you say, princess…”

You decide to try to make conversation to encourage her affection, as Mother would want you to. “Do you have children, Lady Caro?”

“Oh yes, five of them. Four died though. Awful luck, isn’t it?” She goes somber, staring blankly out the nearest window for a long while, leaving you unsure of what to do or say. Eventually, she returns to the Great Hall and is cheerful again. “My daughter Jessamyn was married into House Mallister of Seagard. I get to see her and the children once every few years. And she’s nothing like you.”

You smirk cautiously. “What does that mean?”

“It means she’s very sweet and agreeable and naïve.” And then Lady Caro winks at you, and you realize you might be becoming friends. “Not like a Targaryen.”

You drink your cinnamon tea and think of last night, feeling a strange brew of fondness and shame and relief and loss. “Sounds a bit like Jace though.”

“Yes, well,” Lady Caro says, then wisely leaves the rest unspoken. He’s more of a Strong, isn’t he?

One of the Great Hall’s heavy wooden doors creaks open and Jace strides inside, wearing black accented with red and a bear fur coat overtop, speckled with snowflakes. More flurries are melting in his hair. You stand to meet him and he takes both of your hands. You smile uneasily, not knowing what to expect; then Jace playfully kisses the knuckles of your right hand, and after that your left, and he beams at you.

Instead of a greeting, he says: “We have a few more days together, then I have to go away.”

It’s the second time a man has told you this. “Go where?”

Jace shrugs evasively. No one is allowed to tell you anything. “Do you like horses?”

“Sure.” Aemond used to take you to visit his war horses, all towering and temperamental: Rusty, Apple, Fox, Ladybug, Pomegranate. Then he would watch as you stroked their forelocks and their downy muzzles, his remaining eye fixed on you, imagining sins that never felt like damnation but rather searing, tumultuous waves like an ocean of blood.

“Good. I’ll show you the stable.” Jace kisses you, a quick peck for modesty’s sake since you aren’t alone. He grins and licks his lips. “Mm. You taste like cinnamon.” Something warm, something red. He turns to Lady Caro. “Thank you for making us feel so welcome. The queen will be pleased to hear of your devoted service to the crown. We know that this is an imposition, and we appreciate your generous sacrifice.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Caro replies, and she seems to mean it. “It’s no imposition. It’s an honor.” Then she rises to her feet. “Let me find some boots and a fur coat for the princess.”

Once you are properly guarded against the cold—wrapped in a thick coat of fox pelts—Jace links his arm through yours and leads you outside, and you tread together through the shallow snowfall toward the stable.

“You’ve probably never even seen snow before,” Jace says, and you agree even though this isn’t true. You saw snow here in the Vale when you were very young—you don’t even remember which castle Mother and Father had been visiting on their royal progress—and that was the trip when Aemond pushed you into a frozen river and you caught a chill that almost killed you.

“Jace?” you ask, cutting him off mid-sentence. You hadn’t meant to interrupt him; your mind had been wandering.

He looks at you with some trepidation, as if he’s worried you might have a complaint. “Yes?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

He blinks at you, then exhales in a relieved chuckle. “You’re asking why I’m nice?”

“You never liked me before. And you had no reason to.” In your eyes, I was a traitor. If you could tell what I’m feeling, you’d know I still am.

He ponders how to answer as you walk. Now his expression is serious. “I always knew that when I married—to whoever it was, although for most of my life I believed it would be someone else—that would be it for me, and I would never be estranged from her or take another lover. There are so many families with…” He pauses, and you watch him closely. “There are so many children who suffer from the indiscretions of their parents.” There is a bloom of ashamed, gory pink in his cheeks, and you know he is speaking of himself, and of all the bastards anywhere in the world who have ever been made to feel lied to, less than, disgraced, disavowed. “I swore to myself that I would be a good husband and father, and that my own household would be…wholly uncomplicated.”

“So you would act this way with anyone. With whoever you were wed to.”

“Well…” He smiles softly. “As it turns out, there are things I like about you.”

“Really?” you tease, grinning, and when you reach the stable you shove the door open and step inside onto a straw-strewn floor. There’s no biting mountain breeze here in the shadows, and the body heat radiating off the horses makes the air more hospitable. Jace seems surprised you didn’t wait for him to open the door for you. “What things?”

“Several things,” Jace says, then—now that you are alone aside from the horses nickering and chomping on hay in their stalls—wraps his arms around your waist and holds you from behind, kissing the side of your neck. You have to resist the reflex to fight him off so he can overpower you, pin you to the floor, fuck you as you hiss and claw at him and tell him to stop. Jace wouldn’t understand it. Jace would be horrified by it. “Here,” Jace whispers, skimming a hand over your gown where he made you bleed last night. Then his palms travel up to your breasts. “And here.” Then he nuzzles your silver hair as he gently unfastens your braid and inhales deeply. “And I like this too. Although I’d be interested to see you wear it in a style that is a little…softer.”

“Softer?” you echo doubtfully.

“You’re not a warrior,” Jace says as if he thinks you will want to hear this, as if it will comfort you. It doesn’t. “And that’s alright. You can be soft. You can be ladylike.”

You don’t feel very much like a lady. You feel like a kettle full of boiling water, like lava bursting up through the cracks in the earth, like dragonfire hemorrhaging from a beast’s gaping throat. Now you and Jace are on the wooden floor of the stable, displacing straw as you kiss hungrily and pull off each other’s coats. Jace climbs on top of you, and you think: I can’t do this again, not like last night. I want to be fed too.

Jace stops to marvel at your face, his thumb skating over the curve of your cheekbone. “I want to make it as good for you as it is for me,” he says solemnly. “Last night it was over so quickly, and…I didn’t…I feel like I could have done more, but I don’t know…I’m not sure if…”

You grab his right hand and lace your fingers through his. “Can I show you how I touch myself?”

Jace’s eyebrows go up. “You touch yourself?”

“Don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” he admits bashfully, blushing. He does this a lot, you are learning. “But I’m a man.”

You smile. “Women experience longing too, Jace.”

“Yes,” he says, and now he’s breathing quickly and it sounds less like he’s merely intrigued and more like he’s begging for it. “Show me. Please show me.”

You take his hand and guide it beneath your gown, up the length of your legs, stopping where you are slick and needful, an ache so deep it hurts like the cramps when your blood arrives each month. You place two of Jace’s fingers on the right spot—he keeps inadvertently moving his hand just off the mark, and each time you put it back where it belongs—and lead him into a rhythm, a tight swift circling and pressure that makes your thighs open wider for him and your spine arch.

Jace murmurs as you pant on the stable floor, shadows on your face and straw in your hair: “Is this okay, am I hurting you at all?”

“You can press down pretty hard,” you assure him. “You won’t break me. I’m not glass.”

He’s trying not to lose his focus. “Okay…okay…”

“Jace,” you gasp as you sling your arms around the back of his neck and cling to him, your hips rocking, and he moans and kisses you—deeply, passionately, gluttonously—and under your dress his hand suddenly strokes you so forcefully it’s almost painful and then it’s on you, that feeling better than anything else on earth, being opened, being dragged under, being ignited, being devoured until you go weak and limp and boneless, aftershocks throbbing and your lips smiling drowsily. “Jace, Jace, Jace,” you breathe dizzily, still holding him.

He is gazing down at you, awestruck. “When can I watch you do that again?”

“Soon,” you purr through Jace’s dark curls. “Now…your turn.”

You are barely aware of it as he pushes the hem of your gown up to your waist and frees himself from his trousers, and you only come back to Jace when he enters you—your flesh still tender from last night, but wet and wanting him—and he is careful as he slowly pushes himself all the way inside, trying not to hurt you again. Then he thrusts and you are stunned by how good it feels, like your climax made everything more sensitive, more ready, more flawlessly tailored to fit with him. Jace doesn’t last much longer than the first night, and yet just before it’s over there is the ghost of something, a vague desire that is building, and you think next time (or the time after that, or the time after that) you will be able to finish again, and you will be drained like a slaughtered animal with its throat cut and its body hung by the feet, every last blood drop purged and collected in a bucket to be used for fertilizer or pig feed.

Lying together exhausted on the stable floor, you twirl one of Jace’s curls around your finger and—purely by instinct, because it’s what you and Aemond used to do—whisper to him in High Valyrian: “I love how you touch me, thank you, I needed this, I needed you.” But you can tell by the way Jace turns to you, startled and a little self-conscious, that he doesn’t understand what you said.

“I know some High Valyrian, of course,” he explains quickly. “But I’m…I’m still learning.”

“Oh.” It doesn’t come easily to him. Because he’s a Strong, and the Strongs have nothing to do with Old Valyria. And then, to temper the blow: “I can help you practice.”

“Who taught it to you?” Jace asks. He is suspicious, then hopeful. “Helaena?”

You should lie to him, but you don’t. At some point you have to start letting raindrops of the truth seep in. You are going to share a household with Jace, your bodies, your futures, your children. You want him to understand who you really are. You can’t pretend forever; already, it is stifling, a constant and trudging effort, a vanishing until you are transluscent like clear water. You are reminded of all the times when you’ve tried to hide pieces of yourself to please Mother, whose Hightower blood was washed away by the grim, intoxicating magic of the Targaryens. “No, Helaena doesn’t speak High Valyrian except when giving commands to Dreamfyre. She can understand it fairly well, though.”

Jace nods, studying you, but he doesn’t say anything else. The phantom of Aemond stands in the far corner of the stable. You think: I am a traitor to both of them, I am a house of no banners. After a moment, you ask Jace for your very first favor.

“I want Helaena freed from the dungeon in the Red Keep,” you say. “I understand Rhaenyra’s distrust of Mother, but Helaena is innocent. She should be confined to her chambers and permitted to see her children. And allowed to walk in the garden sometimes too.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Jace says distractedly.

“You know Helaena. She is gentle, she is fragile. She deserves compassionate treatment.”

“So did Luke,” Jace replies; and though he takes your hands and helps you to your feet as horses snort and paw at the straw-covered floors of their stalls, he averts his dark gaze—an inheritance from his bloodline, the indomitable lineage of the First Men—and doesn’t meet your eyes.

Two days later he departs Heart’s Home for a destination that Lord and Lady Corbray know, surely, but you don’t. Jace bids you farewell at the edge of the field beyond the castle walls as Vermax waits impatiently for him across the clearing, not liking the mountain cold, not liking you. Jace wears black and red as he almost always does, the colors of his mother’s house. His curls are ruffled by the breeze, his red cloak flowing down from his shoulders like a trail of blood.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Jace touches your cheek, then your chin. “I’ll miss you and all those things I’ve discovered I like so much.”

You smile back. You have the beginning of a headache—a throbbing above your left eye, a fuzziness in your thoughts—but you’re trying not to show it. “I’ll be here.” Where else could I go?

“I love you,” Jace says, and then looks at you expectantly. It takes you a minute to realize he’s waiting for you to say it too.

You open your mouth, but your pulsing skull is clamoring with prayers you cannot voice. Please protect the family I have left. Please don’t find a way to kill Aemond. At last you manage: “I love you,” but it sounds hollow and unnatural and cold, like stark snowcapped peaks and the gales that shriek through them.

Nonetheless, Jace is satisfied. He tilts up your face to bring his lips to yours and then treks across the field towards Vermax, leaving footprints in the fresh snow. His sword hangs from his belt. He practices with knights in the castle courtyard each day, and he’s not bad, you’ve observed anxiously. Not as good as Aemond, but not bad.

That night you see the shadow of something interrupting the moonlight that floods in through the window of your bedchamber, and when you push open the glass a bat lands clumsily on the sill and then scrabbles inside. You squeal with delight and scoop it into your arms. It’s a male and a different sort of bat than the ones in King’s Landing, larger in size, black and white in color and with long fanlike ears. He sniffs at you and gazes up with small but intelligent inky eyes. Then, as a mark of friendship, he begins to lick at your fingertips.

“And what do you eat, huh?” you coo as you pet him. “Probably not honey or fruit if you live way up here in the mountains. Probably just bugs. Should I try to catch you some spiders tomorrow? This decrepit old castle must be full of them.”

You have to name him. And this is an opportunity to break all your old patterns. You could call him Seahorse for Jace’s false house, or Dragon for his true one. You could call him the High Valyrian word for bat or wings. You could name him after something black, the color that Jace favors. And yet as you hold him, old memories come screaming back to you, Aemond helping you tend to your bats, Aemond protecting them, moments of kindness and understanding that you now fear were illusions.

He never said he loves me. Not once in eighteen years.

You keep waiting for a glimpse into Aemond’s mind, a stabbing pang of loss and longing when he realizes you’ve been taken away, but it never happens. You keep waiting for him to find you and descend upon House Corbray with fire and blood.

Aemond, where are you? Aemond, have you forgotten me?

“Sapphire,” you whisper to your new bat—your only bat—and he looks up at you as if he knows his name.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jace is gone for weeks, and in his absence you try to learn how to be his wife. You ask Lady Caro to teach you how to wear your hair like the ladies of the Vale: soft waves, sedate buns knotted at the nape of the neck, delicate wisps that frame the face and blow in the harsh mountain wind. You attempt to cultivate an affinity for pale impassionate colors. You distract yourself so you don’t think of Aemond. You catch spiders and moths in secret to feed to Sapphire when he visits you each night. You spend days practicing quiet, feminine embroidery—ruining yarn scenes, piercing your fingertips with needles—until you give it up and fling the cursed tangle of threads away and return to your strange fixations that once confounded Mother.

Lady Caro sends knights to accompany you to the mouth of the river, and you wade up to your knees in the icy water plucking rare shells out of the silt and the pebbles. You are not permitted to collect bones from the forest—there are bears and wolves and shadowcats—but you arrange for the hunters to give you what’s left of the carcasses once they’ve been skinned and butchered. The carpenters give you boards of wood and the blacksmiths forge you a small iron mallet. Sometimes Lady Caro stands in the castle kitchen watching you boil animal bones in a caldron or in your bedchamber as you shatter shells and paint the shards with glue, and she shakes her head, surely thinking: What is wrong with these Targaryens?

You don’t dare to make any mosaics of Aemond. It’s too dangerous, and too painful, and too revealing of what you’re truly feeling. So instead you piece together visions of the rest of them: Aegon smirking over a goblet of red wine, butterflies landing on Helaena’s outstretched palm, Daeron riding Tessarion, Mother smiling at Criston, Jaehaera and Maelor playing together in the garden of the Red Keep. You hang them on the walls of your bedchamber and at night you sleep better.

When Jace and Vermax return to Heart’s Home, you and Lady Caro are in the inaptly named Great Hall sipping cinnamon tea and nibbling blackberry oatcakes, and Lady Caro is telling you about her flock of grandchildren who reside at Seagard on the shore of the Sunset Sea. “Jasper is clever but terribly loud, and then Joy won’t talk to humans at all but loves her cats…” She trails off as your husband rushes into the room, his steps buoyant, his red cloak flying behind him.

“Welcome back, Prince Jacaerys,” Lady Caro says as she stands to greet him. “I hope your travels were comfortable and all your ventures went well.”

“Very well,” he says, grinning, alight with victories that are yet unspoken. Lady Caro dismisses herself to give the two of you privacy, promising to bring cinnamon tea for Jace. As soon as she is gone, Jace bolts to the table.

“What happened?” you ask he sits opposite of you. The hearth throws off rage-colored heat.

Please let this be peace and not violence. Please don’t have harmed anyone I love.

He is beaming as he takes a messy bite of a blackberry oatcake, crumbs falling down onto the table. And he must have decided that he can begin telling you his secrets now. Perhaps he trusts you; perhaps he knows there’s nothing you can do to sabotage him anyway, no ravens to send, nobody to inform. “I found someone to ride Vermithor.”

The realization sinks inside you, dark and heavy, an anchor, a sickness. You murmur, knowing it is pointless: “He was supposed to be mine.”

“Well…he didn’t agree.”

This hurts you; Jace doesn’t seem to notice. You think of the tiny wooden Vermithor that Aegon once carved for you, and you wonder if it’s still on your dresser in Maegor’s Holdfast or if Rhaenyra has burned or broken it, or mistaken it for something of no value.

“Corlys’ bastard Addam has claimed Seasmoke,” Jace continues, as if this could not possibly be anything to you but good news. “Vermithor and Seasmoke are now helping Mother to safeguard the capital. Daemon and Nettles…” Jace gestures awkwardly. There was a falling out with Rhaenyra. “They’ve taken Harrenhal as a base in the Riverlands. So we needed more help in King’s Landing, and we found it.”

We have two battleworthy dragons. Now they have six. No wonder Jace is so pleased.

“And there are still other unclaimed dragons,” you say dully, nauseous with dread.

“Yes,” Jace agrees. “But unfortunately, Aemond realized what we were doing. So he took possession of Dragonstone, and he and Vhagar are always back and forth from there, and no one can approach the island and risk him happening upon them.” Another bite of his blackberry oatcake, more crumbs, more casual chewing. “Which brings me to my question for you.”

“For me?”

Jace nods. “I need you to tell me what he’s going to do next.”

You stare at your husband inanely. “What?”

“Aemond is the problem,” Jace says, more agitated now. He devours the last of his blackberry oatcake. “Even with all the dragons we have, it’s going to be difficult to destroy Vhagar. Our new dragonriders are inexperienced, and Daemon, he’s…” Jace waves a hand. “Unreliable. Self-serving. But you were there at the Red Keep with Aemond when he and Criston were drawing up their plans, and therefore you can help us.”

You lie immediately. “I don’t know anything.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Another lie. “Really. He didn’t discuss it with me.”

“Then tell me about him,” Jace says impatiently. “I know he’s good with a sword, but he must have weaknesses. Does he have lasting pain from his maiming, does he have vices that distract him?”

I’m not convinced I knew Aemond at all. “I’m not going to help you kill him.”

Jace glares at you incredulously. “How do you think this ends?”

“Rhaenyra promised Mother that Aemond would be spared, and you were a part of that bargain—”

“We said we would let him live if he’s still alive when the war is over, but we can’t win the war if he and Vhagar are seizing castles and territory and burning our men and supplies and nobody can stop him!”

“Does he know that…” You swallow, your throat burning. “Did Rhaenyra send him a raven to tell him about our marriage?” About my treason, about my ruining?

“No. Why would we provoke him like that? Why would we put a target on my back? The realm will be told when the battles are past and the surviving Green loyalists must be convinced to bend the knee.”

You close your eyes and you can’t picture Aemond as a warrior; you can only see him as a child with stitches and agony, as a man who gave you forbidden, bewitching pleasure. “I don’t know anything. I can’t help you.”

“I did as you asked,” Jace snaps. “I persuaded Mother to give Helaena more freedom, I ensured that Alicent is healthy and that Jaehaera and Maelor are well cared for and never lonely. I can probably even save Daeron. But Aemond must be stopped.”

“He’s my family too—”

“I am your family now!” Jace roars, jolting to his feet and pounding on his own heart. “Me and my siblings, and my parents, and my children, not them!”

One of the doors of the Great Hall swings open and Lady Caro is there with a tray of cinnamon tea and fresh blackberry oatcakes. She gapes at you and Jace, too shocked to remember to be polite. It’s too late for her to pretend she hasn’t heard. She stalls, trying to think of something to say.

“I believe we’re having venison for dinner,” she announces with feigned cheerfulness.

Jace looks at you one last time—with disappointment, with fury—and storms out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn’t come to bed all night, and you leave the window wide open so Sapphire can glide in and visit you: hanging from your bedposts, scrambling over your blankets, and then vanishing shortly before daylight. You have a headache that worsens until you are half-blind and sick to your stomach, and the maids hear you retching and bring you toasted bread and ginger tea and a bucket and wet cloths to cool your face.

Lady Caro wanders in and sits down beside you, her weight shifting the feather mattress, and pats your shoulder sympathetically. “I think you should tell the prince that his efforts have been successful.” To produce an heir, she means, and you’re convinced she’s wrong.

“That’s not what it is,” you moan, burrowing under the blankets. “I’m sick all the time.”

“You haven’t had your monthly blood since you’ve been here,” Lady Caro says gently, and of course she knows this because of her maids, her spies. You stare up at her vacuously, unable to comprehend it.

Pregnant with Jace’s child?

And this feels like a final severing of any possibility that Aemond will ever want you back. No other man was allowed to lie with you. Now Jace has wed you, bedded you, bred with you, turned your coat.

You force yourself out of bed and let the maids dress you and comb your hair, nursing the ginger tea—unappetizing, but good for nausea—as you gather your courage. You aren’t sure how to tell Jace. You aren’t sure that you want to see him at all.

Your skull still throbbing and your bare feet unsteady, you stumble through the cold stony corridors of the castle until you hear men arguing spiritedly in the Great Hall, their voices rumbling like thunder. Inside you find Lord Corbray, a number of lords and knights, and the maester of the castle. Jace is bent over one of the tables and reading, then rereading, a letter that the maester must have brought from the rookery.

Lord Corbray is saying: “They write that he has already razed Darry, Blackbuckle, Claypool, Swynford, and Spiderwood. The noble houses are constructing scorpions, but even with them, how many bolts would be needed to kill Vhagar? She’s massive, she’s monstrous. The Northmen are marching south, but now they’re saying they won’t go beyond the Twins without Caraxes and Sheepstealer as escorts, and can we count on Daemon for anything…?”

Jace looks up and sees you standing in the threshold. His dark curls hang over his bloodless face; his eyes are staggered and fearful. And twistedly, horribly, there is a flash of light that burns radiantly through the murky gloom of your skull and your ribcage, a forbidden vindication, a rapture you can never reveal.

Aemond remembers me? Aemond longs for me?

Jace says: “He thinks you’re in the Riverlands.”

[watcherintheweyr]

I saw a post earlier talking about how Alicent is not being rewarded by the patriarchy she has served so faithfully, and how the son she and Otto raised to the throne 'to protect his life in the way they knew they must' and I just... I have Thoughts so I'm gonna say em.

Alicent thought that by weaponizing the patriarchy against Rhaenyra and by serving it and it's goals, she'd be the exception to their sexism and disdain of women. She thought she'd be rewarded by signing with the oppressors and the oppressive system and it's values, and she's now facing the reality and the consequences of what's happened. And she's also getting a taste of the undermining and humiliation that she turned against Rhaenyra for years.

Honestly the fact that she even has a seat in the Small Council makes no sense at this point - it barely made sense with Viserys, given Alicent's views on women having power. That they should not have the power but should 'gently guide' those that do. In truth it's tragic irony and yet somehow comedic, seeing her realize that she will not be rewarded or exalted in Any way for all she's sacrificed and betrayed.

But also: Otto knew that Rhaenyra wouldn't turn on her siblings. He never really believed she would kill them. Those were lies he fed to Alicent that she in turn poisoned her children with in order to serve his ambition: which was originally to have his blood ruling on the throne but has become to have his blood on the throne as a puppet-king that he can control.

The MOMENT they moved forward with the usurpation, Otto attempted to have Rhaenyra and her entire family- including two toddlers- assassinated- the very thing he claimed Rhaebyra would do. Because he was never horrified by such a concept, and he never genuinely thought Rhaenyra was the sort to do such a thing. But he absolutely is- and entirely unprovoked. And yet somehow Alicent is shocked by this- somehow she never realized that to 'secure his succession, Aegon and his faction would have to do to the true heir and her family what she thought the true heir would do- which is either incredibly poor writing, or just blind, willful ignorance of what a usurper would have to do to stay secure from rival claimants.

Otto suggested Rhaenyra as heir to further distance Daemon from the throne (which was due to his hatred of Daemon, his knowledge that Daemon saw hom as he was, and his.. greed and possessiveness of Viserys, which was referenced now on s2e2 in how Otto spoke of Viserys, the man he puppeted, controlled, and manipulated for decades with total reverence.)- and because he thought she would be immediately displaced once his daughter gave Viserys the son that Aemma was killed for.

He never thought that Viserys would seriously hold her as his heir- and never thought she would be so difficult to manage or control, either. We see the horrified realization in his eyes in episode 2 when she shows him up at Dragonstone- that she is actually something formidable, that she just succeeded at something he did not- and saved his life from Caraxes in the same breath. That she, a girl, was taking this role as heir seriously, and that she might actually be able to play the part, and do it well.

So he made a new plan- to fill Alicent's mind with poison and lies about her once best friend, to ensure she would turn her children against Viserys' heir, and thus help him to further his goals.

But he miscalculated. Deeply. Because now Aegon's jealousy, insecurity, and hatred are running unchecked as he sits as the most powerful man in the realm. Now his grandson's depravity guides his choices, and Aegon's hatred and jealousy of Rhaenyra, his desperation for love and attention, and the power cirrently goong to his head... All are far stronger than any respect he may have once held for his grandsire- and his mother.

She betrayed and destroyed herself and Rhaenyra for nothing. She will never be rewarded for what Otto made her suffer or for what she did to disparage and demean Rhaenyra in the eyes of the men of the realm. She has served her use, as far as the men she thought to guide are concerned.

[darklinaforever]

Poor Caraxes. Deprived of his mate because of their stupid misunderstanding ! 😂

Especially since I remember that according to the creators of HOTD, in the show the other dragons don't love Caraxes, except Syrax now of course. 🥹

So he must be very alone without her... 🤧

[just-some-user-hunny]

Yandere team green and bastard! reader

(Aemond edition)

~ At your arrival, Aemond would have been particularly indifferent to it at worst, and bluntly curious at best. He would be a little taken back that you were even brought to live in the castle, let alone given an official princes title, but over time of getting to know you in your shadow, his opinion would grow fonder.

~ He'd watch you interact with Helaena with interest, and how you grow to defend yourself from Aegon as you grow. He hated watching Aegon torment you, because it reminded him too much of himself and his own situation. In a way, he can find himself seeing a small part of himself in you. The dragon-less targaryon prince, and the half-blooded bastard princess. Both not really fitting into the family, but somehow surviving on the sidelines. Onlooking upon each other's misery.

~ Aemond feels rather misunderstood and lonely, more now than even since he lost his eye. His detest towards your brother's would grow when you cradled little lukes face in your palms, watching you intensely with his remaining eye as he got stitched up. He wanted that attention. That care, that affection.

~ in a way, later on you mirror him. You see the disfigured prince become somewhat of a shadow of himself, growing quiet and focused and resentful. Driven to create a name for himself other than the frightful prince with a gouged eye. Later on, when the fretful ruckus of children and adults alike grow tired and fall upon their pillows with heavy upset still lingering in their hearts, you may sneak your way to Aemond to ask how he is. Everyone seemed to neglect how he felt after everything, and although you feel a little angry at how he treated your half-sisters and brothers, you're too soft-hearted to let him go alone with such a gruesome injury. He's spellbound once he finds you at his chamber doors, and before he can hide his face from you, you quickly hug him before leaving for bed. Telling him you're sad that he lost his eye, and that you hope that he and your brothers can make it up.

~ ever since that night, he confirmed his status as a yandere towards you. Now that he was given a glimpse, a simple brief taste of genuine care, he wanted more. Now more than ever he is proud of his claim of Vhagar, seeing himself as a capable and strong rider that you may be impressed by. He'll make work to often fly above you whilst you are in the gardens, or perhaps in front of your view of your chambers windows that look out upon the sea. He wants to impress you, give you a reason to keep giving him attention.

~ when training with your brother's, he especially tries to show off whenever you're around. The poor boy always seems to get distracted however, and gets knocked to the ground by Aegon of Jace. It's a laughable sight really.

~ He hides his disfigured eye behind an eye patch now, hoping it distracts you from the glaring scar that peeks behind it. Regardless of how sympathetic and non-judgemental you were, he's still a little self conscious about his appearance.

~ his actions are boyish and clumsy. Unsure and over his head, but he's determined- unlike his on and off drunkard of a brother, to win your affection and acceptance.

~ Older Aemond is something else, you may find. He's more poised, confident, and conniving.

~ as a yandere, he's possessive, protective, and demanding.

~ And boy is he intense. If you thought his distracted glances and focused stares on you were a lot, he's even more intense now. Even more so with one eye somehow.

~ You can bet Daemon is not a fan of him being oh so focused on his daughter. There's lots of tension between the two. Whenever Aemond watches you unblinkingly at the dining table during meals, Daemon isn't keeping his eyes off the one-eyed prince. Man is ready to get the shotgun Caraxes.

~ With his sharpened skills with a blade and fighting tactics, he can confidently show off in front of you without worrying about falling on his behind like a clumsy fool as he once did as a fumbling young boy.

~ Alicent would be his wingman ultimately. She wants you as her own, whether it be daughter or daughter in law. You can imagine her shooting him with stern looks at the dinner table to stop staring at her like that, it's frightening. Invite her to dance instead. Oh my god this is going to take some coaching isn't it.

Ultimately she would be completely behind his actions, encouraging it, even- although she would at least try to direct him in a more sane and gentle manner, than his outwardly possessive and demanding visage.

~ However your relationship will strain greatly once he kills Luke with Vhagar, and his grasp on you slips away the moment you look upon him with resentment and anger. The last thing he ever wanted from you. Alicent would be furious, tenfold after realising that a war will begin, and the family will split in two and how she knows that daemon and Rhaenyra will keep you in their grasp to stay on team black.

~ Alicent and Aemond would probably scheme to somehow kidnap you, or at least persuade you to visit under the false presence of making peace, and keep you trapped with them. (For plot hole sake, let's just say Cannibal was off on his little personal vacations, so unfortunately you had no big goth dragon to save you 😓).

~ during the duration of dance of the dragons, you'd be yearning and fighting to get back to your dragon to escape the bloody and blazing war that will inevitably ensue. It all becomes too much, you need to escape and somehow get back to your real family, just like you've yearned for as a child.

~ Aemond will also inevitably perish in a battle against your father, but until then, he'll keep an iron grasp on you as he hopelessly scrambles for any sort of power to back himself up.

[gay-dorito-dust]

🐧

This is going to be really off from how bonding works lol.

But imagine that Aemon rants to Vaghar about reader having claim Cannibal to the Point that Vaghar gets curious over you (HC That Vaghar and Cannibal might have a big hate to friends relationship lol). So on one of these days when Vaghar its free to do as she pleaces she decides to look for the reader who is like "why the fuck does big old dragons keep coming to me" but reader is actually sweet to her and basically respects her a lot. Probably tells her how of a brave girl she is and how unfair too to fight human wars.

And Vaghar is like "oh if you knewww" and starts to like reader more than her own rider.

Cannibal IS getting jealous over this. Reader is his 😤!!

But one random day Aemon has the fantastic idea of try and persuade reader to marry him and he is being lowkey creepy and pushy. And what happens ? Not one, TWO BIG DRAGONS APPEARS.

Yes baby!! Canninal is sooo angry he may as well burn him alive but seeing the suprise and offended look Aemon gives to Vaghar as she protects reader its a nice suprise too.

And Vaghar its on mother mode. 😤💞!! She is lowley ashame over her own rider and will roar to him to stay away, then when reader and Cannibal leave together Vaghar wil ignore Aemons command and fly off with them too.

No because I love the ideas that reader is just so likeable that dragons just finds themselves attracted to them.

Besides I’m pretty sure Aemond and Vhagar don’t have a strong a bond as like daemon and Caraxes for example, so I wouldn’t be surprised if vhagar finds reader to be the better choice and wishes that reader was her rider, and not some wish version of Visenya.

Aemond: they should be mine, we ride the biggest dragons of Westeros, why can’t they see that we’re meant to be!

Grandma Vhagar: *sick and tired of hearing Aemond whine about you and just flies off to seek you out herself*

You would be with cannibal just chilling and all of a sudden an Aemond-less Vhagar just lands in front of you and stares you down as Cannibal growls at her in warning of what he’d do to her if she came here to harm you. He doesn’t fuck with you and neither should anyone else, not Vhagar, Craxes, hell not even Balerion or Meraxes if they were still alive would fuck with you with Cannibal to protect you.

But you just casually go up to Vhagar and start petting her snout and saying; oh Vhagar, you’re forced by the hands of man to do their bidding once again. You poor girl who just wants to be left alone in peace and yet they don’t respect that.

Vhagar is pretty much purring now as she closes her eyes, allowing your sweet words of praise to comfort her old and decrepit body into a state of rest; cannibal, you have chosen a true diamond of a rider with this little one.

Cannibal staring her down, still a little on edge but resonating how she feels about the selfishness of the Targaryen dynasty: I know and I shall treasure them as one until I die. But be reminded Vhagar that they are MY rider, not yours. You should’ve remained riderless if you wished to have them but it’s far too late, I’ve came for them and now they’re mine until death do us part.

Vhagar: I know that, dear Cannibal, but that does not mean you shall keep me from them for I shall always be watching over them when you can not.

Cannibal growls at this but doesn’t do anything outside of that because he doesn’t like you scolding him.

So when Aemond finds out where Vhagar goes when he’s busy, he will be ten times worse then before because if you claimed cannibal and also have Vhagar taking a liking to you, then this must mean that you are destined to marry him regardless! He would hunt you down himself and corner you somewhere remote as he looks at you with a weird and possessive look in his eye, as he then proceeds to spout nonsense about how you and him were two halves of the same soul and how you were truly a blessing for two of the largest dragons in history to come for your presence.

His dragon deity he’d probably call you because when has two dragons ever flew in search of someone before? It had always been people claiming them but never the dragons searching for their one true rider. You were truly a specimen for history to recount decades from now as historians ponder whether you were something else all together.

Could you imagine the future Targaryens reading about you in history books? The one whom summons dragons? Dragon priest/priestess? Whatever other titles they might give you in the future long after you’re gone.

So Aemond is obviously coming on too strong for your liking and all of a sudden, he’s eclipsed by not one but TWO behemoth shadows belonging to Cannibal and Vhagar, they have heard enough from Aemond and didn’t like the unease and fear that they felt coming from you as the one eyed prince kept hounding you with his advances for marriage. Once was fine but this was too much and they didn’t want Aemond to do you any harm just for saying no.

(Whether your are already betrothed to Cregan or Benjicot or Jace, or Addam Velaryon I’ll let you decide that)

Your hand is/is not taken as of yet and they will not allow Aemond to sully that because of his delusions and conceptions.

Aemond is shocked and upset to see that Vhagar was blocking him from you as you quickly mounted Cannibal, who was looking at him as though he were his soon to be dinner, and whispers; ‘Vhagar, why?’

Vhagar only roars at him and growling every time he tried to step closer to her, upset herself that her supposed rider was a weird man with an obsession for things he couldn’t have. She waits for when you and Cannibal to take off to the skies before following behind as a safety precaution, blatantly disregarding Aemond’s cries as they become nothing the further she goes, forcing him to realise that their control over dragons was merely a farce.

[entitled-fangirl]

Chance. (P2)

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!reader; Aegon x wife!reader

Summary: Aemond finds that his ploy is having the opposite effect- driving her away from him slowly.

Part 1, Part 3

Masterlist

....................................................................

In the days that followed, Aemond had managed to lure the poor doe from Aegon's room. 

She now took walks with him daily, something he found himself enjoying more than he thought he initially would.

Like now.

"Against Caraxes?" She asked with a slight grin. "I thought both Caraxes and Meleys have seen war."

"They have. But I believe Meleys would win."

"I believe Vhagar would best them both." 

He felt a warm feeling go through his heart at that. "That was not the hypothetical scenario that I stated though, was it?"

"No, but it is the truth. Vhagar is a formidable creature."

His head tilted, "Vhagar is quite… kind, actually."

She stopped walking to look at him. "Is she?"

He hummed, "Very gentle in spirit. She must make up for my lack thereof."

Her lips pulled into a teasing grin, "You're quite gentle when you wish to be."

"I suppose so." He reasoned, "I just do not wish to be very often."

…

"THAT BASTARD!" Aemond roared as he entered his mother's chambers. 

Alicent turned and stood, "Aemond, what are-"

"Did you know about this?" He seethed.

She stared. "About what?"

"The marriage. A fucking marriage."

"What marriage?" She asked. "What are you talking about?"

"That slimy bastard will have his hands all over her," he spoke through gritted teeth. "And I must let him."

"Speak plainly, Aemond. You're confusing me."

He forced himself to take a deep breath and lower his voice, "My brother denied my betrothal. And now he takes my place in it."

Alicent tilted her head, "He wishes to marry her?"

"He does not love her." Aemond's fist clenched. "He will not love her as I can."

"That's what this is about then," she said. "A brotherly feud?"

"He only wishes to make my life harder, mother. And you let him."

He stormed out the door, kicking a chair on his way, not caring for the loud clattering sound of it against the floor.

…

"How does he fair today, my queen?" Aemond asked.

She looked up from Aegon to the prince, "Better. He's… better, I suppose."

"He does not look it."

She let out a frustrated huff, "Anything is better than the state you brought him to me in."

He smirks, "Do watch your tongue, doe."

She tilted her head curiously, "Why? Don't misconstrue my words, my prince. I only mean to say that you returned without a mere scratch and our king is…" She paused as she look to him, "…beyond repair."

"That was the will of the gods, not mine own. Remember that."

"And yet they named you regent. Didn't they?"

Aemond's jaw clenched and he took steady steps to the foot of the bed she sat on, "I am a worthy candidate for the crown, am I not?"

"Your mother ruled in your father's stead. Should I not rule now?"

"No, pretty doe. You're to care for the king. He needs a… woman's touch."

Her eyes flitted down to the dagger Aemond possessed. 

He continued, "Do watch who enters here. You never know who you can trust."

She looked back up to him a new look in her eyes, "Right."

…

Something began to stir in the girl as she thought about Aemond as the regent now. 

Some things just didn't add up.

And it seemed Alicent thought the same. 

Y/n spotted Alicent walking down the halls and decided to catch up to her. "My lady?"

Alicent turned, seeing the girl, "Is Aegon alright?"

"Yes," she found herself now nervous under the older woman's gaze. "I found myself needing advice, is all."

"Oh. Um." Alicent hums, stumped. "Let us take a walk then, I suppose."

"I'd like that."

…

Y/n called in the knock that sounded at her door.

Aemond entered and she stood at his entrance, "My prince."

He shook his head, "Please don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Act so formerly. As if we were not betrothed only hours ago."

She sighed and sat back down. "I do not know what you wish for me to say."

"That you're upset, perhaps?" He scoffed.

She huffed back, "I have had no say this entire time. Why would I just now be upset?"

"Because you know what Aegon is."

"I do."

His jaw clenched, "And still nothing?"

"My prince, my life was bargained for before I was out of my mother's womb. I am used to the feeling of disappointment."

He sighed and moved towards her, sitting on another chair. "He'll mistreat you."

She stared at the flames of the fireplace, "So be it."

Aemond studied her with his one eye, "You'll wed yourself to a whoremonger that would rather spend his nights drunk in a cold, dark alley than sober with his wife in a warm bed?"

Her eyes watered. "Do not remind me."

Silence filled the room as he considered what to say next. 

But she spoke first, "You may not be my husband, but you will be a caring brother-by-law. I know."

He smiled, "I won't abandon you."

…

"As a woman, it must be hard to truly now who your allies are."

Alicent nodded, "It is. Men only want thing in life, and that is anything that gets them hard."

She hummed, a trait she no doubt picked up from her recent time with Aemond, "But how can you be certain?"

The queen regent frowned, "Is there someone you fear as of now?"

"Not I. I fear more for Aegon."

Alicent sighed. "I do as well."

Y/n began to step, leading the two more into the garden. "I cannot protect him all of the time."

"Nor do we all expect you to."

Her jaw clenched, "And yet I find myself protecting a man who cares not for my own wellbeing."

"That's not entirely tru-"

"IT IS!" She cried. "Aegon married me for nothing! I am nothing to him but a whore he can impregnate-"

Her head jerked to the side with a loud slap and a sudden hot pain spread across her cheek.

Alicent had slapped her.

"Do not," the queen regent sneered. "Say those words again."

A shaky hand came up to her cheek, the cold of her palm soothing the pain. "I thought you an ally. But you're not."

Alicent scoffed mockingly, "Silly girl. There are no real allies in this game. Only mutual interests for a common end."

"It seems we wish for different endings then."

"Does it matter anymore?"

When she didn't answer, Alicent began to walk away.

"Alicent-"

She whipped around, "Do not call me that."

Y/n's head shot up with a new look of determination, "I am the queen. Not you. I will call you what I wish."

…

The next day, she met Aemond as always to walk the gardens.

He moved to hold his arm out, but immediately stopped himself. "What befell you?"

Her brows furrowed, "I'm sorry?"

His hand gently brushed her cheek and she flinched at the contact. "My queen. Has someone laid a hand on you?"

She shook her head. "I was being reckless."

His eye studied her closely. "I don't believe you."

She pushed his hand away lightly, "Then don't."

He bent his head down closer to her, "Is someone a threat to you? Must I fix something for you?"

"There is nothing to fix. I wish to go on our walk so I may return to my husband."

My husband.

The words still burned him worse than dragon fire.

He hummed and held his arm out once again, staring their walk. 

"I am curious, if you allow me to be so," she began.

He nodded.

"You've dismissed Cole as hand-"

"-And you wish to know his replacement?"

Her head tilted to the side, "I do."

He let out a low breath as he looked down at their path, "I'm assigning it to my grandsire, Otto Hightower. He's done it twice before."

"In a time of peace, that is."

"I suppose that's true. Then again, not many others are good enough even in times of peace, my queen."

"Sitting on the Iron Throne is no easy task, Aemond."

He chewed on his bottom lip as they walked, unsure of what she really wanted to say.

She pulled away from him at the sight of a certain flower. She knelt down at it, touching it with a gentle calmness to her.

She could be such a good queen if Aegon had just given her the chance.

Aemond promised he would.

…

"Dismissed. Except for my mother."

The council members one by one left the table and out the door, save for Alicent who sat with a curious look.

Aemond stood, rounding the table to stand behind her chair, "You dare strike her?"

Alicent took a deep breath, "Aemond, this does not concern you."

"Concern me? Indeed it does." He moved next to her chair, leaning against the table now, "You believed that you could strike her and I would not notice?"

"I did not think she would tell you."

"And alas, she did not."

Alicent's eyes widened at that. "Then how-"

"You've just confirmed it."

Aemond crouched down to her level, practically spitting venom, "I'm removing you from the small council. You're of no use to us and the kingdom anymore if you cannot even keep your hands to yourself, mother."

…

Y/n walked down the halls of the castle, going to Aegon's room as she always did. 

Upon entering it, she was surprised to find Lord Larys Strong there. 

He pushed himself to stand, "My queen."

She frowned, "My lord."

He turned to Aegon, "I am grateful for your recovery, your grace."

Lord Strong limped by, stopping next to her and speaking in her ear, "If you're in need of an ally, I can be of assistance, my queen."

Her eyes studied Aegon, noting the watery look in his eye. Her jaw clenched, "I believe I am tired of alliances, my lord. They do nothing for me."

He hummed, "Very well, your grace. My offer stands if you change your mind."

She turned her head to him with disdain, "I won't."

His jaw set but he nodded and left without another word. 

Upon the door closing, she moved to Aegon's side, exactly where Lord Strong had been moments before. "There you are."

His hand moved towards the bedside table, clearly reaching for something. 

She looked, noting the cup of the milk of the poppy that sat there untouched.

She quickly took the cup in her hands, "Relax yourself, my king." 

He moved back, a small tear in his eye.

She leaned down, wiping it from his cheek with a gentle smile. "You foolish man. What's wrong?"

He coughed a bit, "Ae…aemond…"

Her brows furrowed, "Aemond? What of Aemond?"

His hand grabbed her wrist, yanking her to him with what little strength he had. He cried as he did so, "Do not…"

She studied him with a worried gaze, "Do not...?"

The door opened, and she quickly looked over her shoulder. 

Aemond himself stood in the doorway. 

"How is his grace?"

She looked back to Aegon who looked ready to cry again. "He's doing alright. He'll be resting again soon enough."

Aemond hummed, stepping to the other side of the bed to watch the two.

Her hand moved to the back of Aegon's head, leaning him up to sip from the cup in her other hand.

He carefully took in the liquid, sighing as he finished. 

The woman leaned forward and kissed his forehead, "Sleep well."

She stood up and abandoned the cup with her focus now on Aemond, "Let us leave him in peace for a while."

"Yes," he said absent-mindedly. "We should."

But his mind was far from absent. In fact, it only thought one thing.

What had Aegon told her?

..................................................

part 3

taglist: p45510n4f4shi0n, darktrashsoulbear

[andreawritesit]

I saw that your requests are open and that you, like me, are pissed off with what they are doing to Daemon. Soooo, can I get a Daemon x POC (or ambiguous appearance) fem!reader where she is with the Blacks, but seeing Rhaenyra's incompetence (and how she has no respect for the lords who fight for her, and the fact that she trusts Mysaria but not Daemon), she tells her some hard truths to her face and goes to Harrenhal to help him, please? (It can be romantic or not, I just need this man to be valued, loved, and cared for).

Fandom: House of the Dragon Pairing: None (minor one sided reader x Daemon Targaryen) Words: 1,569 Warnings: Mentions of Luke's death, Blood and Cheese

As much as I hate show Rhaenyra, I ship Daemyra quite a lot and I like to believe Daemon would never cheat Rhaenyra. So the romance is one sided and more innocent in nature.

You were sitting at the table, clenching your fists as tightly as possible. Rhaenyra once again shut down any suggestions from her council members, with you being one of them. Despite all of your combined efforts, the Queen just didn’t want to understand the gravity of the situation you all were in. The Greens were amassing greater armies and more holdings all across the realm. Yet Rhaenyra kept refusing to take any action. Prince Jacaerys had suggested looking for people with Targaryen blood so they could sort out more dragon riders. The suggestion was a wise one. And finally, Rhaenyra took some steps to participate in the war. And yet, she kept ignoring her biggest asset – her husband Prince Daemon, and his dragon Caraxes. They had left for Harrenhal days ago and yet there was no word. Clearly, the King consort had some disagreements with the Queen. Irrespective of your countless requests, Rhaenyra kept dismissing any possibility of sending a raven to Daemon. It was frustrating you to no end.

Prince Daemon had always been a special person to you. Ever since you had seen him at the tourney, you had admired the prince. He might be called reckless by many but he was in truth a Targaryen through and through – stubborn, yes but powerful, brave, and smart. He knew what needed to be done and when. He had suggested taking Kings Landing as soon as you received the news of usurping. But Rhaenyra had refused. Even after her son, the little prince Lucerys was murdered in cold blood, the Queen had not taken any action. Instead, she had banished the only person who sought any revenge for the dead prince and had even gone to Kings Landing to speak with the woman partially responsible for his death. You couldn’t believe her audacity when she had disappeared for days and then returned nonchalantly as if nothing had happened. Even now, Rhaenyra sat in her chair, hands folded in front of her, doing nothing.

Your eyes fell on the woman standing next to her and you suppressed the urge to throw your glass at her. Mysaria. The woman who had been selling secrets to Otto Hightower for the past decade, the woman who had helped in usurping Rhaenyra’s throne, the woman who had love for only herself. She stood by the Queen’s side instead of her King Consort. It was unnatural and extremely stupid of Rhaenyra to put her trust in this woman. A loud sigh came out of Prince Jacaerys’ mouth as he got up and excused himself out of the room. Poor Prince.  It seemed like only he and Daemon were willing to do what was necessary. When your father had pledged toward Rhaenyra as the heir to the Iron Throne, you had also sworn to always side with her, and stay loyal to her. But she was making it very difficult with her bad decision-making.

Mysaria whispered something in Rhaenyra’s ear that made her smile and your blood boil. Who knows what she was plotting? You couldn’t take it anymore and stood up from your chair abruptly. “Your Grace”, you addressed her directly, “May I talk to you in private?”

Rhaenyra glanced at you and then at Mysaria who gave her the tiniest of nods. She nodded back and got up from her chair. “Of course, my Lady. Everyone, leave us.”

The council members looked uneasy but left nonetheless. Mysaria was last to leave. While walking out, she purposely nudged your shoulder and gave you a skeptical look. You couldn’t help the eye roll that happened in response. Once she left, you turned toward the Queen.

“Your Grace, forgive me for my bluntness but you’re making a huge mistake.”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrow shot up and she asked in a serious tone, “Mistake? What sort of mistake?”

“Trusting the word of Mysaria. Do not forget she is a self-serving woman, not that there is anything wrong with it. But as a monarch, you’re supposed to be the one making decisions. At the end of the day, Lady Mysaria will always look out for herself first. Who’s to say she won’t jeopardize our position in the war tomorrow if it favors her?”

She listened to your words quietly. After a moment, she replied, “Anyone can turn on me anytime. How is she any different?”

“You don’t understand. We’re here to honor our and our fathers’ oaths. We’re here because we have accepted you as our Queen because we believe in you. Has she sworn to you?”

“No, but-“

“Then how can you trust her so easily? She was once close to Prince Daemon and look at how quickly she turned on him. She does not hold loyalty to anyone. Giving her so much power over yourself will prove to be risky.”

“What do you suggest I do, then? Send her away?”

Her tone irked you. It sounded awfully defensive.

“No, Your Grace. She’s an important ally to have. All I’m saying is that don’t get too close to her. She might use your weaknesses against you tomorrow. She has said it herself, she is on no one’s side. She only looks out for herself. Instead of indulging in her manipulation, you should call Prince Daemon back.”

Rhaenyra’s face contorted at your words into one of anger. She took a deep breath and sat on her chair. “Daemon this. Daemon that. I do not need him!”

“Yes. Yes, you do. He has always been our greatest strength. If he was at Rook’s Rest with Princess Rhaenys, she would’ve been alive today.”

“He ordered the murder of a child in my name! He sullied my reputation behind my back.”

“He avenged your son. And hasn’t he told you he didn’t order them to specifically kill the child? Why won’t you trust his word?”

“Because he’s ambitious. He has always wanted the throne-“

You couldn’t control your anger anymore. She was being obnoxious.

“I’m sorry but you’re wrong. If he had wanted the throne for himself, there were many times he could’ve killed King Viserys when he was still his heir. Or he could’ve killed you when you were young and unsuspecting. You constantly misunderstand him and yet question his loyalty?”

Rhaenyra scoffed and took a sip of wine from her glass. “What do you know of Daemon? I have known him forever. He only ever thinks of himself.”

“That sounds awfully like Mysaria. Are you sure you know him at all? I might not know him well but even I understand that he has been loyal to you always. He married you at such a time when you and your claim were the weakest. He stood loyally by your side and crowned you himself. And yet you claim he’s self-serving. It seems to me the self-serving one is you. You asked him to marry you when you needed and now you try to push him aside?”

“How dare you-“

“How dare I? How dare you disrespect all the Lords and soldiers who are here to fight on your behalf? You ignore their sacrifices, their wisdom. Your ignorance blinds you, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes were wide open and she opened her mouth to say something but closed it again. It seemed her anger gave way to something else—doubt, perhaps, or fear.

“I speak these words not out of disloyalty, but out of love for the cause we fight for,” you continued. “But if you continue down this path, you will lose everything. Including me.”

You got up from your chair and left the hall, leaving a stunned Rhaenyra in your wake.

The journey to Harrenhal was harrowing, with the road fraught with danger and uncertainty. You pressed on, determined to reach your destination despite the trials. As dawn broke, the ruins of Harrenhal loomed before you, a stark contrast to the grandeur of Dragonstone. Its charred walls and crumbling towers stood as a testament to the power of dragons and the wrath they could unleash. Your heart was heavy, but your resolve remained unshaken. It was obvious that Rhaenyra wasn’t going to see reason soon, so why waste your time with her? And so here you were, at Harrenhal, about to pledge your loyalty to the King Consort.

Daemon was overseeing the fortifications, his presence commanding and intimidating. When he saw you, a flicker of surprise crossed his face. As you walked closer, you saw his face and a gasp escaped your lips. His complexion was paler than usual, and his eyes no longer held the flames of dragonfire you so admired.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone gruff.

“I came to help,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

“Rhaenyra let you go?” His tone held suspicion.

“I left of my own accord,” you said. “She needs to learn some hard truths, and I need to be where I can make a difference.”

The hard lines of his face eased as he stepped closer, his gaze softening as he studied your face for a moment. “You’ve always had a sharp tongue and a brave heart. I could use both.”

A smirk formed on his face, and he gestured towards the ruins of the castle. “Welcome to hell then.”

You took in the sight of Harrenhal, its desolation stark against the morning light. The once-grand fortress was now a place of shadows and echoes, a fitting backdrop for the battles to come.