#rhaegar targaryen imagine

[aphemera]

grrm was actually so smart when he made rhaegar a depressed musician because i can actually see why everyone was so in love with him

[starryharps]

wildflowers

pairing: rhaegar targaryen/ reader

summary: they fuck in a forest, what more do you want

word count: 1,509

tags: smut. fluff

read on ao3 | masterlist

The brook’s tattering breaks your mid-afternoon daze, with the sunlight chiding your vision as you sit quietly under the impossibly huge tree.

Rhaegar is picking flowers nearby, his harp resting against the bark of another tree. Beautiful thing, it is, to watch him strum those strings, how nimble his fingers look as they dance across the harp, how it plucks and pulls, and-

Gods. Your ears flush red.

What a sinful thought.

You bring your knees together, resting your head over the heavy robes.

For another day.

You hear Rhaegar’s boots become louder and louder, padding gently across the grass before he sits next to you.

Wildflowers. He bought wildflowers.

“Quite a collection,” you remarked.

He hummed, holding some of them in his hands. White, yellow, green, all beautiful and dainty small things.

“Do you know, you can make tea from them.”  he starts, “read it in a maester’s scrolls.”

“You can make tea from almost any flower or leaf if you dry and roast them enough.”

He gazes at you, unimpressed.

“Smartass.”

You chuckled, “logic.”

The prince watches you pick the pennyroyals up.

“Intriguing, you found these here.” You remark.

“Figured you’d appreciate the selection, for you keep collecting flowers.” Referring to your apothecary.

“Oh, so it is not for making flower crowns?”

“I do not know how to make them.”

“Why not?”

Confusion colors him, “What do you mean why not?”

“You’re bookish to a fault, thought you’d know how to make flower crowns to charm ladies.”

“I do not read such books.”

“Explain me tales of the wench and the sailor on your shelf then?”

He sputters, looking away.

“That was a gift.”

“Certain. Boys and their collection of literary erotica they swear to the seven they have never read, but forget to take out the glaring red bookmark.”

He calls out your name, indigant.

“This is unladylike.”

“I thought we dropped court formalities when we entered these forests.”

“This conversation has turned indecent.” Rhaegar quickly picks up the harp, playing it, you notice the heat on his cheeks and smirk.

He pretends to not notice you crawl slightly towards him, playing his harp.

“What crown prince would ever be caught reading naughty tales of a wench covered in flowers,”

Rhaegar’s hand shakes, and the harp’s tune wavers. You reach his shoulder and slightly move the long hair behind his ear as you whisper.

“as she gets deflowered by a dashing Essosi sailor-“

His breath hitches.

“How unbecoming of a noble to read such a debauched work.”

“Y-you.”

His indigo eyes are so beautiful as they lace in fear and arousal.

“Tell me, which one did you imagine yourself as? The sailor?” You hook your finger on the collar of his tunic.

Rhaegar shakes quietly, his harp sounding like a cacophony of nerves. You admire the small braids in his hair. He’s inlaid them with ruby pins.

“Or perhaps, the wench?” You whisper, putting his harp away.

He starts, your name, leaving his lips as he sighs.

You crawl on top of him, straddling his lap, smiling sweetly.

“Hmm?”

You don’t wait for him to reply, tilting your head to meet your lips against his plush ones.

Rhaegar is on fire. you are certain, His blood heats up at your touch as you sense him descend further and further into the kiss. He’s so open, desperate, and wanting. His red and black robes bristle and rustle against the grass as he moans out and squirms. You press down further as his hands find your waist.

He’s a sight, red flushed against his pale skin, indigo eyes staring at you, mesmerized, and glossy-lipped. The forest behind him. From this angle, he looks every bit of a wench from the novels you have seen him read in his chambers in privacy.

You rock your hips, and he groans. The fabric creates a barrier that somehow intensifies the pleasure rather than inhibiting it.

“You even moan like one.” You open button down his tunic and toss out his robes. The sunlight kissing his pale skin, you watch the flush travel to his lithe chest.

Hands travel down his naked body, your digits toying with his nipples. They look so supple, hard, and slightly puffed. A wicked idea takes over you.

“How does it feel?” gently squeezing his nipple.

Rhaegar throws his head back. “Tickles.”

“Ah,t.” He groans as you rub circles gently with both of your hands on each nipple.

He bucks his hips up.

“Ah…”

“Sensitive?’

He moans.

“Want me to continue?”

He stutters out a barely coherent, please.

You take him in your mouth. The foreign feel of his soft, round nipples gives you pleasure as you suckle them, quietly flicking.

Rhaegar has stilled, only gasps of his breath reverberate in the forest.

You stay attacking his chest, languid as your tongue latches on him, messy and mean in its sucking. Payback for what he does to you.

His hand reaches your back, digging into your hips as he mewls loudly, unable to stop as you rock your hips against his while playing with his chest.

“Please, please.” His repeats your name like a prayer. Bucking his hips up like an animal in heat.

“If you had a cunt and a womb, I promise you, you would’ve never walked a day without it being swollen.” Rhaegar nods, fervent.

“N-never, I would-“

“Do you wish it?” Your movements become quicker, the squelching noises sending pleasure down your spine.

“I do, gods, I would carry, I would-“

“How many?”

“As many- until I”

“Until your feet hurt and you stay debauched, swollen, and needy for me, every night?”

You see tears prick rhaegar’s eyes, he’s close.

“I’d never let you touch the moon tea. Ever.”

“N-never.”  He groans as you halt your movement.

“Off.” You command, referencing his breeches.

He complies quickly, sitting up to kiss you as his cock springs out.

You smirk at the length, the rosy color making it look almost endearing.

“Might wear robes of this color tomorrow.”

Despite his arousal, rhaegar manages to smile.

“I’d be most pleased to see it.”

Touching his chin, “filthy.” You remark.

“Let me touch you.”

“Not today.”

Rhaegar frowns.

“Why?”

“Today I wish to ride.”

He gasps as you toss him down to the grass. His naked body, covered his bruises, shivering slightly at the contact.

“Then so be it.” He whispers to no one.

You quickly rid yourself of your small clothes, making sure you remain nude as well, and straddle him, sinking down and groaning, both of you turning blank at the pleasure that overtakes.

“Fucking hell.”

“Move....” Rhaegar has his hand over his eyes, his other hand between his lips, he’s red like a cherry, and the sun makes the sweat on his body shimmer like gold as he shakes and quivers with every move you make on top of him.

You grab both of his hands and place it next to his head, lacing your fingers together as you tilt towards him, your breasts swollen and stopping just by his lips.

“Suck.” You instruct, and descend your breast into his mouth. Eyes rolling back at the heat that engulfs your nipple, your movements turning animalistic.

Heaven was so hot it felt like the flames of hell. As if the fourteen flames have bloomed within you. The heat of the sun, his mouth, his cock, your cunt. The sweet music of your moans intermixing, it was too much, too fucking much.

Your knees buckled after a few moments and Rhaegar sat up immediately, holding you and kissing you mercilessly as you rode him in his lap, almost growling and tearing into his hair, ruffling it up and scratching his back with your other hand at the feeling of his hands all over you, pressing down at your belly.

With a loud moan and a whimper, the two of you collided and met your high, stilling amidst your kiss as you felt each other release in each other, quietly mumbling each other’s names.

You felt him drip down your legs. Soaking in the pleasure, you open your eyes to see him and gasp at the beauty that is Rhaegar Targaryen. His eyes were blown wide open, pretty white lashes and red face, messy hair, and his pouty lips, begging to kiss you more and more.

The two of you just looked at each other, and then, a chuckle left you at the same time.

“We are animals.” He starts as he lies down, with you climbing on his chest.

“Indeed. Two pretty animals mating in the wild.” You begin putting flowers in his hair. daffodils, forget-me-nots, heliotropes, and tulips.

He hums.

“No one else I’d rather mate with.”

“Not even your harp?”

He laughs.

“The poor thing’s probably traumatized by now, the things we do, the filth we speak.” He glances at the harp resting quietly below the tree, long forgotten.

“Rhae?”

“Hmm?”

“Pick up some tansy when we leave, I need to brew the tea.”

He blushes furiously, nodding as the breeze picks up.

[sare11aa11eras]

Rhaenys daughter of Rhaegar and Elia for @dwellordream hope you like her, Dwell!

[Image Description: a full-body drawing of Rhaenys Martell Targaryen. She is a young child. She is smiling. She wears her hair down and pulled back with an orange-red ribbon. She has red earrings on and a gold bracelet on her wrist. She wears a dress with short balloon sleeves with wide red and black stripes. The bodice of her dress is black. The skirt has wide black and red stripes to match the sleeves. The dress has an orange-red ribbon at the waist. The dress is trimmed with yellow lace at the collar, hem, and sleeve cuffs. A plain shift trimmed with red ribbon is visible at the collar of her dress. Her shoes are golden. She has one hand in front of her. Her eyes are purple and her hair is dark brown, except for a chunk near her forehead that’s white. She looks happy. / End ID.]

[daemon-is-perfectly-unhinged]

This city would have seen you dead, but I will have it your home. And every soul who wishes you harm will be struck down just as sure as my blood runs in your veins.

- Daemon Targaryen, to Jon and Rhaegar.

[kxllakxm]

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage! Rage against the dying of the Light.

[imaginarianisms]

[amber-laughs]

i cannot imagine that immediately killing Rhaegar was the plan. Robert and Ned both wanted to know where Lyanna was and Rhaegar had the answer. surely they wanted to take him captive and “sharply question him” but, in my opinion, Robert jumped the gun

[bunbunbl0gs]

Modern rhaenyra 💋

masterlist

house of the dragon masterlist

join my tag list here :)

[anemoxlys]

Rhaegar Targaryen x reader

I'm writing this fic, it's purely self indulgent as there is just not enough about this man, and I'm posting this opening to know if any of you want the whole thing posted when it's finished?

It had only been a few weeks since the unfortunate and untimely death of one of your friends Elia Martel, having grown up in the Red Keep your whole life you and the young girl quickly became close in your early childhoods, her having been shipped over from Dorne to marry the prince and you patiently waiting for your similar fate. In her final days, you watched as your friend grew progressively more distant, not that you knew why, and by the end it had been two days since you had last spoken. The death of the princess, however, did not stop the tourney from commencing nor your parents dragging you to watch it alongside them, in hopes of one of the single fighters naming you the queen of love and beauty. 

You were sitting in one of the lower levels of the stands, your family being deemed important enough to get placed in some of the best seats, much to your dismay. Tourneys were always barbaric in our eyes, a chance for one man to beat another for the amusement of the rich who seemed not to care for the son’s, husbands, fathers, and even grandfathers who battled and were injured in such events. It was disgusting. 

There seemed to be a buzz in the air however that vaguely interested you, the prince was now looking for a new wife. It was comical how all the highborn ladies, married and unmarried alike, had dressed their best- in gowns far too expensive to be sitting in the mud and dust as they were- in hopes of catching his eye. It was ridiculous how your parents had forced you to do similarly, stripping you out of your mourning gown and into this utterly ridiculous red dress that in the sea of similar Targaryen colours did nothing but make you blend in.

Let me know if you want the whole fic

[atrwriting]

chapter six: the wolf and the dragon — gangleader!aemond x you

i need season two because i’m RUNNING out of aemond gifs

as always, warnings: no smut (it’s coming!!!!!!!) drinking, violence

your instagram was gaining some success, but not much. you didn’t think too much of it as you were a small town bar, already did fine, and you weren’t in the market to grow. your fliers for bands did gain some attention, which made you grow excited. you’d at least have the chance to grow your current crowd and that was what you were hoping for.

unfortunately… aemond’s nephew’s band did express interest in playing.

and they were good.

so fucking good.

jace had emailed you a live recording from the time they played at his mother’s club. a mashup of mary jane’s last dance, dani california, and sweet emotion. you didn’t even understand how they could perfectly mend not two, but those three songs so perfectly together. you listened to the recording three times because it was just that damn good.

“could you turn that off?!” aemond barked from his end of the bar.

you rolled your eyes. you just wanted to listen to music at the end of the work day. you were closing again, letting your employee go home early out of fear of their own safety. you hadn’t had any unwanted visitors during the work hours, but aemond and aegon kept up their after hours business and we’re coming in earlier and earlier. you were fearful for their safety, and fearful for your own privacy. plus, closing alone gave you time to think.

and listen to prospective bands.

“not a fan?” you asked, hoping he wouldn’t recognize that it was his nephew’s band.

“jace and his band play that song fucking everywhere and i can’t stand it,” he spat.

“it is jace’s band,” you remarked. “i want to allow them to play here… but i’m worried about what you said.”

“i knew it was his band from that first fucking chord,” aemond spat, slamming a hand on the bar top. “allow them to play if you want. i won’t be here if they come. i’ll send aegon.”

“if you don’t want them to play here, i won’t have them play here,” you tried to settle softly.

he smacked his hand once more on the tabletop. “did i say that?!”

you were clutching the broomstick tightly in your hand, taken back by his reaction. his one eye had flames selling within it, all directed at you. his teeth were almost gritted, his nose was scrunched, and his jaw was clenched so hard you thought it would break. he was a predator, ready to attack.

and you were done. absolutely, one hundred percent done.

the bar was clean enough, you decided. you placed the broom against the bar, and immediately left the area to the kitchen. as you passed by him, you mumbled “moody fuck,” and left.

he didn’t follow.

thank the gods.

aemond’s attitude lately had stuck an insane thorn in your side. for a man who was in charge of so much, you would think he would have the ability to handle it more. then, you realized… he had way too much on his plate.

you kept your business and your house small because you realized wanting less meant less problems. you had the luxury of keeping your lifestyle minimalistic — in comparison to the rest of your family’s lifestyle, that is — because you chose to step away from them. it wasn’t easy to step away from them, but no one needed your attention anymore. your grandfather was dead, and your youngest cousins were all grown and off reaping the benefits of whatever the City of Westeros had to offer kids their age and of their name… you had the luxury of only caring about yourself.

aemond? never. his brother was probably a worse thorn in aemond’s side than aemond was in your side, but nothing would be a worse thorn in aemond’s side than his own bouts of pride and loyalty. aemond doesn’t lash out unless he’s angry or stressed, or both…

but it wasn’t your duty to care.

no. it wasn’t.

you went out of your way to make him food. you went out of your way to tell him about jace. and you went out of your way to tell him jace didn’t have to play at your bar.

you can only go out of your way so much when someone won’t get out of their own way.

you thought a shower would clear your thoughts, but it didn’t. you scrubbed furiously at your scalp, arms, legs — everything, but there was no amount of soap that would rid you of the uncomfortable weight on your mind. you left the shower with a sigh and a towel wrapped around you, and exited the bathroom.

and there was aemond. in your living room. staring at the wall.

“seven hells!” you cried, grabbing at the towel to keep it on.

“keep your voice down,” he mumbled, turning his head to face you.

you would’ve thrown your hands up in disbelief if you weren’t clutching a towel around you. “what do you want, aemond?”

“i was hoping you were watching bad sitcoms again.”

you stared at him as he stared at you. “you broke into my apartment because you want to watch sitcoms?”

“technically it was open,” he stated.

you rolled your eyes and retreated to the bedroom to get dressed. you threw on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt and came back into the living area. aemond was already flipping through channels, so you decided on making dinner.

you left your spot on the couch and retreated into the kitchen. you fished around for ingredients, settling on steak and leftover pierogis. sometime during the short course of ruffling through the contents of the fridge, aemond had parked himself at the bar of your countertop. once you had placed the ingredients on the countertop, you looked at aemond and gave him an eye.

“i was going to offer take out,” he stated. then, reluctantly, he mumbled, “a peace offering.”

you rolled your eyes at his comment. “you’re shit at apologies.”

you didn’t wait for his response. you turn around and fished another steak out of the fridge.

you started on dinner. getting off of work early meant you had a little more time and energy to actually nourish yourself, and you weren’t going to waste it. the second steak was reserved for another night of dinner this week, but you had little to no energy left in the tank when aemond was in a bad mood.

after a half hour, you plated yours and aemond’s food and set it down in the coffee table. you sat cross-legged with your plate in your lap and ate silently next to him. he hummed along to things he found funny, but otherwise he didn’t make a sound as he ate.

“how’s the rat poison? i thought it complimented the onions in the pierogis,” you asked jokingly.

he hummed again, a small twitch in the corner of his mouth. “divine.”

“did you just smile?” you asked, laughing slightly. “i didn’t know grumpy could do that.”

he scoffed. “i’ve never seen snow white.”

“speaking of snow white,” you began, “where’s your other half?”

“my drunker half?” he scoffed. “nose deep in some broad, most likely.”

it was your turn to scoff. “your brother’s sexual escapades sours my food.”

“you asked.”

“fair.”

you had finished half of your food, setting down the rest of the food on the table. you would’ve offered it to aemond, but he was still munching on his.

“not to sour your food, but are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“i didn’t plan on it.”

“cryptic,” you quipped. “but i’ll let it go. you’re in a… good?… mood — now, at least — and i don’t intend on wasting it.”

“smart.”

you hummed in agreement and leaned back against the arm rest of the couch and curled into a ball on your side.

“don’t dogs curl up like that?” he quipped. “a stark after all.”

“shut up, grumpy,” you yawned, too tired fight him.

it would’ve been smart to stay awake, yes, but in your position… rarely ever getting sleep… you’d risk waking up to a knife to your throat if it meant a good night’s rest.

so you fell asleep.

near the scariest man you had ever met on the planet, who was also eating and watching television on your couch next to you.

it would be some time before you woke up. the man actually had some manners, believe it or not. he sat quietly and peacefully next to you, on the other end of the couch, and didn’t try to annoy you or wake you up as you slept. little did you know he probably also considered you grumpy, so if you benefitted from a nap, then he did, too. purely selfish aemond, as always.

that wasn’t to say his brother was as respectful.

the other targaryen came crashing into your apartment.

your eyes drifted open as the drunk blonde, clutching a vodka bottle, stumbled into your living area and stood next to the television. he glanced at chandler bing before his gaze rested on the two of you, your food, and then back at you.

“are you two on a date?” he slurred, grin wide.

“i’m going to kill you for waking me up,” you grunted. “i’m worse than aemond when i’m tired.”

“we know,” aegon laughed, sitting down in one of your chairs. “is there any food left?”

“eat mine, and let me sleep,” you grunted.

he grabbed the plate and set it in his lap. “i actually have something important to tell the both of you,” he said, shoveling food into his mouth.

“what is it?” aemond asked, already annoyed.

“you two weren’t the only two people of stark and targaryen blood i saw together this evening,” he began, mischief in his voice. “i spotted jace and y/n’s younger cousin very close at the club.”

you opened one eye. “which one?”

“the brunette one…” he began. “elia?”

“seven hells,” you grumbled. “i thought she had a boyfriend.”

“a new one,” aegon snickered.

“we knew they broke up,” aemond began. “how did you not?”

“i’m not venting unless you do, grumpy,” you grumbled.

and with that, you fell back asleep.

* * *

the next night would be the night that jace and his band played.

should you be worried? yes. were you worried? also yes.

but aemond gave you the go ahead, more than once, and you hoped him and his brother would be on their best behavior.

little did you know almost all of the targaryen clan would be there that night.

that included daemon and rhaenyra.

supporting their oldest… or some bullshit.

the band had pulled a huge crowd, you had to admit. the music was even better in person. jacaerys was a fantastic guitar player, and his abilities as a lead were undeniable.

…to everyone but aemond, that was.

his knuckles were stretched white over every beer bottle he held.

and he was slamming them back.

over and over.

he didn’t appear drunk, but he did appear more angry with every passing note from his nephew.

“i told you he didn’t have to play here,” you curtly reminded as you leaned over the bar, taking his empty.

“and i told you it was fine,” he quipped.

“do you need a time out upstairs?” you rolled your eyes, turning away to fish out another for him.

too late, unfortunately.

the man had left his seat at the bar and found his brother and sister in a booth, along with their mother and grandfather who came out for the event.

you figured it wasn’t to show jacaerys support, no, but aegon and aemond.

you didn’t know much about the pair, but no one could deny their loyalty. it would almost be heartwarming, if they weren’t scary as ever.

you could tell a lot about a person from the type of drink they ordered.

otto hightower promptly approached you after seating his daughter and family. he asked you what kind of scotch you had and looked at you as if he was looking through you. you answered you always kept a bottle of chevus handy in support of your grandfather, and he smiled. when he tried to pay, you told him it was on the house. he lifted his glass to you, and left.

from that… you could devise he was a man who esteemed himself on the fact that he enjoyed the finer things, even though you swore it tasted like molten chocolate. scotch: the drink of old sophisticate men who wanted to look sophisticated. who was going to tell him that he was at a dive bar?

later, he asked for a glass of rose. you could see alicent looking on your interaction out of the corner of your eye, and you assumed it was for her. you respected a woman that liked rose. light like white, but bitter like red. maybe it was your own bias, because you also favored rose, but there was just something admirable about a woman who fancied white wine, no matter how many snobs turn their noses up at it because it’s not red.

that was also on the house, which otto barely thanked you for.

that was expected of scotch drinkers.

soon, the set had ended and you began cleaning up behind the bar. your wait staff had done a great job of cleaning up as the night went on, so you didn’t really have a use for them once the customers had all left. the event had produced a generous tip out, and they all left with smiles on their faces.

you just hoped you would, too.

but the targaryens liked to linger.

and so began your anxiety.

you were wiping down the bar top when the famous guitar player finally approached you. he sat down at a stool, and turned towards you.

“what did you think?” he asked.

“better than the video you sent,” you admitted. “i don’t think i’ll ever get tired of that three song mash-up.”

“thanks.” he smiled. “i hope it drew the crowd you were hoping for.”

“definitely. i have your band to thank for that,” you replied. “can i get you something to eat? you must be starving. drink?”

“is your grill still on?” he asked

“yes, what can i get you?” lie, but you’d let him slide.

“can you make two double bacon cheeseburgers?” he asked. “my brother should be showing up soon.”

“coming right up,” you said with a smile, ducking behind the counter.

when you had returned with the burgers, you met eyes with jacaerys as he was standing next to a younger man with similar features. you smiled at the two before setting down the food.

“smells so good,” the younger one stated before he began chowing down.

behind him stood his mother. she patted his head warmly, and then lifted her head to look upon you.

you forced a smile. “mrs. targaryen.”

“rhaenyra, please,” she spoke. “thank you for letting my son play tonight.”

you shook your head with a smile. “i’m thankful he wanted to play here. the band was great. he’s a fantastic player.”

she nodded in thanks. “daemon told me of his visit with you the other day.”

your smile threatened to fall. “the samples were great.”

her eyes lit up. “i do hope you like them. i also hope we are still in business together.”

you smiled. for real this time. “never doubted it. can i get you anything to eat?”

“no, thank you, though,” she spoke softly. “and thank you for feeding my boys. if luke doesn’t immediately eat after work, his attitude is horrendous.”

you laughed when the younger boy scowled at his mother. you continued making small talk with the targaryen matriarch when you saw jacaerys and lucerys snickering at their food, making a comment about bacon. aemond, who wasn’t that far away from the pair, as he spoke with aegon, both looked upon this interaction. you saw jace and luke look towards their uncles, and the snickering continued.

harmless kids, you rolled your eyes. you went back to rhaenyra, but aemond had made his appearance. he clapped a heavy hand on jacearys’ shoulder, demanding his attention.

“great job, nephew,” he spoke, an unnatural cheer in his voice. “great show as always.”

jace cleared his throat as rhaenyra stiffened next to luke. “thank you… uncle.”

daemon targaryen, the snake he was, could be seen edging closer to the situation as aemond continued. however, he did not intrude as aemond continued, “i’m sure your father would be proud if he could be here today.”

jace’s lips pursed as he nodded sharply, hoping to return to his burger.

luke looked on sharply at this interaction, and suddenly you realized it wasn’t harmless anymore.

“aemond, can i get you something to eat?” you tried to interject, hoping to diffuse the situation, no matter how rude you might have seemed.

rhaenyra cleared her throat, joining in, “yes, you should-“

but she was interrupted.

“no, sister,” aemond bit, but with a smile on his face. he slapped a heavy hand on luke’s shoulder as well, his grip tight. “i am simply telling your sons how strong they are after the loss of their father.”

jace immediately whirled from aemond’s grip and pushed himself to stand in front of his uncle, with only a few feet separating them. luke was up as well, running to a nearby table to grab something, but aegon had grabbed the back of his neck and slammed him against the table top and held him down. helaena, the sister, could only watch in horror as her nephew lay face down on a table at the hands of her brother.

“aemond,” you warned. “stop. now. you should eat.”

“y/n, you’re being quite rude,” he laughed with an edge to his tone, turning to face you. “i am simply telling my nephews how proud of them i am. for some reason, they’re not proud of how strong they are.”

“i dare you to say that again!” yelled jace, balling his fists at his side.

“were you not taught respect?” aemond laughed once more. “being called strong is a compliment, nephew.”

jace lunged for aemond, but aemond didn’t move. he let jace strike him across the cheek, and still he barely moved. he looked upon his nephew with a wicked, small smile, and shoved him to the ground before he could stand over him. the look of fire was once more present in aemond’s eyes, but all of the targaryens had that fire.

including daemon targaryen.

“wait, wait…” daemon approached the space between aemond and jace.

daemon sighed, and gave his infamous look of boredom as he stared at his nephew. his glare never wavered, nor did he blink — he simply stood there, over his step-son, in the line of fire with aemond looking as if he was ready to pounce. daemon lazily clasped his hands together at his midsection, and looked upon his nephew: a dare.

aemond, usually the predator, looked upon daemon with weariness. the calculations behind aemond’s glare startled you, as you had never seen aemond look upon someone as if they were an equal — as if they could best him. he was turned to the side, instead of baring his whole chest to daemon like daemon did to him.

aemond was in defense mode.

aemond was afraid of daemon.

rhaenyra had ushered her sons outside sometime during the stare down, but all time seemed to fade as you waited for the next brawl to take place.

to your surprise, it didn’t.

for once, aemond did what you needed him to do.

he turned, and stalked out of the bar’s back entrance.

- - -

tag list:

@hopebaker @iiamthehybrid @chainsawangel

[nightingale2004]

GOT FANS I SUMMON YOU!

I need you to tell me what would happen if shortly after Elia found out about Rhaegar's "fascination" with Lyanna and before Elia and her family were about to meet their demise, Ashara came in and helped them escape and they all lived in hiding together with Ashara and Elia being mothers to Rhaenys and Aegon.

I need to know what the story here would be like. And idk why, but something tells me that if Rhaegar was still alive, I don't think he'd care enough to go find them.

ELIA AND HER CHILDREN DESERVE BETTER AND DEFINITELY DESERVE A BETTER PARENT THAN RHAEGAR

[starryharps]

the veil of love

pairing: rhaegar targaryen/ arryn! reader

summary: rhaegar visits an old flame at the eyrie, determined to do things right this time.

word count: 2,741

part of: heartlines series

tags: angst with a happy ending (smut, fluff in later parts)

a/n: prefacing this by saying that this is a nonlinear series titled "heartlines", many questions about the reader and the nature of her relationship with rhaegar will be subsequently answered. but I will say, the next chapter is smut. haha.

read on ao3 | masterlist |

there was a storm picking up, the prince noted as he cursed his way into the journey across the narrow bridges that connected the formidable fortress of the vale.

you were situated in the last tower of the eyrie, according to jon arryn. the most isolated one of it all. rhaegar grimaced at its height as he entered the reception hall, nodding to the ladies in waiting. the climb towards the top of the tower proved to be endless, but he found himself in front of a grand door of mahogany regardless.

how will you react? will you smile kindly on him, eyes sparkling upon seeing your lover after four years? or would you throw a shoe at him, cursing whatever is left of his scant bloodline and hoping he falls through the moon door? or would you do nothing, ignoring his presence like you always did when he teased your inability to play the harp or when he read a couple of chapters of the romance novel you shared in advance?

his cheeks flushed slightly at the memory, remembering how you once asked him to act out a few scenes with him. oh, the things you had teased out of him.

rhaegar shook his head.

he knocked.

the door creaked on its own, almost inviting him in. he could swear he heard the sounds of pages turning. you were most likely reading, he inferred. the ivory light crept in his vision as he opened the door fully, taking in the blue chambers cloistered at the top of the tower, and gasped at the regality of it.

blue so dark, it was indigo. everywhere. constellations drawn on every bit of the ceiling stretching up and up and up, to the cosmic hand-painted tapestries and scattered paintings, a few left to dry. there were instruments of all types scattered in an organized manner: telescopes, vials, maps, and books. gods above, so many books were pouring out of the shelves. by the glowing white canopy bed was a giant glass-stained window that refracted a rainbow of lights. rhaegar could hear the echoes of the strong wind howling. he marveled at the strength of the glass to hold up at such an altitude.

his eyes shifted to the corner of the room, where a window lay open, and there, in all your glory, alive and breathing, you sat. clad in arryn blue, reading a book, the wind kissing your cheeks as you leaned by the window.

he looks at you. you’ve paled a bit in these unforgiving heights, there’s a certain sense of unease in him as he notes your figure hidden by the loose robes. you’ve thinned out, there’s a lack of something in you that he can’t quite pinpoint.

you raise your eyes at him and quietly lock in a staring contest with the prince regent of the seven kingdoms.

the winds howled louder.

neither of you speaks, rhaegar stands by the door. gripping it like a terrified child, he wants to run to you, do ablutions, prostate, and beg. but your aura is one of quiet lethality. he could do angry, he could do sad, he could do hysterical….but he couldn’t do….whatever this was…an air of nothingness that seemed to emanate from you.

“your grace.” he winced. it was always rhae.

he held back his tongue. watching you put a bookmark and close what you were reading.

“what brings his grace to the eyrie?” he hates this. he hates the tone. the lack of musicality and mirth in your voice. how you would harmonize with his vocals and run around, laughing as he took in the happy tones he wanted to drown in, those memories being one of the few things he remembered from his otherwise somber childhood.

he calls out your name, unable to stop the wavering in his mouth, and takes a shy step forward, boots clacking against the smooth marble. gods, you were so close, just within his reach.

you depart from the reading nest, shuffling towards the solar of the room, and put your hands in front of yourself, almost protective.

“i came…to see you.” rhaegar exhaled.

“there was no need to your grace. i am well. a letter would’ve done. you needn’t climb the eyrie for me.”

he quietly put his sword to the table in front of him, and walked closer. “i had to. letters wouldn’t be able to do justice to what i wished to say.”

he met her questioning gaze, restraining himself from slipping further into them, but the task seemed more and more so arduous.

“you…you fled. that night.” he watched as you took interest in the sword at your table.

“my family had to return sooner or later.”

“lord arryn and his retinue were to embark within a month, yet you rode out on horseback weeks in advance, vanished into the vale…left the palace within hours.”

“the vale cannot be left alone for long.”

rhaegar pressed on, frustrated. “no,” “the royce and lord arryn’s fostered wards were present at the eyrie. you fled. you ran away.” you left me.

he watched you watch the window.

“there was nothing left for me there, in that palace.”

“i was there.”

“the prince of dragonstone was there. but rhaegar wasn’t. to be wed to elia of dorne. for political purposes. with zero fight from the groom-to-be. despite the court knowing he had a lover of three years lurking right next to him as the deal was finalized by the king.”

rhaegar recoiled at the jab, it was as if dragonglass pierced him straight into his heart. the iron tones of your voice hammering him, wounding his chest at the cruel remark.

“n-no.”

“you promised me. underneath the star showers to be mine. you told me over and over in the kingswood, by the waterfalls that i am yours. that we would run hand in hand by the grasslands together, plucking fruit and making play endlessly. rule the realm with peace and prosperity, rebuild the peace your father had ruined brick by brick with me by your side. our song of sky and the dragon.

there is no emotion but a hollowed loss in your voice as you continued, “for years. you promised me. for years of this endless winter, i thought a spring of our love would bloom and i would vow myself to you till the end of my days. you said you were mine. i thought you were mine.”

rhaegar felt tears prick his eyes, he breathed deeply.

“i…” he took your name again. “politics..”

then, rage seethed in your icy gaze.

“politics?” you scoff. “you wish to lecture me on politics? your match was political, yes. but let me remind you dorne is already on good terms with westeros. the alliances with house dayne, yronwood and martells were strong regardless and were stable. viserys showed an interest in doran’s daughter from a young age itself when she had visited. what does the vale lack that the dorne has for us to be cast aside over and over in alliances? your king demands of our warriors but won’t wed one of his kin despite openly knowing that his son has been besotted with jon arryn’s niece for years!”

“you know the girl is weak, you know she is frail! i doubt she’ll be able to handle a child, leave the poor girl alone, let her be in dorne. grant her this mercy. you rejected the tyrell match, the dayne match, the blackwood match, yet you accepted the martell match. but why couldn’t you for once in your life grow a spine and run after the one thing you have claimed to love more than your god forsaken prophecy for once? let me suffer in her place, I am begging you, let me burn with you."

“my father will murder you!” he spoke out, frantic.

“and you’ll let somebody else take in my place?” i gasp out. “are you that cruel your grace?”

“i was trying to protect you.”

“you’re shit at protecting things.”

“from him.” his voice cracked “from myself.”

“..what?”

“the prophecy.”

“shut the fuck up.”

his eyes blazed. “listen to me!”

“no!”

“i didn’t want you to be part of my suffering!”

you gawked at him.

“tread carefully.”

rhaegar put his hands up, breathing deeply before he continued. 

“i didn’t want to hurt you.” rhaegar was on his knees by now, holding your blue robes.

“i know how i can get. i know it. i know i would’ve forced you into a life you didn’t want.”

“so just scurry me to the side under the garb of care, an awfully easy excuse.”

a flash of irritation crossed rhaegar’s face. “you do not understand, the prophecy-“

“your ego is as magnanimous as the oily black stones that make the citadel. your entire sense of self is trapped within the five lines you read when you were a boy and made to believe it was for you and only you. the only time you feel ease with the shadows of your mind is when you take points of your life and bend them to fit the narrative of the eight thousand year old prophecy in a language you don’t even speak properly. did you ever stop to think how many in the past have tried the same? how many of them believe themselves to be azor ahai?”

your chest was rising up and down like a madman as you seethed. “the only time you stood up for yourself and not the identity of the prince who was promised was when you kissed me for the first time near the godswood. i threw a wrench in your plans by existing. and you were frightened by the way we completed each other. perhaps you loved me for a bit, but ultimately you kept me to bide your time with me for three years until you found a suitable match for yourself and sire three heads of a dragon who will save the world and be this all powerful messiah while you overthrow your father.”

“you are a selfish, spineless, cowardly prick of-“ rhaegar didn’t let you finish the sentence, grappling your knees and knocking you down to the myrish carpets, holding you close to him. he smelled like lilac and gooseberries.

“you weren’t a wrench,” he muttered, refusing to let go.

“and i never used you to bide my time until a, so you say, better match came up.” you sighed.

“i swear on my honor. i love you. i didn’t use you. we learned to walk together, played together, i watched you lose teeth and you saw mine, we studied together. hunted together. played as king and queen in the godswood. can a seven-year-old plot that early?”

“i know i hurt you. i know it was stupid of me to agree to that arrangement in front of you. i humiliated you. i should’ve said something. but i had plans.” he shuddered. “we…we were planning on rallying dornish support to remove the king. i intended to…take over.”

“and what does dorne have the vale doesn’t? one word from you and uncle would’ve descended our knights.”

“i didn’t have a choice…the king was set on a dornish alliance, i was merely trying to make the best of a situation. i would’ve joined the vale’s support had..had the match not been forced on me.”

putting the palm to your head. “and then?”

“i…i turned to you, only to see your face, you, you were so distraught, i….followed you, but you were gone. and i didn’t hear from you for months.” his voice broke.

“everybody told me you accepted the match happily and chatted with her.”

rhaegar had tears in his eyes. “poor elia. the…the emotions she’s seen of me. i ..i cried to her. pleaded to her and oberyn. please. to do something. they know about you. they were uncomfortable with aerys as elia’s father in law too. they convinced doran to withdraw the offer but aerys was resolute in watching the match go forth.”

rhaegar continued, “so i….i did the unthinkable.”

your heart dropped. this idiot.

“...what did you do?” 

“i broke it off.” he murmured to the floor. “i couldn’t do it. wrote to all the lords. citing my intentions for the throne. many responded…then, i ran.”

you stilled, aghast.

“did you…don’t tell me…did you start a rebellion against the crown?”

he nodded slowly.

you felt the earth shift under your feet.

what in the seven fucking hells is wrong with you? you wanted to scream.

“why?” you asked instead.

he responded, feverishly. “he burns people to death. he upsets century-long relations. he hurts my mother. he exiles my guard. he sabotages my relationships. the lords are stewing, ready to overthrow, i can’t keep seeing this. i can’t keep watching this.”

“please. besides this, i did for you. i do not want to live out my life without you by my side.”

“-but your prophecy.”

he shut his eyes, as if in pain.

“i,” he takes a deep breath, as if his lungs are shattered with glass. “heeded. to what you said. i lulled on it…when you were gone. i heard your ballads and songs…i….realised that in the quest for a future that may or may not exist, i failed to see the beauty that surrounded me in the very present moment.”

he gathers himself as he continues, “prophecies…may be true, and they mostly come true when one steers clears of them. i remembered this as i recalled everything that i’ve chased at the end has run away from me..unlike things that hold onto me for far too long when i haven’t been paying attention.” he looks at you, smiling softly.

he breathes, burying his face into your lap, “i came to the realization, after years of being away from you that, even if the prophecy doesn’t come true, i won’t base my existence off it anymore, i would, do what the realm needs me to, be a good ruler, and assure happiness..make song and love, and hope of being loved in return by the one i want.”

rhaegar notices you take his hand, and he quivers, as he continues.

he kisses your hand.

“i have come to ask you for your hand in marriage. not just as the future king of the seven kingdoms who would have the privilege of a lifetime to have you as his queen. but as the rhaegar you grew up with and made flower crowns with. who watched me play the harp over and over till my fingers bled, carved stars within the wood of the same. who snuck in food in my satchel when i disappeared to summerhall. who dreamed of running away to lys or pentos with you when all of this is over for a long vacation.”

silence. silence greets him. you seem frozen to him, looking at him with pensive eyes and a neutral face.

he softly calls out the name he had given you, indigo eyes wide, and sad, yet tinged with hope, of longing.

slowly, your face broke. it began with the eyes, slowly melting like a glacier, joining the sea of emotions that colored your face red with tears as you shook. rhaegar couldn’t help himself, his tears followed as you grabbed your robe your free hand, sobbing into your other.

he put his head in your lap, feeling your hands run across his silver-white hair, remembering how often you used to do it those nights in his chambers. and he let himself cry.

he called out your name weakly, “…please.”

you kicked him slightly, muttering a “of course i would, you fool.” before taking him in your embrace, the two of you crying within each others arms as the storm picked up.

“of course i will. i have loved you since for as long as i could remember. how could i deny you? how could i ever say no to you?”

rhaegar chuckled wetly. his dourness subsided a little as he relished in your warmth.

“i don’t have much of good memories, and despite them being only a handful, i know that, my happiness begins and ends in the shape of your face, written in the tongue of your soul.”

the winds rattle the eyrie once more.

[alannybunnue]

Queen Reader with the mad king that is

Finally revenge is at last

So here is the story, the reader is one of Rhaella's handmaidens and like poor Joanna, she caught Aerys' eyes, but she hates his mere existence and belittles him to Rhaella whenever he is not around.

Rhaella unfortunately dies when Viserys is born, so Aerys takes the reader as his new wife for mere spite, she still hates him and begins a plan to takes his throne.

She makes him believe that she is trustworthy, as i said before, mind reprogramming him. Indulging in his nonsenses, but also preventing some deaths.

By the way, she also manipulates Rhaegar, cuz he is the next king 🙃

And she is Daenerys' mother

[queen-morgana91]

GRRM was not trying to hide that Rhaegar is NOT a rapist. It was clear the moment NED STARK said Rhaegar never frequented brothels; In the VERY FIRST book and before the show was even a thing. There are blatant clues in all the books. Y'all just have zero reading comprehension

[elegantwoes]

A parallel/anti parallel that just I realized between Jon and Dany is that they are both a result of non consensual sex during the war. In Dany's case, it was outright rape and in Jon's case, it was dubious consent. Dany's reaction to her father is not exactly condemning, it would be interesting to see how Jon reacts to his own father. I believe he won't be fantasizing about people loving him as they did his father, that is for sure.

Since Jon considered for a fleeting moment that Ned may have committed treason just because he has broken his marital vows, it’s more than fair to assume Jon would absolutely despise Rhaegar and feel responsible for so many deaths (including his half-siblings) even if it isn’t his fault.

[elegantsplendour]

Dance of the Court (Dance of the Empire Series Part I)

Chapter 4 See You Again

Aemond Targaryen’s life was a battle, a relentless one against a seemingly inescapable destiny of becoming another insignificant Targaryen royal, riding an ordinary dragon, holding a hollow position in court, accompanied by a mediocre noble woman, doomed to be forgotten in history. Aegon, on the other hand, had everything handed to him, a fierce dragon hatched upon his birth, the prestige and recognition that came with being the firstborn son and the potential birthright to inherit the Iron Throne.

Aemond Targaryen wanted everything and was ready to steal, scheme and slaughter.

But when his mother proposed to invite the eldest daughter of Tyland Lannister to accompany him, he was caught off-guard. Was he, the second son, the spare, truly promised of the “Beauty of Casterly Rock” and an alliance with the house sitting on a mountain of gold? Promise was a stranger to the One-Eyed Prince, as he had always been a taker, just as he claimed the largest dragon in the world.

Although Aemond had never been naive enough to assume that his untimely victory on Driftmark would result in no consequences, having his eye gouged out by his nephew had been a whole another ordeal. Every detail of that fateful night was etched onto his heart: the excruciating vulnerability as he screamed with agony, the scorching hatred for his whore of a half-sister while she suggested he to be “sharply questioned” for speaking the truth, the shame and anger he harboured against himself for not having been more observant of Lucerys’ moves and not being a more skilled warrior, the unquenchable thirst for revenge devouring his soul while he had to suppress it for the sake of the situation.

Today, Aemond witnessed his repressed greed and thirst for vengeance manifesting themselves in a new form - the dark brown eyes of Katherine Lannister. It was well-hidden behind her facade of delicate and innocent beauty, but something as vile as greed could never be subdued. The way she clung to his arm when Aegon made his depraved remark was almost as if she was him - the One-Eyed Prince himself.

Aemond took a deep breath as he took off his eye-patch and closed his eye, his mind wandering to the pretty face of the young Lannister, the way her sweet voice conveyed subtle calculation and a rare conviction, the way her head held high yet still remained soft and feminine, the way her silky skin touched his, the way her golden dress showed off her curves, the way her dark eyes beaming with raw curiosity, thrill and admiration as he told her he wanted everything.

He had felt lust before, though he didn’t like to admit it. The last thing he wanted was to succumb to an abhorrent lifestyle like his wastrel brother, who bedded half, if not more, of the whores on the Silk Streets. Thank the gods his mother married Helaena to Leo Tyrell, the noble and handsome heir of Highgarden, and not Aegon.

But this was like nothing he had experienced. It was no doubt - The One-Eyed Prince desired the Exquisitely Odd Lannister, and with that, he allowed his hands and mind to wander. For the first time for as long as Aemond could remember, a part of his mind that used to be consumed thirst of vengeance was replaced by hope, because he knew, he will see her again.

The young Lannister paced in her chamber, contemplating the beginning of the start of her new life in the Red Keep.

Her chamber was wide and majestic, bathed in beige and white, filled with faint scents of orchid and included a grand balcony with a splendid view of King’s Landing. Truthfully, Katherine had expected her chamber to be decorated with the dominant Hightower green or the intimidating Targaryen scarlet, implicitly demanding her allegiance and loyalty to the Green faction of House Targaryen. She felt a sense of reassurance as the Queen Alicent must have given the instructions to decorate her chamber with a neutral and elegant palette, intending for her to feel comfortable and at ease by surrounding her an architectural style that she thought represented Katherine Lannister.

Stepping on to the balcony, she gasp at the bustling night of King’s Landing showing before her feet. Closing her eyes, Katherine took a deep breath. She was in King’s Landing, free of the vile insults, manipulations and lustful eyes of Casterly Rock, yet she knew she escaped from one prison and entered another. This one, potentially far more dangerous, but it had meant stepping foot into the centre of power, knowledge, adventures and unknown. Katherine Lannister would rather die screaming in agony as her greed for more burnt her than submitting to fate.

The Lannisters had never been her family. Not now, not before, not ever. Katherine seethed with anger as she trailed her fingers over the roses, still feeling the sting of the thorn. It was like her family, always pricking and hurting her, never showing any affection or care. Everyone at Casterly Rock looked at her with pity, saying that her usual beauty in the House of the Lion was a blessing and a curse. Fuck them all, she thought.

Tyland never looked at her the way he did with his half-siblings, Alerie Tyrell’s children, with affection and warmth. In the Lannister men’s eyes, she was a fruit of a failed marriage, of a stubborn marriage, to be used for the gains of their House. They were ready to sell her to the highest bidder, for her to become some lord’s breeding mare and trophy. Katherine could not remember how many times she had wished to spit on her father and uncles’ face when they lectured her on her duty to their house.

Fuck your duty, she had cursed secretly. The only duty I owe is to myself and my own happiness. She had never felt like she belonged in Casterly Rock, surrounded by a family that despised her. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she had always been an outsider in their world. But now, she was in King’s Landing, free from their grasp, and ready to make a name for herself.

As she licked the blood from her cut, she chuckled, mind drifting to the One-Eyed Prince. He was just like her, ambitious and unapologetic, not afraid to go after what he wanted. “And what is it that you want, Prince Aemond?” she had asked him. “Everything,” his answer calm and simple.

Katherine admired his audacity. How much strength must a man possess to speak of malicious rumours about him with such ease and eloquence? She wondered if Aemond had revealed his desires to anyone else, but the question quickly dissipated. Revealing such ambitions as the second son would’ve made him appear foolish, unwise, and presumptuous. Her lips formed a slight smile at this realization.

Aemond Targaryen’s gaze at his elder brother brought her back to the cruel taunting of her half-siblings: the fire devouring her soul while she decided to maintain her innocent facade, the sentiment of containing a flicker of flame from exploding.

As she went back into her chamber, she sank into the warm, fragrant bathwater, feeling the tension slowly melt away from her muscles. Unconsciously, her mind drifted back to the One-Eyed Prince’s beautifully slander figure, deep, resonant voice, his exquisite silver hair, his violet remaining eye gazing through her soul and the scar above his eyepatch, covering parts of himself he kept away hidden from the world, obstructive on his Valyrian ethereal features.

The Exquisitely Odd Lannister knew that they would most likely to be betrothed. She bit her lips at the thought. For some reason, she felt hopeful about the future in which they would become partners in this game, for she had never met someone who had sparked her soul as he did at first sight. For the first time in a long time, she felt hopeful, because she will see him again.