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j-k-writes · 29 days ago

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The Bronze Targaryen - 10

Summary - As (Y/N) recovers from his injury and Rhaenyra prepares for the birth of their sixth child Princess Rhaenys brings troubling news to the couple that changes the course of their lives forever.

Warnings - Canon character death(s), stillbirth, general HOTD warnings, pain, injuries, ableist language towards oneself

(Y/N) groaned as he rested his forehead against the cool stone wall. His legs shook from the effort it took to keep himself upright, his knuckles white with strain as he gripped his cane. The maesters had warned him of aggravating his injuries so soon after his recovery, but he had been going mad with boredom locked in his chambers. He hadn’t been allowed out of his chambers without someone standing guard like he was going to collapse at any second since he’d arrived on Vermithor. Although, considering the searing pain coming from his calf and shoulder perhaps he’d been too hasty in his break for freedom.

Breathing heavily, (Y/N) straightened, his free hand placed on the wall for extra support as he made his way slowly down the hall. His jaw clenched and he barely suppressed a yell as an uneven stone on the floor caused the pain in his leg to ramp up to a blinding agony. He grabbed the wall before he could fall, but the sudden pressure on his arm jolted his shoulder and he could not stop the noise that escaped him at the sudden onset of pain.

“Father?”

(Y/N) turned his head at the voice, plastering a no doubt pained smile on his face at the sight of his son. “Should you not be at lessons, Luke?”

Luke frowned, ignoring his father’s question, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” (Y/N) nodded. “Yes I am alright I just- I just needed to catch my breath.”

Luke walked over to (Y/N), carefully helping sit on the ground. (Y/N) groaned in relief as the pressure was taken off his legs, allowing some of the pain to ease. Luke took a seat next to him, eyes full of worry as he looked at his father. (Y/N) raised his good arm, placing his palm on the boy's cheek in an attempt to soothe his worries.

“I am alright, tresy. I promise, it was just a little pain.”

Luke’s frown deepened, “It did not look like a little.”

(Y/N) pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, “There is no need to worry about me, Luke.” Luke did not respond, and the look on his face reminded (Y/N) of the looks Rhea would give him when he was a young child. (Y/N) smiled softly, cupping his son’s cheek, “What is on your mind?”

Luke bit his lip, and the clear conflict on his son’s face made (Y/N) frown. Luke did not meet his eyes as he spoke. “I just- I think they made a mistake.”

“Who did?”

“Gunthor should’ve been your heir.”

(Y/N) clutched his son's cheek, probably too hard if the small wince from the boy was anything to go by. “Do not speak that way. You are my son, you are my heir. Gunthor was a snake and a leech and I am glad he’s dead.”

“But-”

“No buts, Luke.” (Y/N) said. “He wished to strip you of your birthright simply because he hated me and your grandsire.”

“I cannot rule Runestone, father.” Luke sighed. “I’m not like you and mom.”

“In what way, sweet boy.” (Y/N) huffed a small laugh, brushing some of Luke’s bangs out of his face.

“I am not so-” Luke hesitated. “Perfect.”

(Y/N) let out a full laugh at the statement, “Luke. Your mother and I are anything but. I became heir to Runestone after my mother’s death when I was just older than your brother. I did not wish for that responsibility, nor did I wish to become the Lord not four moons later when my grandsire died. My mother and grandsire looked after me and prepared me for my duties, and your father will do the same for you.”

Before Luke could respond they were interrupted by Ser Lorent. The knight was almost frantic in his movements, and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the two princes sitting on the stone floor. “Prince (Y/N).”

(Y/N) nodded at the knight, “Ser Lorent.”

“Princess Rhaenyra has requested your presence in the council chambers. The Princess Rhaenys has arrived from Kingslanding with news.”

(Y/N) turned to his son, “We will continue this conversation later.” Luke nodded, and (Y/N) made to stand. He clenched his teeth as his body protested his movements. Luke and Ser Lorent reached to help him, but (Y/N) stopped them, holding up his hand. “I am fine.”

He heard Luke sigh next to him, but the boy did not call his father on the lie. Instead he gave his father a small frown and watched as he struggled to stand. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before turning to Luke. “You should go back to your lessons before the maester realizes you are missing.”

Luke nodded, giving his father an unreadable look before walking away. (Y/N) turned to Ser Lorent and motioned for him to lead the way. They had to stop halfway through the journey, (Y/N) doubling over as his stomach pain went from a dull ache to a sharp burn. Ser Lorent offered his arm to the Prince, but (Y/N) batted his hand away, taking a deep breath before continuing on to the council room. Ser Lorent trailed behind him cautiously as if expecting (Y/N) to keel over any second, which, (Y/N) mused, was not unreasonable given how he felt.

(Y/N) collapsed into the chair that was brought out for him as soon as they reached the council room. Rhaenyra approached, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. He reached up, placing his hand atop hers. “I am fine, just in some pain.”

“I can get the maesters-”

“I am fine.” He repeated, squeezing her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “Let us hear what Rhaenys has to say.”

Rhaenyra ran her hands gently through his hair, brushing the strands that had fallen from his bun out of his face and tucking them behind his ear. “Alright. But afterward I want you to get some rest.”

“Rhaenyra-” (Y/N) prepared to argue, but he was cut off by his father’s entrance into the room.

“Listen to Rhaenyra.” His father chastised, giving (Y/N) a hard look. “You will not recover overnight, and you will especially not recover if you do not rest.”

(Y/N) sank in on himself, feeling like a child under his father’s gaze. Rhaenyra chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before the doors were once again opened. Rhaenys entered the room and just by the expression on her face (Y/N) could tell his family was not going to be happy to hear what she had to say.

“The Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

“Thank you, Ser Lorent.” Rhaenyra smiled, “Princess Rhaenys, might we hope for news of Lord Corlys’ recovery?”

“Viserys is dead.” Everyone in the room froze at Rhaenys’ words. (Y/N)’s eyes snapped from Rhaenys to his wife then to his father. Both Rhaenyra and Daemon were frozen in place, watching Rhaenys carefully. “I grieve this loss with you, Rhaenyra. My cousin, your father, possessed a kind heart.”

“There is more.” Rhaenys approached Rhaenyra, taking Rhaenyra’s hand in hers. She sighed, and (Y/N) tensed preparing himself for her next words. “Aegon has been crowned as his successor.”

(Y/N) hung his head, gripping his cane between both hands. He shut his eyes tight, ears ringing and head pounding as the conversation continued around him.

“They crowned him?” He heard Rhaenyra ask, grief and anger evident in her voice.

“How did Viserys die?” (Y/N) looked up at the sound of his father’s voice.

“I could not say.”

“How long ago?” Rhaenyra bit out, and (Y/N) watched helplessly as his wife’s walls crumbled before him.

“A day past, perhaps two. I was made a prisoner in my quarters while the Queen made her preparations.”

“Viserys has been slain.” His father bit out.

“Father.” (Y/N) sighed, giving him a look, and Daemon quieted yet the fury was still burning in his eyes.

“Alicent demanded you declare for Aegon.” Rhaenyra said, posture becoming even more tense. Both Daemon and (Y/N) sat up straighter, Daemon taking a defensive stance and angling his body toward his son and good-daughter.

“She did.” (Y/N) saw his father’s hand fall toward his sword. “I refused her.”

“And yet you are alive.”

“The High Septon crowned Aegon in the Dragonpit.” Rhaenys gave Daemon a harsh look, but no one in the room relaxed at her words. “I witnessed it myself just before I fled on Meleys.”

“They crowned him before the masses.” Rhaenyra sounded absent, as if she was barely listening to the words being spoken around her.

“So that the masses would see him as their rightful King.”

(Y/N) watched Rhaenyra carefully, as his father and Rhaenys began to argue.

“That whore of a Queen murdered my brother and stole his throne. And you could’ve burned them all for it.”

Rhaenyra winced, hand coming to rest on her stomach. (Y/N) stood, ignoring the pain it brought him. He limped over to his wife as Rhaenys responded to Daemon, paying them barely any attention.

“A war is like to be fought over this treachery, to be sure. But that war is not mine to begin. I only rushed to you out of loyalty to my husband and to my house.” Rhaenyra gasped, and (Y/N) placed his hand on her arm. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

“The Greens are coming for you, Rhaenyra. And for your children. You should leave Dragonstone at once.”

Rhaenyra gasped again, and (Y/N) steadied her to the best of his ability. “Rhaenyra, what-”

He watched as Rhaenyra grabbed her dress pulling it up far enough to reach under it. When she brought her hand back into his few he froze at the crimson blood coating her fingers. Rhaenyra looked up at her, eyes shining.

“The babe is coming.”

Breathing deeply, (Y/N) listened to the men around him chatter on. His father was saying something about patrols as he stood next to him, but (Y/N) could not hear him over the ringing in his ears and the faint cries of his wife.

He took a breath in, Daemon speaking once more, and he took a breath out.

In.

Rhaenyra screamed again, and (Y/N) gripped the arms of his chair digging his blunt nails into the wood hard enough to leave crescent indents.

Out.

The first time (Y/N) had climbed a tree, the knights guarding him had yelled for him to get down until their voices were hoarse. He remembers their voices becoming softer and softer as he climbed higher and higher. That day was nearly thirty years ago. And yet, as he sat in his chair trying to understand the men around him, he felt as if he was back at the top of the tree, the voices fading from him as he climbed and climbed.

A hand touched his neck, rubbing soothing circles into his skin as he started to come back to himself. He looked to his left where his father was watching him, brows pinched in worry. He opened his mouth, before shutting it again, taking another shaky breath.

“My Prince?”

(Y/N) looked to Lord Celtigar, his surroundings fading back in slowly. “What?”

Celtigar looked to his father, and Daemon simply gave the man a pointed stare. Clearing his throat, Celtigar spoke. “A raven flew in this morning. The Sea Snake’s fever has broken, and he has left Evenfall.”

(Y/N) nodded, running his shaking hands down his face. “Where is he sailing?”

“That much is unclear, my Prince.”

(Y/N) nodded, and at his lack of response Daemon spoke for him. “We’ll send ravens to our nearest allies: Lords Darklyn, Massey, and Bar Emmon.”

“As well as Lords Coldwater, Shett, and Tollett.” (Y/N) said, unsure if his voice was loud enough for the surrounding Lords to hear him, but his father nodded at his words.

“(Y/N)!” Rhaenyra’s voice echoed through the hall, and (Y/N) winced, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

“Go to her.” His father knelt next to him, taking his hand and gently prying his tight grip off the chair. His free hand gently grasped his neck, the pressure the only thing keeping (Y/N) grounded. “She needs you.”

(Y/N) nodded. He grabbed his cane from where it rested against the table, standing on unsteady legs. He looked to the Lords of Rhaenyra’s council, “Naught is to be done but by Rhaenyra’s direct command.”

He made eye contact with Jace as he turned to walk out of the room. Jace walked over silently, pausing just in front of his father. His brown eyes were hard as he took in the men before him, but (Y/N) reached out, directing his son's attention to him and only to him.

“Make sure no action is declared while your mother is abed.” He said, soft enough to ensure only Jace heard him. Jace straightened at the command, giving his father a curt nod.

(Y/N) ignored the way his body ached and screamed at him as he climbed the stairs to Rhaenyra’s chambers. He practically flung the doors to the chambers open, breath coming in short but desperate gasps as he looked around for his wife. The maester rushed over to him, a protest most likely on the tip of his tongue, but (Y/N) simply held his hand up. He did not speak to the man as he pushed past him, making a beeline for his sobbing wife. The handmaidens flocking Rhaenyra moved out of his way as he approached, their worry for the princess evident in the looks they gave him.

“Rhaenyra-” Her name had barely left his lips before she was reaching for him. He stumbled at the suddenness of her embrace but willed himself to stay standing as he brought his free hand to her hair. Mumbling soft words of reassurance into her sweaty hair, (Y/N) guided her toward the bed. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, dropping his cane to hold her properly as soon as his legs were supported by the mattress.

He guided her hands to his shoulders, biting back a groan as her nails dug into the fresh skin that covered his wounds. He rested his forehead against hers as she cried, silent tears rolling down his cheeks at his wife’s pain. The faint dragon cries in the distance made (Y/N) choke back a sob.

He was useless to his wife.

The war in the Vale had crippled him, probably permanently. The maesters doubted he would ever be able to properly ride his dragon again let alone fight. He couldn’t even hold Rhaenyra properly as she struggled through labor, how was he supposed to help her secure her crown?

“Princess, let us help you.” Elinda begged.

Rhaenyra simply shook her head, gripping her husband harder as she screamed “No. Get out!”

(Y/N) could not tell who she was talking to, but he cupped her face gently. “Rhaenyra please.”

“Get out.” Rhaenyra sobbed, groaning and screaming. She was bearing down forcefully now, and (Y/N) watched helplessly.

“You should not be doing this alone, Nyra.” (Y/N) sobbed, tears flowing down his face. “Please let them help.”

The scream that wretched itself from Rhaenyra’s throat made (Y/N) shut his eyes, unable to watch his wife’s pain any longer. He murmured incoherently as Rhaenyra birthed their child, unsure if she was even able to hear him over her screams. When the screams stopped, and a gasp echoed through the now-silent room, (Y/N) opened his eyes.

He was unable to stop the noise that escaped him at the sight of their daughter’s body, bloody and painfully still in Rhaenyra’s arms. She cradled the babe close to her chest, bringing her up so that (Y/N) could get a proper look at the daughter he would now never know. He pressed a kiss to his daughter before resting his head on Rhaenyra’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered, but his wife just shook her head. They both sat there cradling their daughter between them. People filtered in and out of the room, offering condolences to the pair, but they ignored them. The maester offered to take the babe to the silent sisters for them, but both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra turned him down, insisting that they were to do the preparation themselves.

When Rhaenyra felt well enough to stand they began to walk to the room where the silent sisters were waiting for them. The sisters didn’t bother approaching the couple, just watching as silently as their name implied. Rhaenyra set their daughter carefully on the table and began to wrap her gently in the cloth wrap.

(Y/N) did not believe in the Stranger, so the only people he could find to place the blame of the death of his only daughter on were the Greens. The usurpers of his wife’s birthright, the people who had attempted to help rob Luke of his, and now the killers of his child.

“Rhea Royce.” (Y/N) caught Rhaenyra’s gaze as she cried over their daughter. She sobbed harder after she was finished wrapping her and (Y/N), unable to do anything else, just held her as they sobbed in the dark room.

He could not bring himself to look at the small pyre they had built on the hill. He kept his gaze firmly locked on Vermithor, and as if the dragon could read its rider's mind, Vermihtor kept his eyes trained on (Y/N), waiting patiently for his command.

Rhaenyra stood motionless beside her husband, watery eyes focused solely on the unlit pyre. After minutes of excruciating silence, their family standing patiently behind the couple, she turned to (Y/N), giving him a curt nod.

Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) spoke. “Dracarys.”

He watched as Vermithor crept forward slowly, the dragon gave his rider one last look before lighting the pyre. Only then did (Y/N) force himself to look at his daughter. He and Rhaenyra stood there silently as the black smoke from the flames rose into the air. The sound of steel being drawn eventually caused (Y/N) and Rhaenyra to turn to face the crowd behind them.

A kingsguard that (Y/N) was not acquainted with stood before the crowd, putting the Prince immediately on edge. The guard took his helmet off, speaking to the guards in front of him. “I mean no harm brothers.”

(Y/N) took a step forward, putting himself between the knight and his wife. The man reached into his satchel, taking the crown of (Y/N)’s great-grandfather and uncle out. (Y/N)’s eyes widened at the action, and his surprise furthered when the man kneeled, presenting (Y/N) with the crown.

“I swear to ward the Queen with all my strength and give my blood for hers.” (Y/N) took the crown from the knight, turning it over in his hands to get a proper look at it. “I shall take no wife, hold no land, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor.”

(Y/N) turned to Rhaenyra as those around them began to slowly bend the knee. Her face betrayed her surprise at the events, and (Y/N) slowly approached. He held the crown of her ancestors before her above her placing it softly on her head. (Y/N) knelt before his wife, the pain in his body easier to ignore than ever before. He kept his eyes trained on her as he spoke.

“My Queen.”

---

Translations -

Tresy - son

Dracarys - dragon fire

#this chapter is brought to you by migraine medication because that is keeping me alive rn #x male reader #x reader #x y/n #house of the dragon x male reader #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon x y/n #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x male reader

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nebulaafterdark · 4 months ago

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Things you didn’t ask but I need you to know about Y/N & Aegon’s children. The birth order can change but their names and descriptions remain the same.

Dahlia & Visera are identical twins, they look like Y/N with Aegon’s hair and eyes. They resemble Rhaenyra quite a bit. Dahlia has a mole above her top lip on the left side which is the most dramatic physical difference between them.

Laenor is Aegon, just copied and pasted him, but with Y/N’s smile and alot of her mannerisms.

Aegon IV is all Y/N, copy + paste with a little cleft in his chin like his daddy.

Laeya who we haven’t seen…yet. Dark hair, Aegon’s eyes, perfect mix of both parents.

& Rhaen who we also haven’t seen, is Aegon with Y/N’s hair and eye color. He looks a lot like Alicent.

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witchofhimring · 8 months ago

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Sons of Aemond and Y/n (Dynasty of Blood Universe)

Au based of this concept

There is also a list of their daughters here. I have not written bio's for the sons yet but I will once their characters are more fleshed out.

Jaehaerys Targaryen

Parents: Aemond Targaryen (father), Y/n Blackhalt (mother)

Spouce(s): Clerissa Blackhalt

Children: Jhaenna Targaryen, Celgar Targaryen

Birth: 135 AC

Death: TBA

Canon changes: Is an OC.

Elarion Targaryen

Parents: Aemond Targaryen (father), Y/n Blackhalt (mother)

Spouce(s): TBA

Children: Aron Targaryen, Davon Targaryen, Willem Targaryen, Kervin Targaryen, Harrow Targaryen, Eustus Targaryen

Birth: 136 AC

Death: TBA

Canon changes: Is an OC.

Harin Targaryen

Parents: Aemond Targaryen (father), Y/n Blackhalt (mother)

Spouce(s): An unnamed witch

Children: Unknown (possibly an unknown son)

Birth: 139 AC

Death: TBA

Canon changes: Is an OC.

Viserys Targaryen

Parents: Aemond Targaryen (father), Y/n Blackhalt (mother)

Spouce(s): Rhaenys Targaryen (daughter of Lucerys and Rhaens), Ghaela Celtigar

Children: Raellah Targaryen, Veylara Targaryen, Laenor Targaryen

Birth: 142 AC

Death: TBA

Canon changes: Is an OC.

#hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond x fem reader #amond targaryen x y/n #hotd x y/n #house of the dragon #hotd angst #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x reader

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incandescentlysomething · 9 months ago

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Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 9

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 5523

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Started a new job this week so things have slowed down a bit! Only three chapters left!! Thanks for reading! Cross posted on A03

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Aelinor did not come back to herself until after the King had been carried away, his moans of pain swallowed by the din of the crowd. Luc had her by the hand, pulling her along as they all hurried from the hall.

“It is an outrage, Mother!” Jace was protesting. “He cannot just give Aelinor—”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra cut him off, one hand rubbing her stomach. “He can. And he has. Now we must find a way forward.”

“Don’t worry, Sister.” Luc squeezed her hand. “We’ll fix this.”

“I don’t think that this is a thing to be fixed, Luc.”

They pushed through the main doors, and out into the corridor when they became aware of people following them.

“Aelinor!” Aemond was pushing through the crowd, his brother at his side.

Aelinor paused, starting to turn. She needed to speak with him. He was probably the only person in the world that she wanted to speak to at this moment.

Gods above, they were betrothed . Her mind had not quite wrapped herself around what that meant. To think only a few hours before she had been celebrating her brothers’ betrothals, and now she had one of her own.

She supposed that it had always been somewhat of a possibility. Aemond would certainly never have been an option in her mother’s mind, but as the daughter of the Heir, Aelinor had always known that she would be betrothed to some lord somewhere, if she did not end up marrying Jace. She had once even heard rumors that many years ago, when things were better between their families, that Rhaenyra had suggested marrying her to Aegon. All of these options had seemed impossible and distant to Aelinor, a series of mediocre options when she knew there was only one person in the world who she cared for enough to marry.

And now, thanks to her grandfather, it was a reality.

“Aelinor!” Aemond shouted again.

She stopped, facing him as he came to a stop in front of her. He was breathing heavily, his eyes alight with something she didn’t recognize. His gaze slid from hers, down to where Luc held her hand, and then over her shoulder. She glanced back, surprised to see Prince Daemon standing directly behind her. Something passed between the two men, something that sent a chill through Aelinor’s veins.

“We should talk.” She said quietly, drawing Aemond’s focus back to her.

She half expected him to reject her, to meet her with the same hostility that he had held when they spoke before the trial. But she needed to speak to him, to find out how he felt about all of this. Aemond wasn’t one to appreciate having his life chosen for him, and she worried that he may resent her for the King’s announcement.

“Yes, we do.” He nodded. “Perhaps we should—”

“Aelinor,” Luc tugged on her hand. She was very aware of just how many people were watching this interaction, and she very desperately did not want to have this conversation with an audience.

“Aelinor, we need to go.” Jacaerys was at her other side, pulling on her arm.

She gave Aemond an apologetic look. “Perhaps we can—”

But Aemond was sneering at her brother. “I have a right to speak to my betrothed.”

“You have no right!” Jacaerys shouted.

“She isn’t your anything!” Luc protested.

“Can we well just—” Aelinor begged, trying to pull Jacaerys back as he stepped forward.

“Children!” She had never been so grateful to hear her mother’s voice. “Enough, all of you.”

Rhaenyra came to stand between them, casting a long glance over Aemond. “The King has requested a dinner this evening, Prince Aemond. You can speak then. As it is, my family and I will retire to our chambers.”

She watched Aemond clench his jaw, clearly unwilling to contradict the Princess when they were surrounded by so many other people.

“Mother,” Aelinor said gently, managing to shake free of Jace’s grip and reach for her hand. “Perhaps Aemond could walk me back? We’d only be a few minutes behind.”

“Absolutely not.” Jacaerys said. “It would be—”

“That will be fine, Aelinor.” Her mother acquiesced. “But do not take too long.”

She gave her mother a grateful smile, and the one Rhaenyra offered made her appreciate her mother all the more. Even though she did not want to, she was listening to what Aelinor wanted, giving her some of the control in this situation. It was more than most parents would offer.

“I won’t.” She promised.

Rhaenyra took Jace by the arm, leading her family away. Aelinor was left surrounded by nobles, a seething Aemond at her side.

“Arm.” She hissed.

“What?” He looked confused.

“Offer me your arm.” She repeated.

Snapping back to awareness, Aemond quickly offered his arm. She looped her own through his, wrapping both of her arms around his as they started to walk. There were appearances to keep up, after all.

Once they were walking, the nobles fell away, not bold enough to be so obvious in their eavesdropping.

“Well,” She began. “That was eventful.”

“Are you alright?” Aemond asked. “Those things he said, and your…Prince Daemon…that can’t have been easy for you to see.”

No it hadn’t been. Aelinor could handle being called a bastard and a whore, and would much rather that those insults be directed at her than at her mother or brothers, but she had never seen someone die before. She had certainly never seen someone be cleaved through the head. But that wasn’t what she wanted to spend her time with Aemond talking about.

“Grandfather’s announcement,” She looked up at him. “Did you know?”

“No,” He gave the answer she had expected. “I have not spoken to my father in….in a long time. I don’t think anyone knew what he intended.”

“No, certainly not.” Aelinor sighed. “I thought my mother was going to faint.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed her.” Aemond’s steps were slowing, trying to draw out their time together before she was returned to her family. “Lina…it’s…”

She could not bear to hear his rejection, which was surely coming. “I do not know what I thought he was about to proclaim. He could have been betrothing me to a Baratheon for all I knew, or gods forbid, a Lannister.”

Aemond tensed. “That wouldn’t have been…ideal.”

“No,” She dipped her chin. “I’m sorry, Aemond.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He said stiffly. “I’m certain this was not what you wanted either.”

Either . He did not wish to marry her. He had all but said it outloud, and she felt her heart crack a little bit.

But Aemond was still speaking. “Having our betrothal be announced as a political machination, after bloodshed was never what I wanted for you.”

They were nearly at Aelinor’s family’s chambers, and she slowed nearly to a stop. “What are you saying? I thought you were unhappy to be betrothed. You looked…honestly you looked horrified when your father announced it.”

“I was horrified,” Aemond turned, grabbing his hand in hers. “I was horrified for that terrible moment when I thought you were being promised to another.”

“Oh?” She breathed.

“I have never truly imagined myself as having a wife,” Aemond said. “But I think…if the idea ever did enter my mind, there was no one I would have pictured but you.”

Aelinor let out a shaky exhale. “Truly?”

He squeezed her hands. “Truly. And it is I who must apologize to you.”

“What for?” Her mind was still reeling, trying to process what he was saying.

“I was harsh with you, this morning, and you did not deserve it.”

Aelinor gave a small laugh. “You were upset. For reasons I still do not know, and which I intend to uncover.”

He looked troubled. “It should not concern you.”

She clicked her tongue. “It will always concern me when you call yourself a monster, Aemond. You are not capable of being a monster.”

His eyes darkened. “I’m capable of a lot of things.”

“But never that.” She believed that wholeheartedly. Aemond might be prickly at times, he might be quick to anger and a bit too rash, but he could never be monstrous. “As it is, we have bigger things to worry about.”

“Yes, you do.” A voice spoke from behind them, and they both turned to see Jace and Luc standing there.

“Oh, would you two just leave me be?” Aelinor groaned.

“Sorry, little sister.” Jace shook his head. “Mother’s orders.”

She sighed, turning back to Aemond. “Well, I guess there is no arguing with that. Will I see you at dinner?”

“Of course.”

She gave her a small smile before reluctantly dropping his hand and walking away. As soon as she was within reach of her brothers, Luc linked arms with her. She caught both of them looking behind her, but when she turned Aemond was quickly walking away.

“What was that?” She asked. “Did you say something?”

“Nothing, Sister.” Jace placed a hand on her back. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

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

The sight of family gathered in the parlor, solemn expressions on their faces, was enough to force Aelinor to push all thoughts of her conversation with Aemond from her mind. Her mother was seated on a couch, a cup in her hand and a frown on her face.

“Are you well, Mother?” Aelinor shrugged off her brothers and sat down. “That was a great deal of excitement for you and the babe.”

She leveled a glare at her father, who leaned against the window frame. “I’m sure the impromptu decapitation did not help.”

“His insults were not be borne,” Daemon said. “Or are you so soft that you thought we should let him go on his merry way.”

“Of course he deserved to die,” Aelinor said, meaning every word. Vaemond had questioned her brothers’ legitimacy in front of the entire court. It was treason. “I only think that there was perhaps a more…polite way to do it.” Her father gave her a curious look, as if he were trying to figure out exactly what she was thinking.

“Though perhaps not so effective.” Rhaenyra sighed. “Aelinor, did you have any idea about this…this betrothal?”

“No!” She exclaimed. “No, of course not.”

“Then where would my father get this idea?” Rhaenyra asked, looking to Daemon, who just shrugged.

Aelinor felt her blood run a bit cold as she remembered her conversation with her grandfather the night before. Well, conversation may be slightly overstating the exchange. She had begged aloud for a solution, and she thought he had been in too much pain to hear her, let alone answer. But perhaps he had heard her. Perhaps this betrothal was his answer to her pleas. A way of bringing their families back together.

“It is madness,” Rhaenyra was saying. “Am I to leave my eldest daughter in this pit of snakes? Are we to take Aemond back with us to Dragonstone?”

Daemon shook his head. “She will stay here, with his family. That’s how these things work.”

“It can’t be!” Jace protested. “I’ll…you can’t leave her with Aemond. He’s dangerous.”

“He is not!” Aelinor exclaimed.

Rhaenyra gave him a questioning look. “I know the incident with Vhagar has left its mark on you, but that was many years ago. I admit Aemond is a little wild, and almost certainly under her mother’s thumb, but why would you say that he is dangerous?”

Aelinor tried to silently plead with Jace, begging him to keep the secret, but he just shook his head and pulled aside the collar of his tunic. “He did this to me. Last night, over an imagined insult.”

Rhaenyra gasped, holding one hand to her chest. “He attacked you?”

Aelinor stood, her fists clenching at her side. “Jacaerys!” She cried. “That is not the truth of it. He may have overreacted but he’s…he’s protective of me. And it was not an imagined insult.”

“What is this insult?” Luc asked, looking thoroughly confused.

Aelinor spoke before Jace could offer his interpretation of events. “Aemond felt that the announcement of Jace and Luc’s betrothals were a slight against me. There were some people gossiping at the ball, and things just got out of hand.”

“So he was defending you…against your brother?” Rhaenyra clarified, her face softening a bit.

“Exactly,” Aelinor said. “And I have already spoken to him about it.”

“It is because I am your brother that I cannot allow this to proceed!” Jace was still arguing, and Aelinor wanted to stomp on his foot. “What if the next misunderstanding lands Aelinor at his mercy? And gods forbid she have a run in with Aegon. Do you know the things they say about him? Would we expose Aelinor to that violence?”

“I am not a child!” Aelinor protested. “I can handle Aegon. And Aemond would never hurt me. Besides, we cannot disobey the King.”

“To hell with that!” Jace shouted. “I am your brother! I’ll challenge him, if that's what it takes, but you will not marry him.”

“It isn’t your decision!” Aelinor shouted back.

“No, it isn’t.” Daemon’s voice was low, such a jarring change from their own that both Aelinor and Jace turned to look at him.

Daemon picked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Do you object to marrying Prince Aemond, Aelinor?”

She gaped for a moment. “I don’t…what do you mean?”

“It’s a fairly simple question. Do. You. Object?”

Aelinor’s silence was answer enough.

“That will be quite enough of that,” Rhaenyra sighed. “Whatever our feelings on this arrangement may be, there is not a solution to be found today. We must prepare for dinner this evening. And you all must be on your best behavior.”

“Do you intend to voice your objection?” Aelinor asked quietly.

Her mother leveled her with a long look. “Do I intend to argue with my bedridden father? Or to sow discord during a family meal? No, I do not. As I said, this will not be solved tonight.”

“So we’re just supposed to go to dinner?” Luc asked, incredulous. “And what…not address it?”

“Exactly.” Rhaenyra said. “We will not address it beyond what is required to make polite conversation.”

Her tone ended the conversation, and Aelinor sank back onto the chaise as her mother and father left the room. No doubt there had been too much excitement to be good for the babe, and there was certain to be more excitement to come at the dinner that evening.

“Are you alright, Aelinor?” Luc perched on the armrest, reaching out to play with the ends of her hair.

She gave a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Luc.”

“Well everything is going to be alright,” Jace was pacing by the window. “Because you aren’t going to marry him.”

“Can you just stop talking?” Aelinor begged. “Please?”

“Sister, he is dangerous ,” Jace glared at her. “I know you think I am being harsh, but I care for you too much to see you married to him. It would be the same if you were married to some Dornish savage or a Northman who bathes in blood. I would protect you.”

“Aemond does not bathe in blood , Jacaerys,” Aelinor shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“He will hurt you.”

Aelinor was growing tired of having the same argument, and she tilted her head back against the cushion.

Luc ran his fingers through her hair, his ministrations serving to calm the tension boiling through her body. “This is a pretty hair bauble, Sister. Where did you get it?”

Aelinor lifted a hand, feeling the dragon pin on the back of her head. “Oh, that. Prince Daemon gave it to me this morning.”

“Isn’t it Valyrian steel?” Luc asked.

“I believe so.”

“What?” Jace strode toward them. “Why is Prince Daemon giving you Valyrian steel trinkets?”

“Good gods, Jace,” Aelinor jerked away when he reached for it. “It’s like I’m five years old again. Tell me, is it a natural instinct to snatch away anything I might have, or is it a conscious choice? Would you like to toss this into the hearth as well?”

A shocked silence met her words, and when she looked up she saw Jace drawing his hand back to his chest, guilt in his eyes.

“You know I…I have never meant to hurt you, Sister.” He said quietly.

“I know.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “I did not mean that. As obtuse and idiotic as you often are, I have never questioned your affection for me.”

“Which is second only to mine,” Luc teased.

Aelinor snorted. “Oh certainly. There is no contest there.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “You two are insufferable.

Aelinor tilted her head forward and let Luc play with the pin, shaking her hair free when he finally pulled it out.

“Why did Prince Daemon give this to you?” Luc asked.

Aelinor’s breath caught in her throat. She had often wondered if her brothers knew the truth of her parentage, if they knew that neither Laenor Velaryon nor Harwin Strong was her father. Some days she thought it was too obvious for them not to know, and other days she prayed that they never discovered what she felt in some ways to be a double betrayal. The man who raised her was not her father, nor was the man who had carried her about the palace when she was young. Ser Harwin had kept her cradled in a single arm, never wavering no matter how long he held her, carrying her from room to room to distract her in those first weeks after her hand was burned. And Ser Laenor had always been waiting for her when she returned to their family’s chambers, a plate of stolen sweets and a tale of his father’s seafaring ready to distract her from the pain. Those men, she believed, had loved her. They had loved her brothers.

But neither of them were her father.

“I don’t know,” She lied to Luc. “It’s pretty, though.”

They were silent for a long moment, all of them reeling from the morning and trying to come to terms with what was next.

“I will not cease to object,” Jace began slowly, holding up a hand when Aelinor opened her mouth. “But I will not challenge him.”

“You won’t?”

“Unless he hurts you,” Jace said sternly. “But if you are choosing to be so foolish, then you will have my support. As you always do.”

“Dear Brother,” She held out a hand, which he took in his own. “Thank you.”

Jace just huffed, looking slightly put out by her display of affection.

“It’s not like the Aemond we know would ever hurt Aelinor,” Luc added. “He might have always been an arse, but he wasn’t cruel.”

Jace pulled aside his collar, pointing to the bruising.

“As I said, he’s an arse.” Luc snorted. “Perhaps you should have put up a better fight.”

“Oh quiet, both of you!” Aelinor protested. “He isn’t an arse now, and he wasn’t then.”

“He’s an arse.” They said together.

“You’re both arses.” She stood, retrieving her hair pin from Luc’s grip. “Now, I intend to get some sleep, and prepare for what I shall pray will be a quiet family dinner.”

“Throw in a prayer from me as well,” Jace called after her. “We’ll need it.”

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

Dinner was not going well.

“You do know how the act is done, correct? Where to put your cock and all that?”

Aelinor resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands as Jace reprimanded Aegon, who had managed to be nothing but crude and inappropriate in the five minutes they’d been seated. When she glanced to Helaena sitting at her side, her friend made no reaction to her husband’s remarks.

Choosing to focus on her grandfather, Aelinor tried to turn back to the center of the table.

Someone, and she wasn’t sure if the more likely culprit was the Queen, her mother, or Jace, had sat her on the opposite side of the table from Aemond. He had offered her a strained smile when she had taken her seat, but they had been unable to speak.

“And, of course, the bond which will strengthen our great house, the betrothal of Prince Aemond, to my dear granddaughter, Princess Aelinor.” King Viserys was standing, offering her a smile that seemed to pain him. She did not know how he had the strength to live, let alone to stand and make speeches as he was doing. Still, she smiled brightly at him, trying to convey her love for him.

When she glanced back at Aemond, his expression was unchanged.

The others began to make speeches, her mother, then the queen, but Aelinor was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to listen.

Aemond was being…strange. She could not quite put her finger on it, but she knew that something was wrong. She had thought from their conversation earlier that he was satisfied with their betrothal, and yet his body was wracked with tension. Every glance he sent her way was softened, but quickly returned to ice as he studied the others. It unsettled her, and made her wish that she could just take him by the hand and lead him away, so that they might sort this out once and for all.

Jace was sitting down — why was Jace making a speech? — when Helaena muttered “Beware the beast beneath the boards.”

“What was that?” Aelinor whispered, but then Helaena was standing too.

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena and Aelinor. They’ll be married soon, and it isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you, except when he’s drunk.”

Aelinor’s heart broke as her aunt dropped back into her chair, her hands shaking as she took a sip of wine. Someone called for music, and Aelinor reached forward to take Helaena’s hand.

“My darling, are you alright?” She whispered.

Helaena shrugged.

Aelinor glanced across the table, finding Aegon guzzling a cup of wine. When she looked over at Aemond, she thought she saw something like anger flicker across his eyes. Aegon had never been her favorite, nor had she ever particularly liked him. She would never have chosen him for Helaena, who was sweet and docile and required far more patience than Aegon could ever offer. But for him to be so callous to her obvious distress….it made hatred sink deep into Aelinor’s bones.

“Yours will be different.” Helaena mumbled.

“Mine…you mean me and Aemond?” Aelinor asked.

Helaena gave a jerky nod. “Aemond is not Aegon.” Before she began to sing something quietly under her breath.

“No, he isn’t.” Aelinor agreed, sitting back in her chair. She had almost relaxed when she realized what Helaena was singing. “Blood and bars and iron. Blood and bars and iron.”

The words sent a chill down Aelinor’s spine, as if she had heard them before.

Suddenly Jace was right next to her, leaning down to offer a hand to Helaena, sweeping her away into a dance. She had to give it to her brother, he knew how to liven up a somber affair, and soon everyone was laughing and clapping. Her grandfather chuckled weakly, his laughter soon giving way to a wheeze.

Aelinor stood slowly, attracting only the notice of Aemond and her father, the rest of the party too engrossed in the dancing.

Stepping around her mother, Aelinor moved to the King’s side, kneeling on the ground next to him. The azure silk of her dress pooled beneath her knees as she lightly rested her hand on her grandfather’s elbow.

“Grandfather?” She said quietly.

“Aelinor, my heart.” He turned her way, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

“You have given us all quite the surprise today,” She said, aware that people on both sides were listening in.

A familiar twinkle lit up his eye. “Not so much as the one I received when I visited my library the night before last.”

Her mouth dropped open. “That was…you were…” She wouldn’t have thought he would have the strength to get out of bed, but then, hadn’t she and Aemond heard someone moving in his chambers, heard the door creak closed behind the voyeur.

“I hope you are not upset with me, my heart,” King Viserys lowered his voice so that only the two of them might hear. “Only, I thought to make you happy.”

Aelinor glanced up, not at all surprised to immediately find Aemond’s eyes on her. “I think you have, Grandfather. I hope so.”

“Good.” He patted her hand, before collapsing back into his chair.

Aelinor returned to her seat, her heart feeling a hundred times lighter. Her betrothal to Aemond was not some grand political machination, nor was it a result of old age or delirium. No, her grandfather had wanted to make her happy, as if that was all that mattered.

She met Aemond’s eye when she sat, and something in her expression caused him to look away. But it did not matter, because once he knew the truth of their betrothal, he would come around. She knew it.

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

Aemond had had a long time to think. Over the course of the rest of the day, and the first half of this agonizingly long dinner, during which he had done nothing but stare at Aelinor, he had reached three conclusions which were almost certainly going to ruin him.

The first he had learned from watching his brother egg on his nephews, and from hearing his mother rant and rave about how the trial had gone that morning. He was not sure that she had realized that he was listening, but he had heard regardless. As he watched his father get wheeled away, little more than a rasping husk in his chair, he realized that the civility of this dinner thus far had been nothing more than a performance. They might be a family, but they did not like each other.

The second realization was that Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon were not going to allow him to wed their sister. He had spent the better part of the day wondering what might have happened if he had refused to let them take her into their family’s chambers, if he had just insisted that she stay with him. But he knew that they would never have relented, that they likely intended on standing in his way, as they always had when they were children. He wished he could forgive them for it, for it wasn’t completely understandable. He likely would have had the same objection if his father had chosen to marry Helaena to one of the bastards. But his resentment of his nephews ran deep, and it was not something that he could forgive.

And the third was that his attachment to Aelinor could surpass these two obstacles. In his mind he rationalized how they would convince her brothers, how they would do what the King had intended and bring their families together. For when Aelinor returned to her seat after speaking with the King, he saw such bright hope shining in his eyes that he knew he would do anything to make their future a possibility.

Their future .

Gods, he didn’t even know what that would mean. He only knew that he would have to find great strength to look past decades of anger, to put her first so that all could be well.

But then they set the pig on the table.

Lucerys Velaryon laughed .

And Aemond was remembering all the reasons that he could never forgive them, never try to make peace. He remembered that damned pig with the wings, remembered Aelinor’s hand in the fire. The sound of his eye being cut from his head, of hands pulling on Aelinor’s braids. Of them laughing, laughing, laughing.

No, it was because of Aelinor that he would not let them be. Let them live their lives unscathed by the pain they had caused. Pain that had scarred not only him, but also the sister they claimed to care so much about.

“Final tribute,” He was standing, a cup balanced in his outstretched hand. All eyes were on him. “To the health of my nephews Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey.”

“Aemond,” His mother said quietly.

But he saw only the black hair of the bastards, and he steadied his gaze on them over the rim of his glass.

“Each of them wise…handsome…” He watched Aelinor push up from her seat, but she was too slow to stop him. “And Strong.”

“Aemond!” His mother said, louder now.

“Let us drain our cups!” He declared. “To these Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again!” Jacaerys stepped forward.

“Jace,” Aelinor was hurrying around the table. “Stop it.”

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

“Aemond, stop it!” Aelinor cried, leveling him with a look of disappointment that made his insides curdle.

But Jacaerys was stepping forward, and then Aemond was pushing back, and the bastard was sprawled on the floor. Aegon was shoving, punching maybe, and he thought one of the other girls, either Baela or Rhaena, might have been screaming.

“Stop now!” Aelinor stepped in front of him before he could lunge for Jacaerys again.

Aemond stopped himself, stepping back at the same moment that Prince Daemon appeared between them, lifting a finger to ward off Prince Jacaerys.

“Go to your rooms, all of you!” Princess Rhaenyra declared.

Aelinor stared at him over her father’s shoulder, her eyes narrowing in a way that let him know how upset she was. But she listened to her mother, storming from the room with her brothers at her heels.

He could have challenged Prince Daemon there and then for coming between them, but he did not. He could not be sure whether it was the look of amusement that Prince Daemon cast his way, or some bizarre respect afforded to Aelinor’s true father that stayed his hand. He would never admit that it was cowardice. But he followed the others into the corridor.

Everyone else was already gone, so he took a moment to lean against the stone.

Gods, why had he done that? It wasn’t that he regretted it, not truly. The bastards deserved everything they got and more. He only regretted that Aelinor had been hurt by it. He could not find satisfaction in his insult, not when Aelinor was probably in her family’s chambers already, comforting her brothers as they licked their wounds.

A throat cleared behind him, and he turned quickly, surprised to see the Princess Rhaenyra standing there. He did not feign politeness with a bow.

She clasped both hands over her stomach. “Aemond.”

“Princess.”

She sighed, sounding so motherly and disappointed that he wondered how they could be siblings. She seemed so much older than him, something in her gaze making him feel like a small child.

“I will not insult you by attempting to scold you for your behavior,” She said. “You’re a man, and because of that, you must live with your actions.”

He did not respond.

“I only wish to remind you,” She continued. “Of two things I once asked of you. I asked you to protect Aelinor all your life, and you swore to do so. Do you remember this?”

“Of course.” He had only been five years old at the time, yet the memory rang clear as day in his mind.

“And I once asked you not to call my sons….not to call them what you called them today,” He thought that the Princess might have looked a bit uneasy, a bit unsteady on her feet. “Do you remember that?”

“Do you remember that your daughter was being held down by maesters as they repaired the flesh that your sons had mangled beyond use?” He hissed.

“Yes!” Rhaenyra snapped. “And her screams echoed in my mind for years. They echo still. But my sons were boys then, as were you. They were punished.”

Aemond could vaguely recall several months in which Jacaerys and Lucerys were not permitted in the Dragonpit, and were not permitted dessert at their meals. But at the time it had seemed unsatisfactory, hardly justice for what Aelinor had suffered.

“I advise you not to live in the past, Aemond,” Rhaenyra said quietly. “Aelinor has moved forward, and I should hate for you to drag her back.”

She started to walk away, her head lowered slightly.

“Do you return to Dragonstone, then?” He asked sharply. “On the morrow?”

“We do,” Rhaenyra said.

Something sharp drove into his heart, something final that threatened to send him to his knees. She was leaving again. Aelinor had barely been home for three days, and already she was leaving him.

“But Aelinor will remain.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

“It is tradition,” Rhaenyra sighed. “Since you are betrothed, she will remain in your household for some time. I will return on dragonback when I can.”

He swallowed. “Aelinor is…to stay here?” With me , he thought desperately.

“As I said,” Rhaenyra sighed, carrying on down the hall. “Unless she does not wish to after tonight.”

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #fanfic #fanfiction #game of thrones #lady of the ashes #aemond one eye

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ricardian-werewolf · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 3: Strangeness and Charm

MASTERLIST

Chapter I

Chapter II

______________________________________________________________

Summary:

Cecily-Anne is put into the hands of Team Black during a prisoner exchange, and settles into Dragonstone. She also meets Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, and takes stock of what she must do to survive.

TWs:

Mentioned/Referenced SA, trauma, grief, loss of family.

Tag list: @lordbettany, @fauxraven, @rmelster

Being a prisoner at the hands of the Greens had broken Cecily-Anne irreparably. As she stood in the vast entrance of Dragonstone, wrapped in merely a travelling cloak and her stained bedrobe, she was truly conscious of her frailty. Once more, she was a leaf in a gale, tossed hither and fro without a care. Despite her favour at court as Halaena’s lady-in-waiting, her dark hair and blue eyes; her northern accent and lack of understanding of Westerosi culture had put her into a precarious position. Now, she was being exchanged as a prisoner of war. Aegon had assumed her to be a member of the Stark family or some other Northern family (she’d heard rumours of her as a Mormount bastard). Since it had seemed like these Starks were pursuing an alliance with the Targaryens, Aegon wished to have her stuffed into a cell. Unlike most men of his court, he cared not for her highborn legitimacy. Whatever Alicent saw in him was severely misplaced.

But what Cecily had learned as Helaena’s lady-in-waiting in those first few months had been invaluable. Like the England of her world, a highborn lady wielded considerable power. While unable to take up arms and fight, a highborn lady and her retinue wielded serious fiscal and political control over the realm, vassals and any tenants her husband or her own lands were serviced by. With Helaena as Queen and Alicent as the Dowager, their retinue of ladies in waiting were evenly split between the major households of the south and the houses of Essos who had gone with The Greens.

House Velaryon had gone to the Blacks, due to Queen Rhaenyra having wed the father of her three sons, Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey many years earlier. With her had been Princess Rhaenys of Targaryen and Baratheon lineage - the Baratheons had been split in going with the Hightower off-shoot of Targaryens - what Cecily coined as “Rhaen-garyens,”. She had come from a world where boys were commonly all named Edward, or Richard. Women in her own lineage were named Anne or Cecily. Common denominations to keep that in check included nicknames such as “Nan,” or their “Of the castle/town of birth,”. Because last names were not a common signifier in England (unlike Westeros, which were a sign of pride or scorn), Cecily had had a horrific time trying to keep track of just the names of the people within the household of the Hightowers.

She hadn’t even had a chance to unravel the mysteries of the small council. What she did know was the “Hand of the king,”, some form of official status in the king’s circle that she thought was similar to the chief advisors of her father’s days. He was signified by a literal chain of metal hands that acted as a chain of office.

Lord Chamberlain of England.

Cecily was not a stupid girl. She had been raised all her life, from her very days in swaddling cloth, to be a noblewoman. She could balance an accounts book from Michaelmas to Michaelmas, keep track of stores, manage an army of small-folk servants. She knew what her own terms of marriage had been to Manuel - she’d assisted her parents in drawing them up and providing her father with what she needed as a good, catholic lady of fortune. She spoke Portuguese, Latin and French. Now, she was taking in the languages of Westeros through simply sitting with her embroidery as Helaena held court with her ladies and hearing of their troubles in places such as the Riverlands. Her dowry was sizable chunks of the north of England. Men certainly made war, but the women of the nobility often negotiated secondary treaties to the first, or interceded when trade deals went awry.

Now, she stood in another court, in another castle. Her third one in three months. A part of her hungered for her tongue of her people, for the familiar smells and voices of a mummery composing ballads. She longed to stare up at the banners and see the Bear and Ragged Staff; the Lovell wolf and the Sunne in Splendour crowning it all. But instead she stared up at the Targayen red two-headed dragon on black canvas, and the Velaryon sea-horse against a teal backing. These houses had stood against the Greens, taken up arms against them. A similar story to her own - over the right of inheritance of a throne.

The game of thrones simply changed locations and times, yet was eternal. Stretching her chained hands, Cecily sighed. She allowed the guards to lead her through the stone corridors that leached the heat from one’s body, and looked up at the slit-windows. The rumble of the sea crashed like distant thunder, and despite the fact that Cecily was once more a prisoner, she was too tired and too angered to fight. She didn’t want to remember what had happened at Aegon’s hands.

Sin had corrupted the greens like rot and crept all the way up. Cecily gnawed at the inside of her cheek with her back teeth. The pain focused her, allowing the memories to fade. She did not make conversation with her guard, nor plead the man’s mercy. Instead, she stepped into the small councilroom and took in the great stone map of Westeros. Illuminated by candles under its feet, the work was a piece of masterful masonry. It showed in all of its true geographic features the expanse of Westeros from end to end, and she could see the sigils of each house carved into the rock.

“It is obsidian.” A voice at her elbow murmured and Cecily turned to stare into the ink-black eyes of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. His mother’s heir and bastard, his face was the same pale of his Targaryen forefathers but his hair was undoubtedly the colour of Harwin Strong. A member of the Black council, he served as his mother’s voice of reason and sword to enact her will. Not a hand of the Queen by any means, but a powerful boy. Distantly, Cecily felt grief stir in her.

If Ned had lived, this would be him. A prince, honourable, inheriting great titles. The sword-point that could have brought down Tudor. Instead, Ned had died and Cecily had lived. She was the useless one, the one packed off to marry a Portuguese prince - all for naught. Now she was in another time, another place and worse off than ever.

“I see.” Cecily inclined her head. “Thank you, Your Grace, for inform-”

“You are not some common wench.” He raised a brow. “No. It would seem not. You are too well fed, under those ragged robes. You hold your head too high. So.” Jacaerys cast his gaze towards his mother’s councilmen and ladies, who exchanged glances.

In low tones, he leaned over and murmured: “And you are welcome. It was I who arranged for your release.”

With that cryptic statement shared only between them, Jacaerys straightened, and examined his gloved hands. “Shall we begin, gentlemen, your Graces?”

Cecily straightened, confusion running through her from the tip of her tongue to her toes. Shock painted her face. She was not being passed judgement, nor being hauled away to some cell. At the head of the table, Queen Rhaenyra signalled to her guard. A key was produced and the shackles removed from her hands and feet. Attempting to step forward, Cecily stumbled. Jacaerys’s gloved hand stuck fast around her elbow. “Come now. Not even a noble lady such as yourself would dare tread upon her own skirts?” He teased. She glared at him, rage burning anew in her eyes. Was he as bad as Aegon? Would this all be some jest, only for her to be thrown once more into some dank cell? Would he do as Henry Tudor had done and spit upon her form? Dare imply that she was naught more than a whore insufficient for bedding? He had already called her no wench. What was worse?

“A lady of no standing claiming to be a noblewoman is taken into the Greens court and given to the queen as a lady-in-waiting?” Rhaenyra raised a hand containing a paper that her spies must’ve taken from the Red Keep. Cecily stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. Sweat crowded under her armpits, rolled down her temple. She shook with the effort of keeping herself stationary, from picking up something and screaming as she tore the room apart. She was tired. Tired of having every movement questioned, of moving on what she thought was a clear path. Instead, she found every movement she made caused brambles to tie themselves to her legs and pull her further into the darkness. She was tired of being scrutinised, of having no safe harbour to flee to.

“Who is she?”

Cecily jerked, her head looking up at last, into the queen’s violet eyes. Her hair, oily and ragged from no washing, was pushed off the nape of her neck as Cecily discarded her shawl and bedrobe.

Under both, she wore merely a dirty, bloodied shift. Blood still caked her shaking legs. Her hands shook as she bent down to remove from the bedrobe’s pocket her crucifix and rosary. She did all of this with much hesitancy, watching the members of the Queen’s guard and small council with wide, frightened eyes. Prince Jacaerys’s touch reviled her. Fear sat heavy in her stomach and she knew that she would have to say the unmentionable, to make it so.

“I am Princess Cecily-Anne of House Plantagenet. We are a house ruined by war and strife, left only in our male line to a traitor king. We have suffered much, and gained little. I am the daughter of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, and his lady Duchess Anne Neville. My twin brother was crowned Prince of Wales before sickness took him shortly ‘ere his twelfth name-day.” She paused.

“I was taken into the care of Queen Halaena on the basis that her family regarded her unable to care for herself. Ser Gwayne Hightower took-” She coughed weakly into her elbow. “The care to send a letter to her convoy and inform her that I had been found and was in all estimations, a perfect candidate.”

“How long were you in the Queen’s service?” Rhaenyra stepped down towards Cecily, the train of her gown sweeping the floor. Her hair tumbled down her back in long waves and a crown laid atop her head. She bore no signifiers of the fashion of Cecily’s own time, though the sight of her ladies wearing what seemed to be coifs and veils was welcome.

“S-several weeks, alas, Your Grace.” Cecily averted her gaze, but her breath hitched as Rhaenyra gripped her jaw in hand and turned it toward the light. “Tell me, Princess. Have you suffered much at the hand of that false King, Aegon?”

Cecily swallowed, not trusting herself to speak. She pressed her legs tighter together, and cast her gaze nervously to Rhaenyra’s council, who looked to be in varying states of disgust. Jahaerys’s gaze was locked on her trembling body, and something akin to rage simmered within him.

“You need not ask, Mother. Look at how she trembles. He has ruined her, made her damaged.”

“Is what my son speaks true, Your grace?”

The respectful usage of her title made Cecily nearly weep with relief. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, clinging to Rhaenyra's skirts. “Yes.” She cried softly. “Yes, he speaks the truth.” Her face was pressed into the dark stone floor and she shuddered with cold and hunger.

“But this is not all you wish for, no?” Rhaenyra lifted Cecily’s head. “There is a rage within you that does not extend to Aegon - he is too low for you to dirty your sword with his blood. You seek, it seems, a better quarry.”

Cecily nodded, and spoke softly.

“I seek to kill the man who tore my father’s realm apart, who callously threw his corpse over the back of a steed and marched it through the town of Leicester. I know not what has become of my father’s corpse, but it is an evilty and affront to God.”

She sniffed.

“I seek to sink the blade of my father’s knife-” She lifted the hem of her shift. Tied to her inner thigh on a mere scrap of ribbon was a sheathed knife. “-into the heart of Henry Tudor.”

The room went deathly silent. The guards did not move, but their hands hesitated on their sword hilts. Rhaenrya merely gave a grim smile, and eased Cecily’s shift down once more. She cupped Cecily’s face in her hands.

“Then I shall grant you the sanctuary needed to hunt this quarry of yours, who so defiled your father.”

Cecily’s emotional walls shattered, and she wept without restraint, clinging to the queen who had brought her finally, a sense of safety. Rhaenyra waved off the maesters and her ladies with a gentle hand, and had Jacaerys help get Cecily upright. “Have her washed and clad in something more befitting her station.” She called to her son and the maid gripping Cecily’s other arm.

The maid nodded, averting her gaze.

***

Washing her proved easier than anyone assumed.

Weeks - no, months of grief with no hope of relief had caused Cecily’s body and mind to stutter to a stop. She was eerily silent and still as the maids cleaned her body and hair. They used soap she would’ve called Castille to clean her hair and the blood from her legs. An elder serving maid tended to her intimate areas, knowing the violation that had befallen the princess. Many a girl of a station lower than hers had suffered such at the hands of invaders or Westerosi man alike. But for a noblewoman, it was sinful. The pride of clean, holy women had carried into Westeros society, yet the violation of such a law called for honour-bound, brutal violence. Violence had already torn the realm of the Seven Kingdoms apart as Aegon had usurped the throne from Rhaenyra’s rightful claim simply for two reasons:

The first that he was a man, and the second was that as Alicent and Viserys’s son, the belief of a firstborn boy inheriting was inherent in the laws of rulership. Cecily herself would never be a powerful enough claim to take the throne. Only through marriage, as her cousin Elizabeth was doing, could she bring the York lineage any closer to the throne. She stirred sluggishly, and focused on the room around her. Blinking, Cecily-Anne squinted.

“Where are my spectacles?”

“Here, Your Grace.” One of the maids placed the glasses on Cecily’s nose and she sighed in welcome relief. “Thank you.” Allowing the maids to haul her from the tepid bathwater, Cecily refused to look at herself in the silver-backed looking glass. It was more out of habit than the recent trauma that had befallen her. She knew that stretching across her stomach was a scar of two jagged lines. She knew of their origin, for she and her brother had been born a month ‘ere their predetermined dates. Cecily had ailed and struggled for the first few months, nearly coming close twice. But she did not flag where other children would have, and her parents had considered it a holy miracle.

Now the Holy Mother had sent Cecily to this foreign land where she felt nothing but fear. It scared her to no end. As she watched the maids brush out her hair and apply oils to help it retain its lustre, she found herself remembering her mother’s ladies do the same. Sitting in the vanity chair, her hands in her curls as they gently ran the comb though, Cecily was hit with an overwhelming wave of homesickness. She pressed a hand to her eyes, and spoke hoarsely:

“I believe that is enough. Thank you.”

The maids looked at one another, but did not push the matter. “What else will you need, Your Grace?”

“Nothing.” Cecily replied. “Please, go.” She sighed, and watched them leave from the corner of her eye. Once the wooden door had shut, Cecily walked over and stood in front of it for a good few moments. Finding the latch, she traced the keyhole with a finger. A door with a lock. Not even she’d gotten that as Helaena’s lady in waiting. She’d been waiting so long for the court to approve her, and yet she was still expected to pay favour to the queen and accompany her. It was exhausting, and boring. Because she’d been so closely under guard, any true conversation with Helaena was impossible. Now, she stared at the lock, admiring the raised relief of the dragon carved around the keyhole. She pushed the jamb down, and stepped back, her breath quickening.

Yet not with elation.

Fear. The fear of being hurt as she had by Aegon - or was it Aemond? Her memory was terrible and the fact that she couldn’t truly pin the blame on one man or the other terrified her. It had all been some awful mistake; a break-in into her chambers one night. Whoever of the Targayen boys it had been, was deep into his cups and knew exactly who she was. Why break a highborn woman when the maid-servants were all so willing to be taken for a few coin?

Because it keeps me silent.

Cecily stepped back from the door again and stared at the wooden frame with unease. It seemed to be made of strong wood, but then again, she knew from experience of sieges from her father’s books. Doors could be picked or broken into. Thieves willing to work dirty jobs with high prices attached were common. Blood and Cheese had broken into a palace and done unspeakable horrors to Helaena’s children. The youngest had been brutally slaughtered, all because Prince Aemond had slaughtered Lucerys Velaryon.

An eye for an eye, a son for a son.

Why not go for Aemond? She thought hopelessly. Why me? Why Me? Why exchange me as a prisoner? I’m just a girl. A ten-and-five year old girl who has no skill but as a nobleman’s wife and is far out of their league in learning than what is expected!

Cecily reeled back from the door and scrambled toward the bed on shaking legs. She tugged up the coverlet, ignoring the fine silks of the bed-curtains. The blood-red of it all, from the curtains to the woven floor rugs, reminded her painfully of the York Murrey. She hungered desperately, with the madness of a daughter grieving, to be abed in her tower room at Middleham Castle.

But never again would she see that room. Never would she sit in her favourite window-seat and look out the oriel window to the village nestled in the castle’s great shadow. She would never again hear the calls of servants and squires to one another as her mother reigned with a firm, yet kindly hand. A queen of her own domain, now interned in the great marble and stone prison of her effigy. She should have been buried in York Minister along with Ned.

Oh, Ned… Cecily felt tears form behind her eyes. The night of his death haunted her. Shaking her head, Cecily leaned over in the bed and tapered the candles with the nearby taper. Darkness flooded the room, and Cecily for a moment deceived herself into being home in Middleham, the ocean’s roar being no more than distant thunder. But the sounds of dragons calling to one another sent her once more tumbling from her sanctuary point. Down, into the darkness of endless night and pain Cecily-Anne fell.

For with the darkness of a child’s grief came an uneasy sleep that made her envy, as always, the dead.

End of chapter 3.

#wyn rambles #richard iii #Hotd #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #prince jacaerys #hotd jacaerys #Alicent Hightower #aegon ii targaryen #the wars of the roses #the dance of the dragons

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horizon-verizon · 7 months ago

Note

I have seen Rhaen*cent fans say how they should purge each of their children i.e Alicent kills her sons and Rhaenyra kills her sons, and by some vodoo magic have a biological child together and continue rule together. That sounds logical. They just need to annihilate their existing families and start over, cleanse themselves of their mistakes. Totally not creepy, deranged and narcissistic.

I’ve never seen this type of an obsession with anyone in GOT. What is it about HOTD that even attracts these type of lunatics ?

#asoiaf asks to me #rhaenicent #hotd ships #asoiaf shipping #fandom critical #hotd fandom

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tarantinolovesmyfeet · 4 months ago

Text

Devotion And Desire Part 6

"...I have known you for so long; your eyes show what you allow everyone to see, and for your brother and me, you have always been intrigued by her, equally as smitten as she is to you.”

The trio, rather more or less the brother and sister, came up with the idea of confronting Cole when they had the chance. Not out in court, but in corners, where the shadows reside. Nymeria didn’t think it would happen so fast, as she walked along the hallways before bed, but it so happens it did.

Nymeria always been curious girl; wanted to read more history on her blood line; it would only make sense if she needed to be more of a dragon than of a sand snake. She wandered along the halls, her feet making no sound, as a candle flame guided her way but then she felt it. She felt someone watching her in the still of the night, the hair on her neck stood up giving her goosebumps up and down her body. As she kept moving along not wanting to alarm whoever was following her, she let her dress float around her. She softly but surely turned a corner and now quickly hid herself in the shadow to see who it was. That’s when she saw Criston Cole coming out with a look of determination on his face. He peered around before she slowly came out of the shadow behind him, her hand covering her flame.

“Are you following me sir cole?” She said to him, peering over with feline-like eyes with foxy smile, he looked startled causing the smile to deepen.

“No, I-“

“You are stumbling over your words.” She cooed over to him, keeping her distance still, but giving him enough to allure him as the light cases only around her violet hues.

“My lady I assure-“

“Do you like me Cole?” She asked now playful even. “Do you want me? I mean you are a dornish man-“

“I have an oath to follow.

“Oh?” She had a playful tone to her. “Do you have an oath to follow?”

Both parties knew there was the threat in sugared words, it was barely a suggestive tone, but he knew she knew.

“By the way your eyes follow me around court I figured you to…. well, you know.” She let out a soft laugh.

She knew.

She knew and he knew two things.

She knows about him and the heir, her friend and closest ally Rhaenyra slept with Cole.

She also knows Cole is watching her. He couldn’t believe he underestimated her, they watched each other now, waiting for the next step of their dance. Her eyes, still playful, and her smirk following but slowly they turned serious too serious on her cherubic face.

“If you know your people then you will know they do not like to be watched, I will not be bend or be broken by you, Sir Cole.”

He didn’t work the courage to say anything to her- she was still a lady of the court. Higher born than him, even if she herself could be considered a bastard. He also felt another pair of eyes on them, and he couldn’t dare speak the fire that was burning in his throat.

“My Lady, I was just walking towards the Queens bed chambers. I must protect her.”

“Indeed, she’s so pious I am shocked she doesn’t think she needs the protection- never know what goes on these walls.” Her eyes danced around the room before looking at him; a dangerous gleam to them. “Well, off you go I don’t want to keep you.”

Now an innocent smile wandered back to her face, he nodded his head to her and walked off. Her smile slowly fell off her face, her eyes narrowed now as she watched him go. She turned on her foot to go back to her own bed chambers, she suddenly lost interest in reading history.

The sun slowly woke up Nymeria causing her to groan in annoyance, as she opened her eyes seeing the break of dawn. She huffed trying to bring her bed sheets up over her face, but something tugged it away, she let out a squeal to see Rhaenyra with the bed sheets in her hand. The princess laughs loudly, echoing around Nymeria’s room.

“Get up I have a surprise!” She said with a big smile on her face, as Nymeria groaned rubbing her eyes softly.

“It’s so early Nyra.” She whined throwing herself back on the bed, as Rhaenyra laughed now climbing into the bed, now straddling Nymeria with a smirk on her face.

“Yes, but breaking fast when the sun raises over us is going to be so perfect, and I have a surprise for you.”

Nymeria perked her eyebrows up at Rhaenyra as the girl stared at the girl underneath her, and suddenly the air feels hot around both. Rhaenyra bent down capturing Nymeria’s lips in an instant Nymeria was up. She needed more of Rhaenyra, more than her lips more than anything she could give her now. She was trapped under the Princess, as she smiled against Nymeria’s lips, almost teasing her. The Princess pulled back with that same devious smile to drive the dornish girl crazy. Nymeria licked her bottom lip, tasting Rhaenyra only craving more.

“Why do you tease me so?”

“Because I want you up.” She said with a laugh threating to come out. “And I know you want more so you’ll get up.” She pulled herself away from Nymeria in an instant causing the girl to cry out. “UP!”

Nymeria grumbled getting out of her warm bed, for the cold room causing her to let out a whine, but Rhaenyra grabbed her hand entangling their fingers. She quickly pulled her along to her washroom, causing Nymeria to raise an eyebrow over to the oblivious girl. Nymeria wondered if Rhaenyra had even washed up or if she was going to join her and she closed her eyes thinking about it because she knew she wouldn’t be able to not touch her, to kiss her, to love her. She couldn’t be that close to her without wanting her in her arms, she was craving her skin, her lips, her soft sounds. So, she couldn’t be in the washroom with her- she simply couldn’t.

“Where are you taking me?” She whispered to the Princess, as the sliver hair girl just peered over her shoulder again with that devious smile.

“The washroom, love.”

“Rhaenyra.” It’s a warning tone, it’s a reminder where they both are, it is a pleading tone.

I can’t take this. You can’t give me what I want.

Please stop.

All in one word, as she laughed at the petite girl. Tease. What a tease.

They walked into the washroom and Cedra was there, and the water was steaming, Rhaenyra pulled her by her side and a suddenly sweet smile graced her face.

“Cedra please keep this lady awake, I have a surprise for her, and she cannot go back to sleep. That’s an order.”

“Of course Princess.” Cedra said with a smile, now her dark eyes looking over to Nymeria with a curious look on her face.

“I will come back soon.” She warned as she pulled their hands up to her lips and kissed the dornish girls. Burning an impression in her soul.

Then she left as a ghost into the night, letting the door close behind her and Nymeria could breathe again.

Cedra did not say anything as Nymeria started to undress from her bed wear, getting naked in front of her lady in waiting. She sighed now getting into the tub, the water hot steaming as she got in. She loved the water being so hot, and she knew it could dry her skin, but she did not care. Cedra watched as she dipped her body in before, even touching her.

“You know I can wash myself.” Nymeria said softly closing her eyes, feeling herself slowly succumb to slumber.

“Yes, and you would be sleeping and drown. I do not even want to think the hells your father would bring. “She said over to the younger girl, as she rubbed in between her shoulders causing her to groan. “Your hair needs an oil, the curls look a little dry.”

“It’s all the riding around here, and the winds.”

“Yes, but you are a high-born lady, you must look it.” She said now grabbing a cup to scoop water, and letting it go over her head, as she blocked Nymeria’s eyes, and the hot water causing the girl to groan in pleasure. “We need to treat your hair differently than they do.”

“Yes, indeed. You are right, they hair so straight, and my lively and wild.”

“It’s beautiful.” She murmured as she now brushed the oils into the girl’s scalp and down the head, causing Nymeria to close her eyes. “She loves you; you know.”

“Who does?” Nymeria asked almost falling back to sleep, feeling the oils in her skin, and the brush just combing in the perfect spot causing herself to feel chills down her spine.

“The princess, I can see it in her eyes. She does not hide her emotions well; she is enamored by you.” She said with a soft undertone to her voice, but Nymeria could not understand it.

“I am just family.”

“You are more, I can see it. Her eyes doe around you, she smiles softly, and her stare lasts long like a lover. She treasures you more than you know.”

Nymeria looked over at Cedra in the mirror in front of her, the reflection shows a bare-naked Nymeria, the water barely covering her nipples toffee like, and showing off Cedra face. It was not one of judgement, it was soft and friendly. Cedra was not judging the girl, just simply talking to her as if she was a mother to a daughter.

“And you love her. I have known you for so long; your eyes show what you allow everyone to see, and for your brother and me, you have always been intrigued by her, equally as smitten as she is to you.”

“She says she has a surprise.” Nymeria said changing the subject, she did love Rhaenyra so much and too much so fast.

“Does she now…”

“What do you think it is? Do you think she bring Harwin for us to be friendly, to speak away from prying ears?”

Cedra laughed a bit. “She would not want Harwin near you with her there, she is in love with you. I see the way she looks at Harwin when he looks at you, and you to him. She is jealous over your pining for one another. She is taking you away from him today so it would seem.”

“But-“

“This is not a time for women to love one another, my dear Nymeria. This world does not understand the love you have for one another.”

“I- she has to accept Harwin, she just has to.” Nymeria was almost distraught about losing either of them she couldn’t bare it.

“She is a Princess, my sweet Nymeria she does not have to accept anything or anyone. Now let me wash the oils.”

“But…. she must.” Nymeria whispered to herself as the water now flooded her mind.

Cedra nails scratch Nymeria scape causing her to groan from pleasure, as Cedra laughed. The oils have been a thing for Dorne in so long it almost weird in this lands. She bathes in a vanilla smell to allow her body to smell good, and her hair to be soft and full of life. When she was done, she was left wrapped in a cloth, and Cedra brushed her hair, wringing out the water.

“We are going to do a Targaryen braid for today, it will please the Princess.” Cedra said with a warm smile.

The woman, slowly braided to long braids down the girls back, and then put it into a bun, only letting a few curls curtain the frame of her face, allowing her curls to be free to still be herself, as the braided bun sat in the middle of the back of her head. She felt different with the braids and the bun, almost felt like she was developing her strength. As the girl was still clothed and hair fully done Rhaenyra walked into the washroom, causing Nymeria to whip her head quickly over to the door then relaxing seeing who it was.

“You look like Queen Visenya, stunning.” She said with a smile which brightened up her whole face, Nymeria blushed looking down now seeing she was in riding clothes.

“Will we be on dragon back?” “Yes, we shall.” She said with a big smile as Nymeria felt her heart skip a beat, but she nodded her head.

Cedra was already walking to where the girl keeps her clothes and Rhaenyra glanced away looking at the oils that are on Nymeria skin and hair. She picked up a bottle now reading what it says, before pulling the top off and smelling it.

“So that’s what you smell like.” She said softly glancing over the girl with that smile again.

Nymeria heart stopped before so babbled out words.

“You should try, it’s very Dorne custom to bath in oils, and flowers, and anything else that will make a fragrance.” She said with a smile. “I must wash my face in rose water.”

“Please do not stop because I am here.” She said now letting Nymeria walk towards the bowl on her vanity and she wash her face in rose water, letting it sit on her face. She sighed deeply, before looking at the creams, and now grabbing one that says snail cream, and lathering it on her face. Questions were to be asked but not today, they had places to be. Rhaenyra watched Nymeria look pure Targaryen with the black leather riding outfit she was put in. The braids the outfit, she was pure Targaryen in her eyes. She only wished she was doing this during the day so people could see Nymeria, but they will when they come back. She may be from Dorne, her name may have been Dayne, but she is true Targaryen more than others wish they could be. The rings she slipped on her fingers were from Dorne, pure gold with a big deep ruby in it. And she smiled, as she pulled softly at her ears wishing she could have earrings on, but she will skip for the day. If Nymeria was riding on dragon back, she knew that earrings were a bad idea.

“So where are you taking me?” Nymeria says as they walked out of the washroom, and quickly into the halls.

Rhaenyra changed too, her riding outfit deep in black and reds, and her sigil on her front, but her hair looked darker as if wet still. She wondered if she would catch some illness with wet hair flying into the sky, but she wouldn’t question her. Her belt jingled as they walked together in the cold quiet hallways, and the chain mail of her watchful eyes behind the girls.

“Well, that would ruin the surprise Nymeria, but your father boats are being seen on dragon back. He is so close to our doors, that I needed to show you something that Uncle Daemon mentioned to me.”

“Uncle Daemon?” She questioned and almost instantly she felt eyes on her. “Have you seen him?”

“Oh no, it was a from the time from before.” She said with a sweet smile. “But I wanted to show you, I think you would love it.”

“Well is it as special if Daemon showed you?”

Jealousy works both ways and it’s crawling up Nymeria’s throat.

“My dear Nymeria just trust me.”

And she did.

They flew on Syrax into the sky, and before rising she could see Davos staring at her from the courtyard, and she wondered why he was up so early. It would have been on the back burner for now. Nymeria’s arms wrapped tightly around Rhaenyra’s waist, placing her face in the knapsack that she had, and it felt scratchy on her face.

They rose into the air, letting Nymeria close her eyes as they flew away quickly, towards a space the Princess said she knew. Nymeria opened her eyes, to see the blue-sky fly right past them and her heart skipped a beat, but as she looked east, she saw the bright pink sun raising up by them.

“The sun is pink!” She shouted over the wind and Rhaenyra looked east to see the sun as well. “They said pink symbolized rebirth after the winter.” She said as Rhaenyra let out a soft laugh.

“Rebirth? I feel as if I am being strapped into this course.”

“Or you could let go of the love for others you once knew.” Nymeria said still looking at the sun and Rhaenyra sighed deeply which was hidden from Nymeria masked in the winds.

The ride wasn’t long, it was rather shorter than their Dragonstone ride or any of the other rides Rhaenyra took Nymeria on. But this wasn’t a joy ride, this was her surprise. As they landed with ease, Nymeria got off Syrax with no help form the dragon, she simply looks at the girl and for a second Nymeria swears she rolled her eyes at her.

A dragon…could it do such a thing?

“Come on, we have to walk a bit.” Rhaenyra said with a smile, now putting her hand out for Nymeria to place hers in.

And she did.

They walked hand in hand in the green grass, climbing up the steep hill with ease. Nymeria just followed her Princess, and this could be her death, but she didn’t care. Her love for was so large, was too much she would die for her. So, when Nymeria saw mountains she knew, if Rhaenyra pushed her off, she would be wounded but okay cause she loved until she died.

“We will not be climbing mountains.” Rhaenyra huffed, before letting go of Nymeria hand but not without a kiss, and then pulled out a blanket for them to lay on.

“Is my surprise this mountain and breakfast?” Nymeria asked not that she was ungrateful, the mountain was so breath taking but she wanted to be sure.

“What do you not like it?” Rhaenyra asked with a pout on her face and Nymeria pulled her into a kiss.

Kissing away the sadness that was gracing her face.

“I love it.” She whispered as Rhaenyra giggled before pulling away.

Rhaenyra set up their blanket and set up the food around them, and of course the tea, which she didn’t ask how it stood so hot. Nymeria smiled over at her, and then looked down at the food.

“How did you get lemon cakes so early?”

“I asked, and they made it.” She shrugged her shoulders causing Nymeria to laugh. “Look what else is here.” She said and Nymeria glanced at everything else. She almost questioned why she was asking her to look but she gasped.

“How did you get Mtabbak?” She squealed now grabbing her favorite snack dish, she loved Mtabbak, it was a dornish dish. She wondered if they made it right, or if it was going to fall flat, but she didn’t care Rhaenyra asked for Mtabbak for her. Nymeria squealed grabbing a piece and quickly biting into it; the dough was crispy and perfect, and the walnuts melted into her mouth, the cinnamon flooded her senses.

“Well, we will have Dorne as company in our household, so we hired a Dornish cook.” She smiled sweetly over to Nymeria. “We have to be good host.”

“But….no one will eat Dornish food but just the people from Dorne.” She said with tears in her eyes looking over to Rhaenyra with a warm smile.

“And that’s okay because you will always have Dorne in my home.” Rhaenyra said to Nymeria holding her hand and their fingers interlocked, squeezing one another.

When Rhaenyra requested a cook from Dorne, Alicent almost lost it. Her face was red, and she was almost spitting her words. But once Rhaenyra reminded everyone that people from Dorne will be in their kingdom, and that they claim the 7 kingdoms they should have customs that Dorne will feel comfortable in and that includes food.

Everyone almost agreed to that, and Alicent was even more angry than before. Rhaenyra finally had a win over Alicent in the court eyes, not just in her fathers and she couldn’t stand it. That livid emotion made Rhaenyra miss Nymeria even more than she already did.

“How did the court take it?”

“Don’t worry about them, we are not here because of the court, we are here to celebrate our last days as single ladies.” She said with a laugh, before grabbing a lemon cake.

“So, they took it poorly?” Nymeria asked as the heir laughed over to her while shaking her head.

“No, they agreed it would be diplomatic to do so, and it shows us in good fate with the Dorne as a place we haven’t actually conquered but say we do.” She rolled her eyes. “Only Alicent was getting her knickers in a twist.”

“Hmmm…. you know Criston Cole spies on me.”

“What?” Rhaenyra asked loudly, too loudly now looking over at Nymeria with wild eyes. “What do you mean he spies on you?”

“My brother caught him, as did I.” Nymeria shrugged her shoulders. “It is tiring to think I will never fit in court, and he is a man from Dorne.”

“He also is a cunt, but we do not speak of that.” She rolled her eyes causing Nymeria to laugh loudly.

Again…loud. Anyone could hear them and all that have is Syrxa.

“Fine we wont speak on court but we will- “

you speak so loudly anyone could hear you halfling.

Nymeria stopped talking, as she heard a voice in her mind, and it frightened her.

“You want tea?” Now rhaenyra asked her back still to the girl. “Or should we have fruits because we had snacks first? “

They say she’s the heir, her, and her dragon. Should I scare her like I am scaring you?

Someone was speaking in Nymeria mind, she felt fear grip her heart and tightly. Was she daft? Will she be locked up for going mental? Nymeria looked at Rhaenyra as she kept talking pulling out more food for them to eat. Her sweet Rhaenyra will she worry for her, or truly throw her down the hill. She was hearing voices, and now an amused laughed. Her skin flooded with goosebumps.

Who are you? She wondered loudly hoping whoever would hear it.

The voice laughed and stood silent now, as Rhaenyra turned saying words along the lines of are you listening to me her eyes widen looking above Nymeria’s head. Then her face almost turned emotionless.

She is the blood of a dragon, are you?

Nymeria felt something behind her, but she was too scared to move because of the voice, and it was enough to keep her eyes on Rhaenyra but she was stone face.

Don’t be scared to turn around…. or do be scared but then I’ll have to eat you.

Nymeria gasped loudly now, turning around to see an overwhelming gigantic dark colored iridescent dragon staring back at her, with wild purple eyes. The wing spam alone would block Nymeria, Rhaenyra and Syrax. Syrax let out a noise almost sounding of boredom, but a guttural snarl when he looked at Rhaenyra.

The dragon looked back over to Nymeria with a glint in her eye, as she looked over the whole party. Nymeria looked back at the dragon almost determined to risk her life for the heir, she let out a growl of her own getting nowhere near the dragon’s face but enough to know if she was her size they would be face to face.

“What do you want?” Nymeria asked out loud as the dragon looked over at them, and Rhaenyra wasn’t scared but curious, but Nymeria was scared and curious.

I wanted to see who was buzzing in my head, who I’ve been hearing for months and now I see who it is a petite half dragon blood child. You know she hears your thoughts too and you can hear her, she just blocks you out. Thinks you’re not worthy.

“Still didn’t answer my question.”

“Are you-“Rhaenyra gasped loudly, looking over at Nymeria with admiration “Are you speaking to the dragon in your mind?” her hands were wrapped around the girls wrist, trying to pull the attention to her.

You piqued my interest.

“And that means?” Nymeria almost snarled back over at her, as she let out a smile or what Nymeria figured was a smile.

You are mine and I am yours. Don’t bore me please.

Nymeria breathes out loudly.

“I have…. a dragon.”

#rhaenyra targaryen #house of dragons fic #did I add a razzle dazzle and magic with dragons....yes #rhaenyra x oc #young rhaenyra

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