#rhaena fanfic

[margoshansons]

Dreamfyre you’re still the mother of Daenerys’s dragons in my heart and will be until GRRM comes out of his hole to tell me otherwise

[housetargaryenloyalist]

Oh So Sweet

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Summary: Although married off at age three and ten and sent away from Kings Landing, you never forgot your first love.

Word count: 2.7K

Content warnings: Bad parenting? Some self doubt and sadness, and also fluffy flufness.

Little author's note/disclaimer: (feel free to skip this)

I haven't written anything properly in years, which means I am very very very rusty. I essentially wrote this as bit of challenge to myself and I know it is not my greatest work, but I'm still proud of it.

So I hope you will like this! Feedback is welcomed and very appreciated <3

Happy reading!

Six years, that is how long you had been gone from King’s Landing and now you were back to celebrate Jacaerys Velaryon’s 20th name day. You had come as a representative from your husband’s house. He was currently indisposed due to some nasty fever and was too unwell to make the journey, and although you wouldn't admit it aloud you were all too happy to journey alone. Eager to see the man again whom you had loved since childhood.

Your husband was an insufferable swine four times your senior who had essentially trapped you in his estate after your marriage. Not allowing you to leave unless he were to breathe down your neck, it infuriated you.

However this specific name day celebration invitation had urged you specifically to attend, therefore you could not refuse or you would risk the fury of the royal household. Their fury was not one you wished to invoke.

Although it had been six years it felt as though little had changed in the Red Keep, much still looked the same. The same Targaryen heraldry hung the walls and decorated the castle, reminding you with every step you took to whom this place belonged. In case you forgot the dragons screeches outside. Years ago your father had been a member of Viserys I’s small council and had taken your mother and you with him to reside in the Red Keep.

It had allowed you to grow up with the royal children, and in that time you had grown partially fascinated with the eldest son of princess Rhaenyra. You had grown so close to him, the both of you were practically inseparable. Close in age and proximity, it was no wonder you were such good friends. He would take you to see Vermax and promise to take you flying to wherever you wanted to go. Every time he would train, he wanted you there and every time he won, he wanted you to be the first to congratulate him. You told him legends and stories of heroes and warriors of old. 

On your tenth name day the two of you had snuck out of the party to the Godswood, it is there under the glowing moon you were discussing the future when Jacaerys had let something slip. “I want to marry you,” he had whispered in a soft voice, almost as if he hadn’t meant to speak it out loud. In response you took his hand in yours as you whispered back “I want that too.”

By the time you were three and ten your mother had discussed a potential engagement between your two houses with Rhaenyra, who hadn’t seemed opposed to it. However, this discussion between the two of them had angered your father. He didn’t want his only daughter to marry a, what in his eyes looked like, a “bastard”. It prompted him to marry you off as soon as possible.Not even two months later you were wed to some lord in the Reach far away from King's landing. It was a sad ceremony and it resulted in a sad marriage.

Early in the evening a knock at your door roused you from your sleep, the handmaidens from earlier had come back to help you get ready. They carried several boxes each revealing a different dress, in various different shades.

“What are these?” You asked as you examined the fabrics up close, they all looked to be of highest quality but you recognised none of them, they were not gowns you had taken with you.

“Courtesy from prince Jacaerys my lady,” one of the handmaidens replied, her answer leaving you shocked. Jacaerys bought you these gowns? Your heart fluttered at the thought and you couldn’t keep your smile at bay. You looked through the many options, there were dresses in shades of purple, pink, red, green.

There was even a gown in the signature black and red of the Targaryen’s, no doubt intentional from him. After a while you settled on one, the fabric feeling soft against your fingers and you had a feeling Jacaerys would be pleased with your choice.

“I choose this one.” You turned to your handmaidens, they nodded and helped you with undressing and then helped you put on the new gown. Afterwards you sat at your vanity as one of the handmaidens did your hair and the others put the other gowns back into their respective boxes. It didn’t take long before you were ready, your hair beautifully done and all the gowns put away, meaning it was now time to make your way to the throne room to join the others in the celebrations. 

The throne room looked amazing, there were tables laid out with food and wine, a large chandelier illuminating the room alongside the various candle holders. Nobles from all over Westeros were gathered here today and were mingling amongst each other. You hadn’t seen a scene so grand since the wedding of prince Aegon to princess Helaena, and even then it had not been so grand. Your arrival was announced by a courtier and as you descended the stairs you looked to the Iron throne.

Rhaenyra Targaryen sat on the throne looking as regal as you remembered her, on her left stood Alicent Hightower with her three children. You were slightly surprised the four of them attended the celebrations especially after the usurpation attempt. Although it was a short lived attempt it was still a shock for the entire realm and you were relieved to see that they all seemed to be on decent terms with each other.

King-consort Daemon stood on the right side of the queen alongside his two daughters and his two youngest stepsons. You almost didn’t recognize Joffrey, he had been so very young when you last saw him, too young for him to remember. With a pang to your heart you made your way to where they served wine and asked for a cup.

The servant handed you your cup and as you were taking your first sip the crow dispersed, the servant who had just a few moments ago announced your arrival now announced the arrival of the guest of honour. “Prince Jacaerys Velaryon of House Velaryon and House Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne.” Your eyes immediately darted up to where he stood and as you laid your eyes upon him, your breath left you. 

Jacaerys Velaryon stood in the entrance to the throne room dorning targaryen red and black, standing tall and proud. His brown curls framing his face and making him look all the more handsome. You watched him make his way through the crowd as applause followed, echoing in the large room. You felt your lungs constrict, he looked so handsome, he looked even better than how you had imagined him all these years.

It almost felt as though the Gods were taunting you. It felt unfair, so so unfair. You drank more of the wine, letting the alcohol flow through you in an effort to feel more at ease. However it had much the opposite effect.

The crown prince gave a short speech in which he thanked everyone for coming and wished everyone a pleasant evening. For a short moment you could have sworn your eyes locked but you could not be sure.

Soon the crowd made way for the crown prince and Baela Targaryen, who were going to be the first to dance as was custom. You knew it was illogical but a bitter part of you thought that it should have been you, you in his arms dancing and laughing. It should have been you standing by his side, touching his arm, caressing his face.

You drank more of your wine, before long your cup was empty and the dance had ended with applause from the attendees. The band started a new number as the prince and princess disappeared in the crowd, other dancers swarmed the floor and you felt it to be in your best interest to find some fresh air. No one was paying attention to you as you slipped through the doors, at least, that’s what you thought. 

There was a small balcony not far from the throne room, it overlooked the water and the crashing waves hid any sound from the party. You leaned against the rails as you tried to hold back tears. All these years being locked away in an estate of a man you didn’t love, with no one to keep you company.

Just for you to return to where you had longed to be and feel equally out of place. It hurt, it hurt a lot. The angry waves crashing against the shore mimicked your own frustration, you were so engrossed in watching the waves and their endless assault against the shore, you did not hear the footsteps approaching. 

“I hope you’re not planning on jumping.”

You turned around faster than light could reach earth, the voice sounded so familiar yet deeper and more mature. Your breath caught in your throat

“Jace?” You whispered to the man in front of you, convinced you were dreaming. He looked even more magnificent up close, full lips and strong brows and fair skin. Jacaerys smiled at you before stepping closer. “Yes Y/n,” his hand reached out to touch your cheek and you instinctively leaned into the touch, closing your eyes. “It’s me.”

His hand wiped away the tear that escaped your eye, and as you opened your eyes again he stood so much closer. “I missed you,” you spoke as he stepped closer. “I missed you too.” His arms encircled you and you were pulled in a strong embrace “I missed you so much.”

He buried his face in your hair as he cradled you against his frame. You stood there for a while, clinging to him as though he were to disappear if you let go. The waves continued to crash against the shore, the nobles continued dancing and the music kept playing, regardless of everything at that moment it felt as though time stood still, just for the two of you.

However, you knew this wasn’t appropriate. If anyone saw you two, it would damage both your reputations, yours more than his. You retreated your hand and put it on his chest, intent on pushing him away, although you knew it would be futile.

It was you who pulled away first, although you couldn't go far. Jacaerys’ training paid off because you could not escape his arms even if you had earnestly tried. You looked into his eyes, now it was your turn to cradle his face. He turned his face slightly sideways before planting a soft kiss to your palm, a content smile gracing his face.

“We can’t Jace.” His eyes opened as pressed you closer to him. “Why not?” “It’s improper.” He laughed in response. “Why?” You slapped his chest softly  in jest, and looked at him. “Because I’m married, Jace, so we really really shouldn’t continue.” Instead of pulling away as well, he cupped your face and lowered his own face so he could look deep into your eyes.

 “I don’t care,” was all he said before his lips met yours. It felt odd to be finally kissing the man you had pined after for so long, it felt like a gift from the heavens, and it was gift you were going to cherish forevermore.

He left your lips briefly to whisper something only for you to hear, “I love you.” Before you could respond, his lips went back to yours and his hands cradled your face to prevent you from leaving. The kiss was sweet, sweeter than anything on this earth. Sweeter than the cakes in the banquet hall, sweeter than any fruit you had ever tasted. It was so sweet, you knew you would be addicted before long.

His hands left your face and travelled down to your back, pulling you closer to him. The kiss felt heavenly, his lips soft against your own, it was like life was brought back into you. You kissed back with vigour, your hands reaching for his neck where they crossed over one another.

Jace was quick to deepen the kiss, tugging you closer to him as if he was planning on devouring you. Your heart was racing a mile per minute, and you couldn’t help but let your hands travel. On instinct they found their way into his soft, brown curls. A soft moan escaped him as you lightly tugged on the curls, at this you smiled. In response Jace gathered your skirts and hoisted you up so you were seated on the balcony, your legs crossed behind his back on instinct. His hands travelled up and down your sides, almost tugging at the fabric so hard it would rip.

You pushed against his chest when it felt as though you were going to pass out, you needed to breathe as did he. He parted to let you breathe, and he let his head fall to your forehead. A bright smile on his face as his chest fell up and down in quick succession, mirroring your own. It was he who broke the silence between the two of you after a few moments. 

“Never leave again,” he whispered as he started trailing kisses from your cheeks to your neck, and as you opened your mouth to reply, he sucked on a specifically sensitive spot on your neck. A moan escaped your lips as a result and you could feel his smile widen against your skin. You giggled softly, “I won’t.”

He continued to lavish your neck with kisses as he did so, you could hear loud footsteps approaching, and a variety voices talking over one another. If they passed by and saw you in this position with the heir to the throne, you didn’t want to think about what was to ensue. 

“Jace-” your hands tugged on his hair, which resulted in a gorgeous moan escaping his beautiful lips -” Jace, we should stop,” you said, hand caressing the curls you had tugged on. He grumbled before raising his head, and you let your hands fall to his shoulders. “Why do you want to stop,” he asked, “did I do something wrong?”

You shook your head, “We’re too exposed, anyone could walk in on us.” You glanced to the hallway and now it seemed that Jacaerys heard the same voices that you had heard moments prior, however now they were growing ever closer. He helped you down from your position and straightened his tunic.

“We should continue this elsewhere.” At this you let out a giggle, “bold of you to assume we will continue.” The puppy eyes he threw at you in response were enough to make almost any person swoon and fall for his ploy, but you needed to remain strong. “Jace I’m serious, I am married, continuing this would be most unwise.”

He took your hand in his, and looked you in the eyes, “I promise you this." His thumb stroked over your knuckles as he continued, "I will have your marriage annulled. I will beg my mother to do it and then-” he placed your hands on his chest, ”then we can marry, as was always the plan.” You smiled at him and softly caressed his chest. “I would like that.”

The voices in the distance disappeared and emboldened you to give him a small peck. “I should return to my room now.” He nodded in return, “I shall escort you.” You shook your head with a smile. “You should entertain your guests. They will wonder where you are.” He sighed, because he knew you were right. “Very well then. I shall see you on the morrow.” You smiled and nodded before departing to your chambers.

Once at your chambers you noticed something sitting on your vanity, a small raven scroll. Upon closer inspection it appeared the letter was sealed with the crest of your husband’s house. You opened the scroll and dropped it as soon as you read its content. You followed to scroll in its descent on the floor, shocked breaths falling from your lips. The content from the scroll laid bare for all to see. 

Dear lady Y/n

It is with great sadness that we inform you that your husband has succumbed to his fever, passing away in the late hours of yesterday eve. We pray for you well being and eagerly await your return.

With regards

Maester Tansen

[lizzyiii]

Fire and Family (1)

SUMMARY | chapter name: Aemond's Mysterious Girlfriend

WARNINGS | no warnings really, perhaps slight homophobia as well as slight rhaenicent, modern au

TAGLIST | if you'd like to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC

A/N | I had so much fun writing this omggg

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated ✨

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

“Stop worrying."

Aemond’s grip on the steering wheel was tighter than necessary, his knuckles turning white as he kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“I’m not worried,” he replied, his voice flat and unconvincing.

You raised a skeptical brow, your silver hair catching the light as you observed his tense posture. “Is that why your fists are strangling the wheel, and your eyebrows remind me of an angry bird?”

“I’m not worried,” he murmured again, deadpan.

Rolling your eyes, you turned your attention to the window, watching as the city of King’s Landing whizzed by in a blur of traffic and buildings. “Still not convinced, but I’ll drop it.”

As the car slowed to a stop at a red light, Aemond reached over without a word and pushed your feet off the dashboard.

“You’re going to scratch the dashboard,” he said, his tone more parental than necessary.

You huffed in response. “You know what would’ve made this situation so much better?”

Aemond sighed but humored you. “What?”

“If you’d introduced me to her beforehand,” you replied, casual and flippant.

“Little late for that,” he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the wheel again.

“Not really,” you continued, undeterred. “We can fix it tonight. You can introduce me to her, and I’ll give her a briefing.”

“A briefing?” Aemond finally turned his head to give you a raised brow.

You shrugged, completely nonchalant. “Yeah, you know, some tips on how to handle everyone. I mean, you know how our family can be.”

He turned back to the road, the light now green as the car lurched forward. “You’ll meet her tonight. That’s final.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, rolling your eyes again at his attempt to sound authoritative.

For a moment, there was silence in the car, the tension hanging in the air until you decided to poke at him again. You turned to him with a mischievous smile.

“So, can I at least know her name?”

Aemond sighed, his patience clearly running thin. “You’ll know it tonight.”

Once again, you huffed, fingers reaching for the radio, but before you could even touch it, Aemond slapped your hand away.

"Aemond!" you protested, glaring at him.

“I am not listening to the Mamma Mia soundtrack again,” he grumbled, his gaze firmly locked on the road.

You leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms in a huff. “It wasn’t going to be Mamma Mia,” you mumbled in a quieter voice, “It was going to be Pitch Perfect.”

Aemond’s lips twitched upwards, but he said nothing, clearly not wanting to start an argument.

After a moment, you spoke up again, “You know everyone's going to be there, right?”

Aemond glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, silently asking you to elaborate.

“Jace is coming back from Winterfell University, Helaena’s flying in from her Dorne trip, and of course, Baela and Rhaena are going to be there too. The whole circus.”

Aemond closed his eye and sighed deeply. “That’s absolutely fantastic.”

You gave him a sickly sweet smile. “I know, right? It’s going to be great.”

CUE THE FRIENDS THEME SONG

"i'll be there for you..."

ʀᴇ���ᴅᴇʀ ᴠᴇʟᴀʀʏᴏɴ - ᴜɴɴᴏғғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ᴛʜᴇʀᴀᴘɪsᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ-ᴠᴇʟᴀʀʏᴏɴ-ʜɪɢʜᴛᴏᴡᴇʀ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ - ᴛʜᴇ sᴇʀɪᴏᴜs ʙᴏʀɪɴɢ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏᴇsɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ғᴜɴ (ᴀᴇɢᴏɴ's ᴡᴏʀᴅs)

ʜᴇʟᴀᴇɴᴀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ - ᴛʜᴇ sʜʏ ɢɪʀʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴏᴍᴇʜᴏᴡ ᴋɴᴏᴡs ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ

ᴀᴇɢᴏɴ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ - "ʜᴇʀᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴛɪᴍᴇ."

ʙᴀᴇʟᴀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ - ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ ᴅᴇʟᴜsɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ

ʀʜᴀᴇɴᴀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ - ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇ ᴅᴇʟᴜsɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ

ᴊᴀᴄᴇ ᴠᴇʟᴀʀʏᴏɴ - "ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴍᴇ ʙᴏʏ" (ʜɪs sɪsᴛᴇʀ's ᴡᴏʀᴅs)

ʟᴜᴋᴇ ᴠᴇʟᴀʀʏᴏɴ - ɪs ᴛᴇʀʀɪғɪᴇᴅ ᴏғ ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏ ɢᴀᴍᴇs

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

“Family, I’m home!” you called out, stepping into the elaborate white foyer, adorned with red and gold accents, the unmistakable colors of House Targaryen. Almost instantly, you heard a high-pitched squeal of, “Mandia!” before a blur of silver hair zoomed toward your legs.

Before Aegon could tackle you, you scooped him up in your arms. His delighted giggles filled the room as you peppered his chubby cheeks with endless kisses. His tiny hands pushed your face away, but his smile said he loved every second of it.

Still grinning, you carried Aegon further into the house and walked into the living room, where you found your Joffrey sitting at the dining table, looking miserable. His dark hair was a mess, and he seemed to be staring at a mountain of papers.

“What are you doing?” you frowned, setting Aegon down and taking a closer look at the chaos.

Joffrey sighed dramatically, shooting you a pleading look that screamed, Save me. “Mum’s making me do homework.”

“Homework?” You scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “It’s summer break!”

“Please tell her that,” Joffrey begged, his eyes wide with desperation as you ruffled his shaggy hair.

Smirking, you patted him on the back. "Good luck with that, babe. You're on your own."

After that you made your way into your room, tossing your suitcase haphazardly onto the floor, you began the half-hearted process of unpacking. It wasn’t long before the monotony of folding clothes drove you to abandon the task altogether. You had barely been home for an hour, and already you were bored out of your mind.

Deciding you needed some distraction, you wandered downstairs to the nursery, where your baby brother, Viserys, was babbling away in his crib. As soon as he saw you, his face lit up, and he let out a delighted squeal. You couldn’t resist scooping him up, peppering his chubby cheeks with kisses until he was giggling uncontrollably and swatting at your face with his tiny hands.

"Alright, alright, no more kisses," you chuckled, carrying him out toward the backyard. "Let's go hang by the pool. It's hot enough to melt dragon eggs out there."

By the time you settled onto a lounge chair by the pool, it was around 3 p.m. Viserys lay on your stomach, gurgling happily, while Aegon and Joffrey were busy running around with the family dogs, chasing after balls that had long since disappeared under bushes.

Naturally, the estate wasn’t complete without its own mini-zoo: four large dogs—Vermax, Arrax, Tyraxes, and Stormcloud—were bounding around, while Syrax, your mother's obnoxiously spoiled Ragdoll cat, lounged on a nearby chair, surveying her kingdom with complete indifference.

You were just about to doze off when the sound of heels clacking against the stone patio jolted you awake. Your mother, Rhaenyra, burst onto the scene, looking as though she’d just sprinted from the boardroom to the backyard. She was still dressed in a sharply tailored business suit, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, phone in one hand and a look of mild panic in her eyes.

“Hey, twin,” you greeted lazily, raising a hand in half-hearted acknowledgment from your pool chair.

She barely slowed her pace, but she leaned down to kiss your cheek and then pressed a quick kiss to Viserys’s forehead. “Oh, you’re home,” she said, clearly distracted as her eyes scanned the chaos happening around the pool.

“Yup, back from the university zoo,” you replied, glancing at your phone. “By the way, what time are we supposed to be at Alicent’s dinner again?”

Rhaenyra frowned, her silver brows knitting together as she thought. “Five. Why?”

You tilted your phone toward her, raising a brow. “It’s 4:55.”

“Seven hells,” she muttered under her breath, eyes widening. For reasons beyond your comprehension, she always treated Alicent Hightower’s monthly dinners like they were state banquets.

“I know I’m late,” she said, already halfway out the door again. “Just give me five minutes to change.”

As she reached the door, she paused and did a quick headcount. Her eyes narrowed. “Where’s Jace?”

You absentmindedly tickled Viserys’s tummy, earning more giggles as you replied, “He texted me. He’s meeting us there. And he’s bringing a friend.”

Your mother turned around, her interest piqued. “A friend, or a friend?”

You gave her an exasperated look. “Mum, it’s his roommate, Cregan. Calm down, please."

Rhaenyra sighed dramatically, placing a hand on her hip. “Well, considering the way you lot are going, I’ve given up hope for grandchildren.”

You rolled your eyes, pointing at yourself, “First of all, your eldest child—that’s me—is only 21."

Then you gestured at Viserys, who was now trying to chew on his own hand, "And second of all, why on earth would you want grandchildren when your youngest is two years old?”

Your mother waved you off, muttering something about you distracting her before she rushed back inside.

She disappeared inside, muttering something about being late. You let out a long, exaggerated sigh, lifting Viserys off your stomach and handing him over to Elinda, the family nanny who had looked after you when you were a babe.

Once Viserys was safely in her arms, you heaved yourself out of the lounge chair and trudged inside to change, mentally preparing yourself for the inevitable awkwardness that always came with family dinners at Alicent’s.

You settled on a white, lacy top, a floral skirt that was just the right amount of "summer chic," and a pair of simple heels. You gave yourself an approving nod in the mirror. Definitely Alicent-approved.

Feeling confident, you grabbed your phone and headed out of your room, only to bump straight into Luke, who was coming down the hallway. He grinned at you, but your smile quickly turned into a frown as you eyed his outfit—jeans, a wrinkled graphic tee, and sneakers that had definitely seen better days.

"Are you serious?" you said, crossing your arms. "Are you going in that?"

Luke looked down at himself, confused and mildly offended. "What’s wrong with this?"

You gestured dramatically to your own outfit, then at his. "This is a formal dinner, Luke. We're not going to some burger joint."

"It’s a family dinner," Luke said, clearly not seeing the issue.

"Yeah," you emphasized, "hosted by Alicent. You know, the Queen of Passive-Aggressive Judgement? If you show up in jeans and a t-shirt, she’ll feel disrespected. She’ll probably spend the whole evening giving you the side-eye over the salad forks."

Luke crossed his arms and scowled. “It’s not that big of a dea—”

Before he could finish, your mother appeared at the staircase, looking like a force of nature in her sleek, all-black ensemble, her eyes narrowing immediately as she took in Luke’s choice of attire.

"What are you wearing?" she demanded, her voice carrying that “I’m not mad, just disappointed” tone that only parents can master.

"It’s a family dinner," Luke mumbled, pouting like a child caught sneaking biscuits before dinner.

Your mother gave him the look. The one that could send grown men running. "Go change."

"But—"

"Go. Change," Rhaenyra repeated, in a tone that left zero room for argument.

Luke groaned loudly, throwing his head back in melodramatic exasperation before stomping back toward his room like a scolded puppy.

By the time 6 p.m. rolled around, your mother had somehow managed to corral the entire chaotic family into the car. Aegon and Viserys were strapped securely in their car seats, with Joffrey wedged between them, poking Aegon every few minutes just to get a reaction.

Luke sat in the very back seat, arms crossed, radiating the kind of grumpy energy only a teenager could muster. You claimed the front seat beside Rhaenyra, already bracing yourself for the inevitable passive-aggressive showdown awaiting at Alicent’s.

"It’s 6 p.m.," you muttered, stating the obvious as your eyes flicked to the time on the dashboard.

Your mother shot you a side-eye glare that could freeze molten lava. You quickly clamped your mouth shut, deciding now was not the time to point out that being late to Alicent’s dinner would no doubt set off a chain reaction of looks and carefully veiled comments that would last the entire evening.

Rhaenyra turned on the radio, flipping through stations until she settled on some boring classical piece that did nothing to soothe the tension in the car.

As she drove through the sprawling estate, known to everyone as The Red Keep—a legacy of your ancestor Aegon the Conqueror, who apparently thought "over-the-top" was the only acceptable style choice—you stared out the window at the endless rows of manicured gardens, fountains, and random side buildings that no one in your family had probably set foot in for years. The mansion itself loomed in the distance, more of a castle than a house, with its stone towers and stained-glass windows.

When your mother finally parked the car, you all piled out in a semi-organized chaos. Rhaenyra retrieved Aegon and Viserys, who immediately started wriggling in her arms, while Joffrey sprinted off toward the front door like he was being chased by dragons. Luke, the embodiment of teenage apathy, slouched behind the rest of you with a heavy sigh that spoke volumes about his deep emotional struggle of having to attend a family dinner.

As you approached the towering entrance, the ever-present bodyguards, Erryk and Arryk Cargyll, stood on either side like twin statues. You gave them a quick nod as you passed, wondering if even they were secretly judging how late you were.

Before you could step inside, a flash of auburn hair appeared, and Alicent was suddenly in front of you, her expression teetering somewhere between mildly annoyed and disappointed but not surprised.

"Rhaenyra," she greeted coolly, her tone carrying just the right amount of disapproval to let you know you were late—very late.

"Alicent," your mother said smoothly, slipping into apology mode. "I know, I know—we’re late. Work ran long." She leaned in, giving Alicent a quick kiss on the cheek that seemed to linger just a second longer than necessary.

You raised an eyebrow, watching the subtle exchange with some curiosity. You were used to Alicent’s uptight demeanor, but there was always something… odd about the way your mother and Alicent interacted. Maybe it was because, once upon a time, they had been best friends—until Alicent up and married your grandfather, effectively making her the stepmother to her childhood bestie.

Yeah, you supposed that would add some awkward tension.

Alicent sighed, pulling back from the greeting with a tight smile. "Well, let’s just hope the food hasn’t gone cold. You know how my father hates to be kept waiting."

"Wouldn’t want to upset Lord Hightower," you quipped under your breath.

Both Alicent and your mother gave you identical disapproving glares, but before they could say anything, Alicent leaned in to greet you with a polite kiss on the cheek. Of course, you had to be you, so you obnoxiously wrapped your arms around her in an exaggerated hug.

"Hello, grandma!" you said, grinning mischievously.

Alicent rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of affection in her sigh. "You know I hate when you call me that."

"Which is exactly why I do it." You winked before clearing your throat. "So, is Aemond here yet?"

Alicent’s smile faltered for a moment, and you could see the familiar worry crease her brow. “No, not yet. But while we’re on the topic…” She gave you a pointed look. "Care to enlighten me on this mysterious girl he’s apparently been dating for two months? You’re usually the first to know these things."

You raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know a thing about her.”

Both Alicent and Rhaenyra looked like you’d just told them that dragons were real (again). Their jaws dropped simultaneously, and you glanced between them, confused.

“What? Why is everyone looking at me like I’ve grown a second head?”

“You don’t know?” Rhaenyra said, her tone somewhere between disbelief and accusation.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. "Why does everyone expect me to know? I'm not Aemond’s personal secretary."

Alicent waved her arms in exasperation. "Perhaps because you two have been attached at the hip since you were in nappies?"

"Well, for the first time in my life, I don’t know!" you whisper-shouted, your frustration finally bubbling over. "And, yeah, maybe I’m a wee bit hurt that Aemond didn’t trust me enough to tell me her name or introduce us, but hey—that’s his deal!"

Both women stared at you in stunned silence, your mother’s mouth twitching as if she was processing this new information, while Alicent blinked in surprise at your mini-outburst. After a beat, Alicent softened and gave you a light, comforting pat on the shoulder. “The girls are in the lounge,” she murmured, trying to be supportive in the most Alicent way possible.

Lifting your chin, determined to keep your dignity intact, you gave a firm nod. "Thank you." With that, you turned and strode off toward the lounge, making your exit with as much grace as possible.

You took a deep breath, shaking off the last remnants of your frustration, and plastered a bright smile on your face before walking into the lounge. It was one of the many rooms in the Red Keep that felt like it was trying too hard to be both cozy and luxurious, with its intricate tapestries and way-too-expensive furniture that no one was allowed to actually use.

But all thoughts of the décor flew out of your head when you laid eyes on your brother. The first words that escaped your mouth were, "What the fuck happened to your hair?"

Jace looked up from his conversation with Luke and his friend, touching his newly curly locks with a sigh. “Gee, thanks, sis.”

“Not in a bad way!” you quickly backtracked, making your way over to him and playfully ruffling his curls. "I'm just glad you finally abandoned the straightening phase. Natural is always better."

Jace rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly used to your commentary. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway,” he waved a hand toward the guy sitting next to him, “This is Cregan Stark, my roommate.”

You turned to greet Cregan, but the words froze in your throat as your brain registered the sight in front of you. Standing there was a man who looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of Northern Lumberjack Monthly. Dark, unruly hair, piercing blue eyes, and shoulders so broad you were pretty sure he could carry a small house on them.

“Wow," you said before you could stop yourself, your eyes a bit wider than necessary.

Cregan chuckled at your reaction, a deep, rumbling sound. “Not the first time I’ve heard that,” he said, clearly amused.

You quickly regained your composure, throwing on a dazzling smile. "Well, I mean... you're just very Northern."

“Guilty as charged,” Cregan replied with an easy grin.

Trying to focus on literally anything else other than Cregan’s annoyingly attractive face, you turned back to Jace. “Where are the girls?”

Jace, already halfway through his beer, gestured lazily toward the patio with his glass. “Out there. Probably gossiping or plotting our demise.”

You snorted. “Sounds about right. Cheers, boys,” you said, giving a mock salute before heading out to find Baela, Rhaena and Hel.

You let out an excited squeal as soon as your eyes landed on Helaena. Without a second thought, you rushed toward her, practically barreling past Baela and Rhaena with a quick, “Move!”

Helaena, equally excited, squealed back, and the two of you collided in a tight embrace, jumping up and down like you hadn’t just seen each other in a few lifetimes. Which, in fairness, felt true. Helaena had been in Dorne for four months on what could only be described as the world’s longest vacation.

Rhaena watched the scene unfold with an amused smile, while Baela rolled her eyes and dramatically placed a hand over her heart. "Wow, cuz, it’s so nice to know how deeply you value us," Baela said, her voice dripping with mock offense.

With your arms still firmly wrapped around Helaena’s neck, you stuck your tongue out at Baela. “I see you two every day. I haven’t seen Helaena in months, so shush.”

You turned to Helaena, pecking her cheek, before launching into your usual barrage of questions. “Okay, spill! How was Dorne? How was Sunspear? And…” You wiggled your eyebrows dramatically. “How was Quentyn Martell?”

At the mention of Quentyn, Helaena’s cheeks flushed a light pink, and she immediately looked away, pretending to be oh-so-casual. “Dorne was... hot,” she muttered, fidgeting with her sleeve. “Sunspear was beautiful, and... well, Quentyn was lovely too.”

You smirked. “Lovely, huh?”

"Someone’s being a prude," Baela chimed in with a teasing grin. She leaned back against the bench, throwing a glance at Helaena. “Just say what we’re all thinking: you shagged him.”

Rhaena, who had been sipping her wine, nearly choked from laughing, patting her sister on the arm. "Baela, don't tease her. I’m sure it’s all very innocent."

Baela raised an eyebrow and gave Helaena a knowing look. "Yeah, as innocent as Aegon Targaryen with his sisters."

Helaena groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I hate you all.”

You chuckled, plopping down on the bench next to her. “You love us. Now tell us everything. Was there hand-holding? Eye-gazing? Did he pull the classic ‘let me show you the Water Gardens’ move?”

Helaena shot you a look but couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto her face. “Fine, fine! He did show me the Water Gardens, but that’s not the point!”

Baela and Rhaena leaned in closer, wide-eyed like they were hearing the most scandalous story of the century. “Did he kiss you under a lemon tree? Were there doves?” Baela gasped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Helaena sighed, clearly regretting sharing anything. "You guys are taking the piss at me. And no, there were no doves. But we had a good time, alright? He is very sweet."

“Sweet is good!” you said, nodding approvingly. “But we’re going to need more details later. Like, what’s his deal? Tall, dark, and broody? Or more of the sensitive, soulful type?”

“Definitely broody,” Helaena admitted, almost shyly. “But... in a nice way?”

Baela snorted. “Classic Martell. Broody and mysterious. I’m telling you, it’s the heat in Dorne. Does something to their brains.”

You wiggled your eyebrows again, completely ignoring Helaena’s growing embarrassment. “Well, sounds like you’ve got yourself a Martell boyfriend. Now we just need to figure out how to drag Aemond’s mystery girl into the spotlight, and we’ll be set for tonight’s entertainment.”

Helaena gave you a playful shove. “You’re impossible. But fine, I’ll fill you in on the nonexistent doves later.”

Before you could embarrass Helaena further, Orwyle, the Red Keep’s ever-serious butler, appeared on the patio, clearing his throat. "Ladies, dinner is about to be served. And Miss Helaena, your brother has arrived."

Helaena raised an eyebrow, "Aemond or Aegon?"

"Both," Orwyle replied in his usual dry tone.

The girls perked up, but before anyone could say another word, your phone blared with the opening notes of "A Whole New World."

Baela gave you a dry look. “Seriously? Aladdin?”

You shrugged unapologetically, "Aladdin is a top-tier movie, and you know it."

As the girls made their way inside, you checked your phone screen where the name "Daeron the Forgotten" flashed in large letters. Rolling your eyes, you hit accept, and Daeron's boyish face filled the screen, silver hair tousled and lilac eyes gleaming with mischief.

"What do you want?" you asked, not even trying to hide the exasperation in your voice.

Daeron feigned shock. "First of all, rude. Second of all, I want to know about Aemond's girlfriend. Is she real or just a figment of his moody imagination?"

"You’re such a busybody,” you teased. “How about actually showing up to family dinners for once and finding out yourself?"

Daeron rolled his eyes dramatically. "I would but I was just there two weeks ago. And you know how much my mum can be..."

“Alicent Hightower? Overbearing? No!” you gasped, clutching your chest in mock disbelief.

Daeron smirked, but then his expression shifted as he groaned. "Plus, last month, when Rhaena announced she was a lesbian, and Mum started quoting the Faith of the Seven like she was auditioning for a preach-off... I’m not in a rush to sit through that again."

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, remembering the uncomfortable but hilarious scene. Wiping away an imaginary tear, you shook your head. "Oh, that was iconic. Alicent with the Seven verses... classic."

“Anyway, turn to the back camera so I can see Aemond’s girlfriend," Daeron insisted.

Rolling your eyes, you juggled your phone awkwardly, trying to press the right buttons with your manicured nails as you navigated through the massive Red Keep. “I’m doing it, relax!”

“Well, hurry up!” Daeron complained, his impatience crackling through the speaker.

Finally, after an eternity of fumbling, you stepped into the dining room. "Okay, got it," you said triumphantly as you flipped the camera.

"Ho-ly shite," Daeron whispered in shock.

Your brow furrowed.

"What?" You looked up, following the collective gaze of your family, all of whom were staring wide-eyed at Aemond. More specifically, at the woman latched onto Aemond’s arm. A woman who, you quickly realized, was a lot older than him.

Your eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as you finally recognized her familiar face. No. No. No. No.

You blinked, your mouth going dry as you looked at Aemond, who, to his credit, was meeting your gaze with the most desperate “help me” eyes you’d ever seen in your life.

Clearing your throat, you plastered on your best smile, trying to break the god-awful tension in the room. "Professor Rivers! Wow, it’s been a while! How are you?"

The silence in the room somehow got worse, if that was even possible. From your peripheral vision, you caught the sound of someone choking on their wine—most likely Jace—and Alicent’s audible gasp as she clutched her pearls, literally.

This was bad. This was so bad.

Great. Because of course no one else knew that Alys Rivers was your and Aemond's former professor.

Aegon, ever the king of timing, leaned in with a smirk. “So, do we still have to call her Alys? Or is ‘Professor Rivers’ more appropriate?”

You shot him a look that could kill, while Aemond, standing as still as a statue, whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m going to die.”

Alicent looked like she was about to faint, while Rhaenyra’s eyebrows shot so high, they were nearly in her hairline. “Aemond,” she finally said, her voice tight. “I think you forgot to mention this at the last family supper.”

The room was thick with tension—enough to choke on—and you were just trying to figure out how to survive this nightmare. Grabbing your phone, you whispered into the speaker, "Daeron, I need backup."

On the other end, Daeron was losing it. “Oh, I so wish I was there. This is gold.”

。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°

A/N — tell me what you think!!!! I forgot to put in the word count: 3.9k words. Also for context of all their ages.

Reader—21 | Aegon—24 | Aemond—21 | Helaena—22 | Jace—19 | Daeron—19 | Baela/Rhaena—21 |Luke—16 | Joffrey—11 | Aegon ii—5 | Viserys ii—3 | Alicent—44 | Rhaenyra—44 | Alys—47

Names that are in bold are ones that couldn't be added :(

@missyviolet123 @luckyfirebasement @champomiel @targaryenfamilywreath @lovewithmary @babypink224221

[howdoesagrapewrites]

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐈𝐕

Plot: Imagine being the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen, and having a very devoted family.

Cw: incest/targcest, yandere/lovesick behavior, unhealthy relationships, platonic and romantic yanderes, not everyone is romantically involved with reader, yandere EVERYONE x reader, sexual content, no actual smut, again, Daemon is violent

Taglist: @faesspace

>Jacaerys had come to terms with his status as a bastard, even though it was never to be said out loud

>Laenor was still his father, even if not biologically, he was the men he called "dada" with his first words, and it would remain that way for the rest of his life

>This made him closer to you, your situation was different, as everybody knew you were a bastard, and you were not to inherit anything

>He felt like he had to prove people wrong about him, so he overexerted himself. There was little you could do to stop him, so you contented with staying by his side in the library, late at night, falling asleep to his voice practicing high valyrian

>In these nights, you likely had little Aegon or Viserys on your lap, because they'd cry until they were put to sleep only by your or their mother

>Jacaerys would revel in this image, you peacefully asleep, holding babes, your silver hair caressing your cheeks

>He could sometimes allow himself to imagine what if the children you were holding were his, if you could be his queen. If he could kiss you and rut against you, if he could suck your nipples until milk would come out

>But he was always quick to dismiss these ideas, you were forbidden fruit, and the last thing a bastard king needs, is a bastard queen. His mother had gone through hell and back to uphold his claim to the iron throne, and he would not disappoint her, no matter how desperately he needed you

>And even though, he was ashamed to admit it, he was scared of his step-father. There was one specific memory he would always go back to

>He was a young man, maybe a little older than you. And he had come to Dragonstone while you were in King's Landing with Rhaenyra. He had come bearing expensive gifts and displaying a beautiful crimson doublet with embroidery details in gold and plum

>He had spoken flowery promises of old alliances of his house with the conqueror, and Daemon's face was reflecting his achingly strong boredom and weariness, demanding him he speak whatever idiotic trade he had in mind. That's when the lord said he'd be "most delighted" to present himself as a suitor for lady Y/N. Daemon didn't respond, he let the awkward silence seat, he let him marinate in anxiety. He then took his dark sister and cut the poor boy's head off. He told his guard he'd be spared if he returned to tell the tale, that no one should try to approach his firstborn daughter.

>"Nobody likes a peeping Tom" he shouted to Jacaerys, who was hidden watching the scene

>He still sometimes thinks of how easily his head fell off his neck, how quickly it did

>So he knew Y/N couldn't be his, not now not ever. But he still hated to know there was one person that Daemon could not scare off

>Jacaerys felt lucky he could see your metamorphosis from a girl to a maiden in a first row seat, but this change meant that one day you'd leave, and he'd have to get a wife, a proper wife for a king

>But that person that was not scared of Daemon, also didn't have that problem. He was talking about Daeron Targaryen

>Despite the collective best efforts of the Velaryon brothers, you still talked to Daeron regularly, fortunately, not as much now that he was in Oldtown, but still too much for their liking

>Lucerys did not realize the puppy crush he had on you, thinking he just saw you as his older sister, but he was on board with anything that meant sabotaging your possible paramours

>So they were incredibly frustrated when they all had to travel to King's Landing, and Daeron was going to be there

>Lucerys used Daeron's presence to distract himself from the fact that his grandsire could die, and that that was the real reason why they were there, for him to inherit Driftmark

>This was the first time in years you'd actually spend time with Aemond, as you would avoid him everytime you visited

>Dagahrion was too large for the dragon pit, so he stays in a cave in Aegon's hill

>Alicent ran to hug you, Rhaenyra stood there, silently judging her

>When you went to see your uncle Viserys, it was heartbreaking, he called for you, and you kneeled at the edge of his face, so he could see you clearly. It took him some time to recognize you

>"Y/N... She's nothing but an infant, I know she must be playing, but I'd like to see her"

>You patiently explained, until he could remember you, you saw a lonely tear when the realization of your age, and the pass of time had hit him

>You got into an argument with your father when he accused Alicent

>"Can't you see she just wants to have your trust to whore you out to his depraved sons?!"

>"Are you one to talk about depravity, father?!" You shouted, offended and angry at him

>"I am one to talk because I know exactly what goes through the heads of men like that, and I know exactly the type of woman that bitch is"

>"What are you scared of? That someone might treat me like you did my mother?!" You are a dragon, and you spit fire. Your father goes quiet, not out of shame, but out of astonishment. He had waited so much time to see himself in you, he thought that your lack of ill intentions was what made you perfect, but it was not. Daemon would enjoy seeing more of this, after all, it would be laughable if an innocent, irreproachable maiden rode a dragon like yours

>Daemon smiled at you and left the room, leaving puzzled and embarrassed at your words

>Rhaenys and the twins were second to greet you, your sisters had missed you so dearly

>They excitedly spoke of all that happened, and how much they missed being with you, you spent an hour in the gardens before you were interrupted, to go to Lucerys' hearing

>After catching up, Rhaenys left you to have "girl time" with them, they hugged you once again, and you could swear Rhaena left a kiss on your collarbone, and Baela's hands wondered a little too low from your back to your tailbone

>The announcement of the marriages had complicated reactions, you could see it, but you were glad the family would remain together, strong

>You hugged Lucerys when Vaemond yelled for all the realm to hear of his accusations, and you saw your father smiling at you and Rhaenyra once he had sliced Vaemond Velaryon in half

>During dinner, you sat between Jacaerys and Baela

>You were pleased to share a table with your family, it had been so long since you last did

>Aegon's unsavory comments made you cringe, but you sweetly smiled when Jace and Baela defended you, Alicent and Daemon were glaring daggers at him

>When it was time for the toasts, you looked at Helaena with sadness, thinking of how miserable Aegon had made her

>You toasted to your uncle Viserys, Viserys the peaceful, who had earned his title as protector of the realm

>Aemond kept looking at you, you could not decipher his expression, what he wanted from you

>You danced with Daeron and Helaena, Rhaena then joined, with her pentoshi grace and coquettish moves, she had always loved dancing the most out of you three

>The tone completely changed once Aemond decided to toast to his nephews, the three strong boys

>Before Jace could go to punch him, you spoke up

>"Say what you mean, cousin" you taunted

>"It was but merely a compliment, don't you believe your step brothers to be strong?'

>"I believe my king ordered to cut off the tongue of everyone who would insinuate or reference the foul rumors spoken against your future queen and king"

>"That was the day I lost my eye, was it not, dear cousin?" He spoke with a voice that made you want to recoil, it was frankly disgusting

>"It was, if I were you I wouldn't want to become Aemond One Eye and no tongue" you could almost feel your father's approval as you spoke poison

>With all the noise and stress, you felt your knees start to fail, you could see Daeron was holding you

>Aemond walked towards you before being stopped by a punch from Jacaerys

>After seeing Jace come to you, you blacked out

>Of course your fainting was attributed to being a young maiden in the presence of violence, but you knew something was strange

>Though it ended in a bitter note, you knew your spell was beyond psychological, you felt sick, maybe it was the food

>The maesters said you were not fit for travel, nor boat less dragonback

>Daemon refused to leave you on King's Landing, trying to sneak your asleep body out of the castle to take you with him on top of Caraxes, but he was discovered

>When he inevitably had to go, he left you in Misarya's care, had you wake up and be unable to travel back to your family, she would be rewarded handsomely to take you to Dragonstone

>The night prince Daemon left, was the night Viserys the peaceful, first if his name, died

[misswynters]

The Bastard Daughter

Davos/Benjicot Blackwood x fem!reader

[ SYNOPSIS: You were born the bastard daughter of Prince daemon, and the elder half sister to baela and rhaena. Once you got married to your betrothed, Benjicot, you took your little brother, whom you shared a mom, with you. Aerys is ten years younger than you, however you raised him since he was a babe. Due to your mother, Lysa Tully, dying in childbirth.

[ WARNING: almost kidnapping, non-canon character death, mentions of blood, stabbing, kinda sloppy writing…

[ REQUESTED: by anonymous

The halls of Raventree Hall bustle with activity as preparations for the upcoming journey to Dragonstone are in full swing. You walk briskly through the corridors, your mind occupied with the heavy responsibilities placed upon your shoulders. As the recognized bastard daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, you have always been aware of the weight your lineage carries. Riding the wild dragon, Cannibal, only adds to the mystique and danger that surrounds you. But today, it is your duty as a mother and sister that weighs most heavily on your heart.

Benjicot Blackwood, your husband and the Lord of Raventree Hall, is in the courtyard, overseeing the preparations. His tall figure, with dark hair and a stern expression, exudes a sense of authority and protectiveness that has always comforted you. When he catches sight of you, his eyes soften, and he approaches you with a reassuring smile.

"Everything is almost ready," Benjicot says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Are you sure about this?"

You nod, though a knot of worry sits in your stomach. "Rhaenyra has asked us to send our son and my brother to the Vale with her own sons. They will be safer there, with their dragons."

Benjicot frowns slightly but nods. "If this is what you believe is best, then we will do it. They will be safe, I promise you that."

Your son, Eddric, and your younger brother, Aerys, are playing nearby, their laughter a small comfort amidst the tension. The younger one, Eddric was six years his junior. However both boys are strong and brave, with the fierce spirit of their Targaryen bloodline, but they are still young.

As the day progresses, you make your way to Dragonstone. The sight of the imposing fortress fills you with a mix of awe and apprehension. You know that not everyone will welcome your presence or the presence of your brother and son. Baela and Rhaena, in particular, have never hidden their disdain for you and Aenys.

Upon arriving, you are greeted by Rhaenyra herself. Her warm smile is a balm to your nerves. "Thank you for coming," she says. "As you know we must ensure the safety of our children."

You exchange polite greetings before making your way inside. As expected, Baela and Rhaena are there, their expressions hardening when they see you. The tension is palpable as you introduce Eddric and Aerys to Rhaenyra’s sons, Jacaerys and Joffrey.

"The Vale is no place for these boys," Baela says sharply, her gaze fixed on you. "They are meaningless, having no worth.”

Rhaena hesitantly nods in agreement. "We cannot risk our lives for them."

You step forward, your chin held high. "They are targaryens, just like the rest of us. They have a right to be part of this."

Before the argument can escalate further, Benjicot steps in, his presence commanding the room. "These boys are my family," he says firmly. "I have raised them, protected them, and I will not allow anyone to speak against their place here."

Baela glares at him. "This is not about you, Benjicot. It is about their safety."

Benjicot’s eyes flash with anger. "And I say they will be safe in the Vale. We also have dragons."

The room falls silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Rhaenyra steps forward, placing a calming hand on Baela's arm. "We must trust in each other," she says softly. "Our family will be stronger together."

Reluctantly, Baela and Rhaena nod, though their expressions remain tight. You take a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief.

As the preparations continue, you find a moment alone with Benjicot. He takes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "Don’t pay mind to them" he says quietly. You took a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief.

The following day, the courtyard is a hive of activity as the handmaidens, servants and riders prepare for the journey. Cannibal, your imposing dragon, stands apart everyone, his dark scales absorbing the morning sunlight. Eddric and Aerys are wide-eyed with excitement and nervousness, as the elder of the two clasped his hands onto the reins of his dragon. Your son then made his way towards his father.

You walked towards aerys and kneeled before him, smoothing his unruly hair. "Stay close," you instruct him. "And listen to Benjicot and me at all times."

Aenys nods solemnly, his face set with determination. "I will, sister."

Eddric, standing beside his father, looks towards at him. "Will you fly like mother?"

Benjicot smiles, ruffling Eddric’s hair. "Sadly i cannot my brave boy. We will be riding the carriage together."

As you mounted cannibal, you watched as aerys soared through the sky following behind, the wind whipping through your hair. The journey to the Vale is long and arduous, but the sight of the mountains and the Eyrie in the distance fills you with a sense of purpose. Aerys, riding his dragon, was a sight to behold, his youthful enthusiasm blending with the raw power of his mounts. You smiled with pride as his older sister.

Upon arrival, you are greeted by Lady Jeyne Arryn, who welcomes you warmly. The Eyrie, perched high in the mountains, feels like a safe haven amidst the chaos of the realm. The children quickly settle into their new surroundings, as the dragons roosting nearby.

A few days have passed, and the children begin their training in earnest. Under Benjicot’s watchful eye, they practice their swordsmanship and horse riding, their skills improving with each passing day. You spend your time teaching them the history and traditions of House Targaryen, ensuring they understand the legacy they are a part of.

That evening, as the sun sets over the mountains, you find a moment alone with Benjicot. You stand together on a balcony, overlooking the Vale. The sight is breathtaking, but your thoughts are heavy with the weight of your responsibilities.

Benjicot takes your hand, his touch grounding you. "You’ve done well," he says softly. "Aerys and Eddric are safe, and they are learning. You should be proud."

You sigh, leaning into him. "I am proud, but I worry. The realm is in turmoil, and our family is scattered."

Benjicot’s grip tightens on your hand. "With time, we shall be together again. Your family and mine are strong, and we will fearlessly protect each other."

His words are a comfort, and you find strength in his unwavering support. Together, you watch the sunset, the promise of a new day bringing hope.

Tensions remain high between you and Baela and Rhaena. Despite Rhaenyra’s efforts to mediate, old wounds run deep. One afternoon, as you are helping Aerys with his dragon, you overhear Baela speaking with Rhaena.

"They don’t belong here," Baela says, her voice sharp. "They are not true Targaryens."

You feel a surge of anger but force yourself to remain calm. Stepping forward, you address Baela directly. "We are as much Targaryens as you. Our blood is the same, and we have the right to be here."

Baela’s eyes narrow. "Your mother was not a princess. You are a bastard."

“But she was noble, even so… share the same father Baela,” You told her as you rubbed your forehead due to stress. Benjicot steps in, his presence a wall of protection. "Enough," he says, his voice cold. "This bickering helps no one. We are here to prepare for the future. We need to stand as a family."

Baela looks ready to argue, but Rhaena places a hand on her arm, silently urging her to back down. With a huff, Baela turns and stalks away, leaving you and Benjicot standing together.

You turn to Benjicot, your heart heavy. "Thank you," you say quietly. "I don’t know what I would do without you." He pulls you into an embrace, his strength and warmth enveloping you.

The days turn into weeks, a sense of routine settles over the Eyrie. The children continue their training, and the bonds between them grow stronger. The hostility from Baela and Rhaena lessens, though it never fully disappears.

As you gather for dinner, Jeyne makes an announcement. "I have received word from Dragonstone. We must prepare for a council meeting. Our presence is requested by the queen to discuss the future of the realm." The news sends a ripple of tension through the room. You exchange a glance with Benjicot, knowing that this council meeting could change everything.

However journey back is fraught with anticipation. Cannibal is flying in a calm but steady manner. Upon arriving at the Dragonstone, you are struck by the gravity of the situation. The council chamber is filled with lords, their faces a mix of hope and fear.

Rhaenyra takes her place at the head of the table, her presence commanding respect. As discussions begin, it becomes clear that the realm is on the brink of war. Alliances must be forged, and plans must be made. When it is your turn to speak, you step forward, your voice steady.

"My husband and I have brought our family and dragons to support the cause," you say. "We stand with Rhaenyra, and we will fight for the future of the realm."

Your words are met with murmurs of approval, and you feel a sense of pride and determination. As the council meeting continues, you steal a glance at your husband. Benjicot meets your gaze, a small smile playing on his lips.

After the council meeting concluded, you flew ahead back to the Eyrie. It The moon hangs high in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the imposing structure of the Eyrie. All is quiet as the inhabitants of the castle sleep, unaware of the danger creeping closer. In the children's chambers, Eddric and Aenys sleep soundly, the fatigue from their rigorous training finally taking its toll.

Suddenly, a faint sound disturbs the silence – the creak of a door opening. Shadows slip into the room, figures cloaked in darkness, moving with the practiced stealth of seasoned kidnappers. They are after the children, seeking to exploit their value as dragon riders and Targaryen blood.

Aerys stirs, sensing the intruders, but before he can fully wake, a rough hand clamps over his mouth. His eyes fly open in terror, and he struggles futilely against his captor. Eddric is also grabbed, his startled cry muffled as he is lifted from his bed.

The kidnappers move quickly, their actions rehearsed and precise. They bind the boys' hands and gag them to prevent any cries for help. The children are carried through the darkened halls, the intruders avoiding patrols and sentries with an eerie familiarity of the castle’s layout.

In the courtyard, the kidnappers approach their hidden escape route. The dragons, knowing their companions are in danger, begin to stir restlessly in their nearby roosts. The beasts' low growls and shifting shapes go unnoticed by the kidnappers, who are focused solely on their escape.

One of the dragons, Cannibal, is particularly sensitive to the distress of its riders. The ancient, fearsome beast senses the peril its bonded humans face and lets out a thunderous roar that echoes through the mountains, shaking the very stones of the Eyrie.

The roar rouses you and Benjicot from your sleep. You leap from bed, your heart pounding with dread. "The boys!" you exclaim, already moving toward the door. Benjicot is right behind you, his face a mask of determination and fury.

Rushing into the courtyard, you are met with chaos. Dragons are roaring, their eyes glowing with rage, and guards are scrambling to understand the source of the commotion. You spot the kidnappers just as they reach the edge of the courtyard, your children still struggling in their grasp.

"Stop them!" you shout, your voice piercing the night air.

Benjicot draws his sword, his eyes blazing with fury. "Let them go!" he roars, charging toward the kidnappers.

The intruders, realizing they have been discovered, hasten their movements. One of them draws a dagger, pressing it to Aerys throat. "Stay back, or the boy dies!" the kidnapper threatens.

Your heart clenches with fear, but you refuse to back down. "You will not harm them," you declare, stepping forward with a fierce resolve. "Let them go, and you might live."

Cannibal lands heavily behind you, the ground shaking under his weight. The sight of the massive, menacing dragon causes the kidnappers to falter, their courage wavering in the face of such a formidable beast.

Benjicot takes advantage of their hesitation, lunging forward with a swift, precise strike. He disarms the kidnapper holding Aerys, pulling the boy to safety. You rush to Eddric, freeing him from his captor's grasp and shielding him with your body.

The remaining kidnappers, seeing their plan unraveling and the dragons closing in, decide to flee. They sprint toward the forest, abandoning their mission in the face of certain death.

With the danger passed, you hold Eddric and Aerys towards you, your heart still racing. Benjicot stands beside you, his sword at the ready, eyes scanning the surroundings for any remaining threats.

"You’re safe now," you whisper to the boys, trying to soothe their trembling forms. "We won't let anything happen to you."

Benjicot kneels beside you, his expression softening as he looks at the children. "We will always protect you," he promises, his voice firm and reassuring.

Eddric clings to you, his voice shaking. "They were going to take us away," he says, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Aerys, though shaken, lifts his chin defiantly. "We’re not afraid," he declares, his young voice filled with the courage of his Targaryen heritage. "We have dragons."

You and Benjicot exchange a look of profound relief, as the boy . Despite the terror of the night, the four of you had emerged stronger through fear.

The day came to a close and it was the next morning, a beautiful crisp autumn day at the Eyrie, the air filled with the rustle of leaves and the distant roars of dragons. You watch Aerys and Eddric from a distance as they train, their laughter and determination a constant source of joy.

The boys have become inseparable, their friendship growing stronger with each passing day. Suddenly, a commotion erupts near the main gate. You see a group of strangers, dressed in dark cloaks, pushing their way through the guards.

Your heart races as you recognized the danger. The attackers move swiftly, drawing swords and pushing past the guards with brutal efficiency.

"Stay here!" you shout to Eddric, who is standing frozen in shock. You run towards Aerys, who is closer to the intruders, your mind racing with fear.

Before you can reach him, one of the attackers grabs Aerys. The boy struggles, his fists pounding against the assailant. "Let me go!" Aerys screams, his voice filled with terror. The boy then grabbed tried to grab his dagger to stab his attacker on the leg. However it wasn’t enough.

You draw your sword and charge at the attacker, your heart pounding in your chest. But before you can reach them, the man uses the boys dagger and plunges it into Aerys chest.

"No!" you scream, your voice breaking as you watch your brother collapse to the ground.

You reach Aerys side, dropping to your knees and cradling him in your arms. His eyes are wide with pain and fear, blood staining his tunic.

"Aerys, stay with me," you plead, tears streaming down your face. "Please, don't leave me."

Aerys's hand reaches up to touch your face, his fingers trembling. "I... I'm scared," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

"I know, little brother. I know," you say, your voice breaking. "I'm here. I love you."

Aerys's eyes flutter closed, and his hand falls away. You hold him close, your heart shattered as you realize he's gone.

The courtyard is silent, the attackers having fled. Benjicot arrives, his face pale with shock as he takes in the scene. He drops to his knees beside you, his hand on your shoulder.

"We'll find them," he promises, his voice rough with grief and rage. "We'll make them pay for this."

But his words bring little comfort. The loss of Aerys is a wound too deep to heal, a pain that sears through your soul. You hold your brother's lifeless body, your tears falling onto his bloodstained tunic.

The sky is gray and somber as you stand beside Aerys's pyre, your heart heavy with sorrow. The dragons circle overhead, their mournful cries echoing through the mountains. The loss of Aerys has cast a dark shadow over the Eyrie, the grief palpable in the air.

You stand with Benjicot, Eddric by your side, his small hand clutching yours tightly. The boy's face is streaked with tears, his grief a mirror of your own. As the flames consume the pyre, you whisper a silent prayer for Aenys's soul, hoping he finds peace in the afterlife. The pain of his loss is a weight you carry with you, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the cruelty of the world.

The memory of Aerys's laughter, his bravery, and his love will stay with you always. And with Benjicot and Eddric by your side, you vow to honor your brother's memory by protecting them and fighting for the better of the realm.

You couldn’t help but place the blame of your little brothers death on someone, something. Why wasn’t there guards posted at Aerys and Eddrics chambers the night prior. How can two masked assailants just come into the courtyard unseen and unheard until it was too late. You wished you could blame someone, you really did.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @thornsandtulips

[a/n: sorry anon, i killed the readers brother :/, they really said let’s try again

[danyyytarggg]

YOU can continue to treat house of the dragon as canon and YOU can continue to get upset with HOTD!characters’ actions, take them literally, and judge their characters off of said actions. ME, i will be MINDFUL of the unspoken OOC tag that this particular fanfiction has and will therefore not take any of their actions as canon

[maidragoste]

The Sea-Dragon, The Clubfoot and The Green Queen

Harwin Strong x Velaryon!Reader (unrequited love), Alicent Hightower x Velaryon!Reader, Larys Strong x Velaryon!Reader

Summary: The birth of Jacaerys Velaryon opened your eyes to the affair of your husband and your cousin. The birth of the prince caused Rhaenyra to lose an important ally and Harwin to lose the love of his wife. But the greens gained an important ally. Now the blacks are going to have to fight against the sea dragon, the clubfoot and the green queen.

I. Bretayal

II. Another Man

III. Family

IV. The Strong Twins

V. Forgive me

+ The One He Really Wanted (a scene with Daemon that I left out of chapter 5)

VI. Fury

VII.

Playlist

Masterlist with headcanons, edits and answers to your questions

The last update of this masterlist was on March 24, 2024

[arcielee]

We gave our time to something undefined

Summary: Aemond receives a late night visitor. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Rhaena Targaryen Word Count: 2.7k+ Warnings: Kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, loss of virginity, and Aemond is still the consent king 👑. Author's Note: This is part 2 of Quietly, it slips through your fingers though I may do a third, as they have me hostage Gif edit by the wonderful @myfandomprompts. A big thank you to my beloved @aemondsbabe for being my beta reader and helping me hone my craft. Also ñuhon is Valyrian for mine, and sȳz riña is good girl, but I trust you all already know that one. 😈

Aemond was poised in front of the fireplace, dressed in cotton sleeping trousers and a tunic that was unbuttoned to his navel; his silver hair was slung over his shoulder in a low braid. A golden hue spilled from the hearth and washed over his practiced stoicism, his one eye trained to the flames that were crackling and curling around the blackened logs.   

His arm was stretched on the rest, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm to battle how his heart was still rattling against his ribs; his other was bent, fingers pressed into his prominent chin. He swore he could still smell the remnants of the heaven he had touched earlier, something that was both sweet and intoxicating, something that now consumed him wholly. 

He thought back to earlier that night, to after he had torn away from the small hall, his heated steps leading him throughout the corridors in a desperate search for an exit that would bring him outside of King’s Landing. He knew that Vhagar would be awaiting him, the she-dragon keenly aware of her rider’s agitation. Aemond longed to climb aback of her, to tear over the night sky, as if his ire could only be sated by dragonback. 

Or so he initially thought. 

He could not say what had stopped him—perhaps the low rumble of his nuncle. It pulled him to watch from the shadows as Daemon and his daughter, Baela, took their turns to growl at one another about the night’s events.

Rhaena was also present, also watching. 

She was a woman now, with the same quiet confidence Aemond recalled as he watched her observe her father and her sister. He noted that she did not meet with their bravado on display, but instead remained watchful; her head tilted slightly with a flicker of amusement across her lovely features. 

It reminded Aemond of Driftmark, all those years ago when everyone gathered to grieve, to pay their respects for Lady Laena. He was only a boy but still aware of the  heavy sadness in her eyes that absorbed everything around her. He recalled when her gaze fell to him, how it rooted him to the stone. Rhaena watched at his failed attempt to try and speak from his heart; she did not scowl, but merely held a clear curiosity for whatever he had to say. 

Instead, his tongue thickened and he  walked away, the grief unsaid. 

How quickly her expression changed later that night, how her lovely eyes burned with betrayal when he sauntered back, covered in ash, dragonless no more—

“—I know Dark Sister sings for blood,” and the taunting words brought Aemond back to see Baela  squaring off towards Daemon. At that same moment, Rhaena noticed him, as if she was drawn to how his blood now burned in his veins. 

Aemond stalked away, quickly and quietly, his ire rekindled. He thought of the patronizing expression that had shown in the lines of Daemon’s face. Arrogance will weigh the dragon down, his sister often sang; Aemond only scoffed at the thought.  

You have lived too long, nuncle.

He heard the footfalls echoing behind, though he did not think they would follow him out to the terrace. Aemond planted his palms to the cool stone of the balustrade, greeted by the sea breeze and the distant rumble of Vhagar. He then felt her presence, that same curiosity from long ago. 

You are lost, princess.

Aemond wished to frighten her, but she did not balk, but remained stance, facing him just as Baela had Daemon. Her gaze was unwavering, analyzing, almost desperate to see what was underneath. His fingers itched to show her, removing the eyepatch but even then she responded in a way that he never thought possible. 

There was no pity to be found, just a genuine remorse that left him shattered—the softness and the warmth of her lips against his marred side, his skin prickling from her touch. 

Back in his room, Aemond could feel the warmth emitting from the embers in front of him, or perhaps it was from the memory of what had followed that kiss, of how she fit against his chest, of how she looked up at him unabashed, unafraid, unwilling to leave him. 

His fingers flexed, balling back into a fist, still feeling the ghost pulse of her erratic heartbeat from the pleasure he had pulled from her… 

His blood simmered, but a soft tap on his door brought his mind back into his room. Aemond moved, a flash of silver to welcome the distraction. When he opened the door, Rhaena slipped in; she was quick to pull it closed behind her, her back pressing against the oak, breathless. 

His every nerve was alight as he drank in the sight of her–her deep breaths, the rise and fall of her chest, her lithe curves pressing the pastel silk of her nightdress and her skin peering through the matching silk robe hastily pulled over. Her silver locs had been knotted back into a long braid, accompanied with a pleasant scent of rose water. 

Her eyes held the same look from earlier, wide and glassy, uncertain but also unwilling to leave. 

Aemond swallowed. 

You came, he wished to say, but his arrogance won his tongue. “So soon, princess?” 

I had to see you, she did not reply, but instead her face shifted into a coy facade. “You told me to come find you if I wished to find satisfaction…” 

Her words ignited something within him and Aemond closed the space between them. His one palm grabbed her hip and the other moved to touch her jaw, gently tilting her head to claim her lips just as he had out on the terrace. Her trepidation from before was gone, now replaced with a warm familiarity as her tongue curled in rhythm with his own. 

Aemond hummed his pleasure and Rhaena pulled him closer until he melded against her, the surge of fire meeting fire with a burning desperation. She gasped softly and he deepened the kiss, drawing the air from her aching lungs. His leg shifted between her thighs with a pressure that made her mewl, softly, sweetly. It trilled the length of his spine, his cock throbbing against the seams of his slacks. 

He pulled back and reached for her hand, her fingers lacing as though they belonged in his grasp. She followed quietly as he pulled her towards the bed, a giggle spilling, gleeful. Then Aemond paused and turned to face her again; his large hands moved to cradle her jaw, holding her gaze, and her skin rippled with gooseflesh from the contrast of his gentle touch and the roughness of his palms. 

“This will only go as far as you wish it too,” his voice was low, his words tinged with a fear that she would simply change her mind and leave. 

But instead hope bloomed with the flutter of her lashes, her lips curling into a smile as she stepped closer to capture his lips. Her hands knotted into the loose fabric of his tunic and she pulled him closer still, smiling. Aemond thrummed from the taste of passion, tilting her head to savor the kiss. 

The silk she had been wearing was now a puddle at her feet, and Aemond discarded his tunic, his hands pausing at the waistband of his pants. He looked at Rhaena, watching her carefully, the black now swallowing the blues and the purples of his one intensive eye, an amber gleam flickering in the sapphire of his other. 

Her smile remained as she took a step back, resting on the edge of the bed. She did not look away from him as his eye trailed over her soft curves, admiring the golden glow of the fire on her brown skin, how it rose with the night air, her nipples pebbling in response. 

Beautiful, he does not say but instead swallowed to wet his throat. “That bastard does not deserve you,” his rasped confession wrenched from his lungs. 

Only then did she look at her hands resting on her plush thighs, and offered a soft hum in return. The boldness that had brought her to his room continued her motion, her hands reaching to grab the waistband of his slacks, her fingers precariously placed above the heady bulge that pressed against the crotch. 

He felt his blood roaring to stain his cheeks as her eyes washed over his bare body, trailing the silver scars now displayed, the lines that cut into his trim waist before she met with his gaze again. Aemond allowed himself a step closer, a heavy sway, moving between her parted thighs until he was close enough for her to softly touch his unmarred side, until he could feel her breathless whisper hot against his skin– 

“Then claim me.”  

And he burned with how each syllable dripped with the honey that spilled from her kiss-swollen lips. “Aōhon ynot sahās,” she said, her eyes locking onto him. 

Make me yours.

His hand covered her own, turning his head until his lips feathered the pulse of her wrist. “Ñuhon,” he growled against her skin, mine, and then he pushed forward until she melted into the mattress, lifting her legs and welcoming him into the cradle of her hips. 

His mouth was hot, ravenous, only allowing her a moment to breathe when he moved his attention to the curve of her jaw and to her neck. His teeth nipped at her skin, leaving dark plumes of color in his wake. 

He could feel her trembling beneath him, her head falling back with a gasp. “Aemond!” 

It was his siren song, those sweet sounds from the terrace. They remained with his steps that brought him back to his room, echoing in his mind until it curdled the marrow of his bones, a dull ache that knotted his lower organs. He wished to draw those same sounds but with his tongue; his hands pressed to open her thighs further, and he sank between them to place an intimate kiss that made her shudder in response. 

She was slick, a taste divine, and his tongue trailed between her folds until he felt her hands knotting in his hair. He feasted between her thighs with a hold that dimpled the softness of her skin, anchoring himself to her core. Aemond pulled her towards a new plateau of pleasure with his mouth, his tongue laving until she tried to writhe away. 

Her back arched with the expanse of her chest begging for air, her hands moving for fistfuls of bed linen to ground herself. Her lips parted with a wordless cry as his dexterous fingers curled within her. “Aemond,” she panted, panicked, but he touched her with familiarity, feeling how her every fiber sang for him: heart thrumming, muscles tensing, desperate for more. 

Aemond hummed against her cunt and the low vibration caused a soft cry, a pulse of her velvet walls around his fingers. “Sȳz riña,” he murmured, adding another finger that met with the tandem of his first. His tongue returned to carve through her sweet lips with an unrelenting pace that pulled her towards her peak. 

It shuddered throughout her, a sob spilling that Aemond moved to muffle with a kiss, his praises soothing against her lips: “Sȳz riña, sȳz riña.” He melted into her warmth, her body pliant and molded against him. His arms caged her to the bed and his cock twitched, the heat from her bare cunt calling and pulling him closer.

Rhaena squirmed beneath him, and he tried to lift his weight but her nails bit into his waist, stopping him. “Aemond,” she was breathless, almost begging. “Please, I–” but she faltered to find her words. He could feel her pulse still fluttering against his chest, and she swallowed thickly. 

“Aōhon ynot sahās,” she repeated, a desperation now touching her tone.

Aemond felt his heart seize in his chest, and he tilted his head for a gentle kiss. “We will begin slowly,” his voice rasped with his reserve, “I promise.” 

She nodded and he was careful to slot his slender hips between her thighs, his swollen cock heavy and pressing against one side. She sighed, and he looked to see her drunken smile splayed on her lips as he nestled against her. His arm weaved between to guide himself, and she tensed from the unfamiliar pressure, his swollen head sliding through her folds and lining with her entrance. 

A muscle ticked in his jaw with his concentration, his slow thrusts sinking into her warmth with a shuddering halt when his hips met with hers. Aemond then stilled, watchful, worried, seeing how her face was clouded. He moved to kiss her, his body shifting against hers, and she let out a small noise that he swallowed. 

“Rhaena…”

Her eyes fixated on him, and he felt the fire in her veins pressing towards the surface. Her head nodded yes, a whispered, “Kostilus,” please, and only then did his hips begin to move. Her tension began to fall away with his slow rut, his rhythm continuing. She mewled softly, canting her hips to meet the snap of his own, sparking something different, something deeper, and he felt her tighten around him.

Aemond hummed, and his pace quickened with the lewd sound of skin-to-skin. The heat curling in his core began to spread under his skin, a bowstring taut to nearly snap at the sound of her breathless cries, the pulsing of her velvet walls that pulled him after. 

He groaned, his hip stuttering, and his brow pressed to her own. He felt her legs wrapping around his waist and  looked at her. Rhaena combed her fingers through the silver hair that spilled from his braid, pulling him close for a kiss. 

“Stay with me,” his voice was low, blooms of red staining his cheeks. “Kostilus,” he added.

Please.

Rhaena kissed him with the promise to stay and only then did he pull away. He pulled on his slacks again, unbuttoned, and moved towards the wash basin to grab a clean cloth. Aemond turned on his heel and saw her, bashfulness now replacing her boldness from before, wrapped in the sheets. Her eyes were wide, glassy, and filled with something he now understood.

Desire, thrumming with the ichor of Old Valyria that ran rampant in their veins. 

He moved towards her and a smile curled on her lips, her eyes falling to the sway of his hips and the silver patch that peered lewdly above the waist of his trousers. His hand reached to pull the sheet away while his other began to carefully wipe away his pearly spend. 

She sighed, different than before, now with contentment and a consideration as her thighs fell open to welcome him again. He burned under her sense of awe as she watched his hands move over her skin; Aemond murmured his questions and she promised she felt fine, catching his wrist and bringing it to meet her lips for a kiss. 

He pulled away a second time–the last time he swore–discarding the soiled cloth and pulling through his drawers to retrieve a silk scarf that had been gifted from across the narrow sea. He watched her hands move to wrap her hair and he shyly offered to knot it at the nape of her neck, pressing a chaste kiss there when he finished. 

With their earlier tension spent and staining the sheets, their exchange was now natural, a tethered bond that seemed to be planted on that fateful night of Driftmark. Aemond climbed beneath the covers and his hands could not leave her, pulling her until her back was flushed to his chest, fitting like a missing piece. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close enough to feel the thrum of his heart. 

Her voice was soft, breaking the quiet that had settled over them. “What will happen now?” 

His hum reverberated through them and he pulled her closer until his lips could touch her shoulder once, twice, following the curve and pressing against the soft spot under her ear, pressing contemplative kisses before he said: “Tomorrow I will petition the king for your hand in marriage.” 

Rhaena shifted in his arms. “What if he says no?” 

He nuzzled into her neck, smiling against her skin. “Vhagar remembers you,” he began, his breath tickling; she bloomed with his words. “If they say no, I will take you to Driftmark and we will have a ceremony anyway, just as our ancestors did.”

“But what–”

“But nothing,” his tone cut through, a gentle resolve, and he pressed another kiss to the nape of her neck. Rhaena relaxed against him. “Iksā ñuhon.”

You are mine.

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @hb8301 @snowprincesa1 @namelesslosers @darylandbethfanforever9 @helaelaemond @qyburnsghost @niocel

arcie's hotd masterlist

[kjwaikiki]

Hey guys I need help finding a fic. I’m pretty sure it is on ao3.

The basic plot is that Alicent has always been in love with Rhaenyra and never really challenges her like in the show (she is a little obsessed). She still wears the green dress to Rhaenyra’s wedding but Alicent is wearing the dress to declare war on Laenor not Rhaenyra. Alicent passes on her obsession to her children who all are obsessed with Rhaenyra’s children.

I think the whole Driftmark fiasco is handled as Alicent and Aemond basically blame Daemon and his daughters for everything and really hate them, viewing them as thieves.

There are strong themes of jealousy and it is mainly from Alicent and her children’s pov.

I’m hoping that someone can tell me the name of this fic and hopefully it hasn’t been deleted. Thanks!

[fantasylandblues]

pov: you're in my modern hotd universe and you just opened your tumblr dash

based on viral textposts- part two!

[writingwenches]

In the HOTD podcast they basically said Rhaena is off to start her hoe era to get back at her step-mom/queen for sending her away and I’m living for this idea.

[green-watcher]

Maegor the Cruel had 6 wives total, largely due to his inability to produce an heir. They were Ceryse Hightower, Alys Harroway, Tyanna of the Tower, Elinor Costayne, Jeyne Westerling, and his niece Rhaena Targaryen. His first wife was Ceryse Hightower, whom he married in 25 AC, after the conquest.

[an-abyss-of-stars]

𖤓 Don't You Dare Do This Without Me 𖤓

Pairing: Rhaena x Aemond

Warnings: Smutty hints...mainly consensual

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Rhaena THOUGHT she was merely dismissing her husband's call for affection after an argument. Little did she know, her rebuffing had instead sent her petulant husband off on a tirade to burn an enitre village to ash.

.

Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ao3

Note: (THIS fic is intended to be a little mini-series. It's a piece of a plot I've been toying around with for a month or two. A Dark King Aemond story with Queen Rhaena grappling with her horrid situation. I do have an entire long form story/idea for this premise, that would start immediately after the war and span over several years. It would be much darker than this smutty snippet, like practically 'dead dove' really! But this little fun fic here entered my brain and I just figured I'd throw it out here as a mini 5-6 part thingy.)

So hopefully it's an enjoyable little something something!!

——

"I can't believe him, I can't fuc-" Rhaena's anger induced muttering died upon her tongue as she stepped into her shared royal chambers, her feet halting almost immediately as her legs stiffly stood right in front her three-year-old son. Little Aemon had run up to her as soon as the doors flew open, rushing to hug her skirts as he stared up at her expectantly.

What was he doing here? 

It was early, still the middle of the afternoon, she was certain that by all accounts her toddler should only be nearing the end of lessons now. Not dawdling around in her chambers to play-

"Darling! Sweetling, you are early," Rhaena schooled her previously set scowl into a bright affectionate smile, lilting her voice as her eyes took in the visage of her charming little boy. It was beginning to feel like such an effort, schooling her emotions from her son these days, seeing as he seemed to be so perceptive already. Any slight twinge upon her face, and his sweet little face would scrunch into a look of instant concern for his mother's wellbeing. Followed by the little hand he'd place upon her leg before he asked 'are you well, mama?'. 

It was a wonder where he'd managed to inherit such sweetness, surely not from his father. 

With a gentle sigh, Rhaena began to crouch herself down to Aemon's level, careful to keep her balance as her swollen belly carried a true weight to it now. Her back felt it, her thighs and her knees worked to compensate for it. Offset the weight she'd put on for the health of this third babe. Though she was eight moons along, so she was nearly to term. It was a motion she navigated with skill now, for she knew her body well and so she knew her limits when it came to this stage of her pregnancies. Soon enough she'd seat herself down or lay abed for an hour or two before the ache creeping along her calves worked down to her swollen feet. 

In the meantime, however, she placed a soft hand upon her eldest son's check and smiled warmly at him. Eliciting an equally dazzling giggle from her little boy, the adorable sound almost immediately soothed her heart. Allowing her to push aside the stresses of the day, the endless aggravation only her husband could muster within her, just long enough to focus in on her child. Meeting his gaze, she sought to pry just a tad, "what of your lessons in the library, sweet one? Have they truly concluded or have you managed to escape from your maester yet again?" 

At that, Aemon teetered on his toes for a moment. His hand absentmindedly holding onto Rhaena's shoulder for balance as he happily gurgled at the playful accusation. Gently biting his thumb with his free hand, a near bashful blush spread upon the apples of his cheeks as his attention was just as quickly drawn away. Distracted already, the mop of curly platinum blonde hair that reached the nape of his neck swished with the motion he'd made. His pale cinnamon brown skin glowing in the rays of the afternoon sun. 

Ah, dear...she did love her son dearly, but his mind did tend to wander off all too easily at times. If he was not obsessively focused on something of his interest, his mind was liable to dawdle. It was Rhaena who had to work to lure his attention back to her, nudging his chubby cheek with the caress of her thumb. Adding an accompanying prodding hum for him to both listen and follow the sound. 

Thankfully it was enough, her toddler was quick to turn back to her. His distraction, the glittering rays of beaming sunlight, had poured in through the paneled windows of the room. Illuminating everything within sight of the spacious solar, the various deep crimson red furniture, the large round oak table that was just off center. It was still covered with stacked books and rolled scrolls that Aemond had left out to continue analyzing later in the day. Toys still remained scattered by the fire upon the maroon fur carpet, Rhaena supposed Aemon had been sat there waiting for her return. Most likely playing there with his young wet-nurse, Elaya. 

The nineteen-year old maid from the Riverlands was currently sat by the fire in one of the cozier armchairs, rocking Rhaena's second born son, Daemion, in her arms. Now, Daemion shared many features with his elder brother, the same almond eye-shape and rounded bow-shaped lips…both a blend of their parentage. They held the same curly hair texture, although, Daemion’s little tuft of curls shone more silver than Aemon’s blonde in the sunlight. And Aemon’s skin was slightly paler than Daemion’s. His eyes were a shade of bright lilac as opposed to Aemon’s pale indigo. Daemion’s little button nose reminded Rhaena more of her own than Aemond’s, although the point at the end of it still spoke of the boy’s inheritance from his father. 

In either case, little Daemion’s eyes were levelled low as he relaxed in the arms of his wet-nurse. It was to be expected, Rhaena had only nursed the babe but an hour ago, so it was more than likely that her one-year old was simply feeling the drowsy calls of his milk-filled stomach. She'd left her younger son in the safe arms of her trusted wet-nurse perhaps a half hour ago when she'd initially left her chambers to visit her twin sister, Baela. 

In the case of her eldest, however, Rhaena knew well that the bright afternoon sun was an enticing thing to a young Targaryen. It promised games in the garden, playful training in the training yard...but most of all, it promised the possibility for dragon riding. Aemon was newly minted in the activity, having gone for his first flight with his father just a few days ago. It was all he would talk of, on and on he happily talked the ears off of anyone who'd listen. From Maesters to maids, to his aunt, Baela, to his uncle Aegon, and especially to his equally young cousins Maegelle and Laena. The two daughters Baela had birthed for her husband under Aemond's reign as King. All of a part of rebuilding their family's line, restoring the Targaryen bloodline. 

A bloodline Aemond more than single handedly destroyed himself...but Rhaena had gone down that road before. It never led anywhere, it never returned what she'd lost. 

It was easier to focus on what she did have. The title of Queen may have been thrusted upon her, as well as her first born son...but she'd found her stride. Settled herself into motherhood, her new station, her new title, her seat next to the throne. She'd even willingly taken to her main duty as Queen, found her own pleasure in conceiving her second and soon to be third child. She'd found her way to loving and at times controlling the psychopathic irate dragon she'd been made to call 'husband'. 

Besides, he had his moments, she supposed, he was always good to their sons and their nieces. He quite frankly adored all of the young children they’d brought into the world for House Targaryen. He was prideful over their very existence, especially that of their own two sons. He spent every moment in their presence showing them love and acceptance. Their young princes were dotted on ever since their births, they wanted for nothing. They were always made to feel wanted. A sense of innate yet nurturing compensation on Aemond's part, Rhaena was sure. He went wordlessly about it, but she could surmise that he wished to give his sons everything he did not have in his youth. 

Everything his own father failed to deliver. 

As seen by the flight he'd taken Aemon on, their little boy had loved flying upon Vhagar so much. The experience improved greatly by the fact that Aemond had eagerly taken the time to indulge their son of his own accord. Vhagar was the most magnificent dragon to her young son, his favourite of all that he'd seen in his little life. 

And that was why he'd loved that day more than any other. 

Though it was unfortunate, Rhaena always thought. 

For while she agreed, Vhagar was a magnificent dragon, a relic of times long gone...a living piece of history. But she couldn't help but think that her young Aemon had missed a truly glorious age of dragons, he'd never be able to meet his true Targaryen grandparents or two of his other aunts…the rest of his uncles. He'd never be able to see any of their dragons...Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax, Arrax, Tyraxes, Meleys...so many lost. So many gone...and sometimes four years seemed just long enough to put the darkness behind her, to call it all history so that she might distance herself from the pain of it all.

But other times, it was just too blatant...just too obvious. 

So many members of her family were missing from this current family portrait. The chasms were there, Rhaena’s current life would always lack because of their absence. The vacant holes they'd made upon her person, upon her heart, forever cutting slivers away from her there. No amount of new Targaryen babes could replace them. 

They were all dead and gone...and she was made Queen of the rubble in the aftermath, wed to a kinslayer...the second usurper King. 

What a fate. 

And her little son knew none of it truly. 

"No, mama! I finished, my lessons are all done! Maestwer...um...maestwer Alfa...Alfadwer-" Aemon blurted out his little rambled response, finally recalling that he'd been asked a question nearly ten minutes prior. He'd taken so long, Rhaena's mind had drifted to far darker memories. Though as she'd learned through her experience with motherhood, it didn't do to dwell on such things with children around. They always noticed it...they weren't naive enough to miss it entirely.

"Maester Alfador, you mean," Rhaena gently corrected, smoothing a couple of his curls back behind his ear. 

Aemon was quick to nod eagerly, pointing towards Elaya to add, "yes and...and he told Elaya how papa went out!" 

'Out' was putting it mildly, for while Rhaena knew not the extent of Maester Alfador's knowledge on the matter at hand. She did however know exactly what sent Aemond 'out' of the castle just a few hours ago. As she recalled it, Rhaena had received the order from the Kingsguard guarding her door earlier this morn. 

See, earlier in the morning, before the sun had properly risen. Rhaena had awoken to a rather...regularly expected act, a warm delicious pleasure that crept up between her thighs in long wet languid swipes. The feeling seeped into her peaceful slumber until the aching arousal dragged her back into consciousness. Where she'd awoken to find her husband settled between her legs, his arms tangled around her thighs keeping them spread as he lapped at her quivering wanting cunt. 

Eventful as it was... she'd awoken to many mornings with such activities to pull her from her sleep. Aemond was always eager, he had been ever since he’d stolen her from the Vale and made her his wife. Only now the urges seemed heightened, especially since she began to reciprocate his wantings. The conception of little Daemion was the birth of these feelings...and now the conception of another babe barely a year later had shown the realm and their present court that their union was—mending.

Into what, exactly? 

Something feral and animalistic, surely. A complicated mess of attraction, love and loathing. 

In either case, once Aemond had brought her to the brink of ecstasy itself...he pressed a kiss upon her rounded belly and readied himself for the training yard. From there, she hadn't seen him. Assumably he'd returned to bathe and dress himself again for the early morning council meeting, but she'd fallen back to sleep in-between that time. Only normally, he would have woken her. Normally, they'd have readied for the meeting with his council together...she'd negotiated that right of hers from her husband after the birth of Daemion. As his Queen, she wanted a spot upon his council, to be an active participant in his rule. Time after time, whether it was another one of their vicious volatile arguments between them or an instance of a sweet and tender domesticity as they lazed naked within their bed. Aemond had spent the last two years echoing the sentiment to her, that she was more than just his broodmare. 

And then he did this. 

He removed her from the council this morning. Without even the gall to tell her himself, he left for the meeting without her and then left the information for their guard to relay to her. 

Of course, later upon his return, when Rhaena was properly woken. Bathed and dressed herself in a lovely velvety gown, a dark Targaryen red with intricate black lace linings. With added black lace and sewn jeweled dragons and floral embroidery woven along her bodice and the hem of her skirt. She'd been sat upon her favourite chaise, providing their second son with his early morning feeding.  

That was when Aemond burst through the doors with a look of exhaustion and a need for attention. 

A need she had no intention of abiding by as he sought to exclude her so soundly this morn with no warning once so ever. In all honesty it had tainted the way she'd sweetly awoken in bed with him, as clearly that was more than just his hungered need to taste her first thing in the morn. As it was just as equally his act of service to placate her for what he had planned on doing all along. 

As it happened, Rhaena had burped their babe upon her shoulder, before she swiftly handed him off to Elaya to take to the nursery. It was only once the young wet-nurse had left the room that Aemond moved for Rhaena. Taking long strides to meet her upon the chaise, she'd scoffed at him then, knowing exactly what he wanted. His heated gaze lingered on her still exposed bosom, lustful and wanting...though she was too annoyed with him to indulge him. 

Perky and engorged as they were, she knew he more than likely wished to lay with her. To rest his head upon her swollen breasts as she caressed his hair and allowed him to unwind from his otherwise stressful meeting. And perhaps, had she'd been present for said meeting...or at the very least privy to the information that had been shared or delved into there...she would have sympathized. She would have given him exactly what he wanted, she'd placate him, hold him as he sometimes wishes to be cuddled. 

But no, not then. 

Instead she pulled the buttons of her chemise closed, lifting herself up off of the chaise, she walked around him and made her way to the long ornamented wall-length mirror that stood on the northern side of their chambers. There she stared purposely at her reflection only, working to ignore the way his perplexed expression morphed into one of burning irritation. As Rhaena casually touched up the ends of a few of her long loosening twists, it would soon be time to undo them, free her curls and wash her hair. A task she'd take to later this evening before bed. 

In the moment, however, Rhaena focused on herself. The vast majority of her maternity gowns had elegant buttons upon the front of the gown, made for easier access to nurse her babe at any given time of the day. A stipulation that had always been a part of her marriage, Aemond would have no one but her to nurse their children. 

Though it was in that mirror's reflection that their argument had started. He'd made his way towards her, and she'd turned her dragon's fire directly upon him. Perhaps she'd been warranted in it, that inundated rage of feeling belittled and undermined felt all too consuming for her to ignore in the face of Aemond's condescending rebuttals. That she was apparently in no 'condition' to need to be present for council meetings, that she would be filled in on the most ‘pertinent information’ when needed. 

Perhaps it was her body now, so late in her pregnancy, hormones ran amok fluttering dangerous levels of heightened emotions throughout her. Though even still, she was certain of it. 

He was sidelining her...she could feel it. 

And she didn't know why. 

‘Confinement’ felt like such a half-assed answer. 

He was hiding things from her and yet he still sought rewards for such blatant behaviour. Was it any wonder she denied him those rewards, she was in no mood to lay tangled in bed with him. She was in no mood to allow him to nuzzle his cheek upon her ample chest while he caressed her belly and teased her core with soft presses of his slender fingers. She knew him far too well for that. The progression of him starting off by claiming that he just wished for her to 'set him at ease'. Only, within the hour he'd seduce her to the point of having her gown torn off with his cock working her with rough deep wanting strokes. 

It was something he could never resist, especially when she was this far along with one of her pregnancies. All he wanted was to be inside of her, to feel her heated walls clenched tightly around thick length. His ever constant need to sink into her warmth, soak himself in her wetness. All as he held her tightly against him, nestled between her thighs as he rocked into her with perfect rhythm. Set at a pace of his choosing, with his teeth grazing her neck marking her body. And that ironclad grip of his, enough to set bruises, enough to make her shudder with want…the sort of hold that prevented the mere idea of escape. 

Letting her go...it was never an option, it always seemed a foreign concept to him.  

This would have been no different and seeing as she was cross with him. She chose to stand her ground, to hold fast to her willpower against his handsome seductive charms. It was a hard thing sometimes these days, seeing as her body almost always wanted for him...a true traitor, really. Her body had always betrayed her when it came to him. Ever since her early days, even when she firmed her way through every bedding session. Even the nights she cried through the utter heartbreak of allowing the acts done upon her…in the name of her safety…in the name of her duty. 

It’d been disgusting then, to think that her body had still enjoyed it even when her mind screamed the opposite. The thought of taking in the cock of the man who’d killed her first love, her second love…her grandmother…and then her father. 

Perhaps some days still…she found herself disgusted with herself. Because she didn’t hate it as much as she should anymore…because she’d found her way to enjoying it all. 

Surely the Gods’ frowned upon her. 

Thankfully, though, in that moment, when she denied him she stood by it. And because she stood so harshly against his whims, he stormed out of their rooms. A dark thunderous slam of pent up aggression and building animosity, he needed a different outlet seeing as his preferred choice had repudiated him. And in that knowledge, Rhaena knew well that he'd only ever go to Vhagar next. 

In this world Aemond Targaryen had two sanctuaries. 

Vhagar…and Rhaena, herself. 

And if one would not have him…then he’d storm his way over to the one that would. 

That however, had been several hours ago now. Rhaena had spent the rest of her morning in peace, she'd bathed and dressed Aemon herself. It was a good distraction from her own frustrations. She broke her fast with her young son, watched on as he ate his oats and banana slices messily. Biting back small amused smiles as she corrected his loose hold of his spoon and dabbed a napkin to his grubby mouth. Nibbling on her own custard pastry, delicately sipping her spiced tea in between. Their meal had been nice, they'd spoken about the day's activities her son wished to partake in. The lessons he was most excited to learn about today, as well as his hope to go flying with his father again later in the afternoon. 

Seeing as Morning was still growing, now a much larger beast over the last four years...she was still too small for Rhaena to fly upon herself. Let alone for her to take her son up with her. No, the choices were limited. Aemon could either fly with his father upon Vhagar, with his aunt upon Moondancer, or his uncle upon Sunfyre. As his own little golden hatchling, Golding...was his current name for his bonded beast, the he-dragon was still far too small for him to mount. Though Golding was surely a temporary name as Aemond intended on convincing their son to choose a more suited name for the dragon. But that was a conversation they'd have to shelf for now. Aemon was still a toddler and so he quite enjoyed the name he'd chosen.

In either case, as Aemon's choice for dragons to fly upon was scarce...he would always choose Vhagar first, he was painfully enamoured with every facet of his father. Even the less than savoury parts of him. 

Once Maester Alfador came to fetch Aemon for his lessons to attend with his cousins, Rhaena turned her attention back to her younger son. Playing letter blocks with Daemion, reading to him and singing lullabies as he grew sleepy in her arms. She'd taken him and sat upon the balcony overlooking the courtyard so that her babe could take some sun and fresh air as he slept soundly, there she listened to sounds of the busy castle. The birds chirping in the wind and the distant roars of the dragons near the pits. 

And there she'd thought of Vhagar and her husband. There was so much she still wished to say, so much he'd simply chosen to walk out on just because he could. With the full freedom that came with the title of King...he expressed that power either as intelligently as he wished or as childishly as a man of four and twenty could.

But now with Aemon in her company once again, she'd have to deal with the boy’s father, Aemond later...once he returned from his petulant flight upon Vhagar... she'd deal with him then. 

Returning her focus to her son, she pressed a sweet kiss upon Aemon's forehead. Gazing down into his pale indigo eyes, a mirror of his father's own. In fact, in all honesty…Aemon's entire visage was simply a little mirror to Aemond's own. They shared the same face shape...or at least the pudgy round face Aemond once held in childhood. It was a good indicator for the features their son would one day mature into. The two of them also shared near identical noses and lip shapes. Although, Rhaena's own added genes had ensured that the tip of Aemon's nose was just a tad bit more rounded. His lips more rounded than Aemond's own plush sharp bow-shaped lips. 

It was in the little things, Rhaena supposed. How their son had inherited her curly hair, a pinch of her tawny complexion. Her soft curved eyebrows and her almond shaped eyes. 

Yet still, all in all, their son was the living embodiment of a namesake, one Aemond had purposely bestowed upon their first child. Either to flood his own ego or in a dubious if not blindingly obvious attempt to flaunt his supposed legitimate reign over the one he'd stolen. The one he’d slaughtered in order to usurp the throne.

Though surely the realm was privy to the fact that it was Rhaena's own blood that made their son and the rest of their children so pure, they'd made both a purebred Valyrian heir and a spare for the throne. A union that started with a form of forced coerced duty...now led by something far more complicated. 

Something that existed between the bounds of love and hatred. 

For the moment, Rhaena gave her son leave to return to his toys. He'd want to play with her, but she needed a moment to herself first. She'd only just returned from spending some time with her sister in the gardens, where she'd divulged a splintered version of the events of this morning. Not that it mattered really, Baela may have joined Rhaena in their unified ridiculing of their King. But at the end of the day Baela would remind Rhaena of the same fact she always had, that Aemond Targaryen was a fickle psychotic being…and that she should be careful to never push the bounds and risk her life in the process. 

Because she’d already done so years ago…she’d already made such attempts in the past. And while she still had her life granted to her, she did not walk away the victor in those situations. 

So in that way, her elder sister’s advice had always been sound…but it was hard to swallow at times. Seeing as Rhaena’s forced marriage barely compared to the near bliss Baela was lucky enough to experience with her own spouse. In their case, her union with Aegon was a long time coming, a match Baela had hoped for since she was six and ten. Though it was a shame that just as she'd gotten used to the idea of marrying their sweet and loyal Jace...he'd been plucked from their lives. 

Although Rhaena always supposed that as devastating as his loss was, he was spared in a way. For while he’d come to love his betrothed, his daring Baela…she…she still secretly harboured feelings for the enemy. The night before Viserys had died, Baela had spent one final night with Aegon before he was set to wed Helaena. She'd left that passionate encounter with the settling seed of a man she was most likely to never see again. The Gods, though, they could be funny in that way. Tearing the realm apart, bathing a family in blood and tragedy only for the fates to align yet again. For Baela to finally have Aegon as she once wished, just in time to make her not-so hidden pregnancy legitimate before it was too late. Only now both their hands were tainted. War had taken both Jace and Helaena. War had taken everyone away from the dragon twins except their lone grandsire, Corlys Velaryon and his now legitimized heir Alyn Velaryon. 

*KNOCK, KNOCK...KNOCK* 

The pounding knock at the door drew Rhaena back out of her thoughts once again, she was losing it slowly but surely. She really did need her husband to return, she needed to clear her own mind...she needed to focus on something, anything else. The knock was hard, blunt and formulaic, it could have only belonged to a member of the Kingsguard. So when Rhaena swung the door open to see Ser Willis Fell, she was not surprised to come face to face with his hardened visage. Expressionless as he was, the redheaded man simply stepped aside for a young squire to hold out a silver platter in front of their Queen. 

"For you, my Queen. A raven hath just arrived," the young lanky boy bowed his head, as a sign of sheepish reverence and respect. 

A small scroll. 

A missive.

How odd. 

Tumultuous as this reign had been over the years, at this point in time, nothing beyond yet another rebellion could warrant the urgency of a missive like this.

—

Part 2 coming soon...maybe Friday!

[ilreleonewikiart]

TDIOBCB challenge - day 23:  pregnancy

Pregnant Rhaena, Daeron and their children, Nyra and Vivi

"This is probably one of the family dynamics I love the most that I’ve created.  I briefly mentioned that in this fic Rhaena and Daeron would get married and have children, but I never focused on them.  However, out of all the children that will appear, they are the most important and the ones who will return most often, as they will be born almost at the beginning of the story and grow over time, especially the first two, though Rhaegal, who will be born only at the end of the fic, also has an interesting conception. The first two are twins and are named Rhaenyra and Viserys.  For simplicity, they are called Nyra and Vivi by the family, and they are the very first grandchildren of Rhaenyra and Daemon.  Nyra is practically a miniature version of her aunt Baela, with a light touch of her grandmother, from whom she takes her name.  Being born a few seconds before Vivi, she is considered the older one and, for a few years, was seen as the most likely heir after Aegon III.  She is her father's favorite, who adores her and can never say no to her. Sometimes the two even dress alike. Vivi, on the other hand, is his mother's little angel, whom she adores.  Like the grandfather he’s named after, he loves sweets.  His sensitive soul makes him fall under the strong-willed nature of his sister, whom he follows in everything and is often the victim of her pranks.  Both love dogs and ponies. Rhaengal, the youngest, isn't born yet during the fic, but his presence is felt even while he's still in the womb.  In fact, unlike his siblings, he is not Daeron's son, but Addam's, though they will do everything possible to pass him off as a legitimate child.  In any case, he is deeply loved by both parents, and his two siblings adore him."

(warning: these illustrations are inspired by an AU Divergence and have nothing to do with canon (book or tv show) events and are not meant to be reposted outside of their contest)

[aviawrites]

a winters dragon: burning

!s: aemond targ x northern!reader, jacaerys velaryon x reader

summary: After escaping a life of sorrow in King’s Landing, Auriela is settled with the task of finding her place on Dragonstone in the midst of the Dance of Dragons. From unhappy nobles to loss of friends to rocky relationships, she begins to wonder if she has a place in this world at all. [8k]

a/n: no way i actually posted a pt. 2 everybody clap! i definitely strayed from the show plot b/c that’s not my style anyway, but some things i decided to keep. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, death, violence, mentions of torture, nothing you haven’t watched in the show

in this story, yn is: Auriela Dustin

hey! read part 1 -> a winter's dragon: flying

‘I write to you with a hardened heart, wife. You’ve betrayed not only the trust of my good family but mine own. It is my fault that you’ve forgotten to fear me, it shall be your undoing. You’re commanded by my brother the King to return yourself and my child to your rightful place here in King’s Landing at once. Once you’ve proven becoming of these terms, your horrendous and treasonous crimes shall be pardoned. The realm is watching.  Aemond.’

“Write back,” Vialy says, sitting on the other side of the desk. “Tell him you’ll return.”

You shake your head. “I would never return.”

“We know that but he does not,” she continues. “It would give the Queen time to plot.”

“Or it would give him time to get on his dragon and seize both me and Dragonstone.”

“Alicent would never let him leave with Vhagar, Princess. Your husband has love for you, he’ll want to believe you. The small connection the two of you built will warrant his waiting. As he awaits you in his castle, Rhaenyra is free of the threat. She’ll be able to strike.”

You hide the small smirk growing on your lips, never taking Vialy for much of a warhead. You look to Rhaena, her fingers interlinked with Vialy’s.

“…Any distraction is a good distraction, I think,” she shrugs. “The Queen surely won’t be the poorer for it.”

And so it is settled. Though, you cannot expect your response to be dispatched without the leave of the Queen herself.

…

“Come,” you hear her call.

Rhaenyra stands as you enter her chambers. You stop a few feet away, bowing your head.

“Your Grace.”

“Auriela,” she smiles. “You requested a word with me?”

“Yes, um,” you take a deep breath, Aegon and Aemond not having half of the Targaryen presence that their sister possesses. “This morning I received a letter from my husband in King’s Landing. He demands that I return to my seat and my crimes will be pardoned,” you stare at the floor. “We- or- Ithought that I might write back, if it please you. I’d apprise him of my return, I believe he’d take it as the truth and wait for my arrival. In that period, I thought it may be a wise time for us- or you rather- For you and your King to plot and execute your next move, should you see it wise.”

A pit forms in your stomach when Rhaenyra stays silent, looking from you to the scroll in your hands. She holds hers out and you place the letter in her palm. She quickly scans it before returning her gaze to you.

“I think it is an excellent plan,” she says.

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “You do?”

A small chuckle escapes her lips as she nears you.

“Auriela, you needn’t be so frightened. You are safe here.”

“No, I,” you scoff, “I know I am, my Queen…But I am not so arrogant to assume you’ve forgotten my former place in King’s Landing.”

“I have not,” she shakes her head. “But I do not fault you for your past, nor do I mistrust you for it. You returned to what you believe is right. That is honorable, Princess.”

You hide a smile, bowing your head once again. “Thank you, my Queen.”

She places a hand on your arm. “You know, we may have more in common than we see.”

“Do we?”

“I too carried my first child in the Keep,” she says.

Your shield falters as you remove your hand from your stomach and bring it to your side. She only gives you a reassuring smile. 

You never told Rhaenyra of your babe. All you’ve thought about since you arrived is how much stress your presence could bring upon her, so you never found the right time. But she knows, you think to yourself. 

——

1 Moon Later

You try your hardest to regulate your breathing, your hand hovering over your growing belly as the council speaks of the unspeakable. The green Queen’s son has been struck down, his head somewhere in a sack in King’s Landing. You didn’t believe it when the message was brought, never having imagined anyone could hate Helaena as much as they hated her husband. It is only now in this moment of sorrow that you wish you could be at the Red Keep for just five more minutes, just to give Helaena the embrace that she’s deserved all her life.

“This will only enrage them. Give them a reason to strike hard and fast. Completely reducing the time that we’ve bought for ourselves,” Rhaenyra rages at the head of the table. “They will not leave this unanswered.” 

“There has been no word from King’s Landing, Your Grace. Neither from the Prince nor the usurper himself,” Maester Gerardys tells.

“I am not surprised,” Rhaenyra sighs. “I have no doubt that Aemond has convinced his brother to send a host here as we speak. Maybe even with Vhagar herself.”

Daemon speaks up. “Which would not be so, had we not welcomed a traitor to the crown into our quarters.”

You slightly roll your eyes. Daemon has been cold and distant to you since the day you stepped foot on his lands. He’s not short of reasons to dislike you, though you regret being so conceited as to believe he’d be as forgiving as his wife. 

“By that same way of thinking, we are all traitors to the crown, Daemon,” Rhaenyra snaps back at him. “What was I meant to do? Turn the girl away whilst she bears a child?”

"That of the very man who killed Luke? Yes, turn her away! That's exactly what you do, Rhaenyra!” he raises his voice, your face growing hot with embarrassment as you feel all eyes on you. “Look at her now, she sympathizes with the usurpers-"

Rhaenyra stands, banging the table as she leans toward him. "Sympathy for the cold murder of a child is not a weakness.”

The room stays quiet, Daemon reluctantly backing down before Rhaenyra returns to her seat. Although you’d rather melt into yours at the moment, you decide to break the thick tension.

“My cousin…Cregan Stark,” you begin, your voice no higher than a whisper, “he sent a raven, Your Grace. He promises a thousand men to decend upon the Red Keep, should the greens send their army here.”

Rhaenyra has no chance to answer before Daemon scoffs.

 "A thousand untrained Northerners would march for King's Landing for a battle being fought here, how perfect,” he jests.

Rhaenyra ignores him. "That is a most generous gesture of Lord Stark, Auriela.” You cannot tell if she means her words or if she only says them to spite her husband. “Thank him for me."

Daemon frustratingly grunts. "We need to send dragons."

"And which dragons would that be?"

"Caraxes, Meleys, anything other than sitting on our arses whilst they slay our people and send their traitors! War is here!-"

“I think you’ve forgotten yourself, cousin…” Princess Rhaenys sneers, her gaze shooting daggers through Daemon’s skull. “Rhaenyra keeps war at bay as every man at this table seems to hunger for it. Speak to your queen accordingly."

Daemon only rolls his eyes, a snide remark on the tip of his tongue. Nevertheless, he spares Rhaenys, shooting a death glare at you. 

“…We must proceed under the assumption that Aegon’s army is coming,” Rhaenyra moves on. “Whether it be for his goodsister or for the unlawful killing of his son. Rather than this ceaseless bickering, let us retreat to the ways of the dragon."

“Fire and blood,” Daemon mumbles.

“Patience and wit,” she corrects him.

…

You feel the heat of the dragon’s fire long before you’re near it, the dark caves doing well in retaining their warmth. 

“Daemon is…vexed, more often than not. Don’t let his words get to you,” Jacaerys assures you, leading you to his own dragon. “I knew Helaena for a short time, her children for even shorter. But I do know that Jaehaerys’ loss was a grave one. Daemon shouldn’t have made you out as craven for feeling so.”

“Maybe not craven, but I am at fault,” you admit. “Had I not left and made them seem vulnerable, maybe the devil wouldn’t have thought to strike that night.”

Jace looks to you as you walk out onto the rocky platform. “That’s not true.”

“We’re alone, you mustn’t hold formalities. It is my fault.”

“It’s not,” he corrects you, firmer this time. “Nothing we do can prevent the minds of the evil and tormented. We leave that to the Gods.” 

Your eyes meet his. You’re prepared to get lost in them, though, they greatly remind you of Lucan’s. But before you can allow your mind to wonder, a loud grumble shakes the ground. Fear grows in your eyes as excitement grows in Jace’s. He grabs your hand, pulling you to the edge.

You hold onto his arm, terrified of falling into the dragon infested pit as a green mass rises. Suddenly, taller than a hundred men, an olive dragon towers over you, a tangy smell emitting from him. You try to step back but Jace holds you steady.

“lykirī,” he holds his hand out, the stirring dragon bowing to him. “lykirī.”

Your breath almost leaves you. You’ve ridden a dragon before, joining Aemond on Vhagar only once. But never were you face to face with her, nowhere near. Vhagar was much bigger, her head seeming leagues away from her back. But now, in front of you, the eyes of a dragon were treading on yours.

“Jace…” your voice shakes.

“Feel,” he holds your hand in his, pressing your palm to the dragon’s snout. 

“…What’s his name?” 

“Vermax,” Jace smiles proudly. “We grew together.”

“Gods be good…” you smile as well, almost talking to yourself rather than him. “What a great power they are.”

“Indeed.”

——

Three dragon eggs steam in their chamber as a servant walks them down to the ship. You hold Vialy’s hands tightly, no longer trying to hide your sobs.  

“Maybe you’ll be able to visit me,” you say. “Or write me letters of what you see in Pentos.”

“Of course I’ll write to you, Princess,” she wipes your tears, smiling. “You needn’t cry.”

“You’re the closest thing to family I’ve ever had,” you cry harder. “I don’t know what I’m meant to do without you, sister.”

“You shall thrive, as you always do. Being in your service has given me more than a lifetimes worth of satisfaction, Princess. I can only thank the Gods that they continue to lead me down a path of joy with the girl I care for.”

“I shall curse the Gods nightly for taking you away from me,” you pout. “We planned our whole future together.”

“Can’t you see? We are the future, Ella. The children and their dragons shall grow with us in the East, the boy will grow a Northern heart in Winterfell, and you and Lucan will put our Queen on the throne here. All corners of the world will have your love.”

You plaster on a saddened smile, pulling Vialy into a tight and lingering hug. Behind her, Rhaena and the children head toward the ship. 

“I love you, Vialy,” you whisper.

“I love you, Auriela.”

You let her go, not before seeing water line her eyes as well. Allowing Lucan to say his goodbyes, you take your spot beside Baela to watch them depart.

“I am no stranger to losing parts of myself,” you tell her, “I only wish that it was not this part.”

“But the Gods are merciful,” she looks toward the sea. “Their love shall live in our hearts. And for some, through what we've made." 

Baela looks toward your stomach, a small bump in your dress. It is only now, as Lucan returns to your side and grabs your hand, that you understand their words. You entertain the idea that the lives of the ones you love are reflected in all that you do; and in time, in all that you birth.

…

As the sun goes down, so does most of the castle. But you can’t seem to find sleep, thoughts of Vialy across the Narrow Sea haunting you. You roam the castle, landing in the Chamber of the Painted Table. With each echo of your step, you fall deeper into your doubt; whether that be about your place in the world or your next steps moving forward.

“They’ve sent Rhaena away.”

You jump, turning on your heels toward the painted table. On the other side of it, the moon barely lights the silhouette of a man; his frame tall and leaning back in his chair.

Daemon’s voice is unmistakable. 

“To the same place her mother died.”

You stumble for the right thing to say, startled. “I regret that her father was not there to see her off.” You walk toward him, standing at the head of the table.

“Do you think less of me for it?”

“…It matters little what I think,” you say, wary.

“It’s good that you know as much,” he stands to face you, “but that’s not what I asked.”

“I’m…I’m sure the King had other matters demanding his attention.”

“Hm,” he examines you in the light. The longer he looks, the closer he shifts to you, taking a deep breath in. “Have you been on a dragon?”

Your breath shakes. “Vermax, my King.”

“And why is that?”

“The Prince Jacaerys says it’ll do me good…”

Daemon huffs, settling into his spot. “What is your true business here, Auriela?”

“I only seek to appease my Queen-“

He cuts your words off with a loud and reverberating laugh. “You always know the right thing to say, hm? The usurpers have trained you well…”

You stay quiet, his looming presence and jabbing words leaving you at a loss.

He continues. “Had it not been for that babe in you, which is to be born a betrayer, I’d burn you with my own dragon.”

Your brows thread together. “May I ask what I’ve done so wrong, Your Grace? What but what was expected of me-“

Daemon grabs your wrist, pulling you to him. “May I ask who the fuck taught you to question your King?” he spits. “I will not allow you to do what you attempt. To estrange me from my family, to ally with the children, to make me a bad guy. You will fail.”

Eyes wide, you shake your head. Though, as his words stir, his shield lowers for a moment; his fragile and paranoid state apparent. “…It seems you’ve risen to such accusations very well on your own…my King.”

You swear the eyes of the dragon itself stare back at you as he sneers. But he quickly regains his composure, releasing his grip and resting his hand on his sword.

“Tread carefully…Traitor of House Dustin.”

He walks away, a click ringing out with each step. You’re left speechless, not being able to make out what just happened in the slightest. 

The King has threatened you…accused you. And you accused him back. 

Perhaps you were right, perhaps Dragonstone truly isn’t the seat meant for you. If it is, the Gods have a strange way of showing it. They send Aegon’s army, they take Vialy away, and now they turn the King against you…The only resolution is for you to remove yourself. For even if the King resents you, you’d be a sinner to stand in the Queen’s way as she battles for the throne.

——

“Why shouldn’t I!?” Lucan raises his voice, his face gone red.

“It would do no good, Lucan.”

“She needs to know, Princess. You’re a noble, you are royalty, how dare he speak to you that way.”

“It was only words.”

“It was not only words, he laid his hands on you!” his voice breaks. “She needs to know.”

“I’m sure she already knows who she married,” you argue. “Rhaenyra has problems enough.”

Lucan paces your chamber, running his hands through his dark hair. You nervously fiddle with your rings, having an idea of how he’ll take your next words.

“…If we were to leave Dragonstone…where do you suppose we’d go?” you ask timidly.

Lucan stops, staring at you. His head shakes as he walks nearer, his voice low and steady.

“You don’t mean to let that spineless King run you away from your seat…” 

You shrug. "This is the seat of fire and blood, my love. We are of other lineage."

“We fought to get here, Princess. I’ve given up all I had. You and your child are all I’ve got to my name…Should you command us to leave, I will go. But I ask you, as your servant, to not let malignancy win. You deserve to be here just as much as her half blooded sons.”

“Listen to my words,” you grab his hands, “Vialy and Rhaena were successful in their leave. They are safe now. We could be safe, Lucan. We could get properly married and raise children; maybe even Maeserys.”

He thinks, taking deep breaths as his hands tremble. You place a knuckle on his chin, lifting his teary eyes to meet yours.

“…Dorne would allow it,” he admits, barely audible. 

“Yes, Dorne,” you smile widely.

“The children would have to be a mystery. Their hair dyed and names changed.”

“All achievable,” you reason. Though, it’s obvious how against leaving he is. “My love, we could flee to Dorne.”

“I wish not to flee, Princess…”

You tilt your head, empathetic of his view. A kiss placed on his forehead, you make up your mind. He will forgive you once you leave; once you’re on a Dornish beach with your family, away from the hassles and battles of the Crownlands. 

You do not mean to let Daemon run you away, as he said. It’s much less Daemon forcing you to flee as opposed to sacrificing your spot for the better of the realm. The less problems your true Queen must deal with, the more focus she can put into her war. It’s a good thing you plan to do.

——

He’s left. Fled before you were able to. To Harrenhal Daemon is said to have gone, leaving this table of nobles looking to you for information on the recent movings of the Red Keep. 

“The people are starving…” you reveal. “But their fleet is strong.”

“So is ours,” Corlys speaks up.

“My husband spoke to me little of battle, but I estimate they can call no short of three thousand men within a fortnight.”

Rhaenyra stares intently at you. “And what of their dragons?”

“The same as you left them, all strong and growing, Your Grace. Though, the Princess Helaena still has yet to ride Dreamfyre in many moons.”

“So that’s two dragons against our four.”

“Unwilling does not mean unable, Lord Broome,” Rhaenyra reminds him. “Alas, Vhagar is larger than half of our dragons combined and I do not mean to send my son to fight against such forces.”

“Mother, I can-“

“You cannot,” she insists.

You feel a comforting hand on your shoulder, Lucan’s thumb rubbing lightly against you as he fills your cup. You smile, finally not feeling alone in court any longer.

“If I may remind you, my Queen, with the promise of men in the North, a siege of the Red Keep is not impossible. Certainly not if the King Consort returns with an army of his own.”

She bites her thumb, her eyes searching the table as she thinks. You wonder if you’ve said something wrong before she dismisses her council, thanking you for your words. The men look at her like a sheep with the skin of a wolf, doubt and dismissal lensing their gazes. They think her weak, dumb witted just because she decides to make tactical moves. You regret that a tiny sense of doubt rises in yourself, knowing how urgent the matters of war are.

Lucan nods at you, staying back and holding your hand. Nerves tingling in your fingers, you pull away, standing and walking toward a pacing Rhaenyra.

“May I have a quick word, my Queen?” you ask, your voice low with Lucan by your side.

“Go on,” she plasters on an unconvincing smile.

“I wish to ask for leave.”

“Leave?” she confirms. “Where for?”

“Starfall, Your Grace,” Lucan speaks directly to Rhaenyra for the first time. “My home seat.”

“Dorne? Why would I send you to Dorne?”

“…I find myself being of little use yet great concern these days,” you admit. “I only wish to free you of the burden. We ask to continue our lives in Starfall and leave you to it for the betterment of the realm.”

Rhaenyra tilts her head, your view being new news to her. “Princess, you’re nearly bursting at the belly and a journey to Dorne is hard and long.”

“I shall endure it if it means to not disrupt the happenings on Dragonstone. As I see it, it would be an act for your ascension.”

“An act from the threat of others…” Lucan mumbles.

Rhaenyra’s head snaps to him, then back at you. Your lips press together as you curse Lucan in your head.

“Threat?” she asks. “Who’s threatened you?”

“No one, Your Grace. This is of my own accord-“

“It is treasonous to tell anything but the truth to me, Auriela.”

You sigh, your face dropping as you give up your act.

“The King helped me see that it would be a wise choice for me to leave you and your family as you are.”

Her eyes soften, chewing in her bottom lip as she looks away from you. If only she knew this is exactly what you meant to avoid, more stress is the last thing you want for Rhaenyra.

“Daemon is no longer here,” she shrugs.

“My Queen-“

“It would not benefit me to grant you leave, Princess. You are needed and wanted here.”

You quietly huff, bowing your head. “Your Grace.”

Walking away, you shove Lucan as he follows you toward the door. “Was your comment truly necessary?”

“I only meant to tell the Queen the truth. I am not a traitor.”

“You solve nothing!” you whisper shout, opening the grand doors. “We’re now stuck in the crossfire of a doomed battle of which we have no significance.”

The bickering ceases as Jace turns the corner, walking opposite of you and Lucan. The two of you bow. “My Prince,” you say in unison. He enters the same room you’ve just left.

Lucan scrunches up his nose. 

“Dragon,” you tell him.

“Hm,” he nods. “Smells similar to Vhagar, I presume.”

“Sort of,” you shrug, entering your bed chamber. “Vhagar has a more earthy smell. Vermax is younger, almost a fruity stench comes from him.”

He laughs. “Did you read up on that?”

“I smelt it myself, thank you,” you jest.

Lucan’s smile slightly drops as you throw yourself onto the bed, sprawled into a star.

“Did you really?” he asks from across the room.

“Jace showed me,” you stare at the ceiling. “Vermax was so close I could smell his breath.”

“Jace…You’re good friends with him then?”

You chuckle. “I wouldn’t say good friends.”

“Yet you call him by a short name.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, Lucan’s face now stone cold. 

“Luke, everyone calls him Jace.”

“His mother and his betrothed do, of which you are neither.”

“Speak plainly then,” you challenge, standing up. “What are you saying?”

He sighs. “I’m just noticing, is all. You’ve gotten rather close to him…”

“I only seek to feel at home.”

“And how I feel? Have you thought about that?”

“Wh- Lucan, what is this about?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Princess, you’ve been everywhere but by my side since the moment we arrived.”

“I made you cupbearer,” you remind him.

“The Queen made me cupbearer. Not at your request, might I add.”

“So you’re angry because my attention is split?”

“I’m discontented because you’ve taken more of a liking to a Targaryen bastard than you have to me. I wish not to be a beggar but I feel it’s the least I deserve for my troubles.”

“Your troubles?” you near him. “And what would those be?”

“I shan’t speak it-“

“Well you’ve already begun, so go on.”

He stares at you through his dark locks, cornered.

“…The troubles of abandoning the life I knew, Princess,” he admits under his breath. “To join you on your travels.”

Your eyes are fixed on his, spite in your gaze.

“You did not have to come with me, Lucan.”

“You’re my superior-“

“I was nothing to you!” you spit, not believing he’d blame his regrets on you. “I was a girl in a brothel. You chose to care for me!” 

“If only love was a choice, my girl. I would follow you anywhere, as death follows life. But as I stand, I feel I’ve been bested. I feel that you don’t…” he trails off.

You tilt your head. “…Have I ever commanded you, Lucan? Ever?”

“You have not.”

“Have I ever sworn myself to you?”

He shakes his head.

“And we are yet to be married, yes?”

“Princess, you bedded me-“

“And I am the poorer for it. Evidently, I’ve made a mistake. I thought you to be loyal. I thought you to be on my side by choice. But you see our journeys as…What?…A duty?”

“I- My love, you made the choice to stay with me for those three days. You made the choice to fuck me after your King forbade you from seeing me again. You came to me with the news of your child, you mourned over our Alice beside me…Was I mistaken to think it only right to commit treason with you as well?”

Treason, he calls it. Before now, he’d refuse to even call it wrong. You could’ve sworn that it was his idea that brought you to Dragonstone to begin with. So for him to blame it on you…

“How dare you?” you stare at your palms as they grow sweatier. “We were meant to be one.”

“And we can remain one,” he insists. “But in the fleeting moments of our passing one another, you stand beside Jacaerys. Or you speak to Baela. I feel wronged-

“You see me a traitor…”

“No,” he grabs your hands, forcing you to look at him. “I see you as so beyond myself, my girl. But with one tongue you claim to be my equal and with the other you leave my debt unpaid.”

Debt. Fleeing the home that was one day away from tipping over and burning you alive is a debt. Just another order that he felt he had to see through. You feel like you don’t know him at all; like his tongue is being controlled by something from the hells rather than his own heart.

You snatch your hands away, backing yourself from him.

“No, Auriela,” he walks toward you. “We must talk-“

“I have nothing more to say to you,” you snap, exiting the chamber.

You slam the door shut, leaning against it as you lay your hands over your chest. Though, they quickly cover your mouth as you fight the weeps from escaping. In the span of a few short days your whole world has been flipped. The King wished you gone, then he fled; the Prince has taken an interest in you, the Queen denied your leave, and now…the boy you love seems to see you as more of a highborn superior than his own. 

You never should’ve come. Were it inevitable, you should’ve taken the ship with Vialy to finally be free of the burdens of royalty. But as you cry, your chest burning with sorrow, there’s only one person whose arms you’d rather be in.

Though not only is he across the bay, but his brother’s army may be on their way to hunt you down presently.

——

1 Moon Later

“The maesters say the babe is healthy,” you tell Lucan, his hand stroking your stomach. 

“I am glad to hear it.”

You’re still short with each other, only having real conversations when it regards your child. He’s busied himself with the servants and smallfolk of the island, putting his head down when you pass. Although you cannot say he is only to blame, as you give him the same treatment, busying yourself with the higher born.

He puts his hands down, looking at you. “Has the Prince said anything of importance as of late?”

“Nothing that we don’t already know,” you huff. “That war is upon us.”

“Clever man, he is.”

You roll your eyes. “At the least, he can see that we have greater troubles on the horizon. Much bigger than small disagreements such as our own.”

“That may be so. But I have always considered your feelings and the state of the realm of equal merit.”

Your shoulders drop as he finds yet another way to make you out as a villain. You simply smile, pressing a cold kiss onto his cheek before leaving his, now separate, bedchamber.

…

“Princess,” you bow as Rhaenys dismounts her dragon, Baela dismounting Moondancer behind her. 

“Nothing, again,” Baela walks up to you. “There’s never anything.”

“Be glad that the Gods still favor us.”

“If I’m to be a patroller, I wish to have something to patrol. At least a small ship to detour, even Moondancer is restless,” she sighs, looking to your stomach. “Has he felt any kicking?”

“He barely cares to touch my stomach,” you scoff. “He seems to grow angrier with me daily for the simple fact that I’ve adjusted to Dragonstone; even though that’s all he pushed me to do upon our arrival.”

“Hypocrisy is a part of being human, I suppose. Many throughout the realm will raise the Queen’s banner, yet leave her to fight alone when the time comes. Men often shrivel in the shadow of a power that they engendered.”

“Perhaps I was foolish to believe he wasn’t like other men,” you laugh at yourself. “I never thought him to be so spiteful. Certainly not of my friendships with other men. Gods, I was married when we first lay together. But now he has a problem; with Jace of all people.”

She grabs both of your hands, Moondancer’s low rumble being felt from beneath the stony platform. “You know, when my mother died, I was not even three and ten. Neither was Jace. We had not known each other for the better part of two days when he began to stand by my side. Him and Luke were there for us like no one else was, not even our father. Sure, it may have been under the order of their mother, but it matters not…What I mean to say is that there are good men in this world. Ones who are simply good because their hearts allow it, they were born so. So if the Gods do not intend this man for you, your true match is somewhere, and he will find you. The Gods do favor good women.”

You smile, staring at the ground. “I am not sure I’d consider myself a good woman.”

“Of course you are,” she makes you look at her. “I’m sure of it.”

“How can you know?” you ask, almost desperately. For the question has been weighing on you for the past fortnite.

“Auriela, you’re married to the Prince of Westeros. You were royalty, living a life that other girls dream of. And yet you turned it all away in the name of good and right. You remained steadfast in your verity even when it was life threatening.”

“…I suppose you are not wrong.”

She laughs. “Of course I am not wrong.”

Your conversation is cut short by the sound of footsteps nearing you, Jace emerging from the castle.

“Rhaenys said you’d be here,” he calls, a wide smile on his face.

He slides his arm around Baela’s waist, pressing a kiss onto her forehead.

“What are we on about?” he asks.

“Auriela was just telling me-“

The ringing of approaching bells interrupt Baela. Jace’s face lights up before he bolts for the doors. You and Baela follow him, finally catching up when you emerge from the front of the castle. Jace doesn’t stop, continuing to lead you down the path and toward the sea. There, a great ship prepares to anchor on the shore.

“I believe that is our livestock shipment,” Jace grins, eager to feed his dragon.

As the three of you walk closer and closer to the beach, you notice something familiar about the ship. The banners are Rhaenyra’s, black and red. But the sails have a slight plum tint to them. As you think back to where you could’ve seen them before, Lucan’s words ring out in your head.

“Well that one there is from Braavos. The plum tint of their sails is from the old practice of dying their stolen ships.” He said.

The dock. The one in King’s Landing. Your eyes go wide.

“That’s not livestock.”

“It is,” Jace assures you. “They come every week, mostly aurochs and ox from the Riverlands.”

“No, Jace,” you point. “That ship…I’ve seen it.”

He turns to look at you, Baela staring as well.

“…It’s from King’s Landing.”

Baela furrows her brows. “King’s Landing? Why would…” She looks over your head and toward the boat, her face dropping.

You and Jace follow her gaze. The ship is much closer now. And from the ramp, soldiers with gold cloaks trot through the sand, headed directly for you. 

“Go alert my mother…” Jace says lowly, unsheathing his sword as the men grow nearer.

Baela grabs his shoulder. “Jace, we can’t-“

“Mount Moondancer. Please do as I say, we have no choice.”

“Jace-“

“Go, go,” you push Baela toward the castle, running behind her.

You hear Jace exchange some shouts with the City Watch as you trail behind Baela, her riding shoes being much more fit for the sand than your heeled boots are. She turns a corner, disappearing behind the stone walls leading to the front doors. As you turn behind her, you feel a body wrap around yours.

A small squeal escapes you as you fight armored hands off of your body. It isn’t until you face the knight that you sigh a breath of relief.

“Ser Erryk!” you heave, his grip still tight around you. “The greens are here, they’re on our shore.”

He says nothing, only staring at you past his hefty helmet. Still in silence, he scoops you up, marching you back the way you came.

“No…Ser Erryk, listen to my words,” you beg him. “That ship is from King’s Landing, the usurpers sent for us. The City Watch, they’re-“

Erryk only quickens his pace as a league of gold cloaks pass you, headed for the castle. It’s not until one of them gives Ser Erryk a nod that you realize. Looking back up at the knight, your face drains of color.

“Arryk…” you mumble. 

“You’ve been called upon by his Grace, the King, and your Lord husband to return to your seat at once-“

You spit in his face, pushing and shoving to get away from him. 

“Jace!” you frantically shout as Arryk brings you closer and closer to the ship. 

As you reach the beach, you see why your calls have gone unanswered. Ser Arnol Roxton has Prince Jacaerys in his grasp, his forearm tightening around the boy’s neck.

“Jace!” you cry.

“I should strangle you for what your bitch mother did to Jaehaerys, boy.”

Jace thrashes, forcing the knight to turn every which way to keep ahold of him.

“Stick to your orders, Ser Arnol,” Arryk reminds him.

“When you run back home,” Arnol continues, “tell Rhaenyra that you only live by the mercy of the King, you hear?”

Arryk leaves them, forcefully dragging you to the ramp of the ship.

“No, no, no,” you beg. “Ser Arryk, please. I remain your Princess, you answer to me!”

“I only answer to my King.”

He places a hand over your mouth, your air being sucked away. Your fight becomes lighter and lighter as your brain continues to fog, your last sight being the hull of the vessel.

…

Criston Cole’s words flow from his tongue like shit from a raven. You’re sat in a creaky chair, your limbs bound. Ser Criston stands opposite you, continuing his ramblings as if anyone wishes to hear them.

“You know, you put me to shame when the Watch failed to find you on the Street of Silk,” he admits. “And again when you escaped King’s Landing with your whore.”

You keep your eyes down, trying your hardest to pry your wrists from the ropes.

“It’s a shame how like your cunt Queen you are. Just because you’re girls and you’re confused you think you can act however you wish; treat others however you wish.”

“Are you truly still hurt over that?” you scoff. “Is her rejection what fuels your mindless compliance to the usurpers?”

His jaw ticks. “Not hurt, Princess. But I will bring women like you to justice-“

You can’t help but laugh, knowing your tongue will be lost regardless of if you stay silent or bicker back.

“Justice? Ser Criston, you’ve not been wronged. It’s the putting of fragile men like you in positions of power that placed us here.”

“Do you mean to insult your King? And his father before him?”

“I mean to insult you,” you assure him, the guarantee of sure punishment freeing you to say what you wish, “and the chip you’ve held upon your shoulder ever since you were foolish enough to think that Rhaenyra would ever lower herself-“

Criston slams his hand against a wall, making you flinch. He walks over and kneels until his nose is level with yours. In contrast to all you’ve said, his presence being this close makes your breath tremble.

“I shall worry not,” he shrugs. “For your husband will not be as kind to you as I have been…”

——

6 Days Later

The dripping water of the cells of the Red Keep have become your only friend in the two days you’ve been trapped. You’ve convinced yourself that this may be what you deserve; people have lived right beneath your feet for so long, maybe the Gods think it wise for you to live below as well. You can bear most of it, the hunger, the nakedness, the constant worry, the smell of mold and rotting rodent corpses. What you could do without, though, is the talking. The constant visits from none other than Lord Larys Strong, the man who ran you away in the first place, has nearly driven you mad. 

For hours upon hours he will speak in circles. From how he became a cripple to what he believes the King should do with you, he will visit and revisit each topic thrice over until he’s hungry; at which point he will leave and return with food for you both, only so that he can continue talking. 

The not knowing is eating you alive more than the rats ever could. 

What is Lucan thinking?

Is Dragonstone safe?

Will Rhaenyra come to free you?

Does Aemond plan to let you rot?

Will your child live?

All questions you keep to yourself, for the last thing you wish to do is give in to Larys’ efforts and indulge in his senseless conversation. 

“Through your eyes, I’m sure it is hard to see. But I am sorry for what is to come, Princess,” he says. “All I did, I did for the good of the realm. At a time, I hoped us to be friends.”

You only stare at the corner, the wet decaying bars being a prettier sight that Lord Larys. Although you do not wish to hear them, you do not dare miss a single one of his words. What is to come, you do not know. But you can only pray that the Gods have mercy and goodness stored on the other side of the threat. 

Larys stands, wobbling as he pours his weight upon his old cane. You anticipate the slam of the heavy door, but it never comes. Instead, Larys’ set of footsteps are replaced with another. Shutting the door behind him, your snow haired husband strides in, looming over you. He’s stoic, his hands behind his back and his chin lowered.

“H- Husband…” you tremble, the cold seeming to rush in all at once.

“You have wounded me, wife, I must admit,” he stares. 

“Aemond…” you slowly shake your head, tears filling your eyes. “I only did what I believed was right.”

“Belief takes many men’s heads these days. You shall thank the Gods you’re not a man, I think.”

You pull your knees to your chest as Aemond’s lips struggles against a frown.

“I’m no stranger to betrayal, but I hadn’t thought you to be so craven as to turn against your true family.”

“I have not turned against my family,” you argue, the skin on your knees peeling from the constant dampness. “I have only turned against evil.”

“Granting you a seat at the Red Keep, a husband, a handmaiden, a say, that is evil? I myself am not a pious man, but I do think that we’ve done you great reverence with our terms.”

“I never asked for this…” you weakly admit, “I’ve only ever wanted to find my way…To hurt you was far from my intent-“

“But you did!” Aemond shouts, briefly losing his composure as he strikes your bars, a loud cling ringing out. 

He breathes deeply as you shield your head for the anticipated impact. Though, it never comes. Instead, he returns to his previous position, resting his hands on the handle of his sword.

“You did, Auriela. More than I thought possible…When Lucerys Velaryon stole my eye, a part of my very being, I vowed to never be found so vulnerable again. So easily exploited. And to that I stayed true, until I met the woman in the brothel. And again when I met you…or what I believed to be you. The few nights we spent together were long and loving, I thought we were one, wife,” he inhales, his voice trembling a bit as he caresses his handle. “When you left, you hurt me more than Luke’s blade ever could…Would you call it wrong for me to want you to hurt like I hurt?”

Tears stream from your eyes but your face stays flat. “Torture me as you must, Aemond. My tongue will be cut before I speak the answers you seek.”

“You call me by name now…moments ago it was husband,” he notices. You miss the point he intends to make. “An unnecessary measure regardless. As punishment for your feeble loyalty, I asked my brother to send you to exile. Old Valyria, I suggested. So your body would turn to hardened stone as my heart has. So you could experience the cold and slow decay that I felt each day you refused to return to me. Alas, I mustn’t speak for the King.”

Your eyes frantically follow your husband as he walks toward the door, two men following behind him; with them, a putrid stench. The metal clanging emerges in front you to be none other than Criston Cole, behind him, the King himself. You feel yourself shrinking underneath their gaze, Aegon’s smirk making you want to vomit. Ser Criston walks around Aemond, a sack in his hand. 

“Tell this traitorous twat what you told me, Ser Criston,” Aegon says, staring at you.

“Your lover is said to have fought until the last hack, you should be proud,” Cole sighs. “He was determined to save you, even as he watched your ship sail away,” He sets the contents of the bag on the wooden table beside him with a thunk. “I am told that the last words to slip from his mouth was your name. Before he met the chopping block, that is.”

Your heartbeat seems to slow so drastically that you’re afraid it may stop…you hope it will stop. You aren’t aware of how rapidly the tears are flowing down your cheeks until they pool on your arms. The men seem to be looking through you as you sit with your mouth agape, so many thoughts going through your head, yet not one intelligible enough to make sense of.

Why? You ask the Gods. Why this? Why now? You’ve prayed to the Mother your whole life, and yet she allows the Father to mutilate your love’s soul before handing it to the Stranger. Do they make a sport of torturing you? Do they laugh from their high seats as you struggle to grasp what’s in front of you? What have you done but what was expected of you? Why?

Lucan’s severed head and hands are battered. Black, blue, red, and swollen, the flies have their fix with his rotting skin. One of his eye sockets is less swollen than the other, sunken in. You reckon that was at Aemond’s request, now his everlasting battle to take the eye of another to compensate for his own can finally be put to rest. But why this, Mother? Lucan is good, he is just. He is good simply because his heart allows it, he was born so. Suddenly you regret the words you last spoke to him. You regret not listening, you regret not coming to him with empathy and understanding rather than spite and anger, you regret not kissing him once more, you regret not loving him harder, you regret what fate you’ve brought him to…Perhaps you regret ever meeting him. For Lucan’s life as a whore on the Street of Silk would’ve given him satisfaction until he was too old to withstand it, at which point he’d turn to Dorne, perhaps. Maybe he’d take up a position at the Tavern with Pate, maybe travel the world with the wealth he’s accumulated.

But now, as his mangled and rotten remains stare back at you, you know that he’ll never have a chance to see any of it out. This is the end of his story. You wonder if he knew that his love for you would come at such a great price, if he’d still love you. You would hope not, but you know he would.

It all matters not, for this is where we are. Now, as the three boys wickedly smirk at your naked and weakened body, you make your final decision. As you told Aemond, you will not speak. You will not give them the satisfaction of telling them of your time at Dragonstone nor the plans of Rhaenyra. They will gain nothing from you, as they cannot take what you refuse to give. Your death now surely imminent, you find peace in the knowing that no one will miss you. You find peace in knowing that your child will never have to live in this cruel and unforgiving world. Vialy will forget you once your letters fail to arrive, your memory will fade from Rhaenyra and her family as their heads are caught in war. You can only hope that Cregan helps young Maeserys find his place in this life. As you look to Aemond, you also wish for Cregan to hold his head, flies nipping at his severed neck as they do now to Lucan. But as you are presently, your hopes and dreams do not matter, nor does your short life. The only vengeance that you can truly expect is the fall of the greens and rise of the blacks. That shall be enough for you, the peril of this nefarious family and the rise of the true rightful heir. 

Aegon unsheathes his blade as Criston begins to unlock your cell. You know not exactly what the men’s plan is. But you’re sure that your death shall come after. You only can stare at what was once your lively and witty lover as all fear departs your body. The Stranger is in this room, you’re sure of it. And as you shut your eyes one final time, you accept his presence with welcoming arms.

“The Queen, long may she reign,” you mutter just before Aegon’s rough hands rip you from your spot.