#rhaenyra targaryen x erryk cargyll

[riaraa]

can’t pretend i’m not in love with you by bellarkyy on ao3

A HOTD fix it, one-shot of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Erryk Cargyll

What were Rhaenyra and Erryk's innermost thoughts before, during, and after Arryk breaks into Rhaenyra's bedchambers to assassinate her? What if they had feelings for each other? What if Erryk lived?

[alicentzwaitinglady]

these two paintings give me such rhaerryk feels

erryk being in awe of rhaenyra when she passes him on syrax (or just her horse lol) & rhaenyra trying to resist erryk's affections because they could be caught on the stairs

la belle dame sans merci by frank bernard dicksee / the meeting on the turret stairs by frederic william burton

[vanilleandclove]

rings of fire | prologue

ser erryk cargyll x targaryen! reader | prologue: the realm's craving

In honor of Queen Aemma's labors beginning, King Viserys the First and his two twin daughters, Rhaenyra and Y/n, host and sponsor an heir's tournament. The Realm's Delight was a title owned to Rhaenyra, rider of Syrax and the King's cup bearer, the older twin. Though Y/n wore the title: The Realm's Craving, rider of Nymeria and wielder of Blackfyre; Y/n made her reputation known for being the princess whom was outspoken and untouchable, wielding the conqueror's blade just after Jaehaerys.

word count: 2.4k | warnings: reader is described to have pale white hair and to look like visenya (plus largely endowed in the chest…), graphic descriptions of violence, y/n is otto's biggest opp, viserys you fool, slight misogyny. | author's note: welcome back! i fear i will not get over elliott tittensor as ser erryk, i hope you enjoy this series and it will be much longer! also, i took the liberties to spice up the reader. - i will update the meadow in which you lay soon!

next

"Since the dawn of our birth, father has exceedingly taken an interest in marrying us both off to a Valyrian house dear sister" you teased to your sister just before you saddled onto your dragon mounts, "And solemnly for us, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys have only one male child".

Nymeria was a pale purple dragon, reminiscent of your eyes that passed down through generations of Targaryen lineages, your sister's eyes were painted blue, just as your mother's and father's. The townsfolk all spoke of your appearance in great detail in the days they ever saw you. "The favorable yet quieter and fiercer twin", "The twin with more Targaryen than Arryn in her", "The Princess with the mounds of Valryia", "The actual Dark Sister", and your personal favorite, "*King Maegor as a consort".

"I love our father dearly but I do not wish to be married off… especially to someone of father's tastes" Rhaenyra spoke as she pet Syrax, earning a light coo from the dragon. Nymeria was larger than Syrax though smaller than Vhagar due to age, the Dragonkeepers all spoke of Nymeria being the dragonseed of Meraxes or Vhagar.

As your sister and yourself took off on riding into the skies of King's Landing, jesting one another into a race. Nymeria outshined Syrax though both dragons were quite fond of one another, sisters though did not share an eggs hatch. If Rhaenyra were to be the daughter of Westeros, you were the daughter of the dragons. Though your father was staunchly disagreed with your attitude and the lack of conformity both you and your sister paraded, he wished you both to be near silent and seen sisters, rather than heard.

The clouds felt soft against your skin, your hair braided strategically and your dress flowing in the wind, the fabric straining against your body leaving little to the imagination of what you were gifted with when you came of age. Your father always ordered your clothes to be modest, fearing the great houses and his council were to mistake you for a whore he would say, though you defied him endlessly, giving the king no ounce of rest. The high-born folk and townsfolk were the same when it came to you and commenting on your bodice, horny men clutched to their belts in restraint and shifted in their seats or stance whenever you were present in court, jealous women who were displeased by your body as their husband's had lack the respect for their wife, it was not your problem you told yourself. It was nature's design to be given a body like yours, your mother tiredly reassured you, being of Targaryen and Arryn lineage, your body was evidence of years of warriors. Though, she refrained from calling you what everyone else did, "Visenya's twin".

You did not see being compared to Visenya as an insult, though not your direct ancestor, Visenya was still a beautiful woman- who's beauty matched her brain. She is the reason your father has a Kingsguard by his side, the reason Daemon now has Dark Sister, the reason for your own beauty. You wore it as a badge of honor rather than a distasteful insult, often wondering if Daemon did not stain and smear your family name with his unfiltered temper that aged well before you and Rhaenyra were birthed, if you were to be named Visenya as well. Daemon's temper was compared to that of Maegor and his mother's, when you came of age of six-and-ten with Rhaenyra, your father once joked, "Now we must wait and see whom Visenya will be, and whom will be Maegor". His eyes landed on you at the instance of saying Maegor's name; you remember viscerally crying in your chambers that night, questioning if your father saw you as a nuisance of the family. Twins only meant that one child was not planned, and Rhaenyra was the older twin.

They used to speak of Aegon's feats as a soldier and warrior, though never of him being a husband or a father. Rumors and tales were spoken of Targaryen men, they are either fierce knights, or wonderful fathers. You'd wager your father was neither, but only under your breath you'd say such a thing. They would also speak of Aegon's love for his wives, for every one night he'd spend with Visenya, he'd spend ten with Rhaenys. They'd also speak of Visenya's unfaltering fidelity to Aegon, but how there were whispers at court that Rhaenys took younger men to her bed on the nights Aegon would be with Visenya. You almost felt pity for the woman, her son abused and neglected whilst her sister's sired kin were cherished and respected. Underneath it all, Visenya was still an amazing queen and consort, even with the wicked feats of Maegor, that was still her baby, even so as she waged the revenge of her younger sister's death. Though you were technically younger than Rhaenyra, you were her Visenya.

"We should see ourselves back, to check on mother" you spoke up to your sister, shouted as she was a distance away from you. She nodded at your advisement, both of you delving down into the ground, racing once again. Upon reaching the ground, met with Ser Harold and the dragonkeepers, along with a carriage that revealed Alicent. You were never too fond of Alicent, though she was your sister's dear friend and lady-in-waiting, your fondness resided in Laena, forming an inseparable bond as she rode Vhagar and you rode seemingly, Vhagar's closest kin.

"I am taking you are here for the tourney our fathers are planning Alicent?" you questioned as you removed your gloves and slid off Nymeria's mount, petting your dragon once more before touching her with your forehead in order to bid farewell as she was taken by the dragonkeepers. Walking up to the Lady before looking back to see your sister dismounting from Syrax. Alicent only nodded at your question, you could barely earn a few words from Alicent, often wondering if it was because you were the second daughter to the king, yet still a higher-born daughter than any great house of Westeros. Or if it was due to the desire her brother held for you, though you always shut down his advances, it was insult to you that he felt the privilege to speak to you, the eldest son of the second son to a noble but not great house. You'd never soil your family's name and heritage to wed a Hightower, it was not your taste.

As you walked off, Rhaenyra and Alicent engaged in conversation, you mounted yourself on a horse before looking at Ser Ryam, you were fond of him though, wildly attracted to his newly appointed kingsguard, the Cargyll twins. Tall lads they were, only two-name days older than you and your sister, their hairs match each other's short and disheveled but strategically disheveled, almost as if they both wanted to appear more desirable. Though your desire for the new brothers did not blind you of the health of Ser Ryam, noticing his energy and will to live deplete as the days pass.

"Will you follow me to the castle Ser Ryam? You look awfully tired" you asked, earning a nod from the knight, before he was named Lord Commander once again, your father had him as your sworn shield for several years. As you rode back to the Red Keep, taking sparing glances back at Ser Ryam, just as you wondered into the woods just before reaching the Keep, slowing down in order to conversate with Ser Ryam.

"Anything on your mind dear princess?" Ser Ryam questioned, his horse taking small gallops.

"Do you believe me to be inept?" you asked for his opinion, "I am taunted with the fact that I am in the body of a woman, yet I decline every Lord's hand, including the handsome Stark boys, though the only man to ever catch my intrigue…" you nearly spoke too much yet too little.

"Is bound to another?" Ser Ryam questioned in confusion. You looked up at the sky in defeat, sighing before shaking your head, chuckling in the depravity of your mind.

"Bound to oaths" you then broke the pregnant silence, "Ser Erryk makes a fine knight, does he? Seeing that he and his brother were sworn in just under a year of training. He is quite the handsome man the townsfolk yelp about" you bit your lip, allowing yourself to vent to the knight.

"He may not take a wife I am afraid, my princess" Ser Ryam begun, only earning a somber look from your face, "I too loved a woman before being knighted, she had gone off to marry one of the Tully lads due to my oath. I see her once every blue moon, my love never faltered or betrayed me. I do not blame her for going off to marry, she deserved to be loved in more ways than words, stolen kisses, and nights".

"Do all members of the Kingsguard follow the vow of chastity?" you questioned further.

"We do. Granted I was not in a sticky situation being that of equal ranking to the maiden, though her honor was one I did not want to take lightly. I do pity her husband, it should have been him to be the one to take her maidenhead, not a kingsguard besmirching both her's and I's honor. Our vows are sworn under the seven, as every woman is a picture of the mother, no matter how much we wish it to be individual" Ser Ryam answered honestly, "I am to guard your secrets as well my Princess, any words spoken in this moment are under the eyes of you and me. Though I do advise you, being unmarried puts you at odds if you fall pregnant".

You laughed at the knight's comment, "It is only a crush I am afraid; I am too socially inept to talk to him more than the simply escorts to and from my chambers in the morning and eve".

As you and Rhaenyra walked into the chambers of your mother, being met with kisses on your forehead. You quickly made way to apply warm towels to your mothers' legs as they were swollen, kissing your mother's forehead before moving her hair out of her face as the sweat led it cling onto her skin. You did not envy your mother though she was carrying the burden and joy of life in her. It was you and Rhaenyra who held royal wombs, as your mother would say.

"I will be in the council mother; I will see you in the eve" you told her before dismissing yourself. You never could stomach seeing your mother in agony, Rhaenyra knew it, your mother and father knew it.

As you were met with the knight of your dreams, you smiled carelessly, "May you escort me to the council room, Ser Erryk? I find myself craving conversation to someone who isn't completely eager to marry me off". The knight offered his forearm for you to hold, escorting you to the council room across the Keep and floors down.

"Are you enjoying the preparations for the tourney Princess?" Ser Erryk asked you, both of you never were sure of what to talk about.

"I do wish I were involved in combat I must say, I envy you men for being able to succumb yourselves to violence for a day" you jested, earning a soft smile from the knight, "Are you and Arryk participating? Perhaps I can bless you both with my favor or offer you to hold Blackfyre".

Erryk was stunned greatly of your offer, Blackfyre was a noble sword, the Conqueror's no less, "You honor me more than I deserve princess, though yes, Aryk and I are participating, hopefully we do wish to not have to face your uncle, the prince".

You scoffed silently, smirking at the knight, "Which is why I offered Blackfyre" you instigated the knight as you made your way through the halls. "Daemon wields Dark Sister and I envy him for it, it is an easier fit for a woman's hand. Though, Blackfyre was sworn to me instead of my father by Jaehaerys himself".

Once you made the way to the council room you dismissed Erryk before stating once again, "If you wish to take upon my offer, you can meet me in my chambers tonight" the bold words flowed out of your tongue as if it were familiar to you.

The knight nodded, hand finding purchase on the small of your back as you stepped onto the stairs that led into the council room. You bit your lip once again, holding his eyes for a bit too long before Ser Rickard Thorne took notice, clearing his throat in the process. As you straightened your back and bid him a farewell in a glance, moving your body to enter the council room. Noting the heat that electrified between you and the loyal knight. Only choosing to distract yourself with the bland conversations held at your father's table before Rhaenyra made her way into the council room, only then you found yourself amused once again. Tomorrow will be the heir's tournament, a babe outshining you and Rhaenyra, though you hoped to the god's that tonight, the knight of your dreams finds himself taking your offer.

taglist: @wolvestitches

[arcielee]

My House of the Dragons masterlist. Please be mindful of each story's tags and warnings!

modern Aemond masterlist modern Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Warnings: Please be mindful of the warnings for each story! Author’s Note: Just a masterlist of my ever-growing modern Aemond Targaryen stories. Enjoy! 💜

A love that burns. Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader [third person] Summary: Aemond is a man obsessed and you are the object of his unwavering devotion.

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Ābrazȳrys dark!Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader Summary: Aemond goes to see is the king is truly dead and finds his wife instead.

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dōna mandia Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Aegon Targaryen [third person] Summary: Her brothers convince her to play a game.

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Hae iksā Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Reader Summary: Aemond has been tasked to find himself a wife.

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ilībio Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: Aemond finds comfort in your cunt.

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Zȳha lyks Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Reader Summary: You find an ally with the second son of King Viserys.

She Walks in Starlight Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone Summary: Greek mythology HotD AU, some Aemond!Hades x OFC!Persephone slow burn.

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The Dragon and the Wolf - WIP Aemond Targaryen x Stark!reader Summary: “...perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.”

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Ours never knew peace. Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader [first person] Summary: On the morning of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark's granddam visits to give her an heirloom, a necklace with a sapphire stone...

There's not one thing that I would change. Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader [first person] Author's Note: This is what was implied, the smutty interlude that granddam could not read out loud to Lyanna.

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Quietly, it slips through your fingers - Part 1 Aemond Targaryen x Rhaena Targaryen Summary: Rhaena confronts Aemond after dinner.

We gave our time to something undefined - Part 2 Aemond Targaryen x Rhaena Targaryen Summary: Aemond receives a late night visitor.

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Only If For A Night Aemond Targaryen x Female! Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: You find comfort in your husband's brother.

The Sapphire Prince Aemond Targaryen x OFC!Stark Summary:  A Targaryen prince falls for Cregan Stark’s sister and it sets to tear apart the Hightower’s devise.

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Call It Dreaming Aemond Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Summary: You have a delightful sex dream.

modern Aegon masterlist modern Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Warnings: Please be mindful of the warnings for each story! Author’s Note: Just a masterlist of my ever-growing modern Aegon Targaryen stories. Enjoy! 💜

Call It Dreaming Aegon Targaryen x Modern!FemReader Summary: You have a delightful sex dream.

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Only If For A Night Aemond Targaryen x Female! Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: You find comfort in your husband's brother.

dōna mandia Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Aegon Targaryen [third person] Summary: Her brothers convince her to play a game.

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Fare Well Aegon Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: You visit Aegon after another council meeting ends.

dōna riña Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x Female!Reader Summary: You are enraptured by the prince and princess.

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ānogar Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader Summary: Your husband helps comfort you.

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Aōhon iksan Daeron Targaryen x Female!Reader [third person] Summary: Daeron has come back from Oldtown to play his role in King’s Landing and marry one of the Four Storms.

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At last, when all of the world is asleep Ser Erryk Cargyll x Dornish!Reader Summary:  A Dornish princess is the siren call to break the vows of the Kingsguard.

Devotion Ser Erryk Cargyll x Targaryen!Reader Summary: You are a Targaryen princess with an infatuation on a certain White Cloak.

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A night of pleasure. Ser Gwayne Hightower x Female!Reader Summary: Ser Gwayne decides on you.

gifs by @mojogifs || arcie's navigation

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hello everyone! I'm so happy to be back writing this story. I did have a little vacation over Thanksgiving week and spent time with my family, so this chapter is later than I wanted it to be, the same with my other story. This is where some more HOTD cannon divergence happens. I've always wondered what would have happened if Aegon-- oop, I was just about to spoil the chapter! Thank y'all again for your patience and support, and Merry-Happy-Early-Christmas! 

Chapter Warnings: angst, depression, mentions of miscarriage, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt, PTSD, baby girl has TRAUMA.

The cold winds howled over the cliffs of Dragonstone, carrying the scent of the sea and the acrid tang of sulfur. Inside the towering stone walls of the ancient castle, the air was thick with silence, as if the structure was holding its breath in solemn grief. The Hall of the Painted Table was empty, the fires cold, casting long shadows that crept along the black stone floors. And there, you wandered in the solitude of those looming corridors, a solitary figure lost within your dark fortress.

You had once been a woman of unparalleled spirit, a warrior, a strategist, and a force as unbreakable as the dragon you commanded. Your presence alone had once commanded respect, fear, and admiration. You rallied allies within the treacherous red stone walls of the Red Keep and avenged those you loved with a fury that burned as bright as dragon fire, yet now, that fire was nothing but dying embers flickering faintly within your hollowed soul.

You moved like a shadow, drifting through the halls without purpose or direction. Your once-proud gait reduced to listless steps, and your eyes were clouded and distant as if fixed on some vision that haunted you beyond the walls of Dragonstone. You became a ghost of yourself, trapped between a relentless past and an uncertain future.

Concerns from your family continued to mount when reports of Cannibal, who once patrolled the island with an iron fury, were spotted, allowing another wild dragon to steal his food. The Keepers said he did not bear his teeth nor protect his kill of a white billy goat when the brown body of Sheepstealer soared over his head. He stared at the fellow beast, flattening his coal-black body and curling into himself with an exhaustive sigh as the grey-eyed animal was snatched into the large maw of Sheepstealer.

Cannibal would have ripped the dragon's throat for daring to come so close.

Daemon watched you from afar, his heart breaking with every step you took. He remembered the fierce woman you were, the woman who once looked at him with eyes blazing with determination and a spirit as wild as the dragons. Now, you were a shell, lost in despair and guilt, crushed by the weight of a purpose you believed you failed. You were so close to securing the throne that your mother would be robbed of, only to see it slip away.

The Rogue Prince was not known for his comfort and empathy skills, finding himself unable to help you. Such tender qualities were better fit for that of a mother, and he implored Rhaenyra to assist him in the matter.

She would offer soft words of hope and love into your ears, attempting to share your grief at the loss of a child. While she had never experienced it herself, she watched her mother for her entire life struggle in the birthing bed and understood the pain and fear surrounding it. Yet no words or activities spent in the presence of your adoptive mother could heal that ache, and you refused to be the cause of any heedless stress regarding the impending usurpation of her throne. Knowing what it could do to the pregnant body, you continued to keep yourself at a distance from Rhaenyra and your father.

Desperate to rekindle your spark, Luke tried to draw you back to the things that once brought you joy. He laid out your favorite books in the library as he led you to it, hoping that the stories and history you once devoured with passion would call to you again. But you merely walked past the shelves, running a trembling hand over the leather-bound spines without pulling a single one down. Your fingers lingered over the titles, and Luke watched the briefest flicker of interest cross your eyes, only to fade as quickly as it had come.

Then, with Daemon's help, Luke brought you a sword, one of the finely crafted Valyrian blades you cherished. He placed it in your hands, encouraging you to spar with your father, hoping to remind you of your strength and the thrill you once felt when training, yet you merely held the sword in silence, your grip weak and unsteady, gaze vacant as though the weight of the blade was more than you could bear. You let it slip from your hands, the metal clattering against the stone floor, a hollow echo that seemed to reverberate through the very bones of the castle.

Even the presence of family brought no solace. Luke gathered those closest to you, hoping their laughter, warmth, and love would stir something within you, but you sat among them, a distant figure, barely speaking, your mind elsewhere. Your siblings looked at you with worry. Luke even had Jace bring you your favorite desserts, knowing they were your weakness, trying to reach you, but you were adrift in a sea of despair beyond their touch.

They did not know what happened to the full extent, only that someone in the Keep wanted you gone so far as to attempt murder. You did not want their judgments that would surely follow with the revelation, that you succumbed to the sins of the flesh with Aegon of all people.

You wandered the castle from dawn to dusk, restless and unmoving as if searching for something you could never find. Sometimes, you would stop by the grand windows overlooking the storm-tossed seas, your gaze fixed on the churning waves as if they held the answers you sought. Other times, you would stand on the battlements, the wind whipping your hair around your face, stroking your stomach, but even the fierce gusts could not shake you from your reverie.

Why could you not remember who poisoned you?

You could see his body, the dark outline of his silhouette in the candlelight, and feel his hands on your feet, legs, and hips as they reached higher to reveal your small clothes. Yet, that's where the image of man stopped and morphed into that of a beast, cloaked in a black void of any light and the warmth that a human possessed. Then you remembered the pain, the agony as these unseen hands ripped at your womb until all you saw was raw blood and organs leaking from your stomach.

In quiet moments, where you managed to put the memories within the recesses of your mind, you felt the weight of your mother's legacy pressing down on you, a burden you no longer felt strong enough to carry. Your hands trembled as you thought of the throne she would be unable to claim, the people you would be unable to protect, and the family honor you had failed. Your fingers would clench, nails digging into your palms, but a hollow ache now replaced the hope you once felt at yours and Aegon's future.

You knew that with the Iron Throne's intoxicating power, he would stop at nothing to have you by his side once more. He would have a single goal inside his obsessive mind and pursue it even at the cost of your happiness.

Sometimes, you thought it best to end it now, to save your kin and the realm from the destruction of Aegon's wrath and the Greens, but your body would not allow you. No matter how often you stood at the edge of your balcony, overlooking the gray sea and green mountainous terrain, your limbs refused to follow your will. Not even Cannibal would obey your commands of self-destruction as you screamed "dracarys" at his obsidian head. His emerald eyes would squint at you, pupils dilating and shrinking as his reptilian mind whirred.

Only a few, besides those blessed with Valyrian blood, could understand the bond between rider and dragon until they saw the depths of it unobscured. Cannibal understood your heart before you did.

Daemon, unwilling to give up when Luke was, found you one evening as you stood alone in the training yard's dim light, gaze fixed on a bow and a quiver in your hand. You did not want those to see you as weak, a pathetic, shameful husk of the woman you were. Daemon approached slowly, his heart heavy as he saw the daughter he loved, broken and defeated. He gently touched your shoulder, feeling the subtle tremor in your body. You did not pull away, but neither did you acknowledge his touch.

"Do you remember," he softly asked as you lowered the bowstring, "the girl who once walked these halls with fire in her eyes? The girl who would have laughed in the face of defeat, who would have fought to the last breath for what she believed in?"

Closing your eyes, the pain in his words cut through you like a blade. You did remember. You remembered the woman you were, the warrior, the leader, the daughter who would stop at nothing to secure your mother's throne. That woman felt like a stranger now, a memory from another life where you had your fair-haired boy in your arms, and your soul was whole.

"Tell me, what happened to her?" he whispered, his voice breaking.

You opened your peculiar eyes and met his gaze for the first time in days. Your voice was barely a whisper, frail and broken. "She failed, father. I doomed them all."

He shook his head, taking your face in his hands and forcing you to hold his stare. "No, she has not failed. She's still here, somewhere, waiting to rise again."

A tear slipped down your cheek, but you did not pull away, avoiding his gaze and looking to the torches lighting the area in a dim yellow. Somewhere deep within you, a spark flickered, a faint reminder of the fire you once held. You were still lost, wandering the halls of Dragonstone, a ghost of the fierce woman you once were, waiting for the strength to rise again from the ashes of despair.

As the pale fingers of dawn unfurled across the slate rooftops of King's Landing, they painted the city in soft orange and gold hues. The delicate light spilled into the labyrinthine alleys, illuminating the cobblestones and revealing shadows that danced in the corners. The brisk morning air carried the sharp, salty scent of the nearby Blackwater Bay, intertwining with the fetid odor of refuse that littered the streets and the lingering uncleanliness of bodies that had not known a wash in days. It was a complex tapestry of sensations, stirring both the serenity of the early hour and the harsh realities of life in the bustling city.

A figure emerged in the shadows of a narrow passage. A young woman with red hair tucked under a plain hood carried a piece of parchment. Her freckled face was ordinary, forgettable by design, but her eyes darted with precision, catching every movement, every whisper in the predawn stillness. Fiora was one of Madame's spies, a former brothel worker, but she proved worth more than her body. She was a ghost among the throng, sent with tasks Madame only trusted with her.

The faint but distinct metal clinking echoed through the dimly lit corridor, prompting her to stop abruptly. Before her stood three Gold Cloaks, their polished armor reflecting the flickering light of their torches, which sputtered uncertainly in the cool night air. The soldiers moved with an air of authority, barking orders as the shadows danced around them, creating an atmosphere thick with tension and unease.

"Get to your homes!" one shouted, his voice gruff. "Every beggar, every rat-catcher, ensure they stay sound in their beds. If they resist, remind them who runs this city!"

Fiora pressed herself against the damp wall of the alley, her breath shallow. She could feel the tension in the city—fear rippled through the streets like an unseen tide. Whispers of Rhaenyra's fall had already begun to fester, carried by merchants and drunks alike.

There were no secrets in King's Landing.

When the Gold Cloaks moved on, Fiora slipped deeper into the maze of alleys, her hand clutching the folded letter concealed in her sleeve. She needn't open it to know its importance. Madame's orders had been clear: get the message to Dragonstone before it was too late.

The docks were alive with activity despite the early hour. Fishmongers shouted their wares, sailors bickered over cargo, and the tang of brine filled the air. Moving through the crowd, the spy spotted her contact, an older man with grey hair and a salt-stained coat seated on a crate and chewing a piece of dried meat. Without a word, she approached him, slipping the letter into his palm as if handing over a simple copper.

"Dragonstone?" he muttered, not looking at her. He knew without asking.

She nodded. "Tonight, if possible."

The man stuffed the letter into his coat and stood. "Madame's got her fingers in every pie, doesn't she?"

"She ensures we all eat," Fiora replied softly with a brief smirk, her voice tinged with loyalty and fear, but she soon swallowed it, thinking only of her last moments spent with you.

He gave her a curt nod and disappeared into the crowd, heading for one of the many trading boats tied to the end of the dock. She lingered long enough to see him climb aboard and order his men to push off into the bay, his silhouette growing minor against the vast expanse of water.

As the spy pivoted on her heel to depart, the sharp echo of boots reverberated in the dimly lit corridor behind her. She spun around abruptly, her heart racing, only to find herself locked in a tense gaze with a Gold Cloak. The flickering light of his torch cast dramatic shadows across her fair skin, highlighting the tension in her expression and the quickness of her breath as she assessed the danger that loomed before her.

"You there," the armored man announced, his eyes narrowing. "What's your business skulking about so early?"

She summoned her best mask of innocence, tilting her head slightly. "Looking for work, ser. The mornings are kindest to those of us who beg."

The guard studied her, suspicion flickering in his gaze. "Be off with you, then. Or you'll find yourself bleeding with the rest."

She offered a tentative nod, averting as she turned to leave, her heart racing like a wild drum. When she was out of sight, adrenaline surged through her veins, propelling Fiora to quicken her pace. She slipped into the enveloping shadows, the cool darkness wrapping around her like a comforting shroud as she dashed away.

The sun rose higher, painting King's Landing in golden hues, but for the nameless spy, the city remained steeped in danger. Somewhere in Dragonstone, Rhaenyra would soon learn of the betrayal brewing in her absence.

The heavy scent of sweat, smoke, and stale wine lingered in the air, suffocating Aegon's every breath. The candlelight flickered, casting long, distorted shadows on the brothel's walls. The sounds of drunken laughter, the clink of coins, and the soft moans of pleasure were the only music in his ears as he sat slumped on a velvet chair, a goblet of wine trembling in his hand. His mind, however, was somewhere far away. Somewhere across Blackwater Bay was a woman with hair the color of ebony, a streak of stark white, and eyes that hid his own inside them.

It had been days since you left, days that felt like weeks, and he had drunk himself into a stupor every single night since. He knew you would be disappointed. You would look at him with a gaze full of scolding, dark brows furrowed together, creating those scrunched wrinkles that etched your forehead. The memories of your voice, your touch, and the promise of a future together were drowned in a sea of alcohol, the sting of his loss too great for him to bear sober. The transformation you coaxed out of him after many long moons, the happiness you instilled in his heart, felt like a distant, fleeting dream now, one that he could not reach no matter how hard he tried.

He barely registered the company around him, the women leaning in to whisper sweet nothings, their fingers trailing along his arm, offering distractions he once craved. But tonight, like every night since you left, they felt empty, like the rest of his life. He drank more as though drowning himself in wine could somehow erase the weight in his chest, the gnawing emptiness that replaced the warmth of your love. He downed the glass in one go, and the room spun, the edges of his vision blurring until the walls felt like they were closing in.

He cursed softly to himself, slamming the goblet down with a clink that startled a nearby woman. "You don't understand," he mumbled under his breath to no one, his voice hoarse. "No one understands except for her. My love..."

The woman nodded politely but saw the same look in his eyes that they all had, the same lost, broken look, the countenance of a man who had too much power but never enough purpose. She stepped back, a practiced grace in her movements as she retreated to attend to the next guest, her sheer lavender dress shimmering in the dim lighting.

Aegon didn't care. He didn't care about the women. He didn't care about the gamblers. He didn't care about the city he was trapped in or the castle he would return to, with its cold halls and colder courtiers. All he cared about now was the gnawing ache that hollowed out his chest. The realization that you were gone.

That night, he found himself stumbling through the streets of King's Landing, his steps unsteady, his heart heavy with the same emptiness that seemed to follow him like a shadow as he attempted to return home. Despite the icy air, his wrinkled and unkempt tunic clung to his frame with cold sweat. His cropped blonde hair hung limp around his face, and his eyes were bloodshot, the purple hue dull and sunken from too much wine and too little sleep. His mind was lost in the haze of alcohol, but deep inside, a part of him still longed for you.

He heard whispers from his mother earlier in the day about his father's worsening condition, but he pushed them aside. After all, what could a dying old man matter when he was already dead inside?

What did any of it matter?

With a shaky hand, Aegon tried to steady himself as he leaned against the cold sandstone of a building. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, trying to clear the fog from his mind. The weight, the throne, the family, and the expectations were too much. His chest tightened as he stumbled forward, the dim lights of the Red Keep finally in sight.

Home. Or at least what was left of it.

The streets were deserted at this hour, save for the occasional street urchin or drunken sailor stumbling home from a night of revelry. His breath came in heavy gasps, and the world seemed to tilt with each step. Aegon's head spun, his vision blurring more with each passing second.

The pain of it all, of you, was unbearable. Why had he not tried harder and done more to make you stay? He had been a fool, a coward, running back to the same old habits the moment you were injured. How could he redeem himself when he had lost the only thing that truly mattered? His thoughts tumbled over one another, chaotic and cluttered, as he neared the mud gate of the Red Keep. He was so drunk, so completely lost in his stupor, that he did not see the lip in the flagstone, tumbling to the ground, unable to catch himself as he succame to the dark.

When he awoke, the world was still spinning. He groaned, feeling the rough stone beneath his cheek. His mind was hazy. A thick fog clung to him as if trying to pull him back into unconsciousness. The pain in his skull, a sharp, burning throb, was enough to keep him from slipping away entirely.

Aegon groaned again, his eyes flickering open. The world around him was dark, the cold air of the night biting at his skin. His arms were stiff, his legs numb. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like lead. There was a moment of disorientation. Where was he? His head pulsated, and his thoughts finally began to sharpen. The past few minutes, or hours, began to piece together. He remembered walking. He remembered the drunken haze. He remembered stumbling toward the Red Keep, and then suddenly, the ground was not so far away.

A shadow loomed over him.

Someone stood above him, cloaked in the night, their presence ominous. Aegon blinked, trying to focus, but the blow had left him too dizzy, and the area was too dim.

"Your Highness."

The voice was unfamiliar, smooth, and with an accent his mind couldn't place. Perhaps a servant or one of the guards was coming to his aide. Aegon's breath hitched, a tinge of unease creeping into his heart. "What... what happened?" he croaked, his voice thick with disorientation.

The figure didn't respond immediately. Instead, they crouched down beside him. "The king is dead, your grace, and the Greens search for their new ruler."

Aegon blinked again, the words slicing through the murk in his mind like a blade. His father, the king, had died. He knew it was coming, but the finality of it hit him like a physical blow.

Aegon's heart twisted painfully. The realization settled over him like a shroud. His father's barely beating heart kept the realm from plunging into chaos, though Aegon knew that this would be the outcome. The Crown had no head. It was meant for his sister, but he knew what his mother and grandfather planned.  He was so lost in his grief and self-doubt that he hadn't been within his home to hear of his father's passing. And now, as the weight of it all came crashing down on him, Aegon couldn't help but feel the sting of the cruelest irony. He was too drunk to feel the death of his father.

"I am unfit to rule."

The figure helped him to his feet, but Aegon's legs were still unsteady. His head spun, and he felt the world shifting beneath him.

"The Red Keep will be in turmoil soon, your grace," the figure warned, their voice laced with urgency. "We must hurry to Madame's."

For a moment, Aegon did not care. He didn't care about the throne or the chaos. His father was dead, and he had been too far gone to even process it in time. His heart ached with the realization, but in his soul, there was something darker—a deep, gnawing emptiness that was now replaced by something far colder. He could feel the stirrings of unrest and future instability, but they all felt meaningless without you.

The figure led him forward, but Aegon's mind was far away. The only thing that truly mattered at that moment, the only thing that weighed on his broken heart, was that you were not here.

The pale moonlight filtered through the narrow gaps between buildings, casting long shadows on the damp cobblestones of King's Landing. Aegon's humid clothes stuck to his pale chest and back as he stumbled behind the shadowy figure leading him through the twisting alleyways. He could barely make out the shape of the figure in front of him, her footsteps brisk and silent, as if they had walked these streets a thousand times before. The air smelled of salt from the distant sea, mixed with the faint stench of refuse, human sweat, and the city's ever-present odor of decay.

"Where are you taking me?" Aegon asked, his voice low but edged with suspicion.

The figure didn't answer immediately, glancing back in annoyance. Aegon had already forgotten the prior conversations.

The Prince learned long ago not to trust anyone in the capital, especially in these parts. The back promenades were teeming with danger, thieves, mercenaries, and worse. Still, something about the mysterious figure seemed to promise safety, though Aegon could not quite place why. They were not in a hurry, though Aegon's feet felt like they were being dragged along, his heart racing with a blend of excitement and dread.

They turned a corner, and suddenly, the roads opened up, revealing the Streets of Silk. It was an eerie, quiet place between night and dawn where the moonlight seemed to dance off the curtains hanging from every window and door. The air here was different. It was thick with the scent of exotic perfumes and incense but also something darker and more dangerous. Had they already heard of his father's demise?

The figure stopped before a narrow, unmarked door in one of the buildings. They turned to Aegon and spoke barely louder than a whisper. "Stay close," she commanded from underneath her cloak.

Before Aegon could utter a word, a sudden sound sliced through the stillness, the faint yet distinct clink of metal meeting stone. He immediately froze, his heart racing. Shadows flickered around him as figures materialized from the darkness, sliding stealthily into view from all directions. Their eyes glimmered like tiny stars, piercing through the obscurity, while their faces remained shrouded in hoods.

Like a ripple through water, the alley seemed to shift. A heavy thud rang out, and a figure lunged at Aegon's guide, a glinting dagger in hand. Aegon saw the shimmer of steel and stepped forward instinctively, but before he could react, another figure appeared behind Madame's spy, striking the girl with a vicious blow. She stumbled but didn't fall, readying a weapon of her own in retaliation.

From the darkness, a woman's voice cut through the chaos. It was soft, accented yet edged with an unmistakable authority. "Enough," she said, her words carrying over the din like a heavy curtain being drawn.

The attackers paused, their movements faltering as they turned toward the woman who now stepped into the dim light. She was tall, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders like a veil of night, and her skin was a tan that glowed in the pale light. She wore robes of fine silk, richly dyed in shades of deep purple and midnight blue, but the fabric seemed to swallow her slender frame as though they were borrowed from another life entirely. She moved with the grace of a panther, each step purposeful.

"The White Worm," the figure beside Aegon muttered under their breath, their voice laced with fear and respect.

Aegon's eyes widened. He had heard the name whispered among the courtesans in the brothels and the low-born in the taverns. She was a shadow in the city, feared, respected, and above all, elusive. To cross her was to sign your death warrant.

She took a step forward, her gaze flicking over the attackers, who now seemed to hesitate, unwilling to provoke her further.

"He's valuable," Lady Misery said, her voice like honey and venom. "Aegon Targaryen," she continued, eyes flashing with something dark, something calculating. "A good bargaining chip, best to be stored up one's sleeve, wouldn't you say?"

The world seemed to tilt, and Aegon's stomach dropped. She knew who he was. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died in his throat. The attackers backed off, leaving Aegon no room to escape, and Mysaria's gaze flicked back to him, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"Aegon, my dear," she cooed, her accent thick with foreign vowels, "you'll be most useful to me." Her eyes gleamed with something terrible, more dangerous than any knife or dagger.

Before Aegon could react, her men moved swiftly, surrounding him, one of them roughly grabbing his arm. His body was yanked forward, the grip painful and unyielding. He struggled, but there was no use. His mind raced with escape plans, but they all seemed hopeless in the face of Lady Misery's power.

He was dragged, stumbling, through the labyrinth of dark streets until they arrived at the Sept of Balor. The massive structure loomed in the darkness, silent and foreboding, its stone walls seeming to absorb the light. The grand doors creaked open with a horrible sound, and Aegon was forced inside. The air within the Sept was cold, the shadows stretching unnaturally long.

Lady Mysaria followed, her steps soft but deliberate as she surveyed the space. The ancient stone of the Sept was cracked, aged with the weight of centuries. But it was the altar that drew Aegon's eyes. It loomed ahead, dark and imposing.

"You'll be safe here," Lady Misery said, her voice almost kind, but its cruelty made Aegon's blood run cold. She gestured to her men, and they shoved him toward the altar.

"No!" Aegon cried out, struggling, but his efforts were useless. They forced him down onto the cold stone floor, pushing him under the altar, where the shadows seemed to close in like a suffocating shroud.

The small iron door clanged shut behind him, and Aegon was left in total darkness, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. He could hear the sound of footsteps fading away. The echoes grew fainter and fainter until there was nothing but the silence of the ancient stone.

Locked away, beneath the altar, in the belly of the Sept. Alone.

Aegon's heart pounded in his chest. This was no longer a game of political maneuvering. His life, his freedom, was now in the hands of a woman who didn't care about Targaryen blood, only power.

***

The clang of steel echoed softly in the dim corridors of the Red Keep as Ser Erryk Cargyll sat on a wooden bench, carefully polishing his sword. The pristine blade gleamed under the flickering torchlight, a reflection of the oaths he had sworn as a sworn brother of the Kingsguard. Yet his expression was far from serene; a furrow creased his brow as he prepared for his upcoming shift. The weight of duty always hung heavy, but with Aegon as his charge, it was more like a millstone around his neck.

Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. Erryk glanced up to see Otto Hightower, clad in his green austere robes, his face a mask of authority and impatience. The Hand of the King wasted no time with pleasantries.

"Ser Erryk," Otto began, his voice low but sharp. "Where is the Prince?"

Erryk set the blade aside, straightening his posture. "Forgive me, Lord Hand. I do not know."

Otto's jaw tightened, his piercing eyes studying Erryk for any sign of deceit. "But you're sworn to protect him," he replied with exasperation. He had to deal with the stress of secrecy and hold the realm together in such a precarious time, and he did not need childish antics.

"He exploits his authority to order me away, and then he evades me, my lord. He may have left the Keep secretly and gone into the city." The knight's tone was calm, which Otto would typically scold for, but now such matters of manners seemed pointless.

"Find him. The realm teeters on the edge of chaos, and the Prince must be present. Search the city if you must, but bring him to me."

Erryk gave a stiff nod, though unease churned within him. "As you command, my lord."

As Ser Erryk turned, sheathing his polished sword, the hand spoke, his voice regal yet pragmatic. "My sincerest apologies about your brother. I shall see that he's returned to his quarters once I have my grandson."

The Kingsguard bowed but said nothing and left the Red Keep.

The Silk Streets were already active, even in the early hours. Ser Erryk moved through the narrow, winding alleys, keeping a firm grip on the pommel of his sword. The city's infamous district reeked of cheap perfume and spilled ale, the air thick with the laughter of courtesans and the hushed whispers of clandestine dealings.

Erryk grimaced as he passed a pleasure house whose painted façade was garish even in the dim light. His thoughts churned with resentment. Always Aegon. The name sat heavy on his mind like a stone in his gut. How many mornings has he scoured the city to retrieve the Prince from some depraved hole?

Erryk's memories were a blur of drunken brawls, soiled bedsheets, and shameful confessions. He clenched his jaw. Aegon's appetites were boundless, and his respect for his station, if it existed, was invisible to those who served him.

Erryk's search brought him to the fighting pits, a grim and lawless place tucked away from the bustling streets. The muffled roar of a crowd reached his ears, mingled with the feral snarls of dogs and the cries of wounded children, one with the familiar color of pale white hair.

He slipped inside, weaving through the crowd. The stench of sweat and blood hung heavy in the air. In the center of the pit, two boys no older than ten squared off, their faces twisted in fear and determination as the crowd jeered and wagered coins. Erryk's stomach turned, but he did not stop to intervene. His mission was clear, even if his conscience screamed against it.

"Seen the Prince?" he asked one of the pit organizers, a burly man with a broken nose.

The man snorted. "Not tonight. Ain't his usual time. Check the brothels."

Erryk nodded curtly, stepping back into the alley. He wiped his brow, though the morning air was still cool. His frustration bubbled beneath the surface.

This man is to be king? Erryk thought bitterly. The realm deserves better. Rhaenyra would rule with strength and purpose, yet he served this spoiled wretch.

As he turned to leave, a voice called out softly from the shadows. "A moment of your time, my lord."

He spun, his hand instinctively falling to his sword. From the crowd emerged a young woman, her complexion dark, her curly hair tucked beneath a tan cloak. Her presence was unassuming, yet her bearing spoke of quiet confidence.

"Who are you?" Erryk asked, his tone cautious.

"A friend," she replied, her voice light and melodic, like a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves. "I can take you to Prince Aegon. Rather, I am sent by one who knows where he is. Who'll tell you for a price."

Erryk felt utterly drained as if every ounce of energy had been siphoned from his body. The weight of his exhaustion settled heavily on his shoulders, suffocating any flicker of motivation to continue fighting for someone he now deemed unworthy. Each futile effort felt like a battle against an unyielding tide, leaving him hollow and weary. "Deliver him to me, and I will consider your price.

The woman smiled faintly. "My mistress will not treat with the servants of the Keep, exalted though they may be. She'll trust this to the Hand of the King only."

Erryk's lips thinned into a line. He hated the game of it all, the constant dealings with spies and schemers. But what choice did he have? Without Aegon, the Hightowers' grip on power would falter, and the city would erupt into chaos. The outcome seemed all the more appealing.

"I will take your message to the Hand," he said finally. "But if this is a ploy..."

"It is not," she interrupted firmly. "I think he will wish to hear what the White Worm can tell him."

With that, the woman disappeared into the maze of people, leaving Erryk with his mounting frustration. He turned back toward the Red Keep, his boots striking the cobblestones with purpose.

As he strolled through the dimly lit corridors, his mind wandered to Aegon, consumed by his insatiable desires and the turmoil they unleashed upon the realm. A bitter truth weighed heavily on his heart. Aegon was unworthy of the Crown, yet the kingdom yearned for stability. It struck him as a poignant tragedy that these two notions, Rhaenyra's rightful place and the peace the realm craved, seemed destined to be at odds with each other.

The weight of his sword suddenly felt heavier at his side, but Erryk marched on. Duty demanded it, even if every fiber of his being recoiled at what that required.

The room was suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint creak of the wooden shutters as a soft breeze nudged them against the window frame. Pale sunlight streamed through the gaps, but its warmth failed to reach the cold that had taken residence in your bones. You lay in bed, the threadbare covers tangled around your legs, staring at the ceiling as though it held the answer to a question you were too weary to ask.

Your body betrayed you in cruel ways. The tremors in your hands, faint but persistent, reminded you of the hemlock that had nearly stolen your life. Each shiver was a whisper of death's near embrace, and though the poison had left you alive, it had not spared you its aftermath. A fresh stain of blood on the sheets confirmed what you already knew: your body was fighting in more ways than one. The child you had unknowingly carried was gone.

The pain was sharp, a dagger that twisted in your chest with every breath, but it was the ache in your heart that, indeed, left you paralyzed. You closed your eyes, desperate for solace, but instead, the dream returned. It always did.

You stood in a sunlit garden, chrysanthemums and fresh grass filling the air. Aegon was there, his silver hair catching the light as he knelt to tie a ribbon around a little girl's wrist. She had your smile but his hair, her violet eyes sparkling as she laughed. Nearby, a boy with your dark hair and his father's sullen demeanor clutched a wooden sword, mimicking Aegon's every movement with a determination that made your heart swell.

"You're doing well, little prince," Aegon said to the boy, his voice warm with pride. You had never heard him so happy. "But keep your stance firm. Like this."

You watched them, your hand resting on your rounded belly, another child stirring within you. A grin stretched your lips as Aegon glanced back at you, his eyes soft with affection, and your heart soared.

"Come here, my love," he said, reaching for your hand. "Look at them."

But as you stepped forward, the image dissolved. The laughter faded, replaced by a chilling silence. You reached for Aegon, but he was gone, the garden with him, leaving you alone in the void.

Your eyes flew open, the dream's cruel clarity a weight pressing against your chest. Aegon wasn't here. He was never coming back, and the future you had seen, the family, the love, the life, was nothing but a lie spun by your desperate mind.

Tears slid down your cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. You didn't bother wiping them away. What was the point? You couldn't summon the energy to rise, eat, or even drink the goblet of water left on the bedside table. The tremor in your hand grew worse as you brought it to your abdomen, resting it on the place where life had once grown. The loss was yet another cruel theft. Another dream ripped away before it could even begin.

Your thoughts spiraled, dark and unrelenting. What future awaited you now? A lifetime of mourning for what could have been? The realm's impending chaos only mirrored the storm within you, and you couldn't imagine a path forward through either.

But then, unbidden, his voice echoed in your mind.

"Look at them."

The memory of those words, spoken in the dream, clung to you like a threadbare cloak against the chill. You hated yourself for longing for Aegon, hoping that somehow, against all odds, his family might allow him to escape, but the truth was undeniable. Aegon was a part of you, as ingrained as your heartbeat and as unforgettable as your pain.

The thought of him gave you pause. He was reckless and flawed beyond measure, but he was also the man who once held you in the dead of night and whispered promises of a better tomorrow. You wanted to believe in those vows, even if they now felt like ashes in your hands.

Your body screamed for rest, for nourishment, but your soul was louder, its cries reverberating through the empty chamber.

Would he even recognize you now, this shadow of yourself? Or would he look upon you with pity, perhaps even disdain? The thought was unbearable, yet it ignited something faint and flickering within you, a tiny, stubborn ember of defiance.

You remained motionless, wrapped in grief and longing. The dream had been beautiful, cruelly so, and it left you haunted. You closed your eyes again, yearning not for sleep but for the impossible. A world where that dream had been absolute, Aegon was here, and hope was not stolen from your grasp.

All you could do for the moment was lie still and let the ache consume you.

The din of the bustling market hummed around the cloaked figure seated at a weathered wooden table. The smell of roasted meat mingled with the sharp tang of spices and the salty sea breeze wafting from Blackwater Bay. Merchants hawked their wares, their voices rising above the crowd's chatter, while children darted through the maze of stalls, their laughter carrying on the air.

Otto Hightower shifted uneasily in his seat, his fingers tapping against the small leather pouch at his belt. The Hand of the King was accustomed to commanding attention, yet here he sat in the heart of King's Landing, shrouded in anonymity, the shadow of a commoner. His hood obscured his stern features, and his robes, though of fine make, had been chosen to avoid drawing undue notice.

Across the table, a figure slid into the empty seat. The woman moved with the grace of a predator, her dark cloak brushing the ground as she settled herself. Her face, painted with a natural tan, was framed by a cascade of tightly curled hair. Lady Misery, the White Worm, fixed Otto with a look equal to amusement and calculation.

"You are the mysterious White Worm, I take it. Or are you simply a further peel in this stinking onion?" Otto chided, but Mysaria took it in stride. She was accustomed to men like him. She bedded one, after all.

"My condolences on the passing of your king," she started, her voice smooth as silk, accented with the lilting tones of Lysene. She leaned forward slightly, her hands folding atop the table. Otto's expression remained impassive, but his fingers stilled as he motioned for Erryk to give her the substantial sack of coins.

His jaw tightened, but he maintained his composure. "Where is Prince Aegon?"

She continued, her voice soft but cutting through the noise like a blade as Lady Misery smiled faintly, leaning back on her bench. "I thought the Prince was in Flea Bottom, where no one was to be trusted. I'd best secrete him somewhere safe if they come looking for him."

Otto leaned closer, his brow furrowing as he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. The daylight caught the intensity in his eyes as he repeated. "Where is the Prince?"

A smirk tugged at her lips, but her eyes remained cold. "He is safely tucked away," she finally answered as her gaze shifted to something more serious. "I want an end to the savage use of children in Flea Bottom." She let the weight of her words linger before continuing. "They are forced to fight; worse, your gold cloaks take bribes to make them look away. An obscenity either tolerated or ignored by the Crown."

Otto exhaled sharply, considering her terms. The market seemed to grow louder around them, as though the noise pressed against the fragile boundary of their secret conversation. Finally, he inclined his head slightly. "I'll look into it. You have my word."

"When your plots ripen, and you install your grandson on the throne, remember I put him there. I could have killed him as easily as a wasp on fruit." Misery's smile returned, a slow, triumphant curl of her lips. "There is no power but what the people allow you to take."

She rose gracefully, the movement drawing his eyes to the faint shadow of her silhouette beneath the cloak. "Pleasure doing business with you, my lord," she quipped, her voice laced with irony. "Do try to keep your end of the bargain. If not, secrets can slip through cracks, don't they?"

"I will remember," Otto replied curtly, done with this feeling of inferiority. He found himself in unfamiliar territory, feeling palpably uncomfortable not being in control of the situation. This situation starkly contrasted with the confident authority he was used to wielding, leaving him restless and uncertain.

With that, she melted into the market crowd, leaving Otto alone at the table, his mind already turning to the next step. Lady Misery played her hand well, but the game was far from over. For now, though, he had what he needed. And with that knowledge, the Hightowers' plans would press forward at any cost as he signaled Erryk to go after his grandson.

The bells of King's Landing tolled softly in the distance as Ser Erryk Cargyll ascended the marble steps of the Sept of Baelor, the daylight casting a yellow sheen on the grand structure. The towering statues of the Seven loomed above, their solemn faces shadowed by the flickering light of countless candles within. The air was thick with the cloying scent of incense and melting wax, a sharp contrast to the tension tightening Erryk's chest.

He pushed open the heavy doors, the groan of iron hinges echoing in the vast, silent chamber. The dim light revealed rows of pews, the smooth black stone floor reflecting the warm, golden glow of the candles that adorned the grand altar. But what caught Erryk's attention was not the serene beauty of the Sept. The faint coughing sound was a wet, muffled noise from somewhere near the altar.

Erryk's hand instinctively went to his sword hilt as he stepped forward. "Prince Aegon?" he called, his voice low and cautious. He received no answer, only the echo of his voice. His boots clicked softly against the marble as he approached the altar, the massive carved effigies of the Seven staring down at him.

There it was again, a cough followed by a quiet sniffle. Erryk knelt and peered under the altar. In the shadowed space, he saw a figure huddled tightly, and his cloak pulled around him as if it could shield him from the world. Silver hair glinted faintly in the candlelight.

"By the Seven..." Erryk muttered, his voice edged with disbelief. He grabbed the Prince by the arm, pulling him from his hiding place.

The young Prince squirmed in his grip, his bloodshot eyes wide and wild. "Let me go!" Aegon hissed, his voice hoarse. He yanked his arm, but Erryk held firm.

"You think you can hide here forever?" Erryk snapped. "The realm is teetering on the brink of war, and you're cowering under an altar like a child. Do you have any idea what is at stake?"

Aegon glared at him, his cheeks flushed with anger. "I never asked for this! Let Aemond have the bloody Crown. He wants it more than I ever will." He struggled harder, white hair sticking to his forehead, his desperation evident. "I won't be a pawn in their game, Erryk. I refuse!"

Erryk's grip tightened, but the Prince's words gnawed at him. Aegon was no king. He was reckless, self-indulgent, and utterly unsuited to rule. The realm needed strength and decisiveness, qualities that Aegon sorely lacked. Yet duty bound Erryk to him, to the line of a male-dominated succession, to the precarious stability that Aegon's coronation might bring.

"Let me go," Aegon pleaded again, his voice cracking. "You know I am not fit for this. You know it, Erryk."

Erryk hesitated, torn between his sworn duty and the undeniable truth in the Prince's words. But before he could decide, the sound of boots echoed in the chamber, and Erryk turned to see Prince Aemond and Ser Criston Cole approaching, their figures sharp and menacing in the candlelight.

"Aegon," Aemond called, his tone cold and commanding. His single violet eye glinted as he stepped closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his longsword. "Come with us. Mother wishes to see you. Now."

Erryk positioned himself between Aegon and the newcomers, his hand on his blade. "He is not going anywhere. On my honor, on my oath sworn to the King, Prince Aegon will not ascend the Iron Throne."

Aegon stood on trembling legs, remnants of Arbor Red still flowing through his veins as he looked from Ser Erryk to his brother. He would always long for the tender grace of his mother he never had, and a part of him briefly wondered if Aegon allowed himself to succumb to that instinctual desire, to go with Aemond to usurp his half-sister's throne, would his mother finally show him the maternal love he longed for? The Prince saw your smile flash in his mind's eye, memories of your warm flesh against his own, and soon realized he no longer craved his mother's attention.

Criston frowned his expression a mix of frustration and betrayal. "Ser Erryk, this is madness. You know your duty."

Ser Erryk stood firm for a moment, but his inner conflict surged. Aemond was ambitious and ruthless, yet he was more fit to rule than his older brother in many ways. Could he, in good conscience, deliver Aegon to them, knowing it would only hasten the bloodshed to come?

He turned to Aegon, his voice soft but firm. "Go."

Aegon's eyes widened in surprise, looking from his younger brother's cloaked form to his sworn protector. "What?"

"Go to her!" Ser Erryk barked, stepping aside to block Aemond and Criston as Aegon hesitated for a heartbeat before bolting toward the nearest exit.

Aemond released a low growl of frustration, his breath coming in heavy spurts as he surged forward. Sensing the impending clash, the knight unsheathed his sword swiftly, the blade glinting ominously in the light. With a determined shout, he met Criston's weapon head-on, the sharp clash of steel ringing out like a battle cry, reverberating through the tense air.

"You will regret this treason, Erryk," Criston snarled, his blade falling in a vicious arc.

"I already do," Erryk replied, dodging the blow. Their swords clashed in a deadly rhythm, sparks flying as Erryk fought to hold his ground against the more seasoned knight.

Aegon darted through the dim corridors of the Sept, his breath ragged and his legs burning. Aemond was relentless, his footsteps growing louder with every passing second. Aegon turned a corner, only to find himself trapped by a wall. He spun around just as Aemond caught up, his sword drawn.

"You have run far enough," Aemond hissed, advancing. "Face me, brother."

In desperation, Aegon grabbed a candelabra from the wall, swinging it wildly. He was never the swordsman of the two. Aemond blocked it with ease, his strikes controlled but furious. The scuffle was brief and frantic, and Aegon's movements were clumsy compared to Aemond's calculated precision. The thought of being with you again guided his clumsy movements against his skilled brother. He would rather die than be forced into a position where he would have to turn against you. Aegon swung wildly, the lit candles flying from their brass holders and flinging wax on the holy stone. The older brother was not much against the younger.

Aegon found his chance in a twist of fate, driven by sheer luck or perhaps the raw instinct of hopelessness. He lifted the ornate candelabra, its metal glinting in the dim light, and with a determined swing, brought it crashing down onto Aemond's blind side. The impact was jarring, sending shockwaves through Aemond's body as he howled in pain, clutching his eye and throwing him off balance. His shocked expression revealed the suddenness of the attack.

Seizing the fleeting moment, Aegon dashed past his brother, his heart pounding as adrenaline propelled him forward. He slipped into the thick daylight of a courtyard, the cool air rushing against his skin as he escaped the chaos behind him.

In the darkness of the Sept, Erryk and Criston found themselves locked in a brutal clash. The air was tense as both knights fought with every ounce of strength and honor, their faces glistening with sweat and their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Each swing of their blades was becoming slower, heavy with fatigue, yet neither was willing to relent. Criston's rage burned bright in his eyes, a fierce fire that seemed to radiate from him, while Erryk stood his ground, his resolve as unyielding as steel, determined not to back down in the face of such ferocity.

"You've sealed your fate, traitor," Criston spat as they clashed again.

"Perhaps," Erryk replied, his voice steady despite the chaos. "But I could not live with myself if I did not try to stop this madness."

The distant sound of bells filled the air again as Aegon disappeared into the city's shadows, the realm's fate hanging in the balance as he made his way to the only place in King's Landing where he would be safe from his mother and grandsire's schemes. 

Masterlist of Series

How about that cliffhanger, besties? It feels like the reader can't get a break! Thank you to everyone who has commented and rebloged this story. I know I was on a very long hiatus so it'll take sometime for some reader's to come back. I really appreciate everyone who has stuck with me. (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnn , @malfoytargaryen , @targaryencore , @justasmallbean , @omgsuperstarg , @sommornyte , @silverslive , @prettykinkysoul , *@duesobabe, *@legolas017, @iiamthehybrid , @dd122004dd , @ladybug0095 , @millies0bsimp , @kalfild , @sheislonelyalways , @tempt-ress , @minttea07 , @trikigirl271 , @esposadomd , @prettywhenicry4 , @justarandomflowerchildofthenight , @partypoison00 , @please-buckme , @pastelorangeskies , @existential-echo , @priyajoyy , @valaenatargaryensdragon , @merovingianprincess , @candy12110 , @w3ird11 , @ruhjkie , @somemydayy , @marikkjj , @zillahvathek , @sunfyresrider , @heavenly1927 , @hjgdhghoe , @im-sidney , @aurorathi , @marihoneywk , @xitsemm , @justbelljust , @qardasngan , @shari-berri , *@tomgcmrs

*Bold means I can't tag you for some reason (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

[thewookiesoldiergirl]

one thing i find unintentionally hilarious about the last two episodes is that every time one of the greens has sex someone dies. imagine what they get for sex ed in westeros

us sex ed: have sex before marriage, a piece of your dignity dies

westeros sex ed: have sex PERIOD, someone DIES

[bumblesimagines]

When Fire Meets Fate

Part 11

Request: Yes or No

Officially putting this series on hiatus!

~~~

While a war had yet to officially break out, everyone knew it was inevitable. Neither side would give up without a fight. Preparations were made and the Painted Table was lit for the first time in many years. Candles were lit and slipped under the table, the glow of the fire illuminating the carved map. (Y/N) gazed over the table as pieces were set across it, only looking away when his wife entered the room under her new title.

"Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm," Daemon announced as everyone bowed their heads to her, himself included. (Y/N) watched the uncertainty that passed over Rhaenyra briefly, her gaze drifting around the room. As a princess, she'd been given much attention, mostly lords and ladies attempting to get in the good graces of her father. But now, she was queen and everyone looked to her for guidance instead of mere approval. She stepped forward, pausing and looking back at the guards escorting her. Rhaenyra lifted her hand, motioning for them to stop, and turned back, stopping again when Rhaena offered her wine. 

"Thank you, Rhaena," Rhaenyra spoke softly, nodding for her to join her on her walk to the table. She nodded for Baela as well and set her cup down, looking over the map and inhaling deeply. She looked up at her husband and he stared back, quirking at brow at her silence. When she realized they were all waiting for her, she swallowed and glanced back at the map."What is our standing?"

"We have thirty knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and three hundred men-at-arms," Daemon answered, glancing at (Y/N) with a small frown. "Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves much to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I'll have some support there but I cannot speak to the numbers."

"We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, and Bar Emmon." The maester listed off as the men present bowed their heads in turn. Jace retrieved the pieces and began setting them across the map to show their allies. Rhaenyra nodded and lifted her hand to point. 

"My lady mother was an Arryn. The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin."

"Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace. With Prince Daemon's permission, I've already sent ravens to Lord Grover." The maester piped in again and (Y/N) looked toward Daemon who avoided his eyes.

"Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed. He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position and that we will support him should it come to war." Rhaenyra pointed out and Daemon nodded.

"I am going to treat with him myself."

"We should look toward Winterfell as well as Storm's End. Starks are known for their loyalty and rarely- if ever- do they break oaths. House Stark could prove to be a strong ally and if they're with us, so is the North. However, Lord Borros Baratheon did not bend the knee when Her Grace was declared heir, his father did. He is someone who will likely need to be convinced but it'll be worth doing if he becomes an ally." (Y/N) spoke up and a knight set a piece above Winterfell. Rhaenyra nodded to herself, growing confident in her new position. Her eyes lingered over one of the names and she turned toward Rhaenys.

"What news from Driftmark?"

"Lord Coryls sails for Dragonstone,"

"To declare for his Queen?" Daemon tilted his head, earning a frown from the older woman.

"The Velaryon fleet is in my husband's yoke. He decides where they sail." Rhaenys reminded the man and Rhaenyra nodded, sighing softly.

"We shall pray for you and your husband's support. Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snake's return to good health." Rhaenyra told her pointedly. "There's no port on the Narrow Sea that would dare make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet." Rhaenyra turned back to the table and cleared her throat. "And our enemies?"

"Without a doubt, not a single Hightower will support our cause, kin or not, and Tylan Lannister has stood by Otto Hightower for far too long to turn against him which means the Lannister Fleet is at his disposal. Without the Lannisters, we are sure to have no friends west of Golden Tooth." (Y/N) answered, gazing down at the map as enemies were marked.

"The Riverlands are essential, Your Grace," Daemon muttered.

"Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons!" One lord piped in and Rhaenyra glanced at him, gaze casting over those present.

"The Greens have dragons as well-"

"They have three adults, by my count. We have Syrax, Caraxes, and Meleys. Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer." Daemon interrupted, drawing a glare from Rhaenyra. 

"None of our dragons have been to war."

"There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing dwell on the Dragonmont, still riderless. Then there are the four wild dragons, all of whom nest here." 

"And who is to ride them?"

"Dragonstone has thirteen to their four. I also have a score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont." Daemon retrieved a piece and made his way around the table. "Now, we need a place to gather, a toehold large enough to house a sizeable host. Here, at Harrenhal. We cut off the west, and surround King's Landing with dragons. And we could have ever Green's head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns." He explained, placing the piece in hand on Harrenhal. The same castle that had seen Harwin's death. (Y/N) wrapped his fingers tightly around his wrist at the thought of going to such a place.

"Your Grace, a ship has been sighted offshore: a lone galleon flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon." The knight, Ser Erryk, revealed as he approached them. Rhaenyra turned to look at her husband as Daemon gave off instructions and walked away. (Y/N) moved around the table and stood beside his wife. 

"If I see my father, I fear I will not be able to hold my anger. You must go and show you will not back down. Otto will have your head, regardless if you do as he says or not. He is not afraid of having others get their hands dirty for him." (Y/N) spoke to her quietly and Rhaenyra nodded, placing her hand over his before stepping away to deal with the traitors.

                    ✶        ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶

Gazing down at the table, Rhaenyra held a distant look in her eye. The page Alicent had sent her, a memory from their youth, had shaken Rhaenyra. One couldn't simply turn on someone they'd loved once so dearly. But she couldn't forget the betrayal of naming Aegon as king. (Y/N) watched his wife as planning and discussion continued.

"It's no easy thing for a man to be a dragonslayer. But dragons can kill dragons. And have. The simple truth is this: we have more dragons than Aegon." Daemon continued his idea, the plan he'd conjured without their input. His behavior toward them after the passing of King Viserys had considerably soured (Y/N) view of him.

"Viserys spoke often of the Valyrian histories. I know them well. When dragons flew to war... everything burned. I do not wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone." Rhaenyra asserted coldly, her growing irritation with her uncle beginning to spill over.

"Are you considering the Hightowers' terms, Your Grace?"

"As Queen, what is my true duty to the realm, Lord Bartimos? Ensuring peace and unity? Or that I sit the Iron Throne no matter the cost?" Rhaenyra questioned, earning a scoff from Daemon.

"That's your father talking."

"My father's dead. And he chose me as his successor... to defend the realm, not cast it headlong into war." 

"The enemy have declared war! What are you going to do about it?"

"Everybody out!" (Y/N) bellowed suddenly, slamming his palm into the table and even making Ser Erryk flinch slightly from his outburst. The lords and knights quietly shuffled out of the room, leaving the couple and Daemon alone. The silver-haired prince paced before the fireplace, glancing toward his friend every few steps. (Y/N) closed his eyes for a moment and turned to look at Daemon, taking slow steps toward the man. "You are mourning your brother, I know that. I've mourned a brother too long ago. But you are allowing your anger to guide your tongue-"

"I am not-"

"Do not interrupt me whilst I am speaking, Daemon!" (Y/N) shouted at him and the prince narrowed his eyes but fell silent regardless. Inhaling deeply and moving closer, (Y/N) continued, "I understand you wish to act as quickly as possible to avenge what happened to Viserys and to help your beloved niece take back what was stolen from her. But I refuse to stand by as you challenge us, unknowingly or not. I care for you, Daemon. Years ago prior to coming to Dragonstone, I wouldn't have given a damn if you passed away in battle. But now I do. You're my family and I know you care for me as well. It is why I've allowed you to speak out of turn, to speak down to us. You have more experience and knowledge of battles, I acknowledge that but Rhaenyra is your queen now and you will treat her as such. Because as much as I care for you, you are not the only man we know with experience who is willing to help us. Question Queen Rhaenyra publicly like that again... and you will be replaced. Have I made myself clear?" 

Staring into his (E/C) eyes, Daemon clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nose and nodding. "Very clear, My King." He muttered lowly and stepped away, walking away from the two and retrieving Dark Sister. He looked back at them over his shoulder before exiting the room. (Y/N) watched him leave, feeling Rhaenyra place a hand on his back. 

"You've done well by me, Husband. Not many can threaten my uncle and live." Rhaenyra murmured, hand slipping from his back to his cheek. She smiled softly at him and leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. "There is something I must tell you... it is one of the reasons I hesitate on war."

"What is it?"

"The Song of Ice and Fire," Rhaenyra whispered, glancing toward the door and sighing softly. "When my father named me heir, he told me a prophecy Aegon the Conqueror had. He claimed that the property foretold the coming of a winter so deadly it ended the world of men. He said to survive, all of Westeros needed to be united and a Targaryen needed to sit the Iron Throne. He had me swear an oath to keep this secret and I am sharing it with you now because I know you will not share it with anyone." 

A soft breath escaped his lips and he reached up to touch Rhaenyra's cheek. "And you believe this prophecy?."

"I know it sounds like nonsense but the way my father spoke about it... I believe that sooner or later, this winter will descend upon Westeros. I cannot allow myself to plunge the kingdoms into war and leave a broken mess for Jace and Luke to mend whilst battling a deadly winter." Rhaenyra told him softly, resting her hand over her husband's and releasing a soft sigh. "The future children of our sons deserve a peaceful future, regardless of whether this prophecy is true or not."

"I understand, Nyra. Whatever you decide, you will have my support."

                    ✶        ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶

Standing beside his wife's chair, he listened to what felt like endless arguing between lords. Rhaenyra leaned back in her chair, absentmindedly listening to them, mind filled with worries and plans. The couple still needed to decide on what to do; risking war or accepting the terms. Both choices would have consequences. Dire consequences that could result in bloodshed regardless of what Otto claimed. His father's words couldn't be trusted, even if he said to be a messenger for Queen Alicent. 

"The Lord of the Tides!" Ser Erryk announced loudly, drawing the couple from their thoughts and toward the doors as the man entered, cane in hand. The sight of him brought Rhaenyra to her feet, a soft gasp leaving her. "Lord Corlys Velaryon... and his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen." 

Lord Corlys entered the room with a limp, his neck heavily bandaged but his strength could not be doubted. Rhaenys stood beside him proudly and their granddaughters followed behind them, both looking equally relieved and pleased to see their grandsire back on his feet. "My lords." He greeted them hoarsely.

"Lord Corlys... It brings much relief to see you hale and healthy again." Rhaenyra spoke softly, smiling at the man. Lord Corlys studied her for a moment, gaze briefly shifting onto (Y/N).

"I'm very sorry about your father, Princess. He was a good man." Rhaenyra's gaze turned down when he regarded her with her old title but Lord Corlys' attention had turned toward his granddaughters as they took their places beside Jace and Luke. Glancing at his wife, he limped toward the table and swept his gaze over the room. "And where is Daemon? I am aware he's quite close to you both."

"Prince Daemon is attending to other matters at the moment." (Y/N) answered and Lord Corlys hummed, moved around the table, and studied the map, taking note of allies and enemies.

"Your declared allies?"

"Yes."

"Too few to win a war for the throne." He pointed out, lifting his eyes toward the couple.

Rhaenyra stepped forward, clearing her throat. "Well, we would also hope to have the support of Houses Arryn, Baratheon, and Stark."

"Hope... is the fool's ally," Lord Corlys said bluntly and Rhaenyra glanced back at the map, pursing her lips slightly. 

"Both Arryn and Baratheon share blood with my house. But all of them swore oaths to me." 

"As did House Hightower, if I remember correctly." His gaze flickered toward (Y/N).

"As did you, Lord Corlys." Rhaenyra's reminder made the man fall silent, his eyes meeting his wife's before he turned and gazed upon his granddaughters and their stance beside the two Velaryon boys. He nodded lightly and looked back at Rhaenyra.

"Your father's realm... was one of justice and honor. Our houses are bound by common blood and common cause. This Hightower treason cannot stand." Lord Corlys voiced. Rhaenyra's brows furrowed at his wording, glancing back to her husband. "You have the full support of our fleet and house, Your Grace." 

"You honor me, Lord Corlys." Rhaenyra breathed and when Lord Corlys looked toward his wife, they knew Princess Rhaenys had much to do with his decision. Turning to look at the woman, Rhaenyra nodded with a thankful smile. Inhaling, Rhaenyra gazed over the map with a more relaxed figure. "But, as I said, to my bannermen, I made a promise to my father to hold the realm strong and united. If war's first stroke is to fall, it will not be by my hand."

"You do not mean to act?"

"Taking caution does not mean standing fast. I wish to know who my allies are before I send them to war." Rhaenyra responded, watching him step closer. Lord Corlys nodded along to her words, looking back down at the Painted Table.

"The consequence to my... near-demise in the Stepstones is that we now control them. I took care to fully garrison the territory this time. A total blockade of the shipping lanes will be in place in days, if not already. The Triacrhy have been routed. The Narrow Sea is ours." Lord Corlys revealed. Rhaenyra's eyes widened and she glanced around at her supporters, releasing a breath of relief. "If we... further seal the Gullet, we can cut off all seaborne travel and trade to King's Landing."

"I shall take Meleys and patrol the Gullet myself." Princess Rhaenys said, coming to a stop beside Rhaenyra and nodding to her in support. 

"When we drain the Narrow Sea, we can surround King's Landing, lay siege to the Red Keep, and force the Greens to surrender." Lord Bartimos offered his plan but (Y/N) stepped forward, gazing down at the table.

"While that plan may work, we first need enough men to surround King's Landing and those men can be provided to us through Winterfell, the Eyrie, and Storm's End." (Y/N) chimed in, turning his eyes onto the maester who bowed his head in turn.

"I'll prepare the ravens."

"We should bear those messages," Jace spoke up, pulling his parents' attention away from the table and toward him. "Dragons can fly faster than ravens and they're more convincing. Send us." He explained, holding his mother's gaze. 

"The Prince is right, Your Grace." Lord Corlys agreed, turning to look at the two. 

Rhaenyra looked at her husband and met his eyes, brows, and lips twitching. Her eyes told him enough of her concerns but when he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrists and nodded, she inhaled deeply. "Very well. Prince Jacaerys will fly north. First to the Eyrie to see my mother's cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm's End and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon. We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore. And... the cost of breaking them." 

With that, the room dispersed and Rhaenyra headed up to one of the many balconies after writing the messages as their sons prepared for their departure. (Y/N) joined her on the balcony, placing his hand over hers and staring out at the sea. Their sons would be heading off into the world as man-grown, helping them on their quest. But (Y/N) couldn't shake the lingering feeling that something was wrong. 

"I believe we'll garner the support of House Stark and House Arryn. House Baratheon worries me. Lord Borros is not exactly an easy man to sway and the fact he himself didn't swear oath... He'll use that as reasoning enough." (Y/N) muttered quietly, turning his head to look at his wife. Rhaenyra looked down at the letters in her hands and sighed.

"We must have faith." She whispered and (Y/N) sighed, looking back out at sea. Rhaenyra turned around as the boys approached them and she smiled softly. "It's been said that as Targaryens, we are closer to gods than to men. And the Iron Throne puts us a touch closer, perhaps. But, if we are to serve the Seven Kingdoms, we must answer to their gods. If you take this errand, you go as messengers... not as warriors. You must take no part in any fighting. Swear it to me now under the eyes of the Seven." Ser Eryyk stepped closer with the book, extending his arms forward.

"I swear it." Luke reached out first, resting his hand on the book as he spoke. (Y/N) turned around to look at them, swallowing down the worry bubbling up in his chest.

"I swear it." Jace followed after a moment of hesitance, resting his hand on the book as well. 

"Thank you." Rhaenyra nodded to Ser Erryk and stepped forward, looking down at the letters. "Cregan Stark is... closer to your age than he is mine. I hope that as men you can find some common interests." 

"Yes, Your Grace." Jace took the letters from his mother, safely tucking them away.

Turning her attention away from her eldest and onto Luke, Rhaenyra took in the worried look on his face. "Storm's End is a short flight from here. Lord Borros is an eternally proud man. He will be honored to host a prince of the realm and his dragon. I expect you will receive a very warm welcome." Rhaenyra assured, placing the letter in Luke's hand and smiling fondly. 

"Yes, Mother- Y-Your Grace." Luke stammered, ears turning a soft pink.

"Do not freight if they prove to be stubborn. Your safety is much more important to us than their support." (Y/N) said, stepping forward and reaching out to touch Jace's arm before looking down at Luke. "Come home safely. That is all I ask for."

"We will," Jace assured and placed a hand on Luke's shoulder, smiling widely at his brother. Luke returned the smile and nodded to his father before Rhaenyra dismissed them, watching them walk away. As they walked, Jace spoke to his brother, lightly shaking his shoulder and smiling down at him. They could only assume it was an attempt at easing Luke's anxiety regarding his flight. It'd be his first time traveling alone without his brother or parents to guide or protect him. Jace had been born with the ferocity and confidence of his mother. A headstrong, stubborn young man. But Luke... Luke reminded (Y/N) so much of his sister. Kind, soft-hearted. A sweet boy in a cruel world. 

"They will be... They will be alright." Rhaenyra whispered to herself, tilting her head toward the sky and blinking away the tears forming in her eyes. Breathing out through her mouth, she nodded to herself and stepped toward the stone railing, resting her palms against it. (Y/N) inhaled and stood beside his wife, pleading with the Mother to bring his boys back home safely. He closed his eyes and made one last silent plea to the gods above before opening them and watching Arrax and Vermax take to the skies alongside Meleys. (Y/N) watched Arrax take a turn, breaking off from the trio first and disappearing into dark storm clouds. The two waited until Vermax and Meleys disappeared from view before stepping away from the balcony, reaching for each other's hands as they returned inside.

Only a day or two had passed with no word from either of their sons. The feeling in (Y/N)'s chest had intensified, leaving him unable to find much sleep at night as he stayed up, gazing toward the balcony in hopes of seeing the outline of dragons approaching. Rhaenyra had similar issues although she'd been able to get at least a few more hours of sleep than him before they forced themselves out of bed and to the Painted Table for more planning.

The Hightower could only stare blankly at the table, offering input when asked and dismissing the worries of his wife. His gaze lifted from the soft glow of the table when Rhaenyra placed a hand on his shoulder, attention directed toward her uncle who walked toward them with a glum look on his face. (Y/N) straightened up, holding Daemon's gaze as the men stopped before them. The silver-haired prince glanced at the other lords, reaching out a hand to touch (Y/N)'s arm and leading them toward the fireplace to speak privately. 

"I have received..." Daemon began but found himself unable to continue whilst looking at them. He turned away and faced the flames of the fireplace, taking in a deep breath before continuing. "I have received word from Storm's End that... that parts of Arrax have washed up onshore. Lord Borros states a dispute had occurred between Prince Aemond and Prince Lucerys before both princes' departed. It is to be believed Prince Aemond killed Prince Lucerys." 

(Y/N) felt his vision spin, feet staggering backward as he took in Daemon's words. The prince quickly steadied the man, muttering his apologies to the couple. Rhaenyra stumbled forward, lifting a hand toward Daemon when he attempted to reach toward her. Her lips parted, watery eyes staring into the flames, and hands coming to rest on her abdomen. She nearly doubled over, sobs beginning to shake her shoulders violently. (Y/N) could hardly breathe, feeling as if his lungs were being squeezed for every last drop of air. He leaned forward, resting his hand on the stone wall and taking in breaths, holding a clenched fist to his chest as the tears fell from his eyes.

Leaning in, Daemon whispered to the grieving man, "An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged."

[captainamericasmotercycle]

who i write for

requests: closed (always open for more characters!)

aaron hotchner

spencer reid

emily prentiss

derek morgan

rhaenyra targaryen

daemon targaryen

aemond targaryen

aegon targaryen

helaena targaryen

jacaerys velaryon

cregan stark

harwin strong

erryk cargyll

james potter

remus lupin

sirius black

theodore nott jr.

mattheo riddle

steve rogers

bucky barnes

peter parker

stiles stilinski

rafe cameron

jake seresin

bradley bradshaw

[eschercaine]

OUR WESTEROS’ IT COUPLE IS FINALLY BAAACK!!!! 💅🗣️ Why do I have a feeling that Rhaenyra is looking at Daemon in that scene?

And the Black council looking drippy and badass as always. 😍

[mesillusionssousecstasy]

House of the Dragon 2x02: Review

The opening music was incredible! The violin's note untenable.

Poor Viserys' model of Valyria.

Aegon is gone literally crazy, or more like a child throwing a tantrum.

Poor Helaena! So innocente!

Everything was made for every details, going as far as the horses' armour.

The greens are fucking hypocrite, when they have inflicted the same to Jace.

Aille Aille Daemon what have you done? Sorry Daemon is the most hilarious character ever.

To my opinion, Daemon is best the character in the ASOIAF universe. Also, he truly loves his wife.

I didn't like Rhaenyra's opinion thrown at Daemon. She was acting like a hypocrite. She well knew what she said in this council room in front of Daemon. Also, how can she not believe her husband. She knows him since when she was a child.

But the scene between the two of them was incredible. So well done.

I don't understand Rhaenyra doesn't know that Daemon is one of her best sword so far.

I love the room in Dragonstone. Everything is in the detail. But I don't understand Rhaenyra change rooms? She a beautiful balcony last season.

The music is truly beautiful.

Again poor Helaena with her deranged family. Nevertheless, I was expecting another prophecy coming from her.

(Ser) Criston Cole is such a hypocrite, the biggest of Westeros.

Big foreshadowing : the two future Kings of Westeros.

Ser Criston Cole saying to Alicent : "What do you take me for?" Alicent should have replied : "My bitch!"

Biggest hypocrite of the series.

Ser Criston Cole is also a fucking bastard. There is nothing glorious about that.

I wasn't expecting Aemond in a brother, more likely in his sister's bed. Very strange scene (WTF?). Maybe to show us, that Aemond is still a boy compared to Daemon?

I liked that they show a bit of small folks, the normal people.

Why the score is important?

The landscape at the beach was beautiful.

Fortunately the dog is still alive and well (poor doggy).

When Otto entered the room, at first I thought it was because of Visery's model.

"My grandson is a fool" : Otto finally realising what he has done! The truth of the situation. Quelle bande d'incapable et de bras cassés.

Poor Otto. Him who thought he had done what was good for the country. He has finally realised what terrible mistake he has made.

When Otto said to Aegon, "You will regret this" : I believe those words to be true.

I like the terrible twin twist. Poor Erryk.

Big news, Daeron is alive.

Why Otto do not want to hear that Alicent has sinned?

Rhaenyra doesn't learn from her mistake.

Youth against mature people.

[the-djarin-clan]

"I swear toward the Queen, with all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side and defend her name and honour."

ME:

[antukaqajsiri]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲

Summary: An old (love) friend of the Cargyll's brothers comes to King's Landing.

Pairing: Ser Erryk Cargyll x OC Female!Reader x Ser Arryk Cargyll

Warnings: AFAB reader, plotting sexual situations, alcohol consumption, implied/referenced abuse.

Words: 2080

Author's note: Thanks for reading, this is my first fic in English and here on Tumblr. I apologise if I made any mistakes, English isn't first language. I wrote this for the first time in Spanish, and you can find more chapters in Wattpad and Ao3.

٭⊹¤.•⨳•.☆✬✦���✦ ✬☆.•⨳•.¤⊹٭

Chapter I

114 AC

For Fiona, traveling to the King's Landing was one of the things that fascinated her most. She loved those long trips to the capital in a carriage. Her father had sent her and her brother Angus to see their uncle, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Harrold Westerling, to serve him as a squire, and her to marry some lord of a vast house. The Westerling were not a house of great wealth, and therefore she had to commit herself to somebody as soon as possible before she had lost her youth; she had already flourished several months ago, but her father could not find whom the little lady would accept for husband. He had already rejected three proposals from the Stark, Frey, and Blackwood houses. They were all "old, ugly or stupid," as Fiona had described them with a face of horror. His father was about to lose his head, he was Lord of Westerling, Lord of the Crag, and his seventeen-year-old daughter manipulated him as she wanted, after all, she was his little girl and only daughter; he needed the help of the King and the Queen to betrothed his daughter and turn his son into a warrior; the time they would spend at the King's Landing would help them to form themselves as good lord and lady of Westerling.

“You should have accepted Lannister as much,” said Angus as the carriage moved forward, “you would be richer and your children even richer.” Fiona hit him in the arm playfully. Her Septa Amara looked at her with reproach before continuing with her knitting. “I'm just telling the truth,” he said.

"Have you nothing to say about father wanting you to become a warrior you are not?" Angus didn't have enough to be a knight. He was noble, tall, and handsome, but he knew not how to use the sword, and notably preferred the company of men rather than women, neither did his father's attempts for wanting to deflower women in bordels change his being and the rumors were beginning to be noticed. “I'd change places with you if I could, baby brother”.

Fiona was a fighter, not very good with the sword because they were too heavy and chubby for her taste, but she knew how to move and evade strikes, her art with the bow and arrow was impressive, and she rode on horses with delicacy. If she had been a man she would have been a knight of the Kingsguard, yet she was born a woman and it was up to her to fulfill her role, that was what her mother used to say all the time. She knew it and accepted it, but she wished to find love and not to marry by obligation a stranger. How longed she to enter an adventure like the one her ladies read to her.

"Maybe in another life," Angus tried to conceal his dissatisfaction. “Uncle Harrold will train me and make me a good sir”. He played with his sword that his father gave him three onomastics back, “I will bring honor to Home.” commented in a broken High Valyrian.

Fiona gave him a paw to calm him down. It was supposed that Angus would not be with her on that journey, but for reasons that put him there Lord Cassius sent him away from home to make him a "true man", his father threatened to disinherit and name his sister as his heir just as King Viserys did with his daughter the princess Rhaenyra.

On the way, Fiona could smell the distinctive smell of King’s Landing, a combination of shit, sex, and dragons, when she heard that the doors of the Red Keep were opening, she could not resist running out. She wanted to walk around the castle, eat pastries, and see her two favorite people, Princess Rhaenyra (with whom she had a close friendship since kid), and her uncle Ser Harrold. The horses stopped and could hear a man announcing their arrival.

"Lord Angus and Lady Fiona Westerling of the Westerling’s of the Crag." One of their father's knights helped her get off the wagon. She knew every one of the knights, squires, and lords of their house. Everyone was kind to her. Fiona was too fearless as a child. She always ended up in situations of danger and was not afraid of being repressed, for these reasons it was difficult for her to find a husband, no one wanted a lady who climbed the windows of castles and ran through the alleys.

She tried to behave like a lady, she didn't want to make a bad impression. She knew what it meant to her father that she found a good husband. Something Lord Cassius would never admit was that he hated the idea of losing his little girl and sending her with a lord who would destroy her spirit. It made her feel anxious, not because she cared that much about those people, yet her future depended on how she behaved.

The sound of steel against steel, the vague talks, and the laughter stopped for a short time to begin with the greetings. Lord Corlys Velaryon welcomed them alongside Princess Rhaenyra, and her royal guard, her dear uncle.

"Lord Angus, Lady Fiona," he revered, "welcome to King's Landing."

Her dear friend, Rhaenyra, pushed him aside to go and say hi to her. They gave each other a friendly hug. They had been friends since childhood and shared letters by raven every moon.

"I am glad you are here, my sweet Fi." The hug lasted long enough. It's been a lot of moons that they last seen. Both laughed. Angus greeted Nyra with a kiss on the hand. “It's a pleasure to see you again too, Lord Angus”.

“Nephew, niece,” said the Lord Commander. Fiona gave him a hug, and Angus did the same. They didn't see each other for more than a year.

Nyra took her by the arm and dragged her through the Red Keep, leaving the gentlemen behind, "They can manage themselves," she told her in High Valyrian as she was taking her down the corridors of the castle.

“Let them catch up with their issues of lords and knights,” she said among laughter. “I'll escort you to your new chamber, it's beautiful and with a view of the garden, you'll love it”.

From what Nyra had said to Fiona before her father, King Viserys, re-married no more and no less than her childhood friend, Alicent Hightower, she had little friendship lately, more now that all the eyes of the kingdom were on her younger brother Aegon, whom many called the true heir. Her only company was her white knight, Ser Criston Cole. Of what her friend wrote about him, she imagined a couple of things that she preferred not to say even in writing, there were little birds who listened to their darkest thoughts and could not afford anyone else to find out. Since her father's second marriage, Rhaenyra felt lonely, and now that one of her friends, whom she considered to be her family, had come to keep her company, she began to feel happy again.

The room that they had given to her was very beautiful and welcoming, although it was not comparable to hers at home. It had the perfect view of the gardens, that was true. It was very different at home. She wandered climbing the mountains and swimming in the sea during a hot summer.

"The day of the name of Aegon is approaching," said Nyra, sitting in bed. "I wish you were with me; I do not desire to share all my time with Alicent and the other women of the kingdom, they only seem to be worried about gossip”.

Fiona smiled gently at her, "I will gladly do it," she replied. “It's been a long time since I went hunting, not since my mother died”. Rhaenyra took her hands to comfort her. Fiona's mother had died sixteen months ago, Nyra's just three years ago. Her mothers were as good friends as they were now; they met when Trianna, the mother of Fiona and Angus, came to Westeros to marry Cassius Westerling of The Crag as a union between Volantis and The Crag, and although her mother was no more than the fifth daughter of one of the richest lords in the city, they managed to get her married to the heir of the House of Westerling and give him a good sum of money to acquire soldiers and wealth.

“Sometimes when I fly with Syrax I can feel my mother close,” said the girl with platinum hair in High Valyrian. Fiona replied with an "I would love to see her again" also in valyrian, her mother tongue. Both girls were comforted during their mourning. “I'm gonna let you get comfortable and I'll be back after dinner. You can dispose of the castle as if it were yours, my dear Fin.”

When she finally was alone, one of her maids, Margy, helped her take a bath and dress her. As a welcome gift, Nyra gave her a beautiful nude dress with golden flower fabrics on its sleeves. The clothes she normally wears at home were clothed in fine fabrics brought from her mother's land and that showed her shoulders with beautiful golden chains, but she never took off a bracelet of sea shells that her mother gave her at the age of twelve.

At dinner time she went looking for Angus, who was supposed to be practicing with the sword next to his uncle. Her brother's hairy hair was impossible to lose sight of. Anyone would say they were no related. Angus was the portrait of his father except for the eyes, which were brown, while Fiona, with her long black, and silky hair, looked like her ancestors, her eyes were a bright light gray that you could confuse it with the clouds during a storm.

Seeing the dance among the swords fascinated her. Her brother was no fool, but without a doubt, his skill with the weapons was not his strength. Before her father tried to commit her to some lord, he let her practice with Angus and the rumor said that she was very good at it, although she had taken a real sword, she loved to smooth the weapon with subtlety almost dancing, not until she discovered that the bow was her favorite weapon, never failed to the target.

Angus practiced with one of the knights who lived in the castle. He was not bad at all, even though the knight was distinguished by having much more experience than his attacker, and he had the advantage. She came as close as she could to stay safe and watch her younger brother exercise. A hand lay on her shoulder, and the touch made her turn around, surprised by who was touching her. Blue eyes saw her with astonishment. She knew that look that reminded her of the ocean of her home. It was familiar to her.

"My lady." The young knight hastened to make a reverence in respect without taking his gaze away from her eyes. “I'm delighted to see you again, Lady Westerling”.

"Arryk?" she asked in amazement. She hadn't seen Ser Cargyll for years. “I heard rumors that you became part of the Kingsguard. I didn't believe I'd see you again”.

“It was the greatest honour for my family that the King had chosen us as part of his White Swords”. Everything in him had changed. He was taller and muscular, he was no longer the boy with whom she played in the bay. He had become a man, left behind the younger boy she knew. She couldn't help thinking that he looked handsome with his beard, made him look so masculine, embarrassed her to think of those things. “I see Erryk has noticed your presence”.

Fiona looked at him with curiosity and turned around without knowing exactly where to look. There he was, twin number two, training with Angus. A surprise blow from her brother with the sword caused Erryk to react before he got hurt, his reflexes were good. He could notice how the twin's muscles tightened until he made her brother surrender, he kept seeing her, his eyes on hers. Fin could feel her cheeks getting hot at the sight of the noble knight. He made her a subtle reverence before dismissing Angus and leaving the weapon in its place.

"Enjoy your evening, lady Westerling," said Arryk with a friendly smile. “I'm sure we'll see each other again”.

[vanilleandclove]

rings of fire | chapter two

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

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

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

previous - next

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

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

"Princess".

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Valar morghulis" you muttered under your breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You and I see it differently".

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what would that be?".

"Your second born daughter".

taglist: @wolvestitches @callsignwidow @majoso12

[pastexistence]

Nādrēsy hen Lys - Chapter 16

Summary: In the aftermath of Aegon's coronation, Valyda returns to Dragonstone, before joining Jacaerys on a journey to the North to secure the loyalty of House Stark

Valyda Targaryen stood on the steps of Dragonstone, staring down through the fog at the cascade of rocks and salty waves below, feeling more dangerous than she ever had in her life. She was not just a woman - she was a weapon, a key piece in the conflict to come. Her hand would spill blood, he dragon would spout flames - all to prevent the boy-king who so disgusted her from enacting his will on the people of her city.  If only her mother could see her now. 

Tags: @darkwolf76

Continue reading on AO3

[darksisterk]

I think Rhaenyra should’ve traded Daemon for Ser Erryk 🥵

House of The Dragon (2022-) ↳ Rhaenyra the Cruel (S02E02)