#saviour of house targaryen

[witchthewriter]

𝐷𝑎𝑒𝑛𝑦𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝐷𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑂𝑙𝑑 𝑉𝑎𝑙𝑦𝑟𝑖𝑎

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏

INFP

Ravenclaw

Neutral Good

Pisces Sun, Cancer Moon, Aquarius Rising

Daenys Targaryen, better known as Daenys the Dreamer, was the daughter of Aenar Targaryen. He was a nobleman from the Valyrian Freehold and the Lord of Dragonstone.

When Daenys was still a maiden, she had a powerful prophetic dream; the doom of Valyria. Her dream showed fire, and plenty of it. Burning everything in its path.

In 114 BC, her father, Lord Aenar Targaryen, listened to his daughter and sold all their holdings in the Valyrian Freehold and moved his family to Dragonstone.

When they left Valyria, the family took five dragons; including Balerion. When the Doom came twelve years later, House Targaryen was the only family of dragonriders left.

Following tradition, Daenys was married to her brother, Gaemon, who became the Lord of Dragonstone. Their children were Aegon and Elaena Targaryen.

Aegon married his sister, Elaena, and together they had two sons: Maegon and Aerys Targaryen. Aegon and Elaena also had a younger sister who married a petty lord.

Aegon and Elaena inherited the lordship of Dragonstone from their father and mother, they jointly ruled Dragonstone and were succeeded by Maegon. When Maegon died, he was succeeded by his younger brother, Aerys Targaryen.

Aerys Targaryen had three sons, Aelyx, Baelon, and Daemion Targaryen. Aelyx inherited the lordship of Dragonstone from his father and was himself succeeded by Baelon. Then Baelon inherited the lordship of Dragonstone from Aelyx and was himself succeeded by Daemion. Daemion became Lord of Dragonstone after his two brothers. He was succeeded by his only son, Aerion Targaryen.

Aerion Targaryen was a member of House Targaryen during the Century of Blood, the only son of Lord Daemion Targaryen of Dragonstone. He was married to Lady Valaena Velaryon of Driftmark and together they had three children: Visenya, Aegon, and Rhaenys Targaryen. Aerion was also rumored to have fathered Orys Baratheon on an unknown woman.

Additional information via details in the show.

Daenys was Balerions' first ever rider. At the time he was only the size of a horse (was 2 or 3 years old. Born in Old Valyria, taken with House Targaryen to Dragonstone).

Daenys claimed Balerion the night before her dream of the Doom.

[sweetestpopcorn]

Hi ! I have question, not too sensitive I hope...since this is a very pro Aegon III blog, could you explain to me why you love him so much ?

I've always struggled to love/understand the character, like yes, he seems nice overall, he's pretty and quiet (though the beautiful melancholic ones have never done it for me *looking at you Rhaegar*), he went through lots of trauma, and his relationship with Daenaera is cute, but nevertheless i've always found Viserys II and even Jace more pleasant and competent.

Like what i love about the most about Aegon III is that he's the son of Rhaenyra and Daemon, but that's not exactly a personality trait (well, it could be considering his parents, but you know what i mean).

Maybe there's something I'm missing about him (or maybe I'm just not receptive to this kind of character), so could you pretty please explain to me what is so great about him so that I might hopefully start to enjoy him as much as you do ? :)

Thank you so much ;)

Hi there,

I would like to start by saying that I don't really see the point in trying to convince anyone to like X or Y character. I certainly hope that people have enough of their own opinion to go by that and not by what someone else thinks or what by others like.

What is the problem of you not linking Aegon III?

I personally see none. I would also argue that you don't have to like Aegon III just because he was Daemon and Rhaenyra's son. For instance I like Corlys and Rhaenys yet their children are as bland as oatmeal and have 0 personality. I won't like them only because of who their parents are, much less make up traits and a personality George couldn't be bothered to give them.

We don't have to like every character. I myself have many that do nothing for me - many from Daemon and Rhaenyra's line - and that I struggle to understand what others might like about them. We are all different and to each their own. I am a firm believer that as long as we stay in our lanes, don't make sh:t up to try and prove a point (headcanons are not the same as canon), and don't harass anyone over their tastes, we don't owe anyone an explanation about why we like or don't like a character.

Now, as to why I like Aegon III, and what I think is so great about him, I believe canon explains itself much better than my own simple words could. I could transcribe everything written, however, since my time is limited and it has been over a month since my last update, I will give you three quotes, spoken by Aegon III himself that not only prove that he was very much Daemon and Rhaenyra's son, but also his own person, one with empathy, and with a little bit of light and fire left to him, even after all the darkness he endured. That an a tiny scene that people sleep on ;) this was a boy every inch worthy of being named after Aegon the Conqueror.

Just as a small note, none of this is to make you like him, it is intended to answer the question of what makes me like him and I think these quotes and the small moment speak for themselves. Alas, I am biased.

"I shall," King Aegon said. "You are sitting in my chair." (Fire and Blood, pg. 704)

"There will be no progress," the king declared, as he was seated. "I will not spend a year upon a horse, sleeping in strange beds and trading empty courtesies with drunken lords, half of whom would gladly see me dead if it gained them a groat. If any man requires word with me, he will find me on the Iron Throne." (Fire and Blood, pg. 704)

"I mean to give the smallfolk peace and food and justice. If that will not suffice to win their love, let Mushroom make a progress. Or perhaps we might send a dancing bear. Someone once told me that the commons love nothing half as much as dancing bears. You may call a halt to this feast tonight as well. Send the lords home to their own keeps and give food to the hungry. Full bellies and dancing bears shall be my policy." (Fire and Blood, pg. 704)

"The blood drained from the queen's cheeks when she beheld the bodies, but young Prince Aegon was the first to realise what they meant. "Mother, flee," he shouted, but too late." (...) "When Prince Aegon snatched up Ser Harrold's sword, Ser Alfred knocked the blade aside contemptuously." (Fire and Blood, pg. 540)

PS: Goes without saying that this is only concerning asoiaf canon, not redacted. Keep redacted in the trash where it belongs.

[zaldritzosrose]

Only Ever Yours (Aegon x Wife!Reader)

Summary: Aegon saw marriage as a duty, a weight to bear and nothing more. You were a good wife; he would never fault you that. But he refused to believe he felt nothing more for you. Unfortunately for him, his uncle knew better. Daemon was going to get him to admit it, one way or another.

TW: MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, afab reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, oral (f receiving), fingering, Daemon thinking he's helping, flirting, innuendo, profanity.

Words: 4319

Thank you to @legitalicat for betaing this! 💚

Also, there is some vague references to this being within the Dance timeline but nothing concrete so imagine it as you will!

And please thank my dearest Nonnie for the request! Enjoy!

Name days were always a grand affair for the royal family and having Jacaerys turn six and ten – that was the grandest they had hosted in a while. You sat beside your husband, Aegon, between him and his uncle Daemon. Lords and ladies from all over the realm had come to celebrate the young prince’s coming of age and there was nothing short of revelry to be had.

Aegon was preoccupied with his wine, even large events like this where appearances were everything did not stem his dependency on his cups. Though you could not blame him, listening to lord after lord drivel on about something or another would likely drive you down the same path if you had a liking for wine.

What you did wish to do, however, was dance. The minstrels played nothing but upbeat songs to please the celebrated prince and the dance floor was already filling. You turned to Aegon; a hand placed on his arm to get his attention.

“Could we dance, husband?” you asked softly, the slightest sound of hope in your tone.

But what you got was a shake of his head, nothing more.

Aegon had never been unkind to you, but he had always seemed disenchanted with your marriage. Uninterested in anything more than his duty. He kept his eyes trained on his cup before him, not noticing the look of disappointment on your face. The flush of rejection on your cheeks as you turned away from him and picked at the food on your plate.

But Daemon noticed.

He noticed the glisten of tears in your eyes, the slight tremble of your lower lip as you tried to keep yourself calm. And he felt a pang of sympathy. You had been offered as a politically advantageous marriage for Aegon. Binding your house and the Targaryens solely for power. And it seemed his nephew had yet to look past his duty to the woman beneath it.

“My lady?” Daemon touched your arm gently, bringing your attention over to your uncle by marriage now.

“My prince,” you hurried to wipe your eyes, trying your best to hide your emotions.

Daemon only offered you a smile, glancing around you and seeing Aegon glancing over to the pair of you.

“A lady as pretty as you should have no need to cry, nor be left alone with no dance partner,” Daemon said softly, nudging your arm and coaxing a smile to your lips.

“It is alright, my prince, really. I am more than content to…”

Daemon interrupted you with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“No, my sweet lady, you need to be more than content.” Daemon stood, offering his hand to you with a smirk.

With a final glance to Aegon, who was doing nothing but glaring into the cup before him, you accepted.

“Quite the saviour you are, my prince,” you giggled, as Daemon led you down the steps and to the dance floor below.

The music had turned upbeat, and Daemon was quick to put you both into position. He led you with a smile, putting all his effort to spinning you about the dance floor and bringing smiles and laughter to your lips.

Aegon watched. At first, he told himself he did not care. You wanted to dance, and you were dancing. You were happy and he did not have to involve himself. But when the song ended and Daemon did not let you go, he began to watch more closely.

The next song was slower and when you did not pull away from his uncle, Aegon sat up a little straighter and followed your every move. The closeness between your and Daemon’s bodies, how you blushed a little when Daemon leaned down to whisper something in your ear.

Aegon’s jaw tightened, but he tried to will away the emotions stirring within. Jealousy. You were his wife; you should be at his side. But he knew, deep down, that was not what bothered him. It was the joy on your face. Joy that was not caused by him.

The second song ended, and Daemon leaned down a little, pressing a kiss to your hand.

“Thank you for the dance, my sweet lady,” he smirked, offering you a wink that brought out yet another giggle.

Aegon could not hear what he said, but he could see the smile, the movement of your shoulders that told him you were giggling, the flush on your cheeks from the dance and dare he say…from Daemon. He should not feel jealous, you were his duty, a marriage he had never asked for.

So why did he feel it? Why did his stomach feel twisted and his blood feel like it was boiling in his veins? The scrape of his chair could be heard over the music as Aegon descended the steps and stormed his way through the crowd to you and Daemon.

“Aegon?” you asked, but Aegon’s focus was solely on Daemon.

But his uncle only smiled, inclining his head and retreating into the crowd. His smile never left him, even after his back turned on the young couple.

What neither knew, was Daemon had watched them, since the day they had been betrothed. You had done everything to try and enamour yourself to Aegon, to try and present yourself as a good prospect. But Aegon had simply tolerated your presence. Acted politely from his mother’s instructions, courted you. Took you on walks around the gardens, introduced to his dragon even.

But he never seemed to enjoy it. It was as though marriage was simply a burden. Daemon watched you retreat into yourself, watched you stop vying quite so hard for Aegon’s attentions. He watched as your usual happy demeanour seemed to waver.

It only became more obvious when you were married. The kiss shared between the pair of you in the Sept was tense and since then, nothing had improved.

So, Daemon had took it upon himself to fix it. To see you, someone who had been dragged into this family through no choice of her own, to a husband who did not want her. He knew the one way to make Aegon see, was to force him to admit how he felt for you.

And tonight was only the beginning.

The name day feast gnawed at Aegon’s mind, only a week had passed. Jealousy meant nothing, surely. It could not possibly mean he felt anything deep for you. No, he told himself. It could not possibly be true.

Aegon was sat by the window, having just finished his breakfast when he heard you enter. It was rare for the two of you to spend the mornings together, Aegon preferring lazier mornings whereas you always took breakfast with his mother and sister.

“Good morning, husband,” you said softly, slipping into the seat across from him.

Aegon gave you a tight smile, watching as you poured yourself a cup from the tea from the pot he had yet to touch. He was curious, however, as to why you were here.

“There is a family dinner tonight.” You said gently, sipping from your tea.

Now it made sense, there were few reasons you would willingly seek him out, he knew that without a doubt. Though even thinking that, made Aegon feel a pang of guilt he did not expect.

“And I assume my attendance is expected?”

The look you gave him was enough. He nodded. A family dinner meant all of the family would be in attendance. And he was not prepared to receive a telling off from his mother if he avoided it.

The rest of the morning was spent in silence, until you were called away for a walk with Helaena.

Aegon met you outside your chambers in time to walk to dinner, his face already showing he wished to be anywhere else. You did feel a little bad for him, now he was married most talk seemed to focus on that. Whether it was questions directed at you on your expected motherhood, or at Aegon at the need to ‘perform his duty’. You would sometimes wish you could tell him you would avoid dinner with him.

But you were not even sure he would want to avoid it with you.

He held his arm out to you, barely glancing at you as you took it and began to walk in step with him. It was not until you reached the dining hall that he even spared you a look. The deep green and black of your dress was not what he expected. Aegon sometimes wore Targaryen blacks or Hightower green depending on his mood. To see you wearing both stirred something within him he did not expect.

He led you down the dining table and to your seats, passing Daemon as you went. The smile the elder prince gave you did not go unnoticed.

“My lady, you truly are a sight to behold,” Daemon purred out to you as you passed and Aegon did not miss the faint flush in your cheeks.

“You flatter me, my prince,” you replied, your voice soft and breathy. You did not immediately notice how Aegon tensed at your side.

Aegon hurried you on, his other arm reaching round and letting his hand grip your arm. His jaw was set tight, and his eyes now solely focused on making it down to his seat. He was now practically dragging you along behind him. The moment he sat, he pulled the jug of wine towards him, taking a long drink as you looked at him in confusion.

Daemon however, smirked into his cup. It would not be long before Aegon would have to admit he felt something for you. And dinner tonight was simply another stone on that path.

Dinner passed on with little consequence. Conversation flowed on all sides of the table, and when dessert was served Daemon saw your eyes light up. He was close enough to your seat to lean over to talk.

“Do you have a sweet tooth, my lady?” Daemon asked, that mischievous smile back on his lips.

You laughed a little before answering.

“It is a weakness; I am ashamed to admit. My mother would have the desserts and sweets put on the highest shelves of our kitchens…” you realised you were rambling and stopped.

Daemon realised then that Aegon may never have even asked you about yourself. Was his nephew so apathetic to this marriage that he did not bother to know his own wife?

His thoughts were interrupted by a tray of sweet and honeyed cakes being placed between you. He soon saw your eyes flick down and your tongue dart out ever so slightly in anticipation. You were about to reach out when Daemon lifted a cake and offered it to you.

“A sweet cake, almost as sweet as you, my lady.”

The giggle you let out had Aegon turning his head to look at you. He realised he could not remember one moment he had made you laugh anywhere close to that. And that feeling in the pit of his stomach returned.

A sickening mix of guilt, anger and jealousy.

You had not expected the feast thrown for your own name day to be quite as lavish as Prince Jacaerys, but your mother-in-law Alicent had near demanded you be celebrated the same way the royal children were. You knew there was animosity between the two families, but you had luckily avoided the brunt of it.

There was a sense of déjà vu as you sat at the top table, Aegon at your right as you looked down to the crowd of nobles, including your family, that had come to celebrate you. The only group you waited on now was Daemon, Rhaenyra and the Princes. And when the doors opened to reveal them, Aegon could not stop the swell of anger inside him as your face lit up to the sight of Daemon.

Had he been so neglectful of you that the attention his uncle gave you was that important? Or worse, did you feel something for Daemon?

Aegon school his face to a cool look of indifference as each of them approached and gave their good wishes. Daemon, however, beckoned you down to him with a grin.

“I know you said you wished for nothing when Rhaenyra asked, but you deserve to be well treated,” he whispered, pulling a small velvet covered box from behind his back.

Your eyes went wide at the sight, even wider when it was opened. An intricate necklace, weaving your house sigil with that of House Targaryen, and little green gemstones for House Hightower. The three Houses you now belonged to.

“It is beautiful,” you sighed, tracing your fingers over the designs of the necklace.

Daemon gestured for you to turn, and you even moved your hair so he could place the necklace around your throat. The metal was cool against your already flushed skin. If you had looked up, you would have seen Aegon’s reddened cheeks and tight smile as he glared down at the both of you. Though you would not have understood his anger in its entirety. Why he found the way Daemon’s hands brushed at your neck as he clasped the necklace around. Why he found the gift itself an insult.

It was not known to many, but before their family drifted apart, Aegon and Daemon would frequent the same brothels. There was a chance they had even fucked the same whores. But there was one difference. Aegon would pay those he fucked in gold, Daemon however, would pay them a different way. He would bring presents for those he favoured, trinkets essentially. Not that he thought Daemon believed you a whore, but the implication and memory made him sick.

He could have move past it, ignored the twisted feeling in his gut. But when you raced back to him, a wide smile on your face and your hands still clutching the necklace, Aegon was ready to snap.

“Husband! Your uncle Daemon is so generous, is he not?” You almost squealed in excitement.

You were at his side, giving him no choice but to see the jewels that now hung around your neck. And he did not even both to force a smile to his lips.

“Oh yes, he is quite generous.” Aegon snapped back at you, no longer hiding his disdain.

Your eyes narrowed, you had seen Aegon upset before, but never like this.

“Is there a problem, husband?” You asked, your eyes stinging with tears of anger now.

But Aegon said nothing, gripping your arm and dragging you away from your own name day feast. He wove you through the crowds, ignoring the questions from his family as you passed them.

“What are you doing! Let go!” you tried to tug your arm from his grasp, but he ignored you.

Aegon was silent as he dragged you back to his chambers, Slamming the door behind him and rounding on you. But you spoke first.

“Aegon, what is wrong with you?” you were close to shouting, Aegon realised he had never heard you raise your voice.

“Wrong! What is wrong?” Aegon slammed his hand to the small table beside him, the wine cups and jug shaking with the impact.

“Daemon is what is wrong! Do you think I enjoy watching him fawn over you and…and watch you enjoy it!?”

So that was what it was all about. Aegon refused to show you care and attention as his wife, but gods forbid someone else dared to?

“Are you serious, Aegon? This is all because you are jealous?”

You did not know when you had closed the distance between the two of you, or when your hand had slapped against his chest. But the warmth of Aegon’s hand around your wrist brought you back to reality.

“Are you jealous?” your voice had gone softer, changing your tack to see if you could get through to him.

Aegon shoved you back, not looking as you stumbled a little over the hem of your gown. You could see the heave of his shoulders as he tried to calm himself. He did not know if he wanted to cry or scream. He hated how he felt. He hated being married, he hated…just all of it.

“Jealous? I would have to love you to feel jealous, would I not?” The words left him before he could control them.

Any anger you felt almost dissipated. You had never pretended to think your husband loved you, political marriages rarely went that way. But to hear it come directly from him?

It broke your heart.

“You are a cruel man, husband…”

Aegon could hear the pain in your voice, the heartbreak. And the wave of guilt that washed over him made him want to reach out, apologise. But he was sure you would reject him.

“Do you think I enjoy Daemon’s attentions because I desire him, is that it?”

He could feel you behind him, the soft scent of your perfume wafting towards him as you moved. Your hands on his back making him want to pull away. Aegon could not bring himself to answer with words, his breath leaving him in frustrated huffs.

“Because you are wrong.”

Aegon could feel his frustration simmering. His mind spinning as he tried to understand what he felt. Hearing you say you held no desire for Daemon should not make his lips almost curl to a smile. He felt…relieved to hear you say it. But when he did not speak, you continued.

“Do you wish for the truth, husband?”

Your hands shoved at his back, trying in vain to get him to look at you. Your frustration, desperation and pain fighting inside you. But he still refused to speak.

“The truth is the attention I want is yours.”

It was all you wanted. To have your husband look at you with even a sliver of affection. For there to be more in his eyes than contempt or boredom whenever you spent time with him. For him to want you as you wanted him.

Daemon’s attentions had only reminded you of how you should feel. Of how being wanted felt. How your heart should beat a little faster in their presence, how your stomach should flutter and your cheeks flush when they showed you any attention.

Everything you wanted from Aegon but had yet to receive.

But Aegon was barely listening. His own mind reeled, processing everything he felt towards you. Jealousy meant he cared, and the thought felt foreign in his mind. Because if he cared, if seeing another pay you any mind bothered him as much as it was, then he must feel something for you.

And to hear you say you wanted his attention; it sent a surge of something he did not expect. Love? Desire? Either way, it was new.

“Will you not even look at me now?” you asked, your hands still on his back, gentle as if taming a wild animal.

Aegon turned slowly, his eyes downcast. He took a few calming breaths before looking up at you. His eyes falling to the necklace. And you did not miss how his jaw clenched at the sight of it.

“Do you really like it that much?” he asked quietly, his finger reaching out to trace the silver chain.

He tried to ignore how your breath hitched a little when his fingers touch your skin instead of the necklace. He tried to ignore how soft your skin felt beneath his hand.

“Tis a gift, it would be rude to not wear it,” you said, watching how his eyes followed his finger as it traced higher, reaching the curve of your neck.

“Maybe…my husband could replace it with something of his own choosing?”

Aegon concentrated on the feel of you. How his heart raced a little as he felt your own pulse beneath his hand. His hand continued up, curling around the back of your neck and letting his thumb circle of your skin.

He had never been this close to you without the intent of performing his marital duties. Aegon had never willingly pursued any kind of physical intimacy with you outside of that. But he could not ignore how it made him feel.

“Would you like that, wife?” Aegon whispered, feeling the soft hairs at the nape of your neck.

You nodded, Aegon’s proximity was a lot to process. The slight roughness of his palm, the heat of his breath as he spoke, the smell of the wine on him. It was almost too much for you to handle.

Aegon could feel the flush of heat in your skin. The quickening of your pulse. His mind clouded now with the smell of your perfume and the softness of your skin. He could feel the desire trickling down his spine, through his veins and into his thickening length. He barely remembered if he had ever felt such need from simply touching you.

Your own hands tightened in the fabric of his tunic, instinctually pulling him closer. The tension between the two of you was thick.

There was barely an inch between you now. Aegon’s hand gripped the back of your neck, his nose brushing yours.

“Kiss me, Aegon…please…”

He did not hesitate, finally giving into the feelings he had tried to ignore. His kiss bruising and desperate, his free hand wrapping around your waist and crushing you to his chest. You were just as filled with need as he was, your own hands gripping the fabric of his tunic tight while trying to push the fabric from his body.

Aegon walked you back to the bed, only stopping when your knees hit the footboard. You fell back with a soft bounce, leaning up on your elbows to watch your husband with lust clouded eyes. You could see the movement of his throat as he swallowed thick, your gaze travelling down to where he unbuttoned his tunic and the now prominent arousal sitting heavy in his breeches.

“I have been a fool, wife…a fool to think I felt nothing for you.” Aegon grunted out the words, his eyes trailing over your body as he spoke.

His skin felt hot, whatever blood was in his veins had run down and now pulsed through his cock. Only now did he really look at you. See you for just how beautiful you were.

The words Daemon had spoken way back at dinner rung in his head. But he realised just now how true they were.

“You truly are a sight to behold,”

He could see the flush reach your skin, your chest heaving now at his words. Aegon tugged his tunic from his body, pulling his undershirt over his head with little ceremony. Your own hands unlaced your gown, sighing out as the corset lessened its strain on your body. Your hands were soon replaced by Aegon’s, standing you up and making quick work of the rest of your gown. His hands more gentle than they had ever been, with only the thin silk of your shift between him and your bare form.

With a soft touch, he had you back on the bed. Surprising you as he knelt between your thighs. He had never, in all the time you had been married to him, pleasured you in such a way. His focus had always solely been on duty and nothing more.

But the hunger that darkened his eyes had your heart racing and your core pulsing. His hands gripped your thighs, pushing your shift higher until your cunt was bared to him. Aegon felt his mouth water, the realisation that his own stupidity had denied you both such pleasures momentarily passing through him.

“Please, husband…” You pleaded, your hips lifting slightly in a desperate need to feel his touch.

And he wasted no more time. He could deal with his deeper feelings after, right now he wished only to hear you moan for him. His lips planted heated kisses to your inner thighs, trailing a path up one side and down to the other. But never quite where you wanted him.

“Aegon…!”

You could feel his smirk as your frustrated sigh turned to a breathy moan. His hands tightening around your thighs as he buried his face as far as he could get. His tongue tasting every inch of you and groaning at the flavour that coated it.

His eyes flickered up to watch you, your skin hot and flushed. Your hips grinding down onto his face as your moans reached a fever pitch. Aegon wanted nothing more than to commit those sounds to memory. To never forget just how sweet you tasted. You had never felt a pleasure like it, had never felt your husband lust for you as desperately as he did now.

“Mhmm,” your eyes rolled as you felt his groan reverberate through you.

“Almost as sweet as a honey cake, my love…” Aegon whispered into you, adding a single finger along with his tongue.

He could feel your peak approaching, your moans higher and higher in pitch. His own grunts of pleasure vibrating your body as the tight band within finally snapped. Aegon refused to stop as your slick coated his lips and chin, pushing you almost to the brink of overstimulation.

But he had one more thing he needed to ask you. He needed to know you felt as he did. That you felt the same emotions he had forced himself to bury for so long.

“Are you mine? Please…let me hear you say it…”

Your hands tightened in his silver waves as you rolled your hips against him, his tongue lapping lazily now at your cunt. Your heart and body filled with a heady mix of love and desire. The same emotions you now saw in your husband’s eyes.

“Only ever yours…”

Aegon/HOTD Taglist:

@blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell @khaleesihel @legitalicat

@thenameswinter99 @anjelicawrites @sihtricsafin @arcielee

@sylasthegrim @aemondsbabe @itbmojojoejo @multyfangirl

@kaelatargaryen

If I have missed anyone, please let me know. If you wanted to be added to Aegon specific or general HOTD, also let me know!

[kasagia]

His mortal saviour

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x otkazat’sya!fem! reader Summary: You saved him. You took him from under the fold and healed him when he was in his most vulnerable state. He doesn't know you; he's hostile and distrustful of you, so he naturally runs away at the first possible opportunity. But somehow, he can't just walk away from you. Word Count: around 6k Anonymous requested this a looong time ago (in January). So sorry honey!!!! Hope you will enjoy! 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

He woke up feeling numb.

He had never felt so... paralysed in his entire life. It was as if the use of all his limbs had been taken away from him. And he didn't like that at all.

He expected him to be in the centre of the fold, with the volcra circling around him. However, as consciousness returned to him, he became more aware of his surroundings.

The first thing he felt was warmth. The warmth, which wasn't at all in the fold. He shuddered and remembered how the cold had penetrated his body even more the moment the volcra's claws had dug into his face.

Then he felt the softness of the mattress beneath his back instead of the hardness of the sandy, packed soil. Further evidence proving that he was entirely somewhere else was the sound of soft footsteps and humming a few feet away from him.

He opened his eyes hesitantly and hissed, unaccustomed to the light after being unconscious for so long.

He freezes as he feels a hand on his eyes, keeping the sunlight from reaching them. Little. Soft. Alina... a thought comes to him, and he quickly laughs it off. His little sun summoner would probably rather blind him completely with her sun than protect him from more pain.

"Take it easy. You've been badly harmed." A soft female voice breaks the silence and pulls him from his thoughts about the woman who betrayed him and their kind.

He feels a strange rush of fear as he hears a female voice. Aleksander unwillingly recalls the memory of the time when he and his mother were captured by the Drüskelle. He felt like he did now. Helpless.

He was unable to move even a small distance on his own. The only difference was that no one was hanging over him with scalpels and other blades or hurling insults. But he suspected that could change very quickly...

He had to do something. He needed to get out of here somehow, but every slight movement of his muscles was accompanied by a huge wave of searing pain throughout his whole body. And for a brief moment, it occurred to him that maybe destroying the fold wasn't such a bad idea.

"Don't worry. I am not a psychopath, mad, serial killer, or anything. I'm a nurse. I saw you near the fold and took you to my house to heal you. It's a miracle you survived your encounter with the volcra. Usually, no one gets out of the fold. Certainly not on their own." The woman says, slowly removing her hand from his eyes.

He's too dazed by the light, busy taking in his surroundings and seeing her face for the first time, to notice that she's adjusting the bandages on his face and checking his wounds.

But he hisses, feeling the burning pain on his forehead as she rubs some thick, gooey liquid onto him.

"I'm sorry, but I have to. It's an ointment against infection. This should also numb you enough so that you don't feel any pain in your face. How's your back?"

He is too shocked to respond. As he takes a breath, he has a sudden coughing fit. She moves away from him. He hears her quick footsteps as she returns a moment later with a cup of water and a tissue. He spits something black out of his mouth, desperately trying to get some air. She strokes his back gently and leans him more forward, making him spit out all the black goo mixed with his saliva from his throat.

He frowns, staring at the tissue soaked in black liquid.

"Don't worry, it's absolutely normal. Every time they bring a survivor from the fold to the infirmary, something like this happens. The air is different there, and volcra tend to infect their victims. Let's just say it's some kind of poison that comes out of you. That's a good sign. As well as the fact that you woke up. Here." The woman says, taking the tissue from him and throwing it into a nearby trash can. He glances there, seeing that it is half full of black dressings and bandages. He looks back at her as she hands him a glass of water.

"What do you want?" He asks, his voice hoarse from disuse (or screaming in the fold), not taking a sip from the cup you gave him. It could be poisoned or worse.

"I... I don't understand." You say, confused by his hostile attitude.

"What do you want from me?" He repeats it again, and the commanding, demanding tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine.

"Nothing. I'm just helping." You reply with a shrug, which annoys him even more. He laughs mockingly, making you frown.

"Selflessly? To a stranger? Don't make me look like a naive idiot. Tell me right now who you are, what you want, and where we are, and you won't get hurt."

"With all due respect, I doubt you'd be able to raise your hand right now, let alone hold a gun or sword, or hit me, even if you were a soldier of the First Army." He stares at you in surprise, realising that you have no idea who he is, and maybe you really just helped him.

Could a normal person dare to speak back to the Darkling with such courage and anger in her eyes? He didn't think so. But one name comes to his mind... even though he's too hurt to think about her.

"What?" You ask him as he stares at you for a little too long.

"Nothing." He clears his throat and stares warily at the offered water. "Not many people surprise me." He explains, still not believing in your good intentions. You couldn't be so altruistic as to help a strange man who got spat out by the fold. People weren't kind or helpful to the weak, at least never towards him. That's why he always had to be stronger than others. To never become prey again.

"I see that you don't trust many either. If I pour for myself and you water from one jug and drink it first, will you consider doing the same? You need to rehydrate." You say it calmly, completely unfazed by his distrust.

For some reason, this makes him more surly towards you. Maybe this whole act on your part was just to keep his guard down until someone came for him, for example, Shu, Drüskelle, or even Alina's group of heroes. He had to get away from here. As soon as he regained full control over his aching body.

“Try to deceive me, and I will make sure to wipe out your family lineage to the last living generation.” He growls hoarsely, trying to regain at least some semblance of control in this situation.

"It's good that I'm an orphan then." You say, pouring him and yourself a glass of water and showing him that both are empty.

Another orphan... he thinks as you reach both glasses so he can choose which one he wants.

"Who are you? Where are we?" He asks as he holds a glass in his hand.

You drink your water and set the glass on the nightstand near the bed. Aleksander decides to wait a while before taking a sip himself, to see if the water won't have a strange effect on you and if you haven't poisoned it after all. Although you could have practiced mithradism and been immune to whatever poison you wanted to give him. His head began to hurt more as he considered all the possibilities.

"Y/N Y/L/N. A nurse, as I mentioned earlier. We are in Eastern Ravka, on the border with the fold. More south of Tsemna and closer to the border with Shu Han. And you?"

He hesitates for a moment and doesn't know why, whether it's the headache or the fact that he doesn't want you to catch him in a lie, but he tells you his real name.

"Aleksander." He says, finally deciding to take a sip from his cup. He would always be able to use the cut if there was something wrong with the drink you gave him. You try your best not to smile at that.

"And what are you doing for life, if that's not a secret?" You ask jokingly, but he doesn't seem too eager to lighten his attitude.

He is still tense and looks around carefully, as if waiting for someone to attack him. Your heart hurts at the sight. Something must have happened in his past for him to be on guard all the time. And those scars from the fold... you suspect it wasn't just the volcra that were responsible for them.

"I... create things." He tells half the truth. After all, the fold, the volcra, and his shadows are some kind of... things he created.

"Are you a carpenter? Do you have your own workshop?"

Little Palace. He thinks, but he knows that after what happened in the fold, the tsar probably took this away from him as well.

He shudders to think about how he could have hurt his people. He had to get out of here. And fast. Before more, Grisha got hurt. Because if he knows something, he knows that Alina won't be able to protect them. He tried to walk the path of peace with Lantsov's dynasty, but it never ended well.

All he provided for Grisha—a safe place at the Little Palace, home, food, illusions of freedom thanks to the cessation of Grisha hunting, and much more—was bought with the blood of others. And if he had to be a monster to make sure his people wouldn't suffer like he did and many others have in the past, then so be it.

He would be the worst of them all.

"I have people who create for me and follow my orders and requests." He replies brusquely when you look at him carefully. You sigh, seeing that you won't be able to get through to him until he's sure you really don't have any bad intentions towards him.

"Okay… do you have any family I should write to? Or someone else?" You ask instead, apparently hitting another sore spot as his injured hand grips the cup so hard that the bandages you wrapped around it dig into his skin.

"No... there is no need for that." He says it coldly.

An image of his mother quickly comes to mind, as does the image of Alina, at which he shakes his head. The only two women with whom he allowed himself to be vulnerable and who could hurt him actually did. Without blinking an eye or a moment of hesitation. You probably were the same, and despite your quite tender care, he still wasn't sure if it was true or just an action.

Although if you were meant to capture him, you would at least tie him up so he couldn't summon his shadows. Maybe you really had no idea about his identity...

"I shall leave you to rest then. I have to go to my work." You say as you start to put on your coat.

"You will leave me alone?" He ask. He can't believe that you would really leave him—a strange man you didn't know at all—in your house all alone.

"Do you need a company?" You ask mockingly, using the exact same cold tone of voice he used before. Aleksander decides he liked you much more when you were soft towards him.

"Aren't you afraid I'll rob you and run away?"

"There are only herbs, medicines, and a few books here. I have nothing so valuable that I couldn't get it on the market if you decided to take it. You can look around if you want. Although I wouldn't advise you to get up, your wounds are still fresh and barely sealed, so they don't bleed."

"Are you insane?" He can't help but ask, as you really are going out. His words and utter shock make you giggle, which doesn't make his opinion of you any better.

"All the best people are. Try not to die. It would be a waste of medicines and bandages." You say this and smile amusedly as you close the door behind you.

Aleksander blinks, surprised, as he lays in your bed. He tries to understand what has happened here, but he still has a headache and needs to get out of here.

He didn't trust you at all.

So before anyone could come and get him from you, he stood up. His legs are shaky at the beginning, but as he walks around your (tiny) cottage, he regains the ability to walk… maybe not as well as he did, but enough to move.

He looks around, just as you suggested, but he didn't find any proff that would confirm his suspicion about your bad intentions towards him.. But it doesn't stop him from taking some pills and herbs before he leaves your house. He makes sure to take only a little—enough to get to the village or somewhere where he could find his people.

He decided that you were too kind to be robbed.

The healer who was trying to heal his wounds was surprised at how good their condition was. Virtually cured. However, black scars remained on him, marring his face. Just like the piece of amplifier in his hand.

But Aleksander didn't care at all. His scars were a good reminder that anyone can be made a fool of. And he didn't want to be fooled by the woman's beautiful eyes once again—even ones as beautiful as yours.

David offered to take it out for him, but he wasn't ready for it yet. The amplifier was his only connection to Alina, and he needed every means to locate her. At least, that's how he explained to himself his reluctance to remove the festering amplifier from his hand.

He did the same with you. He also told himself that the creation of a secret shelter for his Grishas in an abandoned manor in the forest a few miles from your little cabin was pure coincidence. Just like the way he had a habit of wandering around your neighbourhood and watching you from afar when he needed to think alone about his further plans.

The problem was that he couldn't plan anything. Nothing significant. Of course, he still freed his Grisha and kept them safe, but when it came to Ravka's fate... he was in a bind. He didn't know what to do.

And so one day, when he went for a walk away from Ivan, Fruzsi, and the rest who were bothering him, he 'accidentally' came across you.

It's happened quite often. At first, he sent Ivan to look at you; sometimes he followed you around himself, waiting in suspense to find out that you weren't an innocent nurse after all. That it was not by accident that you took him from under the fold and cured him. But he found nothing. You have no conspiracy against him, no cult that was killing Grisha, or even any connection to Alina's group. Nothing.

He didn't know what to think about that either. He would rather discover that you weren't so selfless and sensitive to others' harm. This way, you would save him some sleepless nights when he thought about you and the way you took care of him. No one has done this for a long time... or ever. To be honest, Aleksander didn't remember the last time that someone just... he looked after him out of pure kindness and concern FOR HIM.

Neither his mother nor Alina. One was too cold to even think about caring for the other, and the second was too afraid of him to even consider him as something more than just a monster craving power and the throne. He didn't think he'd had anyone since Luda who would simply take care of him out of the goodness of their hearts.

That's why he started to be fascinated and curious about you. A mere mortal. Otkazat’sya. You tended to avoid people despite your willingness to help (at which he was very surprised). In the village where you worked in the infirmary, everyone treated you warmly and kindly, just as you treated them. Even your worst patients. To which Aleksander would lose his tamper more than once.

Over time, he realised that what drew him to you was your warmth. He was starting to get jealous of the attention you gave others, even if you then went back to your cabin alone. He didn't know what caused this need to be near you. Maybe it was because he was tired of being alone in his icy darkness. Alina once was his sunlight. For a brief moment, he felt... normal. In peace. After everything went to hell. And then, he felt like this for a while under your tender touch.

He should have learned from his mistakes and forgotten about you, but... something wouldn't let him.

He was beginning to suspect that maybe he was just getting too old for all this.

"All alone in the forest? Do you know what monsters might be lurking here?" He asks, encountering you on one of his excursions to help him think. It was a pure impulse. He snuck up on you on the spur of the moment (or maybe because Alina tried to snatch the amplifier out of his hand a few hours ago and he needed someone to talk to as... just Aleksander. Not the Darkling.)

"For example?" You ask, turning to him and stopping picking herbs. You look pretty. Strands of hair fall into your eyes, and he almost reaches out to brush them off himself, but you do it before he can raise his hand.

He takes a look at you. Your coat is too thin for his taste. The snow had barely melted, and what you were wearing certainly didn't adequately protect you from the cold wind that was still blowing. He had to ask David to make you something similar to a kefta when he would be back.

"The Darkling." He says, feeling your burning, careful gaze on his face. You don't look at him with disgust or fear. No. He sees in your eyes a professional assessment of his health and a slight hint of curiosity... he wonders if maybe he's not the only one here who feels drawn to the other.

"I doubt he has enough free time to wander around the forest." He smiles at your words, amused that you have no idea that you are now talking with him.

He had never been happier that the news in these parts of Ravka... usually didn't reach here. People here identified more with Shu since they started mixing with each other a long time ago. Of course not Grisha. They could only count on themselves. Mostly...

"Oh, you'd be surprised what can happen, little saviour."

"Saviour?" You ask, raising your eyebrows at him. He sees the spark of amusement shining in your eyes, and he just can't help himself. He steps closer to you and reaches for the basket of herbs. He follows you as you select herbs and plants that you apparently find useful. Aleksander feels... normal and ordinary. And for a moment, he begins to understand why Alina would choose a simple life with her tracker rather than a privileged one as a Sun Summoner.

"I believe I owe a part of my life to you."

"Almost no one gets out of the fold. Thank the saints for your life, not me." You shrug off his feeble attempt at thanking you and turn to him. You study his face carefully, assessing the appearance of his scars. He feels himself starting to blush under your gaze.

"I don't believe in saints." He finally says, glad that he managed to drag your gaze away from his face as you look into his eyes this time, frowning in surprise.

"Why?"

"They were ordinary people. Most of them had no idea what they were doing. People hailed them as saints mainly because of rumours—stories whose confirmation could only be sought from the insane."

"So not only a carpenter, but also an expert in saints. You are a true mystery, Aleksander." You laugh at him and he smiles, thinking that you don't even know what an enigma he is.

"I'm just saying that most of them didn't do anything significant. Not for Grisha. And they were killed because they tried to show people that they shouldn't hunt us and that we are useful in some way. If anything, they tightened the chains of slavery on us."

"So you are a Grisha." He blushes slightly, embarrassed at how easily he let his secret be revealed. Yes. He was definitely too old for all this. "What kind of are you? Inferni? Durast?"

"Heartrender." He answers quickly and without thinking. "But it doesn't matter. Forgive me. I should go." He says, almost panicking as he turns away from you and rushes in the opposite direction. He wants to get away from you as quickly as possible before he unknowingly reveals his true identity to you.

"Wait a second. Aleksander!" However, you don't give up and chase after him, grabbing his hand—exactly the one that is rotting from the remains of the amplifier left in it. Aleksander hisses, wincing in pain. He pulls his hand out of your grip and tries to look anywhere but at you. "Your hand." You whisper hurriedly as you walk towards him. He takes a step back, trying as always to keep some distance from you when you made him feel... vulnerable.

"Not your concern." He growls at you, hoping you'll drop the idea of ​​examining his wound. Because how was he supposed to explain to you the stag bone stuck in his hand?

"Volcra poison can infect your blood. You should get it cured by your healers. And do it as quickly as possible; otherwise, it will lead you to a slow death; you will lose your senses; you will start hearing whispers, calls from the fold, and volcra."

"I'll be fine."

"Don't make me laugh; even the Darkling wouldn't be able to deal with that all alone. The Volcra may be the product of his ancestors, but this... this is a wild kind of little science. Unpredictable. I have seen hundreds who may have managed to get out of the crease but have gone mad because of their venom. These are not ordinary shadows. They are living creatures that attack just like any other animal. So please, if you don't trust me with this, go and show it to some talented healer, because you can't leave it like that."

"How do you know so much about this?" He asks curiously, putting his injured hand into the pocket of his kefta.

"Anyone who lives near the fold and is involved in healing knows this." You answer evasively, trying to avoid his further questions. This time you turn your back to him, pretending that you are interested in some plant.

"No, they not." He continues insistently, wanting at all costs to know the real reason you were here, why you had so much knowledge about the fold. He grabs your arm and turns you around so he can look at your face, as he is waiting for your answer.

"My sister was a healer. A Grisha." You blurt out in one breath and look away from him as painful memories come flooding back to you. Aleksander feels a pang in his heart when he sees the obvious pain in your eyes. A pain he himself had carried with him for centuries.

"Was?" He notes, swallowing.

"She is dead."

"The fold?" You nod at his question. He feels his throat dry, and he lets go of your arm as his hands tremble slightly. And Aleksander thinks that of all the lives that the fold has taken, your sister's life will be the one that will remain permanently in his memory. Especially that look filled with pain, bitterness, and grieving. "Then why did you stay here?"

"I moved here... to help to this who could somehow managed to get out of it." You reply as you calm down. Your tone of voice and posture may confuse Aleksander at first glance, but your eyes, your eyes tell him everything that you try to hide.

"It's... very nobel."

"Just please, don't leave it like that. You will certainly die if you will."

"You care about the stranger?" He asks in surprise, raising an eyebrow at you. You reach for your basket and take it from him before giving him your answer and looking him in the eyes again.

"I've already told you. It would be a waste of medicines and bandages if you die." You reply mischievously with a smile, and he chuckles. He can't help but reach up to your cheek and caress your cheek with his thumb as he gets lost in your eyes. No one had ever cared for him, so... simply. Without any major reasons. It was... extraordinary. You were extraordinary.

"It's... more complcated... but I shall listen to you." He assures you, noticing the way you nuzzle your cheek into his hand, not pulling away from him at all, not flinching at his sudden touch. His gaze involuntarily flits from your eyes to your mouth for a brief moment, and he imagines what it would be like to kiss you—to feel the softness of your lips against his. And Aleksander really wants to do it.

"I hope so... and that you won't get in trouble because of that grumpy old general of yours for being here." Alexander chuckles at your joke, amused by the absurdity of the situation. If you only knew...would you still let him stand so close to you? His mood suddenly worsens as he thinks about it. What would you do if you found out he was the Darkling? That he created the fold?

"Believe me, little savior, he can't do anything to me for coming to you." He replies and lowers his hand, breaking any contact with your soft, silky skin. Oh, how he wanted to know more of you—to touch more than your hands, cheeks, hair, or neck. But he couldn't. Not after so much disappointment, not after Alina, not after Luda. He should have known better.

So he freezes, completely shocked, when you grab his wrist and cup his cheek in your hand. Your basket of herbs is abandoned on the forest path as you brush your nose against his. Alexander holds his breath, waiting to see what you will do.

"May I?" You ask, whispering, trembling as you're unsure of his reaction to what you want to do.

All Aleksander can do is cross the last inches between you and capture your lips in a kiss. You sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Aleksander wraps his arms around you tightly and takes two steps back, pressing you against the tree. You moan into his mouth as his beard tickles you into the kiss, which he uses to his advantage and slides his tongue into your mouth.

Aleksander allows himself to lose himself in the feeling of you, your taste, your smell, and the way your body feels under his wandering hands. And if he had previously suspected that he might be obsessed with you, now he has proved to himself how deep you have gotten under his skin. He was a fool for allowing you to have such power over him. But how sweet it was to be a fool, with your lips and hands pressed against him.

And the next day, when he comes to visit you, his hand is completely healed, without any amplifier. And his mind is completely free of Alina Starkov.

"That's nice." You whisper in the crook of his neck as you lie cuddled in the meadow under the full moon.

“Mhm…” Aleksander mumbles, burying his nose in your hair. He hugs you tighter, as if afraid that you might escape from his arms at any moment. "Although I'm beginning to wonder if you've brought me here to perform some witchy tricks. Maybe some sacrifice?"

"Your ass is too beautiful to sacrifice it." You reply teasingly, biting his neck. He gasps and digs his fingers harder into your hips. He leans down, moving your head away from his neck by pulling your hair so he can steal a kiss from your lips.

"Is it?" He whispers against your lips as he pulls away to let you catch your breath.

"Apparently." You reply, reaching up to caress the scars on his face with your fingertip. Aleksander closes his eyes and sighs, surrendering to your gentle touch. "I like your face too. The way you frown when you're irritated by something. The way you twist your ridiculously tempting lips into a smirk when you're right, even though it irritates me sometimes. The way your eyes sparkle when you talk about how you help Grisha. The way you look at me, as if I were your whole world. The way you wrap your hands around me or take my hand in yours to make sure I'm close to you, that I'm under your protection, and that I'm not going anywhere. The way you are grumpy when you are sleepy and how you don't want to admit that you are tired. I... I think I fell in love with you, Aleksander."

Aleksander smiles, caressing your cheek tenderly. He leans down and captures your lips in a tender kiss, trying to shake away the guilt that has been haunting him for several months now.

Ever since your relationship... became more serious, Aleksander has been trying to find the perfect way to tell you about his true identity. But every time he thought the moment was good, he lost his courage. He didn't even want to think about what your reaction might be to him being the Darkling who created the fold. He was absolutely convinced that you would hate him as soon as the truth came to light and that you would blame him for your sister's death. And honestly? Aleksander would not even try to defend himself. He knew damn well that he didn't deserve your affection and love. However, he couldn't help but come back to you, basking in the feeling that he had been denied for a very long time.

You end the kiss and bury your face in the crook of his neck. Aleksander shivers as he feels you exhale warm air onto his cold skin. He tightens his grip on you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"I love you too, milaya." He mumbles, running a hand through your hair. He plays with the strands of your hair, twirling them around his finger.

He feels unexpectedly pleasant around you. Homely. Ordinary. These were feelings that Aleksander had rarely, if ever, experienced over the course of hundreds of years. He found himself longing for moments where he could slip away to your little cottage and sink into the warmth of your arms, listen to your gentle heartbeat, and bask in your scent. This was a huge hindrance to his plans to get another amplifier and guarantee a better future for his Grisha.

"They say they've seen a Darkling in these parts. That he's gathering an army to start a civil war." Aleksander frowns, feeling his heart speed up slightly in panic.

"That's what they say?"

"Yhm... What do you think about it? Will you join him? Or will you try to escape and join Sankta Alina?" He unconsciously tightens his grip on you as you ask him this question and mention Alina. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent and trying to calm himself down before answering your question.

"I will stay. I think he wants a better future for us than Alina plans to guarantee."

"Maybe for Grisha. But still, I don't like wars."

"Me too, lapushka. But sometimes there is no other solution to change something than to start a war and take the power." He admits with a sigh and traces patterns on your arm, calming down as he feels the softness of your skin under the pads of his hard fingers.

Aleksander suddenly becomes more alert, subconsciously sensing the approaching threat. He doesn't want to outgrow you, thinking that maybe it's his paranoia kicking in, so he sits down, still holding you in his arms, as he looks around at his surroundings. He holds his breath as he sees movement in the bushes across from you.

Before he can do anything, a group of Shu surrounds you. One of them has a shotgun aimed at you. Aleksander acts instinctively. He wraps one arm around you, summoning his shadows. Before anyone can hurt you, he uses a cut and sends his shadows to remove the threat. The metallic smell of blood fills the clearing. Aleksander breathes quickly, his veins pumping with adrenaline as he looks around carefully. He feels blood seeping from where the bullet hit him, piercing his plain coat. He hisses, turning his attention to you. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees no signs of hurt on you, but freezes in fear as soon as he sees your terrified look.

"Y/N... I can explain."

"You are hurt. Let's go back to my cottage, I'll stitch you up." You interrupt him, examining his wound.

You take his hand and lead him through the forest towards your house. Aleksander stares at the back of your head in shock, tightening his grip on your hand, wanting to make sure you don't suddenly run away from him and that you don't decide to abandon him in the middle of the forest to save yourself from him.

You open the door and wordlessly point to the bed. He takes your hint and sits down, taking off his coat and shirt. Involuntarily, he remembers the first time he came here and woke up in your bed. He swallows hard, hoping this won't be the last time you treat his wounds. Or when you're close to him.

"This may sting." You tell him, sitting down next to him. You squirt a cotton ball with antiseptic into his wound. He hissed, biting his lip, completely unprepared for this as he was still lost in his thoughts.

"Y/N… I… I wanted to tell you. I swear. I just… I didn't want to ruin… you know what I mean, right?" He asks, staring intently at you. You make no move to look him in the eyes, pretending to devote all your attention to his wound. Aleksander cups both of your cheeks in his hands and forces you to look at him as he gives you a pleading look. "Please. Say something. Anything."

"I… I didn't expect this. Because why would the Darkling be hurt by something he created and why would he return to my cottage?"

"Because you fascinated me. Deeply. You... you were the first person to see me as something other than a Darkling. Alexander. The real me, not the version of myself I had to create for my Grishas. I... besides, I didn't hide my thought from you. You... you were one of the truly few people I let under my mask who could see my heart. And I swear I was going to tell you, I... I was just afraid that I would lose you the moment you found out who I really was. What can I do."

"Oh, Aleksander. You stupid man. Am I running away screaming? Am I calling you a monster? Am I treating you differently?" You ask, placing your hand on his bearded cheek and using your thumb to stroke it tenderly, making sure you give his scars the tender care they deserve.

"No." He responds, carefully analyzing and comparing your behavior before today's fatal accident.

"Because I don't see you any other way. Yes, at first I was shocked and a little scared, but that was because I didn't expect it at all. You… volcra it's not your fault. Even if you created it. You didn't know what would happen." Aleksander feels a lump in his throat.

How can he tell you that he planned to make it bigger? That before he met you he would have done it without blinking an eye, but now he has such serious doubts that he is actually considering deviating from his original plan for you?

"I'm not as good a person as you think."

"Then show me." You answer casually, as if it were that simple. You finish patching up his wound and press a kiss on it.

Aleksander smiles at you tenderly and pulls you in for a passionate kiss. His heart is racing as he realises that he hasn't actually lost you, that you're still here and want to be here, judging by the way you moan into his mouth.

He holds you tightly and lays down on your bed with you straddling him as you place small kisses along his neck and across the width of his muscled chest. He smiles, realising how far he's come with you. He never would have guessed when he woke up in this bed that he would let you get this close to him. But with each little kiss you gave, the gentle, tender way your hands moved over his body, and the way you caressed each of his wounds and scars, Aleksander thanked the saints for putting you in his path. And unknowingly to him, you truly were his little saviour, saving him from a much worse fate than he could ever imagine.

[georgescitadel]

1st year of George's Citadel - a compilation of quotes from George R.R. Martin

House Targaryen

On the construction of Daenerys and the decision to include dragons in ASOIAF

On Daenerys’ thought process in Lhazarene

On Daenerys’ struggle with rule (1)

On future revelations about the house with the red door

On what led to Robert’s rebellion

On the difference between Daenerys and Aegon’s (I) approach to the throne

On Daenerys subverting gender roles

On the information provided about Rhaegar and Lyanna in ASOIAF

On the “White Saviour” complaints over Daenerys’ storyline

On Daenerys’ future return to Westeros

On Daenerys’ struggle with rule (2)

House Stark

On Sansa’s manipulation at the hands of the Small Council

On Arya and Sansa’s desire to save Ned

On what led Sandor to seek out Sansa during the Battle of Blackwater

On his regret over not further developing Sansa and Arya’s relationships with Catelyn

On what character he’d want to be like

On Ned's inadequacy in King's Landing

House Lannister

On Jaime, Tyrion and loss

On Jaime’s decision to kill Bran

On feeling conflicted over the writing of Tyrion in A Dance With Dragons

On Robert being unsuspicious of the paternity of Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen

On the key event that led Roose to align with the Lannisters

On his intention writing the Lannister POV’s

On similarities between Tywin Lannister and Walter White

House Greyjoy

On the character of Reek

Game Of Thrones

On GOT’s decision to kill off Silver

On GOT’s decision to pair Arya and Tywin up

Miscellaneous

On writing outcasts

On nihilism in ASOIAF

On unfairly hated characters

On the title of A Game Of Thrones

On Epic Fantasy

On his favourite characters in ASOIAF

On the greyest characters in ASOIAF

On unlikable protagonists

On the historical figures that inspired the women of ASOIAF

On father issues in ASOIAF

On the religions in ASOIAF

On creating foils

[davinamikaelsonalwaysandforever]

The tragedy of The Dance of the Dragons really is how a family, that should've stood by each other and look at the bigger picture to protect Westerors and its people, ultimately tore each other apart and used their magical and majestic creatures that made them great to fight their war in the name of vengeance and greed.

The mighty Tagrayens destroyed each other and their dragons, and for what? An iron chair? It's only when Daenerys Taragyen miraculously brings the dragons back into the world after over a century that House Targaryen at last gets a do-over.

Daenerys Taragyen, unlike her ancestors, doesn't use her dragons recklessly and out of greed and vengeance. She knows how dangerous and special these creatures are; she is not using them for powers sake, as the Valyrians did, or out of vengeance. As it was the case during the dance. It's really the opposite; Dany is using her dragons to right the wrongs of her ancestors, to finally put an end to oppression and slavery, and ultimately save humanity from the coming darkness, as Aegon the Dragon had foreseen it.

The irony really is that everyone wants to sit the Iron Throne, but they always forget the most important promise a ruler makes to its people. They are meant to be the “protector of the realm", yet all they ever did was tear it apart. And now winter is here, and Westerors needs a saviour more than ever in order to survive the ice-cold darkness.

And that's what makes Daenerys so special and different from her ancestors; it's her choices to do good, to respect her dragons and the sheer power and might she carries with them and not use that power out of her own pettiness, but in the effort to try and make the world a better place.

“Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can't protect themselves?" - Daenerys III ASOS

(Artist: Kodabomb)

[endless-ineffabilities]

never tear us apart

Aemond Targaryen x f!Reader

part five of the prūmia va perzys (heart on fire) series

part one: don't you love me? - part two: and what of your love? - part three: the flames that divide - part four: the aftermath

themes/warnings: injury, language, dragonrider!reader (her house is not stated)

word count: 6.1k ▪︎ masterlist

The Blacks make an attempt to lift the curse cast upon the reader. Aemond does everything he can to reach Dragonstone, in hopes of seeing the reader again. A sinister plot forms, threatening to cast everything into further chaos. Or set everything right. Only time will tell.

Alys Rivers is no stranger to pain.

When she was discarded by her mother at the steps of her apparent father’s castle at a tender age of 10, she felt it.

When her father did not completely recognize her as his daughter, relegating her to be one of the workers of his estate, she felt it.

When she had to fend off an attacker, using all of her meagre physical strength, digging her nails into the man who attempted to overcome her and take her girlhood, she felt it.

Pain is no stranger. And it is no friend, either.

But pain was something that she merely accepted, until she found the Lord of Light. Her mother sought her out years after she abandoned her, telling her that it needed to be done. She needed to leave Alys, so that she might be able to devote her days and nights to the one true Lord.

Alys should have been angry. She should have wept upon seeing her mother again, hurled questions and accusations at her as to why she left her only daughter. But strangely enough, she could not find it in herself to do so. She did not feel it was important then. Does that make her emotionless, devoid of even the slightest connection towards her mother? Perhaps, perhaps not.

All she knew was that she understood her mother’s motives. She found a sameness in how her mother was ready to sacrifice everything to Him.

The Lord of Light. The Red god. Alys found him, but already knew of her. He already knew of her pain, and he promised to take it all away. He promised her a saviour carved out of the very same pain, and strength, and sapphire-blue. The one chosen for her as a vessel into the light. Whether to love or to use as a mere tool to spread the Lord of Light’s power, she does not believe it to be in her hands. What matters is, her one-eyed prince would come and her very being would be devoted to him.

What Alys Rivers did not anticipate was that her one-eyed prince’s heart would already be spoken for. The flames did not impart that she would have to fight tooth and nail for it. For him.

She did not know that Aemond Targaryen’s heart would already be yours.

But then again, she is no stranger to pain. She felt it in the way Aemond squeezed her neck, in the way he dug his fingers into her skin until she almost turned a sick shade of sapphire-blue. Its talons buried themselves deep in her heart when her prince beloved Aemond, in all his unbridled rage, promised that he would never truly love her. Not in the way that he loves you.

No matter. He is merely lost, and I can bring him back into the light. Her delicate fingers graze the bruises on her neck, feeling him. She has already set her plan into motion, but nothing is certain. There are ways to bring you back, and she is aware of this. Her best hand is yet to be played, and there are things about to unfold. Things that will bring untether Aemond from you.

He will be mine, once y/n is consumed by the flames. After all, how can he still love you when you are gone?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Aemond has always been perceptive, ambitious, insightful. Eager to overcome any slight that his disability has added on to his existence, real or imagined.

Even before the fateful injury, he has already possessed a similar sense of pride. Self-preservation, borne out of being a Targaryen prince without a dragon, who also stands to inherit nothing. The second son. Everything he wants, he has had to carve out for himself. To take for himself.

As if to pour salt on the wound, it is clear to everyone that he is far more capable and more suited to the throne than his older brother Aegon. But this matters not, at least not whilst Aegon survives, and his sons along with him.

This thirst to prove himself, to make sure that whoever encounters him sees him as worthy, has always stayed with Aemond. He did all he could – ensured himself to be knowledgeable about the histories, philosophies, High Valyrian, battle strategy and combat expertise, the religion of the old gods and the new, and all else. There isn’t one important volume in the castle's Great Library that Aemond has not gotten his hands on, living and breathing the words, memorizing them.

Every bit of knowledge, each newly honed skill, forms into a new facet of his being. Making him better. Making him whole. All Aemond ever wanted was to belong. To be whole.

But he never thought he could achieve this without effort. Without strife to overcome. This invisible yet ever-present need to prove himself became something like a burden he has to carry. He never felt that he could belong, truly, until you.

But you had seen him. Accepted him. Aemond did not need to woo you with any embellishment, he did not need to tell you how he had memorized the histories of the Seven Kingdoms. It mattered not that he might be the most skilled swordsman of his age, having painstakingly trained each day since his tenth nameday. The allure of his status, of the power of his family, was not something that drew you to him. He quickly discovered that he never needed to impress you, he only needed to love you.

Aemond tried to fight it, but that did not last long. After all, is it not useless to deny oneself what calls out to the heart?

The day Aemond Targaryen allowed himself to love you, and be loved in return, was the day that he finally belonged.

And without you, the one-eyed prince would be unanchored.

Aemond remembers the night that you first met as he sits in his chambers, waiting. Years ago, you had rolled your eyes at him, at a prince of the Seven Kingdoms, when he said something out of turn about your friend Rhaena’s lack of a dragon. You were quick to retaliate, sharp and biting with your words. But the morning after, when you came across him sitting all by his lonesome in the library, you apologized.

Granted, you demanded his apology first, but there was something in his violet eyes. A certain awareness, a melancholy. There might be some darkness creeping in Prince Aemond’s heart, but there is an undeniable light there, too. A remnant of lost innocence. You caved in, and curiosity got the better of you. For hours, you spoke to your heart’s desire, each new subject brought up only increasing your interest in the one-eyed prince. And his interest in you was piqued in turn. From then on, countless days and nights were spent together in the comforts of the great library.

His heart swelled, perhaps for the very first time in what felt like forever, when you had fallen asleep on his shoulder one night, as he read to you about the chronicles of Princess Nymeria.

He hasn’t been the same since.

The night that has passed since he has heard of your affliction has been long and torturous, leaving him increasingly restless and stricken with worry. He had wanted to take Vhagar and fly to Dragonstone right away, without any mind to what his arrival in enemy territory would entail for him. He almost relinquished his part to play in the war. This ceaseless game that is being played out for the Iron Throne is what drew the two of you apart in the first place.

Until his mother stopped him, promising a better plan.

And so he waits.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

At the height of the hour of the owl, in one of the royal chambers of the castle in King’s Landing, something is evidently afoot. The room is bathed in warm candlelight, the shadows reflected on each individual’s sombre faces. Their voices are low, in hushed whispers, ensuring the matter at hand to be clandestine.

Alicent is stern when she commands, “You shall help your prince in this matter, Lady Mysaria. You are, after all, in the debt of your King, and by extension, our family. Whatever slights you had to endure by our hand, we implore you to forget them. Have we not made good upon our word to eradicate the fighting pits in Flea Bottom? To ensure the safety of all the children?”

Mysaria studies the Queen, her shrewd eyes taking her in. She knows that she is not being presented with a choice, not truly. Not with this matter. She notices the grey shade of exhaustion right below Aemond's empty, glazed eye, caused by hours upon hours of worrying over you. His stance is taut, like a viper prepared to strike. Eagerly awaiting whatever impediment will stand in his way, so that he might destroy it swiftly. He would do whatever is needed, even the most distasteful of actions, simply so she would assist him in reaching you.

Aemond continues to say nothing. His eye boring straight through Mysaria. She knows right away that he does not give any mind to her. She is merely a tool for him to use, so that he will see you again.

Mysaria says, in her silky, sly tone, “I know you understand our arrangement, my Queen. I come and go as I please. I give you information as I please. You have had much use for the whispers that I provide. If I were to help you now, it will be of my own volition.”

Alicent purses her lips, “Of course. That it not being contested - ”

Aemond interrupts her impatiently, “Know this, White Worm. I am commanding you to do whatever you must so that I can reach Dragonstone, discreetly. Although,” he stalks towards her, “I will see y/n again, with or without your aid. Should you choose to help me, you shall continue to walk free. Otherwise,” he turns his head away, knowing his point has already come across, “hmm.”

“Are you threatening me, Prince Aemond?”

Slowly, Aemond turns to look at her once more. Mysaria was initially resolute in meeting his gaze, showing him that she will not cave easily. But his eye darkens, his expression a quiet type of menacing, but shadowed with a sense of grim that brought a chill to her very bones.

At once, Mysaria realizes that her Prince Aemond is not to be trifled with.

“I can get you to Dragonstone soon,” she starts.

“Today,” Aemond emphasizes, determinedly.

“On the morrow,” Mysaria counters, “there will be the timed arrival of resources by ship on the island. I can arrange to have you on that very ship, accompanied by some of my trusted… whisperers.”

“That’s not soon enough.” Aemond paces away from her, not satisfied with the solution.

“You should know, my prince, that the Blacks have employed the aid of a certain priestess of the Red religion. Someone who might be capable of countering the effect of the curse laid upon your paramour. They will attempt to conduct a healing ritual tonight,” Mysaria says, knowing every word strikes true in Aemond, hope slowly creeping in his expression.

“And this priestess… Can she be trusted?”

“She has not shown any sign of being otherwise. Rest assured that once you land on Dragonstone, I can have the Lady Y/n in some place which can be easily reached by you,” she pauses, careful to add what follows, “That is, if she will awaken.”

“She will.” Aemond’s eye snaps straight to hers, burning through. “She must.”

Mysaria merely nods once, before addressing Alicent, “Queen Regent, I trust that our arrangement is to your satisfaction? Now that you know how your son will be transported to Dragonstone under my care, do you still wish to move forward with this plan?”

Alicent takes a deep breath, knowing that no matter what her decision might be, Aemond’s mind is already set in stone. He will get to you, one way or another. Better to do it in the safety of the shadows, away from the malicious notice of the Blacks.

Alicent did not fully trust Mysaria, but she trusted that this Mistress of Whisperers understood, that should she play a hand in harming Aemond, then she would not hesitate in subjecting this waiflike serpent from Lys to the worst torture imaginable.

“If Aemond wishes it, then it shall happen,” Alicent finally says, looking to her son for confirmation. Aemond straightens, before nodding, “I shall await your counsel regarding this journey. I trust that you will get everything done right, won’t you, White Worm?”

There is a vague threat lacing the end of his words, one that does not go unnoticed.

The corner of Mysaria’s mouth lifts in acknowledgement, and she curtsies slowly, before making her leave, her translucent skirts billowing behind her.

A mere moment passes, before Alicent strides closer to her son, and takes both of his hands in hers. “Aemond, this will no doubt be perilous. There is no way of knowing what the Blacks might do should they discover you. Is this truly your desire?”

Two seconds pass, four, five. It is not the first time that Aemond has been on the receiving end of his mother’s worried pleas, and he knows it will not be the last.

Taking a deep breath, and comfortingly squeezing her hands in turn, he only has you on his mind. “Yes,” he finally says, “it is.”

Alicent need not ask why. She assents, “Alright. I trust that everything will go well, and you will return to us afterward.”

The last sentence, she says mostly to herself, in desperate need of reassurance. In hopes that no harm will come to her favoured son.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The atmosphere in the room is thick with despair and anticipation. A mixture of strange aromas infiltrate the air, making it hard to breathe.

From one side of the room, Daemon Targaryen’s face scrunches in disgust. And a whole lot of impatience. His fists are clenched on his sides, one foot tapping as the bloody witch continues her work on the seemingly vital concoction.

The Lady Cerrah kneels by the side of your bed, a small cauldron fuming by her side. Her voice comes out in deep, hushed whispers, as she performs the bulk of the spell. Her eyes are shut, and for a task of such importance, she does not seem to give off any sense of worry or agitation.

That fucking witch looks so calm. Daemon paces to another corner of the room. How the fuck can she look so calm with y/n’s very life on the line?

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra beckons to her husband, reaching for his hand, “she will be alright.”

“She best be in perfect health after all this sorcery,” he huffs in response, “otherwise, a certain witch won’t be leaving Dragonstone in the same state in which she arrived.”

Still with her eyes closed, Cerrah calls out, “Make no mistake, my prince. My hearing works just fine. We would not want to distract me from my work, lest it lead to any complication. It would not bode well for the poor Lady y/n here.”

“Our apologies.” Rhaenyra replies, also on behalf of her sulking husband, who continues to irately glare at Cerrah as if she possessed two heads.

“The rest of it, if you please, Maester.” Cerrah says, and Maester Gerardys walks forward and places a wide silver platter beside the cauldron.

Cerrah studies the contents, her fingers drifting over them as if feeling for a pulse. She takes a handful of charred wormwood and drops it in the cauldron. Next, she takes the sliver of dragonscale, retrieved from the hide of a slumbering Fyraxes, and it follows suit. The mixture hisses and bubbles as a result, the fumes growing ever stronger and more pungent.

“Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla prūmia.  Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla ñelly.  Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla ābrar.” Cerrah’s chanting increases in intensity, her tone sounding harsher, the words muddling over one another like a single drawn out command.

A cold, biting gust blows inside the chambers, causing the shivers to erupt on the skin of its occupants. The flames of several candles flicker then die out.

Rhaenyra’s hand tightens around Daemon’s, as she senses his distress resurfacing.

Cerrah lifts the chalice of young goat’s blood from the platter, and pours it in the cauldron, which suddenly begins to expel a bright, blue flame. It rises several feet high, the resulting heat so searing that it warms the entirety of the chambers.

Maester Gerardys and his two attendants have to wipe at their foreheads to keep beads of sweat from entering their eyes. But the Targaryens stand still, unperturbed by the blazing heat. The blood of the dragon rings true.  Queen Rhaenyra’s violet eyes mirror the flames in their vibrance, fierce and unblinking.

“Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla prūmia.  Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla ñelly.  Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla ābrar.” The words echo again and again, as Cerrah lowers her fingers into the cauldron, her face struggling to mask the pain it brings. Her fingers come out stained, and she stands, relentless in her chanting. She drags the potion from your hairline to the tip of your nose, painting your skin deep red, the colour of the god R’hllor.

Cerrah’s words wash over you, prayers to her high beloved. “Lord of Light,” she pleads, “take hold of her heart.” The ritual is centered on the healing of your heart, as it had been the target of Alys Rivers. Your heart had to cease, to symbolically be set in stone, so that it will not yearn to be united with its other half. The very one belonging to Prince Aemond.

Love has been the catalyst of all this pain, and only love can bring you back. The Lady Alys never would have set her tainted sights on you, had you not been the keeper of Aemond’s heart.

As you still are. As you will always remain.

“Āeksiot Ōño,” Cerrah rasps, passion punctuating her every word, “gūrogon zirȳla prūmia lenton.”

The flame in the cauldron disappears, as does all the flickering candlelight around the room. Everything is enveloped in shadow, with only the pale moonlight peering through the shutters.

All is silent, save for Cerrah’s hushed whispers.

A long moment passes, until Daemon’s growl breaks the stillness, “Why will she not awaken? This procedure has taken up nearly the entirety of a fucking hour.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra chastises, “perhaps you should wait outside.”

Daemon sulks, lowering his head, “No. I want to be here when she awakens.”

Rhaenyra comfortingly strokes his back, almost amused at his disposition, “Very well then.” She understands his qualms over the situation, over the notion of entrusting your wellbeing to this strange priestess. But they were at their wits’ end. They needed you back, hale and healthy.

Cerrah’s chanting stops abruptly. She lays a hand atop your nightgown, just above your heart.

“Is something the matter?” Daemon asks.

“There is… something missing.” Cerrah sighs. “I can feel the Lord calling out to me in return, but he cannot fully take a hold of myself and the Lady Y/n. It does not seem as if he can heed my plea due to a missing piece.”

“What piece, my lady?” Rhaenyra questions, growing nervous.

“A piece of her heart.” Cerrah breathes. “I need a piece of her heart.”

“You’re bloody demented, witch, if you think I will allow you to cut her open like some fucking boar.” Daemon strides forward without much thought, allowing his emotions to overcome him.

“Daemon, don’t - ” Rhaenyra tries but her words fall to deaf ears.

“You said you would bring her back to us,” Daemon grabs Cerrah’s shoulders, gripping tightly, “so, bring her back.”

“I said I would try, Prince Daemon.” Cerrah meets Daemon’s eyes unwaveringly, unperturbed by his anger. “I just need a piece of her heart. Not in the literal sense, mind you. If only you would give me a chance to explain myself first.”

Daemon releases her, stepping back, “You are in no position to reprimand me, my lady.” He adds the title mockingly. “Tell us what you need.”

“I can’t be certain about the object,” Cerrah muses, addressing everyone in the room, “but I need something that she owns, or something that was given to her out of love. A piece of her heart. Something laced with love. True love. Yes… yes, that is what we need.”

“Laced with love,” Rhaenyra whispers, something coming to mind.

Maester Gerardys looks perplexed, unable to come up with an answer. Daemon looks around, his eyes landing on your sword resting on the mantle, “What about her sword? She has fought with it since her youth. Surely it holds a special place in her heart.”

“That may not be enough.” Cerrah shrugs.

“Wait,” Rhaenyra says, before walking over to the round desk in the middle of your chambers. On top of it rests the boxes sent many days prior, the ones containing gillyflower from your own secret field. A thin layer of dust is displaced as Rhaenyra lifts the lid of one, revealing the remnants of wilting gillyflower inside.

She takes them gently, careful not to crumble the fragile flowers in her palm.                                                                                                   

“Laced with love,” she declares, meeting Cerrah’s eyes across the room. The priestess only nods in understanding. She does ask any questions. She can feel it, feel that the dull flowers in the Queen’s palm hold something more vivid that anything else in the room.

It is, in essence, a piece of a heart. From your Aemond, for you.

“It will not work.” Daemon grumbles, gripping Rhaenyra’s wrist as she approaches Cerrah, “Look at y/n. How can that one-eyed idiot claim to love her after having caused this.”

“We have no other choice, Daemon.” Rhaenyra shakes out of Daemon’s hold, and extends her palm to Cerrah, surrendering the gillyflower.

In one swift motion, Cerrah lowers the gillyflower in the cauldron. She resumes her chanting, her confidence renewed, “Gūrogon bisa jiōragon.  Iā piece hen zirȳla prūmia.  Iā object hen drēje jorrāelagon. Dovaogēdy, mijegon sȳndror, vok.”  Take this offering. A piece of her heart. An object of true love. Unsullied. Without the strain of darkness. Pure.

She dips her fingers once more in the deep red mixture, and flits them over your lips. With your mouth now stained crimson, the flame reignites in the cauldron.

From the shadows, your spirit awakens. You faintly hear an unfamiliar voice, a woman calling out to you from the void. You sense a light, glowing in the periphery.

“Ivestragī jorrāelagon jemagon se ñuhoso.” Let love lead the way, you hear the voice again.

You gather your strength, aching to find home in your body once more. Struggling against the haze that confines you to weightlessness, disconnecting you from reality, you will yourself to return.

For the final time, the flame dies in the cauldron. The room is neither warm, nor cold. Everything becomes still. Quiet.

All at once, your crimson-stained lips part, panting for air. Your fingers curl at your nightgown, seeking to feel something again, anything.

Nobody can attempt to conceal their amazement.

“Gods be good,” Maester Gerardys gasps in awe.

“God,” Cerrah haughtily corrects, all the more feeling that she has a right to, as she gazes upon the result of her work.

“Silence.” Daemon commands, as he walks over to your bedside, “Y/n?”

At the height of the hour of the owl, nearly a fortnight after being cast in the shadows by Alys Rivers, the Lady Y/n finds her way back to the light. To the living world filled with suffering and bliss. Of hatred and desire.

Ultimately aided by Aemond Targaryen’s love, you had been coaxed out of the darkness.

In the caves underneath the castle in Dragonstone, one particular dragon shakes back into consciousness.  A deep, resounding growl builds in Fyraxes’ chest, threatening to escape.

When it does, it reaches even the farthest corner of the island.

Finally, you open your eyes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your muscles ache as you reorient yourself with movement, leaning against the windowsill. The cool morning air is nothing but a welcome sensation, and you cannot resist taking deep breaths of it, the smell of the sea creeping up your nostrils. Rolling out your neck, you let out a faint groan.

“You should rest, y/n. The maester has advised you from engaging in strenuous activity of any kind.” Rhaenyra suggests. She and Daemon have steadily kept you company since you had awoken, themselves forsaking the comforts of slumber.

“I’d wager that the maester prefers me to not make any movement at all,” you jest, walking over to the table, and sitting down slowly. You take another plum from the plate brought over by your lady-in-waiting, and devour it eagerly, juices flowing down to your chin.

“Easy there, y/n,” Daemon chuckles, “or you might just exhaust Dragonstone’s supply of fruit.”

The doors open, and in enters Jacaerys, a relieved expression on his face.

“Y/n,” he rushes over to you, and squeezes you with both arms, “don’t you ever do that to us again.”

“Alright,” you smile, “I’ll try not to be put under some inexplicable curse. What a burden it turned out to be.”

“Right,” Jace nearly punches your shoulder in jest, but catches himself at the last second, “I am glad you are finally awake.”

“Jacaerys,” Daemon says, “why don’t you arrange for Fyraxes to be taken at the eastern coast, somewhere close to the docks, so that y/n might reunite with her dragon as well as enjoy the morning sunlight.”

Your face lights up at the thought, “She is okay? I would love to see her again.”

“Of course,” Jace nods in agreement, before quickly planting a kiss on your cheek, “leave it to me. Y/n here could benefit from a bit of fresh air. Besides,” he winks at you, “you kind of reek of stale sheets and sweat. The outdoors should do you a world of good.”

A hearty laugh escapes your lips, the first one after a very long while.

“You arse,” you call out to Jace’s retreating back.

“You mean, royal arse.” He counters lightly, humour lacing his tone. He politely nods to his sires, before leaving the chambers.

It is not long after his departure before Rhaenyra decides to address the low hanging question, “Perhaps we should talk about this… curse that you were dealt. A grievous harm had befallen you, and by extension, us. Rest assured that the one behind this assault will be put to justice.”

“I trust that you have some inkling as to who possesses the ability and the motivation to harm you, y/n.” Daemon adds, looking out the window in thought.

Rhaenyra says, “We have determined that it had been the work of a priestess - ”

“A demented witch.” Daemon interjects, sneering.

Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, before continuing, “It was a priestess of R’hllor who did this to you. The consensus seems to be that it may have been Alys Rivers, Aemond’s apparent consort. Well, at least she was. Word has reached us that the wedding has been called off, by none other than Aemond himself.”

So, he has followed through on his word. You straighten, letting the news settle over you. They are not to be wed, but what does this entail? He did mention something about keeping her in his employ.

“And if it is that wretch who placed a curse upon you, then it must have been at the behest of her master.” Daemon determinedly says, not a trace of doubt in his mind.

You feel empty. In the literal sense, as you had not been able to consume anything for too long, before this morning. Your head feels light and floaty, like you are a newborn babe finding her bearings.

But it is another matter entirely, the way that possibility makes you feel hollow inside. That Aemond may have been behind this ploy. That he had tricked you, and is not to be trusted.

“He couldn’t.” your voice comes out weak, tinged with doubt, “He would never do this to me.”

“I must admit that I feel inclined to agree with you, as it was the gillyflower sent by him that rendered the ritual effective. We needed something given out of love, and it worked.” Rhaenyra reaches for your hand, “However, it might be best if you do not see him. Even if he did not play a hand in the curse, as you believe, he could still lead Alys to you.”

You shut your eyes, leaning back against your seat. Nodding your head once, you attempt a smile at Rhaenyra, but it does not reach your eyes, “I wish to see Fyraxes.”

“Of course,” Rhaenyra stands, “I shall fetch someone to escort you.”

“No need,” Daemon says, “you’ll find Ser Erryk waiting outside. I had anticipated your desire to see your dragon, y/n, and I have already alerted the knight to keep a close eye on you.”

Rhaenyra pauses, this knowledge not having been shared with her, but she lets it pass. After all, Daemon truly cares about you, and would only be attending to your needs, especially in your fragile state.

“Thank you, Daemon.” You take his arm as he escorts you out of the room at a sluggish pace, your body still lacking its former vigour.

You hope that seeing Fyraxes might keep any thought of Aemond at bay, even though you already know that it will be for naught. Sooner rather than later, he will find his way back to your mind. To your heart.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The waves have been harsh and unrelenting, the wind threatening to make Aemond’s hood fall to his shoulders. He kept a tight grip on his cloak, as he sat in the quarterdeck of the hunkering supply ship. His royal garb has been exchanged for commoner’s clothing. All measures had to be taken to conceal his true identity.

The White Worm’s supposed whisperers were a pair of fishermen, regular workers on the ship, responsible for gathering the greater part of their freshwater fish reserves. They had stood to the side, always a few feet from the Prince, should any trouble come up.

But fortunately, it did not. The long journey from King’s Landing to Dragonstone remained uneventful. 

The ship had docked nearly half an hour ago, and the two fishermen led Aemond further onto the island. The small group had only been walking for a quarter of a mile, before one of the men turns to address Aemond, “Continue down this path,” he gestures forward, “for just a good few minutes, my prince. Then you will find what you came for.”

Aemond looks to where the man is pointing, seeing nothing but the same jagged rocks. There is no path. This might as well be a fucking ambush.

The taller of the men notices the prince’s hesitation. “Head down this way, Prince Aemond. It is understandable if you think that your trust is misplaced in us, but know that the White Worm does not turn back on her word.”

Aemond turns away in contemplation, watching as the waves slam against the eastern edge of Dragonstone.

“Hmm.” What other choice does he have, if he wishes to reach you?

Mindfully keeping his hand on the dagger by his belt, he marches forward, tilting his head in acknowledgement to both men as he passes them by.

Aemond is only partially giving mind to any potential threat, his focus unconsciously straying back to you. He is not even certain of what he will find as he walks further, but he wants only one thing.

To see you again. He holds on to the hope that whatever ritual conducted has been successful, and that you are free from the clutches of  Alys’ spell.

That is the one thing that can set things right. The very thing keeping his sanity intact.

You are the final strand of light keeping Aemond from completely yielding himself into darkness. 

Not too far away, Fyraxes stretches on a clearing amongst the rocks. Your hands glide over her scales, the feeling of her immediately making you at ease. She groans in satisfaction, mirroring your relief.

Your brow furrows as you notice her tense abruptly, craning her long neck to the side, seemingly sensing a new arrival.

“Skoros iksis pirta?” What’s wrong?

Leaning against her, you can’t help but brace yourself against danger. Dragonstone might be a steadfast fort, easily defensible against explicit attacks, but you now know better than to underestimate the reach of dark magic.

Fryaxes groans, not one of displeasure or alarm, but rather, recognition. Familiarity. A call you knew all too well. Whomever she sees coming is far from an enemy. Could it be Daemon? Rhaenyra? Surely it cannot be Ser Erryk, who has just taken leave to allow you some time alone with Fyraxes.

You take a few steps toward the direction she watches in anticipation, the faint sound of rapid footfall reaching your ears. You think to call out to ask who goes there, but the words never leave you. You see him.

Aemond comes into view, and your knees almost buckle from underneath you, your body seemingly remembering how delicate it has become.

His familiar shapely lips are parted in amazement, taking you in. Reaching up, he lowers his cloak, his silver hair a stark contrast to the dark cloth.

“Aemond,” is all you can say. And that was all it took. Aemond’s legs move on their volition, drawn to the sound of your voice. He pauses right in front of you, his hand reaching to caress your face, and you cannot find the strength to protest. You are not certain that you even want to. Whatever peril he might pose, your skin still yearns for his touch.

His hands gently hold either side of your face. He notices how you appear slightly gaunt, frailer, and it torments him. Immediately, he is compelled to punish the woman who caused you to be this way.

But for now, he relishes in the elation that only you can bring him. 

“Y/n,” he whispers, his voice breaking. Carefully, as if fearing that you might break against him, he presses his forehead to yours. 

“Aemond,” you say, stronger this time. A hundred questions threaten to spill from your lips, but you reel them in, save for just one. “What are you doing here?”

He laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. “What am I doing here?” He repeats, making it sound like the answer is supposed to be the most obvious thing in all the realm.

“What am I doing here?” he scoffs, repeating the question yet again, and right away, you know. 

“Avy jorrāelan,” Aemond says, quelling whatever worry remains in you, “That is why.”

I love you. Of course. It truly is the most obvious thing in all the realm.

Your lips meet, finding home in each other once more.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

In another part of the sprawling castle, a clandestine meeting takes place. At the bottom of a turnpike stair, at the end of the long and narrow hallway, there lies a room cloaked in shadow.

Three individuals stand inside, only able to speak freely to one another in this very room. At least, when it concerns Aemond Targaryen… and you.

“Has he reached the island?” The mastermind speaks. Who else can it be but the Rogue Prince himself?

Mysaria replies, “Indeed he has. He is convening with Lady Y/n as we speak. Everything is unfolding according to your plan, my prince.”

Daemon sneers, “Very good.” He turns to the other person in the room, “And you made certain that the Queen remains unaware of what transpires?”

“Queen Rhaenyra does not know that Prince Aemond is on Dragonstone, my prince.” Ser Erryk affirms. “I swore fealty to the Queen, and as you said, this plan is solely carried out in her best interest. I will not turn my back on this.”

Daemon’s pride swells. Soon enough, his beloved nephew will atone for his crimes.

And the rest of the Greens shall fall.

So who suspected that Daemon may be up to his usual serving of chaos? Alys Rivers will still play her role, but the more realistic threat to yours and Aemond's romance will be our very own uncle-daddy. You guys seriously didn't think that he would just everything slide, did you?

Wow did this take so long to post!?!?! I still don't think that long of a wait was worth it, and I'll try my hardest to get the next part done sooner :)

Thank you thank you to all of you who follow this series, routinely flooding my inbox with requests for the next part when I take too long. 🖤 Hehe yous are aces.

Apologies if I missed anyone on the taglist - it has gotten all too long (which is a good thing, after all) but I suck at organizing it, so I hope this post finds you well if I failed to tag you. 🤍

Series taglist: @crazylokonugget @xinyourdreamsx @raging-panda @zelzablues @whitejuliana1204 @caught-in-the-afterglow @a-demon-daughter @meilikki @carlottalhn @aemondswh0re @afro-hispwriter @xcinnamonmalfoyx @ietss @writer-lee5 @solacestyles @noneedtosearch @umavvitch @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @inpraizeof @evye47 @kellzlib @janelongxox @daydreamerblues @hearmeout-inc @marrianena @poisonedsultana @lithebunnyq @nushy @foras @thesheelfsworld @abcrosia @anangelwhodidntfall @kyrieshoka @katefullerrr @gxthicwxrm @bluscryn @lwqfhp @vampxra @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @justsumtuffstuff @verycollectivecreator @chiyausu @mistalli @buttercupstrand @cullenswife @blacpiink @darylandbethfanforever9 @pockcock @alexayoonlee (continued in comments)

[fantasydreamland]

Welcome to my little dreamland 🏰

This blog is 18+ only !!!

Here to share the fantasy worlds I love & write a little smut. There’s simply not enough wlw fanfics. I’m bi so I love to share all my fictional crushes 🤍

My stories:

GAME OF THRONES

Lonely Nights - Khaleesi 🤍🔥⭐️

Queen in the North - Sansa Stark 🤍🔥

Handmaiden - Margaery Tyrell 🤍🔥⭐️

Gossip - Margaery Tyrell 🔥 (sequel)

Secret Admirer - Margaery Tyrell

My Saviour - Jon Snow 🤍🔥⭐️

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

Unspoken Love - Rhaenyra x Alicent 🔥

Fun Wife - Aegon Targaryen 🤍🔥⭐️

Betrothed - Cregan Stark/Aemond Targaryen 🤍🔥⭐️

Mine - Aemond Targaryen 🔥 (sequel)

VIKINGS VALHALLA

New Friend - Leif Eriksson 🤍

LORD OF THE RINGS

Angel - Arwen Evenstar (COMING)

Sorceress - Legolas Greenleaf (COMING)

🤍 = personal fav 🔥 = extra smut ⭐️ = popular

they all have a little fluff & smut

(always open to requests - any shows/movies listed in the hashtags - I don’t write modern)

🇬🇧🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🇨🇦🇮🇪🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🇵🇱

[a-secret-bolton-vampire]

Here, another impromptu House of the Dragon essay, following episode 6, which has left me obsessed and delighted to see Rhaenyra finally confirmed canonically queer. This is not refined at all, just all off the cuff.

Rhaenyra and Alicent parallel each other in a lot of ways, but one way that I am not seeing brought up a lot is also the way their new partners add to their parallels. Granted, since Rhaenyra and Mysaria kissed literally last episode there hasn't been a lot of time to think, but it's a sign of a much greater trend between Alicent and Rhaenyra in season 2.

The relationship between Alicent and Criston is a direct parallel and foil to the relationship between Rhaenyra and Mysaria in a myriad of ways:

Criston was spurned by Rhaenyra, and when he was at his lowest moment, Alicent came to stop his suicide and raised him up to be her sworn protector. Ever since then, Criston has remained fiercely loyal to Alicent... to an arguably unhealthy degree. He kills Lyman Beesbury not necessarily because he was against the coup, but because he personally accused Alicent of regicide. He puts Alicent up on an enormously high pedestal, as this kind of saviour of his. Likewise, Alicent is bonded with Criston due to their shared betrayal of Rhaenyra.

The relationship itself is very unhealthy. It's almost like they are codependent in a way. Criston is only where he is now because Alicent saved him. He owes a lot to her. Likewise, Alicent owes a lot to Criston for being her biggest champion. Criston is also fairly lowborn. He's from a very low noble house, and is described as the commonborn son of the steward of Lord Blackhaven. He's just at the edge of nobility, and yet he has been on a meteoric rise, shooting from just another knight to a knight of the Kingsguard, to bodyguard of the queen, to Lord Commander and later as Hand, the most powerful position in the realm after the King.

Compare this with Rhaenyra and Mysaria. Both women have been wronged by Daemon, who has used them for his own ends and disregarded their feelings. Daemon promised Mysaria her freedom if she provided names for people to hire to kill Aemond, but ended up simply fucking off to Harrenhal. There, Mysaria, having lost all she built in King's Landing thanks to Larys, is freed by Rhaenyra who decides to honour Daemon's word. Mysaria is not someone to trust easily, and Rhaenyra freeing her when she had no real reason to shows her worth to Mysaria.

Mysaria doesn't necessarily put Rhaenyra on a pedestal though. She is immensely grateful, and she feels Rhaenyra treats her as an equal and that she is meant to be queen, but there is none of this toxic obsessive codependency between the two (at least, not yet) that is displayed with Alicent and Criston. Like Alicent and Criston, however, they bond through a shared experience of betrayal by someone else, in this case Daemon.

Both relationships are those that would not be looked on lightly by society. Alicent is the dowager queen, Criston is sworn to celibacy, while Rhaenyra and Mysaria are both women in a world where queer relationships aren't exactly viewed in a positive light. Criston and Mysaria are also both contrasting partners, as they are of low rank (though Mysaria is not from a noble house unlike Criston) but are self-made people who climbed to a high position; Criston through his skill at arms, Mysaria through the trade of selling information.

Criston and Mysaria also have a contrasting relationship with the Hightowers and Targaryens. At least in Criston's eyes, Rhaenyra Targaryen betrayed him and brought him low, only to be raised by Alicent Hightower. Meanwhile, Mysaria is brought low by Alicent but raised back up by Rhaenyra. However, despite the gap in the power structure between Rhaenyra and Mysaria being far greater than that of Criston and Alicent, the power dynamic is actually completely opposite.

Season 2 began with Alicent holding power, with Criston subservient to her, with Otto working alongside her. It also began with Rhaenyra being powerless due to the crippling grief of losing Luke and then following Blood and Cheese refusing to make any moves that could hurt more innocent people, which weakens her own standing among her council. But as the season progresses, this gets flipped upside down. When Criston is named Hand, we see a major shift in his dynamic with Alicent. There is a lot of fuss made about Alicent's sex scene with him at the end of episode 2, but this actually conveys this perfectly. Without Alicent's leave, Criston suddenly makes himself at home in her bedchambers, and instead of kneeling to her or letting her be on top, he takes control of her.

Alicent grows more and more distant from Criston as he settles into his position as Hand. Suddenly, Criston feels that by vetoing Alicent from being the regent, he is protecting her from the terrible things they will be doing in the course of the war. Again, this works alongside Criston's weird complex about Alicent being his saviour. She seems so pure in his eyes that he is protecting her by taking on the sins of leadership just as he has protected her all these years as her sworn protector. The problem is that at the same time this devalues Alicent because this is another misogynistic assumption on his part that women should not sully themselves by having a hand with such nasty business. Criston thinks he's protecting her, but at the same time weakening her and making her even more vulnerable, and this is why their relationship eventually falters.

We see the exact opposite with Rhaenyra and Mysaria. Mysaria is at the mercy of Rhaenyra, but Rhaenyra allows her a place in her court as an advisor. Mysaria grows in power in this position, just as Cole did. However, that doesn't come at the expense of Rhaenyra's own power. Thanks to Daemon's reckless, self-serving actions, the Black Council's unhelpful misogyny, and undermining advice, Rhaenyra finds she does not wield influence at court. Except with Mysaria.

With Mysaria, Rhaenyra learns that there is another way to gain power, and that is with the support of the common people. Together, the two conspire to instigate riots in King's Landing and destabilize the Greens hold on the city, while Rhaenyra herself finds that she wants to be spearheading the more militaristic aspects of the war. When Mysaria sees Rhaenyra holding a sword, she says "this becomes you," supporting Rhaenyra's endeavour to take after her idol and hero Visenya and become a warrior queen.

Yet, as Mysaria later tells Rhaenyra, this doesn't in any way make her less powerful. Rhaenyra has treated Mysaria as an equal, her closest advisor, her unofficial Hand (even with Corlys newly named). The mutual bond between the two then reaches a crescendo in a tender moment of vulnerability and gratitude for each other, and their embrace quickly becomes a passionate kiss.

Criston casts Alicent down, but Mysaria raises Rhaenyra up. Criston and Alicent's relationship is based on this shared betrayal by Rhaenyra which became codependent on their united front of this shared history. Meanwhile, though Rhaenyra and Mysaria's relationship does come somewhat from the way Daemon has hurt them both, it is primarily based on honesty and compassion. In this way, as of right now, Rhaenyra and Mysaria are the most healthy couple in House of the Dragon.

One final observation is that I think Alicent and Rhaenyra are also trying to emulate certain people in these relationships. Alicent, always having envied Rhaenyra for her freedom, is finally forgoing any temperance to allow herself to enjoy sex for the first time in her life. Her doing something so reckless is her trying to be like Rhaenyra. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra kissing Mysaria is partially her trying to be more like Daemon, as much as I also believe it is loneliness and genuine attraction to her. She literally states before the kiss that Daemon was everything she wished she was. This may be only the beginning. We are starting to see a much more fiery side of her, as she begins to don the image of a warrior queen who wishes to win this war.

I will also say this, while we are on the topic; it's very meaningful to me that Rhaenyra is canonically queer, especially as a queer person myself. Queer characters are nothing new in the A Song of Ice and Fire universe, but we don't have any truly canonically queer protagonists. Dany and Cersei may qualify but that is much less to do with actual attraction to women and more simply good old lesbian experimentation (not to mention written in a pretty exploitative and male-gazey way). Rhaenyra has shades of both characters in her kiss with Mysaria, but from everything I've laid out, it's not experimentation. Rhaenyra is just bisexual.

Rhaenyra being in a polyamorous relationship with Mysaria and Daemon has been a headcanon of mine ever since Fire and Blood came out, and I've picked up on the vibes between them this season, which made me hearing about the complaints that it came "out of nowhere" really strange, because it truly didn't. It's been building up slowly the past few episodes, and it's just the logical conclusion based on what was presented.

How this will change her relationship with Daemon, I cannot say. But I will say that I believe if Daemon is jealous of Rhaenyra and Mysaria being together, it won't be because of fidelity or homophobia, but purely because they are both women he has been with, which would trigger all sorts of insecurities.

[atopcat]

"Rhaegar insisted Aegon’s destiny alone will protect them" what do you mean by this?

I assume this is in regards to this post: x

My point was contrary to what a lot of Rhaegar antis and fans alike believe I honestly don’t think, from Rhaegar’s perspective, he intentionally abandoned his wife and kids.

Don’t get me wrong, the piece of crap was an idiotic deadbeat but I really don’t think he even considered a situation where his wife and kids would die because in his head that genuinely doesn’t make sense.

Everything he’s done was based on the firm belief that Aegon is the PWWP. So how can he die when he has a destiny that needs to be fulfilled? Rhaenys can’t die either, she’s one of the heads and just like their Conqueror namesakes it will be their blood that continues the line of House Targaryen.

This was his logic; as far as he was concerned you could throw them into a burning pit and they’ll come out unscathed because supernatural forces will protect them no matter what. As for Elia I guess he assumed the same forces will protect the mother of the PWWP 🤷🏽‍♀️

I’m sure people will disagree with me and until George releases The Winds of Winter and A Dream of Spring we won’t know what the moron was thinking. But this honestly makes the most sense to me; his saviour complex gave him the delusion everything he did was for the “greater good”. This also means his kids will live regardless because they are the "greater good".

It’s the same logic that resulted in Lyanna dying without a midwife or maester, if he has to sacrifice one teenage girl to get Aegon his Visenya and thus save the whole of humanity then so be it. The ends justify the means after all 👍🏾

Alas at the end of the day he was wrong about everything because he’s a twat who is currently burning in the pits of hell for what he did to Elia, Lyanna, his children, their families and the whole of Westeros.

So until proven otherwise I call bs to Dumb and Dumber's fanfiction, it wasn't "love" that had him trap a teenage girl in a tower where she died of blood loss whilst his knights tried to kill her brother. It was the firm belief she'll give him a third head for his son and daughter, so why would he abandon them?

[gulnarsultan]

Hello there. Sorry for disturbing you, I just got thinking and imagining something. It’s about Yandere platonic House Lannister and Modern Reader and possibly other Modern Readers.

In the Red Keep there’s a book that secured very good, because it’s an important treasure for House Targaryen. There are family portraits of House Targaryen and Modern Readers.

One day Rhaegar Targaryen called Lady Y/N Lannister to show her something. Y/N followed Rhaegar and both of them got to the library.

Modern Reader: My prince, what is exactly you wanted to show me?

Rhaegar Targaryen: The important treasure of my House.

Rhaegar Targaryen pulls out the book out of the shelf and opens it.

Modern Reader confused: A book?

Rhaegar Targaryen: Not a book, but our great, happy memories.

Once the book is opened they see family portraits:

Daenys Targaryen, Gaemon Targaryen, Lord Aenar Targaryen and Y/N L/N the saviour and a faithful loyal friend.

Lord Aerion Targaryen, Lady Valaena Velaryon, baby Visenya, Aegon, Rhaenys and Y/N L/N aka saviour and faithful loyal friend.

King Aegon the Conqueror, Queens Visenya, Rhaenys and Y/N Targaryen aka saviour and faithful loyal friend.

(There are Modern Reader, saviour and faithful loyal friend with Aenys’s family, Maegor’s family and Jaehaerys’s family)

Modern Reader: It’s her? Right? I’m surprised that she didn’t change.

Rhaegar Targaryen: She was immortal, but then she disappeared. No one knows why. It was mentioned, she traveled to Old Valyria to find Princess Aerea Targaryen daughter of Rhaena Targaryen and Balerion the dread. Both returned, but Y/N didn’t. King Jaehaerys commanded to find her, although it was impossible. The Valyria was still burning and not many returned. Princess Aerea Targaryen was sick, but she told them Great-grandmother, Y/N Targaryen stayed in Old Valyria, so princess Aerea and Balerion return safely. Although, our saviour and faithful loyal friend didn’t return.

Modern Reader looks sad at this, because she realised just how important was The Saviour of House Targaryen, then she noticed other portraits: It’s King Viserys 1, Queen Aemma Arryn and Rhaenyra Targaryen, right?

Rhaegar Targaryen: Yes, next to them is Princess Y/N The Great.

Modern Reader: She disappeared too?

Rhaegar Targaryen sighs: Yes, unfortunately. She was The Hand of the Queen.

Modern Reader: There are many titles to her.

Rhaegar Targaryen: Yes, that’s correct.

Modern Reader: Then what happened afterwards, if she solved many problems and made the realm prospered?

Rhaegar Targaryen: Blackfyre rebellions.

Modern Reader: Oh. My prince, I apologise for my question, but why are you showing me this?

Rhaegar Targaryen: Because I… feel like I need to. And I… think there is connection between you and them. That’s why.

Modern Reader pulls out a small portrait of House Lannister, where it’s her and Lannister family members, before Tyrion was born. And she placed the portrait to the book.

Lord Tywin Lannister, Lady Joanna Lannister, Gerion, Tygett, Genna and Kevan Lannister Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Y/N Lannister.

It’s noticeable that all Modern Readers look similar.

Rhaegar Targaryen: I’m sad, that we didn’t meet you first.

Sooo, what do you think about it? Sorry if it’s long and big, and maybe a little confusing. I just wanted to share it with you. So, your thoughts? As for me, I think other would notice similarities between Modern Reader Lannister (The tribute of Westeros, Problem-solver, The Brave), Modern Reader The Great and Modern Reader aka The Saviour and faithful loyal friend of House Targaryen.

An interesting scenario. Maybe if the loyal friends of House Targaryen are actually the reader's grand relatives. So it makes more sense for the reader to have the same similarities with them.

[rise-my-angel]

Hello! I hope you're doing well. I just wanted to say that your takes on the Targaryens are so refreshing to find when this fandom is almost completely made up of people who think they're the supreme, divine saviours of humanity and the greatest thing since sliced bread. It feels nice and validating to see someone who thinks like me for once. <3

Nothing bothers me more then propping them up as divine or special, when their entire story is about how they think they are special in contrast to the devastating effects of who they are on the people.

I don't think it's a coincidence that in Westeros we get so many different pov's to showcase all sides of how the war effects everyone everywhere, no matter how justified you may think one side or the other is. We see its devestating and it reminds us that their wars arent actually worth the cost. But in Essos, we do not see that. We only ever get Dany's pov and her view of her own actions, and we never see those minute details from every walk of life showcasing how no matter how justified she thinks she is, she has damaged more then shes saved. And I think it's a clever trap so that when she comes to Westeros, you finally see her from someone elses eyes and its a wakeup call that you've been tricked by her pov into thinking that shes better then she is. It's fascinating the way hes structured her story.

But people miss that, and subsequently, they miss that about all the Targaryeans. So they see them, as Dany sees herself. More superior then they really are. Which is not at all.

The Targaryeans aren't special. Their Valyrian blood is not what makes them dragonriders, they just have a monopoly on it because by the doom they were the only family who owned them or had any information about dragons. Its not a stretch to say when your family comes from a culture that is surrounded by dragons, you probably are just better equipped to ride one then someone whose never even seen one before. (Unless your Nettles then you are the literal example of why Targaryeans are not special and I love how grrm uses her to contrast that so strongly).

They alone are not holding the Kingdom together, as they caused many civil wars and rebellions, and their dynasty ended in a rebellion, which was followed by decades of peace. Say what you will about Robert, but he wasn't so stupid as to blatantly start a war from his bloodlust all over again. He wasn't a good man, but he took the throne by conquest during rebellion times, and no violence ever happened until after he was dead, and that wasnt caused by his fault, it was started by Cersei via having a bastard with Jaime and not Robert. So the war that followed wasn't his wrongdoing. He held peace and the realm together, so clearly the Targaryeans weren't needed for that specifically.

They don't even look unique. In Essos, tons of places still have mixes of Valyrian blood and thus have their silver hair. House Dayne is known to have purple eyes just like them, but they aren't Valyrian, their ancestry is from The First Men.

The biggest tragedy is House of the Dragon, because Fire and Blood is such a good deconstruction of the myth around House Targaryeans supermecy. Writing it in character as an Archmaester during Robert Baratheons reign is so interesting. It gives us such a unique look into how the world actually remembers them.

And its a book full of atrocities and horrible action after horrible action. War after war after war. People remember the Targaryeans as the initally conquested Westerosi did, as nothing more then uncaring, power hungry colonizers. But people don't look at them that way out of universe, and they should. Theres no reason to discount the negatives about them.

But House of the Dragon didn't adapt that book, so general audiences are getting a very different story that bolsters that supremacist view of the Targaryeans and it really does not paint them in the complex light they should be.

Not every Targaryean was a bad person, but House Targaryean was a house full of bad people. Bad people who raised and married each other into a system of brutal generational incest and abuse, and neglected the very Kingdom they routinely torn apart in order to fight for who gets to sit on the Iron Throne and ignore it more.

I like discussing the flaws of the Targaryeans because I find their toxic, destructive nature to be interesting. Especially in comparison to the such a stable family like the Starks.

They are a cautionary tale as to why the Starks reign lasted 8000 years, and the Targaryeans lasted only 300.

[sansastarq]

Ok but it’s weird for house of the dragon to shoehorn in the concept of the song of ice and fire prophesy and a targaryen saviour of the world from the ice threat, and then NOT include the pact of ice and fire, right?

[stupidocupido]

hotd recs

It is time for another rec post. As I am still in my HOTD phase, it means i’ve read enough fics to make a list. Mostly Lucemond & Rhaegon, more fics to be added in the future! 

LUCEMOND

Tides Viserys doesn’t die after the infamous family dinner. Winds blow, tides rise, things change. Or the one in which Lucerys doesn’t lack cockiness, Aemond is trying to keep himself sane, and they keep meeting on the edges of the raging world.

right before all the song and dance (wasn't brave enough to tell you). “Do you think he would have loved me?” Luke asks, his voice wavering, no more than a whisper. His eyes are unfocused, trained on the sky, as if he’s searching for something. Searching for him. “My love,” Aemond chokes out, his face contorted in pain, his heart bursting, finally, “I would, I do.” Or, the one with the time loop.

naked in that garden Aemond only saw his half-sister’s second natural-born child for the briefest moment before the babe was sent away from the capital.

The Black Prince Lucerys Velaryon is a saved prince returned home with no memories and no dragon. Something on Dragonmont keeps calling to him. Aemond Targaryen is a prince riddled with guilt and grief who refuses to be a puppet on a string any longer.

In all the lives I lived before this one Lucerys isn't so much spirited away to fairyland, as much as he goes of his own accord.

full fathom five (Aemond’s nephew is almost always a shadow at the edge of his gaze, a silent thing that he somehow glimpses at a distance, around the corners of the halls or across the room).

but that was then It is the night of Aegon's wedding, and Aemond wants.

cut off my wings (and lock me up) Aemond considers him for a moment longer, gaze flicking up and down with the pleased glint of a smug cat. Then he turns toward their host. “Lord Borros, be my witness: by the ancient customs of our House, by the ancient rite to wed fire and blood, I declare a marriage hunt on Lucerys Velaryon.”

Wiping the Dirt From His Hands Or, Luke survives his alteration with Aemond and is taken by Larys to Harrenhal.

Trapped After Lucerys' family died in the fire, Aemond takes him under his wings. The younger man's memories all shatter apart. He needs Aemond to lean on, but Lucerys is still trapped in his past.

RHAEGON (some + daemon)

there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin i.e. Aegon hears something after the Dinner from Hell™ and decides to go after it. He does not want to be king, so he claims allegiance to the future queen... and her consort. Might be the best thing he has ever done, and will save everyone.

of pain and pleasure "I don't have to tell Alicent," she paused and placed a hand on his leg. "But you must do something for me first, sweet brother." Aegon shivered under her touch, and she didn't have to look down know that he was still hard in his breeches. "What do you want?" he asked nervously, quiet as a mouse. With her other hand, Rhaenyra twirled her dagger in her hand, relishing the weight and the power it gave her. "Kneel."

valonqar who does aegon seek in the brothels of king's landing? otto's spies tell him the truth, but not the whole truth.

happiness In which Aegon comes of age and slowly pines for his older, wiser half-sister.

Who Am I, If Not Yours? Or: Aegon manages to escape being crowned, flying to Dragonstone with a proposal of marriage and submission.

you will always be my favorite ghost “Marry me Rhaenyra and end all of this.” Aegon mutters, clasping his hands, an almost prayer. He stands there in all his eerie beauty and Rhaenyra cannot help but think that of all the broken things he is the most dazzling one.

OTHER

Delusions of a Saviour Aegon remembers dying - very painfully and with little dignity. When he awakes to the day his children are born, he is determined to stop the war for the throne and prevent his family from dying (and himself. He is very much invested in not dying again). To do this, he realises he needs to: 1. Stop Lucerys from being a twat and actually show Aemond he is sorry for taking his eye. 2. Stop Aemond from, also, being a twat and actually stop his brother from killing his nephew (and also Aegon himself). Somewhere along the line he becomes a matchmaker, with a little help and guidance from his sister-wife.

'tis the damn season ex-childhood friends and almost-lovers Rhaenyra and Alicent have to reunite for Christmas at the Targaryen’s Dragonstone Manor. it goes about as well as one would think (very, in the end).

[ilargizuri]

Three Things in One Creature - Introduction: The Nature of Prophecy

»When the Red Star bleeds and Darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again admist smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone« -Melissandre, Davos 3, A Storm of Swords.

Azor Ahai is a legendary and promised redemption figure in the books „A Song of Ice and Fire“ as well as the series „Game of Thrones.“ But who this figure is, has never really been enlightened. In the books, Melissandre initially thinks it’s Stannis Baratheon and later thinks it’s Jon Snow. The priests of R’hllor believe it would be Daenerys, as well as Maester Aemon. With Stannis, readers agree it’s not him, with Daenerys and Jon Snow, readers disagree. It is undisputed that both candidates, rather than Stannis, fulfilled the stated prophetic indications.

But what if both the characters in the story and the readers misinterpret the prophecy? Several times we learn from characters in the story that prophecies can be a treacherous thing. For example, the Targaryen family, seemingly waiting for the promised prince for hundreds of years, first of all out of a sense of duty. After the death of the last dragon they probably rather want to get back their lost firebreathers. After all, both in the prophecy of the promised prince and the prophecy of Azor Ahai, the return of dragons seems to be mentioned. The desire to bring dragons back into the world went so far as to require Aegon V to marry two of his grandchildren because a forest witch prophesied that the promised prince would emerge from this branch of the family. The extent to which the tragedy of Sommerhall is related to these efforts is not entirely certain, but there are rumours in Westeros that the king would have tried to hatch dragon eggs there. The tragedy led to Maester Aemon believing Rhaegar to be the promised prince, later Rhaegar believed it to be his son. In A Feast for Crows, Aemon believes Daenerys is the promised prince.

When Daenerys gets her own visions in the house of the Undying, there is also the day when her nephew Aegon was born. Here we also learn for the first time that Rhaegar believes that there is not one prophesied saviour, but three! Because the dragon has three heads. Later, Maester Aemon will speak similarly to Sam and then curse his old age because he is too old to be one of those heads himself.

»„There must be one more“, he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say „The Dragon has three heads“« -Rhaegar, Daenerys 4, A Clash of Kings.

Whether this is really part of the prophecy or whether it was an interpretation of Rhaegar or part of the song of ice and fire, which according to the vision belongs to the promised prince, is not entirely clear. Even if this vision does not show the historical Rhaegar, but is only an image of Daenerys‘ vision, Daenerys tries to make sense of this vision and receives an interpretation of Jorah Mormont. He points out that Daenerys‘ family coat of arms is a three-headed dragon, these heads are a symbol of the three dragon riders who conquered six of the seven kingdoms. Since Daenerys himself now has three dragons, he advises Daenerys to make it like her ancestor Aegon the Conqueror and to seek three dragon riders for their dragons. Here again, there is the question of whether Jorah interprets this correctly.

The number three occurs several times in the prophecy that Daenerys receives from the Undying.

»we know… the shape of shadows… Morrows not yet Made… Drink from the Cup of ice… Drink from the Cup of fire… Mother of Dragons… Child of Three… three Heads has the Dragon…Mother of Dragons … Child of Storm … three fires must you light: one for life and one for death and one to love… three mounts must you ride: one to bed and one to dread and one to love… three treasons will you know: once for blood and once for gold and once for love… daughter of death, slayer of lies, bride of fire…« -Undying, Daenerys 4, A Clash of Kings.

Each of these prophecies allegedly refers to a person or persons who may be related to Daenerys Targaryen. But the traitors in particular are a double-edged thing because it is actually just that she knows them or knows about them, not that she is betrayed. Treason is part of the game for the iron throne, Lord Bolton betrays the Starks to become Guardians of the North and to get Winterfell, which Tywin seems to plan to take away from them because Winterfell is the Castle he promises Tyrion to persuade him to marry Sansa and Prince Doran betrays the Lannisters behind their backs to take revenge for the death of his sister and these are just the two best-known examples. So if it is said she only KNOWS this betrayal, then betrayal does not necessarily have to happen to her.

What is also striking is that most prophecies which we learn in the books are always warnings. Visions are somewhat broader, they do not necessarily have to concern the questioner, as the visions told by the Ghost of High Heart of the brotherhood without banners. Daenerys’s first prophecy that her son was the stallion who mounts the world is not a prophecy given to Daenerys, but a prophecy of the Dothraki that existed long before. So this could be a warning to other people. Miri Maaz Duur, for example, understands the stallion who mounts the world as a warning; Since we do not know where the prophecy originally came from, we cannot claim that this is not a warning.

But Cersei’s prophecy warns her that her children all die before her, and the house of Targaryen fled from the prophesied demise of Valyria to Dragonstone. The prophecy of Azor Ahai warns against the return of others and promises that there is hope because the old hero is reborn. So we can almost certainly say, if the dragon with the three heads appears in the prophecy Daenerys receives, then it is part of a warning and if Daenerys were a part of the three-headed dragon and thus of the promised prince, then there would be no reason to warn her. Although it cannot be ruled out.

In conclusion to this part, however, we should not forget that Daenerys is addressed with titles in this part, but all of them have been fulfilled in any way at least once. She is the Mother of Dragons, a Child of Three, a Child of Storm, a daughter of death, a Slayer of lies and a Bride of Fire, although I am unsure about the last one. In my Country you are the bride of a Groom, so Fire is actually and quite literally the Groom, furthermore, a Groom is meant to give you your children, so in the most basic sense of that phrase, Daenerys became the bride of Fire when she hatched the Dragons in Drogos Funeral Fire if that Phrase is mean differently please inform me.

[la-pheacienne]

For which polity did the Targaryens colonize Westeros to usurp and exploit its natural resources and raw materials to send back to/finance the main hub of the empire ? Valyria is dead and gone by the time Aegon and his sisters conquers Westeros. A lot of people forget that colonialism is at the end of the day an economic infrastructure for the imperial polity to extract labor or resources to accumulate wealth.

Pre-colonial empires include the Aztecs, Incas, Mughals, Mongols, etc. We don’t conceive of them as colonizers in the way we conceive of Western Europeans as colonizers and there’s a reason for that. Colonialism has a very specific class character. Colonialism is a system which actively denied democracy and freedom to entire races and regions.

If the Targaryens were colonizers then they wouldn’t stay and intermarry with the people or retain the practices or integrate with the cultures of Westeros. They’d use either indirect or direct colonial rule. If direct there would be Valyrian settlers in Westeros.

Aegon literally never imposed the Valyrian costumes to Westeros, he didn't enslaved anyone, didn't forced them to give up their faith, culture and language because it's barbaric.

The use of the term "colonialism" especially associated with the term "white supremacy" in the context of the ASOIAF universe immediately proves that the person speaking is functionally/literally illiterate. Like, it's not even worth trying to form arguments against it. I won't bother explaining what should be obvious to everyone with a brain.

Unfortunately it's the anti-war agenda again. War is bad = all wars are evil = all leaders to war are evil = all leaders to war are colonialists/white supremacists. Give me a break.

To be fair I understand people are sensitive to certain things concerning politics. First example is me. I am Greek and Greek people have been literally tortured for 4 fucking centuries by Ottomans and YET I watched an entire TV show about the very same Ottoman empire and not once did I say "oooh but Suleyman is evilll because he conquered and enslaved Greeks so I should boycott the show". Yes there were many people saying that in Greece, I won't exactly accuse them, even though I don't share their opinion. BUT we are talking about actual historical characters and actual historical periods. Like, real history. And I still didn't care. I loved it. Yes, I am much more sensitive if we talk about more recent history, I would never in my life watch a show about Kemal Atatürc. Yes he was very important for Turkish people, but I have an agenda against him as a Greek person so I really don't want him in any TV show/movie/book, I'd rather ignore his existence basically. But this is very recent and very sensitive for me, and it is also real. Like, real politics.

But watching a show/reading a fantasy book for more than a decade and projecting onto the story real political issues that have nothing to do with the story, then not boycotting said story, and instead supporting everybody else apart from the fucking protagonists is so incredibly stupid. If you think the story is promoting "war and conquest and invasion" and if you think that's a bad thing, BOYCOTT THE SHOW. SIMPLE. But they don't do that, no. They (hate-)watch the show and they actually imagine that the true message behind it is "anti-war" and that every leader to war is evil. They are literally replacing the story with their own version of the story. And even worse! They apply this shit only to Dany because she is a woman with blond hair so she is white saviour or whatever and they stan literally everybody else that does the exact same shit as Dany, just without the dragons. And then they stan the greens out of pure hatred for Dany, because that's literally the ONLY REASON green stans exist. Pitiful.

I saw this post yesterday (the following is a screenshot) :

...

....

This is a very nice specimen of the "anti-war" agenda. "Peaceful ruling house". Which house in history was "peaceful"? Not one. I repeat. Not one. OP has confused ASOIAF/Fire and Blood with Gilmore Girls. They are literally using noble house mottos without understanding anything about the context of the story which is the following: a bunch of noble Houses starting wars for their survival and extension of their power, again and again and again. All these houses literally started wars and conquered people. All of them. The Hightower house is an anti war, peaceful ruling house? Lol? The same house that literally started a war that literally destroyed the realm? The Starks did not start wars? Oh, except when they conquered the whole North, by force? That wasn't a war? Lmao.

TLDR: To answer the question : colonialism and the anti-war agenda have nothing to do with ASOIAF. People do not understand the story and project their own political agenda onto the story, which leads to severe lack of basic understanding. This is the reason Targaryen antis and Green stans exist. Everybody in the story has started war or participated in a conquest. Targaryens are just the most powerful and the winners, that's all.