#source: a dance with dragons

[alaynasansa]

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa”

&

“Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa”

Sansa Week 2024 : day four - love/marriage

[synchodai]

"But Jace inherits the crown through Rhaenyra, so it shouldn't matter who his father was." How many times do we have to have this discussion: a bastard cannot inherit, especially if he has trueborn siblings. Marriages are political agreements that decree that the child born from said marriage gets their parents' lands and titles. Harwin and Rhaenyra made no such contract and therefore Jace is entitled to neither parents' holdings and/or titles. Rhaenyra could legitimize Jace, but doing so would acknowledge that he is a Strong and not a Velaryon which makes her sons forfeit the Driftmark wealth and navy.

"Jace doesn't need a dragon to prove that he's a Targaryen when he's obviously Rhaenyra's son." Jace being upset over the lowborn dragonseeds wasn't because him being Rhaenyra's son was ever in question. It's because he knows that being a bastard will not make people respect his right to rule and so he has to surround himself with other signs of legitimacy like a dragon. Dragons are seen by Jace, and a lot of Westerosi, as status symbols. By giving dragons to the lowborn, they are being devalued as indicators of a divine mandate. In short, he knows people won't care that he's Rhaenyra's biological son if he doesn't have the Targaryen might and mystique to back it up.

Again, this is feudalism. Marriages are political contracts. Biological parentage alone is not sufficient to argue your right to succession, because people had children outside of wedlock from multiple women all the time. A marriage contract between parents is what secures a child's inheritance, and Jace doesn't have that.

[horizon-verizon]

I hate how Rhaenyra is being written. In F&B, her place as the protagonist is taken by Daemon thanks to GRRM’s fascination with him.

During the war, Daemon:

Advised the Black Council to send envoys to the Great Houses that hadn’t declared for Aegon, which helped get the Arryns and Starks on their side.

Captured Harrenhal without bloodshed with his dragon, allowing the Riverlanders to majority declare for Rhaenyra.

Led “a strong force” of Riverlanders to capture the last big Green supporting Castle, Stone Hedge.

Hired his mistress to kill one of Aegon’s children, resulting in his mother’s insanity and removing her as a dragonrider/voice of reason/even ability to escape.

Was the principal factor for the fall of King’s Landing for the Blacks. He led the Gold Cloaks decades before which inspired them so much they killed Alicent’s brother and turned the city over to Daemon.

Refused to obey Rhaenyra when she demanded Nettles be killed under guest right, allowing her to escape.

Waited 2 weeks for Aemond to appear at Harrenhal; succeeded in killing him by driving Dark Sister into his blind eye, as well as the biggest dragon Vhagar. His body was never found, so it’s still speculated he lived to be with Nettles.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra:

Sent Knights Inquisitor to pursue those who let Aegon II escape the capital, and apparently the spikes on the gates started to be filled with more fresh heads each day.

Levied higher taxes on the peasants each day, turning them against her, especially when she planned lavish celebration to mark Joffrey as heir to the Iron Throne.

After the Two Betrayers burned Tumbleton, irrationally decided that the other two loyal dragonseeds were also going to betray her, so sent warrants for both their deaths. She even tortured her former father-in-law Corlys Velaryon because he’d helped Addam escape, making him defect to the Greens. Her warrant for Nettles’ death under guest right (a sacred custom) led both Lord Mooton and her husband chief supporter to turn on her as well.

Overthrown by the smallfolk and forced to fled King’s Landing after the Storming of the Dragonpit to Dragonstone.

Was betrayed at Dragonstone by a senior member of her garrison, her remaining knights killed. Eventually, Aegon fed her to his dragon Sunfyre, who ate her in 6 bites in front of her 10 years old son.

Side by side like this, there’s no comparison. Daemon despite being characterized as impulsive and ruthless, was able to win 3 victories with relatively little bloodshed, and gets a heroic and epic death (and he might still be alive!), killing a legendary dragon and the biggest threat to the Seven Kingdoms, saving the Riverlands from Aemond’s tyranny and ending his reign of terror, but abandoning the Black cause to save an innocent teenage girl. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra orders executions and high taxes and tortures, turns her biggest allies against her, is chased out of the city in 6 months, gets betrayed and eaten by a dragon (she’s definitely dead, since hundreds of people saw it). She doesn’t get a single success of her own (even Aegon managed that in getting Dragonstone to defect), while he gets several despite having someone kill a child. Caraxes is an “old, fast, clever dragon” who helps win Harrenhal without a fight and kill Vhagar, while Syrax is a lazy dragon who mainly exists to get Joffrey killed and then die in the dragonpit (even Sunfyre is better than her, essentially coming to Aegon’s rescue). It’s not necessarily that Rhaenyra’s cause fell apart when Daemon abandoned her (though considering how he’s made so epic it’s a blow), it’s that her irrational, tyrannical actions caused nearly everyone to abandon her. If she hadn’t issued the warrant for Addam and Nettles’ deaths based on nothing but paranoia, then Daemon and Corlys wouldn’t have betrayed her, and considering the Dragonpit would’ve still happened, she’d at least have 3 dragonriders plus the wealth/loyalty of Driftmark on her side. Daemon gets introduced as “made of lightness and darkness in equal parts” meanwhile Rhaenyra is written as one-sidedly incompetent and tyrannical (to the point that even Aegon outshines her sometimes, despite him also being astonishingly incompetent and psychotic). There’s no sense of balance to her, she does basically nothing but the wrong political moves, when she’s supposed to be the protagonist of this story.

[*EDITS* are dated in various posts of post]

"no sense of balance", this is a great criticism of bk!Rhaenyra, or rather the writing for her. finitefall wrote something about Rhaenyra's tyranny HERE, Watsonianly and Doylistically. But my answer will be long and maybe a tedious answer to you so ignore it when it gets dumb, anon. I'm shooting from the dome. There's no analysis happening in this post.

Essentially/To Summarize:

A)

Actually, Aegon was not as strategic as you think. No, he did not plan the Dragonstone fall or deliberate with anyone on how to seize it. that was done for him as much as Daemon taking Harrenhal for Rhaenyra was. And Rhaenyra had a set of circumstances that no other Targ monarch has had to face, not even Jaehaerys.

B)

However!!!! I have out of text v in-text critiques. Basically, as a Doylist argument, yeah I agree. In-text and if we take the story as is? I think it's to pull the these sides into the despair of war and highlight the irresponsibility of it falling here in the first place. Wars must be done for a good reason, not because you killed your sister's son and usurped her for power. Or that you pull your families into a war where they'll die and the realm will be plunged in with you. Yes, HotD had something to the whole "both sides", but not to the extent that they make it: why canon!Rhaenrya wars doesn't matter at all.

And GRRM could have done the above AND emphasize that this never should have happened if not by misogyny without falling back on sexist tropes himself. Which is why this isn't a feminist tale; not because Rhaenyra herself is or should be a feminist (that's impossible) NOR because Fire and Blood was mean to be a "anti-female ruler" sort of thing and this any events where Rhaenrya did ride on Syrax burning people or strategizing and working through her pain was deliberately left out (how can you hide that fact that Rhaenyra would have done the dragon burning at least?! Survivors are also giving testimony! By that argument, we can say it wasn't Baela who burned Aegon, it was some male dragonseed. Nah.)

It's not a feminist tale or even much of a pro woman one because GRRM had so many opportunities to showcase a woman actively participate in a war (in 2 different ways without her being a swordswoman or something like that: flaming bitches OR/AND strategy/tactics/logistics) she was using to reclaim her authority and position and power WHILE showing how Gyldayn's book tries to make her out to be incompetent or evil *[6/1/24]*(and yes real histiographies or versions have both recorded great things women have achieved as they also brought both unsubtle and subtle bad-faith criticisms for those same actions [post from poorshadowspaintedqueens])*[6/1/24], END*…but didn't.

*[11/26/24]* And there's something to that; kings and rulers in general -- after maybe the 14th - 16th centuries, and even then, eh -- were largely both advised and usually to not directly go to battle or fight themselves. They let their commanders and their commanders' soldiers and peons do that, for obvious reasons.

Rhaenyra, also, canonically does delegate when she needed to--issue here people love to bring up is whether the stuff she planned out or wanted done not panning out well for her were bc:

her fault due to lack of intelligence or privileged "laziness"

not her fault by lack of time or space to plan/her kids' dying having a huge mental toll on her impairing her ability to think more on what she had to do so that she ws relgated to making the simplest delegatory decisions

The issue here and that I think you bring up is that we're not even given one major thing that came from Rhaenyra herself or Rhaenyra was inspired to do that also well for her. *[11/26/24], END*

You can still tell the tale of how she became too paranoid and make a point of how the sexist writers saw this as female weakness by forcing them to record major events where she didn't do that but they had to record that anyway because it was so impactful on scale or effect. You can still make us witness her decline at her own hands or have her sons' deaths, one by one, affect her responses to specific events in the war. Make it so that the people around her were being shady and that's what encourages her paranoia to strengthen, that would be better. Make some sort of misunderstanding situation happen with most/if not all her supporters. Make Celtigar or Corlys do some questionable stuff or suspicious stuff (or seem like it, we don't know who's in the shadows trying to divide the blacks after all…) so she reasonably starts to suspect them and lose her trust in them, these men she has to sort of depend on to lead her armies and naval support and direct her funds, and then have some green strike in the moment of unpreparedness. Something!

Instead, canon!Rhaenyra's mental decline is too caricaturistic. *[6/1/24]*There are also some tiny saving graces (listed below, way below), but again, TINY.*[6/1/24], END*

I imagine that this is all the motive for why you and some people might prefer show!Rhaenyra and her going to participate directly in the war as we've been clued on. I'll first say that I get why people do for S2 Rhaenyra...not so much S1 her. HERE is why I prefer bkRhaenyra before Rhaenyra-w-a-Sword pooped up AND summarizing, bc the writing for her in the show is still bad and sexist, but worse because it denies the neutral/good parts of bk!Rhaenyra.

Still, Branwynhalfwitch of Twitter explains it better (S2 Rhaenyra, anticipation).

And your ask reminds me of this ASK/POST about the same issues with Rhaenyra's writing. That anon said what you describe:

I don’t get why Martin uses a mother’s grief so often as a convenient plot device to force passivity, silence and absence on his female characters to fit the requirements of the plot, why it’s always the women who break down, rend their garments and retreat from public life, whereas men react to similar tragedies with anger, pursuit of vengeance and singular political focus.

You:

It’s not necessarily that Rhaenyra’s cause fell apart when Daemon abandoned her (though considering how he’s made so epic it’s a blow), it’s that her irrational, tyrannical actions caused nearly everyone to abandon her. If she hadn’t issued the warrant for Addam and Nettles’ deaths based on nothing but paranoia, then Daemon and Corlys wouldn’t have betrayed her, and considering the Dragonpit would’ve still happened, she’d at least have 3 dragonriders plus the wealth/loyalty of Driftmark on her side. Daemon gets introduced as “made of lightness and darkness in equal parts” meanwhile Rhaenyra is written as one-sidedly incompetent and tyrannical (to the point that even Aegon outshines her sometimes, despite him also being astonishingly incompetent and psychotic). There’s no sense of balance to her, she does basically nothing but the wrong political moves, when she’s supposed to be the protagonist of this story. Rhaenyra is written as one-sidedly incompetent and tyrannical (to the point that even Aegon outshines her sometimes, despite him also being astonishingly incompetent and psychotic.

You're right, it's very Daemon-forward. Don't get me wrong, I see his value for Rhaenyra, but if you're going to write about a woman...write about her and don't let her fall completely to the interpretations of the writers against her when everyone else gets more story than her in her own war. IF you're going to make it about her trying to reclaim her birthright, make her decline much more organic, the pressure on her mind must be more gradual and sensical, and not immediately make her fold under pressure or death of sons. Because yes, mothers/women can think through their pain as Daemon did. Like in that other ask I likened your ask to, there are legends of women like that Sforza woman and Olga of Kiev putting their kids in safer but still active positions to participate in war so they them selves can then take over the war proceedings as unofficial head. Rhaenyra is the actual head of her side, with Daemon as her commander on the ground...so let her do something and colloborate! (By legend/history, Olga had her son throw a spear to signal the beginning of a war she wanted to wage, bc only the male monarch could to officially begin a war). Yeah-ish, not every woman, "realistically", can do something like that but this is fiction and again, in the story about a woman trying to take back her power through a war...do not undermine that point of her trying to defend herself by making her not defend herself, only to drive how wrong it was to usurp her through how her kids live with trauma the rest of their lives and "make up" for it by having the Targs descend from her. There's a difference b/t a woman herself gaining wins/trying her best for herself and her propagating "winners" eventually. (Talking about Aegon V and Dany mostly).

It strengthens the impression of high femme-in-presenting people unable to do the "hard"/big man stuff. It solidifies the whole medieval "women can't do war, that's why they aren't leaders" even as you try to say that Rhaenyra's grief this, Rhaenyra's miscarriage that, bc you're clearly creating reasons for why she will sit out when you do have the option of not doing so, as a writer.

It'd have been more meaningful to have Rhaenyra flout that medieval binarism by at least doing logistics or tactical stuff: oh, she may not be a warrior, but she impacts their moves by reviewing the battlefield or thinking up ways to replenish supplies for their armies or ways to infiltrate this castle and that castle, etc.

And have her burn a few soldiers, come in and do a "save the day" in that battle without necessarily having her swing a sword. She already sort of does flout the binary a little by being a dragonriding princess, in the Andal ideology of masc vs femme---like Branwynhalfwitch of Twitter says, lean on that fact that she is a dragonrider!

Why all this hype about her being the youngest rider to have bonded with a dragon if you're not going to allow her to really use said dragon to reestablish her political power?

Out-of-text: Lately I've gotten more frustrated by a lot of this. Yeah...I know I said once or twice that we as the readers, can still draw significance in how Rhaenyra's supposed mediocrity vs Aegon's craziness shows ever more the point of how sexism makes a mid/good woman undeserving in the face of any mid/evil/incompetent man but GRRM not giving Rhaenyra at least one self-generated strategy plan is more than annoying. It helps to make more substantial this "rational man" v "irrational woman" trope we're all done with because it make women way too passive in a story that's supposed to be their own. She is still the protagonist, just a not-well written one.

A better female character GRRM wrote in F&B is either Rhaena (Dreamfyre's rider, daughter of Queen Alyssa Velaryon and Aenys I) and perhaps Queen Alyssa Velaryon. Maybe Alysanne. The best is Rhaena, though. I wrote at least two posts back to back defending her AND made a 3 "volume" maybe 20 video series on TikTok...this girl is my babe.

I resent GRRM for the circle of "reasoning" I'm about to put you through.

Like I mention below abt Aegon at Dragonstone, Aegon "outshines" her in more crazy than genius or rational-ness. He actually never acts rationally. Like at all. So ironically, we got them similar in that aspect. Aegon was also, unlike Daemon, separated his whole life from that. Aegon is not and was never known for being the swordsguy/warrior his brother was. He was mentally and physically unprepared for war.

I believe GRRM's intent was to have Rhaenyra--who actually ruled Dragonstone for years and sat at council with Viserys and his councilmen for years listening and maybe giving suggestions/learning-- still was so separated from the face of violence and death to those closest to her, that she "lost" her will to meet her odds for a time when her Luke died. Why not Visenya? She lost not one but two, ad so she breaks down. But that's so...flaccid(?) to me, too. It's like he's saying that she "lost" herself or some faith there. Paralyzed by the realities of war and choosing to go to war. So both her and Aegon had been living in the lap of aristocratic wealth it seems, but then it also seems like Rhaenrya had a leg up on Aegon by having been an active ruler on Dragonstone....but then he doesn't take advantage of that one element of potential for Rhaenyra, that one advantage...why? Perhaps someone better at this can explain, I'm tearing my hair out!

By contrast, Daemon had experience and lived in with the possibility of his loved ones dying AND went to war in the Stepstones for years.

The arguments for why Rhaenyra's "deserving" to rule being relegated to how incompetently she acts in the war--like I've said in other posts--gets easily confused for she must actively fight in battle to be considered a good leader...which is exactly the sort of medieval thinking that argued femininity is itself an anthesis to war-faring, militancy, and leading; and we modern Americans and other Western nations don't even practice for leaders. Our president doesn't go travel to fight beside the troops, not even in airplanes. Should they start? That's a good question.

Anyway, I get reluctant to question GRRM's thinking here just bc it's so...dumb?

At the same time, I also truly think that Rhaenyra's "arc" and decline into paranoia does have a potentially interesting journey and that it began with her rivalry with Alicent, from the age of at least 12 if not when Aegon is born which when she is 9-10. What effect would Alicent's turning the court against her and trying to mentally tear her down have on a child growing up expected to also have to be queen? How did that look and turn into how she interacted with the men in her life--father, uncle, brothers, husbands....and the women/girls in her retinue, how did she really feel about them and why? We know the women were loyal more or less. How susceptible did her childhood make her to manipulation from men, where/when/with who did she draw lines/why? It's that GRRM also didn't get into how Rhaenyra may have developed an ever-present insecurity alongside and motivating her need to stand up for herself that grew and worsened with the first few disasters of the war...BUT HE FUCKING WASTED IT!!!

Yes, this is a history book with unreliable sources determined to paint female ruler=bad for stability, but they'd be forced or compelled to at least write a few achievements or two. If you're so attached to this concept and refuse to divulge this girls' thoughts through a fucking letter or journal entry or excerpts of such or something of reflection and thoughts of the moment that reveal character like with Daemon and Otto's letters in the Rouge Prince AND one, just ONE tactic she made up on her own during the war...preferably two. I wouldn't remove her grief and the paranoia entirely. (And I'm not necessarily talking altruistic; Rhaenyra is not and never was that. Just bc you maybe a little clever, doesn't mean you're nice or compassionate.)...You may question, why not Rhaena BB then, instead of Rhaenyra? Well, tbh I much prefer if we somehow got this for every single Targ, attached to every history book, alongside how the maesters interpreted those writings so we got meta-on-meta. Its just richer that way, more engaging. And each character would have still given a voice...after all why describe Daemon's actions in such unrealistic detail if you're goin that far? But alas. Maybe it's a bad or even worse idea, but I'm spitballing.

(Ironically, a lot like how HotD does with some of their own changes or tweaks, like Helaena being a dreamer, which makes me want to compare the two)

Levied higher taxes on the peasants each day, turning them against her, especially when she planned lavish celebration to mark Joffrey as heir to the Iron Throne.

Every bullet point aside from the Nettles one are things I don't really begrudge Rhaenyra for, but I do question why GRRM really made her so sheltered(?) isn't the right word but he made her not try. And with each point, why he decided to give her so much at once but not come up with one good plan that soiled anyway? Or is that sexist? Again, she ruled Dragonstone and sat at council for years....where's all that acumen and experience now?

I honestly don't know what I would have done to replenish the treasury after my wicked half brother and his cronies stole it without putting taxes on people if I have been born high classed. I wouldn't execute people at such alarming rates and I think I'd have a smaller investiture ceremony for my "Joffrey". But I don't know what I'd do. Can't go to the Triarchy bec they just killed one of my kids (Jace), wouldn't trust me, and don't really exist as a unified until anymore, less interested in Westerosi affairs after that. The Hightower armies are in the Reach and parts of the riverlands preventing aid from coming in. Cregan Stark is not due until my own death. So I have but my own funds from Dragonstone and my allies' funds. And you can't demand they fork over $ or you risk losing more allies that way.

I suppose that was what GRRM's job was.

Some posts I wrote about this problem, Watsonianly, so don't come for me:

Basically, GRRM also maybe trying to make her one tragic flaw her need to self determing in the face of people acting/telling her she doesn't deserve power bc she is female.

Excerpt:

Doylistically, Rhaenyra's lack of "focus" (not to be that Try Guy) on what would happen after Viserys died can be attributed to GRRM just wanting her to be at a huge disadvantage at the beginning of the war, for that effect of off-kilterness and foreshadowing things never being the same again after 10 years of peace and presumed happiness with Daemon and her kids. However, writing this error -- without providing any sort of other reason other than she made Dragonstone her home -- does still belies her intelligence, or at least sacrifices that for that effect described. Because she had 10 or so years to contemplate the aftermath of her father's death. *EDIT (8/21/23) *And perhaps he did that on purpose to highlight how misogyny doesn't care what kind of person a woman is so much as it tries to reshape her into an evil being needing destroying so she could become the reason why women, in general, shouldn't rule and "disturb" the "natural" order of male rule. *END OF EDIT*

Others:

Some other saving graces:

A) *[6/1/24]*

Rosby and Stokeworth was an issue that I don't think that most women in Rhaenyra's shoes (from this world) could have have avoided without losing important things. It's a thing that reflects what real life Queen regnants also had to sometimes deal with when persuading men who lead their various martial units, provided supplies, aided in coups [Catherine the Great], etc. Against the concerted efforts of several camps (men and the women who lead armies on behalf of close male relatives) to prevent a woman from claiming power in her own right, the same power-claiming woman needs more than herself and a few other relatives to assure she gets the throne/seat/privilege, etc. Corlys is a sign of that very thing--he twice tells Rhaenrya that if she were to go by Daemon's suggestions of giving Ulf & Hugh any dead noble's (rightfully executed or not) past holdings and titles, the other lords wouldn't likely stand for it:

("Rhaenyra Triumphant") -- First Incident (Not Rosby & Stokeworth)

("Rhaenyra Triumphant") -- Second Incident (Rosby & Stokeworth)

Corlys held her naval support. And while yes for the sake pf setting a precedent of girls becoming lady regnants of houses or being considered as possible, more viable heirs, Rhaenyra ALSO has to measure if she can keep those supporting her to destroy the obstacles in her way so she can ascend and set that prime precedent of female rule. She can't do that if she doesn't win.

If she chose to have these girls become the ladies of their houses, it could have alienated some of the lords she needed to stick with her and support her during an ongoing war. With Daeron-the Hightowers and their army doing well against their own soldiers outside of the city. And she denied Ulf and Hugh the Baratheon/Lannister holdings (correctly) in the next black council when they deliberated how to deal with her brothers, Alicent & Helaena, and those who helped the greens usurp her. She measured the high risks and decided it was way too big in lieu of her other circumstances. (We don't get how she herself felt about it, bc no letters, journal entries, self-reminders, no notes...)

The bulk of her argument for being queen was that the past King/monarch chose her, not that her womanness made her a needed ruler. This is our/the reader's argument. What about the person who must do the actual thing of becoming the precedent, though? There are still material steps to be made towards that. While I would love to see a woman choose to take on that risk, I understand it as the risk it is, what world she grew up in, her limitations, etc.

As Rhaena the Black Bride/Dreamfyre's rider could have been much "nicer" to her kids, she wasn't because of extentuating circumstances--where her own family isolated her despite how they essentially made sure she herself couldn't ascend, how she already proved her loyalties, how she was abandoned by her mother, and how she endured Maegor raping her. Rhaena, who also faced patriarchal violence and is blamed for not "rising above it" by fans. Rhaena is better written--her psychological distress much more comes across as organic bc: the distress does that stop her from seeking and achieving revenge against Androw Farman and even Maegor in various ways and levels and it doesn't or stop her from actively trying and sometimes succeeding in making her and her kids' situations better--but this one element of being trapped in the world you are born into with limited options holds true for Rhaenyura. At least with Rosby/Stokeworth and how she intended to deal with her brothers/their supporters.

And the pressure, again, of the stolen treasury, threat of her brothers still out there, two sons dead violently and her unable to bury either of them. Everything of this happening all at once...I maintain that it would have raised more faith if GRRM made her do the Dragonseed bit herself or more events where she took the lead, but that doesn't mean that since she is the final decision maker that we/GRRM should totally erase how this would cause more of a mental toll on her versus Daemon or Corlys. It's just that he refused to write more events showcasing Rhaneyra's getting back into the "game", so to speak. To show any trace of the clued education and resilience SOONER and MORE OFTEN before Jace dies. Those things that he himself clued us in on from the pre-war era, in favor of letting his male characters shine.

Still, Rosby and Stokeworth was an actually difficult conundrum of a rock and a hard place.

*[6/1/24], END*

B)

and he might still be alive!

That's more legend/fandom wishful thinking. He's definitely not alive. But yeah, he's male and an active one in the war so he gets a legend.

Why don't Visenya, Rhaenya and Alysanne all get "legends" of their own? Because Visenya and Rhaena conquered Westeros w/Aegon while acting as pseudo-Queen Regents/Regnants, apssing laws in the realm they constructed. Instead of just being his consorts. As his consort, Jaehaerys I allowed Alysanne to give suggestions and critiques, but she never actually made or passed or enforced laws; while without her many laws wouldn't have been made or they wouldn't have been abolished, she is also still Jaehaerys' consort without any "hard" political power required to directly change structures in Westeros without having to persuade Jaehaerys to do so. It's part of the decline of female non-militant autonomy and direct authority (which came with the Targ assimilation into the comparatively more violent, abusive, and restrictive Andal patriarchy) that was beginning to rise again with Rhaenrya becoming heir and given that male-designated power...until she's usurped.

C)

even Aegon managed that in getting Dragonstone to defect

However, anon, Aegon actually didn't accomplish the Dragonstone thing. There is no indication that he orchestrated or planned in detail how to take Dragonstone. That was Larys and the men who actually took it for Aegon while he sat up in the cliffs of Dragonstone. ("Rhaenyra Overthrown"):

And the only other moment where one could say he displayed some leadership--Rook's Rest--when he decided to fight on dragonback, it was a terrible plan he ended up flamebroiled, which shows how Rhaenyra was better staying out of the battle not already being battle trained herself. Again, we have no indication that Aegon was much of a warrior, like how Viserys was not and Daemon was. Because he rushed too much and wanted to hammer his opponents out of aggreived impatience, partially due to his son getting killed and more so because his ego needed him to show how he can beat the other side and annihilate them. He loses his temper several times at Otto until he dismisses him for Cole's more aggressive approach ("The Red Dragon and the Gold"):

D)

Caraxes is an “old, fast, clever dragon” who helps win Harrenhal without a fight and kill Vhagar, while Syrax is a lazy dragon who mainly exists to get Joffrey killed and then die in the dragonpit (even Sunfyre is better than her, essentially coming to Aegon’s rescue)

Some theorize that Syrax actually shows what happens when you domesticate your dragons or force them into enclosed spaces for long periods of time. But this sentence and other indications that. Plot-wise, it certainly looks like Syrax is completely useless and yet ("The Blacks and the Greens"):

“That makes four dragons of fighting size,” said Rhaenys. Queen Helaena’s twins had their own dragons too, but no more than hatchlings; the usurper’s youngest son, Maelor, was possessed only of an egg. Against that, Prince Daemon had Caraxes and Princess Rhaenyra Syrax, both huge and formidable beasts.

AND

Where's she planned to be a part of at least the KL takeover and ambush if not be the last point of a line of dragons bc the monarch must always be protected...but GRRM makes it so Rhaenyra hangs back for some woman-specific physical reason or other: recovery from miscarriage AND grief or just her anxiety over her sons' deaths.

And Syrax lays many, many eggs that are stored for future Targs--more than other female dragons have been known to. I wouldn't call her completely "useless", it's that she wasn't used for war -- against, that maternal element that feels insufficient for wartime, at least as the only thing she's doing for the blacks.

("A Question of Succession"):

AND

("The Blacks and the Greens")

On the one hand, yay, more dragons and the symbolism of fertility and women being the center of Targaryen magic and prosperity and Rhaenyra is very happy to birth her final two boys and she wanted her Visenya. All definite heirs to the dynasty...

On the other, it seems as if GRRM is also maintaining a binary between female reproductive labor vs masculinized military labor (not just swordwork but tactical, strategy, logistics, etc.). Canon!Rhaenyra is what I've called "high-femme" in presentation and lack of knowledge of how to confront through arms (swords, bow-and-arrow, basically anything physical and war-related). I've also often said that Rhaenyra is not and never will be Daenerys Stormborn, who has many gender subversions without being very "tomboy". Like Arya (no, bk Arya is actually interested in "femme" stuff, it's that she's teased and discouraged bc she doesn't act "ladylike" in the Westerosi paradigm of aristocratic femininity). She doesn't have the same sort of background nor the compassion as either of these two, but does have the backbone to not succumb to other's calls for her to give up something they do not think she deserves due to her gender--in the beginning of her life, events before Lucerys' death, and then when she gets to KL onwards. Daenerys is way more complex and interesting, but if anything this is the only thing I can think of that these two women share and it's very important still. (Even though Dany's not a woman-woman.)

And it presents the question of why GRRM didn't allow Rhaenyra to do both and present more to do with her but make her just fail because of very unlucky shit other than the KL stuff? Like her make her strategic, but luck or the green counteract and got the better of her...because it is a fact that she has to die in some way. Not only that, she has to die/lose partly by her own hand, which she does by not getting a handle on the paranoia that's been accruing since childhood (yes) and relying on her class to carry her in a way where it opposes Dany and Nettles' ingenuity and understanding of dragon bonding. But again, that sort of mania, level of loss of senses, and how its used in the story to disable her from participating in some way in her own cause is...crazy and a cheap and sexist shot to make her fall by her own hand. Making her lose all her sons within a short time is dramatic and expressive of the horror of this particular war...you couldn't do that by giving more to your female protagonist things to do as you kill off her kids?!

I'm actually fine that Rhaenyra doesn't directly participate in war-faring as Visenya or Rhaenys or how Daenerys inevitably will--not every person is a warrior or can be, to enact great positive change. Like Daeron II & Alysanne (Alysanne may or may not be a good example bc she may have been discouraged from using Silverwing for that, but we don't see her confronted with this possibility behind closed doors, so...). Not everyone can/should be a swordsperson, archer, etc. What happens when you were not trained in these things, should you be considered "useless"? Or what if you simply weren't good at it?

*[6/22/24]* But she could OR she could have in strategy or logistics or something. But it's like because she doesn't have those of her body with her anymore, her mind must go as well? It's not even that she became "crazy" at the very end so much as she became paranoid and I'm sure that the impression of her going "crazy" was manufactured subtly by Gyldayn...but GRRM couldn't have given Rhaenrya more of a material reason to suspect those around her and not diffrentiate Ulf/Hugh from Addam/Alyn Velaryon/Nettles?! Bc in our eyes and observations, the Velaryons and Nettles' loyalties are undoubtable and she also had some moments of quiet to try to gather herself while at KL to even be a part of many councils and make decisions she had the capacity to think..., so why does Rhaenyra so easily suspect them even with the hanging deaths of her kids over her head? This is still a fictional piece of work; GRRM had options and we know he's creative enough. How this is all written without even a rumor of how Rhaenyra reasoned more Dragonseeds would betray her, unless this is just lost to history AND it is Gyldayn/other maesters before him doing dirty work?

Perhaps this is another reason why I really don't mind a little rewrite here for Rhaenyra, as long as it's written well and I don't trust these writers of HotD for a sec to provide a nonsexist reason for her turning on the Dragonseeds. *[6/22/24], END*

And then there's the definition of a warrior to be discussed: Rhaenys the Conqueror was still war-faring on Meraxes, Meraxes was her war device as much as Vhagar and Balerion were for the sword-wielding other two. It is Andal parameters of "warrior" that has labeled Rhaenys as not one even as she, on a dragon, burnt people at the Field of Fire. Do we not consider Air Force to be "warriors"--well Americans and those in the military have a weird thing about Air Force vs Marines vs yada yada, but again that might (probably) be patriarchy at work. Either way, in this case, yes Rhaenyra could have at least done the Rhaenys thing and stayed on Syrax burning people alive. So I fine with this happening on HotD as well. There's interesting commentary to come from that that GRRM refused to indulge.

Honestly, I don't know. To me it has to do with what the former brideoffires/Twitter's danylanzhou has said about Nettles and Dany, how Rhaenrya did not have what they describe and how GRRM actually went way too hard in the paint for that. but that's as much as I can say.

Do any if these graces make her a more active OR complex/interesting character to read as we are given? Not really. Again, not without PoV chapters or at the very least letter or journals or something(s) she wrote for reflection if she was ever interested in that, IF GRRM just refused to just give her more stuff to do. It's as disappointing as when some Shakespeare fans describe their extreme disappointment with how Merchant of Venice contradicts his other play's wittier and more...compassionate(?) tend to be.

I also still don't like and will never like HotD's Rhaenyra bc they also simply have not developed her with the money they had before the strikes. And now with this DV shit, I definitely will never like the writing for her...because how the fuck is she so determined but performs no domestic power against Daemon after ruling Dragonstone for years?!!! How is this "better" and not more sexist than canon?! [@rhaenin-time's post HERE]

So yeah, in this way, HotD is just following GRRM's lead...while not at the same time.

[mikitheswiftie]

Aemond: We have being walking in circles! I have seen that same peasant five times!

Aegon: That’s not the same peasant.

Peasant: Yes, I am.

Aemond: See, he knows that we are lost.

Aegon: Oh sure, listen to a peasant over your own brother 🙄

[navree]

"can we stop pretending the evil stepmother trope is bad and boring" oh my FUCKING GOD just reread the book!!!! just reread the fucking book!!!!!! if you want the book canon so bad it's right there, go read it!!!!! you've got to have it in your possession since you talk about it all the fucking time and i'd be astounded if someone this fucking pressed hasn't actually read it!!!!!! the change to rhaenyra and alicent's relationship has been known since they first cast the fucking show!!!!! it's been there since episode one!!!!!!! if you don't like it don't watch the show and just REREAD THE FUCKING BOOK!!!!!!

[princesssszzzz]

Gentle Targaryens; People actually wanted them to rule, the Prince and Princess Diana of Westeros. The way their personalities are so different from their family

“Others, who believed Aegon II to be dead, wished Daeron to be crowned king”

“....Rhaena would make a splendid Queen”

“When Hugh declared that he should become king, Daeron threw wine in his face”

“Rhaena was reunited with her sister Baela, and the pair became the darlings of the city overnight.”

Rhaena of Pentos // Daeron the Daring

[fstbmp-a]

Fun fact, I was going to make Sol's "power concept" be Dreams and then Dream Team got announced; which naturally heavily dissuaded me from doing that. Canon continues to grab me by the throat the second I think of smth, huh?

But I might follow through on that idea anyways out of pure spite since it's a good parallel to the others I have.

[dragonballsitcom]

We're lost. Why did you let me chase a waterfall? You know what TLC says.

-Gohan at some point

[tolstoys-nemesis]

"but it wasn't like this in the books" and is the single (1) book used as direct source material (that you've definitely read) in the room with us now?

[troublesomesnitch]

Meeting Vhagar - Drabble

Aemond x Wife!Reader

Much to your dismay, Prince Aemond insists on bringing your little son to Vhagar. Set sometime during the Dance.

Contents: Just a little practice thing... Dad!Aemond, Targaryen parenting, subtle fluff. Little bit of subtle angst too. No filth this time..

Words: 3000, and very sloppily proof read.

The carriage can only take you so far as to the Iron Gate. 

Beyond its massive doors, the Rosby Road winds North, poorly maintained and full of potholes, as it is the shortest of the main roads, and thus the least important. It is not as busy as others, and the gate is not guarded as well - clearly, as the men who should be protecting it are presently engaged in a game of cards, laid out on top of a large, flat rock.

That is where the driver will wait, but it is not your destination. 

There is another little trail. One that runs in the opposite direction, scarcely used and partially hidden, visible only to those who know it. No horse or wagon can make the journey, and there is no option but to walk - first along a narrow, trodden path, and then further still, down treacherous steps, carved into the very rock the city rests upon. Past the watchtower, and across the Northern beach, to the vast caves of Maegor the Cruel, where Vhagar has made her nest.

You walk alone, just the two of you. The prince in his coat and boots, and yourself in attire much less suited for the occasion. Fine shoes, fine skirts, and with your little son cradled in your arms. 

The gentle rocking of the carriage has lulled him to sleep. Four months old, he is, and a source of such joy that your poor heart can scarcely contain it. From his first high-pitched cry when you brought him into the world - oh, the pains of labour were all but forgotten, as was the threat of the raging war. And when the prince came to see his son, you could hardly even bear to let him hold him. 

He wanted to bring the boy much sooner, but both you and the dowager queen staunchly put your foot down against that. Children should not be brought outside the home until they have at least lived through the first perilous weeks, and possibly even their first fever. And even then, most would argue, they have no business being around ferocious animals. 

“I don’t like it,” you say, for the umpteenth time, taking the hand offered to you by the prince to help you cross a treacherous stretch. “It is mad, bringing an infant to such a beast - ” 

“Vhagar should know him,” he says, steadfast and determined. As he has done whenever you voiced your concern. 

It does nothing at all to calm your nerves. But it is his most compelling argument, and the only reason you have allowed this lunacy in the first place. So the dragon would recognise the boy as his, and as one of her own. So she would know to protect him, if - something should happen. 

You make it halfway across the pebbled beach before the prince pauses. And you do too, lifting your gaze to follow his line of sight; see what he is looking at. 

An enormous, greyish mass, some yards away, that at first you thought was a moss-grown rock, or years of washed up seaweed. But the mass makes a rumbling noise and begins to shift and lift itself, slowly and carefully, as though with much effort. Part of it becomes a leg, another part unfurls into a great wing, and the rock nearest to you becomes a head, with a mouth full of jagged teeth, and two eyes opening slowly. Amber in colour, and with slitted pupils staring straight at you. 

“She can sense me,” the prince declares, with no small amount of pride, lifting his chin and straightening his back. 

You, however, are paralysed, utterly shocked by her vastness. You have never seen Vhagar this close before, and though you knew of her impressive size, it is one thing to see her soaring across the sky, and quite another to be right next to her, unprotected and vulnerable.

It seems to you that the span of her wings could cover half the city, that entire buildings could fit in her mouth. And certainly, she could end all three of you with her fiery breath, or with a single swipe of her claw or her massive tail. One wrong move, even if accidental, even if she did not mean to - you would all be dead. 

“Come,” the prince says, pushing at the small of your back. But you stall, digging in your heels, frozen in place at the sight of her. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” you stammer. “We should go back - it is not safe…”

The prince gives an overbearing, if somewhat irritated sigh. 

“Dragons are loyal beasts,” he reassures. “Vhagar is loyal to me, she obeys me - ”

“She is a beast,” you hiss, hugging your drowsy son closer to your chest. “She cannot be trusted. It is too dangerous - I won’t let you bring him any closer - ”

Prince Aemond does not like to be challenged. He turns around to look at you coolly, his voice low and scornful as he speaks. 

“Is your opinion of me so unfavourable, wife, that you think I would risk harm to my own son?”

“No,” you respond, quietly, but truthfully. Since you were married, your opinion of the prince has only risen, slowly but surely. And it continues to do so, still - though perhaps not right now. “I don’t like it - ”

“Mhm - so you said,” your husband says dryly, all but wrenching the swaddled boy from your arms. 

He does not complain, the boy. Prince Aemond comes to visit often, at least once a day, and sometimes more. He sits with the child, reads to him, lets him fall asleep in his arms - not for very long each time, but it is at least enough for the little boy to recognise his father’s low voice and stern face as something safe and comfortable. As is evident from the way he now settles against the prince’s leather-clad chest, tangling his little fist into a lock of his hair. 

The beast remains still, pensive as her rider approaches, her serpent’s eyes fixed on the thing in his arms, on what he is bringing her. Your most precious treasure, your life’s very purpose, completely at the mercy of the greatest dragon in the world. 

You might have felt more at ease if the soft, sparse hair on his head had been silver like his father’s, but alas, it is not. It is exactly like yours, and only the bright violet of his eyes gives away his true inheritance. 

And that seems like too little a thing for such a large creature to notice. 

Prince Aemond calls out in that strange language of his, with the open vowels and the rolling R’s. It is beautiful, especially in his mouth, and the dragon responds at once, contorting herself to let him touch her wrinkled neck with affection. Which is a strange sight, but what is even stranger is the way she grumbles - as though she likes it. He speaks to her as if she was another person, in long, full sentences that are much too complicated for you to even attempt to understand. There is only one word you can make out, for the sole reason that he says it twice - yoreliatzeh, or yorelatzya, or something akin to that. You haven’t a clue as to what it means. 

Vhagar snorts once, and the prince steps back to give her room to move, to rise up onto her legs and bring her head closer, her nose almost touching his hip. While you stand at a distance, staring at the utterly bizarre scene playing out in front of you. A fearsome, vicious beast, sniffing the child like a dog would. Gently and carefully, only she is so big that each of her cautious breaths is like a small gust of wind, making your husband’s hair billow about his face. When she makes a grunting noise, he carefully unwraps some of the swaddlings, holding the child up to let her see him better, smell him better. 

He is bright, your darling boy, and curious, like all babes and children. His eyes are wide as they take in Vhagar’s scaly form, and he gives a soft squeal of surprise or wonder, kicking his little feet under the blankets. Reaching his arm towards the beast's massive head, her massive teeth -

“Aemond, please - ” you gasp, clutching your hands to your throat. 

The prince turns his head to give you a stern look, one that clearly shows he is running out of patience. And maybe this time it is justified, because your fearful outburst startles the boy, who begins to squirm unhappily in his father’s arms. Fussing and whimpering; a sound that is as painful to you as salt to an open wound. 

“Bring him to me,” you plead, “can’t you see that he is frightened - ” 

“He is frightened because you are frightened,” the prince says, as soft spoken as always, but with a hint of something sharp underneath.

He cradles the boy closer to his chest, bouncing him gently, holding his head and murmuring soothing words. Exactly as you would do, and to the same effect. It calms him down, and his big, round eyes start darting around again, taking in his surroundings. The dragon, the grey sea, the fine silver clasps on his father’s clothes. It does seem that the latter intrigues him the most. 

Vhagar lifts her neck and tilts her head just slightly, seemingly very interested in the child, in this tiny little creature; the way he moves his little limbs, and his soft coos and noises. There is an almost… thoughtful look in her eyes, or at the very least a curious one. 

It makes you wonder about the extent of her perception. Whether she truly knows that this is Aemond’s child, that it came from him, from his body, his flesh. If she can sense it somehow, through the bond they purportedly share, or if she understood it when he spoke to her. 

How intelligent is a dragon? Are they like dogs or horses, able to learn the meaning of certain words, but not the full breadth of language? Or do they think as people, with nuance and emotion, and a mind as vivid as your own. 

You do not know. You suppose no one really does. 

“Come,” the prince calls, reaching his arm towards you, beckoning you closer. However, a single glance at Vhagar, whose mighty gaze is now focused on you, is enough to inspire disobedience in even the most well-behaved wife.

“I would really rather not - ”

“She must know the both of you,” he insists. 

“Is that - necessary?” you squirm, wringing your hands, very much aware that you are not a dragon rider, that you haven’t a drop of Valyrian blood. “Vhagar has no reason to think fondly of me…”

The prince scoffs. 

“Are you not the mother of my child?” he says. “Now, come.” 

You must go to him. He is your lord husband, and he is a prince, and such is the way of things. But you are not at all glad to, and you walk with shaky, reluctant steps, gripping onto his elbow and cowering behind him like a frightened child. 

You close your eyes when the dragon lowers her head once more, bringing it towards you. A sudden, low-pitched growl makes your heart tremble, but the prince speaks a soft command. Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī.

It has a calming effect on you too. As does the arm he keeps outstretched in front of you - solely for your comfort, you assume, as it would make no difference whatsoever, should Vhagar decide that she does not like you. But you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The air is warm, this close to her, and your skirts move around your legs when she breathes, slowly and deeply, while the prince speaks to her in soft tones. That word again, the one from before, and many others. You know the words for wife, for king, for father, brother, sister, even for dragon, but he says none of those now, so you have no guess as to what he is telling her. Or if she understands. Or what he would call you, if not his wife. 

This woman is my - spouse? lady? lover?

You do have a kind of love for him, and sometimes you think he does for you, too. Sometimes. One can never be sure of anything with the prince, who keeps himself so closely guarded. Even after more than a year of marriage. Even now that you have given him a child. 

The birth went mercifully well, but your recovery was long, and he has only recently begun to come to your bed again. And so far, only a handful of times. The first time, it was so painful for you that the act could not be completed, and the second time, he finished so quickly that it barely even counts. The third was better. Pleasurable for both of you, but still strange after going so long without it - at least for you. It is both likely and possible that the prince satisfied his urges elsewhere while your body was indisposed. You do not know. Nor do you wish to. 

The ground shifts beneath your feet, and the heat around you lessens, as does the heavy smell of burned flesh and brimstone, the very same one that so often clings to your husband’s clothes. When you open your eyes it is to the sight of Vhagar, settled onto her belly, her head laid atop her claws. Calm and docile, and with a deep rumble coming from her chest - one that is probably a sign of contentment, even if it sounds utterly terrifying. 

“Touch her,” the prince commands, giving a gentle push to your back. “You have nothing to fear, touch her.” 

It is quite clear that Vhagar is unruffled by your presence, that she is resting. But with her eyes heavy and half-closed, it makes her look so menacing, so evil - even though you know that evil does not exist inherently in any beast. Only in those who train it. 

You draw in a steadying breath, gathering up your courage, reaching your hand out - only to then think better of it and let it fall. 

“I am afraid to,” you whisper.

The prince sighs. But his hand closes gently around yours, bringing it to rest on the side of her nose, first the tips of your fingers, and then your whole palm. 

It is like nothing else you have ever felt, her scales. You always imagined that a dragon’s skin would feel like leather, but Vhagar’s skin is so much tougher, so much rougher, like running your hand over little rocks. And she is warm - so warm, as though a fire is always burning somewhere in her throat. 

She does not object at all to your touch, even when the prince withdraws his own hand, leaving only yours. Only you and Vhagar. The largest, oldest being in the world. 

To think, the things she has seen. The conquest, the Dornish Wars, the very founding of the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. Dozens of castles have crumbled in her fire, and thousands of people have perished, and she has fought and won hundreds of battles; torn through stone, rock and earth as though it was boiled jelly. 

It is at once terrifying and romantic, like something from a fairytale, or stories of ancient times. A creature of such myth and legend that you almost feel as though you should bow down to her, as one does before a great matriarch.

Vhagar the Conqueror. Queen of all Dragons. 

She closes her eyes when you draw back. 

“He might ride her too, some day,” the prince says quietly. Wistfully. 

“But dragons only have one rider - ” you protest, cutting yourself off when you realise what he meant. What he left unsaid. 

This is war. The realm is at war. Death is everywhere; at the end of a blade, in the point of an arrow. And if not on the field of battle, then in tainted water or plague-ridden camps; empty bellies or festering wounds.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” you mutter, looking down at your feet. Your dirtied shoes. 

The prince does not answer. A heavy mood has settled over the rocky beach, something vast and bleak and empty, only compounded by the surroundings. The colourless sky, the sombre crashing of waves. Even Vhagar gives a doleful sigh, as though she too is weary of what is to come.

She has been the prince’s companion since childhood. He was born to the queen, but Vhagar made him what he is, made him ruthless, made him brutally ambitious. Made him Aemond One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer. Prince Regent, Protector of the Realm. She has known him boy and man, as well as any, and better than most. She has known him in life, and she may yet know him in death.

You push that thought away as forcefully as your mind allows. You shouldn’t think such things. 

A coo from your son breaks the tension, and his eyes turn to the sky, where a large heron is flapping its wings. The afternoon is turning to evening, and soon the bell will ring for supper - something warm and comforting, you hope. You are cold, your breasts feel sore, and you have most certainly had enough excitement for one day. For several days, in fact.

“Can we go, please,” you breathe, looking up at your husband with wide, pleading eyes. 

“She is tired,” he says, with a soft glance at Vhagar’s terrifying face, and a gentle touch to her side. “Yes, we should.”

—

You walk slower on the way back. Uphill, with sore feet, and your boy now fast asleep in your arms. Safe and snug where he belongs. 

“My Prince,” you begin, sweet and innocent. “What does… yoreliatzeh mean?”

There is a sly little smile on his face when you look at him, a self-assured look in his remaining eye.

“Jorrāeliarza,” he corrects, with an artful pause before he continues. As though to keep you in suspense. “It means dear. Or… beloved.”

If he sees the sudden blush on your face, he does not let on. 

“Jorālitzeh.”

“No,” he says. “Jor-rāe-liar-za.”

“Jor-rāe-liar-za,” you repeat, trying your very best to mimic the exact movements of his mouth, the way he gently rolls his tongue. “Jorrāeliarza.”

“Better,” he nods, and then you round a corner, just in time to see the guards hastily hide their cards away, and the driver shuffling back towards the carriage, eagerly shoving his winnings into a pocket. 

Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. 

Dear. Beloved. 

You like that very much.  

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness, @aemondsbabygirl, @qyburnsghost, @blackswxnn

I am a mess with the tagging, I'm so sorry if I forgot or wrongly tagged anyone. Let me know, I will fix it.

[alaynasansa]

SnowStone Week 2023 : day three — Fairy Tale

[felassan]

Matt Mercer on Twitter: [dancing skeleton gif] Dragon Age on Twitter: "[happy skeleton noises] 💀💜"

[source, two]

[horizon-verizon]

For all the vaunted strength of its walls, King’s Landing fell in less than a day. A short, bloody fight was waged at the River Gate, where thirteen Hightower knights and a hundred men-at-arms drove off the gold cloaks and held out for nigh on eight hours against attacks from both within and without the city, but their heroics were in vain, for Rhaenyra’s soldiers poured in through the other six gates unmolested. The sight of the queen’s dragons in the sky above took the heart out of the opposition, and King Aegon’s remaining loyalists hid or fled or bent the knee. One by one the dragons made their descent. Sheepstealer lighted atop Visenya’s Hill, Silverwing and Vermithor on the Hill of Rhaenys, outside the Dragonpit. Prince Daemon circled the towers of the Red Keep before bringing Caraxes down in the outer ward. Only when he was certain that the defenders would offer him no harm did he signal for his wife the queen to descend upon Syrax. Addam Velaryon remained aloft, flying Seasmoke around the city walls, the beat of his dragon’s wide leathern wings a caution to those below that any defiance would be met with fire. Upon seeing that resistance was hopeless, the Dowager Queen Alicent emerged from Maegor’s Holdfast with her father, Ser Otto Hightower; Ser Tyland Lannister; and Lord Jasper Wylde the Ironrod (Lord Larys Strong was not with them. The master of whisperers had somehow contrived to disappear). Septon Eustace, a witness to what followed, tells us that Queen Alicent attempted to treat with her stepdaughter. “Let us together summon a great council, as the Old King did in days of old,” said the Dowager Queen, “and lay the matter of succession before the lords of the realm.” But Queen Rhaenyra rejected the proposal with scorn. “Do you mistake me for Mushroom?” she asked. “We both know how this council would rule.” Then she bade her stepmother choose: yield or burn. Bowing her head in defeat, Queen Alicent surrendered the keys to the castle and ordered her knights and men-at-arms to lay down their swords. “The city is yours, Princess,” she is reported to have said, “but you will not hold it long. The rats play when the cat is gone, but my son Aemond will return with fire and blood.” Rhaenyra’s men found her rival’s wife, the mad Queen Helaena, locked in her bedchamber...but when they broke down the doors of the king’s apartments, they discovered only “his bed, empty, and his chamberpot, full.” Aegon II had fled. So had his children, the six-year- old Princess Jaehaera and two-year-old Prince Maelor, along with Willis Fell and Rickard Thorne of the Kingsguard. Not even the Dowager Queen seemed to know where they had gone, and Luthor Largent swore none had passed through the city gates. There was no way to spirit away the Iron Throne, however. Nor would Queen Rhaenyra sleep until she claimed her father’s seat. So the torches were lit in the throne room, and the queen climbed the iron steps and seated herself where King Viserys had sat before her, and the Old King before him, and Maegor and Aenys and Aegon the Dragon in days of old. Stern-faced, still in her armor, she sat on high as every man and woman in the Red Keep was brought forth and made to kneel before her, to plead for her forgiveness and swear their lives and swords and honor to her as their queen. Septon Eustace tells us that the ceremony went on all through that night. It was well past dawn when Rhaenyra Targaryen rose and made her descent. “And as her lord husband Prince Daemon escorted her from the hall, cuts were seen upon Her Grace’s legs and the palm of her left hand,” wrote Eustace. “Drops of blood fell to the floor as she went past, and wise men looked at one another, though none dared speak the truth aloud: the Iron Throne had spurned her, and her days upon it would be few.”

Fire and Blood, by GRRM, pg 454-457

[How Rhaenyra Won King’s Landing PT2]

[targaryen-dynasty]

FORBIDDEN TEMPTATION.

Aemond Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; canon typical incest/targcest (uncle married niece), menstrual sex, p in v, fingering, lactation kink

WORDS: 2.1 K

NOTES: Thank you to @lady-phasma and the rest of our little group for this period smut collaboration 😝 and extra thanks to @zaldritzosrose for the moodboard!! I love you guys sm 💕 It was so much fun working with this request. Cheers to the dragon friends🤍

✖️ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

A poking ache in your stomach is what pulls you out of your sleep, like a sharp, stinging tug that makes you curl into a bundle, clutching your belly. With your husband still sound asleep right next to you, his snores filling the room, you’re determined to not moan out in pain too loudly, though you’re close to failing. 

“By the Seven,” you whisper, a clear strain to your voice, and when you bring your hand down between your legs, the stickiness you're welcomed with makes you sigh. There’s hardly any light of the moon falling into the room, which makes it difficult for you to make out the source of the wetness that coats your fingers, yet the smell lets you know it’s familiar. Your moonblood. 

“Oh, this can not…” you trail off, moaning through gritted teeth as another jolt of pain runs through your belly. 

Next to you, your husband has been roused from sleep by your stirring and moaning, blinking against the darkness and blearily into the night as he tries to understand what is going on. Propping himself up on one elbow, his groggy voice is laced with worry as he speaks, “what is the matter?”

You shift to lie on your back again, leaning up against the headboard. “I… my moonblood has come,” you say. The realization that it’s just your monthly bleeding does bring you some sense of relief, meaning your husband has not yet managed to put another child in you, but it also concerns you. “It feels like someone is clawing at my belly from the inside out… and I can not remember for it to be so painful before the pregnancy.”

It’s an instinct he’s developed over the course of your pregnancy, something you still catch him doing every now and then, but Aemond‘s hand immediately goes to your belly, rubbing small, soothing circles to somewhat ease the pain. And for someone possessing the blood of the dragon, his body certainly emanates a lot of heat. You’re immediately drawn towards him, melting against his frame, warmth radiating off of his bare chest.

Aemond brings his lips to the crown of your head, wrapping his arms around you. “That was to be expected, was it not?” he asks.

“Yes, but it is quite severe.” You flinch again at the stinging pain, though it is not as sharp with his warm hand splayed over your stomach. “Could you fetch me the maester to ease the pain?”

Your husband’s mind, however, quickly comes up with a different solution. “Well, I have heard and read that there’s another way to ease that kind of pain, my love,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice. “A more… pleasurable alternative that may not completely rid you of the pain, but certainly takes your mind off of it.”

His words and the innuendo don’t surprise you at all. Ever since he truly has learned what it meant to indulge in the pleasures of flesh with you, he’s turned into a starved beast, desperate to get his fill of you every night until your little Baelon was born, and determined to get you round with his seed as quickly as possible again. The few weeks of rest that had been prescribed by the maester were the most difficult for him, struggling to keep his hands off of you. It was the complete opposite to the way he was while you grew up together; your usually quiet and observing uncle turned into a beast, similar to the one he claimed when he turned ten. 

Aemond’s hand slowly drifts lower, and a small gasp escapes your lips, his fingers dancing lightly over the damp linen of your smallclothes. You look at him, your eyes half-lidded with a mix of pain and desire. “Do you really think… it would help?” you murmur softly, instinctively arching into his touch. The throbbing ache in your belly is temporarily replaced by a pleasant warmth spreading through your core. 

“Oh, I very much believe it will,” he whispers in your ear, his voice low and gravelly. 

A sly smile is on his lips as his thumb brushes over your pearl, making your breath hitch in your throat. Your head tips back into the pillows with a moan slipping past your lips. “Aemond…” you whisper, his name coming out in a mere breath, “please.” 

He is quick to bow his head forward, capturing your lips for a kiss. As he tugs on your smallclothes, you wrap your arms around his neck for support, using the leverage to shimmy out of the damp linen. 

You gasp against his lips as his nimble digits ease into your cunt, and Aemond presses his forehead against yours. Feeling you writhe beneath his touch, he lets out a low groan, a small shiver running down his spine at the wanton sight of his wife on the cusp of pleasure. “Relax, my love,” he rasps. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers continue their ministrations, his touch gentle yet insistent, never slowing down, and your hips buck into his touch. There’s no denying your desire for him, your need for him. And while he focuses on easing your pain, your focus solely lies on him – or rather his cock. It’s always the same, for his fingers are never enough for you. 

Aemond has pushed his sleeping trousers down to the point he was able to free his cock, thick, hard, and the tip glistening with a few beds of his arousal, indicating just how badly he wants to take care of you. Feeling his knuckles brush your thigh as his fist slides up and down his length, you whimper in anticipation while a strained grunt leaves his lips. 

Without another word, Aemond positions himself between your legs, the motion fluid and practiced. His hands glide over the smooth skin of your thighs, pushing them further apart to accommodate him. 

There is some impatience evident in his movements as he drags the tip of his cock through your soaked folds, causing you to gasp each time it presses against your sensitive pearl. 

“Stop teasing me, Aemond,” you whine, your nerves on fire. 

His lips curve into a smug smirk at your desperate whine. “What’s the rush, my love?” 

Tilting his head forwards, he watches as he circles your entrance with his cock, repeatedly pushing just the tip inside… only to pull out mere moments later. While it drives you insane with lust, it also makes you aware of how slick you are for him – knowing it’s not just your arousal he’s coated in now. 

That realization makes you feel shy, and you momentarily try to squeeze your thighs together to escape his hungry gaze – but to no avail. Tsking, Aemond is quick to pry your thighs apart again, raising a brow. “Do not shy away now,” he warns. “A little blood does not repel me.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nod meekly at his words, and your husband takes that as his cue to continue. Where he usually sheathes him inside you in one, swift thrust, he’s slow and careful to enter you now, making sure you feel every vein and ridge of him on his way inside. You both moan in unison, never getting enough of each other. 

Despite you being quite tense from the sharp pain tugging at your belly, Aemond buries himself inside of you with ease, your moonsblood adding to your slickness. It feels different than usual – you feel different than usual, more sensitive – yet the pleasure it brings is heightened and coaxes you to melt around him. 

Your head tips back into the pillows, but Aemond is quick to bring a hand to the side of your neck, applying a bit of pressure to your chin with his thumb to force you to meet his gaze. There is a slight stutter in his hips as he sets up his slow pace, settling only once he’s found the perfect rhythm. With expert precision, he rolls his hips against yours. Your heels dig into his rear, encouraging him to go even deeper. 

The dull, continuous ache in your belly grows weaker with every thrust, replaced by a warmth that spreads all the way to your limbs, fueled by the squelching sounds of his cock repeatedly disappearing into your soaked cunt. 

Aemond has one hand on your neck and the other positioned on the mattress right next to your head, careful not to put all of his weight on your sensitive body. You take it upon yourself to tug on the low neckline of your nightgown, pulling it even lower to free your heavy breasts from their confines. 

Your body is still providing enough milk to feed an army of children, despite you merely birthing one, and while they are heavy and hard to the touch, wearing clothes has always been a far worse agony. The creamish silk has been damp even before Aemond has touched you, and so it’s no surprise droplets of milk trickle from your darkened buds as soon as your fingers touch them. 

And that is the moment he stops being careful, bowing down to capture one bud with his lips and press his body against yours. It’s a mix between a gasp and moan that slips past your lips, yet it’s enough to make clear the relief you feel. 

The position all but forces him to roll his hips against yours languidly, but neither of you mind for it seems to bring you both enough pleasure. You can feel him suckle on your breast in the rhythm your cunt clenches around his cock. His cheeks dimpled from the suction; he’s propped up on one elbow, using his hand to pinch and roll the other bud between his fingers. 

He alternates between licking and sucking, not keen on wasting just one drop of your precious milk. “Gods, Aemond,” you whine, arching your back against him. You feel him throb inside of you at the despair audible in your voice, spurring him on. 

Your hips move on their own accord now, grinding against his and matching his movements, the pain in your belly and breasts long forgotten as you chase your pleasure. 

A couple of moments pass until you feel Aemond’s breath growing labored, his chest almost heaving with more and more muffled grunts and groans escaping his throat. He is loud – much to your surprise – but your body seems keen at that, the pressure inside of your belly tightening at a rapid pace.

As his lips wrap around your other bud, the knot in your belly snaps. It’s either gripping the sheets or his hair to keep yourself grounded, and you opt for the latter, burying your hands inside of his silver strands. You use the grip to pull him closer to your breasts, more out of instinct than of clear will. 

The sheets below you are soaked with a blend of your arousal and moonblood, trickling out of your cunt and coating Aemond’s cock and the sac of his stones. It’s the tightness of your peak’s contractions that eventually forces the seed from your husband, milking him for every last drop of his spent. His muscles go rigid, yet he hardly withdraws from your bud to release grunts and groans, too drunk on what’s supposed to be for your son. 

He bites down as he spills inside of you, harder than you like considering your whole body is a sensitive mess at this point, but you do not begrudge him – it’s well deserved with how caring and careful he’s been to tend to your needs. 

He buries his face between your now soft and tender breasts as you leisurely ride out your peaks, both your movements slowly, but surely, coming to a stop. You tug on his hair, and the sight of his half-lidded eye and his swollen lips makes you clench around him once more. 

While Aemond swallows a groan, you urge his face towards yours for a kiss, moaning at the taste of your milk on his tongue. Labored breaths fan across each other’s faces as his mouth leaves yours, and you take a moment to stare at each other silently. 

“Is the pain… has it eased?” Aemond’s voice is a hoarse whisper. Panting softly, he sits back on his haunches. 

A small, bashful smile curves your lips, the haze of desire beginning to lift. Your body still thrums with the aftereffects of his endeavors. “I am quite alright,” you reply. “But perhaps we should indulge in a bath. I do believe a soak in hot water may alleviate my discomfort even more, and it seems we have both made quite the mess.”

You notice the mischievous gleam in his good eye. “If that is what my love desires, then consider it done. I shall have hot water brought to our chambers, and then I shall ensure that every bit of your discomfort is soothed.”

[monstersflashlight]

Advent calendar: Day 15. Ice dragon

Dragon x fem!reader || oral sex, (very light) dom/sub, size kink

“Lick my peen, my treasure.” His order did something to you, an intense heat blooming inside you until you are shivering and crawling to him. His throne was so big around him and you felt so, so tiny… It was great.

“Gladly,” you let out as you closed your hands around his giant dick. There was no way you could suck him in your mouth, but you could definitely do something with your mouth. You were going to tease and lick him until he was begging for mercy… Even if that was very unlikely.

You started slow, but his grunts and curses only made you want to drive him insane faster and faster. You licked around the tip, your tongue dancing around the slit until there was copious amounts of precum drenching your lips. You drank them greedily, his big scaled hand cradling the back of your head as you continued. You used your hands to rub the excess of precum around the shaft, pressing at the bulging veins until he was crying out your name, more precum shooting into your welcoming mouth.

You kept going even when his tail broke something at your right, your hands massaging his huge shaft as your mouth sucked at the underside of his tip, that special part of him that was so sensitive he could cum with you only licking it. The power you felt when he started twitching under you, his precum flowing unstopped as you went faster, sucking stronger as if you wanted to suck a hickey on his dick. He was thrashing over you, his wings fluttering behind him as he accidentally hit the throne with them, drawing a chuckle out of you.

He roared: “enough,” and you shivered in anticipation. “Come here, little human.” He grabbed you by the waist, his big claws going around your entire middle, his fingers touching at your front.

“Wha- what are you doing?” You asked as he lifted your body as if you weighted nothing. It drove you insane to know how big he was and how tiny you felt in comparison. It was exhilarating to know he could destroy you without breaking a sweat but loved you enough to treat you like his treasure. Like something out of his hoard.

His serious tone got even more emotionless when he said: “I’m going to lick your sweet nectar out of the source until you are crying in ecstasy,” his promise only made you whimper.

“Oka- okay,” you agreed as he moved you body to sit over his snout.

You wriggled, trying to get some friction against his scales, but he blew a tiny breath of cold against your pussy that made you shiver and let out a scream of pleasure. The contrast between his cold breath and your overheated pussy was delicious in the most maddening way. He didn’t let you move, though. He was in control of the situation and the hand around your body was enough to remind you.

He moved your body slowly, his long tongue darting to lick the juices out of your drenched pussy as he hummed in appreciation. His tongue was so long it could get deeper than any human dick could, and he exploited that fact more than enough. He licked and sucked in a slow caress, almost lazily, until you started chanting his name, your legs trembling around his head.

And then he was done teasing, always too impatient to draw it out more than necessary. He moved your body so you were ridding his face like a cowgirl, back arched and pussy rubbing deliciously against his scales in the most pleasurable way possible. You grabbed onto his nostril covers, the scales there perfect for you to hold onto as you moved your hips faster, harder.

He was humming against your pussy, tiny cold breaths calming you down a fraction just to lick the juices out of you and drive you insane again. It was like a game to him, to see how fast he could make you come until your brain was jelly and your legs couldn’t hold you up anymore. And he was a damn professional at it.

You tried to hold back, you really tried to be strong and don’t come so fast because he always made fun of you after. How easy was to drive your poor human body into orgasm after orgasm… But you were weak. And his tongue was so damn good you couldn’t hold back even if you wanted.

You came messily around his tongue, the pointy tip massaging your G-spot as his scales rubbed against your clit. You moved your hips to make the best of it as he hummed, letting out tiny puffs of cold air making your brain short-circuit as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name like a prayer, and he pushed you further, farther… it was always so intense and magical that you couldn’t understand why there were humans who didn’t want to ride dragon faces.

He roared in victory, your body sagging against him as he lowered you to be cradled against his neck. “You didn’t come,” you whispered, half asleep against his neck, his hand warm against your back.

“There will be time for that later, my treasure.” And with that promise, you fell asleep.

[conchcronch]

My Turn

WC: 2816

Pairing: Spite x Fem!Rook

Summary: Lucanis accidentally fell asleep which leads Spite to take over when you come to spend the evening together.

Warnings: a little bit DUB CON but it gets cleared up towards the end.

A/N: PLEASE send me prompts for Lucanis and Spite x Rook, I’m obsessed.

The lack of a moon and stars in the Fade had unsettled you since your first night at the Lighthouse. The sky was lit as though there were some sort of light source but you could never find one as you walked from the main building out to the farthest room at the end of the courtyard. What had originally been your dining hall had been taken over by the Crow, feeling most at comfort in the dank pantry, not something you could fully understand but you also had no intention of questioning it more then you already had.

The door was unlocked, the fire lit in between the two wolf statues. Your partner was not leaning against the mantle as you had expected, but the flickering of candles through the pantry/bedroom door quickly hinted at where he likely was. You noticed freshly brewed coffee, two mugs set out, anticipating your arrival. You cleared the distance from the door to the counter in the small, dark kitchen. Taking your time prepping the coffee, leaving his black so he could taste the flavor notes of this particular blend, but pouring a decent amount of milk in your mug, the thought of leaving yours black made you grimace.

With mugs of coffee in hand you walked past the fireplace, the warmth wrapping around your legs making the cold of the back bedroom all the more jarring. His back was to you, the candle light flickering, distorting his shadow as it danced across the wall. “I brought you coffee, it might be a little cold, but I can warm it up if you want.” You took a quick sip of yours as you held his outstretched, his back still to you.

“Not now” a wave of his hand made you cock an eyebrow but put the mug down on a small shelf nevertheless. You leaned your back against the sturdy oak shelving, sipping your coffee as you tried to output enough fire magic from your palm to warm the ceramic mug rather then ignite it. The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable despite being slightly out of character for him. Ever since the blighted dragon attacked Tarviso he had been different, the sight of such a beast in a town that he and his family were fighting so hard to save must have proved to him just how delicate it really was.

His weight shifted from foot to foot, his hand under his chin, toying with his beard as he so often did when deep in thought. “Neve is still gone” the silence had stretched on much too long for your liking, your anxiety gnawing at you as you watched him. You were hoping he’d reassure you, tell you you had no choice but to make the impossible call, to thank you for choosing his city over her’s. But instead he just stood there, silent, unmoving. “I’m worried she might not come back, Bellara says she will, but honestly I’m not sure I would if I were her.” You tipped your head further back, the last mouthful of coffee warming your throat as you put your mug on the shelf next to his. “Lucanis,” He didn’t budge at the use of his name, his shoulders barely even moving as he breathed. You stepped closer to him, your hand out in front of you to touch his shoulder. “If now’s not a good time I ca-“ He felt cooler to the touch, even through the layers of his shirt and vest, it was as though his body was giving off no heat.

“Smells like waterlily.” The voice was his, but not entirely. His accent was present but the pitch off, the tone heightened. You tensed, preparing yourself for whatever was to come next. Finally the body of your partner turned, his eyes glowing purple as you’ve seen only a handful of times before.

“Spite” The name feels sharp in your mouth, your tone giving away your hesitation. He leaned forward, sniffing you closer and you remained glued in place. He stepped forward, close enough you could wrap your arms around him if you really wanted to. You can feel his breath on your neck as he inhaled your scent deeply, his face was so close to your skin you swear you could feel his lips against you for the briefest of seconds.

“You came to us for pleasure” You felt your face flush, of course it wasn’t your only intention, but you certainly weren’t going to turn it down if one thing led to another, but your relationship was still fairly new, and despite your longing for a physical component you weren’t intending to push those boundaries. But for your desires to be so bluntly outed there was a wave of embarrassment that washed over you.

“Let me talk to Lucanis.” You stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest but not missing the way the demon’s purple eyes dragged down your form.

“It’s my turn with you.” You couldn't deny how impressed you were at Spite’s fairly calm demeanor, after listening to many of Lucanis’ one sided conversations with the demon you had expected him to be bordering on feral when speaking directly to him.

”Spite, I want to talk to Lucanis.” You added a bit more force to your tone, hoping the demon would grow tired of your insistence and go back to wherever it is he resides when Lucanis is in control. But when you felt hands on your hips, tugging you against the body you so desperately craved it took you a beat before you were struggling against the grip.

His lips were on your neck, lapping more than kissing. Groaning as he did so, every lick finishing with a gravelly moan, his hips rutting against your side as his hands balled the cotton of your shirt. “sp-pite- fuck” You tried to convince yourself to push away from him, but your longing for the Crow was fogging your brain. You could feel your core pulse, his tongue working wonders along your sensitive neck and the slightly distorted moans were making it difficult to resist.

“Spite” You tried to say but it ended up coming out as a whine rather than a demand, receiving what could only be referred to as a purr instead of a hum.

“Can smell how wet you are, Rook” The way he purred your name forced you to swallow a moan. Before you were able to even notice him walking you backwards, your back was against the stone wall of his makeshift bedroom. His fingers trying to unbutton the top clasp of your navy casual shirt, bought from a Crow vendor Lucanis had brought you to not that long ago. His patience lasted about as long as it took you to blink before he ripped the garment open, buttons falling to the ground around your feet.

Before you could chastise him about the now ruined shirt, the words died in your throat the moment his hands were on your bare waist. His blunt, well manicured nails dug into your skin, as he pressed your body against the wall, his lips finally on yours.

This wasn’t the first kiss you and Lucanis would have shared, but it certainly was the most heated. Every kiss with Lucanis had stopped before it went anywhere, his lips pulling away as soon as you tried to deepen it, never giving a reason but always retreating afterwards. But the way Spite kissed you, the way his tongue invaded your mouth, marking what you knew he’d refer to as his territory. You were trapped between him and the wall, his hands slipped down from your waist until he could roughly grab your ass, keeping your hips against his as he rutted against you, moans and grunts flowing from his mouth every time it wasn’t covered by your own lips.

“Had to…” He spoke into your mouth, his words fading as though he forgot he was even speaking “had to watch him. Watch him kiss you. Terribly.”

“Spite” you tried to sound as though his sentence offended, but it ended up coming out far more breathy than intended.

“Could smell you. Can always smell you. I always tell him. Tell him you want this. But he never listens to me.” He’s back to your neck, lapping at your skin, dragging his tongue down to your collarbones, his hands kneading the fat of your ass.

”Spite, I think- ah- I think it’s Lucanis’ turn.” Spite laughed against you, biting at your collar hard enough you weren’t sure if he had drawn blood or not.

“He’ll stop.” His mouth sank lower, nipping at the tops of your breast, “I know you don’t want to stop. Can smell it.”

“Spite, please.” Reluctantly he pulled away from your chest, your eyes meeting his glowing purple sockets, and somehow you could have sworn you saw his expression soften for a fraction of a second. You reached forward, cupping his cheek as you had done countless times to Lucanis, hoping the demon found the same comfort in it that the Crow did. He pressed his cheek into your palm,

“Will I get. Another turn?” You couldn’t resist nodding, finding yourself thinking how cute he was, despite the fact he was still pressing you against a wall and had torn your shirt in two.

You watched the demon blink, his purple eyes closing and reopening with black pupils, brows furrowed in confusion as he stared into your eyes, blinking a few times as though he was trying to clear sleep from his vision. Lucanis’ breath quickened, immediately trying to assess the situation that he had just woken up in. “Did he hurt you?!” His tone was dripping in anxiety as he stepped away from you, your hand falling from his cheek as he hurriedly looked around.

His eyes moved down your body then back up, pausing before repeating the same thing, slower this time. The tips of his ears burned red as he realized what had happened as he unknowingly slept. “Mierda” He looked down at the buttons that lay around your feet.

It was impossible to not notice how he was straining against his slacks, his eyes everywhere but your gaze. “I-I sho- I should go” You wanted to stop him, grab him by the wrist before he was out of reach, but your mind was still foggy with lust and craving more of what Spite had been giving you, but this time you wanted to feel Lucanis’ lips against you.

You stood there for what felt like an hour but you knew it couldn’t have been that long, leaning back against the wall behind you, hoping the cool stone would help clear your thoughts and bring back some reason.

By the time you went to go find the Crow, the sky surrounding the Lighthouse had shifted to black, the pieces of debris still floating around the buildings as though it were as normal as clouds in the sky. As you climbed the rickety stairs that led to the top of the dining hall you glanced around the courtyard, trying to see if any of your companions were out. You expected to see Emmrick on the balcony of the main house where he so often went at night, taking note of the ethers in the Fade. But tonight there wasn’t a soul outside apart from you, Lucanis and Spite.

He stood at the far side of the roof, bent over the railing, his head hung down so his forehead was resting against his arm. No matter how quietly you approached him, he always knew you were there. You could tell he knew by the way his body stiffened, his shoulders tensing and his head moving so he was looking out over the courtyard.

He needed time, time to figure out what had just happened, how far things had gone, time for his unexpected erection to go away, and time away from your intoxicating scent. But of course you were coming up the wooden steps not long after him.

He tried to pull himself together, locking his eyes on the back of the wolf statue in the middle of the courtyard, the cool ‘night’ air was the only thing that was keeping his cheeks from turning pink again. You stood beside him silently, leaning over the edge of the building, taking in the view of the Lighthouse.

You could feel how uncertain he was, his hands clenched the railing, his posture even straighter than normal as he pretended like he was taking in the sights just as you were. The breeze reminded you of your open shirt, which you tried to hold close with one hand while the other pushed through your bangs in an attempt to ease your uncertainty. “I’m not sure what to say.” You laughed awkwardly, desperate to break the silence that stretched between the two of you.

“Then why say anything.”

“Because I’m worried if I don’t start talking, you might never speak to me again.” You hazarded a look at him from the corner of your eye, hoping to gauge his reaction to some extent, but it remained stoic.

The silence stretched on until the sky darkened even more, the colour the same shade of blue as the Crows’ armor when you first laid eyes on him. You fidgeted anxiously, changing positions over and over again as the time passed, until you had your back to the railing, head up looking for any kind of star above you. “I should have been more careful.” It almost sounded like the words were meant for himself rather than you, as though he were reprimanding himself.

“Why?”

“He could have hurt you…I…I could have hurt you.” You couldn’t stop the little scoff that slipped out, turning to look at him with a smile across your lips, meeting his eyes for the first time since Spite had relinquished control. “Is now really the time to laugh?”

“If you think I couldn’t take you in a fight, you’re sorely mistaken, Crow.” You watched his eyebrow raise, the corner of his mouth following, but only slightly.

“Are you trying to change the subject?”

“I don’t know,” You sidestepped, bringing your shoulders closer so you could nudge against him “Why, is it working?”

“This is serious, Rook.” He turned to face you, his hand on his hip as he shifted his weight. “I let my guard down, and you…he forced himself on you.”

“That’s the thing,” You stood up straight, turning to look at him fully while you rubbed at the back of your neck, knowing that the next thing out of your mouth had the potential to end your relationship before it had really started. “He didn’t force himself on me, he more…initiated it, I guess.” You watched his eyes narrow, his brow furrowing as he tried to piece together what you were saying. “I could have pushed him away if I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t?” There was an underlying disgust in his voice, as though the thought of being with him was so vile he couldn’t even pretend to understand.

“I didn’t.” The silence left as heavy as the weight of the world that seemed to live on your shoulders. He broke what little eye contact you had held, shifting his weight as he put more of his weight on the railing, his hair slipping from behind his ear.

“Why didn’t you?” His voice was quiet, if there had been even a bit of a breeze, you may have missed his question all together.

“Because I wanted it.” You watched his hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening so you could see his teeth grind. “But I wanted it from you.”

“From me?” You couldn’t stop the small laugh that slipped from your lips at his clearly, surprised tone.

”Lucanis,” You leaned against the small wall, one hand on the railing the other perched on your hip. “This can’t possibly come as a surprise.” He looked over at you, cheeks just a hint of pink.

“I just- I didn’t know you wanted…that.” He dropped his eyes again but not before dragging along the sliver of bare skin he could see between the seams of your torn shirt.

And to think he had touched you, kissed you, dragged his hands down your bare skin, and didn’t get to enjoy even an ounce of it.

“Consider this your formal announcement that, Lucanis-“ You stepped closer to him, waiting a beat before he too straightened, turning to face you so you could press your forehead to his. “I desperately want exactly what Spite was doing. But I want to try it with you.” The only response you received was a low hum that you felt rubble from his chest and into yours as he grabbed your waist and tugged you against him.