#spoiled!son aegon ii

[aegoniiwifey]

*slides some money towards you* talk about spoiled son blob aegon pretty please?

Spoiled, Spoiled Boy!

HEADCANON

TROPE: Fat!spoiled!son!Aegon ii Targaryen

WORDS: 841.

WARNINGS: mentions of overeating/binge eating, male wg, rapid wg, soft feedism, spoiled!Aegon, fat play, moob play, mentions of masturbation.

A/N - I literally crave for this Aegon so bad, he would be so useless but so needy for you. I might write an alternative Modern AU for fat!spoiled!son Aegon ii.

this version of Aeg was deeply inspired by this incredible artwork !!!!

Aegon was always a much larger man, with a grand appetite and the constant spoils of being a royal Prince... He could have anything granted to him, by the snap of his fingers.

His family, especially his mother, had enabled him since his youth: embedding his gluttonous habits, as means to not "deal" with him.

As Aegon's gluttony grew with age, so did his stomach... And his body.

Alas, he was also known to be quite lazy. Only part-taking in physical activities such as dragon-riding and combat training when absolutely necessary.

After some time however, he began to make pitiful excuses to not attend, spending most of his time nestled in the privacy of his chambers, only ever coming out [particularly at night] to scourge the kitchen for some late-night treats.

Eventually the sedentary lifestyle hand in hand to his gluttony, began to amount...

His clothes, vastly more fitted and tighter, would eventually rip at the seams, fat bursting through the gaps of the ripped, rich fabrics.

Buttons spontaneously popping: Aegon often found it self-amusing to see how fast and how full he could stuff himself, until a button popped from the sow.

His once loose, baggy shirts had shrunk against his wide, distended gut and the fat rolls hanging at his sides: his plush belly overhung blatantly beneath, peaking through.

Alicent grew impatient with the consistent growth in Aegon's weight, and the haste need to re-alter his royal garments.

Aegon often whines about the maesters having to take his measurements, attending to regular health checks: the calipers were the worst, as they stung pinching onto his fat, especially at his pooling, dense hips. To a point, where he furiously yells at them to leave, in which the maesters scurry off in fear of punishment.

The gold jewels and rings that once embellished his fingers, now he could no longer wear, as his fingers had grown quite pudgy: he was adamant on getting them resized, although this became a habitual requirement.

Aegon's ass now wide and thickly plump, the weight of his mass would often have wooden furniture creak beneath his heavy weight. Some furniture even breaking beneath the Prince, as he was too large to mount.

It was also necessary to have his saddle resized to accommodate for his ballooned size, to fit Sunfyre, despite rarely flying, he did occasionally insist on visiting.

However, Aegon often struggled to walk, or more so waddle, a few feet around the castle grounds, nevertheless to the Dragonpit. A horse would not be able to bear his excess weight, and was instead carried by a litter of a few solid, strong men.

During royal feasts and balls, Aegon would often bicker with Alicent and Otto, desperate to remain absent, often using the excuse that he had a "terrible stomach ache" or some ailment, in which Alicent would often succumb to her eldest sons' whines and groans: Otto, although reluctant to accept for Alicent's sake, knew better than to see through Aegon's deceitful cries.

Aegon was a hog, although he knew how to manipulate his mother emotionally, toiling with her misfortune to gain what he wanted.

He often commanded for his servants to fetch him trolleys and trays decked with succulent sweets, pastries, meats and wine or ale, to be served directly to his chamber.

The kitchen staff grew fairly familiar with his "feeding" schedule. Surprisingly, Aegon was very particular with what he enjoyed to eat and what he despised [mostly green vegetables], in which the kitchen staff also had grown ideal to.

He rather enjoyed lazily lying in bed, as he gorged on his feast: he found it convenient so, as he would often be too bloated and full to move, let alone mobilise.

Needing to attend to his belly rubs that he found soothed the bloating as it encouraged his belches, whilst it also made his eager cock twitch and stiffen with satisfaction.

Aegon grew quite impressed with his own appetite.

Aegon would struggle after some period of immense weight gain to masturbate: although found excitement in playing with his own fat, especially his grotesquely chunky blubber than grew beneath his waistline, above where his cock would spring... His very own fat pad.

He enjoyed rutting against a large pillow or the mattress itself, to feel something, some sort of friction between his aching cock.

And he rather relished in massaging at his moobs: often demanding his maid to massage at his fat, including his tits, coating it in oil.

Despite the cruel remarks of his family: Aegon rather enjoyed his new found "body", embracing his insatiable hunger and drive to stay as full as possible, he loved the idea of pampering himself, exhibiting his overindulgence with his body.

Regarding it as a big "fuck you" to the strict principles of his stern family.

That even though he was a fat prince, he was a Prince nonetheless... And mayhaps, the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

If no one else would openly bask and enjoy the riches of being royal... Why should he not?

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

the platonic little sister relationship aegon has to someone like reader 😭 i hope we can see more, but like without the darkness of house of the dragon nor gore of it, just aegon ii staring at his little sister and vowing the world and even the throne for her, relinquishing it the first chance that he gets to rhaenyra whilst in tears holding his littlest sister 😭 he wishes no throne, no treasures, no liquor, only her safety and nothing more. i can imagine him trying to escape with her to the free lands because she is the only good in his world and he’d be damned if he let otto try and spoil the only kindness that the gods have give him. i can also imagine him stowing away on his dragon and flying on dragonback to the blacks to proclaim his loyalty with little reader bundled up in his cloak. i can imagine him fiercely protective but also relenting when he knows she is happy, being by her side as her older brother and uncle to her children to whomever it may be 😭

(sorry for the long anon, i just wish to see more 😭)

- familial issues anon 😔

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x READER ) [ Pt. 2 ]

author notes: I promise, I'm gonna write a fluffy part 3 after this.. pairing: King Aegon ii Targaryen x Younger Sister! Reader ( Platonic ) prompt: When Blood and Cheese attack, the feeling of being safe in the Red Keep dies along with your sweet nephew and son. word count: 1, 000+ words

The night of Blood and Cheese, you had wandered into the children's bedchamber. Something pulled you from your dreams, telling you that the children needed you. You did not know a thing. The night was quiet and cool, the gentle pouring of rain filling the air. Everyone was safe and content. No harm could come to any of you with Vhagar in the City. But, as you got closer and closer, blissfully unaware.

You did not know the horrors that awaited you. Helaena held at knife point, her eyes so wide and full of silent horror. Your son cuddled up next to Jaehaera and Jaehaerys like he always did, all three of them dead asleep and unaware. Two men, one tall and imposing. The other thin and chuckling like a mad man. A debt they said, "A son for a son."

A son for a son. A son for a son. The world that that point is going silent and you think of was, why? Why? Why? Why?

You don't remember much of anything, no matter how much you tried to, just the muffled screams and sound of flesh being cut. You stumbled and wandered down the empty halls of the Red Keep, a dead look on your face. A thousand unspoken words on your tongue.

A son for a son. A son for a son. A son for a son. A son for a son. Where the fuck were the guards? Where were the maids? Where was everyone? They liked to snoop, so why this time were they gone?

You did not know when Helaena had departed from your side. You just vaguely remembered bumping into one of Aegon's friends, the drunken smile on his face falling. His face went pale and a stuttered call for Aegon.

Staring dead at the man, you could not remember his name, just that he was kind and one of Aegon's friends. Feeling your bottom lip wobble, you tried to hold back the sobs, emotions bubbling up. Feeling familiar hands on your shoulder, you dreadfully become aware of the wetness in your nightgown, though it was not your monthly blood or rain that soaked the linen. The realization trickled in that it was blood sinking in. Blood. Jaehaerys blood. Your son's blood.

"Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, look at me, not the blood. Tell me what's happened." A voice faintly orders, "Y/n, look at me. Look at me."

Blinking back the tears that bubbled up, your vision clears up, seeing Aegon standing right in front of you. He reeks of strongwine. But, the look on his face was deadly sober. Seeing his lips moving, you couldn't hear him, the haunting sound of Jaehaerys and your son slowly being beheaded still ringing in your ears. Son for a son. A son for a son. Jaehaerys was just a boy. He was barely six years old. A baby. Helaena's baby. Your boy was a year his younger, only five.

"You weren't there. Why weren't you there?" You hiccup, "You were always there. Why weren't you there?!"

"Y/n?"

"You said you'd be there if we were in trouble. That⎯That⎯That if we need you, you would be there. Why weren't you there? Why weren't you there?!" You scream out, your pained voice echoing loudly.

"Who's blood is that? Where is your son?" Aegon asks, his face and voice of panic.

Son for a son. A son for a son. Son for a son. A son for a son. Your son. Why him? He wasn't Aegon's heir. He wasn't Aegon's son in any way. He wasn't anyone's but your own. Your baby. Your sweet baby. Why did they pick him? He was no threat. He was just sleeping. He wasn't harming anyone.

"Gods damn it, Y/n! Where is your son?! Where is he?! Who's blood is that?" He demands, "Tell me, tell me."

"The...They took his head..The boy...My boy..Blood..He's in the bed...They came from the walls..Helaena.." You choke out, not able to properly string together a sentence.

Bursting into a fit of tears, the throne exploded into chaos the moment tears were spilled, orders and demands being spouted out to anyone in ear shot. Why? Why? Why? The Red Keep was safe. Aegon told you it was safe. It was supposed to be safe. That they would not dare to harm any of you. It was supposed to be safe.

'You will never have to marry again. You and your son are under my protection. No harm shall come to you whilst you stay in the Red Keep, sweet sister. I swear upon it.' He had said, tucking back a strand of hair from your face.

'No harm shall come to you whilst you stay in the Red Keep, sweet sister. I swear upon it.'

'No harm shall come to you whilst you stay in the Red Keep, sweet sister.

'No harm shall come to you...I swear upon it.'

When did your big brother become such a fucking liar?

Watching you collapse to the ground, Aegon swiftly follows you to the ground, cuddling you close to his chest. He may have been a little tipsy, but now he was dead sober. You stumbled in, looking more like a ghost than a person. Your hair down, you always loved to leave it down when going to bed. Your nightgown, white with little butterflies sewn into the hem, now stained in blood. Who's? He did not know and dreaded finding out.

Stroking your hair tenderly, he prayed, truly prayed for the first time since his youth. Not for your safe return home. Not for his Father's love or a fragment of his time. Not for the Seven to rid him of all the bad in him. He prayed that you were just spouting out about some nightmare. That this was just like all those times in your youth, when you'd sneak into his chambers. A whimpering mess, spouting about the monster under your bed.

"It's just a dream. It's just a dream." Aegon tries to reassure, not sure if he was trying to convince you or himself.

"Aegon, what⎯what⎯what do we do?" One of his friends stutters out, a shell shocked look on his face.

"Get the fucking guards! Wake the fucking Keep up! Damn it!" Aegon bellows, his face flushing red from anger.

Struggling to figure out what to focus on, he couldn't keep up as the Red Keep seemingly exploded. Guards are everywhere. Orders being spouted out. He wasn't sure if his voice was one of them. It was all just a blur. This could not be real. This had to be a nightmare or a figment of his drunken mind. Soon enough he would awake. You'd come into his chamber's like you do every morning, warning him that your Mother was on her way. Yes, yes, that was it. He would wake up and everything would be good.

"Aegon. Aegon." Someone calls out for him, his grip tightening on you instinctively.

"Your grace, the Prince Jaehaerys and Prince⎯" A guard stops speaking, the look on his face enough to make his blood cold.

"No, they are alright. Tis' just a minor wound, no?" Aegon shakes his head, not wanting to think of the worse. "Just a bloody nose or.."

"Your grace.." The guard shakes his head, "I am afraid tis' more grave than a bloody nose."

Feeling tears bubbling up in his eyes, he shakes his head, laughing bitterly in disbelief. This could not be true. This had to be some jest. Some dream of his. There was no way that his son and your own were dead. The Red Keep was safe. Rhaenyra would be a fool to attack with Vhagar flying above. Hearing your wails grow louder and more heart wrenching, it felt like the world just fucking snapped. Tears of sadness morphing into red hot anger. His face hardening.

They killed your son. They killed his son, his heir. They fucking made you cry. They made you and Helaena watch. Fuck the peace treaty. Fuck being kind and being cordial. Fuck doing this the proper way. Fuck all of them. He'd killed them. He'd kill them all for this. He'd kill anyone who dared to do this. He'd fucking murder all of their bloodline for this. This was war. This was fucking war.

"I'll kill them! I'll kill them all! Traitor's and murderer's!"

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

[aeralux]

"Shadow of Your Past" - Aegon Targaryen

Summary: Long ago, your heart belonged to your past betrothed, Cregan Stark. Those times are long gone, as you now reside in King's Landing with your newborn babe and doting husband, Aegon. However seeing your wolf after all these years makes feelings come up in unexpected ways, making Aegon question your love for him.

Warnings: slight angst; Cregan is the other man (I'm so sorry, Cregan girlies); slight love triangle; jealous and sad Aegon; happy ending; he took you from your home tho; Helaena is dead (gets mentioned once); slight Cregan x Reader

Words: 2.9k

Notes: This was based on an anonymous ask. I changed it a tad bit but kept the original idea. First time ever written something adjacent to angst or fluff.

In the frigid lands of Winterfell, your destiny had long been sealed - to become a Lady of the North, wed to a formidable Lord from the North. Raised within Winterfell, you had been groomed from birth for this inevitable union. This future seemed as immutable as the unyielding winters that gripped the region.

Yet fate, it seemed, had other plans. When Cregan's beloved wife tragically passed, leaving him a widower with their young son Rickon, you found yourself pulled into their lives like the warm embrace of a dwelling fire. A fast friendship blossomed between yourself and Cregan, gradually kindled into the smouldering embers of new love. The whole of Winterfell looked on fondly as the once-bereaved Cregan's heart defrosted in the radiant presence of his new intended bride.

However, the fragile promise of this love was soon overshadowed by the towering curiosity of King Aegon II Targaryen. Whispers of the Northern beauty's unparalleled loveliness and grace had spread like wildfire through the realm. Bewitched by the tales, Aegon stated that this virtuous woman would be his, consequences be damned.

With a heavy heart, you bid farewell to the only home you had ever known and the love you had so fleetingly tasted, bound for the regal prisons of the Red Keep.

Within the crimson towers of King's Landing, a surprise awaited - Aegon's children were nothing like the spoiled, bratty offspring you had envisioned. Instead, they were kind, generous souls, undoubtedly a legacy of their late, beloved mother Helaena. Though resigned to your fate as a mere royal broodmare, you found yourself powerless against the innocent charms of the young princes and princesses, who swiftly embraced you as their "mummy."

Unprepared for the tenderness that blossomed between this makeshift family, King Aegon too found his calloused heart unexpectedly stirred. What had begun as a selfish pursuit of beauty transformed into a spirited courtship of genuine affection. Though still haunted by the ghost of your lost love in the North, over time you developed strong feelings for Aegon, especially after welcoming your first son, Prince Rhaevar. As you embraced your role as mother to Aegon's children and grew into your position as Queen of Westeros, you could not deny the sincerity of Aegon's keenness.

To commemorate the beginning of this new chapter in your life, Aegon declared that a grand tournament would be held in your honour on your name day. The air was thick with excitement, and the vibrant colours of the banners fluttered against a clear blue sky. Laughter and music filled the atmosphere as noblemen and commoners gathered to celebrate.

Yet, even amidst the revelry, shadows of the past loomed large. Your heart quickened as you caught sight of him—Cregan Stark, surrounded by his loyal men, his presence commanding and undeniable. The moment your eyes met, time seemed to stand still. Memories of stolen glances and whispered promises flooded your mind, overwhelming you with emotions long since buried.

In a surge of reckless abandon, you broke through the crowd, propelled by an all-consuming longing. The world around you faded away as you ran into his arms, feeling the warmth of his embrace envelop you like a familiar, cherished blanket. His scent—the wild, crisp scent of the North—stirred something profound within you.

As he pulled you closer, old feelings resurfaced with a ferocity that took your breath away. The way he held you felt both achingly familiar and electrifyingly new. You could hear your heart thundering in your chest, drowning out the sounds of the festival, as you melted into the safety of his arms. In that moment, surrounded by laughter and celebration, it felt as if you had returned to a lost piece of yourself, igniting a fire that you thought had long cooled.

"Cregan," you whispered into the thick furs of his coat, your breath mingling with the cold air that surrounded you. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this moment. Looking up at him, your heart raced as you were met with those familiar, loving grey eyes. The same eyes that had haunted your dreams for years apart.

He seemed taken aback by your sudden rush towards him, a mixture of surprise and warmth flooding his expression. You could see the shadows of longing and concern etched on his face as he stepped back slightly as if he were afraid that if he embraced you too tightly, he would shatter the fragile connection that still tethered your hearts together.

"I missed you," Cregan managed to say, his voice barely more than a whisper. A soft smile crept onto his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made your heart flutter. "You've changed," he continued, his gaze roaming over you with awe and affection. "You've become a woman."

A blush crept to your cheeks as you recalled the innocence of your past, the days spent dreaming of knightly heroes and fairy-tale endings. "And you," you replied, tinged with affection and sadness, "you've become even more captivating."

His eyes darkened for a moment, and the smile faltered. “Yet here we are, in a world that insists we belong to different stories,” he said, his voice heavy with unvoiced thoughts. “I should never have allowed myself to come here."

You stepped closer, drawn to him irresistibly, the warmth radiating from his body beckoning you like a moth to flame. “You really think so?” Your voice firm yet laced with sorrow.

Cregan shook his head slowly, the weight of reality settling between you like a thick fog. “You know I don't. But we are not in the North anymore.” His voice was a gentle storm, swirling with complex emotions. “You have a life, a kingdom. And I… I am but a shadow of your past.”

Tears welled in your eyes at the bittersweet truth of his words. “A shadow who holds my heart,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of longing. “I thought of you every day, every night.”

He looked down, his fingers running through the thick fur of his coat as if seeking comfort. “Then let me be the one to give you the freedom you deserve. I won’t hold you back. I won't hold you back from loving your husband, your kids.”

You reached out, your hand brushing against his, a soft spark igniting between your fingertips. “But it is you I dreamed of for so long,” you insisted fiercely, pressing your body against his. “You are the one I dreamed of, Cregan. You are my heartbeat.”

His head snapped up, catching your gaze with an intensity that made the air crackle around you. “And yet, we are bound by what we cannot change. If only the fates were kinder…”

You both stood there, worlds apart yet painfully close, the silence wrapping around you like a delicate embrace. Finally, Cregan stepped back, his heart heavy but resolute. “Go back to your life, my queen. But remember this moment. Remember us… even if we cannot be together.”

With that, he turned away, every step echoing with unfulfilled promises and lingering affection, leaving you standing in the cold, the weight of your love a bittersweet reminder that some stories, despite their depth, are never meant to unfold.

It felt like a shard of glass had been driven into your heart for the second time, twisting painfully with every thought of Cregan. The memories flooded back, uninvited and relentless, like a storm you couldn’t escape. You stood there, grappling with the truth he had laid bare before you. It wasn’t just about nostalgia; it was the realization that he was right. You had built a new life, filled with the laughter of children and the warmth of a husband who loved you deeply. Yet, no matter how hard you tried to bury those feelings, your first love left a mark that time could not erase.

You remembered the way Cregan had looked at you, that spark in his eyes igniting something profound within you — a connection that felt electric and raw. The ache of what once was gnawed at your insides, threatening to unravel the carefully woven fabric of your current life. You wanted to forget, to silence the inner turmoil that his memory stirred, but how could you, when a piece of your heart belonged forever to him? The struggle was suffocating, a cruel reminder that some loves cling to your soul no matter how far you run.

The icy reality of Aegon's presence loomed heavily over King's Landing as he stood on the balcony, his piercing gaze fixed upon the tournament and the people. The vibrant colours of the celebration below only intensified his resentful fury, each laugh and cheer from the crowd grating against his simmering emotions. How dare that barbarian come so close to his sweet wife, daring to touch her with such intimacy? The very thought ignited a wildfire of jealousy that blazed in his chest.

He knew he had snatched you away from Cregan, that steadfast Stark who had cherished you. But Aegon was the King, a crown heavy with authority resting upon his brow. He convinced himself that he could do as he pleased, but the sight of you laughing, your eyes sparkling with delight as you spoke to another man, felt like salt in an open wound.

Aegon raised the ornate golden goblet to his lips, the richness of the deep crimson wine swirling within—a stark contrast to the bitterness seeping into his soul. The velvety liquid flowed smoothly down his throat, but it did little to quell the storm raging inside him. Rage coursed through his veins like a volatile poison, making him feel as if his heart might burst against the confines of his chest.

From the intensity of his stare, one could almost feel the air crackle with tension; any Stark worth their salt should have sensed it, and should have begun preparing for the inevitable conflict that was brewing. He envisioned himself unleashing the full fury of his wrath, flames licking at every corner of the city, consuming anything and anyone that dared to come between him and his queen. The jealousy, sharp and relentless, gnawed at him, and with each passing moment, it became more apparent that he would not let this slight stand unchallenged.

Aegon stalked across the polished wooden floor, his long strides echoing in the grand hall as he approached your still figure in the stands. The sound of his boots clinking sharply against the wood pierced the air, drawing attention from those nearby. You turned around swiftly, the remnants of tears shimmering in your eyes like morning dew. With a quick motion, you wiped your cheeks, summoning every ounce of strength to mask your vulnerability. A shaky smile broke through, holding onto the semblance of normalcy.

“Aegon, my love,” you called softly, your voice barely above a whisper, quivering with emotion.

His eyes narrowed, a storm brewing beneath the surface. “Do not play games with me,” he snarled, the low growl of his voice sending a chill down your spine. “What did he say to you? I demand to know, right this instant!” The intensity of his accusation was palpable, rage and jealousy intertwining as he loomed closer.

You took a small step back, startled by the ferocity of his words. “It was nothing, truly. He only greeted me, husband,” you stammered, your heart racing as his gaze bore into you, searching for the truth amidst the tension of the crowd’s watchful eyes.

“Nothing?” Aegon scoffed, throwing his arms wide in a dramatic display of disbelief. “You think I would believe such an absurd claim? What man merely greets a lady of the court without ulterior motives? You know better!” His voice was a fervent mix of jealousy and protectiveness, each syllable dripping with accusation.

“I assure you, Aegon, it was merely a courteous exchange,” you replied, striving for calm amidst the chaos swirling within. “You know how these formalities are.”

“Formalities?” he echoed, his tone laced with sarcasm. “You may call it that, but I see a man with intentions far from noble. Do not underestimate my concern for you, for your well-being—my beloved wife.”

You watched as the tension washed over him, the play of emotions battling within those stormy eyes. “Please, my king, I ask you to trust me,” you implored, reaching out to touch his arm gently, hoping to quell the tempest within him. “There is nothing more between us than mere civility.”

His gaze softened slightly at your touch, but the underlying fury simmered beneath the surface. “Civility, they call it, yet it feels like a betrayal,” he murmured, clenching his jaw. “I would not let any man tarnish what belongs to me.”

“Aegon,” you said, your voice steadier now, “I belong to you, and only you. Let us not allow jealousy to poison what we hold sacred.”

The tension hung thick in the air, a palpable force that seemed to wrap around you both, suffocating yet electric with unspoken words. Aegon stood before you, his posture rigid, an imposing figure clad in regal attire that glinted with the weight of his title. His expression morphed swiftly from blazing rage to sharp realization, as if the realization itself cut deeper than any dagger.

"You still harbour feelings for him, don't you?" His voice was cold, each word deliberate, imbued with a bitterness that struck at your very core. His eyes, usually filled with warmth, now gleamed with a piercing scrutiny that threatened to unravel the very fabric of your devotion.

Your heart raced, a wild drumbeat of panic and despair. "No! No, of course not!" You exclaimed, an edge of desperation creeping into your tone. "I only love you and our children. You must believe me!" The plea dripped from your lips, each word a frantic attempt to bridge the chasm of doubt that had formed between you. You nearly sank to your knees, the guilt eating you alive.

Aegon’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, a devilish glint in his sapphire eyes. "Do you even love me? Or has this all been a grand farce?" His voice, while playful in tone, carried an undercurrent of pain that clutched at your heart with icy fingers. The regal confidence he usually commanded wavered, revealing the vulnerability that lay beneath the surface.

Tears, unbidden and unwelcome, began to stream down your cheeks, trailing down to your chin. You could feel the weight of your emotions, raw and unfiltered. "Of course, I love you, Aegon!" you cried, your voice cracking under the strain of your sincerity. "You must know that. Every part of my soul is bound to you!" The desperation washed over you, carrying with it the echoes of your commitment, louder than any accusation.

Aegon’s gaze softened for a fleeting moment, the familiar warmth flickering beneath the icy facade, before insecurity took hold once more. “Then why does he haunt the corners of your heart?” he challenged, crossing his arms, the royal crown upon his brow seeming heavier than ever.

You took a shaky breath, the air thick with tension and longing. "He is a shadow from the past. But you, Aegon," you implored, your eyes locking onto his, "you are my present and my future. Please, don’t let envy poison what we have built together. Can you not see how much I need you?" The words tumbled out, a cascade of heartache and fervour, hoping to illuminate the depths of your true feelings.

Aegon’s expression faltered for a brief heartbeat, the storm in his eyes giving way to a vulnerability that he rarely let show. “You swear it?” he whispered, his voice softer now, laced with hope and disbelief.

“I swear it,” you replied fervently, your heart laid bare before him, an offering of unwavering love despite the tempest that had arisen between you. “You are my king, my love, and the father of my children. I would never betray you.”

At that moment, the air shimmered with unspoken oaths, and you both stood on the ridge, caught between jealousy and the desperate hope for reprieve.

Aegon's face softened, the storm in his eyes receding like clouds parting after a storm. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing away the tears that stained your cheeks. The tenderness of his touch sent a shiver through you, a reminder of the love that had grown between you over the years.

"My queen," he murmured, his voice a low, comforting rumble. "Forgive me. I should believe you over anyone." He pulled you close, enveloping you in his strong arms. The familiar scent of him - smoke and spice - filled your senses, grounding you in the present.

You melted into his embrace, feeling the rapid beating of his heart against your cheek. "There's nothing to forgive," you whispered, your fingers curling into the rich fabric of his tunic. "We've weathered storms before."

"But I cannot bear the thought of losing you. Not to him, not to anyone," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gently, you placed your hand on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palm. "You won't lose me, Aegon. I am yours, now and always."

His eyes closed at your touch, leaning into your hand as if it were a lifeline. When he opened them again, they shimmered with unshed tears. "I love you," he breathed, the words carrying the weight.

[laurorne]

༊*·˚ VALYRIAN STEEL | aegon ii targaryen x sister! reader summary: you’ve found that your brother was better as a lover, in more ways than one. warnings: nsfw, minors dni, targaryen incest, top!reader, smut, p in v, riding, slight masochism, a tiny bit of a blood kink? word count: 0.6k a/n: man i love tom glynn carey 😭

Aegon II Targaryen is a messy brother. With his choppily cut hair and his dire need to do well by you, you find him endearing more oft than not. He is far from the perfect son, or the shining example of a prince. But he is loyal, to his family, to his dragon, to you.

He is messy in the sense that he's barely put together, with last minute gifts that fall apart before his eyes and half-thought out plans. Like the time he had the Conquerors crown pulled from the Red Keeps vaults, only to have the rubies removed and placed into a heavy Valyrian steel necklace —the steel from a smelted ceremonial blade mind you— accompanied by moonstones imported from the Summer Isles.

Your grandsire had yelled for a good twenty minutes before his breath left him and he needed to rest, the old fart. And your mother… oh gods she had nearly nagged both your ears off, and you hadn’t even had a clue as to why the scolding was about until Aegon sheepishly presented it to you. The nameday present spoiled now, but ever heartwarming.

After that unfortunate incident, you'd found yourself wearing that necklace nearly everyday, having dresses altered just to accommodate the sheer size and intricacy of the piece. You barely took it off, the jangling of the layered metal became a comfort over the years of your marriage.

Like right now.

Your hips roll in a slow, wide circle. Your hands pinning his chest to the bed as you work yourself atop him. He's flushed red across his neck and chest, cheeks ruddy as he pants into the night air, Adams apple bobbing deliciously as he fails to swallow down the noises he's making.

"Not much t- to say now, hmm?" You glance down at him, licking your lips as you scratch your nails down his chest and stomach.

His breath hitches at a particularly fast roll of your hips, his hands pawing at the flesh of your hips as he dares to take a peak up at you. "I don't have much to say, when you- when-"

You purposely speed up, lifting your hips only to roll back down onto him, your tits bouncing and your necklace clinking. The scarlet rubies catching what little moonlight they can as you use Aegon like a common whore.

"What was that, my sweet husband?"

"You're a cruel sister." He catches his breath, finally. His fingers pinching at the skin on your hipbone, his other hand skating over your stomach and up to your tit as you lean down into his face.

"I'm only as cruel as you are wanting."

He squeezes your breast in a soft hand, thumbing your nipple as you begin slowing your pace again. Edging him to his finish, oh-so slowly.

He hums, his thighs tensing beneath you as you pinch roughly at his nipple. He arches up into the touch as you flick over it with a nail, taking in the way his brows pinch together and his lashes flutter.

You surge forwards to catch his lips in a kiss, all teeth clashing and messy tongue. He bites down on your lip a bit too hard and you can feel the release of tension in the soft skin as blood meets your tongue.

You breathe out, pulling away by a breadths width as you begin swirling your hips, his dick heavy in your cunt as you watch a droplet of blood land on his chin. He's grinning up at you stupidly, a string of reddish spit linking your lips together before he cups the side of your face and drags you back in.

Tonguing at the cut on your lip as he moans, hips rocking up into yours finally. The other wrapping around your middle as he begins fucking up into you, punching a breath out of your lungs as he devours you.

Aegon was a messy husband, and an even messier lover. But by the Seven, did you love it.

[entitled-fangirl]

A ratcatcher's wife.

Aegon Targaryen x reader? Maybe?

Summary: The reader encounters the King of the Realm

Warnings: crude language, cornering in an alleyway, blood

A/n: Where my Aegon girlies at? *holding binoculars* Are any of them out there? Do they exist? Anyway, this has a multiple-part potential but I'm not sure if enough people would be interested

Masterlist

.........................................

A hand caught her wrist as she walked through the dark alley. "Aren't you a pretty girl?"

She yanked herself from the cloaked man, an anger now coursing through her. "Stay away from me."

"Ah, ah, ah," the voice warned. The men around him giggled, clearly enjoying the fight. His hands came up to his hood, pulling it down to reveal silver hair. 

Aegon Targaryen II.

The King.

The fucking devil.

His head tilts as it takes in her reaction. "Aw," he mocks, "Speechless at the sight of your magnanimous king?" He spreads his arms out, as if ready to accept great applause. 

A sudden pain erupts through his body, specifically in his face. 

She had punched him in the nose.

He stumbled lightly, bringing a hand to his face to catch the blood that began to pour. The adrenaline was beginning to rush down, nausea taking after it.

"FUCKING WHORE!" He yelled out between small gags. 

He feared for more of an attack, but his mates had restrained her as well as they could, though she still kicked and fought against their every touch. Fire burned behind her eyes, and it brought a sort of joy to the man. 

He stood straight up with difficulty, one hand keeping his nose pinched as he breathed through his mouth. "You," he pointed at her, "Are one feisty bitch."

"I'll fucking kill you," she sneered at him, her fighting beginning to plateau. 

He laughed. He fucking laughed at that. "What did I ever do to you, pretty girl? Can't accept a compliment?"

"Spoiled bastard," she cursed at him. One of the men slapped her harshly, a small yelp coming from her. 

"Tell me," Aegon continued, pointing at her. "That hatred in your eyes is not from a compliment. It's as if I have something to rue."

"You murdered my husband."

His brows go up, prompting more pain in his face. "Well, I'm sure he was guilty of a treasonous crime." He was beginning to find enjoyment in tormenting the poor girl. "What was his crime?"

"Following your order, my king," she said, spitting the title as if venom.

He was thrown off guard by that, but didn't let his anger fade as the pain continued. "I would never. I'm a gracious fucking king!"

"Gracious to your RAT CATCHERS?" She spewed.

The king fell silent. His eyes roamed over her face. The idea of him killing off someone's husband was not one he'd thought of when hanging the rat catchers. The memory of his son's body haunted him daily, and having it appear once again after he had thought he'd drank it away tonight was not ideal. His voice was more hushed now, a plain hurt expression on his face. "Don't."

"You're no king."

"Stop," he lightly commanded again. His hurt was getting to him. A memory of Helaena's tears flashed in his mind and he physically flinched. The cries of his daughter rang in his ears. "They…" His voice trembled. "They did this."

"You were supposed to protect us," she whispered.

"And who protects me?" He asked in an almost whimper. "Who protects my family?"

She tilted her chin up high to fake her confidence. "Maybe your anger would have been best suited to your guards."

An actual tear managed to run down Aegon's face. He let out a light sob that he forced into a scoff as to not seem weak. He tried to speak, but found that he had nothing to say.

One of his friends tugged at the woman's arm. "She's got a mouth on her, Aegon." A smirk tugged at his lips. "I say we use it."

"No," Aegon sighed when he saw the immediate panic in her. "No. Just… let her go."

"your gra-"

"-Do as I say!" He managed, though it was muffled by his pinched nose.

She yanked her arms from the men, straightening her skirt. 

"Tell me your name and you can go."

Her brows furrowed. She said treasonous words and suddenly he was forgiving her. "Y/n."

He nodded, then waved his free hand out. "Go. Don't tell a soul what you saw here tonight." His other hand dropped, moonlight reflecting the red that ran down the bottom half of the king's face.

Her eyes studied each man and when none of them made a motion to catch her, she walked.

She walked away from the king after insulting and assaulting him.

At the end of the alley, she looked over her shoulder one last time.

Aegon pulled his hood over his head and he and his men ventured back into the streets like nothing had happened.

.........................................

[myladysapphire]

The spoils of war

Being a woman on the loosing side of a war was never a good thing. And when you are the only daughter of the looser it can mean one of two things, either death or marriage, and for lucky for y/n, Aegon was in need of a wife.

word count: 2,665

CW: MDI 18+, incest, angst, smut, forced marriage, unrequited love, jelousy. p in v, fingering, loss of virginity, oral (f reciving), no happy ending

Fem!reader x Aegon ii Targeryen and past fem!reader x Aemond Targereyn

a/n Aegon isn't a r*pist in this fic

Masterlist

Being a woman on the losing side of a war was never a good thing. Death always followed war, but so did marriage. and Marriage was what you now found yourself facing. Though you had begged for death, the greens deemed it fit for Rhaneyras only daughter to marry Aego.

as a means to oppress the remaining black loyalists.

With Heleana having taken her own life after the detah of both her sons, Jaeherys and Maelor. Aegon found himself without a wife. 

And with only a daughter to succeed him, the small council feared another dance should Jaeheara be heir, so they agreed a marriage between you and Aegon would suit the realm.

Though you disagreed, you had been a prisoner in the red keep for longer than you can remember. Having been dragged to the keep by Aemond after Luke's death. Aemond would visit often. You wewre forced to listen and watch as Aegon ruled, as they ridiculed your mothers everymove. You would hear about the death of each of your family through gaurds taunts.

You had seen freedom for half a year when your mother finally achieved her birthright. Had met Cregan, the man who you was supposed to marry. 

And then you heard of Aemonds death. Daemon had killed him and died himself. You and he had once considered yourself inlove. Even planned to run away and marry. But after what he did to Luke, those feelings changed and the love and longing turned to hate and anger. And with his detah came relief. She felt one step closer to her mother being safe on the throne. 

And then Aegon returned and killed your mother. Burned her alive.

You had witnessed it all, as guards held you back.

Then two weeks later your own grandsire, Coryls Veleryon, came and told you of the plans, the plans he agreed with and even proposed. 

He was the only visitor she had had. She had no Aemond to visit her, to eat with ehr even if all she did was spit angry words in his direction.

Then today, after over a moon, you were dragged from your bed and forced before Aegon in the throne room.Your mothers burnt body laid in front of you, wrapped in sheets as if to hide what Aegon had done to her. and your youngest brother, Aegon the younger, in chains.

The green council tood and told you what they demanded, Crolys the main voice among them. It was clear you had no choice but to accept their demands. marry Aegon and become queen, her brother's life will be spared and warded in Oldtown until he was four and ten. If she refused, he would become just like thre dead mother. A burnt body. And she would be dragged down the aisle anyway.

she needed her brother Aegon, he was the only family she had left and it killed her that he would grow up in the hands of the greens, but then again so would her children. The heirs the small council had demanded they have, if not Aegons life would be forfeit. 

The small council had left, leaving her and Aegon alone, bar the few guards that remained. 

Aegon called your name, he seemed nervous, tired even.

He wore the conqueror's crown, it suited him, though it was not his. But it was clear that the weight of it was more than the weight of the rubys. A weight Aegon ahd once told her he feared. 

He coughed, bringing you back from your thoughts. “Your grandsire informed me that he told you of our plans over a moon ago”

You nodded.

“I know this is not what you wanted… that i am not who you wanted, or even - or even the brother you wanted-” he stood up and made his way towards her “but this is for the good of the realm”

You scoffed “of course it is Aegon, no one wants another war.”  Everyone knew why you were marrying, it was to be a front of the greens and blacks uniting, of her bending the knee. “I am the spoils of war, Aegon. And when it comes to victory the victor always keeps his prize. And I am your prize Aegon. Not that i had a choice” you tunrened to leave, done with this, you had time. Time to get a letter to Cregan. Some servants were still loyal, surely?

Aegon once again called your name “we wed on the morrow”

Then again, the greens were smart enough to win a war, of course they were smart enogh to marry her fast. 

Aegon had alwasy hoped to wed her. And he had hope for this marriage, but not hope for a happy marriage. though he had once hoped to wed her instead of Helaena, and now he was forcing her to marry him. But he did hope it’ll end the war. Hoped that Cregan Stark would stop his attacks and surrender, submit to him and not launch the realm into another war.  they had lost too much as it was.

Aegon felt sorry for her. He felt alone but she truley was. Her only family would soon be torn from her and she would be stuck with them, and married to him. 

It had never been him for her, though it had always been her for him. from doing everything to gain her attention, bullying Aemond so she would see him as the better brother, from begging his mother and even his father to marry her and not Helaena. From bedding whores who were her doubles. 

But for you it has always been Aemond, always been him even when he killed your brother, Aemond still spoke as if you two were soon to wed and that you and him were utterly in love. He  had never got your attention, not the way Aemond had.

He called your name again, you were numb, eyes and face void of any emotion. “did you hear me?!” he asked more sternly.

you nodded your head, looking down. “ I understand Aegon.” you said his name so sweetly and yet it was filled with such hate. you had yet to call him King, had yet to fully bend the knee to him.

he sighed “you will have to bend the knee to me before and the lords of the realm… they have all been summoned for the wedding. where we shall pledge our souls together and you shall pledge your allegiance.”

you gritted your teeth, you had never been stubborn, always a people pleaser, but when it came to this you were being… difficult.

he sighed, going to speak again before you snapped your head up. He was close, close enough to reach out and take her hands in his. To hold her close. To-

“Fine! But you must swear to me Aegon.. That my brother will be safe. I - i do not want him in oldtown, send him somewhere anywhere but there. I will only bend the knee if he is safe, and i will make sure he does aswell, and that he sticks to it, if you swear he will not be killed!”

“Of course, i- he is my nephew, and as it stands my heir- it is in the crowns best interest to protect him. Doing otherwise would-”

“Risk war” she finished for him. “I make no promises for the marriage, but is shall do my duty.”

It hurts, duty. Their marriage, the marriage he had hjoped for being just a duty. Being a consolation prize for winning a war his mother and grandsire planned and plotted his whole life. And her turning around and storming through the door straight away hurt even more.

She had been given a dress. It was ivory and It was…beautiful. 

She had expected green. Something obvious. To get the greens point across. But she supposed the wedding got it across enough.

The wedding was packed, lords and ladies from all over westros, lords and ladies from both the blacks and the greens.

Her grandsire walked her down the Asile. 

Aegon stood up there, in ivory, with matching patterns to her gown. He smiled at her. He looked happy as if he had waited for this day. As if she and him were lovers finally getting there wedding day.

The ceremony was fast, a copy and paste of the dozens of weddings she had attend

They had stood before each other, in the eys of the realm and the gods. There hands joined togther, eyes locked. It was intense and fast. Then she was maade to kneel before him, and as she knelt he placed a crown on her hesd, naming her his queen consort.

There was relief throughout the kingdom the night. There wedding celebration turning into toasts and dances of peace. 

And before she knew it, it was time for the bedding ceremony.

She was nervous. She knew it would hurt somewhat. Her mother had always had told her. And told her all she would need to know. Ahd reassured her that on her wedding day she would be there, smiling and dancing as she married her love. And yet her mother was dead. Her brothers dead. Rhanea and Beala were at driftamark, univinted as if them coming would prevent the wedding from happnning. And she was not marrying her love, she was marrying her duty. Marrying for peace. And yet when Aegon looked into her eyes as they stood for the bedding ceremony she flet at peace, calm, as if eveything was snapping into place.

He took her hand in his and kissed it, before moving to step down and leave.

Aegon had ordered for no escorts top there chambers, no servants or maids. It was just them. 

And for the first time in who knows how long she felt like she could breath. 

Aegon looked towards you, cupping your face with his hands, caressing your cheeks. he was nervou, his eyes gave that away. “i’m sorry if this is not the wedding you wanted, or the husband, but i want you to know that you are the wife i have always wanted. i understand why you could never love me back. i have done terrible things to your family and i-“

“not tonight Aegon” you begged, “for tonight let us be husband and wife, tommorow you can be King Aegon, the Aegon who did all of those things, but tonight we forget. you will make me forget” you begged.

Aegon responsed ,not with words but by surging forward with a kiss. Unlike the one in the sept, were it was quick chaste. this was filled with passion, filled with Aegons love for you. There  mouths moulded together, his tounge teasing your  lip until you finally got the hint and opens for him. she was inexperienced, it was obvious, but you caught on quick. even quicker when his kisses started trailing from your mouth, to your  jaw and then to your  neck, moving further down until they reached your shoulders. he looked up then, his hand moving to the back of your dress, reaching for the corset. reaching for his laces he gave a soft kiss to your  shoulder, before removing the laces to her gown., your dress slowly dropped to the floor, pooling around your ankles. leaving your in your shear underclothes.

“gods”Aegon moaned, before diving back down to kiss your neck and working his way back up to your mouth. you moved your ah do to his shoulders, relaxing more into the kisses, allowing yourself to bask in the pleasure.

Aegon moved down one more, this time he didn’t stop at your shoulder, but moved down your your breast. taking your nipple into his mouth, and moaning at the taste. you yourself moaned in pleasure, you had done some stuff with Aemond, mainly kissing, some touching, even had his head between your thighs. but tonight felt differ t, it was not a differ t lind of pleasure, but a feeling. with Ameond it was forbidden, but with Aegon, he was your husband and deep down it felt right.

moving away from your breasts aemond pressed another kiss to your lips, before taking a step back. you watched as he did, removing his jacket and then his tunic, leaving him topless before you. he was not toned or leaned as Aemond was, but a bit chubby. And yet she found even hotter than the toned body you  had once knew so well.

Aegon continued stepping back, but not before taking your hand in his and pulling you with him, towards the bed.

He turned you around, allowing your back of your beds to hit the bed. sitting in the bed Aegon thought you a vision, even more so whn you shyly reached  for your small clothes and pulled them off over your head. you were perfect.

he moaned at the sight, before reaching down and pressing his mouth to yours, his hands reaching down to caress your body, the feeling filled with care.

“Aegon?” you spoke up, causing Aegon to lean back and stop.

“what? are you ok?” he asked

you nodded, reaching forward to his breeches, searching for the laces. Aegon let out a laugh, before moving back to take them off. “better?” he asked. you nodded.

he leant down and gave you a kiss before getting in his knees and spreading your legs. he looked up at you a gleam o his eyes, before moving forward, and devouring you. his tounge circling your clit. his hands moved up your legs, leaving goosebumps in there wake. his fingers moved up towards your heat, his fingers teasing your opening. slowly he entered his finger, gods you were right, unexplored. 

pumping in and out of you, you let out moans of pleasure, your peak etching closer and closer, before taking you over whole.

Aegon moved back, wiping his face in the bed sheets, before standing up. 

you looked at him, dazed.

“we don’t have to go any further-“ you interrupted him.

“i want too” you spoke, almost begging.

he nodded, moving you back, further into the bed. 

Moving between your thighs, he pushed in slowly and carefully. 

you felt so full, uncomfortable, before it turned quickly into pleasure. Aegon moved slowly, pumping you full, his body pressed against yours, kissing you deeply. before moving faster, harder. moans filled the room, the pleasure over taking them you both as you once again reached your peak, and Aegon let go, filling you with his seed.

Aegon collapsed further into you, both your breath heavy.

“gods” you sighed. and Aegon nodded in agreement.

As the years passed since your wedding to Aegon. 

you knew you would never forgive him for what he had down, never love him, not like he loved you. 

but you were civil, appeasing. paining the picture of the perfect wife. And Wegon grew more in love.

but deep down you knew that you would never love him, or forgive him, and some part of you would always long for Cregan or mother black loyalist to rise up and name your brother king.

But as you grew older, and had five children, all the image of Aegon, that that day would never come. not as your children grew older. As Jaheara and Aegon wed, and had children of there own. 

And when aegon died at the age of 56, from a summer fever, believing you had forgiven him and loved him, you realised that the greens had won. Even as you watched your son be crowned king, and his son after him.

You never got your happy ending, but the history books would right that you did. That all along you were a green. Switching form one brother to the other.

when in reality you still felt alone, and though you died surrounded by your grandchildren and great grandchildren, you died feeling alone, still feeling like the spoils of war.

Taglist (bold means could not tag)

@taragryenmoony @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @zillahvathek @dark-night-sky-99 @apollonshootafar

to be added to taglist

[alavestineneas]

Heaven

pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x fem!reader summary: Gluttony, lust, sloth, envy, greed—the sins were placed on his head instead of a crown worth his status, a crown that would've, undoubtedly, made some meaning of his life. Without it, the matted, silver hair atop his head served more as a laughing matter. Even the father, taken with the idea of a male babe, has cast him aside. The apple of the rotten tree fell far from the branches, left to rot and decay in the shadows of his own undoing. warning: canon-typical violence, blood&cheese, hurt little comfort, loss of limbs, implied/referenced cheating, drinking, court, RELIGIOUS GUILT, sex lol word count: 8.2k

author's notes: hi lovely people! today, i present you my new creation - an Aegon fic! yay! PLEASE note that: a)YN has children in this imagine and they are important to the story. If you don't feel comfortable reading all that - do not engage with this fic. b) The Blood&Cheese does happen in this univese, so be mindful!

If all is good, am I so excited to have you here - please don't shy away from sharing your opinion, either good or bad, in the comments. Love you!

He was not used to hearing no.

It is a simple truth: of all of the words in the world, one of the most common ones escaped his mind completely, going over his head and never leaving an impact strong enough to attach meaning to it. Since he was a babe in the golden cradle, lavishing in the rich purples of the crown, the Realm opened in front of him, smiling and cooing in his regal plump face. The best teachers, toys, and golden coins were thrown his way—the firstborn son, the long-awaited boy of House Targaryen. Soon, the endless teachers changed into endless rivers of the best wines, and wooden horses grew pairs of tits big enough to bury the temper he had grown to hold. Only gold in his pockets as he turned to yet another brothel door never changed its shape—money travelled from his hands into cups, dresses, and undergarments silently, the countless replicas of his father’s profile sparkling with the judgement of yet another of his poor choices.

Sometimes Aegon wondered what would be the breaking point for his righteous Lady Mother—when would her head finally turn to look him in the eye and mutter a swift ‘’no’’ instead of lowering her gaze and pursing her lips together at his new whim? He foolishly thought it would be the wine. Nevertheless, each time Alicent found him covered in his own dinner, dragged to the castle by some unfortunate knight, she raged and cried, but never forbade him from drinking again. Yet, the more he ate, the more he wanted.

He thought his heart a hole—the darkest, most blackest place of his soul, rotten from the day his violet eyes opened and took in the world around them. Like a tooth, white as snow upon its birth, growing spoiled from the sweet nectars the Realm had to offer. The small spot, not bigger than a needle's ear, appears first, going unnoticed. Then, it fattens and spreads its disease through the mouth until there are no teeth to chew with, leaving only a gaping void where once there was a smile. Gluttony, lust, sloth, envy, greed—the sins were placed on his head instead of a crown worth his status, a crown that would've, undoubtedly, made some meaning of his life. Without it, the matted, silver hair atop his head served more as a laughing matter. Even the father, taken with the idea of a male babe, has cast him aside. The apple of the rotten tree fell far from the branches, left to rot and decay in the shadows of his own undoing.

In the name of traditions he had no reason to engage in, the only place where he had hoped to be something or become something—his chambers—were occupied by the stark reminder of his worthlessness. Heleana, his sister, his wife—the almost always silent figure, a shadow of their childhood. It pained him to watch her close her eyes every time he entered the chambers to install the needed heir into his sister's womb. Aegon remembers her as a girl, often strange but never unkind—the image he forced himself to forget every time she undressed in front of him . The violet eyes they both shared, the silver braids covering her girlish figure—everything about House Targaryen made him ache with guilt and shame. He could not stand to look at the similar braids on his own shoulders, so he cut them off in a drunken rage, burning them in the flames of the fire. Oh, how he wished he could burn himself there instead.

None of his whores had any trace of Old Valyria. None of his whores had a trace of her, either. The one his famished, bloodied heart set the pinnacle of his desire. He could have any woman in the world, from the slaves to the highborn maidens, begging for him to spare one glance, one night, one favour from the night-made king. But it was her, the secret so shameful that even his spoiled mind could not admit it. Aegon studies the patterns in the ceiling, his body almost in pain from the aching feeling in his abdomen. The water around him moves, caressing his skin like a lover's touch. It's burning, he notes, despite being nearly wintry.

''Does your brother know you are here?''

He almost does not recognise his voice as he speaks, the words barely a whisper in the echoing chamber. It's low and darkened, leaving his mouth with a tingle of bitterness. The question comes out twisted, ridicule thrown into another naked body in his bath—it earns only a low chuckle from the woman in front of him.

''Yes, my king, I believe he does.'' Lady YN looked more entertained than embarrassed; all of the pleasantries the etiquette demanded they follow were out of the question anyway. The water hid most of her body, leaving only the head and neck for display. She was bare, the ends of her hair steaming down the ends of a bath as she lounged comfortably, completely at ease. ''The twins often share a piece of soul, my king. You must have known from your own children."

Aegon hms, his eyes leaving their place and setting on the woman instead. Coloured with wetness, her hair stuck to her forehead in the heat of the bath , starting small streams of water down her face. Striking, almost glistening eyes stared back at him. Something unreadable lay there, something not meant for him to see. Her body is one of the woman, not a girl; the marks of not one but two babes nurtured by her womb and breasts are simple in their beauty; this, Aegon thinks, ought to be the image of Mother on the walls of Sept. Lady YN, a widow to some highborn Lord he wished not to know the name of, and mother to his two children. Lady YN, a twin sister to Ser Leon Estermont. Lady YN, the mistress of the king.

''Are you just going to stare?'' The woman chuckled softly, bringing Aegon out of his reverie. "Or are you going to fuck me?''

Aegon barked a short laugh, adjusting himself to hold the weight of the woman climbing on top of him, his arms catching her hips with ease. ''Holy Seven! Where have you learned such profanities, woman? Not fuck,'' he playfully scolded, trapping her lips in a teasing kiss. ''making love, that is,'' he mumbled against her jaw.

Aegon moved slower than usual, taking his time to savour each moment. Something was enchanting in the way droplets of sparkling water clung to her skin, glistening like diamonds in the sunlight—it was as if the water itself had moulded her, leaving an indelible mark on her very being. Even now, with his headlight from wine and limbs burning for a rest, the hunger pools in his stomach, demanding more of her. YN's voice is sickening; it wraps around Aegon's dried throat and lands on his chest like a weighty stone. The hushed moans, mixed with whispers, send shivers down his spine as he rocks into her body, caught in the intoxicating web she weaves with her words. It almost pained him to pull away from her, knowing that he would never be able to resist her siren call for long.

''What are you doing?'' YN asks, her voice laced with a hint of amusement, as she places her hands on his chest, the pace of her hips never faltering.

Aegon struggles to find the words to respond, lost in the dizzying whirlwind of sensations she evokes within him. He can only manage a breathless, ''There is something I want to give you,'' before succumbing once again to her spellbinding presence. It's not an inquiry; the words leave Aegon's mouth without much thought behind them . His hand blindly travels to the small table somewhere behind his back, knocking down two goblets and a burned candle in his haste. ''Here,'' he says, pushing the cascade of hair aside to place a small golden pendant on her neck. "Oh, Gods,'' he murmurs, his eyes fixed on the pendant as it rests against her skin. "Had it made for you.''

He tried to focus on the pendant, but the sight of breasts moving before him was too much to bear. The pace she set, undeniably to torment him further, was excruciating. A few more moments, and he might finish right then and there. But he couldn't bring himself to stop her or put an end to this torturous game. Aegon closed his eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations that consumed him.

''Please, don't stop," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own racing heartbeat. Aegon wanted to cease existing, to turn around, and to never be seen here again. Instead, he just sat in the small bath, a little too small for two people, feeling redness creep up his neck onto his cheeks. To his surprise, the heat pooling inside of him only grew as his courage slipped away with each moment. A completely pleasurable sensation took over him, spreading heat between his legs and causing his breath to quicken. Aegon's hips instinctively arched forward, craving more of her touch. The waves around him mixed with the ones of pleasure as he came, the hands roaming his body, leaving him feeling more alive than ever before.

Numb, he watched the water swirl around the YN's breasts and knees as she reached her high a few moments later, a smile playing on her lips as she looked down at him. She rinsed her body, washing away the sweat and salt, before stepping out of the water with a satisfied sigh. Aegon followed her body with hungry eyes as she stepped out of the bath and reached out for the cloth to dry herself. First, her hair, then her neck and arms; she meticulously dried every inch of her body before slipping into a blue gown, one of her hands catching and bringing to light his gift. A sun-shaped gold pendant dangled from her fingers, glinting in the fire. She traced the intricate design with her thumb, a fond smile on her face as she remembered the moment he had given it to her.

Aegon's eyes softened as he watched her. ''I intend to have you join me for the early meal on the morrow. ''

''I would be pleased to, my king.'' She pauses, a sly smile playing on her lips. ''May the night be kind to you.''

He chuckled, his own smile mirroring hers. ''And may your dreams be filled with nothing but joy.''

With a gentle nod, she excused herself from his presence, the gold pendant still clasped in her hand. Aegon sighed, not bothering to sit straight, leaning on the bath walls instead. He prayed to Seven for even a chance to close his lids this sombre night; his usual sleep was turned into a nightmare and a fever dream at once—the one that left him covered in sweat and desperate for sweet oblivion. No matter how much he pleaded, the laughing eyes of Lady YN wouldn't leave her alone. He would lay in bed until sunrise, staring into the faintly pink sky, until dawn came and the cycle of never-ending torment began again.

There were a lot of sinners in all the corners of the world; they kept on with their small affairs, akin to flies, wasting each of their numbered days on the things that carried no meaning in the great map of history. Slaves of foreign lands, smallfolk of fields and seas, servants scurrying in the shadows of their masters or draped with precious cloth figures of noblemen—life and later death—showed no interest in their whereabouts. Their existence was fleeting; their legacy was forgotten with the passing of the seasons.

YN grew tired of never-changing identities quickly; the same faces of mediocrity surrounded her, stealing the much-needed fresh air with the talk of trivial matters. Noon and night mixed in one globe in her throat, tasting of nothing but bitterness—the same flute, feast, and court affairs sun after sun. The small girl near her screeches and laughs, her little hands occupied with the dolls, as she attempts to flee from the grasp of her older brother. They seemed to be in their own world, running down one of the stone halls of the Red Keep with a speed the best stallions of the kingdoms could only dream of.

''You are cheating! I saw it; you did!''

Peter was her firstborn, a boy who is now nearing the age of a man—two and ten summers have passed since she first heard his cry echo in the cold halls of the family castle. Slender, even sickly skinny—as her late lord husband declared upon his birth, he fell sick often—she has spent countless nights near his cradle, wishing to see the day he becomes a healthy, strong young lad. To the delight of everybody, and YN as well , her prayers did not go unanswered. Peter was now skilled with a blade, his fragile figure resulting in swifter, much softer moves that left his teacher's prowess a remarkable honour of knighthood.

''I am not! I'm just faster than you!''

A smile spreads across YN's face as she looks at the little girl in her yellow dress, who now hides behind a collum. Meg was a keen, healthy babe of four summers, with a mischievous glint in her eyes that mirrored YN's own. Other than that, she looked nothing like her—all her father, the Lord husband, lost to illness. What a blessing it was to look at her daughter's face and see him. What a curse.

''Please, be civil. Remember, no hitting, no biting, and absolutely no spitting are worthy of a knight or a lady."

No talking, either, if she could convince them to listen for longer than two minutes. Having her children play with the royal heirs was Aegon’s idea; like that, she had more time on her hands, and twins could enjoy the company of someone closer to ''normal'' folk, as he had worded it. It was not something she could refuse, although she wished nothing more than to do so. The royals were a serious matter; one wrong word and your head ornates the castle walls instead of the golden banners. She did not doubt her children; they were kind-hearted, lovely people, but the notable ‘incidents’ of house Targaryen kept her awake at night, wishing her children would be brought to her with all their eyes and limbs. Leon, her brother, assured her nothing would happen— it was he who took her children to and from the Queen's chambers. He told her of great opportunities for his niece and nephew that came with being closer to the court, but it did not ease YN’s mind fully. All of her family, in one way or another, entertained the royal and noble house of the dragons—the fate most minor houses considered a blessing. Most, but not all.

Before the death of her husband and long before either of her children came into this globe, it was just two of them in their small little world—the twins of House Estermont, the heirs to the misfortunes of the Greenstone's lush greenery and endless tides of sea. She would've stayed there, on a small island enveloped by mountains and castle walls. It was Leon who wanted to make something of himself, with dreams as high as the seagulls up in the sapphire sky above their childhood bedchambers. There was not thought more ridiculous than her dear brother in the walls of the capital , and yet he left the Estermont as soon as the banners were called for young swords in the court of then-prince Aegon. Then she married, and the rest was drowned in the endless nights of tears. Sometimes, only when no one was around, YN wondered if she could've stayed forever there, in her home, without having to see the world that was often so cruel—had her brother not left her so early; had he been the lord instead of their father when she came of age?

''Mother, are you going?''

The loud voice has startled YN out of her thoughts. She smiled at her son, adjusting the skirts of her gown before nodding. ''Yes, my sweet. Let us come in; we do not want to keep the Queen waiting, do we now?''

The Queen. YN has heard many rumours in court concerning the sanity of young Queen Helaena, her preference for silence, and modest foods, but she has never seen her closer than a few yards. Standing before the large wooden door to her chambers seemed foolish—had she been any other woman, perhaps she had nothing to fear—to present her children to the royal maids and escape to the comfort of the halls once more. But she was no ordinary woman—she was a mistress to the King the Queen called brother, the one whose bed he warmed instead of hers. YN cursed her brother in her head for having ''a business'' to attend to today, of all days; even though he assured her of Queen's kind heart, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease as she pushed the door.

The chambers were quiet, with only the slow crackling of wood in the chimney disturbing the peace. ''My Queen, I have brought the children as you requested,'' YN announced, her voice echoing in the vast rooms. She waited for a response, but none came—only the flickering shadows dancing on the walls.

On the small cushion before the fireplace, a figure dressed in regal robes sat with her eyes on the embroidery hoop in her hands. YN takes her time studying the woman as her own children join the pair of royal heirs on the woven carpet. She sits straight, her face somewhere else. The queen has beautiful hair, YN notes to herself ; her silver locks escaped the carefully laid braids, landing right onto her cool, fair face. The woman is younger than her, perhaps by a few summers. The maids around her worked almost in silence—only sometimes it dared to be broken with a small polite exchange concerning the seams or the ornaments on their wooden hoops. There was a distance between her and them—a distance that YN could sense even from where she stood. Despite the quiet camaraderie of the ladies, the queen remained in her own world, a world that YN couldn't quite grasp.

''Lady YN,'' the Queen finally said, never moving her eyes from the dark fabric. ''Would you like to see what I have done so far?''

Something familiar sparkled inside YN's mind like an old tune long forgotten. There was a certain childish quality to her words, reminding her of the way her daughter spoke—something about the innocence and vulnerability that still lingered beneath the regal facade. The Queen spoke to her like they had been great friends like she had seen her before—perhaps in a dream or in another lifetime.

''Of course, Your Majesty.''

She moved closer, careful not to step on the countless toys and pillows scattered around on the floor. Someone, Jaehaerys or Jaehaera, whom she could not tell, squeaked and ran past her, chased by her own daughter, almost knocking YN over in their game. The Queen smiled warmly at the chaos, her eyes sparkling with amusement at them as YN sat before her on the padded chair, intended for legs. She turned the hoop of her embroidery , her delicate fingers working quickly and skillfully.

''I did it for him. A golden dragon, you see? I do not like green; it does not suit him,'' she half-whispered, her almost translucent violet eyes studying each expression on YN's face but never lingering too long.

Him. YN nods, her heart aching with understanding. She knows. Suddenly, the world feels like it is burning—or, perhaps, it is just the growing fire—and an acquainted feeling of guilt and shame travels to her throat. She swallows hard, trying to drown the discomfort in her saliva—a whore, a liar, a thief. Here, in the presence of something so fleeting, so beautiful, and so delicate, she feels the weight of her sins pressing down on her chest, threatening to consume her whole.

The colourful eyes of the Queen seemed to understand her thoughts; she smiled. ''You have a beautiful necklace.''

YN's involuntary hand reaches for the necklace hanging around her neck, feeling the weight of it in her palm. The gold sun sits there proudly, having escaped the comfort of her dress in a moment she has missed. It feels like a cruel joke and, if she will, a reminder of the audacity she possessed to steal from a queen. She felt bare for the first time in years, like a child caught by his mother in some small affair. ''Thank you, your Grace," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the flames.

''He likes you, my brother. He has a very strange way of showing it; you are the first person he's allowed to get this close to. The first to keep for so long, too.'' Queen Helaena pauses, her eyes softening slightly as she looks at the children before her. "They love having someone to play, you know? Always waiting for a new friend to join them in their games.'' As the firelight dances across her face, Queen Helaena's smile is bittersweet. "I am afraid I do not know what to do with them. ''

YN nods in understanding, her head turning to watch the flock of laughing children too. ''I was thirteen when I had my first. From the moment he left my womb, he screamed and cried, never finding solace in my arms. I was his mother, the person who was supposed to provide comfort, yet I could just cry with him. I did not feel the mystical tenderness the ladies told me about—I felt lost. Hollow. I thought I was missing some piece of myself that would make me love him the way I was supposed to. But he grew, and I did with him—then I realised that I had a lot of people to care for me, but he only had me. There is no ''right'' love—only the love we are capable of giving , and that was enough for him.''

The woman kept quiet, her eyes moving on the stone floor. YN wondered if her silence was a hint of disapproval or if she was simply lost in her thoughts once again. After a moment, Queen Heleana finally spoke, her voice lingering through the chambers. "Would you like to join us in the garden on the morrow? It would be a great change of scenery."

YN smiled. The relief washed over her—it didn't feel real. The same eyes, hair, and face she saw hundreds of times are once again in front of her, only changing slightly to more feminine features. The Queen does look like her brother-husband, and now YN can't help but feel a sense of comfort in her appearance. ''I would be honoured to, Your Majesty."

The days changed each other quickly; her children grew, and the court lived, growing and changing before her eyes. There was something in the air; she could feel it—an alter after Prince Aemond brought news of the passing of a Valaryon bastard. YN remembers the night—the king has drunk himself half-dead, pacing and muttering about war—the weight of the crown seemed heavier on his head that night. She knows he wishes she did not hear it, laughing at all of her worried questions on the next eve. Still, the war worried her; it brought the worst upon its coming—famine, illness, and terror. She did not fear death—the Stranger was a familiar presence in her life—but the thought of her children suffering haunted her dreams.

YN looks at the girl in her wooden bed, sleeping as peacefully as a child should. Peter sits near, on the stool beside her, his eyes shining with excitement more than fear as he listens to the reading—no matter how smart her son is, he is still too young to fully grasp the doom that warfare will bring to their doorstep; for him, the tales of glorious battles are still alive and true. As YN finishes yet another story about the conquest of three dragon warriors, the comforting silence settles in their bedchamber. Soon, the sun will fully hide behind the darkened clouds of the horizon, and the night will cast its shadows over the land.

''Are you the king's mistress?'' Peter asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The words that leave his lips are not his own. YN's heart shrinks at the sound of them—the whispering faces of the court's gossip swirling in her mind.

There it was—the question she hoped would resolve itself on its own but knew would come anyhow. It's hard, YN realises, to admit such a simple truth to the pair of wide-open eyes looking up at her as she closes the book. Did she not tell it herself after each time she spent the night in the king's chambers? '' I and King Aegon are,'' she takes a breath in. What were they? Lovers? Such a foolish, shameful thought. ''dear friends. We converse and dine together, and he takes great pleasure in hearing me play.''

She does not want to lie to her sweet boy; she knows he is perceptive and will see through any falsehood. But the weight is heavy; she will not let it crush his still boyish shoulders. Deep down, YN fears the day her son will realise the truth. Will he still wish to know her name then? He looks like a small sparrow bird, YN thinks to herself, in his brown vest and ruffled collar of the shirt —so small yet so curious. He tilts his head just like the finch would as if trying to grasp her words and find something between them. ''Do you love him?''

A sigh escapes her lips before she can think of a better answer. ''Well, let's see,'' she pauses. ''I love you, and I love little Meg, and I love your uncle Leon. I also love our beautiful rooms, my dresses, and the nice pies we get to have for supper. And all of that we have because King Aegon is good and just and values our house as one of his loyal subjects. So, in a way, yes, I do love him for that.''

Lies. Disgraceful, unworthy of a lady, a mother she is. Does she truly feel nothing when his lips caress every inch of her very being, his hands touching her soul akin to a ghost? Does she not wish the warmth of his body never had to part from her heart, staying on her neck instead, trapped in the warm, gold sun on her skin? Did she not offer him what was left of her time and time again ? Did she not think of him all the time? Was she not terrified of loving him, and did she not love him?

''I do not want you to marry him.'' Peter is determined. His hands grow fists, the slight childish jealousy painting his face. He could not know, and yet he felt it; he was her son, her blood, after all.

''Then I shall not. I will be here, helping you as you grow into a strong, handsome Lord, and then I will eat only cake and wear pretty dresses for the rest of my days. You will protect me and your sister, just like your father did before he passed, and I will be your scorny lady-mother for the time being . ''

She would. YN wished he would see it, but he was still too young, too naive, to understand the sacrifices she dedicates for him and his sister only, the chains she traps in her heart every day just for them to have a happier life. The sacrifices he did not ask for, YN reminds herself . Sacrifices she chose willingly.

Peter nods, his eyes changing back into childish, sparkling innocence, leaving the stone-cold stare and anger hanging only in his mother's memory. "That sounds perfect, my lady-mother," he says with a grin. "I will protect you and my sister with all my might, just like my father did."

''Good,'' YN smiles, planting a kiss on her son's forehead. "Your father would be proud of the man you are becoming.''

He would not, but Peter does not need to know it. Maybe he will grow up to be nothing like him, and maybe the gods will be kind enough to let her see it.

The Queen's chambers are loud as the night approaches; children, royal or not, never seemed to tyre and instead wished to play all into the night. Even the tireless maid, exhausted of their incessant energy, now quietly sat in the corner, undoubtedly anxious not to be discovered for at least a handful of moments. Tragically for her, YN did not possess this kind of power; her head seemed to soon crack into a few pieces from the noise and shuffles, her limbs burning for rest and quiet. She was tired of reading; the book, long forgotten, was shyly lying at the edge of the wooden table, covered in rich gold ornaments.

''Do you feel unwell?'' The soft voice of Queen Helaena is heard nearby. The fair face turns into a concerned expression—the Targaryen queen had always been perceptive .

YN shakes her head in a weak attempt to wave any worries away. ''Just a little tired from the long day,'' she murmurs, forcing a small smile.

''Perhaps you should rest. I will send a maid to draw you a bath and prepare your chambers for the night.'' The woman's graceful hand reaches out to gently touch YN's shoulder. ''The children can stay; they will be in good hands with the nursemaid, and then they shall return to your chambers in the morning.''

YN feels something creep in her stomach but shakes it off. Perhaps she should not have eaten that pie after all. ''Thank you, your grace,'' she says, mustering a grateful smile. She stands up to leave, feeling the weight of the day's events finally catch up to her before the Queen's voice is heard again.

''The cooter, a mother to three kings,'' she mumbles, her words causing YN to pause and turn back.

''Your grace?" It was not the first time The Queen lost herself in her thoughts; sometimes, she would whisper nonsense as they conversed—it was worrying, sure, but YN had learned to ignore it. Queen Helaena was a sweet, kind woman, but her mind was often clouded by the burdens of her crown. YN wished that one day the Queen would find peace and clarity in her own thoughts; she prayed for it, too.

''The cooter,'' the Queen gazed in her direction, directing attention to the embroidery on YN's dress.

''Yes, it is a cooter; it is a sigil of my house, your Grace, house Estermont.'' YN smiled gently, hoping to distract the Queen from her confusion. The woman's eyes lit up with recognition as she nodded in understanding, and YN breathed a sigh of relief. She can now rest.

It was not long before the screams in her dreams startled her awake—the dark, obsidian night in the window chilling her feet as she quickly sat up, her heart pounding in her chest. Although the screams never seethed; they became louder, more concerned voices of people in the halls outside her room, calling out curses and cries. YN quickly climbed out of the warm bed and rushed to the door, the cobble floors cooling beneath her bare feet as she opened it to see what was happening.

People running in and out of the long halls—maids and knights, even some noblemen in their sleepwear—seemed not to notice the strange figure of a woman in her nightgown standing in the doorway. ''What has happened?'' she asked the maid nearby before recoiling - the dirty sheets in her hands were coloured crimson.

The boy is dead, a voice told her . The boy in the royal chambers.

''Let me through,'' she demanded, pushing past the maid and rushing towards the rooms of Queen Helaena. The rooms she left her children in. She did not care; if the murderer was still in those walls, she would strangle him herself; her children, young, innocent children she left in the care of their nurse, were still there. Were still alive in her head.

The walk from her chambers to the royal ones wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The door to the chambers is wide open; splashes of blood lead inside, pooling before the opening, resembling a twisted, sick lake of horror. ''Meg? Peter?'' No response came, only eerie silence. Panic began to rise in her chest as she stepped over the threshold, her heart pounding in her ears. The screaming rings in her ears suddenly; she does not recognise her own voice as it echoes off the stone walls.

Small, lifeless limbs stare at her almost in accusation, the redness of his open neck wound stark against the pale skin —the body of young Prince Jaehaerys lays in his cradle like it often would, lacking only the silver crown of his head. The room was a scene of unfathomable horror, with blood splattered across the walls and the once innocent nursery now a monstrous sight. The scent of death surrounded her like a bloodied blanket, choking the breath in her throat and sending her head spinning.

She did not feel the male hands clutching her shoulders, pulling her away. The blue and green cloth under her feet quickly moved, the voice of her brother whispering something in her deaf shocked ears.

''Leon, children, my children,'' she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as tears streamed down her face. The realisation of what had happened in that room hit her right in the stomach, leaving a wretched kno of guts and despair. She tries to fight back, to shout over the chaos, or to push him away; she always does. It makes him just angrier, and harsher, and he tightens the grip, pushing her right into the open door of what appears to be his chambers.

''Everyone stays in their rooms until stated otherwise by the king's orders,'' he hisses, finally letting go of her.

The action is so sudden that she falls forward, hitting her nose as she slides down the stone wall. There's blood everywhere; it's mixed with tears, soaking into her hair and dripping down from her dress. Her brothers's plan worked; YN had no energy to shout anymore. Her anger is now swallowing down her dried throat. She opens and closes it like a fish out of the sea, trying to get air into her lungs—all that is left for her to watch as the wooden door snaps against its frame and the lock clicks, chaining her to the cold, dark room.

YN does not know how much time has passed or if it has passed at all ; the dark, obsidian night sky is now coloured in pinks, oranges, and purples, resembling her usual gowns more than the bright blue of the day. The silence is deafening, broken only by the distant chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze; she does not care for it. The only sound in her mind is a constant prayer, although, in her previous life, not many could accuse her of being devout. Now, YN finds herself clinging to any semblance of hope, no matter how faint, no matter where it comes from.

It's all her fault, she thinks. It is as clear as a day—the sins on her shoulders were so heavy that even Gods could not bear them anymore. She should've stayed there, in the northern castle of her lord husband, weeping over his grave like any proper widow would. Instead, she has indulged in a life of sin with violet eyes and silver locks, finding solace in the arms of another man. She let her body decide, choosing a life of bodily pleasure over honour and duty. The husband, no matter how hard it was for her to love him, was the only man who had a right to touch her soul. Touch her at all.

The door opened with a loud bang, revealing her lord husband in all his might. He was wearing those weird clothes again—something torn and dirty. It looked like he robbed some beggars near the castle before coming in, and he smelled the same.

''Come on!'' he exclaims, opening his arms as if for a hug. ''Don't be shy; we are married, remember?''

There is not much she can say; the easiest way out is to let him do what he wants. So, YN bites her cheek when his sloppy kisses travel down her neck and keeps her mouth shut when he takes off her nightgown. It's awful, almost humiliating, to hear his breath quicken. To feel him inside. She smiles when it's finally over, and he plants the last, tired kiss on her head before getting under the covers. She knows better than to disturb her husband's sleep; instead, she cries silently, mindful of staining his pillow with tears.

YN's knees are aching even through the fabric of her gown, but it does not matter. Through pain, she could feel her remorse. Feel like she was being punished for her own desires. Feel like she was clean again.

A soft knocking is heard, and YN has to snap out of her trance, gathering the tears building in her eyes with a cloth. It's a servant, one of the many she sees running down the halls this morning. ''You are awaited before the Council, milady.''

''Thank you,'' YN replies, her voice barely above a whisper. She will see to the punishment the gods have chosen for her, no matter how harsh it is. Her only wish is for her children, who are innocent in all of this, to be spared from any consequences of her actions. She straightens her posture and nods. ''Let us go then.''

The loud arguing in the rooms of Small Council seemed to fade as she appeared in the doorway, all eyes turning to her as she entered. The sun was already up, she noticed, as the soft streaks of warmth hit the room through the open windows, casting a golden hue over the polished table where the council members sat. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. YN looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, rushing around a castle that seemed to freeze at the news of a child's passing.

''Mother,'' the loud cry of her son's voice echoed, snapping YN back to reality. He came running to her, his face streaked with tears and his eyes red from crying, his hands clutching her waist as he buried his face in her stomach. YN stood there, wrapping her arms around him tightly, feeling the empty space where his right hand should have been. ''I am so sorry; I tried to save him, but the knife, they did; they cut it off, Mother, '' he sobbed.

YN's heart shattered into a million pieces as she held her son close. Her darling, brave boy lost a part of himself, but he was alive. Better a sparrow, living or dead, than no birdsong at all. Here, in her arms. ''It is okay; all is well; you did so well. Where is your sister?''

''She is safe; I hid her in the closet. She was so scared,'' he whispered, his voice trembling.

''Your daughter is with maids now, Lady YN.'' The voice of Sir Criston Cole echoed through the room.

YN's eyes quickly found the green dress she put on her daughter herself; she sat on the hip of some scared maid, silent. She thanked the gods; she thanked anyone and everyone, in the sky or beneath the ground, who had decided to let her children live. Occupied with her thoughts, YN does not hear the questions flying at her right away; yet, the male voice of the swordsman still cuts through the cloudiness of her mind, reaching her ears.

''We would like to ask you a few questions about what happened that night. Can you tell us why you were not in the Queen's chambers with your children?''

There is something seething inside her as her son wails and clutches her waist with his now one hand and her daughter's frozen eyes as she stares through her mother. YN stood there, before the able knights of the castle, in nothing but her nightgown, covered in her son's blood and her own tears, feeling the weight of their accusatory gazes upon her. The gods forgave her and proved her innocent, but the whispers of suspicion still lingered in the air, staining her with their accusations. Anger—that was what boiled inside her—a fiery rage that threatened to consume her from within. ''What are you implying?''

''It is suspicious, don't you think, Lady YN, for you to be the only one absent when the tragedy occurred?''

YN laughed. It did not sound like a laugh of joy but rather a bitter, cynical sound that echoed through the great hall. Perhaps that was the mark of nerves she has wasted today, perhaps the showing of her despair—the maddening, heavy feeling of despair clawing at her insides. The child was dead; others were harmed—the cold, the almost translucent figure of the young prince covered in unfathomable amounts of his own blood lingered in her mind. "How dare you, the Head of the King's Guard, be the one telling me of doubts when it was my son, my blood, that protected Prince Jaehaerys? Tell me, Ser Criston, where were you when my boy lost his hand defending the royal family?''

Ser Criston's expression darkened at the accusation; his jaw clenched tightly. "I was carrying out my duty elsewhere, as I always have," he replied evenly, his gaze wavering in the face of her anger. ''And for those who question my loyalty, there is a place in the dungeons reserved for traitors and cowards. Guards, seize Lady YN and bring her to the cells for questioning immediately."

As his words echoed through the hall, the even louder cries of her son were drowned out by the commotion as the guards moved to apprehend her. Although she feels nothing now, the contrast of cold poisoning her body where the boiling anger was just a moment before terrifying and overwhelming. YN felt numb and drained of any emotion as her son hugged her closer, despite the best efforts of the man around them. There will be bruises, she thought in a haze. When did he get so strong?

''Leave her be.'' A voice boomed from the back of the room.

King Aegon sat there on the designated stool, adorned with heads of dragons. Now, he did not look regal; he seemed sick, his violet eyes bloodshot and silver locks hanging limply around his face. The sea-sick green coloured his face as he struggled to maintain his composure. Just for a second, their eyes met, a silent understanding slipping between them. There was something wrong with him. There was something wrong with him that was also wrong with her.

''Thank you, my king,'' she whispered, her voice barely audible. The man's expression softened slightly, with a flicker of recognition in his eyes, before he turned away, dismissing the guards. They were free to go; she was free to go, with her alive and well children, who still could scream and cry. He will stay; he had to stay with his now-forever boy.

The water hit the pier with gentle splashes, and the droplets of salt jumped on the stone legs of the dock before rejoining the vast sea. The warm shadows of the setting sun coloured the liquids in pricey gemstones: sapphire and rubies, quarts, and turquoise glistened before her eyes. There was something magical in the way the light danced, ethereal and airy, as it circled the pier—no one disturbed the peace of the tranquil sea; nobody knew the secrets it had stored since its birth.

The water was warm enough—just a little more, and the beach would embrace many swimmers in its warm hug. But, for now, she only watched as the waves gently lapped against her feet, the soothing rhythm of the sea reminding her she was still here, in her body. YN closes her eyes. It would be an easy fix— to just jump , to let the water envelop her completely, to become one with the sea. No one would know how she went, not until the same waves returned her body to the shore somewhere far from this castle. Or would the water leave her for itself, storing the secrets of her death deep beneath the sand as her soul left this world behind? YN had no chance of knowing, but the thought of disappearing into the ocean's embrace was strangely comforting. Just her and the place she called home.

The sound of crashing waves enveloped her head; the wind was getting stronger, ruffling the hem of her ivory gown as she sat at the edge of the cliff, the last rays of sun hitting her face like a gentle caress. The salty air inside her lungs reminded her of Estermont . The small island, isolated and insignificant on the grand map. Perhaps, if she were lucky, her remains would be buried there, under some nameless mountain range, with only a small stone marker to indicate her existence.

There are slow, almost silent steps approaching her from behind; she does not turn around. If it was death, whoever the Stranger took the form of, it was welcome here. With her children asleep in her brother's chambers, a dozen guards watching over them, she was at peace. The gush of wind through her hair felt like a final embrace, reeking of salt and blood. What an unusual scent—almost like the sea at low tide mixed with the metallic tang of iron. Almost too real to be just in her head.

''I killed him,'' the hoarse voice announced behind her, the black cloak brushing against her arm. The cloak she knew belonged elsewhere. She turned slowly, her hand plating itself on the warm deck, feeling the small stones beneath her fingers.

The light illuminated his face; the usually calm violet eyes now clouded with a darkness she had never seen before. The golden dragon head sitting at his chest glinted beneath the rays just as the waves did a moment before, the still-hot blood dripping from his hands onto the wooden planks. Strangely, the black fabric now was almost green from the crimson stains—Helaena was right. It did not suit him.

''I smashed his skull open with a single blow,'' he said, his voice chillingly calm. ''I felt nothing as he lay there, dying at my feet. I thought it would feel good to finally have revenge . It didn't.''

The sunset painted over the walls of Red Keep, the oranges and reds of dying stars reflecting in the short hair of the man in front of her. He looked like he was burning, set on fire right where the crown should have been, burning down his neck and slumping shoulders. His castle, his kingdom, was all slowly on fire, despite the cool evening breeze that swept from the sea behind her. She can't get him to leave, she realises. The flames fluttered around him, everywhere except his eyes—it was his home, and it combusted. YN still had time to jump into the safety of the water, drown her sorrows, and escape the unavoidable ruin that awaited them both. The saltiness from the waves travelled onto her cheeks, the shallow streams hitting her lips. She can't leave without him.

''Sit with me,'' she muttered, reaching out her hand towards him. It was empty of any rings or jewellery; it was bare, like a virgin sheet on a freshly made bed. She was free—free from the weight of ties and obligations that had bound her for so long. Just her, without anything that would remind her of the past.

''I will stain your hand with blood,'' Aegon mused, his eyes dark with the weight of his own burdens. I will stain you with my sins, he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat.

''Stain them. I do not care.''

So the veined hand reached out, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down her spine. She did not realise how cold she was until he enveloped her in his embrace, his warmth seeping into her bones. She felt clean for the first time in years, despite the stains on her dress, as the man collapsed in her embrace, his tears mixing with her own. ''Do you think we can ever truly be free from our sins?'' she whispered, feeling a sense of peace wash over her.

The man's embrace tightened, his voice steady despite the tremble in his breath as he replied. ''This love was never a sin; it could not be. Not when I love you with all that I am."

Aegon looks back at her, and it is not a tragedy.

This is the closest to heaven they will ever be.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Can I put this in as a request? 🤭

omg omg omg I imagined this too!!! how hot would it be fucking him on the way to his coronation in that little ass carriage + that bumpy road ughh. the thots I had during that scene, UNHOLY!

Merciless or Ruthless?

PAIRING: Aegon ii Targaryen x Wife!fem!Reader

WORDS: 2,019.

WARNINGS: degradation kink, name-calling, praise kink, breeding/pregnancy kink, brief mentions of implied pregnancy, mentions of p in v sexual intercourse, slight exhibitionism, swearing.

A/N - I may have gotten slightly carried away with this. but he deserves it <3 hope you enjoy lovely x

The inevitability of death could be a comforting notion of peace to some, and yet marks a heavy burden of loss, sorrow and responsibility on others. King Viserys, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhonyar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, or more commonly dotted as Viserys the Peaceful, had passed peacefully in his sleep.

His death was one that many held their breaths anticipating in the final previous months, considering the haste deterioration of the king's ill health. Nonetheless, during these months of anticipation, whispers of preparation had begun to churn behind the back of the sickly King, plans to anoint his eldest son, your dearly beloved husband, Aegon the Second of His Name, as King of the Realm.

Regardless of such talks, Aegon remained blissfully oblivious to it all. Relishing in the banquets and spoils of royalty, he remained keen and satisfied as Prince, and from time to time, expressed the notion of respecting his elder half-sister, Rhaenyra, as the rightful Queen.

It was only with you, that Aegon openly delved deeper into his reluctance of being adorned as King, expressing a distaste for the role and the heavy burden.

"I have no wish to rule...Only to wine, dine and fuck you senseless and raw, till you are practically dripping of me."

As his faithful and devoted wife, you ultimately respected and supported his well wishes. No desire to dissuade him further, despite the conniving tactics employed by his mother and grandsire, who often urged you to encourage him to seek and accept the duty of the Crown. You denied their efforts, remaining stagnant to Aegon's choice.

That was until Viserys' death began to ignite a ripple of chaos...

"A-Aeg... You've been distant all morning. Talk to me, my love."

You had awoken beside Aegon that morning, although he was not the same... His last few pending hours as Prince, before his looming coronation, was he to be anointed as King. Having quarrelled tirelessly against his grandsire, mother and liege council, he was outnumbered and ultimately defeated... More so, it was after his discrete one on one talk with Ser Criston, that seemed to shove Aegon into accepting his fate, without even so uttering a rebuttal.

"I am not fit to rule, Y/N... Everyone knows it, I know it. This is going to be a disaster, and Nyra, I-"

He pauses as his breath hitches in his throat, gulping as he composes himself, his lilac eyes swell, glistening in the streaks of sunlight, yet no tears fallen: his lounged body swayed in motion to the rocking carriage.

"-I know what is expected of me, but I doubt myself."

"Aeg- It is just nerves, my dear. We'll take it step by step, day by day, I promise-"

Reaching out, your arm stretches over as you lean towards your Targaryen husband. Your gentle hand firmly holding his, as your thumb caresses his pale skin. The colour in his face has faded, except for the dark circles embedded beneath his lower lash line. Despite your encouraging words, and half-hearted smile, you earned a simple shrug and huff, as Aegon continued to longingly look onwards towards the bustling crowds gathering and trodding towards the Hill of Rhaenys.

"Please Aeg- Is there anything I can do in my power, my love? I cannot bear to see you in such a miserable state for longer."

Silence remained still for a few sparing seconds, before Aegon's tiresome eyes sparked with a familiar yearn. Flickering from your seated position towards your entwined hands, taking a deep breath before he dared to speak.

"Do me the honour, of fucking me one last time as a Prince. Do it for me, as a gift to your King."

You could not deny, nor did your body try to hide it, you were taken aback in shock by his demand.

"Right now? Here? Aeg- Can this not wait for after the coronation, mayhaps back in bed-"

"Please, Y/N... Unorthodox I know, but when have we not been? It would really help to calm my nerves, baby. If I could just feel you, let me be with you. You always know how to make me feel better."

Exhaling a defeated sigh, you lean back, pulling aside a curtain shading a small window through the carriage, and see there is still much a way ahead, along with all the disrupting foot traffic.

Carefully standing up as you felt your stance unsteady attempting to pull up the rich, silk layers of your custom gown up. The cobbled road beneath the wheeled carriage strewed with potholes and uneven surfaces, made it near impossible to stand still. Immediately your hand instinctively reaches, latching and gripping onto Aegon's sturdy shoulder, as he remains comfortably seated. His arm reaches over to you, supporting your waist, as your other hand grips onto his forearm, as you nestle yourself atop his wide lap, as he slightly readjusts himself.

"Is this what you wanted, hmm? Want your pretty, little wife's cunt on your cock to make you feel better? You are worse than the whores out there-" You head tilts gesturing towards the Street of Silk in passing by, often where your young husband would venture during his bachelor days. Your fingers begin to find their way to his tussled, short hair, pulling at his platinum strands. Although he was dressed and prepped dutifully this morning, it still looked somewhat unkempt. You pursue his soft lips, eager as you delve in for a kiss, Aegon succumbing to it, trying desperately to hold for as long as possible, before you break apart, both of you breathless.

His familiar taste tinged with the essence of wine lingering, etched on your lips as you savour it, your focus remaining solely on one another. Each of your hands remain gripped to his shoulders, your body weight atop of Aegon's kept him steady during the rocky ride, as you swayed in motion. The haste, harsh turns made you grind against your husband's clothed lap: sensing a brewing, hungry twitch growing more blatant beneath your bare, throbbing cunt.

"I can feel you stirring, handsome... Such a needy Prince today, aren't you? Gods help me, when you are crowned King. I shall be at your beckon call day and night," You breathlessly utter closely into the elder Prince's ear. Aegon's rough hands firmly clutched at your hips, guiding your natural movements, as you buck backwards and forwards against his larger frame. The friction was palpable, as the heat infused between your inner thighs over his crotch.

"That you will be. I'll have you bent and fucked stupid over that fucking throne when I want... The only perks I shall relish in as King. Keeping you safe and sated," Aegon lowly whispered, an almost fearsome growl echoed in his throat.

"Is that so? Ugh- I must say, dear husband... To see you crowned and seated almighty on that throne, ordering us subjects below you. I might just faint at the sheer sight."

A snarling chuckle escaped his plump lips, as his hands glided over towards your front, pulling the hem further up, exposing your undergarments. Without so much as a warning, and with such swift strength, Aegon tore the piece of fabric apart.

"Just the thing I needed to cheer me up, and look at you--"

Aegon's thick digits teasing at your arousal, gently encircling your entrance as he attempted to pry you open, before hungrily licking your sweet taste off his fingers.

"Already making such a wet mess, who exactly is the whore now? I've barely touched you, and your body desperately craves for my cock, huh?"

"Mhmm-" You whimper, as Aegon elevated himself, unbuttoning his clean trousers, his stiff cock lively springing into action.

"Tell your King exactly what you want, baby... Tell your King and I shall listen. Mayhaps I will be merciful and grant you what you desire, or be ruthless."

His hard, strained cock, red and glistening enticingly with his pre-cum oozing at the tip, appeared aching for release. Teasingly stroking at the entrance of your moist folds, feeling its pulsating throbs against the sensitive skin of your cunt, was enough to send you into overdrive.

As you instinctively lifted yourself up slightly off of Aegon's lap, readying yourself to plop yourself back down, Aegon's grip over your waist, held you steady and preserved.

"Not yet, baby... Use your words. I need to hear it from you first. Can't just let you roam around and do as you please now. You think you get some sort of special treatment?"

"A-Aeg, please-" You had mindlessly moaned: the rugged motions of the carriage persisted, the unsteadiness plunging you back down against Aegon's lap, as you nestled for support. His cock thrashed against your velvet folds, earning a sly smirk on his behalf and a helpless moan from yourself.

"Words, princess."

"Y-Your cock, my King. I-I want you to f-fuck me rough and hard, till I'm nice and round with heirs for m-my King."

"Fuck. That's it, baby-" Satisfied, Aegon's hands effortlessly lifted you once more momentarily, before having you plunge down over his cock. Its wide, intimidating girth was a sensation you could never quite adjust to, naturally stretching your silky walls, clenching tightly over his thudding cock.

"Let me fuck my heir into you now, and let it be known that you carry the offspring of the King. These tits will swell ample with milk for the babe and for I-" He breathlessly growls, as his lips softly suckle at your cleavage, his hands once more ventured, fingers pulling at your corset fabric, before roughly pulling apart the seams: busting your breasts more open, enough to shed any last remaining source of modesty.

"-These hips will grow wide to carry and birth a whole damn litter. This precious stomach, may the Gods be good, will swell greatly in the moons to come. Fuck me, you will be such a heavenly Queen."

Aegon's frame now moving against the uphill, rocky drive naturally his cock followed his motions delved deep inside of you, striking at your cervix. Whimpering moans of pleasure and pain, coaxed in your voice chiselled through the carriage, layered with Aegon's heavy breathing.

"You w-will be s-such a good King, such a g-good father, as you have been an honourable husband. P-Putting my needs first."

"S-Say more, precious-" Aegon sternly proclaimed, his tone growling louder, as his large hands had subtly snaked their way towards your backside, rough palms [tarnished from training] kneading at your plush flesh.

"You are the rightful King. I devote my entire being, my entire existence to you, Aeg. Forever bound to you, I am at your disposal. Love me, ch-cherish me...F-Fuck me."

With all the swaying, harsh motions from the carriage itself alongside the sensual love-making, Aegon's cock released all the tension from the anticipation, the buildup from your touch, that he desperately needed. Reaching his ultimate peak, in return spoiling you with a climatic apex.

The moments that followed timely, had forever changed the course of history itself...

Aegon had been crowned and accepted by the realm as King. And as he spoke like a true, honest ruler, the Gods saw fit as they did anointing your husband, and you began to swell healthily with child in the months that followed. It was widely known however, that the conception of the King's soon to be heir, was poetically the day its father was crowned.

"As tense as we all were for Aegon, it seemed you two were rather ugh- eager for the coronation... If the Gods blessed the Queen with child now, then we shall be thankful for the holy plans of the Seven," Alicent, the Dowager Queen, had reminisced over the intimate family dinner that night.

Regardless, it took time for Aegon to grow accustomed to the heavy burden and responsibility of having to rule Seven Kingdoms. And yet he did so willingly, so long as you had remained dutifully by his side. That, he forever was eternally thankful for.

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @evenstaris @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @bucknastysbabe @jawline-of-steel

credit for dividers - @/firefly-graphics

[danxiex0]

When it comes to Omegaverse HoTD I don't think a lot of people realize the full potential of it.

Picture this:

Lucerys Velaryon is the first Omega born into the Targaryen line since the doom of Ol Valyria. He gets spoiled.

Rhaenyra has only the finest clothes made for him. Daemon will do anything his sweet Omegan son asks of him, even let the little Omega crawl into bed between the two Alpha's because he had a nightmare. Jace is overprotective. Joffrey is Daemons mini in regard to Luke. Rhaena and Baela love their precious little brother so much they would kill for him. Rhaenys would give into his demands, he doesn't even have to demand because the moment Luke wants something she'll give it to him. Corlys will bring him back only the finest pearls and jewels from his travels, the pearls get braded into his hair or sewed into his clothes, the same with the jewels.

So Lucerys gets what he wants, when he wants and if he's denied he has an army of people ready to demand he have it or else.

The whole Vaemond story still happens. Only difference is, Lucerys had asked Daemon and his grandsire not to kill him and instead send him to Grandsire Corlys so that he could deal with his little brother.

The Greens seethe at the fact that Luke doesn't even have to beg.

That night after the whole feast mishap Aemond corners Luke in his chambers and threatens to take his eye.

Lucerys goads his uncle because he was raised by Daemon 'Fuck around and Find out" Targaryen and in the end Aemond kisses him.

No love or passion. Just pure unadulterated rage.

Hate sex ensues, bc it's Lucemond what would you expect.

Aemond regrets it the next day. His repressed ass lashes out and says some very unsavory things, as one does.

Luke and his family leave Kings landing after that and the next time he and Aemond meet again is at Storms end.

Luke is there to deliver a message.

"I am not a dog your mother can just order around. At least King Aegon brings me a marriage pact. So, tell me boy. Which of my daughters will you marry?" Borros asked.

Lucerys looked at the girls. Three Betas and one Omega.

He looks at Aemond and feels his heartbeat quicken and then it stops at the reminder of that day.

'You are a whore just like your mother!'

'Wanton bastard!'

'You bewitched me! That is the only explanation for as to why I ended up in your bed between you whorish thighs!'

Such cruel words and he would swallow the now.

Lucerys looks at Lord Borros.

"Sadly, my Lord none of your daughters would be a suitable match for me as they are either Beta's or Omega. However, there are two Alpha's within this hall. Both of whom have a chance at my hand but only one is not betrothed at nor wed, my Lord," Lucerys said with a kind smile.

Lord Borros had his tongue paralyzed for but a moment before he asked, "What do you meen?"

Lucerys smiled as he could feel Aemonds anger radiating off him in waves.

"What I am saying is that even though I cannot marry your daughters I can still marry you. Think of it my Lord. Lord Borros Baratheon, Lord of the Stormlands and Lucerys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Heir to Driftmark. We'd make a handsome pair, wouldn't we?" He asked with a shy smile.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Lord Borros agrees and two moons later Aegon II Targaryen bends the knee to his sister and Lord Borros marries Lucerys.

Even on his deathbed Borros never questions why his sons, Rhaegar, Rhaegor, Aenys, and Darke, and his daughters, Rhaella, Aemma, Lucera, Deanys, Daela, and Valeria have silver hair and purple eyes.

Nor does he question the closeness of his Omega bride Lucerys and his sworn shield Aemond.

[misguidedasgardian]

The Hour of the Wolf

Prologue

MASTERLIST

Summary: The dark hours before the end of Aegon Targaryen II

Warnings: Cursing, war, death, mentions of killings, genocide and war, threats, talks about bedding and non concensual sexual relationships, threats of mutilation, SPOILERS for ASOIAF, and Fire & Blood, also, might spoil House of the Dragon 

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Notes: A bit short, but I'm setting a tone here

Corlys could sense the tension in the room, everyone, at least, the survivors, were dangerously quiet, they shared concerned looks between them all.

Alicent’s mouth always seemed to be twisted in inhumane ways, but now… the edges of her mouth almost falls down of her face by her chin

“All the traitors are going to die”, said Aegon, twisting his hands, playing with the rings he had placed in his fingers… trying to hide the fact that they were burnt, the skin melted. He used now high colored shirts and vests, but the still raw, tender skin that was never going to heal, could still be seen in the side of his face, no matter he had decided to let his wild hair ungroomed, fall long framed his chubby face.

“We will be overrun”, admitted Corlys, “A Northerner army, a big one, is passing trough Harrenhal right now, they had been joined by people in the Riverlands that still are faithful to Rhaenyra’s cause, and also from the Vale in the Narrow Sea, we will be defeated, and we will burn inside this walls”, he sentenced 

“I think the Velaryon Fleet needs incentive, Lord Corlys, to face the traitors of the Vale”, two years ago, the council would have laughed to the drunken fool’s face that called himself King, but as they looked into his wild lilac eyes… no one laughed

Corlys was the only one to dare directly into his eyes

In defiance

Say it

He begged him with a silent threat in his dark eyes

Do it

Threaten me

“I think we need to send a little message…”, he continued, “I want my little nephew’s cock on a platter, and that little whore… in my chambers by the time we finish here, maybe that way, if we send them a set of sheets with my niece’s maidenhead in them, perhaps we will tell the fucking traitors what will happen to them all”

“Take the black, your grace, step down”

“I will kill them, to every last trace of my cunt of a half sister, i will take away the reason for their rebellion, they were be no other contender to the throne but me, and I will marry Cassandra Baratheon, she will give me true, strong heirs, worthy of the Iron Throne” 

“Your grace”, he said slowly. “maybe, telling them of your marriage with the princess, instead of her bloodied sheets would be more effective”, he counseled

“He is right Aegon”, said Alicent softly, “an alliance between the two branches of the family will ease them, and Cregan Stark, when knowing Rhaenyra’s blood will sit on the Iron Throne one day, he will go back North”, she said hopefully, she placed her hand on his son forearm, but he pulled it, rejecting his mother’s touch 

“Bring her to my chambers tonight”, he said to the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he didn't like it, but nodded nonetheless without saying anything

“Aegon”, reasoned Alicent, “she is very delicate, and an innocent in all of this”

“Isn’t she the daughter of my whore of a sister?”, he mocked, Alicent said nothing as she played with her fingers nervously, “isn’t she what you called her a thousand times over? a bastard?”

“That doesn’t mean… we will be surrounded”

“Call in Lord Borros then, they will attack the traitors from the back, and killed them against the city walls”, he mocked

“Lord Borros is dead your grace”, said Corlys, playing with the dragon eye in front of him, he then stopped, and look up at him, he found the twisted King looking back at him with a sick smile 

“Right, sometimes I forget”, he said dismissively, he took the chalice of wine next to him and took it to his lips

5 minutes without drinking

A new record 

“the Lannisters then”, he said

“By the time the Lannister piece together the scraps left of their army, our head will be at stakes at the gates of the city”, Lord Corlys debated, Larys Strong only got quiet, looking to the left and to the right, who was next to speak, who was next to loose his temper. It was truly entertaining 

“We hold the city”, he mocked, “we will close the gates and those savages will be scratching their heads, wondering how they could breach the walls, they don’t have siege weapons

“What they have is the rest of the country’s resources, while they starved us to death”, he fought again

“Not if your armada defeats the Arryn’s, as they should”

Then finally, his crazy, deranged eyes stopped at the face of Corlys Velaryon

“I will cut your granddaughter's ear and sent it to Alyn Velaryon, to go and encourage him to fight the fucking traitors”

That was it

“That is not going to be necessary, your grace, Alyn will fight the Arryn fleet, there is no doubt in my mind, I will send word to him personally”

“there shouldn’t be no need”, he snapped, “I am the King!”, he said, pointing to his own chest, “and they are loyal to me, they will fight”, Corlys nodded 

That was it then

They shared looks with Tyland Lannister

His fate was set 

The small council meeting was done, and everyone return to their chambers, it was already the hour of the owl, the Keep was dark, very lighten up, it lost ghostly, like it had been abandoned 

Corlys walked silently to his chambers, as a maid passed by him, he gave her a small sack and nodded, she barely looked at him and walked away

It was sealed 

“Where is the princess?”, he asked the guard posted at her rooms, he shook his head, the Sea Snake barely nodded, “keep her there”, he commanded, and kept walking

He needed his wits, he was going to need every ounce of diplomacy he still held to survive the coming weeks

A pack of wolves was coming

And they were going to ravage every Green that still drew breath

There had never lived a Stark who forgot an oath

Cregan Stark had promised Rhaenyra he was going to raise an army and march south to guard her and destroy her enemies that still were raising arms

Rhaenyra was dead

And yet the wolf was coming to fulfill his promise 

. . .

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros”, she sang softly, grabbing tightly the small incense in her hand, “Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis”, she kept lighting up the candles, “Hen ñuhā elēnī, Perzyssy vestretis”, she wavered, looking up at the skull of Balerion, “Se gēlȳn irūdaks. Ānogrose, Perzyro udrȳssi”, she moved to the next table, lighting up the small candles one by one, it could be maddening, but she had been here every night, “Ezīmptos laehossi”, she continued, “Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan, Hae mērot gierūli”, she looked up at the huge skull again, hoping, praying for something, like he was going to brought the black dread back to life

“Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī”, she finished the song with a single tear falling down her cheek

“Balerion, Jaes morgho, mazēdas ñuha lentor, sir gūrogon zirȳla, nyke jorepagon syt se morghon hen dārys”

[Balerion, god of death, he took my family, now take him, I pray to you for the death of the Usurper], she whispered 

She looked down at the candles, as she played with her fingers in the small flames, she could feel nothing, her skin didn't melt, unlike her sleeve

“Morghūljagon”, she whispered, extinguishing the flames from a simple blow of her lips 

Die.

[serymn31]

The Helaegon college reincarnation AU I will not write

He’s a spoiled but neglected son of a CEO, and his father’s worsening condition is causing a maelstrom of media speculation on who will inherit their company - him or his estranged older sibling? He’s a business major who seems to be always hungover in classes but aces his exams.

Once at a pub where he spent the wee hours of morning with a whiskey, a girl with silver hair and lavender eyes wearing a periwinkle sweater and gold spider earrings walk in carrying her botany and biology textbooks. The library has been closed, the pub goers have gone home and she orders coffee with irish cream. She sits on the table to continue her studies with her pastel highlighters and insect-themed notebooks.

Their eyes meet and she notices him watch her. She feels a sudden, inexplicable pain in her womb. For a moment he feels an unmistakable burning sensation on the left side of his body. His phone rings, his mother calling for some urgent concern about his father, and he had to leave.

The next day, they both happen to visit the same university museum with a display of thousand year old fossilized eggs said to belong to the mythical dragon. As their friends go to the other exhibits, they find themselves in the same gallery with the ‘eggs’. There is a “Do not touch” label on the display but they both feel a mysterious pull towards the objects.

They both circle the three dragon eggs, and she says, “Those might be real.” She reached out to touch one egg. He replied, “They look and feel like… scales?” Curious, he also reaches out to touch the skin of the egg. As both of their hands rest on it, they both feel an unexpected electric-like shock from it.

All of a sudden, their past lives as King Aegon II Targaryen and Queen Helaena Targaryen of a forgotten Valyrian dynasty is very, very clear for both of them. They stared at each other, shocked and wide-eyed, with the restored memory of their past and the brutal deaths of their children.

With this knowledge, will they ever heal the wounds of the past? Their touch, mysteriously sparks life on the petrified eggs.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

FROM MY BLOOD, COME'S YOUR RUIN. ( HOTD x Reader )

author notes: thanks so much for the love! pairing: King Aegon ii Targaryen x Witch! Alys River's Sis! Reader prompt: After the murder of your House, you and your sister Alys Rivers do what you must to survive the Dance of the Dragon's. word count: 1, 000+ words

You were the youngest of your siblings. It was Harwin, Larys, Alys and then you. For a bastard, you were treated well. You were the families seamstress and rumored witch. Of course, it was not real witchcraft. You had learned how to tend to wounds on your own with herbs and years of practice. It was all natural. But, because you were a bastard. Rumors would follow you all over. Twas' Alys that was a true witch. Having visions from the weirwood trees and crafting little potions that drew Daemon Targaryen mad during his time there.

Luckily, those rumors meant to belittle you were a saving grace. During the Fall of House Strong, you were dragged alongside your older sister Alys. When a guard pinned you down to blood soaked cobblestones of the courtyard, attempting to push your skirts up, Alys took no moment to hesitate before clawing at the man's eyes with her nails.

She vowed and spouted out curses, damning the man to a bloody filled fate. That they would die before their sons were of age. All by her witchly power. Instead of following in your sister's path, you were frozen in place, eyes locked onto the hundred cold dead eyes staring back at you. The heads of your kin left in a large stack in the courtyard. Men, women, and children. All just staring back at you.

That fire within her caught Prince Aemond's eye. She spouted out lies, saying you both were witches and would lead him to the Iron Throne. That with both of your lives spared, you would assure that it was Aemond who sat on the Iron Throne instead of his brother.

Once again, those rumors helped you both survive. You were taken as spoils of war. Alys was Aemond's to keep and you would be for his elder brother Aegon, a token of good will. A spy for him, meant to poison his brother's mind for him. If Aegon did not want you, then you would stay in Harrenhal. Meant to be a mockery of the 'strong' House Strong and their attempt of daring to think they could challenge Aemond and his dragon. Or at least that was what Aemond had said to you both.

Standing in the front of the small council, you tried to stop the trembling in your body, still traumatized from the horrors you had seen. Your kin, even if some of them were cruel because of your bastard status, were killed. Their blood still covering you. It was in your hair, dried and knotted deep. It was on the thick linen of your skirts and back, even in your stockings. Looking at Alys, she nods her head softly, a tender glimmer in her eyes telling you that all would be well. You would only hope that she was right.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shakily shift your gaze onto each member of the small council. There was a mix of pity, disgust, and horror in their eyes. You probably looked as shitty as you had felt on the inside. Hesitantly looking over to Aegon, he watches you like a predator, his violet eyes looking you over slowly. In another time and place, he would be pretty to gawk at. Soft pouty lips, glimmering violet eyes, wavy Targaryen white locs and a sulky expression on his face. But, right now he looked like a pretty face to bury a knife into.

"She is pretty, for a Strong."

"Yes, well, she has a fucking name." You snap back, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

"Oh, got the tongue on her as well." He chuckles amused.

"Were you dropped on your head as a babe, is that why you keep speaking like that?" You snap back, the anger you had buried bubbling up. "Oh, right, tis' bold of me to say that your Mother even held you."

Watching as his face instantly shifted into a deadly glare, you refuse to back down from him, the look of pride and reassurance from Alys encouraging you. If this was not meant to happen, then she would have given you a look to stop. Resisting the urge to cower as he stands up from his seat, the sound of the wood scraping against the tiled floor fills the air. An grading sound, like a chicken croaking at dawn. Stalking towards you like you were his prey, he slowly circles you, inspecting the dried blood on your gown. Dark maroon ruining the soft gray.

"You're a bastard." He states, almost as if to mock you.

"You know plenty of bastards, don't you?" You counter back, "Your little fleet in Flea Bottom. Soiling your sister-wife's good name and honor."

"You know nothing of-"

"Of how you refused to bed her, having to gorge yourself fat on wine until you could do it? Of how you could not look at her? Or of how you refused to share a bed with her after that? Choosing the whores in Flea Bottom?" You cut him off, watching his face pale.

You did not know this for a fact, you were not blessed with visions like Alys. But courtly gossip left enough to fill in the blanks and the look on his face told you enough. This was your saving grace. Holding your head up high, a strand of hair falls in front of your face, the strand thick with blood. The stench of it making your nose curl up. Who's? It could have been your Great Uncle Simon Strong. Or your nephew. Or it could have been a mix of all of them. Your gaze locked onto him, now he was the prey and you the predator.

"How did you..?" Aegon blubbers, blinking dumbly.

"I saw it, just as I saw the war ending." You lie, looking to Alys for help.

"We both did. Rhaenyra dies, the Realm knows her for generations to come as Maegor with Tits, the Whore of Dragonstone, the Queen of Bastards." Alys cuts in, "We can assure it. If you keep us alive."

"Why would I keep you both?"

"Our visions only can be done with both of us. Surely you know of Visenya using blood magic with Tyanna of the Tower? Magic must be done with another." Alys lies, "Do you wish to lose the war? To watch as Rhaenyra puts your kin's head on pikes?"

Feeling grateful for your older sister's quick thinking, you take a step towards him, a trail of blood footprints left behind. The coldness of the tile almost making you shiver. Had you always been shoeless? Or had it happened during the fall of Harrenhal and you not even notice? Staring him down from the other end of the table, you watch as he cowers backwards into his seat at the head of the table, clearly wanting space between you.

It was clear that Alys's strangeness and your ramblings had shaken him to the core. You could only hope that it would be enough to sway him into keeping the two of you alive. Tilting your head to the side, the feeling of fresh blood trickling down your leg makes the hairs on your arms raise. Had you truly neglected to look at yourself? Or was this Alys's doings? Bending the strings to make you more frightening?

"Do you wish to see your sons head on a pike? What tis' his name, Maelor?" You add, "Or for her to do horrors to your daughter? Mayhaps Rhaenyra will force you to watch as her belly swells with a bastard? After all, she is the Queen of Bastards."

"She wouldn't. Jaehaera is but a girl." Aegon shakes his head, eyes brimming with tears.

"Her son is dead. Her throne stolen. Her name soiled and ruined. What tis' to say that she will not finish what her two assassin's failed to do with your son?" You add, "If you wish to win this war, tis' me and my sister that you need."

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

[lunarmoonanons]

The Garden of Lilies

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Tyrell Reader spends the day with her lilies. And they learn so terrible truths about their mother's situation.

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Masterlist

The Queen never mentioned how young she was when she was taken to bride to her children. Her younger children always had imagined their mother being the same age as she was now forever. Her older children logically knew she was not 24 when she had them, but they never thought about how young she really was. YN lamented to herself about how young she was, she had just turned fifteen when Maegor had taken her. Her nameday was in early spring, just as winter had melted back. In the eyes of many she was still a child. Maegor was in his twenties, a full man before a trembling child. A child who cried and pushed out three babies before she was ready to. 

Yet, she never hated her children. Her mother told her, when she was ten, that even if she could love her future husband her children would be the few joys she would have in her life. YN hated that her oldest looked like Maegor, but his nature reflected a gentle strength. Aegon ii loved his mother and loved his siblings. Finding strength in his family. Maegor ii looked the most like his grandmother, he also had her prowess for the blade as well as his love for his brothers and sisters. 

But Visenya ii, she was her father’s joy. If Aegon ii was Maegor’s pride, she was his joy. She was loud and brash, wearing dresses and pants. She trained with her brothers, as was her grandmother’s wish. She loved her mother and father, being spoiled by him and loved by her. Many were mistaken in believing that Maegor only loved his sons. If there was one child he would go on record as having said he loved, it would be Visenya ii. 

Today was a special day, though there were no celebrations, no holidays, no namedays, nothing. Simply it was a day YN could spend with her children without the pressure of the court, the eyes of his other brides, or the weight of Maegor. The day just belonged to the quiet queen and her nine children. Starting off with her oldest children sneaking their younger siblings into her rooms and waking her up by jumping on her bed. Though it did startle her, YN smiled and laughed at the sight of her younger daughters and sons laughing at her surprised face. 

Later, YN was back in the gardens. Though she did not love the strolls as she used to, she knew it would be good to spend some time outside with the other flowers in the garden. Daela sat in her lap as the woman sat under a canopy, her other children were laid variously around her. Aegon ii stood and practiced swinging his sword with his sister Visenya ii, Maegor ii sat on the floor with Baela and Rhaenys, Laenyx was being coddled by Rhaegar as the older boy spoke to his twin Malor. Aegon ii looked at his mother and furrowed his brow for a moment. His distraction cost him as Visenya ii caught him on his arm. 

“Ow” Aegon ii exclaimed and grabbed his upper left arm. 

“You should pay attention when you hold a blade or worse will happen.” Visenya ii scolded. 

“I was thinking.” He gritted out and looked at his mother again. 

“What about?” Maegor ii asked, pulling Rhaenys into his lap. 

“Mama.” The oldest boy spoke, catching his mother’s attention. 

“Yes, my lily?” The woman responded and smiled at him. 

“How old are you?” He asked and lowered his sword. 

The queen laughed breathlessly and smoothed Daela’s hair. “What an unusual question from you? I just turned twenty four, this early spring.” 

That made Aegon ii frown and grip his sword tight. He did the math in his head and stretched his lips to a thin line. “But I’m nine! That means you would have had me at fifteen!” 

“Well yes, I suppose it does mean that.” YN said quietly and kissed Daela’s head. “What are you asking me?”

“Mama. You were a child. Why did you agree to marry so young?” Aegon ii asked. His words made his sister Visenya ii lower her sword and step toward her brother. 

“It’s complicated.” YN said. She never told her children how she became their father’s wife. How he murdered her aunt, stole her from her family before she could make it home, took her maidenhead harshly and forced her to give birth so young. Her father had promised her that she wouldn’t have to marry until she was at the least eighteen. She never told her children because it was not their burden to bear. 

“It’s not complicated. It’s simple. You said you wouldn’t make any of us marry until we were eighteen. And yet you married as a child!” Aegon ii grew frustrated. 

“Aegon. Let it go.” Visenya ii scolded, noticing their mother’s growing distress. 

“No. It’s not right, why did she choose to marry father when she was so young and he was already an adult.” Aegon ii said in frustration. 

“Let it go, Aegon.” YN said, looking down. 

“But mama-”

“It’s not like I had a choice in the matter…” YN whispered. Then looking up in a hurry at what she said. Realizing her children could hear her. 

Her older children all looked at her in shock. They never considered the possibility that she was an unwilling victim. Yes she was emotionally and mentally abused now,  but they never thought that she was forced like his other brides. That she was a victim from the very beginning. Maegor ii held his younger sister, who didn’t pay any attention, close to his chest. Visenya ii dropped her sword and covered her mouth, and Aegon ii furrowed his brow even harder. 

“So he forced you? He forced a child-” Aegon ii started. 

“Change the subject.” YN interrupted. 

“But-”

“Now. Talk about something else.” YN said matter of factly.

Though that did not satisfy her son, he nonetheless complied. The conversation led to something lighter. Making the woman relax. Though her words stuck to the back of her older children's minds. The day continued on, as they spent time together. They did not know where Maegor was, but if he was gone for this long while it couldn’t have been good. As they walked threw the Keep, YN started to grow more tense.  Culminating in her stopping in the great hall, with Maegor stomping threw in a rage. 

“She’s gone! Her and two of her brats!” Maegor screamed, he then locked eyes with her startled wife and made his way to her. “You. Did you know about this?! Where did she go?!” He stood in front of her, grabbing her wrist harshly bruising the flesh. YN said nothing as her eyes grew wide and her voice died in her throat. 

“Leave her alone!” Aegon ii said, pushing his father back feebly. 

Maegor simply scoffed and pushed his son away. He looked ready to strike the woman in front of him. Even with the child she held in one arm. He looked furious. But knew he would not get anything from his wife. Even if she did know anything, she was too frightened and too small to say anything. He let go and roughly pushed past her. YN let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and kissed her daughter’s head quickly. 

“That’s enough for today. You should not make your father more angry than he is already. Go to your rooms.” YN said and ushered her children away. 

~~~

Later, in the dark of the night, Aegon ii called Maegor ii, Visenya ii, Malor and Rhaegar to his rooms. They knew they had to do something. This abuse could not go on longer. Not only was their father hurting their mother, but he was probably sexually abusing her right now. They had to do something. 

“He’s taken Viserys. Queen Alyssa left him, and now father’s going to torture him.” Malor said. 

“He’s a monster.” Rhaegar whispered. “You saw how close he was to striking mother. He didn’t even care that Daela was in her arms.”

“But what are you saying? He’s a grown man. We’re children.” Maegor ii said. 

“We can’t let this go on. He’s already hurting her, and now we know he’s been hurting her since she was a child. He doesn’t care about anyone else in this family.” Visenya ii spoke. She rubbed her hands and looked to her older triplet. 

“There’s only one thing we can do.” Aegon ii said, turning from his window to look at his siblings. 

“WE have to kill father.”

@gulnarsultan

[rynnthefangirl]

https://www.tumblr.com/very-straight-blog/760265762145452032/i-decided-to-summarize-all-the-statements-about?source=share

I didn't read the book, so all these things were really just rumors?

Yes, this post is accurate. Aegon is a rapist in the show, but in the book we don’t know. A strange thing about this fandom is the way that the book and show canon are blended together, with some things from the show being taken as defining aspects of a character despite them not being explicitly true in the book (or even being directly contradictory to the book). Other examples include Alicent being a child bride and Aemond being a bully victim. That being said, Aegon being a rapist is a pretty reasonable jump to make, given that he was known to sexually harass serving girls. So Team Black will frequently call Aegon a rapist because it is canon in the show and consistent with both his show and book characterizations. The other points are all accurate, there are some nasty rumors about Aegon, but nothing confirmed.

*Getting into spoilers now if you don’t know the later events of the book*

No worries though, Aegon is still very much a piece of shit in the book! In truth, him being a rapist is pretty far down on my list of reasons why I hate him. There are plenty of other things in the book to despise Aegon for! Usurping the throne, celebrating Luke’s murder by throwing a feast, murdering all the rat catchers in the red keep, traumatizing his 10 year old nephew and then ordering him to be mutilated, etc). I think the death of Maester Gerardys is a good demonstration of book!Aegons cruelty:

Mind you, this was not an enemy combatant or Lord, this was a maester who was only doing his job (and seemed to have been a pretty good dude, he defended Addam and Nettles from Rhaenyra’s suspicions and offered Aegon II milk of the poppy to ease his pain after Moondancer burned him). Aegon could have simply had him imprisoned or beheaded. Instead he gave him a sadistic and torturous death for really no other reason than just to be cruel. Idk to me that is as bad an act as raping Dyanna was in the show.

Despite being accurate, the original post just rubs me the wrong way. Pointing out that Dyanna was the only known instance of show Aegon raping someone? 1. As if him being a rapist isn’t so bad if he only did it once. 2. Aegon doesn’t even seem to see his actions as wrong in the show, to him it was just harmless fun. Am I really expected to believe that is the one and only time a spoiled and lustful Prince like Aegon decided to have “fun” with one of the serving girls?

Also framing this as a “Team Black” issue, as if Team Green isn’t constantly misrepresenting stuff from the book to fit their narrative. There are many of examples of this, but my two favorites:

1. “Rhaenyra saw herself as the exception to women ruling and robbed other women of their inheritance to give to their brothers”

- In reference to the Rosby and Stokeworth situation. This is blatantly false, Rosby and Stokeworth’s daughters were never their fathers’ heirs. It was Corlys who called Rhaenyra’s situation an exception, not because she is special and different than other women, but because her father named her heir. Rhaenyra’s whole succession ideology is based on the right of lords to choose their successors, and she upheld exactly that, refusing to usurp others’ inheritance against their lord fathers’ will as the Greens had done to her.

2. “Aegon II showed Rhaenyra’s son mercy and named him heir because he cared more about preserving House Targaryen’s future than he did the Greens vs Blacks conflict”

-Egregiously false and disingenuous. Aegon’s “mercy” to his nephew was wanting to give him a choice between castration and spending his life at the Wall. It was Corlys who insisted Aegon the Younger be named heir and engaged to Jaehaera. Aegon II did not want this, he specifically said “my sisters line must end”, but he couldn’t afford to lose Corlys’ support. It was Larys who convinced him to agree to Corlys’ demands. How did he convince him? Why by telling him that Aegon the Younger would never actually marry Jaehaera or become king, they’d just lie to Corlys and when their position was strong enough they could betray and kill him, and then castrate or exile Rhaenyra’s 10 year old son as Aegon II originally wanted to. Aegon’s “mercy” for his nephew was of the same flavor as Cersei and Joffrey’s “mercy” for Sansa.

Sorry lol, this was a long response for what was a simple ask, I just love trash talking that POS usurper.😅

TLDR; yes these are only rumors in the book and Aegon being a rapist is only strictly canon in the show. But it is not inconsistent with his book characterization, and book!Aegon is in fact still an incredibly despicable person even if you assume none of these rumors are true.

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Twenty

Masterlist of Series

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

Author's Note: Hey, besties. Sorry for the late update. I was in my head second guessing everything and just not doing good. I just needed a small break away from the story for a few days. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you for your kind words and patience.

Chapter Warnings: Old rich white men, Ser Crispin Cole being a douche.

"To capture a predator, you can't remain the prey.

You have to become an equal in every way." -

Karliene, Become the Beast.

By the grace of the Gods, you awoke before your maids. The thick sheets were torn away from your body and wrapped around a sleeping form, their lips parted and squished together against a soft pillow. You tied the strings of your nightgown together as you slowly snuck out of bed, peeking your head through your chamber doors to ensure the guard was still asleep.

Aegon looked ethereal, with strands of his white hair draped across his porcelain face. The swarthy circles that seemed permanently stained underneath his eyes had lessened, a youthful flush dusting across the tops of his cheeks. It seemed sinful to wake him when he appeared so peaceful, relaxed, and almost happy.

You rolled back into your place in bed, bringing a hand to Aegon's temple, gently brushing back his silver locks. You heard his sharp intake of breath, his brows raising slightly before you met his sleep-laced eyes.

"Good morn, Prince Aegon," you greeted with a smile. "It seems you've had a restful night's sleep." He nodded lazily, turning on his back as he stretched. "I have enjoyed your presence here, my Prince, but you must understand the impropriety of it and my wish for discreetness," you expressed, straight to the point.

A frown tugged on Aegon's perfectly pink lips, rubbing the sleep from his expression to hide it. A pang of sympathy radiated in your chest, maneuvering your body closer to him as you draped an arm over his torso.

It was an odd sentiment, and you couldn't help but feel a slight apprehension gnawing at the back of your mind. You hadn't meant to initiate comfort. Truthfully, it wasn't something that needed doing, but as you saw the disappointment on Aegon's countenance, your body went faster than your sense.

You convinced yourself that it was just another process in the plan.

"We shall meet for a walk in the gardens on the morrow," you offered, trailing your finger across the Aegon's bare skin. "Will that appease my spoiled prince while I am tending to my duties?"

You discerned the pet name was something he adored and tucked that into your mental arsenal-a trick you had picked up from the Rogue Prince.

"What duties do you tend to?" Aegon scoffed, the blush on his cheeks not unnoticed as he abruptly rose from the bed into a seated position.

You weren't insulted by his childishness as you should have been. Instead, you found it rather endearing, proud that you were winning him over after just one night, a grin threatening to split your lips.

"Tis bastardly duties, nothing to concern the eldest son of the King," you jested, crawling behind and wrapping your arms around him.

You pressed your face into the cool meat of his back, enjoying the heavy musk of sex and wine that wafted there. His skin was so soft against yours, and the sudden urge to bury your nose within him was strong. The emotion caught you unaware, momentarily tensing against Aegon as you prayed he didn't notice.

"Ugh," the Prince sneered, moving his hands to grip your own harshly. "I hate it when you are called that. You don't deserve such a name."

You felt yourself honestly smiling at his words, with no ulterior motive or arrogance behind it.

"What else am I to be called then? By my name? Surely, such a common thing is no match for the honorary title bastard brings," you poked, attempting to remove your arms from his white-knuckling grip.

Aegon brought your hands to his lips, kissing the back of them in a tender gesture that caused unwanted butterflies. "And that is more than enough, little one," he said.

Aegon allowed you to release him, standing to gather his discarded clothes across your chambers.

The sun was not close to rising, the hour of the owl upon you and leaving plenty of time to return to a peaceful slumber before dealing with the exhausting politicking of the day. How people were willing to do this baffled you, but you supposed the final product was worth it.

"I shall see you this evening, then?" Aegon asked, his violet eyes wide and hopeful.

You felt that emotion of regret already forming but steeled yourself and nodded sincerely, throwing him an encouraging smile from beneath your thick lashes. "Yes, my Prince."

He clapped his hands giddily like a boy who had found a tray of sweets ripe for the taking as he bounded to the door with an unusual spring to his step. Aegon tossed you a cheeky wink and smiled, blowing a kiss before he finally left your chambers.

Tucking the covers underneath your chin, you let out a shaky exaggerated breath. You hadn't realized how easy it was to slip into the role of Aegon's lover, forgetting every wrong he committed. The words of comfort were not as difficult to say as anticipated, and the intensity you felt while saying them unnerved you.

There was some truth in your statements, however. You were cross with Aegon for accepting the gift of those two women and how you saw them retreating to his chambers that night, but it wasn't your place to tell him what he should do. You feared that attempting to curb Aegon's appetites so early would cause him to recoil and hinder your intended progress.

Later, when the Prince was wholly smitten with you, you would forbid him from such lecherous acts, but until then, it would be a delicate process of biting your tongue and letting him take whatever he wished.

***

Sleep did not come to you as hoped. The remaining hours of darkness were spent inside your raging head, planning what to say at the Council meeting, wondering when you would receive another letter from your Father and Ser Dalton Greyjoy, and hoping Jace and your mother would send word too.

Your maids couldn't hide their surprise when they saw you reclining on the green chaise beside the fireplace, a book in your hands. They brought a tray with slices of ham, bread, fruits, and a cup of morning tea to break your fast. Jeyne went to your wardrobe as normal, and Diana and Fiora made your bed. None of them greeted you like the past as you cut through a piece of food, skepticism and anxiety gnawing your insides as the food settled.

"Jeyne," you called, crossing your arms over your chest. "What time is the Council meeting today?"

She briefly paused, rummaging through your closet but quickly returned to it as if nothing happened, laying your dresses for the day out. You swallowed your last sip of tea, setting the cup on the saucer as you dabbed the sides of your mouth with the green cloth napkin.

"My Lady Jeyne, I know you heard me. Whatever you wish to say, you can. Speak freely and openly," you commanded.

She placed her hands on her hips, gazing over the outfits, procrastinating her response. "It is rather cold today. I believe this gown would meet the weather today." Jeyne paused, dropping the dress she was holding and moving to another. "But I do think we should make a statement today."

You rose from your seat, pacing to the eldest servant, removing the clothes from her hands, and throwing them with the rest.

"Jeyne," you widened your eyes, placing your fists on her shoulders as Daemon did when trying to be serious. "Tell me what you are avoiding."

She turned her head away, worried eyes flickering everywhere but you.

This was unlike her. Jeyne was hardened and made serious after years of working for pompous high borns; nothing would ever stir her in such a way. Whatever was burdening her created tension in the room, Fiora and Dyana stopping their tasks to come near the pair of you.

"We overheard the Lords at court mentioning Your Grace's name. They seemed to be talking of having you removed from the Small Council by the Hand's orders before the meeting at high noon today," Dyana spoke out uncharacteristically.

Your head snapped toward her, startling the poor little maid from the fierceness of your stare. "They cannot do that," you yelled instinctually, "only the King can appoint or remove Council Members."

Dyana retreated within herself, bowing quickly as she went back to fluffing your feather pillows, a slight tremble in her step. You inhaled a calming breath, briefly shutting your eyes to exhale the sudden anxiety in your gut.

"I thank you for telling me, Dyana. What Lords were speaking of such things?" you asked in a gentler tone, going to sit in front of your vanity.

She tucked in the strands of blonde that came loose from her servant's cap, clasping her fingers with her face downcast. "I am not privy to the names of Lords, Your Grace. My apologies, I am unsure."

You bobbed absentmindedly and dismissed the subject, chewing at your lip as Fiora began to brush your hair. You felt the slight gnawing of guilt in the back of your mind for frightening Dyana with only a look in your eyes. It wasn't as if you meant to scare her. You were insulted at the notion of your peers conspiring behind your back, and it showed within the tone of your voice. You hoped she realized it wasn't directed at her. You would never purposely hurt any of your servants, let alone one so timid and meek.

You did not know what Council Members could be conspiring against you. Ser Otto Hightower was the most obvious one, but you understood he wouldn't remove you from the table outright. You were serving in the heir's stead. It would be equivalent to having Rhaenyra herself removed from the Small Council, which was something that could not be done.

Lord Lyman Beesbury was not one of your conspirators, you believed. He was loyal to the King and his word, not easily swayed by coin and the opinions of others. Jasper Wylde and Tyland Lannister were a pair you were certain of, in any case. With his iron rod opinions and having as many male heirs as possible, Lord Wylde believed a woman's sole purpose was in the birthing bed. Lord Lannister's prejudice against your mother for refusing his brother's and his hand in marriage were all motives.

It would be surprising if Maester Mellos knew what was happening around him, so he was not one. The man was so ancient and decrepit; you would be shocked if he survived through winter. Lord Larys Strong had yet to appear for the meetings, but you wouldn't put it past him to desire to be rid of you. You always remembered the one encounter with him. It sent shivers down your spine to think about it. Queen Alicent, of course, would prefer if you never asked for a position but understood that if she went back on her word, the havoc that would follow with your absence with her eldest son would be unimaginable.

The three servants interrupted your thoughts, Fiora almost yanking your black hair from the roots as she coiled a braid in the shape of a crown around your skull, Dyana applying cream onto your cheeks from where the wind had burnt you, and Jeyne asking which gown you would like to wear once more.

The older lady was unsurprised whenever you chose a dress of charcoal grey with golden embroidery dripping from the naturally high neckline, the matching style on each side of your waist and cuffs, giving the illusion of more curves to your figure. A rope of woven aureate threads was snatched around your hips with a circular metal broach, a blood-red ruby in the middle. A similar pattern to the one on your wrists was also on the bottom of the gown, the soft fabric lightly billowing out and dusting the floor.

Jeyne handed you a matching asymmetric cape with swirling golden trim for the venture you would have to make across the grounds. She sent you off with a gentle squeeze to your biceps to traverse through the castle until you were sat on the battlefield.

The time was not yet midday, perhaps three to two hours off, you speculated, deciding to spend the remaining time within the Godswood. With the help of daylight, you saw details you had missed when you visited a previous night.

The walls that squared the Heart Tree had more cracks than you remembered, vines of green ivory crawling up the expanse. Some bushes and shrubs lined the small perimeter before an iron gate opened to the rest of the landscaping. No flowers were budding or in bloom like when you briefly spent time here, the colder temperature taking effect on every living thing on these grounds. A strange glass structure piqued your interest, something you hadn't noticed before.

It was placed just out of the Weirwood's shadow, ensuring the sun's rays would always shine on it no matter the time of day. The roof of the small building was only an arm above your head, the inside barely wide enough to fit two bodies comfortably. You squinted your eyes to peer through the glass, a glare making it so you could only see yourself looking back. Cupping your hands around your brows, you pressed their sides to the transparent wall. Strange near cylindrical lumps dangling from the ceiling with tiny strings, looking like a freshly plucked leaf from a plant a child had rolled on itself.

This was the first time you had done something like this. It was odd, sparking the curious interest of your open mind as you descended your fingers to pop the small metal latch that kept the door shut.

"Cousin!" you heard Helaena's cheerful voice echo in the wind, causing your to turn.

You greeted her with bright eyes and grinning lips, pleasantly surprised by her interruption. She arrived with two servants trailing behind her, a tot in each of their strong arms. Your heart melted to see the young Prince and Princess, golden blonde hair and violet irises matching their mothers.

Helaena's silver dress glimmered as she embraced you, her petite frame swallowing you whole. You felt like you would cry as you circle your arms around her, finally feeling the welcoming warmth of kindness and love you yearned for in a place of icy distastefulness. The eldest Hightower daughter was too good for the life she lived.

"Helaena," you chirped as she let go. "I am pleased to see you here and with your children no less! I have only heard of their cuteness in talks, but nothing said could have prepared me for... this!"

You rushed over to the maids, cooing at little Jaehaerys and Jaehaera as they observed you with curious eyes. Though they were identical, they differed in many ways. Jaehaerys furrowed his blonde eyebrows at you, almost appearing as if he was scowling, while Jaehaera reached for you with grabby little hands, not even the size of your palm. You welcomed the young girl with open arms, awing and babbling nonsense as her tiny fingers deftly rubbed your cheeks. It was the sweetest of touches and made you uncaring for how her sharp nails stung your sensitive flesh with her inexperience.

You shifted your body to Helaena, seeing her thin lips smiling as you doted on her daughter. You stroked the fine hair on Jaehaera's small head, adoring its silky soft feeling as you delicately bounced her on your hip.

All too soon, you were stolen from your babe-induced trance when a piercing cry rang in your ears, instinctively making you cringe. Prince Jaehaerys was wiggling in the nursemaid's hold, pushing weakly against her body and flailing his short legs. The young boy's eyes were welling with tears. His face beat red as he furled and unfurled his fists, nearly throwing himself out of the servant's arms in your direction.

You glanced back at Helena with a confused look, unsure what to do. She came towards you, reaching out in a gesture to give Jaehaera to her. The young girl did not protest, babbling happily to be with her mother again while her brother screamed as if he was being murdered.

Pacing over to the wailing child, he was plopped into your grasp, nearly being dropped in the process in his desperation. His crying immediately ceased once he was with you like a switch flipped in his head, cherubic face rounded with joy as he played with the tie that held your cloak together. You gazed down at him and then at the older wet nurse, stunned, uncertain of what happened.

"Just like his father," the other women in red commented, and you snapped your head toward her. "Screaming and crying until he gets what he wants."

You quickly glanced at Helaena to see if she heard the maid's near-treasonous words, but she was distracted, trailing a curved finger down Jaehaera's button nose as she giggled.

"Now, let us check our sovia," Helaena chirped at her daughter.

Another set of purple eyes watched from within the Keep's pale red stone walls, a decanter in his hand. It was an interesting site to see his sister, the woman Aegon intended to love, with the woman he truly did, a cruel representation of his life. He took a swing of his firewater, the burn a welcomed feeling as he saw his whining son be thrust into you.

Aegon's mind couldn't help but wander to the imagination of that boy being half your blood instead of his sister's. He pictured your belly round with child, back aching, and breasts sore from the labor that is a babe. He couldn't remember much of Helaena's pregnancy, too drunk and high off pleasure to even spend a moment with her. The day she gave birth, Aegon was nowhere to be seen. He could not recall if he was in the Silk Streets or fighting pits at the time; either place was preferable to see what a night of his own rape created.

He never wanted this life, even before he met you. Aegon was wonderful to whore, drink, and gamble to his heart's content, and he would've loved to continue his life that way if it wasn't for the duty that was forced upon him at the moment of his conception. But the longer he thought about it, the more he observed you doting on his children; Aegon realized that he did want the responsibility his status created. He just wanted it with you.

A scowl formed on Aegon's lips as he forced another gulp of Dornish Red down his throat.

***

You entered the Small Council chambers before the others, grabbing the large marble off a table and placing it in the holder, taking the same seat as before. Ser Harold Westerling and Criston Cole were the only two occupants, each standing on their respective sides of the room—you threw Ser Harrold a half-hearted but well-meaning smile which he returned with a dip of his head. Ser Criston's chocolate orbs studied you in silence as one would their enemy, making you fidget with the glass ball with the pads of your fingers.

The three of you continued to sit in an awkward quiet, the rolling of the marble against wood being the only noise as you waited for the other Lords and the Queen to arrive. You began chewing the forever scarred portion of your lip, picking the white skin with your teeth in anxiety. Your curious eyes couldn't help but drift to the man on your right, his layered silver armor like a mirror, reflecting the yellow glow of the scented candles and sun.

Ser Criston was an enigma. A man who held such contempt behind his Dornish features only to speak so kindly and eloquently to those around him. It created much skepticism in your interpretation of him. You couldn't put a pin to it, but something about him made your hairs stand on edge, the urge to constantly look over your shoulder when he was near. It was as if, at any moment, Criston would unsheath his deadly longsword and slice whoever was in his path without provocation. You were certain if Alicent gave the word, he would plunge whatever weapon available into your throat, no questions spoken.

It was terrifying and caused you to be hyper-aware of his presence forever. A frown tugged at your lips with the thought, averting your gaze toward the two Valyrian Sphinxes at the end of the room. Even their stony, emotionless faces were more of a comfort than that of Ser Criston Cole's.

You released a huff, ridding your mind of the bone-chilling imagination as you shoved your chair backward, deciding to indulge in the full pitcher of spiced wine. You leaned against the long wooden table of the Council Chamber, focusing your vision on the closed doors.

It was unlike anyone of the Lords to be late, which irritated you. Surely, you were not given the incorrect time, though you wouldn't put it past them to do that as you took a long sip of your drink. You knew of their intentions to remove you from the Council, and their delay was another piece of evidence to support what you heard. When they inevitably arrived, you hoped that your stern and unimpressed look would make them realize their mistake.

"Ser Harrold," you called absentmindedly, waving your full goblet, "where are the other members?"

You heard the rustling of his armor before he spoke emotionlessly. "I believe that they are to arrive at any moment."

You gave an unimpressed "hmm" at the Lord Commander's reply, crossing your arms over your chest as you pursed your lips.

"And you Ser Criston, where do you believe my fellow members of caucus are?" you inquired with the raise of your thick brow.

"Mayhaps with their kin, as you should be," Criston answered unabashedly, which you chuckled at.

"Cole!" Ser Westerling scolded before you stopped him with the shift of your hand.

"Tis all right, Lord Commander, I take no offense. Ser Criston is right, after all. I should be with my family at home on Dragonstone, but unfortunately, I must spend my days here serving in the stead of our heir until she is able to rule," you quipped with a brilliant smile. "Such a burden to ensure the duty and safety of the realm, but if that is the price I must pay in order to make certain my mother continues to strengthen our House with an adoring husband she would sacrifice anything for..." you paused, positioning your body so that the kingsguardmen saw your expressions and processed your words, "tis a burden I shall carry gratefully."

You smirked with pride as you saw Ser Criston shift his gaze from you, his hand tightening on the pommel of his sword with that same contempt look. From the corner of your peripheral, you even saw the barest of smiles on Ser Westerling's face, an unusual sight.

Tension was thick in the room, though it did not last long. Lord Laymen Beesbury entered the Small Council chambers with a creak of the door, his presence cutting the thickness like a knife. He gave you a polite smile in greeting as he briskly walked past you to take his place on the left side of the table. You followed his movements returning to your own as you waited for the others.

"I apologize for my tardiness, your Grace," Lord Beesbury spoke. You chuckled at him, glancing at the barren spaces around you.

"As you can see you are not the only one, my Lord. I take no offense. Do you know why they have not arrived yet?" you interrogated graciously.

"Truthfully, Princess, I am ignorant on the matter. Lord Hightower said this meeting was of great importance, so I'm unsure why they are not here either. Something to do with the King and his mind," he replied.

You cocked a brow at him, your expressions mirroring each other as you both waited in reticence. Thankfully, you didn't have to for long as Jasper Wylde, Otto Hightower, Queen Alicent, Tyland Lannister, Larys Strong, and Prince Aemond entered immediately. The abruptness of it all bewildered you and Lord Beesbury, sharking stunned looks as each filed into their respective seats, except for Aemond.

Your sights flickered over each of them, a lamb looking at a pack of wolves as they cornered it. The dagger at your waist was a comfort you did not know you needed today until now.

"Prince Aemond," the Queen spoke first, everyone's attention on her. "Will be joining our gatherings from now on as the King's cup bearer, upon his Majesty's request."

A wicked gleam showed from your eyes, hiding a satisfied smirk under the rim of your bronze chalice.

How peculiar...

"A wise choice, indeed," Lord Lannister replied, gesturing for the young man to give him a glass.

Unable to stifle the giggle this situation caused, you covered it with a cough, apologizing and saying you choked on the liquid. It was not lost on you the irony of the problem. Prince Aemond, a true-born son of the crown, a cupbearer, while you, a mere lowly bastard born from a whore and rouge prince, sat on the King's Council.

Fate was a cruel and twisted thing, and oh, how you loved it.

To Aemond's credit, he took the embarrassing position in stride, ensuring everyone's goblet was filled to their desires and not a single drop was spilled. He assumed the quality of not being seen or heard as each Lord conversed, his lithe form and platinum hair slinking into the background unnoticed. You kept his presence tucked securely within your mind, not forgetting the night of the feast.

"Princess, it has been many moons since I've seen you," Lord Larys said, interrupting you from observing the second son. The other men surrounding you hushed their conversations, eager to listen to yours.

"It has," you answered. You didn't want to converse with the man. He was twice as warped as his club foot and his mind as cunning.

"You have changed much since then. The skinny street rat I once saw is no more, a strong and fierce woman you have grown into. Your Father must be proud," he continued, ignoring your obvious insult and disinterest in the conversation.

"He is," you nodded curtly, swallowing the scowl that threatened to form.

"I would love to learn of your life at Dragonstone. I, sadly, have never been and would love to know much about the landscape. Is it true that the land smells of brimstone?"

You were losing your patience with the man, nearly standing from your seat to leave and forgetting the purpose of your entire stay as the large oak doors opened again.

A heavy silence fell over the room like a cloud shielding the land from the sun's rays. You turned a beat after the men, briefly examining their faces before you saw King Viserys slouched on his makeshift throne. A self-satisfied smirk pulled your lips, threatening to split the raw skin. An eager, excited look danced across your features as you stared at the dumbfounded, almost... furious gazes of the men before you.

There were feelings of doubt looming inside your mind as to whether Viserys would show. He was a living husk of a man slowly being eaten away by an incurable disease; you understood why he would be unable to deliver. The idea that he would risk his health for something as unimportant as his bastard niece and adopted granddaughter was a heartwarming victory for you and an icy insult to his advisors. 

It was wonderful.

Gold Cloaks came rushing by, silently gesturing for the Queen to move her seat next to the Hand so that his majesty's throne could fit. The look of ire upon Alicent's heart-shaped face and big doe eyes was nearly enough to quell the victorious feeling thumping in your chest. But then suddenly, you remembered the cruelness that woman could wield to those unlucky to witness it, and it blew away like fallen leaves in the autumn wind. You would turn away just as she did to you when your kin's head was sentenced to be sliced from their body.

Ser Harrold leaned into Viserys' ear once settled, his face too concentrated on not fainting to betray anything to your watchful eyes. Larys Strong was the only man who appeared unfazed, smirking, shifting his mousey features from you to the King and the rest of the members.

Again, a severe stillness blanketed the room, save for the raspy breaths of Viserys. Though all he did was be carried, staying conscious was enough of a feat for him. You said nothing, not daring to utter a single word and ruin this long-earned victory. The palpable emotions in the room said more than you ever could.

"My King, it is most joyous to have your presence with us once again. How do you fare?" The forever proud lion spoke first. A smug look slanted your eyes as you took another drink.

"Your King," Viserys spat through gritted teeth, surprising you all, "is enraged."

Concerned glances were tossed from everyone within the room, even you, the unwanted bastard.

"It seems, my advisors mean to undermine my rule. First, you refuse to hear my grandchild's petitions, my own flesh and blood, the daughter of the realms heir." You tried not to choke on the lukewarm wine you swallowed, clenching your fists to will your cough to leave. "Then, I hear you conspire to have the heir's ward thrown from the Council! The King's Small Council!"

Your eyes became slits, shifting your gaze across every person sitting at the table. Your middle finger tapped the bronze chalice harshly, the onyx dragon ring clinking as you channeled your offense.

"This is treason! I could have all your lives for that, even you wife," Viserys shouted venomously, a vein popping out of his stretched, crepey skin.

Aemond suddenly appeared at your side, pouring from the silver pitcher without consent. You tossed him a miffed look before waving him away like a fly, nearly backhanding the spare prince.

"Your Grace. I told them of the insult it would be. That it is unlawful to attempt a process only the King himself can commit," Otto Hightower pleaded.

The Lords looked incredulously at the Hand, their mouths gaping as a fish freshly caught out of Blackwater Bay. Truly, they saw how treacherous Otto Hightower could be. How conniving and yellow-bellied he was to keep a position as the Protector of the Realm's advisor.

"Enough, Otto!" Viserys shouted, stunning everyone into muteness. "Rhaenyra's child will treated as she would. She is my daughter's voice. You will listen to her as you would Princess Rhaenyra and is to stay on this Council until the Princess's return."

You were momentarily speechless; the wind knocked out of your lungs by the ferocity of his voice. You had never seen your Grandsire speak in such a way, always living up to his title of "peaceful" in the brief times you spent with him. A new respect for the older man was made from the act.

"Thank you, Grandsire," you said gratefully, bowing your head in appreciation.

He sighed at your gratitude, the rage he once felt slowly depleting with a sweet look of your soft brown and violet orbs. "Speak, now child," the King commanded gently.

Inhaling a gulp of air, you closed your eyes as you stood, using the pads of your fingers for support. You saw Aemond twitch just out of view, appearing as if he wanted to reach for something but thought better of it, folding his lean arms behind his back. His expression became dark as you spoke, teeth gritting and jaw clenched with every sway of your arms.

"As I mentioned in our previous meeting, there is need for aid in the Stepstones. Our ally Lord Corlys Velaryon has beseeched my mother and the crown for help by any means necessary." Alicent's bejeweled digits clasped in front of her, looking at the wooden table with downturned lips. "My mother will use her own personal fleet of ships filled with any supplies one might need. It is not my intent to send men over to fight a war Westeros has never been a part of. We will only give aid. My brother, Prince Jacaerys, my Father, and I will escort the fleet to ensure their safe travels to the Islands."

"How would we acquire such items Princess?" Lord Jasper asked, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Your fingertips idly traced the rim of your cup, creating a ripple in the purplish liquid. "I have seen to it that my personal allowance be put into acquiring extra products for our imports. Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon have volunteered partials of their shares to, as have my kind brothers Prince Jacaerys and Lucerys." Aemond visibility bristled at the mention of his childhood assailant, switching his posture into almost a fighting stance. "My brothers and I shall have no celebrations in our name and nothing commissioned until the money is paid in full."

"Princess," Lord Beesbury spoke instead, "your generosity moves me. I too shall invest my own coin into this effort."

You hadn't expected any of them to donate, no less the Master of Coin, and it shocked you into dumbness until you finally thanked him.

"When the Triarchy and their Dornish supporters see the three headed banners of the dragon instead of the seahorse, won't they feel entitled to declare war on the west?" Lord Hightower interrogated.

You smiled brightly at him, biting your teeth like an eager child as you answered. "But they will not see the dragon, it will be the same seahorse that has been sailed there for nearly a decade."

"Tis not in good taste to commit such a deceitful act, it goes against our laws of duty and honor to disguise ourselves to the enemy and get an unfair advantage," Jasper Wylde spoke again.

"This is war Lord Wylde. Men are murdering each other. The act in itself is dishonorable," you countered, causing the other members in the room to hush.

"War is not an excuse to commit such craven acts. We must be better than our enemies and win with dignity and pride," he shot back.

"Have you ever seen bloodshed Lord Wylde?" you asked with a raised brow. "I've seen men die for less. Dignity and pride mean nothing when you are at the end of a sword."

Lord Ironrod turned his gaze from you, staring at Otto Hightower for assistance but receiving none. One thing you could give the man was to know what battles to fight and which to retreat from. When Ser Jasper realized he was receiving no help from who he thought was an ally, the Lord turned to the King, hoping he would see reason, but met the vacant stare of a man clinging to life.

"I do have a suggestion, Princess, if you'll allow me," Alicent interjected.

"Of course my Queen," you nodded, sitting back in your seat and taking a long drink from your cup.

The Queen rose from her chair, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles in her seafoam green dress, the Seven-Pointed Star around her high-collared neck.

"There is no need for three dragons to be flown when we need only one. I volunteer my son, Prince Aemond to escort the fleet. Vhagar's power is second to none, her alone could protect an entire army," she said plainly, her voice carrying a regal and pragmatic lilt. "Also, my Lady, would it not be advantageous for you to stay here at the Keep to ensure all coin and inventory was accounted for?"

You acknowledge her statement with the furrow of your brow, curling your index finger over your lip as you rest your chin on the heel of your palm. "I understand your logic, my Queen. I will speak to Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon to gather their input."

Alicent nodded, not agreeing nor disagreeing with the plan. Hightowers knew when the fight was over.

Your gaze fell onto Aemond, his piercing violet eye focused on the King instead of you, the scarred skin underneath his leather patch twitching. You would tell your parents about Alicent's suggestion, but you were against it, as you knew they would be too.

The One-Eyed Prince wasn't to be trusted. You needn't that spelled out to you. Anyone who had experienced something as traumatic as losing an appendage would surely harbor the rage of a thousand suns for all involved and those who did nothing to rectify it. The assailant's brother, Father, and sister were all targets of his rage. You would not be surprised to wake up without your left eye one day. Part of you would be glad that Aemond had his revenge and what it meant.

Little Luke would finally be at peace. He would no longer have nightmares of his uncle ascending upon him in the dark, wondering if or when the Queen decided to seek her form of justice for her son that was never served. You would lose your eyes and life before Alicent or Aemond tried such a thing.

You diverted your attention back to the men passively bickering before the Prince took note, listening intently to the points and counters of each, deflecting and explaining when prompted of you.

With a lull in the conversation and Lord Jasper Wylde visibly fuming from within as Viserys coughed, a crimson glob of phlegm spewed from his mouth onto the wooden table. You stood faster than the Queen, rushing over to him as you supported his upper body.

Lord Beesbury rose from his seat, unable to stomach the sight of blood and saliva dripping from the corners of the King's mouth. You used loose fabric from your sleeve to wipe away the red mixture, motioning to Aemond to fill his Father's drink. Viserys' feeble digits grazed your knuckles, gently bringing the liquid to his mouth, his touch as cold as the snow in the north. He inhaled a ragged breath as he finished, his body slightly swaying, still recovering from the violent coughing fit.

Alicent came from behind you, shouting for someone to get the Maesters as you backed away, letting her be the dutiful wife. Viserys smacked her prodding fingers away, frail enough to accept the help of his grandchild but not humble enough to take his wife's.

"I believe..." the King wheezed, his voice wet, "that a decision is to be made."

A few paces from where Aemond stood, you stepped further away and began to chew your lip, concealing your fidgeting fingers behind your waist.

"I declare that we're to send aid to Lord Corlys Velaryon in the Stepstones," he stated, hate radiating from each Council Member. "The Princess is to oversee the project. You will look to her regarding the process to proceed."

Before the Gold Cloaks that carried the King in, you swiftly bowed. "Thank you, my King," you articulated, unsure if he heard you as the men ushered him out of the room, leaving you alone within a dean of starving vipers. 

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Thank you so much for your patience. I know it's not fun waiting for someone to update a story you're reading, so I appreciate that y'all aren't upset with me and have been so nice. Sadly, I'm going to disappoint you again. I'm going to be going on a little vacation away from updating. I'll still be writing tho, just not having to deal with the anxiety of a due date. I just feel like I need a small break. I've been doing this for 8 months!

Thank you again for taking the time to follow this story with me, and I look forward to seeing your interactions once I'm back! &lt;3

[emkald-fic]

Bright Star | One Shot | Aegon II Targaryen x OC

Summary: The king dies and their dream begins. Rating: Mature edging on Explicit (hehee) Warnings: 18+, Smut, Exhibitionism Word Count: 1384

Notes: A fluffy-ish one shot of Aegon and Abrogail escaping successfully from King's Landing the night the king dies. Not directly related to my other works, but features my original character, Abrogail Strong.

thank you to my beloved @acrossthesestars for the amazing banner and helping with fleshing out some of the spice!

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications.

There are different ways the dream goes.

There's one where Abrogail is five and ten, walking into the sept with a silver dress embroidered in golden dragons, where the Queen watches in approval as their hands are wound with ribbon. The one where Prince Aegon smiles brighter than the sun as he wraps his cloak around her,  cups her face in his hands and kisses her breath away. They long to run from the storm, as it tears at the towers of the Red Keep with flame and water. They are not the same, in the end, with too much loss and too much suffering, where the only peace is found in the quiet of their kisses and the warmth of their bed. With children who they vow will be born into everlasting peace. 

The last of the dragons.

There's another one, where the four of them are miserable and anxious.She exchanges hushed vows with the second son, her eyes darting towards his. There is no cheering or fanfare - just a plan concocted by a dreamer and clever children to keep their clutch together as the storm draws closer. It is the first son she lays with on her wedding night to seal the deal, whispering their own vows amidst soft sighs and cries of need. Things don't turn out so bad in this dream, but it still isn't perfect.

Pentos is not a dream.

It is vision made flesh with sweat and tears and frantic nerves. They are both dead and alive; they died the night the king did, they were born flying into the sunrise. They were born come the dawn on the sands of Essos amidst a victorious dragon shriek and relieved laughter. Where exhaustion and adrenaline gave way to something sacred in the surf that ‘yes, yes we made it we've made it, is breá liom tú mo réalta geal…’

‘I love you, my bright star.’

This is the one where they are surrounded by strangers, where only a handful know their truth. This is the one where Abrogail is wrapped in shimmering gold and white, with star flowers in her copper curls and a smile so bright as to rival the sun. This is the one where Aegon is dark haired and more relaxed, calmer than he'd ever been in his whole life, where he nearly takes her at the feet of the magistrate, so explosive is his joy. 

Their joy.

They are a powerful pair: his Lady Hypatia doubles their holdings within a year, courting friendly partnerships and trade routes. A shrewd businesswoman who is patron to those who spin song and secrets, who helps the poor, who first and foremost, protects what is hers.

Lord Argos blossoms like a desert flower without the noose of green and black around his throat. Like a dragon free from the pit, he grows without constraint. Jovial and decadent, gluttonous still, the clever boy emerges into a calculating man; perhaps who he was always meant to be had he only been allowed.

She is shy to admit how much she adores him spoiling her. How he wraps her in moth-wing dresses that skim her skin and leave nothing to the imagination. He orders them by the dozens, in every color imaginable, and watches her with eyes black with lust and desire as she wanders around their home. They are only for his eyes, and when the furrows deepen between her brows, he pulls her into him. She shivers and whines in his arms as he tilts her head back to deny her kisses, but the fabric always rips as he bunches it up to skim his fingers beneath.

"These are just for me," he murmurs, keeping his mouth just out of reach, his smirk growing at her trembling pout as his fingers find the slick along her thighs. "Would hate to kill another merchant for thinking he could have what's mine." Before, when the furthest he could claim her was gazes across a feast table, the lewd way he’d lick honey from figs and she’d pop ripe, wet berries in her mouth, the rumors and court gossip heating his blood as hot as what would pool beneath someone who dared touch her. Here, there's a way for his fire to burn without bringing everything down around them.

She is his. She's his little doll; he dresses her up and spins her around and there is no doubt in all of Pentos, and surely as far as Lys or even Volantis, that while the wine merchant cares for decadence and revelry, it is his little wife that he cares for most of all. There is no doubt Lady Hypatia only has eyes for him.

It is by his blessing they can see her, but never, ever touch.

The orgies Lord Argos throws every few moon turns are the exclusive invites. It isn't just wine and food and decadence. It's deal making, and who is in the inner circle. His lack of desire to become the next Prince of Pentos is all that keeps the target off Aegon's Argos' back.

They are the envy of all who gaze upon them - too beautiful by far, with cherubic cheeks and large eyes. Pouty smiles and sweet laughter. In the haze of patchouli and vanilla and spice, amid the dripping candle glow, bodies writhe amidst laughter and song.

It is here, on a pillowed dais, he spreads his little wife down for all to see. Here he pulls the gossamer cloth from her body and shows how good she looks when she's crying for him. How beautiful she is when tears coat her cheeks from denial, from her need as she begs her husband to fill her with his cock, until her thighs are coated with her slick and his spend. It is here he gives in, unable to deny her even a moment longer, licking a stripe between her pert breasts, growling up against her throat with gnashing teeth. And it is here that he wedges a knee between her thighs, spreading them open to accommodate him. And finally, it is where he splits her apart around him, swallowing the twisting cry of his name that falls from her mouth.

He looks like a god above her, the candle glow turning his skin as golden as the dragon torque fastened around her neck. Aegon’s black eyed stare as he stakes his claim, the smirk, the groans from him as he finally sinks into her, sends her writhing beneath him, needy and begging. It is only his need to exhibit himself, to see the deviance around him that spurs him to take her on this altar, otherwise no one would witness such rapture, something so exquisite and sacred. This is what he tells himself as he fucks her, as he drives himself forward and buries himself within her, her back arching, her face open to all who would look upon them. He tells himself again as she clenches around his length, as her nails rake down his back, as she sheds the skin she wore in another place, another time.

It's better to paint her with his seed than fuck her in a still warm pool of blood. Less complicated. 

The first time he guides her down upon the dais, his mouth rubs softly against her, soothing her nervous fingers that clutch into his tunic. “Look at me, only me... keep your eyes on me.” She'll forever get lost in his eyes - her deepest blue and his lilac pink melting together like the sunset sky. Her delicate hands grab at him frantically. As eager as he is to stake his claim, she is just as desperate. Nails drag harshly over his shoulders and arms, the angry red lines dotted with blood. And then her mouth finds the juncture of his shoulder and she bites down - the lion in her blood urging her to claim her mate with teeth and growls.

There is more in this dream that's become real. A little boy with his father's eyes and his mother's hair and a name with no mantle of conqueror or expectation. There is laughter, and song, and it could never last forever. But when the storm finally comes, this time?

This time they're ready for it.