#syrax gone is what did me in

[ceruleanharley]

help i've been laughing at this tweet for minutes now and can't stop i've got a serious case of giggles

[j-k-writes]

The Bronze Targaryen - 4

Summary - In the weeks leading up to the royal wedding, Prince (Y/N) spends his time getting used to the workings of his uncle’s court, Princess Rhaenyra attempts to better understand her betrothed, and Prince Daemon leaves for Dragonstone with hopes that his son will find his fire.

Warnings - classic Daemon behavior (the man's got anger issues), general HOTD warnings, injuries

The sunlight burned through (Y/N) like Dragonfire, and he groaned, head pounding, he turned over in his bed and pulled the bedding up to cover his face. He heard a man laugh at his actions, causing him to groan again. (Y/N) silently prayed to the old gods as he slowly opened his eyes, pulling the bedding down slightly. 

He was greeted by his father’s smug face peering down at him, “Did you have a fun night?” 

“What do you want, father?” (Y/N) shut his eyes again. 

“I am flying to Dragonstone.” Daemon said, “I will be gone for a while.” 

(Y/N) ran his hand down his face. “I am sure someone would have informed me, you did not have to wake me.” 

He felt the bed dipped near his legs, and opened his eyes to see his father sitting on his bed. “I wished to say goodbye.” 

“You never have before.” 

Daemon scoffed, giving his son a long level look. “Must you make everything an argument?” 

(Y/N) sat up, letting the blankets pool by his hips, “I was simply pointing out a fact.” 

Daemon glared. “You were acting like a child.” 

The only response (Y/N) gave was a hum, which seemed to agitate his father further. He reached (Y/N) before the teen could have time to respond, grabbing his face harshly and digging his fingers into (Y/N)’s cheek. (Y/N) struggled, but his father’s grip only grew tighter. 

“You can blame me for the strain in our relationship, (Y/N).” Daemon seethed, “But know this, your mother is not as blameless as you would like to believe” 

“Liar.” 

Daemon released (Y/N)’s face, hand moving to gently cup this stinging skin, “I have never lied to you. Not once, and I do not intend to start now.” 

(Y/N) averted his gaze, and when he received no verbal response from his son Daemon sighed. He stood up, straightening his tunic. “I will be back in time for the start of the celebrations. You should dress, Rhaenyra will come looking for you soon enough.” 

Daemon turned on his heel to leave, and (Y/N) opened his mouth to call out but thought better of it and silenced himself. He watched his father walk out of the room, flopping back down onto his bed with a sigh. Servants soon entered the room, and (Y/N) laid there as they worked. 

“We have brought food, and laid out clothes for you, my prince.” 

“Thank you. I will dress and eat on my own, you may go.” 

(Y/N) dressed and ate in silence. He chuckled at the dragon-embroidered coat laid out for him, putting it away in favor of a plain brown coat. He accepted the rings laid out for him, adoring his fingers with the metal and gems. He brushed his hair back into a neat bun, smiling to himself when in the mirror he saw Rhaenyra enter his chambers behind him. 

“Good you are awake.” 

“My father paid me a visit.” (Y/N) turned to face her. 

“Daemon?” Rhaenyra stood in front of him, pulling a loose piece of hair from his bun. “Why?” 

“He wished to say goodbye.” (Y/N) said, “He is leaving for Dragonstone.” 

“To what end?” 

“We did not get to that part.” 

Rhaenyra clicked her tongue knowingly, “You two fight like children.” 

“He started it.” 

“Oh I doubt that.” Rhaenyra laughed. She grabbed his hand, tugging him up from his seat. “Come, I wish to go flying.” 

“You do not need me for that, Nyra.” 

She tugged him along, smiling at him. “Come.”

She dragged him through the halls, laughing as they went, and (Y/N) followed, smiling at his cousin. 

His weeks at Kingslanding had been more pleasant than he had expected. His cousin had taken the task of showing (Y/N) around the keep and its courtiers. Rhaenyra had introduced him to her dragon, Syrax, just days after their official betrothal, finding delight in (Y/N)’s wariness around dragons. 

“Perhaps I could have a new saddle made, one fit for two?” Rhaenyra said as (Y/N) finally allowed himself to relax by the dragon. “Or, perhaps you could claim your own.” 

“I fear I am content as a spectator.” 

King Viserys seemed delighted in the activities of the two, likely priding himself on a match well made. (Y/N) paid his uncle's pride little mind, focusing his attention on his newly betrothed. He found himself genuinely enjoying Rhaenyra’s company, seeking her out even when he had no real need for her. He was glad to have found friendship with his cousin if nothing more. 

“My Princess,” Ser Harrold nodded to them as they approached, three stable boys leading steeds behind them. “My Prince.” 

“Ser Harrold,” (Y/N) smiled at the knight, another surprising friendship in the court. “Will you be keeping me company at the Dragonpit today?” 

Rhaenyra scoffed, “I thought I was your company.” 

“How can you be my company from atop a dragon?” (Y/N) asked, mounting the horse given to him. 

Rhaenyra followed suit, “You can always join me.” 

“Then who would keep Ser Harrold company?” (Y/N) heard Ser Harrold sigh, and he gave him a smile. 

“Keep yourselves company then.” And with that Rhaenyra took off to the surprise of the two men. He and Ser Harrold spurred their horses, racing after the princess. 

The three rode to the Dragonpit in relative silence, (Y/N) breathing in the fresher air deeply, he hadn’t grown as used to the stench of Kingslanding as he had hoped. Rhaenyra seemed more relaxed herself the closer they got to the Dragonpit. 

Syrax was already outside the Dragonpit when they arrived, chirping at the sight of the riding party. Rhaenyra dismounted eagerly, and (Y/N) followed her lead. Rhaenyra pressed her face to Syrax’s side, and (Y/N) smiled at the sight. He stepped up to the dragon, pressing his palm next to Rhaenyra’s head. Syrax rumbled at the touch, and Rhaenyra turned to smile at her betrothed. 

“She likes you.” 

“I am glad,” (Y/N) said, “I’m far too young to become dragon food.” 

Rhaenyra playfully swatted at his shoulder, “You’re ridiculous.” 

(Y/N) took his place next to Ser Harrold, watching Rhaenyra take to the sky. (Y/N) walked toward the Dragonpit, taking in the vast cavern. The dragonkeepers were always eager to talk to the young prince, answering his questions about their profession happily. One of the last features of Old Valyria left to the world would always be interesting to (Y/N), even if he had no desire himself to claim the sigil of his father’s house.

When Rhaenyra returned, Syrax landed in front of the prince bowing her head, and (Y/N) obliged the dragon’s wishes and softly rubbed her snout. Rhaenyra dismounted, hair windswept, and face flushed. She smiled at the sight of her betrothed and Syrax, she grabbed his free arm and rested her forehead against his bicep. 

“Do you have any plans for today?” Rhaenyra asked, looking up at (Y/N). 

He smiled at her, “I was going to watch the training in the yard, unless you have other ideas.” 

She shook her head, blushing softly, but enough for (Y/N) to take notice. “No, no, I was just wondering if I could join you.” 

“Of course.” 

They rode slowly and silently back to the keep, Ser Harrold trailing just far enough behind them to give the illusion of privacy. Rhaenyra glanced over to the prince every so often, but as soon as (Y/N) would catch her eye she would look away. 

The knights were already training when they reached the yard, Ser Criston leading the session. They handed the reins of their mounts to the stable boys, and Rhaenyra followed (Y/N) as he took a place off to the side to watch the spectacle. 

(Y/N) spent most of his time in the yard at Runestone, but he felt more out of place in the yard of the Red Keep than he’d ever felt in his life. He didn’t know these knights, and they didn’t know him. He could feel their eyes sizing up the son of the famous Daemon Targaryen every time he moved through the yard. 

“Will you be joining us today, my prince?” (Y/N) turned at the sound of the voice, coming face to face with a tall man with long brown hair, and soft eyes. The man smiled at him and Rhaenyra, nodding to the princess. “Princess.” 

“Ser Harwin.” Rhaenyra smiled, “(Y/N) this is Ser Harwin Strong, Commander of the City Watch, and son of The Hand.” 

(Y/N) eyed up the man. “Ah. Well, it’s nice to be able to put a face to the name. I’ve heard much about you Ser Harwin.” 

“Good things I hope.” 

“Very good.” (Y/N) smiled at the man, and Rhaenyra made a sound under her breath. (Y/N) looked at her, and she just gave him a look that made his skin hot under his tunic. 

Rhaenyra cleared her throat, looking between the two men, “You have not answered Ser Harwin’s question, (Y/N). You should join.” 

She nodded toward the training grounds, and Harwin extended a blunted sword toward the boy, raising an eyebrow. 

“I-” (Y/N) laughed, “I am not sure the knights would be happy with my presence.” 

“All the more reason to join, my prince.” Harwin wiggled the sword playfully, and Rhaenyra pushed him forward. 

“Do not pretend to be shy, (Y/N).” She smiled, making a shooing motion. “I will still be here when you are finished.” 

(Y/N) sighed, smiling at the both of them. He took the sword from Ser Harwin whose face lit up at his decision. “Alright then.”

“I hope Lord Lannister chokes on his wine.” (Y/N) whispered to Rhaenyra who stifled a laugh. She walked away from the Prince, making her way to the opposite side of the table to pour the lords of the small council their wine. 

(Y/N) was really only in these meetings to observe, at least that’s what his Uncle had told the lords when they’d commented on his appearance. He could tell they had no love for the young heir, likely stemming from their own distaste for his father. He paid them little mind, their distaste of him did not matter when he would inherit Runestone and his wife would inherit the Iron Throne, they could keep their love for all he cared. 

(Y/N) held little love for the politics of the realm, he understood its importance of course, how could he not? But the cunning whims of some fat lord made his stomach twist, and he’d rather face enemies on the battlefield than in council chambers. At least on the battlefield, he could tell who he was fighting and who was fighting beside him, the lords of his uncle’s council did not wear their alliances on their sleeves. 

A commotion at the door of the chambers caught the attention of everybody in the room. Ser Harrold opened the door, and a dragonkeeper came rushing in, breathing heavy. 

Another Kingsgaurd followed him in, “I am sorry, your grace. But there is a raven from Dragonstone.” 

Viserys’ eyes widened, “What is it?” 

The Dragonkeeper spoke, “Vermithor ēza geptot.” 

“Skoros gaomagon ao nūmāzma geptot?”  Viserys asked, eyes slowly falling on (Y/N). (Y/N) tensed, he knew his uncle was thinking of Daemon as the dragonkeeper continued to speak.

“Gaomi daor gīmigon skoro syt, yn ēza geptot Zaldrīzesdōron. Gaomi daor gīmigon skoriot issa.” 

“Kepa.” (Y/N) spoke, meeting Viserys' eyes. Viserys seemed to understand his nephew's tense posture, and he nodded to (Y/N). 

“I will send word to Daemon,” Viserys stood. “I would talk to my family alone, the council is dismissed.” 

The dragonkeeper took his leave, as did the lords, albeit with discontented grumblings. Viserys’ rubbed his brow wearily. 

(Y/N) approached his uncle cautiously, “Do you think my father is behind this?”

“I do not know.” Viserys said. “It is possible, although I doubt even Daemon can force Vermithor to do anything.” 

“He’s been at Dragonstone for days.” (Y/N) said, voice tightening as he spoke. “He did not give an explanation when he left, and now a dragon has gone missing.” 

Rhaenyra touched his arm, “You are looking for guilt in Daemon, (Y/N). We do not know the truth of things.” 

“I don’t trust him.” (Y/N) bit out, the venom of his voice causing Rhaenyra to step back. 

“You do not know your father, (Y/N).” Viserys said, taking a long hard look at his nephew. 

“And who is at fault for that?” 

Viserys sighed, looking down at the floor. Rhaenyra stayed silent, watching her father and cousin warily. (Y/N) scoffed, turning sharply on his heel and exiting the chambers. He shoved the doors open, paying no mind to the, now startled, guards. His feet carried him to his own chambers, and he turned to the guard stationed outside of them. 

“No one is allowed to enter. I would like to be left alone for the rest of the day.” He didn’t wait for an answer before entering his chambers and closing the doors behind him.

Sneaking through the halls of The Red Keep was harder than (Y/N) thought it was going to be. He was allowed anywhere at any time without so much as a sideways glance, his grandsire's attempts at keeping the boy from leaving at night long forgotten. 

Dressed in a black cape, hood pulled down to the tops of his eyes, (Y/N) silently crept through the halls of the keep. He did not doubt that he’d most likely been spotted leaving the keep at the hour of the owl, but his uncle would simply have to find it in himself to forgive him. He could not stew in the suffocation of his chambers any longer, he needed fresh air, as fresh as he could find in Kingslanding. 

He made his way through Flea Bottom, keeping to the alley’s and the darkness of the night to stay unnoticed by the smallfolk. His hand rested atop the dagger at his side. As desperate as he was to find his way out of Kingslanding for the night, he was not fool enough to forget the dangers that surrounded a man of his title. 

He made it to the Iron Gate unapproached, and a small smile made its way to his face as he slipped through the gate- only to crash directly into someone. He immediately tightened his grip on his knife, taking a defensive stand before he got a good look at the man he ran into. 

Ser Harwin looked confused at the sight of the prince. “Prince (Y/N), what are you-” 

(Y/N) shushed the man, grabbing his hand and pulling him into a dark corner. “You must let me pass.” 

Harwin looked around, “How did you- are you alone?” 

“Please, Harwin.” (Y/N) pleaded, he could not remember a time in his life when he genuinely pleaded for something from anyone other than his family. “I will be fine, I just-” 

He sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. “I just need some fresh air. I won’t stray off Rosby Road, and I’ll be back before they even know I am missing.” 

If they didn’t already know. 

Harwin looked conflicted, “If anything happens to you-” 

“It won’t.” (Y/N) clutched the commander’s arms. “Please, Ser Harwin.” 

(Y/N) could see the moment Ser Harwin relented. He sighed, “Off you go then.” 

He beamed, “Thank you, my friend.” 

And then he was off, slipping silently through the gates and making his way toward Rosby Road. 

He did end up straying off the road, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad for lying to Harwin. He would forgive him if he found out, and (Y/N) would have gone mad if Harwin brought him back to the keep. When he determined he was deep enough in the trees to be safe from onlookers he took his hood off, relishing in the cool air against his skin. He untied his hair, running his fingers through it. 

(Y/N) smiled at the quiet sounds of the forest. Breathing in the smell of the trees and moss around him, it was a different scent from the forests of the Vale, but it was a welcomed scent after weeks of the stench of Kingslanding. (Y/N) inspected the trees around him until he found one he deemed fit, and he started to climb. 

He had been banned from climbing the trees in the Vale after he’d stumbled and fell from a high branch when he was a boy. He didn’t remember much from the incident, kept mostly unconscious with dreamwine until he was deemed fit enough to rise from bed. But his mother hadn’t let him attempt to climb for years after the incident, and his back still bore the scars of where the fallen branches had cut him when he hit the ground. 

But his mother was gone, and (Y/N) was no longer a boy of eight, he didn’t fall anymore. 

He took a seat on a thick high branch, resting against the trunk of the tree. He closed his eyes, letting the agitation of his day wash away. Exhaustion crept down his spine, and when he opened his eyes again he wasn’t sitting on the tree. 

He looked around his new surroundings, getting up from where he was sitting. He was in the great hall of Runestone, it was empty and dark as it often was on the nights where his grandsire wasn’t hosting feasts. (Y/N) walked around, running his hand along the wall as he went. He pressed his face into the cold stone, sighing at the relief it brought to his sweaty skin. A sharp wind cut through him, causing him to gasp and jump back from the wall. Whispers filled his ears as he looked around for the cause of the sound. 

“Hello?” (Y/N) called out, reaching for the dagger he kept at his belt. Only to find its sheath empty. He looked down at his clothes, furrowing his brows at the leather armor. He wasn’t dressed for war, that much he was sure of, but the clothes, and the runes carved into them, were still unusual attire for the young man. 

A glimmer of metal caught his attention, drawing it toward the high table at the end of the room. He walked over, taking in the sight of the sword resting on the table. It was unsheathed and glimmering as if someone was holding a candle right to it. (Y/N) immediately recognized the sword, Lamentation, having seen it decorate the great hall his entire childhood. 

He ran his fingers down the runes carved into the Valyrian steel sword. He grasped the hilt of the sword, holding it up to examine it further. It was perfectly balanced in his hand as he adjusted his grip. He gave it an experimental swing, gasping and dropping the sword when the room lit up. The sword hit the ground with a loud clang as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. 

The light grew brighter and brighter, and (Y/N) had to shut his eyes. He covered his ears as the whispers that echoed through the hall earlier started again, louder this time. The whispering grew louder and louder and the light grew brighter, surrounding (Y/N). 

And then it was silent. 

(Y/N) opened his eyes, looking around the now dark room. He breathed out a shaky sigh of relief, laughing softly to himself. He looked down to where he’d dropped the sword, only to find it missing. He turned around confused, only to let out a wordless gasp as his abdomen flared in pain. He looked down at his stomach, finding Lamentation cutting right through him, blood dripping from the blade. 

His eyes shot open with a gasp, and he had to steady himself before he went toppling over the side of the branch. He cursed at the sight of the sun peeking out from behind the hills of Kingslanding. Immediately he began to climb down the tree, swiftly making his way through the woods and back to Rosby Road. 

His legs were shaky as he walked back to the road, his breaths coming in short gasps. He had to stop after just a few feet to rest his forehead against the trunk of a tree. (Y/N) could still feel the blade in his stomach. He’d never had a dream like that one before. He didn’t know what to make of it, and that scared him. Maester Pate had taught him the histories of House Targaryen, including the story of Daenys the Dreamer and her dreams of the doom. 

(Y/N) quickly banished that thought from his head, taking a deep breath and gathering himself. He was stressed and missing Runestone, nothing more. He started on his way once more.  

He’d only been walking for a few minutes when the trees started to bend as the wind picked up, and (Y/N) ducked as a loud whoosh was heard above him. He threw himself to the ground, groaning as the fallen branches cut his exposed skin. He turned onto his back looking up at the sky, and the breath was knocked out of his lungs at the sight. 

An enormous bronze dragon was flying above him, circling the spot where (Y/N) laid. He stumbled to his feet, watching with wide eyes and a pounding heart as the dragon seemed to follow his movements. 

He did the only thing that he thought to do. 

He ran. 

He stumbled as he ran from the beast, tripping over the exposed roots of the trees in his haste. His stomach lurched at the crunch his nose made as his face hit the ground. He did not pause to see if he had lost the beast, for he knew the answer, it was like he could feel the dragon pursuing him. 

He pushed himself up, ignoring the stinging sensation that covered his skin. He continued on, not once looking behind him. The dragon roared, his breath blowing (Y/N)’s cloak like the wind, and (Y/N) pressed forward faster. 

He knew he could not outrun the beast, and the bronze dragon seemed to know it too. The dragon pressed further down into the tree line, tree’s collapsing under the weight of its beating wings. (Y/N) turned to look at it as he ran, screaming at the beast. 

“Keligon!” He cried out, stumbling slightly as he took a sharp left turn. He continued to run, screaming obscenities and commands at the dragon pursuing him. He turned around to catch sight of the dragon, only to skid to a halt at what he saw. He could still hear and sense the dragon, but he could not see it. (Y/N) looked around wildly, taking a defensive stand. He grabbed the dagger at his side, not that it could do much but it brought him some comfort all the same. 

The bronze dragon dove down from behind the boy, causing him to yell. He fell onto his back in shock, dropping the dagger next to him. He closed his eyes tightly, expecting the dreaded dragonfire, but none came. He opened his eyes slowly, watching as the dragon just stared at him, blinking. 

No. 

This was not how it happened. Dragons do not claim Targaryens, Targaryens claim dragons and (Y/N) was a Royce. He would not claim a dragon. 

“I do not claim you!” (Y/N) roared, staring up at the bronze beast. He waved his hands frantically, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “Go! Henujagon!” 

The dragon did not move, staring the young man down as he continued to cry out. He screamed at the beast, trying everything from trying to anger the dragon to trying to scare it, nothing worked. He begged, pleading with the old gods, and the new, to let this be false to let the dragon either kill him or leave him in the woods. The dragon did not move, keeping the young prince on the ground. (Y/N) eventually tired himself out after what felt like hours of yelling at the dragon, and he sighed, letting his head fall back against the ground. 

The dragon seemed pleased at his acceptance, bowing his head to the prince. (Y/N) let tears fall down his cheeks, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

It seemed the gods did not care for (Y/N)’s wishes, and neither did his dragon. 

---

Translations -

Vermithor ēza geptot. - Vermithor has left

Skoros gaomagon ao nūmāzma geptot? - What do you mean left?

Gaomi daor gīmigon skoro syt, yn ēza geptot Zaldrīzesdōron. Gaomi daor gīmigon skoriot issa. - We do not know why, but he has left Dragonstone. We do not know where he is.

Kepa - Paternal Uncle

Keligon! - Stop

Henujagon - Leave

[emilykaldwen]

High in the Halls

Ship: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (OC) Written for the @hotd-bigbang

Rating: Mature

Summary: Aegon Targaryen, the last true Valyrian Warlord, rattles at the machinations of his mother who tries to play Andal politics when he wants nothing more than to be left alone. A chance meeting of a maiden in distress in the Riverlands changes everything.

AKA the Old Valyria AU!

Notes: This is chapter one! Of what will probably be two chapters? I just didn't have the time to finish this, I'm so sorry.

Art by: @the-common-cowgirl / Beta: @vampire-exgirlfriend

Read on AO3

Author's Note: It's the old Valyria AU I've been hinting at for ages! It was a rough summer y'all, and this thing got finished while I was dying from Bronchitis (but before I got Covid) so I wasn't able to finish it. But this is absolutely a universe I want to have fun in and play with from time to time. I hope you enjoy it with me!

Sunfyre’s scream pierced the air, sending seagulls frantically fleeing from the battlements of Dragonstone, crying out as they took to the sky in an explosion of gray and white. The deep pink frills along the back of the dragon’s neck stood high, his head rearing back, snout vivid and wet with the blood of the sea beast he had dragged ashore for him and little Dreamfyre to feast on. His little sister’s dragon was twice the size of a horse, and the dead beast was at least two of her. The pair of them crouched around the great beast on the black sand beach, the waves crashing and little flits of multi-colored light caught in the air every time they broke against the rock of the harsh inlet.

Syrax hissed in response, her head rearing back in offense at being denied, but she eventually turned away, for Sunfyre was twice her size, and the smaller dragon was no match.

Aegon’s half-sister, on the other hand…

“Where is father?”

Aegon tilted his head, looking over his shoulder to where Rhaenyra, stood in the archway that led down to the stables. Her long, silver hair was tied back in a thick braid that fell to her waist, woven with charms that tinkled when she turned her head. The harshness of the style made her look more like Lord Viserys than her own mother, Lady Aemma, whose features were soft like his own mother.

He stayed silent, dragging his thumbnail along the near imperceptible groove of the stonework he leaned against. Did she think he was a servant? Did she think they were as close as their sire liked to pretend they were?

She arched her brows when he didn’t answer, her black boot tapping on the black stone. Before Aegon could open his mouth, there was movement behind Rhaenyra, heavily accented Valyrian answering for him.

“Helaena had another dream last night.” Lady Alicent met Rhaenyra’s eyes as she approached, silent maidens swathed in red following her. She was father’s second wife, taken in marriage when Lady Aemma could bear no more children. Even after all these years, she wore her long green gowns in the style of the continent: square necked and deep sleeved, a heavy, gold chain looped about her waist, her auburn curls held back a net of onyx and emeralds. Next to Rhaenyra in her dark gray riding leathers chased with crimson, Aegon thought his mother looked like a queen.

Rhaenyra ran her tongue over her teeth behind her lips, nodding curtly, and spun away with a swing of her long hair and vanished into the stronghold, vengeful and beautiful in the low light. Helaena’s dreams had changed fate for their family and Aegon did not know if it were better or worse. Some days, in the black of night, he wished he had gone down with the rest of their people in ash and flame. Others, he relished the freedom from politics that had plagued his earliest years. The fearful whispers of assassins, the way Uncle Daemon raged that they did not need to taint their blood to gain the Hightower gold—these things haunted him.

Mother pursed her lips, watching Lady Rhaenyra leave before her large, dark eyes met his.

“You cannot hide from me forever,” she told him in the common tongue. Aegon scoffed and looked back out at the rocky outcropping below where Sunfyre and Dreamfyre continued to devour the salt beast. He didn’t move as she approached, startling only a little when her hand combed through his shoulder length curls. “We must talk about this.”

“Must we?” he snipped, refusing to look at his mother. He kicked the toe of his boot against the stone and resisted crossing his arms to rest his head against them like a petulant child. Aegon was, in fact, acting a little like a petulant child, but he’d grown exhausted of the conversation that had circled for the past three years. “Go speak with Aemond about it. He’ll be more than glad to cross blades with Daemon and Rhaenyra- ow!”

His mother pinched and pulled at his ear to pull his face towards her and Aegon jerked from her grasp instinctively. Alicent Hightower’s lovely features were severe, delicate brows furrowed, pouty mouth pressed into a firm line.

“You are Viserys’ eldest son.”

“And Valyrian law dictates that Daemon inherits as his dragon is older-”

“Valyria is gone,” Alicent spat, her voice grating like the screech of kitlings or claws against stone. “If by chance you’d forgotten in your cups of strongwine, foolish boy. Valyria is gone, to fire and ash these past three years. Their laws of inheritance do not matter. The custom here, Aegon, is that of the eldest son. Sons before sisters, and all before uncles.”

“Then disown me,” Aegon snapped, pulling from his mother’s grasp before she could claw at him further. “Aemond will become your eldest and he shall eagerly fight with Helaena at his side. She could present it as a vision: Aemond inheriting Dragonstone with their children to carry his legacy on.” He clapped his hands together, smiling, although the gesture held no true joy. His smiles rarely did.

Aemond would relish at the opportunity to prove himself, to be more than what his position allowed him. Ever since their first son, Maelor, had been born, his younger brother had strutted about, speaking of his virility, dangling his son, and then soon after, their daughter, Daenys, in front of their father who so loved his grandchildren. Filling the hole that Rhaenyra left when her new family moved out of the fortress to the island of Driftmark, Viserys had indulged his grandchildren and Helaena was expecting her third soon.

The space between them grew as his mother drew back, her mouth pinched so tight that her lips had gone pale. Aegon loathed the way her gaze scraped at his insides and he resisted wrapping his arms around himself protectively, instead focusing on maintaining his languid, distant posture. To show weakness within the obsidian halls of Dragonstone was to be a death sentence. His mother was not of Old Valyria, but of these strange shores that he was more familiar with than the Freehold. She chafed at the ‘strange customs’, sick at the prospect of her children intermarrying with one another to keep their Valyrian blood pure. She misliked his lack of ambition, or how he preferred to spend his time in the brothel in the little fishing village while Lord Viserys lamented not being able to introduce him to the Ruby Palace and the most divine pleasure slaves the Freehold could have offered.

Lady Aemma misliked his father speaking so, although she was better at hiding her frustrations with her tender, tired smiles. His mother also did not care for the time Aegon spent in Lady Aemma’s solar, where they indulged in honey cakes together and she expected nothing from him, letting him lay his head in her lap while she combed her fingers through his hair when his mother’s anxieties turned her vicious.

If his own mother despised so much of him, then why was she so insistent to have him named heir?

“Aegon.”

He could not bear the anguish in his mother’s voice or on her soft features; the way it coalesced with the frustration like how the blood from the carcass on the beach turned the foaming ocean surf as pink as Sunfyre’s wings. Her shoulders that had bowed in on herself straightened, her breathing evening, and her delicate hands smoothed along the richness of her gown. “We will not indulge in such foolish things,” she said with an abrupt shake of her head. “You will be married at the end of the season.”

It felt like she’d punched him in the throat, the air rushing from him like a wheezing carcass. “I have no sisters to marry,” he rasped out, the blood rushing in his ears. Sunfyre’s call from below was a questioning one, and he saw his dragon lift his bloody face to peer up at him.

“One of the River Kings has need of a son in law,” she explained. “He is well known to our family, with only a daughter and the other river kings are circling. In exchange for you to protect his holding and claim his title upon his death, he will ensure that his armies are yours when the time comes.” She sniffed, twisting the ring on her right hand. “Which will be sooner, I think, than we all expect.”

Well known to their family? The Hightowers. The power that family held was ancient and worthy enough of Valyria, their origins a tightly guarded secret, but his father had said the Hightower blood was a special thing, and how lucky he’d been to snap up the daughter of so much power.

Aegon felt strangled and overheated, a pain coursing through his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “Does he know?” There was something guttural and full of warning running through Aegon’s words, and it vibrated through him. For a moment, he thought he tasted salt and metal, satiating and repugnant along his tongue, and he spat on the ground to rid himself of the taste of his dragon’s kill.

She sniffed again. “He has allowed me freedom to do with my other two children as I please, and Daeron is eager to become a Maester and not claim a dragon for himself. He will serve you well when his education is completed.”

Something cool and wet slapped against Aegon’s cheek and he blinked, tilting his head up as a fine rain began to fall. His mother hurried back inside, arms wrapped around herself, but Aegon ignored her insistent call to follow him. He stood there letting the rain hit his too hot, too tight skin, wondering if it would sizzle the way it sizzled against the dragons. A fine hiss of steam had surrounded Sunfyre as he continued to eat, Dreamfyre tucked beneath his wing, protecting her in the ways that Aegon was unable to protect Helaena himself.

Of course Daeron didn’t want a dragon. He knew nothing else but what he learned of on the ground.

“You’d barter me to some little king for the power of my dragon!” Aegon shouted, his voice heavy with rage, an anger that he’d rarely let loose coming to the forefront like the storm surge. The heat in his throat was a dragon’s flame - he’d spit fire if he could.

Rage was Aemond’s domain, was Rhaenyra’s, was Daemon��s. But Aegon was just as fearsome when he chose to be.

“Aegon-”

“You had no right!” His hands ached for something to throw, to bend and break and shoving over the brazier on his way inside would have to suffice. The coals hissed and bounced along the stone, the metal clanging loudly along the ground. Mother jerked away at the sound like something skittish, a doe perhaps, or a mourning dove, dark eyes wide at the display. Perhaps she did have reasons to mislike him. “You had no fucking right. Daeron, you can barter around, but I, in case you’ve forgotten, am a Warlord. My mount is not some overgrown horse, but fire incarnate, and should I ever so choose, I could turn your precious Oldtown to ash, and the rest of this land if the whim took me.” His nostrils flared as he breathed, wishing he could snag his mother and shake her until sense rattled in her head once more.

But she misliked him enough that he didn’t, the notion settling like a stone in his gut as he skirted her and followed the ghost of his elder sister. Mother shouted his name, but he ignored her, striding down the dim corridors that snaked through the fortress. Torchlight illuminated the slick walls and made the obsidian shine like some living, slimy thing.

Trilling, melodious and haunting, echoed down the corridor, but Aegon could hear the shifting in Sunfyre’s tone. ‘Bite? Attack?’ the sound seemed to question. The Dragonkeepers along the dock gripped their pikes, shouting for Sunfyre to settle, to calm, but the golden dragon would have none of it. He called, concerned, and it grated and echoed along the cave that housed the stable, boiling saliva and blood dripping from his maw and onto the black stone. Another cry shook dust from stone as Sunfyre made as if he were to scramble his bulk up onto the dock. The Dragonkeepers shouted once more, Keeper Arrax looking at him imploringly.

Aegon met his gaze briefly before approaching, tugging his riding gloves on from his pockets. “Lykirī!” he called up to him, but there was little command in the words. Sunfyre rumbled low in his throat, eyes flicking above Aegon and past him for whomever had caused such upset within his rider. It was only as Aegon lifted a hand to his bloody maw to scratch gently along his nostril, did Sunfyre relax, albeit with extreme annoyance at not having anything to attack.

The dragon snorted and settled, lowering himself enough that Aegon could make his way up the curve of his wing to the saddle. There were no words exchanged. None were needed. Him and Sunfyre were as one; the envy of the last Dragonlords.

The further west Aegon flew, the lighter the clouds became. There was something deeper within that, he was sure, and he could only imagine what poetic waxings his father would engage in had Aegon asked. Aemond would huff and let out the most annoyed of sighs and simply say, ‘Clouds move, you nitwit,’ and whatever obscure and esoteric insults from the books in their father’s library.

The breaking of the clouds revealed the lush green of what his mother’s people called the Riverlands. He’d flown over Crackclaw point and up the river that flowed into the Bay of Crabs, the great mountains of the Vale majestic and snow capped in the distance. The rolling green hills and dense forests were cut through with snaking slashes of blue and marked with weirwoods like drops of blood unfolded beneath him, a tapestry of a world he did not understand. His memories of the Freehold were fuzzy. The villa they’d lived in had been large, and he remembered the palanquin draped in the blacks and reds of their house as he made his way to the Dragonmont to claim Sunfyre. And then Helaena’s dreams had entranced their father and here they came.

Dragonstone was more home than Valyria had ever been, but even so, the obsidian fortress in the shadow of the mountain felt like a cage.

Out here above the Riverlands, Aegon breathed in the crisp air, the scent of the storm they’d passed through untainted by the smell of sulfur and salt that permeated the air of his home. These creatures of mud and root were meant to be subjugated. They were unworthy of the gift of flight, Aegon’s blood was a pure, magical thing, not something to be bartered to such a thing.

But his mother was of these people, and he loved his mother. Her blood flowed through him. She was just as fierce as his sister even if she lacked wings. His Uncle Daemon sneered and called him and his siblings half-breeds, shocked that they were able to claim dragons as they did.

Aegon shook his head, damp hair stuck across his forehead, and urged Sunfyre lower to better make out the land before him. Here, he could see the frightened sheep moving in a great herd as the shadow of the winged predator loomed over them. Sunfyre rumbled his desire and he tugged on the reins.

“You’ve had your fill,” he reminded the dragon, and the beast grumbled his annoyance. They swooped lower now, so Aegon could make out the details of the sheep and their startled herders, and hear the distant barking of the herding dogs that accompanied them. Aegon turned south, crossing over the Trident and soon they came upon Castle Derry nestled in the hills. His brow furrowed and he circled about it curiously. Was this where his bride resided? On the shores of the Ruby Ford?

Aegon flew further out still, towards the lush wood, settling his dragon down by a grove of bone white weirwoods, their crimson stained faces bearing witness to his sulking and self-pity. The forest floor was damp and gave beneath his boots as he approached the heart tree. The smell of petrichor clung in the air from the storms that had passed through; the scent of rich earth, of the pine scent of the evergreen trees that hugged the red grove a physical thing.

It was only the red sap that gave the look of bloody tears against the bark. That’s what the maester had said. Helaena, who received dreams from the gods, said they were the tears of those their visions could not help. Even though theirs were Valyrian gods - the fourteen flames that dragons like Syrax and Caraxes and even little Vhagar bore like badges of honor. Aegon had never felt close to the gods of his people, for they were angry beings that threw the Freehold into a melted, smoking husk and destroyed everything that they’d come from. The places in his hazy, childhood memory, the people who had visited, who had bustled in the forum below, were all gone, as were the multitude of dragons that had filled the sky from the other families, not to mention so many along the empire, and the many who had been unclaimed, roosting in the fissures of the volcanos.

Sunfyre rumbled behind him and Aegon waved a hand. “Go on,” he told him, Valyrian words feeling strange to speak in front of the tree. Sunfyre gave him a long look, as if assessing Aegon’s intent before his legs bunched up and he took off with a gust that nearly pushed Aegon from his feet. He ran his fingers through his hair before resting his hand on the pommel of his sword and looking around. Mayhaps he’d go for a swim. Climb a weirwood and fall asleep in the boughs. He could pilfer some clothes and dye his hair and vanish into the mists of the Riverlands, become something new and unseen. He could -

The scream that ripped through the forest was full of terror and anger, the words distant and shrill, but he could just make out the ‘NO!’ through the cacophony. Alarm took over and Aegon’s head whipped around trying to figure out what direction it came from. Another scream for help and he shifted direction, darting through the weirwood grove and bursting into the firs and evergreens of the rest of the forest.

‘Don’t stop screaming,’ he thought to himself, blood pumping in excitement for a fight. A dragonlord’s first weapon was fire and wing. His second was the blade, and Blackfyre hung reassuringly at his side - the gift his father had bestowed upon him on his twenty-second nameday. Next to fucking and drinking, he relished most the clang and scrape of metal against metal.Aemond could roll his eyes at his lack of finesse, but Aegon loved a good fight; blade, teeth, a punch to the face, all were ideal.

He slowed on approach, darting behind the thick trunk of a red oak large enough to seat his whole family for a meal. There were four men just past the trees by the stream, their horses lingering, pawing at the ground, perhaps from Sunfyre’s presence earlier. Three of them wore simple brown tunics and leggings, tabards of black and yellow with a sigil of eerie yellow eyes peering back at him. Aegon knew little of the houses of the area to know which this was. From the finer cut of cloth the fourth man wore, he was their liege. Tall, with dark blonde hair and broad shoulders, the leader of the group was clad in a tunic of black, his tabard half black, half yellow, edged with golden cording.

“Hush now, you’re safe,” he crooned to the hissing, spitting maiden clutched in his arms. She was a slight thing, her kirtle a deep, forest green, the skirt split over a pair of leggings, elegant embroidery visible across her gown. Aegon’s eyes darted around, looking for her horse, but none was to be found. A noble lady from the looks of it, but the oddity of her being alone in the forest was not his priority.

“Let me go!” she snarled, eyes wide and frightened, and she reached up to claw at the man’s face. Her little hand struck true, raking across his handsome features, and he yelled, striking her hard against the face in retaliation and sending her to the ground.

Sunfyre growled low in Aegon’s chest and before the man could reach for her again, he made himself known, unsheathing the Valyrian broadsword idly, clucking his tongue against his teeth.

“Is this how you Westerosi whelps treat your ladies?” he asked, brow furrowed in feigned confusion as his lilac gaze darted from man to man. “I confess, I’ve only been here for a little time, but from what I’ve been taught, there are laws among your people that frown on such things.” A lie of course; he could care less what laws Westeros had, but the woman was distressed, and he was doubtful any of these men owned her. Why he cared about her distress at all was something he would dissect later.

Aegon’s gaze raked over the men before lingering on the maiden still on the ground. The damp of the earth soaked into her skirts, her copper curls a frizz around her soft, tear streaked face. The ring her assailant wore had cut into her mouth, streaks of blood welling up and smeared across her chin. Her eyes met his in that singular moment, so vivid and bright, an endless blue. Aegon forgot to breathe at the sight of that frightened gaze that looked at him so full of terrified hope, his stomach twisting and pulling, wanting to drag him towards her.

How could he deny such a desperate plea? How could he deny her anything when she looked at him like that?

“Be gone with you, stranger,” the leader of this little band sneered, unbothered by the glint of Valyrian steel in the shafts of light that struggled to cut through the trees and clouds above. Aegon’s gaze met his and he smiled, lazy and unbothered. The creak of leather signaled the unsettled movements of his companions.

“Prince Ed,” one of them said, all nervous hesitation that pleased Aegon. “He’s one of them.” Fearful and othering, but he should fear him. Aegon was not some mortal clawed from mud. He was nearly a god himself, and the dragons were of the gods. Sunfyre purred deep in his chest, feeling Aegon’s amusement. He knew the dragon was approaching, and Aegon could buy himself some time and entertainment. Three against one wasn’t terrible odds. He’d been in brawls like that before, but rarely with a blade, and the swordmaster’s cautious words ran in the back of his mind to be cautious of how he picked his fights.

Sunfyre would be there before things got too out of hand.

The prince narrowed his eyes in Aegon’s direction and took in the languid stance and the Valyrian steel blade. There was a flicker of unease on his face before he set his jaw. “Are you sure?” he laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t think they touched the ground, let alone come down from their mountain, too busy fucking their sisters and fathers and probably their dragons.”

There was a nervous titter of laughter from his group and Aegon joined in, his own manic giggling not quite reaching his eyes. He moved deliberately yet continued his easy stance before he stabbed forward, a flash of polished steel to slide across the arm of this prince of mud. Aegon smiled as they shouted and pulled their blades.

“She’s mine now. Be off with you. I would spare her from witnessing your rolling heads.”

The supposed prince spat at Aegon’s feet, drawing his inferior blade. “A daughter of the Riverlands will not be taken by an inbred Valyrian bastard,” he declared with all the mock chivalry and hot air that he’d been blowing. As if Aegon hadn’t just come upon them attacking the maiden. She’d been backing slowly away as Aegon had held their attention but she froze now as the man’s gaze shot at her. “Marvyn, grab her. I’ll slay this imp abandoned by his beast.”

He was brave. Aegon would give this so-called prince that much. Brave and exceedingly stupid, which often went hand in hand; Aegon would know, having been called such by his mother. The clang of steel against steel rang through the clearing and the shriek of the woman joined them as she lobbed a rock at Marvyn in her attempt to evade their reach. His opponent relied on strength, on the advance and powerful swings, and Aegon knew the type. He ducked low and got behind the oaf, kicking the man in the ass and sending him stumbling forward. With the space cleared, Aegon turned and shoved Blackfyre through the back of Martyn and removed the blade without catching any bone. Blood sprayed against the damp earth as he fell to his knees and Aegon spun the blood streaked blade, eyes on the third who had hold of the maiden’s arm, and back to the prince.

Aegon smiled brightly at him, all teeth and mirth and the feral edge of the dragon beneath his skin. “Shame about Martyn,” he said with a pitying shake of his head. “But at least it’s a first course.”

Above, a great, winged shadow appeared, blotting out the watercolor sun and casting them in momentary dim. The gust of wind from Sunfyre’s wings shook the tree, a few small branches falling to the ground from sudden and turbulent wind.

“Prince Edmund,” the other man’s voice cracked with fear, and his wide, sunken eyes focused upon the forest canopy, hand still clutching his sword and the other dropping from the maiden’s arm. Another shriek filled the sky and the trees filled with the frightened lowing of woodland animals fleeing, the birds shaking the remaining branches as they took off.

“Don’t be frightened,” Aegon laughed, shaking the damp curls back from his forehead. “Sunfyre is just having a little fun before he feasts. We’re both rather famished.” He opened his arms wide, the blood dripping from the dark steel of his blade. The clearing was quiet except for the low wheezing of Marvyn’s death rattles. He looked to the frightened man who was backing away before his gaze traveled back to this prince, taut and tense and gripping his useless sword with both hands. “What was it you were saying about inbred Valyrians abandoned by their beasts? There were four of you, weren’t there?” Aegon looked around again, and there was neither hide nor hair of the fourth companion, who seemed to be the only one with good judgment.

Sunfyre’s cry shook the forest once more. The horses had already fled in fear.

“Just leave,” the maiden said, finally finding her voice as she stumbled to her feet, her eyes like blue fire as she glared at the leader of her assailants. “Leave and take the gift of your life.”

She trembled with fear but her fists were curled into her skirt, her shoulders squared as she stared the man down. Her voice lilted, softly and strangely, neither melodic nor grating, but something altogether new to Aegon. The common tongue was not her mother tongue, and it gave a dulcet quality to her tone that those brutes lacked.

Aegon’s smile broadened, his teeth flashing as he looked at the prince. “Begone, you mud stricken thing.”

The two men fled, leaving the corpse of their friend behind, and Aegon watched their figures disappear into the trees. Sunfyre’s melodic trill echoed above and he chuckled, reaching down to wipe his tunic on the corpse of the man he’d stabbed. No need to stain his own clothes with such inferior blood. Sheathing his blade, Aegon Targaryen, eldest son of Viserys, the last Dragonlord of Valyria, straightened before the maiden he’d rescued. He knew she would be in awe of him, perhaps even frightened. That was certainly alright. He would reassure her, comfort her, and promise that he would bring no harm to her.

“My lady,” he said with the utmost courtesy. She stood there, several feet away, her arms wrapped around herself, her brilliant blue eyes wide and wild. There was a gentle, cracking sensation between his ribs as he took her in properly. She was a mess from head to toe, the skirts of her riding clothes soaked and stained. She was slight, shorter than he was, and fear had given her soft features a delicate quality that drew from how pale she was, how stark the blood and dirt looked across her face.

It took everything in him not to just reach for her and lick the blood away from her swollen mouth. To swallow her fearful cries away and replace them with precious little moans. She looked like she would make sweet sounds. The fight had his blood pumping with fever and the thrill of the win only increased the potency. He meant what he said: she was his now. He’d claimed her and sealed it through combat.

“Come,” he said, fingers wrapped around her wrist. Aegon was startled at how fragile the bones felt beneath his touch. He made sure he was gentle with it, not wanting to frighten her further. “We’ll fly back to Dragonstone and you’ll be given all that you desire.” The slap of her little hand against his cheek surprised Aegon more than it hurt, but still he reared back at the sting of it, looking down at the maiden with wide eyes. “I saved you!”

“From men who wanted to steal me to make me a bride against my will! You’re trying to do the same thing!” She yanked at the hold he had on her wrist, but he would not let her go, not now that he had found her.

“I’m not going to make you my bride,” he snapped, bewildered at the very thought of it. “You will be my concubine. Then if you prove yourself, I might wed you.” Bride? What a silly idea these Westerosi had. Not that the idea of tying this girl to him wasn’t appealing. To drag her at the foot of the Dragonmont, to sip wine and taste the blood on her mouth with the blood on his, it was an appealing vision. And it was his own choice, not one where he was sold for his precious dragon and his mother’s clawing attempts to change the succession. If Alicent Hightower wanted him to marry a Westerosi so much, Aegon had found his own choice.

From the furrow on her brow, to the flush that filled her lightly freckled cheeks, it was too late to realize those words would not entice her. A sharp pain radiated from his shin from where she kicked him.

“I will not be your concubine, you stupid dragon whelp.”

“You are precious when so angry,” he giggled with amusement and dodged out of the way of her attempt to rake her nails across his face. Abruptly, he released her, and the girl went stumbling back, breathless. He lifted his hands in surrender before clasping them behind his back. “I won’t touch you-”

“Go raibh maith agat,” she muttered and Aegon blinked.

“Did you sneeze?”

She huffed. “I was saying thank you. I will not have uppity Valyrians accuse me nor my people of being discourteous even as you are high handed.”

Aegon snorted. “It was your Westerosi brethren that sought to kidnap you, if I’m not mistaken.”

Her eyes were nothing short of vivid; such a brilliant, cobalt blue like the endless sky, rimmed red from tears and smudged black from lack of sleep. The softness of her vulnerability at his statement was unmistakable and she did not have a snip or barb for him. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself and did not meet his gaze. At a loss for words now after she spent so many. Gods, she was a mess. Dirt on her cheek, her soft, molten red hair a mass of curls tied in an unkempt braid. Her wool kirtle was no better, torn along the sleeve and neckline, though it did little to detract from how fine a garment it was—or had been.

The twist of pressure in his chest was uncomfortable and unfamiliar, and Aegon did not know where to put it.It snaked through the pulsing arousal through his blood, the aching desire he had for her. “How long have you been out here?” he asked her, voice gentler this time, as if she were a skittish mare.

She desperately looked around, her lower lip trembling before her teeth caught at the ruined flesh. Blood welled up in the wound once more from the broken clot. The desire to lick it rose in him once more. Instead, Aegon tugged his handkerchief from inside his sleeve and handed it to her. The linen was carefully embroidered with golden beetles by Helaena, who’d been bedridden during her last pregnancy.

It hung between them, Aegon’s outstretched hand with the offering. Tear filled eyes met his before flicking down, eyeing his hand with all the wariness of a little rabbit before she whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, just as softly, if a bit ashamed. Aegon looked down at the corpse that still lay near them and he carefully stepped between it and her gaze, gently herding her away from the sight and towards the weirwood grove he’d come from. He let her lead the way, keeping a distance between them, his eyes darting about for either horses or those fools. Sunfyre warbled above them and Aegon knew he was keeping an eye out before the ground shook at the dragon’s landing. The maiden stumbled and Aegon caught her elbow before she could fall.

She did not jerk away from him this time and he did not grab her roughly, the idea of further scaring her making him uncomfortable.

“What is your name?” It was a polite question and one Aegon should have asked her before telling her he was going to carry her off to Dragonstone. No matter; he could make up for it now.

She did not look at him and Aegon noticed how she trembled, likely from the come down after the fight. His own hands were shaking lightly, but he’d been well trained to manage it. He cursed under his breath and looked towards the clearing where Sunfyre landed. There was a cloak in his saddlebag he could give her.

“Abrogail.” Aegon looked at her, dark lashes shading her eyes, her pink tongue darting out enticingly to wet her lips as she dabbed at her mouth. “My name is Abrogail.”

Oh. “That’s… that’s a lovely name. Abrogail.” It even tasted lovely on his tongue. “I’m Aegon. Targaryen. Of House Targaryen.” How foolish he sounded.

Her mouth twitched with a promise of a smile and warmth bloomed in his chest. “I gathered as much… Aegon.” Gods help him, he loved the sound of his name on her tongue. Adjusting his course of action seemed to be working as the tension eased a little in her slim shoulders and her sweet face. The pulse of desire flooded through his veins once more and Aegon exhaled, looking up at the red leaves and white boughs of the weirwoods they had come to. The light was dimming as the clouds grew heavy with moisture and Aegon could smell the oncoming rain; petrichor and ozone and the promising crack of lightning. Could he make it back to Dragonstone to stay the night?

“Are you far from home?” he asked, the words ashen in his mouth. It was the right thing to do, even when all he wanted to do was bundle her up and take her away with him. She was meant to be his now. He had claimed her, won her in combat.

“Not overly far,” she said with a strange tone. Aegon looked down at her. Abrogail’s gaze had darkened, turned inward in her contemplation. “I left for my own reasons… and I find myself without my horse. I am not,” she paused, pushing a finger into his chest with fierce, flashing eyes, a kitten arching her back, “Saying I would come with you as your concubine.” She spat the word out with a wrinkled nose.

Aegon grinned at her, all bright teeth and amusement, a mad sort of giggle spilling from him. “Oh, you’ve made yourself quite clear, my lady. I promise not to make you my concubine, but I can offer you a ride away from here.” ‘To Dragonstone,’ he thought. She was escaping something, she said, and he could provide her anything she could want. All he’d ask for in return was a taste.

Abrogail tilted her head, rosebud mouth pursing in her wariness but the curiosity was easing her features.

Several tastes, perhaps. If she insisted on looking so appetizing.

“Your dragon?” There was a nervousness in her tone, but oh, that curiosity. Aegon nodded and held his hand out to her.

“Come,” he said softly. “You can meet Sunfyre.”

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you think! If you're looking for more Aegon and Abby, check out The Maiden and the Drowning Boy! and of course, be sure to check out the other stories being posted for the big bang <3

[rhaegonapologist]

rhaegon ch2

was inspired by this fic where Aegon writes to Rhaenyra. very cute.

Dear Sister,

The Maester says I have to practice writing my letters but I have no one to write them to. So I am writing to you. I doubt you’ll ever read this so I guess this doesn’t matter. I doubt you even remember me.  Mother scolds me for not taking my lessons seriously but they are dreadfully boring. She says I am stupid and is embarrassed I am slow and that I should be grateful to have good teachers.  

Anyway, what are you like? What is your favorite color? Mine is gold but Grandsire says that’s not really a color. But yellow is gross and looks like piss. Where are you now?

Love,

Your brother Aegon

-

Dear Brother,

No, I have not forgotten you. You are not stupid and your mother probably means well. Keep at your studies. Or maybe not, it doesn’t matter for you anyway.

I do not know how to describe what I’m like, maybe it would be more helpful to ask those who knew me. I do not have a favorite color. I am in the Vale visiting my mother’s family.

Rhaenyra

–

Dear Sister,

I was very excited to see your letter. I did not expect you to reply. What did you mean by it doesn’t matter for me? I think I will try harder so I can get better at writing to you.

What is the Vale like?

 Mother’s face turned sour as a lemon when I asked her about you. But Father talked to me for the first time, properly. He said you were stubborn when you were younger. And that you first flew Syrax just a few years older than me. When do you think I’ll get to fly my own dragon? He even showed me a painting of you. You were in all red, is that your favorite color?

You are very pretty. We should get married like all the other brother-sister Targaryens in the history books.

Love,

Your brother, Aegon

–

Rhaenyra had to laugh. Her life was a joke. But in a way, so was Alicent’s. Fate was intent on making them family in more ways than one, it seemed. The absurdity of the letters cut through whatever grief she was feeling in the halls of the Eyrie. 

For the first time in years she had the space and time to think about her mother again. But Aegon’s letters renewed the pain she felt when she discovered her father had gone to Alicent of all people in the after. She gritted her teeth, she had spent more time thinking of Alicent than anything.

She pocketed the letter into her sleeves and turned her attention back to her mother’s old diaries. Her eyes glazed over the words. Her mother was very young when she wrote them and she couldn’t help but compare her scrawl to Aegon’s. The boy was not stupid, he wrote well for his age, she realized, now that she had something to compare it to.

The last time she saw Aegon he was but a babe and she was half intent on killing him. But now the babe had grown into a boy with thoughts and feelings. Uncomfortable.  

The Arryns put her in her mother’s old rooms. Seeing the familiar patterns of the fabrics and tapestries made her feel like she was a young girl again, playing in her mother’s closet. She imagined if Aegon was doing the same. Inconvenient .

She wasn’t acquainted with her mother’s side when she was younger, not because she thought them strange or boring, but because by then Daemon had already enchanted her with tales of dragons and Old Valyria. Has he been working on his High Valyrian? If he cares about dragons this much he should. 

-

ch 3

[yanderes-galore]

I'd like to see a yandere concept of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Either romantic or platonic is fine.

I'll do a general pairing and spill my thoughts, then! Sorry for the long wait, I have a lot to get through, lol ^^; I am having fun though, so that's all that matters. Can't wait for HOTD Season 2! I'm so worried her character isn't right but I wanted to lean in on her more unhinged side.

Here's an older concept I did for her.

Potential Fire & Blood/HOTD Spoilers Below

Yandere! Rhaenyra Targaryen Concept

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Controlling behavior, Condescending behavior, Possessive behavior, Murder, Blood, Violence, Mature themes, Possible sexism, Delusional behavior, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Mind break, Dark content, Threats, Trust issues, Forced companionship/relationship.

It's been a while since I've seen HOTD, so pardon me if anything is too off personality-wise.

Rhaenyra is described as strong-willed and independent.

She's always hated being a traditional lady and prefers to fly on her dragon, Syrax.

She wants to choose her own destiny and take her birthright on top of the iron throne.

However, something noted in the book is that her personality is similar to Maegor.

Which implies Rhaenyra is rather ruthless, cruel, and entitled.

Rhaenyra would bond well with someone she knew in childhood, like a childhood friend.

But I can also see her attached to a personal servant or loyal supporter of The Blacks.

That or there's some drama that could happen if you support The Greens when the war comes around.

I feel if you knew her in childhood you can clearly notice her change in behavior.

From child to adult, the whole world has been against her.

Combined with the death of her child(ren), Rhaenyra grows into a cruel queen for The Blacks.

While she holds care for you, she's deceptive and every word carries a threatening tone.

It's said in Fire and Blood that Rhaenyra has trust issues, feeling the whole world is plotting against her due to The Greens.

That along with the betrayal of the Velaryons later on.

So you can imagine she wants to cling to her obsession... but worries they'll work against her.

Due to this distrust, you're forced on your toes.

After all, it takes one order for her to decide your fate.

She could have all you hold dear burned by Syrax.

She could imprison you for treason.

Or even worse, she can have you killed to keep you to herself.

You should know that Black Queen Rhaenyra is unhinged due to what she's gone through.

She'd do anything to keep her obsession and their loyalty.

Every word she says towards you feels like a subtle threat, a warning to keep in line.

Rhaenyra is a dangerous yandere, especially as she begins to lose her mind.

Regardless of if you're a loyal follower or not, ahe worries her obsession will go against her.

Considering how obsessive she is... she may snap completely without you.

If you're loyal to her, she often tries to test it.

She gives you tasks or forces you to make promises with her.

If she loves you romantically, she may make you prove yourself by being... intimate.

One way or another she wants you to kneel before her.

She's desperate for your attention, sometimes even holding your face as she whispers how she can't continue without you.

I only imagine she gets worse when her kids are dead, all except her Aegon.

She keeps you at her hip.

If platonic, she may make you her Hand.

If romantic, you're her secret partner.

If you support The Greens, she's determined to change that.

I'm talking about kidnapping, Imprisonment, and psychological conditioning.

You're fed propaganda, you're threatened, and Rhaenyra no doubt guilts you onto her side.

She wants to make sure she has you on her side... making you reliant on her by neglecting resources so you can beg for her.

A side I imagine Rhaenyra having is a more ruthless and sadistic side.

She hates The Greens, in this case she feels they stole you from her.

She has to find a way to get her dearest obsession back... even if it means breaking you.

She's mentioned to be cruel, so her doing such a thing seems plausible.

She's already burning countless people who oppose her.

You might as well submit.

If you just listen to her, support her, she'll give you everything.

If you don't, she'll find other methods.

If Rhaenyra can't break you, I can definitely see her having you killed.

If she can't have you, no one can.

She's already spilled a ton of blood, by this point she may be delusional enough to think this is how she keeps you.

Otherwise, you'll be forced by her side until she dies.

It's hard to escape from The Black Queen, Daemon and her other supporters no doubt wish to keep her happy.

She loves it when you take care of her children, she loves it when you show you're loyal.

If she has to trust anyone, she wants it to be you.

You're her beloved obsession, a dear friend/partner.

She refuses to give you up...

No matter what it takes.

"Pledge yourself to me... show me I can trust you... show me you'd give your life to keep me happy...."

[themotherofblood]

chapter 4 | river of fire | d.t x reader x r.t

series masterlist | main masterlist | previously

a/n: so a major fuck up on my end, I had updated a chapter on ao3 but didn’t on tumblr so I wrote two chapter fives, that has been corrected to the time line. So sorry!

synopsis: the matter of visery’s marriage looms in the air when Daemon swoops in to cause more chaos and steals his late nephew’s egg

“The lanterns in the sky were beautiful, just two but against the dark sky they were everything. Rhaenyra will find peace, I pray she does, no matter how many burning hot baths and curt words she throws my way. She is there, angry and afraid. She is me at seven, I could hold her and tell her everything will be better I cannot. I can merely tell her that I shall love her always, I will be with her always.”

After many quarrels on Rhaenyra’s part, she had finally earned a seat on the Small Council and you have been tasked with a new job. The King’s Cupbearer. Most of the time you tried not to break into a fit of ill-concealed giggles if you met Nyra’s eyes. It was insightful for sure, you made Rhaenyra do your bidding once or twice, men for a clothing donation run and a few sanctions for diverse agricultural trades. You wanted jasmine seeds without spending nearly half of your pin money to do so.

Rhaenyra had been aloof for most of it, growing more defiant— it was adorable and yet concerning; she was dealing with her grief as best she could, for it had only been just more than half a year since Aemma passed. Though Daemon being dismissed from the court might have had a role in catalysing her loneliness, sure you were there, her love that she would kiss goodnight and unabashedly embrace at all hours of the day but perhaps only a dragon could understand a dragon.

“Why did you have to say it! Why!” Rhaenyra scolded Daemon. “You will be gone now too.”

“ The Heir for A Day. ” You oddly understood the humour behind it. You believed not that he had ill intentions when saying it so, but perhaps your admiration for him was so thick you couldn’t see past it.

Even Syrax grew petulant, refusing to hunt for herself, she grew fluffy around the edges but adorable nonetheless, she doesn’t waft her nostrils at you anymore. You would like to think the yellow dragon is friends with you now, however, you do not wish to stick your hand in its mouth to test out the theory.

The latest rumble, however, one only spoken without your or Rhaenyra’s presence was the matter of Viserys finding a new queen for himself. Barely half a year and attempts of forever shrouding Aemma already had set afoot, it is expected of him even with Rhaenyra as his heir, the prospect of a son would forever loom over the high towers of the Red Keep. The lords would like to believe that the lot of you were stupid enough to not realise but Nyra had already scoffed about the prospect of having a stepmother, she’d support her father but such warmth might never extend to her new mother.

“ What ?” You and Rhaenyra exclaim in unison, brows pulled as you drop your current activities to question your aunt, a sense of vile premonition crawled onto your skin as your eyes blew wide.

Oberya had been summoned by the Small Council along with Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys, all the women at court and they found it appropriate to paw around the home, though she suggested that the notion of marriage was brought upon by Lord Corlys to present his daughter’s hand in marriage to Viserys– poor Laena, but your name was dragged to the battlefield by Lord Lyonel to contest Otto Hightower’s complains of Laena’s age. Offering you, an auspicious and elder match, elder match by a year and un-flowered. You are but fresh thirteen, he is at least two decades older if not more. Another horrid chill shrivels down your back.

Beyond all that was said, you could feel Rhaenyra’s gaze bore holes in your face, she knew this day would come but not you, the thought so wildly macabre that the possibility hadn’t even graced her nightmares in the past five moons.

“And?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice sounding far more curt than she intended. You turned to her, widening your eyes at her tone towards your aunt, she shook her head still replying to an answer.

“The decision is up to you, they have written to Qoren but I doubt he’d say any differently.”

“No! I’m not marrying Viserys.” You say mildly repulsed, Hands flailing as you push your needlepoint patch away, a shrill shiver running down your spine.

“Then that’s that.” Rhaenyra sharply nodded, coming to sit next to you. Yanking your face towards her and pecking your lips, it wasn’t an affectionate gesture but one to seal your decision for good.

Oberya coughed, eyebrows raised “Still here, darlings.”

You smiled at her apologetically, “You are sure Qoren wouldn’t write otherwise?”

“Oh-“ she rolls her eyes “have some faith in your brother will you?” She scolds, finding your mistrust in him still unbecoming.

“And write to him, will you. It’s been months dærya,” she points out before turning to leave, shaking her head once again at Rhaenyra who was clinging to you like a milk-hungry babe.

You shook Rhaenyra off you, it was far too warm to have her clung to your back. Now all you could think of was Laena , Rhaenys would have thoroughly prepared her for this, you were trying to find some bright light within such a prospect but you couldn’t. Viserys was a wise king and a wonderful warden to you, but he was nothing like the knights in the books you and Laena shared, not by a far shot.

“How could they do this? To Laena.” You shook your head, sinking further into the chaise and resting your palms on your belly.

Such marriages weren’t unheard of but you had believed Lord Corlys to be more of the progressive sort. He never found differences between Laenor and Laena and raised them alike but to now thrust Laena up for the position to marry Viserys all for…power? Title?

“It is for Rhaenys,” Rhaenyra mumbles, “if not his wife then his blood.” She sounded bitter.

You frowned at her, sitting up to clasp her shoulder with the fire of heavy disagreement burning in your heart.

“You are his heir, you. Not some child he currently does not have. He wouldn’t choose another.”

“How it could be, duck.”

“Nyra?” You frown, this time climbing on top of her to make her look at you. “You are his heir.”

“He barely talks to me, you think I’m his heir?” She snaps, pushing you off her. She grunts. “Not once has my input held any weight in his court, you’re young, it isn’t your place. I am his heir as a stowaway. The day one of those wh— women birth him a son. I’d be nothing again.”

Therein lay the truth, the subject that had her irked so, you saw it in the folds of her frown but never understood it fully. Septa Marlow had hushed Rhaenyra thrice on the topic but couldn’t punish as she saw fit because Rhaenyra was now the heir. There never had been such strife about successions when it came to you, your brother inherited the seat while you were a pawn for political alliances, it made perfect sense but this, to be the only child in many dead.

“Have you spoken to him about this?” You calmly said, trying to ease her turmoil as you reach for her pacing frame.

“I would sooner die.”

You would have opened your mouth to say something incongruous, something that you were sure would do nothing to fix the situation but what were you to do. Sit here and let Rhaenyra drown in whatever turmoil was boiling within her? You were three and ten but many days you couldn’t see beyond the frivolities of court, the games— what games ? Beyond the simpering ladies, and the brooding knights, what games were there to play beyond blindly chasing each other in the courtyard.

Sona interrupted your line of thought as she approached with a tray of tea for the lot of you and a stash of letters in her hands, Enora too followed suit, eyeing Rhaenyra's sour look as she presented her with her letters.

“Would you know where Lady Laena is?” You asked Sona as she poured you tea, she looked to Enora and then stood straight.

“Promenading, princess.” She replied.

You perked up, looking at Rhaenyra with a performative smile “We could use one too, couldn’t we Nyra, pick some flowers— perhaps visit Syrax?”

“I— she is with the King, princess,” Enora added, making Rhaenyra turn to her and sharply place her stash of letters on the chaise.

“Leave us!” She barks, pacing even harder now.

You looked at them apologetically as you took the teapot from Sona’s hands. “Stay close please.” You whispered.

“What fortune, even if I wanted to hate her I cannot.” Rhaenyra rants, picking at her sleeves. “He will always be the king won’t he, always the king before my father.”

You sorrowfully nodded. “I’m here with you, I’ll always be your lady before anything.” You sheepishly smile.

Rhaenyra’s curt resolution cracks for a moment as her lips curl upwards, and she yet again flops down next to you.

“I love you,” she mumbles, words like honey, you blush, nodding before kissing her cheek. She sighs even harder before resting her head on your shoulder.

The matter of Viserys nuptials was still in the air, every time you’d make rounds filling cups of the men in his court, somebody would bring it up, it went on for an entire moon and you could see it weighing down on the King’s shoulders. He was so beyond the need to talk about it, he barely spoke when Nyra and you would take meals with him. You saw it as his vice but Nyra, it wedged a further divide between her and her father. Even Alicent believed otherwise when she would accompany you in the gardens or to the markets.

Somehow, perhaps that Alicent was older, she had far wiser words, once laced in her faith as she consoled Rhaenyra. Every word with meaning and understanding she was stitching the gashes within Rhaenyra, you were thankful for it— Nyra wasn’t so pouty anymore. Though sometimes you missed Alicent, you were sure with her growing up her father would have thrust more ladylike duties in her lap, she couldn’t join your expeditions in finding shiny bugs or artisan rocks anymore.

“Go on, say it.” Rhaenyra shakes you by the shoulders.

“She won’t listen.” You rebut, shaking your head and cowering behind Rhaenyra, still small enough to hide behind her shoulders, you peek through looking at Syrax eyeing the sheep.

“Oh come on, roll your tongue on the ‘r’ and command her.” She insists.

“ Dr — Rhaenyra I can’t.” You whine, looking at the poor sheep, it wasn’t even shaved. Does Syrax eat the wool too? That doesn’t sound appetising.

She turns to you, squishing your cheeks within her palms and boring her purple eyes into your soul. “She is hungry, now you say it. Or I will make you ride on her.”

“There is a dragon in you, uncle said it and I believe him.”

“Rhaenyra, I wasn’t even given an egg and my mother wanted nothing to do with them.” You huffed, reiterating again.

“But look how well you do around them!” Rhaenyra whines.

“Say it or we go riding— and I sleep alone tonight!”

Your eyes widen, horrified you turn to Syrax “ Dracarys .” You say quickly and meekly.

Syrax turns her giant head to her rider, unused to taking orders from anything small that wasn’t Rhaenyra, she nods to her mount. The yellow beast wastes no time and blasts dragon fire onto the sheep, the poor thing doesn’t even get a moment to bleat its end before it gets cooked, you pout at where the fluffy animal stood. Rest well, sheep.

Rhaenyra watched Syrax feast on her supper as you looked around the dark stone cave.

“Nyra?” You pull on her arm, “can I go see the baby dragons?”

She bothers not to look at you and nods, knowing you'll be safe in the hands of the Dragonkeepers. She looks to Oalth, a newly appointed, young dragon keeper and orders him to take you to the nursery.

You pad along behind him, following his glowing silhouette from the fire torch in his hand as he leads you to the nursery.

“Watch your step princess,” he cautions, holding your hand as you climb up the steep stone-carved steps.

The nursery is well lit, mostly for the comfort of the Dragonkeepers but also to not have any of the little hellions wiggle away from this part of the cave, a giant hearth is lit with many dragon eggs laying around its edges, eggs of gold, purple, red and blues. Some small and some big, all waiting to hatch one day in the cradle of their riders or perhaps in the glowing embers of the hearth, their magic swirling within the membranes of the egg, forever keeping them alive and warm.

This summer there had been eight dragons that hatched, without riders they almost never survive, and if they do they never stay here, choosing to live their lives as wild dragons at Dragonstone, or perhaps wherever their hearts pleased.

“Here they are,” Oalth huffs as he moves out of your way.

Four little dragons looked much like lizards curled against one another. Little rocks used as cushioning to rest their heavy tails upon. They looked frail, breakable to touch. Oalth broke into a smile, bending down to let a finger trace down the orange dragon’s tail, they roused flopping over to him, expecting food most likely.

“I thought there were six?” You pulled your skirts up to stop one from trotting itself under you.

He looked to you apologetically, the answer being only one. They didn’t survive .

“Who’s eggs?”

“Dreamfyre, her eggs hatch but rarely live past the year.”

You tut, letting the orange little guy climb up your arm, smiling at the little thing. Orange body with bright red membranes, you could see it in the green of its eyes, it was strong.

“She is a fighter,” Oalth muses, smiling at the dragon finding adventure in climbing your skirts.

“She? How can you tell?”

“Intuition, we won’t know until she is grown but she has the fury of a she-dragon.” He says, minding the other little dragons.

“Quba konīr iksis,” a dragon keeper pokes his head through the entrance, hissing at Oalth in Valyrian, a foreign song to your ears. Oalth’s shoulders immediately stiffen.

“Stay here, princess.” He cautions as he grabs his dragon glass spear, rushing behind the other keeper.

You frown at him leaving but return your attention to the little creature now sniffing your ear. You gently pick her up by pinching together her wings and dropping her onto your palm.

“You’re a girl huh? Of course, you are, look at you.” You whisper, watching her walk in circles in your palms and plop down. “No boy dragon is this pretty.”

Oalth was right, even in her frailty there was something about her, a will to fly, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. Just like the one Rhaenyra has when she finds some way to bother Septa Marlow.

“You will live.” You tell her “Grow ginormous and el— elegant, eat sheep and fly as high as you want.”

“ Dracarys .” You smile at her, already envisioning her pale orange body to be a beacon of the Sun goddess once she is grown, whatever rider would claim her would surely be an eccentric embodiment of her.

A swift shuffle however tears you from your gaze for adoration, you flinch, turning your head over your shoulder and looking around the nursery to find the intruder.

And found you did.

There stood Daemon, a shabby cloak pulled down, his glowing silver hair much longer and his charming smirk greeting you.

“Playing with fire, are you, little viper?” He asks with a smug grin on his lips.

“Daemon?” You chide, looking around the room once more before turning to him.

There was a small burst of joy in your chest, you missed him dearly, however, he shouldn’t have been here. He was banished from King’s Landing, if anyone knew he would be in so so much trouble.

“You shouldn't be here!” You hiss, placing the baby dragon back by its sibling.

“Pretty one you’ve picked, princess” he deflects, pushing himself away from the wall he leaned against.

You turn to the orange dragon, “She won’t make it they say.” You lament, so quickly forgetting how dangerous Daemon's little visit is.

He hums, approaching you to set his eyes on the dragon. “Name it.”

“I cannot do that?” You look up at him, eyes wide and shaking your head.

“Can you not speak?” His sarcasm doesn’t miss your ears as you tut.

“I'm a Martell.” You state the obvious, wondering if in the eight moons he had spent away from home, he had returned without his sanity.

He faux gasps “What would Daenerys say?”

A pang of guilt hit your chest, you looked nothing like your mother, so accustomed to your dark features you often forgot that there was dragon blood within you.

“I— she won’t make it anyways.” You shake your head, still looking at the dragon napping away.

“Name, princess.”

“Agni…?” You look up at him but flinch once more when this time Oalth comes back to receive you.

Daemon swiftly ducks behind the wall again, as you look at the young dragonkeeper.

“Your wheelhouse is here, the princess calls for you.”

You couldn’t shake off meeting Daemon again, how were you to keep such a secret in your stomach? He was here, he broke the king’s rules — not surprising at all but still, you were a part of whatever his plot was now. Your skin prickled in goosebumps as you made the rounds filling half-empty cups around the Small Council table. Lord Corlys as usual, stopped you from filling his, you would have insisted on just skipping him over but Septa Marlow said it wasn’t proper.

It was the day after and you still rose with such tussled movement within you, did he hurt someone, burn something, do people know you saw him but said nothing— bad girl? You nervously finished your rounds and set down the jug on the table before turning towards the meeting.

The doors opened to the Elder Dragonkeeper using his cane to bow and enter the council room, bile coated the insides of your mouth. You were in so much trouble.

You turned the other way, hearing the Elder speaking in Valyrian, damn you, you patiently listened for anything that might sound like your name, the syllables or the word dārilaros .

“Dārilaros,”

Mother Rhyone, don’t let it be me.

“Daemon sikio sīdas, eglivivys aōhys.” The Elder declared.

The room grew silent, as you turned around, mayhaps you weren’t in trouble at all. He didn’t take your name. You appeared confused at why Rhaenyra appeared angry, you thought she’d be happy to hear the return of her favourite uncle.

“Skorior drōmon Daemon laēttas?” Rhaenyra’s words sounded like a question.

“Dārilaros Baelon iderēptā se Drōmon Ēdrurzo iles rūs.”

Your head turns to Viserys and back to Rhaenyra to try and understand what has happened, but Viserys stands abruptly. Storming out of the rooms with Otto heavy on his heels along with Ser Westerling and the Kingsgaurd. Rhaenyra follows suit in the other direction, running up to her rooms.

The other lords shuffled up, Lord Beesbury and Lord Lyonel left the rooms next, leaving Lord Corlys to sigh and look at your rigid but confused form.

“You ought to return to the gardens girl,” he called out, breaking you out of your bewildered trance. “The jasmine, have they grown?”

“What has happened?” You blurted out. Looking at him this time.

“Prince Daemon has happened, an egg and a hatchling missing.” He shook his head.

You rushed out of the Small Council this tip, taking two steps as you rushed up Maegor’s Holdfast to your apartments. Daemon had once again shot an arrow straight at an already gaping open wound, you only worried about what Rhaenyra might do this time for she couldn’t just beat her fists on Daemon’s chest this time.

When you burst through her chambers she was already gone, the yellow gown she was wearing earlier discarded on her bed and her gloves and dagger gone. You groaned, falling onto her bed, wondering what trouble Rhaenyra was going to find herself this time, instead, you found a small rolled-up parchment along with her clothes.

“ I’ll return soon.”

You could cry from how frustrated and scared you were, why is it that these two always seemed to drag you into impermissible situations, where you must lie for them. You would again be in such trouble.

You paced back and forth at least a hundred times, your feet could have walked to Winterfell and back from how hard and how long you had been pacing, looking out to the setting sun and waiting for Rhaenyra to return home.

Every time a crow or pigeon flew by, you wondered if it was her. Come back, come back you insolent lover of mine.

“Princess?” Sona stood in your receiving chambers with an evening gown in hand, “it is time for supper soon.”

Supper with the king, my death.

Even dressed for supper in a longer gown, you began pacing once more, your boots thudding against the stone floor. Coming up with possible excuses you could give on Rhaenyra’s behalf, feverish, loss of appetite, poor absolutions— uh mayhap not.

When the sun just touched the horizon you began walking towards Viserys’s chambers, mumbling reasoning under your breath as Ser Darklyn followed behind you, he had been fed the story of Rhaenyra being tired, now you needed an elaboration. A sticky narrative with no questions, Ser Darklyn knocked on your behalf and then you were let in.

“Your grace.” You curtsied, waiting for him to receive you.

“Ah, come— come.” Viserys looked up from his pumice stone city.

“You’ve added another layer?” You ask the work was truly beautiful, with more cravings of dragons around the edges of the main wall.

“The Ānōgron, which is?” He quizzed.

“The blood mages workshops?”

He smiled, nodding at you.

“It is beautiful, my king.” You complimented, gently tracing your finger along its edge.

“Where is Rhaenyra?” He muses, still craving away with his dagger.

“She is feeling unwell, she had her supper early and chose to rest for a while.” You say quickly, toying with your fingers.

“Unwell? Pah, I didn’t think the matter with the egg would bother her so deeply.” he shook his head, wiping the tip of his dagger on a cloth. “Has Mellos looked at her?”

“I wouldn’t know, your grace. I spent the evening in the gardens.” Another lie. You twist the rings on your fingers even harder.

You awkwardly begin to walk towards the already set table for three, the aromas of deliciousness filling your nostrils, beyond everything today, you were starving for sure. Just as you settled yourself in, waiting for Viserys to join. The doors to his room opened once more with an attendant stepping in.

“The Princess has returned from Dragonstone.”

Viserys turns to you, eyes squint as he questioningly takes your name once more, your shoulders slumping in defeat and you glaring holes into the back of the attendant walking away.

You sat slowly eating your supper as echoes of arguing bustled from the antechamber, first, you would hear Viserys scold Rhaenyra, and then she would scream back in a rebuttal. It went on for several minutes, you finished your goose by then. Flinching every now and then whenever their voices would boom from the other chamber.

Eventually, everything went quiet, you wondered if this is what those two needed to finally have a proper conversation, one not laced with court propriety but one of a father and his daughter. You could still hear him speaking, and then her speaking. Softly, a fight grew to an endearing conversation by the time you began feasting on the lemon cakes. You slouched against the chair, this time sipping on— or trying to sip on some strong wine, which by all means tasted vile.

The doors then opened, and you abruptly sat straight, wiping the corners of your mouth and sheepishly looking at Rhaenyra. Both of them looked gleeful as they walked toward you.

“You alright sweetheart, you look ill,” Rhaenyra took a seat next to you.

You frowned this time, whisper hissing at her as you smack her thigh, hard. “I lied to the king for you, the king !”

Viserys then called for you. “Usually my court would have liars gelded, but I seem to have hordes of parchment to get through. Up before the Hour of the Rabbit, a King’s Cupbearer must not be late.”

[legitalicat]

Out of Time

Chapter 4 - "Eldest Son to Eldest Daughter"

an: I am so glad people are enjoying this story! I've been playing with this concept for nearly a year now. I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much! I want to go ahead and put this out there. I have borderline personality disorder and quite a few other mental illnesses, so all of that influences relationships in my life, which is reflected a lot in this story. Also this is not canon Aegon. This is a version of Aegon that lives permanently in my head.

If you love this header go check out zaldritzosrose for more amazing work! She is tagged on the series masterlist and on my welcome post!

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Summary: Being the eldest child of the Queen or King is a weight many did not understand. It is a weight that dictates her every choice, ruling her heart and mind. Aegon, understanding the feeling, gives her the gift of a connection she could not have with another person.

TW: Very blatant mental health struggles, Substance Use (I added 🍃 into this world cause it not being in there is unrealistic), talks of alcoholism, religious talk, mentions of injury, self image issues, bad parents, divorced parents, moon tea, Aegon is so in love with reader it makes me ache

Relationships: Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon!Reader, past Aegon Targaryen ii x Helaena Targaryen

Word count: 3.7k

When I woke up this morning, only to find Jace gone from my bed and a cup of moon tea on the table, all I wanted was to hide away from the world. But there was more to my life than just Jace and Aemond. I had others who loved me, who had missed me this entire time. With that in mind, I dressed for the day in a simple lilac colored dress, drank the tea in one quick gulp, and had Ser Erryk escort me to Helaena’s chambers.

Her and Aegon’s children were with him for the morning. With both of them still happily in the Red Keep, I suppose it made sharing their children’s time easier. Though I don’t believe there has been a situation such as this ever. Most marriages that ended in annulment happened because there weren’t children from my understanding. Though until now I had not known of anyone who had gotten an annulment.

“How did my mother grant the end of your marriage?” I couldn’t help but ask Helaena. We were working on our cross stitching together. It was an activity that soothed her and I was all the happier to make sure she was calm. “Doesn’t the Faith typically have to be in agreement? And I mean, you two had three children together, wouldn’t they just deny it?”

Helaena chuckled. “I often times forget how little you and your brothers paid mind to the teachings of the Seven,” she said to me.

Fair enough, I suppose. Technically speaking, we are followers of the Seven. Yet anyone with eyes knew that we only did it because we kind of had to. I don’t believe Mother or Laenor had any vested interest in their teachings. They certainly never passed anything on to us outside of the bare minimum. I know my father’s family believed in the Seven, but since he was never allowed to claim us, he had no right to teach us his beliefs. In truth I only knew anything about them from Alicent.

“So explain it to me as though I’m five,” I said, shrugging a bit.

“It is unholy to hold one in a marriage against their will. Aegon and I were so young when we were married, and it was done under the misguided notion that your mother and family may seek to squash any competition for the Throne, so it was not difficult to make a case for it to be an unlawful marriage. Though I do feel that Rhaenyra may have reminded the Septon that he can be and would be a delicious snack for Syrax should he not see reason,” she told me. The smile that played at her lips as she thought of it was enough to make me smile.

“And what is it you wish to do now?” I asked her.

“I am perfectly content to live my life here. I love my family, I love my home. Though I do wish my mother had bothered to ever understand me,” she explained.

My smile fell from my lips. Time changed many things but Helaena’s distance from Alicent didn’t seem to be one. It was unfortunate, truly, as Helaena was wonderful. She may be more into bugs than most people, she may have her dreams and episodes, but she was not mad. In fact when actually making an effort to know her, one could find she was the opposite.

I had always wished I could see the world Helaena does. The world that I live in is dark and dreary, a place where one loses any semblance of a father before they even understand how great they are. It is a place where most everyone prefers men over women, despite the women being capable and strong in their own right. The world I live in? It is not a place built for Helaena.

Yet the one she lives in? People are praised for what they have done. There is no consideration other than who truly is right and just. Even in the darkest moments in which her mother tried to keep her from being who she is, my mother always gave safe passage to her sweet sister. Helaena paid no mind to those who were insignificant unless they hurt her family or her bugs.

It Is not to say she is naïve. In fact, I would think she sees more truth than any of us. But being the third child, born after an eldest daughter and eldest son, is very different than being the eldest. She did not have to fight to prove she was worthy like Mother did. And she does not have to step away because she knows she would not be accepted over her brother as I do…

I was born approximately two hours before Jacaerys. A long time between twins as I’ve been told, but enough time there was no doubt about who came first. Truthfully to my mother I don’t think it mattered which of us was born before the other. We are twins and therefore she always gave us the choice.

She explained to me that her father had named her heir before he had any other living children and never looked back. Once Aegon was born, most expected Viserys to change his mind. But he remained steadfast in his decision, never caring if Mother still wanted it. To this day I don’t know if she did. As such, she wanted to make sure we always had a choice.

“You’re doing it again,” Helaena said softly.

When I looked to her, she nodded her head to my hands. I had been so completely lost in thought that I didn’t notice I had repeatedly pricked my fingers with the needle I was using. Blood seeped through the fabric in several dots scattered around.

“Sorry,” I muttered before sitting the cross stitch down. Standing, I walked over to the bowl of water that was kept for washing her hands and dunked my fingers in it a few times.

“Our mothers are planning a feast to celebrate your return,” she told me as I turned back around. “I think it will happen week’s end.”

Naturally. It seemed they always found a reason to celebrate me. On my name day, it was always me who got doted on. Jace got put in the shadows, not that he seemed to mind much though. When I claimed Vhaela, only a few weeks before I disappeared, it was a much brighter occasion than Aemond claiming Vhagar. When I returned to King’s Landing, it overshadowed the tourney being held for Aegon to celebrate his own name day.

It was never my Intention, truly. Those around me just deemed me important. I had never wanted to be the center of attention. All I wanted was to do right by my family. Never have I sought out great fortune or the throne for myself, though technically it should be mine by birth order. All I craved was love.

“Are you happy?” I asked her, trying to change the subject.

“Yes. Aegon is a wonderful father, but he could never love me. And I do not love him,” she told me.

Before I was given the chance to respond, the chamber doors opened. Helaena’s children ran to her. The twins, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, were nearing twelve at this point. They looked it, too. If you were to ask me, Jaehaera looked like Alicent but with the typical Targaryen silver hair and violet eyes. Jaehaerys and Maelor, who was nearing eight, were carbon copies of Helaena. They had the same curl to their hair as she did, their noses equally as small and rounded.

As the three children excitedly talked about their morning, I quietly excused myself from the room. While she would never say anything, there was not a place for me with Helaena and her children by myself. Those kids don’t remember me, though I remember Helaena’s every letter describing them in their early years. For both pregnancies, there was not a movement they made inside her that did not warrant a letter to me. But that was then.

In the corridor, Aegon stood and spoke with Ser Erryk. Erryk had a twin too, named Arryk. From what I remembered, Arryk and Aegon were quite close, the former taking on the watching over of the latter once Aegon hit puberty.

“Beautiful kids,” I said to him, offering a small smile. When he looked to me and smiled, I couldn’t help but blush a deep red.

“Thankfully they take more after Helaena,” he said to me. He stepped closer to me, extending a hand to rest under my chin. I swallowed hard as he tilted my face around in the light. “You should perhaps be more careful.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” I said, unable to hide my chuckle.

“Where are you headed to? I could join you,” he suggested as he offered his arm to me to take, dropping his hand from my chin.

“I was just going to head back to my room. Truly, Aegon, there is no need to bother yourself,” I told him.

“My darling, there is never a bother when it comes to you.” His voice was light and airy, as though the words he spoke were just the most casual thing in the world. But there was a firmness to them that I truly believe only he could accomplish.

It wasn’t so much a demand. He was not like Aemond, demanding and sure of himself. He was not like Jace, either, in being soft and guiding always. Aegon was something entirely different.

He had always seemed arrogant. He was the first born son so it was natural that he grew into believing he deserved everything he wanted. But only when you spoke to him when everything else was quiet did you ever get the truth.

He had never been much more than a scared little boy. There were frequent talks of what he feared would happen when Viserys had died. He had always been scared his mother would try to force him to take the Throne. When he was betrothed to Helaena, he was scared he wouldn’t be good enough for her. He was scared that I would grow to hate him, completely ignoring that I could never hate him.

The closeness I shared with Aegon was something that bordered on secretive. While it wasn’t that we felt the need to hide, as there truly was never anything to hide, it was what made him comfortable. He would come to me late at night when he could not sleep. I think it is when he felt safest. Even when we were children he preferred the night.

It was in the night that he saw beauty in his life. He didn’t struggle as much then to resist drinking, which had always seemed backwards to me but he swore it. The pressures that were placed upon him from Otto and Alicent didn’t exist at night. The person he truly is was enough for the shadows of darkness.

Perhaps it is my own cockiness but I like to think I see a side to him that others don’t. When we were alone I got to hear him sing. I don’t think anyone else knew he liked to sing let alone how good he was at it. The first time he ever sang me a song that he had picked up in a tavern, tears sprang to my eyes. And when he isn’t drunk, he is quite smart. He knows politics even better than Aemond. He knows how to get people to like him and trust him, a rare commodity in this world.

And if Helaena says he is a wonderful father, I have no doubt about it. I remember him writing to me the first time Helaena was pregnant. He was so happy and excited, determined to be better to his children than Viserys ever had been to him. When I had come back to King’s Landing, while he still struggled with the drink, he was so devoted to making sure they didn’t see it.

“I would be glad to have you along,” I said, smiling at him. Though I didn’t take his arm. He merely nodded at me and followed me, allowing me to set the pace in which we walked.

As we walked, we walked in silence. Our footsteps echoed off the stone walls, the small ching and squeak of Ser Erryk’s armor followed behind us. I was perfectly comfortable.

We got to my room in just a few minutes as it wasn’t far from Helaena’s. Ser Erryk took his place beside my door. I gave him a small smile and nod before leading Aegon into my room.

He took a seat in a chair in front of the fireplace. He seemed like maybe he ran cold, always choosing to sit close to fires or walking around wrapped in a blanket. I was like that too, of course, much to the hatred of Jace when we shared a room still.

“I am happy to see you home, have you need of anything?” he asked me when I sat in the chair next to his.

“I merely wish there was something I could take for the pain that wasn’t milk of the poppy. The way it muddled your father’s mind has made me certain I will never use it,” I told him simply.

He nodded softly and reached his right hand up his left sleeve. “In case you have not been told, I want you to know I am sober now. Have not had a sip of wine since the night you disappeared,” he told me.

“Aeg, that’s amazing. I am so proud of you,” I said as my heart felt like it was going to burst.

Truly I don’t think he had ever stood a chance against being a drunkard. Mother told me a long time ago how Viserys was giving Aegon wine by his second nameday. I never could understand why Alicent was so okay with that, especially because for my entire life she had yelled at him for being drunk. Like the night Aemond lost his eye, Aegon got blamed for not protecting him because even at thirteen he went and got so drunk he passed out on the steps. How on earth did she go from so passively allowing him to drink when he was a baby to being so vile about his problem?

He looked at me, his face saddened for a split second before he grinned and pulled out a pouch. “The Grand Maester told me to use this. It’s hemp. Mostly used for creating things, building and whatnot. But someone at the Citadel found if you consume it, it gives you what they call a high. But it is gentler on the health than being drunk. I’m not sure the process but they cook it into butter and then can bake it into things.”

He opened the pouch and pulled out a biscuit the size of his palm. He split it in two and offered me half. It didn’t look abnormal or smell any different. The biscuit looked very appetizing though.

“Do I just eat it?” I asked him, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. But start slow. Too much at once and you’ll be completely incapacitated. Just a small bit should help your anguish, both physically and mentally,” he explained. “It will not be immediate like milk of the poppy. But it will be effective.”

Cautiously, I took a bite, eating on a quarter of my half. This was something I would never have done on my own. Yet Aegon had never truly steered me wrong, always seeming to have my best interests at heart.

After he took his own bite, eating a little more than I did, a silence fell between us as he just watched the flames. Aegon sometimes seemed like he wished that the world would open and swallow him whole. The way he would avoid looking at me, or anyone for that matter, spoke volumes about how uncomfortable he was even if nobody else realized it.

I remember once he told me that if he didn’t look at people he could convince himself they weren’t looking at him. When I tried to point out that wasn’t right he just put his hand over my mouth so that I couldn’t. It was that moment I realized how alike he and I are.

I escaped the duties of being Mother’s eldest child by pretending I wasn’t. Stepping aside so that Jace could be heir and acting as though I was okay with it was the biggest way I accomplished this. If I were honest, I wanted to be Queen, not Queen Consort. Hiding that fact from everyone, including my twin, repeatedly affirming his place as the next King essentially robbed me of a piece of my identity and forced me into a new one. One in which I was meant to stand by his side and have his children.

Aegon liked to hide from being the eldest son by pretending he didn’t exist. He didn’t just refuse those duties. He simply treated them as though they weren’t real. He used to disappear rather frequently for a few days at a time, only to be found in a tavern or a brothel and dragged back to the Keep. He had always been so drunk he never remembered his time there.

“I missed you,” he said quietly. “I know you never felt for me the way you did Jacaerys, or even Aemond. But you are probably the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

He didn’t look at me when he said it which made me wonder why he did. It seemed silly to me how badly I wanted him to look at me. My entire life I felt like I had been begging Aegon to look at me.

He was right, I never felt for him the way I did Jace or Aemond. But he was the first person that ever made me blush. He was the first person who I considered marrying for any reason. He was my first crush and I think that for a lot of people that was a pretty sacred role.

I wanted a dragon so badly because of his relationship to his own dragon, Sunfyre. I don’t remember exactly when they came together, only that Aegon claimed Sunfyre just as I claimed Vhaela. And they were a sight to see together, having potentially the strongest bond of any dragon and rider. I swear Aegon could be hundreds of leagues from Sunfyre, merely think of needing him, and Sunfyre would go there without a second thought.

There was also the fact that they were very beautiful together. Sunfyre was perhaps the most beautiful dragon to ever exist. His scales were a dazzling, glittering gold while his belly and wing membranes for a soft pink. When he stood tall, he looked like a perfect golden statue.

Aegon was the epitome of Targaryen beauty. His silver blonde hair was not as long as Aemond’s, but was chin length and began curling near the end. He had the classic Valyrian lilac eyes that sparkled in the firelight. He had a square jawline and lips fuller than Aemond’s. He was about five inches taller than me, and therefore Jace since he was my height, at about five foot ten, and just two inches shorter than Aemond.

He truly was a beautiful mixture of Jace and Aemond. His eyes, hair, and eyes were soft in such a way they drew me in. Yet his jawline was sharp like he was chiseled in stone. One could argue all the gods in the universe came together to create the perfect man in him.

I became very aware I was staring at his lips. My cheeks became hot as the blood rushed to them. He turned to look at me, a small goofy smile on his face when he saw me looking. It caused my cheeks to become even hotter.

“You’ve been staring for quite a while, how are you feeling?” he asked me.

“Fine,” I said as I shrugged.

My feet didn’t quite feel right though. Like they didn’t really exist but they do exist. He chuckled at something, I’m guessing my face, and I could feel a giggle bubbling up in my chest.

“Oh you feel it,” he told me, grinning.

“You’re pretty,” I whispered, leaning towards him. “Have I ever told you that?”

“Pretty?” he asked.

Slowly, I nodded. He was pretty. But not the way Mother or Helaena was pretty in an elegant and sophisticated way. He was the type of pretty like fire. One that was dangerous and wild, where I couldn’t quite guarantee I would make it out alive.

“You’re pretty, too,” he told me quietly.

I think he was the only one to ever call me pretty. Aemond called me beautiful and Jace called me perfect, yet never pretty. Except the times they called me pretty during sex, that is. Being pretty in the mundane was something special to me. It was like I was a flower or even a star.

He reached out and took my hand. We sat in silence for a while. There was no way I could tell how long we sat there, just looking at each other while saying nothing. It felt nice in a way I could not explain.

“My darling pretty girl,” he whispered, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. “How is your pain?”

“Better, thank you, Aegon,” I whispered.

My heart was light in my chest. It fluttered rapidly, my cheeks heating up once again. He was looking at me like I was precious to him.

He stood from the chair, moving to stand in front of me. The flutters turned to a steady pounding. It was beating in my ears loudly. Aegon didn’t say anything before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of my nose, something that he had done when we were kids.

“I will ask the Maesters to prepare you the same biscuits. I do not like to think of you in pain,” he whispered to me. “And it may help if your thoughts get to be too much.”

Without saying another word, he took his leave. He walked out of the room, leaving me to sit alone with only my thoughts of him.

[feyhunter78]

The Innocent’s Folly pt. 7

Description: Aemond receive a devastating letter and reunites with you at Dragonstone.

TW: Mentions of a miscarriage, grieving, and complicated feelings towards children

Previous chapter, next chapter

He can’t sleep, he can’t eat, he can’t even look at himself in the mirror, now that he knows what you witnessed that night.

Vhagar sensed his pain, she always does, and rages at the sky, tail whipping back and forth knocking over trees. Or so he’s told. He can’t muster up the energy to go and face his dragon, to tell her, that your absence is because of him.

Aegon recounted the tale of your adventure that night with an emotionless tone, all the glee from earlier gone as he had watched Aemond crumble.

He knows you will forgive him for Alys, he has proof that he was under her literal spell, but how long did it last, how much of his actions did it dictate? These are questions he knows you will ask, and ones he doesn’t have an answer to.

He bids his mother and sister to write to you, to inquire after your health and that of the babe’s. You answer them quickly and the moment his mother and sister have finished reading them he hoards them, tracing the loops of your handwriting, wishing desperately the fondness you express was directed at him.

Then it comes, a letter marred with ink stains, your tears immortalized in the ink, your handwriting shaky. It is accompanied by a letter from his half-sister, addressed to his mother and her alone.

She takes it and reads it behind a closed door, she stayed in that room for what felt like ages to him until she reappeared, tearstained face, the letter clasped tightly in her hand.

“She lost the babe, they do not know why or how, but it was twisted and malformed, a ghastly color like that of ash.” His mother’s voice trembled, and he pressed his hand against the wall for support.

“Rhaenyra said it was small, sweet y/n was barely four moons in. It was a little girl.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “She has been staying in y/n’s chambers, they are fearful of what she might do.”

“The witch’s last card has been dealt; the game now ends.” Helaena said, looking up from her embroidery.

Aemond hadn’t even noticed she was sitting there, too consumed by thoughts of his wife, of the agony she must be feeling, of his own agony. He cursed the day his grandsire had introduced him to Alys.

He staggered out of his mother’s chambers, out of the Keep, and Vhagar sat outside waiting patiently for him. At her feet, he falls to his knees and screams.

You sat in the courtyard of Dragonstone, blanket wrapped around you, as you stared out at the sea. The thing that had grown inside you, mangled beyond recognition, had been burned by Syrax’s fire, and you had shed no tears. Perhaps that was why Rhaenyra insisted on following you everywhere.

“My lady, I can assure you, I will not do anything reckless, you must have other duties besides sitting with me.” You said softly, not taking your eyes off the horizon.

Ever since you miscarried, there was a sense of twisted relief that bloomed in your chest. Perhaps you would be able to petition the king for an annulment. But if not, at least you would not be bringing a child into a life filled with tears and a father who cared more for whores than his family.

“You have suffered a great loss.” Rhaenyra said, her hand squeezing yours.

“The maesters said it would never have drawn a breath, not once had I felt it kick within me, I do not know if I have really lost anything.”

The thing within you had looked a monster, but you felt the true monster for sighing in relief when the maesters took it from you.

“Y/N…” Rhaenyra whispered, her violet eyes on you.

“When I was a child, Helaena told me something, it did not make sense to me, so I never mentioned it to you, and soon forgot about it, but now…” You brushed the hair back from your face, tears slipping from your eyes.

You wished Aemond was here, even if he said nothing to you, having him by your side made you feel strong. “She told me that no roses would bloom from my blood, that eyes of jade would not share.”

“A curse.” Rhaenyra said, her voice hard. “The witch has cursed you.”

“And Aemond as well, I assume.” You added, watching as the tide ebbed and flowed, the churning dark water soothing your tired heart.

“Do not tell me you forgive him.” Rhaenrya demanded, her shoulders tensing.

You shook your head. “A spell does not explain his marrying me, that was a deception on his part, one he performed clear minded.”

Syrax shrieked in greeting over head, and Rhaenyra’s face lit up.

“Go to her, my lady, I wish to sit and think.” You urged. All Targaryens were the same, they loved their dragons and got upset when they were not allowed to be with them.

Rhaenyra hesitated, then Syrax called to her again and she stood. “If you need something, return inside and find one of the others, do not do anything rash, please.”

You promised her you wouldn’t do anything rash, and she hurried away, Syrax flying happy circles above you both.

Aemond didn’t need to direct Vhagar, she flew straight to Dragonstone, settling on the far end of the beach. There further up, seated at a small table, her chin resting in one palm, eyes fixated on the ocean, was his beautiful wife.

She glanced at him when he approached, then her eyes returned to the waves.

“My lady wife.” He said in way of a greeting, unsure of how to act. He knew it took a little time for letters to reach them, but y/n did not seem sad, or angry, simply numb.

“Prince Aemond.” She said, her tone devoid of its normal warmth.

He hated when she called him by his title, he felt as if every step he’d taken forward into her heart and her trust has been washed away like footprints in the sand. “I read your letter, to Helaena.”

She hummed in acknowledgment, and he noticed the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“It is my fault, Alys, she cursed me and our babe, y/n I swear to you, my heart is yours.”

“I am aware she cursed the thing; I gave birth to it.”

The distance in her tone, and eyes, felt as if she’d driven a dagger into his chest.

“Ñuha dōna, I am so sorry, I have wounded you, disrespected you, abandoned you, and am the reason for the death of our child. You may strike me down if you wish, but let me shoulder your grief, if only for a moment, as recompense.” He begged, holding her hands tightly.

“There is nothing to shoulder, it has already been burned, you are free to pursue your life as you wish. Return to your whores, just make certain they are not witches as well.”

Aemond bowed his head, pressing soft kisses to each of y/n’s fingers. “Aegon told me of what you saw, believe me when I say everything was because of the spell, the septons can confirm it.”

Her eyes finally flickered to his, and his heart sank at their dull color, of the way the light seemed to have fled them. “So, it was the spell that made you ask for my hand, to use for me for information?”

Aemond’s chest tightened. “What?”

“When you proposed, you said you desired what was within my mind. I did not understand then, but I do now.”

“What type of lies are they feeding you here?” He said angrily, hoping his sweet wife would buy his attempt at misdirection.

“Jacaerys was right, your cruelty truly knows no end.” Y/N sniffled, quickly wiping her tears away.

Of course, Jacaerys would attempt to turn her against him. “My cruelty? Y/N I was cursed by a witch.”

“I know Aemond, I know you and your grandsire desired to pluck Rhaenyra’s war plans from the details of my life.” She laughed bitterly. “You do not even believe Aegon should be king, it is as clear as day.”

“I will admit it, that was the initial plan, but y/n, I have fallen for you, no, I have always been in love with you, I was simply too blind to see it.” Aemond said, good eye searching her face. He needed her to believe him, to understand how much he truly cared for her.

“Why would I ever believe that, after all you have done?”

The dagger in his chest twisted violently. “I love you, y/n, I have not been able to live, nor breathe without you.” He said, voice trembling.

Y/N looked at him, turning her body away from the ocean and towards him, her lips pulled down in a frown. “I love you Aemond, even as I watched you betray me, even as I laid in the birthing bed, bleeding, I still loved you, but I will not be your grandsire’s pawn.”

Her hand slipped from his, and he went to grasp it, to stop her from separating them, but she placed it on his cheek, thumb lightly caressing the edge of his scar.

He leaned into her touch; eye fluttering closed. “He is the one who introduced me to Alys, the one who orchestrated it all. What would you have me do?”

She was silent for a while, and he looked at her. She was so beautiful, a ray of sunlight cutting through the gloom of Dragonstone.

“Find a punishment equal to the crime, to the pain your wife has endured.”

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[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Exposed - Daenys and Tyland

It took me fucking forever, but I finally got something! Lmao, and all I needed to do was come at the prompt with Rhaenyra's POV. Go figure 🤷🏻‍♀️

The Red Keep was stifling. She was heir to the throne, and all anyone cared about was the round, screeching boy. He was one and barely weaned, and already everyone watched and waited to see if he would do something impressive to show her up–as if they didn't already think he was doing so just by managing to have the correct parts.

Was it not enough to have lost her mother and her best friend, perhaps more, in the same year? Did Rhaenyra have to be replaced as well? She exhaled hard through her nose, hands clenched into fists and lavender gaze hard as she trudged down the path in the gardens. So much for trying to relax and clear her mind.

“I should have just gone to the dragonpit,” Rhaenyra grumbled, “Syrax would take my mind off everything better than ‘taking in the air.’” She put on an exaggerated deep tone as her father’s blatant-dismissal-masquerading-as-concern played in her mind. He wasn't there to be upset about her mockery, but it still made her feel better.

She was about to turn back around and leave the gardens, to go find Ser Criston and have him escort her to the dragonpit atop Rhaenys's Hill, when rustling behind one of the hedgerows and the familiar, girlish giggle of her sister caught her attention. Rhaenyra's brows furrowed, and her posture straightened just a bit as she looked at the jostling leaves and the brief flash of pale purple skirts swishing in the small gap between the trees.

Daenys still cared about her, maybe she could offer some sort of balm for her mood. At the very least, her younger sister would have some frivolous worry to distract her with and could maybe serve as a flying companion. However, as Rhaenyra drew closer to the row of trees laden down with blossoms waiting to turn to fruit, Daenys's ridiculous giggling was interspersed with muffled moans and inaudible whispering.

Her nails dug into her palms, and she frowned. Daenys was a vapid idiot, of course it was only a matter of time before someone tried to take advantage of that now that their mother was not constantly watching over her. Rhaenyra walked faster now, protective anger bubbling up inside her as she rounded the hedgerow to discover her younger sister with her back against the trunk of one of the trees, fingers curled in Ser Tyland Lannister's ash blonde waves as he kissed her, his hands far too familiar and grabby.

“Ser Tyland!” Her sharp call of his name saw his eyes shoot open as he clumsily disentangled himself from the poor, empty-headed girl pressed against him. His cheeks were red, and there was panic in his dark green eyes.

“Princess, this isn’t what you think! We–”

“Oh, it isn’t? Well then, Ser Tyland, what am I looking at if not my father’s Master of Ships taking advantage of my sister’s loneliness at losing his predecessor’s daughter so that he can rise above his station while–” Her impassioned accusation was cut off by Daenys’s forlorn wail. Rhaenyra rushed to her sister, who was red faced with tears welling up in her eyes as she cried out and sobbed so loudly as to rival Aegon. She shot a pointed look at the Master of Ships, incensed with him but happy she had at least broken this up before it was too late for her younger sister. She wrapped her arms around Daenys, but when she tried to pull her close, she was shoved away.

Rhaenyra looked at her in disbelief, her mouth agape. Fat tears were rolling down Daenys's cheeks now, and her full lower lip trembled. She could not truly be so upset with her; it was Ser Tyland’s fault, Rhaenyra was trying to help! Surely Daenys had to understand. She had comforted Rhaenyra after what happened with Alicent, they’d said they loved each other in spite of their lack of closeness. Her sister could not be so naive!

“I thought you loved me!” Even though Daenys’s voice wavered from her hysterics, the words felt like they slapped Rhaenyra across the face.

“I…of course I do!” She snapped, hurt and angry, “That is why I am protecting you!” She would not lose her sister to the same thing that took Alicent, even if Daenys wanted to actually act on being the younger Lannister twin’s whore.

“I do not need protection!”

“You obviously do! I would not have my sister used to–”

“I am not being used!” Her tears started falling harder now, staining her flushed cheeks as she pointed at Ser Tyland Lannister, “I brought him here, this was my idea! Rhaenyra, I love him!” Her outstretched arm shook with the power of her desperate sobs, and her plea at being in love seemed to pierce the air like a knife. Without any hesitation, he went to Daenys’s side, and Rhaenyra’s younger sister crumpled against him like a paper flower caught in the rain. Her next wail was muffled as she buried her face into Ser Tyland’s chest, fingers desperately clutching at the gold trimmed edges of his emerald cloak.

His expression when he looked at Rhaenyra was awkward and apologetic, but it softened the moment he looked away from her. She barely paid attention as Ser Tyland soothed her sister, speaking gently as he smoothed the fluffy silver curls streaming down her back that had become mussed and filled with leaves when they kissed.

The righteous anger, burning hot and as uncontrollable as dragon flame, calmed to the feel of warm bathwater and melted out of her. Rhaenyra hadn’t been protecting her sister from the grasping, greedy hands of some man who would use her his pleasure and his advancement, she had been intruding. If she had been a boy this might have been them instead of Daenys and Ser Tyland Lannister, and she would not be replaced by the final vestige of her mother like she was by the court.

Daenys wailed again, and it felt like it crushed her heart. This was losing mother and Alicent all over again. When her younger sister finally lifted her head from his chest and looked at her, the hysterical sorrow in her watery eyes shifted as something even deeper flashed across Daenys’s face. She released her hold on Ser Tyland’s cloak and rushed to her, taking Rhaenyra’s soft cheeks in her hands as she used her thumbs to wipe the silent tears falling from her lavender eyes. She had not realized she had started crying too.

“Rhaenyra–”

“One of us should be happy, I suppose.”

“I do not want you to be upset! I just…” Daenys’s sentence trailed off as her gaze fell from where it had met Rhaenyra’s own, she did not let go of her face though. She was silent for a moment, lips pressed tightly together until she looked up again.

“I appreciate your intent. If I had not been the one to start everything, if Tyland was untrue with his intentions, I would hope that my elder sister would save me. You were always braver than I am, and you’re very quick witted. After everything it…it makes sense you were so upset, and that you wanted to help me.”

“But you don’t need it.” She replied, sullen and soft voiced.

“I will always need your help, Rhaenyra! And I shall gladly welcome it because I love you.”

Rhaenyra smiled softly as her younger sister finally released her face and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. Daenys did not want to replace her then. She was just…growing up and achieving the grandiose and oftentimes silly sounding dreams of romance she would moon about to Cassana Strong and Laena Velaryon after Rhaenyra grew bored with them.

She cut her eyes towards Ser Tyland, who smiled awkwardly and bowed his head as he clasped his hands behind his back. She supposed her sister could do worse. She could do better, but some crooked-nosed Lannister was not the most abysmal choice Daenys could have made. At least he showed some defference now that all of the moaning and fretting was done.

“Try to be a bit more careful, next time. If your affair is exposed again, it may not be someone so forgiving who finds you two.”

“Oh, we will, we will! I promise, Rhaenyra! And–and you aren’t going to tell anyone?!” A bright smile spread across Daenys’s face, and her lilac eyes sparkled with joy instead of tears. A single, bemused chuckle, soft as a breath, escaped Rhaenyra as she plucked a leaf from her sister’s hair.

She spun the leaf in her fingers, working the stem back and forth a few times before dropping it to the ground. “I would spare the court the details of how shameless and no doubt disgustingly sugary you two are.”

Daenys gushed her thanks, no doubt swooning and dramatically gesticulating as Rhaenyra took a few steps forward, closing some of the distance between herself and Ser Tyland Lannister. She brought her hands behind her back, hands clasped together as the Master of Ships bowed and offered his own gratitude at the heir’s generous forgiveness and promised discretion. When Rhaenyra spoke again, her voice was low so that only the man before her would hear her words.

“My sister is incredibly fragile, Ser. Keep that in mind so that you do not hurt her in any way, because if you do it is not His Grace or the kingsguard you need to be wary of. I imagine dragon fire hurts worse than being gelded.”

Ser Tyland’s face was unreadable as he responded, and his voice was unexpectedly even, “Daenys will continue to see nothing but the utmost gentleness and care, princess. She deserves nothing but my best.” His dark green eyes drifted to look past her, and she looked over her shoulder to see Daenys picking leaves out of her hair. Her sister looked utterly ridiculous, fussing and pouting and flouncing about in a haze of swishing purple and gold, but when Rhaenyra looked back at Ser Tyland his expression was so utterly enamored that it almost made her want to pantomime retching.

“Good day, Ser Tyland.”

“Princess Rhaenyra.” He bowed as she breezed past him. Whatever Daenys and her man got up to after she left was not her business, at least not right now. For the moment, Rhaenyra was content knowing that at least her sister had not replaced her, nor was she trying to leave her behind. Being trusted with secrets and the promise of love not lost was a satisfactory assurance of allyship. It was better than what some people had given her.

[whenthesnowfelloverwinterfell]

Vatic - Chapter V " Bastard "

Series Description : The youngest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent grows up split between the two sides of her family. With dreams plaguing her sleep of people she does not know, and a war looming ahead of her. She will be forced to choose between the two sides of her family, between the love for her brother, and the loyalty for her sister. 

Chapter Description : Y/n Targaryen learns discovers the truth of her nephews.

Warnings : none in this chapter

Pairing : eventual Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader ( cannon typical targcest idk what to tell you )

Word Count : 2.4k

Y/n had laid her eyes on baby Joffrey that morning. A sweet babe, with dark hair like his brothers, and dark eyes as well.  She had spent well over an hour with Rhaenyra sitting in the lush seats by the hearth in Rhaenyra’s family chambers. Y/n was fascinated by the infant. He was so small, and she was absolutely in awe at how something so small could be so strong to make it to adulthood, or even grow into someone her own size. Yet, she was aware that she was once Joffrey’s size, though,  she was certain her mother had described her as smaller than most newborn babes. 

Y/n knew very little about babies, and knew nothing about how a woman came to be with child. All she knew about childbirth, was that it must have been painful from the vague descriptions both her mother, and her sister had given her, and that having a child so soon after another could be dangerous, and unhealthy to both mother and babe. Y/n had been evidence of it. Having been born smaller than the rest of her siblings. 

But when Y/n had left, her sister had stopped her, and asked her to remind her lady mother of the proposition she’d given. When Y/n had asked what it was, Rhaenyra had explained it. 

“Jace shall rule over the kingdoms one day after our father and I am gone. I proposed that we betrothe the two of you. To allow the two of you to rule together. I also proposed that if Syrax were to lay another clutch of eggs, your brother, Aemond, may have his pick of the clutch.”

So Y/n had rushed to her mother’s chambers, hair falling from the style that the maids had put it in that morning. The prospect was exciting. It was only at the top five steps of the staircase leading up to corridor that led to her mother’s chambers did she trip and began to fall forward. She however, caught herself with her hands, and much like a dog would, used her hands to help her climb the stairs before she finally reached the top and continued running to the large wooden door, pushing it open and past the guard as soon as she arrived, with no notice to her mother. 

As she entered the room, she noticed that her mother was hardly dressed. She was still only in her stays and her petticoats. Before her mother’s ladies had realized that it was only Y/n, that had rushed to conceal the Queen from eye sight, all the while Alicent let out a yelp. That of a woman who had nearly been exposed to a stranger. 

The door was quickly closed behind Y/n, and she began to speak

“My lady mother! Please agree to Rhaenyra’s proposition!” 

Alicent looked at Y/n over the shoulders of the ladies who were shielding her from view. “Leave us.” She told them, and within seconds, the ladies were gone from the room, and Alicent stood before her daughter in her stays an petticoat. 

“What proposition would that be, my darling?” Alicent questioned, stepping down from the small step she’d been standing on and approached Y/n, her auburn curls bouncing with ever step she took towards her. As Alicent finally reached her, she brough Y/n close to her, an arm around the back of Y/n’s shoulder’s, her other hand holding the side of Y/n’s face to look up at her. 

“Me and Jace being betrothed.” Y/n told her, a fist ful of the cream colored petticoat in her hand as she looked up at her mother. “If I am betrothed to Jace, Aemond could have his pick of Syrax’s next clutch of eggs!” 

Y/n watched as her mother’s face dropped right before she pulled away from Y/n. “No.” Was the only response Alicent gave to Y/n as she walked towards one of the windows, staring out at the rest of the keep below them. 

“But, mother, It’s all he wants for! If my betrothal to Jace will allow Aemond to have a dragon I’ll do it!” She was pleading at this point, quickly approaching her mother. “You and father wouldn’t have to worry about finding me a husband, I’d be marrying the next king. Aemond would have a dragon!” 

Alicent quickly turned to look at Y/n, the contorted look on her face scared Y/n so much she was frozen in her tracks. Alicent then began to take large strides towards Y/n, and as she reached Y/n, she grabbed her face with one hand, her grip so hard it began to hurt Y/n’s jaw. “I said no, Y/n! I will not allow my daughter to marry a bastard! It is an insult for Rhaenyra to present them as true born heirs to the Velaryon and Targaryen household, to even dream of putting Jacaerys on the throne! No daughter of mine shall ever be wed to a bastard! I do not care if it will allow your brother to maybe someday have a dragon! Do you understand me?!” 

Y/n’s eyes were wide, staring into her mother’s with fear etched into her face. She was frozen in place. She’d never once been yelled at by her mother. She wasn’t sure she’d ever truly been yelled at. 

Y/n gave a struggled nod, finding it difficult to move her head when her mother had such a strong grip on her jaw. Alicent released Y/n, and gave a hand gesture that the young princess took to mean as a dismissal. 

Her eyes had begun to sting as she left the room. Tears trying to force their way from her eyes, and her throat began to burn as she avoided crying. She was doing her best to mask the emotions as she walked what felt like an eternity to her own bed chambers. And as she did finally reached her chambers, and the door closed behind her, she allowed the tears to fall as she lay in bed. 

Later in the evening, as the people of court became lively, celebrating the birth of yet another prince born to Princess Rhaenyra, Y/n left her chambers and went to the celebrations as well, finding herself mostly by Maris’ side. Both of them wearing green dresses, but Maris seemed to be enjoying herself far more than Y/n was. In the brief time that Y/n had known Maris, the Tarly girl was certainly the type for people. She’d make a fine lady one day. Y/n thought to herself. It wasn’t the life Y/n dreamed for herself. She did not wish to be kept away in a castle and have enough babies to fill every room. Sometimes at court, Y/n realized that's what had seemed to happen to some of the ladies. Lady Reyne seemed so dreadfully bored of her children and husband whenever the young princess spotted her at court. Much like the Lannisters, the Reynes always stood out like a sore thumb. Y/n knew pride when she laid eyes on it. She’d spent her whole nine years of life looking upon her mother’s pride. Alicent took pride in the house she was born into, her children always wearing green to represent it instead of their own house colors of black and red. the Reynes and Lannisters had a certain pride that put a sour taste in Y/n’s mouth, much like the taste of the northern ale that her father had once let her try at dinner. Y/n still recalled the bitter taste that had lingered on her tongue for the rest of the night. 

Y/n also knew how to spot something that would wound someone's pride. Her mother’s pride.And the one thing that would certainly wound it would be no other than Aegon. He stood leaning against a stone pillar by a stained glass window, it was only when the young princess had spotted her oldest brother did she leave Maris’s side and approached him. 

His hair was frizzy, and his skin looked dry. “Brother,” She greeted meekly as she reached up, looking up at her father’s oldest son. 

It was a good thing that Rhaenyra would one day be queen, and Aegon not the king.

Aegon’s violet yes peered down at Danara with disinterest before he looked away. “What do you want?” it was only then, as Aegon lifted a wineskin that was clearly full by how little he needed to tilt it back to get the light red liquid to his lips, did she realize he was already going to make their mother upset. She’d already angered her mother once, she didn’t wish to again. 

Y/n furrowed her brows and looked her brother up and down before sighing. “What exactly are bastards? Why are they a bad thing?” 

Aegon’s violet eyes then looked down at her once more, and she could see a fainted look of amusement on his facial features as the corners of lips were slightly pulled up in a grin. He grabbed Y/n’s shoulder and pulled her to stand next to him. “Do you see Lord Upcliff over there?” Aegon gestured to the blond-haired lord. “He’s been married to his wife for seventeen years, and he had yet to sire an heir on her. But he has children.” 

Y/n’s brows remained furrowed and she turned her head to look at her brother, who held a smug look upon his face. “That’s not possible, brother.” 

“Oh, yes it is.” 

“Mother said that children can only be sired by a man and wife.” 

“Legitimate children can only be sired by a man and wife.” Aegon corrected. “Bastard children are born when their mother and father are unmarried. And Lord Upcliff is said to have dozens of bastards wandering around the towns on Witch Isle. He sires them on the whores and servants in the town.”

The young princess was still confused. “But why are they bad?”She reiterated the question from earlier. 

“Why are you asking?” 

“Mother said that Jace and Luke were bastards.”

Aegon snorted a laugh and then scanned the crowd for the two dark-haired Velaryons that were bound to be either here, or by their mother’s side in her chambers with the newborn babe. “They are.” He responded. “Bastards can be sired upon married women as well. It’s clear to everyone at court, especially our lady mother, that Rhaenyra’s sons are bastards. They look nothing like herself or Ser Laenor. . . Yet, they bare a striking resemblance to the commander of the city watch.” 

“Ser Harwin?”

Her brother hummed in response. And in the crowd, Y/n saw the commander, standing with his father, the hand of the king off in the corner. And she couldn’t help but realize, that Harwin and her nephews did bare a striking resemblance. Jace and Harwin particularly. A similar facial structure. “Is it just the hair?” 

“It’s what mother noticed.” Aegon shrugged. 

“But Ser Laenor’s mother, Lady Rhaenys, her mother was a Baratheon. . . with black hair. . . could our nephews not have gotten it from her?” 

Aegon scoffed and shook his head. “If anyone was going to get Jocelyn Baratheon’s black hair that wasn’t Rhaenys, it would have been Laenor or Laena. Not our nephews. They’re bastards.” He was firm in his statement. Set on the idea that Jace, Luke, And Joff were all bastard from Ser Harwin Strong. 

“Why are they bad?” Y/n asked for a third time, growing frustrated by his lack of an answer. 

“Because women should save themselves only for their husbands. It’s against the faith to commit adultery, and bastardy is considered a sin. They are not the same as you and I. They were sired through sins of the flesh. Their very existence is based on lust, lies, and weakness, sweet sister. They themselves are inherently wanton and treacherous just based upon their birth. And Rhaenyra had placed one in line for the throne, and one in line for Driftmark.”

Y/n looked up at her brother. Was he himself a bastard then? But just the thought of it and Y/n knew it wasn’t true. Their mother was the most pious woman she’d ever met among the ladies of court. If it was against the seven gods, her mother wouldn’t have ever given birth to a bastard. 

“But Ser Laenor still calls them his sons. . .” 

“That is because Ser Laenor has. . . a queer appetite. They are the only sons he will ever have. Even if they are Ser Harwin’s bastards.”

It didn’t make much sense to the silver-haired princess as she walked away from her brother and back over to Maris who was conversing with one of the ladies of ladies of the Riverlands, Lady Morya Tully. She was a kind older woman, married to the heir of Riverrun, Ser Elmo Tully. The only daughter of the late Lord Lymond Mallistor. 

Y/n could easily look around the hall and name each house that everyone came from. If it was a noble or great house, or just a vassal house to another one. She knew which province they all came from. The word bastard didn’t feel like a new word to her. Yes, she’d heard it from her mother, but the concept didn’t feel entirely new to her. 

She still didn’t understand the significance. True-born and Bastard-born, the difference only being if the mother and father exchanged vows in front of the seven or in front of the old gods, or drowned god. She knew her nephews were not treacherous, so if they were bastards, then certainly the stigma wasn’t true? Or, their lack of treachery meant they were true-born. That’s the version she preferred. 

Yes, she knew that Luke and Jace teased Aemond, but they teased Aegon as well, and even herself. Aemond teased her. But she also knew that a majority of the cruel jokes played on her sweet brother were a result of Aegon’s true distaste of Aemond. The two were different, yes. Aegon had no true care for most Targaryen things, and Aemond, did. Aemond loved dragons, and the history of their house. Aegon spent his nights sneaking out of the castle to go out to Flea Bottom, and Aemond was always in bed when you expected him to be, and if he wasn't? He was either reading her to sleep in her own bed, and then promptly falling asleep beside her, or he was hidden away in his favorite corner of the library, a candle being the only light granted to him in order to follow the words along the pages he flipped.

Add yourself to the taglist!!

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @winxschester @blissfulbluenights @ghostlypineappl @dreaming-of-the-reality

[writingsofwesteros]

https://www.tumblr.com/writingsofwesteros/757518568067825664/httpswwwtumblrcomwritingsofwesteros757515711?source=share

"Aemond will go on Vhagar, meet Ser Criston at Rook's Rest." Nora said to the council in agreement with Aemond as Aegon shifted in agitation. "I am the King." Aegon said. "A king ought to defend his claim, not hide behind with the women and children." "It is not wise, Your Grace, you must be kept safe-" Lord Lannister tried to say. "I'm as fearsome as any of them. The realm might well forget that their King is a Targaryen." Aegon snapped. "No one would, My King," Nora cut in smoothly, placing a hand over Aegon's. "But with Daeron and Tessarion with Ser Otto in the Reach, we need to keep King's Landing secure with Vhagar gone. Cannibal and Sunfyre will do that." Aegon listened to her- something he hardly did with others, as his council well noted. "If the Pretender flies into battle and I do not then I shall be seen a coward," Aegon grumbled. "Rhaenyra will not fly on Syrax. Not for Rook's Rest- her council tells her to remain behind, and she listens. Vermax is too small, and I have it on good authority that she means to send Princess Rhaenys on Meleys." Nora told the council. "And which authority is this?" Lord Jasper asked. "The same one which told me that Daemon sought to take Harrenhall, and you and the men of this council refused to take heed. You remember, yes?" Nora said cooly. When the council members dispersed, Aemond gave Nora a look that said, 'Handle Aegon.'

As Aemond left Nora came and sat on Aegon's lap. "Why do you pout, brother?" She hummed. "Everyone does not fear me as their King. They speak as though I am a babe- I speak to mine own daughter with greater respect." Aegon grumbled as she stroked his hair. "Perhaps. But when your time comes, they shall fear you, because you are capable." She told him, guiding him to rest his head on her bosom. "But this is the right way, I know it." "What would you have me do?" Aegon asked, as he nuzzled against her cleavage. "Listen to your instincts, not your emotions. You might not be as knowledgeable as Aemond in some matters, but beneath all your emotions; your fear, your anger, your pride- you have good instincts. That day you held court I was so proud of you, brother," She kissed his forehead. "Seeing you try to help the smallfolk with an honest heart." Aegon sighed, and nodded. "Thank you." He whispered. Nora felt his arms tighten around her waist as she tugged down the front of her gown, freeing her breasts to him, giving him what he needed as his lips wrapped around one of her nipples as he began to suckle.

It was not the first time one of her brothers had needed such comfort- rather, they needed it most days. She was often called by Aemond to the Tower of the Hand where he worked for the same comfort, Helaena was summoned too, when their brothers were in need of this.

These are the council scenes I would watch thank you ;)

Aemond giving Nora a look, oh you know he can say so many things with that face of his.

Nora strokes Aegon's hair as he only burrows into her chest some more. "Me and you will protect Helaena and mother, and your children." She vowed.

[bohemian-nights]

Rhaenyra’s orders only pertained to Nettles. They never extended to Daemon. She did not “divorce” him. He could have “gone home” back to his wife if he wanted to.

Many Daemyra shippers like to claim that Daemon offed himself because Rhaenyra lost trust in him. He just couldn’t go on cause his Valyrian queen didn’t want him no anymore.

Let me clarify: this is a fanon theory that has no basis in canon. When I mean no basis I mean that it has absolutely 0 truth to it. Let’s look at the evidence shall we:

This is the passage of Fire & Blood where Rhaenyra sends out her kill orders for Nettles. Notice what’s missing? The part where Rhaenyra says she never wants to see Daemon again and is “divorcing him.” Why is it missing? Because it does not exist.

Pay close attention to the last highlighted section. Where Rhaenyra orders Nettles to be murdered in order for Daemon to be freed.

Rhaenyra believed that if she murdered Nettles whatever “spell” she cast on Daemon(because she like this fandom seem to believe that Daemon could never actually want Nettles unless to groom her or to just get his jollies off)would go away and he’d be back by her side with no conflict of interest as if it never happened.

In case that is somehow not enough evidence:

The last highlighted sentence explicitly states that Rhaenyra communicated in the letter(which Daemon read) that she did not want him harmed. She wanted Daemon alive and well.

See Rhaenyra actually needed Daemon(and his dragon) because contrary to what these stans try to say, her greatest threat was not Aemond. It was Daeron and his army:

(Mind you he was considered Rhaenyra’s greatest threat even before Ulf and Hugh betrayed her and joined up with Daeron. So even if Daemon did not know about the betrayal, which I imagine it was in the letter with Nettles' kill orders, he would know that Daeron was the biggest threat to her reign and safety).

Daemon dead or banishing him from her side would be an absolute no-go. After accusing Addam Velaryon of betraying her, Rhaenyra was down to about two dragons(Syraxes and Tyraxes) at her disposal.

(Judging by how she reacted to Joffrey trying to save his dragon during the storming of the Dragonpit, she was not going to let her son and heir go into battle on Tyraxes).

The Greens had about four full-grown dragons (even leaving out Sunfyre and Dreamfyre) on their side. Rhaenyra needed Daemon alive and whole if she wanted to win the war because without him her reign was finished.

Daemon would know this. Even if he killed Aemond he would know that Rhaenyra’s days would be numbered against the great southern army.

Does Daemon leave Maidenpool the moment that letter is in his hands to go to his wife and queen, “the love of his life,” who desperately needed him? Nope:

He reads the letter. Is in a bit of a daze cause he can’t believe what he is reading. A daze which he only comes out of it when Nettles asks him what was written in that later that had turned him so gray. It was her execution letter. He unsheathes his sword for her. Against his wife and queens orders.

He was going to fight through Lord Mooton’s men singlehandly for her. Daemon the kinslayer, the murderer of babes, unsheathes his sword for plain old dirty unwashed Nettles who no one would really miss if she were dead. No one except him.

(This is why I can not understand when people say Daemon “abused” Nettles or that he did not love her. He literally was going to give his life for hers. What is love if not sacrifice and what is the ultimate sacrifice if not giving your life so that the one you love can live?)

Now you might be thinking, well he saved Nettles, that doesn’t mean that he couldn’t go back to Rhaenyra when that business was done. So does he? Nope:

Daemon makes sure Nettles gets to safety then leaves for Harrenhal without following Rhaenyra’s orders in any capacity.

Rhaenyra overplayed her hand. She underestimated how much Daemon actually cared for Nettles. It cost her life in the end. After isolating herself by ordering all those arrests and deaths, she did not survive the year's end. Nettles would be murder helped to seal her fate because it caused her to lose the loyalty of her husband(and his dragon) who chose the woman who “bewitched” him over her.

I can not stress this enough, Daemon did not get sad cause “Nyra” did not love him no more. Rhaenyra never lost her fate in him. She blamed his “dalliance” with Nettles on spells.

She wanted him back by her side, therefore he could’ve gone back “home” at any time and the whole Nettles business would have been forgotten, but Daemon got sick of her bs, saved the woman who he loved, and bounced 🤷🏽‍♀️ He could’ve helped Rhaenyra win the war, but he chose to end it all rather than go back to her:

Or survived and found his way back to his Netty:

But that’s not popular even though it has way more canonical basis than Daemon died for Nyra.

So if it’s not true that Daemon lived, ate, sh*t for Rhaenyra until his dying day, and then offed himself cause he couldn’t take her not wanting him anymore, then why are Daemyra stans lying? Cause they don’t like that Daemon chose Nettles over Rhaenyra. A girl who should be less than their Valyrian queen.

[horizon-verizon]

Daemon made and brought Nettles gifts such as “an ivory-handled hairbrush, a silvered looking glass, a cloak of rich brown velvet bordered in satin, a pair of riding boots of leather soft as butter.”

This behavior from Daemon towards Nettles resembles the way he behaved towards Rhaenyra when he supposedly tried to seduce her/taught her the arts of seduction (depending on which tale you believe) early on in Fire & Blood, when King Viserys was still alive.

“Daemon spent long hours in her company, enthralling her with tales of his journeys and battles. He gave her pearls and silks and books and a jade tiara said once to have belonged to the Empress of Leng, read poems to her, dined with her. […] Uncle and niece began to fly “together almost daily, racing Syrax against Caraxes to Dragonstone and back.”

If Nettles was his bastard daughter, or if he cared about her as such and nothing else, he could have sent word to Rhaenyra about it. He could have gone to her himself, since his life was not in danger. Rhaenyra had been clear that Dameon wasn’t supposed to be harmed. If his relationship with Nettles was just platonic or even just sexual, he could have sent her away, realizing that his adventures (or what was perceived as an affair) with the dragonseed had gone too far, and returned to his Queen’s side, to rule beside her and fight her traitors. Daemon could have even killed Nettles himself if their relationship was simply transactional in the sense he wanted someone to sleep with while on his mission, and that would reinforce that even if he strayed away in their marriage, Rhaenyra was still his queen and the one he was loyal to. None of that would be out of character for him.

Instead, he allowed Nettles to escape alive and unharmed, in a scene that is written to convey how hard it was for them to be parting from each other and that they weren’t doing that willingly:

“How the prince and his bastard girl spent their last night beneath Lord Mooton’s roof is not recorded, but as dawn broke they appeared together in the yard*, and Prince Daemon helped Nettles saddle Sheepstealer one last time. […] Maester Norren records, “her cheeks were stained with tears.” No word of farewell was spoken between man and maid, but as Sheepstealer beat his leathery brown wings and climbed into the dawn sky, Caraxes raised his head and gave a scream that shattered every window in Jonquil’s Tower.” 

Daemon’s actions after Nettles is gone is to fly towards Harrenhal to face Aemond and Vhagar by himself. It’s a suicide mission: he has no desire of surviving and coming back to Rhaenyra.

This ask is in response to this recent reblog.

Thanks for being the next person who did not read the posts I already made against each and every argument you brought up. One of them is a master post darklinaforever compiled, and I reblogged it HERE. If you like, you can click the ones I already gave in that reblog (the first one) I wrote to that person. That's not my issue or responsibility.

But I have others regarding how Gyldayn, Eustace, and some people who look at Daemon and Nettles Maidenpool interactions, Daemon's feelings towards Rhaenyra, and his feelings towards Laena all both have to do with this argument for why I don't think Daemon x Nettles are and ever will be a thing:

POST#1

POST#2

POST#3 (Gyldayn on Nettles)

POST #4 (Lord Mooton, the execution letter, gifts, and bathing)

POST #5 (Laena & Daemon)

POST #6 (or just click HERE for me tracking Daemon's premeeting with Aemond, the actual meeting before they battle, and the aftermath/legacy)

BONUS: hamliet goes over why Mysaria Could have wanted Nettles dead HERE.

[sweetscarlettangel]

HotD Season 2 Episode 8 Live Thoughts

I liked the montage at the beginning after the recap

Essos (Tyrosh?)

Honestly, they're smart for wanting the Stepstones — they should have fortified them and used them post the Velaryon war

Tyland just wants to go home

Go girl!

Something will happen between them

King’s Landing

And the beginnings of Aegon's and Orwyle's bond

Honestly, Aegon seems to have more of a political mind than Aemond

So Larys' plan wasn’t Dragonstone originally?

If Sunfyre's dead then will Aegon claim another dragon? Is he actually alive but they don’t know it? Or will they simply change Rhaenyra's fate?

The Vale

And there goes Rhaena

Not a very good babysitter

Dragonstone

So they have Hugh be more reasonable than Ulf

Jace is so done with them and things are barely starting 

Driftmark

"The third brother" say your brother's name!

Helaena is no warrior, but Dreamfyre was an angry and vicious dragon

Corlys naming his ship for Rhaenys!

Harrenhal

Daemon finally seems happy and not in the middle of a nightmare

At a minimum, Daemon should’ve imprisoned Ser Alfred. It's treason what he’s suggesting and they both know it

And Ser Simon will tell the others

King’s Landing

Yeah, the riots will start because of Aemond

Helaena!

She's so innocent

Alicent planning to escape?

What happened to Aemond? Honestly, the inconsistency of the characterizations is one of the show's biggest weaknesses 

Crownlands

Gwayne & Cristin coming to a head

And now they’re having deep conversations?

Essos

Tyland isn’t having a good time

Why are they fighting in the mud?

Dragonstone

Baela being Jace's voice of reason

I like how she’s been given a bigger role this season

The Vale

Rhaena better find the dragon fast

Essos

Ok why is he singing?

Will they ever get his name right?

The Gullet is coming (probably in S3's premiere)

She got his name right!

Did not expect that…thought she'd want an affair or something

Dragonstone

Awkward dinner

Already showing the differences between Addam and Hugh & Ulf

The stills from this scene!

Hugh should try to get them to smuggle his wife away

Gerardys! Love him, an un-utilized king

Harrenhal

I’m disliking Alys more and more

Don’t understand why Helaena was in the visions

Thought the Dany in the visions would be with the 3 dragons grown

Saw another comment this and I totally agree: Daemon should’ve seen Jon while he was being named King and thought it was an older Jace

King's Landing

Oh no… foreshadowing Helaena's death

Harrenhal

Caraxes welcoming Syrax? Or angry Caraxes?

Syrax: I’m not meant for this Rhaenyra! Take me back to our island where I can be pampered!

Daemyra meeting after 6 weeks apart

And now Daemon believes in dreams and prophecies

I love Ser Simon (will probably use him in one of my stories)

No one can deny Daemon is a leader

Driftmark

Will Corlys and Alyn ever have a cordial relationship? Who knows!

And there's a bit of the Alyn from F&B

The Vale

We should’ve had a scene where the caretakers and guards of the kids realize Rhaena is gone

Dragonstone

Mysaria is laying it on a bit thick… the manipulation is becoming clearer 

Gosh this feels like lovers reuniting

So Alicent had an existential crisis in the woods and ended up with Rhaenyra 

The parallels to the Sept

Why didn’t she tell Helaena do they could pack gold and valuables, grab Jaehaera and go

The situation makes no sense… why would Alicent try to make peace after years believing Rhaenyra as queen would mean her children dead? After Daemon ordered her grandson's murder? And why would she even accept having Aegon killed, confirming her fears?

Again, the parallels - young Rhaenyra wanted to go away with Alicent and now older Alicent wants it

[lya-dustin]

To the ends of the earth

Or where Aemond elopes with Rhaenyra and Laenor’s only (and legitimate) daughter, Aemma, forcing their mothers (as well as them and the rest of their family) to mend their fences as they race agianst time to find the happily married couple.

Gif by @jeremiah146

Cw: underage sex, teen marriage,teen pregnancy, targcest, period typical attitudes and other mature content not suitable for people under 18

To the ends of the earth.

“Your Grace, your grace!” Her maid shook her awake frantically.

“Has something happened to the king, Talya?” Alicent asked the handmaiden as she donned her dressing robe and slippers with practiced ease.

Viserys had been growing weaker with each passing day, colds and other ailments threatened to make each day his last, and while Alicent cannot say she loved her husband, she cared for him and his health.

“No, my queen, its is the prince.” Talya's voice nearly shook with worry.

“Daeron, is he ill, did something happen to Aegon?” she asked praying no misfortune had fallen to her and hers.

“No, Prince Aemond.” The handmaid shook her head and it became clear when a hastily dressed Criston appeared at the door to her antechamber.

“He is gone, he has left!” Criston clutched a letter addressed to her and with a shaking hand, Alicent took it just as Syrax’s all to familiar roar cut this emergency short.

Her son was missing.

What in the seven hells did Rhaenyra want at this hour?

“Where my daughter, where is she?” Rhaenyra seethed, dressed in riding leathers fastened wrong and wearing one of Daemon’s cloaks.

Her sweet, her sweet and willful girl had run away. She had taken Silverwing, packed what she needed and left a note.

Her Septa, Laenor’s natural aunt, had awoken her and the entirety of the island when she found the bed empty and no hide or hair of Aemma.

Send me to the ends of the earth and wed me to the King of Mossovy or the Lord of the Grey Waste, Silverwing will always bring me back to Jaehaerys.

Those had been the only words in the letter she had left, no mentions of names or even a hint as to who she had been stolen by.

Rhaenys had gone to the Stepstones, Daemon to Pentos and she had come here.

Rhaenyra prayed Aerea’s fate had not fallen on her only daughter.

“She isn’t here. We would know if she was.” The dragonkeepers had said before adding, “Prince Aemond is fond of riding at night, perhaps he will encounter her and escort her back here.”

“My daughter, my daughter is gone.” Rhaenyra breaks down in tears when Alicent, looking just as frantic received her.

“Not just her, Aemond---” Alicent’s voice cracks as she shows her a matching letter. “Aemond has ran away as well.”

But do not think that you shall unmake this marriage. We are one now, and neither gods nor men shall part us.

Notes: the phrases written on the letters are direct quotes from Fire and Blood, The Three Brides where Jaehaerys and Alysanne elope to Dragonstone agianst their mother and step-father's wishes.

[fiora-miriel]

HotD rewatch episode 2

Episode 2: The incident at Dragonstone and the 2nd marriage

Daemon is on Dragonstone for at least the last 6 months. One of the few moments in this whole show where we are given an approximation of the time that has passed

Corlys and Otto in the Small Council. “I caution you Lord Corlys. A seat at the King’s table doesn’t make you his equal.” I know I'm biased but I think Otto thinks his seat makes him a bit mire equaler than Corlys.

Corlys is kind of proud of Rhaenyra for standing up here.

Also Otto and Mellos seem to glance at each other at the SC table??

Why is Rhaenys watching Rhaenyra during the Kingsguard selection?

Alicent encourages Viserys to speak with Rhaenyra which is kind of sweet

Viserys also realizes it is inappropriate what he does with Alicent

The way Alicent tells Rhaenyea that Viserys loves Rhaenyra. Does Alicent feel similarly that Otto really loves her? Is that maybe envy or some longing that Otto is not loving her as Rhaneyra  is loved by Viserys.

“He didn’t choose me. He spurns Daemon” Truer words were never spoken. I get that Viserys is angry but also there seems to be some hidden anger that we are never told

The meeting between Viserys, Corlys and Rhaneys? Viserys doesn’t like their honesty, even though he should à parallel to Daemon’s honesty.

Dinner between Rhaenyra and Viserys. He brushes her ideas aside and doesn’t prepare her?

The talk between Rhaenyra and Rhaenys? Why is it so confrontative? Also why is Rhaenys so bitter? Also why is that wig so weird

Alicent knows what is expected of her. Once again. She is complicit, even though she is also the victim here. Ugh Otto you idiot, you deserve be devoured by a dragon.

The dragonkeepers about the egg: It seems Otto understands at least a bit of High Valyrian?

Otto loves interrupting people at the Small Council and stokes the fire

Corlys is a bit of the mediator? He might have been a good hand?

But also it is hilarious that Lord Beesbury just drinks and is like “o gods what is happening again”

Viserys originally wants to go to Dragonstone himself, but Otto prevents it. Why? Could things have gone quite differently if Viserys had gone himself? Did Daemon want to speak with his brother?

Otto “cannot allow it” with what authority? Doesn’t he overstep here? Daemon is right, Otto is a c*nt

Also Otto being super manipulative. He is chastising and being concerned (fake) about Alicent picking her nails, but also demands that she should visit the kind (where she is clearly reluctant to do so)

Daemon wanted to see Viserys it seems

Otto is kind of an asshole to Daemon. Pretty insulting, even though Daemon is a prince of the realm. Wouldn't that mean he is theoretically higher up the social ladder than Otto?

Mysaria is kind of “wife, me?”

Ser Harold is so over it. Over both Otto and Daemon

Also why is Mellos there? He is useless on such a mission

As soon as Otto hears Caraxes whistles he is scared shitless. No one can convince me otherwise.

And when they hear Syrax, Otto is also “wtf this is not part of the plan” – And Criston is also flabbergasted. Harrold seems more like “Princess not again”.

The little glance Rhaneyra gives Otto? At that point he also seems to be thinking that the princess is either an idiot or another obstacle

After the talk between Mysaria and Daemon, Daemon seems to be a bit… disappointed? Sad?

Viserys meets with Lord Strong for council. Visersys feels threatened by Corlys. And Lord Strong calls Corlys (rightfully) proud. But he could also mention Otto here (fic idea). Strong is in favour of Laena. Strong is very right about Corlys. But also it seems that when Viserys wants impartial council he goes to Strong? I mean, good for him. Strong also warns about the Stepstones and the potential war. Strong indirectly makes the comparison between Corlys and Otto (even though he doesn’t know it). And Otto does not win here.

The sea snake has made a calculated reach. Fair play for a man of his position

Kingsguard comes in and tells Viserys that Rhaenyra went to Dragonstone herself. He doesn’t seem happy. And then she has to

“You are my only heir. You could have been killed.” Boy does Viserys have a bad opinion about Daemon.

And Rhaenyra is right that Otto couldn’t have reclaimed the egg without her

“To know that I’m not alone in my grief” Viserys left Rhaenyra alone. And the man barely reacts to that. Aemma can't have meant that much to him

“I do not wish to make us estranged.” Well not from Rhaenyra, but you estrange yourself from the rest of your family. And also from Rhaenyra

Viserys announcing  Alicent as his wife is still a bit out of the blue. Too much happens off screen here. Also, the fact that he didn’t even tell Rhaenyra? No wonder she is a bit estranged from you.

Diplomacy is also not Viserys’s strength, He could have at least tried to soften the blow for Corlys.

Also Otto is being such an ass in the council scene

Alicent looks miserable.

And the fact that Rhaenyra leaves the same way that Corlys does? Viserys learn to read the room

Love the worldbuilding and Velaryon background we are given

And Daemon and Corlys working together for the Steptones!

But Daemon is so proud. His second son standing is something that grates on him so much I think

“Being King was never my brother’s strongest trait”

Corlys looks at the bigger picture economically. And also at Viserys’s lavish lifestyle. He would have been a benefit for the Smalll Council if only Otto and Viserys would have let him speak more often

“I will speak of my brother as I wish. You will not” Daemon loves Viserys. He would defend him still.

Corlys also knows how to bait Daemon.

Love the foreshadowing of the Stepstones here and the first glances at Cragar