#that and Aegon IMPROVED westeros

[whateverthought]

Also, anyone saying the Targaryens are not the bad guys in most if not all of their history, that their Dynasty is not Rotten, is wrong.

What about the Incest, the Blood Purity ideology is not clicking? What about Aegon the Conqueror 'Going West' does not scream COLONIZER?

Do you honestly believe George R.R. Martin wrote these books with the intention of, these people who view themselves as Gods with a Divine Right to Rule, are right? These dictators and colonizers who ride the fantasy equivalent of a Nuke, who use them to burn down villages and towns and commit War Crimes, are the good guys?

Be For Real

[lemonhemlock]

https://twitter.com/Targ_Nation/status/1611158240359759872?t=bfo77HLITj21KBLCUKx6fA&s=19

Seeing all those likes took years off my life

i don't even know where to begin............

"centrist bs" - the concept of left and right doesn't exist in a medieval setting ...................

where was this energy when cersei was committing abuses left and right and placing her bastard children on the throne? why didn't "the modern audience" "almost unanimously stand by the side of the woman being usurped of her throne" back then? 😵

but this isn't even about one side being more wrong than the other or both sides being awful or war being horrible as a rule or the smallfolk always paying with their lives and livelihoods when the high lords play their game of thrones

that entire tweet is predicated on not grasping the basic principles of the polity they are operating within 😫 you cannot define usurpation based on absolute primogeniture when that society relies on male primogeniture for inheritance, in that context it literally means the opposite

words don't somehow gain whatever meaning you want based on what you think is fair, same how laws don't materialize into existence just because you say so. any kind of law is a social construct, doesn't exist outside the confines of society and requires a certain kind of framework in order to be accepted & enforced. if proposed laws are not accepted by the majority and cannot be enforced, they only exist on the astral plane

there aren't even any proper institutions in westeros. literally the only ones i can identify are the crown and the small council, which serves as a kind of proto-government. there's no parliament, there's no proper justice system, no magna charta. the only courts that seem to operate are Faith-based courts and your liege lord's judgment. medieval-style legal systems and law enforcement are headache-inducing as a rule anyway, but feudal monarchies generally involve constant negotiations and power leverages between kings and their vassals

a more apt characterization of the Dance would be what exactly and how much can the targaryens get away with now that they've decided to impose themselves as rulers of a unified westeros. so far, they had to accept the religion of the land (aegon the conqueror was anointed by the high septon) and were forced to renounce polygamy. they got to keep practicing incest as a result of jaehaerys' successful doctrine of exceptionalism. see? negotiation. now the question remains - are they going to respect succession laws like a normal person (i.e. Andal Law) or are they going to resort to this ridiculous circus every time a targaryen monarch dies? because at the point of the dance, there had hardly been a straightforward transition of power since the conquest

for the internal coherence of this fictional world to be maintained, the nobles should be pushing Andal inheritance rights like crazy, because their own succession is decided on the basis of that and they would be directly interested in not fucking it up for themselves or their descendants by having weird precedents set by the royal family. a lot of these lords, if not most, have bastard siblings/children of their own, as well as elder sisters/daughters. it doesn't make sense for them to threaten their own stability for the sake of rhaenyra of all people, who isn't even good at her job and has done absolutely nothing to endear herself to them. what could they possibly gain by supporting her?

the question of the monarch imposing a law is much more believable in a centralized state, which westeros most definitely is not. imposing laws can also be done via force, of course, as long as """the state""" retains the monopoly on violence. the targaryens' v effective military superiority has so far been conferred by dragons. but rhaenyra's side isn't the only one that has dragons anymore. the opposing faction, i.e. the side who'd perpetuate Andal law, also has them now, as it happens. ergo war.

this situation is absolutely not similar in any way to today's democracies where laws are voted by parliament and the rest of the country have no choice but to abide by them or else the police come knocking on your door and hand you over to the our modern justice system, where your punishment is set by objective specialists & not decided by crazy stunts like trial by ordeal or the whims of your liege lord

tldr: there is no incentive for westerosi nobility to break andal succession law for rhaenyra, since it would be legal self-sabotage by setting a precedent that could come to bite those very same people in the a*se. rhaenyra is NOT an only child - by having trueborn brothers, the only way she can ascend is by breaking the laws & customs of the land. ergo disgruntled lords will inevitably flock to alicent's sons to form covert alliances & subversive power centres that, in time, will erupt in open rebellions. real-world historical examples attest to this happening with or without the consent of their respective figureheads (eg. lady jane grey) - i.e. it doesn't matter if aegon/aemond/daeron play happy families or not. in turn, the only way rhaenyra can prevent this is by executing her brothers/their male descendants. the greens don't want to die => the only way of achieving security for them is by claiming the throne.

alternatively, rhaenyra's life is not in danger as long as she bends the knee, as no-one in-universe would take her claim seriously with 3 living brothers. rhaenys also bent the knee to viserys after losing an election and is still alive. i'll say it again: it is not in the lords' best interest to support rhaenyra in the first place. if we are to go by any logic - what would they gain, should they flock to her? they would destabilize the line of succession for themselves for a (pretty terrible) queen, a reviled king consort and a bastard heir. but, as far as advantages and favours are concerned, what would they be, specifically? in order to outweigh the above-mentioned disadvantages?

you should all blame viserys for getting remarried and fathering sons, because had rhaenyra remained an only child or had only sisters, none of this would be happening & she would have become the first ruling queen of westeros

[perfinn]

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you have a tendency to pick up strays, but when you pick up the king of westeros (who was supposed to have died hundreds of years ago), things begin to get a little complicated

cw: NSFW, f!reader, aegon being a creep (shocker), aegon being deeply pathetic (also shocker), aegon is drunk or possibly hung over, attempted sex (aegon begs for a handjob but doesn't get one)

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

You’ve always been too nice. You’re aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it’s a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone’s day marginally. It’s not as though you’re without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous. 

You’re smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there’s more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn’t put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you’re about to break your successful streak.

There’s a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone’s attention. Usually, he’s the type you’d regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn’t seem like the usual King’s Landing crackheads. He’s dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he’s young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they’re young. 

He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you’ll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you’re going to acknowledge him. 

“Hi,” you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you’ve gotten quite good at. You’re not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. “Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt.”

“What the fuck are those things?” He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. “Where are the horses?”

You know he must be confused, so you’re gentle with him. “There's no horses,” you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. “Are you okay?”

“No!” He snaps. “Course I’m not bloody okay! Where am I?!”

“You’re in King’s Landing,” you say. “Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?”

“This,” he laughs in disbelief, looking around. “Is not King’s Landing, I know what King’s Landing looks like!”

“Okay,” you nod. “I believe you. Let's go sit down, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. “And wine?”

“No,” you say, and he deflates. 

He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. “Yes, fine.”

You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they’ll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint. 

He follows behind you, panicked eyes still looking around as though he's never seen the world before. It's not wonder, but something close to anger, indignation maybe. You make it to a diner you like, opening the door for him. He's clearly astounded by the ugly cacophony of colours inside, but you can't blame him. You don't come here for the aesthetics. 

“Go sit down?” You tell him gently, framing it like a suggestion as you point to your favourite booth. He scowls, but does as bid. 

The teen behind the counter takes little notice of your strange company. It's King’s Landing, he's probably seen something ten times as strange already today. Once you’ve paid, you join your new stray, sitting down across from him and folding your hands on the table. 

“So, what's your name?” You ask him, and he looks away from the bustling street outside the window to stare at you in what you assume is disbelief. 

“What’s my name?” He echoes, leaning slightly over the table. “Are you serious?”

You blink. That’s… not a question anyone’s ever been mad at you for. You learned quickly which questions to steer clear of to avoid pissing people off.

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat and tapping a dirtied fingernail against the peeling surface of the table. “Aegon,” he says, almost experimentally. Like he's testing the waters. 

You nod politely, and tell him yours.

He stares at you. “Nothing? Aegon? You’ve not heard the name Aegon?”

“Well, of course I have,” you say, confused smile pulling at your lips. “It's a common enough name. I think I knew a guy in school named Aegon–”

“You have been to school?” Aegon asks, eyebrows shooting up and a laugh spilling from his mouth. He leans back, dragging his hands over his clammy face. “Have I been drugged?!”

You’d put serious money on that being a resounding yes. 

“This is crazy,” he says, leaning forward again. He says your name slowly, glancing around before his eyes land on you. “Can you tell me what's going on?”

You bite your lip, thankful when the cashier calls out your order number. You rush to get up and get it, fearing you may be way out of your depth this time. He talks like he’s never seen the world before, and his comment about you having gone to school… none of it makes any sense. You’ve never even had the thought of dropping someone off with someone who’s better equipped to handle problems of this magnitude, but Aegon has you really considering it. When you return with the tray of food and set it down, Aegon has the specials menu in hand and is squinting at it. 

“I got you what I usually get,” you say, setting the tray down and placing his wrapped burger in front of him, leaving the fries on the tray. “Aegon, I want to help you, but I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“That certainly makes two of us,” Aegon says, unwrapping the burger curiously. “What meat is this?”

“It’s beef,” you tell him, unwrapping your own. He watches as you take a bite of yours, and he nods as though in satisfaction before taking a hefty bite of his. “Aegon, I want to understand what’s going on in your head. Can you just…”

You’re not sure how to say it, really. It’s invasive, and you don’t want him to feel like you believe he’s crazy, or lying.

“What’s your deal?”

He chews slowly on his burger, eyeing you suspiciously. “My deal,” he echoes, lips turned down in a scowl. “Is that I’m the King of Westeros.”

You nod slowly, biting into your burger so you don’t have to answer right away. You hope if you stay silent long enough, he’ll feel compelled to keep talking. 

“King Aegon,” he says slowly, like you’re the deluded one. “Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all the rest. Are you serious?”

You swallow your mouthful and nod. You’re not particularly well versed in history, but the titles ring a bell. It’s some sort of messiah complex, you’d wager. Trying your best not to seem dismissive, you pull out your phone. “Let me see,” you say. 

“What’s that?” He asks, leaning forward and trying to snatch it from you. You move it out of his way, yelping softly in contrition. 

“My phone!” You say. “I’m just looking you up, Aegon.”

“You’re what?” He says, looking horrified. “Give me that!”

“Dude, no! Let me just–” You stand up from your seat to be out of his reach, hurriedly typing the name he’d told you into the search bar. “Look, I know the name Targaryen, that’s the Conqueror's name!”

“Yes! Aegon the Conqueror!” He cries. “You’re finally making sense!”

“What? No, I mean Daenerys!”

“Who!?”

“Aegon, sit back down!” You snap, and he pauses in his pursuit of your phone, stunned into silence by your firm tone. Slowly, he returns to his seat, picking up a fry to eat it. 

“Only because I want to,” he says childishly. 

You frown at him, shaking your head before looking back at your phone as it pulls up the results for your search. 

‘Aegon II Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Elder, was the sixth Targaryen king to sit the Iron Throne, succeeding his father, Viserys I Targaryen, as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.’

The search pulls up a picture as well, one of those terribly done paintings from the dark ages. It’s hard to say whether the Aegon in front of you looks much like the one in the painting, but he does have the same pale blonde hair and violet eyes. He’s a lot more pathetic than the portrait, too. He has the qualities of a wet cat, and you hate that it’s somewhat endearing. When you keep scrolling, you find a painting that can’t have been contemporary. This is a more detailed portrait, likely from half a century ago, where Aegon is covered in burns and lies dead in a carriage. 

You look up, meeting the wary eyes of the confused but un-burned man before you, and slowly sit back down. You know that he isn’t actually the king from nearly a millennium ago, but there’s an uncanny quality about him that makes you want to doubt the logical truth. His clothes, for one. You don’t know many homeless guys with such fine embroidery on their clothes. And there’s his features… you know them to be Valyrian, but rarely does anyone still pop up with the stark blond and violet irises. You remember well enough from your high school history classes that the Targaryen dynasty had those features.

“What does your little brick do?”

You blink, looking down at it and pulling up the contemporary portrait – part of you tells you not to show him the other. He scowls at it, but nods. “Seven hells, that’s not flattering. Where did you get this miniature? You have this and yet claim not to know me? What game do you play?”

You sigh. He truly doesn’t understand, does he? 

“Aegon, what year do you think it is?”

He rears back and regards you with more suspicion. “129 AC,” he says.

“And what were you doing before this?” 

“I will not tell you that,” he says. “You’re one of Rhaenyra’s spies, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know who Rhaenyra is,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, Aegon, I’m not a history buff.”

“History–” He stops, and goes deathly silent for a long moment, as though the whole situation is finally processing for him. You wonder if it’s the stench of wine that hangs off him explains his slow processing. “What year do you think it is?”

You tell him the year, even tack today’s date on for him. He stares are you, and you can see his brain buffering yet again. 

“Seven hells,” he murmurs. You find you share a similar sentiment. 

He picks up his burger and begins to eat it slowly. He’s silent for a long while, eyes seeming far away as he contemplates. You try not to stare at him, but it's no easy task. 

“This is going to sound crazy,” he says after a long while. “But I believe I may have travelled… through time.”

“I’d say so, yeah,” you respond. At this point, it's the only explanation. You’d usually say something about eliminating all the impossible options, but that just doesn't work here. Time travel is impossible, or it should be. And it's possible Aegon is just suffering from a deeply intense messiah complex. But that doesn't seem right. Your instincts haven't led you wrong before, you’re not about to ignore them now. 

“What am I going to do?” asks Aegon.

You want to tell him you’re going to try to find a way to get him back to his own time, but you’re struck once more with the image of him burned and twisted, dead in a carriage. How can you send him back to his fate knowing his grisly end?

You take in the man in front of you, this historical figure you’d never heard of until five minutes ago, and bite your lip. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “You… can stay with me until we do.”

That’s probably dumb, and you’ll probably regret it. But not more than you would regret leaving him out on the streets.

“I suppose,” sighs Aegon like he’s spoiled for choice. You get up to ask for a bag for your food, glancing back as Aegon chews sadly on his burger. 

You get Aegon back to your place, and he wanders into the flat ahead of you. You watch him go with a soft huff, rolling your eyes. If everything else hadn’t convinced you, his attitude is proof positive that he’s from the past. He has all the entitlement of a prince and none of the consideration of those around him that modern men have (sometimes) gained. 

Your flat isn't much, two bedrooms and mostly paid for by your university. You had a flatmate for a time, but their sudden withdrawal left you without anyone and the school doesn’t seem to have noticed. Aegon can stay in the empty room until you figure him out. 

Aegon’s standing in your living room, staring in wonder at the decor you’ve collected over the course of your degree, at your television, maybe he’s just looking at all of it. He’s turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed. 

“This is very nice for a commoner. Very strange, but it is not… disgusting.” He pauses in his assessing, looking between you and the ridiculous tapestry you purchased one night after far too many drinks. “Who is this man?”

“Oh, he’s this guy from a movie,” you say, not really processing that he won’t understand what a movie is. He stands there, dumbstruck, while you go to put your leftover food in the fridge. 

“A what?”

“Just… don’t worry about it. There’s going to be a lot for you to take in, but with any luck you won’t be here too long.” You come back over to him, taking him in. He looks out of place standing here in his king’s threads. “Let me get you something to wear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he says, shifting and taking in your clothes. “Where is your father? Your husband?”

“My father is in my hometown, and I don’t have a husband.”

“You live without a man?” He eyes you suspiciously. “A whore?”

“Okay,” you say, gently grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him over to the sofa. “Sit here, I have some men’s clothes lying around. Do not move.”

Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes and sitting back with folded arms. You wonder, as you go into your room to find something for him, if he’s heard the word ‘no’ very much in his life. It wouldn’t seem that way, but sometimes the way he reacts to you telling him off leaves you thinking otherwise. He’s a bigger mystery than you’ve ever faced, but something tells you he’s worth it.

You emerge after a while to see him flicking through the book you’d left on your coffee table, frowning. He looks up when you enter, setting the book down. “Your home is peculiar,” he informs you. 

“I know,” you say, handing him the soft clothes you’d found. “Student housing is kind of a lottery. You can get changed in the spare room, if you want. I’m going to go shower. If you get hungry, your leftovers are in that big white box there, okay?”

“Yes, yes, whatever.” 

You watch him enter the near-empty bedroom and shut the door, heaving a heavy sigh before you go off to your own room. You don't shower. Instead, you pull out your computer and set out to learn all that you possibly can about Aegon. 

What you learn twists your stomach into knots so tight you feel that they would trap the nausea that grips your throat from escaping. Aegon was no saint, no, but what you find is that his life is steeped in tragedy. If he believes himself to be king now but remains unburned by his cousin’s dragon, he must be near the end of his life; but the worst of his troubles have yet to begin. 

It is strange to think of the pathetic and bratty man in your flat as growing into the role of a king, if one could say he ever did. He seems nothing but a lost young man, unloved but for the power he afforded his Hightower family. 

The reports on him are so extensive and exhaustive that an hour has passed before you realise you haven’t been disturbed. You get up from your desk, wondering if Aegon has somehow wandered out of your flat and back onto the street.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your kitchen cabinets strewn open, and your cheap bottle of vodka now empty on the counter. Aegon is sprawled on your sofa, cradling a novelty ceramic beer mug you won in a pub quiz in your first year. 

“Seven hells,” you mumble, going over to him and snatching the cup from him to be met with his whining protests. You sniff the cup, nose scrunching in disgust at the acetone-y smell. “Not even a mixer…”

Aegon looks up at you, trying to reach for the cup and whining your name. At least he changed into the sweats. The King’s Landing University jumper rather suits him, actually. 

“Please,” he says, looking even more closely akin to a wet cat. He seems on the verge of tears. “You’re pretty, do you know?”

“I’ve heard,” you say, setting the cup down on the coffee table and turning to him.

He grabs your wrist, tugging you closer with surprising strength considering how sloshed he is. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. He almost sings your name. “Will you get me off?”

“Wh- Aegon!” You snap, tearing your wrist away. “No!”

“Please! Just your hand, you’ve got such soft hands!”

“Aegon,” you hiss. “No. You’re drunk. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn't be okay. You don't know what you're saying.”

Aegon pouts at you, falling back against the sofa and letting out a soft hiccup. “That doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe not in your time,” you say, grabbing him a blanket and laying it over him. “Gods- just- just try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning when you're fully sober.”

“I’ll die before that,” he says, snuggling up to the soft blanket with a ridiculous cartoon of a wolf on it. Another of your decor purchases you thought would be hilarious in the moment. You grab his cup and pour what’s left of the vodka into the sink before gathering up your remaining bottles and vowing to take them to the cabinet in your room with a lock. 

“Maybe. But if you vomit on my carpet, you’ll be paying the cleaning bill, your grace.”

part ii

[the-fiction-witch]

Secret Visits

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - Lady Y/n (Betrothal) Rating - Flirty AF (Mentions of Smut) Word Count - 1582

Prince Jacaerys stood in the main hall of Dragonstone, his Maester long abandoned him to go and deal with other matters. The fire below caused the glow of the painted table his hands leant against, the light of the sunny afternoon cascading through the tall windows. He did his best not to glance at his high Valriyan books trying to recount them by himself.

“Se se rōvēgrie lords teptan bē pōja vōljesi, declaring naejot aegon hae dārys” ‘And the great lords gave up their crows, declaring to Aegon as king’

Lady Y/n chuckled as she entered from the side, she walked closer in a gown of blood Targaryen red embroidered with black metallic dragon scales, her hair in a long braid,

"Pōja gelti" ‘Their Crowns’ she corrected him,

Jacaerys raises his head and meets the gaze of Lady Y/n. Her voice brings a smile to his lips, He stands and straightens his back, his eyes admiring his betrothal. "Ahh, Lady Y/n," he says with a slight bow. "Yes, you're right. Sorry, I'm still trying to improve my Valyrian. Gelti, of course. You- you look radiant today."

"Thank you Prince Jacaerys," she cooed, "it is no need to apologise, you are learning. It is your timetable trial and fail," she smiled as she walked past him, stroking her hand across his shoulders before she ran it over the ridges of the table,

He smiled warmly at her, his gaze following hers, "You're too kind," he said. "Yes, it's all trial and error. But it's worth it. This language is part of our heritage as Valyrians. We must preserve it."

"Indeed we must, there is much of old valyria that is gone now. The shreds that remain must be protected." She said her fingers stroking across dragon stone on her painted table map "Language is often first to falter in these things, as it is so ever-changing. There were one hundred of languages in Westeros now there are barely three in use,"

Jacaerys nodded in agreement, his eyes watching her fingers tracing the map and lingering on Dragonstone he knew what she meant Dragonstone was the seat formed by their ancestors and all in it down to the smallest brick needed to be preserved. He couldn't deny the truth in her words. "Language has a way of evolving and fading, especially in times of upheaval," he replied. "It's true that the number of languages in Westeros has diminished over time. It's a shame to lose such rich and varied traditions, as they often hold the stories and wisdom of our ancestors."

"mmm... Many of our ancestors have concealed secrets of our history." She said so matter of factly as if she knew, "We must never rob our future, of the knowledge of our past." She turned looking over her shoulder at him, "Even secrets we wish to conceal," she looked at him her eyes sharply making eye contact,

"Indeed," Jacaerys replied, a little shaky. His heart beat a little faster, sensing the weight of her words. "Secrets and knowledge have power, and we have a responsibility to wield them wisely," he said. "But some secrets are better kept than shared. There's a fine line between preserving history and revealing truths that could have consequences."

Y/n chuckled, "and you wouldn't know if any such secrets? Would you Prince Jacaerys?"

Jacaerys didn't break eye contact, in fact making a point not to as he thought it would make him look like he was lying so he didn’t blink for a good few seconds. "P-Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't," he replied, "But even if I did, the value of a secret lies in its concealment. Wouldn't you agree, my lady?"

she chuckled, “se skoros lo nyke massitas naejot gīmigon mēre hen aōha byka secrets ñuha dārilaros” "and what if I happened to know one of your little secrets my prince?"

Jacaerys' heart skipped a beat as she spoke to him. Her words sent a familiar chill down his spine. He responded as best he could, “Se skoros secret would bona sagon, ñuha riña?” "And what secret would that be, my lady?" he asked,

she took her time to walk slowly to him letting his eyes linger on her, an evil smile across her lips, when she was close enough he could smell her rose perfume, she moved closer whispering so close he could feel her breath on his ear "I know you've been sneaking though the castle late at night, I know you've been entering my room whilst I sleep... And I know what you've been doing while you're there." She pressed a kiss to his cheek before she stepped back meeting his eyes

Jacaerys' heart nearly stopped, her breath tickled his ear. He froze, his eyes widening in shock. How could she know? He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

"Wha- I don't know what you're talking about, my lady," he attempted to deny, but the flush in his cheeks betrayed his panic. "I would never-"

"I know Jacaerys."

Jacaerys felt caught, his secret exposed and his denial ineffective. He could see the knowledge in her eyes, and he was at a loss for words. He clenched his jaw, the silence between them filled with tension. After a long moment, he spoke again, his voice quiet and strained. "How... How long have you known?"

"a week" she answered

A week. The revelation hit Jacaerys like a punch to the gut. All this time, she had known, and he had been none the wiser. He let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding. "And you... You didn't say anything?" he asked, his voice tinged with both relief and disbelief. "Why?"

she chuckled "You seemed to be enjoying yourself"

Jacaerys felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He had believed he was stealthy, yet she had known all along. The thought of her silently watching him, letting him continue... It was both mortifying and strangely thrilling. "So... you knew and you didn't say anything," he repeated, still trying to digest this information. "And you let me continue..."

"you seemed to be enjoying it so much, I didn't want to disturb you, after all... You were so gentle and sweet,"

Jacaerys' heart thundered in his chest at her words. "Sweet" and "gentle." It was more than he had expected. He looked at her, his eyes betraying a mixture of shame and fascination. "Did... Did you not mind, then?" he asked, the question hanging heavy between them.

"I mind you not asking." She chuckled "But I think it's cute the prince of Dragonstone, is so very smitten with his betrothal he can't even wait till the wedding and has to sneak into her bed chambers at night to watch her sleep and touch himself over her," she cooed tickling his chin,

Jacaerys' face flushed scarlet as her words hit him. She had seen everything, heard everything. His secret desires and shameful indulgences. The realization and the humiliation hit him like a tidal wave. He swallowed hard, trying to regain some composure. "I... I don't know what to say," he muttered, his voice almost a whisper. "It's not that I don't want to wait. I just... I just can't help myself..." He looked up at her, a mixture of shame and defiance in his gaze. He was tired of pretending, tired of denying himself what he truly wanted. "It's just... you're so beautiful and so close, and I... I can't help it. I know it's wrong. I know I'm weak. But you don't understand the effect you have on me..."

"aww aren't you sweet, it's alright Jace" she took his hand in hers and kissed his forehead “Our little secret"

Jacaerys felt the tension in him ease a little as she took his hand and kissed his forehead, her words like a soothing balm. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the gentle press of her lips against his skin, before looking up at her. "Our secret," he said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"your not weak to be impatient, we have been betrothed now for three years it's understandable you'd grow impatient in time. It's alright you can visit as much as you like"

Jacaerys' heart leapt at her words. He hadn't expected her to be so understanding, so willing to turn a blind eye to his transgressions. Yet here she was, making it possible for him to continue his nighttime visits. "Are you... are you sure?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief and hope.

"if they make you happy," she nodded "Perhaps tell me when you plan to visit so I can ensure I have nice sheets" she chuckled "and perhaps my sweet betrothal could... Leave me some flowers when he's done?" She cooed

Jacaerys' heart skipped a beat as he absorbed her words. She seemed almost pleased at the prospect of his visits, and the idea of leaving her flowers... It was a sweet, intimate gesture that made his heart race even faster. He smiled, a genuine, grateful smile. "Of course," he promised. "I'll let you know when I plan to come, and I'll leave you the most beautiful flowers each time."'

"then I shall look forward to your next visit my prince" she cooed kissing his cheek before she went to leave

Jacaerys nodded, a strange mixture of relief and excitement coursing through him. He watched as she left, his mind processing the conversation and her unexpected acceptance of his nightly visits. As she exited the chamber, he found himself looking forward to his next secret visit, already mentally selecting which flowers to leave for her.

[libraryoffandomsuniverse]

Being Rhaenyra Targaryen's husband would include:

Masterlist

Okay this is my 3rd time uploading this, because tumblr was being a whiny bitch. This turned out much longer than I expected and I'm already planning on writing more in this au. I combined book and show canon, although I kept the Velaryons as black. I also renamed some of Rhaenyra's children and gave her 1 more.

This is not team green friendly or kind to Alicent. At all. Reader is a petty bitch who adores his wife and whose love language is murdering their enemies in various secret ways.

Warnings include murder, forced infertility (Viserys), Rhaenyra and Reader scheming for the throne.

You're the oldest son of Rhaenys Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon. Greatness is in your blood.

You're proud - how can you not be? You're the oldest son of the Sea Snake and The Queen Who Never Was, the heir to High Tide and the next Lord of Driftmark. You're the second rider of Silverwing, after Queen Alysanne. You are cunning and clever - everything your parents could wish for in a son. You have a lot to be proud of.

After fighting in the Stepstones and being knighted, you emerge as one of the chief candidates for Rhaenyra's hand.

The brothel incident still happens in this au and Rhaenyra still sleeps with Criston.

When your betrothal is announced, you both agree to do your duty. And although you aren't Daemon or Criston, you are still handsome and a warrior. Doing her duty will not be difficult for Rhaenyra.

You quickly fall in love, much to both your surprise. Rhaenyra falls first, your loyalty and ferocity in defending her sneaks past her defences.

You fall harder, her wit and hidden darkness, the type that matches yours, pulls you in. Her soul speaks to yours and feels familiar on some level.

By the time Jacaerys is born, you're incredibly happy and in love with each other.

Your darling boy is quickly followed by Lucerys, Baelon, Aegon, Gaemon and eventually (after a few years) your twin daughters Visenya and Aemma.

Your royal apartments are rarely quiet because of your children. They adore their mother's hugs, love to hang off your shoulders and follow you both around the Red Keep like little ducklings.

Being the best dressed couple in Westeros. Rhaenyra likes it when you match and often coordinates your outfits to do so. Sometimes it's matching her dress to your doublet, other times it's more subtle like you wearing ruby beads in your locs to match the precious stones in her bodice. It makes her feel like you're on a team and she knows you feel the same way, judging from the little smirk and raised eyebrow you give her when you see her and the maids going through your wardrobes.

You and Rhaenyra love to gossip together. It mainly happens in bed after you make love. She tells you the latest rumours her ladies in waiting told her and you reveal the scandals you heard from your manservant and squires.

You encourage her to be more visible to the common folk. You know that if she has their love, then any attempts to usurp her will fail. Your little family becomes regular fixtures in King's Landing as you explore the city and restart Queen Alysanne's charitable ventures. Rhaenyra starts heading sessions for women to raise any issues.

You know it's working when you hear people talking about the Realm's Delight and the Sea Dragon and praising your efforts in improving their lives.

The sight of you both racing your dragons high in the sky is a frequent occurrence. It started as a way to unwind after the small council meetings. As your family grew, your children joined in, strapped into yours or Rhaenyra's saddles. When they grew old enough and their dragons were big enough, they followed you on theirs.

Dividing your time between Dragonstone and the Red Keep, although visits to Driftmark are also regular events.

Laenor frequently pops in to visit and spoil your children.

Corlys and Viserys both compete to be the favourite grandparent, but you and Rhaenyra know that Rhaenys is the real favourite. For the sake of peace, you won't reveal it.

Despite Daemon and Laena staying in Pentos, you keep up a regular correspondence with them. You even arrange to meet in Driftmark with your children a few years into your marriage. Your children bond quickly, while the adults watch on and tell stories.

Being married to the heir to the Iron Throne isn't easy and there are many people who would see that Rhaenyra never becomes Queen.

As her consort, you consider it your duty to make the path easier for her.

Your first victim is Criston Cole. After murdering Joffrey Lonmouth, you expect him to get punished. The news of Queen Alicent accepting him as her sworn sword leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, particularly when you have to break the news to Laenor.

Along with your pride, one of your greatest attributes is how protective you are of your loved ones. Joffrey was Laenor's lover as well as one of your good friends.

It takes a little while to plan, but one day gossip erupts about Criston being found drunk in a brothel that's particularly debauched, even by the standards of King's Landing.

You seize your chance and tell your goodfather that perception is important, that such a knight like that cannot be allowed to guard the royal family, especially the Queen. Viserys ignores Alicent's protests and Criston is gelded and sent to the Wall.

Speaking of Viserys, you know that any sons he has will be pitted against your wife.

You also know that his health isn't very good.

You decide to help him by giving him a tonic that your mother swears by, along with some lotions and creams. "Two drops of this with your morning meal every day and you'll soon feel better, Your Grace," you persuade him. "And wouldn't it be wonderful if you could meet your future grandchildren?"

Your father told you once you could sell water to a fish, such was the power of your silver tongue.

Viserys' health does improve after taking the tonic and the lotions that are massaged into his skin fix most of his pains.

However you failed to mention that the tonic and lotion both have herbs which cause infertility if used over long periods of time. Your mother only uses the tonic, and does so sparingly.

Viserys and Alicent only have Aegon and Helaena as a result of your actions.

You and Rhaenyra work hard to charm lords and ladies to support your cause.

You go on progress across the realm, flattering and courting all the noble families you meet.

It quickly becomes known that to be one of Princess Rhaenyra's ladies in waiting is a boon for attaining a fortunate marriage. In turn, you surround yourself with ambitious lords and their sons who want to advance their own interests.

It's a delicate dance, but you were taught how to make alliances by your parents, plus your charisma and ability to speak to anyone makes you one of the most popular members of the royal family.

Any attempts Alicent makes to gain allies for her son are countered by you and she can't stand you.

She tried to make Rhaenyra bring Lucerys to her when he was born, but you shut that down. "I wasn't aware that the Queen was in such poor health that she couldn't come herself to meet the newest member of our family," you say with a mocking smile. "The King is already coming to meet his grandson and I'm sure he would wish for Her Grace to join him." The sour look on the Queen's face when she finally arrives, only to find Viserys holding your baby boy, is a sight you'll remember for weeks to come.

You're Rhaenyra's greatest weapon and she despises how popular you are. You weren't supposed to be this politically adept, your children weren't supposed to be that lovely and polite and Rhaenyra was not supposed to be the heir when Viserys already has a son.

She says so to Larys Strong, who decides to do something about it without telling her.

You survive the pathetic assassination attempt because of a loyal servant.

Rhaenyra finds out what happened and she is furious. When she finds out Larys did it? He's a dead man walking.

His body is found in a secluded corridor at the bottom of the stairs. It's fairly obvious that he slipped and fell in a tragic accident - the servants had only finished cleaning and polishing those stairs the day before.

You thank your wife for avenging you with a sapphire necklace and several rounds of insatiable sex that eventually results in your son Aegon being conceived.

Unfortunately Lyonel Strong takes this as his chance to resign as Hand and return to Harrenhall, something you and your wife are unhappy about. You will miss him and his unwavering loyalty and fairness.

You miss him even more when you find out Otto Hightower is returning to King's Landing to be Viserys' Hand again.

The return of her father emboldens the Queen, although you and Rhaenyra are more than a match for them, both during the Small Council meetings (which you are Master of Ships) and outside them.

Eventually though, you decide to take care of the problem, although your wife cautions you to be careful.

A year after becoming Hand again, Otto Hightower is dead. His health had been declining for some time, even before he returned to King's Landing, but the poison you'd had your spies slip into his furniture and clothing certainly made his end quicker.

You knew he had a food taster, so you had to be careful to make it appear natural. A quiet conversation with Daemon had pointed you in the right direction.

Although it appeared to be natural, you knew that Otto's last days were a living hell. A fitting end for such a man.

With his death, you recommended Viserys make Lyonel Strong Hand again or even name Rhaenyra to be the Hand, as preparation for her future role.

His decision to name Rhaenyra as Hand is one of the only good decisions he's made.

It gives her more experience in governing the realm, particularly when he starts to become more frail.

After several years of this, she is confident in her role. She will be a magnificent Queen and you're truly honoured to be her consort.

[daenerysaizie]

𐔌 . ⋮ REALM’S DELIGHT .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Mk1 x Targ!reader

A/N:

Dear gentle readers,

I pray thee forgive my long silence, for a month hath passed since I last shared my humble words. Life’s cares did hinder my pen, though my thoughts oft turned to thee. Now, by God’s grace, I return with renewed spirit and fresh ink. I humbly ask thy pardon and hope the stories to come shall be worthy of thy patience.

Thine in earnest,

Author

@kchavez666 💋

Chapter 3 — a typical day?

Time had passed so quickly; a month had already gone by. While others showed significant improvement, you progressed at your own pace, which you didn’t mind as long as you kept improving. You demonstrated great potential in archery.

Apart from the intensive training and the constant challenges you endured, the Wu Shi Academy brought a certain tranquility to your mind. The recurring dream that had haunted you throughout your life was replaced with a forgotten memory. While the memory brought a sense of nostalgia and sadness, it was much preferable to the nightmarish dream of your mad father's death.

Viserys called out to you, “Sister,” capturing your attention. You were no more than five at the time, while he was already a young man, around the age of fifteen years old and strong in both mind and body. You recalled him as being built and skilled in swordsmanship, with a fondness for storytelling. He was particularly captivated by the tales of the conquerors and their dragons, he also shared with you bitterly that these creatures had vanished more than a century ago. The dream depicted your room in Dragonstone, wooden toys that mimicked horses and dragons scattered across the floor. "Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros," Viserys began, gesturing towards the brown leather-bound book adorned with the three-headed dragon sigil. "but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. It was not Aegon alone who united the Seven Kingdoms. He had the support of his sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys." He continued turning the pages of the book as he spoke of the conquerors and their conquests. Then, Viserys turned to you “Sister, in hard times like these, you and I bear the hope for the future.”

The dream ended there.

It was the dead of the night when you woke up. You wiped away the tears on your damp cheeks with the sleeves of your nightgown, thinking about your brother. Time had erased his face and voice from your memory, but somehow, seeing his face and hearing his voice again made you miss him terribly, and you couldn’t help but wonder – Was he alive? Where was he? You were also taken aback to realize that you remembered this distant memory so vividly.

“Viserys…” you murmured, as if testing his name on your lips. When was the last time you called out to him? You recalled his promise to bring you home once the nightmare has ended. But when was that?

And for the first time in forever, you wanted to call out to your brother, embrace him, and feel the safety of his arms again. You couldn’t help but to shed more tears.

Knowing that sleep was far from you for the time being, you decided that a cup of tea might help soothe your nerves and mind. Quietly, you made your way through the temple house to the shared kitchen, hoping to find some solace in the warm, comforting brew of fresh tea.

The kitchen was softly illuminated by a single candle, and in the quiet space, Kenshi Takahashi sat alone at the table, lost in his thoughts. His face was etched with a deep frown. You couldn't help but tease him gently to not startle him, "If you continue frowning like that, you'll end up with permanent wrinkles." Kenshi looked up at you, surprised, and raised an eyebrow. "Why aren't you asleep?" he asked, his usual patience and temper uncharacteristically strained.

"I couldn't sleep," you explained, "and I thought a cup of tea might help calm my mind. Would you like to join me?" Kenshi's frown softened, and he nodded, his initial crankiness fading. "Sure, I guess I could," he responded with less irritation than before. You smiled as you walked over to the stove, preparing the tea.

The process of making tea was quiet. Surprisingly, the silence wasn't uncomfortable, but it was slightly awkward. Kenshi discreetly watched you from behind as you swiftly prepared fresh tea for both yourself and him. He pondered silently to himself, wondering when was the last time he had experienced such kind companionship and comfort from another person.

You carefully placed the porcelain cups and teapot on a tray and carried it to the table, gracefully serving tea to Kenshi before taking your seat across from him. He mumbled a soft "thank you" as you sat down.

"How is it?" you asked curiously, watching for his reaction as he took a sip. Kenshi raised both eyebrows briefly before looking up at you. "It's good," he replied, his gaze returning on the cup. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph, mentally giving yourself a pat on the back for making a good cup of tea.

A moment of silence passed between the two of you as you sipped your tea together. Wanting to break the quiet and ensure you weren't overstepping any boundaries, you asked gently, "Is it alright if I ask why you aren't asleep?" Kenshi looked at you for a brief moment before replying, "I had a dream that I was still in the yakuza." The grimace on his face betrayed the pain that the dream had caused him.

You send him an apologetic look, “Don’t worry, I know that too well.” You pause, “Not being in the yakuza! I meant the dream part,” You fumbled, fixing your wording quickly and think your words carefully to not put the man before you in further bad mood. “Dreams can be cruel.” you acknowledged, your own experience with nightmares reflected in your understanding expression.

A hint of amusement flickered across Kenshi's face at your slip-up before it was replaced with neutral look. "I'm guessing you had a bad dream too?" he inquired. You nodded in affirmation, responding, "It wasn't bad, just... sad. It was better than the usual dream I have, I guess." He simply hummed in acknowledgment, not prodding further on the matter.

The silence settled between the two of you once more. You observed his reaction, noticing how he idly swirled the tea in his cup with a distant look in his eyes. Out of the blue, he confessed dryly, "I hate the gods for making me as they did."

You paused, surprised by his unexpected words, and replied sincerely, "I do not. You are an honorable man with a good heart." A soft smile graced your lips as you added, "And that's a rare thing." Kenshi looked up at you and offered a small smile. It was not noticeable but you could tell it was there.

And what you said was true. Kenshi Takahashi was an honorable man. He was poised, sharp tongued yet respectful. You hoped he had taken your words sincerely.

That night, you both found solace in each other’s presence, even though no more words were exchanged.

—

You didn’t regret staying up so late with Kenshi; it had brought the two of you closer than you expected. However, you dreaded the consequences of getting so little sleep. You looked like you’d fought a raccoon in your sleep, with your hair slightly disheveled from not having the energy to properly braid it. Kenshi, on the other hand, didn’t seem nearly as fatigued. He still looked composed and proper. When he saw you, he chuckled at your appearance and offered to make you an omelette for breakfast. You gratefully accepted, though both of you received raised eyebrows from the other three.

The day progressed like any other at the Wu Shi Academy—rigorous training and your archery lessons. But today was ‘sparring day’, and your opponent was none other than the so-called “best” Hollywood star, Johnny Cage. To your frustration, his flashy, unorthodox fighting style was new to you. He even utilized his sunglasses into the fight—impressive, considering they didn’t break.

To your further dismay, you ended up pinned beneath him. Johnny smirked, enjoying the moment. “Giving up already?” he teased. You huffed in response, an idea sparking in your mind. A playful smile touched your lips as you looked up at him. “Not yet,” you said in a teasing tone.

“Are you sure about that?” Johnny taunted, clearly relishing your determination. He noticed your subtle attempt to distract him, his smirk widening. He was enjoying the way you tried to match his confidence, but unfortunately for him, it worked. He was too focused on how matched his ‘freak’, and his grip loosened just enough. Seeing your chance, you swiftly flipped him over, reversing the position.

“Yield?” you asked with a grin, pulling a hairpin from your bun and letting your silver hair cascade down as you pointed the pin at his neck.

To his surprise, you had him pinned. He chuckled, a mixture of defeat and admiration on his face. “You sneaky little… I yield,” he said, meeting your gaze from beneath you. You helped him to his feet, and the two of you bowed to each other in mutual respect.

Johnny could have won if he hadn’t fallen for your trick, and though he felt a little embarrassed, he accepted his defeat.

“Marvelous victory!” Raiden exclaimed your name, clapping his hands along with Kung Lao and Kenshi. Kung Lao gave you a thumbs up, and Kenshi smirked at Johnny’s defeat, clearly enjoying it more than you enjoyed your victory. You smiled and gave them a playful curtsy.

“Kenshi, how about you and me?” Kung Lao gestured toward the training ground. Kenshi nodded, and the two headed off to spar where you and Johnny had just been.

“You vixen,” Johnny muttered beside you, folding his arms. Raiden, standing on your other side, smiled and suppressed a laugh. “I’d say she won fair and square, Johnny. You let your guard down,” Raiden said, placing a supportive hand on your shoulder.

You turned to Johnny, mimicking his pose. “How am I a vixen?” you teased, barely managing to keep a straight face.

Johnny laughed sarcastically. “You know exactly what you did.” His focus shifted to the next sparring match, while Raiden looked confused at Johnny’s remark. Clearly, no one else had noticed your little tactic.

—

You didn’t mind the peaceful domesticity of the moment, standing next to Kung Lao and Raiden in the kitchen. Kung Lao kneaded dough for baozi while Raiden prepared the fillings, and you focused on making side dishes using Madam Bo’s recipes. The three of you chatted and laughed together, enjoying the simple routine. Living together meant sharing responsibilities, taking turns cooking and doing chores. Tonight, you three were on kitchen duty, while Johnny and Kenshi handled the laundry. Johnny had been complaining about how tight his hands felt from using so much soap.

“Hey,” Kung Lao called your name, grabbing your attention. “You never told us your little secret. Maybe now’s the right time?” He dusted off the excess flour from his hands.

“Yeah, but it’s fine if you’re not ready yet,” Raiden added, pausing in his work to give you a reassuring look. Kung Lao rested his arm on Raiden’s shoulder, and the two of them watched you expectantly.

You had been putting off this conversation for a month now with, “I’ll explain when the time is right.” By now, they knew about realms, magic, and creatures, so your story wouldn’t sound too far-fetched. Maybe it *was* the right time. After all, you trusted them with your whole heart.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come at first. Sensing your hesitation, the two men continued their work, giving you time to gather your thoughts.

“I’m… Stormborn of House Targaryen,” you finally said, revealing your full name to them for the first time.

Kung Lao set the dough aside to let it rest and sat down across from you. “Stormborn? House Targaryen?” he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. You smiled and nodded.

“I’m from a continent called Westeros, a place here on Earth,” you explained. Raiden, looking puzzled, asked, “I’ve never heard of a continent called Westeros.”

“It’s hidden, barricaded by some kind of magic,” you said. “I’m not sure what exactly, but it separates Westeros from the rest of the world.”

“Why?” Kung Lao asked, resting his head on his arms.

“I don’t know… I was very young when I left Westeros, so my knowledge is limited.” You shrugged.

“Why did you leave?” Raiden asked, his voice soft but curious.

“Because it was dangerous.” A hint of sadness crept into your voice as you looked down at the side dish you were preparing. A small silence followed before you continued. “My father… he wasn’t a good man. He was paranoid and erratic, and because of his behavior, many turned against him.” This was assumption based on your dream now. Was it right for you to speak of your father like this? You did not want to believe your dreams but something told you that it was real.

You remembered how guarded Dragonstone had been, how there were always guards, servants, and food testers watching over you and your brother, Viserys. Once, on your birthday, your father had ordered all your gifts burned, convinced they were cursed or poisoned. Gosh, how much had you forgotten?

“Was he an influential man?” Kung Lao asked bluntly.

“He was the King of the Seven Kingdoms,” you replied, looking up at him. “So, yes, he was influential.”

Both men froze. “You’re a princess?” they exclaimed in unison.

You cleared your throat and nodded. Kung Lao gaped at you, while Raiden bowed with a respectful, “Your Grace.”

You panicked at his formality. “Wait, no! Don’t! I’m no longer a princess. I’m just an ordinary woman now. Please, you’re my closest friends—keep treating me the same as before,” you pleaded, gently pushing Raiden back up.

Kung Lao still looked stunned. “Wait, wait, wait! So we’ve been friends with royalty from a secret land, and you never thought to tell us?”

“I didn’t want to keep secrets from you,” you explained, “but I was strongly advised not to share my background. It could have put me—and all of you—in danger. I didn’t want that.”

Raiden nodded, understanding your reasoning, though both he and Kung Lao still had questions. They shared a glance, silently agreeing to take turns asking what they could.

“Did people there have the same hair and eye color as you?” Kung Lao jumped in, still processing.

You chuckled. “No, only my family and those with Valyrian blood had these traits.”

“Do you have siblings?” Raiden asked next.

A small smile crossed your face as you nodded. “Two brothers—Rhaegar and Viserys. Though, I don’t know what became of them…” A pang of sadness tugged at your heart.

In truth, you barely knew Rhaegar compared to Viserys. You had only met him twice, as his duties as heir to the Iron Throne kept him in King’s Landing. Viserys often boasted about him, and you remembered one thing clearly now—Rhaegar had a beautiful singing voice. Nonetheless, you still loved him.

Sensing your sadness, Kung Lao and Raiden decided to steer the conversation away from your family. The questions turned into silent awe as you continued explaining your background. As you recounted what you could, you began to recall forgotten memories, fragments of your past that time had nearly erased. Though it did make sense for you to forget. After all, you were no more than five. Of course, you didn’t tell everything as it would be too much at the moment.

Maybe, you did remember and knew more than you thought.

By the time dinner was served, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders, as though finally sharing your story had brought you some peace.

[darklinaforever]

antis fundamentally misunderstand this entire series and both got and hotd are validating them. grrm is not saying that the targaryen dynasty is rotten or that practicing ptolemaic incest makes them evil. incest is simply a facet of worldbuilding, aegon i literally improved westeros, and dragons are the key to defeating the others. but since got had dany go mad, hotd is continuing the anti targ narrative. and antis lap it up.

Completely correct. At this point I just want HBO to stay away from the GRRM universe.

[anamazingangie]

Ménage | Rhaenyra x Aegon x Aemond

🕯️ Rated E 🕯️4.2k words 🕯️ Complete 🕯️ by AmazingAngie🕯️

Tags: Historical AU, Sibling Incest, Manipulation, Underage Kissing, First Kiss, First Times, Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Come Eating, Cunnilingus, Dom!Rhaenyra, Coming of Age, Consent Issues, Rhaenyra-Centric, Threesome - F/M/M

Warning: sex between minors [fifteen and seventeen when it begins]. Summary:

Rhaenyra despised her siblings, a pair of twin boys two year her junior - at least until she realized they would do things for her. Anything for her. The realm of such things changed as they matured, and in time Rhaenyra's hormones left her feeling rather fond of the pair she had previously merely tolerated. His pale chest was flushed along with his cheeks as she watched him stroke his soft length to something a different shape and size entirely. It was like magic. He spilled over his hand, making a mess of himself with his own seed. She wanted to touch. She wanted to taste. She did neither, she simply demanded for him to, “Do it again.” or: rhaenyra is either a very good, or very bad sister, depending on who you ask.

One

At first, Rhaenyra had hated her brothers. 

She lacked any and all maternal instincts towards infants, and so she lacked any and all patience for their screams and stench and all other annoyances that came with their mere existence. It was only made worse by the fact there were two of them. Two boys. 

Truly, if looks could kill, they would have been found dead in their cradles just hours after she met them. Nevermind that she herself was only two at the time, she was old enough to hold enough to know her dislikes, old enough to hold a grudge and certainly old enough to hate them on first impression alone.

And first impressions mattered a great deal.

And so, her feelings towards them did not change, not for years. 

.

By the age of seven, Rhaenyra had earned the title of Realm’s Delight. She was known on the small island of Dragonstone and among their people for her beauty, boisterous spirit, and impeccable—slightly frightening—skills on horseback. 

And it wasn’t just the people who were awed by the princess—but rather her brother’s, too. The pair had been five then, old enough to care what other people thought of them.

Old enough to know their sister did not care for them. 

Old enough that they wanted her too.

And Rhaenyra…she was old enough to see this.

Smart enough to use this for her benefit. 

And really really, it was a kindness when she gave them such opportunities to improve her opinion of them.

And so, she would have them fetch her lemonade or tea or servants. 

She would have them steal cakes and pastries from the kitchens on her behalf. 

Sometimes she would tell the groom she wanted to brush down Syrax and that they were excused.

It wasn’t a lie, and she would brush down Syrax. But the other tasks that were expected to go along with this—such as beating dust from the saddle blanket, conditioning the leather of her reins, and polishing bits—were ones she’d give to her brothers.

And they would fight for the tasks. Competitive over the mere opportunity to impress her. 

She liked that. 

She took advantage of it.

But who could blame her, when they liked it too?

.

Fondness for them grew very slowly. She still treated them more like her servants than her siblings, truly, but by the time she was ten she could acknowledge she would be sad if something happened to them. 

When they were ten, they were mourning the fact they would have to leave Dragonstone to attend the Crownlands College that all Targaryen men claimed as their alumni, at least since its founding in the 300s. After all, their family—then ‘the crown’ for all of Westeros—had founded the institution. 

She was jealous that they were getting a proper schooling, simply because they were boys. Why shouldn’t she have such an opportunity? She was much smarter. Er, at least smarter than Aegon. Aemond was rather annoying bookish, she knew that from their shared lessons. He could beat her at sums despite her being years older.

It was true her lessons from a septa and maester’s who taught her just as much as the private college would, if not more, it didn’t seem fair. 

And on top of that, though she didn’t admit to them—or to herself, really—that she might miss them too.

.

They had only been gone for three moons when word came—Aemond had been injured rather horribly in a fight. He and his brother were being returned to Dragonstone by the fastest ship their father’s coin could buy, to be attended by the maester’s their own keep had in residence.

Even then, it wasn’t enough to save the eye.

They worried infection would spread and he might lose all his sight. If not his life from fever that could poison his blood. 

Rhaenyra didn’t cry. She didn’t. But her voice might have wavered when she spoke to Aemond after hearing this—unwilling to let the horrors of what had happened to him change her treatment of him.

On the matter of his potential blindness, all she had to say was, “Just think—you have been blessed to see a face as pretty as mine for a decade—that is more beauty than most men get to see in their lifetime.”  

His face was bandaged, and the sliver of eye she could see was cloudy from the high dose of the milk of poppy he was being given for the pain. But he still managed a tiny smile. Tiny for him, even, which was impressive given how he tended to hide them. So different from Aegon, whose face was often dressed in  a wide grin.

“Isn’t it all the more tragic, if i’ve seen such beauty and now have to go without?” He said, his voice sounding small and dry and not like him at all. She wanted to cover his lips with her palm, tell him not to talk until he sounded as he should again. Until he sounded strong. 

“I suppose, then, you must fight—insist to your body and self that you require sight. Perhaps it will permit you to keep it.” She told him. 

“I’m not as stubborn as you, sister, I’m not sure I can.” He admitted.

She huffed, “Consider it a command then—and I know you wish not to disappoint me.” 

He swallowed, and his eyelid fluttered shut. She wondered if she even heard her, but then he nodded slightly and said, “Okay.” 

.

His recovery was surprisingly swift, and infection never came. 

Aegon said it was because Rhaenyra visited so often she scared it away. That earned him a glare. 

“I’m the scary one? Your delusions do you no justice, brother, clearly you forget your twin is a bloodied cyclops!” She screeched. 

“See!” He had claimed, nearly victorious, “Now you shriek like a banshee!” 

“Banshees herald the dead, brother, if I sound like one, perhaps you should be concerned for yourself.” She said, primly. 

He paled and scurried from the room. 

Rhaenyra thought if Aegon was the one who had been injured, she would not have been so attentive. 

He was certainly the most objectionable of her siblings, at least, in all but looks. He had a sweet boyish face that promised to turn into something handsome. Aemond’s features, however, were longer and his expression rather solemn. They were very different—and no matter what she told herself, she would be unable to choose between them if forced to. 

.

When her courses came, they came to her. 

They had questions. They had badgered a poor serving girl into admitting Rhaenyra was bed bound for her monthlies. 

Of course, they had come running to ask Rhaenyra what monthlies were. The end result was their expressions—a mixture of horror and intrigue. 

“You’re bleeding?” Aemond said, rather stunned. “Does it hurt?” He wondered.

She shifted her hips and nodded, “Mhm, but not…not like a wound, rather a great deal of pressure in my abdomen. 

“Does it bleed from there?” Aegon wondered, with a vague gesture to her stomach and a far off expression on his face. 

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, “My navel is not a facet you imbecile, no, it’s—” she flushed, looking down at her lap but carrying on, “It’s between my legs.” She admitted.

Their eyes widened. “Can we see?” Aegon asked.

Rhaenyra sputtered, finding herself at a loss for words.

She settled on a classic response to Aegon’s questions: throwing a book at him. 

.

She had always been rather tactile with her brother’s, in a way she wasn’t—and wasn’t permitted to be—with others. She hadn’t thought much of it, they were siblings, and in a way they were her…well, it would be bad form to call them her serfs for she did not own them, but as their older sister she felt rather entitled to them in every way, and they had little protest to this. 

So they touched. 

She did not ask before grabbing their arm, or sitting next to them, close enough that they knew the feeling of the other’s thigh against their own. She’d crawled into bed with them on stormy nights, tackled them to the ground during games of tag, and shoved them off the cliffs on warm summer days when they were too fearful to dive from them without help. 

It had never meant anything at all. It was just the way of things, the way she treated them.

It didn’t change as they grew older.

Maybe it should have.

.

Aegon was, in her opinion, being an insufferable little jit. He refused to mount his mare, Sunfyre, even though they had agreed over breakfast to ride at this hour.

“I can’t.” He moaned, shifting awkwardly with his hands awkwardly at his crotch. 

Her eyes narrowed.

“Why can’t you?” She asked.

He flushed, before admitting he was hard and when that was hard it was like his whole body was stiff. 

“I don’t believe you.” She said, and then, “You’ll have to show me it.” 

His cheeks were flaming but he obeyed, unlacing his breeches and freeing the tunic that was cut long enough to cover his loins. Sure enough, the dangly bit she’d seen between her brother’s legs in childhood—when they were young enough it was not inappropriate, mind you—had managed to grow and harden into something rather…well…she was blushing now.

“Ugh. Put it away.” She said, turning to Syrax and hiding her rosy cheeks. “I shall take her to the meadow while that…you…whatever.” She said, mounting her saddle and leaving before he could respond. 

.

She thought about it. More than she probably should. She was a curious girl, she wanted to know how it worked. 

It was night time, a few days after that incident, and she slipped into her brothers’ rooms, pulled the covers from Aegon’s nearly nude form, and demanded to see it.

His pale chest was flushed along with his cheeks as she watched him stroke his soft length to something a different shape and size entirely. It was like magic. 

He spilled over his hand, making a mess of himself with his own seed. 

She wanted to touch. 

She wanted to taste. 

She did neither, she simply demanded for him to, “Do it again.” 

.

Aemond’s was different from his brother’s—longer, leaner, not unlike the rest of their forms.  Disappointedly, he was too shy to touch himself in front of her, saying he was too embarrassed to stay hard. 

Well. Then she would have to make him get hard. 

He flinched when she stroked the soft skin, wrinkled and deflated as it lay against his thigh instead of in the stiff erection it had formed a moment ago. 

She wanted her brothers to reach their full potential, always. And wasn’t their full length part of that?

He told her no. 

She reminded him that he never told her that. She was his older sister. 

He had to obey her. He liked obeying her. 

“Please?” She finally said, and he nodded.

He grew harder in her hand, and she kept stroking, fascinated by the difference in feel and weight in her palm, it seemed to throb where it had once been so very soft. It was as if the appendage pounded with its need for release, the sound nonexistent but almost like a tune in her head, the beat of which drowned out Aemond’s pleas, his sounds of pleasure, and even the sound of his release.

She did taste it this time, a curious lick on the white goo that had spilled across his penis and her palm. 

She’d always had a sweet tooth, but no matter how this resembled the drizzle on iced buns, it had no such flavor. 

It was salty. 

Gross.

.

A week later, Aegon kissed a maid. Their father’s hand, Ser Otto Hightower, who was also Aegon’s grandfather, caught them in the halls. This led them to all getting lectures on the matters of intimacy outside of marriage. On the matter of it being a dire sin. 

Rhaenyra hardly heard the septas' words on this matter. She was vibrating with…rage? Jealousy? She wasn’t sure. She just knew the reason for this lecture on the horrors that were intimate interludes out of wedlock were prompted by Aegon’s actions. His intimate interlude. One that did not involve her.

She was Aegon’s older sister and yet she did not know what it was to kiss. But still, surely it should be her duty to teach him such a thing.

Surely she should be his first kiss. 

Surely he should suffer for depriving her of this.

.

She ignored him for the rest of the day. He hated being ignored. 

Then, after changing for bed, she slipped into their shared chambers. Both boys were awake, and on this occasion she slunk past Aegon in pursuit of Aemond.

She would have his first kiss.

He would never know it was her first kiss, too. 

And Aegon would simply have to watch.

.

Eventually he begged and whined to the point where his eyes were red and his nose was snotty. So spoiled. Even though he deserved this for his crime—of seeking a girl other than his sister—she thought he’d been punished enough.

When she kissed him that night, his lips were just as soft as Aemond’s, but they were different, too. He was more forward, more confident—that didn’t come from practice, she didn’t think, but rather his enthusiasm and recklessness that his brother lacked. 

And, of course, his lips tasted of his tears. Salty, though in a way far more pleasant than the taste of seed.

Or perhaps the taste was not so different.

Perhaps she just enjoyed the flavor more when it came from sorrow.

And Aegon was so pretty when he cried. 

.

Both of them grew to expect her kisses—not only when they were in close proximity, but as a reward for bringing her something or completing a favor. 

She thought they were like hounds, expecting a bit of jerky as a treat for being good. 

She played with them as if they were hounds, finding great amusement in promising her lips to whichever sat with the best posture or heeled with the greatest obedience. 

Sometimes she insisted on their nudity in this, for how else could she examine the straightness of their spine and set of their shoulders? 

It had nothing to do with her curiosity of the male form. Of course not.

Though, she would admit to being curious over how their forms changed, their height and structure seeming to grow as they slept if not right before her eyes. 

It seemed just as she had come to terms with having siblings—having brothers—she would have to come to terms with her brothers becoming men. 

.

Aegon found the book. Of course he did. 

While Aemond was studious in his lessons, Aegon searched the library for hidden treasure, an indiscretion he’d practiced for years. Despite this, there were still shelves that had not suffered his scrutiny, for the room and its contents were rather vast. 

Of course, some of the cases he had looked over with careful eyes long ago needed to be examined once more, now that he was older. For as a boy he was rather blind—or rather, had a different definition—to what treasure truly was.

It was a small book, but not shamefully so. It was bound in bright red leather, stamped in gold, and though it lacked an author's name on the title page, the title itself was too distracting for any of them to care;

A Collection of Erotic Postures

They were all varying shades of pink as each page was turned, the black and white engravings lacking color but bringing to light so many things. It was fascinating how the forms fit together.

Man and woman. 

Nymph and satyr. 

Woman and woman.

Man and man.

At first they spoke over their examination of the engravings—sharing their shock with each page that passed. But soon their shock was implied by mere gasps, and no words were shared until the end was reached and the book was closed. 

It was inevitable that they would eventually grow curious enough to try one.

With the light now so very bright, how could they not wish to bring some of the acts to life?

.

Rhaenyra pointed to the sketch on page eight, captioned with;

 Cunnilingue.

[stimulation to the cunnus via leikhein]

Aegon obliged. 

She was slightly surprised, but not displeased by any means, to find that she felt little embarrassment or feelings of self consciousness in front of her brother’s—even with her skirts bundled in her lap, her legs spread, and Aegon’s face buried in the seam that led to her core.

She felt other things though. Good things. Things that had her fingers digging into Aegon’s curled locks and desperately trying to stifle gasps because gods be good this was—

When it was over, Aegon trailed his fingers through the mess, “You’re leaking, still, sister.” 

She said nothing. If she was capable of speech at all, it didn’t matter, for she did not have the ability to find words to respond with, not in that moment.

She should have tried, though, for Aegon was rather smug and took charge while her wits were absent—“You should clean her up, Aemond.” He suggested.

She wasn’t worried, he was much too shy to follow his brother's suggestion. 

Or so she thought. 

He wasn’t as enthusiastic as Aegon, not as messy, either. He nuzzled her with his nose first—seeming to inhale her scent before he set about cleaning all that had spilled from her. It was rather ineffective, though, with how she peaked again in the process. 

After that, speech was not the only thing that left her. She also found it rather difficult to walk.

…that did not stop her from demanding this act again the next day.

.

One day, the boys fought over who could have the pleasure of tasting her. 

She rolled her eyes, they were closer to men now yet still acting like children and she was tired of it. She had just come to tolerate them as brother’s but she had no desire to mother them.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m now longer in the mood.” She said, dropping her skirts and crossing her arms. 

Aegon sputtered, whereas Aemond just looked sad. 

“I mean it, too. If you want to taste lips of any sort today your only option is each other’s.”

She hadn’t really expected them to take this as a command—or perhaps they didn’t, they were just waiting for any mention of such a thing so they could have this opportunity. 

Regardless, the outcome was the same, and they wasted little time in joining their lips. 

They didn’t part their lips until after they had rut together and spilled in their breeches. 

Rhaenyra was…not jealous, exactly, but rather awed by the site of them together. For as annoying as her brothers could be, she had always known they were good looking. But this was somehow intensified several times over when they were together like this.

No, if anything, her frustration stemmed from the fact they had so much clothing on, rather than jealousy. 

Perhaps, though, she was a little aroused.

.

That night, she told Aegon to feast on her folds until she came—then to share her flavor with his brother, using the vessel of his tongue. 

They became hard during—of course they did, everything made them hard.

Boys. 

Men. 

Brothers. 

She told them to take care of the unsightly stiffened lengths, and despite the flush that spread across Aemond’s cheeks she knew from the show that morning that he was not opposed. 

But first, she demanded they remove their sleep clothes. She wanted to see it. See the pulse of their cocks when they came. The ropes of white seed across their pale skin, shining in the moonlight.

She wanted to see them lick it up with their greedy tongues, pink muscle lapping at light skin until the essence was gone and only saliva remained. 

They did. 

After—well, her arousal had bloomed to the point where she demanded Aemond’s mouth, too.

.

They fucked each other long before her. Fears of pregnancy making her weary of having their lengths in her cunt. 

But it was not as if that was the only entry she had…in fact, this was detailed in the red book that they studied with more faithfulness than they ever had to the Seven. 

The engravings showed the act, which involved what they called the,

‘Quim of every human—man and woman, tucked between the cheeks of one's arse.

This hole does not weep the way of a woman’s sheath, it must be greased or oiled — when adequately done,

the receptacle will still squeak, but they will not suffer.’

It spoke the truth. Aegon did squeak as his brother tentatively worked his long fingers into his parted cheeks. 

He had to stifle screams when fingers were replaced by Aemond’s cock. 

And so, this became a new game they played. 

.

She watched them for weeks before deciding to partake. Aegon was enthusiastic in getting her ready, where Aemond was tentative about pressing into her. But in the end they were all breathless—well, except for Aegon, who wasted no time in taking his brother’s place inside her, his path lubricated by his siblings' seed.

It was good, the feeling of being stretched. Of being filled.

She wanted such a sensation somewhere else.

.

She had them—one after the other—in her cunt on her seventeenth name day. It was dangerous, she knew, but she had found notes in a midwifery book that spoke to safe times of the month, calculated by the days following a woman’s courses. And so she had tracked them dutifully for months until there was enough consistency she felt confident.

Even still, she told them they had to pull out. Her cunt would not taste their seed until she was married. 

They obeyed, just as they always did.

Aegon went first, licking her until she came before pressing inside of her—the intrusion one that made them both groan with pleasure. His thrusts were uneven and it was over fast but she could see how one could find pleasure in this act, given enough practice.

He spilled across her stomach, before Aemond took his place.

He was longer. 

The differences in their cocks was obvious when you looked at them, or felt them with your palm. She’d forced their lengths together as they stood, stroking and admiring the width of Aegon’s next to the length of Aemond’s. As if they had the same mass but were formed into different shapes, the same while not being even remotely similar. Quite like the men the appendages belonged to. 

What she knew of their lengths before this was that Aegon’s was more of a challenge to get in, given the width of it. But once deep enough to slide with ease, she thought any intrusion in her rear felt rather the same.

But this.

She understood now, why women were meant to be penetrated here. Every drag of his cock lit up pathways of nerves inside her that made her clench and shiver. She felt the precise shape of him inside of her, the length, the curve, and it all culminated in her peaking—a moment before he pulled from her and spilled across her folds.

Both of them were prompt in how they licked up their seed, lilac eyes looking at her heaving bosom as she attempted to catch her breath, all while they continued to dine upon the masculine syrup coating her creamy flesh.

.

For their sixteenth birthday, she had them both.

Gods.

She did not believe in any faith, really, but this almost made her think some higher power existed. Why else would they bestow men and women with such parts that fit together like this? That felt so good?

She had never felt more powerful in that moment, when she was pressed between them, speared on both of them….and yet she had never felt more vulnerable, either, for she realized how small she now was compared to their forms. They had grown to a point where they could defy her commands, but they didn’t, and she trusted them, even with her body and something like this. 

And for that reason, at that moment, she had never felt closer to them—and not just because she was full of their cocks, with lips pressing kisses to either side of her neck. Though she rather liked that part of this, too.

It was difficult enough to orchestrate that they were only able to have each other this way a handful of times in the following few months. But they hardly went unsatisfied, not with the engravings to guide them and their mouths and fingers eager to thrust when time or locale did not allow for a cock.

It was shaping up to be a rather blissful year, she thought. 

And then, their father died. 

story notes:

the "book" was inspired by later takes on the I Modi, a very erm, inspired, renaissance work with detailed engravings of numerous positions.

this was supposed to have a chapter two in which daemon returned to dragonstone and claimed the title for himself...along with his. brother's children. but due to lack of interest i've scrapped it for now.

[rynnthefangirl]

The ending of Game of Thrones really does… nothing, for the smallfolk.

The one character whose arc is centered around the plight of the lower classes is turned into a psycho tyrant who mass murders peasants for no reason. And there is nobody else to take up this mantle. The two surviving characters who come next closest to having arcs that center around empathizing with the lower classes are not given positions of power at the end— they are sent away, Arya on a far away voyage and Jon back to the Nights Watch. The two people who rule at the end— Bran and Sansa— have arcs that have absolutely nothing to do with caring for the plight of the lower classes.

The new system of government put into place doesn’t give any sort of power to the Smallfolk— it is the lords of westeros who get to vote on the new king. Now instead of the game being “who can grab power by marrying into the throne” the game will be “who can grab power by getting lords to vote for them”. And who is going to have the advantage here? Rich and cutthroat lords who can bribe and threaten their way to power. The Tywin Lannisters of the world.

Rights for the Smallfolk comes at the expense of the power of the lords, so do we think this new system will put in power anyone who gives a shit about the smallfolk? Westerosi history TELLS us that is not the case. When Aegon V was chosen as king, his only competition was a literal baby with a deranged psychopath as a father. And still there were lords who voiced objection to his appointment, believing he was “half a peasant” and therefore unfit for the throne. Had there been another option besides baby Maegor, do you think Egg would have ever been chosen? No, the answer is no.

Now I’m not saying that the series had to end with feudal monarchy being destroyed, and all this wouldn’t be such a problem, if they hadn’t drawn so much focus to Daenerys’ concern for the lower classes. This was the motivation of the most prominent character of the final seasons— breaking the wheel, liberating people, ending oppression. She wasn’t just another character seeking power, her character was defined by her social justice ideology. Even if you think that this was all justifications for her tyranny, you cannot deny that these were still core themes of her story.

So GOT explores how the smallfolk suffer when lords play the game of thrones. And the conclusion of all this is that the one character who wanted to help the lower classes is actually the villain, the characters that should rule are the ones who never showed any care about class inequality, and the new and improved system of government is the one that keeps all of the power in the hands of the oppressive ruling class.

[lizzie-queenofmeigas]

So, I saw a post some time ago that was talking about how the Andals and their religion (Faith of the Seven) is more equalitarian than Old Valyria.

I don't remember exactly what their points were.

First of all, we don't know anything about Old Valyria other than that it was advanced and had dragons and practiced slavery. We know a lot about the Andals, even if their information is different depending on who is telling it.

What we know

What we do know of Old Valyria is that women were important enough for Daenys's warnings to be heeded by her father.

We know that women had enough freedom to go in a three year expedition trip with their dragon in a whole other continent.

We do know that they had female goddesses.

We do know that women were dragonriders just like the men.

We do know that men often had to marry their sisters to inherit.

We know that they ruled together.

What we can deduce

We can deduce that women were allowed to be scholars — Daenys wrote a book about her prophecies.

We can deduce that women could be warriors — Visenya was renowned for her swordsmanship and had a sword of her own that may have been made for her. There is no record of Aegon or any valyrian man finding this weird.

We can deduce that a brother needed to marry their sister to accede to inherit — We know Daenys married her brother Gaemon and their children too married and were said to rule together. Aegon had to marry Visenya for duty. Aegon "the uncrowned" had to marry his eldest sister Rhaena.

We can deduce that they had similar rights — Again, they ruled together. There was no difference between Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya other than he was the one crowned. The three conquerors had pretty much the same power.

Why did Aegon wore the crown instead of Visenya?

Visenya was the one to crown Aegon, this is important to note. We don't know how long exactly they were planning the conquest, but this may have been something they talked about. They were going to rule over a kingdom of deeply misogynistic people, they may have agreed to give Aegon the crown and introduce more progressive ideas later.

My thinking is that after being crowned and being called king, it got to Aegon's head. He stopped heading Visenya's advice and started treating her worse. He started to accept the Andals ideals because it gave him more power, even marrying his thirteen year old son to a twenty three year old woman only because the Andals were scandalised with the union of Rhaena and Maegor.

The union of Rhaena and Maegor would have made it difficult for Aegon "the uncrowned" to acced the throne (or a future son) as Aegon I and the Andals probably wanted.

This is not exactly new, men jumping at the opportunity to have more power and betraying their female companions. This has happened many times in our own history and it happened later with Jaehaerys.

Other Theories

The Dragonbinder has an inscription that says: "I am Dragonbinder ... No mortal man shall sound me and live ... Blood for fire, fire for blood."

No mortal man. This can easily be a "Lord of the Rings" situation and if it is it means women had much more power in Old Valyria than the Andal or First Men women.

Aenys and Maegor may not be Aegon's, this could mean that the valyrians didn't mind bloodlines continuing by women's children (the lords of Westeros voted against this in the Great Council of 101) which is already a huge improvement of what the Andals do even in the face of their own laws.

Conclusion

Valyrians did have better regard for women that the Andals or the First Men.

I don't trust the Andals, they lie a lot about their own history and are religious zealots.

[nixiefics]

Fire and Runes - Chapter One

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x OC (Reilla)

Tropes: Arranged Marriage

Warnings: Targaryen typical incest, smut, canon typical violence and death, swearing, drinking

The clang of steel against steel echoed through the courtyard of Runestone as Reilla sparred with Ser Arlan Granes, the master-at-arms. Sweat glistened on her brow as she parried his strike, her movements swift and precise. Ser Arlan, a seasoned knight with greying hair and a weathered face, was relentless in his training, pushing Reilla to her limits.

"Good, Reilla," Ser Arlan praised as she deftly sidestepped his thrust. "Your form has improved greatly. Not keen for another tumble in the mud?"

"Not again soon, Ser," Reilla nodded, her focus unwavering as she countered with a series of quick strikes.

As they continued their sparring session, Gerold Royce approached, his stern visage softened by a hint of pride as he watched his niece. He waited until the bout concluded, and Reilla had disarmed Ser Arlan with a final, decisive blow.

"Well done, Reilla," Gerold said, his voice carrying a note of approval. "Your mother would be proud."

Reilla smiled, breathing heavily as she lowered her practice sword. "Thank you, Uncle Gerold."

Ser Arlan bowed to her and took her training sword with a proud grin. He wandered off towards the armoury with a light whistle, still as lithe and nimble as any young knight.

Gerold cleared his throat, his expression turning more serious. "We need to talk. The political climate is shifting rapidly, and there are matters we must discuss."

Reilla followed Gerold to a shaded alcove overlooking the courtyard where her Aunt Alyssa sat with a furrowed brow. Reilla wiped her own with a cloth, her curiosity piqued by her uncle's grave tone.

"What news do you have, Uncle?" Reilla asked, her violet eyes studying his face.

"The realm is on the brink of war," Gerold said, his voice heavy with concern. "King Viserys is dead. The factions are gathering their forces, and it is only a matter of time before the bloodshed begins."

Reilla's heart sank at the thought of the impending conflict. She had heard tales of the devastation wrought by dragons, and the prospect of a civil war between her own kin filled her with dread. Yet, there was also a sense of duty and loyalty that stirred within her.

"What of the betrothal?" Reilla asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. "Does it still stand?"

Reilla had always known that her future was tied to Aegon Targaryen. The betrothal had been arranged by King Viserys as a means of securing her safety and ensuring her loyalty to the crown. Reilla always felt a mixture of apprehension and curiosity when she thought of her betrothal. She wondered what kind of man Aegon had become, and whether he shared the same sense of duty and honour that she held dear. The thought of marrying a stranger was daunting, yet she knew it was her duty to uphold the alliance.

Gerold exchanged a glance with Alyssa who nodded solemnly, her expression one of resolve. Alyssa was a great political strategist and Reilla admired her strength of character for it - and hoped that she might one day be just as good at politics. "Queen Alicent and the Hand plan to crown Aegon immediately," Alyssa said. "Your betrothal to Aegon remains intact, and so your presence in King's Landing is crucial."

"What of Rhaenyra's claim?" Reilla fidgeted with the ring around her thumb, a note of uncertainty creeping into her voice. "She will not take lightly to her birthright being taken by her younger brother."

"Queen Alicent has a declaration from King Viserys, signed on his deathbed, proclaiming Aegon the heir." Alyssa said quietly, blue eyes piercing. "Rhaenyra will still fight it, but Aegon has a valid claim now. He is male."

Reilla frowned down at her feet. It was unfair that all of Westeros were vying for a male heir over Rhaenyra - Reilla herself had been running Runestone successfully for several years now and so, she thought, was no less qualified than Ser Gerold to do it. "What should I expect?"

Gerold placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "King's Landing is a different world from the Vale. It is a city of danger but also one of opportunity. You must be cautious, but also assertive. Remember who you are, and do not let anyone undermine you."

Alyssa stepped forward, taking Reilla’s hands in her own. "You must be vigilant, my dear. The court is filled with deception. Trust few, and always keep your wits about you."

"I will, Aunt Alyssa," Reilla promised, feeling a swell of gratitude for the woman who had been a mother to her. "I will make my House proud."

The arrival of a delegation from King's Landing marked a turning point in Reilla's life. The letter, sealed with a gold sigil of House Targaryen, was delivered to her by a stern-faced messenger. Reilla broke the seal with trembling hands, her eyes scanning the elegant script.

Princess Reilla,

It is with great anticipation that I extend an invitation to you to join us at the Red Keep. The realm is in need of unity, and your presence is requested as we navigate these turbulent times. Your betrothal to Aegon Targaryen remains a cornerstone of our alliance, and we look forward to welcoming you to King's Landing.

Regards,

Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower

The days leading up to her departure were a whirlwind of preparations. Reilla's chambers were filled with the constant hum of activity as seamstresses, maids, and couriers bustled in and out, ensuring that every detail of her journey and her new life in King's Landing was meticulously arranged.

New gowns were a necessity, as her usual riding habits were deemed inappropriate for life at court and for her role as a future queen. Reilla stood still as seamstresses measured her, their hands deftly working to create dresses that would befit her new status. The fabrics were rich and luxurious, in colors of deep emerald, royal blue, and regal gold. The gowns, however, felt restrictive in a way her usual riding pants and tunic never did. Each dress was heavy with layers of silk and brocade, the bodices cinched tight, making her feel as though she were being squeezed into a form that was not her own.

"I can't breathe in these," Reilla muttered under her breath as she tried on yet another gown, this one a deep green with intricate silver embroidery. "How do they expect me to fight or ride if I can't even move properly?"

Alyssa, ever the practical aunt, smiled gently at her. "You will learn, my dear. It’s all part of the role you are stepping into. But remember, your strength lies not just in your ability to ride or fight, but in your presence and your wisdom. These gowns are merely symbols of the power you wield."

Reilla sighed but nodded, understanding the truth in her aunt's words. She stood before the mirror, trying to see herself as others would see her - regal, composed, every bit a queen.

Choosing her wedding cloak proved to be another significant task. According to tradition, Aegon would remove her cloak during the ceremony and replace it with his own house cloak, symbolizing her transition from her family's protection to his. Reilla wanted this gesture to carry a deeper meaning. She spent hours in the family vault, searching through the cloaks of her ancestors, each one telling a story of strength, honour, and legacy.

Finally, she found the cloak her mother had worn at her own wedding. It was a beautiful piece, made of rich bronze fabric adorned with black gemstones, representing their house banner - black iron studs on bronze, bordered with runes. Holding it in her hands, Reilla felt a surge of emotion. This cloak represented her mother's strength and legacy, a reminder that she was her mother's daughter, bound by blood and heritage, and no one else's - not even Daemon's.

"This is the one," she said firmly, her voice steady as she looked at Alyssa, who had accompanied her. "I will wear my mother's cloak. It will be a statement that I am a Royce first and foremost."

Alyssa nodded approvingly. "It’s a fine choice, Reilla. Your mother would be proud."

On the morning of her departure, Reilla stood before the gates of Runestone, her horse saddled and ready. The early morning light cast a golden glow over the stone walls, and the air was filled with a sense of both anticipation and sorrow. Gerold and Alyssa were there to see her off, their faces lined with worry and hope.

Gerold stepped forward, his usually stern face softened by the emotion of the moment. "Be safe, Reilla," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "Remember your training and your heritage. You are a Royce first and foremost."

Reilla embraced her uncle, feeling the strength and warmth of his arms around her. "I will, Uncle," she promised, her voice steady. "I will make you proud."

Alyssa hugged her tightly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You are destined for greatness, my dear. Trust in yourself and in the legacy of your mother. The Vale will always be your home, and we will always be here for you."

Reilla nodded, feeling the weight of their words settle over her like a mantle. She mounted her horse, her gaze fixed on the horizon. As she rode away from the Vale, the wind whipping through her hair, she felt a sense of determination and purpose. She was heading towards an uncertain future, but she would face it with the strength and courage of her ancestors.

Each day on the journey from Runestone to King's Landing brought new landscapes and challenges, and as they traversed through the rugged terrain of the Vale, Reilla found herself reflecting on the weight of her responsibilities and the uncertainties that lay ahead.

They rode through towering mountains that seemed to touch the sky, the air crisp and invigorating. Reilla often found solace in the natural beauty around her, the sweeping vistas and cascading waterfalls a stark contrast to the looming shadow of war that darkened her thoughts.

Ser Arlan, ever watchful at her side, maintained a steady presence. He was more than her protector; he was a mentor, offering guidance and wisdom during their long days on the road. They discussed strategy, the political climate in King's Landing, and the delicate balance of power among the noble houses.

One morning, as they camped in the foothills of the Riverlands, Reilla decided to join a hunt with her guards. It was a chance to enjoy her skill with a bow and arrow, a skill she had honed since childhood under the tutelage of House Royce's finest archers.

The woods were alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant birdsong as Reilla tracked a massive buck. She moved with silent grace, her steps sure and deliberate. Ser Arlan watched from a distance, a faint smile on his weathered face, as Reilla lined up her shot.

The arrow flew true, striking the buck cleanly and bringing it down with a single shot. Reilla approached the fallen stag with a mix of pride and satisfaction. She instructed her guards to prepare the stag's head and rack for transport, a grin tugging at her lips. "This," she declared with mock seriousness, "shall be my wedding gift to Prince Aegon. A token of my prowess with a bow."

Her guards chuckled at her jest, but Reilla's thoughts turned sombre as they resumed their journey towards King's Landing. She wondered what Aegon would think of her, a girl from the Vale raised in the shadow of mountains, with a heart torn between duty and desire for a peaceful realm.

The looming war weighed heavily on her mind. She knew that her betrothal to Aegon was not just a union of hearts but a strategic alliance forged in the fires of political necessity. As they neared the capital, Reilla couldn't help but think of Daemon Targaryen.

She harboured no illusions about him - his ambitions, his ruthlessness, and his calculated manoeuvres to secure power. His absence in her life had left a void filled with questions and resentment. Yet, despite her feelings towards Daemon, Reilla knew that her destiny was entwined with House Targaryen. The alliance between their houses was meant to bring stability to a fractured realm, to unite the warring factions under a single banner.

As they finally approached the gates of the capital city, the sight of the Red Keep rising against the skyline filled Reilla with a mixture of awe and apprehension. The great castle seemed to loom over her, its towering walls a stark reminder of the power that resided within.

The guards at the gate recognized the sigil of House Royce, their armour gleaming in the sunlight as they ushered Reilla and her retinue through the bustling courtyard. The sounds of the city enveloped them - the clatter of hooves on cobblestones, the calls of merchants hawking their wares, and the distant murmur of the people going about their daily lives.

Reilla dismounted gracefully, her riding habit dusted with the road's grime. She took a moment to straighten her attire, adjusting the cloak adorned with the Royce colours before stepping forward to follow the guards into the Great Hall.

Inside, the atmosphere was both grand and solemn. The Great Hall of the Red Keep was adorned with green banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen in gold, their colours shimmering in the light streaming through stained glass windows. At the far end of the hall, Queen Alicent Hightower awaited her, flanked by her advisors and courtiers.

"Welcome to King's Landing, Princess Reilla," Alicent's voice carried across the hall with warmth and authority. "We have awaited your arrival with great anticipation."

Reilla curtsied gracefully before the queen, her violet eyes meeting Alicent's with respect. "Thank you, Your Grace," she replied, her voice steady despite the flurry of emotions within her. "It is an honour to be here."

Alicent's gaze lingered on Reilla for a moment, assessing the young woman who would soon join their court. "You have travelled far," the queen remarked, her tone measured. "I trust your journey was not too taxing?"

Reilla inclined her head slightly. "It was a challenging journey, Your Grace, but one I undertook with determination. I am grateful for the hospitality extended to me and my retinue."

Alicent nodded approvingly. "Your presence here marks a new chapter in the history of our realm."

As their conversation concluded, Reilla's attention shifted to the figure standing beside Queen Alicent - an young man whose presence exuded a sense of quiet intensity. Prince Aegon Targaryen stood tall and composed, his silver-blonde hair catching the light as he regarded her with a calculating gaze.

Aegon stepped forward with a faint smile playing on his lips, his violet eyes assessing Reilla with a keen intensity. "Princess Reilla," he greeted her, his voice smooth and assured. "It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

Reilla met his gaze squarely, her own expression composed yet perceptive. She took his hand in a firm grip, noting the strength and confidence in his demeanour, but also sensing an underlying vulnerability. "The pleasure is mine, Prince Aegon," she replied, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.

Aegon's violet eyes studied her intently, as if searching for something beneath the surface. His usual facade of confidence wavered, revealing a hint of inner turmoil. "I have heard much about you," he admitted softly, his tone thoughtful. "Your skills and your unwavering loyalty to your house."

Reilla inclined her head slightly, her violet eyes meeting his with understanding. "And I have heard tales of you as well, Prince Aegon," she replied diplomatically, sensing the weight of his unspoken burdens. "It is an honour to stand before you."

Aegon's lips twitched slightly, a wry hint of amusement playing across his features. "Let us dispense with formalities, shall we?" he suggested, a flicker of vulnerability visible in his eyes. "We are to be wed, after all. It would be prudent to become acquainted."

Reilla's lips quirked in response, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She appreciated his candour and the subtle admission of their shared uncertainty. "Indeed," she agreed warmly, feeling a measure of relief at his easy manner. "It seems we have much to discuss."

As they settled into the quiet of Reilla's chambers within the Red Keep, Ser Criston Cole stood vigilantly by the door, his presence a reminder of the propriety expected of their meeting. Aegon poured himself a goblet of wine but hesitated before taking a sip, acutely aware of Ser Criston's watchful gaze.

Reilla, seated across from Aegon, observed his hesitation with a gentle smile. "What weighs heaviest on your mind, Prince Aegon?"

"Straight into the thick of it, then?" He chuckled and sat down, sighing as he pondered the question. Aegon glanced towards Ser Criston briefly before meeting Reilla's gaze, a flicker of vulnerability in his violet eyes. "Rhaenyra, my sister," he admitted, his voice tinged with bitterness. "She was always the favoured one - the true heir, groomed from birth to wear the crown. I've spent my life in her shadow, second place in everyone's eyes."

Reilla nodded empathetically, understanding the weight of familial expectations all too well. "And your mother?" she inquired with curiosity.

"Queen Alicent," Aegon said her name with a mixture of reverence and resentment. "She sees me as a pawn in her game for power, a means to secure the throne she believes rightfully belongs to our line. I've never felt like I belonged to her."

Their conversation unfolded with an undercurrent of restraint, Ser Criston's silent vigil a constant reminder of their roles and the propriety of their meeting. Reilla, by rights a princess of the realm, shared her own apprehensions about leaving the familiar confines of the Vale, where her training and sense of purpose had been forged.

"Duty can be a heavy burden," she admitted, her voice steady with resolve. "Especially when it demands sacrifices we may not be prepared to make."

Aegon nodded solemnly, his features softened by Reilla's understanding. "I've never desired the crown," he confessed quietly. "It's a weight I fear I may not bear - never groomed to rule, always feeling inadequate."

Reilla regarded him with empathy, her gaze momentarily meeting Ser Criston's before returning to Aegon. "Yet here we stand," she said, gently taking his hand, "bound by duty and fate, navigating uncertain waters together."

Their conversation deepened into shared hopes and aspirations. Aegon spoke of a longing for peace and stability, far removed from the turmoil of court intrigue and familial expectations.

"I want a realm where people can live without fear," he admitted, his voice earnest. "Where the burdens of power don't overshadow the need for compassion and justice."

Reilla's eyes softened with understanding. "And I want to honour the legacy of my bloodlines," she confided, her voice tinged with quiet determination. "To bring strength through unity, and to forge alliances that endure beyond the whims of politics."

As the evening wore on their shared vulnerability became a bridge, connecting their hearts and minds in ways that mere duty could never achieve. When the hour grew late, Aegon escorted Reilla to her chambers' door, Ser Criston following respectfully behind. The weight of their conversation lingered in the air like a promise of understanding and support.

"Goodnight, Princess Reilla," Aegon said softly, his gaze holding hers with newfound sincerity.

"Goodnight, Prince Aegon," Reilla replied, a gentle smile curving her lips. In that moment, she felt a glimmer of hope for their future - a future built not just on duty, but on mutual respect and the shared journey they had begun together.

As she settled into her chambers, the sounds of King's Landing fading into the background, Reilla reflected on the day's events. She had arrived as a paragon of House Royce, but she knew that her future now lay intertwined with House Targaryen. With Aegon by her side, she felt a renewed sense of purpose - a determination to navigate the treacherous waters of courtly intrigue and war with grace and strength.

The betrothal that had once seemed a distant obligation had now become a reality, and Reilla was ready to face it head-on. With the spirit of her mother guiding her, she closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting to the challenges and triumphs that lay ahead.

In the heart of King's Landing, amidst the echoes of a realm in turmoil, Reilla Royce prepared herself for the role she was destined to play - a role that would shape the fate of Westeros in the turbulent days to come.

As the days in King's Landing passed swiftly, Reilla found herself navigating the intricate web of court politics and preparations with a mixture of apprehension and determination. The Red Keep buzzed with activity, each corridor and chamber echoing with the footsteps of servants and nobles alike, all preparing for Aegon's coronation and the impending wedding.

Queen Alicent's guidance was a steady presence in Reilla's life during this tumultuous time. One evening, they strolled through the serene gardens of the Red Keep, the air fragrant with the scent of blooming roses and the distant sound of courtiers' voices.

"You must be vigilant," Alicent counselled, her tone serious yet warm as she glanced at Reilla. "The realm is divided, my dear. There are factions that would see us weakened, and your presence here is a symbol of unity and strength."

Reilla nodded thoughtfully, her gaze sweeping over the meticulously manicured hedges. "I will do my utmost, Your Grace," she replied earnestly. "Unity is our greatest asset in these troubled times."

As they continued their stroll, Reilla found herself increasingly drawn into the heart of court life. She attended meetings where strategies were discussed, listened to the concerns of advisors and lords, and observed the delicate dance of alliances and rivalries that shaped the future of the realm.

Amidst these preparations, Reilla and Aegon's interactions deepened. Initially reserved, Aegon gradually opened up to her, sharing his anxieties about his impending role and the weight of expectation upon him.

One evening, in the quiet of Reilla's chambers, Aegon confessed softly, "I never asked for this, Reilla. The crown feels like a noose around my neck, tightening with each passing day."

Reilla, sitting across from him, reached out to touch his hand, offering silent support. "You are not alone in this burden, Aegon," she reassured him gently. "Together, we will navigate these troubled waters."

Their bond grew stronger with each passing day, founded on mutual understanding and a shared sense of duty. They discussed the challenges ahead, strategized on how to unify the realm, and found solace in each other's company amidst the chaos of courtly life.

However, as plans for the coronation took shape, a tense discussion arose during a special council meeting in the Small Council chamber. Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, proposed that Aegon's coronation should take place in the Dragonpit - a symbolic gesture to reaffirm Targaryen supremacy and strength.

Reilla listened intently, but a gnawing worry grew within her. When the opportunity arose, she voiced her concern respectfully yet firmly, "My lords, I fear the Dragonpit may not be the safest choice given the current tensions. It is an open venue, vulnerable to potential threats."

Otto Hightower, a stern figure with a reputation for pragmatism, frowned slightly. "Princess Reilla, the Dragonpit has hosted many royal ceremonies without incident. It is a historic site, a symbol of his Targaryen lineage."

Reilla met his gaze evenly, her violet eyes betraying her concern. "I understand its significance, my lord Hand. However, in these uncertain times, perhaps the Great Hall of the Red Keep would be a more secure option. It can be fortified easily, ensuring the safety of all attendees."

The council chamber fell silent as the advisors exchanged glances. Finally, Aegon spoke up, his voice carrying a note of consideration, "Reilla makes a valid point, Lord Hightower. Safety must be our foremost concern."

After a moment of deliberation, Otto Hightower nodded reluctantly. "Very well. The Hall it shall be. Preparations to include the smallfolk will have to be changed but it will be done."

"We would hold a viewing," Reilla said, swallowing thickly. "After Prince Aegon is officially crowned before the court, we could present him to the smallfolk in front of the Great Sept of Baelor - it would allow him to be seen while also allowing him to be protected - the Sept can also be fortified in case of… unrest."

Aegon clapped his hands and grinned at Otto. "Brilliant, this little wife of mine. Have it arranged, Lord Hand."

Otto bowed his head and shared a look with Queen Alicent, who had been watching Reilla with some measure of scepticism and awe. "Yes, your Grace."

With the matter settled, Reilla felt a surge of relief mingled with determination. She was beginning to find her voice in the intricate dance of court politics, asserting herself not only as Aegon's future bride but as a voice of reason and foresight in shaping the realm's future.

As they left the council chamber, Aegon clasped Reilla's hand gratefully. "Thank you," he murmured softly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and admiration. "For understanding for making it a smaller ceremony."

Reilla smiled warmly, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "We are in this together, Aegon," she replied with conviction. "As partners, facing the challenges ahead as one. I would see you protected at all costs."

Their journey towards the coronation and wedding continued, each step bringing them closer not only to the culmination of their union but to a future where their shared vision of unity and stability might take root amidst the complexities of the Iron Throne.

However, amidst the preparations and political manoeuvres, Reilla sought a private audience with Alicent one evening in the Queen's solar. The room was bathed in the warm glow of candles, casting flickering shadows on the ornate tapestries that adorned the walls.

Reilla sipped at a vintage of Arbor red that Aegon had introduced her to, brows furrowed in though. "Why did King Viserys not declare openly before he passed? If he meant to strengthen Aegon's claim, why not make it more public?"

Alicent's expression softened slightly. "Viserys was a complex man, torn between familial duty and political manoeuvring. I believe he came to realize Aegon's potential too late. He had been muttering for several nights that he had a dream of Aegon on the throne - the prince that was promised. I believe he had time to reflect with the Gods on his children and realised that Aegon had been the heir he had been longing for all along."

The older woman opened a delicate box and presented a letter to Reilla bearing the King's seal. It was a declaration of Viserys' wish to declare Aegon as the rightful heir of the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms - signed by three witnesses and the king himself (though shakily).

Reilla handed the letter back and bit her lip. "Rhaenyra will claim it a forgery. She will fight for the throne - all the lords bowed to her, once."

"I understand that. I have been trying for years to reconcile Rhaenyra to the fact that her father might change his mind but she recused herself and is now isolated on Dragonstone with Daemon, who is no doubt dripping poison into her ear." Alicent replied gravely, "You must stand by Aegon, Reilla. Protect him, guide him, as his queen."

As Reilla absorbed the weight of Alicent's revelation, she nodded slowly, a sense of duty and determination settling upon her shoulders. "I will do whatever is necessary for Aegon and for the realm." Even if it just meant spiting Daemon Targaryen.

Alicent's gaze softened with approval. "You possess a strength and resilience that will serve you well, Reilla. The realm is fortunate to have you by Aegon's side."

Watching Alicent's composed demeanour, Reilla felt a surge of resolve. She had stepped into a role far greater than she had imagined, but with Aegon and Alicent's guidance, she would navigate the challenges ahead with courage and grace.

Later that evening, as Reilla looked out over the moonlit city from her chamber window, she reflected on the path that lay before them. Aegon's coronation would mark the beginning of a new era - one fraught with uncertainty yet filled with the promise of unity and renewal. And as she thought of Aegon, of the burdens he would soon bear, Reilla reaffirmed her commitment to him and to their shared destiny, whatever it might bring.

The days leading up to the coronation were filled with tension and anticipation. In an effort to find some peace amidst the chaos, Reilla and Princess Helaena Targaryen decided to escape the confines of the Red Keep for a beachside picnic. The salty breeze and the rhythmic crashing of the waves offered a refreshing contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the court.

They settled on a soft blanket, a spread of delicacies laid out before them. The sea stretched out endlessly, its vast expanse mirroring the uncertainty of their futures. Helaena, with her gentle demeanour and keen interest in nature, greeted Reilla with a warm smile that reflected her genuine curiosity about the world around her.

"Cousin Reilla," Helaena said warmly, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard much about your bravery and grace."

Reilla returned her smile, touched by Helaena's kind words. "Thank you, Princess Helaena. The pleasure is mine," she replied graciously, taking in the serene atmosphere of the beach.

Helaena's eyes sparkled with genuine interest as she glanced at the shoreline, where seabirds dipped and soared. "Isn't it marvellous?" she remarked softly, gesturing to the sea. "The way nature weaves its own stories."

Reilla nodded, drawn into Helaena's appreciation for the natural world. "Indeed, it is," she agreed warmly. "Each wave, each bird, has its own tale to tell, if we take the time to listen."

They continued their conversation, Helaena sharing anecdotes about her explorations along the beach and her fondness for observing the behaviors of sea creatures and birds. Reilla found herself enjoying Helaena's gentle spirit and insightful observations, which offered a refreshing contrast to the intense political discussions that often dominated court life.

"I must admit, Helaena," Reilla said with a smile, "your perspective on life is quite refreshing. It's easy to get caught up in the complexities of court."

Helaena nodded thoughtfully, a small smile playing on her lips. "I find solace in nature," she confessed softly. "It reminds me that there's a beauty in simplicity, a rhythm that grounds us amidst the chaos."

Their conversation drifted from topic to topic, weaving through tales of court intrigue and Helaena's musings on the future of the realm. Reilla appreciated Helaena's thoughtful insights and genuine curiosity, finding in her a kindred spirit who valued both inner reflection and outward exploration.

As they sat on the blanket, their conversation naturally turned to Aegon, who was soon to be crowned king. Helaena paused, her gaze thoughtful as she spoke.

"You know, Aegon has always been burdened by the weight of expectations," Helaena mused softly, plucking a shell from the sand and turning it over in her hands. "Mother and grandfather, they see him as an instrument in their bid for power. But you, Reilla, you could be different for him."

Reilla regarded Helaena with interest, sensing a depth to her words. "How so?" she inquired gently, curious about the princess's unique insight.

"You understand him in ways that others may not," Helaena explained, her voice carrying a note of sincerity. "You see beyond the crown and the politics. You see the person—the doubts, the fears, the dreams he holds close. That's a gift, Reilla."

Reilla considered Helaena's words, struck by their honesty. "I want to support Aegon," she admitted earnestly. "To help him find his own path, not just the one others expect of him."

Helaena nodded in understanding. "You can guide him, Reilla," she said gently. "Together, you can shape the future of the realm in ways that defy expectations. Aegon needs someone who believes in him, who sees his potential for greatness."

Their conversation continued, weaving through Helaena's observations on Aegon's inner struggles and the role Reilla could play in his journey as king. Reilla listened intently, grateful for Helaena's unique perspective and genuine concern for her brother.

"As you prepare for the coronation and the wedding," Helaena concluded thoughtfully, "remember this: Aegon may doubt himself, but with you by his side, he can find the strength to rise above those doubts."

Reilla smiled gratefully at Helaena, touched by her insight and encouragement. "Thank you, Helaena," she said sincerely. "Your words have given me much to think about."

Watching Helaena disappear into the distance, where the sand met the waves, Reilla felt a sense of gratitude for the unexpected friendship they had forged. In Helaena, she found not only a companion in the quiet moments of reflection but also a reminder of the beauty and serenity that could be found amidst the challenges of courtly life.

As the sun dipped low over King's Landing, its rays casting a warm, golden hue across the city, Reilla stood on the balcony of her chambers, her thoughts swirling with anticipation and apprehension. The bustling streets below echoed with the sounds of preparation, a stark contrast to the serenity of her quiet moment alone.

The realm was on edge, teetering on the brink of conflict, yet amidst the turmoil, there was a glimmer of hope—hope that she and Aegon could forge a path to peace and stability. She gazed out at the distant horizon, where the last vestiges of daylight painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, contemplating the weight of responsibility that lay ahead.

In the distance, the rhythmic beat of drums and the blare of horns signalled the arrival of noble houses, their banners fluttering proudly in the evening breeze. The coronation loomed large on the morrow, a solemn occasion that would mark Aegon's ascension to the Iron Throne and their union as king and queen.

Lost in her thoughts, Reilla was startled when she sensed Aegon's presence behind her. She turned to find him standing quietly at the entrance to her balcony, his expression a mixture of weariness and uncertainty. Without a word, he crossed the threshold to join her, his eyes scanning the cityscape below.

"Aegon," she murmured softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. "Are you alright?"

He met her gaze, his shoulders tense with the weight of impending responsibility. "I couldn't sleep," he confessed quietly, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "There's so much resting on tomorrow."

Reilla nodded in understanding, her heart aching for the burden he carried. "Come," she said gently, guiding him back into the warmth of her chambers. "Sit with me."

She led him to the deep sofa in her sitting room, guiding him to lay his head in her lap. Aegon hesitated for a moment, as if unsure of allowing himself this vulnerability, but he finally acquiesced, resting against her with a sigh. Reilla smoothed his tousled hair with a gentle touch, her fingers tracing soothing circles on his brow.

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the only sound the soft murmur of the city below and the steady rhythm of their breathing. Reilla began to hum a soft, comforting melody, a lullaby Alyssa had sung to her in times of uncertainty. The familiar notes filled the room, wrapping Aegon in a blanket of reassurance.

As the tension gradually melted from his frame, Aegon's grip on Reilla's dress loosened, his breathing growing slow and even. His face, usually etched with worry, softened in repose. Reilla continued to stroke his hair tenderly, her heart swelling with a deep affection for the man who would soon be her husband and king.

In the quiet of that intimate moment, with the weight of their shared destiny pressing upon them, Reilla found solace in the simple act of offering comfort. She knew that tomorrow would bring challenges they could scarcely imagine, but in this fleeting respite, she held onto the belief that their bond would be their strength.

As Aegon drifted into a peaceful slumber, Reilla sat with him, her gaze fixed on his serene expression. She whispered words of encouragement into the night, promising to stand by his side through whatever trials awaited them. In that quiet sanctuary, amidst the swirl of uncertainty outside, they found a brief respite—a moment of peace that fortified them both for the trials ahead.

[bohemian-nights]

Arlī(Anew)-Chapter 2

Word Count: ~3,458 words

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest; Mention of oral sex

Description: Dragonstone was the place of Naerys birth, but it did not feel like home.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact.

Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

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115 AC- Dragonstone

Dragonstone was the place of Naerys birth, but it did not feel like home. Nearly everything about the seat of her ancestors' was grim. The island itself was bleak with the smell of smoke lingering in the air. Aegon I was said to have enjoyed the smell. The princess found the smell headache-inducing if she was outside for too long. The actual castle was even more dreary. One could not turn their head without meeting a dragon motif or statue carved within the walls. Talons, wings, tails, and fire encircling every surface.

Her new husband had taken his mistress and set up camp upon her family’s ancestral seat some years back, but he was gone within half a year. The castle had not been occupied since. Naerys uncle the king meant to give the island to her cousin Rhaenyra as his heir, but it had remained unclaimed. It was little wonder Rhaenyra had not taken up residence there.

The island held little apart from dragonglass which was worth next to nothing. The small fishing village and port at the base of the island boasted of little trade. Dragonstone stood more as a testament to the might and reach that Valyria once held in the known world rather than a proper home in which she was expected to raise children.

Naerys new home was so unlike Hightide. Her uncle's seat held life within its white stone walls. Even her Velaryon family’s ancestral seat of Driftmark seemed less gray than Naerys current residence.

Naerys pondered on why her uncle had asked for the old outpost in the first place. She hadn’t wanted to ask why he had, but curiosity got the better of her after their nightly Valyrian lessons one evening. Lessons that Daemon had insisted upon as he had wanted to rectify her education which he saw was less than fit for a Targaryen bride.

“You have been learning Valyrian since you were a babe and yet your cousin Aemond has a better command of our ancestors' tongue” Daemon had sneered at her. A boy of five name days with Hightower for a mother. Her uncle saw her young cousins as little better than bastards. Naerys was of pure Valyrian blood. Her mother had been of house Velaryon and her father was a Targaryen. She should know better.

Daemon had threatened to take her over his knee and spank her when she had mispronounced words. Several times in fact. She had begun to wonder if he would actually make good on his word until he made her strip naked to recite the Valyrian alphabet after she had mixed up some of the letters.

The punishment had been effective. Her Valyrian had improved greatly since that humiliating night. Naerys had managed to please him by reciting a chapter in Valyrian. It was a children's book, but she had done it all the same and Daemon rewarded her with an answer to the mystery, to Naerys at least, behind why he had chosen Dragonstone for them.

“My brother believes that dreams made us kings.” Naerys knew that Daemon greatly cared for his brother, but her husband took little stock in his beliefs. “Dreams saved us from The Doom. Dragons made us kings.”

Her husband motioned to the painted table in front of them. They would often take lessons in its chamber. As if to emphasize his point further, he placed a wooden piece down on the table. The spot that depicted Dragonstone was a mere speck on the map of Westeros in comparison to even Driftmark, but from the island where they stood, Aegon and sister wives were able to conquer kingdoms. Kingdoms that had stood undisturbed for thousands of years

Daemon was not a hard man to understand. She knew that he saw her as little more than a vessel that would bring his own children into this world. It was the reason why he would spend their nights perfecting her Valyrian or why he would praise her for her dragon-riding abilities. Her blood was the reason why she was chosen. It was too soon to panic, but Naerys felt like she was failing to do her duty as a wife.

“These things take time my prince,” Maester Orlys had said after her latest moonblood’s appearance. Five moons into their marriage and she was not yet with child. “The princess is young.” Dragonstone was hardly a place of excitement. Visitors were few and far between.

Naerys had tried to make friends with some of her maids, but Daemon had laughed when she had told him of it. There was no one who was her equal on the island apart from her husband and he barely acknowledged her presence outside of their Valyrian lessons, their weekly dragon rides, or when he tried to put a babe in her.

“Perhaps a change in scenery might do her some good.” Driftmark and Kings Landing were suggested.

Naerys doubted they would journey to court anytime soon. Her uncle grew sicker by the day. His hand, Lord Lyonel Strong, and the small council ruled mostly in his stead. Although Lord Strong was no Otto Hightower, her new husband cared little for her brother's new hand.

“He’s a dull brute sweetling,” was his simple reply when she had asked why he disliked the hand at dinner two moons after their arrival. He had been in one of his better moods. They had gone riding that evening. The rest of their meal, however, was a quiet affair. Daemon sent her to bed once she had finished with an absent-minded kiss.

Naerys would later find out from Rhaenyra during one of her visits, which were far too frequent for the young princess’s taste, that her husband partly blamed Lord Strong for his second banishment from court. He had been the one to suggest that her husband’s head be taken for the alleged defilement of the crown princess. Only the king's love for his rogue brother had saved him.

Daemon conceded to their maesters advice. They were set to leave for Driftmark, when a raven from her aunt Princess Rhaenys arrived. Laena had gone into labor and had chosen to give birth upon Driftmark's shores. Her husband, Lord Strong's eldest son Ser Harwin, had gone with her. Daemon was not overly fond of the lord’s son either. Their journey was canceled. Ser Vaemond, Naerys mother’s brother, was sent for instead.

Her uncle's party was a lively bunch. The spirited knight had brought his lady wife, a pleasantly plump woman with a penchant for gossip, his sons who were just as arrogant as their father, their wives rather plain things, and his grandchildren with him. They had filled up Dragonstone's dreary halls bringing with them much-needed cheer. Not since the early days of King Jaehaerys rule did Naerys believe that its halls had been graced with such life. Even Daemon seemed to enjoy their company.

“If you will recall my prince,” Ser Vaemond had begun as he and Daemon sat by the fire five days into his stay. The two had been laughing and drinking beforehand. Recollecting on their war days mostly, but the merriment had stopped with her uncle’s next words.

“My late sister was always a sickly woman. I believe our dear little Naerys has inherited her constitution.” Ser Vaemond had always been a prideful man. Daring to speak his mind no matter the cost, especially with some liquid courage in his belly.

Daemon drifted his violet gaze toward where his young bride sat on the other side of their hall playing a game of Cyvasse with one of her cousins. His hands gripping the armrest of his chair with enough intensity to turn his knuckles white. Naerys attempted to keep her concentration on the game, but Vaemond was as loud as he was boastful.

“It is a shame that your brother would not allow you to take Rhaenyra as your second wife.” His dark brow was glistening with sweat as he took another sip of Dornish red. From the corner of her eyes, Naerys could see that barely contained storm brewed upon her husband’s face.

Ser Vaemond was either too drunk to care or did not notice her husband's increasing irritation with him. “She would have given you sons by now.” The hall went silent. Her uncle’s words were quite clear. Daemon would have had his heirs. Sons that would have one day inherited the iron throne. Instead, he was stuck with a sickly little bride who had yet to give him so much as a daughter.

“Mind your tongue Ser Vaemond lest you lose it.” Her husband's face had turned to stone as he stood up to tower over the drunken man. “Your sister gave my brother Naerys. My wife, your niece, will be the one to give me my heirs.” Daemon stormed over to where Naerys sat, snatching her from the game, wordlessly taking her to her chambers.

Daemon lovemaking had been vigorous. Her husband has always been passionate; he was more dragon than man some days, but Naerys had never been on the receiving end of his intensity. His fire was usually reserved for the training yard. His affections both frightened and thrilled Naerys more than she liked to admit.

Daemon had only stopped that night when she had made the mistake of grazing the scars at the base of his neck after she had pulled him up from between her legs for a kiss. It had been an accident of course. Her uncle made her taste herself on his tongue a couple of times before, but he had always pinned her arms above her head when he had.

Naerys had been distracted by the taste of her slick on his lips when he had yanked her hand from his neck. Her husband had redressed quickly and was out the door dismissing her apologies without so much as a glance spared her way.

Ser Vaemond made no move to give Daemon his opinions on anything else. He had taken to avoiding the prince altogether for the rest of the duration of his stay, but the damage had been done. In the weeks since her uncle’s visit. Naerys felt more alone than ever.

Daemon had ceased their Valyrian lessons. He had cited that her Valyrian was “adequate enough.” His visits to her chambers were few and far between and never with the same intensity that he displayed that ill-favored night. Even their rides over Blackwater Bay had come to a halt.

Naerys felt herself growing restless. The weather had not helped. It had been raining for the past week. Daemon had forbidden her from flying. Naerys had not ridden in a storm. She was simply not experienced enough to navigate the open waters of the bay in one.

“It will rain today sweetling,” her husband said as he came into her chambers, interrupting her breakfast. It was the first time he had spoken to her in two days. Daemon always knew what she was up to. She suspected that one of her maids was a spy of his. “Best to stay in the library.”

“I am not a doll kepus.” Daemon had requested she call “valzȳrys” him after she saw fit to call an “uēpa vala” once she had learned how to properly pronounce the words. Naerys had begun to call him “kepus” as a compromise. It was only fitting since he treated her as if she was an errant child one moment and a misguided wife the next. “Nor am I your child.”

“Of course not. You're my wife Naerys.” It was said in a teasing tone as he inspected some of her silver curls that had loosened from a braid in her sleep. Naerys did not miss the look he gave. The same look a parent might give to a child when they do not want to be questioned. However, Naerys would not back down this time. Rain or no rain she planned on going for a ride. She needed the fresh air. She had been cooped up inside Dragonstone’s walls for far too long.

“I will accompany you.” Daemon left the room before she could voice her objections.

Rhaenys had taken Naerys to claim Silverwing for her dragon mount on the eve of her fifteenth name day. The dragon had not had a rider since her great-grandmother Queen Alysanne had passed. If her cousin Laena had claimed Vhagar the oldest at twelve name days there was no reason why the young princess could not claim the most docile of the dragons. The she-dragon had accepted Naerys as its rider with little fanfare.

To Naerys, dragon-riding was one of the best if not only freedoms that she had. Her schedule as a child was always dictated by lessons. Not much had changed now that she was a married woman. She was only now beholden to her husband's wishes and scolded like a misbehaving youth, but on the dragon's back, she came into her own.

While her Valyrian was less than ideal her flying was not. Her uncle had encouraged her to keep to the skies. Daemon never seemed to find fault in her flying. He had even made Rhaenyra and Laenor watch her flying during one of their visits. A look of pride was clear upon his face.

“Issa byka ābrazȳrys istan vēttan kipagon.” He had said to them once she had landed back at the spot from where they had watched her fly. Rhaenyra had turned red at his words and looked as if she wanted to storm off back into the castle while Laenor simply chose to focus on the muddy ground below. Naerys was able to piece together his meaning from her cousin's reactions.

Daemon had simply laughed and ushered them back inside. That night Naerys noted that she had not heard the faint opening or closing of any doors nor the sounds of light feet upon the castle's stone floors usually accompanied her cousin's visits. Rhaenyra and Laenor had left before breakfast the next morning. Rhaenyra had not been back since.

By the time they had made the trek to the cave where their dragons lay it had begun to rain in earnest. Silverwing and Caraxes resided in the same cave along with Vermithor, Sliverwing’s mate. The older dragon tolerated Caraxes' presence, but he mostly kept to the back of the cave away from the younger male.

“We can check on the dragons, but we are going back inside.” Her husband stopped them at the cave's entrance, turning her to face him. The prince had to tilt her chin up. Naerys had tried to walk ahead of her husband but his long limbs met her brisk pace without much effort. She was quite agile and his grip was rather loose. She wriggled free from her husband’s hold with ease.

“Where is your sense of adventure kepus?” She began to saddle Silverwing with a grin turning to face her husband. Daemon did not look amused. He had not moved to ready Caraxes. Remaining at the mouth of the cave with a frown.

“Naerys I mean it.” She pretended to not hear him as she seated herself and spurred her dragon on. The last thing she heard was her shouting at Silverwing to stop in Valyrian. She did not obey his commands. They both knew that he could not keep her from riding.

It had been a relief when they had reached the open sky. The rain pelted around Naerys but she had not minded the cold droplets that rained down her face. For the first time in weeks, she felt alive.

Naerys heard the sound of wings in the distance. She turned around to see Caraxes and Daemon not far behind. The rain had blocked her visibility a bit but could make out that her husband was still sporting a frown.

“Stay close.” Daemon's voice boomed out. Naerys dismissed his chiding once more. She urged her dragon to climb higher wondering if they could break through the clouds to look at the storm below them. The thunder came before they could reach their destination.

Silverwing was a nimble pretty thing, but Naerys was a fair-weather rider. Daemon was right when he had said she remained untested on the open sea. She could sense that with each bang of thunder that came, Silverwing began to grow more unsure of herself and her rider's commands. A particularly loud bang that rattled Naerys' bones caused Silverwing to bolt off further into the storm.

“Lykiri Silverwing.” Naerys could not see beyond her dragon's head. The dragon's sudden darts loosened her grip upon the saddle.”Silverwing lykiri.” The princess tried once more, but Silverwing would not listen.

Another crack of thunder set the dragon off again diving for whatever surface lay below. Silverwing had moved too suddenly. Her rider's grip on the saddle had finally slipped. Naerys felt herself falling as she was thrown off her seat.

Instead of hitting the open water as she had expected, the princess felt a pair of hands pulling her up onto another saddle. Her husband wordlessly positioned her on his lap as she struggled to make sense of where she was. The rest of their ride was in silence. Daemon only began to berate her once they had landed back near the dragon's cave.

“When I tell you to stop, you stop,” everything sounded as if she was underwater. Naerys' head was still in the clouds. Thunder was still banging in her ear. Daemon shook her then, breaking her from her trance. “Do you understand girl?”

Dragons were temperamental creatures. As much as their house liked to believe they were Gods among men who had tamed these great beasts of fire they were in truth mere mortal men. Made of flesh and blood as any other. They were beholden to these creatures as much as they were to them if not more so. “You would have been dead if I had not come with you.” It came to her then.

“You could have been rid of me.” Her husband looked at her as if she had grown a second head. Which caused her to let out a laugh. How could he not see it? Daemon could be on his way to the capital once the storm cleared. He had not wanted to marry her truly. He had only wanted a Valyrian wife. A dragon rider with the blood of old Valyria. His heart lay with another.

Rhaenyra was married, true enough, but accidents happen every day. A little sweet sleep or a drunken brawl at some tavern and the crown princess would be a free woman once more. Or perhaps Laenor would allow Daemon to give her cousin children of unquestionable Valyrian blood.

Alicent’s questions would seize. Daemon could have his heirs. Rhaenyra her crown. It could all stop. If her husband had let the storm take her it would have stopped. If Daemon had not saved he would have been free. Well and truly free.

Naerys was brought from her musings when she felt herself being wrapped in her husband’s arms. “I chose you, dōna hāedar. I have no taste for another.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. She looked up to meet Daemon's red-laced violet gaze. He did not laugh at her. There was no mischief in his eyes. Nothing of malice or deceit.

Naerys did not know what possessed her, perhaps she was still in shock, but she reached up with a small brown hair to curl her fingers around the short silver hair at the base of his neck. She pulled him down with a soft tug. Naerys still had to crane her neck to look up at her husband, but they were more on equal footing.

She reached up using her other hand to trace his lips. This time it had been Daemon who had drawn her in. He tasted of smoke, the sea, spiced wine, and something heady and warm that she could not name. Daemon had only stopped to pull away for air after she had begun to sink further into him from a lack of oxygen.

The storm had begun to let up as they stood there breathing each other in, their foreheads lightly touching, before her husband picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than Dark Sister. Naerys could not help but let out a girlish giggle at the sight they must have made which prompted her husband to land a firm swat on her backside. At that too she let out another round of laughter. Daemon had not left her bed that night or the night after.

Translations:

Kepus: Uncle

Uēpa vala: Old man

Valzȳrys: Husband

Issa byka ābrazȳrys istan vēttan kipagon: My little wife was made to ride.

Lykiri: Calm down

Dōna hāedar: Sweet girl

Ao3 link:

[sansa286]

Thoughts On the Baela x Corlys Conversation in S2E5

This scene has been a polarizing one for the fandom and has spawned many takes, so I'm going to address them and mention what I like about the scene/what makes sense to me and what I thought could be improved.

Takes I Disagree With

"Baela rejecting Driftmark is the writers trying to absolve Corlys of any misogyny that was present in F&B."

No it doesn't. Corlys is still the same man who pimped out Laena and scoffed at either of his granddaughters being named the heir to Driftmark up until Rhaenys died. This is even the reason that Bethany Antonia gave as to why Baela rejects Driftmark - Corlys ignored her and Rhaena for most of their lives and did not consider them viable heirs, she does not want to become the heir to Driftmark out of pity. The scene is also meant to parallel Viserys naming Rhaenyra the heir to the iron throne only after he lost Aemma and their son. These men were willfully misogynistic and ignored the women in their families, and only come crawling to them once they're desperate. Corlys misogyny is well intact rather Baela accepted this offer or not.

"Baela rejecting Driftmark makes no sense, she's nothing more than a Rhaenyra cheerleader."

It does when you remember that she thinks she will be the queen of Westeros one day, something that only became a reality when Rhaenyra offered she and Jace be married. Of course she wants Rhaenyra to take the throne. And another reason that I will elaborate on later. Baela is not merely Rhaenyra's lacky, she clearly disregards her orders back in S1E3 when she chases down Criston Cole.

"Baela Tells Corlys to 'Get Over' His Wife's Death"

No she doesn't. She tells him to stop acting as if Rhaenys was a possession that Rhaenyra snatched away from him. As someone who's been through a lot of grief as of late, I know all too well how people jump to playing the blame game and pointing fingers when someone dies tragically. It is very human, but it's not healthy or the correct way to process someone's death. Especially in this case, Rhaenys volunteered to go to Rook's Rest, knowing that it would be dangerous. No one on Team Black knew that Sunfyre or Vhagar were going to be there, as far as they knew, Vhagar was still patrolling King's Landing. And the Greens themselves didn't even know Aegon was going to ride on Sunfyre. As far as anyone on Team Black knew, Rhaenyra included, Rhaenys would fly to Rook's Rest, burn up Cole and his army, and then be back for supper.

We, the audience, know that Rhaenys turned back twice and knowingly fought to her death, but Corlys doesn't. So I'm not saying that Corlys' reaction here doesn't make sense, because it does, however Baela telling him to not be so quick to blame Rhaenyra isn't some harsh or cruel advice, and I'm sick of Greenies acting as if it is or that Rhaenyra is solely responsible for Rhaenys' death and that Corlys should be secretly plotting to assassinate her or get some sort of retribution. Newsflash: he's not Daemon.

You could even infer that everyone knows that Rhaenys chose to go out this way; Meleys is canonically the fastest dragon, so she could've escaped if she wanted to, as we see in the previous episode.

"Baela and Corlys do not speak to each other like a granddaughter and grandfather would."

Baela and Corlys hardly know each other. Baela spent the first ten years of her life in Pentos, and the last several on Driftmark while Corlys was away at sea. They are relative strangers to each other and these last few weeks have been the most time they've ever spent with each other, and most of that time has been addressing the war. Corlys has routinely only shown interest in whoever the heir to Driftmark is, which was Luke up until now. So no, Baela and Corlys interacting like that makes sense.

Now onto the main issue I have with scene...

Baela's Reasoning In the Show

The one we get, in the show, is lame. "I am blood and fire, Driftmark must pass to salt and sea." I get that the writers are trying to make her seem quippy, but this also unintentionally confirms that Rhaena's biggest concern is 100% right - she is disregarded by her family. If Corlys were to give Driftmark to a granddaughter, why not Rhaena? She was set to marry Luke and inherit it anyway until his death, even Rhaenys recommended it! I can buy that Corlys would offer it up to Baela, as he clearly sees her as more valuable due to her dragon, but the fact that Baela doesn't mention her sister? When they're supposed to be interpreted as having, at least, a somewhat close relationship, and she knows that Rhaena feels as if she is not respected by their family? Either the writers are trying to hint that Baela secretly feels the same as everyone else in regards to Rhaena or they gave her that weird pseudo-poetic line to feed the TikTok editors. Hell, that could've been the reason she gave Corlys - "I will be queen one day, so let my sister inherit what she was already due for" or something like that.

Overall the scene was fine. I'm still quite irritated at the lack of Rhaena being considered, but maybe that's the point and they intend on elaborating on that later. Who knows? We still have three more episodes left, but until then, this is my take on the scene.

[escamaserrantes]

Anosmia

Where Lucerys sense of smell is reduced because Aemond broke his nose and now the only thing that the Omega can smell is Aemond's Alpha pheromones. Viserys tries to mend the exchanged blood in a betrothal between both to unite the House of the Dragon and House Velaryon one last time, but Corlys also demands to take the Prince Aemond as a squire.

N/A: Cómo que nadie escribió este prompt o AU en un Omegaverse, shame on y'all!! I should be sleeping dudes.

Aemond was supposed to be Sir Laenor's squire, but I find it funnier if Grandpa Corlys takes him to educate him in the Velaryon customs and how to be a proper Alpha for his grandson.

Also, Aemond founds a home outside the Red Keep.

Velaryon's Alphas cuts his hair when they loses a battle and Aemond Targaryen had never been defeated after Lucerys had gouged one of his eyes, he trained under Rhaenys Targaryen wings and the Sea Snake fleet beginning as a mere Fleetmate to First Officer. Soon to be promoted to Captain of his own ship.

He learns a lot outside home, the Driftmark library was richer than the Red Keep one and Corlys Velaryon had a vast knowledge to offer.

Aemond enjoyed the long talks about history of Old Valyria and philosophy without worrying about the Faith of Seven or his mother's disapproving look in the eyes, Aegon's taunts or his father's indifference.

Even his High Valyrian improved traveling outside Westeros.

Life seemed better in the sea, until Lucerys had his first heat fever and Aemond's time alone in Driftmark had ended.

"Princess Rhaenyra has requested your presence in Dragonstone", Lord Corlys said. "Take Vaghar with you and don't you dare to comeback until Lucerys heat ends. No matter what Daemon says, stay by his side."

Aemond grimaced face sours at the command, leaving without protest. He wished to go in a ship, take his fucking time and let de bastard suffer alone.

But it was his punishment for ruining the omega, as Lucerys punishment will be warming his bed and bearing his seed.

If he wants to become the Lord Admiral of the half of Westeros naval army, he will need to perform his duty and mate the bastard until his nephew gives him a couple of heirs or dies trying. Aemond doesn't mind, he would protect his pup's right as Lord of Tides with fire and blood.

I'm going to edit this shit later

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

JON SNOW DAY 4: UNSUNG CONNECTIONS 🔍🧩 JON SNOW- AEGON V

 Maester Aemon compares Jon Snow to his younger brother Aegon V Targaryen. Little he knew that Jon is actually great great grandson of his dear brother and just like him  he will rise as an unlikely leader. 

 Both Aegon and Jon are royals in disguise. In Aegon's case, it's intentional, as he hides his Targaryen identity and his royal status. While in Jon's case he's not even aware he's related to their family. However, he still is what Robert Baratheon calls "the King hiding in the snow" (I'm not implying that Robert made that jape about Jon as he's unaware of the boy's true identity but  it's hard not to link this imagery to Jon SNOW). 

 Aegon and Jon are young  ambitious lads who wanted to achieve glory of their own by becoming knights (black or white, both Night's Watch and Kingsguard are orders someone enters for life). Being so young, both of them were blissfully unaware of love so neither of them had a problem to declare that they would give up any romance in order to achieve greatness. Later on, both would find out about romantic love (Aegon with Betha Blackwood and Jon with Ygritte).

 In terms of character, both of them are bold and have a sharp togue. That often gets them in trouble and their mentors reprimand them for that. They are also very defensive of the family members they love. Both of them are quick to defend their fathers' reputation when someone speaks ill of them. " Prince Maekar is Prince Rhaegal's brother. He loves him well. He'd never do harm to him or his" sounds very similar to Jon's "My father is no traitor".

Most leaders and even mere nobles spend their whole lives in luxury never concerning themselves with the common people. That's not the case with Aegon V, who spend time among smallfolk and got to witness some of their hardships . Neither is the case of Jon Snow, whose status as a bastard made him less privileged than the regular noble and later on when he joined the Night's Watch, he befriended commoners and became a steward himself. Jon also got to spend time among the free folk and be introduced to their own culture and hardships. It's those experiences of theirs who make them have a a broader perspective and be kinder than most leaders.

 Both of them try to make reforms in order to improve the lives of those who are the least privileged. Aegon is trying to make things better for the smallfolk, while Jon is trying to help the freefolk survive and find a refuge at Westeros. Those actions earn them the love of the oppressed people they help but also the hatred of those who don't want the status quo to change: 

Through beloved by smallfolk, King Aegon V made enemies among the lords of the realm, whose power he wished to curtail. 

TWOIAF - Aegon V 

 Similarly, the free folk come to respect Jon for giving them a shelter and by the end of ADWD many of them are about to follow Jon on his campaign against Ramsay Bolton. However, the black brothers who expressed their concerns about letting the freefolk to settle within Westeros (like Bower Marsh for example) are among those who assassinate Jon Snow.

 Finally,  I want to talk about Aegon's epithet "The Unlikely" and why I believe it might apply to Jon as well. Aegon was the fourth son of the fourth son of the Targaryen King. Nobody thought that he would rule and he never tried to usurp the throne from his relatives that were before him in line of succession. However, once he was the one who was offered the crown, he became King and as I mentioned before he made the lives of his less privileged subjects a better one.

Jon Snow also never thought he could inherit anything and that's why he thought that his only option was to join the Night's Watch. However, he's currently named Robb's heir and he's the most capable out of all the Stark kids (due to age and experience) to rule. Will he also take the crown in order to help improve his subjects lives and better prepare them for the long night? Also, what about his Targaryen inheritance? Could he also be an unlikely but potential King candidate due to being Rhaegar's son? Only time and future books can say for sure.

 I'll close this meta with Maester Aemon advise to Jon:

"You are half the age that Egg was, and your own burden is a crueler one, I fear. You will have little joy of your command, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born."

ADWD, JON II

[ladybug023]

Daeron Targaryen

Sweetest of Allicent’s boys.

Also the most honorable, chivalrous, and noble.

Viserys barely even noticed his existence but it’s okay because he got enough fatherly love from Criston, Otto and his uncles.

Incredibly intelligent. Studied at the citadel.

He also was tutored by the greatest minds in warfare and strategy.

He dreams of a better Westeros. He wants to one day improve the the capital city and make it more like old town.

He wants to bring back old Valyrian technologies to improve Westeros.

Is more progressive than his brothers.

He’s very close to Aemond. He was the only one who didn’t make fun of him as a kid.

He often comforted Aemond after Jace, Luke, and Aegon bullied him.

He was Aemond’s main sparring partner until he went to squire in old town.

Doesn’t like his brother Aegon so much. Although he hates to admit it because he feels like he should love all of his siblings.

Has a huge crush on Maris Baratheon. She is older than him and he’s too intimidated by her to tell her.

When Aegon asked him why he’d want to bed a shrew like Maris, Daeron replied “In a fight it’s better to have a battle axe than a flower.”

He’s a big lover of music and poetry. He often writes songs and plays the lute.

Like Helaena, he doesn’t hate his cousins. But after what happened to Aemond and how Rhaenyra sons treated them he doesn’t like them.

Daeron would’ve made a great king if he wasn’t the youngest.