#the baratheon brothers present

[thedarkestgreys]

someone found the storms end cruise from my BBP days and went on a commenting spree and i just gotta say…. how? what led you here beloved commentator? what ship tag did you come in from? i just wanna know.

[thewritetofreespeech]

pairing: Aemond x Reader

summary: your husband leaves for a hunting trip, but before he leaves he provides you with a gift to keep your fealty secure.

tags: heterosexual sex (m/f), chastity belt [fictional c. belt usage, don't come for me], oral (female receiving), cowgirl, aemond is a meanie to his wife, but also a sweetie, mentions of the other members of the Green but not present.

-------------------------------⚔️--------------------------------

The bells seemed to have not stopped ringing for days now.

First, to herald the new prince, Maelor, into the world. Then to call his father home.

Aegon had overheard of the Baratheon tradition of going hunting before the birth of a child. Claiming a new stag and presenting the pelt to the mother, which he thought was a splendid tradition. The hunting, not the presents for the mother; although any excuse to get out of the castle was Aegon’s ultimate goal. He assembled some of the finest hunters he could find, or at least on such short notice, and sped off into some forest while his wife labored through the end of her pregnancy and had her toil finally ended in the wee hours of the morning.

You were happy for Helaena. To have her child here & health and her agony ended. But also, selfishly, that your own agony might be ended too.

Your husband had gone with hers. Aegon insisted that family should be involved in this new process he was creating, and made his brother come with him for the hunt. Aemond did not fight him too hard. He too would look for any excuse to leave the castle, particularly when his half-sister & her family were around, and enjoyed hunting like any man of arms might when the opportunity struck.

However, before the princes left your husband presented you with a gift that had turned your ill-planned parting into a tortuous affair.

“I still don’t see why any of this is necessary.”

Aemond paid you little mind as he fastened the last strap and locked it. Admiring his work as he sat back on his heels. “I feel that my fidelity is being called into question.”

“It is not your fidelity, dearest one.” He told you. Standing to his full height above you as he slipped the key into his pocket. “A beautiful woman, alone, for some days’ time without her husband. I am protecting you from those less virtuous than you.”

You frown and drop your skirts. “Oh please.” As if anyone would dare touch you, or even glance in your direction too long, with Aemond the Fierce as your husband. Even before your marriage he had managed to scare off any suitor or admirer that came near. Deciding that you would be his and he would not have competition on the matter. His jealousy had not gotten any better since you were married, but luckily you found it endearing; in an odd, Targaryen ‘take no prisoner’ kind of a way. “I will be with your sister most of the time anyway whilst you are gone. Unless you think her a threat now?”

Aemond smirked. “I don’t know. Helaena does have a weakness for the oddest, cutest things.” He leaned in to give you a kiss, which you return despite your sulking pout.

“How am I to relieve myself with this thing?”

“There is a small hole.”

“Charming.”

“The point is that you, nor anyone else, can relieve you.” His hand came up to cup your cheek. “Not until I get back.”

You frown at Aemond again. Once again feeling your fidelity was being called into question, but now also your virtue. “Please. You think I am some nymph unable to curb my baser instincts while my husband is away? That the moment you leave I’ll just start humping the couches like a dog.” The prince scoffed. Amused by your joke. “I will be fine Aemond. I am sure I can last a week without ‘relief’ as you put it.”

“See that you do.” He gave you another kiss. Longer this time and you kiss him back properly, without the pout, as you realize this was your goodbye kiss. “Tell Helaena to push out that babe sooner rather than later. I’d hate to have to miss you by the time it’s all said and done.”

That had been a tenday ago, and you had been eating your words since the sixth.

At first, it was fine. You were indeed busy tending to Helaena. Keeping her comfortable. Keeping her entertained. You had not yet known the joy of being with child, but from where you were sitting across from her it seemed not to bring the joy often described. Your situation did not get problematic until night fall.

Alone in your bed, you had trouble falling asleep that first night without Aemond beside you. His gentle breathing not at your back. Had your bed always been this big? The second night sleep came a little easier, though you still missed your husband. By the third night, you really missed him. You suddenly realized that since your marriage not more than three days had gone by without Aemond sliding to your side of the bed to lay with you. He was not the braggart like his brother or other more crude lords at court, but he was quite the vivacious lover; when properly motivated by affection and praise.

Now alone, you were suddenly aware of your body and how much it had changed since being with Aemond. How, in a way, he had conditioned you for him. Before it would have been no problem for you to go without such pleasures, but now you seem unable to make it not 3 days without touch. Coupled with the fact that you couldn’t do anything about it with the damned belt on you were all the more frustrated in your situation and desired nothing more than for Aemond to come home.

You watched as the gates opened and Aegon’s party rode in. The horses galloping to a halt before the procession stage. No dragons this time. Aegon said it would take the sport out of.

The newly anointed father leapt from his horse and bounded up the steps of the small stage to Helaena. His eyes & smile bright as he looked on his newest son, Aegon took Maelor from her arms gently to hold him for the first time. It was all rather endearing.

Your attention turned from the happy scene to the steps again as they creak under foot. Aemond’s tall, lean frame now in full view. You find it difficult to breathe all of a sudden. As if your chastity belt was suddenly wrapped all the way around you like a corset. You grip the arms of your chair tight to stay strong and stay still. Aware that you were still in public and in front of your family after all.

“Look brother! Look at my new son!” The second prince walked over to his brother to look upon their newest addition. Giving his new nephew the smallest hint of a smile as he looked down at him. Your core quaked violently.

“Congratulations brother. Well done, Helaena.” The princess smiled shyly at her brother, and their mother seemed pleased for once at this happy moment.

Aemond snapped and made some sort of gesture at a servant, who scurried up the steps and handed him some ivory pelts from a chest that Aemond then gave to Helaena. Foxes, perhaps. Or maybe rabbits. You couldn’t be sure which as your sister-in-law gushed over their softness and color while you smiled & nodded along. Your mind completely focused on Aemond. He was so close now. You could practically smell him. The iron. The leather. The sweat & sun from riding back this afternoon. You have to swallow to keep the drool pooling in your mouth from leaking out. You had to get out of here. You had to get out of this…thing!

“If you’ll excuse me, I must wash the road off and rest in a proper bed if I am expected to entertain later.” Aemond’s voice cut through your thoughts. As if he heard you.

“You do not wish to stay and see the babe?” Aegon asked. Holding his new son up with a look of ‘what could be better than this?’. You could think of a few things, but as a lady you held your tongue.

“He’s not going anywhere, is he?” Aemond jest. To which his mother rolled her eyes and he kissed Helaena on the cheek. “I will see him at the feast, I’m sure.” He turned and finally looked at you. You felt your heart stop and your skirts grow moist before he offered his hand to you. “Come wife.”

You take his hand, digits trembling almost as much as that first time you took it, and stand. You kiss Helaena’s cheek on the other side, wishing her congratulations again, before Aemond lead you off the stage and into the palace. Luckily, by fate or design, the procession meeting ground was near your apartments. So it was a quick walk before you were at your door. They open for you, and Aemond only let out a stern “get out” to the servants, who only have mere seconds to flurry away before you were on each other. Your lips crashing against Aemond’s along with the rest of your body as you back him into a corner against the door like you felt you had been backed into all week.

“Get this fucking thing off me.”

“My, my, such language.” Aemond was grinning maliciously, but pridefully, down at you. “I leave for just a week and my sweet wife’s lips turn into that of a Braavosi sailor.” You gasp, nearly pant, as Aemond brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. Seeming fascinated by them. As if they were some intricate puzzle for him. “Did you miss me, issa jorrāelagon?”

You whimper as the High Valyrian rolls off Aemond’s tongue. Your thighs shivering as at the thought of it and those delicious purrs between them again. “Yes. I did.”

He seemed pleased. “I missed you too.” He kissed you again. Slower, sweeter, deeper this time, rather than tongue & teeth. It was a good thing Aemond’s arms were securely wrapped around you as his kiss made you swoon. “I would think of you every night.” His lips brush against your lips, your cheek, your chin. His hands caressing you softly everywhere as you stared dimly up at Aemond. Drunk from him. “While Aegon and his pack rutted with their camp followers, I would go to my tent and think of you. Stroke my cock along with your key around my neck, think of you waiting for me, until I could no longer take it anymore.”

You whimper & whine at Aemond’s words. A part of you elated to have that effect on your husband, but part of you also extremely jealous. You had been forced to wait while he had not. That seemed entirely unfair and should be corrected immediately.

“Aemond…please. I’m tired of waiting. Please take this off me so I can be your wife again.”

Your prince smiled at you. Pressing you back now as you kiss this time towards the bed. You had intentionally worn the simplest dress you had to the arrival. Beautiful in design and beadwork, but nowhere near the detailing of lacings and ties most of court lady fashion had. All with the intention of Aemond being able to get it off you quickly, which he succeeded at, and lay you on the bed. “Hells. You look radiant.”

“Aemond please…” You beg again. Bosom heaving. Your skin on fire at even the briefest touch of his fingertips against your calf. Tingling in your nakedness in front of him, save for this accursed belt.

He took pity on you it seemed and opened his vest with a few quick snaps. Producing the key from around his neck. He still kept it there, it seemed. Aemond gave you a long look, as if holding on to this final, torturing moment with some perverse pleasure at your suffering, before he undid the lock and helped you out of your ties.

You moan, loudly, with your head tilted back as it finally came off. Release from the belt was almost as pleasurable as the full release you were surely about to receive. Your skin able to breathe fully. Your limbs one with themselves again. It was enough to make your head spin, only to be brought back to you when you felt Aemond spread your thighs and kneel before you.

“A-Aemond! Wait! I haven’t washed properly in---mph!” He doesn’t seem to care.

Though you had bathed regularly since your parting, the belt made it difficult to clean yourself fully. Trust in this, you had tried. Every angle. Every side. Every idea imaginable to get around this accursed thing, but to no avail. Aemond seemed unbothered by this as he devoured your cunt like a starved man. That skilled Valyrian silver teasing your clit. Making you squirm on the bed, to the point that Aemond had to hold your thighs apart to the point of bruises. Gods, you hoped for bruises. The shift from no attention to this sudden onslaught was enough to drive you to madness. Overstimulated, you cum quickly with a sharp cry. “Oh Gods…..!”

Aemond doesn’t leave you until your walls stop quaking around him, then he lifted slowly from between your legs. “Still sweet as ever, issa jorrāelagon.”

The prince stripped out of his clothes with a speed you did not think possible of their usually intricate clothing. You bit your lip. Core throbbing even though you had just climaxed at the sight of your husband. Lean form. Alabaster skin. Pure white save for the hard, blushing cock pointed out at you. “Aemond…”

He chuckled. Probably finding your lust blown eyes and subconscious spreading of your legs for him amusing. “So needy.” He was enjoying this. Enjoying tormenting you with his fine figure and devilish smirk. People often whispered about how cruel Aemond was. You never believed them. But perhaps you would have to amend your thinking on the topic as it was cruel to have him on offer now and still make you wait.

He crawled on to the bed and on top of you. Your lungs filling with air and releasing in a sigh as you feel his weight on top of you. How you had missed even this part. To be close to your prince. To have his presence mix with yours. Not just the sex, but the intimacy was something Aemond had trained your body to as well. You hope to never be parted from it again.

“I’m rather tired from the journey.” He whispered to you. Panick welling up in you as he stroked your hair & cheek sweetly. He wasn’t going to stop, was he? You would punch him in that beautiful face if he stopped now! No a judicator in the land would convict you. “So, you will have to do all the work this time, sweet one.”

He gripped your hips then and flipped you over. You yip at the sudden change in equilibrium, but then moan as you felt his hardness brush against your sex. The length of it perfectly aligned to slide between your folds. By fate or design you could not be sure, but what you were sure of was that you needed it inside you.

“Take from me what you want, issa jorrāelagon. Let me see your rapture now that I am home. You deserve it.”

You whine at Aemond’s words and kiss him desperately. As a thank you? Just the burning need to touch him?

You lift up and line his cock up properly with your entrance. The wetness from your sex and anticipation allowing him to slide in easily, and you moan like a whore at the feeling of him inside you again. “You have to move, issa jorrāelagon.” Aemond reminded you. His tone sweet and teasing. This spell he had on you working over your mind as you are unable to think, just obey, and start to move your hips.

Aemond watched you from below. His eye and sapphire fixed solely on you as you writhed in pleasure on top of him. Every bit the nymph you claimed not to be just a short while ago as your body and mind were lost to you in the sole pursuit of pleasure.

“Aemond..! Aemond…! So good!”

“I know, my love.” He must be close. The grit of his teeth, and the fact that he used your nickname in common instead of High Valyrian, his tell. “I’m close. Just a bit more.” You weren’t sure if you could last that long as you were suddenly bursting all around. Body shaking. Gasping for air. Luckily, it seemed just enough for Aemond and his hips arched up to push deeper inside you as he spilled his seed.

You collapse on top of your husband. Sweaty, wanton, spent. Aemond, for his part, seemed to catch his breath rather quickly and flipped you back over. “What are you doing?”

“Truly you did not think that would be the only time I had you.” You cry out when Aemond thrust his still hard cock into your sensitive sex. “We have near a week to make up for.”

It was much later in the afternoon by the time Aemond felt he had properly ‘balanced the scales’. Your body was exhausted, but content. Laying with your husband in the afterglow, and your ruined bed, a tonic for your soul you didn’t know you needed. “I have a gift for you.”

“Another one?” You tease your prince, who smiled and untangled himself from you to go over to a chest you hadn’t realized was in the room. You recognize it though as the chest the servant had brought to Aemond at his command when he presented the pelts to his sister.

“I caught this one when I was out on my own. Aegon & his troupe were off to the east with their wine and crossbows. I went west, as no quarry would come with their revelry. Seemed only fitting that since I found it on my own, my wife should have it.”

It was a pelt of pure onyx. Soft, but not nearly as soft as what Helaena had gotten earlier. This was the pelt of a beast, not prey. “Aemond, it’s beautiful.” Your fingers sift through the fine hairs. Feeling the power of its former master almost transfer into your fingers. “Thank you.”

“I am glad you like it. Perhaps I shall have to find you a new one, in nine months.” You glance over at Aemond out of the corner of your eye. Quick to understand his meaning. Quick to realize that Aemond wants his own son now that he’s seen Aegon with his second.

“Perhaps.” Time would only tell. You move your beautiful new fur to the side and crawl into Aemond’s waiting lap. “But if you leave me here for a week while I suffer alone, I will kill you. Do you hear me?”

Aemond laughed in the face of his own danger. “No. I would never leave you. This tryst was amusing, but I will be damned before I follow a Baratheon’s tradition before our own.” He lifted your hand and kissed it softly. “Our kin will have dragon eggs in their beds, not pelts.”

“Good.” You agreed and kissed him fully.

You make love again. Slowly, intimately this time. The kind of joining you both hope brings children. You would have to bathe and get dressed for the welcoming feast later that evening. Aegon’s welcome home and Maelor’s official presentation, along with all the spoils the men had caught on their hunt. But for now, it would just be you and Aemond. Enjoying each other and being back in one another’s arms.

Your last present though mysteriously vanishes. You have no idea where the belt went to, or what was done with it. Aemond had no answers. But you have a sinking suspicion it was moved somewhere for safe keeping; lest you find it and burn it, as was your threat long after.

[evermore-grimoire]

The Evermore Grimoire: Royalty

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, known as "the Queen Who Never Was" and dragon rider to dragon was Meleys, "the Red Queen". She was the daughter of Prince Aemon Targaryen and Lady Jocelyn Baratheon and was married to Lord Corlys Velaryon of Driftmark. Rhaenys was born in 74 AC on the seventh day of the seventh moon of the year. As her father was the Prince of Dragonstone, and she was his firstborn child, many considered her as being next in line for the Iron Throne, after her father Aemon. Queen Alysanne Targaryen, when being presented with her granddaughter, called her "our queen to be." When Rhaenys's father Prince Aemon Targaryen died in 92 AC, King Jaehaerys I Targaryen had to formally appoint a new heir to the Iron Throne. The choice was between Rhaenys and Aemon's brother Baelon. King Jaehaerys I Targaryen appointed Baelon as the new Prince of Dragonstone, passing over the pregnant Rhaenys and her unborn child. Rhaenys herself was the first to object to the king's decision, and her husband, Lord Corlys Velaryon, gave up his position as lord admiral as well as his place on the small council. Following that, Rhaenys and her husband returned to Driftmark. When Baelon died in 101 AC, King Jaehaerys I Targaryen called the first Great Council at Harrenhal to decide the matter of succession. Fourteen claims were considered, including the claims of Rhaenys and her children. However favour fell to Baelon's oldest Viserys becoming heir to the Iron Throne and thus the nickname "the Queen Who Never Was" was bestowed on Rhaenys by the court jester Mushroom.

artwork by a19

[ladystoneboobs]

idt we talk enough about how a song of ice and fire is also the song of incest and cannibalism. i mean, sure, obviously both of those subjects are noted as present, but the saga feels much more known for its incest, which idt is fair or accurate to the later materiel. iirc, jaime fucking cersei next to their dead firstborn is the last instance of onpage incest happening in present tl, and after that it's all about the cannibals, baby.

(disclaimer: cw/tw sa, cw/tw rape, and i'm not counting cousincest as that's normal in-world even for non-targaryens and also still legal in many places in our world today, nor counting the faux-incestuous freudian mess that is littlefinger/alayne(sansa)/sweetrobin, nor any dark humor jokes and/or unfulfilled threats wrt forced cannibalism)

in fact pretty much all the active incest during the present tl happens in those first 3 books:

the twincest as a major plot point ofc, kicking action off when bran saw them fucking in a tower

and viserys creeping on dany and twisting her nipple

tyrion relating his backstory to bronn wherein he and tysha were both raped by proxy by his father, tywin (tho tyrion does not use that terminology)

craster still being alive to rape and impregnate his own daughters (resulting in dozens of forced incestuous relationships)

and theon unknowingly groping his own sister while she (knowingly) groped him in return

jaime's early pov recalled how he shut up cersei with kissing when they fought after bran refused to die

bella of stoney sept trying and failing to seduce gendry who is (unbeknownst to them both) her half-brother as both were sired by robert baratheon (only example in these 3 books where incest was averted before any sexual activity or incestuous contact occurred)

the aforementioned sept twincest next to joffrey's corpse

tyrion learning from oberyn about cersei twisting his penis when he was a baby

cersei's failed attempt to seduce jaime in wst, pulling out his dick for either a bj or hj until her talk of tyrion's death made him lose his boner

while incest is not exactly absent from the text after that, it seems to exist in the feastdance only in hypotheticals or past memories:

aeron's trauma flashbacks of his (implied only in published text) csa by euron

jaime still feeling lust when seeing cersei nude

and her fond reminiscing about them fucking behind robert's back/brief dream of them as a married couple before her walk of shame

and cersei remembering another she twisted tyrion's baby penis

victarion misinterpreting asha's offer of partnership as a marriage proposal and suddenly looking at his niece in a new way with "his manhood beginning to stiffen"

jaime's recollection of fucking cersei at darry next to robert as he was passed out drunk before cersei sent him to hunt arya (which would have happened back in agot and the point of this scene is more his failed hunt for a child just to make cersei happy)

arianne's "uneasy" memory of a past fantasy about being seduced by a man whose description is suspiciously similar to her late uncle oberyn

the aborted marital match of aegon/young griff to his purported aunt dany

illyrio saying (the now dead) viserys tried to rape dany the night before her wedding to drogo (another event from agot concerning a guy we already knew was into incest)

and tyrion once saying he wanted to rape as well as murder cersei

conversely, the cannibalism in the earlier books is most often only unproven hypotheticals alluded to as possible cannibalism:

old nan saying the others fed their dead servants the flesh of human children (which we have not yet seen with any wights so far, whether or not one counts walking undead eating human flesh as straight-up cannibalism)

the mystery meat in flea bottom's bowls o' brown which may or may not contain symon silver tongue after tyrion had him killed

renly's recollection that cressen kept stannis from catapulting their old master-at-arms by saying they may need to eat him later (which did not come to pass thanks to davos)

joffrey telling his people to eat their own dead (with no way of knowing if any actually did)

lady hornwood eating her own fingers (though bran's pov only notes them being chewed on, not swallowed. it's only in adwd that people talk of her eating the fingers.)

the mentions of the ice river clans being the cannibals beyond the wall (who are def not among the free folk jon snow gets to know onpage, making it just background detail)

bran's (possibly mythical) story of the rat cook

and biter chewing on people he attacked and other corpses (which seems to be just a side hobby connected to his killing method moreso constituting a snack than a full meal from a person butchered for meat. this tendancy of his is just background detail in acok, with biter chewing a corpse in the background after the weasel soup operation, and the hindsight implication that it could well have been him rather than dogs or wolves who had "been at" the corpses after the skirmish where yoren was killed)

while the feastdance feels much more in your face with cannibalism, having not only more total mentions of the practice but also more confirmed, actual cannibalism (as opposed to the ambiguity of each and every bowl o' brown), for those who know how to look at the evidence:

jaime learned that his father's mad dog aka the mountain fed parts of vargo hoat to all his prisoners (including vargo himself) after recapturing harrenhal

and euron bragged about pulling a similar trick with the warlocks he captured (the only twist being that the warlocks knew what they were being forced to eat, which vargo hoat and wylis manderly etc at harrenhal likely didn't)

the elder brother of the quiet isle told of biter eating all of a woman's breasts at saltpans after she'd been raped and killed (prob the largest amount of flesh biter's confirmed to have eaten from one corpse)

bran and co. ate "pig" supplied by coldhands which had to be long pig aka human meat

brienne felt her face being eaten by biter in her own pov (which is so much worse than him chewing others in the background of the weasel soup scene)

theon was told that two ironmen at moat cailin were found eating their dead comrades

the astapori were said to eat their own dead while under siege by the yunkishmen

and then were said to do so again in refugee camps outside meereen

sam and davos sailed past skagos and remembered stories of skagosi cannibalism

khrazz the pit fighter cut the hearts from his defeated foes to eat them

cotter pyke's last letter to jon snow said the wildlings were eating their own dead at hardhome

4 of stannis's men were executed by burning for butchering and eating other men (with asha wondering how many others had done so without being caught)

and ofc the frey pies with wyman manderly having his 3 former guests killed and serving their meat to their own kin and the other guests at ramsay's wedding while eating some himself too

two of these examples (involving gregor clegane and euron greyjoy) must have actually happened during the course of asos, but grrm chose to give us the gruesome details in affc, which was brand new information about men we already knew were villains but did not know were into that fucked-up shit specifically, unlike being reminded that agot-era jaime and viserys wanted to fuck their sisters. (and not unlike how adwd has the clarification of multiple characters saying lady hornwood ate her own fingers as opposed to bran's acok pov just saying she chewed on them.) it's as if after craster was killed and jc effectively broke up grrm decided cannibalism was the taboo subject matter he would fill the later books with, so we'd really feel the increasing danger of starvation-induced cannibalism with winter's arrival (and have no trouble believing rickon's new home of skagos really is a cannibal island). however, in-universe it feels like there's some sort of environmental balance connection so that the decrease in one formerly common behaviorial abomination just allows another such abomination to fill in the gap with a sharp increase in activity, like deer overpopulation resulting from lack of predators as if all the active incest somehow stopped more people from eating themselves or other people.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

My Body is a Cage

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Heavy angst, death. Word count: ~2.3k

Summary: When Aemond goes to Storm's End to offer a betrothal between his younger brother, Daeron, and one of Lord Borros Baratheon's daughters, he does not anticipate the arrival of his nephew, Lucerys, nor does he anticipate murdering him. He seeks comfort and reassurance in the arms of his betrothed, but soon finds she has neither to offer to a kinslayer... Based on this request.

Author's note: For @doomwhathouwilt Moodboard by the wonderful @flowerandblood. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Grief is an impregnable fortress, an all consuming void that, once toppled into, feels impossible to escape. When grief turns to rage, there is the false belief that one has found freedom, however, it is merely the act of replacing the bars of a cage with anger instead of sorrow. The emotions vibrate at a differing frequency, yet the imprisonment is fortified with equally devastating consequences.

The air is thick as Aemond dismounts from Vhagar, the sulphurous stench of dragonfire clings to his leather riding coat like a shroud as his boots crunch heavily across the gravel, leading him back towards the imposing ruin of Harrenhal. His skin is hot, he can feel the soot that darkens the ends of his snow white hair also sticking to the flesh of his cheeks. There is no time to pause and wipe it away, not when duty awaits.

The heavy oak doors creak as he pushes them open, revealing the men that sit around the long table in the centre of the room - his war council - dwindled to a paltry number since the war began. They stand as he enters, each of them look ashen faced, none standing quite as proudly as they once had. He swallows thickly, before addressing them.

“Be seated,” he snaps dismissively. “Have the Riverlands been scouted? Do we have the final count of Houses that have fallen?”

How different life is now to what it was a year ago.

Aemond’s betrothal to Lady Fell had been a political arrangement, a bargaining tool utilised by his grandsire to secure loyalty to Aegon’s claim to the throne in the Stormlands. A lady in waiting for Helaena, it had made perfect sense, she was already present within the Keep, so their courtship could be easily managed.

Despite the formality of it, Aemond had grown to love her, and in turn she loved him. She was patient where he was quick to anger, forgiving where he was vengeful, all of the things he knew he did not deserve and yet yearned for just the same.

He basked in the glow of her radiant smile, his heart softening when she did not recoil from his disfigurement. With every stolen kiss in darkened corridors, every eager touch that lingered in places that decency dictated be saved for their wedding night, the burden of the injustice that had been bestowed upon him felt lighter to bear. Despite the hardships that had befallen him, his affection for her came easily, there was nothing simpler in his world.

Then his father, King Viserys, had passed away, and life for Aemond grew infinitely more complicated.

There had always been the unspoken intention that his mother and grandfather planned to challenge his half sister Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne, however, even he was surprised by the swiftness with which they moved to coronate Aegon. Further still, there was the responsibility that fell to him as second son to help assure his brother kept the throne that his family had made bold moves to secure.

Many of the lords that had sworn fealty to Rhaenyra as heir to the Iron Throne had long since passed, and she would surely be sending reminders to their heirs of the vows sworn more than a decade ago. It was up to Aemond to ensure that better offers were made in Aegon’s name.

With Daeron in Oldtown, Aemond was tasked with earning the fealty of The Stormlands. Despite his own impending marriage to Lady Fell, without the support of House Baratheon they would stand little chance of gaining any further support from that part of Westeros. In order to do this, he was to fly to Storm’s End to offer a marriage proposal between his younger brother and one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.

He had been given a warm reception upon his arrival, and Lord Borros had readily accepted his offer. Aemond has chosen carefully for Daeron, desiring for him to have a match that would make him as happy as he was with Lady Fell. He had selected the youngest of the Four Storms, Floris. Closest in age to his sibling, and the most comely of her sisters, she had seemed the best suited. Aemond had felt satisfied that he could return to King’s Landing proud of what he had accomplished for his family.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the arrival of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon.

When he saw the dark haired boy enter the hall, he had felt a phantom slash across the left side of his face, a malevolent rage simmered beneath the surface of his skin, barely concealed by the sinister smirk that tugged upwards at the corners of his mouth.

With every word that Lucerys uttered, Aemond’s mood grew darker. Was it not enough that his half sister’s bastard had taken his eye? Now he meant to take his brother’s birthright too.

As he had chased down Lucerys and Arrax on the back of Vhagar, he had only intended to scare him. If his nephew felt only a fraction of the fear that he had endured as a boy, as he had laid bleeding and maimed upon the dusty ground of Driftmark, then he would consider it a triumph, a reminder that there was a debt to be paid.

His heart had lurched when the jaws of his dragon had snapped around the body of the one they had been pursuing, sending both rider and mount toppling into the sea below. He had killed him. Yet the tears he wept as he made the sombre return home to King’s Landing were not for the death of Lucerys, they were for the consequences that his family would face as a result. The debt owed to Aemond had been paid in blood, and it would cost his family everything.

He had immediately sought out Lady Fell’s chambers upon his return to the Red Keep. The rain had dripped off of his riding leathers and onto the flagstone floor in cold rivulets as he had hovered in her doorway, eye wide and imploring.

She had rushed to him, grasping his forearms and pulling him inside. Her touch had immediately grounded him, calmed the pounding in his chest. It would all be alright in the end, how could it not be with her at his side?

“You will catch a fever like this,” she said with a soft laugh,”could you really not wait to get changed to see me?”

He raised a hand to stroke through her soft hair, loose and brushed through, ready for sleep. It was only as he did this that he realised he was trembling, and not from the cold.

“Aemond?” She asked, her brow furrowing with concern. “What is it?”

It would be fine. He could tell her this. She loved him. She would understand.

“I killed him,” he told her in a hushed tone, his eye reluctantly meeting hers.

Her lips had parted in shock, before she exhaled shakily. “Killed who?”

“Lucerys,” he told her, “I did not mean to, I only meant to frighten him, but I lost control, and now he is dead.”

He had expected her to embrace him, to tell him Lucerys had gotten what he deserved, that she would stand by him.

Instead, she had pulled away, and at the loss of her touch Aemond had felt as though he was in freefall. The warmth that usually filled her gaze when she looked upon him was filled with an emotion that he had never seen her direct at him before: fear.

His stomach had twisted into knots and his throat had grown dry as he’d taken a step towards her, hoping to bridge the gap between them, and instead she had furthered it by taking one backwards.

“Kinslayer,” she had whispered shakily. “Leave my chambers at once or I shall scream.”

He had turned and walked away without another word, a gaping void opening within his chest at the realisation that her love for him had died alongside Lucerys.

His world had seemed as though it was coming to an end when Lady Fell departed King’s Landing to return to Felwood. She was taking his heart with him, and he grieved the loss of her, alongside the knowledge that he had jeopardised his family’s prospects for an alliance with the Houses of the Stormlands.

Consumed by grief, her absence was never felt more than in the moments when his nephew, Jaehaerys, was murdered and Aegon was grievously injured in battle. He no longer had her to turn to for comfort, and so his sorrow turned to rage, hot as dragon’s fire. If the only person he had ever truly loved saw him as someone to fear, then he would become just that. The loss of her would not be for nothing.

It was this thought that had clouded his thoughts as he had seized Harrenhal, and put every person residing within to the sword. Every person except one: Alys Rivers. She was a witch, and the visions she conjured within fire aided him in his efforts in battle, though his uncle continued to evade him.

He had grown to love Alys, not in the same way he loved Lady Fell, but he felt that Alys was the match that he deserved. Lady Fell possessed a kind heart, a purity that Aemond could never dream of aspiring to. There was a darkness within Alys that paralleled his own, and so when she invited him to her bed, he did not resist.

There was no hushed laughter, or gentle caresses, the pair of them tore at each other like wild beasts, both of them pouring their malice into the other. There was no warmth to be found in her gaze, only a sharpness that served to encourage his bloodlust and desire for vengeance.

She had told him that she was expecting his child, and his thoughts had drifted to what could have been with his betrothed; a soft, happy bundle of joy that would have been all of the best parts of its mother. He wondered what qualities the bastard he had fathered upon Alys would possess, perhaps they had created the second coming of Maegor Targaryen. It would be no less than what he deserved.

When the news had reached him of Rhaenyra’s capture of King’s Landing, he was briefly thankful that Lady Fell no longer resided there, though enraged that he was not able to fly back to the capital to defend his family. If he ended his occupation of Harrenhal, then it would provide his uncle with the opportunity to seize it back.

The fear in Lady Fell’s eyes flashed through his mind once more. Fear. If he could inspire that, do any damage possible to his half sister’s plight, then he would. His losses would not be for nothing.

He was merciless as he mounted Vhagar and flew over the Riverlands, torching everything in his path. Every House that had sworn allegiance to Rhaenyra Targaryen would burn, for her capture of the capital would be meaningless with no supporters left to aid her.

It is in the wake of this that he stands, waiting to hear of the total losses of support to his half sister.

The maester clears his throat, unfurling a parchment upon the tabletop. “The final raven has just arrived, your grace,” he tells Aemond. “House Darry, House Blackwood, House Fell–”

“House Fell?” He interrupts, his blood turning to ice in his veins. “Impossible, they are based in the Northern Stormlands.”

“Yes, your grace. However, there was a betrothal between the youngest daughter of House Fell and the youngest son of House Blackwood. Lord Fell and his family had been guests of Raventree Hall.”

Bile rises in his throat. He had killed her. The only good thing he had ever had in the world had died at his hands. She had been right to be afraid of him, and yet it had not helped to save her. He does not want to live a life where her goodness has been snuffed out. For every atrocity he has committed in the name of his family’s honour, he has known that the gentleness of her soul is a beacon of hope that there is goodness in humanity. Now there is nothing. He is trapped in a prison of his own making.

It has to end.

With the aid of Alys, he tracks Daemon to South of the Trident, West of the Kingsroad in the Southern Riverlands. His uncle is eagerly awaiting him.

As he kisses Alys, his usual ferocity is absent. His lips are soft and tender against hers, filled with unspoken devotion, the goodbye kiss he never got to give to his intended.

He knows this is a battle he will not return from as he chains himself into Vhagar’s saddle. The cage he is trapped in has only one means of escape.

Daemon is a savage opponent, and Aemond fights as though he has nothing to lose. What else could possibly be taken from him, when he has already deprived himself of it? As his uncle leaps from the back of Caraxes towards him, he does not resist, even as the blade of Dark Sister plunges brutally into the socket of his seeing eye.

His final thought as his body tumbles down towards the icy waters of the God’s Eye is that finally he is free, and if he could not reciprocate his true love’s purity in life then perhaps the Seven will see fit to grant him the opportunity to do so in death.

When grief is allowed to mutate into rage, it will become a person’s ruin, and none more so than that of Aemond Targaryen.

Read on AO3

More Aemond fics

[flowerandblood]

Archmaester Gyldayn's Chronicle

The Price of Pride Chapters from 1 to 8

Archmaester Gyldayn's chronicle combines information gathered by Septon Eustace and Mushroom concerning what happened after Prince Aemond ordered the abduction of Daemon Targaryen's eldest daughter with his first wife, Rhea Royce. As is common in history, lies and truth become one.

Previous part ➽ Next part ➽

Sources disagree on when exactly Prince Aemond ordered the abduction of his cousin — Septon Eustace believed it was an attempt to repair his image in the eyes of his family after the murder of Lucerys Velaryon, Mushroom, however, argued that the Prince desired her for himself out of sheer vanity, displeased that he had to marry the daughter of a mere Lord. This is how Septon Eustace described her arrival in the Keep:

The guards were surprised by the calmness and dignity with which she endured the discomforts of her cell — apparently this also impressed the young Prince, for although cool and mocking in his manner, he appreciated her steadfast character and attitude by assigning her one of the chambers. King Aegon received his cousin with joy and treated her as a member of his family. “Our family has forgotten you,” the ruler was to say when she was presented before him, “and I am deeply sorry for it.”

Mushroom, however, believed that the story had been falsely presented in a light favourable to King Aegon and his brother, maintaining that Prince Aemond had taken his cousin by force on the very first day, delighted by her beauty. According to reports, just after the act was over, the Prince was to say to his guards that he was surprised that she was a maiden.

Whatever might be the truth, the familiarity between the Prince and his cousin did not escape the gaze of the court, and their solitary expedition to the Vale together only furthered the rumours about the nature of their relationship. The fact is that the pair returned victorious, flying on their dragons over King's Landing.

Eyewitnesses recounted seeing Vhagar and another large, terrifying dragon flying side by side in the skies — a few days later, Sheepstealer was circling alone with his Lady during a patrol, his shadow causing fear and panic among the commoners.

Mushroom mentions the reaction in Dragonstone to the news that Princess Rhaenyra was not the only one who was trying to consolidate her position in the war with the help of dragon seed.

The Rough Prince, when word was passed to him that his daughter had tamed the mighty dragon sat down in his chair, hid his face in his hands and wept. “You have abandoned her and she will take revenge,” his wife told him, “we will all pay for how cold your heart is.”

The Prince's lone expedition with an unmarried woman aroused envy in his betrothed, Borros Baratheon's daughter, Floris, who came to the Red Keep demanding an explanation. Septon Eustace describes the events in detail:

Lady Floris was received with honours by the Prince himself, who walked out to greet her — they were seen strolling together through the corridors of the keep, walking hand in hand. During the evening feast, Borros Baratheon's daughter loudly expressed her displeasure and insulted a royal relative.

“I did not know that you look so ordinary, my Lady,” she was to say, referring certainly to the dark hair and eyes of her betrothed's cousin, for which the Prince was to rebuke her in front of everyone. “Jealousy does not suit you,” he was to reply, humiliating his betrothed “just as the gown you are wearing.”

However, the cup of bitterness overflowed when Lady Floris assaulted Prince Aemond's favourite in one of the corridors, hitting her on the back of her head with a candlestick in a rage of jealousy. The Prince's fury was great and he ordered her to leave the keep immediately, himself spending the entire night at his cousin's bedside.

While Mushroom confirms that Floris came to King's Landing demanding an explanation, he depicts recent events as having taken place completely differently.

When Lady Floris walked into her betrothed's chamber, intending to wish him a good night and place a kiss on his lips, she saw to her despair the bare bodies of her Prince and his cousin in a tight, hot embrace. The servants said they did not notice the poor girl for some time, absorbed in their own pleasure.

Floris Baratheon left the Red Keep the next day drenched in tears. When she returned to Storm's End, according to Mushroom, her father was furious.

Lord of Storm's End rose from his stone throne, calling his daughter a foolish goose. “For centuries men have had wives and mistresses — a wise woman knows which is more important. You could have been a princess, and you will be a nobody.” Despite his desire for revenge, after what happened to Lucerys Velaryon, Lord Baratheon dared not put up any real resistance to the One-Eyed Prince.

The betrothal between Prince Aemond and Lady Floris was broken with no effect on the alliance, and from that point onwards it was certain that the Prince began to take his cousin to his bed. Septon Eustace depicted their fiery affection as follows:

The young Prince became inflamed with affection for his cousin, appreciating her wisdom, courage and sincerity. Rejected by his father and suffering through the sins of his past, he sought solace in her person, spending whole nights in her company. Out of respect for her, he did not take her maidenhood, simply enjoying her presence, spending long hours discussing history, philosophy and poetry.

Mushroom is not so lenient in his assessment of their intimacy, leaving no illusions as to what was taking place behind the closed doors of the chamber:

The guards recalled loud moans of pleasure coming from the Prince's chamber every night. It is said that Prince Aegon desired his brother to share her sweet, shapely body with him; however, Prince Aemond, being a vain and jealous man, refused him, telling him to return to his own wife, for which Prince Aegon was later to take lavish revenge.

Previous part ➽ Next part ➽

[amaltheas-garden]

What's fun about the succession crises in ASOIAF is that grrm really tries to present a murky narrative of who is in the right for pressing their claim, which makes it fun knowing that most sides have at least some bit of evidence to support them, regardless of how we feel about the characters. Stannis, despite being viewing Rhaenyra as a traitor, names his only daughter heir, though for the same reasons the Greens saw Aegon as legitimate. Sons before daughters, daughters before uncles, bastards cannot inherit. Ned Stark, despite being loyal to a fault with Robert, went against his deathbed wish to see his "son" Joffrey inherit, and instead falls back on law and tradition, throwing his support behind Stannis. Renly decides that if Robert can win the throne through conquest, then why can't he? He'll worry about legitimizing his reign after he takes the throne. When Robert's Rebellion ended, maesters spoke about the connection between Houses Targaryen and Baratheon, Robert's Targ blood (I believe from his grandmother), though none of it really mattered in the end, with every Targ save 3 dead and far far away from the throne. Cersei is committing treason by placing bastards on the throne, though even for her it could be argued it was Ned's fault the Joff v Stannis v Renly conflict broke out to begin with when he revealed Joffrey's true parentage. Placing bastards above trueborn heirs breaks the strenuous social contract of sorts that maintains some modicum of peace amongst members of the ruling class. But then Joffrey goes and cuts Ned's head off--> definitely a poor move, resulting in Robb's rise as an independent King, echoing the start of Robert's Rebellion. And in Dorne, Arianne admonishes Criston Cole for usurping Rhaenyra in favor of her younger brother, though this only holds up legally based on Dornish law, when Dorne wasn't even a part of the 7K. Though Arianne views Rhaenyra's claim as stronger, she herself almost become a Criston Cole 'Queenmaker' figure, looking to crown King Tommen's elder sister *cough* pitting brother against sister *cough* Myrcella, in the hopes of provoking a war of succession amongst the Lannisters. And now with Aegon VI and Dany, both will have to claim Westeros through conquest, though both still fall back on the idea of being Rhaegar's rightful heirs, and the Baratheon dynasty as illegitimate usurpers. How the rest of Westeros will view their claims remains to be seen...

The point is, succession in ASOIAF is meant to be muddled and confusing and not clear cut. It's what makes the story juicy and HOTD just completely failed to deliver on those dynamics. Alicent seems to have crowned Aegon by mistake, the rest of the Green council are mustache twirling villains, the Andal law argument is never brought up, and Rhaenyra is consistently framed as not only the rightful heir, but a divinely ordained one. A Queen who must rule because she has a "higher purpose" in doing so than simple desire for power. Yawn.

[justagirlwholikesadam]

Realm's Delight

Summary: You were the twin of the dark haired child Cersei had with Robert. While fever took your twin, you survived. You are known throughout the seven kingdom as the realm's delight. The years has passed and your younger brother Joffrey wants something you have. Sandor Clegane x Baratheon! Reader

A/n: Let me know if you enjoy this. Likes and comments are appreciated. Enjoy -L

Warning: NSFW, being the it girl, Joffrey being Joffrey, Robert is nice to us, manipulation at its finest, daddy's girl, princess wants princess gets, territorial!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It was a miracle.” Robert Baratheon, your father told you. You had survived the horrid fever that took your twin brother away. It was a secret that was kept among the Lannisters and only Robert. While Cersei was in mourning of the loss of her son, Robert’s was cut short. Cersei always resented him for that and that he gave you his undivided attention. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew how Robert adored you. Some had even said that he loves you more than his own wife, Cersei and as you grew, he practically gave you whatever your heart desired. Your father wasn’t the only one to give you gifts. Fur straight from House Stark, jewels and the finest dresses from House Martell. Seafood freshly caught by House Greyjoy. The list of gifts went on and on. You were named the realm’s delight among the people. 

When Robert learned about the nickname that you have been given he feared that you will have the same fate as Lyanna Stark. Robert decided to do what was best, keep you protected at all times. Robert declared for Sandor Clegane to become your personal guard. Cersei had cried out to Robert about it. He is a monstrosity and hideous beast, she ranted. You heard of the Clegane’s brothers. Lord Baelish always been somewhat kind enough to keep you up to date about the accomplishments Ser Gregor had done along with Sandor’s. 

“A flower like you shouldn’t be guarded by such an animal.” Lord Baelish exclaimed as his wandering eyes looked up and down that you. You grabbed a hold of his hands. Lord Baelish blushed from the sudden contact. 

“I will grow to be the most beautiful flower because of that animal.” You whispered to Lord Baelish who honestly wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying. 

You were so close to him, his mind was in the gutters. Rolling your eyes when you turn away to leave Lord Baelish, you wipe your hands on your dress while walking away from him. Men, they will always think with their cock. Cersei had told you after she had too many cups of wine. Your uncle, Jamie had laughed at her and tried to take her back to her chambers before she said anything else. That’s how you used Lord Baelish to tell you about the gossip going around. A praise, batting your eyelashes at him or giving him a smile was all needed for him to tell you what you wanted to know. 

When Sandor was presented to you for the first time, you were surprised. He was the second tallest man you ever seen, his brother was the first. He had lowered his head as he entered the chambers so he wouldn’t hit the door frame. Robert had taken your hand and pulled you towards Sandor. You noticed Sandor had the most beautiful brown eyes you've ever seen. Brown, like the earth and as the light hit his eyes, they looked like honey. You got a closer look when he knelt in front of you and vowed to keep you safe. You knew about the story of his burn scars. It took you an afternoon with Lord Baelish, drinking tea to learn about it. You had taken a liking to Sandor when he became your guard. He was too silent for your liking but that meant you had to break his walls down. 

Sandor stood and waited with you outside of your mother’s chambers. She was going to give birth to her second child. Sandor had mumbled to you to keep still since you kept walking back and forth, worried every time you heard your mother’s screams. You were about to say something when the screams stopped. Joffrey was born, and he was healthy. King Robert had his heir to the iron throne. Cersei had two other children after that and your relationship with her became unsteady. Sandor would cast a look at you whenever someone mentioned to you about Joffrey’s and your siblings' golden locks as they grew. You gave them a smile and answered. “They have been blessed with the Lannister’s golden hair.”

He knew you weren’t an idiot, he ignored when people said you were and sometimes when in a bad mood he slayed them whenever they expressed their opinions about it to him loudly. All beauty but nothing in your head. He wanted to tell them how wrong they were. He had spent hours with you in the dusty library of the castle. Seen you excelled in your studies. The winning smile you gave them disappears the moment they leave your sight. 

“Something to say, my beloved Sandor?” The tips of Sandor’s ears grew hot by your affectionate words. You had a habit of calling him all sorts of names after both of you grew closer. You didn't want to admit it to Sandor but you like seeing him squirm after calling him those sweet names. 

“No, princess.” He croaked out when you gave a cheeky smile. He immediately looked down at the ground. 

“Do you think father will ever notice?” You ask Sandor and he looks back at you. You were being serious. 

Sandor shook his head, no. “Maybe if he stops drinking and catches a break from his whores, I reckon he might see it. Unfortunately I can’t say anything. As much as father loves me more, I fear I will be punished if I say it.” 

Sandor was right you weren’t the dumb princess everyone seems to think. As the time passed, Joffrey and the rest of your siblings grew; it's been nearly 16 years. You had finally managed to get out of a marriage proposal that your father mentioned to you. Sandor was waiting outside as he heard your voice behind your father’s chambers door. He couldn’t help but grin when he heard the hearty laughter from the King. 

“Thank you, father. I knew you would be able to understand. That’s why you are the most wonderful King to ever live.” Sandor heard you say before walking out. 

Sandor watched as you shut the door behind you and pointed at the staircase nearby. Sandor looked around his surroundings, making sure no one was in sight. He walked a few steps down and turned to see you walking towards him. He lets out a huff when you jump on him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Seven hells.” Sandor cursed when kissed his cheek, attacking him with kisses. Sandor moved to capture your lips with his. 

“I take it. It went well.” Sandor said, pulling you close to him. You nodded with a grin. 

“Father can be very kind when he’s drunk out of his mind.” You told him as he put you down on the steps. Both of you froze at the sound of Joffrey’s voice, he was coming up the steps. Sandor immediately took a few steps away from you. 

“Oh look, it’s my dear sister.” 

“Hello, my dear brother.” You greeted Joffrey in the same sarcastic tone. The blonde stood a few steps down from you with Ser Meryn Trant behind him. 

“Dog.” Joffrey said.  “My-.” 

“You mean Sandor.” You cut Sandor off. Your harsh tone wiped the smirk off Joffrey's face. You crossed your arms over your chest. This was an ongoing thing. Joffrey would call Sandor a dog to get a rise out of you. 

“His name is Sandor. Have you forgotten?” Joffrey can’t help but smile wickedly at you. It irritated you, Joffrey grew to be more ill and filled with a horrible attitude. He was a spoiled child, that’s all you had to say about your brother. His words and remarks were vile and you wouldn’t stand for it especially when it came to Sandor or to your servants. 

“He’s a dog, my dear sister. There’s no changing that. He is The Hound.” 

“You’re a dog as well. You even act like one and yet people still call you prince.” You answered back. 

“You little-.” Meryn Trant stopped mid sentence when he saw Sandor walking down the steps to get next to you. 

“Finish what you were saying. I fucking dare you.” Sandor threatens Meryn Trant and gives him a cold stare down. Sandor’s reputation grew as the years passed. Killer, monster, perhaps even worse than his brother, the names and the fear of fighting against him grew. They all knew no one is safe when he’s protecting you. 

“You are so kind to the people below us.” Joffrey said, making your eyes roll. You wished for the day when Joffrey realized that he is a bastard. It was called a rumor but you knew the truth. Cersei has always been a bit sloppy when she was drunk. You had seen your mother and your uncle, Jamie getting cozy. 

“I will be so heartbroken when you finally leave King’s Landing and join those filthy people from Drone.” You smile at your brother. Plans have been changed. 

“I’m surprised that you know about my marriage proposal with Drone.” You said knowing him and your mother had conspired this marriage proposal. 

“Let me be the one to deliver this good news to you, dear brother.” Joffrey frowned as you approached him closer. 

“There is no need to be heartbroken, for I am staying. There is no proposal.” Joffrey's blonde brows rose up and his shocked expression turned into an angry one. 

“It must be hard not being father’s favorite.”  You whispered. 

This dispute, the rivalry between you and brother began when he was able to see how Robert favored you more. He reached out for Robert but Robert was busy being King or being drunk. Joffrey was always envious of you, you had your father wrapped around your finger along with the entire realm while you got cheered and praised. He got concerned looks from the people of King's Landing. 

“Shall we go, Sandor? Agatha said she was preparing chicken for prandium.” You looked over at Sandor who nodded at you. 

“Yes, princess.” Passing by Joffrey, you ignored the look from Mery Trant. Sandor bowed his head to Joffrey and followed you. You can hear Sandor’s heavy footsteps behind you as you continue to hold your front. You wouldn’t let Joffrey know that his little plan to get rid of you didn’t work. Thanks to Lord Baelish and Lord Varys who gave you a heads up about it again, this wasn’t the first time. Joffrey wanted to get rid of you again and now he had even gotten your mother to play along. 

Night came and you welcomed the warmth Sandor provided you. Even though the weather of King’s Landing was already warm you still preferred the heat from Sandor’s body. 

“I heard something.” Sandor spoke after a moment of silence. You played with the soft hair on his chest while you laid your head on his arm, his arms tightening around you. 

“Speak, Sandor.” You softly said, growing anxious every passing second. 

“The servants overheard Joffrey asking Cersei about taking me as his own guard.” You raised your head off his arm and looked down at him. 

“What?” 

“He wants me as his guard.” Sandor answered you. You shook your head. 

“That little cunt.” You whispered under your breath and you realized Sandor wasn’t even looking at you. He kept staring up at the ceiling of your chambers. His eyes had become dull and his face was emotionless. Pushing the sheets off your body, you moved to sit in his lap. Paying no attention to the soreness between your legs, you felt him hold on to your legs as you cupped his face with both hands. 

“He won’t take you away from me.” Sandor let out a strain chuckle.

He knew what he had with you won’t last. He had made a promise to himself when he first met you. He wouldn't fall in love with you but he broke it. He was utterly in love with you after being your guard for many years. He had convinced himself in the beginning of your relationship that you guys can be together but reality was hitting him straight in the face, you were a princess and he was just a second born son. You would be married to someone else, someone better. You would leave him. 

“I swear it.”  

“Might be for the best if I do switch. It will be for the best.” Sandor said, making you frown. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to watch you marry some lord or a king and give him kids.” Sandor traced the skin of your legs as he spoke. 

“Your father won’t decline the next marriage proposal. He did it for the last two but not the third one. He won’t, I know it. The realm wants to see you married and have children. If I keep guarding you and you get married, I’ll kill your husband.” Sandor said sincerely. You dropped your hands from his face and brought it down to his chest. 

“Do you love me?” You asked. 

Sandor’s jaw clenched and his eyes grew hard. “Yes or no?” 

“You know I do. I have killed for you.” Sandor responded with no remorse. He had spilled blood for you and had lost count on how many people he killed to protect you and your honor.  

“If you love me then never say those words again. Promise me?! Promise me that you won’t say that it’s best.”

Sandor said your name softly but you yelled at him. “Swear it to me! Please.” 

Sandor nodded, raising his hand up to cup your cheek when he saw you on the verge of tears. He couldn’t bear seeing you cry. You grabbed on to his wrist, kissing his palm. 

“I promise. I swear it.” He told you. You leaned down to kiss him. Enjoying the tender moment with him, there were a few times when Sandor showed his soft side with you. It was mostly in bed, both of you would be wrapped around each other and sometimes the aftermath of many orgasms. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He told you and you began to kiss him harder moving your hips, your cunt humping against his cock. Whining loudly when you felt him pull you to his chest and wrap an arm around you. His free hand touches your bare ass. Sandor takes a deep breath as he feels how warm and wet you are. 

“I won't let Joffrey take you away from me. I have a plan.” 

Sandor’s hand freezes on your ass and looks down at you. 

“A plan?” You nodded as you pressed a kiss on his chest. 

“Yes. You’re mine, Sandor. No one is going to take you away from me.” Your words were like a shot of adrenaline to him. He gripped your ass harder, he wanted to believe you.

He didn't want to ruin this moment with a fight. He wanted to remember this night with you incase this would be the last night he gets to spent with you. Naked and curled up together. He wanted to enjoy it, so he moved to his side, taking you with him. Facing each other now, Sandor drapes your leg over his waist, your right arm under his head while his arm goes under you. In a thirst position, he can hold you close to him. You bump his nose softly and kiss his scared cheek.  He gripped your waist pulling you closer to him.

You shut your eyes and moan when his thick fingers touch your slit. Gather the reminiscence of your cum and his dripping from your hole and rub it on along the swollen lips of your cunt. The tip of his fingers gliding over your clit making you cry out, your cunt was sensitive from earlier. Your toes curled up and legs tensed up when you felt his finger inside of you. 

“Fuck.” He groans as he holds you close to him. Moaning his name as you felt him finger you for a moment. He shifted and moved your legs higher so he had room. 

“Sandor.” You cry out his name as he slips inside of you. You held on to his arms as he gripped your waist while pumping into you. 

His face hidden between your neck and shoulder, you can feel his hand on your back, nails digging into your skin. You held on for dear life as you heard him growl against your skin. 

“I’ll kill him, Y/n.” He moans to you as he fucks you, his cock sliding in and out of your cunt. His thrust was growing faster and harsher. The thought of you married with some prince made him angry. Even if people didn't know, you were his and he would keep it that way.

“You hear me?” He said with a moan. He moves his face towards you. You nod at him letting out a pitched whine when he hits that sweet spot. 

“You belong with me. You’re mine.” You kissed him trying to mask your moans but nothing in the world would mask the squelching sound of your pussy being fucked. 

Sandor held on to you as he moved his hips back and forward. He feels his balls tighten when he feels you cum on him, you’re trembling, skin slick with sweat. Sandor is grunting as he manhandles you. Your hands are on him, touching him, you can feel the muscles and his scars from his battles on his back and his arms. 

Sandor cries your name and you shut your eyes as he presses his hips against you, slamming his cock deep inside of you. His hand on your hips goes down your ass, cups your cheek. He squeezes it as he cums deep inside of you. You whimper feeling stuff, your pussy keeps clenching and unclenching around him. He shifts his hips and you moan at the feeling of your clit being ticked by his pubic hair.

You feel his lips on your cheek, pressing soft kisses as he huffs out of breath. 

“Sandor.” You whispered as you nuzzled against his face. You didn’t mind the feeling of the scars against your face, you kept close to him enjoying the aftermath of your orgasm. 

You didn’t want this to end, you wouldn’t allow it. Sandor was yours first, Sandor belongs to you just as much you belong to him. You weren’t going to give him up without a fight. 

Morning came and you were woken by your ladies in waiting. The flock of ladies knocked and waited for you outside to respond. You rose up, finding yourself alone. You wrapped yourself in a blanket and invited them inside. One by one they walked inside, picking up the sheets from the floor, one went to your closet to get your clothes for the day and one opened the doors to the balcony. 

“Here, my princess.” The eldest came by you after you covered yourself with your robe. You thanked her for the tea and waited patiently while one warmed your bath water.

One of the ladies was brushing your hair after your bath. They stopped when there was a knock on the door, opening the door. Sandor came walking in, he had a concerning look on his face. 

“Good morrow, princess. The king demands your presence in his chambers at once.” 

You walked to your father’s chambers with Sandor behind you. He sensed how nervous you were. Before going around the hall, you felt Sandor grab your arm. He gently pulled you back. You were pushed softly against the wall. Sandor stood in front of you, towers over you as he looked down at you. 

“Worried?” You whispered to him. You feel one of his hands cup your face. 

Sandor doesn’t reply, he simply presses his lips against yours. “Go on.” He tells you and steps away from you. 

Sandor has a habit of never expressing his feelings out loud. Sandor followed you quietly. He wasn’t worried at all, he was scared and he hasn’t felt this way since he was a child when Gregor disfigured him. 

You walked down the hall and came to a halt when you saw Ser Meryn Trant standing outside of your father’s chamber. It meant that Joffrey was inside. You felt bile rise up. Clearing your throat, you took a deep breath to calm your nervousness. 

Meryn Trant saw you and opened your father’s chamber door for you. You looked over your shoulder and gave Sandor a look of nervousness. You took one last look of his brown eyes. It calms you for a moment and you’re able to walk inside your father’s chamber. You noticed Joffrey sitting down along with your mother while your father sat behind his desk. The door shut behind you as you walked towards your father. 

“Mother. Brother.” You greeted them and walked next to your father. You leaned down to kiss one of his pudgy cheeks. Robert gave you a smile and greeted you. You can smell the wine coming off your father.

“Sit, we have been waiting. Joffrey and your mother wish to discuss something with us.” 

You sat on the empty seat next to your mother. “Joffrey has told me that he would like Sandor as his personal guard.” Your mother said. 

So this was about Sandor. “What's wrong with Ser Meryn Trant?” You asked Joffrey. 

Joffrey wasn't expecting for you to say something. He thought you would obey instantly. You stare at Joffrey, you weren't going to let Sandor slip away from you. You were going to fight for him. 

Joffrey looked over at his father who was also staring at him. “Well, since Y/n is going off in Dorne. I want Sandor.” 

“I'm not going to Dorne. I told you.” Joffrey clenched his jaw. 

“You had refused your last marriage proposal. Father, are you going to accept this?” Joffrey asked Robert. 

“She isn't going to Dorne.” Robert said, making Cersei sit up. “Why not?” She asked him. 

“You dare to question me, woman.” Robert eyed Cersei. 

“Our daughter has not been wed, people will talk.” 

“You think I care what people say about her. She is my daughter. My word is law and final. She won't be shipped to Dorne.” 

You dislike how sometimes your father would speak to your mother. Robert was a down right misogynist but when it came to you he was different. You knew it had to do with Lyanna Stark, everyone told you how there was a resemblance between you and her. It was confirmed when Ned Stark and his family came to King's Landing to celebrate your name day. Ned couldn't take his eyes off of you and had even stuttered his sister's name after drinking with your father. 

You felt bad for Ned after so many years the death of his sister still had a hold over him just like Robert. He had begged forgiveness to you the next day. “Nonsense. No need to forgive, Lord Stark.” 

“He’s a good man.” Sandor told you after Ned left. You had finished a walk with Ned in the garden after you told him if it would be alright to share some stories about Lyanna. He gave you a smile and accepted. You learned a lot about her and intend to use this information. 

“He is.” You replied to him. 

“It will get him killed one of these days.” Sandor’s words made you sad. You didn't want to see the Lord of Winterfell dead. Unlike Joffrey and your mother, you enjoy their presence and have grown fond of his wife, Catelyn. 

“Our daughter should have been married and had babies by now. We can use her as an advantage, a leverage.” Cersei stood up from her seat and walked to the corner of the room where the cart of wines and cups were at. 

“I believe it has to be that atrocious dog always behind her. His face scares off any suitors. She will be married soon and doesn’t need him anymore.” 

“He protects me, mother.” You said folding your hands on your lap. Cersei looked over her shoulder at you. You looked over at your father because at the end of the day, he has the last day. 

“Father, remember the riot. Those men would have killed me. Sandor was there and killed them all. He killed those men.” Robert nodded remembering all too well about that horrible riot that broke out.  

You stood up from your seat and walked towards the desk. You kneel down near your father ignoring the tsk sound from Joffrey. You decided if Joffrey and your mother wanted to play dirty. So will you. 

“I do not wish the same fate as the lovely Lyanna Stark. May she be at peace.” Your father’s eyes shifted at the mention of Lyanna.

“I know. I have refused two marriage proposals now but I must tell you the truth, Sandor didn’t trust them. He had seen him, heard them speak ill behind my back.” You knew the words you were about to say will be a low blow to your mother and it will create a shift between you two but you had to do it. You didn’t want Joffrey to have Sandor. Sandor Clegane is yours. 

“You might think this is ridiculous, father.” You grabbed your father’s hand. 

“I want to be loved. The type of love you and Lyanna shared. Ned told me stories about your love with her and it warmed my heart. I crave for that love you both shared.” You flinched at the sound of Cersei throwing her cup of wine to the ground and walked out of the room. No one said anything for a moment. You just watched as the red wine from Drone stained the carpeted rug. This was your chance, your moment to seal it. Joffrey won’t take Sandor away from you. 

Sandor stood straight up when he saw the queen running out of the room. The door was opened and he looked ahead. He saw you kneeling by your father, looking up at him. 

“Don't take Sandor away from me. Don't let me have the same fate as the woman you loved.” 

Robert smiled down at you and cupped your face. “No need to worry. Clegane will stay by your side.” 

Robert looks towards Joffrey. “Stay with Ser Mery Trant. If you wish for a more depraved guard. Perhaps we can ask The Mountain to fill in.” Joffrey quickly shook his head. He sent a glare at you before standing up and walking out of the room. Sandor moved away from the door when he saw Joffrey with a pout on his face. Ser Mery Trant followed the prince. 

Sandor looked back at the doorway. Robert had helped you get up on your feet and gave you a hug. Sandor gave you a small smile when he saw you staring back at him with your own smile as you hugged your father. It worked. 

Sandor knew he would have to beg forgiveness for not believing in you. Your plan worked. Shame on him for ever doubting you, Princess Y/n Baratheon, the realm's delight. 

Chapter 2 ->

[daeneryseastar]

i think the biggest problem i have with the whole team discourse in f&b + hotd is that it isn’t just about which characters you like more/who you want to sit on the throne at that end; it’s that each side is fighting for completely different ideologies, regardless of one members personal beliefs. grrm could not have made it anymore clear.

team black isn’t just fighting for rhaenyra to be queen, they’re fighting for the monarch’s right to choose an heir, for the oaths they swore years before, for the complete opposite of precedent/tradition: the king’s word is law. team green isn’t just fighting for aegon to be king, they’re fighting for tradition, that no matter the words of a king being law sons will always come before daughters, that oaths are fickle and don’t matter. each side is in some way fighting back against what’s already been established for the kingdom, but the end goal is completely different.

we’re not given as much insight into why most of the houses initially sided with rhaenyra, but we do have an inkling into how the green council felt and acted, however. jaehaerys choosing baelon over rhaenys (against andal tradition, the king can choose his heir) is one point. the great council of 101 is another. alicent, despite being the leader of the council, is removed from the equation and shoved off to the side when it comes to swearing oaths of loyalty between the members on account of her womanhood. daemon being a second coming of ‘maegor’ (despite what we know would be a better suited title for aemond, but i digress) is also used. when discussing who would side with them the vale is automatically disqualified from the list, due to them presently being ruled by a woman, jeyne arryn. she doesn’t choose to fight for rhaenyra for the sole reason of them being kin, but because her own right to rule can and will be put into question if aegon steps over rhaenyra. because she is a woman. she does so in spite of her dislike for daemon (and his supposed maegor-ness) too.

even if one were to look at each characters personal feelings about the succession the fact of the matter is that rhaenyra is usurped because she is a woman. it’s stated almost blatantly multiple times before and during the war. the greens use scapegoats and smokescreens in attempts justify it (her ‘bastards’ chief among them, but legally her sons live and die as the trueborn children between her and laenor, with the reminder that septon eustace refutes this claim to begin with). even when she is killed grrm has her breast pricked to arouse a dragon that doesn’t want to kill her (and why is that?). aegon ‘wins’ against her and is king, but then why is jaehaera, as his last living remaining child not named his heir? why is aegon iii put ahead of her, despite being the enemies son? these are rhetorical questions. aegon had no plans to ever consider her his heir, he made it clear with how excited he was to marry cassandra baratheon and produce more ‘strong’ sons. his dragon (who had fought and bled for him the entire war) wasn’t mourned properly, he couldn’t wait to hatch a ‘new dragon, prouder and fiercer than the last.’ yet he wasn’t even capable of doing that in the six months before he too was killed.

it’s also safe to mention that grrm created an entire separate lore story, one that would seem to have no bearing on the original story unless you’re capable of understanding symbolism. the amethyst empress is usurped by her younger brother the bloodstone emperor, and the first long night ensues from this decision. rhaenyra (amethyst = arryn blue + targaryen red) is usurped by her younger brother aegon ii (bloodstone = hightower green + targaryen red) and the dying of the dragons, the very creatures needed to stop the next long night, are eradicated, along with the magic needed to hatch them and keep them alive (until). the war is the blacks (power, death, grief, rebellion, restraint) versus the greens (ambition, greed, jealousy, anger, wealth). the amethyst empress is important to the main story in the same way that rhaenyra is important, that snubbing the women (an integral aspect to the power the targaryens held) of house targaryen can lead only to disaster. daenerys is the key, the one to break the cycle and fix the wrongdoings caused by her ancestors obsession with power. mother of dragons, mhysa, breaker of chains, slayer of lies, daughter of death, the dragon queen, azor ahai come again, the prince that was promised will bring the dawn.

you can argue for technicalities sake all day, but there is a meaning to this story beyond the scope of rightful heirs. and it shouldn’t be shoved off to the side just so you can praise your favorites and hate those who go against them. it makes for a poor consuming of the actual story. fire and blood was created as a history book to expand on daenerys as a character. her family, what and where she’s come from, and how she relates to them. she’s the antithesis to every targaryen that’s come before her, a hero in her own right. the only targaryen’s we can say are radically important to dany’s story are the conquerors (aegon the conqueror with teats) and rhaenyra (the amethyst empress). i don’t know, just some food for thought.

edit: i have revised some of my opinions on this through a further reread but the gist of it is still the same.

[rushtoprove]

our little secret

part one: revelations

pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader chapter: 1 rating: teen and up word count: 4k+ summary: aemond promised to take you as his wife when the time was right and you had no reason to doubt him. but when news of his engagement to cassandra baratheon is announced, and your name is left ruined by his nightly visits to your chamber, you have no choice but to flee from the shame you have brought upon your family and to run from the man you love. but not all is as it seems warnings: sexual references and nsfw scenes. period typical misogyny and course language. chapters: 1 / 2

From the moment you were born, you were told your only importance was how successful your marriage would be for the furtherment of your family. Your older brother would inherit your father’s titles and his lands, but all you had was a dowery that you could not touch for it would belong to your future husband. You were told that the only skills you needed were to please the men around you in hopes that they might take a liking and to learn the customs that make a good wife.  

“Your future depends on tonight. Every eligible suitor shall be at this ball, and you must present yourself perfectly. Do not let your family down.” You felt your mother tug your hair with extra force as she readied you for the great feast to honour the king on his name day. 

“Yes mother.” You whispered, desperate for her to approve.  

“We have spent much gold on this dress so do not make it needless. We will not have you come back without a suiter again.” Taking in the bright blue silk that pressed tightly against you, forcing your chest to push up further than you thought possible, you bowed your head in obedience. You wished to tell her that every other gathering only presented halfwits and morons, but you would never dare speak to her that way. She would tell you to be grateful that the men had looked at you and that their house name would provide stability and protection. She would curse you for being ungrateful and spoilt, making it much easier to simply keep your mouth shut. 

“I shall make you proud mother.” You wanted to. Gods, all you wanted was your family’s love and gratification, but you would not be looking for a suiter tonight. You would not allow the Lannister lord to sneak you to the gardens to talk, nor would you allow the Baratheon boy to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. The cousin of the House Strong would not be allowed to read you his poetry and you would certainly not allow the first-born Tyrell to steal a kiss is the dark. No one would court you, for you were taken. You just needed time to explain it to your family. They would not understand just yet.  

“Come. You are ready for them to see you, and what a sight you are.” Submissive to your mother’s order, you stood and followed numbly behind her. The walk to the hall was a blur of noise and colour. Your father always had to be leading, standing tall in front of the courts. You all belonged to a small house, nameless years ago, but your father had built his power through his cunning ways. But as powerful as he considered himself, your house was still a small one meaning you were one of the first to enter the hall. Not many were there to see your entrance, but your father kept his head high and his strut powerful. You admired his dedication to the role. 

“I am sure your mother has told you what is expected of you tonight.” His fierce gaze did not waver as you quickly ducked into a curtsey. 

“Yes father.” Your family had told you of their expectations since you came of age, but they had fallen into the habit of repeating it whenever they were with you. For a year, you had remained without a suiter and your family were blind to the reason. They thought you too plain to keep any man’s interest, and too dull to be admired.  

“Good girl.” No one suspected it you who was keeping the admirers away. That you would tear up the love letter’s that would arrive in the aftermath of these feasts, or that you would decline the company of countless men without fail. Some even found themselves threatened with fire and blood, but it was not you who terrorized them so. 

“The Lannister Lord was quite taken with you after Princess Helaena’s name day celebrations. Perhaps try and make him remember that affection.” Your brother tried to spur you on affectionately, hoping his advice would help you. Again, you simply bowed your head and cast down your eyes.  

“Here., He comes!” Your mother hissed, quickly reaching out and tugging your cheeks to brighten them. Your father instantly stood to attention while your brother quickly squeezed your arm in fondness. Not one cared that Jason Lannister was a year older than your father. 

“You shall shine bright tonight little sister.” He whispered in your ear before nudging your forward. Your whole family bowed in respect for the higher born lord, but he paid no attention as he shamelessly stared at your breasts. 

“Ah my little dove! You disappeared so quick the last time we met! I thought to never see you again!” Without permission, he pulled your hand roughly to his lips. He may have been more considerate if he not already drowning in his cups. 

“My apologies Lord Lannister.” It was challenging to not turn up your nose in disgust and turn away from the proud bastard, but you remained passive under the gaze of your blood. He was still yet to look at your face. 

“I hear the royal family are meeting so they shall not be attending for a little while longer. Let us dance to fill in the time.” You wanted to decline, but your heart squeezed at his words. The smallest reminder and you were caught in your own mind. Senselessly you agreed and repressed the shiver that ran down your spine as he grasped your waist and dragged you to the centre of the dancefloor. Other couples joined to line up beside you and Jamie Lannister finally lifted his gaze from your chest, only to stare at Cassandra Baratheon’s beside you. You watched as she lowered her gaze and giggled, slyly looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. She was good at this little play.  The music jolted everyone to attention, and you slowly moved to the beat, dreading the feeling of Lord Lannister’s hands in yours. It was not his touch that you wished to feel right now. You only cared for the touch of another.  

“King Viserys Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Prince of Dragonstone! And his wife Queen Alicent of House Hightower!” The dance was holted and the courtiers fell into a silent bow as the announcement was made. You felt your breath catch and against your will, your neck craned to find a glimpse of who you had been desperate to see.  

“And their children! Prince Aegon Targaryen, Prince Aemond Targaryen, Prince Daeron Targaryen and the Princess Helaena Targaryen!” The family stepped forth into the hall, hands clasped behind their back as they walked straight through the parted crowd. No one dared to look too long, out of fear they may disrespect the royal family, and you too kept your eyes firmly downcast. You heart grew louder in your ears as the echo of footsteps grew closer, before stopping altogether as you gazed them walking in front of you. 

“They better have poured my wine.” You heard Prince Aegon moan as he came to walk past you. 

“You drink more than a Braavosi seahorse.” The sound from Prince Aemond was something you often longed to hear and left goosebumps all over you. The deep voice was enough to have you blushing, thinking back to the scandalous things he had whispered to you the very night before. 

This was your secret. Aemond Targaryen, the second prince to King Viserys, and the proud rider of the fierce dragon Vaghar, was your lover. Every night he would take the secret passage to your chamber and claim you, over and over. He would worship your body and be floored by your mind while praising the gods they had sent you to him. He adored you, and you him. But it had to remain your little secret. Your family would not believe you would be able to capture a prince, no matter how high they wanted you to marry. 

That’s why you prayed no one saw him extend his finger to brush through your hair as he walked by you. 

“Please! Be relaxed!” The king laughed. Releasing a breath, everyone went back to standing straight and watching as the Targaryen family took to their seats. King Viserys began a speech, thanking all those who had come to attend his celebration, and you tried to pay attention. You truly tried. But Aemond had yet to move his gaze from you, leaving you blushing and trying not to make eye contact for too long. It had been a year since you had given yourself to him, and yet it still left you dizzy as if it the first time you received his attention.  

“Aegon sure loves his cups.” You had forgotten that Jason Lannister remained in your presence and flinched as he whispered into your ear with his foul breath. He leaned against you, making you almost buckle under his weight in shock. It was impossible to miss the way Aemond’s gaze darkened. You tried to politely move away from the man, but you could not leave your position without him falling to the ground. For the rest of the speech, you tried desperately to ignore the weight, and the smell, of Lord Lannister and instead tried to remember something else to take your mind of it.  

Watching Aemond draw his goblet to his lips, you remembered the feeling of his tongue making its way down your naked form, the feeling of his mouth on your most sensitive parts. The feeling of ecstasy as he made you crumble beneath it for the fourth time that night. The memory of last night made your experience much easier to bear. 

“Now let us dance and be merry! Let us have some music!” The band were quick to restart the song, and everyone scrambled to take their places. It was a flurry of skirts and elbows, everyone desperate to fulfil the wishes of the king. You were dragged to your spot by Lord Lannister, who you did not know could even stand straight. Quickly readying yourself, you paid no attention to who lined up beside you.  

“Thank you for dancing with me.” A sweet voice laughed beside you, as you flattened your skirt and pulled at the cuffs of your sleeves. You felt ridiculous in such heavy layers during the summer, but your father thought keeping the coverage would show your purity. 

“Anything for you sweet sister.” With a jolt, your head swung up to see Aemond standing proudly, leaving Jamie darkened by his shadow. You had yet to see Aemond dance in public as he had only danced with you twice, privately, and under the influence of too much wine. His eye remained staring at you, and you couldn’t help the smile that crossed your lips. Only you would have noticed the way his lips also curved upwards. 

“Princess Helaena. Prince Aemond. It shall be an honour to have you as our dance partners.” Lord Lannister was breathless at the sight of Aemond, as may often were. The respect he had gained from his fighting skills and philosophies often either intimidated or attracted the court. You quickly bowed in agreement. 

“A pleasure.” You whispered. Helaena simply giggled before holding out her hand to her younger brother. You mimicked the move to Jamie and watched Aemond tense as your hand was squeezed much too tightly. The band began the music once more and everyone began moving in sync. You did not allow yourself to get too close to the Lannister, but the moment you spun into Aemond’s arms you felt yourself be pulled flush against the prince. The proximity could easily be seen as a part of the dance, but everyone was blind to the way both your bodies were alight with the familiar feeling of desire.  

“I do not intend to spend too long here my love. I do hope you intend to leave soon.” His voice was hushed as he pulled your body up and spun you around to the dance. 

“Whatever my prince desires.” You breathed out as your mouth leant close to his ear. He spun you so that your back was pressed tightly to his chest and lifted your arm to trail his fingers along. 

“You know what I desire. Make sure your servants make your bath than retire for the night. I will take care of the rest.” 

+++ 

It was not two minutes after your maids did retire that night, that the hidden door into your room swung open widely. You had no time to prepare before Aemond had you wrapped up in his arms and his hand tangled into your hair. 

“You look fucking delicious in that dress.” He moaned as he moved his face to bury into your chest. You laughed and tried to push him away mockingly but took delight in the way he pressed his lips tightly against yours. You sighed at the feeling and cherished the way you felt him relax in a way that he would only do for you.  

“You may take me as many times as you like tonight Aemond, but I need to bathe first. Jason Lannister spilt his wine all over me.” You cursed that you had to break away from his kiss, but the stickiness of your skin was unbearable. 

“I should have cut him down right then and there. How dare he touch what is mine?” Aemond hissed but you both fell silent. How was he to know? No one was aware of your arrangement yet. Aemond first needed to gain permission from his family to have you as his wife, a proposition which you had accepted long ago. It was hard to find the right time, however due to the king’s ailing heath and rising tensions amongst the royal family. You did not mind. You would wait a lifetime for him. 

“Come and join me my darling. I want to wash your hair.” You ignored the heaviness of the room, and instead walked backwards while guiding him by his hand. He smiled lovingly at you and brought your hands to his lips.  

“I crave nothing more.” When you reached the tub, he moved to stand behind you and began to unlace the back of your gown. He could not go two seconds without kissing the back of your neck. 

“Pay attention! The bath will get cold.” You tried to reprimand him, but your eyes screwed shut in pleasure to which he took great delight. It took longer than it should have, but when you were both finally bare you watched as he lowered himself into the water. His eyes raked over your naked form as if he was seeing it for the first time. 

“Moulded from the gods.” He breathed out in reverence. Once upon a time, his attention was overwhelming. Now you were filled with nothing but bliss. You joined him but kneeled before him instead of laying against his chest. 

“Do come closer I might catch a chill.” He frowned, making you giggle as the steam that rose from the almost scorching water almost made it impossible to see one another. 

“Not until you are as bare as me.” Biting your lips, you placed your hands on your thighs and stared at him expectingly. Aemond held your gaze for some seconds, before humming begrudgingly.  

“Fine. But you take it off. I wish to use my hands elsewhere.” Crawling forward so you leaned on top of him, Aemond grabbed your hips and quickly nipped at your shoulder. 

“Ow.” You cried out in fake shock as your hands moved up towards the back of his head. Fumbling around, you loosened his eyepatch enough so that you could slip the leather off his head. He did not break eye contact as his missing eye became exposed, and in its place a perfectly carved sapphire. Delicately running you finger down the side of his face, you pressed a small kiss on his scarred eyebrow. 

“Perfect.” Your sigh was enough for him to pull you down to him and yet again pull you in to a feverish kiss. Aemond allowed his hands to clutch desperately at your body before flipping you over. Holding your breath, you felt both your bodies submerge under the water, but he refused to break the kiss. You cried out in shock and could not stop laughing as you broke through the surface. 

“Are you trying to drown me?” You giggled as you pushed your soaking hair from your face. He smiled lazily at you as he reclined back into the bathtub, slowly tugging you with him. 

“Well, you needed me to soak my hair for you to wash it did you not?” With an eyebrow raised expectantly, Aemond pushed forward the rosewater left behind for your own hair. No one would know the way Aemond was behind your closed doors, and you were devoted to keeping it your little secret. You moved to sit behind him and allowed his body to relax into yours as you began massaging your fingers a top his skull. It was a comfortable silence as you washed him and with closed eyes, Aemond moaned at your touch. 

“I must admit something to you.” He only spoke once you had rinsed his hair and his voice was nothing more than a whispered. 

“What must you confess?” 

“I discussed my future proposal with my father.” Your fingers stopped for a second, before hesitantly running down the fallen strands. 

“What of it?” You whispered. You were no fool. You knew that the royal family would not simply allow their son to marry such a lowborn lady. But you could not help but hope for dear life that they had. 

“I have requested that I chose who I shall wed. And he has agreed.” Pushing Aemond forward, you stared at him with widened eyes. 

“You jest.” You glared at him but could not slow your beating heart. Shaking his head, Aemond clasped your hands together with sincerity. 

“Not of this. I have given much to my family. This is all I have asked for and he says it is to be granted.” 

“You're making a fool of me.” Pushing Aemond away, you quickly climbed from the bath and wrapped yourself in a gown, concealing yourself from his gaze. He was quick to follow, calling for you as he followed to your bedroom. 

“You think me a liar?” Grasping your shoulders, he turned you to face him. His heart broke at the sight of the tears that had fallen down your cheeks. 

“You are a prince. You will not be allowed to marry me.” You tried hard, but a sob racked your body and you desperately tried to spin away from his sight. His hands firmly kept you facing him. 

“I told you long ago that I would marry you. And when have I ever broken a promise? We are made to fit against one another my love. Without you I would lose half my heart, half my soul! I will not allow you to be taken from me and I have made it clear to my father! He has agreed! I swear it on my mother’s soul! You shall be my wife and you shall be the mother of my children! I would not jest of my love for you.” You could not speak for all that left your mouth were cries. Bundling you up in his arms, Aemond tightly pressed himself to you. 

“You are my love. My light. If I am not with you, I shall die the most painful death, I just know it. I love you. I promise you this. You shall be my wife.” 

You believed him. 

+++ 

The next day, you found yourself nervously pacing your families' quarters, awaiting your father. You brother stared at you as if you were a mad woman, but your mother was too caught up in her own excitement. She could not believe her husband had been called to a private audience with the king. 

“Gods. What could it be about!?” She clutched her pearls as she too paced around the room. Your brother simply sat upon the couch, amused by the women in his life.  

“I hear the master of coins is to retire. Perhaps father is to be offered the position.” He put forward the idea casually, but your mother burst into hysterics at the mere thought. You, however, knew what was being said. You had wished Aemond had given you time to explain to your family the relationship you shared with the young prince. It would surely come as a shock. 

“WHERE IS SHE!?” You father’s voice shook the doors from the mighty boom. Everyone jumped in shock. 

“What...” 

“WHERE IS THAT FUCKING WHORE!?” The very words struck you and you felt your insides crawl. You were instantly nauseas. You knew if you were truly engaged to a prince your father would have wept with pride. Doing your best to suppress your dread, you assured yourself.  

Aemond had promised. 

The doors burst open, and everyone watched in horror as your father strode in and grasped your shoulders tightly. 

“You wench!” He cried out before tossing you towards your brother. He leaped to his feet to catch your stumbling form. 

“Father I...” 

“You have shamed this family! You have RUINED YOURSELF! YOU ARE TARNISHED! WHAT SANE PERSON WOULD WANT YOU NOW! YOU FOOLISH FUCKING WHORE!” You father’s words cut deep, and you instantly began shaking. Desperately looking between your family members, you felt your breath quicken and your mind began to race. 

“Lord husband? What is the meaning of this?” Your mother cried as she moved to grab his arm, but your father simply twisted from her and pointed his finger close to your face. 

“Your whore of her daughter has bedded Prince Aemond! The word has gotten to his father the king!” Your mother shouted in disagreement, but you felt your brother’s supportive grip loosen. 

“Father please I...” 

“He has banished you! He has requested I take you from the Red Keep this very instant! He says he is ashamed of such debauchery taking place beneath his ceilings!” You cried out at his words, and tried to stumble away, but your father would not allow you. 

“There must be some mistake!” Your mother tried to protect you, but your brother spun you to face him. Wiping away your tears, he looked at you in sympathy. 

“What did he promise you?” Your father shouted at the question and quickly took to pacing the room. 

“He loves me.” Your voice was a whimper, leaving you unable to defend yourself against your father's onslaught. 

“He desires you little sister. He is incapable of love. He is a man with royal tastes. He is just like his brother.” You began shaking your head at his mocking words and struggled to free yourself from his tight grip.  

“You do not understand! He loves me. He promised he would...” You began sobbing before you could finish the sentence making your brother click his tongue in pity. 

“Do you not see? You’ve been tricked. Did he promise your marriage? He is an heir to the throne! The marriage of a Prince is a political matter. You think he would simply be allowed to choose you as his wife? What would you offer the throne? You are a fool. He has tricked you sister and left you shamed.” You moaned in disagreement at the taunting before yet again trying to break his hold. Crying out in anger, you began kicking backwards. 

“You do not understand! He has been promised! He is to marry me!” 

“He has fooled you. You are disgrace by his actions.” 

“No! I must see him! He has requested my hand! He asked his father to marry me!” You heard your father scoff at the words, and soon he began laughing hysterically. The noise made your heaving chest rattle even louder and you desperately shook your head. 

“He is not here you wretched fool! Listen to your brother! His marriage has been planned for months now! All the court knows! Everyone but you because you have been too busy hiding yourself from the truth of the matter. You have acted as a lovesick fool and now our family name must pay the price.” The mocking was met with your desperate rejections, but your body began to weaken. 

“No.” You whined out in anguish. 

“Aemond Targaryen has ridden with Lady Cassandra Baratheon.” You whimpered now, still shaking your head at your fathers' cruel words. 

“Please.” 

“For he wishes to ask her father for her hand directly.” Collapsing to the floor, you became numb to your mothers' sobs and your brothers tuts. Your father leant down to your crippled form and roughly took your chin so that you had no choice but took look at him. 

“Yes. Prince Aemond is to marry. And you are to be banished from his sight for the rest of your years. You are ruined my daughter. You are a shame on the family name. There is a carriage that is to take you on a ship, and from there you shall sail to Dorne. You shall live away from the mess you have created. Perhaps it mercy the king has sent you away from the scandal that shall no doubt brew. You are an embarrassment and a fool.  We hope to never see your whore of a face again.” Your father’s cruel snarl shook you, but you felt yourself falling further and further into a depression.  

You thought of Aemond’s promise. You thought of his laughter and his kisses. You thought of the feeling of his hands on your skin, his lips on yours. His whispers of their future. But everything seemed to be crumbling inside your memory. How had you allowed him to lead you on for over a year? Had it all been an empty promise?  

Did he ever truly love you?  

next chapter

[bananacorn-limeade]

A tale they said was TOO SHOCKING for the screen.

Ladies and gentlefolk, American International Pictures presents the CINEMATIC EVENT of 1961:

A SONG of ICE and FIRE!

A Roger Corman production. Music by Albert Glasser.

Starring... well, you'll see. (Will this be a "good" movie? Absolutely not. Will costumes and hairstyles be woefully anachronistic? For sure. Will many casting choices be questionable? Indeed. Will major plot points be changed to comply with the morality clauses of the Hayes Code? You betcha!)

Starring

RICHARD CARLSON as EDDARD STARK - an HONORABLE man caught in a WEB of political intrigue!

MARIE WINDSOR as CATELYN STARK - the mother who will do ANYTHING to protect her own!

COLEEN GRAY as CERSEI LANNISTER - the BEAUTIFUL QUEEN with a TERRIBLE SECRET!

JOHN AGAR as JAIME LANNISTER - the DASHING SWORDSMAN who SHOULDN'T be TRUSTED!

MICHAEL DUNN as TYRION LANNISTER - the HALF MAN with BIG APPETITES!

BASIL RATHBONE as Tywin Lannister - the STRATEGIST with a HEART of ICE!

RAYMOND BURR as ROBERT BARATHEON - the king who LOVED WINE - almost as much as he LOVED WOMEN!

JUNE KENNEY as DAENERYS TARGARYEN - the PRINCESS from an EXOTIC LAND!

ROBERT REED as RENLY BARATHEON - the HANDSOME KING all of Westeros WANTED!

GLENN LANGAN as STANNIS BARATHEON - the HEIR who WOULDN'T BACK DOWN!

ALLISON HAYES as MELISANDRE - the sultry RED WOMAN no king could deny!

With...

ANTHONY DEXTER as the SCHEMING Petyr Baelish!

LON CHANEY JR as the TERRIFYING Sandor Clegane!

and TOR JOHNSON as THE BROTHER who MADE him a MONSTER!

...And Introducing...

MICHAEL LANDON as JON SNOW - a TORTURED SOUL at the EDGE of the WORLD!

JOHN ASHLEY as ROBB STARK - the BOY KING marching to his DOOM!

DOLORES FAITH as SANSA STARK - the fair princess TRAPPED by a WICKED queen!

DAWN BENDER as ARYA STARK - a LITTLE GIRL with LOTS OF FIGHT!

and newcomer JACK NICHOLSON as THEON GREYJOY - the rogue who HIDES behind a SMILE!

THE INTRIGUE

THE SUSPENSE

The Song of Ice and Fire!

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

The Stags Lone Wolf

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 17.7k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, insecurities, self loathing tendencies, mild smut, allusions to neglect/emotional abuse

Notes: Did you ever wonder what the very first chapter looked like from Jon's point of view? No? Well just in case you do, here we go. Companion Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Jon had tried very hard to consider that this was a sign of things looking up. The day before had been one of many twists and it was difficult to come to terms with what he thought he was not granted, to one standing out as if just for him. There felt something wrong in the thought of leaving the direwolf pups, or worse, killing them out of mercy. Everyone had argued around him over his fathers decision, but Jon only stood.

Looking down to the five pups, save the one being pulled from Brans arms, all still cowering by their dead mother and by the maggots around meaning Jon knew it was a miracle they had lasted this long with nothing to protect them. But too he looked closer, the one he picked up and handed to Bran was a boy, and he could now see clearer that there were two more boys and two girls. It matched. But, only without him. Not six pups, and not four boys.

But it couldn’t be about him, Jon knew that it couldn’t be about him if he was going to save them. And something deep called to Jon from within to do so. A chilling in his blood as he looked at them and on an instinct did Jon turn. With everyone around and the formal proposal he was about to present, he separated himself as much as possible in order to make this work. Looking to his father did Jon call out, “Lord Stark,”

It wasn’t just his words that stopped them, it was what words he spoke. Most of the time there was not a single issue in calling him father, but saying something showcasing Jons true position caught everyone off guard. Finally did he gesture to the pups, and pled his case.

“There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. You were meant to have them.”

Silence, everyone waited and looked to him to see his answer and very quickly did his father break. He did not do so with much softness towards them, but Jon could read that softness in how he folded regardless. Looking to both Bran and Robb, “You will train them yourselves, you will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves.”

With a little smile, Bran happily took back the pup Jon had handed him initially, from Theon who had been ready to put it down then and there. Both he and Robb then came around to take hold of the other two each. Jon only watched, something grateful in his heart that he did what he did, but there too was something darker. A piece of him missing as he realized he was not graced to be part of this. Something had sent direwolves to the wolfswood outside Winterfell and meant for the Starks to find them, but that was it. The missing part of him that meant this wasn’t his place to be involved.

Bran himself seemed to pick up on this if only the slightest bit. Looking to the nothing in Jons arms and asking what about him. But Jon just told him the simplest truth, of why he didn’t have one, and why he had to be the one to propose it to their father the way he did. “I’m not a Stark. Get on.” Prompting his little brother to make his way with the rest up the creeks hillside and back to the horses.

Still Jon didn’t know why he sensed it. Something telling him to stop in his tracks and look. Not search, but look in one spot. Hidden in the bushes not making a sound, Jon could hear Robb having turned to him with a curiosity. “What is it?” Then he felt it. Something soft, and small. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t a Stark, this wasn’t his place, the gods knew that.

And yet, Jon picked up what felt like the scruff of somethings neck and raised it out of the bushes.

Looking at him now, there was nothing capable of being on Jons face but a smile. He was tiny, he was different then the others in more then one way, but, he was his. The fur a pure white, and his eyes a pinkish red. The other pups were darker and varied in colour with golden eyes but none could see yet. It made the ride home for Robb, Theon, and Bran a bit of a trip as the small things didn’t know what was happening yet or where they were going.

But Jons? He was silent. Tucked carefully away as to not disturb him as he made the horse ride back to the castle, and scantly did he make a single sound. They had all sought out the rest of their siblings, showing the wolf pups and explaining what happened. Bran, Robb, nor their father notably did not include in the story that rescuing them had been Jons idea, while Lady Catelyn was hovering by. Clearly beside herself that her children now all had not just wolf pups, but that of direwolves. Ones she knew would grow to a massive size if the stories, and Neds account of how large the mother was, were true.

She had silently glared to Jon as he was knelt down beside Rickon who was equally as excited as somewhat afraid. Jons pup had his full sight, why he didn’t know, but it meant he was a comfort to the scared and bumbling blind ones. Coming over to the one which seemed to be Rickons with a darker fur closer to black. Knocking his head into him to comfort him as the growling settled.

Only then did Jon put a hand on Rickons back as he leaned down more to his baby brothers level knelt there, “Go on, he can’t see so he can only get used to your touch and voice right now.” Carefully did a shaky hand reach out as if the thing was going to bite his hand off. Initially it looked like it to the small six year old, a tiny nibble that had Rickon gasp and almost pull away. Jon shifted, putting a hand more around to hold at both arms to steady him. “It’s alright, he doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s just getting used to you.”

Slowly did he and the dark wolf pup get used to one another, his baby brother looking up to Jon with a bright smile, only for Jon to sense Lady Catelyns on him. But now, not even that was bothering him. Not for this.

That night Jon had tried to make a small bed for the wolf pup, a comfortable place to sleep and multiple times had to pick him up and put him back on the bed. Each time he would step off and follow Jon throughout the room before Jon just settled down in his bed, alone and tired. It didn’t last long. Jon hadn’t even fallen asleep before he felt something jump onto his bed, and then a small bundle of fur nearly smother his face. Turning in the spot, the wolf pup had snuggled his head right up against Jons as if asking to cuddle and who was Jon to kick him off his bed?

He and the pup slept like that the whole night, with the feeling of tiny licks waking him before even he would’ve normally. It wasn’t long before he settled on a name. The way he could hear the other wolf pups howling constantly, very cute little sounds trying to get used to the world, and even though he could hear his making small noises, he never howled himself. He was silent both in his voice and how he seemed to walk against things making no noise.

Ghost. He settled on Ghost.

And for once, Jon thought he could think perhaps not everything looked so grim. Only to be wrong. So utterly and completely wrong that even as he still stood there now, he was almost in shock. His father and Lady Catelyn had called them all, Jon included to news that had arrived that morning.

It was twofold at first, and that seemed like enough. Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King and a man who was like a father to many, including Jons own father, has passed. Which meant that King Robert Baratheon rode for Winterfell. With the Queen, her children, and the rest of them. They all knew what that meant. What it was implying and their father thought his children should have the time to brace themselves to realize things might change in not so distant of the future.

It was Arya who started it. Asking with a genuine curiosity if you were coming as well. And thats when Jon knew something was wrong. No one but him saw and he didn’t know why, the way his fathers eyes flickered so quickly to Jon and back it wouldn’t have registered to any but them. It was Lady Catelyn who delivered it, and Jons heart sunk from his chest and down crashing through the stone floor deep beyond as she turned to look directly at Robb.

“The King has determined it was time she were wed.” Slowly everyone turned to look at Robb with the same falling expression realizing what she was not saying for him to put together. Something, not outrage, but perhaps frustrated at what was being implied.

Robbs face twisting as he spoke up with a bit more force in his voice, “You mean married to me?” Catelyn nodded, and instantly did Robb not hide his feelings about it. “Mother, you can’t mean it.”

Jon knew the problem wasn’t you, it was the idea, the suddenness, the out of nowhere feeling. All his siblings had conflicting ideas about how to feel, but too did Jon sense his fathers gaze which he didn’t return. Just watched Robb and Catelyn go back and forth with not a shift in his posture or expression in the slightest as she continued. “You are both to be wed before she returns to Kings Landing.”

There was no more way to argue it. It was a command brought by a raven from the King, there was no fighting with that kind of order. As his father and Lady Catelyn begun to discuss things amongst themselves did the siblings disperse. Jon felt Aryas knowing gaze the entire time he turned to walk away, and made no motion to indicate he noticed. Jon made little indication of anything, as if he was the only one unaffected by the news. Following almost naturally in stride with Robb, it was his instinct to let him vent the moment they were out of earshot.

Robbs face was still twisted in a frustration, his hands gesturing out with emphasis showing how rattled he was by the suddenness. “Her fathers spent years trying to keep her from getting married, and now he ships her off without so much as a thought?”

Swallowing the weight in his throat Jon hoped his voice came out a lot less forced and on edge then he felt. “If father does go to Kings Landing, a marriage could help.” Robb only argued back that it didn’t matter, only that there was no getting out of this. Jon asked and almost regretted it, he knew why he asked it. But he didn’t want to think about it. Not yet. “Is it getting married at all, or just that you’re marrying her?”

If Robb picked up on anything, he didn’t let it be known. Shaking his head with a huff of a false chuckle. “We’ve known her since we were ten, I’d rather marry her then some girl I won’t even meet until the wedding day.” The hand opposite from Robbs easy view clenched into more of a fist before relaxing again. The tension needing to be dispersed somewhere, but still unsure as to what to do around so many people. He couldn’t feel this yet, he needed to be alone first. His brother must have glanced to Jon, and made a judgment of what his tense expression could’ve been trying to silently convey. “Beside, I’d rather marry her then watch her get shipped off to some southern Lord who’d have no patience for getting used to her.”

It was short and muttered out through hopefully not gritted teeth, “None of us would want that for her.” It was normal Jon cared. He was your friend, you were his best friend. Of course it would come to a shock to him as well to learn of this betrothal. But did it come off that way to Robb? Jon didn’t know, he just kept walking and kept trying to feel that tense numbness as long as he could hold off the rest of it from flooding him too fast. “You should write to her. About it.” Meeting Robbs more questioning gaze, Jon elaborated looking back forward as he said your name. “You know her. She’ll be too worried to write to you first about it, it’ll be easier if she knows you’re not mad at her.”

Robb only asked for a moment. “Why would she think I’d be mad at-” Cutting himself off, both brothers gave knowing expressions in a bit of a flat manner one could’ve called bemused in a better scenario. “Right.”

By the time Jon had a moment to himself to go back to his chambers, he was at least relieved that his were a bit further away from the other Starks. He could slam the door closed behind him and no one of meaning would hear it. Sleeping in the middle of the fur atop his bed, Ghost perked up right away with a whine at the sound but Jon didn’t look at him. Running a hand over his face before stepping into the room swiftly where his desk was. Palms bracing against the wood, Jon stared intensely at the wall, eyes bleeding from grey to black as the rest of his muscles begun to shook.

He wasn’t ready. It was too soon, he wasn’t ready. One hand slammed into the desk, startling Ghost again before Jon turned and leaned his back against the surface as he ran a hand over his mouth and kept it there. As if containing what wanted to come out, whatever too strong emotion was fighting for control of him each passing second. Eyes closing it felt as if his heart was pounding in his chest as the thought kept repeating. He wasn’t ready.

His eyes tore to his bed, and he felt warm. Too warm. Unpleasantly warm as if he was being burned from the inside. Just a few short moons passed, Jon had you on that bed. With only his breeches on, and you nothing. How beautiful you looked. Your skin soft and plush and perfect as you laid back not knowing what to do, but how he didn’t need you to do anything. You let Jon climb up onto his bed, and carefully pry your legs apart and look at you, at what he’s always wanted. How he could see the traces of your wetness as if your walls were clenching around nothing in anticipation. Your breasts begging to be grabbed and marked up as they heaved with your nervous breaths.

The way your hands shook underneath his as Jon guided you to take his shirt off. And too, the way you both asked if he wanted to stop when Jon hesitated, and asked in a quiet, gentle voice if he wanted to wait for you, so you could wait for him. How for just an hour, Jon had the time to keep you bare in his arms, hands running over your skin as your hands rested along his chest. If Jon went through with that day, it was the worst case scenario that made him stop. What if he got you pregnant? He was nothing but a bastard. He couldn’t give you anything. Less then anything. Only a shameful surname he would never curse you or any children with in a lifetime. You were a beautiful, royal, highborn, popular Baratheon girl. Jon was a bastard dragging you down. And he almost shamed you by taking your maidenhead no matter how desperately Jon would’ve treasured it for the rest of his days.

When his eyes closed he had no idea, but he opened them to feeling Ghost at his feet nudging with a whine. Sensing Jons rise in distress, he picked up the direwolf pup and kept him high on his person as he his voice rasped in such a quiet tone for the pup alone. “I’m not ready, Ghost. I’m not ready to let her go.”

Ghost just bumped his head into Jons. Who turned to press a kiss to the top of his head, keeping close to the other his only comfort. He hadn’t even told you yet. He hadn’t found a good time to tell you he loves you, how much he’s always been in love with you. He and you were supposed to share your first times together, explore the others body in such intimate ways the way you and he had been each others firsts for everything else.

He wanted you to get to Winterfell, take you with him and leave in the middle of the night. Jon would take you north, so far north he’d end up beyond the Wall where no one could tell him that he couldn’t love you. He’d build you a warm cabin, nothing special, but something for you two. In that world, Jon wouldn’t have reason to hesitate. No one out there would care. He’d drape you on his bed just like last time but match how bare you were.

If his eyes closed he could see it, how he’d mount you atop the furs. His cock sinking deep inside of you over and over as you cried and begged his name. He’d take you as much as it needed. Out there, you could have his child and not have your life ruined over it. He could see at least four. Running around free as he’d come up behind you. Wrapping his arms around you, hands resting on your stomach as you swelled with his fifth child.

But he couldn’t do that to you. You had a good life, and you would have a good life with Robb. He’d treat you well, better then Jon ever could. His brother was a trueborn Stark, the heir to Winterfell, he would adore being married to you. He couldn’t not. You were perfect. And Jon was only tormented by it. The day after he thought the old gods were sending him a message that perhaps he was a Stark deep somewhere in his blood, the thought was ripped away from his hands. Casted out and reminded he was nothing but a bastard who would ruin you and your children’s lives.

Ghost slept close again that night. Jon barley able to stop seeing you in his mind, realizing how unprepared he had let himself become for this day. He knew he couldn’t keep you forever, and it was his fault he hadn’t at all readied himself for the day he’d have to give you up. Jon just wasn’t ready.

He’d been thinking about it a lot. More and more the past few days.

It wasn’t out of nowhere. For years now each time his Uncle Benjen came to visit from Castle Black, Jon thought just a little bit more about leaving with him. But he was needed here. His family was here, and Jon knew his father would never let him take the black if he asked. But as he sat there that morning, once again the conversations around him turning to the inevitable wedding, Jon felt more and more like maybe this was a sign.

He had been selfish in trying to keep you for himself, and now he was being punished for it by listening to his little sisters boast about finally having you really be part of the family like they always wanted, and the quieter discussion between Robb and his mother. That though, was more of an argument.

Catelyn it seemed thought a wedding in the small sept would be the obvious choice, you were raised in the Light of the Seven and Robb was raised under the old gods and the new, it only made sense. Robb however, knew you as well as Jon did on this matter. “Mother, she’s not going to want a big ceremony in front of the whole castle.”

“It is a traditional-”

His voice was more exasperated then normal, as if Robb too wasn’t sleeping as well as he was pretending he was. Jon wanted to be there for him, wanted to assure his brother that he knew you wouldn’t make him miserable and that it would be fine in the end, but he didn’t want to say that. Because by giving that to Robb, it meant taking all of it away from Jon. And he still wasn’t ready for that. But still, Robb argued regardless about much of the wedding preparations. “She won’t care about tradition. If I asked her right now if she was alright with getting married in the godswood-”

Catelyn cutting in, “You know she would say yes?” Robb affirming he would, and Jons hand around the fork he was holding got a bit more tight gripped.

Sensing eyes on him, Jon dragged them up to see Arya looking right at him, narrowed eyes asking no doubt if he was alright but Jon just looked back down to his plate without much acknowledgement. She was the only one who knew. He never confirmed it to her himself, but she had caught Jon kissing you in the stables one day and confronted him about not telling her. But he certainly didn’t want to talk about it now.

And as the days shortened to the one where the King would finally arrive, so it seemed the direwolves grew. The morning after they found them, Jon could recall all of them in the kitchens trying to decide on names. Some came easier then others, Bran didn’t even yet have a name for his. All of them though, seemed to grow fast. Each of them outgrowing their pup size in a matter of weeks, it would be no time surely before they grew to be the size of the mother they found them cowering around.

Training was going better for some then others. It seemed as if the direwolves matched the traits of the one they were with, like they were meant to go to that person. Arya named her wolf Nymeria, after the Dornish Princess who had let the Rhoynar to Westeros. Though, it seemed both of them had much time to go before reaching that point of legend. In private, Nymeria was calm and comforting to Arya, but in the public eye? She was just as stubborn and difficult to train as Arya could some days be to teach, they matched well.

Rickon seemed still somewhat scared of his. Naming his Shaggydog, he was young and unsure of what to do when the pup would get aggressive. More then once Jon and Robb would step in to teach him to stand his ground, as if Shaggydog didn’t see fear in Rickon towards him, he’d stop feeling the need to prove himself as aggressive. More then once Jon would see Rickon looking across the yard with wide eyes, only needing him to nod supportingly and he’d shift his voice to project more and tell the wolf to listen to him. His little brother had always been so easy to spend time with.

He was still young, barley even six at that point, Rickon understood many things and was quite smart but he was young enough that there were things that passed his knowledge. He had yet to truly grasp why Jon was different then his other brothers, not really coming to the conclusion of what being a bastard really meant. Not understanding why Jon couldn’t do certain things, or wasn’t involved in others.

So vividly he could remember a feast they had not a year passed, other Northern lords and their families attended and the tables up at the top of the dining hall were immaculately decorated for them all. Some of the Starks escorted other guests to their seats, with Rickon tailing more in the back being so young. Jon never sat up with them at feasts. He never stood with them at formal events. That wasn’t a bastards place.

But Rickon? He didn’t get it. At only four then, Rickon had scrunched his face up as he was walking to his seat, before stopping and walking right over to Jon. In front of everyone he simply went to go greet him, wanting him to just come with them because he didn’t yet understand why his brother wasn’t sitting with him. Jon had to get up, crouch in front of him and prompt him to go on, that he’d see him later. Rickon had done so, but turned to look with an even greater frown at Jon nodding at him to keep going.

Hardly anyone ever gave him such freedom from his status. The only one who did it with ease other then him, was you. Not that his other siblings looked down on him, but they knew he was different and why. Rickon didn’t. You did, but you didn’t let that change anything. You never had. Always referring to him in the plural as “You Starks,” when lumping the whole family in together. Always joking he was a wolf, never letting him put himself lower then his siblings. You never even hesitated in being with him in any way.

You had been worried you’d get him into trouble because you weren’t supposed to be doing things, not because he wasn’t supposed to be with a highborn girl. You didn’t want him to get into trouble, because you knew him being a bastard wouldn’t be appreciated if anyone found out about you both. It was a miracle honestly that Lord Stannis, your father, had seemed adamant about keeping you from marriage.

Robb had figured out that in a two year period you had suddenly been sent to Winterfell, was because the Queen was trying to set up marriages for you after you had your moonblood, and your father had kept you away from the capitol to put an end to them. By the time you returned almost a woman at six and ten, you had two sides to work with. The first was how your father was busying you with work and intimidating away potential suitors, the other was Jon.

You had no interest in any of the highborn men or talented knights around you, because you were content going back to Winterfell to be with Jon no matter how that would be. You just didn’t care, you were happy having everything with Jon that a trueborn lord could’ve given you. But, now it wasn’t enough.

Jon knew he was being selfish with you. He knew he couldn’t keep you forever, and that one day he would have to give you up. But he had made it so much worse for himself by being as in love with you as he was. He was too deep to let go completely. He had to, and he would, but his heart would never move on.

And worse? When you married Robb, you’d go to Kings Landing, then what? Return one day to live with your new husband? Have beautiful children? You deserved that, but Jon couldn’t handle it. The thought ate away at him more and more thinking about it. He couldn’t do it, he wasn’t going to be able to take watching you get everything he wished he could have with you, with the brother who already was and had everything Jon never would.

He hadn’t said anything to his father yet, he wasn’t sure how he would handle that. But he had made his mind up. Maester Luwin didn’t think much of it when being told who the raven was for, but he did pick up on how tense Jon was. How much more troubled he had been for days. But he couldn’t say it yet. Luwin cared, but he’d be likely to bring it up to his father if he heard, so Jon let it drop for now. It was in the raven, but nothing else.

He felt bad saying it there. He knew you’d have so much overwhelming you right now, and this would not help but he didn’t want you to show up and be blind sighted by his choice. So Jon wrote to you on the Kingsroad, telling you that he wasn’t going to be at Winterfell much longer after you arrived, because he was going North and taking the black.

You didn’t write him back, not did he expect you to on the road. But you had to know. Jon had to now figure out how to convince his father to let him join, a fight Jon knew he would likely fail on his own. Despite being a bastard, the stain on his fathers reputation, never once did he let Jon fall to the sidelines.

He raised him in his home, with his other children, let him feel as much as the family as one possibly could. The older Jon got, the more he found himself working at his father side. Robb did too, but as he would take over one day, Robb had a degree of distance to prove he could stand on his own. Jon had no such future obligation. Many times it was he who stood right by his father as they’d discuss things back and forth. Jon would be sent to do things a lot, while Robb was asked to oversee things. And more then one nights as men, did Jon find himself in his fathers study with a drink or two between them as they could just spend time as father and son without hangups.

He knew it would be not an easy fight on his own, but he knew one person who could convince his father, he just hoped he could to convince him to make that fight on his behalf in the first place.

The castle was amok with people everywhere. They weren’t yet sure when they royal company would arrive, but it would be in no time. Days at most. Sometimes Jon would find himself and Ghost in the godswood at night, and he’d sit down. The still small direwolf jumping into his lap as he and the old gods would listen to Jons plight. Only for them to hear and no one else, that he wished he could hate Robb for it.

His brother seemed to be getting used to the idea of being married to you, and as much as Jon tried to be there for him, he hated every second of it. He wanted to hate Robb, that would make his feelings so much easier to figure out. Just a pure jealousy, but it wasn’t. He loved Robb, and he didn’t want Robb to be miserable nor you. But, did that come at the price of Jons happiness? Perhaps.

The King and his company must have been closer then they all thought though. Lady Catelyn came up to them during the morning, he, Robb, and Theon and told them all they were to clean up before the King arrived. Facial hair all clean shaved, and hair trimmed short and neat. All three men gave each other looks knowing it wasn’t really ideal, but the tone of her voice gave no room for interpretation.

Robb was first, his hair normally kept on the short side compared to how Jon would let his dark curls grow wild, he was though just as unhappy being shaven as the rest felt. It had been so long since Jon would’ve had nothing. Since he was fourteen maybe. As soon as facial hair begun to grow, it came in fast and coarse and he didn’t care to put in the work to constantly keep it shaven. You liked it too, which may or may not have been a much greater contributing factor to why he kept it then anything else.

Arms crossed as he waited for his turn, Jon let his general dismay he known. “Why’s your mother so dead set on us getting pretty for the King?”

Before Robb could answer, Theon piped in first as he said your name. Both wolves eyes darting towards him as he elaborated. “It’s for her I bet.” Nodding towards Robb in particular he elaborated. “And if you have to look all nice and fancy for your betrothed, then so do we apparently.”

He didn’t want to comment on it, the manner which you were so easily now discussed in terms of being Robbs. But something more flat slipped out before he could stop it. “Not like she’d care.” Both eyes directed up towards Jon as he tilted his head in a dismissive manner to ease the tensity he might have originally carried in his words. “We spent half her life roughing her up in the training yard. Looking nice for one day won’t change any of that.”

Neither of them suspected anything, and Jon could at the very least relax in the slightest that his immense attitude in his heart hadn’t been noticed by anyone else who didn’t have reason to suspect otherwise.

Theon could only smirk to himself as the image came to him. “I’ll wager the Queen will spend half the morning tomorrow trying to doll her up. Might get to see what a royal girl is supposed to look like on her for once.” Robb had passively asked with a jest if he had been thinking about that a lot, only for Theons face to scrunch up before falling amusingly flat. “You assume I’m thinking of her, when we got the Queen coming our way?” His focus now shifted entirely, at least Jon could relax in that it was off you for now. He could tolerate whatever the discussion of Queen Cersei had become far more. “I hear she’s a sleek bit of mink.”

Robb however, much like Jon would’ve, did not even bother to entertain that specific discussion. “I hear the Prince is a right, royal prick.”

By the time Robb was done, he stood up with no restraint in amusing himself by smacking Jon on the arm as he switched places. A taunt on his lips as Jon begrudgingly made his way over, almost needing to be shoved down in the chair at his purposely putting off demeanour. “Go on Tommy, sheer him good. He’s never met a girl he’s liked better then his own hair.”

Jons face said one thing feeling the blades slice into his curls, but his heart said another. Wishing to look at Robb and tell him that he had not a single clue what he was talking about, and that he had no idea what Jon secretly had and always would have over him about you.

Jon was your first. Your first kiss, first touch, first orgasm, so many firsts between you both. He knew how addicting kissing you truly was, and how you only knew how to kiss because you and Jon learned together. And Jon was the first to know what you looked like, what you really looked like. What a sight your bare frame was and how he would never forget it, nor want too. Robb was about to get many more firsts from you, but Jon and you shared so many of your firsts together, and just maybe Jon could hold onto that.

Because even though neither of you ever said it, he was certain he was your first love, as you were his first and only. He wouldn’t hold it against you, if you found real love with Robb, he wouldn’t hold it against either of you, but Jon could at least say he had your heart first, and you’d always have his.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, everyone had begun to gather in the main courtyard. The Kings company had been spotted by Bran as he was climbing around up on the battlements and now everyone stood in preparation. Or, they should’ve been.

Catelyn noticed first as she glanced down to her children beside Ned, “Where’s Arya?” Seeing her nowhere, Catelyn asked specifically, “Sansa where’s your sister?” Naturally, Sansa only had a single shrug that she didn’t know, which wasn’t very surprising to Jon. It wasn’t as if those two spent more time together lately then they had too. They usually were better at getting along when you were there to mediate their issues and force them to set things aside, but just them on their own was more arguing lately then anything.

Jon understood that. He’d been down that path with Sansa, though, at this point they mostly ignored one another instead of her trying to get into arguments with her far older brother. His grey eyes could slide to Lady Catelyn and be sure where that negative attitude towards him had been influenced by.

Seemingly out of nowhere did Arya come running up urgently, only for their father to grab her, making her stop. Looking down at her, a helmet sat on her head he asked confused, “What are you doing with that on?” Arya didn’t even have an answer as he took it off her and motioned for her to stand beside her brother. Passing the helmet behind to Ser Rodrick in the queue where Jon stood beside Theon. The bastard brother in the back, as normal. Though, the back wasn’t the worst place he’d be delegated today.

One by one did horses begin filling the air with their trotting before they were spotted. First the riders in the front holding the banners, the golden crowned stag flying bright as it always did on one side, and the deep red of a lion on the other banner. The Baratheons and the Lannisters. First them, then guards, then two Kingsguard rode passed, and then he saw you.

You rode next to what he could only presume was your cousin, the Prince Joffery. He looked as opposite of you as possible. Short, golden hair, rich and clearly luxurious clothing as he rode in with a look that felt more smug then it should’ve been for where he was. But hardly did Jon pay any mind.

He knew to anyone else, he looked angry. Maybe he was, but in another way, a stranger would presume he was angry at who he was looking at instead of in general. But truly, he felt a painful break in his heart at the simple truth watching you ride in. You looked astoundingly beautiful. No doubt hand maidens had taken the time to paint your face more then you’d ever do alone, making the best of you stand out. Somehow not ruined at all by the stern scowl as you looked around in knowing. You didn’t look at him, not that Jon expected you too, but nor did you look at Robb. You were clearly just trying to keep yourself together, and play the part you were expected too as a member of the royal family.

Not that you’d ever want anyone to say that about you, but watching you here ride in with the luxury of them all, it was clear how much you belonged with it. You had done your own hair, some parts loose, some done in many braids, a style you had once told him was more common amongst highborn women in the Stormlands to contend with the weather as Dragonstone had all the same storms and more, and you had simply gotten used to it.

But it was your dress. It was a golden yellow, draped along you perfectly as he could see the antlers of stags sewn into the design, and a thick, deep brown shall wrapped around you to keep you warm. The dress meant to stand out, and clearly the Queen had thought a cloak would hide too much of it. It wasn’t the title graced to you, but in some regards, its exactly what you were. The daughter of the Kings brother, in some places, you wouldn’t just be a lady, your position would be close enough to call a princess. And you looked like one.

And he hated it. Because he knew Queen Cersei had dressed you up as such, to make sure you appealed as much as possible to Robb. He had a feeling the Queen would be offended if she knew a bastard like him even had eyes for such a beautiful princess no matter how much it was his kiss you knew.

Eventually the carriage no doubt holding the Queen in question and her other children, as they were not seen riding in with the procession, did two more Kingsguard ride on either side before he appeared.

Jon had never seen King Robert Baratheon as much as he heard about him. Grew up with his father in the Eyrie as a ward. Half raised by Lord Jon Arryn, the now deceased hand of the King and as little as he personally knew about him, was the man Jon was named after. Much like how Robb was for the King before his eyes. He knew Lord Arryn had a son named after Robert as well, or Robin as you had once stated was the nickname the strange boy preferred. But none of the Kings children held any name resembling Ned Stark.

It itched at something in Jons brain that he hated thinking about. That if he could take you north to run away with him, he’d give you a son first and name him after his father. But he couldn’t think that, because you were here to be married to Robb, under the Kings command.

King Robert was…not what Jon was expecting of a King. He held the same green in his eyes, the same dark hair, and the same fierce demeanour and scowl that matched you perfectly. He could see how you looked more like Roberts daughter then his own son actually did. But he was large. Much larger then he thought, as the songs all described the great warrior King as a lean and fierce man. He could see someone who was once fierce, but perhaps, not anywhere close anymore to the word lean.

But he was the King, and as his father knelt down to the ground so did they all too. He could see in his peripherals that the King approached suddenly, a hand waving to his old friend to stand as they all followed. His father bowed with a greeting as he would any man, “Your grace.”

All waited in silence for the Kings words, but it was not what he expected, or any. “You got fat.”

No one said a word. His eyes did though, and so did yours. It was so natural, looking to you to read his eyes as he did yours. And like you were meant for one another, your sternness broke only for him. You both looked to the other right away, flickering with hidden smirks as if to joke about which one of their family members had gotten fat before you had to stop and look away lest a grin break out on you more. Jon could barley smother his, but it made him feel just a bit warmer on the inside knowing that not even the news between you both had ruined that you and he never stopped gravitating to one another.

His father though, too had a natural reaction not as proper as one expected of him. Only nodding down to the Kings very large belly as both of them burst into a laughter and bringing the other in for a hug. It wasn’t often he heard much of the King from his father, but he knew how close they one were. The King even once betrothed to Jons own Aunt Lyanna before the rebellion. Though, that felt strange to think of.

What his life would’ve looked like towards you had that taken place as was planned, and Jon wasn’t so sure he liked the thought of not having you in it the exact way you had been for fifteen years. Around him the King continued, “Nine years, where the hell have you been?”

His father only jesting with a knowing that he was guarding the North for him. One by one he greeted everyone, a jovial hug for Lady Catelyn, and personally greeting each of the Stark children. Even with a joke towards Bran asking to show him his muscles, only to tell the boy of then with a laugh, “You’ll be a solider.”

The next to approach made Prince Jofferys appearance much more obvious who he took after. The Queen was as blonde as he was and looked just like him, as did her two children beside her. The look on her own face was not quite the natural scowl it seemed the Baratheons had, but one more of genuine disdain. For what, Jon didn’t care to know. But it only grew as the King demanded Ned to take him to the crypts to pay his respects, and Queen Cersei in a rather flat tone tried to say otherwise. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.”

The King didn’t listen, and thus the party begun to disperse.

He knew his place, and as Jon watched you preoccupied with climbing down off your horse, did Jon decide to leave now. He didn’t need to make you feel more conflicted by hovering around you right away, especially as he could see Robb making his way over to talk to you. Besides, between the Queen, Lady Catelyn and all the other eyes, Jon knew better then to let the bastard of Winterfell hang around these far more important people, no matter how much he wanted to talk to you.

But it was not likely. The Starks were to feast the royals at sundown, and for all the effort into making Jon look as cleaned up as the rest of them, he wasn’t permitted. Not sat down at a further table for his little brother to stop by to see him, but not at all. Told very firmly by Catelyn herself only the day before that it would be insulting to the royal family to travel all this way, only to have a bastard feasting with them. She didn’t need to say that she simply didn’t want him there in general, but neither her nor Jon needed many words for him to know that anymore. They barley talked, and when they did, it was as if Jon and Catelyn spoke a language all of their own, but that one was simply filled with spite and hate.

Weird as it was to say, but Jon and Catelyn knew each other extremely well in a way no one else did, only it was nothing but an angry and ugly side to either of them that they both tried to keep from the rest of the family for their sake. They could hate each other when they were alone, they didn’t want it to ruin the rest of the family. So she didn’t need to tell Jon she didn’t want him there, it was loud and clear without the words.

Why did he torture himself like this?

Jon hadn’t seen you, nor most of anyone all day as they prepared for the feast. Outside in the cold of the training yard, he could hear the muffle of the music inside with that bitter anger building that he wasn’t welcome. That everything was better without him in there. A painful reminder once more that Jon was raised with the Starks, but still wasn’t one of them.

Instead he tormented himself by staying close enough he could hear them in the cold, as he took his anger out with a practice sword. Something rather animalistic in him of just needing to let the anger out by hitting something. It only half worked, really. But as he was there for some time, did he hear the sudden approach of a horse. Turning to look, it was the first he smiled all day as he sat the sword to the side.

“Uncle Benjen.” Both men came in for a hug with glee. It had been a while since they saw one another at that point, but a welcome one. Always a man Jon felt like he could rely on. Even far away on the Wall at Castle Black, did his uncle always feel like someone Jon connected with. In the Nights Watch sometimes it felt like he could arrive to visit as a bit of an outsider, and Jon, the true bastard outsider would spend much time with him during his visits. Hearing about the Wall, and his brothers. Many of whom sounded too wild to be true but he swore on his mothers name that he was telling the truth.

And always glad to see him did his Uncle Benjen reassure him with an amusement. “Rode all day. Didn’t want to leave you alone with the Lannisters.” Though, in the pause it was obvious. No one was outside but Jon, and the music was muffled further away where he wasn’t. Benjen knew, but Jon appreciated that he asked anyways. “Why aren’t you at the feast?”

“Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a bastard in their midst.” His Uncle nodded in knowing. Saying that he was always welcome on the Wall, that no bastard was ever denied a seat there and Jon all but jumped on it. He had been thinking on it more and more, he was right. His father never would let him go, but he would, if it was his own brother who proposed the idea. “So take me with you when you go back.”

“Jon-”

Cutting whatever protest he was about to say, Jon continued on jumping right to the point. “Father will let me if you ask him. I know he will.”

Both only stared at one another for a moment. Something difficult to discern on his uncles face, but Jon looked with a tense but hopeful stare. He couldn’t stay here. He had no place anymore. His father would accept being the Hand, he’d take the girls and Bran with him. Robb would act as Lord of Winterfell in his absence and Jon would be left with the mother who hates him, waiting for you to return one day and live out your new life outside of him. There was no place for Jon in Winterfell anymore, and there was only one place a bastard of the North with no meaning could find belonging in.

Sighing a bit deeply, he knew where his uncle was going with this. “The Wall isn’t going anywhere.” Jon tried, more clam and assured that he ready to swear their oath. But his Uncle had another argument, with something deeper in his eye that Jon couldn’t quite read well. “You don’t understand what you’d be giving up. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons.”

Jon though said it without thought. If he dug deeper, he’d find doubt, but that doubt was marred in the knowledge that he wouldn’t ever be able to have it with the one woman he always dreamed of it with. Jon had spent hours at night as a boy wondering how to convince his father to find a way to let Jon marry you when you both grew up, only to know it was never going to happen.

If it was true, Jon wasn’t sure, but he said it anyways just to convince his uncle. “I don’t care about that.”

There was a look in his uncles eye though, one Jon had no idea how to read. Something knowing that he didn’t understand, and yet something filled with almost a bit of sorrow. “You might. If you knew what it meant.” Jon only looked away, something he couldn’t connect in his mind with what Benjens had thought separately. Adding to him, “If you knew the cost, you might not be so eager to pay the price. You can always ask me again after you’ve fathered a few sons of your own. See how you feel then.”

Jon said nothing. Were he the young and impulsive boy he was as a teenager, he would’ve let that feeling turn to anger. Maybe burst out that he’d never have sons, because he refuses to father a bastard. To ever have a child know that life or force his to live it. But he didn’t, and he kept it all inside. Perhaps too because those thoughts of fathering sons sat a little too close to his heart, knowing the only woman he’d ever want that with, was going to be the mother of Robbs sons in no time.

If it wasn’t with you, Jon had no wish to even consider having a child. And even then, he hadn’t even gone through with that day because he refused to ruin your life or your childs life by giving you a bastard.

Instead, as a crash and laughter was heard inside, did Benjen shift the subject. Too likely suspecting Jon needed some time to linger on the thoughts. “I better get inside. Rescue your father from his guests.” Both hands came up to grab at Jons upper arms, with a reassurance that Jon could barley nod at. “We’ll talk later.”

Watching his Uncle disappear into the castle, Jon finally turned around. Picking the sword back up, but something in his bones had little energy for it left. The Wall might be Jons only chance to find purpose, and he couldn’t be denied that too. It was the one place left Jon could see himself at, could see himself being. With everything left to him being taken, he needed something and this had to be it.

Interrupting his thoughts though did an unknown voice from behind take him off guard. “Your uncle’s in the Nights Watch.” Turning around, did Jon see an approaching figure. A rather short figure with a flask in his hand but no sign it had been sipped at too much. It didn’t take an expert to know who he was. The hair and the height said it all.

But Jon looked at him with a narrowed gaze, “What are you doing back there?”

Coming close with a flat jest on his tongue he said, “Preparing for a night with your family.” Leaning against a wooden post, he glanced up to Jon with a genuine curiosity. “I’ve always wanted to see the Wall.” Jon only asked to be clear, preferring to know the proper name and title of the man he was speaking too that he was Tyrion Lannister, the Queens brother. Only for him to reply in a more sarcastic tone Jon recognized. “My greatest accomplishment.” Only to look up at him, and say it at the worst possible time for Jons mind. “And you. You’re Ned Starks bastard, aren’t you?”

Jons face just fell. No words even spoken did Jon turn to walk away entirely, he didn’t need this, not tonight, not now of all times he didn’t need to be reminded of what he was plagued with his entire life.

Tyrion Lannister for what it was worth, stopped him in his tracks with a shout that seemed both a bit surprised but genuine. “Did I offend you? Sorry.” Turning to look back at him, he swept away that apology and instead dug the knife deeper. “You are the bastard though?”

It was as good of a yes as Jon could possibly say without the word. “Lord Eddard Stark is my father.”

But it didn’t get passed Tyrion what Jon was trying to avoid. Anything to do with this discussion. And thus he spelled it out to ensure Jon understood exactly what about him he was pointing out on purpose. “And Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you, the bastard.” Jons jaw clenched looking away, hand around the hilt of the practice sword tight behind his gloves needing something to let the energy out on as it rose once more. “Let me give you some advice bastard. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armour, and it can never be used to hurt you.”

Truly, whatever time it would take for that to sink into Jons mind, it would not do so tonight. Hardly letting the man walk three feet away before all but shouting in an accusatory tone, “The hell do you know about being a bastard?”

Jon though certainly didn’t forget the answer, a look he knew too well on himself, something almost a bit angry yet self loathing. “All dwarves are bastards in their fathers eyes.” And thus finally, Jon was left back alone in the cold.

Neither conversation gave him hope, and neither provided him with a single scrap of comfort. Until there were none left in sight but him alone did Jon finally turn around. His plan had been to put the sword away, and just abandon this place and go to bed entirely. But now that feeling returned.

Everyone had everything to say about him being a bastard as if he hadn’t been one his whole life, as if he wasn’t ruining other people’s lives by being the bastard he was. Instead of putting it away, Jon felt that anger rise to the top and burn through him before much more violently letting the sword hit at the training dummy as if hacking away at something.

If one more person tried to talk him down tonight, he might lose it. That was, until a soft, high pitched voice called to his heart from somewhere behind him. “Think he’s dead yet?”

Spinning around in an instant did Jons anger melt away, leaving nothing but that need to fill his heart. Eyes wide and bright as he looked at you, as yours were just as soft but more hesitant. You hadn’t come close as you normally would’ve. He knew why, he knew you were afraid of what he was thinking or feeling, and afraid he was mad at you for it. So you stood further back, your hands not even gloved out in this cold wringing together.

You had changed for the feast. Something a bit warmer then before, and just as beautiful but this time there were more shades of blue and dashes of what in the light may be orange. It was fancier then anything you wore when you were here, your dresses of Kings Landing likely being much more beautiful, fit for a princess. But you looked stunning no matter what to him.

Barley muttering your name, did Jon put the sword away for good and circled around to the empty space between you both. You looked behind him as Jon looked behind you and saw nothing and no one. And thus neither of you hesitated.

You approached him but Jon all but ran up to you. Grasping you in a hug, his strength easily able to pick you up and spin you in place as he held you tightly as you did him. Your voice gentle in his hear making his heart sore in his chest, “I missed you.” Only putting you back on two feet to see your hesitation had left somewhat, leaving just the softness and adoration to make the main priority.

His hands remained more firm on your upper arms, about to tell you how much he missed you, how much he missed everything about you these past months, but looking up and around he stopped himself. No one was around still, but twice now his peace was disturbed and it could again. Instead, wordlessly did Jon turn and pull you with him.

Following without protest or question, you let Jon lead you anywhere he wanted. Pulling you both into a smaller, empty armoury. Turning you to face him again, Jon almost said something, anything, but it was you. He didn’t need too. You knew what was going through his head as much as he did yours, words weren’t needed between you both. Instead, Jon pulled you into another hug.

The embrace lasting much longer then it should’ve were you somewhere eyes could spot you, and his arms hovering too long and probably too low to be appropriate for a bastard and a highborn maiden, but he didn’t care. Only pulling back enough to hold you at one upper arm to keep you there, and a hand at your waist, Jons eyes darted down to yours.

Again between you both but not touching him back now in the slightest. He knew why. You were nervous. You didn’t know what to say or do anymore and Jon hated that you felt so insecure about your future that you couldn’t even hold him as he was you. Muttering your name gently, you looked up at him with those eyes he adored more then anything.

Your voice though, cut right to the chase of what he had told you in his letter. “You’re really joining them?” Jon wouldn’t even try to lie about it, so he nodded confidently. Barley able to get half the start of a sentence out to say his peace he’d been thinking for weeks, you cut him off with something distressed. “Don’t give me that.” Your fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to him and Jon certainly caught the movement. “Don’t tell me what you think everyone else wants to hear.”

Was it the reason? Or was it just Jon cutting right to the chase of your issue as you did his? He couldn’t be sure, but in a deeper tone he said it. “You’re marrying Robb.” Instantly Jon could tell you bit your tongue, a nervous habit of yours and without hesitating did Jon reach up. His hand cupping your cheek as his thumb traced along your jaw until he felt you relax under his touch. Leaning down more he made sure you looked into his eyes as he said it. “I’m not mad at you. Neither of you really had a say in it.”

Ever so slowly, you hesitantly reached out so the tips of your fingers could start to rest against his stomach, knowing that anytime before now you wouldn’t have hesitated to touch him back when alone like this. Neither of you were really addressing the topics between you, but you continued anyways. “And you think the Nights Watch is the only place you belong?”

After everything else tonight, were it not you, Jon would’ve pulled away in frustration. But not with you, and not when his time with you was suddenly so little. “It is now.” Your head rose up to look at him again as your brows narrowed. “You’ll marry him, go back to Kings Landing with my father and sisters, and leave me what? Here with the brother who gets the one thing that used to be mine, and his mother who hates me?”

You shouted it a bit louder then you meant too, a worry and an anger that Jon had gotten the wrong idea. “Jon, I’m not trying to leave you behind.”

He only sighed, he knew that. Jaw clenched as the hand on your waist tightened he tried to reassure you but only came with words you both knew were of zero comfort. But you too were you both aware that comfort between you both was swiftly running out. “No. You’re doing your duty, and I’m doing mine.”

For a good while you both stood there, his hands on you, yours barley on his but it was too much. He missed you so desperately and he had you right here. Jon thought not of it being a good or bad idea, but he had you close, and he wanted to do it. Suddenly shifting you with the hand on your waist, Jon moved you to press your back against the wall behind you.

Stepping more into your personal space, Jon hovered over you as he leaned down. Your eyes slipped closed as he let his dark ones flicker down to you, then your lips and back before letting his close as well. Not quite kissing you yet, but no doubt he was close that you could feel his breath against your skin when you exhaled nervously. Jon almost smirked, how cute you were about being physical with him even now.

But just as he was about to press his lips finally to yours, months after almost making love to you for your first times, did it stop. A sound in the distance like a door opening and voices reminding you both where you were and why. Your head dropped suddenly as your eyes opened and something sad came over you both.

Jon never took his hands off you, instead cupping both of your cheeks and turning your head downwards a little to press a firm kiss to your forehead before resting his against it with a muttering rasp. Not telling you anything but what he didn’t say before. “I missed you too, darling.”

Everything went wrong after that. Most of the men left for a hunt with the King in the wolfswood, and somewhere between that, did Bran fall. A climber only matched by you when you were his age, Bran had climbed a thousand times. In the wind, and the rain, and he’s never fallen. But this time as he climbed the run down, empty tower on the edge of the castle walls, did Bran apparently fall.

Now in bed, none of them knew if he would make it and they could only hold on to find out. But in the middle of that new pain and grief, did the Queen make it all worse by declaring, “We still have a wedding to put on.”

He tried to keep his distance, but it wasn’t an easy task. Being around you came so naturally to Jon that he barely sometimes thought about it when he’d begin to seek you out. Many times normal you’d be found with him or him with you, but with everyone around including such watchful eyes of royals, things were different. He couldn’t spend time with you the way he wished.

Queen Cersei kept a tight leash around you much of the days. Always seeking you out or sending a handmaiden to fetch you for her, always fussing about one thing or another and he could only guess it was wedding preparations. Many times you would emerge hours later fussing with the skirt of your dress as if you had to smooth it out from changing out of it multiple times. He wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it. What it was going to look like. Jon knew what he could imagine, but likely it was nowhere near as elegant as what it could be.

Just another reminder to Jon that this was inevitable. He was always going to have to give you up. A bastard couldn’t provide you with those sorts of things, things that you deserved. But, as it turned out, a bastard wasn’t welcome in many regards with the royal family around. He spent much time it felt on the outside looking in, not being part of the dynamics around the castle in front of such grand company. And much of that time as his father thus spend with King Robert, he found his duties more lax especially as the time ticked away.

It was another inevitability now. You were going to marry Robb, and Jon would leave the next day for the Wall. How his Uncle Benjen convinced his father to say yes he wasn’t sure, but he did, and now Jon sat in the waiting for it to happen.

One afternoon he recalled finding himself sitting up on a landing with Arya, watching in the training yard as the spoiled Prince Joffery had demanded to spar with Robb. When Arya asked why he wasn’t down there, she needed little more explanation as he told her bastards aren’t permitted to spar with princes. They laughed as they watched Joffery fail time and time again to match Robbs skill, many times yelling and getting angry when Robb would knock him down, only for The Hound to remind him that he was the one who demanded Robb fight in the first place.

He had thought on the idea a lot, but now with his time here limited, Jon had looked at Arya and knew what he was planning. He could recall how according to his father, Arya reminded him of the spirit of his sister. Their Aunt Lyanna, the one whom passed after Prince Rhaegar Targaryean had kidnapped her. Their father didn’t speak of her often, but when he did it was always memorable. Jesting once that had their own father allowed it, Lyanna would’ve likely carried a sword just as her brothers did.

It was all ready to go, to be picked up the next day for the final touches and it was one of the only things Jon had to look forward too now. Others, not so much. The feeling drew further close to the day you would marry, and Jon tried to tell himself to keep his distance.

Really, he knew he had to accept this. He didn’t want to leave and you have him stuck in your memory. You knew Robb just as long as you did Jon, you were just as close in a platonic sense. You were a match that made sense, and Jon didn’t want Robb nor you to be unhappy with each other. He wanted this to work, because he knew he couldn’t give you what Robb could. It didn’t feel good, it pained in his heart to consider what life you’d have that was so much better when he wasn’t the one keeping you down, but he knew he had to let you go.

Not his love, that would remain for the rest of his days and beyond them. But, Jon was ready to bring your heart with him to the Wall. He’d keep it safe, protect it with everything he had left. That love would come with him, so you could make room for Robb. He was giving up any chance at a wife or family in the Watch anyways, and he had no plans for eyes for someone else. He’d protect your little secret love so you didn’t have to have the memory of it getting in the way of your new happiness. But that didn’t mean he was ready.

The night before he had seen you leave the castle late into the night when you should’ve been sleeping. Seeing you go to the godswood, Jon smiled. Knowing that sometimes you felt lost and confused and the sept never felt the right place for it, so you’d sit in front of the Weirwood and hope something made sense in your head there. All it took was once single glance to Ghost before he nodded.

The still small direwolf making his way down to the ground as Jon followed, only for you to be taken by surprise as Ghost thus jumped onto your lap. Almost not registering how natural it was when Jon sat down next to you, that he pulled you in close with an arm around you as your head rested against his shoulder. The perfect position for Jon to lean more over you to take in the last quiet you two would ever have together.

Your fingers running along Ghosts fur by his ears, he almost didn’t hear you, you whispered it so quietly. “We never had a chance did we?” His brows narrowed in a confusion, looking more down to you as you elaborated, not taking your eyes off the direwolf. “I mean, being with you is easy. It’s always been easy, but being together?”

Jon rested his chin on the top of your head. Breathing in deeply before rasping into the cold air, “No. No, we never had a chance.”

It stung to say, but it was the truth that you both had spent years pretending would not happen. Yet it was, and there was no more running from it. You turned your head suddenly, a tenseness in your muscles like something overwhelming came over you, partially hidden by the soft fur of his cloak. “You know right? Even if I don’t say it?”

Oh he did. Jon knew, he knew for a long time. But two scared teenagers started this love off, and never did you both quite get passed that fear to speak it out loud. But, he refused to let you and him depart the others lives with you thinking he didn’t love you. Moving to pull your face to look back up to his by your chin, his eyes were bright down at your much more sorrowful ones. “I know. And you do too.”

Back and forth for a bit you both went, jokes about wanting to kiss as if it didn’t pain you both to avoid it. Eventually, a silence simmered over when the idea came to him. Jon had his own fantasy, but his was of escape. He didn’t want that. Jon didn’t want anymore for you to think about leaving your life to make a new one, he wanted you to accept what was coming as he had to. But that didn’t mean he had to give all of you up. “Where’d we meet?” Chuckling instantly at your confused expression. “If we had a chance, in another life where’d we meet?”

“Are we still not us?”

His tone felt much easier, something more free and normal within it as if nothing was happening around you both out of your control. Pulling you a bit closer, “No, well I mean I’m still me, and you’re still you. But we’re not highborn, no titles or duties. Just two people somewhere in the kingdom. Where’d we meet?”

You squinted in thought for a while, and Jon couldn’t say he was disappointed in your answer. “I hear Highgarden is beautiful in the summer.” As far from the cold or Kings Landing as you could get, a perfect spot for two people in a new life.

Without even hesitating, Jon said it without even realizing your eyes went comically wide. “Alright. So you’re a bar maid in Highgarden, and I-”

You laughed loudly, tried to pull away as Jon kept you against him, an audacity in your tone. “Excuse me, why am I a bar maid? Isn’t this a fantasy?”

But Jon didn’t need to elaborate, he’d thought of a thousand and one scenarios in his head at ways he and you could marry and live out your lives together. There was practically no fantasy Jon had not long since thought of in depth about your future together, knowing it would be the only future you’d have. “Yes, and if you’re a bar maid, it means I have an excuse to pull this pretty little bar maid in Highgarden down onto my lap as she passes by.” Muttering with a held back amusement that such a thing was rather aggressive of him, Jon only smirked. “Maybe this particular bar maid makes me aggressive.”

Back and forth you both went. What he would do, if you stayed in Highgarden or travelled the realm elsewhere. How many children you’d both have, to which Jon kept adding to your seemingly final conclusion of two, until he managed to bend your arm and get you to agree on five. By the time it was too late for you both to be awake, your other lives had been planned and settled.

Ghost sensing Jon was ready to leave, leaped out of your lap to the ground. Shaking out his fur to wake himself up as you both watched with fond smiles. You turned to look back up at him first, his hands resting without care at your waist and you held gentle at the wrists holding you. Jon knew better then to try and kiss you the night before you married his brother, it would put a selfish need for him onto you and add to the guilt he knew you were already going to struggle with. And Jon didn’t want that.

Raising one hand to cup your cheek, Jons heart skipped at how easily you leaned into his thumb running over the soft skin. “Don’t look for me in the ceremony.” Your eyes widened before narrowing in what he knew right away was a panic, and he put out that fire before you could even think otherwise. Leaning down to meet your eye level better, he spoke slower to make sure you understood him. “I’ll be there, but don’t look for me. You’re going to be Robb’s now, and I want you to be okay with accepting that.”

Nodding, he made you promise out loud to ensure you understood him.

Never letting the thumb running along your cheek stop, Jon told the painful truth. It didn’t feel good for him to say, but he said it for you. He knew you needed to hear it, he didn’t want you to go into tomorrow upset about betraying Jon when he’d never feel that way about you, or about Robb. “You’ll be each others tomorrow, and I’ll be at the Wall. I want you two to be there for each other. No matter what. Besides,” With a bit of brevity he just told the truth he’s seen in the countless girls who gave Robb those very looks. “Robb’s easy to fall in love with, and I think it’s impossible not to fall at least a little in love with you.”

Swallowing roughly you nodded again before Jon carefully pulled you into his arms. A hand running down your hair he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, before muttering for you to go on and get to bed. Sending you off first was on purpose. He didn’t want you to linger with him on your mind. Jon needed you to be okay with being Robb’s, and he himself, just needed to get through these next few days. He had an entire life at the Wall to grieve about you.

In a complete truth, Jon as sure your wedding as as much a blur to you as it was to him. Not even your father was there to walk you, not the King who did it, but Ned Stark himself. It seemed fitting, the man who was more of a father to you then any of your family by blood, and he walked you to the Weirwood. As if not giving you away, but being the one to welcome you to being a true part of the family from here on in. As he moved to stand with the rest of the crowd, Jon pretended not to notice his father giving him a look.

Jon was too distracted. He hated the dress you wore. You looked beautiful, but you didn’t look comfortable at all. It was…well it was rather tight fitting for a girl like you. You preferred long sleeves, gowns that flowed along the ground like a curtain in the wind, and less bold designs but more colours that were sewn into the stitches to make things stand out ever the slightest. This was not you. His eyes glanced to the Queen and he knew right away whose dress really this was made for, but just forced onto you.

Northern weddings were quiet. No septon, no one up there but the bride and groom. Some spoke words out loud, some didn’t, but the man would drape her with his fur and they’d prey before the Weirwood. Jon watched, but didn’t seem to pay attention to it. Robb would never make a scene out of it anyways, and certainly not when it was clear you were incredibly nervous. Perhaps it was the only thing Jon focused on. The gentle way Robb tilted your face up by your chin for a short, and gentle kiss. Normally such events were followed by more festive acts, many times the man carrying his new bride to the feast with a rambunctious energy, but their father clearly understood better right now. Giving the crowd the chance to go there first and give yourself and Robb a moment alone.

Jon didn’t hesitate to leave the godswood. It’s what he asked of you, and it’s what he wanted, but he couldn’t take it. The kiss was just the tipping point. You didn’t look at Jon once the whole ceremony, and he couldn’t get to the Wall fast enough.

Jon remembered very little of the feast he actually had indeed attended, by the time morning came. Sitting more down away from the main table you and Robb sat at, he couldn’t stand any of it. He knew the look on your face better then anyone. It was the same apprehensive one you wore for him when he undressed you completely only months before. Wanting not to appear scared but coming off as it anyways in such an innocent way. Only, it wasn’t Jons bed you were nervous for.

It was Robbs. And Jon knew better then to think that you’d back down tonight. You backed down with Jon because you were scared, and there were no duties. You both thought you had all the time to get there, and there was nothing attached to it. Robb would never insist on it, but Jon knew you and he knew you would go through with it tonight no matter what.

In your head, you still had one duty left to become a proper wife and-

Eyes closing as his hand tightened around the mug full of ale, he let an exhale forced out through gritted teeth. A darkness was starting to rise in his chest. Something much more like a wolf as he watched you both. Robb would try and calm your nerves, just small mutters in your ear and a hand on your leg to ground you. You both looked good together. You fit well at Robbs side. Of course you did. You were basically a princess, of course you fit married to the Heir to Winterfell.

But Jon knew you first. He was the one who spent three days and three nights taking care of you. He was the one who brought you out of your shy shell. He kissed you for the first time, he touched you for the first time, your first orgasms were his, he was the one who knew first what a beautiful sight your bare body was. It was Jon who almost made love to you first. And yet, the one last act that mattered most, and Robb was the one who would get it.

The logical part of Jons brain knew it was the alcohol doing it, drinking more then he should’ve. He knew it was the part of him that was drunk that was angry and jealous, and he didn’t really blame Robb for any of this. But that dark, drunk part of Jons head despised all of it. Around him too he heard whispers of a bedding ceremony.

Never in a million lifetimes would Jon put you through that, and were he sober, Jon knew Robb would never either. But drunk? He feared it. He feared it would happen, and being Robbs eldest brother he’d be forced to participate and there was no chance he could handle that right now. Looking up at you once more, Jon barley let his eyes stay for a second before suddenly pushing up from the table.

Lucky for him, he was just a bastard, and no one who noticed cared when the bastard abruptly left the table and disappeared into the darkness beyond the hall. He thought nothing of it at the time, a little too drunk and rattled to care, but on his angry way out he nearly ran right into Ser Jaime Lannister.

The man only standing there with a curious expression for a few seconds still in his way before Jon roughly snapped out, “Pardon.” Before he relented with what looked like a mocking expression as he moved out of the way. The Kingslayer said nothing to Jon, but he felt the mans stare until he turned the corner out of sight, nor was he sober enough to care why.

Jon stayed well away from any of the main bedchambers that night. The walls of Winterfell were thick stone, made to act as an insulation to keep the warmth in, but it also muffled most sounds. He’d never be able to hear anything, and certainly not from his further away, but he couldn’t risk it. He wanted to know nothing about what you’d be like laying with his brother.

He didn’t sleep at all in the end. As if to torture himself, Jon ended up back in the godswood. He felt lost, and sometimes the eyes of the old gods were the only ones where Jon could go to try and bring himself back down to the ground. He sat with his back firm up against the tree near the carved face, Ghost following closely before laying in Jons lap with a whine. Perhaps trying to comfort him, but it too felt a bit like something in Ghost was just as upset as Jon was. As if in the short time the direwolf knew you, he was losing you as well.

Luckily for Jon though, by the time the morning sun rose its weary head did he feel what was left in his system disappear for good. Pushing himself up, he looked down at Ghost with a sigh, the direwolf matching in expression. “You better go say goodbye too. Might be a while before we see any of them again.”

Jon had a lot to do in a short period of time, but at least was awake before most to ensure that he was ready to go. What of his belongings he was bringing packed up, but Jon had a few stops to make, but two were the most important. Though, the first of which required an extra trip. Down outside as Jon waited for the last of the details to be finished with the blacksmith, the very last thing Jon wanted to happen, decided to do so.

He somewhat recalled running into Jaime Lannister the night before, but he was pissed off and rather drunk at the time, but it seemed it was enough to catch his attention. Approaching him from behind, he called out first. “A sword for the Wall?” Turning to look at the approaching figure, Jon could only comment that he already had one. Yet the questions kept coming, “Have you swung it yet?” Of course he had, but the man had a different direction in mind. One Jon couldn’t comprehend why he was asking. “At someone I mean?” They both knew the answer was no, but instead of mocking like he wondered if the man would swing at him, Jaime Lannister said something rather honest yet odd. “It's a strange thing, the first time you cut a man. You realize we're nothing but sacks of meat and blood and some bone to keep it all standing.”

Jon didn’t trust when he held his hand out, but took it out of courtesy anyways with a suspicious look in his eye. The mocking came then, just as he knew it would. “Let me thank you ahead of time for guarding us all from the perils beyond the Wall. Wildlings and White Walkers and whatnot.” Instantly Jon tried pulling away, but was yanked back forward with an equal strength as the man twisted the knife just a bit further. “We’re grateful to have good, strong men like you protecting us.”

Trying to walk away, he didn’t get very far almost as if he assumed Jon would say something, which he did. Trying to keep an even tone, and not start anything despite the anger sitting with him. “We’ve guarded the kingdoms for eight thousands years.” Mockingly, Jaime Lannister asked if he were speaking as we already, asking with a condescending tone if he took his vows yet. “Soon enough.”

The look the man gave Jon, he had no idea what it meant. Something more serious flashing across his eyes before he sauntered back over and covering whatever that emotion was with more mocking. “I can only hope you got everything out of your system before hand. Or, gotten into something you’ve always wanted before you can never have her.” Jons grey eyes grew darker and narrowed, as the man leaned in for only him to hear. “Do yourself a favour, and do one last dishonourable thing with such a pretty girl before you never have the chance again.” Neither of them expected a single word out of Jon, as he begun to stand back more, louder this time for all around to hear. “Give my regards to the Night's Watch. I'm sure it will be thrilling to serve in such an elite force. And if not, It's only for life.”

He had to ignore it, any of it. He didn’t have the time nor patience to figure out what he meant, if he knew, and if so, how in the seven hells did Jaime Lannister put that together when years around the same people everyday hadn’t yet. He had to focus, it was his last day, and his time was growing ever shorter.

Arya reacted just as he expected, excited by the idea but more touched he actually did it. A small, skinny sword made special for her. He couldn’t be there to teach her, but he could give her the first step, and her first lesson if just a handful of playful words she all but rolled her eyes at. Having to pull back when she went in for a hug, “Careful.” Realizing the sword still in her hand, she’d have a long way to go, but Jon would be proud of her no matter what.

Without much thought, Jon expected it as much as she did. Short as ever, Arya jumped high into Jon as he caught her without a second thought, and with ease. He loved all his siblings, but he’d miss Arya a great amount as she would him. They were always the outcasts in their own family, in their own unique ways and that made it easy to always look out for the other. “All the best swords have names you know.”

Thinking for a moment, Arya found a fitting name only she could ever come up with. “Sansa can keep her sewing needles. I’ve got a Needle of my own.” Neither rushed to pull away, but she had to finish packing and Jon had another stop to make. One that would be much more unpleasant then this.

Catelyn glared at him the moment she turned her head to see him. Jon stood in the open door, seeing his little brother still as unconscious as he was the day before, and the one before that for countless nights now. He didn’t blame her as a mother for staying at his bedside, but it meant he had to do this with her there. “I came to say goodbye to Bran.”

Dismissive as ever, she managed to just spit out without looking back at him, “You’ve said it.”

Were this years ago, when Jon was still a teenager, it would’ve been worse. Their relationship then was hostile and volitle. He had an impulsive temper and she had no patience to put up with it the way his father tried to get her to do. He may have challenged her, she’d have threatened to call the guards and Jon would’ve called her bluff knowing she’d never cause a scene like that.

But he wasn’t that teenager anymore, he was a man who knew better. So instead, he ignored her completely. Walked into the room to the other side of Brans bed, looking down to the boy who would wake up and not realize Jon even had plans like this to leave. He felt Catelyns eyes on him, angry he had walked in regardless of what she tried to convey to him.

It wasn’t about her though, it was about Bran. Only a boy of ten, but Jon had seen his face nearly every single day since he was born and for that he considered himself extremely lucky. And leaving him wasn’t easy, especially like this, especially when he knew if he were here when he woke up, Bran would be upset he was gone. “I wish I could be here when you wake up. I’m going north with Uncle Benjen, I’m talking the black.”

Eyes glancing up to Catelyn, he knew this was out of his comfort. Doing this in front of her, but he wasn’t going to push it and ask her to leave and he wasn’t going to leave Bran without saying goodbye. So, instead Jon knelt down to Brans bedside, leaning more to him with a soft and gentle tone hoping his little brother could hear him asleep. “I know we always talked about seeing the Wall together, but you'll be able to come visit me at Castle Black when you're better. I'll know my way around by then. I'll be a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. We can go out walking beyond the Wall, if you're not afraid.”

Jon risked the glance, and regretted it. There likely was a lot running through Catelyns head towards him. Even when he only wanted an honest moment with his brother, she still didn’t have it in her to just ignore him, no she always had to haunt over Jons life and remind him exactly why he didn’t feel welcome here anymore in the first place. With a force to say it, but a seething anger whispered behind it she nearly hissed it at him. “I want you to leave.”

The footsteps caught both of their attention. Turning to look, was Ned Stark standing there, watching the unusual and tense scene. Rarely could Jon ever be found alone in the room with Catelyn, but with the sleeping Bran between them, it was clear what was going on and he said nothing. Knowing Jon picked up on the silent indication to give him and his wife a moment alone. Standing up, Jon leaned over the bed. Running a hand over the top of his brothers head, pressing a kiss to his forehead with the only hope that he indeed, will wake up one day.

He said nothing further to Bran, Catelyn or his father. Only shifting around him to leave as his father eventually closed the door behind him. Jon didn’t want to linger anymore then he had too. He was the sore spot between his father and her. The stain on her husbands reputation, the walking memory living with her own children that her husband brought another womans son home. He was the rift in the family, and he knew if was the spite and hatred of Catelyn that was the driving force behind getting Jon to this point.

But, as the morning continued, his time grew short.

He hadn’t seen you until that moment. You were around, but you were avoiding him. Not that Jon blamed you. You of all people would have no idea what to say. Not just being a married woman now, but what to say about all of this. About leaving, both of you. He could see you as he prepared his own horse, you having clearly tended to your own for some time no doubt as a way to try and distract yourself from everything away from people.

But he heard Robbs voice before he saw him, and for once, didn’t feel that jealousy. “You say goodbye to Bran?” Nodding, Robb did as he always did. Even when he himself wasn’t sure, he spoke confident for the rest of them. If he was calm and sure, then his younger siblings would be and Jon felt something warm yet tight in his heart that no matter what, Robb did the same for him here too. “He’s not going to die, I know it.”

Jon, covered his own up with something clever, which Robb knew too well was hiding his real worries. “You Starks are hard to kill.” Asking with a wonder about his mother, knowing no doubt Jon would’ve had a run in with her, but he wasn’t here to cause problems. Leaving was supposed to solve them, and he started with a lie he knew Robb likely didn’t quite believe. “She was very kind.”

“Good.” Facing the other finally, he only jested towards him. “Next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.”

With a shrug, he returned the light gesture. Nothing needing to be heavy said between them. “It was always my colour.” Jon and Robb had the other for their entire lives. Their closest companions since the day they met as mere infants. Raised together, trained together, did everything together and only ever added others to that already close dynamic. Before you came along, Robb was Jons only real friend and Jon was Robbs.

No matter the jealousy about who he was, what he was and who he got, there was not a single part of Jon in his bones that could ever hate his brother. Not even close. Robb knew that, he knew all that, but never let that get in the way either and neither of them needed to say that this was the first time they’d be truly apart in their entire lives and it wasn’t as easy as either of them were making it out to be.

“Farewell, Snow.”

“And you, Stark.”

Both went in for a hug at the same time. Tight and full of everything they didn’t say, that they were brothers, and being apart was going to be harder now then if they had done so in easy times. Pulling back, Robb though nodded his head to the side. Indicating over to where you were now very obviously trying to ignore both of them.

Jon knew what he meant. If he let you, you would leave right now and not say goodbye to Jon, because you didn’t know how to handle the fact that you were taking this a lot harder then you let on. Robb wasn’t the only one who was watching someone who was a massive part of his life, seek out a new one away from them.

Nodding, he watched his brother walk away before turning to look to you. It was more then that though, something strange felt like it was settling in Jons stomach. Something unpleasant he couldn’t understand, but that begged him to go to you. As if he would let you leave this way in the first place.

Grabbing what remained of your things not yet packed up, Jon did it for you with more ease then you could. Nothing about you looked any different, in fact, you almost looked like you felt that same bitter sensation inside that Jon was beginning to feel. More then the heartbreak of saying goodbye, but something much stronger as if trying to warn him of something.

As you turned to look up at him though, it was all still there. One night didn’t take it away, that love still flourished in your eyes looking up at him and it gave Jon the only comfort he could get left. That you still loved him and he still loved you. He’d take your love with him, so you could be free to give your love to Robb, but you both could part knowing that Jon would protect your love for the rest of his life.

Company be damned, Jon didn’t care. Pulling you tightly into his arms, you wrapped your around him just as needing as he felt. His hand gently cupped the back of your head as your face was hidden halfway between his neck and the soft furs muffling your voices. He spoke first, a deep rasp in your ear only for you. “I miss you.”

“I miss you.”

You both knew what you wanted to say, but mourning the loss of it was easier to start now then to finally say then when it was too late. Pulling back, your hands held at his shoulders while Jon shamelessly cupped your cheeks both both hands. It slipped out with a grin, but it have you a watery laugh that made it all worth it to him. “Think I could get to the Wall before they catch me, if I kiss you now?”

Tilting your head with a smile you muttered softly, “Now or never, Snow.”

Slowly Jon leaned forward, truly almost as if he was to press his lips to yours, but turned to leave a sweet and lingering kiss to your cheek. The closest he could get for the rest of his life. And he’d take it. Not pulling away he pulled you close once more, letting himself take his time for the last time.

A small whine interrupted though, you glancing down with a sudden bright grin. Ghost ran up to you it seemed before you could leave without saying goodbye to him as well. Kissing Ghost on the forehead, he licked your other cheek as you ran your hands along his fur. A loving whisper you knew Jon could hear as he watched you with his wolf, in a way that only you were ever so soft with him. “Protect him, no matter what you hear me?” Next time I see him, you better make sure he’s as healthy as you are now.”

You, Jon, nor Ghost could’ve had a clue how painful in irony that would come to fruition one day.

It wasn’t a goodbye the same as others, but along the Kingsroad there was a parting way where you turn south to go along to the path eventually leading to Kings Landing, and the other the path eventually leading to Castle Black. Jon Snow and Ned Stark both sat at that crossing atop their horses, a moment for only the two of them.

Jon could see you in the distance waiting. Staying far away enough so you could ensure you did not accidentally hear them, but enough you could still watch them. Waiting for his father to return and you’d join him. But it was his father who spoke at that moment with something both proud yet almost worried in him that he didn’t say. Or didn’t know how to. “It’s a great honour serving in the Nights Watch. The Starks have manned the Wall for thousands of years.” He had no words to say why, but hearing his father say what he said next, never left Jons heart for years to come. “And you are a Stark. You may not have my name, but you have my blood.”

Looking down, Jons brows furrowed. It was a chance, a chance that never worked before. He never got any answers from his father about her, but Jon asked because he always wanted to know. “Is my mother alive? Does she know about me? Where I am, where I’m going?” Looking at him, the real question came out in a raw, gentle wonder. “Does she care?”

His father though, it was a look Jon had never seen before. Something painful, truly painful. A conflict weighing so heavily on his shoulders that he spent Jons entire life keeping it to himself no matter the cost it was taking on him. But, he looked at Jon and was as honest as Jon had been asking. “The next time we see each other, we’ll talk about your mother. I promise.”

Jon nodded, it was more then he’d ever gotten about it before and he’d take it. Watching his father ride off, you didn’t yet turn to join. Instead, you looked to Jon as he did to you.

Why Jon knew, he couldn’t have an idea, but he did. You felt it. This feeling dark and ill in the pit of your stomach, you felt it. As if screaming not to leave the other behind in a way that was so strong it scared him. But you said nothing, and neither did he. His life was up North now, and yours was family and duty, both of which Jon couldn’t get in the way of any longer.

He always knew he wasn’t good enough for you. He was a bastard, he could never give you anything of value beyond the love in his heart and that wasn’t enough for a girl like you. You deserved everything, and Robb would give you everything. Jon would have your love and keep it tucked away with his, and you both would at least know that even if you loved another, Jon would always love you. That was all he could ask for that this point, that you never forgot that he loved you more then anything.

You took off in the other direction as suddenly as he did, needing to turn and leave before that screaming feeling caused Jon to go after you. Riding off in opposite directions, that sinking feeling just screamed louder and louder the further away you both got.

Neither of you having any idea, what horrors would bring you two back to one another.

[writingsofwesteros]

Helaena is given a limited freedom on who her husband will be, her options aren’t as plentiful as Rhaenyra’s but it’s more than most noble girls get.

Still, most (mainly Alicent and Otto) expect her to choose between her brothers, both because of tradition, politics and because honestly she doesn’t really know any other men. She wasn’t very social and her family guarded her honour relentlessly.

What no one knew was that Helaena knew who her husband would be, she had dreamt him long before and was determined to follow her path to him, to have the life he promised, and not be trapped in the Keep for the rest of her life.

Even if most in the realm predicted a incestuous match that didn’t stop the Lords of great houses from presenting themselves or their sons at court in homes of dragon-riding heirs one day.

Including Lord Borros Baratheon and his son, The Young Stag. He’d thought the princess was a beauty, but her starring was odd. He just took it as a compliment and winked at her in the throne room, as he hadn’t the chance to talk to her during yet. Perhaps he would at tomorrows ball.

That night Helaena dodged her brothers drunken flirting and subtle advances and waited until nightfall. He would be in the garden, as she had dreamed. She wanted that future, him, storms end, their children, the fiery passion he would give her. She wanted it now, and she wouldn’t let her family deny it to her.

The Stag was surprised when she appeared in the garden, bathed in moonlight and wearing her nightdress. He wondered if perhaps he wasn’t meant to be in this part of the garden, if this was her private space, but she didn’t look angry to see him, she looked pleased in fact.

His flirtatious words seemed to fall on deaf ears however, she glided straight to him they died on his lips. She braved a hand against his broad shoulder as she pulled up her skirt with the other and climbed into his lap.

It’s not often the Stag is left speechless but he had to be impressed by her boldness, even as she whispered strange things in his ear. She spoke of dragons with antlers and fire breathing stags and how the seed was strong. Her words confused him but the rocking motion of her hips was loud and clear, a motion he was very familiar with.

The king, the queen, the princes, the Hightowers and his father would probably skin him for this, but he just couldn’t help it. Baratheons were hot-blooded and virile, the Stag had very turned down a pair of spread legs in his life and who in the world would turn down a princess?

The Stag’s hands reached beneath the hem of her nightdress, one started frantically pulling the strings of his breeches loose as the other softly caressed between her legs, and they both moaned softly at feeling her cunt bare and wet. Perfect.

As soon as his cock was free he began teasing her with his great length, running his blunt head along her slit, rubbing her pearl as she moaned and sighed in his ear.

He’s taken enough maidenheads to know that she still had hers, that is until she sinks down onto him. He can tell by the resistance, how tight and sweet she is, how unpracticed her movements are. And he knows he should stop, but instead he grabs at her hips and ass as he guides her rocking back and forth, thrusting his hips upward.

Even as he gets closer to his peak, he knows he shouldn’t do it. Even as he feels her squeezing him, whimpering and whining in pleasure, he knows he’d be in trouble for it, it’s all well and good getting a minor nobles daughter or a serving girl to drink moontea, but a princess? They might just cut his cock off for this. But he’s gone too far at this point not to finish the job, and who knows? Maybe they’ll see sense and just make him marry her, so she won’t be baring bastards like her sister.

Cuz if he knows anything, this’ll take.

His thrusts get harder and deeper, dragging her hips down as his slam up, her sounds of pleasure and the slapping of skin only making his blood hotter. As she squeezes around his cock one more time, she’s still whispering strange but pleasing words to him as he cums, planting his seed deep inside, thrusting up into her again and again, not wasting any. She moans in what sounds like satisfaction now.

She may not have Storms End yet, or marriage, but by the way he gazes up at her, she has her Stag… and his heir.

- 🌝🌚 Helaena deserves more love

She does! She's so very precious and I adore the idea of her just moving to get what she wants thank you!

She shivers on top of him; her delicate hands stroking his muscled chest as the Princess slowly comes down from her high. Her gushing pussy milking him still but his cock is soon a mess from the both of them.

A whine escaped her when he moved to gently leave her but she feels so good - so full. His fat cock against her gummy walls had Helaena nearly purring

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. xiii: Girl's Night

Chapter Summary: The night is young, and so are they. 🍷🍷🍷

Word count: 4530

Sneak Peak: Aegon turned to look at his brother, shit eating grin plastered on his alabaster face, “This is the best day of my life.”

Warnings: Copious amounts of alcohol, public intoxication, a fun time.

T H E   R E D S

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Valeana was quite surprised at how fast she fell into friendship with Wylla Stark and the third Baratheon daughter, Ellyn. It was within their company that she realized a fundamental truth of her life: she had no real female friends. She had her sisters, but sisterhood bonds through blood and marriage was an obligation. Valeana was always on guard with Floris, and Shyla was… Shyla. A cross between a cat in heat and a drunk butterfly. She had little in common with her.

The day of the two house’s arrival was the same day the King and several of their family members left to attend the funeral of the late Princess Visenya, the youngest grandchild and only daughter of Rhaenyra. Val would have gone with her brother, but she was more of a stranger now to the crown princess. She might have known her better as a child, but after a decade, it felt improper to reunite under the dire circumstances. Clement, however, knew them more closely, having sailed back and forth to Dragonstone and Driftmark more times than she cared to remember. 

The days began somberly now that the Keep was garbed in black and bleak clothing. While the sun still blared overhead, there was a dark cloud over King’s Landing; even the smallfolk mourned the loss. Though life at court still went on, and the convergence of the castle’s occupants was required as if it was a job.

It was expected for all eight of the young ladies to mingle. Cassandra, the eldest, was nearly as hard to endure as Floris (Grafton). Always complaining and pinching her face in clear disgust over the most trivial things that bothered her. Maris was quite the talker; she loved the sound of her own voice almost as much as she loved correcting people. Though, Valeana had noticed whenever a male was present, she would go silent and red-faced. Little Floris was delightful though, but incredibly naive. She took to Shyla early on, but seemed to be struggling to keep up with her. When she did talk, it was only ever about Daeron Targaryen. To balance that out of course, Shyla would talk about Aegon, so it was really an endless circle of prince talk between the two. And then there was Ellyn, who was mostly quiet but often made silent looks behind the rim of her cup that clearly communicated her opinions.

At one point, Cassandra scoffed at younger Floris when she swooned over her absent lover boy, claiming it made her look desperate, and how she– Cassandra that is– “would never be so easy for a man” and how Floris should act more “mysterious and unavailable”, like her. Ellyn’s eyes widened and her perfect U shaped smile quickly hid behind her cup while her trembling shoulders exposed the internal battle she had with her own giggles. 

Valeana felt a bubble of laughter from the girl’s expression alone, and tried fruitlessly to swallow it, but it ended up coming out like a suppressed hiccup. 

Then there was Wylla Stark, who embodied mysterious and unavailable. She sat with her legs perfect crossed under her grey and blue skirts, glass goblet in her elegant hand with her long almond shaped nails, and asked:

“How is that going for you, Lady Cassandra?”

Valeana and Ellyn could have died at the way they were holding their breath to prevent themselves from laughing. 

After that moment, the three spent as much time together as possible. Valeana needed the distraction to keep her mind off of Aemond and his rejection of her peace offering. With Helaena and her brother at Dragonstone, and Aegon fucking off somewhere, she didn’t have anyone else to turn to. 

It was the evening sometime after the hour of the bat, and the three girls were deep into their cups. Their faces flushed with laughter, liquor, and the humidity that still lingered in the night air after a long hot day. 

“It is so bloody hot here, I do not know how you southerners stand it,” Wylla pulled at the loose fabric of her bodice to air herself out. It was enough to see the tops of her breasts, which Valeana caught Ellyn openly staring at. “I miss the cool breeze coming from the North.”

“You get used to it,” Ellyn said, moving her fan to cool off Wylla, who arched her neck in gratitude. “In Storm’s End, it’s always humid. We’re so close to Dorne, but with all our rain, it is never a dry heat.”

“I can’t imagine living somewhere where it storms that frequently,” Valeana leaned her head back into the armchair she sat on, closing her eyes in an attempt to stop the spinning of her head. “Claw Isle has its storms, but at most a few times in a moon’s cycle.”

“I do envy your home, Valeana,” Wylla sighed when Ellyn stopped fanning her to relax her arm. “I’ve always wanted to go to the beach.” 

“You’re in the south now– plenty of opportunity to see the beaches,” Ellyn suggested. 

Valeana made a face, “King’s Landing isn’t a place known for it. Unless you want to smell like fish and shit, and find severed feet along the shoreline.”

“Severed feet?” Wylla said appalled, “Why feet?”

“When people die at sea – or dumped in the water – fully clothed, overtime the water causes it to bloat and decompose. However, the shoes keep the feet afloat, so eventually it just–” Val makes a motion with her hands, micking a limb being pulled off. “--pops off and floats around until it gets beached.”

“That’s disgusting!” Ellyn looked both shocked, but morbidly entertained. “How in the world do you know that?”

“Me and– and Prince Aemond,” invoking his name already gave her a headache. “We used to walk along the shores of Blackwater Rush with Ser Criston, and we would find them more often than I’d care to admit. Maester Orwyle explained to us why. Now this knowledge haunts me to this day, so I must pass it onto others.” 

“How considerate of you, Val,” Wylla shakes her head and takes a sip of her wine. “I will treasure it always.” Val cracked open her eye and pointed at her with a heavy arm, “Good! It will be useful information. In the North… where there are no beaches. Just snow… and hairy men… and-and, whatever it is in the North. Whatsitcalled? Cold Walkers? Ice Soldiers?”

“Shhhh,” Wylla chastised her through her laughter, “They’re called White Walkers, and please do not say it so loudly. It will summon my brother and that is the last thing we want.”

“I mean,” Valeana lifted her head and wagged her eyebrows, “It’s what you don’t want.” 

A pillow went flying at her face, causing both her and Ellyn to bark out laughing. 

“What? What?! Is that not why we are all here? To marry? Find a husband, and all that–” Valeana made a raspberry noise with her lips. 

Ellyn snorted, covering her face, “Oh, gods, do not remind me. That is all I’ve been hearing from not just my father, but all my sisters.”

“You would not want to marry Cregan, darling, trust me,” Wylla waves her off. “He will bore you to tears.”

“But he’s nice on the eyes,” Valeana smiled sheepishly, knowing she was baiting her Northern friend.

“Just wait until your brother returns from Dragonstone, Celtigar. I’ll climb him like a tree.”

“What’s stopping you now, Stark? I’ve got a brother right here.”

“Little Arthor,” Wylla mock pouted, “He’ll suffocate too easily between my thighs.”

“Oh, gross,” Val covered her face, “Please do not paint that image in my head.”

Ellyn shook her head, mildly amused, mildly horrified, “I am so glad I do not have brothers.” 

“Yet,” Wylla reminded. She adjusted herself in her seat, tucking her bare feet under herself to get more comfortable. “So, ladies, tell me: what are your goals for this Conclave? Who do you desire to be betrothed with?”

The Baratheon snorted, “Like we have a choice?”

“Let’s suspend belief for a moment, and pretend we do.”

“I haven’t thought of it,” Ellyn confessed, pulling her knees up to her chest, mug delicately cradled between both hands. “To be honest, if I had a choice in the matter, I would not marry at all.”

“Here, here!” Valeana raised her drink. 

Wylla snapped her head in her direction, “Oh, I find that hard to believe. You grew up in court, surely you, of all people, are more knowledgeable of all the noble born bachelors here in the south, and have an idea or two who you’d like to attach yourself to.”

“I lived here as a child. I spent most of my years here tailing the princes like a lost pup… I barely remember anyone that ever visited,”  Val scrunched up her face in thought. “I vaguely recall the Greyjoys visiting one moon… Only because they were hard to forget. Their sons were absolutely batty, especially the eldest, Dalton.” She straightened herself in her seat, now that her memory was catching up with her. Gesturing with her hands, she continued, “I remember, actually, even at seven years old, that little shit would find every opportunity to accidentally bump into, graze, or even so much as grab my arse! I was nine!”

Wylla huffed a shocked laugh, “Hells, what a little monster. I can only imagine what he is like now, a man grown.”

“Did you tell your father this?” Ellyn asked, face equally appalled. “Mine would have lost his mind.”

Val heaved a sigh, laying her head back against the chair once again, her entire body practically melting in the seat. “No.There was some tension at the time, not sure what it was, but I remember my father telling me to not upset Lord Greyjoy’s sons,” Suddenly, lost in her reminiscence, the blonde laughed. “But-but, Aemond, he–he, oh gods…” She snorted loudly to contain her laughter, covering her face as it got beat red. “He, Aegon and the Greyjoys were sparring in the training yard. He kept on dodging Dalton and using the flat end of his training sword to slap him on the rear, like thirty bloody times. He-he–” Her laughing intensified as she used her hand to illustrate the image she was trying to explain, “He was bruised all over, and so severely he could not sit or lay down on his back for two days.” 

While Valean giggled (by herself) Wylla and Ellyn exchanged knowing glances and smirks, then turned back to the drunk flustered crab.

“Well, I suppose that answers my question,” Wylla quipped smugly, nestling into her seat, smile barely being hidden behind the rim of her goblet. 

Val ran a hand over her face in an attempt to calm herself down. She blearily peered at her raven haired friend, a bit confused, “What question?”

“Who you desire to be betrothed with.”

Valeana looked at her incredulously, “Dalton fucking Greyjoy?!”

“No, you idiot!” Ellyn flailed her arms, “Aemond. Prince fucking Aemond.” 

“Ooh, gods,” Val scrunched up her face, digging the butt of her palm into her eyes as the two girls gushed and agreed with themselves. She had forgotten for a moment that she was no longer friends with Aemond, and he, in fact, hated her. “No, no, not Aemond,” she shook her head vehemently. 

“What!” Wylla nearly shouted, dark icy blues wide, “My Lady Valeana, what do you mean not Aemond? The way your face glowed at just talking about him.”

“And it makes perfect sense!” Ellyn added, “The two of you grew up together, you were quite close from what I was told. Of course it would be Aemond. It’s so sickly sweet, it almost makes me want to vomit my dinner.” 

“No, no, no, Aemond– Aemond would never want me,” Val kept on shaking her head. “He hates me. Loathes me, even. Do-do you two even know what he did to me? Why my family left King’s Landing in the first place?”

The two exchanged looks, faces scrunched as they tried to recall. 

“You injured yourself, I believe?” Wylla tilted her head.

“My father told me that Aegon accidentally knocked you down the stairs? I think?” 

“You two are close– It was Aemond,” Val noticed her cup was empty and bent forward towards the squat table to refill it with red. “And it was not an accident. Our fathers were discussing our betrothal, which he disapproved of, apparently. I was under the foolish impression we were the best of friends, and were meant for each other. Stupid, really, in hindsight. 

“He decided that he disliked me so much that he needed to get rid of me, so he pushed me down a flight of stone stairs after calling me a pig.” She surprised herself at how casually she spoke of the event, but it was likely the alcohol that numbed the reality of her emotions. “Broke my leg so severely they had to cut it off a few moons after.”

She lifted her left leg then, her dress falling down above her knee to expose her wooden foot and calf. Then with a gentle wave of her hand, she motioned along the appendage as if presenting a great trophy, “I call her Lady Footlyn Woodsby, first of her name. Her heir is Ser An-toe-knee Woodsby, the E-bone-knee Knight.”

The two other girls had fallen into a shocked silence for a moment, but that was short lived after Valeana’s introduction of her leg. 

Wylla clamped her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, “Val-Valeana…” She snorted into her palm. “That’s– I’m so sorry.”

Ellyn had both her hands upon her face, brown eyes peeking through the cracks of her fingers, “Oh-ooooh, I should not be laughing. I am sorry, Valeana.” 

Val waved them off, returning her skirts over her leg, “Worry not. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.”

Her heartbreaking admittance, despite being veiled with self-deprecating humour, did not go amiss. Wylla and Ellyn’s expressions went soft as they shared another knowing look between each other. The former reached out and placed her hand on Valeana’s knee, thumb moving in comforting motions. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you, my dearest. Men are horrible creatures, especially the ones closest to you.” 

That simple gesture and those kind words were enough to crumble her all at once. It had sobered Valeana enough to allow her sadness seep through the armour of numbness she had been trying to craft around herself. Her mouth, nose and eyes felt watery all of a sudden, forcing her to swallow and tilt her head back to stop herself from crying. 

Ellyn made a cooing sound as she unfolded herself from her seat and walked over to her friend from behind and enveloped her shoulders in a hug, resting her cheek on top of her head. It was that gesture of comfort that had made the waterfall finally break through. Valeana had not realized how touch starved she was, how hungry she was for comfort over her heartbreak. This was a level of vulnerability she had never allowed to be exposed around her family, not even Clement. Despite her love for him, men were not well equipped to handle emotional women; he would’ve reacted how men usually did, either dismiss it with aggressive advice, or unsheathe his sword and wage a war in her name. Her step mother, despite her natural maternal instinct, was a woman who would cuddle her to her breast and smother her as if she was a child, not unlike a kiss on a bruise or scraped knee. Nothing substantial, nothing deep or empathetic. Just a salve to numb the pain for a few hours.

No, the comfort from a friend– from a fellow female –was different, almost stronger. 

Like her tears, everything rushed out of her; a great purge of words, of pent up sadness, of suppressed emotions. She shared how much she loved Aemond, missed him down to her bones, how he broke her in more ways than physical, and then she shared the story of her return and the catastrophe she had made that could have been avoided, and how in her most earnest attempt to reconcile, she was ultimately left scarred more, and still yearning for him. A stuttered breath left her lungs when she finished, her shoulders caving in as if the weight of her heart finally did her in. Ellyn still cradled her head from behind, but Wylla had moved to squish in beside her and hold her middle and lay her head upon her shoulder. 

“He does not deserve your love, my darling,” Wylla stroked Val’s hair. “No man alive deserves any of our love. Selfish, fickle-hearted beasts, they all are.” 

Valeana sniffled, head laid in Ellyn’s arm, cheeks sticky with tears, and red from humidity, alcohol, and spending the last several minutes pouring her heart out. These three women were effectively strangers not three days ago, and yet now Valeana never felt more close to another human being. Not since him. Not since Aemond. 

“Except for Cregan,” Val muttered in a small voice, light but coarse through the dryness of her throat. She reached out and patted Wylla on her arm, “Him and his manly shoulders and broad chest–”

“Please shut up,” Wylla replied with a small voice and a weak smack to Val’s face. 

“Let him know I’ve got the hips to birth more of his heirs.”

“I will kill you.”

“Ladies,” Ellyn lifted her head up with a heavy sniff to clear out her sinuses. She wiped her nose and peered over to the table in front of them. “We’ve run out of wine.”

All their heads perked up to glower down at their empty bottles and carafes. This would not do– the night was still young, and so were they. The three ladies also sobered too much for their liking, and the only way to heal this disease was to drink more. 

“Where’s that serving boy?”

“We sent him away for the night, remember?”

“We were fools.”

“Indeed.”

There was a beat of silence, until: 

“Wait, wait,” Val sat up, forcing the two girls to unravel their arms. “I know this castle. I know a shortcut to the kitchens… There’s a secret door over there– behind that tapestry.”

“Which tapestry?”

“The one with the orgy.”

“... They’re all having orgies.”

“This-this one! Where she’s sitting on his face and eating a fig out of the other woman’s mouth,” Valeana stood up, wobbling a bit when she did. She hadn’t realized how much she drank and how long she had been sitting until that moment. But, she was convinced that she was too sober, and that wouldn’t do, so she marched over to the tapestry, unevenly and ungracefully. With one swift movement she shoved the tapestry aside to expose a stone wall.

“Valea–”

“Shush!” The silver haired girl eyed it for a moment before moving her hands along the edges of the stones until she could feel the cracks that formed the outline of a door. With a wicked smile she pushed her shoulder into it, throwing her whole body weight into moving it. With a groan the secret entrance wedged open, an amber glow emitting through the gap from the torch inside. 

Ellyn gaped at it, “How did you know that was there?”

Val waved dismissively, “I was a fat child. If there was a quick route to the kitchens, I was aware of it.”  

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

They had reached the kitchens in a fair amount of time, but they did not, in fact, find wine. But they found bottles and bottles of dusty ale, and they weren’t about to complain. The problem they inevitably had was the trek back. Now that their minds were fully in the thick of inebriation, they got lost within the walls of the Keep and ended up in a completely different part of the castle than they were originally. 

“Valeana, where the hells are we?” Wylla hissed as they rounded yet another stone corridor with very few windows. 

The blonde squinted around them. The three were hanging off each other’s shoulders for dear life. Each clutched a large bottle of ale by the neck as if it was a lifeline; as if it was the only thing that was keeping them from floating away. Valeana craned her neck over their arms and took a sloppy swig of her drink, a droplet escaping her lips and dribbling messily down her chin.

“The barracks hall?” She said after a swallow.

“Are you askin’ us?” Ellyn laughed. “Chisisyerhome, and y’dunno where you ARE?”

“I know where I am!” Val shouted, brow furrowed in determination. “And this is not my home.. It’s-it’s– hic – my personal hell. Fuck it’s so hot, why is it so hot?” She cried out, slumping a bit, forcing the girls to bend at her weight. 

They stumbled forward until they heard the tell tale sound of metal armour clanking ever near. A form of silver and white rounded the corner and immediately halted at the sight of the three noble women linked together by their shoulders, sloshing around drinks shamelessly.

The knight stepped forward, concern marring his face, “My ladies. Are you quite alright?”

“Ser Arryk!” Valeana shouted, arms shooting up in the air, narrowly missing Ellyn’s brow. 

The knight bowed his head, “Erryk, my lady.”

“Oh, right, ‘m turribly sorry,” She threw her head back and jutted out her bottom lip in a pout at her own stupidity. “Forgive me.”

The corner of Erryk’s lip twitched upward. It didn’t take him very long to understand that these three girls were skunked out of their gourds. He gave her a nod, containing his amusement, “You are forgiven, Lady Valeana.”

“You see!” She launched herself forward, disentangling herself from her friends and reaching the white cloak’s side. Her bottle of ale fell from her fingers, clattering and rolling away along the flagstones. She then prodded her finger into his plated chest and looked over at Wylla and Ellyn, “Y’see how easy that is? I apol-ap– apolojiz–fuck me– Apo. Lo. Gized– there you go…— hic — N’you forgave me. Because yer a good man, Ar-Erryk. ‘M sorry, yer names are similar too, is very confusing.”

“Good Ser,” Wylla sauntered over, “Mayhaps you aid us troubled maids… Our foolish guide, full of hubris, led us astray, and now we are hopelessly lost.”

“How dare you insult your future Lady of Winterfell!” Val shoutted, pointing an unsteady finger at Wylla with a step towards her, but ultimately ended up wobbling on her bad leg, forcing Erryk to hold her upright.

Erryk was having a hard time keeping a straight face. It wasn’t every day that he stumbled upon drunk noble born daughters; it wasn’t very ladylike to get this drunk this publically, but he wagered that this wouldn’t be an isolated event these upcoming weeks. 

He snaked an arm under Lady Valeana’s shoulder and hoisted her up on her feet, allowing her to lean against him.

“You’re below the Throne Room, my ladies,” Ser Erryk informed, and the three of them exchanged looks. 

“How the hell did we end up here?” Valeana asked, chin turning up to her anchor. “Erryk, we were in the kitchens. The-the north one. I think.”

“No wonder we are lost!” Ellyn threw her head back. “Ugh, father will be furious.”

“Do not worry, ladies, I’ll safely escort you back, and arrange for a wheelhouse to bring Lady Wylla back to her pavilion.” 

“Such a good man. Ser Erryk,” Wylla’s words slurred when she took an uneven step towards him. “May I ask…Why– no –would you ever consider breaking your vows?” 

“Wylla!” Valeana weakly smacked the Northerner, then promptly turned to the knight. “Do not – hic – listen to her, Erryk. Don’t let this–this–temptress tempt you.”

“I am only saying,” Wylla and Ellyn started to follow the knight as he made his way out of the maze of halls beneath the Throne Room. “All the honourable ones end up being a Kingsguard. It’s such a bloody waste to womenkind!” 

Erryk smiled to himself, though decided to ignore the comment, “Up these stairs, ladies.”

“Oh no,” Ellyn grinned, “Valeana’s mortal enemy.”

Wylla barked a loud laugh and the victim in question craned her neck to shoot her a poisonous glare. 

“I’ll send you to the Wall! Ser Erryk, send this Baratheon traitor to the Wall.” 

“Mayhaps tomorrow, my lady. The hour is already late as it is,” was the Knight’s gentle, albeit amused, reply as he helped her up the stairwell and into the cavernous Throne Room, where he immediately paused upon seeing a pair of men with silver hair.

The women’s collective gasps and loud attempts at quieting themselves had naturally gained the attention of the Throne Room’s sole occupants. 

Ser Erryk immediately bowed, “My Princes. Apologies for the disturbance, I was merely–”

“Egg-On-Toast!” Valeana shouted so loudly it echoed like a lion’s roar. Her arms flew to the air above her head, then immediately marched over, completely ignoring the second prince. Her vision was tunneled, and hadn’t realized that Aegon wasn’t alone. Her warm and slightly sweaty hands gripped the eldest’s face, then she started laughing when he started laughing.

“Valeana–” Ellyn tried to reach her, eyes flickering over to the stiff Aemond that stood not six feet away. 

Aegon’s eyebrows reached his hairline, his grin uncontainable. His hands gripped her wrists, but he didn’t remove them from his face.

“Are you drunk, my darling?”

“... Yes,” she giggled sheepishly. “I see why you do it so often now, is’so fun. Egg-y. My Prince of Scrambled Eggs. Eggs and Bacon–” Val sharply gasped, mouth agape at her genius. “We are Eggs and Bacon, Aegon. Tha’s a good bard song– Ellyn, write that down.”

Aegon turned to look at his brother, shit eating grin plastered on his alabaster face, “This is the best day of my life.”

Valeana’s entire body swiveled around, brow furrowed with clear confusion. “Who are you– SHIII–T!” When she turned she was immediately greeted by the imposing, towering form of Aemond Targaryen. Standing there, head tilted, with his judgey one eye, lips in a thin line and looking delicious with his narrow waist she openly stared at. 

Wylla and Ellyn were snickering behind their fists, nearly down to their knees, failing to contain their nervous laughter. 

Val turned her wobbly, heavy head back at Aegon, lowering her voice in a very poor attempt at a whisper, “Where the fuck did he come from?”

“Darling, he was here the entire time.”

She peered at him skeptically, then looked back at Aemond, and then back at Aegon. Her head dipped to his ear, and attempted to whisper conspiratorially, “Fecker comes outta nowhere all the bloody time, pilfering through the darkness like a thief of joy– hic. Is he a man or a forlorn ghost?”

Aegon contained his laughter when he bit down on his lip, and then glanced up at the silent shadow that was his brother.

“I can hear you, Lady Valeana,” Aemond finally spoke, his voice irritably condescending, which instantly bristled her. 

Val peeled herself off of Aegon’s side and approached Aemond, angling her chin in the air to peer at him with as much dignity as she could possibly manage. And on wobbly knees, she curtseyed and said in the most patronizing tone the Throne Room has ever witnessed: 

“Prince Almond.” 

His eye narrowed, alight with challenge and something else.

Notes: This and the next two chapters are my favourite chapters of this series, so I really hope you guys enjoy it too.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[goodqueenaly]

If Elia wasn’t at harrenhal would Rhaegar crowning Lyanna have still been a scandal?

I think so, yes - a scandal different in kind, and perhaps to a limit extent different in degree as well, but a scandal nonetheless. While I do not at all want to undersell the extent to which Rhaegar passing over his own wife shocked and offended onlookers at Harrenhal - there is a reason Elia reportedly sat there “stiff-backed and trying to act as if nothing was wrong” in a probable attempt to minimize Rhaegar’s public humiliation of her - Rhaegar’s choice to snub his wife was only part of the Harrenhal tourney scandal. This is a point I made before (in a reblog from the late great Steven Attewell), but to reiterate, while the crowning of a queen of love and beauty is not necessarily and in all cases an expression of romantic sentiment, this act is not also completely free of such implications in every case either - especially when the chosen lady (or, rather, girl) is, by the standards of her (creepy, fetishizing) society, “part child, part woman … [a] ‘maid’ … [f]ertile but innocent, beloved of the singers”. For a man who was himself the son of a monarch infamous (at least in his early reign) for his seemingly omnivorous sexual appetite, offering the crown of queen and love and beauty to a beautiful, as yet unmarried (more on that in a moment) maiden, without any obvious sociopolitical justification for doing so, I think would have been seen as no less than the prince propositioning Lyanna in front of virtually the entire assembled nobility of Westeros - in other words, scandal enough on its own, without the added IOTL insult to Elia.

Moreover, because Lyanna was betrothed - and betrothed to the Lord of Storm’s End, no less - Rhaegar offering her the crown of the queen of love and beauty was a gross political insult, one immediately recognized by the Stark-Baratheon party present. Indeed, not for nothing does Yandel report that “Lady Lyanna's brothers seem[ed] so distraught at the honor the prince had bestowed upon her”, with “Brandon Stark … [having] to be restrained from confronting Rhaegar at what he took as a slight upon his sister's honor”, Eddard being “calmer but no more pleased”, and Robert Baratheon “brood[ing] on the insult”, so much so that “his heart hardened toward the Prince of Dragonstone from that day forth”. Even if Rhaegar, and likely the vast majority of the attendees, probably knew nothing about the specific geopolitical goals of the Stark-Tully-Baratheon-Arryn power bloc, every Westerosi aristocrat could appreciate the standard expectations of alliance represented by diplomatic marriages - expectations threatened by the apparent attempt by the crown prince to seize and use the Stark maiden at his whim, and presumably similarly discard her at his leisure. Again, if I can quote myself, “Lyanna was just sexualized enough to be seriously considered a target of romantic attraction while also being just unavailable enough to make any such attraction from anyone not her betrothed (or, perhaps, one of her brothers or her father’s bannermen) truly scandalous”.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

"Would the realm really not have accepted Rhaenyra as queen?

Otto and Alicent were adamant that Rhaenyra would never be accepted because she is a woman, and historically that had been an issue in Westeros. But she seemed well-liked, she was named heir by the king very early on, and from what we have seen from her so far she would make a better ruler than Aegon.

If the issue is that her sons (and therefore her heirs) were born out of wedlock, sure, that could be an issue I guess. But technically they are still just as Targaryen as Alicent’s children, who also only have one Targaryen parent. And we know for sure that Jace and Luke are biologically Rhaenyra’s."

https://www.reddit.com/r/HouseOfTheDragon/s/Ed5MDwZLQj

I don't think it's a simple matter of whether or not the realm would accept a woman on the Iron Throne, it's a matter of whether or not they would accept a woman inheriting ahead of her trueborn brother. I do blame the show a bit for simplifying the issue, and it's definitely the case that there was a concerted effort up to that point to keep women off the throne, but that was mostly perpetuated not by the "realm," which is of course made up of a lot of people with varying ideas about female inheritance, but by King Jaehaerys himself.

The accepted inheritance laws, by tradition and custom, did allow women to inherit, so I think the idea that the realm would never accept a woman under any circumstances is flawed. There are, even at the time of the Dance women who have inherited, such as Lady Arryn, or women who were their fathers heirs, like Cassandra Baratheon. Rhaenyra was attempting to upset the accepted order of succession, and that's what made her claim particularly contentious. For example, Rhaenys was was the lawful heir by custom and tradition, and most people in Westeros did not have an issue with daughters inheriting before brothers. Jaehaerys himself, on the other hand, clearly favored Baelon and later Viserys, and the realm was willing to go along with that because Baelon and Viserys were men. Jaehaerys was the one that gave them the choice to not support a daughter, and when presented with the choice of a woman versus a man, they chose a man knowing that the king would back up that choice (and I do think that it was pretty obvious Viserys was Jaehaerys' choice, which influenced the vote). However, had Jaehaerys simply allowed Rhaenys to inherit as the traditional order of succession dictated, sons before daughters but daughters before brothers, I think it's likely the realm would have gone along with it, at least initially. Likewise, people often forget that even Otto was ready to support Rhaenyra as heir if it meant keeping Daemon away from the throne. If Viserys had not remarried, or if he'd had only daughters, Daemon and the Velaryons would be the only possible challengers to Rhaenyra inheriting, and Rhaenyra marrying Laenor removes the Velaryons as a threat. What can Daemon do with himself and one dragon? In these cases, Rhaenyra's succession does not leave behind any "threats" who could be used against her or her heirs.

I also think there are special circumstances by which Rhaenyra could inherit ahead of her brothers, if she were willing to make a compromise. If Rhaenyra did not have any children at all, and made Aegon her heir, there's very little point in Aegon going to war to take the throne earlier. He and his brothers are not threats in that situation, they are the heirs that secure the succession. One of the ironies of the Dance is that Rhaenyra does not need to have children at all, not with 3 younger brothers who can inherit after her (think Elizabeth I, who never married or had children in large part because she feared husband would try to rule through her). Similarly, if Aegon and Rhaenyra were betrothed, their claims would be combined. In the book, they were only ten years apart. Clearly it would have been a political marriage, and they would have needed would be to get that trueborn heir to secure the union, but they could have effectively done as they pleased after that. These aren't perfect solutions, but they'd be good enough to appease most dissenters.

The exact circumstances of Rhaenyra's attempted succession are, however, very unfortunate, and were almost guaranteed to stir up dissent. It's not that the realm would not accept a woman, full stop, it's that the realm would not accept a woman, especially one who had muddled her own succession by having bastard children, inheriting ahead of her three trueborn brothers and their sons. On top of that, Rhaenyra had also married the man, Daemon, who she was specifically meant to supplant, and had two trueborn sons with him, further complicating the issue of who would be her true heir. "But technically they are still just as Targaryen as Alicent’s children, who also only have one Targaryen parent. And we know for sure that Jace and Luke are biologically Rhaenyra’s." Unfortunately, that's not how it works, and I've written at length about this idea of being "legally legitimate" before here, so I'm not going to go into it again except to say legitimacy is not a matter of whether they're Targaryen or not, or how much Targaryen blood they have, it's a matter of whether they were born of a married couple or not, and Harwin Strong was not married to Rhaenyra, which makes them bastards, and bastards are excluded from the succession for a reason. They have the protection of Corlys and Viserys while Corlys and Viserys live, but once they die, it's much easier to raise those questions again. Civil wars have started for much less. Putting Rhaenyra on the throne almost guarantees a succession crisis at some point down the line, and stability is important.

And let's just be clear-- Rhaenyra would have had a tough time of it regardless, and that is because she's a woman. Empress Matilda's claim, which led to the Anarchy, was much stronger than Rhaenyra's and she was still usurped (her challenger was a cousin, not a brother, and not even the oldest of Henry I's nephews). Rhaenyra was always going to be under intense scrutiny, her ability to rule would be questioned any time she showed a bit of weakness, and she would find herself much more beholden to her allies than she might be under other circumstances. Queens regnant in history often had to double down on showing how strong they were as monarchs, to prove that they were really no different from kings (this is why it's unlikely Rhaenyra becoming queen would lead to any real change for women at large), because many people believed women were too gentle to make the tough and sometimes brutal decisions required of a ruler. If her brothers remained alive, they would serve as a rallying point for any malcontents in the realm, which, when you consider that in the years following Viserys I's death you have, aside from the Dance, a long winter and a deadly plague, would have made things rough for Rhaenyra's early reign even in peacetime.

Succession issues ultimately are based on multiple factors, and of course misogyny is one of them. If Rhaenyra had been born a man there would have been no challenge to her ascension, and that is indisputable. But her being a female heir does not guarantee a challenge either, it is all down to the circumstances of the inheritance. Rhaenyra's mistake was that she did not really acknowledge how vulnerable her position was. If you compare her to a historically successful queen regnant, such as Elizabeth I, who always walked a very fine line and was extremely aware of how her detractors would use her gender against her, well from our modern point of view you can sort of admire Rhaenyra's absolute refusal to give an inch, but I think it's also fair to say that the pushback against her is entirely predictable within a Westerosi context.