#the first daddy in westeros

[cashmere-caveman]

congratulations once again to jace for being the only one of the blacks whos even remotely compelling even if he is a classist im gonna be sad to see u slaughtered king u were the one true pillar of calculated daddy issues

[eraenaa]

King of My Heart

King Aemond Targaryen x Queen Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Marriage, miscarriage, and the monarchy… how would you and your husband fare to them all?

Warnings: Mature, Softer Aemond, Mentions of Miscarriage, Fluff, 18+, P in V Sex, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 5,929

A/N: Final part (maybe) of But Daddy, I Love Him and Mine, but could be read as a standalone. Based on an anonymous request where they wanted "a scenario where the reader enters her period and fears Aemond will be disappointed that she's not pregnant yet but he comforts her and takes care of her" and a photo of a fan art sent by 1ssah-blog 

War did not commence, but the heir to the seven kingdoms was altered. As the iron throne rejected your grandsire, Viserys the First, your mother, Rhaenyra, rejected the seat that was promised to her. A shocking turn of events that was an outrage to her loyal supporters and to her husband. Declining her right to the throne meant her heir, Jacaerys, will as well have no claim upon it. In consequence, the throne was given to her half-brother, Aegon, the squandering prince who had no wish for duty, ultimately abdicated the most powerful seat of the realm. Passing the responsibility to your husband, who took the opportunity eagerly.

You were not certain how to take this turn of events. Though you were eased as this not caused further strife and bloodshed upon your family, you did not know how to receive this great responsibility you were never prepared for. You were never readied to become queen. 

It was as if all the events, private or otherwise, were tidal waves hitting you one after the other, suffocating and whirling you around. Whatever reservations and dilemmas you had were hidden, for you did not want to dampen the happiness in your husband. He never uttered it, but you knew that deep inside, he greatly wished for the throne. And you believed that it would be entirely selfish of you to make known the doubts that presented themselves the day it was announced that Aemond would be the ruler of Westeros.  

“I have a surprise for you,” You hear him say, your mind regaining focus. You placed your gaze upon your King husband, who sat across from you. This was the first supper you had together in private after all the debacle for the throne had been settled. Yours and his new title have proven to take a great deal of both of your time that you started to scarcely have time to enjoy the private presence of one another. “What is it?” You asked, placing a small smile on your lips. “Once you finish your meal, I shall show you,” He replied, and you gave a nod. Once your plate was emptied, you frowned as your husband helped you to stand, placing a cloth on your eyes. “Aemond, what is this?” You questioned, feeling his cold hand take yours as he led you out of your chambers. “Like I’ve said, it is a surprise,” You hear his smirk through his words, and you silently and blindly followed him through the halls of the keep.

When he made you halt in your tracks, you felt the cloth around your eyes loosen. Aemond stood before you in the throne room, obstructing your view from the surprise he had commissioned. When he stepped to the side, your furrowed brows shot up, and your lips parted in surprise. The renowned iron throne that stood lone in the middle of the hall was now in the company of another. The king’s throne was now accompanied by the queen’s. “Is… is that for me?” You asked hesitantly. You hear Aemond let out a chuckle and guide you to step closer to the iron thrones. “Of course it is, you after all are my queen,” He hummed, enjoying the way you were still enveloped in surprise. 

You were silent as you gazed at the newly made seat, one specifically made for you. You could not believe that your husband would disregard decades of tradition and alter the most powerful and fearsome seat in the realm to make place for you. Aemond gazed at you as you still gazed at the seat. He knew his decision to add a seat for his queen would not be well received by the others; he could not find care. He could not stand as you were stood by the side during long trials and engagements. He felt uneasy as you stood far beyond his reach, your usual place next to him desecrated and sacrificed when he needed to sit on the throne. He often had the urge to just perch you on his lap during those long days of meetings, restless as he was constantly missing your touch, but he knew that would simply mortify you. 

“Come, sit on your rightful place, my queen,” Aemond said, pulling you towards the iron thrones. You bit your lip as he made you sit on the cold metal. Surprised that the swords did not prickle or offer you any discomfort. “How does it feel?” Aemond asked, taking his own seat, his hand finding yours and him intertwining them. “Odd,” You say truthfully. Aemond hummed as his thumb caressed your soft skin, “Best get used to it, my wife. This is your rightful place.” He said, and you were not entirely certain how to receive his words. A part of you was growing warm and familiar with this title, but a bigger part of you was still doubtful as to what it entails. 

Aemond frowned as he heard no reply come from you. He turned towards you and saw that your gaze was once again far off. “What is it? What’s bothering you,” He asked, leaning closer, his fingers guiding your head to face him. You show your head and place a tight smile on your lips, “Nothing,” You say, hoping he will be convinced, not wanting to worry him and add to his burden, for he already had to shoulder the burdens of the realm. “Do not lie; tell me, what is it?” Aemond asked, tone now serious. You shook your head again. “Truly, it is nothing. I was just thinking about the preparations for your coronation,” You say, “Our coronation,” Aemond corrected, and you nodded, “Yes, our coronation,” 

“Do not fret and tire yourself with the preparations, my light. Another could see to it, perhaps my mother or ma—“ You shook your head for what seemed the hundredth time that day. “No, this is my responsibility,” You say, and Aemond sighs. “You are overworking yourself. You think I have not noticed, but I have. You retire to bed later than I do, and you start your day earlier than I; you must not exhaust yourself,” Aemond fretted. “I am hardly exhausting myself— my responsibilities are nothing compared to yours,” You say, making Aemond sigh. “That is not the point,” he said, your concerned conversation toeing the line to an argument. 

“You are quite fragile, my light. The whole of your family— even with their contempt for me, they still warned and accustomed me to the fact of your sensitivity, at how easily you are exhausted and taken by sickness. I cannot have you be overworked and burdened by tasks that could be delegated to others,” Your heart warmed at the concern showed by your usually stoic husband. “I just want everything to be perfect for your day,” You say lowly. “Our day,” Aemond once again corrected, his mind now growing suspicious at the fact that you only recognized his change of title but not yours. “Yes, our day,” you once again repeated. 

When the two of you retired to your chambers once more, Aemond studied you with his keen eye. Only now did he realize that something had turned different; there was a shift in you that you had greatly disguised. Greatly so that only now did Aemond come to realize it. He tried to recall the whirlwind of events, from your mother rejecting the throne, then to his brother abdicating it, and finally, him being announced as the successor. He could not precisely point as to when, but as he recalled those days, he realized a spark in your eyes had dulled, and its sudden dullness was not the result of exhaustion or anything in regard to the succession of the crown. Something else was bothering you, and it seems to be of great magnitude, but you did not share it with your husband. 

Aemond clutched you closer to his chest, burying his nose in your hair as you slept in his arms. He could not find rest as his mind was running with the thought of what was bothering you and why you had not confided with him. What secrets were you hiding from him? Why had you suddenly felt the need to keep quiet of your thoughts? Aemond’s heart beat loudly in his chest even though he was simply lying down, his thoughts running with the uncertain and devouring his insides. He must know the truth of what it was you hid from him.

You hastily ran through the halls of the keep, tardy for your meeting with the small council as you were preoccupied with your earlier engagements. You stood before the door of the room, hindering the guard from opening the doors as you tried to catch your breath, wanting to be composed as you entered the room. But you frowned as you heard the voices of men discussing you. 

“My king… it is just that it has been a year since your marriage, and the queen has yet to produce an heir,” You felt your heart pit as you heard the words of a lord. “The court is starting to question the… the matter, and tongues are wagging that perhaps the queen’s womb is unsuited to carry a child,” You swallowed thickly as you still stood by the doors, listening to their quiet discussion that spoke of your fears that were unknown to anyone but you. Aemond kept silent as he stared down the men before him, “My king, the lineage for the crown has been altered twice in less than a year; its stable foundation created by the conqueror had faltered. And with this talk of the queen unable to produce you a son… it would not take long before the other houses to question the stability of the Targaryen name, as well as her validity as queen.” You felt vile climb your throat as your heart, achingly pitted in your chest. You were supposed to attend the meeting, but after hearing what they had said, you could not find the strength to do so. 

Aemond clenched his jaw as the lords before him were threading the line of impertinence. “My wife, your queen, is still young. She is but eight and ten. Our heir shall come in due time; I will no longer hear of such speculating matters when there are other business we must attend to.” Aemond gritted, laying the subject to rest, but a foolishly bold lord still spoke. “Your majesty, your wife’s duty is to produce you heirs— to produce the next king of this realm. That must be her top priority, and as of now, the kingdom is witnessing her flail at this duty that a simple broodmare could do,” Aemond felt his eye twitch in great irritation, his insides alight with fiery rage at the words spoken against you. Aemond turned to Ser Criston Cole, who stood by his right and gave a knowing look, the knight stalking towards the lord who dared offend his queen. 

The knight took the lord’s arms and bound them behind him, “You have not only offended your queen but her husband as well; for such impertinence, you shall stay in the dungeons for a fortnight and your house stripped of its title and land,” Aemond relished at the lord’s protest and desperate pleas as he was dragged out of the room of the small councils and into the dungeons. “Let that be a lesson to you all— the moment I hear about such disrespectful speculations about my wife, I will not hesitate to administer such punishments,” Aemond warned and watched as the lords before him nervously nodded. 

When the meeting ended, Aemond questioned as to why you did not show. He returned to your chambers in search of you, and there he found you curled in your shared bed. Aemond silently walked towards you, his being wholly satisfied as you took his concern and decided to rest. But that satisfaction quickly disappeared as he saw your tear-stained cheeks and your slightly quivering lips as you slept. Who must answer for your sadness? What had led you to such a state? Why had you not run to Aemond for comfort just like the times before?

Aemond soothingly ran his hand through your hair, making you twitch and lead you to open your eyes. Your eyes widened as you realized Aemond had returned and caught you in such a state. “Why are you crying? What has bothered you?” Aemond asked, determined to know what plagued your mind that caused this unwelcome shift in your demeanor. Your lips agape to speak of a diversion, and Aemond already knew it. “Do not say that it is nothing when it is clearly a lie. Tell me the truth of it, wife.” He said sternly, but he quickly regretted it as tears quickly streamed from your eyes. “I failed,” You cried almost incoherently. Aemond’s eye widened as he made you sit up and took you into his arms, and you cried onto his chest. “W—what? You had not failed,” He tried to reassure you about a matter he was still to know of. 

“I have! And the kingdom is starting to take notice!” You wailed, and Aemond took your face into his hands, imploring you to look at him. “I have failed you as your wife… I am failing as queen,” You cried, and Aemond felt his heart twist painfully inches chest to see you in such a state and hear you utter such false words. “I do not understand, my light,” he said quietly as you sniffled and tried to control your sobs. You took in big gulps of air as you tried to form the words explaining the events that happened and were kept hushed during the debacle for the crown. 

“I was with child,” You say quietly, feeling the shock in Aemond as the words leave your lips. “During Aegon’s short reign, I learned that I was carrying our child. He was only a moon old, the maesters said, and I was waiting for an opportunity to share with you the news,” Aemond clutched you closer to him as he felt you tremble. “But the lineage was changed once more, and we both were busied to the point where the only time we saw each other was when we slept,” You say as tears continue to stream. “And when the day finally came that we were not too busied with our duties, where I could finally tell you that we were to become parents… I lost the babe,” You cried in shame and tried to turn away from Aemond, who sat before you in great shock. 

You readied yourself for his rage and contempt. You knew he would not take this matter lightly; you believed he would blame you for being so careless and for failing, which is why it was a shock to you as he once again pulled you to him, burying his face in your neck as he uttered apologies. “Why are you apologizing? I was the one who had failed you,” You asked. “Failed? My light, you could never,” Aemond said softly as he embraced you tightly. “I was the one who had failed you— I was too busied with the crown that I have neglected my duty to you,” Aemond said in guilt. You breathed out heavily and shook your head, running your hands through Aemond’s silvery locks soothingly. 

“Why did you not tell me?” Aemond asked after a short silence. You sighed and lowered your head, “I was ashamed.” You said plainly, “I could not burden you with this matter when you were already burdened by the troubles of the kingdom.” You explained further, hiding the matter because you knew if you uttered it, it would only prevail and actually become true. Aemond removed his face from the crook of your neck, “You should never hide such matters from me. The burdens you carry are the only burdens I truly care to know of and solve.” He said reassuringly, placing a kiss on your tear-stained cheek, tasting the salt that streamed from your eyes. “You’re not angry? Or at least disappointed? I…” You trailed as Aemond hushed you by kissing your lips. “Swear to me you will never hide such matters from me again; promise me that you will always come to me when anything— even the slightest of things bothers you,” Aemond implored and you bit your lip as you nodded your head. Aemond gave a curt nod to your agreement, placing a kiss on the top of your head. 

“But…” you spoke, “But what if I truly fail? What if I cannot provide you with an heir?” You fretted, knowing that your main royal duty was to provide your husband with a child. Aemond licked his lips at your question, pondering over a future where you two had no offspring. “Then the crown passes to our next of kin,” Aemond shrugged, and you were speechless by his nonchalant manner. “My light, I want for us to have children, I do. But I want you more. If we cannot produce an heir, then so be it; just as long as I have you, I’ll be perfectly and entirely content,” Aemond murmured, and your heart that loved him fell into a deeper love you never thought to be possible. “Do you truly mean that?” You asked, searching his eye. A part of you doubted his words, thinking it was only uttered to comfort you. “Of course I do,” He said genuinely. Though a part of him will always long for a child, to be a father that he never had, a greater part of him longed for you. He would rather have you constantly by his side, without the prospect of an heir, than have his line to the throne secured but without you. 

You gazed up at your newly crowned king as he placed a tiara of rubies atop your head, a small smile grazing his face as he crowned you his queen. The eyes of the kingdom upon the two of you who were lost in each other eyes. The cheers that rang loudly died in your as you could only focus upon Aemond. It had been almost two moons since your admittance of what had transpired during the settlement of the crown, and since then, you and your husband had made it your mission to set aside time for each other, to not only focus on the demands of the realm but as well as your marriage. You placed a small smile as your husband guided you to take your seat on the throne next to him, the kingdom bowing and kneeling to show their fealty to their new king and queen. Yours and Aemond’s hands clasped around each other to show your solidarity for the kingdom as well as each other. 

“How are you finding the festivities, my king?” You asked with a small smile, your heart pounding happily in your chest. “You out did yourself in the preparations, my light… but as my name day celebration, I am counting down the hours until we are left in the privy of our chambers.” You bit your lip as your husband whispered the words in you ear, your cheeks blooming in heat. “Well, just as I have said on your name day, you must be patient and obliging to our guest, dearest husband,” You grinned, and Aemond felt content to see how the liveliness in you began to return. “Very well then, but I shall deny any lord that asks you for a dance,” You let out an amused breath and nodded your head, “Very well, who am I to go against the orders of my king,” You teased and moved to stand. 

“Where are you going?” Aemond asked, his gaze turning upward, his hand refusing to let go of your hand. “To greet my mother and siblings, I still have not spoken to them ever since their arrival,” You say simply; Aemond chewed on his cheek and nodded, reluctantly removing his hold of your hand, but his eye followed you as you gracefully made your way through the hall towards the nearby table that housed your kin. 

“My queen,” Your mother greeted with a teasing curtsy, and you bit your lip as a wide smile appeared on your lips. “No titles are needed; I am merely your daughter, mother,” You smiled and embraced her, “Where’s father?” You asked, and just as the words left your lips, you heard him clear his throat behind you, your eyes beaming in delight as he held your sister. The babe soundly sleeping on his shoulder, “Little Visenya,” You cooed. Your father placed a kiss on your temple that was adorned with your newly appointed tiara. Your heart warmed at how he still attended your coronation, even though the debacle of the crown had left him entirely enraged, and the kingdom had begun to speculate that he and your mother had separated; of course, all of those were just mere rumors. The birth of your sister only solidifies your parents’ union. 

“I placed them by the fireplace in your chambers, as you had requested,” Your father whispered to you in ancient tongue as he placed your sister in your arms, and you smiled at him with gratitude. “Thank you,” you say lowly and patted the back of your sister, who began to stir in your hold, giggling softly as she buried her face in your neck, her silver hair tickling your skin. You took a moment to catch up with your siblings, grateful to the gods that the change in succession did not alter your relationships with them, especially your bond with Jacaerys. You returned to your seat next to your husband, whose gaze had never left yours, your sister still in your arms and slowly waking, her violet eyes planted on Aemond as they peeled open, but Aemond’s lilac eye was entranced upon you, who presented him with such a sight that made his heart grow warm. 

“I believe she wants to go to her king,” You say as Visenya reaches for your husband, her little babbles reaching your ears as her eyes were completely entranced on Aemond. Your husband swallowed thickly as you placed Visenya in his arms, him tensing as your sister was placed in his hold. “She likes you… one of my siblings likes you!” You beamed as Visenya started to giggle in your husband’s hold. Aemond shifted his head as the babe in his arms tried to take hold of his eye patch. You laughed quietly and reached for Visenya’s arm that was reaching for Aemond’s eye patch and placed on kiss on her little hand that smelt of talc and milk. 

“She quite reminds me of you when we were children,” Aemond hummed, his gaze shifting between you and the babe. “Why? Because of her adorableness?” You hummed, brushing away the stray hair from Visenya’s face. “No, because she’s already covered in frills and precious gems. A spoiled little princess just like her sister was.” He said, noting the bracelet of gold and opal around her pudgy arm and the fine silk and lace of her clothes. You narrowed your eyes at your husband, flashing him with pretend annoyance that made him let out a laugh, catching the attention of your guests as he never displayed such glee so openly before. 

Just like always, with any feast attended, you and your husband were the first to retire for the night. Aemond sighed longingly as you placed a chaste kiss on his lips before you disappeared into the adjacent room to disrobe. “I have a surprise for you,” Aemond heard you utter as he, too, removed the armor he wore. “Really?” He asked in amusement, “Yes,” You answered and returned to the main chamber in just your shift. Aemond raised his brow as he followed you to where you stood behind the fire. The light illuminated behind you and caused him to see through your shift, his needs for you presenting themselves greatly. 

You turned to the fireplace and saw the box your father had left, bending down to take hold of it and present it to Aemond. “What is it?” Aemond asked as you stood before him with a rather large box in your hands. “You open gifts to find out what they contain, my prince. Has the late hour turned you simple?” You teased, watching as your husband rolled his eyes. He shook his head as he took off the cover of the box, a frown adorning his handsome face as he saw what you had presented him with. “Dragon eggs? What f—“ You giggled as Aemond’s face fell into shock, his mouth hanging wide in realization of what your surprise was. 

“You’re… are you…” Aemond could not form words properly as he was enveloped with surprise. “You’re with child…” he said in amazement as he regained his composure. “You’re with child; you’re carrying our child,” he said once more, eyes wide and delighted. “I am,” you confirmed with a wide smile. Aemond could only move to kiss you as his mind was still discombobulated with the most joyous news. “There are two eggs… why are there two eggs?” Aemond questioned as your lips parted, his eye flying downwards to the box you still held that he then took and set down on a nearby table. You bit your lip as Aemond ran his fingers through the scaled shell of the dragon egg. 

“I might be wrong… but I just feel as if  I am carrying two babes,” you say lowly, fearing Aemond would find your statement ridiculous. He did not; his smile only grew as he pulled you towards him and kissed you once more. “You’re carry my children,” Aemond stated fondly, joining you in your suspicion that two lives grow in you. “I am,” You confirmed once more and felt him lay his hand flat on your abdomen; you gazed down as your husband kneeled before you, laughing as he enthusiastically placed his ear on your stomach that will be soon swollen with your children. 

“Thank you, my light,” Aemond said tenderly against your abdomen. You cupped his cheek and bent down to kiss him. “I love you,” you said against his lips with a smile. “You will make the most wonderful father,” You added, and Aemond rose to his feet with a handsome smile on his lips, but that smile of glee turned to mischief, and your eyes widened as your husband placed his hands on your behind, squeezing the plump flesh. You melted in his arms as his lips met yours in a passionate kiss, your king leading you to your marital bed and laying you upon it gently as his lips kissed your neck. Aemond was conscious of not placing any of his weight upon you, but you missed the feel of his body against yours, pulling him closer to you, even going as far as wrapping your legs around his waist to feel him closer. 

“I will crush you and the babes,” Aemond laughed as you whined at the gap between your bodies. You grumbled as you tried to pull him closer to you, but he was insistent on not placing any of his weight upon your body, especially your abdomen. “Aemond,” You whined, wanting to feel him against you. Aemond shook his head with a wide smile on his lips, a devilish thought presenting itself. Aemond tried to move himself atop you, but you circled your arms around his neck and tried to keep him in place. Aemond let out a laugh once more and moved to carry you, him switching your positions, him the one to lay on the bed, and you were atop him. 

You stifled your moans as Aemond was underneath you, your core perfectly aligned with his throbbing length, and his hands cupped and played with your mounds. You let out a loud moan as Aemond pinched the buds of your breasts, smirking to himself as your heavenly moans echoed through the room. 

“Such a beauty you are, my queen,” Aemond hummed as the dim candlelight illuminated your face. You ground your hips against Aemond’s trousered length, desperate to feel pleasure. “Aemond… please,” You moaned as you still feel him place most of his attention on your tits. “Say what you want, my wife… tell me what you need, and you shall have it,” Aemond hummed as he thrust his hips upwards, watching as your lips turned into an ‘o’. “You, I want you. I need you, please, Aemond,” You said desperately, content as you felt Aemond hastily undo the laces of his trousers, feeling his length against your skin. 

You breathed heavily as you slowly sank down on his length, Aemond watching you with great awe. You looked down on your husband through hooded eyes, and you reached forward to take off his eye patch, wanting to see him fully. Aemond hissed in pleasure as the head of his cock brushed over the spot that made your head tilt back, your eyes roll in pleasure, and your moans turn louder. Aemond placed his hands at either side of your hips and felt your cunt clench around him painfully, a sensation he knew all too well and one that meant you reached your peak. “So quickly?” He breathed out in awe, your back arched as you try to regain your thoughts as you were quick to come undone by just sinking on Aemond’s cock. 

The thought you tried to take hold of slipped out of your mind once more as Aemond trusted in and out of you at a slow, tantalizing pace. His hold on your hips was tight and quite possibly bruising, but you preferred it that way. You loved it when your husband left his mark upon your body. “Aemond… faster, please, my love,” You pleaded, and Aemond was quick to oblige your request, slipping in and out of you at a faster pace that made you come undone quickly once more. Aemond continued to watch in awe as you bounced atop him. You leaned down and met your lips with Aemond as you feel his cock twitch inside you and his thrust growing sloppy. You caressed the risen skin of his scar as you kissed him and as he fucked you, only parting your lips as Aemond was taken by his release and moaned your name as he came undone. 

“I love it when you moan my name when you come,” You say with a grin and place small kisses on his neck and chest. Aemond hummed and tangled his fingers in your hair as you lay on his chest, him still inside you. “Do you wish to hear it again, little light?” Aemond hummed, making you let out a laugh before quickly nodding. 

Aemond sighed in contentment as his gaze was planted downward. In his arms was your son, sleeping soundly as he clutched a dragon egg. Aemond gently ran his hands through the small head of your child, Prince Aemon Targaryen. He had his father’s hair and his mother’s eyes, a warm, almost golden brown that had the capability of entrancing Aemond. He placed a chaste kiss upon his son’s head as he walked through the keep, barely paying attention to his subjects who greeted and bowed before him as all his attentions were on your son who will soon celebrate his first name day. 

Aemond reached his intended place, the great hall where all were bussed with yet another celebration. “My light, I have warned you time and time again, you must rest,” Aemond chastised as his arm wrapped themselves around your waist. His palm resting upon your swollen belly for you were in the middle stages of your third pregnancy. “I am not tired. And besides, the celebrations are set for tomorrow, and the preparations are still halfway made!” You said frantic, looking around the barely dressed up hall. “Where are the twins?” You asked as you looked around for your children. 

You looked towards Aemond, and in the silence, you both hear quiet giggling to your right. You and your husband made quiet steps toward a long table and noted the giggles grew louder. Aemond handed to you your son, Aemon, as he bent down and lifted the cloth cover of the table to reveal the twins, your elder son, Daemion, who you named after your father, and your daughter Elaena, named after your husband’s sister. You smiled widely as their laughter rang loudly when Aemond scooped them in his arms and lifted them off the ground, peppering them with kisses, your husband no longer that conscious in showing his affection out in public ever since your first pregnancy four years ago. 

“Did you get my sister’s dragon egg, Father? Can I see it?” Elaena asked, peering at Aemond, her lavender eyes widening in plea, and you walked closer towards them and brushed away a lock of her hair that resembled yours from her face. “Of course, you can, my love,” Aemond said, and he turned your twins towards their younger brother, who clutched the egg whilst he slept. “The baby inside mother’s belly is not a girl! It is a boy!” Daemion then declared, his violet eyes in a furrow as he disagreed with his sister. “No! It is a girl! Mother told me herself! Right Mother?” Elaena turned to you for confirmation, and you watched as Daemion was on the verge of a fit. 

Aemond watched with great love in his eyes as the scene unfolded. “I believe what I said was I only feel that it is a girl. We will not be certain until the babe is born, my sweet,” You said and watched as Elaena puffed, “I want a sister!” She whined, crossing her arms and frowning. Aemond chuckled as your daughter was an exact copy of you in childhood. “And you shall have one. Even if the babe in your mother’s belly is a boy, we will shall not cease until we give you the sister you wish for.” Aemond spoke and kissed the cherubic cheek of his daughter, who was on the verge of tears, the little princess unaccustomed to not getting what she wanted. 

“And you accuse me of spoiling our children,” You shook your head with a laugh as Aemond set the twins down, who readily ran around the hall once more. You beamed at your husband and fixed the askew crown atop his head, his arms once again circling your frame, and his head moved to kiss your lips. “Do you truly believe it to be a girl?” Aemond whispered as you two parted, him readily believing your intuition about the child you carry because he had come to learn it was impeccable. “I do. And I’ve already had a name for her,” You said, and Aemond raised his brow. “Hm… and do tell me about this name you had not asked my thoughts upon,” He said, and you smiled widely. “Eraena.” You said, and your husband hummed, pondering over the name for a moment. “Is that truly the name you wish?” Aemond asked, and you nodded. “Then Eraena it is,” He agreed and kissed your lips, the great love and joy in his heart that was emptied just years before translated in his kiss. 

Here's the fan art sent! (CTTO)

[adragonprinceswhore]

Perhaps my biggest beef with HotD is that it actually fails to depict misogyny. The story is not exploring patriarchal structures, it’s continuously reinforcing a dated, essentialist view of gender politics where women are essentially good.

You know what actually explores patriarchal structures? Alicent scheming to put her son on the throne because she knows that his mere existence is a threat to Rhaenyra’s claim since he is a son. The Dance is a direct consequence of how patriarchal societies disregard women and always put men first, that’s why Rhaenyra has to fight so hard for the throne, and that’s why Alicent fears for her sons (and grandsons) lives.

The issue with Westeros is not that “men are in charge and they’re essentially bad”. That’s a shallow understanding of how a patriarchal system works. The issue is that misogyny is ingrained in the foundation of the society.

If Rhaenyra ruled, the realm could never know peace because her reign would constantly be questioned, no matter what daddy said. And as long as Aegon lives, people would call for him to be king, making him enemy no. 1 whether he wants the crown or not.

The writers of HotD seem to think that misogyny is a choice in Westeros. It is not.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Lookalike (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Inside the highest tower of the Red Keep, lives a girl with long silver hair...

Warnings: Oh man. What a trip. Rapunzel, innocence kink, daddy issues, cursing, mature language. Light groping, kissing. Daemon, and all his usual warnings. Manipulation. I tried to make it whimsical. You know, a fairy tale.

Requested: Yup. For the bingo. Daemon + retelling of another story. Posted it early because I couldn't sleep last night so I stayed up finishing this.

Once upon a time, in a far away land called Westeros, lived a King and a Queen. The Queen was a beautiful woman, with hair made of spun silver and gold.

The King and the Queen had a daughter, a bright girl called Rhaenyra. They loved her deeply, but as many powerful men behind him, the King could not help but wish for a son.

When the Queen had carried Rhaenyra, her pregnancy had been harsh. She had struggled to fall with child, and when she had, she had been sick the whole time. The Queen was not too sure if she could withstand another pregnancy.

“My love, I need my heir.” The King said to her. “You must help me and try again.”

“But husband, you know we cannot. The Maester said pregnancies were too rough on me."

“If I can't have my heir, I fear I will lose my throne!”

So the Queen decided to try again. Soon, she was with child. Yet, the Queen could feel something was different, this time. She got twice as large as she was when she was carrying Rhaenyra, her body ached even more. Only the hottest baths could soothe her abundant pains.

“This pregnancy is not normal, not normal at all.” Said the Maester, when examining the Queen. “I fear the delivery will be hard.”

And hard it was. For there was not one baby but two. A girl and a boy, a moon and a sun. The parents only found out when the Queen was unable to deliver the baby, and the King, believing it to be his precious heir, ordered the Maester to cut her open.

Wailing into the world they came, shrieks so loud they rose half the Red Keep. Every bell in the city was toiling for them. The King named his heir Baelon. The girl, the little moon, was forgotten. That was you.

Too young to know it then, your first hours were spent in your sister's arms, both of you forgotten in favor of the new heir. But it was barely hours at all when your little brother passed away.

At the funeral, the King was the picture of despair. His Queen was dead by his hand, his heir lasted no longer than a day. Now a father to a baby girl he didn’t know how to care for, and an unruly maiden.

Perhaps, sensing his despair and hoping to offer some words of comfort, and Arryn cousin took you from him and gasped:

“By the Sevens! If she is the very image of Aemma as a babe.” No one took in consideration that this Arryn cousin was not, in fact, older than the Queen.

“Is she?” The King asked, on the verge of tears. Your father could not stop remembering your mother’s face, as the Maester aided your entrance into the world. Her cries haunted him even in his sleep. He was turning into a decaying corpse, from inside out, guilt rotting him alive. “Rhaenyra, come here.”

“Father?”

“Does she look like your mother?”

Your sister squinted at you. You yawned, a toothless, sweet thing. Rhaenyra wasn't very knowledgeable about babes, but she liked you. You had grabbed into her finger the first time you had seen her, tiny fingers turning into the most adorable rings.

“She has her beauty.” She answered, politely. The King hummed, an idea sparkling into his head. Soon, the highest tower in the Red Keep was being repurposed, and the Hand relocated.

Nine and ten years later, that brings us to you, in a continent named Westeros. Inside it, Seven Kingdoms. Inside them, a city called King's Landing. Inside the city is a castle. In the castle, a tower. In the tower is a room. In the room, a girl. You.

You stared at your reflection, squaring your shoulders. You gave yourself a big smile.

“Father, I want to try claiming a dragon.” You repeated to the mirror, before shaking your head. “No, no. Too disrespectful. Lord Father, I was wondering if I could go and try to claim a dragon?”

The reflection did not answer. You frowned. You didn't like groveling, but you weren't too sure of what else you could do. Perhaps, sending him a note would be better.

As the youngest sister of the heir to the Iron Throne, you had led a sheltered life. Even more so, as the spitting image of his late wife, according to your father. When looked in the right light, your eyes were the same shade hers had been. And the way you spoke did resemble the short, clipped speech of the Vale.

No one dared question those things, even though your accent had been ensured by your father by providing you with tutors only from that region. The King was very protective of you, set on expiating his guilt over the death of your mother by ensuring your safety.

All of your care had been provided by him after her death. Viserys knew nothing about child-rearing, but refused to let any servant touch you beyond the wet nurse. You grew into a child, and your father didn't even know how to cut your long, silver hair.

Years passed, and soon you learned to take care of yourself. Used to long hair as you were, you never thought about cutting it. Instead, your mind was preoccupied with more urgent matters. For example, how could you get out of the Red Keep.

Sometimes, your father's protection turned overbearing. Unlike your older sister, you were not allowed to leave the castle. Nor had you been allowed to partake in the activities other young ladies did. The only way you had managed to know the world around you had been through your books and observations.

Your rooms were in the tallest tower in the Red Keep, ensuring you would be kept safe from intruders and even invaders, if such a thing ever came to pass. You had double the guards Rhaenyra and Viserys did. Instead of providing his new Queen with a sworn shield, he had chosen to devote all the Kingsguard to you.

While you knew your tower had been used for other things before, it had clearly been refurnished. Now, it worked as a castle of its own, inside which you had a tiny kitchen, bathing quarters, rooms, and a library. The idea was that you would never need anything outside it. A tiny universe, just for you. You had plenty of space for your books and trinkets, but it made for a lonely existence.

Each time there were unknown men roaming the Keep, you got sent back to your tower. Your father didn't like the idea of you being married off or corrupted by them. You were too precious, too good. He had said that when the day came, he would find you a good match. One that, you suspected, would keep you close to home. Perhaps Aegon, or one of your cousins in the Vale.

If you married at all, of course. Your father had gone through a phase of encouraging your faith in the Seven, in the hopes of you deciding to be a Septa. If you did, the King would be most pleased, for it would mean you would never suffer the same fate as your mother.

You wanted neither. What you wanted more than anything was to see the world, do the things Rhaenyra told you happened outside the Red Keep. And according to you, it would all get started if you got your own dragon.

With a dragon, you would be protected. Your father always used your lack of one as an argument for denying you the experiences ladies your age had. Your egg had not hatched, but if you claimed one, you would surely be allowed to leave.

Unfortunately, what was required to be able to bond with a dragon had been deemed too dangerous for you. King Viserys had banned you from the dragon pit, arguing that dragons could be unpredictable.

Today, you had been sent back to your tower due to an impromptu visit from your Uncle Daemon. You knew the man by reputation only, by how much he angered your father. If there was one person who you were prohibited from speaking to, it was him.

You had heard the rumors, of course. A few years back, after your mother's passing, he had taken Rhaenyra to a pleasure house. Whatever had happened inside was between her and him. To your father, though, it was enough to keep you away from him.

Smile. Square your shoulders. Try again to assert yourself. You eyed your reflection once again, wondering how you could convince the King to let you try to get a dragon. Outside, something scraped against a rock, again and again. Curious, you went to the window.

On the very base of your tower, there was a man hopelessly attempting to climb upwards. He was very dashing, sporting the same silver hair you did, only much shorter.

“Who are you?” You asked, slightly frightened. In truth, you were not used to strangers being so close to you. Your father always said men were dangerous, and that outside the Red Keep there were aberrant creatures, mean and ruthless, that hurt young maidens for their enjoyment. “Step away from my tower, or I shall call my guards!”

The man ignored you, choosing instead to stab a sword between the rocks that made up your tower. You screamed, alarmed.

“Stop that! That's not allowed, you are damaging my tower.”

The man ignored you, trying to use his sword to climb. He grunted in exertion. You ran towards your chambers and filled a jar with water. Then, you ran back to your window and dumped it on his head.

The man shrieked and fell down the few meters he had managed to progress. You laughed, startled.

“Aren't you a fearsome thing?” He muttered to himself. Then, he looked up at you, with the most purple eyes you had ever seen. “Please, Princess. Help me out.”

“Why should I? You are an intruder.” You glared down at him, not even entertaining the notion, but deciding to play along regardless. In truth, you were curious about him. And starved for companionship.

“I am being chased.” He screamed up at you, frantically looking behind him. “Please, help me.”

You leaned down towards your window, bracing your arms on the edge of it.

“Bad business, that.” Your voice was cheery and woefully uninterested. This was the most exciting that had happened to you in years, you were not about to stop it. But at the same time, you did remember all of your father's warnings. There were people out there that were not kind.

“Damn it, you are just like Aemma. Pair of cynics.” He cursed, and started to try to retrieve his sword. Your eyebrows raised.

“You knew my mother?”

The man looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand. He squinted at you. His bone structure reminded you of someone.

“I did.”

Your mother. A cynic. You smiled. No one had ever told you about her, not beyond all those polite things everyone said about the dead. How kind she was, how beautiful and learned. It did nothing to make you feel closer to her, these empty platitudes. They were generic, they could be talking about any woman.

Your father never went beyond that, either. The Aemma he talked about was an idolized version of her, a woman frozen into a perfect state of likeness to the Mother. He didn't allow anyone to contradict him, not even Rhaenyra. When you were younger, she had told you your mother had been hesitant about having another pregnancy, and struggling to carry another baby to term. Your father had banned her from visiting you during the next six moons.

But this stranger was speaking of her as if he knew her well. Your heart ached to know more about your mother, know the real her. It was enough to help you make your choice. You gathered your hair and threw it down the window.

“Come up then.” You ordered.

The man looked at the mass of hair in bewilderment. He touched a strand of it, fascinated by the way it picked up the light. He did not move.

“Use it as rope. You won't hurt me.” Were all men so dumb? Surely, if this one was so slow, he could not be a threat.

“Of course. Magic hair. Fucking Viserys.” The man started to climb. He got quickly inside, panting with exertion.

“You know my father, too?” Your body tensed. This, you did not like. What if he was one of the men that were supposed to visit the castle today? One of those who corrupted and hurt young maidens?

Your heart started to beat harder and harder. You tried to convince yourself he might not be a bad man. Perhaps, he had met the King through your mother. Regardless, you turned away from him, keeping your voice and posture deceivingly calm.

“Would you like some water?” You did not wait for an answer, starting to move towards the kitchen. You reached into a cabinet, as if searching for a cup.

The man followed. You could hear his footsteps on the stone floor.

“I do know your father.” His voice was strange. As if he were realizing he was making a mistake but couldn't pinpoint why. Uninterested, you took out a cup. “He is a great King.” He added, hurriedly. Just in time for you to grab a pan, turn and smack it against his head as hard as you could.

The man dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. You hiked up your skirts and rushed to his side. Kneeling by him, you took a closer look at his sword and grinned. You had seen it before. In your books. That was Dark Sister, Visenya's sword.

You had caught Daemon Targaryen. What better proof to show your father that you were not helpless? You tied him to a chair and gagged him for good measure. Then, you pushed him inside your bathing quarters. Only then did you call for a guard.

“Could you summon my father? I need him.” The guard bowed, but didn't speak. Most of them didn't. Your father said they weren't allowed to.

Despite not receiving an answer, you knew your father would be here soon. He always came when you called. You placed a kettle in the fire. Before it could boil, King Viserys was already there.

“Dear.” The King kissed your forehead. You tried not to wrinkle your nose at the smell of herbs and milk of the poppy. Your father always smelled like a medicine cabinet. “As beautiful as your mother, like always.”

You smiled.

“Father. Tea is not ready yet, but sit.” You pointed to your small parlor. When you were a child, the two of you had used to pretend you were a great lady, hosting tea parties there. It had been how he had taught you courtly manners.

The memory was bittersweet. Your father was good to you. He had raised you as best as he could, loving you more fiercely than any of his other children. It was not your intention to upset him, but you knew this topic would do exactly that.

“Were you lonely, my heart?” The King settled on one of the loveseats. You sat across from him.

“I did miss you.” You gave him a coy little look. “But I asked you to come for something else.”

“Do tell.”

“Father. I think I am ready to claim a dragon.” You rushed to say, almost tripping over your words. Already, you could see how his expression was clouding over, a storm raging behind his eyes.

“You know you are not.” The King answered, sternly. “It's too dangerous.”

“I can handle myself.” You fought for your tone to remain even. If it came out too angered, your father would say you were hysteric or having a tantrum, and refuse to take you seriously. So was the curse of being a woman.

“My heart, you have never stepped out of this tower.”

And you had not. But what did dragons care about one's knowledge of the world? You had read about dragons bonding with babes, sharing their cradle with them. To claim one, being well traveled or wise was not required. One had to be chosen, that was all.

You raised your hands in the air, palms up, as if placating a beast.

“I don't want you to get upset, Father. I wanted to prove to you that I am capable, too.” You got up and opened the door to your bathing quarters. “Do not be scared.”

The bound Daemon was still gagged, inside the tub. This time, though, he was awake. Upon seeing his brother, he immediately started screeching and squirming, making up a ruckus.

“Shh.” You said to him, kicking the tub a little. He was turning out to be a very annoying guest. “As you can see, Father, I caught him.”

“And you put him in the tub.” The King said, perplexed.

“He was dripping water all over my floors.” But your explanations fall on deaf ears, since your father has already moved on from his shock. He grabbed Daemon's shirt, forcing him to sit upright.

“Haven't I told you this tower is out of limits?” The King barked at him. “I will throw you into the deepest, more dark and humid dungeon I can find, and then I will…”

“Father.” You did not like being ignored. Daemon was a secondary concern, you just wanted to know if you were allowed out now.

Yet, your father seems to think the issue was an entirely different thing.

“Oh. Sorry, dear. What father meant is that Uncle Daemon has been very bad.” He gave him a shake for good measure.

“I can tell.” Your tone was flat. “Have I proven myself enough to be allowed to try to claim a dragon?”

The King let go of Daemon. He turned towards you and tenderly started checking you over for injuries.

“I would die if something happened to you.” He answered, evasive. You didn't need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. It was too dangerous. It was a no.

Five more long days went by. Poor you, having to stay all day in your tower. After Daemon, your father had now deemed it too dangerous to allow you to roam the Red Keep. It was the tower and nothing more. All you could do was sing Old Valyrian songs and look out the windows. Sometimes, birds would chirp from above, and you would feel slightly better, as if they were singing with you.

Perhaps it had been your song, what had led him to you. Perhaps it had been his own guilty consciousness for a sin long forgotten, or a sliver of empathy for the lonely girl in the tower up above. Whatever it was, before the sixth day came to an end, Daemon appeared under your window.

“Princess, Princess, let your hair down.” You heard him say. You walked to your window, curiously. Daemon was back!

“Come down if you want to be free.” The Prince ordered. “I do not have much time.”

His words stilled you. Freedom. Your father often said freedom was a dangerous thing. If you let people make their own choices, it was much more likely that they would choose unwisely. That was why you were kept in the tower, safe from the world and bad decisions. As long as King Viserys controlled your life, you would be protected.

But what if you left? What if you ran, jumped out of your tower and made your way to Dragonstone to get your dragon? You imagined a version of yourself, dress fluttering in the wind like a flag as you ran, barefooted in the sand. You imagined yourself feeling the sun in your face, having your first cup of mead or watching a parade.

Then you imagined yourself tripping and falling into the sea. You didn't know how to swim. No one saw the need to teach you such a thing. You imagined yourself at the parade, getting robbed. You imagined a man, trying to hurt you. What if people out there, what if Daemon, were truly as wretched as your father said they were?

Your face must have shown your distress because Daemon, impatient, shouted something more.

“I won't hurt you.” The Prince raised his hands in surrender. “I will not tell you I am a good man, but I will take you to Dragonstone.”

His honesty was what sealed the deal. You threw your hair down, grabbed one of your warmest cloaks, and shouted for him to loop your hair around a branch and not let go.

Daemon obeyed. You jumped, and as your feet hit the floor, you wished to be able to say you didn't look back. But you did. And as you saw the silhouette of your tower getting smaller and smaller in the distance, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness deep in your chest.

Noticing how quiet you have gotten, Daemon adjusts your cloak and gives you a grin.

“Do you want to ride Caraxes?” He asks. You match his grin, sadness nearly forgotten. There is a whole world out here, begging to be explored. You can be sad later when the adventure ends.

Caraxes is the most bewitching creature you have ever seen. He is red and serpentine, looking so much like the drawings of dragons you used to do as a child. You nearly scream in excitement.

Daemon whispers to him to stay calm, but Caraxes seems to sense your happiness, for he keeps trying to correspond your loving pets.

“Oh, by the Seven Hells.” The Prince pushes you towards the saddle. “If neither of you stop the tail wagging, we are going to get caught.”

“And we don't want that.” You agree, kissing Caraxes' scales one last time.

Caraxes gives another excited, full-body wag. He seems to be preening under the attention. Daemon must not praise him very much, which is a shame.

“You are such a good boy. So pretty, too.”

Caraxes preens even more. It makes his body shake, tail hitting against the floor in an ominous beat. Daemon groans.

“Enough, enough.” The Prince grabs you by the waist and gets you up in the saddle. You shriek in laughter. Caraxes appears to be happy about it, too, since he starts spreading his wings. “We are going to get caught.”

Daemon jumps into the saddle, hugging you tightly to him. You squirm, unused to the closeness of another human being. When your father and Rhaenyra touch you, it's never like this.

Daemon feels overwhelming, in the best kind of way. His chest is firm, and his smell surrounds you. His arms around your waist hold you tight, but remain loose enough to not hurt you. Your hips fit snugly against his, and make something you can't yet name stir in your lower belly.

It's different. It's strange. You want it to stop. Why do you feel so nervous, as if Caraxes was suddenly dropping down and not barely getting ready to fly?

“Soves, Caraxes.” Daemon orders, careful not to scream in your ear. “Are you alright, little Princess?”

You cease your squirming, hoping that he doesn't notice whatever is different with you.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“You keep squirming as if there were ants inside your bodice. Are you uncomfortable?” The Prince snickers by your ear, pressing a soft kiss right by the top of it. What happens next is impossible to hide. Your body gives a shiver, all of your hairs standing up. The sensation is as confusing as it is pleasant.

“My stomach feels funny.” You complain, knowing that it isn't exactly that, but close enough that he probably won't question it.

“Funny how?” Daemon kisses behind your ear. You make a hurt, confused noise. You have been kissed before, but never there. In your experience, kisses are not this devastating.

“Funny.” You refuse to elaborate because while naive, you are not dumb. This must be precisely why your father wanted you away from men. If they were able to inflict so much pleasure, it was no wonder why maidens let them do whatever they wanted to them.

“Does it hurt, little Princess?” One of his palms goes to your lower stomach, pressing slightly. “Here?”

You squirm. So he definitely knows.

“Yes.”

“Hurts? Or…?” Daemon's hand goes dangerously low, nearly pressing between the parting of your legs. You squirm more. He brushes something that makes you jolt, delighted.

“We shouldn't.” You answer. It would be much more convincing if you were not relaxing into him. He laughs right in your ear, but retracts his hand.

Even with his hands away from your most sensitive areas, you still feel worked up. Your bodice is too rough against your skin, the way Caraxes moves under both of you makes the area between your legs tingle.

You keep your eyes firmly on the sky in front of you. As it starts to change into pinks and yellows, the feeling ebbs and starts to fade. You feel sleepy, so you recline more against Daemon. A tiny yawn escapes you.

“Tired?” Daemon brushes your hair back, much more tenderly than your father would. With your father, the touch is always harsher, more possessive. As if he is always grasping to the last threads of Aemma he can hold. With Daemon, it feels like he is actually touching you.

You hum, soft and sweet.

“Sleep, little one.” He kisses your cheek. “I'll wake you up when we get there.”

The next time you wake up, it is in an unknown bedroom. At first, you panic. The canopy over the bed looks too similar to the one in your tower, and you wonder if perhaps you dreamed it all. Daemon, Caraxes, the flight, your feelings. Then, you get even more scared because the more you look, the more you realize this is not your room.

You get out of bed. You are still dressed in the same dress you were wearing earlier, but your shoes are gone. The door is closed. Fear grips at you. What if Daemon has sold you to someone evil and rotten, as your father says people outside the Red Keep are? What if he is the evil man?

You rush to the door. It opens easily. There is a hallway that looks much like the ones in the Red Keep, but there is no one there. You scream in fear.

Another of the doors opens in the hallway. Daemon, in a sleeping shirt and breeches, runs out.

“Princess!” He hurries to your side. You are crying, you realize, as he wipes away some of your tears. “What is it?”

“I woke up alone, and I didn't recognize…” You sob, softly.

“Oh, little girl.” Daemon scoops you in his arms. “I should have thought of that. I am so sorry.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you look at him, eyes swollen from your crying.

The world had impressed you during the day, but now that the night had fallen, and you found yourself in an unknown castle, you were afraid. What if there were monsters lurking in the hallways? Or if you needed something? What if someone hurt you?

“I do not want to go back there. I am scared.” You rubbed your eyes. Your hands dug into his arm, not wanting to let go of him.

“Do you wish me to keep you company while you fall back asleep?” Daemon asked, gently smoothing your hair down. You must look a mess, and would find it embarrassing were it not for the fact that being alone in such a big place terrifies you. At this point, you would do anything to keep him here.

“Please.” No more words are needed. Daemon doesn't want you to beg, nor does he want anything in exchange. It's comforting.

One of his hands goes to your shoulder blades, leading you back to the room. Daemon tucks you in and sits by your side.

“I'll stay until you fall asleep.” He says, smoothing down your frown with the gentlest touch. Daemon starts to hum in High Valyrian, softly. You know the melody. It's about flames and burning together. Almost against your will, your eyelids start to drop.

“Don't… Don't want you to go.” Your body feels so heavy, as if sinking into the mattress. With great effort, you manage to curl your fingers around one of his.

“Oh, Princess.” He says, interlacing your hands.

“Stay.” You order.

Daemon lets go of your hand, and you whine, awake instantly. You go to sit up, but he shushes you.

“Shh. I am just… Let me.” He slides under the covers, behind you. You close your eyes, trying to relax against him. It's no hardship at all. Now that the candles have been blown, the light is low and Daemon feels so warm against you.

He starts to trace your features. Finger meets brow, temple, cheek. Thumb brushes nose, then lips. Idly, so very idly, his voice mutters near your ear.

“How many mouths has yours kissed?”

The question startles you. You suppose there is no harm in telling him, yet there is a tinge of embarrassment over it, too. It has finally dawned on you what this new, uncomfortable, thrilling feeling is. Desire. You lust after Daemon.

“I have…” You answer, softly. You do not dare speak it out loud. Not when you rather know exactly how far the two of you are. “How about you?”

“I have lost count. Twenty, perhaps more so.” Daemon says it so casually, as if it did not matter at all. But to you, it does. What are you, compared to this man? How could you want him in such a manner, having so little to offer?

“What makes it special, then?” There has to be a reason for him to bother with kissing all these people. Perhaps, to him, all kisses feel as devastating as his does to you.

“The person, I would gather.” The Prince answers, softly rubbing your back as one would do to help a child fall asleep. You frown. It does make sense. You know what love is, after all. Being in love with someone, or at least desiring them, must make it special.

You would like to kiss him, you think. Daemon is handsome, and his touch does not feel as damning as other's do. He has already provided you with pleasure, even if unknowingly.

You make a wish, then. For your first kiss to be special, with someone you like and that knows what they are doing. If not Daemon, at least someone like that.

“Was your first special?” You ask, curious.

“No. She was terrible. Sharp teeth and all.” Daemon moves your hair aside, exposing your neck. You barely get any warning before he is taking a bite out of your nape. For a playful gesture, it's oddly painful. Your body tenses, and you try to fight it, but Daemon's hands are like a vice around your waist. “Like this.”

With no other choice, you ride it out. Pain is nearly unfamiliar to you, beyond small cuts or painful cycles. It's scorching red and hot, making you break into a sweat. Daemon forces you to take, and take, gently holding your hands in his. It's only after that you go limp under him, twitching slightly, that he lets up.

The aftermath of pain is sweet, you learn. Daemon kisses around the painful bite and blows a raspberry behind your ear. Now that he has let go of your nape, you find out that the pain was not so bad. You are not even bleeding.

“You are such a good girl.” Daemon praises. “So strong. I'm so proud of you.”

You preen as if you were Caraxes, delighted to make him feel proud of you. Daemon smiles against your temple, as if amused by you, and presses a little kiss there. It’s so tender, and so loving, a sharp contrast to his earlier behavior. It makes you feel as if you were once again on dragonback.

“Could you kiss me?” The words escape out of your mouth, without any real thinking. You know they are the wrong thing to say as soon as they leave your mouth.

Daemon pulls away from you. A hurt, confused noise leaves your throat, hands desperately searching back for his warmth.

“Oh, little Princess.” Daemon mutters, tone full of regrets. “I should not.”

“Why not?” You complain. You are not used to being denied so. The only times others do not bend to your will, you get what you want by your own means. Case in point, leaving your tower. Your father had said no, so you had ensured it happened by other means.

“I have done…. What I have done to you, why I took you…” Suddenly, it is as if an icy hand has taken hold of your throat and started to suffocate you. Betrayal settles over your features, overpowering it all.

“You are only doing this to piss off my father.” You say, shocked. Daemon raises his hands, trying to interrupt you, but you halt him with an imperious wave. “You had no intention of taking me to the dragons. You sought to ruin my reputation, as you did Rhaenyra's.”

“No, Princess, no.” Daemon shakes his head. You get up from the bed, angered. He does not try to stop you. “I swear I didn't mean for anything untoward to happen.”

“I bet you said that back then, too.” You retort. You have half a mind to do something crazy. To grab the fire poker and smash his head with it, to set the whole place on fire. You want to make him hurt.

“I… I did mean to anger your father.” Daemon admits, still trying to placate you. It only makes you wish to scream and scream and never stop. “But I do think it is a shame not to let you even try. Dragons are your birthright. Denying you is unnatural.”

You glare at him. You are unconvinced of the truthfulness of his words. Your father was right. You were unprepared for the world, and it couldn't show more. Daemon has tricked you as easily as if he were taking candy from a babe.

“I'll take you there regardless. I promised to.” His eyes are pleading, but you do not wish to hear him, or see him any longer. Instead, you sit in front of the vanity and look at yourself.

The long, silver hair. The scared eyes. The night, the first you have of freedom, is spent utterly cold and miserable. You stare at yourself and stare at yourself until you think you are going mad.

Daemon does not say a word. He doesn't leave the room, either. Perhaps he falls asleep at some point, perhaps he does not.

You look at your reflection again. You look at your hair. Silver, like his. The lovely color Daemon loves so much. Long, and braided back, flaunting your maidenhood and youth. Forever your father's little girl, never allowed to grow, to love, to lust.

A braid that long won't allow you to claim a dragon. You are more likely to set yourself on fire or trip on it. It's that thought that gives you the determination needed to do what needs to be done.

In the first drawer of the vanity there are a few miscellaneous ribbons. There is also a pair of scissors. You grab it, and grab your braid. You chop it off. As it falls from your shoulder, you feel a weight lift off from you. No longer your nape is heavy with the weight of all these expectations laying on you.

There is a woman staring at you, from the mirror. She looks like she is getting ready for war, eyes alight with determination. You stare at the contours of her face, mesmerized by what you see. All traces of Aemmas's ghost are gone from your reflection. You look more like yourself than you have ever done.

Daemon is up at sunrise. He may have been watching you chop all your hair off and expose the lovely bite mark that now mars the skin of your nape. He may have been sleeping. Whatever it is, he doesn't say a word about your change of appearance, choosing instead to dress in silence.

“Off we go.” He says, briskly, leading you out of the castle. Daemon points to a hill in the distance. “But after that, you are on your own.”

You are suddenly filled with doubt, the determination you had felt when looking in the mirror dissipating under the morning light. Your stomach clenches. Your legs are sore, unused to the exercise of riding. The bite on your neck burns.

"I do not feel ready to claim a dragon.” You say to him, as you get closer and closer to the hill. You feel like a fool. What if your father is right? What if you end this escapade with nothing to show but a ruined reputation?

“You are.” Daemon answers, barely paying attention. It makes you angry beyond belief. To make your mood known, you stomp over a few leaves, grinding them to dust under your heel. Ugh. Why were you looking to him for reassurance in the first place? It was not like Daemon wanted to help you. He just wanted to make himself feel less guilty over trying to cause a scandal and kill your father from the fright.

“I am not.” It’s almost as if you can hear the voice of your father in your head, telling you exactly why no dragon would bond with you. You are a fool, you are a little girl, you…

“You are a Targaryen.” Daemon interrupts your trail of thought with a squeeze to your nape. Right over the bite. It makes your knees nearly buckle. “You were born ready.”

“But what if it isn't enough? What if they see me, and don't want me? I am not brave, like Rhaenyra, or cunning like you or learned like my father. ”

“They will.” Daemon says. “Because you are strong here.” He taps your sternum. “And your father is a fool for not seeing it.”

You look at him. Past the guilt, past the acting up to get your father's attention. His eyes are nervous, but they hold the same steely determination yours had earlier. Daemon believes in you, you realize. You look up at the hill and think to yourself, it is time to see if you can claim a second dragon.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Accidental Targ

Scene II: he kinda looks like my ex boyfriend | Masterlist

Daemon Targaryen x Modern!Reader

Summary: After coming to terms with the fact you were in King's Landing some two thousand years before your birth, you get reunited with your friend and try to manifest your way back to the present. For the meantime, Harwin Strong is your bodyguard.

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: fem!reader, time travel au, descriptions of reader's hair, incestuous gremlin!daemon, generally gross!daemon, harwin 'big daddy' strong, crackfic, typos, etc.

A/N: Following the events of our mighty poll 😁😁😁😁 im excited to say what won was was always my intention and im glad you lovely readers have synced with me on it BWHWAHA sorrows sorrows prayers

"Fucking Seven," I sigh and gather my thick skirts, running up to the blue haired girl. The servant who escorted her promptly curtsies then walks away. I release the fabrics to grasp her face. I sigh in relief, "thank the gods you're here, Libby."

"What the fuck are you wearing?" she asks groggily, eyeing my dress.

I shake my head, "fuck, shit, I mean Lilibet."

"And how did you braid your hai-" Libby speaks the same time as me before freezing and raising a finger, "fuck you."

I growl and grab her hand, "no, no, no. Listen to me," I push her hand down, "you remember running through that damned arch?"

Libby wrangles out of my clutch and rather exasperatedly glares at me, "what?"

I release a shudder then grab her face again, "listen to me, Libby!" I sigh, "remember that stupid urban legend?"

Libby's face contorts as she groans. She pushes my hands off her à la 5-year-old tantrum; her blue hair, in turn, flies to her face.

"We crossed that arch," I grab her arms, "and now we're in fucking first century Westeros, Libby," I hiss, pulling her to the bed, "which is why I have to call you Lilibet-"

"Fuck you."

"-and you have to change and cover your hair," I release her to grab the clothing on the sheets, shoving them into her chest.

"What ABOUT my hair!"

I shake my head, "it's a dead giveaw-"

"You're closer to dead. You look like a fucking grandma and you have problems with my hair?!" Libby throws the clothes back on the bed, "listen, I know I got wasted and shit, and I'm sorry, but if you want me to cosplay as a peasant, just say that and get me coffee, please-"

"LIBBY!"

Libby's ear's ring, "bitch, the fu-"

"THERE IS NO COFFEE!" I grab her arms and shake her, "we're being held hostage by Daemon Targaryen and this hair," I manically point to my head, "is our fucking lifeline!"

Libby's face pinches, the initial grogginess in her expression is expelled, "Ok, calm your tits, YN-wannabe. I told you reading fics of him would fuck with your head. Imagine reading fics about King fucking Charles-"

"IT'S NOT THE SAME!"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S NOT THE SAME?! IT'S FUCKING WORS-"

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT, LIBBY!"

"HE'S THE COLONIZER OF COLONIZERS!"

"IT'S NOT A FANFIC!" I pinch my fingers together, "THIS IS NOT A FANFIC! I AM telling you we fucking crossed that arch and now we're FUCKING-"

My words cease when a creaking sound of the heavy door fills the room. The both of us turn to the door as it opens. My heart begin to race.

Lo and behold, Daemon Targaryen walks in, one hand on his hilt, eyes looking us both up and down. Libby shifts in her spot as Daemon approaches. Her demeanor immediately changes when she sees him. She straightens up and pushes her hair back, dusting off her hot pink top. Aint no way.

"Do I look good?" Libby mutters to me before Daemon is in front of us. My eyes blow wide and my jaw slacks. Be so fucking for real. She fixes her radioactive blue hair and my upper lip curls in disgust and annoyance.

Libby and Daemon lock gazes; the former smirks, "hey, cutie pie."

I slap my hand to my face. The sound reverberates in the room.

"What is a cutie pie?" Daemon asks stoically.

Libby leans on one leg, "you."

"Seven fucking hells," I quip, roughly dragging my palm down my skin.

Daemon turns to me before tilting his head. He mirrors Libby's stance and his lips faintly curve upward, "in this era, girl, pies are food. What would I have in common with a type of pie?"

Libby lets out an airy chuckle, "you ren fair boys really like roleplay, huh?"

Daemon raises a brow, "I assure you, nothing about me is boyish."

Libby bites her lip and claws the air, "rawr."

I am unable to mask the sound I make. Daemon pulls his head back at Libby's actions.

I grit my teeth and grab her arm; she shakes me off, making sure to giggle as she does this. Daemon chuckles as he turns to me, "I see why you are keen on keeping her."

"You can keep me if you like," she blurts, stepping in front of me to garner his attention. Daemon steps back.

I grab Libby's arm again. This time, with much force that the ends of my hair whip around. I whisper-yell, "you do know that is Daemon Targaryen, right?"

Libby barely turns to me as she mutters, "what?"

"You're flirting with the Daemon Targaryen," I sneer, "first of his name," I lean in and whisper, "manwhore."

Libby looks at me from over her shoulder to me then back to Daemon, "ahhhh. A cosplayer."

"Libby, I swear to g-"

"It's pretty good," she crosses her arms then points, "is that a wig or hair dye?"

Daemon furrows his brows, face contorting at her words.

My eyes widen and suddenly the silver hair on my scalp itches like it doesn't belong to me. Well, see-- it doesn't! Not in a way that counts to the incestuous gremlin!

From the way his composure tightens, I could tell he was no longer amused. I yank Libby back, shooting her a glare, "literally shut the fuck up."

She scowls at my pressed tone, "what? I was just asking-"

"Hair dye?" Daemon blurts way too loud, shutting us both up.

We turn to him as he looks between us. He tilts his head and adjusts his grip on his sword. He straightens his posture. In that moment, his expression was changed dramatically. He reaches out for Libby's hair, inspecting it in his hand. His violet eyes dart to hers, "so, your hair is blue because of dye?"

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck.

I grab Libby's hand before she can think of saying some bullshit. She does not move a muscle as I squeeze her palm.

Daemon raises his brows impatiently.

"What?" she mumbles.

I clench my jaw at her ditzy response.

Daemon narrows his eyes, "are you so dimwitted not to understand me the first time?

Fucking fuck. A shiver runs down my spine. Libby raises her brows and turns to me as I stare at Daemon. I blurt, "it is a right of passage for her family."

Daemon eyes me hotly.

I release Libby's hand and scramble to the bed where my clothes were folded into a small sack. I go through my things and pull out my phone, opening my gallery, showing Daemon a photo of Libby and our friends with bright colored hair. I lie, "these are her cousins."

Daemon pulls his head back at the sight of the photo on my phone; it was the exact reaction he had when I showed him a screenshot of the maps of this very place.

Libby blinks rapidly as Daemon comes to my side. The man basically breathes down my neck as he looks a the screen like a boomer. He narrows his eyes and pulls back his chin.

I point to Sandra, who had pink hair, "they do this to... commemorate the war-- of their people."

Daemon looks at Libby again, seemingly expecting more of an explanation. I look at Daemon and begin to panic at the aloof expression Libby held. I place my hand on his arm and rub it gently. Thankfully, he's still a simple man and it seems to diffuse his unbelieving demeanor, "it's hard for her to talk about. It was a war over dye and trading. A lot of her family... were casualties."

Fuck. WELL, real wars have been fought for WAAAY less.

Daemon turns to me, "I find it hard to believe such traditions exist two thousand years from now."

"And yet," I wave my phone, "you could not also believe you were listening to music with me moments ago."

He hums and turns back to Libby. He nods, "well, have her dress," he turns back to me, "I want to break fast with you before the tourney, dragonling."

I nod rapidly. Daemon gives a smile and heads for the door, "you remember your way to the solar?"

"I do."

He eyes Libby as he walks off then turns to me, "very good."

The moment the door closes, Libby explodes, "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!

"WE'RE IN FUCKING FIRST CENTURY WESTEROS," I whisper-yell, "now keep your voice down, you stupid fucking bitch, and change!"

It took me explaining everything that happened in detail as she got in her dress AND getting lost in the fucking castle then actually finding our way to the solar for Libby to believe I wasn't playing the most elaborate prank on her.

And when we got there, a servant informed us that the prince had been summoned by the king and that we should eat by ourselves.

Libby and I sit across each other. We decide to forfeit the fact the food could be poisoned because we were way too hungry not too eat. This blue haired rat, however, couldn't fucking stop saying the food could use salt and pepper. We were mortified when a servant came to us with a mortar of just that.

Before we could even say thank you, she runs off.

I snap at Libby, who scratches her headscarf for the nth time, "do you fucking understand you're a terrifying aristocrat right now?!"

"I'M SORRY!" Libby makes a repentant expression.

"You should be!"

"It's just that everything is fucking boiled and-"

The sound of the door opening ends Libby's yapping. We both snap to see who was entering.

In walks the dark haired man from the night before. Gold cloak, armor, and all. He steps in front of us and bows, "good morn."

"Hubba hubba," Libby tucks imaginary hair behind her ear.

"Fucking," I snap to her, "stop."

I look back at the man trying to remember his name, I can't seem to.

"Wait! Is this the madly good looking guard you were talking about?!" Libby speaks WAY to loud for a conversation between two people across each other.

The man makes a sound as he wipes his lips. My eyes widen and I sink in my chair.

"You clearly have a type," Libby mutters as she unabashedly eyes him. He is undeterred. She tilts her head, "he looks like your ex."

I snap back at her, "w h a t?"

"Or I mean he would look like him," she points her thumb, "if he wasn't so whiny, short, and pathetic," Libby turns to me.

"He literally looks nothing like Jon."

"He does!" she leans in, "dark curls, thick brows!"

I shove a bread roll into her mouth.

"Prince Daemon tasked me to be your chaperone for the day," he says, clutching his hand in front of him.

"I've always wanted a hot bodyguard," Libby smiles and leans back on her chair, "well, don't just stand there," she beckons him, "come join us for breakfast."

I pretend to fix my silver hair as I clear my throat, "breaking fast."

"Breaking fast," Libby corrects with a grin, "and what was your name again, pretty boy?"

I groan as I shove a bread roll into my mouth.

"Harwin Strong, my lady," Harwin mutters with another respectful nod, turning to me, "and please, forgive me for last night's encounter, Lady Gryffindor."

Libby titters and slaps her hand on her mouth.

"If I came off as impertinent or-"

"No, please, sir Strong," I raise a hand to him, "you were doing your job-- I mean your duty. Nothing needs to be forgiven."

"By the way," Libby raises a finger, "I'm Lady Hufflepuff and I would love it if you sat down next to me."

Harwin turns to Libby and I resist the urge to facepalm. My face twitches and I watch as Harwin shifts in his spot. I blurt, "you can call her Lilibet."

"Fuck you," Libby snaps.

I snap back, "well, that is your name, is it not?"

"I'm not entering my nun era."

I make a throaty sound and grab a goblet, "clearly," I take a sip, "but with that getup-"

"Hey!" Libby bangs on the table, "you're the one who made my cunt levels drop with this milkmaid outfit."

Harwin begins to cough.

"What? Like I chose that for you?"

"No," she props her elbow on the table, "but Daemon gave you a city girl-"

"Prince Daemon."

"-outfit and he made me look like your ugly handmaiden."

"Again," I brush my platinum hair out of my face, "that wasn't my choice, Lilibet."

"My ladies-" Harwin interjects, making us both turn to him. He clears his throat and offers pinched smile, "I am honored by the invitation, but I will stand watch out-"

"Oh, don't be rude and just sit down already," Libby presses with a playful look, "there's way more food than the two of us can eat."

And though she was correct, I kick her underneath the table.

Libby yelps and eyes me. I dodge her when she kicks me back.

"I don't think it appropri-"

"Nonsense!" Libby calls, turning back to Harwin as she fails to kick me again, "please, just join us."

"LILIBET!" I whisper-yell.

"UGH!" she turns to me with disgust and whisper-yells back, "stop fucking calling-"

"You do know he could literally be like your great-great-great-great-"

She raises a hand and cuts me off with a guttural groan, "oh miss me with that bullshit! You're LITERALLY a Targaryen!"

"I will wait outside," the man calls, making us turn to him.

Harwin walks off and Libby raises the bowl of bread rolls, "THE BREAD ROLLS ARE ACTUALLY REALLY NICE THOUGH!"

I wipe my face, "Libby, we're going to fucking die."

"Not before I try myself some Harwin Strong."

"SIT BACK DOWN."

"I'M SAT!"

When we finished eating, Harwin escorted us to the arena to watch the tourney.

"Are you married, Harwin? Can I call you Harwin?" Libby asks.

I shoot her a look, "Lilibet."

Libby ignores me. The man we were following keeps walking, not bothering to look back at us, "you may call me whatever you like, my lady."

Libby and I turn to each other with a gasp. No, cause why he playing like that?

"And I am not married," he looks over his shoulder, eyes locking with mine momentarily.

Libby's jaw drops and begins to shake me. She mutters loudly under her breath, "bitch. why he looking at you, and not at me?"

"Probably because you're fucking stupid!" I retort quickly in the same manner, unable to mask my giddy tone.

Harwin clears his throat again as he looks front. Neither of us catch this.

"Libby, be so fucking real though," I grab her arm and whisper, "that's someone's grandpa."

"Yeah, well, today, he's my daddy," she mumbles then bites her lips, as if it could minimize her grin.

Harwin makes a face and whispers under his breath, "daddy?"

When we get to the arena, the sound of the cheering crowds make both of us excited, up until someone screamed in terror and the crowds continued cheering anyway. Harwin gave us spots quite near the front, and the sight of the horses and their long-ass sticks left me feeling uneasy.

Libby shoves into me as she points to the far right. I, in turn, collide into Harwin's bulky armor. Before I can apologize for it, she squeals, "LOOK, IT'S DAEMON!"

"Libby, he's the prince!"

"TAKE A PHOTO! He looks so good!"

I give her a look as I straighten up, "girl, shut the fuck up."

Without another thought, she pulls out her phone from her bosom and wipes the moisture off the screen.

Harwin looks away, eyes wide, pretending he did not just see that happen.

"Stop it! You have no idea how bad this could-"

"Oh, shut up, you showed Daemon your phone!" Libby makes a face.

"THAT'S BECAUSE HE WOULDN'T LET ME GET REUNITED WITH YOU IF I DIDN'T CONVINCE HIM I WAS FROM-."

"Shush," she opens her camera and begins to take photos of Daemon. She shouts his name along with the other spectators and I beg her to at least call him prince.

"What is that contraption," Harwin asks, eyes glued on Libby's cracked screen.

I turn to Harwin, to Libby's phone, back to him, "it's, err... an image capturing... box."

Harwin nods at me though his face is visibly confused. He furrows his brows as Libby switches to front cam and puckers her lips out, "SAY CHEESE, DADDY!"

The color in Harwin's face drains when he sees himself on the screen. I clutch his arm and give him a look, "it's okay. It's not dangerous."

"Will it capture my image?" he mutters and covers his face. He mutters under his breath, "I'd like to keep my face."

Fuck. "N-not like that. It's... it's not black magic."

All the while, Libby is pressing the buttons on her phone, rapidly taking photos no one asked for.

A few people around us begin to mutter to themselves. I find myself looking over my shoulder, catching a bunch of men staring right at us. I eye Libby, nonverbally telling her to quit it. She gives me a look and snaps a few more pics of Daemon before shoving her phone back in her cleavage.

I release a breath when she does, that, and ser Harwin's arm that I did not realize I was still latched on to. I offer a look, "sor- apologies."

He nods, "all is well, my Lady."

And yeah sure, maybe it was. Maybe all was well. Daemon was winning the tournament-- or tourney, I guess; I have no idea what the difference was. I mean I could barely watch because they were fucking gladiator-ing each other, but I knew he was winning because after every crash, came a trumpet and the announcement of it.

So yeah. Maybe it was fine then, in its own sick way, but then Libby pulled me by the arm and said, "I have to take a shit."

"What?"

She gives me a look, "I need to take a shit."

"Libby," my eyes widen.

"I know!" she grabs my shoulders as the crowd cheers over whatever barbaric brawl was happening this time, "you think I want to know what their loos look like?" she shakes me, "am I going to have to shit in a river?"

I wipe my face and turn over to Harwin. His eyes turn from the match to me when I pull at his cloak, "mmm.... Lilibet has to... ... to poop."

Libby slaps my arm. I turn to her, frazzled. She hisses, "he doesn't know what poop is."

"You think I don't know that?!"

"I beg your pardon, my lady?" Harwin shifts to us, his thick brows knitting.

"Yeah, one second," I raise a finger at him, looking back at Libby, "I don't fucking remember the word."

Libby sighs, "Just tell him I need to sh- I NEED TO SH-"

I slap my hand on her mouth, "QUIT IT!"

Libby pushes my hand off, "WHAT?!"

"HE'S NOT GONNA KNOW WHAT THAT-"

"EVERYONE FUCKING KNOWS WHAT TAKING A SH-"

"NO, THERE'S A TERM THAT THEY USE! Think about it! Have you never watched a BBC period drama?!"

"BITCH, YOU KNOW I ONLY WATCH NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC!"

"OK, THEN THINK OF WHAT DAVID ATTENBOROUGH SAYS WHEN THE ANIMALS ARE POOPI-"

"DO YOU GENUNINELY BELIEVE THEY SHOW FOOTAGE OF ANIMALS POOPING ON TELEVISION?!"

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW. IN ALL TV HISTORY THERE HAS TO BE AT LEAST ONE TIME WHERE-"

"HARWIN," Libby shoves me to the side and grabs the man, "I HAVE TO SHIT."

Seven father fucking hells. I dig my fingers into the roots of my light hair and to Harwin, whose lips part and brows furrow. He nods, "I will lead you to the privy," he turns to me, "stay here in the meantime."

We both nod. Libby walks to Harwin's and makes a face at me, "they call it a privy on the BBC, do they? Sounds like an office."

"Libby- Just- if push comes to shove, tell him you'll shit in the river."

Libby groans as Harwin leads her off. She shoots me a glare, "I am not shitting in a river with Harwin watching!"

I shriek in shock when there is a loud crashing sound. My hands dart to my ears just as the crowd roars. A loud voice announces the victory of Prince Daemon from House Targaryen.

I drag my hands down my cheek and clutch my chest.

I dare to look at the casualties on the playing grounds, but to my horror, I see something far worse. Daemon's horse is galloping over to me. He rips his helmet off, tosses it, and sighs through a grin. He points his stick to me and loudly calls, "might a fair woman like you reward me something sweet?"

My eyes widen and I feel the entire stadium turn to me. My heart races and my jaw loosens inch by inch.

Daemon shoves his stick to the side and reaches his arms out to me, "a kiss perhaps?"

Rat, I wasn't even watching you play. Why should I reward you for winning a game I didn't watch?

I cannot help the sound that leaves me when the other audience members begin to spur me on and nudge me. Fuck. I hate peer pressure. I walk towards the railing and eye Daemon as if I had laser vision.

"I CANNOT REACH YOU!" I scream back, momentarily shocked by the ferocity and fury of my voice. I gulp and clear my throat, rubbing my neck that I would so like to keep. I raise my hands, "I must then stay here!"

Daemon, face shining with sweat, colored with dirt and blood, beams as he looks up. He chuckles and dismounts his steed. He walks closer to me and begins to remove his armor, "then come down to me, woman!"

The crowd loses it. The women around me scream that I should come down to him.

Maybe if I jump head first, I'll be done with all this bother.

Fuck, but then Libby would be all alone.

I groan under my breath, "fucking Libby. This is all her fucking fault!"

I look back at Daemon, who had two men helping him out of his armor at this point. His eyes are on me; they probably didn't leave. His lips are curved higher, "fear not," he smirks deeper, "did I swear to protect you?"

The crowd is feral. I glance around the place. Isn't the fucking king right there?!

"No!" I look down at him and shake my head, "you swore not to harm us!"

Daemon laughs, "is there a difference?"

"YES!" I blurt, eyes wide.

Daemon stands alone bellow me, free of his upper body armor. He raises his hands up to me, "then believe me when I say you will not be harmed when you jump."

"Oh gods," I grip the railing and screw my eyes shut, "I fucking hate this man."

"Will you make all of King's Landing wait days for you, girl?"

I growl as the people around me continue to pressure me to jump. Had there not been people around, maybe I would have spit at him. And yet - I climb the railing - I am nothing against peer pressure.

Daemon steps forward, arms higher, laugh louder.

The stadium gasps while heart leaps into my mouth when I let go of the railing and drop straight down. The collision is just as messy as I had dreaded it to be and the next thing I know, I've smack dabbed atop the fucking prince of the realm, crushing into the fucking dirt. So much for catching me.

Yet somehow, Daemon manages to let out giggles while the crowd cheers. His arms tighten around me as I push myself up on his chest, "my," he blows silver hair out of his face, "I didn't actually think you'd do it."

"Fuck you," I snap and shove myself off him.

I don't even know where I'm even going, but I storm off anyway, feeling like the biggest idiot in the known galaxy.

But of course, Daemon is quick to get up and grab my arm. He speaks some High Valyrian bullshit, but I care little for it and pry my limb out of his clutch.

It seemed that was the wrong course of action though, cause the next thing I knew, he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder. The audience flourishes over the way he took me like a piece of meat.

I fucking hate it here.

Make no mistake, I did my due diligence and tried to wrangle out of his grip. But he was pumped with far too much adrenaline, and his inflated ego would not let him let me go.

Eventually, I got tired and just let it happen. The moment he put me down when we arrived at his chambers though, I shoved him off and distanced myself as much as I could, "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Daemon responds in High Valyrian, which effectively pisses me off more.

"I don't have TIME to decode your dragon-heir bullshit, so quit it! I am not a toy!"

Daemon chuckles as he takes a towel and wipes his face, "no?"

"Look," I snap, "I know you're, like, touch deprived and emotionally constipated," I stretch my arm out, "I mean, your family-- our family is a fucking wreath, so you're bound to be fucked up in the head, but please," I press my palms together, "PLEASE just be normal until the end of the day, Dae- Prince Daemon."

Daemon laughs as I go off on him. He watches me for a moment, throws the towel to his bed, and tilts his head.

My chest heaves as we stare at each other. Instead of relaxing, I begin to grow more tense with every passing second. I take a deep breath, but it does nothing for my nerves when Daemon walks forward.

"The truth in the matter is," he raises a hand, "you need me."

My stomach drops when he yanks me by the waist. His violet eyes dart down to my heaving chest. He places his one hand on my collarbone, "shhh."

The feel of him pressing onto my flesh does the exact opposite of what he wants. But no-- with how the corner of his mouth curves upward, I think it's actually the exact reaction he wanted.

When I try to push him off, he pulls me tighter into him and repeats, "you need me."

My nostrils flare but I stop repelling him.

"You need me," he lifts his gaze, "but I don't. I want you, but you need me."

I clench my jaw tightly. I am unable to contain my flinch when his hand strokes my side. He continues, "you need me to open the gate for you and your friend come midnight, do you not?"

I turn away from him.

He nudges me and asks louder, "do you not?"

"Yes," I whimper as I shut my eyes.

He hums, "then," he takes my chin in his fingers, "you'll be what I want, riñītsos." Little girl. He raises his brows. "If say you are a toy, then you say, 'yes, my prince'. If I say you are a rug, then I expect you under my heel. If I say you are my dog, then you ought to bark," he releases my chin, "now, bark, my sweet."

I glare at him, "if you want a dog, I suggest you go up North." I push him by his chest.

He laughs. He grabs my arms and pushes me back. I panic when I fumble on my feet and find myself pressed against a wall. "You're right, riñītsos. How wrong of me to liken dragon fire to dog breath."

I gasp when my back hits the wall.

"A shame," he tucks my silver hair behind my ear, "your parents did not give you violet eyes."

I am frozen in my spot when his lips brush against mine. My breath hitches when he simultaneously presses me back with his chest and pulls me forward with his hands.

I don't kiss him back. My brain was in a glitch. He doesn't seem to mind and feasts on my lips. The moment I have the wits to move, he pulls away and whispers, "worry not," he kisses my jaw, "I'll give your babes violet eyes."

Hearing that really snapped me out of my trance.

I finally turn away from him. It does not deter him though, and he makes due with kissing my neck. He moans against me, "you smell divine."

"I-it's called," I push him back, "personal hygiene."

He snakes his arms around me, "you were sent to me by the gods."

"I travelled here by accident!"

"And I plan to make good of this happy accident."

I fight him off when he claws my skirt up. I weigh my chances with screaming and with talking sense into him. I ponder of telling him my vagina is cursed, but then I think he'd be into that.

"Don't fight it," Daemon grabs my wrists, "I will quench the fires of the Targaryen blood in you that calls out to me."

"My blood does not call out to you!" I whimper.

"You may be Gryffindor by name, but you will be a Targaryen once I am done with you."

And then the doors slam open. "Your grace!"

"Harwin," I call out to the man that burst in.

Daemon growls and but does not pull away or turn, "I'm busy."

"It's Lady Hufflepuff," Harwin speaks through strained breath.

"Who?"

My stomach drops, "wait!" I push Daemon harder, "what happened to Libby?"

Daemon finally looks over his shoulder with annoyance, "what happened?"

Harwin takes a moment to respond. The dread that courses through me makes me strong enough to shove Daemon off. He grunts as I do so. I walk over to the dark haired man, "Harwin."

He clenches his jaw and turns to his feet, "I took her to the privy. She said she was having... trouble using it and that I should call a servant to help. So... I fetched a servant, but when I returned," he clears his throat, "she was gone."

I bring my hand to my mouth.

Daemon walks up behind me, "you lost a woman in King's Landing, Strong?"

"I- I did not think much of it at first," Harwin turns to Daemon, "at first I thought she may have just finished and was playing a trick on me," he glances to me but looks away at once, "but then I saw her contraption on the ground-"

I gasp.

"And then I saw a shoe... and then her headscarf-"

"Dear gods, Libby," my voice strains.

"She was taken by a group of three men," Harwin speaks sternly, "I know not for, but they've since regret their decision."

"And Libby!" I jump and grab his arm, "where is she now?!"

Harwin feels guilt eat away at him when he catches my distraught expression. He turns to me, placing a hand on my shoulder, "she's being attended to by the maesters in the ward-"

I dash to the door, intent on reaching her, though I had no idea where I was going.

"It's this way!" Daemon calls.

When I turn to see where he meant, he was already right behind me. He grabs my arm and leads me down the hall.

The moment we get to the ward, I run around and look for Libby. I am shocked solid in my place when I see the cot she is laid upon. My hands slap to my face upon catching her messy hair, dirty skin, and tattered clothes. Her waist was bound in bandages, but that didn't prevent the red to seep through from her side.

I drop to my knees and crawl all the way over to her. I yelp when I feel how cold her hands are. Hot tears burn down my cheek, "Libby, please!"

My breathing becomes more erratic.

"I've spoken to the maesters," Daemon's voice sounds from behind.

"Fucking tetanus, fucking bacterial shock-"

"They said she lost some blood but she will recov-"

"SHUT UP!" I snap and get to my feet, "YOU GET A FUCKING FEVER HERE AND YOU DIE!" I point an accusing finger, "THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!"

"ME?" Daemon snaps back, "that Strong fool was the one that took his eyes off her!"

"If you had just let us stay in your chambers like I begged you to-- but no! You wanted us to watch your stupid fucking game, you EGOTISTICAL BASTARD!"

He steps forward and barks back, "she still would have needed to go to the privy, you whining nitwit!"

"Why did they even take her?!" I whine.

Daemon does not respond.

"I do not contest that the fault is mine," another voice speaks.

Daemon and I turn to Harwin. His hands are linked in front of him, and only then do I realize they were bloody. More tears gush down my face when the man continues, "it was my duty to keep her-"

"It doesn't matter now, does it!?" I wail, waving my hands around. I fall back on my knees and turn to Libby. Her blue hair was stuck on her sweaty skin. And as I wiped her forehead, it felt like a rehash of last night, except worse. I sob, "nothing's gonna change the fact she got fucking stabbed."

Daemon looks from me to Harwin, "what of the men that took her?"

"I killed them."

My expression drops as I turn to Harwin.

The two stare at each other for a moment.

"Well, we can't question the dead, now can we," Daemon mutters, "feed their corpses to Caraxes."

"W-wait," I feel bile rise up my throat, "did- did you actually kill them?"

Harwin looks at me but doesn't respond. He walks off when Daemon orders him to get a chair. I turn to Daemon and whimper, "he didn't actually kill them... did he actually kill them?"

Daemon nods, "he did," and grabs my arms, "do not insult yourself by sitting on the floor."

For once, I do not fight him back. I let him bring me to my feet. The moment I'm stood before him, he takes my cheeks and wipes my tears.

I shake my head, "I have to take her back."

Daemon raises his brows, "you would dare to move her in such a state?"

"It's the only way she will survive," I mumble through trembling lips.

The prince looks at me for a moment. Harwin finally brings a chair. He places it beside us then stations himself by the door. Neither Daemon nor I make a move for the chair. The former asks, "and you think you can carry her all the way back?"

"Daemon," I grab his arms, "I just have to get her back. Once I'm there, it'll be half the work done."

Daemon releases a breath. He takes my silver locks and fondles with the ends, "and what if I do not want you to leave."

Fuck. "Please," I beg, "please. We both know I don't belong here."

I can see it clearly. It was so clear that those words meant nothing to him. It was talking to a brick wall. I sigh and wipe my face, "I'll do what you want. Whatever it is, I'll do, as long as you let us go by midnight."

Daemon narrows his eyes.

I muster up the most sincere expression I am capable of.

"You will give me whatever I want?"

I close my eyes and shake my head, "yes... my prince."

He does not respond. Daemon turns from me to Libby. He pulls away and calls, "Strong."

"Your grace," Harwin responds.

"She could manage on the back of an ass, could she not?"

Harwin thinks for a moment then nods, "she could."

"Then fetch me an ass," Daemon says. Harwin promptly complies.

Daemon doesn't make me do anything besides sit on his lap while we watched Libby for the rest of the night. I knew in my gut that was not what he wanted out of me, but he didn't say otherwise and I didn't bring it up. Soon enough, it was midnight and there I, Daemon, Harwin, and Libby, sat on a donkey, stood before the open gate of the castle.

Rather than thinking this was stupid and it wasn't going to fucking work, I prayed under my breath to the Seven that we be delivered from this nightmare.

But every time I felt tranquil, the donkey made a sound and I just knew it had to go. What the hell was I going to do with the donkey when I got back to the city anyway?

I clutch the satchel containing our things around my shoulders, "I'll carry her instead."

Daemon and Harwin turn to me and mutter at the same time, "what?"

"I don't want to be responsible for the donk- the animal when I get there."

"Just leave the ass behind," Daemon mutters, rather annoyed.

I grab Libby, who I was already keeping upright, and wrap her arms around my shoulders, "I can carry her."

"No, you can't," Daemon mutters.

Harwin adds, "you are not in the right mind to do this."

"Just," Daemon add, "set the beast free when-"

"I can't just let a donkey loose in King's Landing, Daemon!" I snap, "now please! Help me-"

The bells begin to ring.

I immediately panic.

A surge of adrenaline helps me gather Libby onto my back. "Fucking hell," I grunt and try to fix her on me.

Daemon shakes his hand, "here, let me-"

"I GOT IT!" I scream as the sound of the bell tolling makes my entire body burn with agitation.

I shift Libby on my back one last time and beeline to the gate.

Harwin and Daemon watch. It's impossible to tell which of them is more skeptic in the moment.

I begin to struggle and nearly trip on the annoying skirts hindering my feet. Harwin steps forward, "watch your step."

Daemon eyes him in annoyance, "how helpful."

"Fuck," I panic and begin to walk faster towards the gate, "fucking hell, it's not even that far!"

I reach the large, tunnel-like gate and can't help but close my eyes, afraid that if I could see where I was going, it wouldn't work.

Then SPLAT! I fall face down on the ground.

I scream and immediately roll Libby off me, uncaring that it hurt me, that it hurt her, and quickly get on my feet. I drag her corpse-like body across the expanse and cry as I do so.

I was manic. I was delirious. The sound of the echoing bells did not help the situation at all. I couldn't stop pleading to the gods as I tugged my best friend across the ground. I couldn't even open my eyes because I didn't think my prayers were heard.

"Enough!" a voice calls.

No. NO! That was fucking Daemon. GET THE FUCK AWAY!

I feel someone mess with Libby's body. I screech and refuse to let her go, "LET US GO, DAEMON!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

"NO!" I squeal, finally opening my eyes. I release Libby and lunge at Daemon when I spot him. We crumble to the ground. Once he's on his back, I begin to beat him. It unfortunately doesn't take long for him to overpower me.

"ENOUGH!" he barks, both my hands now trapped in his.

"LET US GO!" I cry.

Daemon shakes his head, "STOP IT!"

"WE'RE GOING BACK!" I try to punch my way out of his grip. It doesn't work.

"Look at me!" Daemon yells, "you dragged her through."

"Get off me!"

"You've done it!!"

I flinch when he shakes me.

"You did it!" Daemon exclaims as he sits up, hands cradling my shoulders, "we're in your time now."

I finally register his words. Daemon looks around, "when you said ruins, I expected an empty castle, not... ruins."

A gasp leaves me when I hear a loud roar from the sky. Daemon looks up when I do, and I calm down when I realize it was only an airplane.

"Was that a dragon?" Daemon asks.

"No," I pull away from him, "that's an-" wait. I stare at him. Daemon fucking Targaryen came back with me?

[mejcinta]

The Prophecy No One Asked For!

The prophecy is nothing but an excuse for Ryan, Sara (and Miguel's) revisionism and GRRM was fooled by this too at first (not any more lol).

The prophecy of the 'prince that was promised' is a way of justifying Rhaenyra's cruel actions in her search for power e.g the bloody Red Sowing event. In the writers' minds she is the good girlboss queen that everyone should throw their weight behind in the attempt to overthrow the wicked patriarchy. So anything she's known to have done that is evil in the book immediately became a problem for them, but through this prophecy they can wash her of any responsibility and maintain a good, tortured, heroic image of her even as she continues to rain terror upon the kingdom.

And even Alicent is not spared. The writers read the book and could not FATHOM that a woman could be opposed to one of her own kind rising in power in an era ruled by men!!! So, they turned the story upside down and made Alicent Rhaenyra's well meaning friend, forced into opposing her by the evil patriarchy.

Oddly enough, Alicent is made to exempt Viserys when it comes to the evils the patriarchy have committed against her. Why? That is because Viserys is not only Rhaenyra's daddy, but also the conveyer of the PROPHECY to Alicent.

Yes! Alicent's rejection and betrayal of her own SONS, her family, her background, her religion etc. will all be because of that darn prophecy!!! This is tailored as Alicent apologia because this poor woman did not know she was on the bad side, and now with this prophecy she will know Rhaenyra is the one to follow.

Without heirs left and with Aegon iii being a mere babe, Rhaenyra will be in peril and lack anyone else to tell the prophecy to. I wonder WHO else she finds worthy of sharing this information with so as to preserve it and have it passed to her son when he comes of age...? You guessed right. Alicent!

If you thought Ryan and Sara's vision of House of the Dragon respects the book and GRRM's theme, just let it go. To them this is a show about Girl Power, the forgotten women that actually managed to pass on that dreaded prophecy down the Targaryen line, even as they were sidelined for their sex!

King Aegon ii and his evil Maesters erased Rhaenyra and Alicent's Girl Power role from history because 'evil patriarchy', settling instead for a more traditional and misogynistic representation of them where Alicent was the loyal, loving Mother and Rhaenyra the evil 'bitch queen' that started a war out of her arrogance and detachment from reality of how their feudal era works.

Ryan and Sara intend to whitewash Rhaenyra and Alicent with this prophecy and pretend that these two women 'saved' Westeros in their own way, when THIS is the level of ambitious, cunty antagonist queens fighting for the survival of their family lines that we should've gotten.

[15-lizards]

In the spirit of the Olympics: ASOIAF characters and their Olympic sports

Jamie Cersei obviously a tennis doubles team thanks @melrosing for ur big brained art. Tywin is their coach and has been abusing training them since they were like seven. Consistent natty champs but haven’t scored a Wimbledon title yet and have yet to get gold at the Olympics (they have one bronze one silver). Mostly because Cersei breaks her racket every time things start going wrong. Also because Jamie is so full to the brim with shame and need for daddy’s recognition that he starts breaking down almost immediately once the point gap starts to widen

Brienne is a long distance swimmer she’s the Katie Ledecky of Westeros no one can touch her do you see her wingspan??? Usually finishes 5-15 seconds before everyone else sometimes other ppl aren’t even in the frame. Has multiple gold medals at this point and has been to the Olympics twice before she even turned 20. Lesbians go crazy over her online

Arya does some type of shooting and she’s like those tiny little teenagers that show up and blow all of their grownup competition out of the water. Steady hand and crazy aim. OR she does fencing and has a super unique style that gets the internet really into it for a couple of weeks. OR judo in the lightweight class. She’s so talented 🙂‍↕️ she’s definitely medaled at her first games when she’s like 14

Sansa is very obviously a figure skater like!!!! Of course she is!!! She is obsessed with her lines and artistry and takes ballet classes in order to improve her fluidity. She’s a young star in women’s singles, mostly for how graceful and fluid she is when she moves, and for her very gentle/pretty/romantic choice of costumes, music, and choreography. But she really wants to do pair skating mostly because she wants to have a romantic story to tell at their wedding (yes Joffrey is the potential partner)

Dany plays field hockey and she is sooooo cute and fun and peppy off the field and is so charming during all the interviews and always gives the girls a great inspirational speech and is just a very good leaderly figure in general. And then the game starts and you see a 5’2 platinum blonde sprinting towards u with blood and malice in her eyes and a big stick in her hands. She wants gold and by god does she get gold. Occasionally body checks ppl but she’s just too small for rugby.

Robb is a young rugby star he’s so handsome and muscular and all of his interviews go viral everyone’s obsessed with his training videos that the team TikTok posts. Soooo good too he’s on the Olympic team at 18 and he’s just sprinting down that field and dominating the game. But he’s so oblivious to it all the love when ppl ask if he’s dating anyone he’s like why would I do that I have to bulk up and focus on my game 🤨 and then runs off to meal prep with Theon (who does not meal prep but is obsessed with him)

Jon is an ice hockey guy to me. So dark and brooding while he’s sitting on the bench and he’s all locked in when it’s time to start playing he’s just so serious ab it he lives for The Game. But every time his buddies score a goal he goes absolutely batshit crazy and just loses all composure. And when they win he starts ugly sobbing. There’s a viral photo of him after winning his first gold just standing on the podium with snot and tears running down his face while the rest of the team is like 😁😁😆😄 him and Robb train together but Jon has absolutely no media training every interview is a disaster

[miss-dollette]

Wake up call for ballistic Team Black and Rhaenyra Stan’s.

TW: Opinions and bad language.

Rhaenyra “rules for thee, none for me” Targaryen. Rhaenyra “Aegon wants to usurp my throne” but when it comes to my obvious bastard sons… nah, they’ll get this land and titles because they’re trueee Valeryeon’s (meanwhile, there’s actual Valeryeon’s who’d step up to the mantle but can’t ’cause Rhaenyra’s daddy is a fucking moron who doomed his family).

Whether Rhaenyra Stan’s want to admit it or not, Rhaenyra is a hypocrite and makes some of the most dumbest mistakes because of how spoiled and shortsighted she is. She doesn’t seem to care about consequences and constantly reaps what she sows.

She had a choice in marriage to any lord in the kingdom, which would have been a massive political advantage, but she blew it and had to marry a guy who wasn’t even straight. Not only that, she had a choice in having three bastard kids. Westeros literally has forms of birth control that she could’ve had at any moment. But noooo. Rhaenyra didn’t think ”hmm having kids with someone I’m not married to will have massive consequences and would essentially arm my enemies with more ammo on why I shouldn’t have the throne. I live in a culture that’s horribly misogynistic and everyone already doubts me because I was born with a vagina. But I’ll have two more kids even though they’ll be targeted the rest of their lives.”

What a top mind you have, Rhaenyra!

Ooooh, and i hate when she was like “now they see as you are”, bitch, what? “Now they see you as you are” - you mean a woman trying to get justice for her bullied child, who was now maimed by one of his bullies? Omg, can you imagine what Rhaenyra would have done if Jace had been the one to have his eye removed? And Viserys would have 100% let her. Matter of fact, he would have encouraged it.

I think at that moment, Alicent knew her children’s lives were in danger. Even if she hadn’t done anything at that point, besides essentially being the perfect queen and somewhat bad mother (who’s a perfect mom when you’re forced to marry and have kids before you’re even 18), her rightfully royal children were in sooo much danger, and it was proven at that moment.

And Daemyra is so god damn mf stupid. Daemon. Is. Loyal. To. Himself. And. Ceraxes. Rhaenyra is essentially a tool to put his blood (and himself) on the throne, and that’s pretty much it. He’s a complete psychopath, pedophile, and power hungry. Just because he treats her well sometimes, doesn’t mean he’s not the same Daemon who killed his last wife.

Every Rhaenyra Stan is like “Rhaenyra would never let anything happen to Alicent and her kids :)” but let’s be so fucking fr right now - Daemon would definitely kill them. Why the fuck would he ever let Otto Hightower’s kid, grandkids and great grandkids live, and even have the slightest chance against him? And Rhaenyra would let him. He literally choked her, and she’s the heir to the throne and he faced ZERO real consequences for that.

Okay, so hypothetically, let’s say Rhaenyra wins the throne, and all the Greens are dead. No one is that much of a threat to Targaryen rule, and Rhaenyra is to become queen officially. Daemon is king. Daemon. Is. King. And they still live in Misogynistic ass Westeros, and Rhaenyra is still a woman. You know how easily Daemon could just pull a “Give me that crown, everyone wants a king anyway and they’ll obey me ‘cause I’ll fucking kill them with my giant ballistic Lizard like I’ve always done, but now I have a massive military who is also fucking misogynistic. You’ll have my heirs and that’s it. Thanks Rhaenyra!”?

Rhaenyra would never let Daemon go. She needs him. Even she said it. So what would she do if he wanted the throne? Nothing. He’d kill her if she fought against him. Mr. Daemon “I murdered my first wife to get what I want” Targaryen.

And before anyone calls me a misogynistic team green or whatever, no I’m not Team Green, I’m just tired of how Rhaenyra Stan’s pretend she’s some sort of saint and the perfect character. If this doesn’t apply to you, don’t bother with lecturing me.

Rhaenyra is not Daenerys, and never will be. Just because they’re both girls and aspire for the throne, doesn’t make it a #girlboss moment. Rhaenyra wants to continue Targaryen supremacy and rule over the small folk just like her ancestors before her. She’s a super spoiled brat who doesn’t care about anyone’s pain, and wants to use everyone else as her pawns. So, more like Cersei than Daeny.

Is Rhaenyra someone completely evil? No, but she’s a huge idiot.

Also, I do sympathize for both sides, but Rhaenyra and her fans just make me want to rip my hair off.

I wrote this in 20 fucking minutes so pls don’t get on my ass about spelling errors. Bye.

[rosemaryblossomworld]

First Blood (ch.1)

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚅𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎!𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚜 𝚅𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛.

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚈/𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚃𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢....𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕?

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝟷𝟾 , 𝙰𝚞!𝚅𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚝𝙳, 𝚁𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚗𝚢𝚛𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎. 𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙰𝚞, 𝚟𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍!

𝙰/𝚗: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎! 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍...

Red Castle was the most dangerous place in the Kingslands. Why? For centuries, the land had been ruled by the most ancient and noble race of vampires! Nothing can break them. Strong...fast...immortal. And they have dragons to serve them.

Men feared and revered them. The Targaryen bloodline gave rise to many rumours and gossip. People whispered about them, their purity of blood and sacrifice.

Every three months, balls were organised for the Targaryen children to find partners.

But every time these partners "disappeared", everyone knew exactly how it happened, but were afraid to say it out loud. Servants, people from the upper classes, ordinary travellers disappeared.

Today was the 6th moon of the winter festival (Christmas). The weather was hot, uncharacteristic of the Kingslands. And on the 15th day of the sixth moon, the lords of the various houses began to receive an invitation from the Queen for a feast. Many considered this letter a "black mark".

This time the black mark fell on the house of Y/l/n, the lord's wife wept bitterly and clutched to her bosom, the youngest Lady of the house, who was beating hysterically. Lord Y/l/n looked gloomily at the letter and reread it over and over again.

"Daddy! Don't give me away, they'll kill me! Please!" young Sanda couldn't imagine that her comfortable days were coming to an end.

"Be quiet Sanda! You've been chosen, but that doesn't mean you can fall to the eyes of Jacaerys," the man muttered.

"Our Sanda is the most beautiful girl in the Kingdom Lands! She could match the Maiden herself! Everyone knows it, and the Queen and her children have found out. Of course she'll want the most beautiful girl in Westeros standing next to her son!" said Lady t/f hysterically.

"Don't get in the way Darlene! I'm thinking!" the man glanced sullenly at the letter again.

He threw a glance at his youngest daughter, now he saw before him a pathetic woman who thought everything would be decided at the wave of a hand. If it didn't involve the Targaryen family, then yes, Lord Y/l/n needed to wave his hand and all of his daughter's problems disappeared.

At that moment the eldest daughter of the family, Y/n, entered the room quietly, she was carrying a small cart with tea and cakes, a quiet and calm girl. She was a bastard. So in the house she was on the level of a servant. The girl was a little taken aback when she heard the pitiful howls of her sister and stepmother. But continued to arrange the cups on the table, pouring flavoured tea from the south.

The girl squinted at the letter in her father's hand and then looked at him, he was already looking at her.

"Interesting?" the gears in the lord's head began to move gradually.

"I dare not," Y/n answered hastily.

"Sanda has been chosen as a candidate to be the 'princess' of Jacaerys," the man sighed and threw a letter on the table.

Y/n looked at her younger sister, who was almost choking on her tears. The girl no longer saw the upstart she had been a few minutes ago when she bullied her. A nasty and caustic thought crept into Y/n's mind that made her want to chuckle. The lord felt it.

"Don't gloat! Lousy girl! Instead of Sanda, you're going to the ball. If Prince Jacaerys doesn't look at you, you're lucky, if he does, I'll give it to him," the lord smirked and looked at the shocked Y/n carefully. The cries of the stepmother and sister fell silent.

"What?" whispered the girl quietly, in that instant she was overcome with anger and sadness.

"Honey, you're a genius! How did we not guess it right away!?" immediately cheered the stepmother.

"Daddy! You're the best!" squealed Sanda and ran into her father's arms.

"The queen might get angry... "Y/n hurried to say.

"She won't be too angry if I tell her that the youngest daughter is seriously ill," the man sniggered.

"She can ask Sanda to attend the next ball, and the next, and the next, and so on ad infinitum!" raised her voice to the older mistress. The lord frowned.

"How dare you cross me!? You ignorant wench! You should be grateful that I took you in. It's time to repay our kindness. The ball will be in two days, so you will be moved to another room. Go!" shrieked the man, he knew perfectly well that his eldest daughter was right. But he didn't want to think about it in front of his wife and youngest daughter, lest he make a fool of himself.

The lord followed the girl's eyes as she looked at him with anger, once again those eyes were reminiscent of the eyes of the witch he had spent the night with. That woman had been beautiful. He had promised to make her his wife and take her out of this poverty. But he had not kept his promise, leaving that one in poverty. As he was packing up and leaving her decrepit home, the dark-haired woman whispered just one phrase: "My daughter will be the ruin of your family." The man laughed. He still laughs now because he looks at Y/n, at this unassuming and defenceless girl, and thinks: "And what can she do?"

Two days passed in preparation. For the first time, Y/n was treated like a queen, washed, fed, and dressed in her finest clothes. The stepmother and younger sister had gone to another estate to maintain the legend of the ailing younger mistress.

On the day of the festival a beautiful dress was sent to Y/n's room, it was red like blood, a black veil and gold jewellery completed the look. The maids carefully put the dress on her, did her hair and then left, leaving Y/n alone. The girl looked at herself and wanted to cry. To cry with happiness that she was wearing such expensive and nice clothes, and with grief that it was an unnecessary spectacle.

The girl wasn't allowed to be sad for long, she was called downstairs to go to the festival.

Y/n and her father stood opposite the queen, who towered majestically over them. Beside her stood her husband, Daemon Targaryen, a vicious prince and the most scandalous person in the kingdom. His two daughters stood beside him, Rhaena had only recently 'lost' her lover, while Baela still had a partner, but the betting was already underway as to when she would start looking for a groom.

Of course, there were rumours that Baela and Jacaerys were to be betrothed, but to this day, they remained free. Jacaerys stood proudly beside his mother, he didn't look at them, his head held high. Lucerys and Joffrey were nowhere to be seen. Everyone knew that Joffrey had not yet reached the age when the power of the ancient family was awakened. And Lucerys just didn't like the event, and the queen thought he was young in his choice of mate.

" I asked you, Lord Y/l/n, where is your youngest daughter?" the queen asked sternly, but every time she shifted her gaze to the young Y/n, her look softened.

"My youngest daughter is seriously ill! She came down with a fever a couple of days ago, the symptoms are terrible, and she's only getting worse," the man lied.

"But who is there with you?" she asked more calmly.

"Oh, it's my eldest daughter. She didn't want you to be angry, so she decided to personally volunteer to soothe your anger," the girl's father nudged her slightly.

"Your majesty," Y/n bowed.

Jacaerys, who had been standing bored when he heard the soft voice that roused his "dead" body, turned his attention to the sound. At the bottom of the steps stood the most beautiful girl he had ever seen at a ball. Soft facial features, a beautiful stance and a slight smile, he felt a hum in his ears, and before his gaze was only her. Was this what his mum had been talking about? "The eternal bond?" That's her, isn't it?

Sensing her son's change, Rhaenyra looked at her boy and then shifted her gaze to the girl. The woman smiled and hummed.

"Good, I see your point, that's very noble of you, enjoy the festival," the queen waved her hand and Lord Y/l/n hurriedly disappeared from the woman's gaze, fetching his eldest daughter.

"You can do whatever you want now. Dance, eat, drink, if any of the heirs come up to you to talk then speak, don't embarrass me," the lord walked away, leaving Y/n completely alone in an unknown environment.

After thinking for a while, Y/n skirted down the corridor and then onto one of the castle's balconies. The view was magnificent: the harbour, the ships, the sun setting on the horizon. This view was not comparable to what the girl saw at her place, in fact she had no windows in her room. It was always dark and cold.

She covered her eyes but immediately opened them as soon as she felt a strange smell, it was sweet and juicy, as if there was a sweet fruit in front of her eyes that she wanted to bite. She turned round and her heart stopped beating. Jackairis Velarion stood before her.

"May I join your silence, my lady?" he asked, slowly approaching.

" yes, of course," the girl said quietly.

She looked straight into the guy's eyes, they were brown, but...she could also see red reflections in them that appeared and disappeared.

"Why did you leave?" he enquired to get rid of the awkward silence.

"I'm not used to being at events like this. I'm nervous, to be honest," the girl grinned and leaned her hands relaxedly on the stone railing of the balcony.

"I understand, my lady, I get tired of them too. That's why my little brother rarely attends them. But my sisters just love the fun and the noise. They're dancing in the hall right now," he smiled, and Y/n was embarrassed.

"You...I... " Y/n tried to think of a topic of conversation, but nothing came to mind.

The prince chuckled. He couldn't look at the girl in red, in his head they had lived for several thousand years, they had five...no! seven...no! ten children.

"I didn't ask your name," the guy mentioned.

"My name is Y/n Y/l/n, Lord Y/l/n's eldest daughter," the girl bowed.

"Your little sister...she's not sick, is she?" he asked immediately and he could hear the girl's heart beating fast.

"She...no...she's just," the lady tried to come to her senses and think of something.

"Look at me," the prince reached out to Y/n and lifted her chin.

Y/n looked at the prince and froze, her ears popped, her breathing became quiet and steady, her eyes were covered by a bright veil from behind which she saw the prince's red eyes.

"Tell me the truth. Where is your sister?" he ran his hand gently down the girl's cheek.

"She has gone with her stepmother to the second estate. She is not ill, but shocked by the letter the queen sent. I am her replacement. I didn't want to come here, I was forced," the girl said in a cold tone, Y/n wanted to scream but couldn't, she didn't want to say it! What's going on!!!?

"Don't be afraid Y/n, I won't hurt you. You are under my spell, it's what our kind can do. We can make a person tell the truth or, we can command them to do an order, for example: my love, take my hand and press it to your chest," the prince uttered the last phrase, he didn't really mean to say 'to your chest', if his blood flowed like a normal person, his lady could see his red face.

Y/n felt the heat come up to her cheeks. This was exciting! She took the prince's other hand and pressed it against her chest, where her heart beat.

"Like this. Your heart is beating fast. Are you scared?" Jace lifted his hand higher.

"I'm excited... "the girl whispered softly.

"Are you afraid I'll bite you? I won't do that unless you ask me to," the prince moved closer.

"I don't want you to kill me," for a moment all feeling came back to the girl and she tried to break free, but the Prince's grip tightened and he soaked her again.

"What if I told you I don't want to kill you. I want you to be my partner, my princess and future queen," he whispered the words into the girl's lips.

"I don't believe you," just as monotonously.

"Then, I'll do my best to make you believe. Let me kiss you, just one kiss as proof," the pair's lips almost touched, but Y/n didn't respond.

He grinned and nestled his lips against the girl's soft lips. Immediately the buzzing in her ears disappeared, her vision and breathing normalised again, but Y/n didn't pull away, only pressed herself closer to the prince. Again that smell that was driving the girl crazy.

He touched the girl's lips gently and weightlessly, sucking on her upper and lower lips. Then, opening his mouth slightly, he ran his tongue along the girl's lower lip. Y/n immediately opened her mouth, letting the young man's hurried tongue in. The kiss constantly changed its pace, then slow, then fast, then careless. The girl knew the feeling for the first time, something warm in her lower belly and flowing down into her underwear.

He growled into the kiss, feeling the girl's wonderful ambrosia, that sweet smell starting to swirl around them. The Prince is afraid that his kin can smell it too, and they will try to steal his Maiden, out of his own hands. Jace clasped the girl tighter. He continued to entwine his tongue with his lady's, growling and whimpering slightly, the scent growing brighter and brighter. Now Jace's heat was centred down his stomach as well.

Y/n began to feel her head spinning, these emotions and this scent...where did it come from? So pleasant, sweet and spicy, wanting to inhale and inhale. The girl moaned at the prince's touch. Is it his charms? Or is it her true feelings? So shameful, but...she wants more, she wants what the maids whisper about in the manor, she wants what they teach in the Silk Streets. She pressed herself against the prince and...darkness fell.

The girl opened her eyes sharply and realised that she was in the room where she had been living for the last two days in her family estate. She jumped up from the bed and looked around. The sun was shining brightly and illuminating the room.

"Mistress, you woke up just in time," a maid named Martina, walked over to the elder mistress' bed and placed a few things on the chair next to it.

"What happened? Where is father?" her voice was slightly hoarse and the girl hurriedly drank a glass of water that was on a table nearby.

"Ser Jakor brought you in yesterday. You fainted at the ball. And your father is in his study now and wants to see you after breakfast," the maid said calmly.

Y/n was dressed in a light white dress with open shoulders. Breakfast was light, the way a girl likes it.

After breakfast, Ser Jakor escorted the girl to the lord's study. He knocked and announced the arrival of his daughter. There was a muffled sound, "let her in." And the knight opened the door.

"Why did you want to see me?" went straight to the subject Y/n.

"Did you communicate with the eldest prince yesterday?" asked the Lord, still staring at the papers in front of him.

Y/n felt her face begin to burn. Has he seen us? Does he know about this? What to do!!!

"Yes," the girl said quickly.

"Jakor, hand it over," the man pushed a black envelope towards the knight.

Once the envelope was handed over, Y/n looked at it closely. It was an unusual black envelope with drawings of flowers, the letter had been opened, most likely the lord had decided to see who it was from, because the envelope bore the name of the eldest lady of House Y/l/n, though it was barely visible. But the girl looked at the Targaryen family crest on the gold seal, the girl's heart sank, she pulled out the envelope and read a few lines. Queen Rhaenyra wrote and demanded a meeting with Y/n Y/l/n, at the end there was only one phrase: You are the perfect candidate.

"I don't know how long the queen will keep you, but I have ordered the maids to gather some of your wardrobe. You will be sent to Red Castle, we can't keep the Queen waiting!" the man finally looked at his daughter.

"Father..." the girl began.

"I don't care what happens to you. Your fate is essentially sealed. That's the way it should be, Y/n, you were a mistake and fate presented me with a chance to get rid of her," the man spoke coldly.

"What if they let me go?" the girl asked, looking angrily at her father again.

"This will be a great disappointment. But I'll take you back, you'll live here as before. Now get on your way. The queen wanted to share a meal with you," waved the lord and burrowed into the papers again.

Y/n sighed and left the room. She was filled with a thousand emotions. It was scary and exciting at the same time, she would meet the prince again, but...she already knew what she would be to him.

With heavy thoughts, the girl walked down to the ground floor. She watched her things being loaded. Y/n took one last look at Y/n's estate, smiled sadly, and got into the carriage. Her fate was now in someone else's hands.

Ps: I'm not good at writing intimate scenes...well...I think the second chapter will take a long time to come out because I want to write it right. In a way that's breathtaking.

[maryonaccross]

But seriously in this scene!! Alicent says what everyone is thinking. 1 kid who doesn't look like Laenor okay, maybe his wife gets a pass, 2 kids that's pushing it, but 3!! 3!! It's like Rhaenyra wants to flaunt to the rest of the women in Westeros that rules™ don't apply to her. She's so much more special you see. Because any other woman in the realm who had THREE kids that noticeably don't look like their mother or father, would have been at the very least thrown out of their house. At worst well... but not Rhaenyra, because she's the heir to the throne and her daddy is backing her. Rhaenyra is not just spitting in Alicent's face, she is spitting in the face of all married women in Westeros who can't get away with the bs she's pulling. Alicent may be sarcastic in this scene but she's kinda right

It’s just… especially knowing that Viserys would have 110% turned a blind eye at her taking moon tea. Not to mention that first and foremost it’s the children she’s putting in danger. Being a bastard posing as the heir to the iron throne is arguably the most dangerous position a child can be put in in Westeros. If Jace were Leanor’s and the rest were bastards it would still be scandalous but still heaps better but as it is I really can’t think of another reason for why she would do it.

The funny thing is when TB is confronted with this is that they always pull the “well, all men had bastards back then, why can’t she?” which makes so little sense considering none of those men ever passed their bastards off as heirs to the iron throne or any other house.

It’s not at all comparable to what Rhaenyra was trying to do. The closest thing to what she did was Cersei passing Joffrey of as Roberts heir and no one was supporting that

[ophelieverse]

MORE DAD AEMOND FANFIC 🥺🙏🏻 ITS SO CUTE !!! I LOVE HOW DEDICATED HE IS WITH DRAGONS BUT STILL UNDERSTAND WHAT HIS FAMILY NEED BEST ✨🥲

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰The wild princess and the wild dragon.

Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader.

Another part of Daddy Aemond for all of my lovelies.Now is Visenya time to shine and to finally have a dragon,just like her father did.

Thank you for reading and let me know what you think💕(sorry for the errors).

•••••••••••••••••••

The fire was crackling in the fireplace,the sun was rising above the horizon,every living small creature was now awaking for living another day in the peaceful and sunny Dragon Stone.

Y/n was laying on the bed,the white sheets were messy,half dangling on the floor and half wrapped around her sweaty body.Her hair sprawled on the pillow,back arching and eyes closing in the blissful feeling that was flaming on her skin.

It was the first lights in the morning,when her husband made his way on top of her after admiring her beautiful features.The perfect and immaculate texture of her skin,the sweet little smile on her sleepy face,the way her chest rose up and down in every breath.

Y/n hands wrapped around his neck and went to his hair,beautiful strands of silver moonlight,long enough for her to run her fingers through and to pull at.

Aemond moaned,pulling her closer until his lips claimed hers in a kiss full of desperation and need.He kissed her as if he was a man starved,the only thought of her the most delicious meal,and showing her exactly how much he craved her.

Y/n groaned in his mouth,the euphoric feeling pumping in her veins,wrapping her legs around his waist.He pulled her waist against his hard body,the bulge in his pants rubbing against her pelvic bone as he choked out with a moan:«I want another one.»his voice was low and it made her shiver.

His wife know immediately to what he was referring,to what his heart wished since the moment they got married,having another child.It wasn’t a secret for her,it wasn’t a secret for anyone,to see the way Aemond eye always lingered for too long on his wife belly,how he caressed it and the disappointment on his face to find it empty,imagining the future life that could come out of it.

Aemond had always been a family man,devoted to the woman that he loved and swore his life to,and to the beautiful children they had together.He didn’t had the best experience of family growing up,his parents barely looked in his direction or at each other,leaving him to be raised in empty rooms by even more empty people that gave him only the necessary.He didn’t wanted that for his children,he wanted them to feel safe and loved around him,always ready to find a shelter,a friend,a listener whenever they wished.

But now his children were growing,too fast for his liking.Rhaegal,his first son,his heir,soft and thoughtful like his mother,was now eighteen and ready to be wed to Lord Baratheon youngest daughter,making him spending half of his time in the Stormlands to court her.Aedion,his second son,now thirteen,calculating and mischievous,taking it after his paternal great grandfather,preferred to spend his free time with his cousin and with his dragon flying across Westeros.

Even his youngest daughter,Saera,who was only five,a beautiful princess that looked exactly like him,seemed to grown faster each day.Making him cherish every moment he had with her,from her first word,her first steps,answering to all her curiosities about the world that he’d always protect her from.

Then there’s was Visenya,his first daughter,the one girl he prayed and wished so much for,was now ten years old and a walking earthquake.The young princess was nothing like the Ladies of her age,nothing like her mother was.His daughter was short tempered,quick to anger and slave to acting before thinking.She preferred her hair short,no jewelry or pompous pastel dresses,but leather dark green pants and a sword.Instead of a Septa to take care of her and teaching her the good manners,Criston Cole was sworn to her,to teach her how to duel and how to work with armors on.

Y/n reached down with her hand,rubbing against his prominent bulge«Another girl?»she teased him with a smirk on her face.

Aemond shuddered,a spark running dow his body«I don’t care»he panted in her ear«As long as it’s you who’s giving it to me.»now sucking on the tender skin of her neck.

A loud knock on the door was what made them pull away.Needy lips running after each other,short breaths,and warm skins as they both got up from bed,adjusting themselves.

Criston Cole stood in the doorway,his white cape and shining armor making him look even more dutiful«I’m sorry to interrupt your morning my prince,my princess.»he stated looking at the couple.

«Has something happened?»Y/n was smothering down her nightgown,the one that till a moment before her husband wanted to rip off her.

Aemond was beside her,his hair messy thank to her,eye widened when he saw two of his children making their way into the room.

Aedion had become taller in years,but still he was shorter than his brother and his father were at his age.His white hair were a mess of silver strands,like someone had pulled them roughly,the angular features of his pale face morphed in a annoyed expression.Under his left eye a purple bruise bloomed on his skin with a little cut,sand all over his cheeks.

Visenya stood beside him,soaked from head to toe,was trying her best to not shiver but the sound of her teeth trembling was audible in all the room.Her shoulder length hair were wet,sticking on her neck and cheeks.The dark fabric of her clothes,clinging on her like a second skin while little droplets of water landed on the stone floor.Her hands were on her side,clenched fits,and on her right hand her knuckles were peeled,crusty blood on them.

«I heard the screams and i found them fighting on the beach.»Ser Criston explained.

Y/n looked at her husband,exchanging a knowing look with him«Why when something happens is always the two of you?»she said in a exasperated tone.

«He started it-»Visenya bursted out immediately,adverting on her the gaze of her parents.

«She attacked me!»Aedion defended himself,pointing his accusatory finger on his sister.

«Quiet,both of you!»Aemond yelled,tiredness in his voice.

Then he pulled Visenya in his arms,wrapping a blanket around her shaking figure a guiding her toward the fireplace.The little girl sighed in relief,enjoying the warmth of the flames and her father caressing her back to help her warm up.

Y/n took a deep breath,placing a hand on her son shoulder«Thank you,Ser Criston.We will take care of it.»she thanked him with a genuine smile.

The knight bowed his head and closed the door behind him,leaving the scene.When his mother turned to look at him,her face stoic and a strict gaze on her eyes,Aedion shivered on his feet.

«Care to tell me why you and your sister were fighting like animals,again?»she asked,anger very clear in the sound of her voice.

Y/n took her son face on her hands,examining the bruised skin and cleaning him from the sand.Aedion hissed in pain,closing his eyes and trying to turn away from his mother grasp«She punched me!She is the animal,look at the way she dress!»he cried out.

Visenya head shot up,angry purple eyes setting on her brother«You deserved it!It’s you who gave me a donkey!»she barked back.

«Because you are one!»Aedion told her,his face now free from his mother care but still hiding behind her body.

«Aedion!»Y/n yelled immediately at her son insult.

There was a ruffle sound,the blanket that was covering Visenya cold body was now on the floor,the little girl ready with another punch for her brother face.Fortunately,Aemond was ready to catch her by her waist,holding her up against his chest,before she could flung herself on Aedion scared figure.

«Enough!»Aemond roared,his daughter kicking and squirming in his arms ceased at the authority in his voice«Me and your mother are gonna deal with this separately,since the two of you can’t be civil enough to have a proper conversation.»he stated,breathing deeply through his nose.

Y/n nodded at him,knowing more than well that this was the only solution.Growing up,she had missed the special bond that Aedion and Visenya had.Once they were inseparable,it was impossible to see one without the other,playing together,laughing and caring for each other.

Now it was impossible to see them going along,always picking on one another,the continue teasing and stupids pranks.It was tiring,especially since both Y/n and Aemond wanted nothing more than a lovely family who have each other backs.

When his wife closed the door behind her,taking with her their son,Aemond turned his gaze to his daughter now sitting again on the carpet next to the fire.

Her little figure was curled up against the stone wall,one of her hand towards the flames to gather some warmth.Aemond could her the sound of her sniffing and see her lucid eyes,it broke his heart to see her like that.

«Want to tell about this donkey?»Aemond voice was calm now,softer.

«They both laughed at me,like i’m some sort of jester.»Visenya started,her little face softened,tears to the corner of her eyes.

Aemond chest ached at the sound of her broken and shaky voice«Visenya»he started calling her attention«You need to tell me what happened,otherwise i can’t help you.»he got closer to her,sitting next to her and caressing her cheek to wipe away the tears.

His daughter cleared her throat and nodded«Aedion and Jaehaerys said that here in Dragon Stone lived three wild dragons»she talked lowly«so they took me to get one,so i could be just like the rest of you.But instead they gave me a donkey.»she told him,little sobs leaving her mouth.

Aemond froze on his spot,his mind racing just like his pulse did.Suddenly it all came back to him,it was like living that stupid nightmare again but instead of a donkey his false dragon was a pig.His chest burned with anger,if he closed his eye he swore he could still hear his brother and nephews making fun of him.But what anger him the most was that no matter,no matter the fact that he got he revenge on them by claiming the biggest dragon in Westeros,that didn’t felt like a win now that his daughter had to experience his same pain.

He felt powerless,he had promised Y/n that he would protect his daughter from the moment she was born till his last breath on this earth,but he was unable to shelter her from his own past.

«Then I got angry»Visenya sniffed again«and i punched Aedion in the face.Jaehaerys had to throw me in the sea to stop me.»she explained,looking up to her father with sad eyes.

But it was different this time,his daughter was different,he was different.When it happened to him,his mother did what little she could,promising him that one day he would had a dragon.His father never talked about it,not even a pitiful glance on his way,not a single word of comfort to forget.Even though his mother tried,that weren’t the words that his younger self needed her to say to him,the ones that only him said to himself.

What he needed that day was someone to tell him:«If there is a dragon out there,go and claim it.»just like he did right now.

He couldn’t repair on what his parents did for him,but he could be the best version of himself for his daughter so that she could never experience this kind of pain again.

Visenya eyes widened«Can i?»she asked,like for a permission,her eyes now sparkling.

Aemond smiled at her«It is your birth right,as a Targaryen,to have one.If you are brave and bold enough go and claim one for yourself.»he stated,turning serious.

His daughter shivered,but this time not from the cold but for the examination that she felt running through her veins at her father next words«You are not a donkey,you are a dragon.So be a dragon.»

Y/n was sitting on a chair in her son room,from the other side of the table Aedion was looking down at his hands.The Maester had left just a moment ago,after cleaning a stitching up the little cut that he had under his eye.

The smell of medical alcohol still lingered the room«It was just a harmless joke»Aedion tried to defend himself.

His mother crossed her arms,the disappointment on her face hurted more than the punch he received in the morning«Visenya is your sister and you,better than anyone,should know how much this topic hurts her.»she stated with a stern voice.

Aedion sighed«It’s just»he started«she has to be in everything that i do all the time.»he explained.

«Aedion-»his mother began.

But the young boy interrupted her«It’s the truth!Whenever i’m practicing with the sword she is there.When i want to take a fly with Hyperion she asks me to come and father says i have to take her.This vacation on Dragon Stone was suppose to be my free time with Jaehaerys but she’s been following us since we first landed here!»he sounded tired,ready to cry and combust on himself.

Y/n face softened,a little smile on her face,as she stood up and walked to her son.Turning around the table,she took his face in her hands,carefully caressing his cheek with her thumb«She wants to be involved because she want to be like you.»she said with a tender voice«Ask her who’s her favorite dragon rider is,but don’t tell your father the answer.»she then chuckled making her son do the same.

Aedion looked surprised,a sparkle behind his lavander eyes«Really?Me?»he sounded surprised.

But when his mother nodded his chest warmed and his heart ached«I’m sorry for what i did.»he murmured.

Y/n smiled,she understood him.Being a older brother have its up and its down,and a nagging little sister wasn’t always the best thing to have around.But with the sincerity of his words and the sight of regret in his eyes,she knew everything would be better.

«You have to tell this to your sister.»she said,hugging him closer to her.

Night time came faster than a blink of an eye.The sky was dark and starless,looking empty and intimidating,the cold breeze of the ocean and the impetuous wind hollowed knocking at the winds to come in.The pale moonbeams lulled every living creature to sleep,expect for one.

Visenya lifted the warm covers from her body,jumping out of her bed,dressing quickly with a dark green cloak on her shoulders and a torch in her hands she flew out of the castle and making her way to the hills around it.

She had heard tales from the small folks who lived there,about three wild dragons that roamed the island at night.One who was know to steal the sheep from the shepherds,one shy and silent,barely seen,and another one,the biggest out of them,that eats his own kind.

The young princess shivered,the cold wind hitting her pale face as her legs walked faster in the dark cave.It was pitch black,humid and smelled like something died in there.The little flame of her torch flicked as more deep she got,tracing her hand on the rough stone walls,under he feet she could hear the cracking of something breaking with each step she was taking until the darkness swallowed her up.

In her head the comforting words of her father repeated themselves.She was a dragon,she was brave and she was bold,named after the strongest woman warrior that ever existed in Westeros,it was her birth right to claim that dragon.

But not only a simple dragon,her need to prove herself,to be better,made her want the biggest out of the three dragons:the Cannibal.

Visenya jumped surprised,squeezing her purple eyes and crunching down when she heard a little screeching sound.Pointing her torch to the ground a little smile appeared on her face,a dragon,no bigger than a cat,scales greens as a emerald,was lurking towards her.

She remembered seeing her brothers,the rest of her family raising little dragons and taking care of them since they came out of the shell.How she missed it,now looking at the small creature that she could have had since her birth,the pain of a sensation that she will never be able to feel.

«Nyke’m daor going naejot ōdrikagon ao.»her voice was calm as she spoke slowly,spelling out every word.

Her father had taught her the dragons language,along her brothers,when she was a child,narrating to them all the tales of ancient Valyria at its full glory.

Visenya was calm,even though her heart raced,and politely telling to the small dragon that she wasn’t there to hurt it.The little creature had other plans,seeing a stranger entering the cave,a snarl came out of it opening his wide mouth.

The young princess didn’t had the time to react,to jump back and to retire her hand before it was to late.The green dragon pointy and sharp teeth closed around her left hand,the sound of broken bones and the high pitch screams leaving her mouth echoed on the stone walls.

The pain went directly to her heart,her pulse quicker,hot tears running down her cheeks,as she tried to hit the small dragon with the torch.Before she could even lift her right arm,a loud roar shook the very foundation of Dragon Stone,the sound of heavy steps and animalistic snarls.

The Cannibal emerged from the shadows,black as coal with menacing green eyes,he was the largest and the oldest of the three wild dragons.

Visenya stood still with her knees on the dirty floor,her left hand tucked to her chest trembling.Blood was everywhere,on her white camisole,her pants,her cloak,under her chin and especially on left arm.She couldn’t feel her fingers,nothing aside the sharp pain the was running up her hand and all over her small body.

The wild dragon in front of her opened his mouth and without wasting his time,with just one bite,he ate the smaller green one.The sound of chewing,the smell of blood and death,and the vision didn’t made her flinch.

Instead,hissing in pain,she tore a piece of her green cloak to wrap it on her hand to prevent more bleeding.Then she rose on her feet,not even this would had stopped her to have that dragon.

Visenya walked slowly,the Cannibal eyes were scrutinized her,looking at every move the young princess was making in her way towards him.

Lifting her right hand up,almost near him,Visenya felt a strange pull in her chest,something warm,like a hook in her ribs that was dragging her to the creature.

The dragon opened his mouth,a glowing color sparkled in the back of his throat with a ferocious rumble.

«Dohaeris.»she stated with authority in her voice,every trace of fear leaving her body«Dohaeris,Cannibal.»she repeated.

Listening to her,with a low sound,the creature closed his mouth,obeying her just like Visenya requested.Something,a primal devotion that was in him before his birth,finally awoke.

«Lykiri.»Visenya said again,an invisible string was tying itself up around them,keeping them close to each other,calm like she asked him,when her hand finally touched the warm scales on his head and he let her.

Because now,the Cannibal was not a wild dragon and Visenya wasn’t a donkey.They belonged to each other,a dragon and his rider.

It was the sound of something hard landing and breaking the ground outside their window,a low screeching sound that made the glass tremble,that woke them up.

Aemond and Y/n were sleeping peacefully in each other arms,right under the warm covers when a servant girl came rushing into their chambers stating that something had happened to the princess.

In the grand Hall,Y/n was crunched down,still in her nightgown,tears in the corner of her eyes and a worried expression on her face«She’s gonna be fine,right?»she asked with trembling voice for the tenth time.

The Grand Maester,an old man,was sitting at the table in the center of the room,Viseny was right in front of him.Her left hand was in a horrible state,covered in blood,the flesh torn apart and one of her fingers almost detached.

«Her hand gonna heal,princess.»the Maester reassured her«But i can’t save this one finger.»he said pointing at the ring finger.

Aemond felt his mouth become dry,his pulse was quick in his ear while watching the way his wife cried out at the horrible news holding her daughter desperately.

Again it felt like living again that moment of his childhood,remembering how his mother was crashed for what happened to his eye and now seeing his wife going through the same pain.

Visenya hissed in pain as the Maester was stitching the cuts on her hand,but a little smile was present on her face«Do not worry mother.I may have lost a finger,but i gained a dragon.»she stated proud of herself.

Aemond let out a choked chuckle«A fair exchange.»he whispered to his daughter,caressing her head.

Y/n head shot up to her husband,the anger in her eyes made him shiver«Our daughter could have died!And you say it was a fair exchange ?»she screamed at him.

Aemond breathed through his nose,as a father he almost had a heart attack when he saw his daughter bloody hand.But his younger self was screaming how proud he was of her,seeing coming down the sky with her dragon.

«I’m aware of what could have happened.»he remained her«But it didn’t,that dragon was destined to belong to her.From now on he will protect her.»he said.

Visenya passed her eyes from her father to her mother«I’m fine and i finally have all that i ever wanted.I’m sorry if i made you worry.»she excused herself.

Y/n sighed deeply,knowing that no matter what,her husband and daughter were more similar to each other than anything else.It would been impossible to make them change their mind on this topic.

«But you have to promise me that you will ride that thing only when you will have a saddle and in your father presence,deal?»she said,a small smile that mirrored his daughter one.

«Deal!»Visenya answered enthusiastically.

Aemond smiled,making his way towards his wife a wrapping his arms around her.A quick kiss on her forehead as he realized that even Visenya now had grown,from the little tremendous girl to a soon magnificent dragon rider.And he couldn’t wait to be there for her in every step,helping her and teaching to her like he did with his sons.

«After this,i definitely want another one.»

[annes-andromeda]

Long Post Incoming

——————

I don’t know who needs to hear this (*cough* TB stans *cough*) but Aegon has always had a stronger claim that Rha*nyra.

According to Andal law, a son comes before a daughter, and a niece comes before an uncle. The only time Rha*nyra had a strong claim was when she was Vis*rys’s only living child. No one wanted Da*mon on the IT because they knew that he would essentially be a second Maegor (or worse). Not only was Rha*nyra more well liked at the time, but in accordance to the law, she had a stronger claim that Da*mon.

At the end of the day, Rha*nyra being named heir had nothing to do with Rha*nyra. In the book, she was named heir so that Da*mon wouldn’t become king, and in the show, she was named heir because of Vis*rys’s guilt for killing Aemma. It was never about her. But, once Rha*nyra heard her daddy name her his successor, she rolled with it and refused to give up her claim. Which again, at the time, was at its strongest.

That is, until Vis*rys married Alicent and had Aegon.

Otto states that the succession changed the second Aegon was born, and although Otto isn’t the easiest man to like, he wasn’t wrong. As soon as Vis*rys fathered a living son, Rha*nyra was brought down from being first in line, to being second in line, with Da*mon now being third in line.

Now GRRM harkened back to Henry VIII and the succession crisis regarding his three living children (Mary, Elizabeth, and Edward), and states that Edward was third in line but was to become king first.

There’s just one problem. There was no succession crisis.

Edward, despite his age, was ALWAYS first in line for the throne. Everyone and their mother knew the second he was born, he would be Henry’s heir. Henry removed Mary and Elizabeth from the succession and denounced them as illegitimate because he annulled his marriages to his first and second wives, Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn.

Mary and Elizabeth were only returned to the succession through the Third Succession Act of 1543 because Henry did not father anymore sons, and he needed spares should anything happen to Edward. But Edward remained first in line nonetheless, whereas Mary and Elizabeth followed right after despite both of them being older.

Because of Aegon’s birth, Rha*nyra’s claim has weakened substantially, and while it’s still stronger than Da*mon’s, people will naturally gravitate towards Aegon due to the majority of Westeros, save for Dorne, following male primogeniture.

If Vis*ys really wanted to strengthen his daughters claim and instill her as heir, then he would’ve never remarried and had sons. He would’ve helped Rha*nyra gain allies, and teach her how to rule. But he didn’t. He just named her heir and that’s it.

Which is why Vis*rys still wanting Rha*nyra to be his successor despite having Aegon is stupid, because the law dictates that Aegon is first in line. And Vis*rys never changed the laws of succession, he only wanted his daughter to be the exception.

Now if this were Dorne, where absolute primogeniture is practiced, then Rha*nyra would most certainly be the uncontested heir. But since she’s not Dornish, Rha*nyra’s claim to the IT is weaker than Aegon’s. And it only gets weaker once Vis*rys sires two more sons following Aegon.

With the births of Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron, Rha*nyra is pushed even further down the line of succession. And when Aegon has two legitimate sons of his own (Jaehaerys and Maelor), she’s pushed even further down the line.

It’s why Da*mon groomed and married her: so he would get closer to the throne. But even with their claims combined, and despite the fact that they have Aegon III and Viserys II, Aegon’s claim is still strong.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is what the succession should look like:

Aegon II—>Jaehaerys—>Maelor—>Aemond—>Daeron—>Rha*nyra—>Aegon III—>Viserys II—>Helaena—>Jaehaera—>Da*mon

Fans can scream about how Rha*nyra and the Blacks had more houses supporting them during the Dance (which realistically doesn’t make a lick of sense), but it doesn’t change the fact that Aegon has always had the stronger claim.

You can say that she was usurped all you want, but it doesn’t mean that Aegon didn’t have a claim to the throne. If anything, he had the strongest claim of them all.

And not only that, but Aegon had legitimate sons as his heirs, unlike Rha*nyra, who was trying to pass off her illegitimate bastard sons as her heirs, despite it being very illegal.

People say that Jace, Luke, and Joff were fighting for their claims when… they literally had no claims to begin with. They’re illegitimate bastards who shouldn’t be anywhere near the line of succession. Just because they have the last name Velaryon and Laenor “accepted” them, doesn’t suddenly make them legitimate.

That’s like that saying that because Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen had the last name Baratheon, it suddenly means they were Robert’s trueborn children, when we know they weren’t.

All in all, Vis*rys was the real reason for the Dance happening, all because he couldn’t make up his mind about the succession and was politically inept. And no, him marrying Laena wouldn’t have stopped the Dance from happening because there still would’ve been a chance that Laena birthed a son (or sons).

[humanpurposes]

My Heart Belongs to Daddy, part v, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // She's the first one that I see

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, smut, language, questionable relationships, you know the drill, also mentions of terminal illness.

Words: 9300

A/n: Aemond's pov here we gooo. This part gets its own header coz vibes. Also available to read on AO3.

Another summer brought another two months at Dragonstone. 

The relief Aemond felt clambering out of his mother’s Volvo and into the coastal breeze was immeasurable. Helaena got the front seat, as always, which left the three boys to be packed into the backseat for two hours, in the middle of a June heatwave.

He somewhat resented Daemon and Laena’s absence this year. Generally they alternated summers between Dragonstone and Pentos with the Velaryons. It was a shame, his uncle often brought some much needed tension to family holidays, the entertaining kind as opposed to the depressing kind, and Baela and Rhaena were by far the most tolerable of the younger family members.

Viserys hadn’t arrived yet. He had some work things to catch up on and would drive down later, which just left the Strongs. Alicent had received a call from Rhaenyra while they were in the car to say they’d be a few hours behind them. Thank the Gods. At least it gave them a few hours of peace.

Dragonstone had originally been built as a castle, preserved over the centuries as a place for pleasure rather than a defensive keep. It had a gatehouse, turrets, arrowslits, parapets and ivy sprawling over the outer walls that turned red in the autumn. It looked idyllic, like a castle out of a fairytale.

After bringing his bag up to his room there was only one place Aemond wanted to be.

His favourite part of coming back to Dragonstone were the gardens, sprawling walks of greenery, sweet-smelling rose bushes and sandstone archways. If the weather was right, he could convince himself he was in some remote corner of an Italian manor house. 

One of the gravel paths led down to the pool, overlooked by a patio from the back of the main house. It was a blissful little oasis, when he could have it to himself, of crystal clear water, tall hedges and blue and orange tiles laid out in intricate patterns. 

He had his trunks on already and left his t-shirt and shorts on a sun lounger before he slipped into the water. The cold was a welcome reprieve, especially when he dunked his head under and pushed off from the side, cutting through the water with powerful strokes. 

It had been a while since he’d had time for swimming and he felt slightly irritated at the ache in his arms from the unfamiliar movements. To be fair to himself, he hadn’t made time for any hobbies over the last few weeks on account of his exams, and it had paid off at least. He still had a few weeks until he would get his results but he knew he would do well. 

As far as he was concerned, his future was set. He would get four A*s, then in September he’d be off to Oldtown to start university. In three years, he would graduate with a first and come back to King’s Landing to start at Targ Corp, despite his grandfather’s attempts to convince him to consider a career at Beacon, the Hightower family business. Otto had a vision that one day, his grandsons would run two of the largest companies in Westeros, Aegon at Targ Corp and Aemond at Beacon.

Although the offer of a generous salary and an internship during his studies had sounded tempting, it was a question of pride more than anything. The silver hair should have been evidence enough; Aemond was a Targaryen before he was a Hightower.

Despite his determination to live up to the family name, he had come to resent these summers at their ancestral home. The house and the gardens were beautiful, and he loved being so close to the isolated beach below the hill the house was set on, but he could think of no worse fate than having to spend ten weeks with his insufferable sister, their father’s pride and joy, her idiotic husband and their three sons. 

He ran his hands over his face as he emerged on the other side of the pool, his left palm skimming over the scar on the side of his face. It was easy to forget it was there sometimes, until he’d catch someone frowning at it. 

Rhaenyra was lucky his mother hadn’t pressed charges and publically issued a statement that the whole thing had been a “tragic accident”. Later he learnt Alicent had been holding it over Rhaenyra’s head ever since, waiting for a time when she’d need the leverage.

Ten weeks with the Strongs was all that stood between him and the rest of his life, some sick test of patience. 

He wasn’t alone for long before he spotted Aegon and Daeron at the outlook up at the house. They sprinted out of view and soon came hurtling down the steps to the pool in their trunks. They leapt in, disturbing Aemond’s laps but he reluctantly let himself be happy that the three of them were in the same place for once.

Aegon had just finished a degree in criminal psychology. Alicent and Otto had had to practically buy him a place at KLU. How he had managed to pass was a mystery to everyone, Aemond wondered if he had pulled it together at the last minute purely out of spite. He had already been living in a flat in central with a few of his friends for the last two years. Helaena said he rarely visited the house.

Aemond and Daeron had barely been back from Duskendale before they were all in the car to Dragonstone. He hadn’t minded boarding school, in some ways it made him appreciate the times he got to be at home, and it meant he didn’t have to see his father on a daily basis or watch his mother drive herself insane with her self-imposed workload. Again, Helaena gave him updates on that. He supposed it would make the move to Oldtown less jarring. 

For now he laughed as Aegon challenged them to swimming races and tackled Daeron when he lost. The oldest Targaryen brother was surprisingly strong for his shorter stature. Daeron towered over him but he was wiry, easy for Aegon to sling him over his shoulder.

They were making such a scene in the water that Aemond didn’t notice his mother until she shouted Aegon’s name from the bottom of the steps. “Put your brother down and get changed, seven hells!”

Aegon tossed Daeron’s legs over his head, sending him flopping unceremoniously into the pool. “What’s the rush?” 

“Rhaenyra and Harwin are only half an hour away!” Alicent shrieked, as if this was something they should have cared about. “And they’re bringing a guest, so I want you all presentable and ready for dinner before they arrive.”

Daeron was starting to climb up the ladder, so Aemond pressed his palms to the edge of the pool and pushed himself out. 

“What guest?” he asked, reaching for his towel from one of the sun loungers.

Harwin’s niece. 

She’d been a flower girl at Harwin and Rhaenyra’s wedding, but he only knew that from the photographs. He didn’t remember the last time he must have seen her, probably some family gathering with the Strongs, before Luke slashed a knife in his face and they stopped seeing them as often. 

Aegon seemed eager for “fresh meat” as they marched back up to the house.

Daeron was more sceptical and shot Aemond a concerned frown. “Just what we need, another Strong kid.”

After a quick shower, Aemond changed into a white t-shirt and a pair of dark green cargo trousers, and made his way through the maze of hallways and ornate staircases. He found his parents in the reception hall, a spacious room located at the front of the house, leading off from the entrance hall,  going through to the dining room on one side and the drawing room from the other. It was where they usually lingered when the arrival of a guest was imminent. 

Most of the visitors to Dragonstone considered this to be the most impressive room in the house, with its tall stained glass windows, silver chandelier, walnut panelling and carved columns supporting a gallery on the first floor.

The smell of smoke and charred wood drifted from the fireplace, mingling with the musk of antique velvet sofas. Alicent was torn between typing something on her phone and discussing some arrangement with their head of security, a deceptively young looking man with black hair named Criston Cole.

Evidently Viserys had arrived. He was sitting in a red armchair, taking small sips of a glass of whisky. He looked up when he heard footsteps against the floor, and offered his son a vague nod.

Helaena and Daeron weren’t far behind Aemond, and Aegon was of course the last to make it down. He insisted it was “perfect timing,” because the moment he walked into the room, Cole received a call from the front gate.

Daeron perched on the windowsill and jittering like a puppy as a black escalade pulled up before the gatehouse. 

Within minutes Viserys was throwing his arms around his favourite child. Aemond cast a cold glare over Harwin, Jace, Luke and little Joffrey, clinging to his father’s hand with his thumb in his mouth. The sixth guest followed behind them.

Her hair was pulled away from her face, wide eyes sweeping curiously over the people, the paintings on the walls and the antiques in glass cabinets. The beginning of a smile spread across her lips, but her face fell when her eyes met his.

Aemond sucked his teeth into his lips. He was used to people looking at him like that, or averting their gaze altogether. He could only imagine what Jace and Luke might have told her about their cruel uncle and his horrible scar. 

At dinner she sat on the other end of the table from him, between Harwin and Jace. She was a few years older than her cousins but they all seemed to get on well, joking and smiling at each other. It made Aemond’s blood boil.

Daeron made a point of introducing himself to her but he suspected this show of hospitality was mostly because she was pretty.

She really was pretty though, and quiet, but not necessarily in a nervous way. She seemed content to listen, smiling vaguely at the things people said, feeling no need to fill the silences. When she did smile– properly smile– it was wide, bright and unashamed. 

He overheard her mention an interest in history as dessert was brought out, asking Rhaenyra and Viserys all sorts of questions about Dragonstone’s origins and architecture. He thought of a few books in the library he could recommend but dismissed the idea. When Aegon suggested giving her a tour of the house he felt his grip on his fork tighten. 

Dragonstone was large enough that even with most of the family there it was easy to feel alone, and Aemond spent the first few days of their stay doing exactly that. In the mornings he’d go for a run, then head down to either the pool or the beach for a quick swim. He had his reading list for uni already and was making his way through a textbook on political philosophy, which he read either in the library or a quiet corner of the garden. 

Daeron and Aegon were far better at being civil with Jace and Luke than he was, and she seemed happy to tag along with their antics. Aemond avoided them where he could. 

One afternoon he decided to take his textbook to the patio at the back of the house, and winced at the shrieks of laughter coming from the pool. He was going to head back inside but found himself stepping towards the balustrade, looking over the greenery to the unnaturally blue water.

She was sitting on the edge of the pool in a red swimsuit, with her legs in the water. Even from so far away he could make out the details of her smile, her teeth, the roundness of her cheeks and the way she squinted her eyes.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, until a gentle voice pulled him from his trance.

“Aemond?”

His heart almost stopped and he spun around immediately. An awful feeling sank into his chest, like he’d done something wrong.

Helaena was standing in the doorway, in a pale blue sundress and purple sandals. “Me and mum were going to drive into the village, if you’d like to come?”

Maybe some time away from the house would do him good. He nodded and uttered a quiet “yes.”

She came onto her tiptoes, trying to peer past his shoulder, but from where she was standing she wouldn’t have been able to see what he was looking at. Maybe she didn’t need to see. Another few howls of laughter drifted up to the patio, and a cry of “Aegon, you bastard!” 

Helaena sighed and smiled. He left his book on a table in the entrance hall and followed his sister out to the gatehouse where Alicent was already waiting in the Volvo.

The village was just over a ten minute drive away from the house. Aemond leaned his head against the window in the backseat, feeling content in the blur of vibrant greens and blues. He could have fallen asleep to the hum of the air con and the voices of his mother and sister.

Until he heard her name.

“What?” he mumbled, absentmindedly, shifting himself in the seat and catching Helaena’s eye through her overhead mirror.

“She’s starting her A Levels in September,” Alicent said. “Politics, philosophy and history, same as you.”

He had also taken an extra class in High Valyrian, but he wasn’t going to hold it against her.

“You’d get on I think,” Helaena added, pushing her John Lennon-esque sunglasses on top of her head. He could see she was smirking.

Aemond huffed and went back to staring out the window at the fields, the sky, the sea and the wildflowers growing at the side of the road. He could say he didn’t care about their guest but it would have been a lie. He couldn’t get that red swimsuit out of his head.

Eventually he started agreeing to the occasional beach trip or tennis match. Turns out he quite enjoyed spending time with his nephews when he could beat them at something. And it meant he could see her more often.

There were these odd moments, when he’d catch her staring at him over breakfast or by the pool, that got his hopes up a little, only for her to quickly look away and find someone to fawn over, usually Aegon or one of her cousins. But then she’d find him in the garden and ask about the book he was reading, or sit next to him when they lit a campfire on the beach, just brushing her leg against his. 

They could be confusing but he liked those moments. Every day he woke up ectatic that he would get to see her, and that they might talk about politics or philosophy or a shared love for Daphne du Maurier or the Great Gatsby.

He needed her alone, just once.

He got the chance on the last weekend of July. Alicent, Rhaenyra and Helaena had gone to Rosby for the day, while Harwin had been talking about a trip to Dragonstone harbour to go fishing, something Daeron sounded rather enthusiastic about. Leaving him, Aegon and Viserys at the house. 

After a late breakfast, Aemond went up to the library with the next book on his reading list, An Introduction to Essosi Regionalism. He was rather taken aback to see her sitting at the writing desk by the window. He had assumed she had gone to the harbour with the others.

In a sudden and awkward motion she stood and turned to face him, with wide eyes and a small smile.

“Sorry,” she said, pointing at the desk, “did you want to–”

“No.” He instantly regretted how short and final he sounded. 

Her eyes dipped and he realised he was clutching his book far too tightly.

“I was only looking really,” she said, reaching back for her book, a biography of Queen Alysanne. 

“You like history,” he said, intending it to be a question but it sounded more like a statement.

She smiled again, at his mistake, he guessed. “Yeah, it’s incredible getting to spend so much time here, it’s a beautiful house.”

He stepped forward to place his book on the desk behind her, noticing the sweet citrusy scent of her perfume and the way  she tensed up when he came too close.

“I could show you around, if you’d like? I mean, you’ve already been here long enough and you’ve probably seen most of it by now–”

It was only when she put a hand on his shoulder did he realise his head had dropped down to the floor.

“I’d love to,” she said.

Suddenly his chest felt a little lighter.

He showed her his favourite parts of the house, except the library which she had already seen, obviously. She had so many questions, noticed every detail and traced her fingertips along the ancient stone walls with a look of wonder that made his heart flutter.

Then they came to the long gallery overlooking the reception hall. He pointed out the fan vaulted ceiling detailed with gold and the line of portraits of hundreds of years of Targaryen history, monarchs and more recent family members. She was especially fascinated with a portrait of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne with children. She could put a name and a story to every face.

She turned her head towards him and her breath hitched when she realised he was looking at her. His first instinct was to back away and apologise, but she didn’t move or say anything, just looked up at him with those pretty eyes. 

He wondered if he should kiss her. He’d never tried to kiss someone before. It should have been simple enough but it felt so daunting. What if he did it wrong? What if she didn’t want him to?

He saw her eyes flicker to his scar, and felt like he understood.

“Do you want to look at the old solar?” he asked, already walking towards the north door at the end of the gallery.

Behind him he heard her mutter a quiet “yeah.”

He rushed through the last few rooms. He could hardly catch his breath or think beyond the choking feeling in his throat or how hot the house seemed all of a sudden.

“Do you want to go outside?” she asked when he suggested going to the Maegor suite. 

He nodded, and followed her down to the entrance hall, where they ran into Aegon. He was in trunks and an unbuttoned shirt to show off the tan on his abs.

He glanced between them with a strange look in his eye. “Beach?”

“Sounds good!” she said with a bright smile. “I just need to get some stuff from my room.”

Aegon grinned at her, then at his brother.

“I’m good, thanks,” Aemond grumbled, and went to spend the rest of the day sulking in his room.

Something was different about her after that. She stopped asking so many questions and rather than smile at him when they passed each other in the hallways she sighed and put her head down.

He really didn’t have much experience with these kinds of things, and he sure in seven hells wasn’t going to ask Aegon for advice. 

He wished there was something he could do, but every time he thought about trying to talk to her he pictured her eyes on his scar and decided he’d rather spare her the trouble.

August went by far too quickly and then she was gone.

His time at the University of Oldtown brought some interesting experiences.

People seemed to respect him in a way he wasn’t used to. His lecturers complimented his work and his commitment to his studies. His classmates listened to him when he spoke in seminars, asked for his opinions on current affairs and invited him to lunches and parties. 

He felt like a novelty in Oldtown, people wanted to befriend him, be seen with him, earn his approval. He felt shallow for admitting it, but the newfound attention felt good.

When he went back to King’s Landing that first summer, everyone said he was different. He’d always been interested in sports but he’d committed to a gym routine, shed some of the baby fat and toned out nicely. He traded the trackies and sports trainers for black shirts and leather jackets, got his ears pierced, drank whisky and smoked cigarettes on nights out.

And it turned out he wasn’t as hideous as he thought he was, in fact more often than not, the scar worked in his favour when it came to flirting. 

After graduating he spent the summer in Oldtown, on an internship at Beacon, until Alicent told him she needed him in King’s Landing. She needed a contender of her own to pose as Viserys’ successor against Rhaenyra, and it was obvious neither Aegon or Helaena were going to live up to her expectations. So he did as he was told and moved back home, just in time for everything to start going wrong.

Viserys made his will. Rhaenyra was set to inherit Targ Corp and just about everything else he owned, including Dragonstone. Fucking typical. She had always been his golden child, all that was left of his beloved first wife. His mother always said he never got over Aemma. Singling out Rhaenyra was his way of making it up to her.

But Alicent had been the one helping Viserys run Targ Corp for twenty years, while Rhaenyra’s only real talent was her ability to get whatever she wanted out of their father.

If Rhaenyra were to succeed Viserys, everything his mother had worked for would be for nothing, but Aemond could be the one to change that. He could bring Targ Corp to new heights and live up to the legacy of the Targaryen name. All he needed was for Viserys to give him that chance.

Alicent had been in talks with Borros Baratheon of Storm’s End, an energy company based in the Stormlands. A deal with them would open Targ Corp to a whole new industry, and maybe then Viserys would recognise the lapse in judgement. 

The Storm’s End contract was everything and Alicent had trusted Aemond to see it through. Only it fell apart in his hands. One seemingly minor mistake and Baratheon was out.

Alicent was devastated and it killed him. The late nights and weekends working in the office when she should have been with her children, the constant spite and security from the corporate world, the tabloid news stories that called her a “gold digger,” and the years she spent chasing her husband’s approval had all been for nothing.

She never said it, but Aemond knew she blamed him.

It had been a shitty three months and by December he was exhausted. Daeron was back from Duskendale, Aegon was staying for a few weeks, and Helaena was adamant that they were going to have an enjoyable Christmas. She covered the house in fairy lights and put up a tree in the living room, decorated with colourful baubles that really had nothing to do with Christmas; rainbows, butterflies and bees. 

The other three agreed to indulge her. Aegon suddenly became an expert at Christmas cocktails, Daeron was in a baking frenzy and Aemond put his old piano lessons to good use. He sat at the baby grand in the hallway for the first time in forever and played some old hymns mum used to make them sing. Until Aegon put the chords for Fairytale of New York in front of him, which he agreed was a much better song.

Alicent came in from the office on the 24th, rain soaked through her coat and her eyes red. She’d had a call from Lyonel Strong.

Harwin was in the hospital. Pancreatic cancer. He’d been ignoring the symptoms for years apparently, and by the time Rhaneyra made him get a diagnosis it was too late.

Nothing was an isolated issue. Mum, dad, Rhaenyra, work… everything fed off each other in a single spiral of chaos and grief.

He needed the space, he decided at a fundraiser on New Years Eve. He and Viserys had arrived together but they didn’t so much as make eye contact the entire night. Rhaenyra was understandably inconsolable, mum had refused to go, Helaena wasn’t cut out for these kinds of events and Daeron was studying for mock exams. He at least found solace in the knowledge that he was preferable to Aegon.

A woman with black hair caught his attention. She moved effortlessly throughout the room, martini in hand, which she sipped through dark red lips as she struck up conversations with the other attendees. Did she realise she was targeting the richest people in the room? Probably. She blended in well, in a black slip dress and a pearl necklace, but there was something else, glaring him right in the face.

She was familiar, but he couldn’t place where he might have seen her before.

She smirked when she realised he was staring at her. After ordering herself another drink she waltzed over to him and introduced herself as “Alys Rivers.”

He must have let a little of his shock show on his face, because she smirked again.

Alys Rivers. Harwin’s cousin. The woman with the pretty daughter who’d spent a summer at Dragonstone.

They chatted for hours, she was very curious to hear about the company politics at Targ Corp, the few months he’d been working there and the whole debacle with the Storm’s End contract. She told him about herself too. She worked for Harrenhal PR, alongside her brothers, but was looking to start her own company.

He asked about Harwin. 

That was the only time her perfect persona faltered, just for a moment, but then she took a sip of her drink and she was back to business. She said she was doing alright. It was a shock, he was like a brother to her, and she was trying to make the most of the moments she had left with him.

“It makes you appreciate what you have,” she said. They had found a table in a corner of the bar, ordering too many cocktails. She sighed heavily and put her hand on her chest, over her heart, “I’m so lucky I’ve got my darling girl.”

He didn’t even need to ask before she started telling him more. She was in her second year of studying history at KLU, a bright student, a sweet and serious girl.

She said Harwin adored her, always had, even once things got serious with Rhaenyra and he started having kids of his own.

“Poor thing,” he said, “this must all be so hard on her.”

“She’s like me,” Alys insisted, finishing off another martini. Her words were starting to slur, but even when she was drunk she did it gracefully. “Nothing phases her.”

He could still remember the smell of her perfume, sweet and citrusy.

Alys’s perfume was dark, bitter and boozy. When he kissed her the taste of her martinis burned on his tongue. Vodka. He was more of a gin man.

Generally he tried to avoid one night stands, but it didn’t take much convincing before he found himself in her hotel room.

He spent the entire night on his back while she edged him relentlessly, with her hands and her mouth, before she finally rode him, whispering praises in his ear as she did it. 

He decided it would be bad manners not to text her, so the following Friday night, they went to a steakhouse on Conquest street. It felt more like a business meeting than a date, they talked more about Targ Corp and her plans for her own PR firm. She had the ambition and industry knowledge, but needed the strategy and the connections to make it work. 

“You and I could be a match made in heaven,” he said.

She paused midway through a sip of red wine, and raised her eyebrow ever so slightly. “I don’t usually go for younger men,” she said, “but you’re smart and uncomplicated. I think we could work something out.”

The line between business and pleasure was non-existent. They looked over contracts and business plans over coffee, accompanied each other to conferences and fucked in hotel rooms. She was straightforward, blunt at times but he found it impressive and refreshing. He never had to guess what she was thinking because she didn’t see the point in trying to hide behind niceties. Every time he complimented her confidence she said it was “a consequence of age.”

Things moved faster than he realised. Suddenly winter was turning into spring and Alys asked him to work for Rivers PR full time. 

He found the wherewithal to tell Alicent and Viserys on a rare occasion that his father actually bothered to eat with them. He tried to be as casual as he could about his sabbatical from Targ Corp. It ended with an explosive row over the dinner table, leaving both Helaena and his mother in tears. Viserys was still shouting from the hallway as he packed an overnight bag and stormed out to his car.

He had to call three times before Aegon finally picked up. “Good for you!” his brother cheered down the end of the phone. “Who would have thought you’d end up like this though? Six months ago you were mum’s favourite son.”

“She just kept telling me I was selfish,” Aemond said, first the Storm’s End contract and now this. “And apparently Rhaenyra’s been up in arms about Alys branching off from Harrenhal, especially with everything that’s going on with Harwin.”

“Will you go to hers then?”

He was already heading towards central. “That’s why I called, I need somewhere to stay, I thought you could put me up for a bit.”

Aegon drew out an exaggerated “uhh,” and Aemond hung up, not in the mood to listen to some long winded excuse.

He gripped the steering wheel as he came to a junction and a sign for Queen’s Park. So much for being “uncomplicated.”

Alys was in a silk robe when she opened the door. “Mummy and daddy kicked you out?” she asked with a pouty frown.

He insisted he had left of his own accord.

It was a beautiful terraced house, plaster fronted, overlooking the park. The interior was understated and elegant, dark wood floors, white walls and bursts of muted greens.

It was quiet too, and the only light came from the kitchen.

“Where’s–”

“She’s out with a few friends,” Alys said.

He followed her through to the kitchen, where she poured out two glasses of wine and he told her everything. 

By the time he was done she had finished her glass. She looked into it, like she was surprised to see that it was empty. He hadn’t touched his. 

“Are you planning on staying for long?” she asked.

For a moment he felt stupid for coming to her at all. He couldn’t quite figure out what they were to each other, and suddenly he was showing up on her doorstep and using her like a therapist. 

“I called Aegon first but I think he’s busy. I can be gone in the morning if you want.”

She took hold of his shoulder, stroking her thumb over the fabric of his shirt. “You can stay as long as you need to.”

He looked at her. He was used to her expression being so smug and severe, but she looked gentle now, her eyes wide and full of pity. When he took a shallow breath he realised she was wearing the same, dark perfume from New Years.

He kissed her slowly, nudging his nose against hers and slipping a hand around her waist to pull her in closer.

She chuckled softly as she pulled away. “I’ll be off early in the morning. Take some time if you need to, sort something out with Aegon or…”

“Right,” he said, swallowing down the lingering taste of red wine from her lips.

They slept in her bed, with their backs to each other.

When he woke in the morning Alys was gone. He checked the time on his phone, 8am, and he had a text from her: Help yourself to coffee. Let me know what your plan is.

He threw on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before he headed downstairs. He quickly figured out his way around the expensive coffee machine and settled on a stool at the island with a cup of black coffee.

His hands were restless, tapping against the coffee cup and the counter top. 

She was in the same house as him, probably sound asleep upstairs, though he hadn’t heard anyone come in during the night. Did she know he was here? She must have seen the car outside, but she wouldn’t know it was his. 

He’d hardly even considered the possibility of seeing her again until now, but he hadn’t expected things with to Alys to go this far.

He looked down at his phone. Maybe staying with Alys wasn’t such a good idea. He started typing out a text to Aegon when he heard the door to the kitchen open.

“Hello again.”

She stood in the doorway, squinting her eyes at him, hair loose and tousled, in nothing but an overused Black Sabbath t-shirt that covered the tops of her thighs. She looked a little dishevelled and utterly perfect.

“Hi,” Aemond said, putting his phone down and reaching for his cup. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I got a text from mum. She said she had a guest and I was free to ignore him or kick him out.”

“Have you decided which?”

She huffed a laugh and there was that smile again, though not as wide as it had been that summer. “I felt like being nosy,” she said. 

She moved towards the sink and filled a glass of water, which she finished in one go, with a sound of satisfaction. She drew the tip of her tongue between her lips and set the glass on the counter before she turned to look at him again. “So you’re mum’s new boytoy?”

“Is that what she calls me?” he said, trying to play off the tight feeling in his chest with a small smirk.

“She doesn’t call you anything, actually. She’s been going on these little dates, calling them ‘work calls’ and hoping I won’t notice.”

“How do you know they’re not work calls?”

“I wouldn’t have until she brought you home with her.”

“That was my fault…” he looked down at his coffee. He was convinced he could already feel the caffeine buzzing in his fingertips.

“You look different,” she said.

His eyes shot back to her. “How so?”

“Your hair’s longer. It makes you look older.”

He raised an eyebrow and smiled at the way she recoiled into herself.

“I meant it as a compliment, honest.”

She looked different too. Her face hadn’t changed much from what he could remember, but mostly he noticed that she seemed more subdued. Her eyes were set in dark circles and they weren’t as wide, and when she wasn’t speaking her lips fell slightly. She looked older, but then how long had it been since Dragonstone? More than three years, less than four. 

She told him where everything was in the kitchen, which he could have figured out himself but he didn’t want to interrupt her. She asked how long he was going to stay and he said until he heard back from Aegon.

That turned out to be a week later, and by then Alys insisted she liked having him around.

Initially he looked at a few rentals, which Alys discouraged and insisted he should buy his own place. Between work and the daily mass of texts he was getting from his siblings about Targ Corp and their parents, he couldn’t find the time to truly consider it.

It was easy to fall into a routine with Alys. She left for work earlier than him so he took his own car every morning. Everyone at the office guessed they were ‘together’ but they kept things professional. If he so much as put a hand on her shoulder she scared him off with a warning look. She always stayed later than him so he’d go back to the house, sort out dinner and have it waiting for when the girls got home.

The girls. He was going domestic.

She only had lectures a few times a week and when she was at home she stayed in her bedroom, only occasionally bringing a book down to the garden or the lounge while he worked in the kitchen. He wondered if she was avoiding him. Considering the awful impression he made at Dragonstone, he didn’t blame her. 

But eventually she started to warm up to him. They found some common interests and small talk turned into in-depth discussions of history and politics and their favourite films and albums. She loved Mazzy Star especially. Sometimes, when he had the house to himself, he’d listen through their albums and imagine her listening to the same songs.

He soon learned just how elusive Alys could be. She always had something going on, a work event, a conference or even trips to Pentos with her old uni friends. When she was at home she was usually in the study on the top floor of the house, on a call, looking over contracts or managing some kind of crisis that only she could solve. If he joined her on work trips it was by her invitation.

So he often found himself alone with her. Movie nights became a weekly ritual, usually late in the week, and every week they seemed to sit a little closer to each other than before.

One night she fell asleep against him. His arm was around the back of the sofa and her head gently fell against his chest.

He wasn’t sure what to do, if he should wake her, but she looked so peaceful with her eyes closed, lips parted and breath fluttering down the collar of his t-shirt. Her body was warm and she was wearing that same citrusy perfume. 

He wanted to keep her there. He could lie down, hold her in his arms and fall asleep pressed into her back.

Guilt told him otherwise. So he moved away from her, as carefully as he could, and guided her to lie fully on the sofa with a pillow under her head and a blanket draped over her body.

Alys came in from a dinner sometime after 1am and slipped wordlessly into her side of the bed. Within minutes he could hear her gentle snores.

He closed his eyes but he didn’t sleep. All he could think about was her breath on his chest, the way her shorts had ridden up her thighs, and that fucking perfume. 

He was probably just tired, getting excited by some old crush which he was way past by now. He was sure he would forget about it by the morning.

If only it had ended there.

By the time spring came around she had warmed up to him. They spent Sunday mornings drinking coffee together in the garden and went for drives out to Blackwater Bay. They had inside jokes and talked about their families. Some nights she’d come crying to him over uni, arguments with her mother and a stupid boy who broke her heart. She was so pretty when she cried.

When she asked him to help her with a particular exam he couldn’t help himself. He noticed everything about their study sessions together, the way she shuddered when he put a hand on her shoulder, the way her breath hitched when he praised her.

His heart swelled when she came home from that exam with a wide smile, throwing herself into his arms and telling him all the details she could remember. Her eyes were so bright and gazing up at him almost adoringly. 

He was so happy for her, and so proud.

She didn’t pull away when he kissed her. She met him with soft touches to his neck and a hummed whimper that threatened to spark something primal in him. 

They smiled at each other when it was over, until the haze started to wear off. He cleared his throat, and muttered that he still had work to do. She nodded but they kept staring at each other, his hands on her waist and hers drifting down from his neck to his chest.

She was the first to step away. He watched her disappear through the door and wondered how he had managed to make such a mess of his life.

For the entirety of the next week he couldn’t get that muffled whimper out of his head.

Every time he saw her he wanted to drag her into him and kiss her again, harsher, hungrier, with his hands tracing over every inch of her body. 

He told himself he was being stupid and he just needed an outlet. For the most part, he and Alys doing well together, but on the few occasions they actually fucked he found the novelty of being beneath her was starting to wear off. 

Frustratingly, everything else seemed to be working well for him. He was good at his job; working for Rivers PR was certainly helping to distract him from his family and the company was thriving. He didn’t have to put up with his parents and the Rivers girls seemed happy enough to have him around. The only problem left was him.

In June Alys was accompanying a client on a trip to Dorne, a few days in Salt Shore, Lemonwood and then a week in Sunspear. Aemond wasn’t sure if he was elated or dreading her absence. Every time he’d been around her lately he held his breath, waiting for her to realise something was wrong.

She remained perfectly normal though. Her exams were finished and she had an internship at Lion Publishing lined up for the month of August. In the meantime she was living life as she pleased, lunch dates and picnics in the park with her friends, but she spent a lot of time at home too, mostly reading or writing in a leatherbound notebook.

The kiss was a mistake. A stupid mistake. He kept looking for a chance to talk to her, but decided it might be best until Alys was away.

Alys’ flight was due on a Friday evening and he dropped her off in the afternoon. They sat in silence for most of the journey but silence wasn’t a rarity for them.

When they reached the airport they both went to take the bags out the boot.

“I’m a big girl, I can manage,” she said dryly, but that was just her sense of humour. 

“I don’t doubt it,” he said.

She set her suitcase by her side and slipped her arm through her Prada tote bag. “The two of you can look after yourselves well enough,” she said, fussing with the collar of her blouse. “I don’t need to tell you not to answer the door to strangers or anything?”

He smiled unenthusiastically. “No.”

With her eyes one the pavement, she brought her fingers to the styled waves of her hair, bringing a few tresses over her shoulder.

“She’s fond of you,” she said. “I know I can’t always be there for her when she needs me, but I know you helped her with that exam and I appreciate it.” There was no sign of shortness or irritation like there usually was when she spoke about anything remotely personal. She was being sincere and it just made him feel worse.

“Don’t mention it,” he said.

She shrugged her shoulders and the businesswoman was back. “Right then. I’d give you a kiss goodbye but I have lipstick on.”

How devastatingly practical, as always. She threw an arm around his shoulder and he pecked her cheek before she headed for the terminal, quickly and gracefully, heels clicking against the ground. 

He had plans to meet Helaena for dinner at a restaurant in central. With her mother out the way, she had invited a few friends to celebrate the end of exams and he figured she’d appreciate the space.

He didn’t realise how much he missed not living with his sister until he saw her. That was the downside of the new circumstances, he never got to see his siblings as much as he wanted to.

Helaena asked him about Alys and her, how they were dealing with Harwin still in the hospital. He told her the truth, they didn’t really talk about it much, but by that point it was a matter of waiting for the inevitable.

Apparently Rhaenyra was a mess. She would be. Her husband was dying, she had three kids to look after and Harrenhal PR was falling to pieces now that Larys was in charge and Alys had poached half of their best clients.

Helaena was exhausted. She was getting ready to start a PhD in Highgarden and she should have been excited, but she hardly had the wherewithal to think about it with Alicent and Viserys’ constant rowing. At least Daeron would be back in a few more days so she wouldn’t be the only child at the house.

“Are you coming to Dragonstone this year?” she asked.

He took a telling breath through his nose and finished off his glass of wine.

“Aemond, please, it won’t be the same without you.”

He scoffed. “No one wants me there.”

She frowned at him with those sad blue eyes of hers. “Don’t say that.”

“Did you know mum hasn’t called me once since I left? It’s been five months. Do you really think I can just show up and we’ll play happy families then go back to hating each other when we get home?”

Her face twisted like she might start crying. 

“Sorry I just–” he held his forehead in his hands and dragged them back over his hair. He didn’t want to think about Dragonstone, it just made him think of her.

He felt her hand gently take his wrist and guide it down to the table so she could see his face. 

“What’s up with you?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

She raised her eyebrows and hummed like she didn’t believe him.

It wasn’t long after 10pm when he got back to the house. He heard voices and giggles in the front lounge. He walked softly through the hallway and slowed when he came to the door.

“... that’s always been a fantasy of mine.”

“Jo, you’re sick.”

“Oh step-daddy!”

Laughter followed, with a few disbelieving sighs. He recognised her laugh, and made out two other distinct voices. He guessed they hadn’t heard him come in.

“Is he hot though?”

He listened for a reply but she stayed quiet.

“Oh come on! I bet you’ve thought about it.”

“No.” She said it so simply he almost believed her. 

He moved through to the kitchen intending to get some water. There were two empty pizza boxes and an assortment of empty wine bottles on the kitchen island. He went to clean them up when the door opened.

“Hi,” she said softly. Her face was dewy and a little flushed. “I didn’t hear the door.”

“I only just got in,” he said, “don’t worry I didn’t hear anything incriminating.”

She tilted her head at him with a slightly dazed smile. She looked gorgeous and the pair of jeans she wore fit her perfectly. 

She refilled the glasses from a new bottle and nodded to an empty glass on the counter. “Do you want to join us?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” she said.

He followed her through to the lounge, bringing the glass and the bottle with him. 

Before he opened the door she leaned into him and whispered, “don’t worry, Margarey has work tomorrow and Jo’s waiting for her boyfriend so they won’t stay long.”

Margaery and Joanna were effortlessly charming but he distrusted them for being law students. They both grinned when he sat on the sofa by the window and were eager to ask him about his time in Oldtown and his job.

Joanna kept glancing over to her, but she remained unphased until Margarey mentioned Targ Corp. Her face slowly fell in irritation. He found it quite endearing.

“So why did you leave?” Joanna asked, “it was something to do with Viserys’ will, right?”

“It’s none of your business, is it?” she said shortly.

Aemond gave her a quick smile to let her know it was alright and she settled back to contentment.  

Just as she said, they were both gone before midnight. She saw them to the door and when she came back to the lounge she fell beside him with her legs against his and her head on his shoulder.

“Did you have a nice evening?” he asked. If he turned his head just a little further his lips would brush against her temple.

“Really lovely,” she sighed.

He considered asking about the kiss, but she was definitely tipsy and just sitting with her was too peaceful. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb the moment and the sound of her breathing. 

Her fingers began to trace up over the fabric of his shirt, up and down over his stomach and the lines of his abs underneath.

He put his hand over hers to stop her, but somehow it only seemed to spur his own want. He closed his hand around her, tracing his thumb over her knuckles.

She shifted her head so she was looking at him and her breath echoed over his neck. 

She leaned in first. Their lips met with gentle grazes, just feeling each other and breathing the same air. 

Gradually they deepened their movements. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and he melted at her softness and her warmth. He cupped her jaw to pull her into him despite the gnawing feeling in his chest, like he was getting too close, like he could never get close enough.

She started to move and he tried to keep hold of her, expecting her to slip from his grasp, until he felt her weight on his lap. She straddled him, wrapping her hands around the sides of his neck and threading her fingers through his hair. She gave him another dazed little smile before she continued to kiss him fiercely, desperately.

It was a bad idea. It was such a bad idea, but for now he would take the guilt if he got to feel her like this, her lips trailing along his jaw and down his neck, her heavy breaths and whimpers as she started to rock her hips against him.

He reached to take hold of her hips, moving with her at first before he set a new, steadier pace, dragging her against the tightening bulge in his jeans. “You alright there, pet?” he hummed.

She nudged her forehead against his. “Please can you just…” her eyes followed her hands as she propped herself against his chest. 

“What do you want, baby?” he whispered.

She let out a whine that went straight to his cock.

“Come on,” he hissed, “talk to me.”

She clenched her fists to tug at his shirt. “I want you,” she breathed.

He strained an exhale as he tried to stop his hips from bucking into her. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said with a groan, but he was already trying to rationalise it.

She could be the outlet, just once, just to get it out of his system. 

“No it’s not, but I still want you,” she said.

Or maybe it didn’t have to be about him. He could just give her what she needed.

“Please,” she whined trying to fight against his hold on her hips, “I want you so bad, it fucking hurts.”

“Oh you poor thing,” he cooed, moving his face down to tease the skin of her throat with his lips and tongue. 

He knew they were on the cusp of something dangerous and damning, but it was her, the girl from that summer, the girl with the pretty smile and the curious look in her eyes, Alys’ daughter. 

When he looked up to her face her eyes were wide and pleading.

Maybe he felt he owed it to a younger version of himself, or maybe it was the wine he’d had at the restaurant but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the consequences. 

He pressed his palm against her stomach, feeling her body tremble and her quick, shallow breaths. He trailed lower to undo the buttons on her jeans. “Take these off for me,” he muttered.

She didn’t hesitate to follow his instruction. She drew the jeans down her legs, leaving her in her top and a black thong. He told her to straddle him again, which she did. 

With firm but gentle hands he felt along the bare flesh of her thighs and her ass, positioning her over his thigh. He pulled the thong against her until she was squirming and trying to rut against his jeans.

He chuckled softly to himself and held her waist tightly to keep her still, and she followed the silent instruction so well. She was panting, leaning in closer to him, but waiting for his lead. He was slightly scared of how much he loved it.

He brought his hand to her cheek, stroking and toying with her bottom lip. “Do you want to be good for me?” he whispered.

She hummed her agreement. 

“Fuck yourself against my thigh, pretty girl, show me how desperate you are.”

With a small nod she started to move, letting out little moans when her clothed clit rolled against his leg.

He kept her movements slow, even when she tried to fight against him and go faster.

“No,” he said, “be a good girl for me, do as you’re told.”

The pace was agonising for her, eyes screwed shut and jaw hung open as her hands got restless, running over his jaw, his neck and into his hair.

He kept her steady and pressed her down against his jeans with each drag of her hips, playing with the change in pressure and smiling at the way it made her whine and her eyes water.

“Aemond… I need more…”

He still kept the movements nice and slow. “Just let it happen– there you go, good fucking girl.”

She didn’t hold back her moans as her climax hit her, tensing hard and falling into him. He kept her moving through it, until her thighs were shaking and she begged him to stop.

He was sure he’d never been so hard in his life, but he held her there, breathing in the smell of her hair and her perfume.

Then he brought her away from him so he could see her face, beautifully blissed out. There was that light, hopeful feeling in his chest, but it was starting to crumble under the realisation of what they’d done.

“Is that actually a thing, the step-daddy thing?” he asked.

She huffed a breathy laugh. “According to Jo it is. Why, do you want me to call you daddy?”

He wouldn’t admit it then, but he liked the way it sounded coming from her.

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3 @okfashionista @khaothick

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Taoba (Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Daemon Targaryen)

Summary: Daemon and Aemond settle their pending score.

Warnings: Aemond being a BRAT. Daemon being a sugar daddy (I guess?) Violence. Targaryen way of conflict resolution. 

A/N: Final part of the Muña series. This is very unhealthy, but I needed to give it a satisfactory conclusion that felt in character to me, so it stopped using my brain space. 

THERE IS NO Sept in Pentos. At least, not in the part of the city where the manse is located. You do not dare go exploring further than a few timid excursions to the surrounding markets. 

Being out in the open makes you antsy. Your departure from Westeros is still too fresh, you have not yet settled into a life where you are not at war. Searching for a Sept in which to pray properly seems too trivial. 

You still light your candles, one for each person you have lost, plus another one. For yourself. 

Aemond is as unsettled as you are. To him, the loss is greater. He has had to shed his identity, cut his chair and remove the characteristic eye patch and leather clothes for more simple ones. He is now a dragonseed, brought along as a paramour to a happily married couple. 

“What can I say?” Daemon had laughed, when questioned about it by a magister. “I love my wife, and she does love her toys.” 

It had prompted a roar of laughter from his friends. You weren’t too sure you liked being known as a sexual deviant, but you had little choice in the matter. Everyone had to make sacrifices, after all. 

Even Vhagar. She is now known as The Cannibal. The Essoi know so little about dragons that an intimidating name to match the intimidating reptile in their city satisfies them. 

Daemon, in contrast, settles in as if he had never been at war. He has already been in one before, and has lost little. He still has his name, his money, and his marriage. He even has his old pentoshi friends. They had greeted him warmly, clapped him in the back, and it was as if he had never left. 

While Aemond continues to share your bed, Daemon is content to haunt the place. You worry despite yourself when you realize he is not out whoring or drinking as usual. But you are too busy with your inner turmoil to try to fix him too. 

Having run away from the only home you knew leaves you unsure about whom you really are. When the war started, you were different. You would have done anything to protect your people. Now, you were a coward who ran with her tail between her legs at the first hint of trouble. 

It was difficult to feel such a passionate love for them when they had started resisting your orders. As soon as the Blacks gained a bit of terrain, they started questioning your leadership. By the end of it, they were cursing your name.

Running was easier, after that. Playing Daemon’s wife again wasn’t. 

It all comes to a head one evening when you are asked to sweep into that role again. Daemon has insisted on hosting a dinner for some of his friends, and so, you have little choice but to squeeze yourself into a fine gown he commissioned for you. It seems fair that if he is housing you and your lover, you do something for him. 

You plan the night to perfection. It is what you have been raised to do, and you thrive on it. There is such an innate sense of control that comes with choosing a menu, the seating arrangements, the entertainment. You enjoy the task so much, you wish you had put it into practice more in your other life. 

Aemond sulks in a corner the whole evening, even when Daemon has gotten him a matching doublet. He seems to dislike the implication of being a bastard too much to enjoy himself in a company that cares little for his origins. 

“I hate this dress.” He complains, once you have ushered out the last of Daemon’s friends. Aemond toys with the laces on the back of it, making you frown. “Makes you look washed out. Ugly.” 

You flinch. You have never liked discussing your appearance, not after many years of mocking. During a good week, a remark about your looks can set your budding self-esteem back a moon. Hearing Aemond say so during a bad one guts you. 

Aemond was supposed to understand you. To see you. 

“I happen to like it.” You say, picking up the last goblets of wine and setting them into a tray to be taken down to the kitchen. Your household is sparsely staffed, Daemon’s savings not enough to keep it running at full capacity.  You find you don’t really mind. The lack of resources during the war had made you go through much worse, and you find you enjoy the privacy. “I enjoy the fullness of the skirts.” 

You are careful to keep your back turned to the men, but you cannot hide the tenseness of your shoulders, the stiffness of your spine. Perhaps the insult stings more because you do like the dress.  Despite how tight it was, you had felt pretty after putting it on. The seamstress had complimented you, even. 

The style was more form - fitting than what you usually wore, a bit more risky. It had been inspired by what the women here wore, and you knew Daemon wouldn’t let you embarrass him. That fact had prompted your confidence to wear it in the first place. But now, you just feel old and fat. 

A hand presses to your back, warm and gentle. You stiffen more, thinking it’s Aemond’s. 

“You look beautiful in it.” Daemon compliments, softly. And because he cannot resist it, he throws in a dig at Aemond too. “The boy is just bitter because he can’t pay for anything half as fine.” 

“That is not true. I could become a…” Aemond starts, and you groan, pressing your hands to your eyes. You have heard the tale of the sellsword plenty. He is a good swordsman, perhaps good enough to take up that sort of life. But he is out of practice. Most of his battles have been from the dragon, not the horse. Unlike cavalry, dragonback doesn’t provide such experience. 

“If you become a sellsword, you will die. And all I did would be in vain.” Daemon sits down, placing his boots on the table. You shove him. It’s not as if any of them do any cleaning, but Aemond is far neater. You do not clean either, but as the person in charge of the servants, you prefer not to be embarrassed by how piggish they can be.

Daemon has gone through great pains to secure you a home and safety. You try not to feel too indebted to him, considering the horrible years of marriage and shame, but cannot help it. He is finally behaving like you were taught a husband is supposed to behave, and it pleases your stupid brain. 

He provides for you. Pays for your home, dresses, lets you run a household. He protects you. Keeps you safe from the outcome of the war, rescued you from the likely revolt from your tenants. He makes you happy. Daemon pays to keep Aemond safe and healthy, too. 

It messes with your head. You shouldn’t feel grateful, you shouldn’t like him and yet…

Siege mentality. That must be it. Your current situation makes you believe it’s Daemon, Aemond and you against the world. 

Aemond doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. He has been behaving oddly ever since you got here. The first week, he had been on edge, wary Daemon was going to murder him in his sleep. The second one, he had not left your bed. And then he had settled into an odd sort of depression that involved making everyone around him as miserable as possible. 

Aemond was a man born and bred for war. It wasn't unusual that he was struggling with peace. 

“Apologize, Taoba.” Daemon orders. While this is not the first time Aemond lashes out, it is the first time Daemon bothers with demanding an apology. It is also the first time Aemond’s temper has been directed at you. 

“I refuse to apologize for my opinion.” Aemond smirks. He toys with his goblet, before leaning in. You know the look in his face. It’s the one he wears when he plans to deliver the killing blow. “The dress makes you look ugly.” 

You suppose it is better than being outright called ugly. The thought isn’t as comforting as you thought. 

“An opinion no one asked for.” Daemon’s tone is icy. You look at him, begging him to let it go. But Daemon has never listened to you, not in all the years you have been married. He won’t start now. “And a false one. I can’t just voice the opinion that the sky is red. Now, apologize or…”  

“Or?” Aemond challenges. This time, you turn your pleading eyes to him. Out of the two of them, he is slower to enact his revenge ploys, while Daemon chooses to take immediate and decisive action. You hope that means he can be persuaded to postpone the confrontation. 

“Aemond, why don’t we go to bed?” You ask, voice soft and meek. But Aemond’s gaze is fixed on Daemon. 

The older man smirks. He leans back on his chair, forcing it to balance precariously on its hind legs. 

“I’ll make you.” 

It happens faster than you can react. One second they are glaring at each other, the next Aemond has lunged over the table, sending the goblets clattering. He punches Daemon, making him fall off the chair. But before Aemond can get any other punch in, Daemon grabs him by the hair and slams him against the table. You scream. 

“My goblets! The tablecloth!” You realize you sound insane, but you feel it too. Your hands tremble. One would think war has desensitized you to violence, but it is one thing to know a battle is being fought and another to see the man you love get beaten by your husband. 

You make an aborted motion towards them, unsure if trying to get between them is a good idea. You settle for clenching your hands into fists, powerless to stop the situation around you. 

Daemon jerks Aemond upright, holding his hands between his back. 

“Aōla gēlȳni iēnkā, taobus!” You can tell Daemon is mocking him. Familiar as you are with his methods, you step forward, hovering. 

Were Daemon mocking you, this would be the part where you would defend yourself. Aemond, instead, simply smirks. 

“Sa Tida, Kepus.” 

Daemon’s face turns into an expression of absolute, murderous rage. His grip on Aemond tightens. He turns to you, almost in… Disbelief? You aren’t sure. You do not know what they are saying, but it can’t be good. 

Aemond blushes with pleasure. He smiles a cocky grin, and his chest puffs up with arrogant satisfaction. 

It is only at that display that color returns to Daemon’s face. 

“I must admit, you had me fooled.” He releases Aemond, and gives him a shove. “But your games will not unnerve me tonight. Not again. We will settle this.” 

“Daemon…” 

“As much as it pains me, he is right.” Aemond sneers. “There is a debt to be paid, Muña. Do not interfere.” 

He gives you a warning glance, before bowing his head. It’s the last time he looks at you. 

His attention is now focused on Daemon. He looks up at him, body taut with fear. If you didn’t know Aemond that well, you would miss it. But to your well-trained eyes, it’s obvious. He is terrified. 

Aemond ends up lowering his eye again. Daemon’s fierce stare seems to have him unbalanced, unable to hide his emotions as well as he usually does. Knowing Daemon, he must be delighted his intimidation tactics are making him squirm. 

Daemon thrives on fear and humiliation. He has perfected his methods through the years, his reputation as a rogue only aiding him in his task. His eyes are like daggers. Instinctually, you know that is better to stay silent for now. 

Aemond seems to share your thoughts. He averts his eyes, face red with embarrassment. You wonder what has Daemon said to him that he is so out of sorts. 

“You should be kneeling.” Daemon finally says, his eyes on you. For a second, you think the instruction is actually meant for you, but before you can do anything about it, Daemon has turned back to Aemond. He towers over him, somehow, despite being the same height. “You're such a pathetic creature.”  

Daemon steps towards him. Aemond takes a step back, and Daemon smirks. He can probably sense the weakness in the same manner wolves sense fear. 

“Insulting your woman after claiming to be better than I. Hypocrite. But what more could you ask from a Hightower.”  His face tight with anger, Daemon unsheathes his dagger and grabs Aemond's chin, tilting it up. 

Never in a million lives you thought you would see Daemon defending your honor. How life surprises us all. 

You pity Aemond. His skin is turning red where Daemon is grabbing him, and he is breathing hard, eye closed. He seems to be expecting pain, and it fills you with the urge to comfort him. 

Aemond shouldn’t be having to brace himself. This is a storm of your own making. But he has asked you not to interfere, and you do not wish to wound his pride. You stay quiet. 

The dagger Daemon holds is now pressed to Aemond’s throat and this time, it is too much.  You advance on them. 

“Stop it.” 

Daemon ignores you. He leans in, close enough that he could kiss Aemond. His hair tickles Aemond’s face. 

“And you still fucked my wife without my permission.” He snarls. “Open your mouth,”

Aemond swallows. He seems cowed, for the first time in his life. 

“Stop this. Right this second.” You repeat, but neither heed you. Much to your dismay, Aemond makes eye contact with you before opening his mouth. Daemon’s dagger brushes against his lips. He shakes like a frightened bunny, but he still doesn’t attempt to defend himself.

“Open wider.”

Aemond has no choice but to obey.  You are struck by how young he looks, how young he truly is. At least ten years your junior, twenty or so than Daemon. He has been a man for such little time, and yet, has done much more horrible things than most people twice his age. 

The lesser of those sins is bedding a married woman. 

Daemon’s voice is harsh. 

“I said wider!” Aemond opens his mouth wider, obediently. “Now, stick out your tongue.”  

“… Why don’t we all calm down..?” You feel your hands shaking. Daemon is capable of cutting his tongue. You know it. Aemond knows it. And still, he sticks out his tongue like an obedient dog. 

“Your tongue would make a fine gift to my wife. An apology, for all the insults I sent her way.” Daemon smirks. “And a penance, for how you dared treat her, petulant child that you are.” 

Your eyes sting. Something like a sob surges on your chest, but it doesn’t get out, caged between your ribs. It takes residence there, caught. 

It’s unbelievable. Once, you had prided yourself on knowing Daemon. You had been so finely tuned to his moods, out of an urge for survival, that you could tell with just a glance what he was thinking. His anger had always been transparent to you. 

This time, you aren’t sure if he is serious about cutting Aemond’s tongue for the slight, or if it is about the infidelity. 

“I do not want his tongue. Daemon. Stop it.” You beg, stumbling back into your chair. You hold your head between your hands, realizing this is punishment for you too. For daring to be an adulterous wife. 

Aemond’s face is pale. He is trembling slightly, and his tongue is caught between Daemon’s finger. It makes him drool. He attempts to pull back. 

Daemon's eyes flash with anger.  There is a dark satisfaction in his face. 

“Don't move.” Daemon's voice is low and sinister. “Keep it there. Less my pulse falters, and I leave you without a tongue before deciding.” 

“Don't!” You plead. 

Aemond doesn't move, the blade still pressed to his tongue, his mouth open. 

Daemon softens at the obedience. Perhaps because he has always liked control a bit too much. 

“Good boy.” He grins. Aemond sends him a look made of pure hatred, but keeps still. His eye is glued to Daemon’s, set on not backing down. 

If someone doesn’t intervene, something bad is about to happen. And there is no one else here, but you.

You stand up, furious. 

“That is enough! I happen to like his tongue where it is, inside his mouth and unharmed.” 

“You're nothing but a sniveling coward.” Daemon presses the dagger harder into Aemond's tongue, taunting him. “What's the matter? Do you like the taste of the dagger on your tongue? The feel of the metal against your flesh? Sick little boy.”

Daemon laughs. Aemond closes his eye, but both you and Daemon see it. A single tear falls down his face, mouth still wide open, dagger pressed inside. The sight is hauntingly beautiful, like one of the tapestries Daemon used to hang around showcasing Targaryen deviance. 

“Do you like that?” Daemon leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of his ear. You know through first-hand experience how devastating that feels. Somehow, seeing them together, Daemon holding Aemond almost in a lover’s embrace, makes you throb with shameful arousal. “Being completely helpless and humiliated? It should hurt. It shows you your place. On the ground, at my mercy.” 

Aemond tries to close his mouth, but Daemon's hands keep his face pushed back as he presses the tip of the blade into his tongue. Aemond's face tightens, a look of pain flashing across his eyes, but he can't say anything. The only sound out of his mouth is a painful groan. 

Daemon's expression is cold and hard. 

“It feels good, doesn't it? Just like kissing the cunt of a married woman?"

“Daemon! Enough!” And this time, you finally gather the courage to do what needs to be done. You get between the two of them and shove Daemon out of the way. “That’s enough.” 

Daemon licks his lips. Aemond swallows, a hint of blood in the edge of his mouth. You wonder if he is tasting copper. 

“What a pathetic display of weakness. I've seen a thousand pigs slaughtered with more bravery than you.” Daemon sheathes the dagger. Aemond’s face turns frighteningly angry. Torching the Riverlands kind of angry. 

His breathing is deep and labored, like a hurt animal. You rush to his side and hug him. 

“You are bold to speak of weakness…” Aemond says, with great effort. His body shudders against yours, and it is a testament to how shaken he must be that he doesn’t jerk out of your grip. “When it was your own what led your wife to my bed. Make no mistake, Muña. An old dog cannot learn new tricks.” He then spits blood at Daemon’s face.

Daemon wipes his face with his sleeve, horrifyingly calm. He then looks at both of you, and bursts into genuine laughter. 

“I was wrong, boy. You have balls.” He gives him a hand, helping him to a chair. “We might make a man out of you yet.” 

Aemond accepts his help without fear. You stare. 

“Both of you are unhinged.” 

Daemon turns to you. 

“Oh? Then what would you do in my situation?” 

“Apologize? Agree to move on and let go of the past?” You offer, weakly. 

Daemon scoffs at the suggestion. “Apologize? Apologize! You think that will solve everything?” But he does look over at Aemond, who has now relaxed in his chair, exhausted.  “I suppose I should try to be diplomatic, if only for your sake. Fine. I apologize for calling you terrible things, trying to murder you and to cut out your tongue. How does that sound, Taoba?”

Aemond swallows again. He seems unsure if he should be trusting Daemon’s words. He gives you a look. You shrug. If they want to try normal conflict resolution, you won’t stop them. 

“Thank you. I apologize for fucking her without your permission.” 

Daemon gives him a small smile. Aemond meets his eyes. A strange mixture of emotions seems to pass between them. Daemon looks as if he is seeing Aemond for the first time. There is a new interest in his eyes, one you do not like at all. 

Or perhaps, you like it too much. You can’t decide. 

“Is that all, then? Or do you have more to say, nephew?” He purrs. 

Aemond scratches his nape, embarrassed. He doesn’t seem to know how to react to being flirted with. Because this is what this is. Daemon is looking at him with utter hunger. 

“Nothing.” 

Daemon looks him over, inspecting Aemond like a predator sizing up his prey. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” 

Daemon studies him for a moment, not looking convinced.

“Someone looks guilty.” He is like a shark, smelling blood in the water. Aemond looks painfully awkward, nothing like the cocky young man that seduced you moons ago. Deciding to put him out of his misery, you attempt to shift Daemon’s attention to you. 

“I apologize for bedding him.” You offer, in your meekest tone. 

Daemon doesn't acknowledge your apology, his eyes still fixed on Aemond, filled with curiosity. 

“I accept your apology.” Then his eyes harden, his face turns serious. “Now, come here. Both of you.”

Aemond’s eye widens, but obediently gets up and creeps closer.  Daemon reaches a hand towards you. You go easily. 

“That wasn't so hard, was it?” Daemon teases, his eyes never leaving Aemond's face, searching for some hint of weakness.

Aemond nods silently, too intimidated to speak. Daemon grabs him by the back of his neck, firmly. He presses his forehead to his. 

“Aōha ēdruta vāedas. Vezof jin azantys, vestri sȳz. Se ābra dracarys jēdo nūm.” 

Aemond nods, solemnly. As if he were accepting a vow. Then, they both turn towards you. 

“Consider this my repentance.” Daemon says, with a smirk. Aemond looks properly chided. Contrite, even. 

“I apologize for being rude. The dress makes your cleavage look phenomenal. I was just… Jealous, I suppose. I used to protect you and now…” He offers, sounding much like a child who has gotten caught with his hands on the cookie jar. 

“Now you find yourself in the unusual situation of having me as the protector. I have been shielding you from Daemon and Daemon has been…” You realize it as you speak it. Aemond had come to rescue from your solitude, and your evil, up to no good husband. You had been his damsel in distress, until you had stepped into the role of the protector and Daemon into…

“Providing.” The man himself barks out a laugh. “Seven Hells, am I a stand-in for Viserys? I thought I had issues.” 

Aemond blushes. 

“It isn’t like that.” 

But Daemon insists. He takes a lock of your hair and twists it between his fingers.

“Fuck, I married Alicent. Fucking Alicunt.” 

“I am not her!” You protest. 

“You do look like my mother a bit. In the right light.” Aemond concedes, and you don’t know if to laugh or cry. “I… I want to do better. And I…” 

“I want in. In what you two have.” Daemon’s smirk turns more devious, gently tucking the strand of hair he was still holding behind your ear. “Normally, I would threaten you with kicking you out, or hurting your lover over here. But I have been told it is in bad taste to try to force myself into your bed.” 

So he had learned his lesson from the last time. You fight off the pleased smile. 

“So. The choice is yours. My nephew and I reached an agreement already, one that will be void without your consent. Otherwise, we can go as we are.” Daemon finishes his offer, placing his hands behind his back. 

You look between Aemond and him. Aemond seems encouraging. 

“Will you be content to pay for your wife and her lover the rest of our lives? How selfless.” You arch an eyebrow, doubtful. It sounds too unlike him. 

Daemon shrugs.

“What can I say? You inspire selfless devotion.” 

“He is right. You do.” Aemond says, hugging you from behind. You feel him bury his face on your hair, quietly grounding himself. He has had a taxing evening, for sure. 

“What do you think of this?” You ask him, voice low. 

“If he is involved, I would feel more settled. Like it is not charity.” Aemond says, kissing your temple. 

“I see you have learned from whores, haven’t you?” Daemon mocks, creeping closer. “Being my kept man and my kept woman. How lucky it is to be a prince.” 

“Cunt.” You say, giving him a shove. 

“Your cunt.” Daemon smirks. He leers at you. “And what a delicious one you seem to have…” 

You slap a hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Aemond fights with a smile, and it is that which convinces you.

“Fine. You win. And we actually prefer trophy wife and boy toy.”

“Talk for yourself.” Aemond tugs at your hair, and you laugh. 

[gulnarsultan]

I was reading about Daddy Daemon and I thought that maybe (being Reader the daughter of his marriage to his first wife) he has abandoned Reader; she didn't lay an egg in her cradle as tradition says (she claimed Cannibal later) when her mother "died" Daemon didn't go for her and left her in the valley without meeting her new sisters and later brothers, he didn't even tell her that married twice and now has a family where he has no place. He only knows about him from rumors or gossip in the kingdom.

The dance of dragons happens and Daemon wants to use his daughter as a warrior for riding a cannibal, but when he (and some of the green team) go to recruit her they discover that no one knows where she is, only that one day she flew away with her dragon. So when Rhaenyra takes the throne and begins to see how many houses follow her, they discover that Reader is queen of an empire far from Westeros where people have gifts that connect them to the earth and the elements (each being smaller kingdoms that serve her) and that there are fantastic creatures besides dragons; He also had two children with the one who was the emperor before he died, one rides a dragon from an egg that gave a cannibal and another a sea dragon (instead of fire he throws boiling water), when they want him to swear allegiance to Rhaenyra and Daemon (he pulling out the "I'm your father" letter) she warns them;

- "If you dare to disturb my nation, I will extinguish all of you, because between you and me, if I can win another war"

And she turns her back on all of them, leaving with her children (who accompanied her to protect her) and the promise that any attempt at conquest will destroy them. (Maybe a bit of Daemon's regret for casting her aside, both for being his first daughter and for losing the power of a new kingdom)

The Reader is the only child of Daemon and Rhae Royce. The Dragon is the Rider of the Cannibal. The reader has silver colored hair and pale skin. One eye of the reader has Targaryen color and the other has Royce (grey). The reader speaks perfectly Valyrian. She is both a princess and a warrior. He was raised by House Royce after the loss of his mother. The reader only has a father-daughter relationship with his uncle Viserys. Daemon and Rhaenyra's arrogant demeanor infuriates the reader. The reader is fighting on the side of the greens after this insult. The greens will probably win the war, thanks to the reader and his army. It's too late for everything, daemon regret it.

[korkiekenobiconfirmed]

I see so many people arguing against the Greens and their “side” of the fandom because denial of Rhaenyra’s rightful claim is rooted in misogyny, but none of them take into account the context of such ideas.

The king’s decision was in accord with well-established practice. Aegon the Conqueror had been the first Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, not his sister Visenya, two years his elder. Jahaerys himself had followed his usurping uncle Maegor on the Iron Throne, though had the order of birth alone ruled, his sister Rhaena had a better claim.

— Fire and Blood, 364, On Jahaerys’ appointment of Baelon as heir over Rhaenys

HotD’s tendency to gloss over politics (and that’s a whole different rant) I think has led to a lot of people forgetting that this is medieval Westeros. There is substantial precedent for lesser-born sons ruling over daughters — even down to Laenor having a stronger claim to the throne than his elder sister and mother. Deciding a ruler’s succession is never as easy as “eldest child get’s daddy’s fancy chair” (especially when there are multiple different paths of inheritance and everybody’s blood-related on 8 different levels), and historical precedence has always played a huge role in who can rule over a kingdom…and this is all without even bringing in the Seven/religious matters, which are their own beast.

TLDR: Yeah. It’s easy to sit here in our modern real-life world and condemn Green fans for #evilpatriarchy and Blood Purity Ideas. But within the sociopolitical context of this world GRRM has created (which is very much rooted in real life midieval Europe), the Greens aren’t wrong: Westeros as we know it could never stand united behind a woman, especially one with bastard sons.