#the only valid targaryen man

[enobariasteeth]

Targaryen women 💖💖❤️💗

Targaryen men... die

[nikinikori]

“What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms, [...] We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.”

— Maester Aemon Targaryen: "Game of Thrones"

[fromtheseventhhell]

What's crazy is that Barristan has the character development that people pretend Jaime has but because he supports Dany and doesn't spend all of his page time talking/thinking about how evil Targaryens are, it gets ignored

[idkyetxoxo]

Aegon Targaryen - In Her Embrace

Summary - Aegon can only seem to find consolation and loyalty in his wife, who fiercely defends him against the world's cruelty. He clings to her like a lifeline, craving the affection and comfort she uniquely provides, both through her words and through her body.

Pairing - Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2039

Masterlist for Aegon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Aegon Targaryen was an unusual man, shaped by the emotional neglect of his childhood. The absence of love from his parents left him craving affection and validation throughout his adult life. 

This deep-seated need for attention often made him a more complex figure than many cared to understand.

As the only trueborn daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon, my marriage to Aegon had been orchestrated by my grandsire, a match he pursued with unwavering determination. 

Queen Alicent, recognizing the significance of the silver hair I inherited from my parents, could not oppose this union. Thus, the match was sealed, binding me to Aegon.

On this particular day, I found myself in the library, a book resting in my hand, my legs draped casually over the arm of a chair. I was comfortably ensconced in my corner of the room, enjoying the serenity of the space while Aegon conversed with his brother and a few friends across from me.

Their discussion was monotonous, and I found my attention drifting in and out. However, as the conversation grew more heated, with sharp comments and pointed jabs exchanged, I looked up from my book.

 Aemond's voice cut through the air, dripping with a mocking tone.

"Really, Aegon, you think you can handle that matter on your own?" Aemond said, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "The last time you tried to make a decision without help, the results were as disastrous as a shipwreck in a storm."

Aegon stiffened, his face reddening slightly. "And what would you know about it? You've been too busy sulking in your corner to make any real decisions yourself."

Aemond leaned back in his chair, the smirk widening. "Ah, but at least I'm not clinging to every word of praise like a child to a comfort blanket. Honestly, I sometimes wonder if you believe the whole realm revolves around your every whim."

The friends exchanged glances, some snickering quietly. Aegon's jaw tightened, and he shifted uncomfortably.

I shifted in my chair, feeling the tension mount. I cleared my throat, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Perhaps we could avoid turning every conversation into a competition, kēpus?" Uncle?

Aemond's gaze snapped towards me, his surprise evident. "Oh, forgive me, riña. I didn't realize my commentary was causing distress." Girl.

My jaw clenched at his sarcastic tone. "Tubī daor," I said firmly, hoping to cut this discussion short. Not today.

Aemond's smirk grew wider as he noticed the exchange, his friends looking between us in confusion. Aegon appeared to be struggling to piece together the conversation.

"Valyrian?" Aemond said with a tone of feigned shock, as though I had no right to use our native language.

"Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa." I replied sharply, making it clear that Valyrian was indeed my mother tongue despite what he thought. Valyrian is my mother tongue. 

"Yet, your fool of a husband still can't speak it properly," Aemond taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. He knew exactly how much his words would sting, and he relished the opportunity to inflict pain.

"Mittys iksā."  I spat out, my patience fraying to its limit. You're a fool.

Aemond's eyes glinted with malice, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "And you're fortunate to be miraculously the daughter of your father and mother, unlike your strong brothers." The jab was unmistakable, aimed precisely to provoke and humiliate.

"Brother," Aegon interjected his tone a clear warning.

Aemond scoffed, not missing a beat. "What is it, brother? Here to defend your mommy?" His sneer deepened, and a quiet, mocking laugh escaped him. 

"Go latch onto her tit like the babe you are," he continued, his words laced with derision.

Aegon's face tightened with anger, but he remained silent, clearly struggling to keep his composure.

I could feel the fury boiling within me, a storm of emotions that Aemond seemed intent on unleashing. 

"You always did have a talent for cruelty, kēpus," I said, my voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "Is that all you have? Insults and jabs? It's pathetic." Uncle,

Aemond's smile widened, his eyes dancing with a dangerous light. "Oh, dear niece, you mistake my intentions. This is not cruelty. This is merely truth"

He turned his gaze back to Aegon, his expression hardening. "The truth is that my brother, your husband is nothing more than a pathetic, tit-sucking babe."

I snapped my book shut with a decisive thud, rising from my chair and striding towards the table separating us. 

I placed my hands down heavily, my knuckles white with tension. "Enough, Aemond. This is not the time or place for your nonsense."

The library fell silent as Aemond, slowly rose from his seat. The others, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, began to gather their belongings and leave. Soon, only Aegon and I remained.

I walked towards Aegon, gently placing myself in his lap, facing him. Straddling him, my legs rested on either side of his own. His eyes, clouded with a mix of anger and hurt, looked up at me as if seeking comfort.

I cupped his face in my hands, my thumb softly rubbing back and forth on his cheek. He nuzzled into my touch like a cat seeking affection, his eyes closing as he leaned into my palm. 

His face fell forward into my chest, and I gently stroked through his hair, he hummed in contentment, the sound a low, soothing vibration against my skin.

"I'm sorry about that," I murmured softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Aemond can be insufferable, but he doesn't have to be so cruel."

Aegon took a deep breath, his face still buried in my chest. "Thank you," he said quietly, his voice tinged with gratitude and relief. "I don't expect you to intervene, though."

"I had to," I replied, continuing to stroke his hair gently. "No one should have to endure that kind of treatment."

Aegon's grip tightened slightly around my back, his breathing steadying. "I appreciate it. Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, I'm always in the wrong."

"You're not," I said firmly, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. "You're trying your best, and that's more than enough."

He met my gaze, a flicker of the old Aegon shining through the fatigue and frustration. "It's hard not to feel like everyone's against me."

"Well," I said with a small smile, "you have me and I'm not going anywhere."

Aegon's eyes softened, a grateful smile tugging at his lips. "I'm glad for that."

"You know," I said softly, tracing patterns on the back of his neck with my fingers, "you're stronger than you think. Don't let Aemond's words get to you. He thrives on making others feel small."

Aegon sighed, his breath warm against my skin. "It's just... he always knows exactly where to hit, what to say to make me doubt myself."

I pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingering there for a moment. "He only has power over you if you let him. You are Aegon Targaryen, a man with his own strengths and worth."

Aegon lifted his head slightly, his eyes searching mine. "Do you really believe that?"

"I do," I said without hesitation. "And I'll keep believing it until you believe it too."

He smiled then, a real, genuine smile that lit up his face, making him look almost boyish. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out," I promised, resting my forehead against his, feeling the warmth and security of the moment envelop us both.

He leaned forward slightly, his lips brushing against mine in a soft, tentative kiss. I hummed in response, my hand moving to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He deepened the kiss, his hands roaming to bunch up my dress, pooling the fabric around my waist.

"Here?" I questioned, breaking the kiss to look into his eyes. He nodded quickly, his eyes softening with need and vulnerability.

"Please," he whimpered, and I couldn't say no.

"Alright," I whispered, lifting my hips slightly to give him room to remove his pants. 

As he hurriedly fumbled with his trousers, I felt a rush of anticipation and tenderness. The urgency in his movements spoke volumes about his need for comfort and connection.

When his pants were finally off, his already hard cock sprang free, brushing against my thigh. 

"Gods, Aegon," I mumbled, feeling the heat and urgency of the moment.

He let out a shuddering breath, his hands steadying me as I positioned myself above him. With a slow, deliberate movement, I lowered myself onto him, feeling him fill me completely. We both gasped at the sensation, a perfect blend of physical pleasure and emotional intimacy.

Our movements were slow and deliberate at first, savouring the closeness, the shared breaths, the mingling of our heartbeats. Aegon's hands roamed my back, and my waist, anchoring me to him as we found a rhythm that was both comforting and exhilarating.

"You're everything to me," he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"You deserve all the love and more," I replied, cupping his face in my hands and looking deeply into his eyes. "And I'm here to give it to you."

His grip tightened on my hips, guiding me as our pace quickened. It was just the two of us, lost in each other, in the intensity of our connection.

His hands moved from my hips to my shoulders, trailing down to my chest. He squeezed my breasts through the fabric of my dress, his touch sending shivers down my spine. 

His fingers fumbled with the ties at the top of my dress, loosening it enough to pull down and reveal my bare breasts to him.

He didn't hesitate for a moment. With a hunger that took my breath away, he took one of my breasts into his mouth, sucking and licking at my nipple. His hand squeezed the flesh of my other breast, causing groans of pleasure to escape my lips. 

I arched my back, pressing myself further into his mouth, the sensation of his tongue and lips on my sensitive skin driving me wild.

Aegon's other hand found its way to my back, pulling me closer as he switched to my other breast. He lavished it with the same attention, his mouth working expertly, alternating between gentle sucks and firm licks.

"Gods, Aegon," I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair as I pressed him closer. 

He looked up at me, his eyes dark with desire, and the sight of him, so devoted and hungry, made my heart swell.

He paused for a moment, breathing heavily, his lips glistening. "You taste so good," he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with lust. 

Emboldened by his words, I began to move faster and harder on top of him. Aegon responded eagerly, his hands moving to grip my hips, helping to guide my movements. Each thrust brought a wave of intense pleasure, our bodies moving in perfect harmony. 

The sound of our laboured breathing and the slick, rhythmic movements filled the room, creating a symphony of raw, unfiltered desire.

Aegon's mouth returned to my breasts, his teeth grazing my nipples as he sucked harder, sending jolts of pleasure through me. I gasped, my hands gripping his shoulders for support as I rode him with increasing fervour.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered between kisses, his voice strained with passion. "So perfect."

I could feel the tension building within me, the familiar coil of pleasure tightening with each movement. Aegon's grip on my hips tightened, his own release imminent. 

With a final, powerful thrust, I cried out his name as the orgasm washed over me, my body trembling with the intensity of it. Aegon followed soon after, his own release shuddering through him as he buried his face in my chest, muffling his groans of pleasure.

We collapsed against each other, our bodies slick with sweat, hearts pounding in unison. Aegon's arms wrapped around me, holding me close as we caught our breath. I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my chest, a comforting reminder of the connection we shared.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "For everything."

I kissed the top of his head, my fingers gently stroking his hair. "Always," I replied, my voice filled with love and certainty. "I'll always be here for you."

A/n - Well, that escalated quickly!

[novaursa]

req for an aegon ii x reader who has a similar role of margaery tyrell? (love-bombing him so they can be betrothed and stuff)

she very easily manipulates aegon and basically uses his mommy issues to get whtv she wants (obviously bothers alicent to no end).

Web of Gold

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: aegon in love

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

It’s a beautiful morning, yet the tension between you and Alicent Hightower crackles like a summer storm. You can feel her eyes boring into you from across the room, but you’ve become quite accustomed to her watchful glares. If anything, you thrive on them.

You smile sweetly, dipping your head toward Aegon as he lounges on the Iron Throne, looking far more relaxed than any king should. He’s watching you with that same eager gleam in his eyes, waiting for whatever praise you’ll offer him next. It’s become a game for you at this point—how much can you say before he completely melts? And it’s easier than it should be.

"My king," you say softly, stepping closer, your golden Lannister curls bouncing as you move. "You look especially regal today. Like Aegon the Conqueror himself reborn. Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

Aegon straightens slightly, his eyes widening with interest. "What?" His tone is eager, as though whatever you say might be the single most important revelation of his life.

"I see a man destined for greatness. Aegon, you are so strong, so powerful, and—" you let your voice drop into a breathy whisper, "so very wise." You emphasize each word, drawing out your compliments in a way that sends a flush of pride creeping up his neck.

Aegon shifts in his seat, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "Do you really think so, Y/N?" he asks, his voice almost boyish, seeking that reassurance from you.

"Of course I do, darling. And I would never lie to you." You reach out, letting your fingers brush against his hand in a gentle, lingering touch, just enough to make his breath hitch. "Unlike others who may have their own agendas…" You throw a quick glance toward where Alicent stands, her expression tight, lips pressed thin. The corner of your mouth twitches into a hidden smirk.

Aegon doesn’t notice. He’s too busy basking in the attention you're lavishing on him. "Mother just worries," he mumbles, though even he seems half-hearted about it.

"Worries?" You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "I think she underestimates you, my love. You’ve already proven yourself to be a far better ruler than anyone could have imagined. I can’t imagine why she continues to hover over you like you’re still a boy."

You know exactly why. Alicent cannot stand the idea of you influencing her son. It grates on her to see Aegon so smitten, so easily swayed by your honeyed words. But that’s precisely what you’re counting on.

Aegon chuckles, clearly amused. "She just doesn’t understand, does she?"

"She doesn’t," you agree, leaning in closer so your voice is only for him. "But I do." You place your hand on his chest, right over his heart. "I see you for the man you are, Aegon. A man who doesn’t need his mother whispering in his ear, telling him what to do. You’re king now. You should be able to make your own decisions. Isn’t that what you want?"

Aegon’s eyes flicker with something—desire, admiration, a need for validation. "Yes," he says, his voice firm, though you know it’s more out of wanting to please you than actual conviction. "That is what I want."

You smile, letting your fingers trail lightly down his chest before stepping back, your eyes sparkling with the satisfaction of a job well done. "Then take what’s yours, my king. Trust yourself. Trust me." You cast another glance toward Alicent, who looks like she’s about to bite through her tongue.

She’s always there, lurking like a shadow, trying to pull Aegon back into her grasp. But he slips through her fingers every time you’re around. Alicent has power, but you? You have Aegon. And he doesn’t even realize it.

You turn to face the queen mother, giving her a radiant smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. "Your Grace, you must be so proud of Aegon," you say, your voice saccharine sweet, as though you’re not fully aware of the tension between you. "He’s grown into such a strong man under your care."

Alicent stiffens, her lips twitching in a forced smile. "He has always been capable," she says, her tone clipped. "Though I think he still benefits from wise counsel."

You tilt your head, pretending to consider her words, though you already know exactly how to respond. "Of course," you agree, "but I think he’s ready to make his own choices now. Don’t you?" You let the question hang in the air, a gentle reminder that Aegon is your king now, not hers.

Alicent opens her mouth to reply, but Aegon cuts in before she can get a word out. "Mother, Y/N’s right. I don’t need to be told what to do all the time." He laughs, clearly proud of himself for standing up to her, oblivious to the fact that he’s only echoing your words.

You beam at him, eyes sparkling. "Exactly, my love. You are your own man. And no one, not even your mother, can take that from you."

Alicent’s gaze narrows, and for a moment, you think she might say something sharp, but she bites her tongue. You know it’s eating her alive inside, watching Aegon slip further under your influence, but she can’t do anything about it. Not without making herself look overbearing in front of her son.

"Come, Aegon," you say lightly, turning back to him. "Let’s take a walk in the gardens. You could use some fresh air after sitting on that throne for so long."

Aegon rises eagerly, flashing you that boyish grin that only makes him seem more malleable. "Yes, let’s."

As you link your arm through his and lead him out of the hall, you don’t bother to look back at Alicent. You can already feel the weight of her stare burning into your back. You have Aegon wrapped around your finger, and she knows it.

But as long as you continue to feed his need for affection, for someone to praise him and treat him like the king he so desperately wants to believe he is, he will never stray far from your side. And Alicent can do nothing but watch.

[inknopewetrust]

𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 [𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫] [𝐰𝐜: 𝟓𝟎𝟎]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 (𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲).

𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬: 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

A rumor was a rumor but within its words was a sliver of truth: Aemond Targaryen was enamored with the offerings of someone located on the Silk Streets.

Slipping away under the cover of night led many to whisper yet the only thing the white-haired Prince heard was praise.

Aemond could do all to succumb, falling to his knees in worship as words tumbled from your lips in adoration. A woman who have him validation was blinding—searing his soul with the brightest light to spear him to the heavens in grace. He loved the whispers as he wore his crown for a day.

“Aemond, my Prince…”

“You are far too,” your breath would hitch in your throat from a thrust he timed completely. He tipped his chin to watch the words fumble. “Too good for me… too good… my Prince.”

“King,” Aemond wished to hear in his growl.

“My perfect King,” you cooed. He pounded into your core harshly. Your body jolting into the mattress, deeper and deeper than anyone had ever before.

“Tell me,” he grunted, hands leaving marks at your waist. “Tell me I am the only one who makes you feel this way.

“You are my King,” you gasped. His cock drove into you. Each moment hitting the sweetest spot. “You are the only one to make me feel this good.” His ego was growing ten sizes.

“No one fucks me as good as you—no one fucks a whore like you.”

“No,” he spat. He leaned into you and pulled you face close by the chin. His fingers were harsh and steaming. “You’re no whore. You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you repeated dumbfounded. “Only yours my King. The best King.”

“That’s right.” He pounded away faster each second passed. Aemond pushed you further. Your back arched off the mattress; his arm wrapped around your waist as he held you close and far too personal in the way a man of his stature should hold a woman like you—yet there was truly nothing more personal than fucking.

“Fuck,” You moaned out. “Oh, f-fuck, Aemond.”

Too good. He was too good.

“You going to come for me?” Aemond slid his hand toward the top of your back and changed his angle. He was agonizing inside of you. “You’re so perfect. Gods, you’re perfect.”

But you no more than him.

The waves of your orgasm came washing through you. He kept his pace until he too found his end inside of you. In the glow of the finale, Aemond brushed his fingers against the skin of your forehead gently. He could do nothing but share the praise he received.

“Such a beautiful girl,” he caressed. “I could fuck you forever.”

“Me too, my Prince. Me Too.”

[themotherofhorses]

you can pretend it's not meant to be (but you can't stay away from me)

summary: to you, he is fictional. but to him, you are everything and more. he can't live without you. and, really, there is no use in trying to run away, he'll always find you.

pairing: (somewhat) dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. noncon to dubcon. abduction. massive obsessive tendencies on aemond's part. breeding kink. slight spitting kink. pregnancy.

note: hey this is me practicing writing smut because ive never ever done it before and i don't know jackshit like wtf is a dick hahaha im dreading posting this hahahasendhelpplshaha

masterlist | series masterlist

part two | part three | part four | part five

How did you end up here?

That was all you could ask yourself, over and over again.

It had only been hours ago, maybe, that you were sitting at home, rewatching the first season of House of the Dragon for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Perhaps you dozed off on the couch too, but that was it. You have heard of shifting techniques before- ways to visit your favorite fictional worlds- but you never sought to try them out yourself.

College left you too busy with assignments and textbook readings, as well as the constant and unwavering pressure to maintain both your scholarships and high GPA.

Ever the dutiful and driven daughter, hungry for academic validation and success.

Oh, fuck, your scholarships!

Your GPA!

All those assignments and discussions and exams!

And what about your family? Your mother and father? And your best friend?

Aemond Targaryen seems not to understand your words, and why you tell, beg, and plead for him to let you go. “Please, I need to go home,” you cry loudly, while yanking at the thick knots that bound you to his bedframe, “please! My family, my friends. They will be worrying when they don’t hear from me, and all my hard work and accomplishments, it will be for nothing! Please, I beg you, let me go home.”

But he just chuckles and kisses your forehead and says, “Oh, my sweet girl, I’m your family now. Or what is of it.” His lips feel so soft and wonderful, and how desperately you wish to enjoy the feeling. But not like this. You cannot think properly nor muster any sort of response, too distracted and stressed and focused on calming your breathing.

“Although,” he then adds with a smirk, “it truly is not considered a family until you have a babe of your own…or two.”

At his words, you tremble and whimper and try your best to break free, though it is all in stupid and foolish vain. There is no going anywhere, the knots are too tight and Aemond can easily overpower you. All you can do is stare up at the man you once considered your favorite character in the series, ever since the eighth episode aired and he stole your heart and soul and burrowed himself deep within your most inner thoughts and fixation.

“Do not worry,” he says, and you can see a twinkle in the violet of his eye. He rests a hand on your collarbone, gently drawing little shapes across the skin. “Good things will come out of this night, my love, I promise you that.”

Look on the bright side, you tell yourself, in some dumb attempt to steel your nerves, better Aemond Targaryen to lose your virginity to.

“You need to be quieter, my darling-” Aemond murmurs close to your ear “-we do not need curious ears listening in, do we?” He has you riding him, both hands clutching your hips as you do your best to bounce on his cock and match his thrusts. You’re sloppy and inexperienced, and a bit confused on what exactly to do, but it is so endearing that his lips curl into a grin.

Oh, you were made for me, he thinks, watching the way your glazed-over eyes try to hold his gaze. He will have you believe that by the end of the night, dawning if necessary.

There is much rush now that he found you, now that he has the chance to claim you.

You still moan, loud and high-pitched, and he slaps a hand flat over your mouth to shut you up. It makes your pretty and teary eyes widen more as you grab at his wrist, holding onto it while he tuts. “I’ll move my hand when you learn to listen to your husband and stay quiet. No one is allowed to hear my wife in her pleasure. No one but I.” At that, you bat your eyelashes at him, breasts heaving as he leans you down, so close your lips nearly touch, and Aemond can feel your heavy pants against his mouth.

“They will take you away from me, and ship you far across the world where I can’t find you,” he hisses, pinching your swollen nipple between his fingers, “I can’t have that. No, no, do you hear me? I will not survive being torn from you.”

The mere thought of losing you, either at the hands of his mother and grandsire or you returning to your homeland, fills him with sheer dread.

He does not know how to tell you that you are the girl of his dreams, everything he has desired and more. He has seen you in his nighttime slumbers and in the gleam of the summer sunlight and up among the black midnight stars.

But the words fall apart on his tongue, and all he can do is lay beneath you and marvel at your beauty: cheekbones and pretty puffy lips and the curve of your nose, the way your eyebrows furrow in pure pleasure, and how you look utterly delicious and ruined.

“You were made for me,” he breathes in awe, palming at both your breasts. You have to believe him, this sweet and pretty girl of his, how could you not? The gods above created you for him, he will make you see it. “You are taking me so fucking well,” and Aemond flattens a palm against your belly, where he can feel the slight bulge of his cock. “Look at you, you’re my dream come true.” He thrusts his hips up, fucking into you harder and deeper. It makes you squeal and go cross-eyed.

“Is this too much? I know you can handle it, my darling. My love, my sweet girl,” he purrs.

Aemond swipes at the drool pooling at your lips before stuffing two fingers in. “Fuck,” he whines, breathing hard, slipping his other hand in between your thighs, and with his thumb, rubbing at your clit. Your face twists in a gasp as you tremble, your entire body tightening until you cream over his cock, your loud moan muffled by the fingers in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he hums, slowing his thrusts, “Such a good fucking girl. Look at that, did that feel good, my love?” he asks you.

You nod, rocking your hips back and forth. Your thighs shaking and your face scrunching in complete bliss as you start again, taking his cock deep in your stomach with tiny bounces. “Please- please- please-” you babble against his palm. “I-I want- I need-”

“Want what, my sweet girl? Need what, my darling wife?”

You don’t answer, too overtaken by the pleasure. Aemond chuckles and leans upwards, to bury his face between your breasts. You are absolutely stunning, gorgeous, a living goddess; how he went this long without you is baffling. “You wish for my seed. Is that what you want?” he mutters against your nipple, “of course you do, this belly is too empty, isn’t it? My son should be sleeping inside.” His fingers pinch your clit, and you gasp again. “You’ll be the prettiest mother. You were made to carry my children. You were made for me,” and he pulls your face back to his, with a rough grip on your chin.

“Tell me,” he demands through a pant, “tell me how fucking badly you need my seed. Tell me…tell me right now.”

“I- I need it-“ you choke out, but then you shake your head. “No- No I can’t! I- I need to go- go home!”

Aemond laughs, so hard he flings his head back. The sight takes you by surprise before he shoves you off, causing you to land next to him on the bed. You stare up at him, wide eyed and puzzled and swollen and covered in countless bites and bruises. In one swing, he forces your face into the pillow as he mounts you from behind, fucking you hard. His fingers return to your clit, squeezing and tweaking and not caring one bit about your muffled yelps and whines

“You’ll learn, my sweet girl, but perhaps not tonight. I am your home now, do you understand? I’m your family, your husband, and the father to your children.”

He grabs a fistful of damp hair and yanks your face back, never once slowing his thrusts. Your mouth is open with many moans spilling out, eyes clouded with tears, and cheeks flushed. With his lips next to your ear, he whispers, “You are going nowhere.” Then propping himself on one arm, he trails small kisses up your back to your shoulder blade until his mouth slams down on yours in a heavy and wet kiss.

And when he pulls away, his fingertips squeeze your cheeks together as he demands for you to open your mouth. "You are mine," he grunts, "you belong to me," before spitting into it. "Good, now swallow."

And when you do, he smiles.

"There, see?" he coos, leaning to kiss your forehead as he feels you tighten around his cock. He was going to seed you again, deep inside your womb. Come the morning, he knows his son will be in there, and he can hardly wait.

"My wife, my darling girl, the only woman deserving of me and all of me. Only me." He watches you sob at that, pink lips pressing in a tight line as fat tears streak down both cheeks. "Oh, do not worry, my love. You're too lovely to be crying," and he uses his thumb to brush away the tears, "I'm here to give you the life you deserve," he vows, so lovingly, "you will want for nothing."

With a loud huff, you plop yourself on the couch.

The saying “home sweet home” never felt more sincere until now. It took much time and planning and effort and sneaking around on your part, but you managed to find a way to escape from Aemond Targaryen, though not without consequences. Your belly was growing only larger with every new moon, and your babe was starting to shift around more. At most times, you could feel the fluttering sensation across the bottom of your tummy, and every now and then, the tiniest kick.

It was adorable, you admitted, and you tried your best to find enjoyment throughout the pregnancy, sometimes wondering at night about who your child would resemble.

Would their looks favor yours? Or would they favor their father, with his Valyrian features- that iconic silver hair and violet eyes. The latter worried you the most. How could you even begin to explain why your child looked as if they belonged in the Game of Thrones series, specifically in House Targaryen?

Speaking of such, you had not touched House of the Dragon since you arrived back home all those months ago, too unwilling to turn on the tv and see the man whose child you were mysteriously carrying in your womb. It just did not make any sense, it felt more like a weird dream than reality.

But you were dying of boredom. The dragonling (you had taken to nicknaming the baby that, it sounded both cute and appropriate) was stealing away most of your time and energy, and your mother refused to allow you to do anything that could cause harm or add more unnecessary stress.

So you bit your tongue and swallowed down your grumbles and settled comfortably on the couch before opening Fire and Blood.

“Fucking crazy to think that this is a book of your family’s history,” you mumbled to your baby bump, “fictional my ass.”

So you read, to yourself and to your babe. Read about Aegon’s Conquest and the Year of the Three Brides and King Jaehaerys and his Alysanne and their triumphs and tragedies and legacy, and you read until you reached The Dying of the Dragons, the Blacks and the Greens, where you just sighed.

“And when Alicent sent for her second son to fly to Storm’s End, with the purpose of securing Borros Baratheon’s loyalty to Aegon II by winning the hand of one of his daughters, the Four Storms, the truth was finally known. One-eyed Prince Aemond, twenty and one, had taken a wife of his own in secret, a young maiden not of Westeros (according to Mushroom). Yet Prince Aemond lost her a month into their marriage, although by that time he had become so besotted with his bride, to such an extent that he could not bear the thought of living without her or taking another woman as his new wife.

With Prince Aemond refusing his mother’s orders, Queen Alicent had little choice but to send her youngest, Prince Daeron, in his place to Storm’s End. And by the seventh month, Prince Daeron wedded Floris Baratheon, and Prince Aemond One-Eye had reunited with his wife, who was heavy with child by the time he found her.”

You suddenly glance up from the book pages, feeling your heart hammering so hard in your chest that it seems at the end of your throat. On the wall, to your right, hung the calendar which you had taken to use as a means of tracking your pregnancy.

In two weeks, you’ll be at your seventh-month mark.

[sunfeyre]

Jaehaerys II Targaryen, the prince taken by selfish entitlement.

we were shown Jaehaerys as an innocent soul, a child, our first glimpse of him is him playing with his sister by Helaena's side.

and the more we see of him the more we are shown that he's just a little child, being carried by his father ever so easily into a court room where he understands nothing of what the people around him are saying. opting instead to start playing, as a child would. he was being annoying to Tyland Lannister, who tried to retrieve the marble ball from the child, only for Jaehaerys to take it again and again, behaving childishly, how else would he behave otherwise?

when blood and cheese happened, some say that you can hear Jaehaerys' muffled voice call for Helaena, "mummy", a scared boy with two big men holding him down and covering his mouth with a knife to his neck, who else would he call for but his mummy?

during his public funeral, Jaehaerys looked more like a little angel than a corpse, the only reminder of his brutal fate was his flimsily stitched head to his neck, purposefully done so to make it visible and clear to everyone what was done to the boy.

we saw his father calling him "my little son" "my legacy" "my heir", the man that hated appearing weak crying for his son, for his baby.

and his mother calling him "my boy", not having the opportunity to give him the embroidery she made specially for him, that she created, stitch by stitch, just for him.

a child they both saw as part of them that they lost, the innoceness of childhood, a child they could give a life to better than what their parents have given them. all for it to come crashing down at the feet of the entitlement of a selfish man, "a son for a son" he told blood a cheese after being asked about what if they couldn't find Aemond, he knew exactly what he meant by his words.

"an eye for an eye, a son for a son" but that phrase is only valid when it's them, when it benefits them.

because if they truly saw "an eye for an eye" as justice, why does Lucerys have two perfectly good eyes?

the entitlement is unreal, taking and taking and taking, but once it's time to give you suddenly become defensive. almost...animalistic in a way, animals like to be fed freely, but they might hurt you if they feel like it, a cat may scratch you, a dog may bite you, a llama might spit at you, a lion might kill you.

suddenly her words make sense, you are the challenge, and they will not stop at anything or anyone or at any line that shouldn't be crossed, if it meant that they could take more while giving little to nothing.

[adragonprinceswhore]

The Way I Feel Under Your Command

Chapter I: Red Lake I Next I Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: After being forced to spend his summer at Red Lake Resort, a drunk Aemond meets a pitiful dance instructor at a party he did not want to attend.

Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, alcohol consumption, intoxication, classism, Aemond thinks he’s better than everyone, Aegon is an awful older brother

A/N: Enjoy 🫶

The lush greenery of the Reach would still be beautiful even if the mid-summer sun didn’t illuminate it. 

Despite the modernisations of Old Town, Ashford and Tumbleton, the southwest region of the Seven Kingdoms still feels reminiscent of a time when Westeros was ruled by noble families. Fields of wildflowers and ruins of ancient castles lay scattered across the vast landscape, instilling a false sense of serenity inside Aemond Targaryen as he steers his fathers car towards Red Lake. 

He had mistakenly assumed he’d successfully dodged his mother’s pleading; begging him to join the family’s yearly resort get-away. Besides his siblings, the only other guests seem to be his father and grandfather's old business associates, making the holiday he’d grown tired of appear even more unappealing. 

Embarking on his final year of university, Aemond had gotten used to the solitude of one-man study sessions and spending his weekends working with his grandfather. It was all worth it in his eyes; the tireless preparation for the position he’s been working towards since he was old enough to walk. 

He’d planned on using the summer holidays to fully submerge himself into the mechanics behind the almighty machinery that was Targaryen Holdings. Unsurprisingly, his father had barely responded when he told him about his desire to spend the summer working, but his grandfather had offered him a nod of approval and a comforting pat on the back. 

The fleeting moment of validation had provided Aemond with enough fuel to cancel all other summer plans in favour of spending his last weeks of freedom soaking up as much knowledge as possible inside the glass-covered skyscraper Targaryen Holdings called their HQ. 

Yet he found himself driving his parents to their usual summer retreat, only two weeks after finishing his last seminar for the semester. 

When Aemond had ignored his mother’s countless requests begging him to join the family one last summer before being completely engulfed by the corporate world, she’d changed tactics and instead reasoned with her father, convincing him that for Aemond to successfully integrate with the top of the company, he needs to familiarise himself not only with the business side of being a Targaryen, but the private expectations as well. 

That entails rubbing elbows and making contacts at exclusive holiday resorts. 

His grandfather and siblings had arrived a week prior, but because of his father’s deteriorating health, hospital appointments and check-ups had held him and his wife back, giving Alicent the perfect opportunity to push her third child into complicity and ask him to join them by acting as a chauffeur. 

After enough nagging, Aemond often gave in to his mother’s wishes simply because he couldn’t stand to disagree with her for long. 

Pulling up to the luxuriously restored ruins of House Crane’s seat, he recognises every detail from his previous summers there; the multicoloured flowers abundantly hanging over the sand-coloured balconies, the brightly yellow lemons ripening in the citrus trees decorating the sides of the villas, the variegating shimmer dancing in the water of Red Lake. 

He hands the keys to the valet diligently standing by the driver’s side of his father’s favourite vehicle as his mother helps the withering elderly man out of the sleek, black car. She offers him a hand to hold and another to steady his trembling body. 

“Mr. Targaryen, what a pleasure to see you again”, a middle-aged man clad in an impeccably tailored suit exclaims enthusiastically to Viserys, white teeth on full display as he quickly signals for two bellboys to grab the esteemed guests' baggage. 

Feeling like he’s gotten his fill of mandated family time for one day, Aemond quietly retreats to the usual villa where the Targaryen’s stay. He slips inside undetected, heads to his usual room, and promptly locks the door behind him. 

It is easy for Aemond to get lost in his thoughts whenever he’s around his family. 

Either it’s his older brother retelling a ‘funny’ anecdote that he doesn’t feel sad to miss out on. Or it’s his younger brother and mother discussing plans for the summer, a topic he knows he doesn’t have much say in anyway, consequently choosing to remain silent. 

As long as he remembers to hum in reply whenever addressed, he can comfortably sink into the depths of work or school related pondering; laying out a plan for when he’s allowed to get back to being productive and useful instead of wasting his time drinking overpriced wine. 

The unbearable sensation of his older brother's wine-soaked breath next to his ear pulls Aemond out of his thoughts, “I’ve been told there’s a staff party happening tonight”

“Have fun” 

Aegon snorts and then smiles at his brother’s instant dismissal and the predictability of it, 

“Oh, come on! I can’t go alone” 

“Ask Daeron” 

Aegon leans in even closer, causing Aemond to recoil further away from his brother as he clicks his tongue in annoyance, “Daeron and I had a little disagreement this morning, he won’t talk to me” 

He hadn’t even noticed the strained tension between his brothers during dinner, the uncomfortable aura seemed to be a permanent companion to the Targaryen-Hightower family. And Aegon angering one of his siblings didn’t come as a surprise to him. 

Aemond’s momentary silence is wishfully mistaken as compliance by his brother, who finishes his glass of wine instantly before standing and thanking his family for the “lovely dinner”. He gestures for his brother to stand as well, flashing a victorious smile at his table-companions before he informs them, 

“Mondo and I have a party to attend” 

Aegon's rough hands shove Aemond into the packed room, following so closely behind that the younger brother has no choice but to walk further into the room.

Rarely in his life had he witnessed such an over-crowded space, sweat flying from intertwined bodies, the heat of the room causing the air to almost taste salty. 

He wrinkles his nose at the scenery in front of him, shoulders stiffening as he feels embarrassed by how utterly out-of-place he is. Afraid that his uncomfortable state will soon become prevalent on his features, Aemond shifts to the side, moving away from his older brother in an attempt to slink off as quickly as he’d been forced inside. 

Before he has a chance to retreat, he feels Aegon’s arm tighten around his shoulder in an aggressive, false sign of brotherly affection. 

“Don’t you fucking dare”, he leans in to scold his younger brother, steering them both towards the wonky fold-up table filled with colourful bottles of alcohol. 

The music’s loud enough to drown out all other noise, and Aemond has to duck his head to speak directly into his brother’s ear, “You really should have brought Daeron”

“He’s not the one who needs to relax”, Aegon replies matter-of-factly. He grabs two clear plastic cups from the table and fills them with what looks like vodka and some type of red soda. Shoving one cup into Aemond’s chest, he swallows half of his own’s content in one gulp. 

Aegon watches how his brother eyes the cup suspiciously, gaze trained on the fingerprints sporadically decorating the clear plastic, evidently reluctant to bring the stained cup to his lips. 

“Oh come on, princess!”, Aegon shouts, catching Aemond off-guard as he grabs his hand to forcefully move the cup towards his lips, “It won’t kill you!”

Aemond slaps his brother’s hand away before reluctantly taking a sip. The drink is sickly sweet, nothing but sugar and food colouring, but with a sharp, bitter aftertaste of cheap alcohol. Quite the contrast to the aged Dornish Red they’d had with dinner. 

The neutral expression he’d schooled his face into falters as the revolting taste of the concoction prompts him to involuntarily grimace. Aegon’s obnoxious cackle follows, face beaming at his younger brother's misery, “So I take it you don’t party at uni then?”

“Not like this”, Aemond admits, once again letting his eyes wander across the room. The space reminds him of the utility room at the Sept he visited as a child, old and worn down without anyone ever bothering to fix the dilapidated space. 

Some effort had been done to zhuzh up the place; hanging thin, blinking strings against the walls in lieu of using the cool-toned fluorescent lamps, and placing a mirror ball by the oversized speakers shoved into the corner. Still, the obscuring lightning couldn’t hide how foul Aemond found his surroundings. 

For their entire lives, his older brother must’ve downplayed his ability to read his younger sibling’s mood, because as soon as Aemond attempts to place the nauseating drink back on the table and leave, he feels Aegon’s alcohol-infused breath warm his ear, 

“It’s your last summer before graduating uni and officially taking up residence in Grandfather’s arse”

Despite his clear intoxication and the playful jab, Aegon sounds uncharacteristically serious as he adds, “Have some fucking fun”

The filthy floor sticks to the soles of Aemond’s shoes, forcing him to aggressively pull up his feet with each step. He doesn’t recognise any of the music playing, and the people surrounding the Targaryen brothers grind on each other in the most depraved excuse for a dance he’s ever witnessed. 

Still, he stays, bracing himself as he downs the rest of his cup, reluctantly readying himself to learn what Aegon’s idea of ‘fun’ entails. 

Despite continuously finishing cup after cup of the sickly sweet concoction Aegon’s forcing down his throat, Aemond fails to see what it is about parties like this that his brother finds so much enjoyment in. 

The crowded room still feels suffocating, the smell of sweat is pungent, and the young staff members Aegon’s been chatting up provide little in terms of being interesting conversation partners. 

“You’ve never had a girlfriend, right?”, Aegon half-shouts into his ear as yet another girl escapes Aemond’s one-word replies to her intrusive question, “You still a virgin?” 

He stares blankly in reply to his older brother’s question. Like he’d tell him of all people about that. 

Before being forced to answer, he’s saved by an excited shriek, 

“Oh Aegon, you made it!”

A clearly drunk young woman appears behind the duo, wobbling a bit to the side as she tries to find a comfortable stance. Aegon flashes her one of his insufferable smirks, surely thinking it’ll impress her. 

He introduces her to his brother, explaining that she’s the sad thing working as the resort’s dance instructor, and thereby spends most days in the arms of soggy, old pensioners. 

She rolls her eyes at his comment, gaze melancholically drifting away as she states, “Hopefully this’ll be my last summer here. If all goes well, I’m enrolling in dance school” 

Aegon’s barely listening to what she’s saying, instead he giggles over how she slurs when she says ‘enrolling’. 

Guess she’s not the only drunk one here. 

“So we’re celebrating tonight!”, his brother happily says before filling another cup to the brim and offering it to the dance instructor. 

“More like grieving”, she mumbles, bringing the cup to her lips to take a large sip, “Just found out I’ll need to bring a dance partner to the entrance exam in three weeks” 

Her unfocused gaze again drifts across the room, to a lean, mousy-haired guy grinding on one of the restaurant’s busboys, “I’ve asked Greyjoy to help me out but he’s not strong enough” 

The older Targaryen’s eyes light up at her comment, leaning in closer to her ear, “You know, I’ve got some experience” 

Her eyes widen in hopeful excitement, “You do? What kind of dance?” 

“Well-“, he licks his lips as he locks eyes with her, “Most of my practising has been horizontally. I’m very skilled with my hips” 

She instantly pulls back, expression thoroughly unimpressed, “I’m fine, thanks” 

Turning around to leave, she’s stopped in her tracks as Aegon grabs her elbow, 

“Oi, what about Aemond here? He works out like a maniac, I’m sure he’s got the stamina”

Aemond hadn’t really been paying attention to the conversation, finally feeling the effect of the alcohol heating up his face and causing his hands to tingle. 

She turns around, eyeing him up and down, “Have you ever danced?”

“No”, he answers truthfully. 

“He used to do horseback riding”, Aegon chimes in, “That’s kinda the same thing, right? Like, girly sports” 

Her eyes stay trained on the statuesque man before her, “I need someone who’s strong enough to lift me over their head”

“I’m not interested”, he curtly replies. 

Her gaze travels between the two brothers, once again rolling her eyes and shaking her head before mumbling something and walking off on unstable legs. 

Unpredictable as always, Aegon releases a roaring fit of laughter, “You’re so fucking dumb, Mondo” 

“Shut up”

“She’s out of your league anyway”, he breathes out between cackles, “You’d probably cum just from touching her” 

Aemond clumsily places his cup on the table, drunken haze elevating the irritation his brother instils in him, “I’m leaving” 

Shoving Aegon out of his way, he hears his brother’s laughter grow louder as he shouts, “You’re so fucking boring Aemond! Live a little!” 

When he’s finally free from the musky prison of the party, he takes a deep breath of fresh summer air and sets sight for the family villa. 

Aegon’s mocking echo in his head, much harder to shake off when he’s not in his usual, sober state. 

Just as he hears Aegon calling him boring for what feels like the 100th time in his mind, he spots her outside one of the more modest-looking cabins on the outskirts of the resort. 

Fuck it. 

Stomping towards her, he blurts out, “I’ll do it!”, a bit too loudly, causing her to jump from the sudden noise, eyes darkening as she recognises who’s approaching her. 

“It’s fine, I’ll find someone else”

Aemond huffs impatiently at her unwillingness to cooperate, “I said I’ll do it”

Her eyes narrow, taking in the stern look on the strange man suddenly insisting he wants to help her out, 

“Fine. Tomorrow morning at 07.00. Meet me by the boathouse” 

She’s by the boathouse almost every morning, thoroughly enjoying the fleeting moments of solitude she’s allowed at the resort. 

None of the residents were ever out and about at this hour, which means no distractions or expectations of politeness on her part. 

Taking a large gulp of water, she’s still feeling the taste of yesterday's cheap cocktail on her tongue. 

Drinking your problems away never works, stupid. 

Like most days here, there’s not a cloud in the sky. 

Early mornings were really the ideal time to practise; the sun’s still hanging low and the air is still chill enough to remind its surroundings of the night that had just passed. 

Starting with stretches, she stands wide while altering between preparing the muscles in her legs. 

Being granted a reserve spot at the school meant she had to perform an original routine, which was clearly instructed to showcase her creativity, as well as taking a written examination, testing her knowledge of dance theory. So, she’d made it a habit to spend the limited leisure time she had before work practising physically, and the evenings in her dorm reciting theory.  

The grass under her feet might not be the optimal choice for stability, but it allows her to take risks, the green softness cushioning her failed attempts. 

Just as she’s about to put on her headphones and begin, she spots a figure emerging from the other side of the large field overlooking Red Lake. 

He walks with pride, broad shoulders pushed back and head held high; a clear contrast to his slightly unstable steps outside of her cabin last night. 

Despite the time it takes his non-rushed movements to reach her, his eyes stay on her, locking her in place with his gaze. She’s almost overwhelmed by his presence; shock, intrigue and fatigue from yesterday's partying swirling in her gut. 

He came. 

[marilynthornhilllover]

To Become A Dragon Rider

Rhaenyra .Targaryen X Fem!Reader

Warning: smut 18+, breast sucking, speaking in high valerian, french kissing , slight masturbation, choking , mommy kink, tamed kink, praise kink, fingering, riding of fingers, Rhaenyra being controlling and dominant.

N.B: the valerian translation is not perfect, I used the shows translation,the rest I got from Google so forgive me if it is not 100% accurate.

As the queen's loyal advisor and hand it was your swore duty to inform her when her plans or acts were outrageous or not align with what the realms wishes. Rhaenyra was planning to send Elinda to king's landing to recruit all the long forgotten targaryen bastard that were swept under the carpet and kept hidden for years.

Her plan was to bring them to dragonstone to have them claim a dragon. Either vermithor or sliverwing. You tried to talk her grace out of the corruptible act. It was beyond dangerous to even think about nonetheless to even put a foot to attempt. It was a huge risk, and rhaenyra knew that but so did the dragonseeds.

Also, wherein doing this act she weakens Jacaerys' claim to the throne and his birth right to succeed her when she dies. It was no lie that Jace was a basterd, everyone knew that. Perhaps when rhaenyra laid with ser harwin she didn't think others will know, maybe didn't think he'd take his hair color....

They knew that without a doubt in the world that the chance that stood before them claiming a dragon was perhaps none. Dragons were said to be Gods, what makes a targaryen different from men. And the price you pay for attempting to claim one was death.... your life was the price.

Having a dragon was jace's only excuse to the claim that he wasn't a basterd, because basterds couldn't ride on dragons yet with this his excuse falls short of it's validity. You tried breaking it down for her in the sweetest most understandable way possible, but rhaenyra was a targaryen. And whatever she wishes, she shall have.

You walked slowly behind her, both of you followed by guards as you entered into the hall. Rhaenyra immediately stopped when one of her dragonkeepers approaches her.

" heksir Daor sȳrī issa ( this is not well!)" He speaks, clearly angrily. Rhaenyra stops and looks back glancing at you before she proceeds to walk again.

" Skoros ȳdrassis hen? ( what do you speak of)?" She asks, clearly confused. He huffs as he angrily approaches rhaenyra but takes awareness of her guards eyeing him closely.

" Issa vali se nyke jāhor daor gūrogon isse bisa! ( my men and I will not take part in this madness)" he says as he eyes rhaenyra up and down before storming off, the other dragonkeepers following quickly behind with their heads bowed. Rhaenyra clenched her jaw before she sighs.

She looked around the room, eyeing all of those who stood before her, the dragonseeds. A small half smile appears on her face and she approaches them. Taking a deep inhale she speaks up.

" I know that each of you have left behind a life to answer this call, a life to which you may never return to, but I assure you that if you survive you will be transferred, no man can claim a dragon and be otherwise" she says walking around the room, carefully inspecting everyone. Trying to pinpoint the braves ones, the weak ones and of course the ones with little hearts but big dreams. The ones who just want a better life perhaps.

But with a dragon does not come a better life, with a dragon comes war, death, privation, starvation. Rhaenyra continues to talk and you zone out. All your childhood you've only ever wanted to become a dragon rider, to feel what it feels like to be a kin, to serve the realm. You knew that it was never going to happen. Only the blood of dragon can conquer and tame their own kind, dragons.

You loved rhaenyra, she was the realms delight, you vowed to serve her faithful and truthfully until death. And you'd stop at nothing until she sits her throne.

" the dragon" Hearing her voice again you immediately snap out of your thoughts, not wanting to miss anything important and suffer the consequences of it.

" named vermithor, is the largest in the world after vhagar and perhaps the most fierce" she pauses and looks up at you before her eyes connects with the ceiling.

" he's called the bronze fury, we'll go to him now" she picks up her cloak and walks towards the door that leads to the hallway of the dragon cave before she stops again.

" and...may the God's bless you" she then nodds and continues to make her way out of the room. Everyone following behind. Everyone follows her onto the platform and they all look around in awe. You keep your distance, staying in the entrance of the hall. Rhaenyra walks all the way towards the end of the platform and turns around to face everyone.

" naejot māzīs vermithor" she commands, her valyrian accent was thick and the way she rolled her R's was stunning. You bit your lip and tried to control your breathing, you were well aware of the little crush you had on rhaenyra for the longest time but as time grew and you became her hand was it was certain that your love for her also grew.

You never hid your feelings from rhaenyra, she knew. You almost had a chance with her but then she was married off to laenor, then daemon. But now that daemon was in harrenhall the chemistry and tension between the both of you had been growing more and more each passing day. You tried to contain yourself and while it was working there were certain things she did that made your skin hot.

A deafening silence can be heard before a low rumbling erupts after rhaenyra spoke and everyone gasps and grabs onto the nearest wall or person beside them. The sound of claw scrapping and a loud growl echos from beneath the surface of the platform and rhaenyra turns around as vermithor emerges from the depths of the darkness. Everyone shudders as they look up at the enormous beast completely terrified.

The beast screeches and opens it's mouth wide, it's long and sharp teeth showing as a threat. Rhaenyra doesn't flinch or move, facing vermithor head on without fear.

" vermithor lykiri" she says, her tone soft and calm yet the creature is surly aware of the power she holds as a targaryen but after years of not having a rider and being locked up with pent up stress the dragon seems restless. Vermithor growls and places her wing on the platform causing a piece of it to break as the others behind step back in terror as their Hearts pounded rapidly in their chest.

" lykiri!" Rhaenyra shouts and the dragon looks down at her and pulls back before he growls loudly, the large sum of air slightly pushing against Rhaenyra but she doesn't move with it.

" DOHĀRĪS!" She shouted again but this time for demanding and the beast finally obeys, closing it's mouth, he slowly pushes his head towards her grace in a calm surrendering way. Rhaenyra gently and peacefully places her hand on him and he closes his eyes and breathes. Rhaenyra smirks and turns around.

" who amongst you will be first?" She asks, her voice thick and sultry, slightly husk too from shouting. There's a slight pause before someone steps forward. Everyone looks at him and he looks at rhaenyra, complete fear bounds in his eyes. Rhaenyra's eyes flick up to yours and for a moment she holds your gaze.

In her bright green eyes all you see swirling in them is desire and need. For what you do not know. She may or may not end this day with new dragon riders, but the hardest task was getting dragonseeds to begin with. You feel ashamed of it but a feeling of wetness can be felt between in your legs as she continues to challenge you with her vicious gaze.

You could slowly feel yourself getting hot. Maybe it was the air, or perhaps maybe due to being in a dragon cave with little to no ventilation or maybe it was the look in rhaenyra's eyes. As if she wanted to devour you. You'll be honest hearing her speak in high valerian with her accent did things to you, it wasn't the first occasion but it was certainly the first time you heard her speak in such demanding tone.

Suddenly you wanted to be at her mercy and command, on your knees maybe.... have her praise you in high valerian. Command you, shout at you. You've always been thankful rhaenyra wasn't cruel to you, but seeing her strict side made you think of all the things she could do to you do to you.

Maybe you wanted to see that side of her. The tension began to rise and you felt as your chest getting heavier with every breath you took, you swallowed heavily and quickly averted your gaze, upon doing this you walked swiftly towards the queen's chambers. When's she finished she'll return. You weren't supposed to leave her side at all, you weren't even to leave the room without her permission but you couldn't stand there a second longer.

You may explode.

When rhaenyra saw you leave in such a haste she too quickly dismissed herself.

" I have nothing more to tell you, it must be the dragon who speaks" she says, nodding to everyone as she quickly fled the place.

You closed the door behind yourself and walked towards her desk. You placed both hands at the side of the table in attempt to steady yourself. You felt light headed, you could feel your own juices pooling at the inner parts of your thighs. Slipping your hand into your underwear you felt your wetness, moaning softly at how sensitive you were as well.

You began to rub slow circles around your bud gripping the table even tighter as soft whimpers slipped from your lips.

" why did you leave?" You jumped, totally caught off guard by the sudden intrusion you swiftly spun on your toes to see rhaenyra standing at the door. All the color drains from your face and your convinced she can see how sticky your fingers are as they are coated with your own juices. Rhaenyra eyed you her eyebrows quirked as she patiently awaited your answer.

You swallowed thickly your voice even breaking as you spoke.

" i— I uh— forgive me your grace but I'm afraid I do not have an excuse" you said looking everywhere but at her eyes, biting your lips you watch as she slowly approaches you. Her eyes glued on yours, a predator stare, for you, her prey. Every step she took towards you was one step backwards for you until she had you completely caged in. No space to run, just the wall, you and her.

Your breathing intensified when she pressed her body weight on yours. Her eyes traced down your body before they suddenly snapped back up to your eyes a new found darkness lingering within them. You are caught off guard when rhaenyra roughly forces her hand around your neck. You gasp as your hands flew to the hand that was wrapped around your neck.

There is a predatory hunger, dark and urgent, in the way she stares at you. It makes you want to shrink into yourself or even disappear. It frightens you the way she stares into your soul, but not as much as the urge you have to simply give in to her. The room feels too hot, your skin blazes and you grow wetter between your thighs, guilt eating away at you for it.

You are broken from your thoughts when rhaenyra's hand cups your mound beneath your skirt, her lips parting slightly as she feels the arousal gathered there. Your eyes go wide and you try to move your hips away but you remember your trapped between her and the wall. You swallow a moan when her hand pushes itself pass your undergarment and into your panties.

" you dare to lie to me?" she whispers her voice smooth and dripping with honey but you heard the rasp of demand lingering within. She smirks when she sees your eyes go dim and your breath hitches when her finger hovers cover the entrance of your cunt, she could feel the wetness pouring out on the digit as she slowly drags it back up to your clit teasing the small bud.

You feel her squeeze your neck tighter, urging you to answer her. You didn't know what to say, your brain had already became clouded with the possibilities of what she could do to you right now.

" i—fuck rhaenyra, I mean my grace, it's your high valerian accent" you answered, Rhaenyra removes her hand from your neck and positioned it at your hip, her grip on you firm as ever. Her body heat radiating off her making you more hot. Your head falls back against the wall and your eyes close when you feel her enter two fingers inside of you.

" your gonna ride my fingers like the good slut you are" she muttered against your lips as she leaned in to kiss you. Her lips were just as soft as you had imagined if not better. Her hand moved up your side and back up towards your neck but this time she didnt choke you, she just allowed her hand to rest there.

She forced another one of her digits inside of you which caused you to let out a pornographic moan to which she swallowed. Your eyes rolled back at the intense and sudden intrusion, the stretch had you collapsing on her shoulder as your knees gave out and your legs quivered.

Her tongue wondered in the depths of your mouth as she French kissed you. Her tongue completely enveloping yours and sucking on it as you slowly dragged your hips forward and backwards riding rhaenyra's fingers, whimpering like a needy dog. Rhaenyra broke the kiss and pulled away, chuckling when you chased after her lips.

She curled her fingers in you and once again your head fell back against the stone cold wall behind you. You started moving your hips at a faster pace as you slowly began to fall apart on her slender fingers. Rhaenyra could feel you clenching around her fingers as your juices dripped from them.

Rhaenyra started making a circular motion with her fingers as her hand grabbed your hip again and started forcing you up and down. You grabbed onto her shoulders to stabilize yourself as you trashed against her. Your sure that any passbyers could hear your moans and the squelching sound of her fingers connecting with that spongy spot in you.

" Sȳz riña ( good girl)" she purred as she started thrusting her fingers as deep as they can go, knuckle length in you. You could feel your cunt spamming around her as you neared your climax. You needed it badly, but rhaenyra was not going to allow you to cum so easily.

" That's it, good girl, such a good girl" she whispered, her lips made contact with your neck as she gently began to suck on the tender flesh, she knew she couldn't mark you, but a part of her wanted to. Wanted to make it known to everyone that you were hers. Daemon might as well have not existed anymore because it was you rhaenyra wanted, and she always gets what she wants.

" Pleasepleaseplease, Rhaenyra please I want it so bad please let me cum" you cried trying your hardest not to let go and fall into oblivion. Rhaenyra chuckled but said nothing. She continued to bruise your skin with kisses and marks. You muttered a soft " oh fuck" when he fingers managed to drive deeper into your pussy when you lifted your hips.

" perhaps you should beg me in valerian.... if you so desperately want it of course" you could feel her smirk against you when you whined. She was going to be the absolute death of you. You started thinking of ways in which you could translate yourself, thinking back on all the times you heard her speak valerian or heard someone else spoke valerian.

You didn't know much, and your pronunciation was always off, you did understand when others spoke it but it had always seemed like trouble when you tried to speak it for yourself. Rhaenyra's fingers curve deeper into your cunt which causes you to cry out as your nails drag against the wall.

" shhh, time is ticking ñuha Rāqnon ( my love )" she husked, her pace picking up. A silent scream surpassed your lips and your eyes squeezed shut, her fingers in you felt so good your hips still moving against them.

" ijiōragon ( please)" you whispered as tears pricked the corners of your eyes as they snapped open to find her already staring. The animalistic look in her eyes was almost enough to make you entirely make a mess on her fingers.

" Kostagon nyke māzigon? ( may I come)" you asked and she smirked.

" Nyke ȳdra daor gīmigon ( I don't know )" she replied, at this point she was playing games with you, She was sending you crazy. Her fingers in you were moving at a pace you didn't even know was humanly possible. She had them so far deep in you, you felt every movement. You clenched down around her as your eyes rolled back. God she took up so much space in you.

If anyone were to enter and see this scene they would only think of you as a slut from henceforth. But you didn't care.

You could feel your orgam approaching and so did she. She could feel how needy you were for it. The way you were clenching around her. She pulls out her fingers half way and slam them deep into you. She started thrusting hard into your g spot with her fingers deeply curled into you. You could feel the knot in your stomach already forming.

Your hands immediately grab her hair, pulling against it and straching your nails against her scalp.

" good God's rhaenyra please— fuck!" Your eyes roll back and your back arches slightly off the wall as your orgasm hits you like a passing train. Your breathing is heavy and your legs were trembling if not for her strong grip on you, you would have crumbled to the ground. After you came down from your high your reopened your eyes and you are immediately met with rhaenyra's primal gaze.

" remove your cloak" you were confused by her demand but you obeyed her order and removed your cloak. Rhaenyra finished the job and undid the lace to your dress to expose your breast. You gasped when he pinched the small bud to your left breast causing it to become more erect. Her eyes flicked up towards yours as she smirked at you.

Her lips found your left nipple as she attached her mouth to it. Sucking gently her hand slid up your back pressing your chest into her face more. You tilted your head back a bit and allowed her to pull and twist your small bud with her tongue like a baby. Rhaenyra's other hand came up to your other neglected breast and began groping it. You moaned softly and closed your eyes as you gave into the feeling.

Rhaenyra released your nipple with a 'pop' as Slavia dragged from her mouth to the bud before she envelope the other nipple into her mouth and started twisting the bud, slightly chewing on it even. You whined but it was quickly cut off when the door knob rattled and twisted. Rhaenyra quickly removed herself from you and you grabbed your cloak and put it back on.

The door swings opens and rhaenyra's sworn knight steps through. Rhaenyra pretends to inspect the floor as she clears her throat and you turn your body so that your back would be facing the door.

" your grace, pardon the sudden intrusion but the dragon vermithor has chosen it's new rider.... you must come now" he says Clearly out of breath. Rhaenyra nods turning to look at you but you avoided her gaze. She clenches her jaw and looks down before looking back up at the knight. She walks swiftly pass him as he turns to follow her, closing the door on his way out he looks at you suspiciously.

When they both left you sighed a breath of relief. Today was a day, Rhaenyra's plan did work. Getting Vermithor and sliverwing a rider was successful. But Hugh and ulf weren't the only ones who got to ride and dragon today, you rode a special one in it's chambers......

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (5)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, angst, smut, sexual tension ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm's End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

He awoke in the morning, feeling the anxiety that had tossed him through the night. He could feel the sweet scent of her oils wafting in his nostrils, hear her soft, calm breathing, the heat of her body radiated in all directions, making him feel his entire body tense.

No woman ever stayed in his bed.

Her presence, this alien being, was something surprisingly shocking to him.

He opened his eye and saw that she slept lying on her stomach, her cheek pressed against the pillow, her face turned towards him. Her hair was scattered around her head in disarray, her lips slightly parted, her face relaxed and gentle.

She kept a safe distance, didn't touch him all night.

They didn't speak to each other after what they had done.

After he took her.

The fact that she had avoided his company throughout her stay in the keep, that she preferred to become acquainted with his sister rather than him, was at once comfortable, irritating and in some ways disappointing to him.

He had hoped that she would try to confront him, to fight back, meanwhile she had taken the tactic of distancing herself, not forcing him to be in her presence if he didn't consider it necessary.

Therefore, he watched her from the sidelines and once again felt a sense of disappointment when he found that he was unable, at least for the time being, to find in her a trait or demeanour that he could mock or use against her. She was calm but not dispassionate, cheerful but not silly, fond of conversation but not engaging in gossip.

In addition, her gowns, so different from those worn by her sisters, he had to admit, took his breath away every time he spotted her silhouette walking in the distance.

Perhaps there was something about the cut, the fact that the very fabric of the gown embraced her waist only below her breasts, where those were covered only by a snow-white chemise. He was furious, for this sight stimulated his imagination, and he was well aware that he was not the only man who had taken notice of this detail.

He had thought of taking her before the wedding, to dominate her completely and show her to whom she belonged, for whom the sight of her naked body was for; but he had given up this idea, recognising that if she was to be his wife, her maidenhood could not be called into question.

The closer it got to their nuptials, the more tense he felt, because even though he had promised her that if she obeyed him she would enjoy the act as much as he did, he was no longer sure he would be able to do it.

After all, in her eyes he was nothing more than a scarred and eyeless stranger who had snatched her from her father's arms and made a mockery of her sisters.

He hadn't thought about the fact that his touch might repulse her, exactly like what he desired to do with her.

The perverted, lewd touch he craved, him, deep inside her, between her thighs.

She was so innocent.

When he commanded her to kiss him, she was doing it so wonderfully shy, so gently, her lips so soft and pleasurable, that he could do just that all night, teaching her how he wanted her to caress his mouth, sliding his tongue deep into her throat, tasting her endlessly.

He knew, however, that his task that night was different.

He had to consummate this marriage for it to be valid, no matter whether she would be pleased with it or not. He, however, unlike his brother, took no pleasure in taking women against their will.

She was so gentle, so kind, trusting him, a stranger, letting him touch her in a way that frightened and embarrassed her.

He knew she had no idea what he was actually doing, how she should behave, but for some reason he was as terrified as she was and didn't know how to help her.

Whether any words from him could change anything.

He didn't want to lie, to say it wouldn't hurt.

He knew it will.

She didn't cry, she didn't squirm, she didn't get distracted, focusing only on her sensations, on his lips sucking greedily on her puffy, hard nipples, on his hand between her thighs.

He was filled with pride when he ran the tips of his fingers over her slit and felt her warm, sticky moisture. It made him feel more confident, he was already assured that she liked what he was doing so far.

He wanted her to like it, he wanted her not to run away from him.

Then, when he slid inside her, when her walls clenched against his cock so desperately that she caused pain even to him, he begged the gods that she would be able to hold on, that she would not cry, that she would not spoil everything that he had managed to do for them.

He could see her struggling with herself, pressing her lips and breathing deeply, trying to calm herself for him, to obey him, as he desired.

His brave wife.

And then he simply fucked her.

At first with gentle, slow rocking of his hips, just to try.

But then he lost his temper.

She was too tight, too warm, too wet, moaning too loudly and too sweetly, her body writhing too wonderfully beneath him.

He felt hot at the memory, trying not to think about the way her hands tightened on his chemise, how she sobbed beneath him, her face and body hot with pleasure.

Not to think about the wonderful sound that she made when she came underneath him, how perfect she looked as her body contorted in spasms of relief.

He pretended deep down that it didn't affect him at all.

He thought that she was his now, her every breath, look, moan, thought was to belong only to him, that he might take her again now.

To feel the softness and warmth of her bare, innocent body again.

His wife's.

He raised himself slowly on one elbow and moved towards her under the quilt, gripping her waist, lifting her slightly, kneeling behind her. She woke up and drew in a loud breath, all sleepy, he could see that she didn't know where she was or what was happening to her.

She tightened her hands on his wrists, breathing heavily as she felt him lift the fabric of her nightgown, exposing her hips to him.

"I will not cause you pain." He hummed, his voice calm and slightly hoarse.

He could feel her body trembling beneath him, he knew that after what he had done to her last night she was tender and oversensitive inside, her walls must have been sore and irritated.

He had no intention of hurting her as long, as she obeyed.

He grunted in satisfaction as she slowly released her grip, placing her hands on the pillow on either side of her head, her mouth slightly parted in a startled, quick breath.

He slid one of his hands between her thighs, searching for her womanhood with his fingers and exhaled softly in delight, feeling how warm her fleshy structure was, her opening still wet with their shared moisture.

He shivered with pleasure and lust at the thought of her, falling asleep filled with his spend, his lips involuntarily curved into a grin of satisfaction. He heard her sob softly as he began to brush her bud with the tips of his fingers in circular, slow strokes.

"Shhh." He whispered, continuing his movements, feeling her entire thighs tremble before him, his free hand stroked her buttock, staring in awe at the perverted sight before him.

He was in no hurry.

He didn't want her to cry when he fucked her.

He thought that it would be a very distracting sound, and after this she would run away from him and his touch for sure.

Of course, it would be her duty to father an heir with him anyway.

He thought that as long as she didn't give him reasons to be brutal and gave him what he wanted, he'd show her his softer, more understanding side.

It was a mutual exchange that suited him.

He didn't mind that she was inexperienced. On the contrary, her behavior and sudden, lively reactions made him desire her even more.

He knew that she was dismayed, that she didn't know what was happening to her, what he was going to do to her in this strange, unusual position, kneeling behind her. He involuntarily licked his lips at the thought.

He felt his slow, repetitive, gentle movements calm her down a bit, her breathing slowing, her chest rising steadily beneath him. He saw her fingers tighten on the pillow as the teasing of her sweet spot seemed to bear fruit slowly, his hand starting to get sticky with her juices.

"That's it. Good girl.” He purred in delight at what he could do to her, how wonderfully her body responded to his caresses.

He wanted her to want it.

To come to him, asking for more.

And he, if she behaved in the right way, might give it to her.

His cock throbbed painfully hard at the thought in his breeches, all swollen and he decided that he couldn't wait any longer. He slid his hand from between her thighs, and a soft sigh of relief escaped her lips as if she thought that it was over. He untied the fabric of his trousers, smirking with amusement at the thought.

He gripped her hips confidently, lifting them higher so that she was forced to lean forward, her breathing again quickening and terrified.

He thought that part of her mind already knew what was about to happen.

He was impressed with how patient and trusting she endured what he was doing to her. The servants he fucked usually asked a ton of questions, horrified as he pulled up ttheir woollen skirts, before the fast pace of his hips thrusting his cock into them left them speechless.

He heard her muffle a high-pitched sound as she pressed her face against the pillow, her fingers gripping the fabric of the material tightly when he guided the fat head of his manhood to her throbbing, hot entrance.

He slid in slightly, letting out a loud sigh of pleasure; her moist, hot, fleshy walls squeezed him wonderfully from all sides, making him grit his teeth and stop himself from moving aggressively inside her.

He could feel her trying hard not to express how much discomfort she felt, he heard her sob softly, almost inaudibly, as he thrust deeper into her, spreading her wide on his cock, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her hips.

“Just a little more. I promise." He whispered and groaned loudly when he slided all the way inside her with one, more forceful thrust of his hips.

He stopped, feeling the effort her body was making, trying to keep from running away from him and his grip, stroking her hot hip with his large hand, squeezing his eye shut.

"I will take it slow." He hummed, his calming voice matching the slow, almost tender movements of his hand.

He stayed like that for a moment, not moving, breathing heavily with her, letting her get used to the fact that he was so deep inside her again.

It surprised him how much pleasure he took from the sight of her in this position.

With one hand he still stroked her hip, and with the other he brushed her hair away from her face, all red with exertion, her cheeks flushed, her lips deliciously swollen.

He thought about kissing her, but decided against it.

He slid out of her slowly, only to slide back all the way to the end, a huge thrill of pleasure ran through his body at the sight of his cock stretching to the limit glistening folds of her entrance with a quiet click of her moisture.

"− yes − just like that −" He cooed, repeating his movements with confident, gentle thrusts of his hips, holding her waist in his hands, their bodies colliding with a soft, sticky slap.

He heard her swallow deeply and let out a startled sound of pleasure as he felt her body begin to respond to his rocking, her hips coming out to meet his thrust, intensifying his sensation.

He squeezed his eye shut, panting louder and louder, his cock throbbed painfully hard inside her as he heard her moan softly beneath him, her mouth parted in indecision, her eyebrows arched in worry as if she wasn't quite sure how she felt about it.

He wanted to get more sounds out of her.

He wanted to drive her to despair with pleasure.

He wanted her to come again before his eyes.

She whined loudly, her lips parting in surprise as his pace became more brutal and intense, rooting so deep into her that he felt like he would pierce her stomach.

"− gods − taking my cock so fucking well −” He gasped, delighted, immersed in his own sensations, making him feel that his fulfillment was getting closer.

She didn't have to answer him, her cries, her expression, her insides squeezing his cock were enough for him.

He heard her sob at his words, his thighs hitting her hips in a lewd, wet slaps with each of his quick, brutal thrusts, her moans getting louder and more helpless.

He deliberately slammed into her at an angle to rub the soft spot she hid it deep inside her, to increase her sensation, to give her what she needed, his hand slid down to her clit, teasing her further with his fingertips.

"− see how wonderful it can be when you obey me? − ah − I said that I'd take care of you, didn't I? − that you'll enjoy what I'm doing to you −" He gasped and felt his voice get stuck in his throat as her whole body tensed, a loud, sweet moan escaped her mouth, her walls clenched greedily on his cock in fulfillment that apparently just shook her body.

He couldn't help the low groan of surprise that escaped his throat as he felt it, he involuntarily tightened his fingers on her hips, fucking her through her orgasm, ignoring her sobs as he stretched her oversensitive, sore core.

"− did you fucking came already? − ah − such a greedy little thing − came before her prince commanded her to − fuck! −" He gasped in delight, panting loudly with her, a few more of his thrust were enough for him to come with a sound of wonderful relief, his hot seed spilled into her interior.

He felt an immense relief, his whole body trembling with delight and arousal at the sensation that he had just experienced with her. He stared at her with hazy eye, at her parted lips, trying to catch her breath, her gaze full of heat, her face, neck and hips dripping with sweat.

"You did so well." He whispered involuntarily, neither letting go nor sliding out of her, wanting to stay with her in this position for a while longer to enjoy the view.

He heard her squeal of horror as his servant suddenly stepped into his chamber, apparently wanting to inform them that their morning meal was ready to be served.

The girl was confused when she saw them and turned her face quickly, flooding with a blush. He slipped out of her quickly with a soft hiss, furious, pulling his breeches up, his lady-wife instantly hid her hips under her nightgown, horrified and humiliated.

"− f-forgive me, Your Grace − your meal −" The girl stammered, apparently realizing that she had made a big mistake.

"Get out." He hissed as he climbed out of bed, fury in his gaze that made the girl shiver, she quickly bowed before them and left.

He picked up his boot from the stone floor and put it on his leg, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he saw that she was shaking, covering her moutt with her hand, tears in her big, red eyes.

He swallowed softly, lowering his gaze, reaching for his other boot, guessing that she was terrified that this servant would convey to his mother what she saw.

That he fucked her like a common whore.

According to him, there was nothing insulting or embarrassing about the fact that she could enjoy this kind of brutal intimacy, although he understood that as a woman and a lady she had certainly imagined it very differently and felt humiliated despite the fact that he was her husband.

"You can go now." He said calmly and saw her flinch at his words, she gave him a look of regret and pain that he didn't like.

After a while the expression on her face changed; she lowered her gaze and stood up slowly, holding back the tears that welled up in the corners of her eyes. She took one step to the floor and inhaled sharply, her hand gripping the wooden pillar of his bed, looking down at her legs in horror.

He shivered at the thought that she had just felt his seed run down her thighs.

She swallowed hard, lifting her head with dignity, not giving him a single look and moved barefoot forward, with her trembling hand opening the door of his chamber.

She left without a word.

In a loud, commanding voice he summoned his servant, the same one who had dared to enter his chamber without warning.

The girl went inside, terrified, knowing what awaited her, he stared at her with his lips pressed into a thin line, trying to contain his anger and not slap her.

He considered it unworthy.

A sign of weakness.

"If you ever enter my chamber again in the morning while my wife is with me, I will have you handed over to my brother's service." He hissed, his gaze as cold and empty as his voice. The girl fell to his feet, sobbing loudly, her whole body trembling.

He felt the power of watching her grovel before him.

She had only served him for a month, because his mother had dismissed all the women that he had intimate relationships with before the wedding and he did not object.

He wasn't like Aegon.

He didn't leave things unfinished.

He made sure that they will not bear his bastards.

"I beg of you, Your Grace, have mercy, it will never happen again!" She mumbled with difficulty, and he pursed his lips at her words.

"You will not tell anyone about what you saw today. If I hear that my mother found out about it, I will cut your tongue out with my own hands."

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Aemond and reader really be going through it together, call that shit trauma bonding ok? I'm so tired but also so keen to pump out these chapters for you so that we can finish this month long journey that has been Smoke, Fire and Ash. You are all the best!!! I love you so much! Enjoy <3

Chapter 93: Stoking the Flames 

What are women but an object for men to possess?

A body they can press their hands into, and mark with their teeth. Giving them validation that they are men, man enough, above status, better born.

Noble.

A vessel for their cocks, ears to hear their woes, and arms to hold them tenderly when needed. A body for them to take out their anger, a body for them to act upon their lust. A way for them to let out the rising tensions within their own bodies without repentance. 

A good wife should never say no. A good wife should never fight back. A good wife should have 'yes' at the very tip of her tongue, 'thank you' in the back of her throat, 'please' at the ends of her fingers, 'more' between her thighs.

A good wife should be smiles and curtseys, kisses on both cheeks and eyes, embroidery wheels, and laughter. The womb for his child, the mother to raise them, the teacher to teach them, the cook to feed them, the cleaner to keep the house tidy for them all.

A tongue that is bitten and raw, teeth that are chipped and broken, words unspoken and kept between brittle fingers and chewed lips. A body bent to his will, when he wants, without question because he is your husband, and that is what you are meant to do.

But you were not a good wife. At least, not in a way of being complacent and weak.

You were far more than that.

And Aemond now knew this.

Your confessions to one another seems to have begun to pull the seams between the two of you back together. Each thread being tugged, to make you whole.

To burn together. Not apart. 

As one.

And despite the horrors that you had faced, despite the losses that seems to continue to mount against you, you knew that you had a duty to your mother. To the realm. To your husband even. And this duty extended itself to dining with the King without argument. To dining with the people who watched as you were dragged to the throne room, all teeth and claws, to watch your ally be slain before you. 

A warning. 

A threat. 

Their victory. 

The Greens believed in their heart of hearts, that the Maester was the only eyes in the Keep. Or at least, you suspected Aegon to believe this. Alicent, despite her sometimes lack of spine and wherewithal, had a paranoia that often worked to her favour, not to her mental health, her chewed and battered fingers and all round jumpy demeanour could attest to that, but perhaps to the way things always seemed to fall in line around her, no matter how messy.

The maids were silent as they doted on you, as though the simplest of touches would pull a carefully laid brick in your very being, and the rest of you would fall down, tumbling to the surface below with a crash.

It was a black gown you wore, not only in support of your mother, but in mourning of the mother you would not become. 

High necked, and tight sleeved, the bodice wrapped around you tightly, false dragon scales lining your bust with a dark leather, the sleeves cuffed over your middle finger in a sharp point. Skirts of sweeping black, and hair braided tightly behind your head, not a hair out of place, not a strand left loose.

Stiff. 

Strict.

Together.

A vision of power, despite how powerless you felt.

Aemond wore black leathers, a similar scaling press at the front of his own chest, buckles of gold reaching right beneath his chin. His own hair pulled back into a half braid at the back of his head, large rings upon his fingers, and his sweeping black leather coat that used to strike fear in you. 

And so you walked, as one, in unity.

One in loss.

One in mourning.

One in fire and blood, and rage and grief. 

Walking as one to the Small Dining Hall where you knew the both of your strengths would be tested by the King and all those surrounding. By the Council. By the Dowager Queen and the Hand. All eyes would be upon you, and all lips would no doubt utter false senses of condolences and meagre hints of regret.

You were exhausted.

Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.

And as Aemond walked you through the corridors, he kept with your pace, his hand in yours, letting you squeeze his tightly. Preparing yourself for the inevitable.

When you had entered the Hall together, the room instantly became silent, and the thundering roar of blood in your ears filled the noise instead. Each step that you took seemed to echo, and each breath that you breathed seemed to rattle within your lungs. 

All eyes were on you. 

Not Aemond. 

You.

And your eyes were on Aegon. 

He matched your stare with equal verocity, violet eyes glinting in triumph. 

I won, they said.

And he had.

For now. 

No one spoke a word as you sat in your seats, nor did they stop their silent staring at you either. It was worse, you thought, this false pity. Worse than the usual disdain or hatred.

It made you feel weak. 

“Princess,” Aegon began, tone low and filled with false sorrow, “You should be resting in your chambers.”

You cleared your throat softly, shifting in your chair as you watched the tables reaction.

Everyone seemed to be on edge.

“I have rested plenty. I have a duty to my husband, and he a duty to his King.”

Aegon nodded solemnly, as though he was not the catalyst for your losses, “You are a good wife to be sure. And strong.” 

You tapped your fingers against the table, looking around at the Lords and Lady Alicent, who watched you with cautious and sad eyes. The table was full of food already, piled high with meats and legumes, gravies and sauces, and large decanters of wine and ale. 

Turning to Alicent, you gave her a terse smile, “Lady Alicent, might you say a prayer to begin?”

Alicent blinked at you doe-ishly for a moment, before nodding, holding her hands in front of her, “May we pray to the Father,” She began, and all Lords bent their heads to look at there hands in prayer, whilst Aegon kept his eyes on you, “And ask him to guide the child lost to the Stranger gently where it may rest."

You let your gaze meet Aegon, and fire erupted within. His lips were pulled forward in a pout as he looked at you, then to your husband beside you, who’s head was diligently bowed, and eye slid shut.

Alicent continued her prayer as heat rose within you, “May we pray to the Mother, for mercy and peace, and ask her to give blessings for a new heir.”

You swallowed thickly, hands in your lap tightening into fists, “May the Crone guide us forward, and show us the path to strength and unity.”

The prayer ended, and all eyes fell upon you again, some looking away as your gaze met theirs, others offering you a sad smile in brittle support.

“I pray to the Father,” Aegon began, hands tucked under his chin as everyone warily looked at him, “I ask that he delivers divine justice, and judgement upon my actions, and pray that he forgives me of my misdeed which led to the loss of an innocent babe.”

You breathed heavily, teeth clenched as he looked at you.

“Very good, My Lord.” Otto Hightower praised stiffly from his side, whilst Alicent looked as though she had turned a shade of grey.

Aemond dropped a hand into your lap, stopping the way one of your own pulled at the skin of the other meanly. His large fingers pressed between yours, squeezing it in a subtle show of strength, a show of support. A sign that he was there with you. 

An attempt to ground you.

“I pray that he delivers such justice indeed.” Came you cool response, reaching forward to pour yourself a goblet of wine, bringing it your lips as you did not trust yourself to hold your tongue. 

The Lords around the table began to eat, and their own chatter rose amongst each other, replacing the once stale, stagnant air. And as they spoke, Alicent asked after you. 

“Might there be anything that you need, Princess? Perhaps we could go to the Sept together and pray.” 

An attempt at kindness. 

But kindness did not come to the Lady Alicent easily.

You swallowed, feeling Aemond’s hand still in your lap, “That is kind of you, Your Grace. But for now, I think I need time to spend with the Old Gods first.”

The older woman gave a crooked smile, “Of course.”

You all ate, yourself and Aemond staying quiet, listening to the filler conversations that the Lords tiptoed around, all the while Aegon continued to stare at you in a way you could not describe. 

Was there remorse there behind his eyes?

“My condolences to you, brother, and to you niece.” Aegon spoke quietly to you both, “It is no easy thing to lose a child.”

Jaehaerys.

Aemond’s eye was cast down at his plate, before he gave a solemn nod. 

The hand in your lap tightened.

“Have you written to your mother and father to tell them of the loss?” Aegon inquired, placing his cutlery softly against his plate, he was treading carefully. 

Too carefully. 

He was worried for your parents reaction. 

“I had not the chance to tell them I was with child, and it would seem silly to send them such notice of losing one they didn’t know I had.” Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth.

“Of course, it would be difficult to say such things over parchment. A far better conversation to have in person, when one can convey the misfortune of it all. Not at all what I had intended, I would never wish anything like the loss of a child upon a mother.”

You ground your teeth down in your jaw, Alicent and Otto watching you and Aemond carefully. 

“Your apologies are too kind, Your Grace.” The words were sour in your mouth, "You were not to know of the outcome of such a thing.”

Aegon’s violet gaze searched your face before he asked a new question, “And how are you faring? Is the new Maester tending to your needs?”

The new Maester. 

“He is perfectly acceptable.” Came your stiff response.

Aegon smiled, “Good. Did you know that he was the one to treat Aemond’s eye when he lost it?”

Aemond’s hand twitched in your lap, and it was your turn to soothe him. 

“I did.”

“Then you are in good hands.”

“Indeed.”

You finished your meal, and as the Lords continued to dance around you, you decided that you had had enough. Standing from your chair, you offered no bow, no apologies, but instead stiffened your posture, holding your hands in front of you as you had been taught to do, and excused yourself from the Dining Hall. 

Aemond followed you, curt farewell on his tongue.

Your maids dressed you for bed as soon as you entered the chambers, and soon enough you are beneath the sheets, calling out for Aemond to join you. He crawled in from behind, the heat of his body engulfing you. You rolled in your spot, turning to face him before you asked him to hold you. 

Aemond pulled you tight against his chest, lifting your leg over his hip to slot his between yours. Not in a sexual way, but in a way to have you as close as possible, to have all of you pressed against him. He tucked your head beneath his chin as you lay in the dark of the chambers. 

“I wish things were different.” You whispered to no-one. It was just something that you wished. Something that you needed to speak into existence, for you feared if it was not said, it would not be true.

Aemond only pulled you tighter against him, small hum vibrating his chest as he kissed the top of your head, keeping his lips against your hair.

“I wish he was dead.”

Spoken into existence again. 

Aemond’s chest stilled, before breathing again gently.

You licked your lips, inhaling the scent of your husband. Musk. Sandalwood. Smoke.

“I wish Aegon was dead.”

You felt hot air blow against the top of your scalp, but Aemond did not move to stop you, and so you let the roll of thoughts tumble out of your mouth. The thoughts and words which had been hiding in the back of your throat, your tongue bitten and bleeding, teeth chipped and raw.

“I can still feel it.” You breathed, heart beginning to race in your chest, "I can still feel the way he felt inside of me. The way he forced himself inside of me.” Aemond’s hands tensed on your flesh, and you felt the familiar sting of tears on your eyes. 

“I remember it all. The fear. The terror. The pain.”

Another sharp blow of air atop your head.

“I called out to you, and he would not stop. I tried to stop him. I tried-“ You hiccupped, feeling a sob wrack your body, “But he was so strong, and I couldn’t move, and all I could do was pray you would come home and save me.”

Aemond murmured your name so quietly that you would have missed it if his breath were not above your ear.

“I hate it. I hate him. I hate that I know what he felt like. I hate that he was inside of me. How he laughed at me. How he mocked you. I think about it and I feel sick. I feel so sick and horrified at the thought of him in our bed again.”

Tears slid down your cheeks, and you felt Aemond press another kiss to your head, though his body was stiff, and vibrating with energy.

“Sometimes,” You licked your lips, tasting your salty tears as your voice crackled, “Sometimes I’m thankful we lost the babe.”

Aemond’s chest stopped again, no hot air of his breath moving across your scalp.

“B-ecause,” Your voice wavered, more tears beginning to fall, landing in the crux of your neck wetly, “What if the Moon Tea hadn’t worked. What if it was Aegon’s.” A sob fell from your lips. “What if-“

“Shh.” Aemond whispered atop your head, shifting so that your body was now atop his. You curled atop him, his hands coming to hold you against his body as you felt his chest rise and fall raggedly beneath you.

“Ēdrugon, byka mēre.” Sleep, little one, The One-Eyed Prince whispered atop your hair, pressing his lips to your forehead gently, “Ñuha idaña perzys, ȳdra daor pendagon hen ra.” My twin flame, don’t think of such things.

“Nyke vaoreznuni.” I’m sorry, You sobbed into his chest, feeling him hold you against him impossibly tight.

“Shh, konīr iksis daorun naejot sagon vaoreznuni syt.” There is nothing to be sorry for.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[whateverthedragonswant]

Rewatching 8x05 for writing reasons, which is just a brilliant episode, despite any reasons some might have to hate it, valid or invalid. Miguel Sapochnik is directing and you see his talent and epicness in every shot (that man deserves a freaking Emmy already, I said what I said) but also there are so many things being shown here that if you muted the episode after Daenerys makes her decision, during the battle scene, you would be able to tell exactly what each character is thinking and what's really going on in the story besides the surface action.

Which brings me to that one scene that a lot of people said the woman being attacked as a stand-in for Sansa in the episode for Jon. They are correct and here's how.

Jon is walking through the melee, only coming to life to defend himself when Lannister soldiers are trying to attack him. The Northerners aren't listening to him, they're attacking innocent civilians, Grey Worm is on a killing spree, Davos is trying to help people get away from the bloodshed, Dany is burning the city, Tyrion is off somewhere horrified, Cersei is watching in terror from the Red Keep... But during this scene, the sound is muted to a point where the sounds of battle happening all around Jon sound very far away. We're now seeing what Jon sees, we're in his shock fugue with him. We see on his left civilians, namely women, being brutalized by soldiers -> he keeps walking. We on his right a woman being knocked down to the ground while a child is watching in horror, blood spatter and bodies all around her (and obviously traumatized & also in danger herself since no one is left to protect her) -> he keeps walking. He then sees a Lanniser soldier telling people to run, something his soldiers should be doing (and something he himself should be doing like Davos) but he's not. While the sounds are still muted, Jon notices another Lannister soldier about to rush him and he goes into autopilot & fights the soldier off. He then looks around in horror.

This is not what he signed up for and he almost looks lost, like he doesn't know what to do. Then the sound comes back fully and he hears a scream. In all of the melee, chaos, and death around him, he hears this one woman above the rest and turns to see her being dragged into an alley to presumably be assaulted by one of his own men.

Sure enough, she's about to be and she is trying to crawl away when the man catches her again. Jon ends up saving her, threatening to run his sword through the man. When the latter tries to fight him off to go back to assault this woman, Jon kills him and tells the woman to hide.

So how is this woman standing in for Sansa besides the obvious?

Two ways.

1) Ramsay was the former Warden of the North, the former bastard of Roose Bolton who was a Northerner who "served" Robb Stark, the first King in the North, before betraying him to the Lannisters. The soldier Jon faces off with is a Northerner and is supposed to be under Jon's command as Warden of the North and the former second King in the North.

2) Sansa is who stirs Jon into action when he feels lost.

Every.

Time.

And the parallels between the gif above with Dany and the dagger to the Northern soldier that had Jon's sword run through him, and Jon's staring almost sadly at the man, realizing he had to kill one of his own are far from being coincidental.

Not only was this a precursor to what would occur in 8x06 (and why Jon would make the decision he did) but it also is symbolic of the dynamic between Jon and Sansa as a whole. She's the one who stirs him into action, no matter how terrified or traumatized or angry he might be in that moment (like the shock fugue). No matter how lost he might feel. She gives him direction and dare I say a purpose when he has none (after his death; after the WW are defeated & Dany has gone into tyrant mode).

No wonder we weren't allowed to see Sansa's (or Arya's) reaction to the news of his being a Targaryen.

No wonder Jon told Melisandre not to bring him back if he lost the Battle of the Bastards (after Sansa told him if he lost, she wouldn't be going back to Ramsay alive).

No wonder Jon was not happy with Sansa on the dock in 8x06.

She's always stirred him into action when he doesn't want to be or know how to do it himself (after his death).

He passed a woman he could have saved.

He passed a child he could have helped.

He saw someone on the other side helping and doing the right thing.

The only time he steps in to help someone else is the woman about to be assaulted.

(x) "You are the shield that guards the realms of men. You've always tried to do the right thing. No matter the cost. You've tried to protect people. Who's the greatest threat to the people now?" (no reaction)

"Do you think I'm the last man she'll execute? Who is more dangerous than the rightful heir to the Iron Throne?" (no reaction)

"And your sisters? Do you see them bending the knee?" (a little bit of a reaction)

"Why do you think Sansa told me the truth about you? Because she doesn't want Dany to be queen." (more of a reaction)

"No, but you do. And you have to choose now." (he hesitatingly goes to confront Dany and then 🗡️)

It's not just about her being his "sister" or because she's Lady Stark or family or because they were the last two Starks once upon a time. She literally stirs him into action and gives him purpose. Her pushing to go back to Winterfell led to him caring about the WW invasion again. Her being the one he chooses to protect ended a tyrant and changed history, leading for her to become the first Queen in the North and regain Northern Independence, where she can be forever safe.

It was always Sansa for him, starting in 6x04.

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Eighteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen

AO3 LINK

Author's Note: All my love and many thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend for being my cheerleader, for taking my face in her hands and telling me that I word good, and that the story I'm telling is one that's valid. We all need a cheerleader like her.

EXPLICIT CONTENT

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - She'll Still Be Mine

Aegon distracts himself from his woes with some physical healing, weird talks with both his dads, and a night out with his best friend.

Emotions were a tempest inside Aegon Targaryen as riotous as the churning waters of Blackwater Bay. He slammed the heavy bedroom door behind him, the fury of it shaking the candles in their holders on the small table inside the door. Sunfyre was a growling, heated presence inside the cage of his ribs, pulsing in time with each beat of his heart. How he craved for fang and claw so all would feel his fury.

Too hot. His skin felt too hot, too tight, too much.

Aegon tore at the buckles of his doublet, peeling off the rich, green brocade and tossing it aside. It did little to assuage his feelings. Sick curled in his gut; an impotence he could do nothing about. He yanked at the ties at the throat of his linen shirt and his eyes landed upon the bottles on the table, where they’d been residing for the past few weeks.

‘Mother wishes you to dry out’, his siblings had said the night after him and Aemond had been dragged back to the keep, the betrothal announcement and his brother’s words swirling around his head. No more wine, no ale, no beer. Only ciders, or the watered wine they’d break their fasts with.

What good did that do him now, when nothing was at the ready to distract him anymore? Besides, it would be a shame for all these nameday gifts to go to waste.

Aegon cocked his head as he approached, swiping up the first bottle. He ran his thumb along the waxed cork, the familiar Arbor seal pressed on top. Thunder rumbled outside as Aegon worked his dagger along the seal with practiced ease, bits of wax falling to the floor like petals as he leaned against the window pane. The cool air that accompanied the end of the harvest season felt good on his heated skin, the spray of rain just outside a balm even if it was not quite what he needed.

What kind of man was he who could not protect who he loved the most? Over a moon had passed since his nameday, since Abby’s horrible scream ripped through the night. All Larys Strong had found in his investigation was that the bastard had worked in the kitchens for the past year. No family, a “quiet fellow”, with a few dalliances with the serving maids.

Nothing.

What cold comfort it was to his hunītsos, who could not sleep alone and had taken to his sister’s bed or pulled Wylla into her own. Few nights she’d even crept into his bed, mouth wet against his throat as he distracted her from her nightmares and fear, to replace everything with the thought of him and only him. How he could lose himself in her, the scent of the heady, dark rose and currant soap that clung to her skin, to forget about his lacking when she mewled his name, rutting against his cock separated only by her small clothes, his teeth worrying at the bite he’d left on her shoulder back in the tent, refusing to let it fade. How easy it was to be there, with her, than some stinking brothel with bought comfort.

Aegon gasped for air as the red dribbled over his mouth and down his chin, staining his shirt. Without thinking, he’d taken several pulls from the bottle. It was perfectly dry as it snaked down his throat, a familiar feeling of relief, and the taste of plum and cherry far more enticing than the ciders he’d been restricted to. He watched from behind the silver hair that fell into his eyes as lightning illuminated King’s Landing before a crack of thunder boomed, loud enough to startle him even though he’d been prepared for it.

Dragging the back of his sleeve over his mouth, he leaned against the ledge and shut his eyes, letting the storm mist across his face - the wind blowing north and thus, his room had avoided getting soaked. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Theraxis' great, gray bulk come slinking out from behind the wardrobe, watching him with large yellow eyes as he promptly flopped over onto his side and turned, looking at him upside down.

“The lords tell me should I need anything, I have only to call upon them,” he told the cat, putting to voice what he’d held inside him these weeks. “So ready they are to give me my sister’s birthright, I do not even have to ask them for it.” He shook his head, another pull to ease the rumbling ache. “What kind of man do they take me for?” Theraxis had the courtesy to blink at him, pawing at the air and he snorted softly.

“They take you for potential.” Aegon startled at the unexpected voice. Theraxis let out a pleased meow and scampered up, prancing on deceptively light paws towards his mistress. She was lovely in the firelight, the glow of it catching along the edges of her hair, her long braid slung over one shoulder. Gone were the light silks and fluttering linen of the warm months. She was clad in a dressing gown of cream, embroidered with vines and flowers, the sleeves slashed from her elbows, the lavender lining reminding him of the flowers she had in her room the other day. “Oh, hello my darling,” she cooed, dropping to her knees to greet her cat - the animal the size of a hunting hound, seemingly larger as he tried to crawl into her lap while she laughed. The gown she wore was a deep v at her neck, and he could see the ties and lace of her nightdress beneath.

Her delicate fingers scratched around Theraxis’ ears as he pressed his cheek against hers and finally, her eyes met his. “We haven’t talked about it. Is that why you were so upset just now?”

Aegon took another pull from the bottle and went to the table to grab one of the goblets resting there. “Your brother has no more news,” he said, not hiding the truth from her, but guilt spurred him to take another drink. Abby’s lack of response indicated she had either already been told or was not surprised. Or a dozen other things involving how she didn’t indulge in her far more unpleasant emotions.

She pressed several kisses to the top of the cat’s head before he padded to the door and she followed to let him out, shutting and locking it behind her. He said nothing, giving her time as she rested her head against the wood to gather herself and splashed wine into a goblet like a good betrothed. It was easier to make sure he didn’t drink all of it without letting her share, and surely some wine would loosen her anxieties, if not her tongue.

There were times he wondered if she would ever trust him with all the things she left unsaid - if she would ever trust anyone with them.

Aegon approached, boots thumping softly on the rich rug. She turned at the sound of his approach, watching him as he took a sip from the goblet before holding it up to her lips for her to have a taste, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “He has no news. Cole and the whole fucking Kingsguard and the City Watch captain have found nothing.” Abby’s hand wrapped around the goblet to take another sip, and she looked so fragile, half in shadow with her back against the door, that he wanted to scream, to throw the bottle and demand the heads of the watch who were meant to be guarding the camp.

He took another swig from the bottle instead, drifting further into the room so she could not see his anger. Futile, he knew, but he’d not have her fear him, not when he was like this. Not when he feared himself.

“You wondered what kind of man the lords took you for,” she finally said and he knew a subject change when he heard it. Aegon scoffed and Abby tutted. “I said they see potential for someone to curry favor with. Your sister may be your father’s heir, Jeyne Arryn rules over the Eyrie, but your sister’s rule puts in doubt their own holdings. Should their sisters and their sister’s children then come before them, or the eldest daughter who married the heir to another keep? Not to mention a woman? Sitting the Iron Throne? Ruling over them when they would not even let their own wives do so?”

“It’s an ugly fucking chair,” Aegon complained.

“So you would not mind your wife ruling you?” was her teasing reply. Warmth spread through his belly - whether from Abby’s words of ruling him and the images that conjured to mind, or the reassurance she was not going to press him to ‘at least think about it’.

“I would not mind, for my wife is far cleverer than I.” The words were easy, calling her wife, that it nearly caught him off guard. Abby paused, teeth scraping over the pout of her lower lip, stained dark with the wine. He took the goblet from her to take another drink. “I do mind that they think me willing to steal my sister’s birthright - something made abundantly fucking clear that is not, and never will, be mine as long as our father lives. If her marrying Daemon did not cause it among-” He caught himself and shook his head. “Nothing will knock her from that pedestal. I mislike them thinking me such a monster.” It did not matter if he and Rhaenyra were close. They were far from it, and the war of jealousy, of anger and frustration towards her, did not mean he would take the throne from her in retribution, first born son or not.

Setting the bottle down on the low table before the fire, he lifted his arms, pushing up on his toes until his spine and shoulders popped deliciously. He groaned, tucking his hand beneath his shirt to scratch his belly and growled as he felt a cool hand join his, nails slightly sharper scratching against his skin and the fine hairs running along his skin, vanishing beneath his waistband.

“Decided to pet me instead?” he groaned happily, nuzzling his nose against the crown of her head and inhaling the bright scent of her hair. The distraction she provided was a good one and he let out a snort of laughter when she pushed him back onto the couch.

“You are most certainly not a monster, nor as awful as they try to paint you with such ambitions,” she said fiercely, immediately, and he held onto her defensive words and reassurance, let them be a balm to his wounded soul and the space where Sunfyre purred, content with the sweet and fierce words.

Aegon let his head fall back on the back of the couch and enjoyed the way she looked above him. Her face was slightly flushed from the wine, mouth stained red as a rosebud, small and plump and begging to be kissed. She was covered up in her dressing gown, no erotic enticement that he was used to seeing and yet she stirred his blood and his arousal all the same. ‘Lovely’, he thought, reaching a hand up to tug on the end of her copper braid, demanding her closer.

“I would devour you,” he murmured, licking his own wine stained lips. He’d tasted her off his fingers, but had yet to truly indulge the way he wanted. To escape into her was all he wanted, better than the wine that coursed through his veins. This was the vice he wished to indulge in, to lose himself in, and all the better with his Abrogail, his love.

Abby raised her eyebrows at him and pressed her hand to his knees to make room before lowering herself before him. His mouth immediately went dry, his lilac eyes widening as he took in her adorably focused look. First, she went for one boot, tossing it away, then the other followed and he settled in to be taken care of. Fingers, delicate with a needle, needy and demanding when in his hair, perfect when tangled with his own, began to work on the lacing of his trousers. His cock twitched, half hard already from her touch, and the groan Aegon made when she touched him had his toes curling against the rug.

Her giggle was sweet, as everything about her was. It was by no means the first time she’d taken his cock in hand, fingers struggling to wrap around his girth in a way that made him see stars, that begged to see her stretched around him, whimpering and whining to take him. This was no different. She drew him out, moisture already gathering around the head and her thumb immediately swiped to spread it around, a gentle squeeze following.

“Missed you,” he murmured, wrapping her braid around his hand once and tugged her closer. Abby’s pupils were blown wide and the flush of her cheeks was deeper, and he knew she liked the gentle pulling of her hair. Aegon had been delighted to discover how much she liked it when he handled her in such a way. “Fuck, you are so beautiful.”

Abby smiled, a shy look of a blushing maiden, before she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the tip of him his mouth jealous with need of her. He jerked at her braid in surprise and she yelped, shock rather than pain and an apology fell from him. Her eyes narrowed at him, assessing.

“Did you like that?”

No longer soft. No longer guileless. No longer his little rabbit; this was his kēlītsos, the little lion batting about its prey. Her thumb was idly stroking the underside of his cock in the way that sent him to shivering, balls aching, and he nodded. He lifted his free hand to cradle the soft curve of her jaw, thumb pressing against her lower lip. His heart was thudding. He’d wanted this for so long, had dreamt of it, but hadn’t asked, unwilling when she was so new to all of this.

Her mouth opened more, and he looked at the sweet pink inside, and Aegon released a long, shuddering breath.

“Please,” he whispered.

Abby’s teeth nipped at his thumb and he let her go, shifting around to give her more room. His fingers danced over the little buttons holding her dressing gown closed, tugging idly at one. Aegon wanted to tug at her collar, take a peek at her breasts, but the angle denied what sight was his. Another snort of laughter escaped him when she reached up to his chest to push him back. He watched, enraptured, as she opened her mouth once more, resting the salty, warm tip of his cock on the pillow of her tongue and wrapped her pretty lips around him.

“Jaw soft,” he told her through his groan. “Do not force yourself to take more.” She wouldn’t be able to, and he did not want her to hurt herself or him. Just as her sweet words soothed his woes, her mouth soothed him as well.

Aegon let himself fall into the warm tingle of wine and arousal pumping through his veins, gaze heavy lidded as his Abrogail pleasured him. The vision she was to him had him aching and it took everything not to force himself further into her mouth the longer she continued, to use his grip on her braid to guide her down. He would be good for her. A good teacher. He felt her sigh and moan around him, and praise fell from his lips.

“That’s a good lass… you’re doing so well,” he reassured her, delight settling into the heated knot in his belly with each happy wiggle she made. Even as the pacing of her mouth left something to be desired, or the moment where he felt the tease of her teeth before she adjusted and left him wanting more of that sharpness that had his breath catching, he still could not imagine a more intense experience. What she lacked in experience and technique, she more than made up for in exuberance and the simple fact it was her on her knees for him. Cassandra Baratheon might have had a mouth that could take him down, but his precious girl wanted him.

He desired nothing more than to be truly wanted.

Her mouth popped off, strings of spittle clinging from his cock to her lips as she gasped for air, eyes wet with the tears that came from taking him, and he hushed her, reaching up to stroke her cheek and smiling as she nuzzled into his hand. His thumb stroked over her mouth, spreading spit and his own essence until her lips shone with it, glossy and inviting. “Easy now, you can use your hand for a bit.” She was good at that. Abby nodded, eager, and tugged at the waistband of his trousers.

“Up,” she ordered hoarsely, and he complied, helping her work them down and off so there was no barrier. Aegon reached behind his head to tug off his shirt and lifted a foot to rest on the table behind her, lazy and languid, balls tight and aching. A whine stuck in Abby’s throat, those depthless eyes looking up at him as she leaned down, tracing her tongue along his balls, her hand sliding down to cup them the way he’d taught her. Long licks, kisses, each different affection, had Aegon feeling as if he’d spill all over her and ruin her pretty gown. “You are being so good for me,” she told him when she lifted her head from him to smile up at him.

“I want to be good for you,” he swore with a frantic nod. “I will be, I promise. Please don’t stop.”

Abby had the gall to giggle at him. It was then that Aegon noticed that one of her hands disappeared and he realized that it had slid beneath the gap of her dressing down, her nightgown beneath bunched up. A fresh wave of heat washed through him at the idea of her own arousal so demanding from this that she needed to find relief.

Oh, his poor kēlītsos.

“I want to taste you,” she whispered, and he could hear the catch in her voice, just there when he knew her arousal was growing. Abby’s hand worked him, slick and perfect with that slight twist of her grip and he nodded.

“Please,” he begged again. “Clever girl, you’ve learned so fast, you can do it. I know you can.” He tugged on her braid again, hard enough for her to feel it, and it drew a moan from her, the arm that was tucked beneath her gown moving a little faster. “Open up, you’re almost there.” His words were catching with his anticipation as he fed her his cock once more and Abby took him with an eager whine that vibrated up from the base of his spine. His hips jerked towards her, unable to help himself, and she choked as more of himself forced inside but she didn’t stop, taking him with greedy, needy sounds. Then, her other hand joined and the sensation of her wet fingers stroking against his balls and the soft skin just behind had him seeing stars.

It was over nearly as soon as it had started and he was falling into his end like he was still a green boy, the pressure at the base of his spine imploding, pulling him farther and farther down until he was pushing her away, attempting and failing to warn her of what came next. Abby's eyes were wide, wet and blue and endless, as he came, her name choking off in an almost pathetic cry. She was not deterred, the first of his spend catching along her cheek before she was taking him in hand, continuing to stroke him as he caught along her chin and mouth, over her pretty dressing gown that he got to ruin after all.

Aegon did not care, his vision blurry, everything focused on the feel of her hand, the pleasure of his release, the way the milky white spend decorated her. There was a strange sense of waste in the back of his mind that he did not give more thought to but knew where it came from. That time would come soon enough.

He fell back against the couch, limbs soft and tingling, his own mouth wet, his skin heated in that satisfying, post-peak flush even more the better for it was Abby that brought it on, because she loved him. Gods, he loved her. He loved her so much he could not find all the words for it.

“I love you,” he panted, head lolling over to his shoulder as he gazed at her, fondness, affection, everything he could not put into words heavy in his tone.

“I love you too,” she returned, voice rough and weighted and just as sincere, meeting him in the place between them. Affection surged through him and Aegon tugged at her braid again before dropping it, hands reaching for her arms to draw her up his body, his eyes dark and heavy as her tongue swiped against the silkiness of him against her mouth. In a daze, he reached up to push more of it off her chin and into her mouth, and she noisily sucked the taste of him off his fingers.

Eager and adventurous, Abby was not some soft maiden, frightened of a romantic touch. Nay, Abby was an eager lover, excited to be with him, wanting to be with him. How many years had he spent chasing a peak that he could not name, throwing money at women, men sometimes, trying to find the piece that he craved. He was far more experienced than she would ever be, and how he desperately wanted to take her, to bury himself in the home of her body.

How easy it would be, and yet it was the knowledge that it was expected of him to 'ruin' her before their wedding that stopped him. To get her fat with his child, to take some kind of advantage of her, to only sate his own desire. The way the bitter bitch of a septa had grown horrified at their needy kisses in the gallery, to Aemond's angered remarks in the library, to Mother's hawk-sharp stare every time Aegon drew close, the reminders to Abby about 'virtue' in his mother's solar in the evenings. The idea that he was seen as some insatiable, lust filled creature who could not be trusted to control himself, raked hot against his insides. The way he was judged, and the way he knew she would be judged, left him feeling just as strange and raw as the assumptions that he coveted his sister's birthright.

To deny himself the full pleasures of his body allowed him to shake away his own past; to discover in the slow build up of all that brought her pleasure was a new experience and one that he would draw out - to deny himself the pleasure just as he denied her the full experience of him - to build up the anticipation was too enticing.

He kissed her then, the taste of wine, of her and him, making his belly burst into excited moths like the ones pinned to his sister’s collection boards. Abby was shivering and filled with tension as her own peak had not yet been realized, but she came into him eagerly, a needy thing in heat, and he would sate her as she had so kindly and sweetly done for him.

“You are a mess,” he chuckled, and Abby’s flushed skin burned deeper once more. He pondered for a moment before wrapping his arms around her and rising from the couch.

She squealed, a delighted sound, and clung to him as he took her to the bed and deposited her amidst the soft blankets. He braced his arms on either side of her, capturing her mouth for another kiss before he pulled away to get a clean cloth to wipe the rest of her face with. The water in the basin was cool, and he took his lady firmly by the chin to work on wiping her face. Even as Abby’s giggles filled the room, she remained pliant and well-behaved, teeth worrying on her lip as he cleaned her up.

“Ticklish, are we?” he teased her, fingers fiddling with the buttons on her dressing gown. There were only five of them. Five annoying little bastards kept him from her perfect breasts.

“How dare you tease me when I performed so well,” Abby replied with her nose tilted in the air haughtily, which bared her throat to him and the slick shine of spend clinging to her skin. He dove in, licking it up with the flat of his tongue, pushing her back onto the bed as he hovered over her, devouring her neck with exaggerated sounds as if he were Sunfyre feasting upon a carcass. She shrieked, giddy and squirming, his captured prey, and he growled and hummed against her throat and lost himself in the sound, in the scent of her. “Oh no! The dragon is going to eat me!” she cried, pushing at his shoulders as fiercely as she clung to him. He groaned, grinding his hips against her as he felt the bite of her nails in his skin, the edge of pain soothing amidst the pleasure.

The dragon was, indeed, about to feast.

He would be as good of a boy as she had called him and not tear the dressing gown. Aegon took his time to undo each of the fastenings, easing her out of the pretty fabric before tossing it blindly behind him.The nightgown beneath was simple - cream colored linen with pink ribbon laced through the neck, little ruffles along the ends of her sleeves. Nowhere near the near sheer gown he was used to seeing her in. There was something sweet in this, something that called to the dark thing in him that demanded he ruin, and he nuzzled between her breasts, tugging at the pink ribbon with his teeth to hear her laughter again. How much better to have wine in his blood and the sound of her in his ears to chase away all the dark thoughts that haunted the corners of his mind, chasing endlessly, predator to prey. Aegon’s teeth snatched at a nipple, peaked beneath the nightgown, the damp of his mouth soaking into the material.

Abby’s fingers dove into his hair, her other hand grasping desperately at his shoulder as she arched into him. There had been no sweeter experience than discovering all the ways she found pleasure, and Abby was deeply responsive. Not in the way the others had been - responding only to what he sought regardless of the pleasure, only for what he paid them for. Abby was a taut string, full of ticklish spots and places that made her whimper and writhe. Aegon wondered if he could make her peak from toying with her breasts alone - he’d heard for some that was possible, and he was curious if it would be the case for his love.

He kept her clothed, the need inside him thrashing against the restraint, wanting to devour her, to take her and make her his without question. Aegon’s mouth continued to focus on the ripe swell of her breasts while his hand reached down to tug her gown up over her thighs, reaching beneath the fabric to tug her smallclothes away, fingers working at the tie. She was a clever girl, reaching down and helping him remove them until he could touch her freely. Aegon sighed, long and low, vibrating at the feel of her silky and warm against his fingers. A final nip at her breast and he slid down the bed between her thighs. Aegon laughed as they spasmed, and Abby tried to close them around his head.

“Let me,” he coaxed her and she squealed, softly, wriggling against the bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice hushed, and he pressed her thighs apart, Abby letting them fall as he hooked a trembling thigh over his shoulder.

“Kissing you.” Aegon stroked her thigh soothingly and nipped along the soft skin of her thigh. She jerked beneath him with a needy whimper and her fingers found themselves in his hair once more. With a content sigh, Aegon leaned forward to stroke the flat of his tongue softly along the seam of her, the taste of salty and sweet bursting on his tongue. Abby gave a choked cry before it turned muffled and he lifted his head to see her shoving her nightgown over her mouth to muffle the sound. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the warmth of her, humming so she could feel it and how she squirmed and wriggled at the sensation. Aegon wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t muffle her sounds - he desperately wanted to hear her, every sound, every sigh, to hear his Abrogail whimper and beg for him.

Though he knew how loud Abby could be and the last thing he needed was his mother finding out about this.

Aegon kissed his way back down, avoiding the place where she ached the most and tending to the rest of her. Spreading her with his fingers that knew her so intimately, and allowing his tongue to do the work, kissing her here as well as he kissed her ripe mouth. Seven help him, all he wanted to do was feast upon her with abandon, to hold her down as he brought wave after wave of pleasure over her. Not now though, not yet when he’d never touched her like this, and there were so many new things to learn about her, and what brought her the pleasure she so deserved.

It was so simple to fall into it, the enjoyment in the tasting of her, his hands stroking along her thighs, along the tender flesh behind her knees, reaching up to stroke her belly and feel her desperate hand grab his, clinging to him as she rolled her hips into his touch with a growing insistence. When he wrapped his mouth around the tender bud, another sound ripped through her, back arching, sound muffled behind her attempts at quiet. Her fingers pulled in his hair and he felt it shoot straight through his cock, feeling the stirrings of his arousal come back. He growled softly, nipping along her thigh near the crease, the little mole there a hidden thing only for him. Teeth nipped harder, curiously, and Abby cried out again, fingers pulling at his hair and something dark and molten stirred in his chest. The need to bite her, to break her tender skin, leave a scar of his teeth there for him to admire, for her to touch when she needed him, coursed through him, the needy, feral thing inside of him demanding it. It could match the mark he’d been deepening along her shoulder, that filled him with a heated possessiveness every time he touched or saw the evidence of his claim.

Not yet. He couldn’t yet, not here, not now. But he could leave a bruise, mouth worrying at the soft skin of her left thigh as he left numerous marks along her collarbones, places she could hide and cover. When they were free at Harrenhal, he would not let her hide them. Let them see how much he loved her, how much he craved her.

How Abrogail belonged to him.

Aegon picked up his pace as her hips grew insistent, her fingers tugging harder on his hair, wordless mumbles and whimpers peppered with her gasping, “Please,” and “Aegon,” and even something whispered in her mother tongue, the words giving her a twist and lilt to her tone, “Mo realta geal.” It took only two swipes of his tongue over her clit to have her crying out, slick gathering along her folds, her body trembling at the newness of the sensations, and the familiarity of the peak he gave her. He moved back to press kisses along her thighs and up to press more of them along the clenching muscles of her belly.

“I’m not done yet,” he told her, watching in delight as she managed to prop herself onto her elbows, face flushed and her beautiful eyes heavy lidded. Before she could say anything, his tongue swiped at the fresh rush of arousal once more, insistent this time, the pressure increasing from his more exploratory efforts earlier.

He let the need take over, the touch of his teeth nipping at her skin, the way the tip of his tongue danced Valyrian letters over her to find which motions drew her desperate and frantic. After her second peak, Aegon pressed two fingers inside of her, giving her the sensation that he knew she instinctually craved by the way her moan was full of relief, and the shocked cry as he carefully pressed a third inside of her. His mouth and chin shone with the evidence of her, his other arm banding over her stomach to keep her frantic hips steady as he feasted on her, his thank you for her eager display at pleasuring him from earlier. After the third wave crested, Aegon withdrew to press his wet mouth against her belly, working his way up to settle further between her thighs, cock aching as his arousal returned. When he brushed against her, he whimpered, and beneath him, Abby’s hips rolled up trying to catch him. He knew that motion, the way she angled her hips, the way her eyes, blue and wet and blown black, gazed up at him.

“Aegon-”

He cradled her jaw with damp fingers, his eyes focused on hers, the little freckles sprinkled along her nose and cheeks. A harsh swallow, his throat bobbing, and he let her rock her hips up against his, feeling the slick warmth of her body against him, knowing that after her peaks, she’d be ready for him. It would take little to settle himself and bury his cock inside her sweet cunt.

Their breaths came out in tandem. Heavy gasping filled the air as he lowered his head to press his forehead to hers, noses touching, breathing in each other’s exhales. While he cradled her jaw, Abby reached down between them to wrap her fingers around him, guiding the tip of him along her folds.

“Careful,” he warned her, thumb pressing lightly against the pretty, fluttering pulse in her throat.

“I will,” Abby whispered, voice little and delicate, a mewl as her eyes fluttered, his cock rubbing along the seam of her, bumping along the apex of her. “I need you… I hate waiting…”

He kissed her softly, the arm he was propped up on shaking. “I know, hunītsos… soon. We won’t leave our bed for days, I swear,” Aegon promised her. “I’ll tie you to it, have my way with you. Hells, you can tie me down and have your way, darling.”

“And I’ll say thank you,” she gasped and he could feel the clenching over her body, the fluttering of her cunt against his cock as she peaked again, a little ripple compared to the waves from before but all the same. “As I thank everything I ride.”

It wasn’t more than a moment before he spilled over her for the second time, his spend dripping across her cunt and slipping across the back of her hand. Their moans were soft, muffled as she swiped her tongue in his mouth, and he gave himself over to her, settling into the softness of her body.

Soon.

Soon she would be his, forever.

The double doors to the king’s apartments had intimidated Aegon since he was a boy.

That was their purpose, after all - to be intimidating and guard the sanctum of the monarch. Aegon wondered if his namesake had wanted such doors, or if this was from the menace that Maegor had sought to employ. Were they modeled on the lord’s chambers on Dragonstone? He’d only been to the island a handful of times and had never made it towards those sacred apartments that his elder sister now kept. The ironwood imported from the North was dark and gleaming, the intricate carvings of snarling dragons flying through the knots and whorls of the deeply polished wood. The handles themselves were cast iron, the sinewy body reminding him of Sunfyre’s sleek frame, wings splayed out to press against the door.

Sers Lorent Marbrand and Steffon Darklyn flanked the entrance, the elder Ser Lorent looking at him with his hand raised to open the doors for him but had paused at whatever look was on Aegon’s face. The man was not much older than Ser Criston, his auburn hair gleaming a shade of molten gold in the shaft of afternoon light.

If his father was dead behind that door, would the men standing here bend the knee to him, swear fealty to the king’s first born son? Or would they flee to Dragonstone to throw themselves at Rhaenyra’s feet? Would the blood of he and his brothers still coat their blade?

‘You are the challenge, Aegon. Should Rhaenyra take the throne, your life may be forfeit.’

Would it really? If he didn’t matter to this man?

‘But you do matter,’ a little voice stroked at his thoughts. ‘Near a full moon’s turn, this castle was filled with the expectation that you would be named heir. Finally acknowledged. The rights as first born son finally, finally extended to you. Finally, Sire would have to acknowledge that he beget you, could no longer ignore and wish you were a dead child born to a dead woman.’

The people had cheered for him. They had called for him.

Would being king make that worth it?

Aegon tugged at his left cuff, tucking his fingers inside where the favor was wrapped comfortingly around his wrist over where she had scratched him all those weeks ago. Warmth flooded through his veins, and the knots in his chest eased, and the scent of her rose and currant perfume oil danced through his memory.

It didn’t matter. None of this mattered; the king did not matter, not anymore. For once, Aegon found himself relieved to greet the day, one step closer to escaping this city and leaving the machinations and the ghosts behind. The future was no longer a dim, necrotic thing, a looming noose waiting for him to climb the gallows. His mother and the Tower’s ambitions, once smothering and all consuming, now felt like something he could finally escape. He had dreamed for years of fleeing across the Narrow Sea to the pleasure houses of Lys, or the once secret city of Braavos, and to know that the Riverlands held such an escape for him, away from the legacy of his forebears and into the life of a country lord, allowed him to finally breathe.

Ser Lorent opened the door and announced his presence. “Prince Aegon, Your Grace.”

It took everything in him to not wrinkle his nose at the medicinal scent that clung to the cloying drifts of incense as he stepped into the room, the great door shutting behind him with enough of a thud that he fought not to flinch. It reverberated through his bones, and Aegon had the mad thought that it was the stone door of a tomb, trapping him inside with the shambling corpse of his sire.

Whatever new concoction Maester Orwyle had been giving him appeared to have staved off the rapid decline he’d been experiencing beneath Mellos’ care. The rot had eased somewhat, and the king’s mind was clearer. He sat beside his table, a great book before him making notes about a new expansion, no doubt. Aegon approached quietly as his father did not acknowledge him right away, and for the first time in some years, he took stock of the Freehold.

The scent of stone dust in the air struck another memory. This was one where he was smaller, mother preoccupied with Daeron’s first steps. He’d slipped in behind Lord Lyonel to lay on the cool stone beneath the table. His father had found him later, surprised, before Aegon had explained that he was too hot and the ailing king got down on the floor and lay beside him. He’d been so surprised that his sire had joined him that he froze, uncertain as to what to say. The king had filled the silence, speaking of how dragon’s blood runs hot in their veins through the bond they have with their mounts. He’d spoken of the theories of the magic that created the dragons, that made them, the Valyrians, different from mortal men so they might ride in the skies.

His breath caught in his throat as his sire patted his hand.

“You’re a good boy, Aegon.”

“Thank you, father.”

The Freehold had expanded further, nearly pressed up against the balcony doors if not for the slight gap behind it for one to get through to open the doors. His father’s quill scratched across the paper, fully occupied with whatever thought he was absorbed in. Aegon’s eyes rove over the buildings, and settled on the great dragon carving perched upon a platform on one of the buildings. The wings were broad things, beginning to spread open, its thick neck arched, its head a rough shape that reminded him of Vhagar. If only it were painted, decorated the way the frescos and murals of the Holdfast were.

Aemond would surely know more about what Aegon was looking at, what this district was meant to be, but Aegon knew that even his brother’s voracious appetite did not hold a candle to their father’s obsession. Aegon doubted even Gaemon and Daenys the Dreamer could recreate the Freehold in such detail. Had the warlord Aenar thought of teaching his grandchildren of Valyria? Or had the coming of the Doom and losing everything they’d ever known, the people and places that were once home, been too painful of a thing?

“I am not sure if that dragon will speak to you no matter how hard you look at it.”

The chuckle that followed was raspy and Aegon jerked as if caught doing something he shouldn’t, backing away from the table before he broke anything just by being too close. He looked up, his sire’s dark lilac eyes so like his own, cloudy with his illness that had prematurely aged him.

Aegon’s hands shifted, wiping his palms on his legs to keep from crossing his arms protectively over himself. He did not know how to speak to the man before him, and all thoughts and preparations he’d made that morning, going over what he’d say to him in his head had all vanished.

“Sunfyre is a good listener, but I don’t think dragons make the best conversationalists, stone or otherwise,” he said, his voice higher than he’d intended.

Another chuckle and a shake of his head. “No, they do lack that needed ability to carry on the other end of a conversation.” He hummed in the way that Aemond had. “The lords of the realm had nothing but good things to say of you, my boy. An impressive feat of might in the tourney. Lord Edmund came to beg for reparations for his injury. I told him he had fought well, but let us not mewl over being bested by someone better, hm?” A shake of his head and the king set his quill down, his full attention on Aegon in a way he had not experienced in some time.

A heated sensation coursed through Aegon and he couldn’t figure out where it had started. He felt it spread in his chest, along the back of his neck and into his cheeks, not quite embarrassment, not quite pride either, but something that felt in-between, as if being seen was both a good thing and an embarrassing thing.

“Everyone knows.”

“I imagine the man is sore knowing not only has he lost to me in front of the realm in combat, but the hand of my Lady as well,” Aegon said, fingers twitching along his wrist for the reassurance he needed once more. It was easier to speak of things not quite himself, than to figure out how to respond to his king’s approval. Even his grandfather had little complaint at how he conducted himself during the festivities. There’d even been approval as to the attacker in the camp as well.

Thinking about it still caused Aegon’s blood to boil, the ache in his hands to raise that bastard from the dead and tear him apart himself.

“You will do well, I think,” the king continued “in your own country house. I envy you the escape, in truth, and it will be good for you. Get out on your own.”

As if Aegon was being sent to a hunting lodge in a little village, and not the largest castle in the realm, beneath the eye of Lord Tully and half the banners displeased at Aegon’s presence, and the others who spent time vying for favor. Still, the king’s platitudes strangely bolstered Aegon and he straightened his shoulders, coming around the table slowly, lingering along the edges of what looked like a market.

“Thank you, father.” Aegon was pleased that his voice did not falter on the word. “I’m looking forward to it. Sunfyre will enjoy the freedom, and I know Abby is looking forward to creating a household.” Aegon was still trying to learn their names outside of the twins who had remained in King’s Landing with both Abby and Helaena, as well as the bubbling and babbling Ryger, who was helping Abby practice the River tongue, and in turn, she was practicing with him. Warmth spread through his chest and he finally met his father’s gaze. “I came to ask about the family jewels.”

“Oh?” The king settled in his chair, a curious tilt to his head as he waited for more.

Aegon swallowed. “Yes. Abrogail is to be my wife, a princess of House Targaryen. It is only fitting that she have her own pieces from the treasury, and I’d like to pick some for her.” He took a breath, forging on before he could lose his nerve. “I would also like to make some custom pieces, that would be hers to… heirlooms. I saw how pleased she was to receive some of her mother’s things. I’d like for her to have that for our own children.”

He imagined Abby’s belly, round with child, his child, their family. Abby, dripping in jewels that he’d chosen for her, that brought out the sparkle of her eyes, the red of her mouth, to glimmer around her throat and in her curls. Aegon’s fingers twitched beside him as if he could reach into his mind for her, to draw the vision in reality.

“Mmm…” That hum, again so like Aemond’s and yet so very not, broke through Aegon’s thoughts and he watched his sire nod, reaching for a piece of parchment. “True enough. Let it not be said that House Targaryen does not care for their own. Women do love jewels.” A dry chuckle. “You should be careful how frequently you give them to her. She’ll come to expect a piece for every minor inconvenience. What one must do to keep the peace.” There was a scratching across the parchment, a pause before it resumed. “One of the crowns, of course. And jewels for… two pieces. I think that is more than enough to supplement whatever House Strong holds in their own treasury.”

He held the parchment out and Aegon closed the distance, as close as he dared, to take it from him. “Take this to Lord Beesbury’s office. He holds the keys to the treasury.”

“They’re not held by your own office?” Aegon asked curiously, glancing down at the scratch of his sire’s hand. A tiara and jewels for two pieces. Aegon wanted to cry that it was not enough, that it would never be enough, but it was more than he had truly expected. To be given this so willingly had left him feeling lightheaded; he’d been prepared to defend his request and to not have to was a strange feeling.

It was not something he thought he should get used to.

“No, the treasury holds the taxes, which in turn goes back to the people. Wars, tourneys, the maintenance of the King’s Road. The servants here and at Dragonstone, the upkeep of the Red Keep. The allowance for you and your siblings to fund all that drinking and merrymaking that I know you like. Your mother’s ladies, the Kingsguard, the Dragonpit… Feeding dragons is not cheap.” The king laughed again and Aegon prickled at it, uncertain how to handle the man before him talking with him so normally, as if they were truly father and son. He ran his tongue over his teeth behind his lips as his sire settled back in his chair and the heavy, dusty book in front of him. “No need to pay double the guard to simply store our things somewhere else. Take that to Lord Beesbury, and do give him my regards, boy.”

Boy. At least it was better than Baelon.

Aegon looked at the paper in hand, permission so unexpectedly granted, before his feet moved and he knocked on the door for it to open. The heavy thing swung open, Ser Lorent giving Aegon a slight nod and…

“Ser Criston,” Aegon said, not quite hiding his surprise to see his mother’s man standing there. Lilac eyes searched the Dornishman’s face as Ser Lorent closed the king’s door behind them. If Aegon didn’t know any better, he’d think that before the man’s features smoothed out, he might have looked worried. Ser Criston? Worried? The thought didn’t seem to register with him. He’d seen Ser Criston look concerned when one of them took a particularly nasty blow in the training yard and blood was involved. He’d seen concern when Helaena was having one of her struggling moments where she needed to get away from everyone.

“Your Grace.” The knight’s voice was low as he fell in step beside Aegon, a half step behind as he did with his lady mother. Unlike the last time, all those weeks ago after the knight had tried to give him advice, there was no air of judgment radiating off the man. “Prince Daeron expressed his wishes for the pair of you to go flying.”

“Did he? Well, I’ll find him after this.” A smile stretched along Aegon’s face. Daeron had been incandescent with the prospect of going flying with his siblings now that Tessarion was big enough to take a rider, and Aegon knew Helaena had gone out with him already. Aegon tried not to feel guilty for it, since there would be plenty of time for the pair of them to ride together without Mother fretting all the while.

"Your Grace."

Aegon paused and turned to look at the knight, uncertainty raising the hairs on the back of his neck. 'This is it', he thought. This was when the lecture would start, when Ser Criston Cole, his mother's sworn shield and protector, the man who first taught him how to hold a sword, who had been there when he was frightened and afraid after Daeron's birth, when Mother was bedridden, when the maesters feared she would not make it, would take another piece from him, and Aegon wondered if it would be that one piece that would send him toppling into shambles.

Nothing he'd done would matter. Nothing would be good enough.

"I have not had the time to tell you how well you've done," came the words that Aegon struggled to register. "I must admit, I was uncertain how things would turn out given your long time away from training, but..." Cole shook his head, a smile crossing his handsome face. "That was an inspired fight, my prince. You took what I've taught you and what you've learned on your own and used it well."

A flush of heat rushed through Aegon, that sudden nervous flush that usually came from shame, but in this moment felt strangely optimistic. "Thank you, Ser Criston," he said, voice stilted, mouth dry.

"You've handled yourself admirably these past weeks, my prince," Cole continued. "I am proud of you, and the man you've shown yourself to be, and I have made that known to your mother." His dark eyes shifted away as his fingers drummed against the pommel of his sheathed sword. Praise was hard earned from Ser Criston, and something Aegon had thought he himself had long given up chasing, as Aemond received it so easily. "She worries for you, of course."

"Of course," Aegon said faintly, eyes burning and he cleared his throat. He was, much like in his sire's room, a boy once more, small in many different ways. The weight of expectation was looming and all he wanted to do was run from it, and how unforgiving the failure could be. Yet he yearned for it. "Thank you for your kind words, Ser Criston." Stilted. Unsure. Aegon felt foolish. He felt like something else was looming and it wasn't coming.

"Should you wish to continue training, I would be glad of it," the elder continued, peering back at him. "With your uncle, Ser Gwayne, coming with you to Harrenhal, you would also be in good hands."

"I will consider it, Ser Criston," Aegon said quickly, desperate to escape the strangeness of receiving praise. "Is this why you came looking for me?"

Cole was quiet, watching him for a moment before shaking his head. "I heard you had gone to see the king." There was more to the statement but Cole did not finish it, and Aegon was not certain how to take it. Had Cole been worried for him? "Your mother did express hope you would join her in the Sept after supper for evening prayers, but I did not think she would ask you outright. That task might be left to the Lady Abrogail.”

Aegon grimaced at the idea of it. He had accompanied his mother to her prayers over the years, had found his own sense of comfort not in the gods, but in the quiet time with her. The way Mother’s face would relax in the candle light, the whispered prayers, even stories of his grandmother who had died a handful of years before he’d been born. The moments were precious to him, were moments where the gulf between them did not feel more than a trickling creek, where Mother’s hand rested warmly between his shoulder blades or stroked her fingers along the nape of his neck as she did when he was small.

“I’ll attend with her tonight,” he said softly. “Thank you, Ser Criston. Please send my mother my wishes.”

“A round!” Aegon declared, hopping up onto the bench, his hand gripping Alyn’s shoulder. “For Alyn Hull! The best fucking man I know!” He giggled, pleased with himself even as Alyn smacked him in embarrassment, ignoring his protestations and dropping back down in his seat.

The Shallows was a tavern they had only recently become more acquainted with as Aegon drew further from the Street of Silk, and Alyn’s aunt and uncle ran the place at the top of the street from the main docks. It had become a comfortable place, all considered, and Aegon had found excitement in the stream of sailors and bards that frequented the place, often only in the city for a night or two, with tales from the Stepstones and the fighting, of far off Myr with their new inventions, Braavos and their clever fighting men.

“You’re ridiculous,” Alyn shook his head, shoving at his shoulder once more as stabbed a hunk of meat out of the stew.

“He’s not,” came the clipped tone, a northern burr tempered by the southern accent. Fresh tankards of the house ale were set on the table as Bri shook her head. The deep green of her kirtle looked nearly black in the low light of the tavern, her skirt tucked up in her wide black belt. “It’s what you deserve.” It was Alyn’s turn to receive a hit as she shoved at his shoulder, before Alyn grabbed her hand and pulled her into him to kiss her cheek.

“You just can’t wait to get rid of me,” he complained. “You’re so happy the prince is dragging me all the way to Harrenhal so you can finally run away with Beric Storm.”

Aegon reached for his tankard and quickly occupied himself while the pair fell into their bickering, and he was quite certain Alyn’s hand had made it to the wench’s backside. He rolled his eyes and turned to look out at the rest of the room from their vantage point at the back of the tavern. Below, the crush of small folk were cheering as the drinks were dispersed, shouts of ‘Hail Prince Aegon!’ in thanks and calls and well wishes for Alyn.

“I’d have no one else by my side, Hull,” Aegon said after Bri returned to her duties, grasping his friend by the shoulder.

“Who else would keep you alive?” countered Alyn with a snort. “I consider it a fine payment for my bodyguard services to you over the years.” Aegon prickled at how transactional Alyn made it sound, a frown crossing his face before Alyn’s hand gripped his shoulder in return, drawing his attention back to him. “We have had fun here, in the city, have we not?” he asked, a smile instead of his usual playful smirk crossing his face. “TIme for us to have a new adventure. How robust do you think the city life of Harren Town actually is?”

“Fuck if I know,” Aegon said shortly, still prickling but trying to shake it away. “You can bring your girl with you.”

“Nay,” Alyn murmured, taking a swallow from the fresh tankard. “Bri promised to stay with my mother until Addam’s back from the Stepstones.” Alyn’s elder brother was serving in the Velaryon fleet, fighting down south in Lord Colrys’ war. “She won’t leave until he’s safe and returned to us.” Aegon nodded, understanding. The Hulls were a close family, Alyn’s aunt and uncle having opened the tavern when Alyn was a babe, not long before Aegon himself had been born. His mother was one of many who wove fishing nets - a trade that could be easily found north in Harrenhal. However, Aegon had offered to put his mother up as well, set up and comfortable how he knew Alyn hoped for her.

“Word from your brother?”

A shrug. “Lord Velaryon won another battle - according to those merchants from Qohor that came in this week. Rumor is the Triarchy might be enlisting the Bright Banners.”

Aegon drummed his fingers against the tankard. “He’ll be fine. And when he comes back, we’ll make sure he’s taken care of.” Another drink to cloak it in the casualness rather than the seriousness of his words, uncertain how Alyn would take it.

“First you make me your steward, now you offer to make my brother another part of your new house?” There was a teasing quality in Alyn’s voice, but Aegon knew better, just as his friend knew his own tones masked his own truth. They had been through much together, things that neither of them would ever speak of, but knotted them together like the nets Marilda Hull wove with such care.

He snorted and shook his head, tearing off a hunk of the fresh bread Bri had brought, soaking it in his own stew. “Addam can do what he likes, and whatever I can make happen, I will. It’s not charity,” Aegon quickly added, because Alyn would rankle at times about charity until he learned not to complain about it. “He served the realm. Should he want to be a Gold Cloak, should he want to set up a tavern in Harren Town, hells, send him to Oldtown and become a Maester-”

“Aeg,” Alyn cut in, fingers gripping his shoulder and Aegon fell silent, eyes focused on the food before him. “I want to come with you to Harrenhal. I want to make a better life, I don’t want to raise my children in this stinking cesspool of a city, I want my mother to have the garden she’s always dreamed of.”

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” Aegon said, voice low, the frown pulling at his mouth once more. “I’d still let you have it for-”

“Aegon,” Alyn said. “As your steward, all I ask is for your respect.”

“And as your liege, all I ask is you tell me when I go wrong,” Aegon replied, finally meeting his friend’s eyes. They were bright green, like his aunt’s, and his mother’s. The silver hair was the only thing that hinted at his origins. His true origins. ‘As your-’ Aegon could not finish the thought and instead he hooked an arm around Alyn’s shoulder, pulling him in to smack a kiss to his silver head. “Here, steward. Give that bard a dragon and let’s get something good playing.”

Thank you for being here! I hope you've been enjoying yourself! It's been a hot minute since we had a chonky Aegon POV chapter and with everything having gone on, I thought it was a great time to revisit. Not to mention, I've been sitting on this Viserys interaction since Chapter 9. I've really wanted to dive into certain personality traits of his that often get understandably overshadowed by less than stellar qualities since he's on a different trajectory here. I understand that maybe that's not what some of you are expecting, and that's okay! But I really do love diving into his head and unwrapping him and shaking him in my snow globe, so those of you that enjoy that, again, many thanks for being here. Also I'm so glad to bring Alyn back! We touch a little on that parentage mystery as well <3 I'd love to hear your thoughts and theories! Let me know what you loved about the chapter! What are you looking forward to? Next chapter we have Alicent and Jace and then OFF TO HARRENHAL! OMG are you so excited? I'm so excited! Also omg who was behind the attack?? I hope justice is served one day :prayeremoji: Hope everyone is having a great weekend!!

Next Chapter

[atopvisenyashill]

THE PACT OF ICE AND FIRE

so there's an aspect of this one i don't think has really been delved into that I think may be important when it comes to canon jonsa and I wanted to do my own lil analysis, along with maybe some tin hatting at the end here.

this is what the pact is (or what we know of it at any rate, Munkun is not exactly a good source of information):

Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon reached an accord, and signed and sealed the agreement that Grand Maester Munkun calls “the Pact of Ice and Fire” in his True Telling. Like many such pacts, it was to be sealed with a marriage. Lord Cregan’s son, Rickon, was a year old. Prince Jacaerys was as yet unmarried and childless, but it was assumed that he would sire children of his own once his mother sat the Iron Throne. Under the terms of the pact, the prince’s firstborn daughter would be sent north at the age of seven, to be fostered at Winterfell until such time as she was old enough to marry Lord Cregan’s heir.

There's two parts to this that I think are important here. Here is the first, which is the basics of the pact, and that most Jonsas are familiar with:

Jacaery's First Born Daughter Is Fostered At Winterfell -> She will marry Cregan's first born son and heir.

Obviously, this never happened for several reasons and the pact is forgotten but perhaps it will be fulfilled anyway by...

Jon, a secret Targaryen bastard, is "fostered" at Winterfell -> he will fulfill the pact by marrying a Stark Maiden aka Sansa.

Basically, it's a genderswapped version of what the pact entails. I think given George's fondness for how Tolkien was a hater of Macbeth because he thought the "no man of woman born" should have indicated a girl and not just a man born via c-section, I think the genderswap aspect fits George's style.

The second part however, has more to do with Jacaerys and Sara and I feel like it's glossed over a bit. See here:

They had spoken their vows in Winterfell’s own godswood before a heart tree, and only then had she given herself to him, wrapped in furs amidst the snows as the old gods looked on.

Jacaerys, a "secret" Targaryen bastard who gets his family name and allegiances through his mother, not his father -> Rumors of a secret marriage in front of a Weirwood with a Stark bastard, Sara

Listen. It doesn't matter whether Sara Snow is real, you believe whatever makes you happy! But what IS real and relevant is that this part was included in F&B for a reason, and is indicated to be the catalyst for the pact. Jace and Sara get secret married in front of a Weirwood, and this is what calms down Cregan so they can make their pact. And here is how (I believe) it applies to Jonsa:

Jon, a secret Targaryen bastard, but who gets his look and his allegiance not through his father but Lyanna's blood -> Jon, a Stark bastard, will marry an Heir in secret in front of a Weirwood tree.

THAT is, imo, the most important aspect of this scandalous story from Mushroom - that a secret bastard, a targaryen and a stark, secretly marry in front of a Weirwood tree just before a bloody war kicks off. People tend to make Sansa the Sara in this part, which is valid, but I think Sansa's role in this is not just to be the pretty Stark maiden, but to be the HEIR that is secretly marrying for love, like Jacaerys is, and that Jon's role will be about his status as a bastard, so that both parts kind of apply to both characters. And given that, if Jace and Sara had married, their daughter would have been a Starkgaryen with "secret" bastard heritage (from both her parents), marrying a Stark Heir, it does make sense (at least in my mind) that this may apply to Jon and Sansa's future plot. the That's something I touched on here in my "what will Jon's endgame" post.

Then there's the Vermax of it all...

Mushroom also claims that Vermax left a clutch of dragon’s eggs at Winterfell, which is equally absurd. Whilst it is true that determining the sex of a living dragon is a nigh on impossible task, no other source mentions Vermax producing so much as a single egg, so it must be assumed that he was male. Septon Barth’s speculation that the dragons change sex at need, being “as mutable as flame,” is too ludicrous to consider.)

This brought to mind the ole' Jonnel and Sansa (the first) thing - beyond the J&S similarities (Jacaerys & Sara, Jon & Sansa, Jonnel & Sansa), I think it's also important that Jonnel and Sansa never have any children, though they're married for several years. Jacaerys and Sara also never have children, yet there's the rumor Vermax laid eggs in the crypt, with some believing this may have meant Sara was pregnant (but perhaps miscarried) when Jacaerys left. I think however, the fact that both J&S couples kind of mysteriously do not have children of their own, and that their Houses descend from someone else to be important.

I've kind of briefly gone into the idea that Bran rules in a parliamentary style over (what's left of) Westeros, and while I'm not too committed one way or the other on whether he physically has children or whether they elect the ruler on the Iron Throne more often starting from Bran, the succession is significantly less of an issue because of the permanent Great Council/Parliament that will exist. Sansa (and Jon, for that matter), however, is the heiress to a long line of kings and lords and needs some sort of heir. I don't think it's out of the realm of possibililty that while in the Vale, she connects with some of Jocelyn Stark's descendants (the famous "Vale cousins" that Catelyn mentions as heirs for Robb) and makes one of them her heir, or even names the children of Arya her heir, and pulls a Queen Elizabeth, but then I thought of Vermax laying dragon eggs that are never found, and Jonnel and Sansa never having children, and George's love of threes and thought...perhaps Jon and Sansa will have an heir, but Sansa can't claim the child as hers.

In that same vein, it’s noteworthy to me as well that Serena and Edric (Sansa's younger sister and Jonnel's younger brother) have TWO sons but the line completely bypasses them. We have no idea how the Northerners felt about these marriages beyond the fact that they didn't like Lynara's sons because their rules were plagued by troubles. Is it possible that they chose to bypass Edric's sons because of the incest, and Sansa/Jon may be forced to reconcile with how the realm views him (as Ned's son) and what he actually is (Lyanna's son) when it comes to the line of succession? IE - Vermax is rumored to lay an egg in the crypts but no one ever finds out, Sansa is rumored to have have had a child with her “brother” but no one ever finds out the truth.

TO SUM UP: I think the Pact of Ice and Fire is a hint that Jon and Sansa will secretly marry in the godswood of Winterfell, and it's likely that when Sansa is named Queen in the North, her heir will be "fathered by a wolf" or a "wildling" and she and Jon won't be able to tell anyone that Jon is the father.

[sansa286]

Alysanne was especially weird about Viserra...she engages her to Theomore Manderly, who's much, much older than her, thrice widowed, and has many children and grandchildren. So, on the surface there is no political advantage to the marriage aside from vaguely putting a Targaryen somewhere buried in the Manderly bloodline. Alysanne says that she believes it's a good match because he's a good person, so some argue she was trying to "teach Viserra a lesson" about being less vain and valuing things outside of looks. To that I ask: she couldn't have done that with someone Viserra's age? Surely if Lord Manderly is a good person, he more than likely raised some good sons/grandsons. Engage Viserra to one of them instead. Maybe even engage him to one of his heirs, like his grandson Desmond, who eventually goes on to inherit White Harbor after his father (and even votes in favor of Rhaenys and Laenor during the Great Council of 101, so clearly he had some functioning brain cells.) But...no. None of that forethought is present in her decision and Jaehaerys being the antithesis of a girldad that he is, is just as dismissive.

Which brings me to the Baelon incident. Alysanne's reaction to Viserra's supposed flirty behavior around Baelon before the fact is pure projection. For one - Baelon is not even the heir at that point. Aemon is still alive, and may have more children that would put Baelon even further down the line of succession (under normal circumstances, Rhaenys would've inherited before him anyways). And second - a core part of her and Jaehaerys' entire reign is justifying their incestual marriage. They even came up with the Doctrine of Exceptionalism, which was widespread propaganda that stated that Targaryens were allowed to wed their siblings because of their supposed inherent superiority. And Viserra is the tenth child of thirteen children and born when Alysanne and Jaehaerys were getting up there in age, meaning that the DoE was well established by that point and a prime aspect of the culture she was growing up in. Her parents are siblings. Baelon literally married Alyssa who was also in contention to be Aemon's wife before Alysanne declared she was meant for Baelon. Viserra herself was briefly considered to be a wife to Vaegon. Actually, pretty much all of her sisters were at one point or another considered potential spouses for their brothers. Simply put: if Viserra did seriously desire Baelon (and I don't think she did, but that's a conversation for another day) it's literally due to the conditioning that's been a part of upbringing for as long as she's been alive.*

The specifics of Alysanne's reaction to the Baelon incident is not recorded. We're only told that she sped up the process of sending Viserra to White Harbor because of it. But she has no room to be angry. Viserra going to her older brother in the hopes that he will save her from a betrothal to an older man she does not desire was clearly inspired by the exact same thing that Alysanne did with Jaehaerys. Alysanne, like Viserra, was also extremely young (13 to Viserra's 15) and engaged to a man significantly younger than her, and when she found out she immediately went to Jaehaerys, and they then booked it for Dragonstone where they wed in secret. And what do you know? At the time they did this Jaehaerys was already the king, and their wedding automatically made Alysanne the queen. The man Alysanne was initially engaged to was twenty-tree, compared to Theomore, who was geriatric. This is why I argue that Alysanne claiming Viserra wants to marry Baelon because she wants to be the queen despite him not even being first-in-line for the throne - Alysanne is essentially saying that, at the very least, part of why she wanted to marry Jaehaerys is because she wanted to be the queen. Which is valid because in terms of political duty, she made the best of her position, but still, she was ambitious and is trying to crucify her daughter for potentially having the exact same ambition.

A lot of people seemingly hate, or at least, villainize Viserra because she said she was prettier than fan-favorite Alyssa, and while yes that is a crazy rude thing to say about your sister who died tragically, it also does not make her a supervillain. Baelon was widowed, so it's not like she was doing this while Alyssa was still alive. Men in Westeros are not just allowed to get remarried, they're expected to. Baelon remaining unmarried was the exception, not the rule. And also, she was 15 and was routinely praised for her looks in a society where the two main things women are valued for is their looks and ability to pop out children. Some love to make the internalized misogyny argument, and I don't disagree, but I also don't single-out Viserra for that because for one: Westeros is a society where it is extremely easy for women to be taught to be that, and two - Alyssa also had internalized misogyny if we're going strictly by the text. So if we're having a who's-more-hateable off based off of that alone, then that's a tie. Notice how people never throw as much vitriol at Vaegon despite the fact that he was ultimately more rude to Daella than Viserra was to Alyssa? Because I certainly have.

*No, I don't ship visaelon/baeserra.