#the red dragon fanfic

[xxnymeriatargaryenxx]

imagine getting your 🐱 ate on these stairs omggg or being bent over 🔥🔥

[tamayakii]

a son for a son.

notes: I changed a thing or two of what happened in the show, basically putting Maelor in cause i still cant believe they didnt put him in it (same thing with Daeron) this can be read as a stand-alone fic or paired with the Their Angel series. pairings: Otto x reader (romantic), Helaena x reader (can be viewed as one sided or platonic) warnings: Otto & reader have a son, SPOILERS FOR HOTD S2;E1!!!

The candle light illuminates the room, flickering against the stone walls of your and Helaena’s chambers. You had moved into her living spaces the night that Aemond had come back from the Stormlands, a sick smirk upon his face as he waltz into the small council room.  

And when your husband had shown no remorse for your brother's actions, no sympathy for your dead nephew? You couldn’t stand to look at him, matter of fact, you couldn’t bear to look at anyone. The grief toppled upon the hatred you had towards everyone who had played a part in usurping your sister’s throne. 

The twins and Maelor were already asleep within their beds, and your own son blinks his big owl-ish eyes at you. He looked so much like his father, even at two years old, a little wisp of white tangled within his brown locks- almost emulating Otto’s salt and pepper hair.

“Why can’t I..?” Alerion fumbled over his words, tiny hands curling over the cotton blanket, trying to fight his heavy eyelids as they dropped low. Chuckling lightly as you brushed his hair aside, he was quite stubborn. Especially as bedtime neared and sleep hovered over him. “Because I said so, besides; don’t you want to play with your cousins on the morrow?” Your reasoning seemed to reach him, Alerion’s brown eyes slowly shutting as he murmured. Sighing, reaching around your back to unclasp your heavy necklaces, you couldn’t help but smile as your son unconsciously pulled the blanket closer. 

The recent days weighed heavily on you; the war was impending. With no word from Rhaenrya, Rhaenys and Meleys helping guard the gullet with the hundreds of Velaryon ships, war was going to burst like a bloated goat. 

Perhaps if you were more active in the small council, you would’ve stopped the rats that sat in those seats. Staring at the necklace as you set it down, dark jade glimmering in the light. Helaena’s soft reflection reflected in the deep sea of green. It hits the table with a soft thud.

As you hear steps incoming, you simply assumed it was Helaena. She always had a sense for when you were upset, coming to you like a doe, with her big purple eyes and soft face filled with worry. 

Or perhaps she came to take you to bed. Since your move, Helaena was delighted to have you close, and near-ordered that you sleep in the same bed, just as you did when she was a little girl. “Quiet! Quiet!” The voice made you turn around, and your gasp died in your throat. Fear laced through your veins like a snake coils around its prey, freezing your body like the north. 

A strange man holds a dagger to Helaena’s throat, her blood dripping over the steel. Her eyes were wide with fear. The man's eyes flicker over to you. “Move and I'll cut her throat.” He spits, slowly dragging the blade, causing more blood to leak. Nodding as the tears well in your eyes, heart beating against your rib cage. The blood roars in your ears like a thousand horses stampeding. 

Another man comes in, a bigger and scarier man, and your heart stops. 

“A son for a son.” His words were all muddled until he said those five words, a son for a son. Helaena offered her necklace to the men, trying to convince them to run off with its worth, but the bigger man snatched it from her. “It’s not a son.” He turns around and looks at the twins in their beds, sleeping ever so peacefully. Gently, you reached back for Alerion’s crib. Shaking hands gripping the wood with a grip tighter than death and yet you were too weak to fight these men off, in the past week and a half, you’ve neglected your meals within your grief and even if you didn’t, you’d sooner be dead on the stone floors of the Red Keep with your sons fate unknown. 

The men came to the realization that they did not know which twin was the boy, and for a brief moment you felt elated that perhaps they would give up their mission, but all hope vanished when Helaena pointed at Jaehaerys.

“Helaena..” You whisper, lips trembling and you can't help but feel bile come up your throat as the men storm to Jaehaerys, the bigger one covering his mouth, covering his scream. Helaena shakes as she makes a move to her daughter and youngest son, and you do the same.

As you hear the splatter of blood, a sob escapes your throat, your hands trembling as you hurriedly and carefully retrieve Alerion from his crib. Helaena runs out first, holding her children close to her and you’re not too long after her. 

Whilst Helaena makes a mad dash down the stairs, you run onward. Climbing up the other pair of stairs, Alerion stirs in your jumbling hold. Whining at the rude awakening and you try to shush him over your crying, 

“Shh.. shh.. Alerion,” The halls rushed past you as you ran, the skirt of your night-dress threatening to trip you. Only thoughts of protecting your own son ran through your frightened mind, fearing that perhaps he would be targeted too. 

The doors to Otto’s chambers slam open and a flurry of fabric and hair falls to the floor in sobs. The man looks at the sight bewildered, but soon he realizes it is you, his wife, that refused to look him in the eye. Surely, you had come to beg for forgiveness, having come to your senses. 

But as you look up at him, your son in your arms, cradling him like he was about to shatter- he knew something was wrong.

“They killed him.. They kill the boy!” 

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Beneath the Dragon’s Eyes”

Rhaenys Targaryen x Female Reader (+Meleys)

wc : 2700+

cw : older woman x younger woman // also, they make out in front of meleys, hence the name // a touch of fluff and a sprinkle of spice

finally took matters into my own hands muahahaha 😈 i love my red queens so gotta include both of them, and ofc, rhaenys speaking high valyrian 😮‍💨

��▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Zephyrs in Driftmark can be unforgiving at times, especially in the break of dawn. It crawls through little gaps from the castle’s stone walls, running its frigid fingers over every part of your body that is left exposed by your thick covers. One cursed touch of it, and immediately, the shivers come in a tidal wave, iciness crashing down your frame the way waves break the sandy shore.

Peeved to be so rudely awaken, you burrow deeper into bed, pulling the covers over your head to hide in your warm, little cocoon. Still, the trembling persists as though your early morning visitor has left a piece of itself behind in the very depths of your core, for coldness continues to swell from within. On your temples, your blood throbs so fiercely in your veins to the point that you think they may pop any moment now, an awful sensation that is well-nigh torture.

A part of you is inclined to believe that such is the punishment for the sin you have committed yesternight, but even if it is to be the case, the better part of you harbour not a dot of remorse. Why should you when there still lingers traces of her presence, subtle but certainly detectable on the delicate piece of fabric that is presently held close to your chest, a keepsake. Admittedly, not willingly given. Rather, stolen in a moment of irrepressible desire. But a keepsake nonetheless. The handkerchief is simply a square piece of cotton cloth, elegantly lined with lace, as white as milk, but her initials, in blood-red cursive, are embroidered on one corner of it.

Pressing the soft material to your nose, and drowning in the faint scent of sea breeze and firewood that is uniquely and so undeniably your Princess Rhaenys’s, conjure up memories from last night. Within the secrecy of your room, one of the privileges of being the Princess’s Handmaiden, with the stolen little piece of herself nestled over your nose, your fantasies have gone uncontrollably wild. Teeth biting lips, fingers journeying south, sweat blooming into beads, body writhing in ecstasy. Suffice it to say that by the time you drift off, you are thoroughly drained. Only the sea scented breeze catches wind of the name that sweetly, thickly drips down your lips in a sacred whisper, and the moon, the sole witness to the rivulets that shimmer on the inside of your thighs beneath its silvery light.

A cascade of warmness that envelops your body at the mere thought of your lady is all it takes to fend off the cold. Cheeks rosy and ears buzzing, you suddenly feel very feverish. By the side of the bed, a window sits on the wall, the clouds beyond the frame drenched in artistic reds and oranges at the hands of the slowly rising sun, and in need to cool off, your fingers curl around the latch to push it open.

Your respite is fragile, short-lived, shattering like a glass on impact, once an eddy of wind, strong and sudden, swirls into your humble dwelling. The intruder leaves everything untouched other than your little keepsake that is stolen right under your nose. Slipping through your fingers, it flutters akin to a bird preparing for take off, before being escorted through the window, and you watch, a gasp on your lips, while the relentless breeze sends the precious piece of your lady flurrying down, and down, and further down. Your heart drops along with the handkerchief by the time you realise where it has disappeared into.

In your haste to retrieve your prized possession, you have forgone, or rather completely forgotten, the decency to slip into something more suitable for the weather. With a simple nightdress precariously hanging on your frame, your bare feet pad through the winding halls and down the grand staircases as you slip past bustling servants, too engrossed in their respective works to pay you any mind. By the time you reach the entrance to the crypt, you observe from behind a pillar. Only when you have made certain that the two dragon-keepers are locked in an animated chatter do you emerge from your hidden spot, running past them in a blur of movements.

The bowels of the castle are off-limits to many servants save a handful of guards and the dragon-keepers. It is after all home to Meleys, the Red Queen, Princess Rhaenys’s beloved dragon.

Amidst your descent into the foreboding darkness, the beast inside your chest pounds against its cage, wild and frantic. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of dragon, and there, in the shadowy depths of the cavern, you can outline the form of Meleys, her scales shimmering like rubies in the faint glow as she appears to be slumbering, coiled and relaxed. Granted, you have feasted your eyes upon the dragon from afar with no small amount of wonder whenever your Princess takes her out for a flight across the ocean, but it is only given that you will be hypnotised by such a spectacle right before your very eyes, the sheer magnitude and majesty of the Red Queen filling you with intense awe.

A sudden, swift whoosh of her tail sends something aflutter into the wind, and the sight of it spills ice along the length of your spine. Caught on a jagged stone, between you and the dragon, is your lady’s handkerchief.

You have just barely plucked the delicate fabric between your fingers when a low, rumbling growl, seeming to come from the very bowels of the earth itself, shakes you to your core. Slowly, you unstick your eyes from the ground only to find twin orbs of molten gold locked onto you, burning with such malice and ferocity that the force of it alone sends you stumbling back. She rises, hackles raised, and only when a person emerges from behind her large body do you understand why the dragon is being so alarmed.

“Daor, Meles!”

(No, Meleys!)

You are in equal parts absolutely terrified of the doom looming over you, and ridiculously enamoured of your lady’s mother tongue reaching your ears in a tentalising caress.

“Ryptēs. Lykiri.”

(Listen. Be calm.)

One colossal wing unfolds, a protective barrier shielding her rider from you who she deems a possible threat.

“It’s alright. She’s not a threat.”

You can see from where you sit in a sorry little heap, still frozen on the ground, that Princess Rhaenys’s hand has planted firmly against her dragon’s side, offering reassuring strokes that seems to effectively pacify the massive creature. Little by little, her red wing lowers to fold gracefully against her side, and in doing so, reveals to you your lady, comfortably dressed in her dragon-riding attire. There is a steely edge to her face, lips pursed, and gaze stormy when she turns to look at you.

“What, pray tell, do you think you’re doing here?”

So, she demands, and you stand before you answer, or at least, you try to, but the suddenness of it encourages a dizzy spell that has you wobbling on your feet. That has been your foolish mistake for you have offered the doom, that is silently, solemnly observing you, one wrong move, and one is plenty enough of a sign for her to finally descend upon you. With a snarl, scary and sinister, the red queen takes a step forward.

“Lykiri, Meles. Rȳbās!”

(Be calm, Meles. Focus!)

Helplessly, hopelessly, you swoon over your Princess, who has placed herself between her handmaiden and her dragon, her body a firm wall of protection before your own.

“Lykiri.”

(Be calm.)

Once again, the delicious pulse of her voice flows in the form of High Valyrian, gentleness and authority intertwined as she quells the anger of the dragon with a string of melody that effortlessly spills forth her lips, accompanied by a delicate touch of her fingers on the dragon’s impressive snout. Despite your circumstances, you cannot help but stupidly find the gesture endearing.

“Demās.”

(Sit.)

As oblivious as you are to what your lady is saying, you hang on her ever word, enthralled, and so, too, is Meleys if the way she stops her grumbling to instead sit down on the ground is anything to go by.

“Hegnīr. (Good.)” And with a press of your lady’s fingers, elegantly long and delightfully lithe, that are bestowing gentle caresses along the plane of her cheek, the dragon emits a sound, not akin to the growls from before but a happy noise, supposedly the closest thing to a purr she can manage. “Hmm…ñuhys meles darys. (Hmm…my red queen.)”

Once her dragon is settled, you become the focus of the Princess’s attention, or rather, the object of her ire. “You’re not supposed to be here.” She scolds, her stony-eyed gaze pinning you in place. “And what have you got there?”

Following her eyes, you find that they are resting on your hand, grip, white-knuckled tight as fingers curl around the handkerchief, her handkerchief, for dear life. “It’s- I- uhmm-” Silently, patiently, she studies you as you try but fail miserably to stammer out an explanation, for the words get tangled in your throat.

One footfall of her boots brings her closer to you.

One more and you will be able to feel her breath on your face.

Her gaze, although just as intense, has begun harbouring a touch of softness as those fingers, which have served as one of the focuses of your fantasies, lock around your wrist, thumb of her other hand tracing the embroidered initials. “This is mine.” She speaks matter-of-factly. “Why do you have it?”

Your eyes are cast to the ground, roaming over every bump and ridge of rock, anything but her face, and so, with her hand still fitted around your wrist like a snug bracelet, she tugs you, not unkindly, merely as a means to draw attention. “Eyes on me.”

How are you to resist a direct command from your Princess? A command to feast your eyes upon the mesmerising planes and valleys of her face no less.

It comes to you as easily as breathing, admiring the little lines bracketing her lips and the delicate crow’s feet below her eyes, and enjoying every moment of it, but not so much having your soul laid bare beneath her hot scrutiny. The brilliance of her stare gives rise to goosebumps on your body, the little hair on the back of your nape standing when you hear Meleys in the background. The dragon levels you with those twin suns of hers, pools of liquid gold that shimmer with curiosity, in return for the peek you have sneaked. Her stare is both mesmersing and terrifying. A strangled little gasp tumbles out of your lips, whereas a thrill that simmers low in her maw seems to vibrate deep within your bones.

“Fear not.” Your lady’s face gravitates towards you, but a whisker away. “Meleys wouldn’t touch a hair on your head unless I say so.”

“But me on the other hand, hmm,” Middle and fore finger touch a lock of your hair as she whispers in your ear. “I’m not quite sure.”

“I- I’m sorry, my lady. It smelt of you,” You swallow, warm and fuzzy. “-and it was so inviting, and I couldn’t help myself.”

A pad of a thumb traces the bone of your cheek, before opting to pluck your chin between forefinger and a thumb. Gingerly, she angels your face until your gazes collide. “Oh, I bet you couldn’t.”

She watches you intently, her eyes roaming over every feature on your face, and despite the cheeks that are dusted cherry red and the sorry little thing swelling painfully inside your chest, you glory in her attention, soaking every droplet of it.

Dainty and delicate in appearance, her lips call out to you, a siren’s song, and just as you are entertaining the idea of throwing all caution to the wind to chase after the forbidden temptation, they fall upon you.

No amount of wildest dreams can hold a candle to the real experience. Smooth and soft, her lips are the sweetest thing you have ever had the pleasure of consuming, but underneath it all is an addictive spiciness, you quickly discover, once a velveteen tip of a tongue licks the swell of your lips. No sooner has the delicate bud unfurled like a flower in bloom than the ravenous snake slithers inside in search of sweet nectar.

An arm has twined itself around your waist, pulling you against her body, kiss intensifying as teeth nibble and tongue tangle, and with a choked little noise, your hand descends upon your lady’s shoulder.

In the haze of it all, you cannot help but appreciate her hair, a cascade of white satin falling beautifully down her shoulders, which you braid every morning and comb every night. A knit appears between your brows. Clearly, her hair is fashioned. Although, you do not remember putting these particular braids on her head.

“You didn’t send for me to have your hair done.” Fingers toy with a lock of hair, perpetually drenched in moon glow. “Who did these, my lady?”

“I can manage a few braids myself, dear girl.”

A nip on the delicate underside of your chin proves to be a dizzying distraction.

Meanwhile, blossoms of her kisses have branched off to your neck, lips closing around the little notch on your throat. Like dewdrops blooming on leaves on a misty morning, specks of perspiration has appeared on your forehead. She sucks once, and your spine arches. Another, and with a trickle of gasps down your lips, your body curves deeper into your lady’s.

“You’re trembling.” She breathes into the hummingbird flutter of your pulse, voice throaty and hot, and you feel it on your skin more than you hear it. “Is it the cold?”

“No,” Her hand tugs one part of your chemise down, and doing so leaves your shoulder bare. “No, Princess. It is you.”

“Hmm.” Lips glide across your skin, planting firmly on the slope of your shoulder, and sucking the flesh into the hot cavern of her mouth until it is red and rosy and deliciously raw.

Then, she arises, thumb outlining the fleshy swell of your lips, dewy and kiss-swollen, before opting to cradle your face in the palm of her hand. A ghost of a smile that blossoms on her lips is such a sight for sore eyes. You drink it in like a parched man.

A beautiful mess, the Princess has left you, and she takes her sweet time relishing her masterful craft.

“Gevie.”

Her mother tongue makes a delightful reappearance, this time solely for your ears, and you are but butter in her arms, melting from the sultriness of her cadence alone.

“What does it mean, my lady.” Your gaze, doe-eyed and love-struck, finds hers. Her amused little grin is not easily discernible, but all too familiar with the nuances of the Princess’s expressions, you find it in those enchanting browns, in the soft little lines on her face that becomes just a touch vivider. “Beautiful.”

“I’ve found myself wondering what my touch would do to you-” Her gaze moves to the stolen keepsake that still resides within your grasp. “-if this flimsy, little fabric was capable of making you moan my name so reverently in bed.”

The knowledge that she is aware of your deed breeds excitement, sends tingles down your spine. A twinkle of anticipation has appeared plain as day in your eyes, and to your pleasant surprise, a chuckle spills forth her lips, deep and dizzying.

“But perhaps another time.” She drops a kiss atop the little arch of your nose, and your eyes slip shut, full of bliss. “And keep the handkerchief. I’m sure it’ll be more useful in your hands than it is in mine.”

A feather light touch has found home on your naked shoulder, a gentle flap of a butterfly’s wings against the deep purple bloom that her mouth has so exquisitely painted on your skin. With a hum, she fixes the chemise so that the evidence of her doing lies hidden beneath the fabric, away from prying eyes and gossiping servants.

“Come. Let Meleys rest. She has had enough entertainment for one day.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

[itsscottiesstark]

NUMBER ONE BAYBAYYYYYYYY [x]

[siktheon]

Melisandre the red priestess

For the night is dark and full terrors - Melisandre the red priestess. A fanart and interpretation of A Song of Ice and Fire character portrayed in a Game of Thrones by Carice van Houten.

instagram

[ashblooddragons]

The Red Queen (Chapter 7/?)

112 ac

Alicents pov

I sit next to Myrielle in the royal box waiting for the tourney to start and for Rhaenyra to show. I have no idea how she gets away with all she does, if I did even half the things she’s done today I would be forced to be a Septa by my Father, only love and lust for the gods.

I sigh and look over at you and your friends smiling as you excitedly show them your new necklace, you had shown me it soon after so excited and only wanting to show me your new gift.

“Ali! Look! Look! Kepus gave this to me, don’t you think it’s pretty? Oh, I love it so much!” You say and I can’t help but notice you have seemingly had your hair fixed into a proper style. I’ve been needing to fix that, wonder who did. I think to myself. 

“Ah, let me see.” I say kneeling down so I can face you properly as I lift the garnet pendant watching as the rich red of the stone catches the light making it even more beautiful. “Lovely, a beautiful gift for a beautiful girl.” I say smiling when you beam with joy at the compliment.

“Mam– Ali do you have any jewelry that your family gave you that was a ancestirs?” You ask curiously as you play with the sapphire necklace around my neck. Your correction isn’t lost on me but I let you think I missed you almost calling me Mama.

It is moments like this one, where I know I am not alone in the feeling that I am your Mother. I may not have birthed you, nor carried you in my womb but you are my little girl.

“Ancestors,” I correct gently before I touch the necklace on my neck. “And yes, this used to be my Mother’s before she passed. I have many other necklaces, rings, bracelets, and earrings, that used to be hers.”

I know the moment you catch that my Mother is dead, I hae never told you nor have you most likely ever heard this fact so the tears that come to your eyes are not surprising. 

“Your Mama is dead? Is there any way to bring her back, so you can have her again?” You ask seemingly trying to find any way to take my pain away from her passing which seems to bring your young mind to necromancy. 

I can’t help but giggle at your young and innocent idea. “No, and besides she is in a better place, she is happy with the Stranger now, walking through fields of lilies and havig the sun kiss her skin at all times of day.”  I saw with a mournful smile. 

“Is the Stranger kind?” You ask wiping away your tears with the back of your dress sleeve. 

“Very kind.” I say before teaching you more about the seven and what each one is for and why they are important.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts when I hear the King start his speech before the tourney starts. “Be welcome! I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise, you will not be disappointed–”

The King pauses when Rhaenyra tries to sneak in and take her seat. I suppress a scoff when she sits down smirking thinking she got away with something again, and to be fair she probably did with how the King bends to her will.

“When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news that I am happy to share, the Queen Aemma has begun her labors!” 

With that announcement the crowd erupts into applause and cheers, small folk and noble alike rejoicing at the future heir to be born. I turn to look at you and see you nervously biting ad chewing on you lower lip it is already getting bloody and chapped. I at times worry if my nervous habit with m fingers has led you to do the same only with your lips. I reach over to hold your hand comforting you the only way I can. you may not say it or show it, nor understand it, but I can tell you worry for the Queen and your future sibling.

“May the luck of the Seven shine on all combatants!” The King says finally finishing his speech witha sigh and sitting on his mock throne. 

I turn to look at you after you tugged on the sleeve of my dress. “Yes, darling?” 

“Where’s Kepus? He said he was going to be in the games, but I haven’t seen him yet.” You are confused as you search for your dear uncle, or should I say Kepus. 

“He will be out soon, but first we have to watch Ser Cole and Ser Aldwin Sarwyck joust.” I say gently smiling when you nod, you don’t seem to like this information but you also seem to understand.

You’ve never cared much for tourneys, finding them too long and too boring. And I can’t blame you, as soon as it gets entertaining it is determined you must not see such violence at your young age. So when Ser Cole unmounts Ser Aldwin you don't clap nor cheer as loud as the rest, only clapping as you know you must.

“Princess Rhaenys Targaryen! I would humbly ask for the favor of ‘The Queen Who Never Was’.” Lord Boremund Baratheon declares holding his jousting stick up to the balcony.

You can hear the chatter of the courtiers gossiping. Do they ever stop? Probably not. I think to myself scowling when I see one of them point to you and your friends giggling over lemon cakes and tea.

“Good fortune to you, cousin.” Princess Rhaenys says obviously not happy with he cousins behavior but putting on a good face.

The less things for this court of vipers to gossip about you, the better. Or that is at least what my father loves to tell me when I even think of running through teh halls. 

“I would gladly take it if I thought I needed it.” He says pompously like any true Baratheon would. 

I hear a pained gasp beside me and turn to see Myrielle looking up at her brother and the lady Cerelle Celtigar seeming to be holding hands and talking. I had heard they are now bethrothed and getting ready to marry in three moons. Such a quick wedding has raised eyebrows as to why they are wedding so quickly, I have yet to hear one that makes sense. 

“Are you alright, Myrielle?” I ask worried as to what has he nearly in tears. 

“Yes, yes, sorry I must have gotten something in my eyes.” She says clearly lying but I pretend to believe her for her sake. That is until I hear Rhaenyra scoff.

“Is that what is’s called when you almost lay with your brother? You know it’s wrong right, to want to fuck your brother or family? That is at least what the rumors say.” She says crudely. 

I turn back and see tears rolling down Myrielles cheeks, whether that be because of shame or rage I can not tell. I can’t believe Rhaenyra’s hypocrisy, she has always found the conquers marriage as beautiful, and yet she sits there berating a girl over a rumor? It must be this that pushes me to speak up, to try and take Rhaenyra down a peg. 

“As if you Targaryens have any room to talk. Were the conquers not brother and sisters, or had I read the history books wrong?” I ask with a smirk knowing I’ve backed her into a corner.

I can see Rhaenyra is ready to lash back when the King clears his throat and when we turn to look at him, he’s glaring at Rhaneyra making her slump back into her chair with a scowl upon her face.

I turn back to Myrielle who is smiling thankfully. “I do not know if this is true, but as far as I’m concerned it is only a rumor about the new lady of court.” I say squeezing her hand reasuringly, before turning back to watch as the Rouge Prince comes riding into the jousting ring. 

I can’t help but smile when you perk up at the sight of him, for if he can bring that smile of pure joy to your little face can he truly be that bad? 

I was so distracted by your excited chatter that you had finally been allowed to make a favor for a knight that I missed the way Myrielle and my eldest brother, Lorent, were staring at each other. If I had I would have noticed the blush on Myrielles face and the look of lust in my brother’s eyes.

“Who do you think he’ll pick?” You ask as you watch Prince Daemon moving his horse up and down the line of knights to choose from. When I see my brother Gwayne I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach put push it down and smile down at you,

“I have no idea, though they musat be a extraordinary knight to be choices for the Prin–.” I say only to stop when I see he picked the one person I hoped and silently prayed he wouldn’t, Gwyane.

“Who’s the one with the tower helmet?” You ask curiously as you lean into me on the seate we are sitting on.

You do this often, looking for my touch and comfort, besides the Prince I am the person you seek out the most.

“My brother.” I say fighting the urge to bite and pick at my cuticles. It is not for my sake but for yours for I will not let you gain such a harming habit because of me, because of my anixites. So I will push them down for your sake. 

“He must be a very good knight for Kepus to pick him.” You say in wonder. 

Or the son of the Prince’s greatest enemy. I think coldly.

I hold my breath as I watch the joust, my brother seems to have almost knocked the Prince off his horse. But on the next joust, the Prince leans his jousting stick downward so it trips the horse making the horse and my brother flip through the air landing with a resounding crash that makes everyone gasp. But I do not get much time to recoup until the Prince is in front of the balcony smirking up at us, or should I say, my father.

“Nicely done uncle.” Rhaenyra says with a smirk batting her eyes ar him. I have to fight the urge to slap her as she seems to forger my brother was just carried out of the tourney ring. 

“Thank you, Rhaenyra, now I am fairly certain I can win these games but what isn’t a little extra luck from the most beautiful maiden here?” He says smiling when you walk up with your friends smiling and waving at him.

“It would be my honor Uncle.” Rhaenyra says breathlessly getting ready to grab her favor when the Prince stops her.

“Not you, I meant the Realms Darling over here.” He says pointing his jousting stick towards you.

The look of pure joy crossing your face mixed with Rhaenyra’s look of betrayal and embarrassment almost made my brothers injury worth it, almost.

You run over to grab your favor only to run back and almost tripping and falling from your excitement, it’s a good thing I caught you or else you may have fallen off the balcony. 

“I made it myself!” You say excitedly as you reach over just barely able to reach before letting your wreath slide down.

“It is a lovely favor, it is sure to make me win.” He says making you giggle as he rides off.

“He’ll win with my favor right?” You ask as you hold my hand as we walk back to our seat.

“If he does not then he must have terrible luck because you are the luckiest girl in the world.” I say tickling your sides making you giggle uncontrollably. 

As the match goes on we don’t notice how slowly but surely the crowd seems to becomes mournful. It is only after your uncle lost his bout and whispered something to Ser Cole that we finally hear the news.

“Ali, please say it’s not true.” You plead tears rolling down your little face. 

When I can’t find a response you burst into tears and sob into my chest as I hold you close praying I could take all your pain and put it onto myself. But there is no gods, or magic that would let me so I sit there holding you and carrying you to your chambers as you cry your little heart out as any little girl should after losing their mother.

This is the necklace I see that Alicent was wearing, the one made of Sapphires from her mom.

Special thanks to my bestie @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I be lost without you Girly!

Also Nymeria and Myrielle are my besties @sugutoad ocs so give her the love for these magical and beautiful characters!!

Taglist: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner @baybaybear1 @sachaa-ff

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 1.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 4.6k

aegon wasn't as badly injured from Rook's Rest like in canon in this AU, he has a few burn scars near his torso but wasn't crippled / bedridden.

this is for my 100 followers poll. it was supposed to be a oneshot but will be a mini series in 3 or 4 parts. this is my first time writing aegon and it will also be somewhat of a character study.

thank you for 100 followers and everyone who participated in the poll. love <3 thank you @randomdragonfires for beta reading, mwah mwah.

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn

its been so long - the living tombstone • nobody - mitski

chapter specific warnings: awkward sex, p in v, virginity loss

Every day felt like a new restraint, a new button added to the collar choking around Aegon’s neck. He had done it– he had freed the realm of the false queen, his half-sister– and lost almost everything to do so. When did it end? When did he get to relax and run the realm as he saw fit, since they so intended to have them at the helm. He wore the conqueror’s crown, wielded his sword and bore his name and yet he couldn’t do as the conqueror actually did. Rule. He felt more like a dog than a dragon these days; but that was just a pattern in his life. They wanted him when they needed him and he was to shoulder their burdens as eldest son.

His grandsire kept breathing down his neck to secure another wife, another heir, another alliance brokered with another pompous house. 

“Listen to me, Aegon,” Otto began, his fingers laced together as he sat at his desk. He had summoned Aegon to the Tower of the Hand– he was summoning the King, rather than the King summoning him. Somehow, his council had let Otto weasel his way back into the position of Hand, Aegon’s mother in tears, pleading for it. There wasn’t anyone else fit for the job since Criston had died– and he was never really fit for it anyhow. “We must move quickly to provide you with a new wife. The realm won’t remain stable if we tarry in producing an heir for the throne.”

Aegon sat in the seat across from him, feeling more like a child than a King. He twisted the signet ring on his pinky finger. “It’s too soon. It would be an insult to Helaena.” he replied, not looking up at Otto. Helaena had only passed a few moons earlier and the wound was still fresh for all of them. Aegon never loved her like a wife– how could he, they were too different, too young– but he cared deeply for her as his sister and the mother of his children. Even thinking about taking another wife this soon felt like a betrayal. He would be like his father then.

A small huff and a rustling of papers was heard– Aegon was still too distracted by his signet ring, the thin light filtering through the half drawn blinds, causing a small glint off of the bronzed metal. He didn’t want to look up to see the expression on his grandsire’s face, he knew it was one of disappointment. Aegon couldn’t remember the last time that someone hadn’t looked at him with contempt, disappointment, melancholy. 

“You must understand. You have a duty to the realm–” 

“Fucking duty– don’t speak to me of it. I’ve done my duty for enough lifetimes. I let you put me on the throne and usurp my sister and look where that’s gotten us? Everyone is fucking dead, Otto. Jaehaerys, Maelor, Helaena, Aemond,” he paused for a moment, lifting his head up to meet the Hand’s gaze head on, “Rhaenyra, Rhaenys, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey– do I need to proceed? The majority of our bloodline is wiped out because of you and your ambition.”

Otto snorted, standing up from his desk slowly. He grabbed a decanter of wine, pouring them both a goblet. “You misunderstand. Everything I’ve done has been… for our family’s legacy– for the realm,” he placed the glass stopped back into the carafe, “Don’t you dare act as if I am not hurting for the loss of family– but war is war, boy. People die. It is unfortunate that… the ones close to us did. But we can’t live with our head in the clouds any longer, there is a realm to run and the crown comes with responsibilities. A wife and heir are one of those paramount responsibilities.”

“I have an heir. I still have one remaining child– Jaehaera is my heir. I deem it.” he spoke quickly, staring at the goblet of wine. He had reduced his intake of alcohol since the war ended– but the need for it was always there, always aching. He suddenly felt parched. Giving Otto a haughty stare, he took a sip from the glass, feeling his muscles instantly relax.

“Don’t be daft– have you so quickly forgotten what happened when the King last named a female heir?”

“It wasn’t that Rhaenyra was a woman, Otto. People would’ve learned to adjust if…” Aegon took another sip, clearing his throat, “If she hadn’t been infatuated with her freak of an uncle, you would’ve been able to control her easier, hm? It's always been you and mother behind the crown these past two decades– not me, nor my father.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Otto griped back, gripping his glass, “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about. Rhaenyra–” he stopped, taking a breath, “Rhaenyra is dead. They’re all dead, you’re right. But there is still the whole of the Seven Kingdoms requiring a leader, especially now. A leader with a united front with a queen and babe. I won’t argue further on this matter.”

Aegon acquiesced. He would rather deal with Otto’s venomous viper tongue talking him into things he didn’t want to do now instead of his mother visiting him hours later in hysterics– he couldn’t bear it. Alicent was more of a mess now than ever. “Fine. I leave this in your very capable hands,” he stood up, swiping the whole jug of wine, “At least find me a pretty one.”

–

She was plain, unbelievably plain. Long, curled brown hair desperately in need of a trim, a poorly tailored dress that needed to be more fitted at the waist, stature too small and unremarkable to stand up to anyone of importance. Oh, and picked cuticles, the spots of red eking out from her nail beds. Mayhaps she and his mother would get along just jolly, then. She was to be his prospective wife and bear him more heirs. He wanted to shove it back in the council’s face and say he has an heir, his only living child, Jaehaera. Melancholy and withdrawn as she was, she was his heir.

The council disagreed, allowing Borros Baratheon to shove his last unwed daughter at him like a piece of meat that no one wanted.

Her eyes wafted up to glance at him, every move of hers uncertain, cautious. She was so deathly aware of each minute gesture, her posture having to be adjusted to straighten every few minutes. 

Lyanna Baratheon wasn’t of prominent knowledge and reputation like her sisters, aptly named ‘the Four Storms’ – she didn’t remind Aegon at all of a stag or a doe, but rather something more diminutive and easily killed, like a prey animal. Mayhaps a rabbit– it would be an apt description, as she had giant eyes, brown –almost black– in their hue, a shiny glaze over them as she stared at the ground. Every so often, their eyes would meet, brown to violet, and she would look apt as Aegon thought she was.

A rabbit begging for its life.

Borros Baratheon stood beside her, murmuring something into her ear. He was a boorish oaf of a man who couldn’t even read– Aegon wasn’t the brightest star in the sky when it came to matters of literature, that’d always been his brother’s realm, but atleast he could fucking read. He thought it quite hysterical that his house sigil was that of a Stag when Lord Borros reminded him more of a boar. Mayhaps he should change it. 

As he continued to whisper to his daughter, her expression went from sordid to panicked, then back to sordid. She wasn’t very good at masking her emotions– she would need to learn if she were to survive at the Keep. The tips of her fingers twitched slightly and she was obviously holding herself back from tearing into her nail beds. 

“Lord Borros,” Aegon broke the tension, “Perhaps I should show your daughter around the gardens while you speak with my grandsire. We have the most beautiful gardens here and I’d imagine that Storm’s End wouldn’t have something quite as grand,” he glazed over Borros’ blank stare, “due to the storms, of course.” 

Lord Baratheon adjusted his doublet, which was far too small for him— did the Stormlands not have a proper fucking tailor? — and nodded, “Yes, that would be amicable. It would do some good to familiarize yourself with one another before the wedding in a week’s time.” 

Aegon’s throat felt parched. He knew that they were speeding things along but he didn’t anticipate it to be this fast. Grabbing a bottle of wine from a nearby servant, he descended back to Lyanna, intent on whisking her away as quickly as possible. Not because he found her particularly interesting, rather the opposite, but he needed an excuse to get out of the room. The insistent thrum of his pulse in his neck was all too loud. His arm looped under Lyanna’s, “Come, my lady,” he hummed, trying to seem like he was somewhat collected and kingly and not on the edge of chugging the entire carafe of wine and smashing it over the next poor fucker’s head. “To the gardens.” 

He practically strung along the poor girl, who hurriedly agreed and tried her best to keep up. “Y-yes, your grace,” she mewled, her feet tapping on the ground at irregular rhythms as she hung onto Aegon’s arm, bouncing against the stone walkway toward the gardens, “King’s Landing is… very beautiful, my king– your subject must be very pleased.”

As they descended the cobbled steps down to the garden, Aegon eyed her warily, “Did your father tell you to say that?”

“N-no, not exactly–” 

“He did. Anyone with half of a brain and a working nose knows that this accursed city smells of shit. You shouldn’t lie, my lady. You’re quite bad at it,” he took a small breath as he looked at her expression– the poor thing was on the verge of tears. “You will get better in time,” he continued with a slightly softer tone, “This Keep is full of great liars and you don’t seem… too much like your father. I am sure you will pick up quickly. How old are you?”

“Nineteen, your grace.” 

Aegon resisted giving a derisive snort, instead uncorking the wine bottle and tossing the stopper into the grass, “You’re quite young, then,” he took a swig, feeling the bitter tasting liquid coat his mouth, “All the better for heirs. Or so I’m sure that we’ve both been told.” 

In truth, some would consider her a bit late in age to be married– but Aegon didn’t care as long as he wasn’t robbing the cradle like his father did to his mother, or Daemon to Rhaenyra. He was twenty-six himself and tried to remember what he was like when he was nineteen; he couldn’t exactly pinpoint an exact memory. It was mostly a blur.

“I am… hopeful to provide you with many healthy heirs, my king,” she replied, her words sounding rehearsed. She is as poor of an actress as she is a liar, then. She paused for a moment, looking at her hands, “I… do not wish to replace the late queen, her grace, Helaena– I merely wish to fulfill my duty to the realm and my family– I am terribly… sorry to hear about Helaena, my king. As well as your prince brothers. War is a terrible thing.”

Aegon blinked profusely a few times. Her words after her pause sounded genuine– mayhaps she is capable of thinking for herself. She seemed… softhearted, even if a bit naive. He regarded the bottle in his hand for a moment, swishing it around. No one had really apologized to him for his losses– the enumerable amount of them he’s gone through these past few years. They all bowed their heads and wouldn’t meet his gaze, as if their blood was all on his hands. Mayhaps it was. He swallowed, his mouth pursed in a thin line, “... War is indeed a terrible thing, my lady.”

They walked for a few hours around the garden, talking about various things. Aegon still found her quite boring and uninteresting to look at– she wasn’t ugly by any means, and could be considered pretty, but she was just so terribly plain that it bored him to tears. Her speech was all faux and he tried to eek out any genuineness to her words through different subjects– all to no avail. It seemed the sore subject of Aegon’s family was the only thing to break her from her carefully crafted script.

Eventually, they parted ways– for the better, he thought. She was a fine match, a fine age, a fine vessel for his seed to produce a royal heir and whatever other innocuous thing his grandsire needed from him. 

What a terribly dreadful life he’s let himself sink into.

That night, he drained two bottles of Dornish Red, falling much into the same state of mind he had when he was nineteen. Wandering to the Street of Silk, he whored and drank himself into a state of sloven mania.

In the midst of his drunken ramblings, he wondered if he could ever find someone who would truly love him or if his opportunity had already passed.

– 

The wedding followed in the timeline that Borros and Otto had set– as quickly as possible. The council dipped into the coffers to make it happen, it was to be an extravagant event, a new beginning for the realm. Artisans, fine bakers and cooks were all hired to make the wedding a facet, stringing up red, green, yellow and black banners, making dozens of delicate pastries and even cooking six turduckens to line the tables.

It was all lavish and opulent– and Lyanna could not feel more out of place. The past week at the Keep had been a whirlwind of planning, gown fittings, flower picking. Her sisters were there in attendance, speaking up more than she on what to pick. It was fine with her, as she couldn’t bring herself to care for it. The gaudiness of it all made her feel ill. 

She had only met with Aegon the one time, the first time. Lyanna felt she made a terrible impression— she was so nervous that day that she’d vomited twice that morning, all while her father screamed at her to get it right, to say exactly as he told her to. For the most part, she had done just that— played the perfect little puppet for him and said all those empty words that meant nothing. 

She was meant to see Aegon at least three more times before the wedding, as there were a few dinners arranged between their two families. He had been absent for all, his mother citing that he was unable to attend for various reasons but nothing overtly specific.

Alicent Hightower was a nice lady— she was warm to Lyanna, talking to her at the dinners when no one else had bothered. She was the person who Lyanna felt most comfortable with in the Keep and was grateful that she was to be her good-mother. Alicent was a bit frayed at the ends from the loss of her other children; she was haunted, her eyes constantly red-rimmed and murmuring prayers under her breath. 

The morning of the wedding, Lyanna was summoned to Alicent’s solar to get ready. 

She knocked on the door, “Your grace— it’s Lyanna.”

“Come in, my dear,” she called out, a maid opening the door to let her in. “How are you feeling this morn?” Alicent was perched on the settee when Lyanna came in, and immediately rushed over to her, taking the young girl’s hands in hers. 

“Quite nervous,” Lyanna responded, her hands quivering ever so slightly, even under the warm touch of Alicent. “May I speak plainly, your grace?” 

“Of course,” she ushered Lyanna to the loveseat and had the maid pour them both tea, then promptly shooed her out. “It’s just us now, speak your mind, sweetling.” 

“I-I am afraid that… Aegon will not like me. I fear I didn’t make a good first impression— he seemed quite bored of me.” 

Alicent took a sip of her tea, giving a small sigh. “I will do you the favor of not sugarcoating words and speak plainly like you have done with me. Aegon will not like you,” she pursed her lips into a thin line, twisting the signet ring on her finger, “Aegon is a creature of debauchery and sin— and you are a good, pious girl. You are like oil and water.” her brown eyes met Lyanna’s, her expression softening. The two women had a fast camaraderie, praying together each morning in the Sept. “You… may not love him, or even like him— but there is a duty upon you to fulfill. It is a burden we carry as women, my dear. We are always behest to the men in our lives,” she stopped, her eyes glazing over with a far-away look, “I don’t mean to be discouraging. You are a… good hearted young woman and I believe you can channel that into something positive as the Queen.” 

Lyanna felt her stomach quivering at Alicent’s words, her skin flushing. “I… appreciate your plain speech, your grace. I just… do not wish to displease him.”

Alicent’s mouth twitched at each end as if she were mulling something over. “It will be hard to please him, my dear. You are nothing like the women that usually please him,” she wiped a hand down her face, “You remind me so much of myself, Lyanna. Pushed into something you are… ill-suited for. You’re a sweet and kindhearted girl and I don’t wish for you to tear yourself apart on the inside and feel as if you’re not good enough for him– you are, you are too good for him, too pure, too-” Alicent took a measured breath, “You are not what he wants and you never will be, my dear. It will do you well to know that now rather than years later. There is always someone else in their eyes– women like you and I do what we can. I pray you will find things that keep you happy.”

Lyanna picked up her tea cup with trembling hands, taking a sip. There seemed to be more to Alicent’s words than them just being about Aegon– but she didn’t want to push it. Dipping her head, she thanked her good-mother-to-be once more.

– 

“Wake up, wake up!” a voice boomed, rousing Aegon from his haze as a carafe of cold water was poured on him. The girl latched to his cock like a leech let out a shrill scream and scrambled away.

“Fucking hell– who the fuck?” Aegon slurred, blinking profusely half a dozen times before his vision came into focus. It was one of the Kingsguard, one more behest to his grandsire than him– and his grandsire, Otto, who had the now empty container of water in hand.

“Wake up, you ingrate,” Otto growled, grabbing his grandson by his collar, hoisting him up onto his feet, smacking his cheek gently. “Your wedding is in two hours and you’re passed out in a whorehouse. You’re the king, for the Seven’s sake– I thought you left this debauchery behind, atleast have your whores at the keep instead of being in these pits of sin.” 

“You can put a number of different hats on a bear, you know,” Aegon slumped against the wall, “Many kinds of hats; a hood, a felted dante, a linen coif, a cowl, a straw hat, a jester’s garb– heh, that’d be quite funny–” 

“Is there a point to your drunken babbling, Aegon?”

“Yes, ah– you can put many types of hats on a bear and change its look but at the end of the day, its still just a fucking bear,” he straightened out his stained tunic, “Point being– you can stick a crown on my head, put a sword in my hand and put me through a war to keep me on that fucking throne but guess what, grandsire, I am still just a bear at the end of the day.”

Otto stared at him, brow furrowed. “You aren’t a bear, you’re a dragon and a king, so act like it. You are getting married in two hours and you look like a sloven mess. You’re lucky that Borros is as blind for power and recognition as he is or he would take his daughter back to Storm’s End and you’ll be stuck with the next best choice.” 

“That boring rube of a girl was my best choice? I must be fucked, then, either way.”

Otto and his Kingsguard dog dragged Aegon back to the keep, and observed while maids scrubbed him clean, red and raw. He was put in a nicely fit green suit, his House cloak strapped to his shoulders. It was a whirlwind of events that led up to the doors of the Sept being opened and Aegon ushered in.

His stomach churned and he felt sixteen again, forced to wed his sister. He remembered being hardly conscious throughout the ceremony, fumbling over his cloak and practically smothering Helaena in it.

He looked down the aisle at Lyanna, who was dressed in a pale yellow dress with long, flowing sleeves. She had a high collar with black lining and antler embroidery all over the garment. It was actually well fitted this time, likely thanks to his mother, and it turned out she actually had a figure, with plush hips and a well-endowed chest. Her brown hair was half up, half down with an assortment of intricate braids– it reminded him of how Rhaenyra used to wear her hair and he wondered who thought to style it like that, and he wondered if he was the only one who noticed.

As he walked down the aisle, he saw his mother in the front row– she was crying, thumbing a pendant in the shape of a Seven Pointed Star. 

The ceremony was a blur to him, as he put the cloak over her shoulders and sealed their union with a kiss– a chaste one. She tasted like lavender tea. As he pulled back, he noticed that her eyes were rimmed with tears, and he felt the familiar sting of tears in his own eyes.

The feast was much the same, as he drank himself into a numbing stupor. He only had one moment of clarity, as some of the rowdy guests began to poke and prod at Lyanna, talking about the bedding ceremony. She looked visibly uncomfortable, picking at her nail beds under the table. Something about the sight of her discomfort and pain stirred something in Aegon that he couldn’t name– maybe he was feeling sentimental from the alcohol, but a surge of possessiveness flowed through him. He wasn’t known to be possessive, much the opposite in fact. But the egregious actions of these men pawing at his wife– their fucking queen, mind them– making disgusting insinuations. If she were a whore, it’d be different– but she was so… innocent, so coerced in all of this just as he was, it felt wrong. 

Aegon snapped, slamming his cup down, “There won’t be any fucking bedding ceremony,” he growled, “My wife and I will be retiring to our chambers– alone. And if… any one of you lays another paw on her, you will lose it.”

Lyanna stared at Aegon, those huge brown eyes wide. Her lips were parted slightly as he once again strung her along the halls to his– no, their– chambers. She was shaking.

Once in their chambers, he let go of her, uncorking another bottle of wine and taking a swig. “I presume you think that this is where I will fuck you, hm? Stick my prick in you and make an heir and we will all live happily ever after like a child’s storybook.”

Lyanna stared down at her feet. “It… it would be… the duty of husband and wife to consummate–”

“Fuck duty! I’m not going to fuck some weepy eyed maiden because my old fuck grandsire said so. I don’t have need of you in that way.”

Her hands were trembling as she unlaced the back of her dress, her movements autonomous– she was doing what she thought she should be doing in this situation. She began to undress, slipping her gown off and leaving her in her silken shift, which didn’t leave much to the imagination. The sight of her body, soft, stirred something within him for a moment, like a spark trying to ignite kindling.

“We don’t have to do this, Lyanna,” he murmured, using her name for the first time. He put down the wine bottle. “We can wait.”

“N-no! Please, I want to– please,” Lyanna whispered, practically pleading for it, as if she wanted to get it over with. “Please.”

Aegon rubbed a hand down his face. “Get on the bed then. Lie on your stomach.”

She did as she was told, laying flat on the bed on her stomach. She clutched some pillows as a lifeline.

He knew he should warm her up, he knew that they should want to touch one another, he should want to see her face– but he didn’t. He couldn’t bear to look at her face, or touch her for longer than was necessary. He barely shimmied down his trousers before he began poking at her entrance with a half-hard cock, partially trying to give her a moment to get used to the sensations, and partially trying to find where he was supposed to stick it– he knew, of course, he’d fucked his way through King’s Landing and then some, but he hadn’t fucked many maidens, and especially not when he was blind drunk.

Eventually, he hit home and slid into her, his movements slow at first. He could hear her whimpers and knew they weren’t of pleasure. It reminded him of his wedding night with Helaena where they’d both cried– all the memories of that night came flooding back, causing him to falter.

Lyanna looked back at him, her eyes puffy and red, “I-Is it over?” 

Aegon swallowed sharply, cringing as he stared at her. The moment of arousal he had– purely from stimulation alone– was gone now, his half-hard erection deflating completely. “Fuck– yes, it’s over.” he didn’t have the heart to tell her that it in fact had hardly started before it was over– and not in the good way. He pulled out of her, taking in a deep breath as he walked to the water basin and soaked a cloth with warm water, offering it to her. “Wipe yourself– it will help with the… pain… and blood.” 

She took the cloth, wiping away the remnants of their half-fulfilled consummation. “I-I’m… sorry,” Lyanna whispered, sniffling, “I know I am not what you want.” 

His mouth was pulled into a thin line as he turned away. “You’re right. You aren’t.”

They fell into bed next to each other and Aegon’s mind was swimming as he tried to sleep. He didn’t know what he wanted. He never wanted any of this– he just wanted to be a kid again with no responsibilities, with all of his siblings, even Rhaenyra– he would’ve… he would’ve been nicer to all of them, he wouldn’t of picked on Aemond, he would’ve gotten to know Rhaenyra better, he would’ve played with Helaena’s bugs, he would’ve taught Daeron all of the secrets of the castle. He would’ve told his grandsire to fuck off when they were to crown him and had Sunfyre char him to a crisp and given the crown to Rhaenyra.

He would’ve been loved then.

He just wanted to be loved.

[joycieillustrations]

hello! was curious to know what dog breed you imagine meleys to be in 'office hours'? have been enjoying your fics a great deal and this question has been plaguing me.

Hi there! Thanks so much for your ask - I’m so glad you’re enjoying Office Hours! 🥰

I’d deliberately avoided mentioning Meleys’ breed as I wanted to see if people would guess! That, and I didn’t think Rhaenys would mention it, seeing as it’s an obvious, everyday fact for her. But to answer your question, here’s a snippet from the next chapter’s WIP:

His heart nearly stops.

It’s a fucking Rottweiler.

He could run. It would be so easy: he needed only to turn on his heel, to walk away, to not look back. Rhaenys would never know he had been there and he could surely find some excuse, some reason to rearrange their meeting. He looks again and his stomach drops to somewhere about his ankles. A bloody Rottweiler, big and strong and in a spiked red collar. Muscles ripple beneath the thing’s fur, sleek and shiny in the sunlight, and her claws scratch long marks in the dirt. Beneath the shell of a muzzle, long white teeth glisten. His arm twinges, his fingers flexing nervously.

So there we have it! Meleys is a sweet lil Rottie! I’d be happy to go into my reasons for choosing the different dog breeds in Office Hours (all of the dragons are dogs) should anyone be interested. And as a bonus, here is Meleys in the original sketch I did that helped inspire Office Hours.

[kingsanddragonsandgods]

⁂Early life:

Princess Visenya Targaryen of Runestone was born on the last day of the year 90AC, at her mother's ancestral home.

The newborn child was named after the Conqueror Queen, Visenya, by her father and anointed by holy oils seven days after her birth at the Sept-by-the-Sea in Runesport.

Queen Alysanne, who held the child during the ceremony is noted for having remarking that ‘the girl has all of Viserra’s beauty, but Alyssa’s temper’ to which the King is said to have answered ‘Gods be good’.

As Princess Visenya grew, her parents continued to battle, using the young girl as a pawn in their conflict, with both parents appealing to the King and Queen to take their side on occasion.

During her early years she grew especially close to her natural born brother, Orys Stone, the illegitimate son of Prince Daemon by Lady Rowena Royce, Lady Rhea’s older third cousin. The young boy was brought into Lady Rhea’s household in the year 90AC, following the passing of his mother.

From the age of five, her parents’ estrangement was permanent, with Prince Daemon returning to the Crownlands and Lady Rhea and their daughter remaining at the Vale. After royal intervention it was agreed that the Princess time was to be split between living in Runestone with her mother, and between the Red Keep and Dragonstone with her father, alternating during the seasons, summer and winter was spent on the Vale, while spring and autumn in the Crownlands, special celebrations were shared.

Her education appears to have been strict and somewhat old-fashioned, thus, in addition to her studies, Grand Maester Runciter notes in his journals, she was taught spinning and weaving and had an innate talent for weaving intricate tapestry. From the year 92 forward, Visenya, who had been betrothed to her newborn cousin, Prince Aerion, was expected to become Queen Consort, and her education reflected it. Her betrothed passed away in his cradle two years later, and Visenya was then betrothed to his newborn brother, Prince Aelor.

Her tutors at the time, Maester Adelin, Archmaester Vaegon and Master Petrarca of Volantis, regarded Princess Visenya as an extroverted, lively, highly intelligent, and strong-willed girl. Prince Daemon was reported to be proud of her horsemanship and marksmanship.

Because of her outstanding intellect, and his blunt favoritism, King Jaehaerys named Princess Visenya as his cupbearer in the Year 96AC, at the age of six.

The young princess often was allowed to discuss the classics, philosophy, and the affairs of state with ambassadors and envoys visiting the court of Jaehaerys. Moreover, she was personally acquainted with the painters, musicians, writers, and scholars who lived in and around the royal court.

Princess Visenya if often considered one of, if not, the best educated women of her generation.

The year 96AC marked another milestone for Princess Visenya: on the eight moon of the year, the young princess bonded and became the first rider of a she-dragon she named Huraxes. The same dragon that as a hatchling had been brought to Princess Daenerys Targayen. Huraxes had pearly scales and iridescent wing membranes, with pale and pinkish flames. The princess was allowed to bond with the she-dragons by royal decree after falling ill with a bolt of Spring Fever that nearly took her life.

Matches for Princess Visenya started being discussed by the Small Council, brought up by the Lord Hand. Thought Visenya was heiress to the largest fortress in the Vale and to the Ladyship of Runestone, it was argued that as she was a Princess of the Realm, the matter of her marriage was a prerogative of the King, which infuriated Prince Daemon, who at the time occupied the seat of Master of Law, the Grand Master agreed that such line of thought might anger the Vale, as the Princess was highly regarded by her people and her second cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn. Lord Corlys suggested his own son as a match for the princess, four years her junior, most likely to tie another dragonrider to his house. His Grace put down all talks of marriage for his niece, agreeing that such was the right of his brother and good sister to choose her match.

For the celebration of his niece's fifteenth nameday, the king ordered seven days of celebrations, with a tournament and grand feasts. The Queen's absence was noticed, excused as Her Grace was in the early stages of her final pregnancy, and Visenya was allowed to sit in the seat usually reserved for the consort; she was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty by the Dornish Ser Eldric Dayne, the Star in the Morning.

Since the Princess's return to court early in the spring of 104 AC, Visenya had caught the king’s eye, and it is reported that Viserys and his niece have become very close, spending hours each day in each other's company, promenading in the gardens, hunting in the Kingswood, and dancing together during feasts and balls.

The king is said to have spoiled his niece with lavish gifts, including presenting her with a manse in King’s Landing, a country estate crossing the Blackwater Rush and later a sea palace in the Reach.

⁂Marriage and Queenship:

After the death of Queen Aemma Arryn in the Year 105 AC, Princess Visenya, aged 15, became the 2nd wife and Queen Consort of her uncle, King Viserys I Targaryen. Their betrothal was announced a month following the queen’s passing, and a private ceremony was held three months later in Dragonstone.

It was a scandal at the time, as not only the King’s new marriage was announced a moon after the late queen’s passing in childbed, but it had also been rumored for some time that Viserys and Visenya had been lovers.

More salacious tales propagated by the fool Mushroom during the Dance of the Dragons tells of the princess sitting on her uncle's lap during feasts, kissing him shamelessly, and nibbling his fingers sensually as he fed her like a beloved pet; of the king fondling her breasts in public, and announcing to his courtiers that he and his niece would retire to make love. These have no contemporary support, with Septon Eustace calling such tales absurd and slanderous.

Over the matter of his marriage to his niece Viserys claimed that the marriage was in the public interest and ordered a grand celebration for the occasion of his new queen's coronation, to happen after the end of mourning period for Prince Baelon. Visenya was the first Queen Consort crowned in a separate ceremony from the reigning King. During the occasion the apparent advanced state of the queen's pregnancy caused a new wave of rumors that Visenya had been the King's mistress while the queen was still alive and that their child was conceived out of wedlock.

In their more than two decades of marriage, Visenya and Viserys had fourteen children, all survived into adulthood, something that the maesters attribute to the queen’s management of the nursery. Visenya’s role as a mother was glorified throughout the realm, their young new queen’s obvious fertility was seen, by the smallfolk and nobles alike, as both a bless from the Mother and a sign from the gods. With the birth of her twin girls, Princess Viserra and Princess Rhaelys, coins were issued, portraying her as the Mother, an allegory that would repeat itself many times for the remaining of her husband’s and son’s reign. If in her maidenhood, as a young princess, Visenya posed as a model for sculptures of the Maiden, in motherhood and queenship, she was now the Mother.

Although it was not the norm of the age, and in fact, apart from the late Queen Alysanne, no other queen receive such a honor, King Viserys granted Visenya a seat on his Small Council, leaning on her for advice on varied subjects due to his respect for her opinion and good judgment. She became a formidable figure with far-reaching influence during this time. According to some sources, her influence was such that Queen Visenya effectively ran the government alongside the Hand of the King.

In the year 115AC, around the time of her stepdaughter’s wedding to Ser Leanor Velaryon and in the years that followed, the Queen Consort started to work and put her own trusted people in ever higher positions to strengthen herself and her sons through them.

Visenya acted as her first husband’s regent after his health decline, sat in her eldest son’s war table following Viserys’s death.

⁂Personality:

Some historians have contended that to some extent she deserved her negative reputation propagated by her stepdaughter following the death of King Viserys I, despite the inaccuracies of the claims that she was sexually disreputable or regarding the legitimacy of her children, other criticisms of her were valid: she was ambitious, proud, obstinate, and masked her cunning behind a sweet-toned voice and flawless manners.

Princess Rhaenyra described her as a woman of reckless extravagance and wantonness, who seduced a grieving man, and whom the King nonetheless loved passionately and faithfully. It is widely known that those part of the Black Court of the Princess of Dragonstone took to call the queen ‘the King’s Great Whore’ and ‘Lady Concubine’, however always away from both the queen and the king’s ears as well as her supporters, further spreading the rumors of an extramarital affair while the late Queen Aemma still lived and questioning the validity of the legitimacy of their children. Despite rumors spread on her sons legitimacy supported by the queen's supposed lasciviousness, all of Visenya’s children resembled those of her lineage.

In her youth, Visenya was celebrated as ‘the most beautiful creature in the world’ and that there was ‘nothing lacking in her that the most beautiful girl should have’. Ser Alyn of Hull would reflect later in her lifetime that regarding her appearance ‘there were few women who could compete with the Queen in her prime’.

Visenya was fiercely independent, a trait she shared with her mother. Mellos described her as having ambitions to match her pedigree. However, Archmaester Gyldayn notes that Visenya was fully aware that a woman in Westeros could not hold power in her own right. Instead, Visenya orchestrated the rise of her sons.

Capable of acts of extreme ruthlessness, she, in contrast, was also able to demonstrate uttermost kindness and charity.

⁂Issue:

At four and thirty of age by the time of their weeding, Viserys was already considered in his middle age. The union however proved itself to be a happy one, and together they had 14 children, nine sons and five daughters.

Visenya had been taught the importance of receiving an education and came to play an extensive role in her children' education, resulting in the creation of a "superior breed of princes."

Queen Visenya was know to call her children her 'precious jewels', and took great pride in all of them, she was particularly close to the princesses Alyssa and Elaena, however it is said, that from all her children, her favorite was Prince Aegon.

edited on 11/04/2024

[boygirlswag]

falin was already a trans girl, becoming the red dragon just freaked her penis

[iikisa]

part 1

so. this is part one of a red dragon!krs fic ive been building up… this first chapter doesnt really have much much interesting scenes as of right now, and I’d love love love the input from everyone on how to continue, ideas for characters, and if theres anything i should consider changing!! that doesnt mean that i’ll be changing everything according to commenters, but i’d value all opinions to help build this plot 🥲

I’ve already finished around 3 similar length chapters and recently got stuck, so think of these posts as drafts and final revisions will probably go officially on AO3. thanks everyone 🤪

———

Oh, Pitiful Dragon (1)

-

Ever since his birth, the child longed for death. If it could take away his pain and grant his freedom, he’d trade anything he had so scarce of already. And on a particularly horrible day— the day that terrible man decided he would rip out his heart and use it for evil— the little child met a god.

The God of Death.

He thought it was ironic, seeing how soon his own demise was due soon. But this God didn’t come to reap his death, rather it came to propose a deal.

And the red dragon would accept any deal to be free of this pitiful life.

-

Kim Roksoo awoke suddenly from his slumber. His vision was black and only began to adjust to his blurred version after continuous blinking. Why was it so dark? And how had he fallen asleep? He was just finishing Volume 5 of The Birth of a Hero series and now— wait, are those chains?!

His eyes blew open and his vision was finally adjusted to the pitch darkness that surrounded him. He tried to stand but winced when pain spiked all across his body. Only then did he realize just how badly injured he was. Why was he so weak? Had someone kidnapped and beat him to a pulp?! He was completely blinded by the inexplicable pain that he hadn’t realized something much more important. No— wait, pain is important! It’s definitely concerning! But�� why was his whole body covered in crimson scales?

‘Oh geez, well isn’t this new.’

Shortly after he had that thought he passed out from exhaustion and shock.

-

When Kim Roksoo woke again, he was practically being strangled. He quickly gasped for air and focused in on his current situation. He was being held up tightly by a metal collar on his (very, very sore) neck by some strange man in front of him. His hair was a long, spiky mess of blond and didn’t look very well-maintained. But his eyes… they were bloodshot red and had a crazed glint to them.

‘Crazy bastard…!’

Roksoo’s breathing was beginning to strain more and more, and suddenly he felt something prick beneath his scales painfully. He looked down and saw a clear tube running from his body all the way through an open passageway not so far from him. His blood began flowing through it.

‘Blood— They’re.. taking my blood?’

His thoughts were becoming even more incoherent by the second but after securing the clear tube into the little red dragon, the crazed man dropped him to the floor.

“You’re blood is so pure and vibrant, it’s so beautiful.. just like the color of your scales! It will definitely aid our liege and his cause. Haha!”

All Roksoo could think of was how crazy this lunatic was. He was still heavily panting, because honestly when was he not at this point, but thankfully he hadn’t passed out again. Instead, he glared with all his being towards the crazy bastard standing above him. Unfortunately, it only seemed to excite the lunatic even more.

“Maybe I really should visit you more. That look in your eyes gives me chills!”

Mumbling to himself, the psycho soon left the room through the very passage his blood was being drawn towards, and Roksoo was left alone; unprotected and cold. He hated feeling this way. These people didn’t seem to want him alive for so long, considering his “luxury” treatment. He was going to miserably die at their hands sooner or later. And he was too weak to do anything about it.

His eyes suddenly flashed with memories— no, records— of his fight with the second unranked monster to plague Korea. Lee Soohyuk and Choi Jungsoo… he had let them die. It was his fault and he knew it. It was something he’d regret for the rest of his life. But… they had told him to keep living. To keep living for them. He couldn’t die. It didn’t matter how he got into this situation. He’d rather crawl in shit than die this pathetically. He’d survive his new predicament— this new life that’s been granted to him. He’d survive.

He’d definitely survive to smack these bastards in the back one day.

-

Roksoo had spent weeks in that dark hell. His blood continued to flow from his body to somewhere unknown, he was paid violent visits by that lunatic, and he got weaker and weaker because of it. But his will didn’t waver for a second. Whenever someone came in to check on him, he’d mark it in his mind every time. Soon enough, he learned their patterns and found openings. He finally had a plan to escape this hell, no matter how many holes there were.. it was a chance.

With his limited information, there was only so far he could get, but somewhere deep inside him, he knew he’d manage. So, he followed his instincts. The minute his opening came, he used all the strength he had gathered and focused.

‘Concentrate. Concentrate on that feeling you’ve been accumulating, Roksoo!’

Suddenly, Roksoo felt as if he’d achieved some sort of enlightenment like the ones described in murim stories. He felt an overwhelming warmth spread throughout his body and a rush of adrenaline pumped through his veins exponentially. This power… He didn’t know where it had suddenly manifested from, but he was sure now. He could get out of here using it. His mind and body began working beyond their limits, and eventually everything around him felt like it was moving at a snails pace.

‘Instant..?’

His second ability from his past life, Instant. Time would seize and he could move freely for a short while. With a heavy cost on his body of course.

‘But this… it’s similar to instant, but it’s not completely it. I think— No, I can definitely handle this much better than what I’ve been able to before in Korea.’

His new body must’ve integrated Instant into another power. And this new power was about to help him escape. A small smirk graced his torn and bloodied face. Perfect.

Shackles that were tying his limbs down shattered beneath the little dragon’s feet in the blink of an eye, and in a literal instant he was darting across the passage with his slashed and scarred limbs.

‘Keep going. I have to keep going and get out of here!’

He was sprinting through the corridors, and if anybody had looked his way all they would’ve seen was a long, red blur. A bright light was beginning to seep in between the cracks in the ceiling of the dark man-made cave he was confined in.

‘Screw the consequences, we’re blasting through!’

With incredible speed, Roksoo was right beneath the seeping cracks of light and expanded his unused wings for the first time. His wingspan barely fit within the wide corridor as he spread them out and up, blasting off from his spot on the ground and flying like a rocket towards the ceiling. He was making it out.

Just as he impacted and the dust and debris had shot up everywhere, he spotted a few individuals standing far off in the sunlight. The most notable was a red haired main of fairly tall stature completely frozen in place by Roksoo’s sudden escapade. He wore a strange white mask over his upper face, his eyes a bright red with hints of brown. The person looked far to similar to Roksoo. His prominent crimson red and his own piercing reddish-brown eyes. They would’ve looked entirely the same if it weren’t for Roksoo’s current form.

He only locked eyes with the man for a split second, and continued shooting up into the sky. He began to hear shouts and alarms blaring within his vicinity. He had been encaged in a mountain with a large encampment stealthily surrounding it. He’d remember this exact spot.

Massive fireballs and arrows began piercing the sky in an attempt to bring Roksoo down, but he clumsily maneuvered around each and just barely grazed a few on his crimson scales. Suddenly, a blinding white spear had crossed his vision. And before he knew it, another had pierced right through his wing, tearing it open a considerable amount. Roksoo stifled the cry of pain that threatened escaping his lips, and instead gritted his teeth and continued to fly towards any kind of safety. Anything other than here will be safe, he just needs to lose these bastards first. The adrenaline rush he had originally received numbed all the pain in his body, but he knew that wouldn’t last with his current levels. He had to make use of every last bit of this power that he had in him.

He flew over an ocean and kept flying as far away as he could. Eventually he reached the mainland. The forest underneath him was dark and vast, a perfect hiding spot. He glides over the tree-line and with his remaining strength he just barely managed a suitable landing right by a flowing river. His landing was a little on the rough side and he was still so sore, but… he had finally made it out. He was successful. Now, he could truly live a slacker life! Wait— he still needs to get back at the bastards who had tortured him in the first place. Ah.. he also needs to secure enough funds for his slacker life as well.

Sigh.

Roksoo had much to do before he got to live a peaceful life.

‘But first, let’s just lay here a little while longer…’

Roksoo succumbed to his exhaustion and pain, entering a deep slumber.

———

THANKS FOR READING to the end !! please let me know ur input, things i could change, add, etc, i lack a lot in this field and value ur feedback ! 😋

[mahoganyrust]

The Commodore

Sorry I couldn’t help myself. Trying to build a Nightlight visual and it’s too epic in my walnut brain. FIMT go brrrrrrrr. When I say Nightlight is OP this is what I mean.

[z0-ne]

Hi there 👋,

My name is Mohammad, and I’m reaching out in a moment of desperate need. I’m a father of three young children living in Gaza, and we are caught in the midst of a catastrophic war. Our home is no longer a safe haven, and the future here seems increasingly uncertain. 💔

I’ve launched a fundraising campaign with the goal of raising $40,000 to relocate my family to a safer place where my children can grow up in peace and have a chance at a brighter future. 🕊️🇵🇸

Unfortunately, my previous fundraising efforts were abruptly halted when my account was terminated without explanation. However, I remain determined to keep fighting for my family’s safety and well-being. 🫶

If you could take a moment to read our story, consider donating, or simply share our campaign with others, it would make an incredible difference. Every act of kindness, no matter how small, brings us one step closer to safety and a new beginning. 🙏

Thank you for your time, compassion, and support. ❤

https://gofund.me/fd1faea2 🔗

PLEASE, please go and donate to this family in need if you're able, if not, share this, repost the gofund m, ANYTHING helps. I'm sorry about the fake tags but im using what i can to get this out to as many as possible.

[queenviserra]

“ fierce, in love and in anger”

Chapter 1: The Red Dragon and the Gold

Summary:

Even though she was badly injured, Meleys had the strength to continue and make her way home, only to collapse on the coast of Driftmark, away from High Tide.

Rhaenys managed to survive, but she faced a lot of challenges, including Corlys cheating, an affair with Alyn, getting to know Addam, and planning a war without being present on the battlefield. A different universe allows Rhaenys to live and...

[ilreleonewikiart]

This illustration is part of an art trade that I did with my dear friend @kiraliaart. ❤️✨

This drawing is from a FF she's working on and has for subject one of her ocs. The description is down below. After this, go and watch her illustration, that as always, is a masterpiece! She completely killed this challenge! ✨🥰

"Aeriaenne is the second daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Leanor Velaryon, born in 114 AC along with her fraternal twin brother Jacaerys. Initially, her mother thought of betrothing them, but she changed her mind when she realized their bond was purely fraternal.

Unlike her siblings, Aeriaenne's dragon egg did not hatch, which made her introverted and inclined towards solitary activities like music and art. Her sensitive and introverted nature led her to cherish the company of her father Leanor, whom she loved dearly. Physically, Aeriaenne resembled her mother and grandfather, King Viserys I, but in character, she was similar to Rhaena, the Black Bride, with a strong sense of maternity.

During the Dance of the Dragons, she was captured by her uncle Aegon II's men and imprisoned in the Red Keep. After most of her family was killed, she was deemed illegitimate but later legitimized again by Aegon II, who needed a wife. After the end of the war and the beginning of the Hour of the Wolf, Aeriaenne meets Cregan Stark."

[ashblooddragons]

The Red Queen (Chapter 8/?)

112 ac

Your Pov

It's the day of Mama's funeral. I try not to cry again as I sit in the bath as my maid wash hair. 

“What oils would you like today, Princess? Your usual jasmine?” Orchid asks already reaching for the oil bottle ready to pour it in the tub and my hair.

But instead, I stop her and think about Mama's calming scent and Ali's vanilla scent, or at least that's what she calls it.

“What was Mama's oil?” I ask and I see the flash of sadness cross Orchid's face before she smiles and grabs another bottle. 

“Lavender, the late Queen loved Lavender.” She says filling the dropper before letting the oil drip into my bath and hair.

“Can I have vanilla too? Or would that smell bad?” I ask curiously before biting my lip nervously.

“Lavender and vanilla would be lovely together, Princess.” Orchid says before reaching for the small vial of vanilla oils.

Once she has them both in the bath and my hair I feel safe, like a warm hug, like I can breathe again. I start to cry again but Orchid acts like she doesn't notice, most of the maids act like they don't notice. I don't understand why, why can't they wipe my tears like Kepus and Ali do? Why can't they hold me so close like Kepus and Ali do? They hold me so tight it's hard to breathe but I can feel their hearts beating feel they're alive feel they're here.

But what confuses me the most is why Mama had to leave me? She promised after this baby was born she would play with me finally, that she would come to my leasons and see how smart I'm getting. But now she can't do that, because she's gone forever. 

Everyone keeps saying that, but they won't tell me how long forever is, only that it is forever. It doesn't make sense, I just want to know when I can see my Mama again when she'll be back to play and see how smart I am. 

“All done, Princess.” Orchid says wiping my face of the water from the bath, but from her frown I can tell she was also wiping my tears. 

I stand in the bath and use my step stool to get out so she can wrap me in a warm towel that always feels warm against my skin because she rests it next to the fire, and smells of something woodsy. 

I'm quickly dried and dressed in a black dress. Put on thick wool stockings as it's chilly today and my hair braided so it's a crown upon my head. Orchid helps me put on my bracelet and necklace from Kepus like always before someone knocks on the door.

“Come!” I call out rubbing my already raw and painful eyes. I then look down in case it's Papa, he seems to not be able to look at me anymore. I don't understand why though I haven’t done anything wrong. 

“Ñuha riña, it's time to go.” I hear Kepus say.

Not Papa, I don't have to hide my face. 

I turn and look up and see him frown at how bloody my lips and how red my eyes are. 

“Can't I wear red, it's a much prettier color than black.” I say frowning

This seems to make him happy as he chuckles with a shake of his head before he kneels down so he can hold my hands in his. My hands always seem so small when he holds them, not like the big girl hands I like to think they are. “No, I'm afraid not ñuha riña. Black, is traditional mourning colors you will be wearing them for a while yet.” He says inspecting my hair to see how well done it is.

“I did it today, M'lord.” Orchid says from her spot behind me with her head down.

Kepus made sure to tell Orchid only she and him can do my hair now, maybe the ‘little Hightower’ but I don't know who that would be. 

“I figured as much, it's not in her eyes.” He responds with a nod to my maids before picking me up and walking out of my room.

Once in the carriage I see Nyra who is glaring at me as usual but this time it sends chills down my spine. Had I done something? And then I see Papa next to her and he won't look at me, as if doing so brings him pain. I must have done something bad, but what?

The ride is quiet, almost suffocatingly so, so I feel I need to break it. 

“When will me and Nyra know when to tell Syrax and Stromchaser to dracarys?” I ask Papa but when he doesn’t answer I turn to look up at Kepus instead.

“I’ll count down from five, once I say zero you two command them to light the pyre.” He says glaring at Papa or some reason.

I only nod and look out the window watching as the smallfolk cry for Mama. They miss her too, hopefully their Mama’s aren’t goen too. 

When we make it to Rhaeny’s hill Kepus picks me up again and whispers to me “it’s quite steep, ñuha riña, don’t you tripping and getting hurt.” 

I feel the wind against my back, it makes me shiver as I cling to Kepus hoping he'll keep the cold away. Once we make it to the top of the hill he sets me down on my feet. He lets me cling to his leg as the Valyrian priest chants.

I try and ignore them as I look at Mama and baby Baelon, they're wrapped in a brown cloth so tight I can see the outline of Mama's arms, legs, and belly. Her belly looks weird but I ignore it as it's probably because she's dead. 

Once the priest is done and walks away I let go of Kepus and walk forward with Nyra. 

“It's time girls, are you ready ñuha riña?” Kepus says standing between us.

I want to scream ‘NO’ but I know that I must, that Mama and Baelon must be ‘put to rest’ or at least that's what Ali said. So instead I nod my head as I wipe my tears.

Kepus looks between us one last time before sighing and nodding his head, a lmost like he's defeated. 

“Five.”

I gasp realizing I'm never going to be ready this, to let Mama go. At least before I had to turn her to ash in the wind I could pretend she was just on a long trip, that she wasn't gone that she was only seeing her family in the Vale.

“Four.”

I feel my heart clench, feel it about beat out of my chest. It's painful, it hurts, but not as much as when I burn Mama away.

“Three.”

I can't breathe, why can't I breathe? I can feel my heart practically beat out of my chest. I feel my lungs constrict so I can only take in small gasps of air.

“Two.” 

I feel Kepus rest his hand on my shoulder giving it a squeeze. I still can't breathe, still feel my heart beating out of my chest, but for some reason, it's all getting easier to deal with.

“One.” 

I hear Stromchaser let out a cry of pain, Kepus says they feel our emotions, our pain, I have to stay calm for Stromchaser. But I can't I can't calm down, I'm losing Mama forever.

“Now.” 

I figured out what forever means, and all it took was me screaming with Nyra, commanding our dragons to make Mama and Baelon ash in the wind. Make them gone forever.

Once Stromchaser and Syrax stop their flames I turn to Kepus leaping into his arms and sobbing. Sobbing that I'll never get to see Mama again and play in the gardens with her. Sobbing because I'll never get to meet my baby brother. Sobbing that Mama and Baelon are gone forever.

Daemons Pov

I stand leaning against the Weirwood tree waiting for that blasted Dornish man, Cole. 

I knew after that fucking Sarwyck lost in the first round you needed a better guard. Though my pride was hurt I can't deny that Cole proved himself, that he would be the perfect guard for you. 

I remember the look of hos face when I grabbed him after, it was a look of horror, of fear of what the Prince of the city would do to him. Instead I only whispered one thing.

“Meet me at the Weorwood tree in a week's time at the hour of the wolf.” 

He quickly agreed of course but now I'm wondering if I should have threatened him instead of letting him go on his merry way. 

I hear a twig snap under someone's foot and turn to see him. He seems to have rushed here if the sweat on his brow is any indicator.

Must have realized he was almost late. I think with a cruel smirk. 

“You wished to see me, my Prince?” He says winded and bent over with his hands on his knees catching his breath.

“I have an offer for you, though if you take it you'll answer to me and no one else.” I say standing straight and walking towards him.

“Wh-what do you mean?” 

“You took down one of my Gold Cloaks, he was in charge of the care and well-being of the youngest Princess. Can't have someone who can't even beat a stewards son protect my sweet little niece, now can I?” I say in a calm voice that has always led men to do as I please, even my brother, the King. 

“And what does that have to do with me?” He asks standing straight again hands behind his back.

I know that stance, I know it well. 

“You're a soldier aren't you.” I say but it was rhetorical

“Yes, my Prince.” He responds curtly but I catch the scowl that he was read so easily.

Oh just you wait, Ser Cole, you'll learn to hide everything in this pit of vipers soon.

“If I could make it where you have a very high chance of becoming a Kingsguard, would you?” 

He seems shocked from the way his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. I can't fight the chuckle that leaves me, nor would I want to. 

“It would be an honor, my Prince. But why would they choose a stewards son over a lord's son who has also been to war?” He asks, curious and skeptical to this offer.

“And what I'd I said they wouldn't be others who have gone to war?” 

He freezes for all of ten seconds before a smile comes to his face. “And what would you need from me? Of course after you give me such a high ranking at court you will want something in return?” 

I stop and look at him surprised. Most who are not from Kingslanding would have taken this chance by now, I can't tell if I'm proud, annoyed, or impressed. I think before responding.

“You see, I noticed something about our match. I had my blade to your throat, I let you live, and yet at the first chance you got back up and made sure I'd be the one to yield.” I say smiling when he starts to shift uncomfortably.

“It was a fair fight, you know it just as much as I.”

“Never said it wasn't, you never said you yielded, so by all rights you could, and did get back up to continue to fight.” I say smirking when I see the tension leave his shoulders.

“That still doesn't explain why you need me.” He says obviously getting annoyed.

“It's simple, I want- no I need a man who will use suck ‘dirty’ tactics when defending my niece. If I was to help you, you will defend the youngest, the Realms Darling they call her.”  

“Why her and not the eldest?” He asks confused.

“Rhaenyra has at least three guards at her demand, none are truly hers but they may as well be. The youngest…well she has only had the spares or the ones I give to her. I wish for her to have one I know I can trust. One that will give me the information I desire, when I desire it.” 

He seems to contemplate his options, though before he even says it, I know what he'll do.

“I'll do it.” 

I can't fight the smirk that comes to my face as I shake his hand, a symbol of a good deal. 

Once he's out of my sight I look down at the gold cloak against my back.

Fuck I could use a drink and a whore. I think before walking towards the most depraved parts of the city looking for a night to forget all I've lost, if only for one night.

Viserys Pov

After that ‘talk’ with my small council and the very long day I've had I knew when my head hit my pillow I'd be asleep. 

All I saw for a while was darkness, I figured it was because I was still awake but then I saw a light far away and knew what was going on.

Not this blasted dream again! I thought as I stormed forward knowing what I'd find.

The throne room was dark, not a candle lit on the walls, but there was fourteen candles lit in front of the iron throne. They always seemed to dance, I swore if I moved closer I would hear the sounds of childlike giggles. Most are on their own, standing on their own candle sticks, but three have two prongs with two candles on the stand. 

It's all the same, even those damned faces are still blurry! I think ready to turn around until I hear the booming voice of my Grandsire.

“You will stay, boy!” I feel my bones rattle just from the sheer force my Grandsire has spoken to me.

I now don't feel like a King, I feel like a little boy again being scolded for trying to steal a sweet…again.

“Why do you bring me here Grandsire? You have made me come to this room with its candles every night ever since my dear wife has passed! Well before that I was having this dream once a moon!” I cried out looking up and around me searching for my Grandsire.

“It is not our fault you are not Brave son. That you will not face what you already know.” I then hear my Father, the one man I always wished I could be, but Daemon has always been more like him than I'll ever be.

“What is there to see? Fourteen candles, two blurry faces on the throne? I've seen it! I understand I must have a son to put on the throne!” I sob out feeling their disappointment, their regret, knowing I'm far from the monarch they wished from me.

“Have you thought that perhaps if you moved closer the faces would be clear? Or are you that daft Viserys?” I hear their voice now combine, hear my fathers furious tone mixed with my Grandsires disappointment.

I shake my head but still listen to their advice. As I move forward I begin to hear the sounds of a woman giggling at something a man had said. Another step, and I can make out the woman's curls and theans long straight hair. One more and I see a gorgeous woman on my brother's lap, though it is not him that wears my crown but her.

The two of them stop their chatter, my brother is the first to turn to look at me.

“How lovely for you to finally join us dear brother, I was beginning to wonder if you ever would.” I teases with that smirk of hos that always make me want to punch him right in the lip. 

That'll show him who's older still. I think with a smile before I leaves me and a pained gasp leaves me.

The woman has turned her head to look at me, I would have never recognized her if it weren't for those eyes. One of Lavender and one of Ice Blue, the ones I can not look at, the ones who only bring me pain.

“You know what you must do, Father. You always have.” You say but it is not your little voice, it is a woman's voice.

I wake with a gasp before turning and letting my dinner meet my chambers floor.

“You know what you must do, Father. You always have.” Those words keep running through my head as I try to catch my breath.

I have, haven't I?

Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header for this fic, I swear I'd be lost without you girly!

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl @sachaa-ff