#well she's the one that reminds me of a dragon age character

[vampyrs-and-witchers]

{Elizabeth nodded, smiling.} "Duly noted, I'm certain I'll find something worthwhile bringing home. The holidays should be closing in before we know it.. seems I'll do some Christmas shopping months in advance then."

{Orianna spoke up, her eyes sparkling.} "My favorite games are the ones where you can romance companions, I do enjoy watching our shared human family member play them. Those games are usually incredibly well thought out and the characters? They feel believable."

{Elizabeth smiled warmly.} "I believe your favorite was one called... Dragon Age Origins?"

{Orianna nodded eagerly.} "Morrigan - she's my favorite. She oft reminds me of you, Elizabeth..."

{Elizabeth nodded, amused and thoroughly entertained by the conversation.} "One of my family members - they're a human - and while I'm not all that interested in electronics, I must say, it's amusing to watch them play. My favorite games they play are often the story oriented ones - it's like watching a book play out before you but without the words." {She eagerly explained, a soft smile on her lips.}

"You mean like a movie?" {Orianna asked, just as amused by the conversation.}

{Elizabeth nodded.} "Yes! Exactly like a movie, but better, as you get to control the outcome of the ending."

[witsserviceablesubstitute]

Baldur's Gate 3 early access for my birthday and I'm so impressed!

The games I gravitate towards all emphasise story, choice, and character so I'm definitely in my element.

We've also come a long way from Baldur's Gate saying evil aligned characters are the only queer romance and must all meet a terrible end. "We were simply too sexy and bad to the bone, baby," interjects Dorn and Hexxat (channelling Matt Berry).

I have a feeling Astarion and Lae'zel are evil aligned but they are also full of potential to grow and change beyond some strict 'Good and Evil' dichotomy.

Lae'zel has a limited ability to help how she was raised to think about anyone and anything outside her militant Githyanki cloister, but she's making small steps towards understanding (kinda) and her endearing hesitant curiosity is a poor secret underneath all that arrogant aggression.

Astarion is... ha... so wet. The wettest. I adore him and I'd be dissatisfied if he ends up being the Judas in your party. Mainly because I'd be disappointed at Astarion for being the most transparent idiot in all Faerun (but I suppose it's typical of him). Out of all the companions I think he deserves a redemption tale most. Or at least a chance to figure out who he is without centuries of compulsion and slavery. He tries too hard to be evil but his hearts not really in it, I think.

Given the conversations around Astarion I expected him to be more like Fenris or Zevran from Dragon Age fame but he's very different imo. If he reminds me of any other fictional character it would probably be Baz from Carry On... If Baz had been forced to be a kept boy by a sadistic sire for centuries...

Anyway, my money's on Shadowheart as your Judas (depending on your choices) but I can already see her lovers sharpening their pitchforks at the idea, so maybe not. (I love Shadowheart too but I can see her being the least loyal of them all. No matter how much she likes you she has her own goals).

[alongtidesoflight]

so here's my honest thoughts on dragon age: the veilguard, after ~40 hours of playing. i finished the main quest after having finished all companion quests and major faction quests. just to clear up what content i saw, i played as an elven transmasc rook who is a member of the lords of fortune. he romanced lucanis (although after finishing the game i'm now leaning towards taash). i don't know what's happening in playthroughs that have a different race, gender identity, romance or faction going on.

full spoilers ahead, i mean it. don't read further if you want to avoid them. i don't want complaining about it in my asks.

oh and also, if you're worried because of a few negative reviews online i can comfort you by saying don't give a fuck about a certain big name youtuber who is very much tied to bethesda franchises giving this a negative review. i'll explain why.

i'm starting off with the things i liked

the game looks really pretty. i was worried it wouldn't feel like thedas anymore (with them trying to "focus on northern thedas only" i thought they'd make a clear cut in environmental design. they do and they don't. it's complicated. i'll elaborate on it when talking about the negative stuff). anyway it does. minrathous feels like kirkwall. treviso enchanted me like the winter palace did. the hossberg wetlands reminded me of the hinterlands and a couple other inquisition maps. arlathan looked like... arlathan. the crossroads were different, but familiar. overall i like the way it looks and feels. it's thedas, with a twist. it's a good one, and gives everything a solid but unique feel.

combat is top tier. if you're a hardcore dragon age player you WILL miss the tactical aspect of it for a bit, but i promise you, once you're used to the way the combat works, you will be lapping that shit up. and once you get to ability combos you'll mourn the control you used to have over your companions in battle a bit less

the MAIN quest and its story. i expected worse, way worse. and for a while the game even had me tricked (harr harr you'll get it in a second) it is Really That Much Worse. but holy shit was it good. i walked away satisfied ngl.

your choices have SOLID weight. there's consequences, good AND bad. i got minrathous blighted, ruled over by venatori, and the leader of the shadow dragons ultimately died because of my decisions. i made those at the beginning and throughout the game. he died at the end. DAVRIN died because i didn't expect what i was saying to have that much weight. i thought i was in the clear. he had hero status. well turns out, your choices can still get your companions killed even if you do everything right. i fucking love him. he shouldn't have made that sacrifice just because i told him to do everything it takes once.

the inquisitor, morrigan and dorian being there, surprisingly. there's also negatives to this though, see below.

speaking of companions dying and the inquisitor playing a bigger role: the final quest feels like me2's suicide mission. i was blown away by it and the fact that i got to see the results of all my efforts playing out in front of me.

bioware are NOT trying to redeem solas. they love him as a character yes, but i wasn't forced to see any good in him. he betrays you. he fucked my rook over twice. he fucked him over right back, for good this time (the veil wasn't torn down, i anchored it by binding him to it, he's doomed to uphold it). but solas really lives up to his name as the trickster elven god. rip to all the people who grew really attached to him over the years.

varric died. if you like him that's probably as hard reading it as it was watching it. varric died and the game lies about it until the very end. when the realisation hits, it hurts. but in the very best way.

the amount of care they put into gender expression and trans identities this time around. (i'll add onto this with negative points as well too).

rook feels very much ingrained in the world of thedas. he doesn't ask questions that expose the player to lore through dialogue as if he's stepped foot into thedas for the first time. those conversations feel very solid and good. i hope other faction players got as much joy out of this as i did.

and the things i didn't like and boy there's a lot unfortunately

the music. let's just get that out of the way holy shit. it doesn't feel like it belongs in this universe. it gets so incredibly sci-fi-y at times you'd think it's taken straight from mass effect andromeda. there's not a single song unique to veilguard that i really enjoyed. it broke my immersion, real bad. hearing a busker play the tavern songs from inquisition on a lute right after i killed some venatori with wobbly bass songs playing in the background is just odd. weird tonal shift. don't like it. it's made for people who like flashy light-weight cinema.

tevinter nights is required reading. the podcasts are required listening exercises. the game is so fast paced, especially at the start, that there's no time to introduce you to characters and how much weight their names carry in-game. i would not have known who half these people are if i hadn't skimmed over tevinter nights. i'd care even less about them than i already did. there is no time to get properly attached to them. people will act as if you're talking to a legend personified and you'll be thinking man goddamn which chapter of tevinter night were they in again and what did they do???

there's a weird mismatch with the animations. you'll have beautifully fluid ones, like emmrich casting spells. and then you'll have rook's face animating in the most unnatural manner that's sorta reminiscent of mass effect andromeda's "my face is tired" addison, when their emotions SHOULD be landing with the player rn instead.

i'm not vibing with the art style. sometimes it works. most of the time it doesn't. at points i felt like i was watching tangled.

that also brings me to some of the dialogue. same issue. i am watching frozen. i am watching tangled. someone on the writer's team really likes the adorkable trope. bellara is its victim.

for all the talk about identity, bioware sure doesn't like theirs. the grey warden armor got a redesign again and it just makes them look like a generic army. i hate it lol

in general, i don't like the armor design. the wardrobe/appearances system is fine, but it's just not helping if all the armors are just... kinda bland or downight bad looking? and don't get me started on the lords of fortune armor. that is orientalism personified.

the world states should have been carried over, full stop. i know they said they didn't because they want to separate what happens in the north from what happens in the south, which... i could have lived with that. but the inquisitor sends you letters that keep you up to date on... the south of thedas. you learn that there's a blight again, that people are standing strong but it's difficult, denerim's fallen, the rulers are taking care of it, orlais is fighting and they're successful for a while, etc etc. what's good bioware. i thought we don't care about the south this time around. why are you feeding me so much boring generic information. if you're not gonna show any of it and just write letters, then carrying the world state over should not have been an issue. i have a game dev background. those few lines of code would not have broken your budget or pushed your engine's limits. fuck right off.

this gripe of mine carries over to all the cameos. as a lord of fortune you have to deal with isabela a lot. it's fun. i missed her. you get to go drinking with her and taash and bellara! also my hawke romanced her. she's not mentioned once. they had the opportunity to put a sentence or two about her in there with not a lot of effort, trust me.

when varric dies, all she has is a single line about it. for gold, for fortune, for varric. she only says it if you interact with her on your way to the final push. that's not mandatory.

morrigan is there. kieran isn't. the old god soul that mythal and then solas absorbed? who cares at this point, the gods are dead now and solas is locked away for eternity. i suppose? why is morrigan there. she feels unneeded. i wish they'd just left her down south, at least that way i wouldn't have had to witness her god awful redesign.

dorian at least feels as if he belongs in this story. the shadow dragons are a crucial part to protecting minrathous. he's also weirdly underutilised. isabela and morrigan had more lines than him in my playthrough.

on the topic of romance: bro that was underwhelming. no, genuinely. you know when romance picked up a bit? after the point of no return. i heard maybe two lines of companion banter about it before that. maybe i missed something which i honestly doubt, but romance did not play much of a role in lucanis's storyline. i saved his grandmother as he wished me to (and if you read tevinter nights you know she was rather abusive and their relationship not the healthiest) and told him to focus on his family. a reunified family my rook wasn't even introduced to as a partner at the end of all that.

really, do not buy this game if you're only in it for the romances. others might be better, lucanis's basically gave me nothing. except for an outing (the second coffee date i had with him, it was getting repetitive) all of it played out once i committed to the final quest. the sex scene was a fade to black. annoyingly right after davrin died. if you're looking for well paced and good spice, pick up something else. the sweet talk and the final goodbye were nice though.

for all the good the ever-presence of gender identity does, it is brought up in such a disruptive manner too. it doesn't even play out naturally if you CHOOSE the lines that are meant to be said. hearing the words trans and non-binary in this setting doesn't feel right, and i'm saying this as a trans guy. i think it could have been handled more gracefully. the amount of times my rook went "i'm a MAN" as if he's about to start drumming on his chest and roaring any second now got super nerve-grating. "i'm so glad you're into me... the me who is trans. remember?" just. tell me one trans person who'd talk like that to a person they've grown close with and are trying to romance. this game doesn't handle sexuality well, so all this hey my body might not look like the way you're expecting it to look talk amounts to nothing anyway. i feel about this the way i feel about krem: this is partial exposition to trans experiences... packaged up for cis consumption. the ONLY exception to that is interacting with taash. holy shit was all of that heartwarming and bro did it feel good and natural to talk to them about theirs and rook's gender.

rivain and nevarra are new locations added by veilguard. they're also incredibly underwhelming, small and constricted maps. rivain is a coastline with a few ruins. the hall of valor is a partial ruin nestled into a cave on a beach, with a fighting pit. isabela is there in her skimpy outfit commentating your pit fights. that's it. i'm sorry if you were looking for a bustling pirate cove or whatever. you're not gonna get it. the nevarran crypts btw are a long ass dungeon crawl. that's it.

speaking of maps. i thought people were being dramatic when they said you're gonna be fighting the same enemies on them again and again. i thought they were figure of speeching it. they're not. you WILL fight the same amount of enemies. in the same spot. every time you reload the map. best to stay on a map and clear out the enemies and do as much questing on that map as you can before leaving, because you WILL have to do it all over again once you return.

the three choices i made for my inquisitor didn't matter lol she didn't have to face solas and therefore couldn't stop him at any cost as she had sworn (maybe because my rook tricked solas into binding himself to the veil, there was also an option to fight him. would she have stepped in? who knows). blackwall wasn't mentioned. and either her using a small amount of her forces in the final fight was the reason the civilians of minrathous fared so well..... or it just didn't matter. ultimately i think she had very little impact on anything

[aeducanka]

Dropped everything to do my Dragon Age gals (gender neutral) in this lovely picrew!

Left to right: Emerald Aeducan (she’s demonstrating a nyan), Kallista Tabris (they’re actually enjoying themselves, don’t get fooled by her facial expression), Serena Amell (she’s doing absolutely fine, haha! why do you ask?).

@bluekaddis, @aylaaescar, @etoilebinaire and everyone who wants to, here’s your call to arms! No pressure, of course. <3

[anneapocalypse]

I cannot help feeling like the tendency to see Inquisition!Leliana in stark contrast to Origins!Leliana has led to some people forgetting what... Leliana is actually like in Origins.

In fairness, as in all Dragon Age games some very revealing character moments happen in party banter which makes it easy to miss. But the gentle-hearted mystic who desires only to draw others unto the love of the Maker has never been all that Leliana is, and it's always been in direct conflict with the side of her that is not only adept at intrigue and yes, violence, but enjoys those things. This is the central conflict of her whole character, and it's not a trivial conflict, because there is not one simple answer to who Leliana truly is. She is both of these things. She is deeply religious and finds comfort in her faith, and thinks it should bring comfort to others as well. She's also prone to gossip and pettiness and all the qualities that helped her thrive as a bard.

There's this one particularly revealing piece of banter with Alistair if the Warden is in a romance with Morrigan:

Alistair: So have you heard? Morrigan and him are... you know. Leliana: Have you nothing better to do than to spread idle gossip? And besides, he can probably hear us both. You're not being very discreet. Alistair: No, look, he's not even paying attention. Leliana: Hmmm. maybe. You don't... think that he's serious about it, do you? The woman is a vile fiend. Alistair: Well, look here, now who's an idle gossip? Me-ow! Leliana: You're the one who started this, I might remind you. And I'm... well, I'm ending it!

I once had the especially entertaining experience of getting this banter, and minutes later hearing Leliana turn to Morrigan to give her the "It's so nice that you're together, isn't love wonderful?" line. But whether or not you have the pleasure of hearing them back to back, I think this dialogue make it pretty clear that while Leliana would like not to think of herself as a gossip, it takes very little prompting from Alistair to get her to slip back into that mean girl persona. And Alistair (who is more perceptive than he often gets credit for), calls her on it immediately, clearly embarrassing Leliana--who realizes that her mask has slipped.

I don't think it follows from this that Leliana necessarily hates Morrigan unilaterally. There's something much more complex going on between them, in my opinion, because they are such distinct opposites in upbringing and personality. Both Leliana's faith and her life of courtly intrigue are nonsense to Morrigan, who neither believes in the Maker nor has much patience for intricate social graces (at least, not yet). Meanwhile, I think Morrigan's outward self-possession and the sense of power she exudes is a source of both fascination and frustration for Leliana, who thinks she understands power, both social and divine--but finds in Morrigan a kind she cannot fully comprehend. (I also think you can definitely feel some sexual tension into their banter, especially the much-beloved banter about the velvet dress.) Ultimately, both of them are very concerned with power, but approach that concept very differently. And Leliana responds to this clash of ideals in a particular way because her own self-image is so conflicted.

As all great Dragon Age foils do, Leliana and Morrigan needle one another, push each other's buttons, challenge one another's sense of self, and in doing so reveal one another in their complexity and sometimes in their ugliness. It is perhaps easy to write this off as the tired trope of women being unable to get along with one another, or conversely to claim that they get along just fine and fandom has fabricated the tensions between them; I think to do either of those things diminishes a genuinely complex and sticky relationship that serves to reveal a lot about both characters.

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Ask me, my prince. What a storm is to a dragon.❞

[ Aemond can only breathe through your lungs, through your adoration and love. But when betrayal is nigh, what does it truly beget? ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 6,935 ] | Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader, minor, sort of (not really) Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers.

THIS IS A DARK FIC. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

contains— angsty, smut - DD:DNE: kidnapping, coercion, manipulation, possessive & obsessive behaviour, power imbalance, violence (not to reader) (a little bit to reader... i wrote this too close to book canon!aemond), murder, death, massacre, war - canon typical targcest, canon character deaths, canon divergence - dark!aemy - pregnancy, child, allusions to infidelity, mentions of bastard - i took liberties with canon (as i usually do) - #ripellyn you (sorta) will be missed shshs - the only specific reader descript. i did is the baratheon dark hair ok? ok - nsfw: male masturbation, dubcon/noncon, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— there was this villain playlist on yt that was slowed and sexy, and my brain just. clicked. here it is if you wanna check. the real reason this is long is cos i can't help but add backstory ok? ok. lol. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

Storms have always been your favourite view in any window.

It is cliche to say, a proud daughter of the Stormlands, of course she enjoys the dark skies! But you do. There is nothing short of comforting in the rolling, fat clouds darkened in shadows. Occasionally, if the weather moved to your whim, lightning danced between plumes before you hear the boom and crack of it striking.

"It is a privilege to enjoy weathers such as these," your father once said, a hand on your darkened hair, a bluer tint to it, but Baratheon through and through. "It is our might that holds us at paramount, and thus, our privilege beckons warm fires and strong, stone fortresses to watch it all in comfort. To find enjoyment in the dark skies."

"Ours is the Fury," you replied immediately. Your father smiled.

"That, precisely. The paramount of our might and power is one we have taken and given with fury. Never forget."

"Even better than the Targaryens?" Your father's displeasure crumpled his face, and you were at an old enough age to understand his displeasure was not something you enjoy. But you had been learning all day, and the topic that day with your septa had been House Targaryen. You had learned the King's name, that he had a Queen that died, and that his heir is a girl.

His hold on your shoulders was heavy, but you do not flinch. Eyes bore into your own as if he was speaking the words into existence.

"We are the blood of the Kings too, my daughter. The White Hart proves our mark in the world, long before the dragonlords ever whispered in these lands. And what are dragons against the dance of storms?"

You had been little then, no more than six. The smallest of your sisters; Floris, though short in stature, looked elongated. A beauty. A fawn in the making. And your father is not the cleverest of men, but his words shelved itself in the corners of your brain. It eased and assuaged your fears like a quick spell.

Your spine straightens and your chin tilts upward. You are made of fury and storms, the blood of kings of old and solid, impenetrable fortresses.

You fury is your own, and 'neathe your fingers, under your very being, is a storm.

A good reminder, as when you had exchanged childhood for girlhood, a missive had been sent by the Queen Alicent Hightower, requesting for a daughter from Lord Baratheon's Four Storms, as companion for the Princess Helaena.

"Cassandra would do well."

"She hungers, husband. I am afraid of what might happen if we send her to the courts at her age. I do not yearn for a scandal."

"She would not shame her family so, do you reckon?"

"She is the eldest. You know how she is."

A sigh. "If she had a cock, she would be a good heir for my seat."

"Borros!"

"Apologies. Very well, mayhaps a good husband with no grit to him would do her well. She will lead the Stormlands by the hold of his— er, well, yes. Maris? She is clever."

"Far too clever. Even her tongue irks you, no. Definitely not. Her brain works too fast for her mouth. She will say the wrong thing and end us in war."

"You exaggerate, surely."

"I bore them, Borros, but they are your daughters. They live and breathe with your name and your House's banner under their own. What do you think? Bad enough they take so much of your heritage with them, and their looks, but they also plucked and chosen parts of you I'd rather not have for lady daughters."

Your father grumbles incoherently, you laugh under your breath.

"... Floris is too young. So..." The last one. You. You press your ear harder against the wood of your father's study, heart in your throat.

"She will be best," she says softly, insistently. She knows in her heart of hearts that though her husband is a hard, proud man, he has a softened heart for you. "Though she is clever, she minds herself well. Polite. Kind. She will do well with the Princess and her, er, eccentricities."

"Bloody weirdoes, the lot of them." A sigh. Another chastise from your mother, but she too, sounds exhausted. It has almost been a moon since the missive has been sent. Another one is bound to arrive, more order than request. It is all a political game. Princess Rhaenyra had no Baratheon ward under her court when she still resided in Kings Landing, for you and your sisters had been too young and your father had no sister. It is by chance that gives the Green Queen advantage to take a ward under your father's banner now, with a daughter she seeks to be Queen Consort.

"Send her then," your father announces. Though defeat clouds his voice, the Lord in him speaks each vowel clearly. "She will do best to represent the House out of them all. We might have a betrothal in our hands soon enough."

"She is pretty enough for a prince."

An angry snort. "She is more than pretty enough for a prince. Far better than the lot of them."

Softly, "That is because you like her best."

"Why would I not?" your father replies gruffly, making you smile. "A storm grinds and brews inside of her, wife. Even Maestre Loes, the old gnat that he is, sees my bloodline thick in her. Even if the King asks for her hand at this very moment, I would refuse. I would throw him off Storm's End with a smile on my face and a boot on his back."

You fight off a snort as your mother grumbles about treason and Maris.

"She is far better than the best of them." Another sigh. Heavier. "Why are we sending her?"

Your mother sighs. "Because as she is the best of them, she is the best of us. She will survive far better in that cesspit they call a keep than any of our daughters. Her storm can tame dragons."

You would argue that that too is treasonous given the context, but your father merely laughs. His laughter is a crackle and a boom.

"I would upheave our coffers to witness that."

Though you find her odd, you enjoy spending your time with the Princess Helaena. Mostly, she is quiet, in her own little world. Though it took time to get used to her many-legged friends, you soon realised the best times you spend with her are when shipments and gifts of pinned butterflies and books that have reached as far as Yi-Ti, to get to Kings Landing about bugs, and undeniable excitement unfurls in the Princess' face. More like a girl, a sweet one.

It makes her already cherub features appear more child-like, and she grasps your hand voluntarily as she points at each and every critter she recognises. It is so very rare to see true happiness in the princess' visage, and in her enjoyment, you see your sisters.

That is how you meet him, the Prince Aemond.

Princess Helaena had gone for tea with the Queen. It had not been planned. Though she often spent tea with family, either the Queen or the Lord Hand, or either of the Princes. Something had occurred, so now that Princess was having tea with her Queen Mother and her husband. If you had to guess, it was likely that Prince Aegon was being punished in some way.

Though there is no love lost between siblings, it makes you sniff at how blatant the prince's obscene indulgent for vices are. Princess Helaena didn't mind, rather, she didn't care unless they needed to spend time together, a clockwork patch of routine, and that was when you usually came in— you later realised, your primary job — soothing her nerves and distracting her thoughts before she had to enter her marriage chambers.

There is a resigned defeat in her, a woman's duty bearing down, looming like the Mother, and it makes you want to soothe her harder. Make her laugh.

With the change of plans, it was up to you to check for the new shipments of the Princess' things. A dictated note in your hand of the princess' handwriting, you were going through her boxes when a hand, gloved, rests on your shoulder.

"Do not move," a cool voice says behind you. Far too close for propriety.

You freeze. "Pardon?"

"I do not want to scare you, my lady, but there is a critter atop your head." The cool, calm voice waves off a steady rhythm to your heart, calming it further from the earlier panic of someone laying a hand on you (although this, is still not better. You are a lady and unmarried after all). "I will rid of it immedi—"

"No."

"... Pardon?"

"Where is it? Just atop my head?"

"... Yes?"

"It maybe poisonous, pease do not touch it." Before the owner of the hand and the calm voice could react, you pat your head until you touch a hairy, small thing with many legs. Relief spreads. "There you are."

"There you are?" The voice says, almost mocking, incredulously.

You huff, taking the spider in both of your hands, before you tilt your chin behind you, only seeing the gloved hand. "Please take your hand away from me."

The hand retreats. You turn.

Valyrian features are most uncommon than your own, and the jolt of recognising the pale, white hair is a strike to your being, a gasp falling from your lips. It is the one-eyed mask that tells you immediately who it is, but you string everything else you know of the prince.

Prince Aemond had been travelling to Oldtown, a visit requested by the Queen in the guise of seeing family, his brother. But there had been whispers of something more, as the chatter of the maids who cleaned up in the King's quarters talked about how ill he got day by day.

You had seen flashes of him before this, but fate had kept you two apart. You were not there when he visited the princess— on another errand or two, and he starkly ever looked at the ladies surrounding his sister with a vehement light as their voices, high pitched and dreary, tire him so on a good day, increasingly irritating on a bad one, and anyway, the silence that falls in a stone room just from his arrival is enough to irk him.

But here is he now, with one eyebrow rose, a good eye of icy blue iris, and the very visage of a warrior in black leathers, a braided hair pulled to one side, and pursed lips in both amusement and annoyance.

He hums. The sound kicks back your manners, blushing lightly at having gaped at him for far longer than pleasantry dictates, and you pull yourself into a bow.

"My apologies, my prince, I didn't know it was you. I was scared you were going to hurt the Princess' new friend."

"They are bugs," he says steadily. "Not her friends."

"Like so, but just because they have many a legs do not mean we cannot befriend them." A small smile plays on your lips before you place back the spider in the cage he got out of. It is something you had once said to the princess to make her laugh. You feel his stare burn at the side of your face. "Is there a matter, my prince?"

"You are the Lady Baratheon, are you not?"

"I am." A small, ironic smirk tugs at your lips. "Is it the hair?"

He makes a soft sound that exhales like a laugh out of closed lips. He's still quite close, you can feel his warmth and idly wonder if all Targaryens truly do have the blood of the dragons in them for you can feel the contours of him, burning at the edges of his being. Like a comforting little furnace.

"Hm. And the princess has taken quite the liking to you. You are all she talks about during sup."

You can't help it, you're smiling. So many rumours concerning the young prince, not all of them good, but there is a certain novelty in basking under the attention of a prince of the realm. A Valyrian beauty that brought an ethereal glow to him. As so intently stares, catching pieces and niches as if you are the most fascinating creature.

The attention makes you feel like a blushing lady.

"My apologies then, my prince."

He cocks his head, the braid dipping and you catch the movement in your peripheral. "Whatever for my lady?"

You turn to him, unable to curb the cheek to your smile. "For interrupting better conversations with the topic of my name plaguing your sups so."

His mouth twists into a smirk. In Aemond's mind, it is not oft that ladies, especially Helaena's ladies, would care to... flirt with him. Because this is you flirting, is it not? The coy gaze, the curl at the edge of your lips? Aemond has seen these faces in ladies and maids alike, but directed at others. At Aegon.

Directed at Aemond... bereave to keep their conversations to themselves, and though it is not always a fault of theirs for his stoicism is his most valued armour, one would resign oneself of an arranged marriage that will take long moons before his lady wife would see the truest him, that he would not be able to experience such... coy conversations with the opposite sex.

Yet here you are, a light dust of red in your cheeks, a quirk in your mouth, and the playful joust in your eyes, daring him into a swords' dance.

It is thrilling.

"Plaguing is too harsh of a word to say so about a lady of your stature, Lady Baratheon." He steps closer, aware of propriety standards of how close two unwedded people should be, but he feels intoxicated of the whiff of life exhuming from your visage. A light citrus, oranges? Lemons? Tart and sweet, with a powdery finish. It is so very ladylike.

Addicting.

The perfect smell for a lady wife, a musing thought.

"Is that so?"

"Intriguing, I would say, would be the better word."

You laugh, low and sweet. It sends a pleasant warm to his centre. "I'm afraid my memory is failing for I do not remember any wily adventure or conversation the princess and I had for a prince of the realm to say I intrigue him so."

"It is less... about wily adventures or interesting conversations that pique my interest, but the lady herself." His eye, though lone, the other remaining hidden behind an eyepatch with hints of scarred, twisted skin underneath, bore against yours as if he wished to gather all your strings and see what each would give him. What you would show him.

"I'm afraid to disappoint you, my prince, but I still fail to see how I can ever so pique your interest." You meet his gaze, smirking. "I am just me."

Before he can answer, step forward— whatever, he is staring at the curve of your lips so, at the enchanting shimmer of your eyes, and Aemond Targaryen felt breathless — your named is called, and the spell is broken. The prince steps back, taking more space between you that is more appropriate.

His hand flexes.

But that is not the last you see of the prince, nor the last time you are able to hold a conversation with him. It seems that since then, you find yourselves orbiting each other in the fringes before one steps forward and engages. There seems to be a band that tightens either of you so obsessed with seeing the other in the periphery, the topic whatever may came, even as inane as the weather.

It is a dance of swords, kissing blades of sharp quips and interesting parry. You are interesting. Beguiling. Devouring. Aemond searches for you in most places now, unable to stop himself from asking his dearest sister about you— even his mother and grandsire have taken notice, eyebrows rose between shared looks.

"House Baratheon is of a Great House," his mother hesitantly brought up, too focused on her soup for it to just be idle chatter above sup.

"It is." His forced passivity is not as apathetic as he can make it. For any mention of you and your origins thrums his heart in a dance.

"And the Lady Baratheon has many admirers, a kind and dutiful lady, and Helaena likes her so."

He turned to his mother then, humming. At the barest hint of a smile in her son's face, Alicent beamed.

But others from court also soon took notice, and when Aemond realises the wagging tongues had come to note your name— unkind whispers besmirching your person, he disappears from you altogether.

The differences become stark to him; realising what a foolish endeavour it is to want you. Though he is a prince, he is mutilated, a monster that will ruin you. You are too good for him, a warmth he had forgone in the face of misery, apathy, and hatred. The urge to conquer your every thought and sound, from your fingertips to the top of your hair... it is a gasping thought, one he shamefully sins at the blackest hours, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of what you had looked like that day. The sound of your laughter, the pull of your lips when you smiled, the gasp you let out when you touched water that had been too cold— his mind bends and moves, and images of you, images that he will have to pray for the in morrow but cannot stop—

Moves him to completion, a strangle grunt of your name from his lips.

And yet, every night since, it happens again and again.

The more he pulled away from you, the more he wanted you. It is a debase urge, one more fit for his drunken cur of a brother than he, more creature than man.

But he cannot stop, so the torturous cycle continues.

Until you've had enough.

You know that during hours of inky night, the prince prefers the sanctum of the library. Not always, and lately, not often, but if there are a few things you learned in the hunting trips your father brought you that your mother never approved of, is that lying in wait, patient, deals a hand much better.

And on the fourth day of your waiting, your hair in a braid, a book on your lap, and a small candlelit close by as to not alert any spooked princes— the door opens at the Hour of Eel, the familiar and sorely missed footfalls of a quiet but sure-footed prince enters.

You admire him for a moment, hidden as you are, your stare drinks in the ever smooth of his twilight-spun hair, those pursed lips and straight lines. He's lithe but you know, having been offered his arm on every walk, he is made of hard muscle. Aemond always walks so smoothly, like a panther, or a gazelle, with the barest hint of austre he can never hide.

It's the prince in him, you giggle to yourself.

A sweet pang in your chest is the reminder of how much you missed his presence. And that ends tonight.

With his back turned, perusing a shelf, you shuffle and make yourself known with a soft, almost admonishing voice.

"Good eve, my prince."

He stiffens, hand poised against a spine of a tome. He barely turns, only his head to the floor, in the general direction of you. "My lady. I did not expect you to be here."

Frustrated, you sigh loudly. "Have I offended you so horribly? Dishonoured you in some way?"

"What?"

"Why can't you even look at me, Aemond?"

A sharp intake of breath. When he speaks again,his voice is changed. "You forget yourself, my lady."

There is an ache to your being, pursuing your lips. "You had given me permission with your given name, my prince, or have you forgotten?" Anger overcomes propriety. Fuck propriety. You charge toward him, heavy, angered steps until you're close enough. "Can't you at least look at me, look at me as you push me away as if I amnothing—"

He turns abruptly, one eye flashing as he grasps your elbows in a grip. His eyes zero in on your lips as a gasp falls, eyes widen— if you could see better, you'd notice the darkened gaze drinking you in. Your widened eyes, your open lips— and Sevens, only a robe hides your nightgown, the smooth expanse of your skin is more bare to him than ever before.

His beautiful, beloved stag.

"You have never been nothing to me, nēdenka riña brave girl," he hisses. "Konir sagon se drīve That is the reason."

"Prince A-Aemond?" you say. He is against the shadows of the moonlight, only his hands holding your own is illuminated.

A wrangled exhale falls from his lips. You follow the sound, worried.

"Are you? Injured? Are you okay?"

"I have not been okay for the moment I met you," he rasps, hands bruising in his hold.

"Well. Gods. I'm sorry. If it's such a offense—"

"It is an offence!" he growls, pulling you abruptly that you yelp, bathed in shadows and darkness together, your eyes adjust as you scramble to have thoughts apart from just being this close to him. Hearing a voice you had never heard of him before, untethered from his princely visage, from manners and proper, and it makes you burn.

The thoughts of wanting him close, of taking more of that space until you are chest to chest are blushing thoughts.

But there is honour still, for he holds you at least an arm's away.

"I have wanted you the moment I have laid eyes on you," he whispers, voice rough, exhausted. "And each day I spend with you, each hour— my honour stands in shambles, in ruins at my feet for I want you as a man wants a woman. Honourably and... and carnally."

You swallow, and he follows the movement like a predator tracking his prey. The blush in your cheeks, the way your lips press together as if you are just as starved of him as he to you— oh, you want him too, don't you?

One hand moves from your elbow to slowly reach up. Your arms, your collarbones, your neck. A thumb brushing your cheek and your eyes flutter.

Aemond wants to devour you.

"You plague me so, and I crave you."

"Then have me," you sigh.

His eye closes. "I cannot sully—"

You grasp his neck, bringing your mouth close to his. "You cannot sully what is freely given. If you crave me, I want you."

Honour unbound, a snap is tightened by the hunger that uncoils from a dragon that wants you. Aemond had grabbed the back of your head, tangled his fingers, and made a mess of your mouth.

Gasps and teeth, touching skin from where you can feel it— touching skin from where you unbuckle, tear through hem and push against cloth. When he slams you again the shelf, a moan so lewd falls from your lips that he groans, pulling your nightgown until he feels the heat from your very womanhood, and so, so wet, that when he flicks his thumb, curious and entranced, moving it around experimentally, you are a mess of sound and feeling, gasping his name, A-aemond, oh gods, please, and he is whispering, forgive me, f-forgive me, like love letters, like penitent, like a kiss from a traitor so wrong but so tasteful against your skin as he pulls himself from his confinements, holds you steady, and breaches your tight cunt.

Just before a scream tears through your throat, he devours your sound, holding you steady, until the pain bleeds pleasure and you are holding him like an anchor in dangerous seas. You cannot think or feel anyone else but him; what you are and who you are do not stand a chance as Aemond Targaryen swallows your senses.

It is harsh and fast, it is sweet and devouring, and more, more, more, you don't know what you're begging him, you feel like a devout and he feels like a god, grunting against your skin, biting through anything his teeth grazes. When he shifts you at an angle, finding a spot that feels like a lightning striking through your entire being, you are screaming, twitching, reaching a high so blinding it feels like white death.

"Is that it? That sweet spot?" he purrs, a breathless laugh, shocked and delighted drinking in your trembling and pleasure. "Your cunt is tight against my own, holding me like you never want to let go." You cry out when his cock hits that spot again. Your combined wetness makes an obscene squelch, just as pretty as the sound you utter. He smirks. "Can you hear that? Not even a whore can make a sound so sweet, hm?"

His teeth grazes your lips, sending shivers through your body as he licks the roof your mouth. "I want more of that sound. As your prince, you would grant me this, yes?"

But he isn't waiting for an answer, planting his feet and holding you steady, angling you back to that spot until he is snapping his hips, fucking into you as you can do nothing but beg and cry and tremble in the arms of a dragon taking what is his.

And you are.

You are his.

Maybe you had known it since then.

You definitely do when his seed floods your womb.

You want to say that that night was a fluke, a mistake that must be regretted. But once your gaze meets another, the fire burns, flickering and dancing, and it repeats. In quick fucks in dangerous spots, to slow, sweet love making in his room.

You are his, in mind, body and soul.

"Death is nothing but a friend," he murmurs against your neck, holding you close. Sweat cooling between your naked bodies. "It cannot stop me from finding you."

"I hope you say that to my father well," you tease.

" Marrying you is but the next step, my love. You are already mine as I am yours." He plays with your hair, brushing it past and kissing a bruise he made on your breast. "In face of every god and more, they will understand that we are but one soul."

You can plan the future in rose-coloured gaze for as much as you can, but the truth of marrying into a family with war brewing inside of it, held together by a dying king's hope and corpse fingertips— it is another matter entirely.

It all comes to a sharp clarity when Viserys I dies... and they keep his rotting corpse a secret.

And then they crown a whoremongering drunk.

"Aemond," you break into the silence, your entire being too cold for comfort. You had just come back from a privy council, a Green Council where the Queen had ordered you and your betrothed to reach Storm's End before the night fully breaks.

As if she knew where your loyalties are.

As if there is no question you will support the usurpation.

You turn to Aemond, busy with packing his things for they have bared the maids and people the of Keep. Because they are making Aegon as king and they know a revolt is underneath the floorboards.

"Aemond!"

"What? What has happened?" He looks confused, irritated. "We must make haste, my love, if we are to beat the storms at—"

"Princess Rhaenyra is Queen," you whisper but it could have been a scream. Saying it aloud gives you confidence, strengthening your resolved. You turn to him. "She is the King's heir, no one else. Aemond, this is an usurpation, unlawful in the eyes of—"

It takes little strides for him to reach you, for him to hold your neck in a tightened grip of warning.

"She," he spits, slow and careful as if you are a simpleton in need of teaching, "is a whore who is attempting to place her bastards on the Iron Throne. Rhaenys Targaryen held no chance of it, just as she. My brother is the firstborn son. He is king." His fingers dig into your skin. "You will do well as my wife to not speak of such blasphemy once more, do you understand?"

Your shock and fear melt from your visage, making way for compliance. You nod once. "Yes, my prince."

"Husband," he corrects, holding you much gentler but the weight of his hand is still there on your neck. A reminder. "Have you forgotten? We only come to Storm's End to officiate our union and your House's loyalty to the King. Once done, we will marry, yes?"

You nod, hands fisting. "Yes."

When he kisses you, harsh and needy, imprinting his will unto you— you close your eyes and plan how you make known to your Queen of their plots.

But Storm's End doesn't go as planned, does it?

Lucerys Velaryon, the Queen's son who had come as nothing more but an envoy for the rightful heir, and Aemond—what you thought to be your Aemond but a monstrous man who needed his revenge, who needed to draw blood for a grudge so deep, for an existence he finds so abysmal — had chased after him and came back to you bloodied, tearing up your dress, rutting in you in harsh, rough thrusts, as you listen to the storms from your window and think,

The Queen will never find his body. Her poor, sweet boy. Half in the belly of a beast, the rest spread and sunken into the water.

"I will not allow any marriage until the realm is at peace," your Lord Father rumbled with finality. He is not a smart man, truly, but he is a father. His gaze meets yours, full of meaning, of promises, before looking back at the seething prince. "You will have my bent knee for your king and for your war, but my daughter's hand shall be her own until the realm is at ease."

Your mother steps forward, her courtly smile on her face. "We want for her to have a grand wedding, my prince. She is the first of our charges to wed, and to a prince of the realm no less! By sure, at the time of war, we must err on the side of caution, as our coffers will no doubt focus on our troops. A future princess of the realm must be mindful, of course."

She bows in deference, your sisters following suit. Maris is the first to look up, defiance burning in her eyes.

You remember a conversation with him, feeling like a lifetime ago.

"Ask me, my prince," you teased. "What a storm is to a dragon. A creature is a creature. Even you must acquiesce to the way of nature for she has bowed to no one since her existence."

Aemond may be blood of the dragons, but he is surrounded by storms on all sides. The fiercest.

And your father will never marry you to a Kinslayer.

Yet you stay beside him, your duty now clearer than ever. Every new information you can grasp is sent back to the Queen and her council. In a courtier of the Greens and Traitors, you are the sole Black Stag. You use Aemond's adoration for you, his possessive obsession of what he thinks is love, as a protection and guise.

Any time he beds you, you sneak in moon tea. His bedding of you is just as much his hold on you and his defiance against your father's refusal. Once caught, you remind him he would not enjoy a bastard child. Especially at a time of war. Not after what they had done to his nephews.

"Do you want for me to suffer as your sister does?" The tears in your face then had not been a folly, for your heart broke for sweet Helaena and her sons. For Jaehaera. The world bleeds and bleeds, and all who die that reaches your ears are nothing more but innocents.

Aemond does not bed you after that, but he keeps you in his chambers, pulls you close as if he is trying to mould your skins as one. Times like this, your heart stutters. Your love to him and your morality as a person is at a test of swords.

You are in love with him,

He is a monster,

He has lost his nephews,

He has killed his own.

And it makes you wonder if you are a monster too, lying beside him as his bedmate, caring for him, wanting him still as his heart beats as your own, so connected to the umbilical of fate and chance while war rages, bodies falling all around you both, most from his own hand and word.

The war rages, and Harrenhal comes to view.

With it, a slaughter and a witch.

The worst of the massacre is the steely, lulling silence.

No one tells you that most of what an execution is that silence. That it amplifies each scream, each shout, each thick drop of a head as it falls on cobblestone. The sound is wet and a mouthful. Then it is nothing, consumed by that silence again.

You are locked in a room with a window that doesn't face the horror of what Aemond is doing. As if this is enough to shield you from what he is, what he truly is doing to win this war.

The worst part, committing genocide of an entire house is nothing more but a horrific grudge.

Strong blood spills, enough to make a lake.

By the time that night bleeds and a maid had entered with dinner to light a fire— your body is still so cold. No food has touched your stomach since the day before yet you retch.

Does loving a monster meant that you are just as monstrous?

Mayhaps it is still worth it, you muse in your silent madness, tears tracking your cheeks as the heaviness of your being stays. For who can say a monster can love you so monstrously? Who else can?

When Aemond comes back to you, freshly cleaned and a reminiscent of the prince that you loved, and he is making excuses of wanting you as you are, pawing at your clothes, you let him. You make love in the silence suffering from the massacre he had just finished. You hold him and kiss him in a desperation as you know this will be your ending.

That your Aemond is gone, or worse. He had never truly existed.

When you are both spent, satiated in a sweet glow, your head pleasantly quiet, he speaks about a plan.

A woman, a Strong witch, that promises him an assurance of winning with her sights and blasphemous magic. He had spared her among others, and that itself makes you look at him, truly look at him.

In exchange of what— for such things do not concede so easily as gratitude to mercy of one life, yes? Because desire devours itself. A snake eating itself.

"A child," he whispers against your battered head and bruised heart. "From my blood."

"A bastard," you murmur as he stiffens. "From a bastard Strong. Surely the irony is not lost on you? You have started this war by killing your bastard nephew, and you plan on ending it by fathering—"

"Do not question me," he says softly, grip tightening against your arms. Your eyes close, heavy with the weight of being a spy. Of loving him. "I will fuck a babe in her how many times it takes, and when the war is won, I will kill her and it. For your womb is the only place my lineage will live. I am doing this for the good of the realm. For us."

When he thinks you are asleep and leaves— you take your things and make haste to leave. Not once has your people left you in the arms of the kinslayer. Always one maid, always three guards from your father's army, loyal to only you.

You bundle up quick, and rush for the passage, you are blocked by a woman. Pale skin, dark hair, and eyes greener than wildfire. You know her before she speaks. You hold yourself to fight, and the witch of Harrenhal laughs.

"You have changed the tide of destiny, my lady." Her head tilts as if she can see past you and through you. "Once your choice has affirmed, your thread chosen, I cannot stand in the side of the One-Eyed Kinslayer without the Stranger coming for me. So instead, I will grant you one gift. One that will require no sacrifice."

"I do not want it."

"Ah, but it is a gift." She nods at your torso. "Your belly will soon take size, in it, his heir. You will not escape him as soon as he knows." Her head twists to the window. A raven flies. A storm grumbles. The sound comes first before the lightning strikes. A false storm. "Time is flowing, changing and twisting. He may have betrayed his kin, but he is still a prince. He will know soon."

Her green eyes glint as if she is seeing now and tomorrow. Now and a moon. Moon from a year. "You must run now. Hide and hide well."

You hold your stomach, bile rising in your throat. "Where? Where am I safe?"

A faint smile rises to her lips. "Your heir looks more like him than mine did. You will not escape him. But go north. As far North as you can. The fjords can hide him for a while. He will grow well there."

She moves away, letting you pass.

You never look back.

Dark locks. Baratheon hair.

A tuff of silver lock atop his head.

And the rest... his nose, his eyes. With your fingers, you pull his lids. Bloom in mullish blue with the faintest tint of iridescent violet. You know from your histories, that faint tint will overpower the blue.

Oh, he is utterly beautiful. Utterly yours. And utterly his father's son.

Rough breaths strangle out of your raw-bitten lips, brushing blood away from your babe's face, his head, his wet, silvery hair. Few they maybe, unmistakably Valyrian features they still are.

"Oh, he is beautiful," your mother murmurs, tears stain her cheeks. "Quiet as you were, as a babe. Looks just as much as you."

She is weighing his Valyrian features too. Your blood tried, but it seemed as if Aemond's grudge grasped your womb and affected your shared blood.

"We cannot stay," you say, still staring at him, admiring him. Your heart locking in place, steeling itself as you prepare to do your utmost to protect him. "We will have to travel posthaste."

Your mother swallows her grief. She had almost lost you. She will lose you again, now along with her only grandchild. "Where?"

"North. As far as North as we can."

Your mother nods. Ever a lady. "I will send a missive. The Lord Stark is loyal to the Queen and knows by how much you have sacrificed for this realm. He will protect you on his honour or he is no Stark."

You will need to hide. You will need to hide well.

You pull him close to your chest, hot tears freshly spilling from your eyes.

The witch had not lied, for your boy grew up amongst ice and warmth. He grows up with love from you, from the Lord Stark and his people, and love from his father in the way that he resembles him.

The slope of his nose, the sweet purse of his lips.

When your boy had gotten angry once, nothing but a quick burst, it shocks fear and tears from your eyes for you had seen the prince.Nothing more than a flash.

You pull him close and wound him to your heart as he cried, apologising for scaring you.

The North had granted you reprieve from the war as it came and went. Your betrayal to the Greens had mounted to the Black Queen's win. The betrayal of House Baratheon as House Stark and their bannermen joined the fray had squandered any rebellious thought on which sovereign will preside.

The last you heard of what became the Prince Regent was his surrender at the Battle Above God's Eye.

When you had cried that night, you did not know if it was from relief. Or fear.

But a black stag on white snow is easy to spot.

It takes years, yes, but the Stranger is but an old friend.

For when the day of your wedding to the Lord Stark arrives, a familiar screech of a dragon that your marrow will never forget— tolls the bell of death.

And when you looked up, snow swirling, holding onto your son that looked up in awe at the man who looked so much like him—

Aemond is smiling.

Sweet came the word— dracarys! — as Vhagar split her mouth opened and obeyed her rider.

What have I told you?

You are mine as I am yours.

In face of every god and more, they will understand that you and I are but one soul.

[princessbellecerise]

Touch The Skies

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

summary | In which Aemond finally takes you flying on Vhagar

warnings | None

this is a work of fiction. i do not own these characters

divider by @princessbellecerise

You know you shouldn’t be scared, but you were.

The nerves that pooled in your stomach almost made you sick, but you hid them from Aemond as he lead you up the hill, not wanting to making your dear husband upset.

After all, you know how much of an honor this is. For him to even consider showing you Vhagar was one thing, but for him to propose that you ride her?

That was an entirely different story. A true honor, seeing as Aemond had never let anyone ride on Vhagar’s back expect for himself. When you got married, you always assumed that he wouldn’t even let you get close to the dragon he had fought to claim.

But alas, here you were. Ascending the cliff that the gigantic beast rested on, for she was too big for the Dragonpit the ancient Targaryens had designed. A monster in her own right, and utterly terrifying to see in person.

Your stomach churned a little more but you tried your best to keep a brave face. The warnings your dear husband still rang through your head:

Do not ever let a dragon sense your fear. They will deem you weak, and the weak are treated as prey.

Those words nearly paralyzed you; reminding you over and over you could not fault. You had to be as strong as your husband was, fearlessly walking up the dragon as if he was the bigger monster.

Aemond’s back was straight, gaze strong as he first approached the dragon. You lingered back a little bit further way at his command; the Targaryen needing to speak to his dragon before you approached.

Curiously, you watched as words of old Valyria flew from his tongue, prompting the gigantic beast to turn it’s head to your husband.

Yellow eyes stared into lilac ones, and for a moment, all was still. You held your breath as Aemond repeated his commands and Vhagar grumbled. The hefty dragon looked as if she were barely listening to your husband, but you soon found that it was quite the opposite.

Vhagar did heed his commands, and underneath you the ground shook as she moved around. Almost like she was positioning herself, getting herself into the right angle so that Aemond could comfortably mount her.

So that you could mount her.

“Come, my love. She has granted my wish for you to join me.”

You gulped as Aemond held out his hand for you, nerves eating you alive as he awaited for you to join him by the dragon’s side. You hadn’t been this nervous ever since your wedding day—and even then you were sure you didn’t sweat half as much as you were right now.

Clammy hands are what met your husband’s, Aemond giving you a look as you slowly allowed him to pull you towards the beast’s side. You could barely contain your beating heart but the soft tugs and gentle touches from your husband are enough to calm you down a little. At least enough for you finally get close without collapsing all together, Aemond taking your bare hand and lacing it with his before gently setting it on top of Vhagar’s rough hide.

Like you expected, the dragon felt hot and her thick scales had been softened by age. By all means, she was exactly what you pictured a dragon being like. But you had to admit—she was eerily calm as your fingers ghosted over her. Something you weren’t expecting but clearly Aemond was by the way he smiled a bit.

“See?” Aemond’s eye glinted as Vhagar softly growled but still allowed you to touch her. “I told you there was nothing to worry about, sweet wife. She clearly likes you; probably even more than she does me.”

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t be the first time, dear husband,” You laughed shakily, earning a sharp, playfully glare from Aemond. He stood by closely and allowed you to keep stroking Vhagar’s hide before eventually taking your hand again.

Clasping your fingers together, you shared a look and you knew what that meant. Gulping, you let out a breath as Aemond nudged you forward and encouraged you to take the first step towards riding; placing your feet in the ladder and climbing onto the back of the dragon.

Since Vhagar was so large, it was impossible to mount her without doing this. And so, steadily your feet ascended, one after the other as Aemond followed closely behind.

You could feel the encouraging hands of you husband nudging your thighs as you aimed to reach Vhagar’s saddle, ensuring that you would not fall backwards as you climbed. Grateful for this small act of affection, you briefly smiled and then when you finally reached the top, you paused.

You examined the reins which were worn by the various riders of Vhagar and the sheer size of the mount. If that did not help put into perspective how large this dragon was, you didn’t know what would. Of course, you knew that she was huge but staring at the added space of the saddle had your jaw dropped.

Easily, Vhagar could have carried at least twenty people on her own. Maybe even more.

If it was not for the fact that Dragons only bonded with one rider, you had no doubts she could be used as a very useful mode of transportation.

Luckily though, your husband was the only one that held any sort of claims to her. And now you—sort of—as you settled between Aemond and the reigns of the saddle.

Behind you, you felt your husband shifting as he gathered the ropes and all the proper measure before the two of you took flight. He took extra care doing this, making sure that every precaution was met so that no danger would be presented to you.

You found that most of the safety ropes were wrapped around your waist which left Aemond vulnerable a little. If something were to happen or if Vhagar turned upside down, he would not be as protected as you.

Briefly, this caused you to frown but then you chastised yourself for not believing in your husband. Of course—he had done this plenty of times, ever since the age of ten. Now nine and ten, Aemond was sure to know what he was doing and how to control his own dragon.

You did not need to fear for your husband, only seek his warmth as your back pressed to his.

“Are you almost ready, ñuha jorrāelagon?” My love. You smiled briefly as Aemond purred in your ear, turning your body slightly so that you could look him in the eye. Already finding him staring at you with a soft expression, you nodded and then pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, dōna valzȳrys,” You sighed, the organs in your stomach beginning to twist and turn with anxiety.

You hadn’t even taken flight yet but you were already nervous. As one should be when riding a literal dragon for the first time, but deep down you knew that you had nothing to fear.

Not when you had your sweet husband with you.

Aemond would never let anything happen to you, and it was this thought that calmed you enough to stay still as Vhagar shook and groaned.

After a few commands from your Lord Husband, she was ready to take flight. And you gulped as your body began swaying along with her, holding on for dear life as she walked towards the edge of the cliff and then made her descent.

A scream—no perhaps a shout of caution got stuck in your throat as she dived downhill, not even being able to release it due to the backlash of the wind. The very particles seemed to nip at your face and all but rendered you breathless, your body going limp as Aemond laughed behind you.

Out of everything, you weren’t expecting your husband to laugh at your misfortune. But alas, while his beast was busy trying to take flight, he leaned forward and caught a glimpse of your face. Priceless—you were sure it had to be. Yours cheeks all but molded by the wind and your mouth open with a silent scream.

Aemond shook behind you, and you breathed like you had never done so before as Vhagar finally straightened out. Her wings spread, and finally you were granted the pleasure of sanity as she flew through the skies.

“See? That was not so bad, my love,” Aemond teased.

You had some not so nice words your husband but you decided to hold your tongue since he was being nice today. Letting you ride Vhagar, which slowly became a more pleasant experience the further you got into your venture.

Eventually, you had stopped holding your breath and allowed yourself to really and truly enjoy the experience of riding a dragon, opting to keep your eyes open to ogle at the sights below you.

It was like Vhagar was touching the skies and you saw everything from mountains, to lakes, to people in boats that ogled you as you shook the water.

Everything that you could possibly imagine, right there under your fingertips. The beautiful sights and land on display only for you; and your husband as he leaned into you.

Eventually, Aemond had taken to relaxing as well once he was sure Vhagar was at a steady pace. This allowed him start pointing certain things out, filling you in on all the things he had seen while you nodded.

You loved hearing him talk about his ventures, especially during a time where you were both so relaxed. It was rare to see your husband look so peaceful, carefree in a way he was not on land. That’s because up in the skies, there existed no worries, no duties. Just the two of you and the soft lulling of Vhagar’s wings.

It made you hum, and it let you savior this moment like it was going to be your last one earth. Your last memory would be of the heavens opening up to you.

As she flew, that’s exactly what it felt like. And perhaps now you understood why people always claimed that Targaryen’s were closer to Gods than men; for now you knew that no man, not even yourself, could ever replicate this kind of serenity without the likes of dragons.

[crazyaboutto]

The pain of being a book reader that’s been made into a show

The writers and directors literally have completed series in their hands. They have the writer’s feedback as well or at least they initially said so in season 1.

Why the fuck are they deviating from canon so much? I’m trying to think HOTD as high budgeted fan fiction but damn it’s so hard. You’re getting paid a lot and working on one of the most well known series and you just fuck up

I was already pissed with Aegon’s dream nonsense as well as Rhaenys bursting out of coronation just for shock value but it’s going downhill fast. That dream leads to absolutely nothing. We don’t even have NK like the GOT version in the books. Also, still prefer book version of Alicent both age and character wise.

It was so fast paced in season 1 and now they’re dragging the story. They’re also deviating from the canon a lot

Why does Alicent actually believe “that’s what Viserys wanted”? She wants the throne for her bloodline and that’s it. It’s her wish for power, not for actually believing in whatever Viserys was saying.

It also feels like Rhaenyra would be fine with Aegon’s usurping if Luke didn’t die. She is the throne. The war started when the greens hid the death of the king.

Why is Daemon tripping for so long? He took harrenhall and that’s it. He raised the armies 3 times before the Dance. He’s a fearsome and competent general but he’s basically just a random dude who took acid trips. Ryan saying Daemon doesn’t have the skill set to raise an army lmao give me a break

Perhaps, they do not want to show cruel side of Rhaenyra by ordering the death of Nettles and not harming Daemon after Mysaria told Rhaenyra? on one hand, Daemon might have cheated with Nettles, or it was father-daughter relationship like Mushroom thinks. It feels like they’re wasting our time with Daemon’s trips like him fucking his mother nonsense to erase Nettles.

Why are they trying to erase the connection between Valyrian and dragons? No normal person can bond with a dragon. Be it Valeryon or Targaryen, you need Valyrian blood. And the whole stupid “illusion” thing in the show.

They also wasted Laena so badly in season 1. If they’re all for sapphic representation instead of just creating buzz on internet, they could have gone for Laena x Rhaenyra moments. I’m not even sure if the adult versions were on screen together. Soon after we got older Laena, she died. It’s literally book canon that Rhaenyra was “very fond” of Laena. It’s also pretty much implied that there were things between them and ot3 with Daemon

Not to mention they erased the lesbian fighter character who loves killing men and kissing women. I’m talking about Sabitha (Frey) and her lover Alysanne Blackwood. Would rather (want to) see them acting like they’re “very close friends” than a Alicole sex scene

We don’t even have Daeron lol

We haven’t seen Haelena’s mourning well instead we saw random things. Blood and Cheese wasn’t even done properly. If you’re slowing down the pace and will end the Dance in season 3, at least show more of Haelena’s mourning. Show the sibling interactions between the greens.

Another thing, who the hell is Aeriana? Her?

I’m just reminded of how after the books ended, D&D took liberties with characters and we got the clusterfuck of season 7-8. Now I feel like they’ll do the same thing in season 3

And I fear what they’ll do with Aegon the conqueror. Like maybe he tricked Visenya and Rhaenys into marrying him and conquering the 7 kingdoms? Maybe the sisters didn’t want to kill but were forced to because they’re such angels? Or Visenya can’t fight well

Why does HBO keep making shows about the house it abhors?

[the-fiction-witch]

In The Eyrie P2

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - Sharra Arynn (OC - Dark Hair / Plus Sized / Pale Skin) Rating - Sweet Word Count - 1261

Plus size OC described as 'Chubby' not meant in a derogatory way

Part One

As the guard led him out of the throne room and through the halls, Jace felt himself with mixed emotions at what was to come. When they reached the door to his betrothed, he was given a look by the guard. A silent warning to be on his best behaviour. The door was opened and Jacaerys moved inside the door slamming shut behind him, he found the chamber to be very beautiful, the grey Vale stone with curtains of blue and white, many windows and sweet stains and silks, furniture of dark wood and blue fabric, two balconies one to the courtyard and he thought of the woman who he had seen looking down at him, to think that may have been her and another balcony to the outside of the castle. He looked around and saw no one but he heard singing like a sweet songbird from the open balcony door. Jacaery’s eyes were drawn to the balcony he stepped out curious about the sight he might see.

The sight in front of him was not a surprise but the voice and melody were one he could not resist, he was stunned. He saw the grey stone balcony that overlooked the Vales rolling hills, birds came to a birdhouse built into the balcony walls, birds settling in before the storm took hold, and on the balcony stood a woman. She looked his age, with long dark brown hair, pale skin, and a beautiful gown of blue velvet and silver embroidery, She had a voice like an angel, but immediately he noticed she was chubby, she had wide hips, broad shoulders but she had freckles she wasn't a Westeros standard of beautiful by any means.

Jacaerys knew in the moment that this was his betrothed. After a long stare, he felt a knot fill his stomach at her curves. She was chubby, he didn’t know how to feel about this, it wasn’t like terrible but mildly disappointing to him, but he felt bad immediately for thinking that, she was still a beauty in that as well. She possessed a charm and a comfort that he had never seen before. As he stared at her, his eyes wandered over her form, from head to toe. She was not what he pictured as his wife but she was a welcome change of pace from the typical beauty of the realm. He took a deep breath and tried to settle the nerves in his stomach as he finally spoke. He didn't want to appear rude or disrespectful to his betrothed, there could be a chance that their romance could bloom. He took a step forward to the woman.

"My Lady." Jace bowed his head formally, He tried his best to ignore it and appear respectful.

She gasped as he spoke as she hadn't heard him arrive, "My prince," she bowed her head as she kissed the head of a baby bird before helping it into the birdhouse and closing the small doors, she turned to him her hands Infront of her stomach picking at her nails as she can barely met eyes with him,

Jace would chuckle gently to himself at the sight before him. The way she took care of the birds and how she fiddled with her fingers. It reminded him of his mother in a way, she had a delicate manner about her. He had not expected this girl to be his wife, but she had captured his attention. The way she looked at him was what caught him most. "You care deeply for those birds don't you?"

"I do, I have watched over them in my room now for six generations. I make sure to take them in before each storm," she answered "I'm - forgive me but... Please do not feel you need to make small talk with me,” she said which stopped him a moment, “I understand that the meer sight of me is likely enough for you to make your decision please do not feel you need to be polite to me. You may just go,"

Jacaery’s heart skipped a beat at the words. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was she really allowing him to back out if this arrangement made him uncomfortable? That moment was all it took for him to understand what kind of person she was. A kind, sweet, generous woman who was undeserving of anything but the best. At that moment, Jace knew he had to try and make this one work. "I won't be leaving, my Lady."

"why ever not?"

Jace's smile grew upon his face as he looked her in the eyes. "Because just from what you have shown me, I can already see that you are more than what I ever could have hoped for in a wife. I have never had the opportunity to choose my bride, and you were not in my mind as what I sought after, but you seem to be exactly what I need."

"Please... Do not toy and tease me Prince Jacaerys"

Jacaerys paused at her words. She seemed very guarded and he thought he could fix that. He took a few steps toward her, she had a beauty about her that was much more than looks. "I do not toy or tease, my lady. You have captured my eye, my heart, and my interest. I have no desire to joke in this matter."

she stepped back widening the space between them "I offer this to you now. You may go. Now. And I will think no ill of you, you have my permission to go, to leave, and I will not argue with you. Please go. I could not bear another jest..."

The Prince's smile faded as he saw the terror in her eyes. She truly believed that she was unlovable, he could see it in her eyes like she was damaged from previous rejections. He could see a part of himself in her. A part that hurt, felt unwanted, unloved by the realm and even his own blood had called him a bastard, and he felt somewhat unwanted becuase of it. "I do not joke in this, nor do I wish to mock you as some cruel jape. I came here and I saw you, the sight before me was all I needed to see. A beauty that makes everything appear dim by comparison." he explained, "I came here to wed you and I'll be damned if I leave without you by my side as my wife. Let the world mock and laugh at us, but I would rather have someone sweet, and kind, that I can love by my side instead of one who fits their mould of beauty with no way of kindness of conversation. I see a beauty and a strength in you that others may not. I would marry you tomorrow if I could. But I beg of you, give me a chance."

she nodded and after a moment offered her arm to lead them both inside

Jace was stunned when she accepted, taking her arm as he followed her inside. He could feel his heart beating out of his chest, she had offered him the chance he had been looking for his entire life. She wasn't beautiful by Westerosi's standards but that didn't matter, she was beautiful to him. He glanced at her as he walked beside her, noticing her hands once more. They were soft, feminine, and full of beauty. Once inside, he couldn't help but notice the smell of the chamber itself and how it mixed with her sweet perfume. Everything about her was perfect.

Masterlist Of Jacaerys Velaryon

Tags (Sorry didn't see them till now)

@astarborntowrite

@ximetrevino2021

Commission Page

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

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

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

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

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Well... Here we are..... And here we are going omg. The poor reader doesn't even understand what she has signed herself up for ! Thank you so much for all the love and kind words and for coming along with me on this little journey hehehe &lt;3

Chapter 50: Farewell

It is not an easy burden to bear, being a woman. It is far harder when you are the eldest daughter at that. You will have to navigate your life at the whims of men. Stand pretty, but not too pretty. Be confident, but not loud. Be quiet, but have wisdom. 

To be a daughter, is a paradox. 

To be the eldest, is to be a second mother. 

You have to mature, and fast, whilst your brothers are given the allowance to grow slowly, and mature with age. You must support your parents and family at all times, and put the needs of your blood above your own. You are to be the doting daughter, sister, mother, wife, maid, and servant all in one. 

To be a nymph and a maiden. A teacher and a student.

To be a woman is a terrible thing. 

A life of struggle, doubled by the sex of your birth. 

Today you were faced with the hardest sacrifice of all. And whilst you would never be ready for it, your entire life had prepared you for this moment. To be wed to a man, who held no love for you. A political move no doubt, despite the attempts of your mother.

A man who is cruel and unforgiving. 

Many women had faced the same fate as you. 

And you would endure it.

Daemon and you had watched as Vhagar flew above you, light green belly passing over the castle, and the glimpse of a long scar on her back leg, curtesy of Syndor. 

None of you were left unmarked. 

Aemond, his eye. 

You, your side.

The large, dark ship had moored itself down in the waiting docks below, the green banner of the three headed dragon staring unforgivingly at you as it had approached. 

A vision of misery. 

A reminder of loss. 

The harbinger of sorrows. 

As you waited beside Daemon, two heads appeared, walking steadily up towards you both from the long winding path that led to the lush greeneries where you stood. The long face of Otto Hightower approached, flanked on his side by a helmeted Ser Criston Cole. 

You felt your father start to move, and you uttered beneath your breath at him. 

“Set aside your grievances, if not for mother, then for me.”

The Rogue Prince did not move after, standing beside you stiffly as they approached. 

Otto wore deep green robes and Ser Criston Cole wore his armour, bright white cloak clasped on his back. Such a funny thing to see on a man who had broken his vows. 

The white cloak is to signify purity, yet this man had been nothing but filth.

Otto, despite being at war with your father for years before Viserys’ death, lowered his head stiffly to address you both. 

“Princess Y/n.” He greeted you.

You shifted on your feet. 

“King Aegon wishes that he could be here to bear witness to this union, however he had more pressing duties to the realm. I have come as his Hand to witness this union, and ensure the agreements of his treaty.”

The Rogue Prince shifted, muttering beneath his breath in High Valyrian.

You nodded.

“The King in his wisdom,” Began the Hightower, looking just as pompous and self righteous as you remembered, “Offered this treaty to your House out of duty to the realm and its people. Blood needlessly spilt over the Iron Throne would destroy the realm, which was not the King’s wishes. By splitting the realm into two,”

Movement caught your eye.

You watched as Aemond walked down the grassy knoll towards you, dressed in the traditional garb of Valyria. The cream of the robes moved in the wind, whilst the seeping red brought out the violet of his eye. 

“Both King Aegon and Queen Rhaenyra may rule in seperate Kingdoms, bound to peace by this unification of each House.”

Aemond’s sapphire eye shone in the light of the sun, the depth creating small stars within the precious stone as he got closer to both you and your father. Wordlessly, Daemon turned to look at you, to see one last time if you wished to run. 

If you wished for him to fight.  

You gave him a small smile, and that was all he needed. 

Daemon walked to one end of the stone alter, opposite to where Otto and Ser Criston stood, where the Hightower continued to rattle on about the farce of the treaty. Aemond’s eye never left you once, and you felt heat rise into your cheeks. 

The robes fit him well, and you fought the urge to accept that he looked handsome. He had pulled half of his long, silver hair back, the top braided down gently, and you watched as he took determined steps towards you. 

Three Septon’s of House Targaryen walked up the path, large offerings in hand as they made their way to the table as both you and Aemond stood together, staring at one another.

Reunited at last. 

He towered over you, gazing at your face, and the headdress that sat upon your head. 

There was no going back. 

There was no running from this. There was no escape from the marriage that was about to be affirmed, in the tradition of your House. There would be no more Dragonstone with your family, and no more nights alone. 

The Septon who had married your parents stepped forward beside you, as you walked to stand before the alter together. 

It was so quiet, so silent in the space, that only the sounds of waves, wind, and robes moving about were heard. The gentle breeze brushed your hair over your shoulders, a slow shiver running through your body. 

The Septon wore a grey hooded cloak, with a golden vest atop, old Valyrian runes were embroidered on the front as he began the ceremony, eyes peering at the both of you, and then to your witnesses.

“Ānogar se perzys,” (Blood and fire) The Septon began, as the other two stood behind him, “Konir sagon skoros mazverdagon Targārien Lentor” (That is what makes House Targaryen.)

Your eyes settled on Aemond’s face as the Septon continued to speak behind you, his words lost to you as you looked upon your soon to be husband. His lone eye was soft as he gazed at you, appreciative, drinking in every inch of your face. 

His lips were not pulled into their usual smirk, nor their hard line, instead they were relaxed as he watched you. 

Your eyes inspected his scar closely, now that you were both still. 

No bickering or fighting, nor moving or yelling, no violence or lust. Simply observing what you had not been able to before. The scar was deep and the tissue had scarred a dark pink on his face. The lid where his eye had been was rippled and torn, permanently opened to the world. 

To witness his sins.

The skin around the flesh looked tired, dark and sore. You wondered if his scar brought him pain to this day, if the nerves had grown badly into the scar tissue, bringing agony to him at random hours. 

You hoped that it did.

The sapphire was a choice that you would never understand. It was beautiful, polished and shaped to fit perfectly within the empty socket, and shone under certain lights. Your fingers itched to reach up and touch it, to feel the smooth precious stone lodged inside of his head. 

You clenched your fist instead.

As you observed him, he observed you.

A lazy smile pulled from the corner of his lips. The most his mouth had moved this entire time. He had not greeted you when he arrived, he had not taunted you, nor had he mocked you. Instead he was quiet in waiting. 

“Perzys.” (Fire) The Septon spoke, handing two lone unlit candles into either of your hands. 

You both took the candles from the Septon, before each lighting the others with a soft lit wick. You held the wick to his candle, watching it come to life, and stared as Aemond’s long fingers moved forward to do the same to yours. 

When both candles were lit, you let yourself look up at him. He was already watching you. 

You turned to place the candles upon the many others on the stone alter, securing your position in Valyrian ritual, ensuring your candles sat amongst the many others who had placed theirs before you.

“Se ānogar.” (And blood).

Your heart raced in your chest as you watched Aemond pick up the sharp blade of dragon glass from the alter beside you. It looked so small in his grip as he moved forward towards you, slowly. 

You flinched as he lifted his hand up. His face remained still.

Slowly Aemond dragged the dragon glass down your bottom lip, almost with reverence, almost with care, as you felt the stinging slice cut through the soft flesh of your lip. 

How many times had he cut you? How much blood had he taken from you forcefully? How many times had he watched you bleed at his hands?

But this time, it was different.

This time, you let him.

You swallowed thickly, his eye drawn to the blood that had been to leak from the cut he made. 

His hand came up gently, thumb pressing into the slit, causing a dull sting, as he swiped blood onto his digit. He did so reverently, with caution and a carefulness you could not place. It was ritualistic, and confident.

It was intimate, and it was almost more than you could bear. 

It made your heart race and your stomach flip as he lifted his thumb gently, running the warm wet blood of your lips down the middle of your forehead between your brows. 

And then his palm opened to you, small blade resting atop his large hand. Hands that had killed, hands that had been inside of you. Hands that had forced yours into this marriage.

Your own grabbed the black dragon glass, lifting it up to his lips, less gentle as he had been, more anger than you should’ve had, and sliced roughly into his bottom lip.

His eye fluttered close as you dragged the blade down, revelling in seeing his blood pool from the cut, before you pressed your thumb sharply into it.

You wished to hurt him, you wished to maim, but you paused as your thumb pressed against his lip. 

His violet eye opened to watch you, as you held your breath.

Thumb pressed to his forehead, you drew an arrow with his blood, where he had drawn on you. You felt the smooth wet blood spread against his skin, its warmth diminishing as your hand lingered. The One-Eyed Prince looked down at you from his height as he breathed deeply. 

Taking the blade from you, he cut into his palm, the skin pulling apart gently, blood quickly rising to the surface and pooling in his palm. You grasped the blade and moved to do the same but stopped.

You looked as the tip of the blade pressed into the scar of your palm. The skin was raised where you had once grasped a piece of mirror, before plunging into the man before you’s shoulder. 

Aemond blew out a sharp breath out of his nose as he waited. You pressed the tip into the scar and dragged down slowly, revelling in the pain as you watched blood rise from the cut, the Septon’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts.

“Hen lantoti anogar.” (Blood of two.) 

Aemond’s hand pulled the blade away from you, placing it on the alter beside you, before he gripped his bleeding hand with yours. A sharp stinging shot through your hands as he held onto you, mixing your blood together.

It was the first time he had held you so softly since you were children. 

The Septon stepped forth to wrap red cloth around your bound hands, as you stared at each other.

“Va syndroti. Vaedroma.” (Joined as one. Ghostly flame.)

Another Septon stepped forth, handing the officiant another strip of material, soft black and embroidered in gold as he gently wrapped it about your hands, keeping them tightly together. You watched as blood began to drip from where you hands met, the thick liquid dripping onto the rock and grass below.

Joined as one.

Your blood and his.

Coursing through each others veins.

A bond that cannot be undone. 

A goblet was placed in your hand and you pulled to sip it, the unfamiliar burn laying on your tongue before slowly sliding down your throat as you swallowed. 

“Mero perzot gihoti. Eledroma iarza sir.” (And song of shadows. Two hearts as embers.)

Aemond’s hand reached forth to grasp the goblet from you, his fingers grazing yours.

It felt so wrong.

So wrong to hold him like this.

So wrong to be wed in the tradition of Old Valyria, and the mighty House Targaryen.

It felt wrong to feel a spark of something in your heart, and emotion you couldn’t quite out your finger on as he slowly raised the goblet to his lips, eye on you as he drank deeply. 

“Izuli ampa perzi. Prumi lanti seteksi. Hen jeny mazilarion. Qelossa ozundesi. Syndroro ono jedo.” (Forged in fourteen fires. A future promised in glass. The stars stand witness. The vow spoken through time.)

And as you stood together, and the breeze brushed against your legs, you let your eye stray beside you, to where Lucerys had been, to where he had been you watching you the whole time. 

But now stood empty space, and that little piece of loss made you squeeze against Aemond’s hand in your grip, blood seeping out in thick rivulets into the cloths, before dropping to the earth below.

“Ry kivia mazvestraksi.” (Of darkness and light.) The Septon ended, and you felt a small piece end with you.

You gazed at each other, waiting to move, waiting for the inevitable to happen and you felt your heart race faster in your chest, shuffling on your feet before Aemond stepped forward, closer to you, his face in front of yours, nose almost brushing each other.

And then he closed the gap, lips coming to brush against yours gently at first as your eyes slid shut. You held still as he came closer, free hand coming to grasp the back of your neck, so soft, so unlike him that it almost startled you. 

It was so unlike him that wondered if it was him. 

His tongue pressed up against the cut on your lip, pushing sharply into it as he licked the blood, causing you to quietly gasp, mouth opening. He deepened the kiss, and you followed, nipping roughly at him, making the hand at the back of your head grip your hair roughly. 

And as suddenly as a warmth began to pool in your stomach, he pulled away, eye wild and lips smeared with the both of yours blood. 

“Mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se forever.” Aemond purred, looking down at your lips as his tongue darted out to lick away at the blood that had begun to drip down from his mouth. (One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.)

“Mēre ñelly, mēre prūmia, mēre soul, sir se forever.” You repeated back, voice quiet.

You both stood and waited as the Septon’s came fourth and undid the binding of your hands, gentle fingers pulling the ceremonial rope away, leaving your hand still firmly clasped in his, blood leaking slowly as your hand began to throb. 

The peace was broken. 

One small word. One little utterance under his breath was all it took for the gentleness of the ceremony to disappear. To wither and die, right before your eyes.

“Wife.”

Your husband purred, testing the word on his tongue as he smiled, hand tensing in your shared grip, causing more blood to leak from the union of flesh. 

“In the eyes of the Seven, and witnessed by King Aegon the Second’s Hand, the marriage of treaty between Prince Aemond, First of his Name, and Princess Y/n, First of Her Name, of House Targaryen has been confirmed.” Otto’s voice rung out into the air.

Your grip on Aemond’s hand faltered and he let yours go, your hand limply falling beside you as you turned to face your father who looked at you in both awe and pity. You found your legs taking you to race towards him before you could stop yourself. You threw yourself into his arms, his hands catching you as he held you against him, eyes piercing a hole through Aemond. 

“Shh, you did good. I am so proud of you.” He cooed quietly into your hair.

You pulled back away from him nodding gently.  

“We will have the Princess’ belongings brought down to the ship, before we make our voyage back to the King’s Landing.” Otto continued. 

And then it was over.

The ceremony was complete.

And you had been wed to a man who you never thought you would have since you were a child. Back when things were simpler between the two of you. Back when things were not murky, or clouded with hate, and loss and despair. 

You had thought when young, how good it would have been to be wed to him. How kind of a husband he would have been to you. How you could continue to read and play and enjoy each others company.

Back when he had done no wrong.

Back when he had not lost his eye, or become the cruel man he was now. Back when you had an unbreakable bond, though nothing lasts forever. 

Life included.

There would be no celebrations. There would be no joyous dinner. There would be no families coming together to celebrate the union, or end of the war. Because there was nothing to celebrate. There was no joy. And there would be no reunion of blood.

You all but raced back into the castle, sparing neither your father nor husband a glance as you moved to ready yourself to leave. Each step closer you got, the more your feet became heavy until suddenly you were standing outside of your chambers staring at Ser Darke. 

Your knight looked you up and down before giving you a soft and sad smile, opening the chamber doors, but you would not enter. You shifted on your feet, trying to delay the inevitable as you watched the dark haired knight step forward towards you.

“I wish I could come with you, My Lady. To protect you, as I was sworn to do.” 

You inhaled deeply and then out. 

“But you cannot, and so I ask you to protect them all in my absence. You are sworn to me, and must do as I command-“

“You do not need to command me to do this for you.” The Knight smiled, and you were grateful, as you gave him a short tight hug before entering the chambers where Saria and Aella waited.

Neither spoke a word to you as they undressed you, before you pulled on your riding leathers. They worked gently to quickly buckle you in before saying short and strained goodbyes.

You promised them you would be back, and they promised to wait in your absence. But you felt that they did not truly believe you.

You could not waste more time saying goodbyes, more time waiting about in the castle, avoiding the fate and future that lingered outside of Dragonstone’s walls. When you exited your chambers, your father stood waiting with your knight, both silent as he walked you towards the front of the castle doors.

Aemond, Otto and Ser Criston were all waiting for your arrival. 

Aemond was now dressed back into his dark leather riding garb too, and he looked you up and down shamelessly. The blood on his forehead and lips had not been wiped away, much like yours, and his hands were held tightly behind his back. 

Your palm itched. 

“The Princess will join us on our ship back to King’s Landing. Your belongings have been loaded for you.” Otto spoke, looking down his nose at you as Aemond smiled gently.

You turned to Daemon as he looked at you, before you stepped to hug him once last time. One last time for Gods know how long, would you be able to hug your father. To hold him. To smell his familiar and calming scent.

One last time in his presence.

It would never be enough.

The Rogue Prince pulled you tightly against him, placing a lingering kiss atop your head before muttering quietly.

“Dracarys, ñuha byka vīlībāzmio.” (Dracarys, my little warrior.)

You buried your head further into his chest before pulling away.

“I’ll write to you.” You promised.

“When you are ready, Princess.” Otto interrupted, rushing you to leave.

You could not bear to linger any longer. Nor look at your fathers saddened gaze. It would break you. It would make you not leave. And so you forced yourself to go, before you broke in front of them all.

And with that you turned on the balls of your feet as you made your way to move up Dragonmont. 

They were mad if they thought you would leave your dragon here. 

They were mad if they thought they could seperate a Targaryen from their dragon.

“Princess!” Otto called after you, but you pushed on, hearing your fathers laugh in the air, which served to make you smile. 

Truly smile, for the first time that morning.

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

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

[alicentflorent]

Teen Rhaena reminds me of young Alicent in a way. Besides both being Rhaenyra’s handmaidens and having bad fathers, Rhaena is never involved with the plans everyone’s making about her life like Alicent. People won’t see it this way because Luke was her age and it seems like they got along well but Rhaena (and Baela) was betrothed without her consent to further the ambitions of others for the throne. She wasn’t asked prior to the agreement by Rhaenyra and Rhaenys.

Their feelings are constantly disregarded by those around them because they don’t have dominant personalities. While the other kids/teens (minus Aemond) were being playful and joking around at the dinner table in S1Ep8, Rhaena was sat there very mature, ladylike and proper. When the fight broke out, Rhaena was breaking it up along with the adults. It just reminded me of Alicent’s dynamic with Rhaenyra when they were young. Alicent was always treated like one of the adults by the adults around her , while Rhaenyra was still called “a child” and got to act her age. Her immaturity is taken into account by writers and viewers.

Teen Alicent and teen Rhaena’s grief is minimized by the writers because their grief isn’t loud, angry or rebellious. Again they are mini adults, Alicent doesn’t get the same grace as Rhaenyra despite losing her mother very recently too and we see Baela speak about the loss of Rhaenys to multiple people throughout the episode. We even see Rhaenyra shed tears for Rhaenys (odd because neither woman really liked the other). We see Corlys grieve, we see the smallfolk grieve the damn Dragon. Only one brief scene is given to Rhaena and her grief and it’s not even the focal point of the scene.

Their grief takes the back seat to others and the grief of those others becomes more important than their own. The general audience isn’t going to give much thought to the impact of this loss on Rhaena, just like most of them forget that young Alicent lost her mother too.

Anon, how can you say something so controversial yet so brave?

I definitely see parallels between them. You've listed some perfect examples. I also think Rhaena and Young Alicent both have parallels with Sansa Stark. I sometimes think of Sansa as a character that breaks the cycle Alicent couldn't break and I think the key difference is that Sansa had a family who loved her and who cared about her as more than a political pawn. Her parents tried to save her from her situation in kingslanding. This is a key difference between Rhaena and Alicent too. Rhaena has a support system and a family that loved her she'd never get sold off to an old man to be raped and used as a broodmare and even if daemon tried to arrange a marriage like that Rhaenys and probably even Rhaenyra would likely try to stop it. Baela at her young age would probably kill someone before she allowed her sister to be married off into a horrible situation. Alicent had no one in her corner.

[spacelatinoluvr]

blood runs thicker than water (6/?) - aemond targaryen

series masterlist, chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5

summary: To dance with dragons is to play with wolves. After surviving her own assassination attempt, Alarra Stark endured a large scar across her face, slicing her face in half. For years after Alarra was now known as "Alarra The Fierce" due to her ferocity at the young age, defending herself valiantly at merely thirteen-years-old. After then, she spent years training with her older brother, Cregan Stark, so that one day she could avoid the pain and suffering of anyone in her family; including herself. But, after those years spent training with men much larger than her, she is sent away and betrothed to Joffrey Velaryon for alliance towards the rightful heir to the Iron Throne: Rhaenyra Targaryen. Accompanying the family to Kingslanding, Alarra realized maybe marrying the young Velaryon boy wasn't so awful. But that was until she met a peculiar "one-eyed" prince. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!OC word count: 4.2k tags: slow burn, forbidden love, canon Aemond, enemies to lovers, long fic, original characters, war, arranged marriage warnings: depictions of blood rating: 18+, !MDNI!

BLOOD UPON THE SNOW

To my dear sister Alarra,

The days are longer without you here. Ser Wildrow seems more bored than ever, not having you to torment him. I hope you are well and I hope your sword has not touched the scales of any dragons yet. I have been busy with duties so I have not had the time to write. I assume you are just as busy as I have not received a raven from you just yet. I hope to hear from you soon, I am only a raven away after all.

Cregan

Alarra set the letter down, leaning back in her chair. She missed Cregan terribly. And now the guilt was beginning to eat away at her. She didn’t know exactly what to say to him. She could tell him the good things, how great things were with the little princes. She would not tell him about how awful Ser Criston Cole was, how he tormented her at every waking moment. And she doesn't know why. She assumed he was envious. But why should a knight be envious of a princess? Alarra picked up her quill, filling it with ink before she started to write to her brother.

Dear Cregan,

I am angry at you for not warning me of the waves. They made me terribly sick. My food did not rise like the others but it was still awful! I am well, my dagger has not been in use just yet. I do miss pushing you to the ground. The princes have been a pleasant replacement for you. Jacaerys reminds me of you. I want to come home

Alarra erased the last bit, putting a thick line through it. She crumpled up the piece of parchment, throwing it somewhere across her room. The door creaked open, a knock sounding after.

“Still in your nightgown, my lady?” Eyla entered the room, heading for Alarra who was sitting in her vanity, her hair a tangled mess. “‘Tis early.” Eyla countered, her hands running through Alarra’s hair before she reached for a brush on the table. Eyla noticed a pile of crumpled paper by her bed and let out a tiny snicker.

“Writing is not as easy as it seems.” Alarra grumbled as Eyla tugged through a rough knot in her hair.

“Not as easy as swinging a sword, is it?” Eyla teased, working through the knots. Alarra sighed, leaning her head back as the brush glided through her hair, the knots disappearing slowly. “Just tell him what you truly feel. That is what letters are for are they not?”

“But I do not want him to worry. He already was skeptical about this arrangement-”

“Your brother cares for you, my lady. He only wants to hear from you,” Alarra glanced at the discarded letters on the ground, the words “I want to come home” still etched freshly in her mind. Alarra was still unsure of what to say to Cregan. Maybe she should just pour her heart out to him, telling him exactly how she felt. But, Alarra would not do that. That would only make the girl seem weak. And Alarra knew one thing for certain: she was not weak.

“Jace, you need to fix your posture.” Alarra reprimanded the boy, standing behind him as he was hunched over slightly. Alarra pushed his back lightly, so that he would stand up more. And he instantly stood up, turning his head to glare lightly at Alarra. Alarra grabbed a wooden sword from off of the ground, the one Lucerys had been previously using, and set it between Jace’s shoulder blades, within his arms. He looked like a duck flapping its wings, and he groaned, turning annoyingly to Alarra.

“How am I supposed to yield a sword now?” He slashed mindlessly and unsuccessfully (the sword barely raised above his head), unable to move his arms properly.

“You have to keep your body upright. No more slouching. This will teach you.” Alarra was now in front of him and he gave her an unsatisfied look.

“Go on!” Alarra waved a hand, gesturing for Jace to swing his sword. Lucerys was lightly giggling from behind Jace, and Jace whipped around facing his younger brother. Lucerys quickly stopped laughing, and cleared his throat.

“What is funny Luke?” Alarra had instructed Luke to work on his balance by standing on one foot. He was no longer doing that, and was laughing at his brother instead. Luke straightened up, looking at Alarra with wide eyes. He quickly stood back on one leg and Alarra tried to hide her laugh.

“Alarra?”

“Yes, Luke.” Alarra sighed, her hands on her hips. She had decided to wear a tunic and pants today, for she and the princes were alone in the courtyard early that morning. No one else was to be around, so Alarra deemed it appropriate.

“How much longer do I have to stand like this?” He was wobbling slightly, starting to fall but he caught himself.

“Until I say,” Alarra responded, and Luke paled, starting to wobble more. Alarra let out a laugh, approaching the boy. “Alright, that’s enough for today.” Luke sighed, standing on both of his feet. Alarra had been training the boys for about a week. They were both skilled in swordsmanship but they had a lot of improvement ahead of them. Alarra enjoyed spending time with both of them; they reminded her of home. Alarra felt like Cregan whenever she reprimanded them. She felt closer to him every time she picked up a sword. Jace and Luke left the courtyard after thanking Alarra for her time. Alarra always told them to not thank her because she was glad to share her skill with others. She was happy to help them, it may help them later on.

Alarra was walking through the halls, ready for a bath after sweating all morning, when she passed by a room, the door slightly ajar. Coughing was coming from the room, loud and it echoed into Alarra’s ears. She jolted for the door immediately, instantaneously thinking of her father. The door creaked open loudly, and the king was hunched over his desk as another cough rang out of him.

“Your grace!” Alarra rushed over to him, her hands reaching for his shoulders. The king waved his hands before Alarra could help him, a cough coming from him again before he spoke.

“No, no I am alright!” The king was irritated, his voice coming out harsh like pebbles hitting rocks. He coughed again, breathing in a ragged breath. It was quiet while he breathed in and out and Alarra cleared her throat.

“I apologize, your grace. I was only concerned-”

“What is your name?”

“Alarra, your grace.” He hummed, sitting down harshly in his chair.

“And you are a servant? What are you doing in these parts of the Red Keep?”

“No I-”

“A harlot then? Get on your way-”

“No!” Alarra’s voice was louder than she proposed, and her face was contorted into one of pure disgust. She cleared her throat, wiping her face clean of any open expressions. “Your grace.” She muttered, stepping back a foot.

“A handmaiden, perhaps?” Alarra rolled back her shoulders, tucking her tongue beneath her throat holding in a remark.

“Yes, a…handmaiden.” He clicked his tongue. Alarra figured he wouldn't remember her anyway, a tiny lie would not hurt. He was old and deficit, his brain slower than molasses.

“I knew I’d seen you before.” He muttered quietly to himself, staring at the desk in front of him as he smiled, hundreds of papers laying untouched. Alarra hesitated, glancing at the frail, hunched form of the king as he looked over the pieces of parchment. The king was barely recognizable now, weakened and tired, his hands trembling as he rose them. Alarra slowly backed away, turning to leave the room when the king rang out once more.

“Faces are a blur, and names fade yet you remind me of...” Alarra stopped walking, turning around to look at the king again. The king shook his head, mumbling something before turning back to the scattered pages. “A woman with pants! Now that is a sight to see.” The king yelled as Alarra left the room hurriedly, closing the door tightly. She stood outside the room, looking around the halls to find no one in sight. Alarra really needed that bath.

Otto Hightower scoured the halls, the king nowhere to be found. The king couldn’t have wandered off, somewhere not too far. The hand stopped walking when he heard a cough from inside the king’s study. Otto burst open the door, scaring the king slightly. Otto bounded towards the king, looking exasperated.

“You are assigned bed rest, your grace. You cannot just-“

“I am the king! I will do what I want.” Viserys looked up from the desk at the hand, dropping the papers that were in his palm. Otto glanced at the pages among his desk.

“I told you- the council and I will take care of your affairs.”

“Only I can take care of my affairs. I don’t need you or a girl with pants and a sword at her hip to tell me what to do.” Otto ignored the last part: the king was old and sick after all.

“You can barely speak or walk. I will get a guard to carry you to your chambers.” The king was silent and Otto left the room to find a guard.

Alarra stood outside her chambers, just about to enter when she noticed her door was left cracked open. Alarra knew that she locked her door, she knew for certain that she shut it at least. Her hand hovered above the knob, gazing into the thin gap.

Someone was in there.

It was now nighttime and Alarra did not remember the time of day and how the sun had slipped past her. The room was dimly lit with candles in every space and crevice lighting up the room. She ventured into the room and realized it was unfamiliar.

This was not her room.

Alarra felt that everything was strangely distant, as if veiled in a cloud of mist. Alarra walked further into the room and pale blonde hair appeared in her view. The figure turned around and it appeared to be Helaena who was in her room. She looked deathly afraid, her lip trembling slightly.

“Helaena-” A babe’s cry erupted from Helaena’s arms.

“Protect them.” Helaena whispered, soothing the saddened babe as the crying got louder and louder. The babe had a head of black hair and Alarra gasped as the room seemed to shift, Helaena and the babe now gone from her sight. Alarra’s hand reached out but all that was in front of her was her own hands. She looked down at herself to see a thin white nightgown on her body. When had she put that on?

“Helaena!” Alarra turned, her breath getting caught in her throat. She was now in the hallway but not in the Red Keep but Castle Ward. Her home. Alarra's heart pounded as she took in her surroundings. She hadn’t set foot in Castle Ward in months, yet here she was, standing in the very corridor she knew so well: the cold stone walls, the flickering torches casting shadows along the tapestries she remembered from childhood. The familiar scent of pine and firewood lingered in the air, yet everything felt unnervingly hollow, as though a fog hung over the hall, dulling its colors and muffling its sounds. Alarra paused at an unfamiliar painting. It was larger than the rest and Alarra realized quickly that it was a painting of herself.

Alarra froze, staring up at the painting that loomed over her. In the waving torchlight, her own likeness gazed back yet it wasn’t quite her. The face was familiar, yet older, with shadows cast beneath her eyes and a hint of sorrow etched into her expression. She looked regal and hardened, her hand resting on the hilt of a sword, her posture proud yet burdened. She wore armor emblazoned with the sigil of her house, though it was marred by scratches and dents, as if she’d been through a long, grueling battle. Alarra’s fingers brushed over the frame hesitantly, feeling a chill run through her as she did. A low, distant sound, faint but clear, echoed down the corridor. It was the cry of a babe, the same haunting sound she’d heard moments ago.

A bright light shone down the end of the hall, and Alarra followed the path, the wails getting louder. Alarra peeled open the door at the end of the corridor to find the source. What lay in front of her now was her mother, laying on a bed with a babe in her arms, the crying ceased. Alarra’s eyes shimmered, able to see her mother again now. Tears pricked at Alarra’s eyes as she took in the scene before her. Her mother lay on the bed, looking as she had in Alarra’s memories: soft-eyed and gentle. Her mother held a newborn, swaddled tightly in soft cloth, the babe’s tiny fist clenched around a lock of her mother’s hair. The child’s cries softened at the gentle touch, settling into soft whimpers as her mother rocked him, humming a lullaby Alarra hadn’t heard in years.

“Mother.” Her mother did not notice her, for she was engulfed in the baby before her. Her mother spoke quietly.

“I shall name you…” And then her mother was gone, and Alarra let out a muffled cry, shaking her head. Alarra’s fingers passed through the empty mist that was once her mother and she staggered forward falling to her knees as the ground turned soft. Alarra was in a field of long thick pale needles and flowers of marigold and plum. Her fingers whispered amongst the shrubbery, lightly feeling the tall grassy hill. It was vast, and spread all around her but she could not see too far in front of her for a thick fog encapsulated the air. And then it started to snow.

She first saw a tiny spec of ice fall from the sky and land delicately in her hands. And then the ground was flooded with snow, encasing her legs as she knelt on the ground. It was not cold nor was it hot. Alarra felt at peace. Alarra closed her eyes just for a moment. For what felt like a second, letting the cool icicles settle on her skin as they softly melted away at the touch of her warm face.

The atmosphere around her was still and tranquil, almost as if Alarra was suspended in time and nothing could disturb the serene spirit of the snow. Alarra opened her eyes, the pure white snow had now been stained with a dark crimson color. The snow had been littered with blood all around her and Alarra’s breath caught in her throat again and again. She gulped in the air, turning head in a panic to find more blood scattered in the snow.

“Blood?” Alarra whispered to the emptiness and of course there was no answer for only the stillness of the snow clung to her.

“Vezhvenor.” A figure had appeared through the mist, approaching Alarra. Alarra’s head rose as she looked around her, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. Helaena was with her once more and she kneeled in front of Alarra.

“Wolves bite…” She started, her eyes scanning Alarra. Alarra finished the sentence for her.

“And dragons take flight.”

Alarra jolted awake in her bed, the sweat slick on her forehead. She was breathing heavily, and she felt her heart as it beat out of her chest. Alarra swung her feet over the edge of her bed, trying to comprehend her dreams. Her visions. The book she had been reading was frozen on her nightstand, and it lay untouched since she had grabbed it from the library. She was scared to read it. To see what it had within its pages for her to read. Alarra rose from her bed to grab a lit candle by her desk, returning to the edge of her bed. She sat the candle next to the book, reaching for the spine.

She sat the book in her lap, flipping open the first page. A picture of Bran the Builder was printed, and she traced the picture. Alarra grew up hearing stories of her ancestors. She knew almost everything about her family. Except what Aemond had shown her. And she was afraid of what the rest of the prophecy entailed. She had marked the page and she played with the book before turning open to the page of the prophecy. She scanned the page, reading the prophecy as a whole.

A prophecy forgotten by the Gods…

A Wolf from the North will bleed into the South.

Blood of a Wolf can start wars, but the blood of a Dragon will end the realm.

When one dragon meets fate, a Wolf will seek refuge.

Packs are large but dragons are much larger.

A Wolf from the North. A Dragon from the South.

Wolves bite, and dragons take flight.

The dragon's flame will burn the sky,

But in its ashes, a Wolf will rise.

Beneath the door, a path will unfold,

A bond of blood to be known by both shadow and light.

The Wolf will reign where it once bled.

For blood and bone is thicker than fire and steel.

Alarra finished reading the page, looking to the next to find that the rest of the next page had been ripped out. Alarra flipped through the rest of the book and it contained nothing but her past. Her house's legacy. Alarra scoffed, slamming the book shut. She knew exactly who did this and where he would be.

“Why did you rip out a page in this book?” Alarra slammed the book down in front of Aemond and he raised his eyes to meet hers, an irritated look on his face. He glanced at her before looking back down at the book on the table. His hair was draped carelessly over his shoulders and Alarra watched as he paid no mind to Alarra’s intrusion.

“That book is centuries old-” He started but Alarra would not have him avoid her inquiry.

“Answer the question.” Alarra bent down, setting her hands on the table inching forward towards Aemond. Alarra knew that she could not intimidate the prince but she still tried.

“The book was like that when I read it.” He responded while maintaining a steady gaze with Alarra. Alarra pushed herself backwards, away from Aemond. She huffed starting to get agitated with him. Liar.

“You are deceitful. And a liar-”

“I do not lie.” Alarra’s gaze hardened.

“That was a lie. All men lie.”

“Well I do not lie.” Alarra paced the floor while looking through the slim windows at the shine of the moon. How had she found herself alone with Aemond again?

“Do you dream during the moon’s rule, my prince?” Alarra raised an eyebrow at him and Aemond froze for a moment before responding softer than before.

“Dreams are not real.”

“But they can be. Your sister-”

“Do not bring my sister into your nightmares.”

“I never said they were night terrors.”

“I can see on your face that they were not pleasant,” Alarra gripped the table with her hands, a flash of anger contorting her features. “Alarra the Fierce scared? I did not think I would rue the day to see such a frightening individual cowering at ink on paper.” Alarra turned around from staring through the window to shoot him a sharp look.

“I am not scared.” She gritted below her teeth.

“Mhm, you call me a liar but you are a liar. Something is bothering Alarra the Fierce.” He said her name like he was mocking her and Alarra’s eyes hardened even more.

“You mock me.”

“I mock no one.”

“You lie again!” Alarra yelled, starting to move gradually towards Aemond. “I knocked you on your royal arse and you would be wise to not humor me.” Aemond stood from his seat, a small smirk on his face.

“Is that a threat?” Alarra was getting hot now.

“A promise.”

“You speak with such certainty…like a dog.” He snarled, slowly making his way over to Alarra. He now stood in front of her, his body towering over hers slightly. Alarra did not know what to do at that moment but remained still. “Do you obey your master like a dog as well?” He questioned, his head tilted to the side. He wanted to get a rise out of her. His hand rose as if he were going to grab her, and Alarra flinched. Aemond hummed lowly, his hand sinking back at his side. Aemond leaned down his face dangerously close to hers. Aemond didn’t know why he touched her. Why did he feel the urge to trace her scar, her face? Why was he so close to her?

The proximity was close; too close and Alarra held her breath for what felt like minutes; hours, waiting for the prince to speak. Aemond’s eyes scanned her face and his hand rose to her face, tracing the line of her scar. He dug his finger, his nail catching the healing skin, and Alarra blinked rapidly, her eyes watering, biting her tongue to swallow down a low groan of pain.

“Threaten me again and you will learn to obey.” His breath fanned over her face now, and Alarra swallowed as his finger traced her scar towards her lips before his hand stopped abruptly and he pulled away from her. He looked at her for a pregnant pause before swiftly turning and leaving the library. Alarra stood there, her thoughts a mess inside her head. Aemond had touched her. He had touched her face. Her scar. He had reached his hand voluntarily to touch her. Alarra raised a hand to touch her scar, feeling the blood already dripping on her cheek. Aemond was provoked by Alarra. But, Alarra was not angry.

No, she was fierce.

In the morning, the first thing Alarra did was visit the princess Helaena. She felt obligated to speak to the girl after her odd dreams. She wanted answers. And she thought that Helaena would give them to her, no matter how confusing her words might be. Helaena was standing on her terrace staring outside at King’s landing before her. At the structures and buildings, at her city. Alarra was behind her and Helaena turned, unafraid as if she was expecting her.

“Lady in Red.”

“Princess, I don't mean to intrude-”

“We spoke last night.”

“I'm sorry, I do not recall-”

“In the mist, we spoke in the mist.” Alarra approached the princess slowly, setting her hands on the railing of the balcony as she looked out into the city. Birds flew past in the morning dew and the sun was just starting to rise from below the skyline.

“I’m…scared.”

“We should all be scared for what is to come,” Helaena walked towards Alarra, standing next to her as Alarra still stared at the city.

“But, why-”

“I do not know. Answers are a precarious thing. Answers are something we seek but cannot find. They are hidden for a reason,” Helaena paused, seeming to gather her thoughts and sucking in a quiet rasp. “I dreamt of you, Lady in Red.” Alarra was getting slightly agitated now.

“Helaena, I do not wear red.” She said swiftly but Helaena’s eyes widened as if she were on the verge of tears and she grabbed Alarra by the shoulders tightly.

“It is not red that you will wear but the blood of those you have slain. Alarra the Fierce; Lady in Red,” Helaena shook Alarra as she held her and Alarra blinked, her face scrunched up in pure astonishment. “You, Alarra, have already begun the path. The door has closed and there is no return from what is to come.”

Cregan,

I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home. I want to come home.

A/N: Thanks so so much for continuing to read! I'm really excited to get more into the fantasy aspects and what roles Helaena will play in this story.

Tags: @mamawiggers1980, @kritara

[alittlebitofwonk]

@bonesandthebees has me thinking about book recs, so I’m posting some of my favorites in case anyone wants something new to read!

FANTASY

Priory of the Orange Tree: This is a BRICK of a book. The hardcover would make a good weapon. But it’s also an incredibly good read. A well built fantasy world, dragons, sapphic romance, and it centers WOC characters. The prequel, A Day of Fallen Night, is also amazing.

Legends and Lattes: This is such a cozy little book! It’s fantasy, sent in a DND inspired world where a retired orc mercenary opens a coffee shop. Also, sapphic romance side plot. It’s very cute.

A Thousand Steps Into Night: A Japanese folklore inspired novel where the protagonist must make bargains with spirits to avoid becoming a demon. I learned a lot about Japanese legends and folklore in this one, and the protagonist, Miuko, is just so earnest and lovable.

SCI-FI

Project Hail Mary: Andy Weir does it again. A fantastic novel featuring a struggle across the galaxy to save earth as we know it, the most endearing alien EVER, really cool futuristic science, and a reminder that humanity also instills in us all a sense of good.

The Kaiju Preservation Society: This book is so much fuuuun. It’s just a blast. Inter dimensional travel, giant monsters, conservation, and a protagonist that had me cackling with laughter the whole time.

MYSTERY/THRILLER

The Final Girl Support Group: When the survivors of several horror-movie esque massacres are all targeted by a new killer, how will they survive? A really awesome story about a bunch of badass middle aged women who kinda hate each other teaming up to identify their would-be killer… before it’s too late.

Gone Girl: Nick Dunne didn’t kill his wife. He has no idea where she is, or what happened, and he swears he didn’t hurt her… but no one really believes him. Meanwhile, the truth is far more interesting, and a testament to the phrase “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” This is THE female rage story.

[complextheories]

Okay. Wrap up on feelings from S2E5 of HOTD!

First, I really enjoyed that we got more Rhaenyra and Daemon screen time as well as seeing more from the people around them in this episode.

I love seeing the discontent from the small folk that resulted from Criston Cole parading Meleys’s head through the city. A total miscalculation on his part and as we progress the episode, we see Mysaria coach Rhaenyra, urging her not to make the same mistake. And this moment, Mysaria educating Rhaenyra is so so important. I really think the will of the people is something that her father, Viserys, at least, recognized. If not Viserys, we know that it’s something Otto pays attention to and advised as such.

This also foils Daemon’s current character progression. Daemon continues to ignore the will of not just the small folk, but the other lords and ladies of the Riverlands. Daemon sitting in the grass in his armor, saying “I did not think they’d be so eager to die.” and then telling Willem that they’re the type of men he needs is hilarious. I think showrunners are doing a really good job showing Daemon’s inner psyche.

I like seeing Rhaenyra educate Jace, but also them frustrated together at the state of things and strategizing! Rhaenyra reminds her son that she is the Blood of the Dragon too and she is as frustrated as he is, if not more, at the state of thigns. But as they strategize about more dragons, Rhaenyra lets Jace in, even more than before, to the inner workings of this war the way she urged Viserys to when she was his age.

Seeing Helaena ask Aemond if it was worth it is a big moment to me. When you look back at their childhood, Aemond is more sympathetic to Helaena. He understands her more than Aegon. Maybe this goes both ways. She sees him too. And she’s disappointed.

Baela’s interaction with Corlys and Rhaenyra about her grandmother Rhaenys — it shows how she’s grown, how her grandmother and her stepmother have influenced her. She is fire and blood just like them and she burns.

Lastly, Aegon murmuring "Mummy" as Alicent leaves his room is very Hightower Trauma coded. We're really seeing generations of trauma -- how it is passed down and the effects of it.

Edit: I also really enjoyed seeing Alicent fall victim to the patriarchy she helped affirm. It's karma that she didn't see coming. I mean Larys is right, if Team Green elevates Alicent to the regency then how are they better than Team Black? If Alicent had supported Rhaenyra that conversation would have been so different.

One of my favorite episodes of the season. See y'all in a week!

[stayatsam]

onto a big thing about the companions...the roleplaying opportunities for Rook as a whole in the game are super fun, very varied, and i was not expecting the sheer amount of origin-based content i was going to get out of this (if context helps i'm playing a warden mage)

the COMPANION writing is very odd in Veilguard and definitely all over the place. Davrin and Neve are my opinion the ones who most consistently feels like "this is a dragon age companion" compared to previous games, with Davrin''s conflict with Lucanis especially good

i...feel bad. i don't really like Emmrich a whole lot, i was expecting to, but he's not a dragon age character. as i've progressed his questline i'm confused as to why we're chasing this mad scientist in big steampunk goggles instead of doing what's most pressing, like fighting the blight. i feel like Sten in DAO right now: "Why are we doing side quests lets go kill the archdemon!"

his group lines boil down to "we can't do anything about the biggest blight in the world until we solve our PERSONAL problems" which almost feels like the game holding my hand TELLING me to do the companion quests. which is you know, sure! it's a game i'm going to do them, but the dialogue feels off, and his entire character is out of touch with the setting sadly. i wanted to like him but the mourn watch quests remind me of fallout 4 settlement requests. "Rook, there's another haunting on the otherside of thedas we need you to kill"

i don't really feel very strongly about Bellara, not gonna lie. i wish they gave her a little more to chew on, i feel like there's good potential there and she got the short end of the interesting-stick

Harding is a weird one. i like her as a companion, but she feels like a new character wearing scout Harding's skin. i..admittedly don't take her out a whole lot though

i like Taash lots and not just because they're trans, it's cool to get a more inside look on Qunari customs and their family dynamics. their dialogue with Lucanis is probably what makes me like both of them lots.

the thing that does kinda irk me with Lucanis and Taash though is the way Spite isn't taken all that seriously, well overall i feel like. in DA2, Anders is seen as a constant threat by the rest of the party for being possessed, but there's a scene in Veilguard where Taash talks to spite like they're talking to a bad dog and not a literal demon that wants to KILL KILL KILL. this is also why i think Davrin is one of the best written companions since he's the one who reacts as a Thedas-based character WOULD to a demon-possessed assassin. and you DO get to see the two of them make amends despite their differences. the Lucanis-Davrin relationship is well thought out in my opinion

companion writing is overall pretty weak? it's hard. i like each companion individually and don't actively dislike any of them, i'm neutral at worst on a couple. i think what made me mostly resentful was having to hear Emmrich basically summarize "we can't save the world! i'll be too distracted thinking about my mad scientist ex-colleague and everyone else's drama etc. etc." like damn

i think after playing all day today i've bumped it back down to a 7/10...i have a feeling my final rating will probably be 6/10 or stick at 7

[darklinaforever]

https://www.tumblr.com/aryas-faces/759627378192465920/the-house-of-the-dragon-writers-are-so-jealous-of?source=share

Lol just lol

Wow. Reading so much crap at once should be banned.

The delusion that Aegon II took the throne for his family is reported by Eustace, a maester pro-greens and anti-Blacks / Rhaenyra, who spends his time whitewashing them as much as possible. What he says about the Greens is still highly questionable. Especially since this bullshit of only wanting to protect one's family as a motivation to take the throne can quickly be challenged when we see how different Aegon II seems to be with the crown on his head, ready to do anything to keep it for himself and absolutely not mischievous. Firing Otto and refusing the peace agreement proposed by RhaeRhaenyra which would precisely save his family, except his grandfather who... well that's good because he doesn't care! Not to mention calling Rhaenyra a whore as easily as he breathes when apparently before taking the throne he actually respected Rhaenyra saying what kind of brother would steal what belongs to his older sister ? A little common sense. Eustace's comments about the Greens / Aegon II taking the throne are not at all consistent with Aegon II's behavior after that.

Then, the same, the so-called great exceptional link between Syrax and Aegon II is propaganda bullshit. Did Sunfyre love Aegon II? Yes. Is the opposite true ? No. He saw it as a kind of replaceable accessory. As proof, when he loses Sunfyre, he says that he wants a new dragon which will be an even more efficient Sunfyre. That doesn't sound like someone who cares about their dragon. Unlike Rhaenyra who just says that her team just needs dragons otherwise they are lost to the war. At no time does she look for a better, more efficient Syrax. Also, if we really have to decide who seems to have a better connection with her dragon in a deep way, it is undeniably Rhaenyra with Sunfyre. I remind you that Sunfyre was hatched for Rhaenyra and that she rode him from the age of 7, making her the youngest dragonrider. Syrax also formed a mated paur with Caraxes, Rhaenyra's husband's dragon. But apparently, it is Aegon II who has an exceptional bond with his dragon ? My eye. Once again, we must differentiate between the words of propaganda and the facts in the book. Also, gold and yellow are almost the same color. When you put official images of Syrax and Sunfyre side by side validated by GRRM sorry but... Well Syrax is also golden from what we see. Honestly, who tells you that the maesters didn't just try to tone down the color of Rhaenyra's dragon to highlight Sunfyre and Aegon II ? See here for more development on the color of Syrax :

If the writers wanted to make Rhaenyra want to participate in the battles in HOTD, it's simply because they didn't know what else to do with the character and give her a false badass look. Not to show off her doing to Aegon II or make her as brave and selfless as him. This literally has nothing to do with your dear Aegon II here. It's just that the writers have no imagination. Then, sorry to shatter your dreams, but there's nothing brave about Aegon II going into battle. It's unconscious. A monarch generally does not go to the battlefield. Because life is precious because... well it's the fucking monarch ?! Sending him to death's door is stupid and counterproductive. Also, people seem to forget that Rhaenyra couldn't even fly a dragon in Fire and Blood when the war started, because she had just had a complicated stillbirth with Visenya. But obviously, no one is going to take all that into account. Let's forget the historical context and Rhaenyra's physical state to treat Fire and Blood's version as cowardly and selfish for not going onto the battlefield when there's no the fucking point here. All this to try to make Aegon II appear brave and selfless ?! Aegon II ?! He is neither of those two fucking words.

I remind you once again that no, the idea that Aegon II was forced to take the crown is bullshit, completely invented by Maester Eustace.

And no, Rhaenyra doesn't take the crown to protect her family in HOTD. She doesn't even have children when she accepts to be heir in 1x01. Rhaenys' words in 1x10 are just a classic fucking warning. Rhaenyra was already planning to be queen before this because she saw it as her duty and did not expect to be usurped the way the Greens went about it. So what are that person talking about ?! Rhaenyra even considers giving up her crown and her youngest boys (Aegon III and Viserys II) to the Greens to ensure the peace of the kingdom. So once again, what are you talking about ?! Rhaenyra didn't accept the crown at all to protect her family in this whole situation. Also, when you are designated heir, you accept and you keep quiet, that's all. Do you think 7 / 8 year old Rhaenyra was an aide to the throne or something ? Reading this kind of bullshit you might think that's what is being insinuated. To say that the Rhaenyra of the show is forced to have the crown is essentially saying that the 7 / 8 year old Rhaenyra who was named heir was completely on board and wanted it, when we're talking about a child who probably only accepted what was his duty in the first place, to then grow up always having this perspective in mind and having been educated for it, and then obviously considering the crown as rightfully his. Because it is. Quite simply. But apparently, with Green stans it's horrible... On the other hand, an impersonation if you have a dick is okay for them.

I also remember that in Fire and Blood, when Aegon II was crowned, the population demanded Rhaenyra...

On the other hand, I don't know in what universe this person lives to believe that Aegon II is the favorite of those who watch the show ? All the polls that are done on the internet simply prove the opposite. Yes, we all recognize the actor's performance on Team Blacks side, but he is certainly not one of our favorites and even less the favorite. Even some of the Greens Stans hate him... And yes, a large part of the Greens stans love an Aegon II that they fantasized in their heads, but they are not at all representative of the majority of the fandom. Again Aegon II is not a fan favorite in general in HOTD. This place is rather held by Daemon or then (to my great despair) Aemond (ironically because he is precisely a poor version of Daemon).