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darlingofvalyria · 9 months

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❝I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage. I will not be swept aside.❞

[ The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should have known his wife better— or at least, her ire, for when his trysts with the bastard Snow reached the Spiders and soon, the ears of his Princess Consort, rage and war drummed for Winterfell, demanding heads.

—Maestre Kevan, Volume IV of The Bastard Eater, passage chapter under 'The Flame that Sung for the North'. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 10,062 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), one-sided aegon ii x reader, jace x sara snow

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader, targcest, smut, angst - post-vizzy t death, rhaenyra is queen - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - allusions to infidelity & character death(s) - targaryen madness, revenge, domestic violence (not jace), unhinge behaviour, intense use of 'bastard', profanity, gaslighting, guilt-tripping - this is basically gone girl, you gone girl jace - dark fic - mentions of depression (aegon ii), allusions to suicide (not reader) - nsfw: oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i didn't think i was going to do the sara snow thing, but herewe are. also i just wanted an excuse to go absolutely ape shit. reader gets very intense, like thoroughly unhinged. this is literally me supporting women's wrongs. it is also quite insane that this reached 10k and it's still just the first part lmaooo + comment, reblog & like at will!

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! THAT GODSDAMNED, WHORE-FUCKING STRONG HALF BREED!"

Your shrieks echo stone and shadow, interrupted only by the things you pick up and hurl. Anything your hands grab, you throw and spit obscenities against, rage and tears ruin your pretty visage. The fury swept past your cherub features, a dragon breaking through the Hightower seams, upending fire and roar from the pits of your being.

"HOW DARE HE?! I GAVE HIM AN HEIR! I BROUGHT HIM PEACE! I BETRAYED—" you roar, pulling your pearl dagger— a gift from your Strong Bastard of a Husband — and throwing it to your vanity mirror, glass shards exploding. "— MY KIN!"

"DAUGHTER, PLEASE!"

Arms wound across your torso—hardened and chain-mail — as you fight against your bounds before a pain flashes to your cheek. Your rage quiets, hard breaths from your lungs. You turn your tear-stained anger to your mother and her palm, fright and terror on her regale visage.

Death of a spouse becomes the Queen Dowager in her pale blue robe and unbound spirals of auburn hair. Peace had begotten a realm that is balanced on the lineage you had produced for the Queen, her heir, and your own, as the new Princess of Dragonstone. With Otto Hightower for evermore banished to Oldtown, Kings Landing had been brought to a flowering kindness.

Queen Rhaenyra's ascension had been a wondrous affair, fit the for the first crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a Queen Consort, not a Queen Regent. An heir who rose for the crown always meant to be hers.

But the calamity that brewed in her ascension... no. You paved the peace. T'was you who wrangled the Great Houses that proved allyship to your twin brother's banner, you who blessed her with tranquility of a rule that will be known for ages that will precede you all.

And now her son... her son dared to destroy everything.

A conversation floats above your head, by your Queen Mother and her sworn shield, the Ser Cole, but you barely hear anything past the ringing in your head.

The Targaryen Madness the sheep so call it, an idle voice, faint and familiar, whispers in the niches of your brain. It has infected you so. It breathes, fuelled by the air wrought by your husband's betrayal. It sings, sweet love. It sings.

"—your grace, I urge to hold her—"

"—she is my daughter, Ser Cole, I am not in danger. Release her."

Justice, the voice shrieks? Screams? But it is so soft in your head, a wail of a memory, a woman or a man? must be had. No dragon falls in such disgrace.

The tight wound over your torso is unleashed but the knight is not far, tensed to cage you, when your mother grasps your elbows as you grab hers, nails digging into the thick fabric of her hem that she still winces, your grip steel-tight.

"My darling, please. I cannot help you if you do not speak what ails you." She brushes her hand desperately across your face, smearing your tears, trying to find the daughter she bore past the savagery and madness that beholds you now. "What has happened?"

You draw a tightened, harsh breath to your lungs, rattling your bones that you quiver in your attempt for sanity.

"I am being shamed, mother," you whisper. Stark, violet eyes meeting the worried round, brown of hers. "The Strong bastard is whoring himself to another, a Northern bastard."

A cackle falls your lips as alarmed gazes are exchanged above your head.

"Y-You cannot say such things aloud, sweet girl," your mother hushes your madness, pulling you close to her chest as she shoots a glance at the door.

Criston checks outside, but only your maids linger. Dyanna presses a finger against her lips, catching the knight's eye, and the rest scatter, surely to make sure that no one that need not know of their mistress' words is within reach. A shiver still runs his spine. He will never get used to the quiet, almost non-verbal way your connection worked and reached. Your Spiders weave webs all around, even as their mistress sunders with rage.

"Mayhaps you are mistaken, for sure the prince is loyal, and he adores you—"

You pull back against her, teeth bared. She flinches and Ser Cole steps forward, wary. "It is the third missive now that I have received. Did you think I would not have confirmed twice— thrice? I didn't believe it the first time! But three people have now confirmed that all this time, in the guise of rallying his mother's cause in the North, he is spending ample time with the Lord Stark's bastard sister. His bastard fucking sister!"

Your mother's horror catches that of Ser Criston's, but your fury is your own, you are a dragon trapped in the ruin of your own making, of the webs you had spun so cleverly to get to this point, and you cannot stop.

"I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage, my blood spilled the birthing bed for it." A cry leaves your lips as your grief and rage pools like ichor from your chest to the floor. Alicent is torn away from you— your nails had gone through her robe and she had cried in pain, a mimick of your own, a mother to a daughter to a mother to a daughter, a cycle, an Ouroboros — and you fall to the floor, grasping at your chest.

"I will not be swept aside. I will not be ignored."

A gasp falls from your lips as your mind moves to a quiet, still place. The tremble fades, your rage and grief whirls, collects, as you push it all back inside your chest.

Your madness must be sharpened for it be used as a sword.

And you cannot let him be happy in another's arms.

If you cannot drag them to the Hells, sweet dragon, the idle voice hums, hisses? Screeches. Your ancestors— all of those who have succumbed to dreamy madness — appears in the corners of your vision like soldiers. Awaiting for you to join them. Awaiting the blood that you will spill.

Then you must raise the Hells unto Winterfell.

"...my daughter?" Alicent calls, hesitant. Cole hovers but does not approach, standing guard in protection of the Dowager. It breaks her heart to see you this way, a young woman still, much older than she was when she married but only because you had always sought your future. You had always had a hardened scale, far stronger than she.

Even when you made your entrance to the world— the unmeasurable pain of bringing not one, but two heirs into the world, her firstborns, all at once — you had never cried. The maestres, maids, they worried for you, as your twin brother had not stopped crying, so alive and red, raw from the wound of being fresh.

But you... you had not made a sound.

The entire weight of your being— your mind, your emotions — even then, you wrangled them close to your very centre, never letting them stray too far from the edges of your fingertips. As if any release must be made with a perused thought. An incentive of reason.

Even then, you plotted every step you took.

Now, Alicent watches as her firstborn daughter suctions all her emotions— that Targaryen madness that plagued the blood of her husband, his ancestors — and made her ploy.

Against the husband that dared make a fool of her.

The silence beckons nightmare. Old fear flickers inside the Queen Dowager.

"Where are my daughters?"

"What?"

"My daughters," you repeat, a hair's breadth louder than the first time you spoke. Your eyes flutter upward. The deadened gaze curled Alicent's heart in fear. "Where are they?"

"In the nursery, with the twins and Maelor. Helaena and Aegon are watching them."

You offer your hand up mutely, and Cole exchanges one last, lingering look with the Dowager, before offering his own. You stand up, thank him softly, and brush and clean up your face to the best of your ability. An utter calmness over your visage.

"Tell no one of what I had told you," you say, fixing your hair and rubbing the red from your cheeks. One minute there is madness, the next there is nothing. There is only a girl. A woman. A princess. "No one knows apart the three of us, and if you ever decide, Ser Criston, that nigh is the glorious time for you to betray my mother or I, know that the last thing thing oyu will fear is the Stranger's hand when I am through with you."

Your mother shouts your name, horrified. "What are you thinking? What are you plotting?"

You cup Alicent's face, smiling ever sweet. "Your innocence will keep you safe, mother. All I ask, for the heart you keep for your children, that you keep this between sealed lips and tilted chin. You know nothing, yes?"

"... Yes. Nothing."

You place a tender kiss on your mother's head. "Keep Daenera and Aemma safe for me. Aegon and I are flying to Dragonstone promptly. Sweet Helaena does ever so get overwhelmed by watching all of the children by herself."

"D-Dragonstone?"

Your sweet smile touched with poison, stretches. "It is high time I take a dragon for myself, don't you think so?"

While an insecure obsession had fraught your younger brother about claiming a dragon, you had met it with indifference.

For how can you not mourn the loss of Aemond's sight, staring in quiet horror the entire time as the maestre did his best to salvage the muck mess of blood and nerve endings, before the old man had shaken his head, and you turned to the small bowl that contained your brother's eye, unable to look at anything else.

Not even when your mother's rage was met with apathy and anger, her demands for justice nothing more than a woman's insanity, a mother's grief that must be swept away, tucked under a chin and a sadness she will never get rid of.

"Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Your soft-hearted, darling, baby brother. None of his words had thawed the freezing of your heart, the grief under the swell of your breastbone.

Your own mourning was kept between teeth and tongue, as you had slept with your siblings that night. The four of you, tucked under the wing of the other, Aemond close to your chest as possible, as quiet, hot tears ran down your face. Every moan of pain or whimper he made in his sleep tore at each new vein inside of you.

"Dragons are the symbol of our House's power," Aegon had once said, windswept hair you tried to tame with your fingers, smelling fresh of Sunfyre and winds.

"And yet, there were no eggs in our child beds." He stiffened while you smiled sadly, curling your twin's hair away form his face, making him presentable and dusting the bout of sand that managed to find his leathers. You had been scolded long before by your grandsire of how you coddle Aegon, how you defend him, mother him more than your mother ever could, but you cannot stop. You were meant to care for him, tethered you once were inside your mother's womb together, you hold him steady now.

Whenever he was lost, whenever his sadness overtook him, wrung your brother dry of life, you bat the Stranger's hand and bring him back.

"But we have proved them wrong," he insisted. "All of us, even Aemond with Vhagar— the war queen, Visenya's dragon — we have claimed ours. Daeron all the way Oldtown has Tessarion, even Helaena has Dreamfyre. And yet you insist..."

You wound your arms over his torso, keeping him close in a silly hug where you sway and dance him around. A laugh escaped him while you inhaled the scent of smoke, soot, and that grime stench of beast.

Aegon on his good days lacked the bottle-edge of wine, of cheap salts from the waft of the soiled, Silk Streets.

This was your brother. No one else.

"I fare better without one," you whispered in his ear. "I appear innocent, sweet almost, without a beast in my command. They look at me with nothing but pity and the urge to protect me. Our father likes me like this, his poor, lovely daughter without a dragon of her own, listening so intently to his histories of Old Valyria. Our sister is eased, as one daughter is plagued by dreams and struggles with the real world, while the other cannot even claim a dragon of her own. Poor princess, Hightower blood must have thickened in her veins. She too, is no threat."

You pulled back, smiling at him. "They like me better like this. Pitiful, compliant, nothing but a sweet and pretty flower that sways in the Spring breeze. A beautiful decoration but no more."

He rubbed a thumb on your arm, a worry knot on his forehead. Aegon adored you but he struggled to piece together where your plot lies. You are a web-spinner, forever dancing out of reach, catching prey and lengthening your intricacies. "Is that why you hide your training with Aemond alone? Ser Criston is mother's sworn shield, he would not mind—"

"I will not place my secrecies to a knight with a soiled cloaked," you snorted. "No matter how tall he stands beside our mother. I trust no one but my kin. And I know that no matter how heavy you drink, sweet Aeg of mine, my secrets are your own."

He took your hand, kissing the back of it, stare impregnable. "As your blood is my own, our fire is one flame. I go where you tell me to."

You kissed his cheek, a reward, laughing. He smiles proudly at the sound. At this time, you dangled yourself to your brother as bait as the pressure from your grandsire to make him King started rising. You had been given notice that he had been talking to House Lannister, Wylde, even some Riverland lords.

You did not mind becoming Aegon's second wife. Just as his namesake, he will have his Rhaenys and Visenya. Unlike the Conqueror however, he would adore his Visenya more than a true flower. Helaena would enjoy that far better.

"And if I tell you to jump?" you half-purred.

"I will ask you how high."

Memories and choices break and tide as you scramble for hold on the rocky cliff face. Dragonmont in the dark is a behemoth beast, a screech or two breaking like lightning crackles, or the familiar drum beat of wings before the silence consumes once more. The stench of fire, of beasts and carcasses helps cloak the darkened night.

"Udligon ñuha brōzagon, Answer my call," you hiss into fraudulent emptiness, hands gripping rocky edges until your blood beads, "you fucking lizards."

"Have you gone mad!?"Aegon shouted, trying to pace with your run to the dragonpit.

A rocky laugh broke out from your being, not deigning that with a reply. Aegon huffed angrily.

"Alright, tell me this then. How are you so sure I'm not just about to put you on a bleeding volcano to die? We claim your dragon in the morn, sister. First thing before we break our fast. I'm sure by then, Vermithor or—"

You whipped your head around, pulling halt. "I leave tonight to claim my dragon. Whether it is you and Sunfyre who gets me there, or Aemond and Vhagar, is no matter to me. I will claim one tonight. It is up to you to decide now if we tell Aemond or not."

Aemond, whose anger is wounded tight, the barest excuse for war always at the edge of his hum. The misstep at Storm's End had cost him everything. Had cost your mother everything. Queen still, Alicent Hightower had bent the knee and offered her life in exchange for mercy. Before Rhaenyra passed judgement, Viserys I had passed.

It didn't matter that you had ensured a higher dosage from the Harrenhal witch in his usual milk of the poppy. Your spiders moving with ease through the silent channels you had established long before your own flowering.

The Red Keep had scrambled, the Heir with it. It was enough time for Lucerys to have come out of the red, confirmed to live through the worst of it without as much as a broken bone. Arrax however, had been badly maimed, and would no longer take flight. But he and his rider would live. Aemond would live. Alicent would have her son. Rhaenyea will have hers, and the crown.

Kevan had done his duty unto you while you settled the storms in Dragonstone. You rewarded him handsomely.

Aegon sighed. He too, would like your honour avenged, but not for the sake of war. "As you wish, sister. I hope you know what you're doing and I am not about to send you to your death."

Just like what you did to your mother, you reached forward and cupped his face. If before, your touch stills his heart and floods his cavities with warmth, a flash of fear strikes the twin son at the eerie smile on your face.

"Skoros morghot vestri? What do we say to the god of death?"

Aegon blinked. "Tubī daor. Not today."

You smiled. "Trust me, sweet Aeg. It is not my death the Stranger will take. Not until the fjords of the North are at my mercy."

"Iksan kesīr sir naejot māzigon ñuha sikagon pakto! I am here now to claim my birth right!" Your scream echoes and falls, repeating back to you. There is a hum, like an electric current that sizzles and pops inside your blood and marrow, and you scramble higher and higher on the rock. Your blood does not sing for the dragon lairs, but above. Up and up, jagged edges cut your skin and dress, the wind whipping with sea mist, but nothing, no one, can clamour you as you reach the peak.

At first you see nothing but darkness and hollow sounds. But you let your eyes adjust, a hiss breaking out of your dry lips as you stumble. You look down. What you first thought were rocks and wayward bones of cattle is bigger.

Whale? No.

Dragon. Dragon bone.

You look and will every sense that your eyes do not. The smell that is drowned— iron. Bones bigger than a person. Than cows and whales. Bones of fearsome beasts. Darkness moves, taking form, more than shadow. Scales hewn rough and jagged, as if stone themselves. Midnight black moving with the gentlest of sighs.

As soon as you realise what— or who — is in front of you, the eyes open with an intelligent gleam. Your heart jolts at the emerald irises that gaze back at you, slitting at the appearance of a human.

'The stench of death follows him', the voice of an old keeper hums into your ear. You no longer remember who told this to you, but the words ring true in your memory. 'Scales of midnight, as if hewn from darkness and death. A harbinger, your grace, an omen of the darkest nightmares.'

"Rytsas. Hello." You smile, ever sweet, ever charming.

This is a thread you had never felt before. Not one of your own making, but something older. A golden thread that led the eyes of Daenys the Dreamer. That spun the ties of Aegon the Conqueror. The voices that herded your madness had gone quiet in the mad rush to get here, but now their presence thickens. Words you cannot hear, nor understand, flood the silence as dragon met rider for the first time.

Keepers and historians have called him he, but every bone in your body tells you that the being before you is a she.

And wouldn't that make sense? A cannibalistic being is a woman?

She opens her maw, only ever slightly, smoke and fire crackling out of it. Molten lava in the belly of her insides tease the cool, night air and warms you.

Her version of a smile. Hello, she seem to say.

"Māzīs. Come," you say, giggling. "Dohaerās. Serve."

That night, you took your first flight.

That night, the Cannibal took her first flight with her first— and only — rider as well.

❝ . . . It is said that the formerly named "The Cannibal" had been entranced by the hunger of his new— first and evermore — rider. Prince Aegon the Elder who had escorted his twin sister that very night with Sunfyre, had looked up in alarm and fright to a maddened screech. Excitement and laughter pouring out from the newly bonded Dragon and Rider had soon turned fear into awe.

Gaelithox, she had been named as they had ridden until dawn broke by the rider who loved her 'till the end of their days, was said to have seen a mirror in Her Grace. The fathomless hunger for blood and organ from the same bodies of their kin. For Gaelithox ever hungers and satisfies for the same meat as her, at the height of her grief and ire that fuelled the Queen Consort to climb Dragonmont by hand, she too hungered for the throats of her traitorous blood.

Gaelithox will only have one rider in her whole life, as she found no same twin soul as akin in the Bastard Eater Queen. Their bond moved as if two bodies beheld one soul.

She shied from humans, and oft found too rough with other dragons. Vhagar was an exception, oft seen acting as an elder sister to the Queen's dragon when neither royal rode them and played in the skies. Smaller dragons were forbidden to approach her however, nor was she allowed in the dragonpit after almost devouring the flightless Arrax.

She died two moons after the Queen's death, delivering her final flames for her rider and would never more breathe her infamous green flames akin to Wildfire, ordered by the Crowned Heir, Princess Daenera Velaryon. It is said that the princess attempted to bond with the cannibalistic dragon but it refused.

The dragon spent her last moons in heartbreak, oft seen in Dragonstone and the Red Keep, circling her rider's most favourite places. Her final resting place is at the very top of Dragonmont from whence the Queen claimed her. It is said that the Queen's crown, the one the King Jacaerys had gifted her after the birth of their first sons, the Princes Laenor and Gaemon, is said to be placed there, as well as a portion of her ashes.

It is said that the King and the Queen's twin brother, the Prince Aegon, personally made the trek in remembrance.

It is widely suspected that Aelyx, Princess Daella's dragon, the youngest child of the King and Queen, may have been Gaelithox's only existing hatchling for he too is made of rough, midnight scales. The dragon that bred with her remains to be unknown. ❞

—Maestre Kevan Noratz, Volume X of The Life and Lies of the Emerald Flame, passage chapter under 'The Time of Hunger: Gaelithox'.

You leave Gaelithox to a mournful goodbye on Dragonstone, pressing your forehead against her hard, scaly head, promising to come back, of exchanging her diet for fat, juicy whales, for more wind-whipped rides, before riding back on Sunfyre with Aegon. The younger dragon would not rise from the beaches in fear of the cannibalistic elder, but you made ensuring promises to teach Gaelithox not to chew your dearest brother's dragon.

You had gone most of your life without the feeling of a bond beneath you, warm and alive and wild, and the roar and stench that though new, felt so familiar in your ribcage— you will fly again. And with your brothers beside you. With Helaena and her lovely Dreamfyre.

To think they had taken this from you too, to placate them. To play into their hands like a mewling kitten.

No more.

It is paces before fast is about to break when you both touch back down to Kings Landing. The Keep busying with its occupants, servants and maids bolstering with quickened feet to ensure the lords and royals are awakened with full, poached meals, dresses and coats readied for their lords and ladies, a new, glorious day under the Reign of the Black Queen.

"What now?" Aegon asks, trying to keep with your pace but he is fatigued, failing to stop his yawns. The excitement of last night had come upon him like a fog, and he is missing his bed. Hells, he is missing the bed he stays with his wife if it meant he would get a full night's sleep in the hours of the day.

"Now, we speak nothing of what happened."

He turns to you, frowning. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." You beam, nodding in favour of soldiers and maids who bow in reverence to the Crown Princess. You know you smell of dragon and night, and you need a bath. And to talk to Dyanna before you seek your daughters. "I will need time and people. The board must still be set for me to perfectly execute what I have in store."

"Alright." He yawns again. "I'll be in my quarters, passed out, if you need me. Please do not need me until sup."

You laugh breathlessly, grabbing his hand and giving it a wet kiss. "I will give you your rest, be assured. Kirimvose, dōna lēkia, Thank you, sweet brother."

The words are simple, said in a quiet murmur heavy with love and meaning. Aegon presses a loving kiss to your head, unable to stop himself winding an arm around you.

"Syt ao, va moriot, ñuha prūmia. For you, always, my heart."

As you break to each other's chambers— his, to sleep, you, already meeting Yna and requesting for a bath — you don't notice the lurker that watched the intimate moment between twins, humming in amusement before it moves to follow you.

Back in your quarters— your marriage quarters as Jacaerys had requested that you forgo having your own, not wishing to part with you — the maids are already busying themselves airing the room, moving to follow your usual routine. The only thing breaking it is the tub now in the centre.

"Thank you," you say to Yna as she picks out the pins from your hair, shrugging off your dress in the process as soon as the maids had untangled the lace behind you.

"Call for Dyanna," you tell them as they bow and leave, the door clicking softly behind them. Plans must be made. Bath for now.

With the world stifled for a second, left with only you and your thoughts, you plunge your body under too-hot water, sighing against the aches and pains in your body. Dragon-riding is a new endeavour to your muscles, and though enjoyable, was still too new.

You sigh as tears fall from your eyes, blinking exhaustedly against soft, humming daylight. You had always known that love, as it is, is a maiden's folly. A foolish, hapless play meant to fool young girls into thinking the world is kind; a pretty place.

It was an even farther thought from you, a princess of the realm. At a young age, it has been drilled to you that your womb is a rare commodity. Your body has never been your own, a piece meant to be moved in a bigger game that you are used for, not play.

You weren't stupid.

If there's a few things Otto Hightower had ever granted you, apart from gifting you his keen prowess in moving power beneath your fingertips, in hungering for more, for better— it is understanding what each person is, who they can be, how you can move them. A flatter, a flair, a push. As a man, there is much to be desired about your grandsire; he used people, used family to pursue power, but you can't truly fault him for that as you were the same.

You just took better care of the people under your wing.

And for Jace, you had banished him.

The worst part, you knew there was a good, fat chance you would care for the princeling. He was a kind man, a sweet man, and with a guiding hand, you could forge yourself the best husband for yourself as much as you can mould a great king and a wonderful father. Women's hands are ever carved to mould and prod men. We stand behind, a presence or a hand, an echo of power.

But your Jace had surpassed it all, and in the moons leading up to your present day, to giving him his heirs, two beautiful daughters, the promised full Valyrian colouring in the silver hair in Daenera, your eldest, the wide, violet gaze in Aemma— the name of his mother's mother, a request of him that you had kindly, graciously fucking agreed to — of course there is a part of you, the girlish, tender heart that you long thought you had buried to get here, would fall for the brown-eyed, wondrous man.

You sink deeper into the tub, sighing as you let yourself unravel—

When you feel it. A presence in your room. It's soft. Silent. Not a lot would feel as such, but as paranoid as you are, as you keep your spiders clean and pretty with your dewy-eyed webs— you know better.

Your mind runs with ideas on who it might be, and come to a few people. No true name rises. The Red Keep is flooded with spies and traitors. You test your luck, sitting up on the tub, raising an arm over the lip of it and flicking water with your fingertips.

"If you are here to kill me, I'm afraid it will be a lost cause."

He laughs, sardonic and edged and familiar, jetting a tingle down your spine.

Well. There's getting a calm bath.

"Perceptive as always, niece," he says, heavy footfalls approaching now that he has been caught. "I'm just here to say hello."

You raise your eyes, mouth curled but unsmiling at the man who acts as the biggest thorn to your plots. Daemon Targaryen has never fallen through your webs, on guard against your flatter, your push, or your flair. Of course, taking the position of his daughter might have forever burnt that road, but you would think he'd ease up just a little bit when his wife, the Queen, had warmed to you considerably.

Unlike your mother, you had never been hostile to your bitch of an elder sister. Just like your plots for Aegon and Jacaerys, and nodding along to thread your father had started but abandoned, foolishly thinking the realm would follow without him fully ensuring your sister's claim to the throne— you carefully maintained a polite farce with Rhaenyra.

Ultimately, this became a boon to you, as she had responded positively to your abrupt marriage to her son, even reminding her deranged guard dog of their own marriage. The cream to your lemon cake had been when you birthed Aemma, the Queen's most favourite grandchild thus far. When she was a babe, Rhaenyra was never far; almost, always holding your daughter, cooing at her cheeks, remarking her likeness to her namesake with pure fondness.

But Daemon Targaryen knew, in the deepness of his marrow, that there is something wrong with you.

"Hello," you answer primly. He laughs, leaning against the passage to your open balcony. "We could have had this elating greeting at fast, if you wish to break it with me and my own."

He scoffs, unable to hide his disdain at the thought. It breaks his stare of your naked visage. Men. "I would rather jump to the fighting pits, good daughter."

"How rude. Is that all?" You meet his gaze steadily, tilting your head. "If it is not obvious yet, good father, I am bathing."

An amused smirk. "I can see that." Lecherous fucking geezer. "No matter. I just have a... curious thought, a wonder I suspect you may be able to answer. See. Truly odd it is, for the keepers to alert me this morning that Sunfyre had taken a ride past the Hour of Owl." Your heart thuds in your ribcage and you do your best to keep your expression mildly irritated. "Not with one, drunken rider, but with another. It had taken them hours, only coming back when morning had already presented in the air."

He steps forward, slow, menacing, until he reaches the edge of your tub and crouches. Your gazes are still unmatched in height, defiant as yours might be.

"The distinct smell wafts them, a Keeper said, and one suspects that though one dragon left last night, two might have come back this morning for he had seen another fly away." His fingers dips into the water, swirling the steam without breaking eye contact. "I wonder if you know anything about it, darling niece of mine."

The mocking emphasis is not lost on you. If the Queen is the Realm's Delight, you were Darling of the Realm. A sweet, merry girl, the secondborn daughter of Viserys I who frequently fought for the plight of the small folk, who gathered friends of all kinds of lords and ladies no matter the standing of their houses to her own, visiting far lands and charming every person in any room. Who made any feast brighter, always sparkling, always the darling.

Less of a dragon, more of a fairytale.

You sit up, leaning, baring your breasts completely to him as you pull yourself up on the ledge he is crouched from. He leans back, only slightly, as you smile demurely. Sweet. Tart. On the edge of pulling his head and hitting it against the copper tub.

"I am unsure of what you suspect, or is accusing me of, kepus, uncle," you purr and there's a twitch in his mouth, a widen in his irises— men are so fucking simple — "I had been feeling down last night, as my husband, as you know, is beyond my reach at the moment as he rallies alliances for the good of the realm. My brother had simply offered to take me out riding, trying to quell my loneliness with an excitable flight I had never been afforded."

You tilt your head. "Even if there had been a dragon binded to my own, why why would I not regale the realm with news of my success? I have longed for a dragon of my own, but alas, I have not quite succeeded where most of the family have." You pout. His eyes flicker. "Mayhaps I am more Hightower than I am Targaryen."

A huff leaves his lips, the amusement in his smile arching to his dark, dark gaze. Before you can react, his hand had comes forward to hold your chin in a tight grip, your jaw aching soon enough at the fingers that dig against your skin, wanting to bruise, to break.

Though a tremble passes your body, you keep his stare, gritting your teeth as the pad of his thumb brushes your lips. Moments and desires thrum between a charged hatred.

The lust is twisted from wanting to fuck you to wanting to kill you. The line is not simple. Maybe that is your fate together.

But he can't. You are well too ingrained in his family now, loved by the people he cared about. You are untouchable. For now. This is a warning, waiting for you to stutter, to show your hand. Any show of your true intentions... he is more than happy to swing Dark Sister across your throat.

He releases you without another word, standing up and leaving through the front door, the door clicking shut.

You sink back into the bath, letting the water engulf you.

Your daughters are moons apart in birth, and there are only a few differences between them that people oft remarked they could be twins. Daenera is taller, spindly. Built like Aemond when he was younger. Her hair is spun moon and eyes of mullish blue. It reminds you of Daeron's eyes. You had named Daenera yourself, a gruelling birth that took the entire night. You promised Jacaerys he could name the second. He had chosen Aemma for a girl, Laenor for a boy.

Not a few moons later, you were with child again. Your husband pinked at the cheeks at the chiding from his family. When she cried into the afternoon sun—Aemma was born mid day, during a council meeting — he pain did not stop the laugh that came out of your mouth from the horrified expression from the Master of Coin as your water broke.

Aemma had a sweetheart face, cheeks much fatter than her older sister's, with a yellowish tinge to her hair, curlier too, reminding you of Aegon. And Aemma laughed more, her deep, violet eyes always half closed as she exploded in giggles and bright, sunshine happiness.

Sons they might not be, but you had given heirs for the throne. And for them, you would do anything to keep their futures intact. Bond with a dragon, face the Rogue Prince, upheave Winterfell. Anything.

You flounce to the nursery where you know the two would be, smiling sweetly at every person you pass as they bow in reverence. Most wore sights of confusion, their greedy eyes and wagging tongues drinking in the deep, emerald glisten of your gown.

It's an old dress, one you keep in the corner of your collection. It isn't as if you had forgo the colours of your mother's house, but playing court meant every movement, even the clothes you wear, can be meaningful. And since your marriage, your Jace liked you in Velaryon colours.

"A goddess come to bless," he gasped against your collarbone, keeping your legs high on his waist as he rutted into you before his teeth sunk on your skin. As newlyweds go, there is not a lot of teasing to be had for your husband to curl against you in a darkened alcove. Merely wearing his favourite colour on your skin has him panting like a dog. His favourite dress is a seafoam blue that dragged longer against the ground in a soft, almost-gossamer material with a silver belt.

Enticing him never took long, but you enjoyed the dance presented. You enjoyed the dark hunger that filled him until he grabbed you to take you because he just had to take you.

The fresh wound slices deeper as you imagine all the things Jacaerys is doing to the so called Sara Snow. The emerald green of your gown shimmers with your anger.

"Fucking bastards," you can't help but say aloud, nodding at the guards posted on the nursery as you hear the squeals of your daughter and the calm, even voice of your brother.

"Muña! Mother!" Aemma squeals, untangling herself from being pressed against Aegon's side as the children— Daenera and Jaehaera — cuddle around him, before running to you. Helaena is on the floor, entertaining baby Maelor. Your mother, hands twisting against her own, stands vigil by the window, staring far ahead.

You catch your secondborn, giggling as you pressed kiss after kiss on her face.

"I see everyone has started without me. Where is Jaehaerys?"

"You were late, sodjisto, aunt," Jaehaera grins gummily. Jahaera is only a year older than Daenera. Your daughters, five and a half and five respectively. "Jaehaerys is with kepus, uncle. They are training."

"Smart girl." You meet your brother's gaze, whose eyes had notably been staring at your dress, mouth turned down. "Why don't you three play with Helaena? I shall speak about Name Day gifts for your Uncle Joffrey for a bit, hm?"

As Aemma shrieks something about cakes, and Daenera dutifully kissing your cheek in greeting before she takes Jaehaera's hand, you turn to your brother and mother.

"Aemond?" you ask softly, keeping your voice out of earshot. Alicent shakes her head. You nod. "Good. We don't want him inciting a war before I have mine properly planned."

As the Dowager draws in a sharp inhale, Aegon grabs your hands, the worry pulled taunt in his eyebrows. "Are you seriously contemplating war, sister? Isn't there a better way to punish them?"

"What punishment does a man regale in?" you hiss, stepping close to him. "Or the Queen's heir for the bloody matter? When Aemond nearly killed Lucerys, and he confronted me as if I had ordered Vhagar to tear through his brother, I thought I had put to bed any doubts in our marriage. It seems that men stray, regardless. My daughters may be his heir now, but what is to say that bastard wildling he's found himself cock deep in produces a son? Will he shame me with a mistress? Or will he shame me with a second wife?"

Your mother's lips tightens, her fingers paling at how tight she is gripping her nerves.

"Bastard or not, if he takes her to wife, I will be nothing. Make that babe a son, and the realm will rally for it. Daenera is his heir. My daughters will not be forgone. I will not be pushed aside. This is mercy, brother," you say softly, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "My last one. It requires time, moons, to unfurl. It requires seeding doubt and unfathomable inadequacy. Better if Aemond is none the wiser, Helaena the same. But I will need both of you for this to work. It is the only time I will ever ask. For me. For my daughters."

"And you will punish Winterfell with a war?" your mother asks, frown pulled deep. "That is the plan?"

"I will not. I won't do such a thing so blatant, mother, you know me better than that. But this is my last mercy, and it will be the last. For the next time he offends me so, I do not care if Rhaenyra feeds me to Syrax. I will put a dagger through his heart, heir or not."

The Prince Jacaerys comes back not a week later. Though he comes back to the same castle with the same occupants— your shiny new threads gleam. The stage has been set, a play ready to act. You had sent more spiders in the North, keeping a close eye to every blasphemy your husband has been enjoying in the absence of his duties, and as the rage in you quietly grew with each new whisper, your determination hardens.

You mark each indescretion. You keep a tally.

You count for each fall your blow will land on him.

Vermax lands with a screech and a heavy thump, your husband leaping off him with a grin on his face, matching the one you own, waving your arm joyously with Aemma in your arm and Daenera beside you, holding to your skirt as she grinned at her father.

Aemma wiggles under your hold, and you let Jace get close enough before you set her down, laughing, "Okay, okay!" Her laughter carries through as she scrambles like a bull to her father. A squeal peals out of her as Jace picks her up just in time and tosses her in the air.

"Want to meet kepa, father, sweet girl?" you whisper to Daenera, running a hand down her hair before she nods, breaking out into her own sprint, hugging her father as he greets them with laughter and kisses.

You let them have their time, and this, at least, eases your heart truthfully. A kind reminder that Jace adores his daughters.

You stay at the edge of the entrance, your too-wide grin softens into a smile. You were dramatic, nothing new about that, but even in the pale, pearl blue of your dress in silky, Myrish lace, the emeralds in your heavy, golden belt winks. Green ribbons twisted in your hair alongside fresh flowers. When the trio of your family treks toward you, silver-haired babes clinging to your dark haired prince, you serve a wink at the girls and they untangle themselves from their father while you stepped forward.

A choreographed dance, not giving him time to think. To pause.

Every step is calculated, every item on your body— the silk, the small seahorse that locks your dress behind you, the tint on your lips to the oil in your hair and body — is made to perform. You engulf him in you as if you want to suffocate his senses, your arms wrapping around him with sweet kisses pressing on his face, his neck.

Most in the dragonpit looked away, others, scandalously amazed and enchanted, watch as the princess is undeniably enthralled with her lord husband.

His laughter rumbles across his body, infecting your own, smelling of dragonback and crisp winds. You wonder if your nose is more heightened, you would be able to smell his whore in him, but you don't. It's just him. Your Jace.

Your body moulds against his as his arms tightens around you. When you lean back, you sweetly press a chaste kiss on his lips, grinning.

"What is this?" he huffs a laugh, meeting your doeful gaze. Your fingers curl around his chin, his cheek, idly tapping and touching as if you are committing so much newness to memory.

"Kostagon iā ābrazȳrys daor jaelagon zirȳla valzȳrys? Can a wife not want her husband?" you ask softly, pressing a few more kisses before sucking the last one just under his ear. His body shudders. You hide your smirk. "Skori ēza issare qrīdrughagon tolī bōsa? When he has been away too long?"

A yearning look tints your gaze from under your lashes, and you have to stifle the winning smirk as guilt pinches his face.

"My apologies, my wife. I did not mean to be away from you for long. From the girls." As his eyes flick to his daughters, your mask momentarily sharpens into clear distaste. The urge to dig your fingers into his eyes until he is bleeding and screaming under you is one you tamper with great distress.

Did not mean...

Did not mean to have a dalliance with another woman?

Did not mean to fall into bed with a fucking bastard, you insidious cunt, while I await here with your heirs?

Your anger thrums, nestled deep in your heart, it breathes. You school your face the moment he turns back to you, bringing your hands to his lips, kissing each finger with reverent tenderness. His brown eyes smoulder, rubbing your bare— irises widening — back.

"If you wish it, I can be on my knees for my apologies, my princess."

Your mouth curls. "I'm afraid that might have to be quite later, my prince."

"Huh?"

"The Dowager Queen hoped to congratulate you on your successful campaigning. Reaching as far as the North so frequently, we planned a feast for your return." Eyes shinning, you cup his face. You hope the guilt eats him raw from the inside out. Like worms. Like termites. Hungry, hungry, hungry. "We have never been more proud of you, I have never been more proud of you."

You laugh brightly, ignoring the way he squeezed you just a bit harder that mere second the same time his eyes tightened. "The moment I told the girls of it, they had begged to dance with you." Then you bit your lip, frowning slightly. "I... I understand if you are tired, 'tis a long journey after all, I did try to tell them you might want to rest, we can sneak you—"

"No, no, my heart, of course I would be happy to, I— I want nothing more." He brings you close, face disappearing into your neck. "Thank you. I love you."

You hum, carding your fingers through his hair. "As I love you."

For the rest of the feast, you dance just at the edges of his fingertips, ensuring that you permeated his sights and senses despite it. A game. A dance. When he thanks revelries who congratulate him, who ask him of his adventures, you proudly stand beside him, dutiful as the wife that you are, spearing him with compliments as much as you can. Hands squeezing his arm, your oils swallowing him with your smell.

When dinner came, you take chances massaging his thigh, sliding a salacious grin that had him blushing, ever so sweet, green— making you wonder what kind of fucking bastards do that he finds your attention so swallowing.

You don't let up.

Whenever he, in turn made a move, you sidestep, flutter a smirk, a wink; always escaping, letting him grow frustrated as the night went on.

Your one respite from taunting him had been when he danced with his daughters, making a gallant show of asking them, even Jaehaera. Giggles and spins, the ladies of the court fawn and coo.

Even now, you're making him to be the perfect man. The endearing husband, the wondrous father, the brilliant prince, the perfect lord.

To execute your plan, it must be made with a surgical precision. A slice that guts him to his knees, that breaks his spirit and quenches the whispering, wicked madness nestling with your ire. On another cheek, he must remain upright and upstanding, as to keep your daughters' future in perfect order.

You catch the domineering gaze of Daemon Targaryen, idle as he is, on the side of his distracted Queen, talking to a highborn lady. You don't look away as you toast him your cup of Arbour Red before you pucker your lips for a taste. Your eyes move to where your husband is already looking, flushed red and sweaty from all the dancing, your girls, preening and giggling around him.

You tilt your chin at him, a challenge in your gaze, before you slowly pull your lips away from your wine, stained red.

His throat bobs.

It will be a long, arduous game. Full of pitfalls and tightened webbing. One trip can kill you. But once the machinations are in order, once everything and everyone is in their proper places... oh, you cannot wait for the dance the dragons will make.

A flutter, a simpered footstep. Then a rustle of a dress as one bows.

"My lady," Dyanna greets behind you.

"Hm?"

"The spiders in the ice have met the pup in the snow."

"And?"

"The pup is not suspicious, in fact, they might go as far as to say that the pup is lonely. Though others largely understand her existence... no one likes a bastard."

You snort. "No, they don't, do they?"

"The wolf cares for the pup though, and is largely protective of his only sister."

"Hm. Complicated, but not impossible. Have Meera change the tone of my missive. A softer edge. Sweet but not overtly. Ensure the prerogative of politeness. Then have it sent to the Rookery. The proper channels."

You sigh, taking the edge of your braid and twisting through the ribbons your maid tangled between them. Tonight, you had elected Targaryen colours. A black dress akin to scales and a low, exposed back and dipping front, held together in red ribbons and silver chains. One that might be too on the nose, but the constant, feverish stares from your husband made it worth it.

"We have to ensure a good relationship with the Warden of the North, don't you think so?" You have not looked away from your husband since your maid came, and as he whispered something in Daenera's ear, nodding off to her grandmother with Aemma towed, he turned towards you, one stride after another.

"Precisely what I thought, milady."

"Go," you order her for the last time, giving her your cup, just before Jacaerys reaches you.

Game, set.

Worshipping you has always been something Jace excelled at. At the least, his cock was much larger than most, and without the preparation of his tongue and mouth, it burned. At most, he oft found himself holding your shaking thighs, your head and shoulders left on the bed as he feasted on you like a man starved, hungered for your nectar, the sounds you make, and the shaking of your body as you reached your peak on his tongue.

"J-Jace, please, I—" Your breath stutters, a hiccup escaping your mouth, but he is not letting up. On his knees as only a lordling can with his back straight, he is holding your thighs, your lower back, eating your cunny for the third time of the night.

As soon as he had reached you, he grasped your waist, whispering against your hair in a rumbled groan, "You are torturing me so, my wife. We leave. Now."

"Now?" you echoed, amused. "This is a feast in your honour."

"My honour is already hanging by a thread. The revelry will go on without us. I want to have my fill of you."

And fill he had. He didn't even wait to get you out of your dress before he had pushed your skirt upward, gone on his knees, and got his tongue inside of you.

Now, you are overwhelmed, overstimulated as you are hazy, gripping the wrecked sheets as your peak reached you once more. A strangled, breathy cry of his name falls between your lips as your back arched impossibly so, and instead of letting up, this seemed to fuel him harder, the muscle of his mouth working harder inside of your cunt, hands digging into your flesh to keep you steady.

It builds with a stimulation unending, and just as you're on the throes of your last high, it builds again, quick and fast this time, shuddering gasps of, "o-oh gods, g-gods, Jace!" is the last thing you are able to shout before your fourth peak breaks against the shudders of your last one, your wetness exploding, and you start crying before he lets up.

Your blubber becomes laughter, and he is soft as he lies you down, massaging your thighs as you twitched. He hovers above you, running gentle hands across your arms, kneading through skin, before he reaches your face. He's still in most of his clothes, his long white shirt and breeches, but his mouth is covered in your wetness before he wipes it, obscene in the prettiness of his face and messy locks from where you had tugged and grabbed.

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, so close to your body, all too tangled in your soul, and can feel his hard cock upright and wanting against your belly, but he pays it no mind. Concern mars his features as he brushes down your hair.

"Are you alright, my love? Too much?"

You shake your head, brushing your hand down his chest. "N-no, I am well. I just never did that before."

He smiles, kissing your closed eyelids before he brings you close to his chest, cuddling you deep. "You deserve all the pleasure I can give you," he says against your hair. "I have been gone far too long. Consider it my apology."

You hum, eyes open. "Apology for what? You were doing your duty, nothing more, ñuha zaldrīzes, my dragon." You feel him stiffen as you keep your voice soft, caring. "I understand duty far better than you. It is what I love most about you."

You look up, taking his chin between your fingertips as you stared at those warm, brown eyes. "You, who carries your honour like a shield and your duty like a sword. I feel as if the gods had blessed me a husband far better than I should have had for I know I do not deserve you."

"H-how can you say that? You are—" He swallows. "— You are the most excellent woman. The mother of my children. You... You are the one I do not deserve."

Your head falls back against his chest, gripping his shirt. Only by your teeth had you stop yourself from screaming.

You curdle, you keep, you poise.

"My love?"

But you pay him no mind, pushing him on his back as you straddle him, your hands working quick to unlace his breeches until his cock slaps against his stomach, end red and swollen. A sharp hiss falls from his lips as your hand tugs on it once. Twice.

He calls your name, spits it really, eyes blown with lust as he holds your waist, unsure if he should lift you off him or grind you against his aching cock.

"I want you inside me," you whimper, plead, feeling his cock twitch at your words, your false, yearning gaze. He mistakes the burned tears of anger in your eyes as unbridled want. "I have gone so long without your warmth, your cock, swelling inside me, your seed nestling deep, taking root—"

"Yes," he gasps, fingers digging into your doughy sides, pulling you up, moving you around whilst you grabbed his length and directed inside your wet, hot cunt inch by inch, filling you so thickly you can feel him in your throat. It takes time, patience and grit, but you're wet enough and you're determined. Once he's fully inside of you through a choked moan of your own, his neck arches, head thrown back. "Fuck! Yes, y-yes, there you are, my g-good fucking girl."

You move slow at first, taking him, bracing one hand on his knee, almost testing the feel him of back in the familiar contours of your cunt. Veins pop between each groan and choke that shudders through him whilst praise, your name, the possessive titles— my love, my wife, my princess — is spit in between.

When the heat tightens in your belly, you shift positions, placing both palms on his chest, and riding him without abandon, bouncing up and down as you watch with a sharp eye as his release builds. His hips move on their own, fucking up in you as you meet his thrusts with equal vigour, and it's delicious. It's heated. You grind your swollen folds against his mon and your cries make him thrust up harder into you, calling your name, denting your doughy hips.

You don't stop, your pleasure at the back of your mind, wanting him to unravel, to break— a final cry of your name dissolving into a choked moan, spilling his seed deep inside, the continuous snap of his hips digging it deeper into your womb.

But your last peak is still tightening, so you press a quick kiss on his chest, a bite really, before you continue to chase your own high, a hiss slipping his lips but moving your hips with his iron-grip, stutters of, "d-do it, reach your high, f-fuck! fuck!"— Your head throws back, nails digging his skin as your cunt clenches his cock in a vice grip, forcing his hips to snap up once more, twice, until you fall, slumping against him.

When he kisses the top of your head, murmuring words you ignore, you close your eyes.

Your plan is in motion. The missive will be sent to the Lord Stark, in pursuit of an innocent friendship. The spiders you have placed on the Northern bastard are set, and a dragon flies in Dragonstone with your bond in its blood.

Your Jace is home. He will fall in love with you all over again. His wonderful daughters and darling princess, he will regret the events that have transpired in the cold. In his head, he will make promises to do better, to be better, that whatever happened is a blip. A mistake that will not happen again. but you know, he will trip. He will wander once more.

But you will make sure that the next time he does so, he will regret it for the rest of his days.

Because it is not you who will burn Winterfell to the ground.

It will be him.

Your plan moves, your web is perfect.

Now, the spider waits for the idiot fucking flies to feed on.

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youraverageaemondsimp · 7 months

Text

Incomprehensible Horror. // Demon!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Halloween Special 🎃

MDNI, DD:DNE(?): reader discretion is advised.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to prevent seeing dark content from me.

WARNINGS: dubcon, cunnilingus, demon fucking(?), p in v sex, past life, mentions of abuse, plotting, murder, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), size kink, cum eating, slight breeding kink, spooky vibes(?), manhandling, so much canon divergence, GoT S8 spoilers(?) kinda idk, the plot is shifted and extremely altered to fit this story. + not proofread

WC: 3.8k

A/N: the original draft got deleted and i had to rewrite it because I wanted to publish this before Halloween is over, so this is slightly rushed :(

There was something extremely eerie about the red keep that always set you on the edge whenever you would hear stories about it.

The burnt down remnants of it untouched as the city around it prospered, only developing more as the time passed on, with skyscrapers, branded shops, turning into what you would call a 'modern city'.

King's Landing was not the way it was anymore, the destruction of it provided a reason to rebuild the city entirely, it was a lengthy process but definitely worth it.

A seemingly innocent city until you look past the sky scrapers, shops, etc, revealing a sinister and a tragic history of the land, a story that involves a royal family fighting and going mad for the throne, only to succumb to their madness and go extinct.

There have been many attempts in the past to rebuild it, but all in vain as there have been cases of construction accidents, fatal injuries, suicides, making it impossible to rebuild it, so they turned it into a tourist attraction.

What a way to make money.

Yet they close it off the moment the sun begins to set.

You had visited it a lot, having been living in King's Landing for a while, it was basically harmless, making you wonder why it was rumoured to be haunted, when it's just a disfigured building with half of its structure on the ground.

It was a casual weekday for you, returning to your apartment from work after the sun had long set, you took the elevator up the building, the music abruptly coming to a stop way before you reached your floor, leaving you confused, but you soon broke out of your confusion when you heard the familiar 'ding' indicating that you reached your floor, and as soon as you left the elevator the automatic doors slammed quickly, causing a loud sound, startling you.

It seemed as if the elevator was having technical difficulties.

You make a mental note to take the elevator less often until it is fixed.

You quickly scurry to the side of your apartment, pulling the keys out and pushing it into the lockhole, turning it, which opens the door, but you stumble over something and lose your balance, holding the wall for support to not fall until you finally push yourself back onto your feet and look down.

It was a package.

But you had not ordered anything.

Weirdly enough, there was no address.

You should've left it there.

But you took it inside.

Your curiosity got the best of you, and the package not having any address only further fuelled your justification for opening it.

It was a book.

An occult type of book to be exact.

You opened it and skimmed through the pages, it seemed more like a personal diary than an instruction based book for spells.

And it was convincing enough at first until you read a certain page.

“Go to the ruins of the red keep at 3AM, and chant this, 'Oh rōvēgrie zaldrīzes dārilaros, māzigon naejot se iōragon gō nyke, ivestragī aōha kasta se melkasta laesi jurnegon rȳ nyke, iksan isse jorrāelagon hen aōha dohaeragon, kesan krenyikhé tepagon mirros ao jaelagon' for a miracle!” (Oh great dragon prince, come forward and stand before me, let your blue and purple eyes look at me, I am in need of your help, I will gladly give anything you wish.)

This made you chuckle, what kind of prank was this? This was so badly written to the point of making any paranoia you felt about this book dissipate immediately.

I mean, chanting spells? to summon a dead prince? it made you laugh, and of course the location was the red keep, a place rumoured to be haunted. It couldn't not be more obvious than that, because whatever this was, was clearly a joke.

So you pushed the book aside and settled for bed.

Sleep did not come to you.

Which you found odd.

You would usually be extremely tired, and the moment you lay on the bed, you would be pulled under the depth of slumber.

Yet now you squirmed, not being able to find any sleep.

You don't know how many hours passed, making you frustrated.

And your mind wandered off to what you had read earlier.

You glanced at the time, it read 2AM.

You purse your lips in thought, not knowing what to do.

You got up from your bed.

You knew this was a bad idea, sneaking into the red keep, with the stupid book in your hand as you navigated through the building, and then you ended up in a room with a bunch of paintings of the past targaryens.

You set the book down and kneeled, looking at the verse you were supposed to chant out loud, you bought out your phone and looked at the time, it read 2:59AM.

One more minute.

You did not know why you were doing this, normally, you were a rational person, you usually don't let your curiosity win in situations like this, having control over it, but in this case, it seems you had lost all your control, and it seemed as your mind is being controlled to do whatever was written on that page.

Besides, it's not like anything would happen.

It seemed fake after all.

Trying doesn't hurt.

You never really believed in ghosts or demons yourself, so what were you scared of?

And so as soon as the time read 3AM, you chanted the saying out loud.

You waited.

And waited.

You looked at the time, 3:10AM.

Nothing happened.

You let out a scoff, what did you expect? A demon to appear?

You collected the book and left the scene, annoyed that nothing happened, but you were also glad nothing happened at the same time.

The air felt colder than before, and lights seemed to flicker constantly whenever you crossed a street light, everything seemed out of place and odd, the buildings looked distorted.

Was your paranoid finally getting to you?

You felt a chill run up your spine.

It felt as if someone whispered in your ear, causing you to jump and look back, only to find nothing.

This was setting you on edge, you quickly walked faster back to your apartment, you frowned when you saw the "out of order" sign on the elevator, knowing that it was not there when you used it to come down prior to your visit to the red keep.

You sighed heavily and took the stairs, climbing to the floor you lived in, but for an odd reason, the stairs seemed to go on for longer, the more you climbed, the more they went on, you did not know if you were seeing things for feeling that way simply cause you were spooked, but you know for a fact that climbing 7 floors should not take more than 10 minutes at a slow pace, and yet here you were still climbing at a fast pace yet the stairs seemed to be never ending, you did not know if you were hallucinating the scribbled out floor numbers assigned to the respective floors or if they were originally like that before.

You looked down the stairwell, and it only seemed as if you climbed 3 floors, which left you baffled. You ran up as fast as you could, and to your relief you saw the '7th floor' on the board, indicating you were on your floor. You sighed in relief, making your way to your apartment, you did your best to ignore the constant flicker of lights, and what seemed like a dark figure standing from the corner of your eyes, the keys fumbled in your hands, it took you a few tries to unlock the door and when you did, you saw the figure move towards you, so you quickly rushed inside and slammed the door shut behind you.

You leaned against the door breathing heavily, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths, to try and calm your mind. You cannot tell if this was just your mind playing tricks because you're so worked up, or something odd is actually happening, but you know for the fact that whatever you were seeing was real.

Your apartment suddenly starts smelling putrid, making you scrunch up your nose. The smell was unbearable, as if thousands of dead rats were in your apartment, decaying away. It made you want to throw up, the foul scent leaving you light headed as you went towards your bedroom, to access the attached bathroom.

Luckily for you, the bedroom smelled like it usually would instead of dead rats, so you took a deep breath of the normal air, the nausea beginning to slowly fade away.

“For what have you summoned me, mortal?” a deep voice says, making you freeze in your spot, you turn around and your eyes widen in horror, as you take in the sight in front of you.

The face of a goat with horns, and scales that belonged to a dragon running down its upper body, stopping at it's elbows, black fluid dripping from its body, covering it's most intimate area, and its legs covered in scales as well, your voice was stuck in your throat, not being able to scream as the sheer panic made it unable to.

It looks confused at your horror filled face before looking down to its body and sighing annoyedly, and then its body distorts, the sound of bones cracking, flesh turning and squeezing, you watch the entire thing happen, the way its body is changing shape until it stops, making your breath hitch in your throat.

It took the form of a human man, face now mimicking a normal human, yet it was also disfigured, with a scar running up his cheek to his eyebrow, and an eye patch on his left eye, before he took it off, revealing the sapphire placed in the eye socket. His gaze was piercing, staring daggers at you, as he grew visibly frustrated at your silence.

“Can't you speak?” his voice booms across the room, causing you to snap out of your fear, and finally answer him, “I-it was an accident, I didn't mean to.” you answer and that displeases him, face now carrying the expression of a scowl.

“You followed as the book had instructed, did you not?” he asks and you nod, “Then it is no accident.”

“I did not think it would actually work, it was my mistake, please its an accident-” your voice cracks, still trying to process what was happening, trying to form words that made sense. He pushed you against the wall, his hand wrapped around your throat, long sharp nails digging into the skin of your neck, restricting the passage of air as you struggled in his grip, “On accident you say? Then you must pay the price for wasting my time.” he said darkly, and released you, causing you to fall to the ground, coughing and taking lungfuls of air.

“Should I kill you and then take your soul? Or take your soul directly and watch as the light fades from your eyes, screaming and writhing in agony in my hold.” he ponders genuinely and you gulp in fear, tears welling up in your eyes, knowing that something stupid is now costing you your life. “Please forgive me- I did not mean for any of this to happen.” you beg, voice hoarse.

“Forgive you? You should not have stifled me to begin with, now you must pay the price for your own stupidity, what shall I do hmm? My time is incredibly precious after all.” he looks down at you and you quiver in fear.

He grabs your hair and pulls you to your feet, making you stand, his hot breath fans against your face as you look up at him, and then he scans your face, taking in your features and then his eye widens as if he realised something.

And then he smiles, the grip in your hair becoming even tighter, causing you to wince in pain, “Please- let go of me- I'm sorry.” you grip his hand, trying to make him let go of the hold he has on you, “Aemond- please.” and that's when he releases you.

“Ah, so you do remember me.” he says, amused and you look at him confused, “Huh? What do you mean?” you ask him genuinely and that's when you realised you called him Aemond, it came out so naturally to the point you did not notice it.

But you still had no idea what just occurred.

Who's Aemond?

He grabs your cheeks, “I had waited so many years.”

What is he talking about?

“I won't lose you this time.” he says and before you can respond, he presses his lips against yours, one hand wrapped around your waist as the other holds the back of your head, pressing your face against him.

Your head felt hazy all of a sudden.

Why does all of this feel familiar?

You don't protest when he pushes you on the bed, climbing on top of you, you just stare at him, blinking in confusion as he tears away at your clothing, “Oh how the fashion has changed overtime, I remember last time you were wearing a black gown, mourning the death of your husband.” he whispers in your year and you feel ringing in your ear.

“What an amazing actress you were, mourning him in such a convincing way, only to get fucked by me after the funeral.” his hands trail down your body, “Such good memories, to have you underneath me, moaning my name constantly like a prayer, you were the first woman I ever desired after my death, the one who broke my curse, letting me become a true demon, it was on accident too back then.” he chuckles, he grips your pants, tearing the fabric as if it were paper.

“Until they found out of course, that you conspired with a demon, and planned the murder of your own husband.” his voice turns dark, and the ringing in your ear gets louder, your mind spins. “I remember not being able to do anything as they burned you alive at the sept, sigils placed around you to prevent me from interfering, to watch your flesh on fire as you screamed in agony, screamed my name in pain and it was then I swore that I would destroy that city.” he growled darkly.

“And so I did, possessing my own descendant and burning the city down, not too long after your passing.” he recalls with a satisfied smirk on his face, “Do you still remember my full name?” he looks at you and the ringing suddenly stops, and everything seemed to be spinning around you, his face becomes blurry and your head begins to hurt, eyes beginning to water as you feel that you were set on fire, letting out a loud scream at the sheer amount of pain coursing through your body as memories you didn't recognize flowed through your mind, you writhing below him in pain, letting out loud cries, “Shh..” he caresses your head and suddenly the pain stops, making you breath heavily, making you close your eyes.

“Aemond Targaryen.” you hear your own voice speak and you open your eyes to look at him, he has a smirk on his face, a small smile grazes your face as well, lifting your hand up to caress his cheek, pulling his face towards you to kiss you, lips engulfing his, you breathe in his scent, and he suddenly doesn't smell putrid anymore, but instead of cloves and ash.

“Fucking cunts, all of them, they remained silent all throughout the time i was abused by him, but the moment I get my own revenge, they burnt me alive.” you say after pulling away from the kiss, gritting your teeth.

You felt so confused with yourself.

Both memories of your past life and current life clashing against each other, fighting for dominance, to decide who you were.

“It's over my love, I burnt them all down.” he kisses down your neck, to your breasts, and down to your cunt, pressing kisses to your inner thighs. You smile at him, spreading your legs wide for him to settle freely and latch his lips onto your clit, making you throw your head back when you feel his tongue move skillfully against the bundle of nerves, you grip his hair, shoving his face further into your cunt.

“Fuck- you taste the same as I remember, I missed this cunt so much, seven hells.” he curses, licking away at your cunt, you moan as his sharp teeth grazes your clit. “Watch your teeth-” you whimper, feeling his fingers prod at your entrance, before gently pushing them in. He pulls away from your cunt and watches his own fingers be engulfed by your cunt as he thrusts them in and out, he groans at the sight, wishing it was his cock plunging inside you. “Goodness gracious, you're so fucking divine.” he murmers before latching on your cunt again, tongue swirling against your bud.

You feel the band in your stomach, “Aemond, I'm cumming- I'm- fuck-!” you reach your peaking on his hands, back arched as the orgasm ripples through your body. You breath heavily and watch aemond climb up, his knees on the mattress of your bed as he bends your legs, your knees pressing to your chest.

You watch as he grabs his cock, your eyes widening at the sheer size of it before flitting over to his own, he smirks, “Aemond it won't fit-” you whine but he shushes you, “You took it with no problem before, tis the same.” he lines in up against your entrance, “But still-”

“Remember when we did it the first time, you said it wouldn't fit? Only to have you crying and cumming all over my cock like a common whore.” he says and you sigh, remembering the memory.

He slowly pushes his cock inside you, taking his own time, throwing his head back in pleasure, “Seven hells, you feel so fucking good, the gods be damned.” he grunts, feeling pleasure at the way your cunt is wrapped around him so perfectly. You grip the sheets below you for support, clenching your eyes shut as you try to adjust to him.

He grabs a hold of your legs, throwing them over his shoulder before he grabs your hips and starts thrusting in and out of you, making your body jolt up and down the bed at the force. Your moans of his name soon fill the room, and he moans too, closing his eye in pleasure as he continuously shoves his cock in and out of you.

He opens his eye to look down, only to smirk when he sees the outline of his cock in your lower abdomen whenever he thrusts fully inside, he presses a hand against it and you squirm, the pleasure amplifying, making your toes curl.

He leans down, causing your legs to fall off his shoulder and be pushed up against your chest one more, his long black tongue enters inside your mouth, extending far back into your throat making you gag before he pulls it back, finally letting both your lips meet. Your hands shoot up to his hair pushing him against you, he hums in satisfaction. His scales are back on his body, along with his horns, partly turning into his demonic form, you feel him grow in size, both height and mass, and eventually down there, which rips an orgasm from you, wetness flowing down your hole and dirtying the sheets and you choke on your own spit at the sudden peak.

He pulls out, and you look at him in confusion, knowing he didn't peak yet, but soon the confusion is replaced with anticipation as he flips you around onto your stomach, your body knows what to do immediately and you support yourself on your arms and knees. Aemond doesn't waste another moment before pushing himself inside you, letting out a loud moan when he feels you clench around him.

His pace is brutal and fast, only seeming to care about his own pleasure, he grabs you by your hair and tugs on it, causing you to curve your head backward but not lean back, he's fucking you like an animal in heat, the size difference making it easy to manhandle you as he wishes.

He soon feels his peak arriving after pounding into you like a madman, and he spills himself deep inside you, cumming so much to the point it makes you feel bloated and so full, you whine when you feel his pull out. He watches as his seed leaks out of you, gathering it with his index finger and tasting it, humming at it.

“I wish my seed takes.” he mutters.

He turns you on your back again, and holds your legs wide and spread apart, and spits on your cunt, before leaning down, holding your thighs apart and once again presses his warm mouth against your cunt, only this time he shoves his long tongue down your hole, you can feel him licking around there, eating up his own spend, and that's when he flicks his tongue upwards inside you, grazing your gspot and your thighs shut around his head, trying to prevent him from making you cum again, too overstimulated and tired.

“Aemond- another time, please- I'm so tired.” you whine, your eyes closing, and he listens to you, pulling away, withdrawing his tongue from inside of you. He climbs next to you in bed, shifting into his full human form again and pulling you close.

“I won't let anyone take you away from me now.” he murmurs in your ear and you nod, turning and snuggling close to him.

There were so many questions left unanswered.

Each and everything was an odd occurrence.

From the encounter of the package to you summoning a demon, who turned out to be the one you loved & fucked in your past life, even conspiring with him to kill your abusive husband, and to fucking him again, and now laying safely wrapped in his arms.

Who was the one that sent you the package then?

Just then you remember an odd event.

You remembered the text and pictures of the book with a bunch of spells and summoning rituals, you hadn't noticed it then but it was the same handwriting as yours.

It was your diary.

And you remember losing it the day right before you were burnt to death.

And you remember writing the words you had heard in your dream, confused back then as what "3AM" meant.

You did not want to dwell on this anymore.

Because you realised that it would drive into madness.

And so, you drifted off into slumber in the arms of your beloved.

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the-desilittle-bird · 1 year

Note

Hii, I would like to request something for Daemon.

At Rhaenyra wedding he sees reader(targaryen or valeryion), who was away for some time, and he falls in love with her again seeing as in the past they had a fling. He chooses her over Rhaenyra and they get married days later with Viserys approval. They reunite with the family on Driftmark for Leana's funeral, there Rhaenyra gets jealous when she sees Daemon being soft with his childrens and reader. Later she tries to sway Daemon and make him leave his family with the excuses of the Greens being against her but he gets mad and threatens her or something like that.

Thankss

Author's Note- Thanks for the request. It was very interesting writing this one. I made a few changes in the scenes to fit in. Do not fret requesting for more. Requests are always opened and we'll appreciated.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

Dancing with Dragons

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Summary- Things and situations are bound to change as well as hearts...

Tag List- @minaxcarter, @eliseline, @blackhoodlea, @little-moonbeam-666, @neenieweenie, @omgsuperstarg, @avalyaaa, @shopping, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @krokietinio, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @thekayarlene, @narcy, @helloitsshitzulover, @muushwrites, @daringboba, @bi2simps, @issybee0611, @yariany02, @agathe, @5moremin, @candypurplebutterfly, @saraelizabeth26, @moon-light1415, @targaryenmoony, @stargaryenx, @instabul, @shine101

Warnings- Threats, Suggestive Content? Westrosi Things

GIF Credits to @userparamore

Daemon looked around the feast in boredom, trying to find something to keep himself intrigued throughout the night. He could feel two pair of eyes on his figure. One belonging to his beloved niece while the other belonged to Laena Velaryon.

He wished to see a certain familiar face walking through those huge doors. It had been quite too long since he had seen his cousin sister, much to his dismay.

Even though it had been more than a few summers, Daemon still remembered the secret nights spent in each other's embrace. Moans and gasps mixing into groans of pleasure. Her smooth skin layered by beads of sweat. Eyes closed in euphoria, hair messed from tugging

Daemon smirked to himself as he took a sip of the Dornish wine served in the feast. His eyes traveled to the dusky skinned lady sitting on the opposite side of the table.

He stood up, stepping down the stairs and joining the dance. He could feel the movement of the Velaryon girl, turning to find her behind himself.

A conversation ignited and Daemon could feel a few sparks; though he knew it was not of love, but of simple lust towards a woman with a pretty face and pure innocence.

"Lady (Y/N) of Houses Targaryen and Arryn"

The room stilled as the dancing pairs moved out of the way of the late Queen Consort's younger sister strided in gracefully with an authoritative aura following her like the sunflower following the sun.

Her blue gown of expensive silks wrapped around her beautiful body smoothly, accentuating her features and pushing her breasts together to create ample cleavage. The silver thread forming falcons on the skirt of her gown.

Daemon let his eyes follow their way down her attractive figure. His legs moving on their accords as they lead him to her. Their eyes met, bodies only a few inches apart.

"Glad to see you here, Lady (Y/N)," Daemon bend down to place a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her palm. "The pleasure is all mine, Prince Daemon," her voice was music to his ears, making him hum in pleasure.

"Lady (Y/N), it is our pleasure to have you with us here," Viserys stood up with a smile. It was no surprise to anyone that the king was fond of his former good sister. Right from her birth, the Arryn Lady had been close to the king and his rebellious brother.

"It is much too my delight to join you in celebrating the Realm's Delight's marriage, Your Grace," (Y/N) said softly, her eyes kind yet a thin mask of caution remained. It had been quite some times since (Y/N) visited the place.

"Hope you enjoy the feast," the king said kindly, sitting down once again. The dancing resumed but this time, it wasn't Laena dancing in Daemon's arms but his old love. Sly smirks and non-verbal conversations exchanged amid the buzzing laughter of all the noble people.

"It's been long, sister," Daemon whispered in her ear, his hand discreetly grazing the curve of her back. "Indeed, brother," she whispered against the smooth skin of his neck.

A low groan bubbled in Daemon's throat. His hands grabbed her neck, bringing her closer to him as everyone danced around them. He could see the hunger in her eyes, the parting of her lips as a small whine of his name escaped; disappearing into the loud atmosphere as a small breeze on a winter day.

"Say it," he hissed, his eyes resembling a predator's, ready to pounce. "Mazverdagon nyke aōhon," (Make me yours) (Y/N) whispered, making Daemon smirk. One of his hands moved down to tangle around her waist, bringing her closer to him.

"Skorkydoso?" (How?) Daemon asked teasingly, his tongue darted out of his mouth, wetting his lips. "Mazverdagon nyke aōha ābrazȳrys. Tepagon nyke aōha riña, Daemon," (Make me your wife. Give me your child, Daemon) she replied back, her lips way too close to his to deem appropriate.

Daemon smirked, his hands grabbed hers, making his way to his chambers. His eyes darkening with passion. His mind clouded with all the pleasures to come.

The winds were a bit too wild in Driftmark but it was no issue to the huge dragons of the Targaryens of Dragonstone. The red and bronze dragons descended down the skies followed by two more dark dragons. While one was a full grown, coal black, the other was yet not a fully-grown one.

Vermithor growled loudly, making the guards straighten up as the Targaryens of the Red Keep stayed firmly on the ground, watching as the dragon-riders stepped down from their mounts.

Daemon was the first one to step down, walking to Vermithor to help his sister-wife down. A crimson red blanket wrapped around their youngest, a daughter. (Y/N) smiled as Daemon carefully took Daenys from her, cooing at her softly.

Daemon looked up to find his eldest daughter and son walking towards them, head held high as they both smiled at their parents. Visenys looked like her father, carrying his character traits as well while Aelar had took after her mother, while adopting a few things of his father.

"Brother, sister," came the fragile and weak voice of the king. Daemon and his wife turned, a smile on their faces as they moved to greet the rest of the family, their children on their toes. "Your Grace," Daemon and his son bowed while the ladies dipped into a curtsey.

"Look at you both," Viserys chuckled, the side of his eyes crinkling. Daemon moved closer to his brother, letting him look at the little Targaryen, who was no more than three summers old. "She is beautiful," Viserys said with a smile, placing a caressing hand on the baby's head whose was sleeping peacefully in her father's arms.

"Aemma," (Y/N) said, offering her good brother a smile. Viserys felt his eyes fill with tears at the name, as he smiled at the baby. "Alicent," (Y/N) greeted the Queen, who was until now, standing quietly with her kids. The Hightower Queen smiled, "Lady (Y/N)."

The Targaryen Lady found her eyes drifting away to the heir of the throne, Princess Rhaenyra, who stood by Laenor and her kids. While (Y/N) had heard the whispered rumors about the offspring of the princess, she didn't expected it to be true; but to find them gazing at her in reality, (Y/N) now made sense of the rumors.

"Princess Rhaenyra," she said with a smile. "Lady (Y/N)," the Princess replied with gritted teeth, her eyes burning holes at her as she looked at how she had turned Daemon into a soft and dotting father; a stark opposite of the man she knew him to be.

Rhaenyra could feel herself becoming jealous of her aunt. A nagging in the back of her mind as she watched Daemon place a loving kiss on (Y/N)'s forehead as she laughed at something her father had said. Their son and daughter standing beside them with a smile.

A plan formulated in Rhaenyra's mind as she silently watched the small family interacting with the king and her half-siblings. A sly smirk finding its place on her lips as she thought of what she needed to do.

Daemon stood against a dusted table, trying to find something interesting, while Rhaenyra spoke about something he didn't care about. He discreetly looked at her and thought of possible reasons as to why he was attracted to her at the first place.

Perhaps it was his want for the throne which made him crave her, or perhaps it was his somewhat rebellious nature which matched Daemon's. Or just frustration towards his brother.

"Are you listening to what I speak of, uncle?" Rhaenyra asked, sighing as she watched Daemon look up with raised eyebrows and bored look. "The Greens are against me and my children. Alicent and Otto will do anything under the sun to harm us. We need you. I need you."

Daemon scowled, glaring at his niece as she moved to caress Daemon's cheek with her hand. "Please, Daemon. I want you," Rhaenyra whispered, her lips near his neck. "Step aside," Daemon pushed Rhaenyra back softly. "I must warn you beforehand, Rhaenyra, if you dare come near me again, or attempt to get closer to me; I will have Caraxes eat you right in front of that lover of yours."

Letting the threat hang in the air, Daemon turned and went straight towards his wife who stood conversing with Rhaenys. "My love," he kissed her cheek from behind, letting his hand wrap around her waist. "Daemon," (Y/N) smiled, leaning into him.

"I will leave you two alone," Rhaenys said, excusing herself from the couple who gazed lovingly at their kids. "Visenys looks happy here," Daemon commented. Visenys was busy doing something in sand with Aemond, giggling like a child she is.

"They look happy," (Y/N) commented, looking at Daemon who frowned at her words. "He can have her after... 60 summers? Yes," Daemon grumbled, making (Y/N).

(Y/N) leaned into Daemon's chest, smiling dreamily as she looked at her happy family.

#hotd imagine #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon au #daemon targeryan #daemon x y/n #caraxes #request

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snowprincesa1 · 9 months

Text

{A fool of a brother}

//Fannon!Teenage!Daemon x Fannon!Teenage!F!Reader//

Daemon travels to the Vale to retrieve a particular lady Arryn. (Read part two here)

Daemon had heard of you, mostly from his elder brother the king Viserys who held a soft spot for you in his heart, being the only sister his wife Aemma had.

Quite honestly speaking Daemon was jealous. Jealous of how his brother would compare him to you at every mischievous stunt he pulled to gain his older brother’s attention. Daemon knew so much of you and your life through the letters you wrote to Aemma, the ones he would secretly steal. He heard of the tales of your beauty and simply shrugged them off, you didn’t have the light blonde or silver valyrian hair that your sister did but inherited your father’s hair that you would braid and throw over your shoulder.

You were a devout follower of the faith the back of your hair veiled with a translucent blue veil that showed the colour of your house. Daemon had accumulated so much information on you that it was driving him mad. He wanted to take caraxes to the vale and demand to see you and he probably would have if his brother didn’t need him by his side.

Daemon didn’t understand why everyone who met you seemed so captivated with you. You weren’t a dragon rider like Rhaenys, You weren’t a warrior like Visenya and you certainly weren’t Aegon.

When Aemma had given birth to a healthy baby girl, she grew frail from the childbirth and it was uncertain as to whether she would live after the intense labour she endured. Blood seeped down in the sheets. Viserys didn’t know what to do, Aemma pleaded to see you one last time every time she was on the brink of unconsciousness, he should have been smarter and summoned you to kings landing at the start of the pregnancy.

Aemma was in and out of unconsciousness her body drenched with cold sweat.

“What is happening brother?” Daemon asked standing at the door of the bedchamber not daring to enter.

Viserys opened up his eyes red from the constant rubbing and worrying.

“Lets go for a walk, keep the handmaidens with the Queen” he said moving out to the corridor waiting for Viserys to join him.

“What is it? Is Aemma not to live through this?” He asked his hand holding Viserys’ shoulder.

“I am not sure of it..the maesters..the maesters seem bloody useless” he sighed “she wants me to get her sister, the lady Arryn from the vale” he sighed rubbing his face once more. “There is no time, Daemon” he said

“Pity” he said. He didn’t plan on telling his brother he would retrieve you for him if that was what he wished Daemon truly loved his brother and would happily ride caraxes to bring over this mysterious lady Arryn he had oddly even dreamt meeting. Perhaps he had wanted to do this for himself instead. He dreamt of you to be a kind, quiet woman an innocent one over whom he could hold an advantage over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He placed his dragon riding vest over his body. Approaching the red sleek dragon caraxes patting its snout and pressing his forehead to the dragon’s side calming it.

Caraxes had a shrilling cry that could very much deafen a person. It was a miracle Daemon’s hearing remained as is. He climbed onto caraxes swiftly pulling to the skies above. He would get you to comply with his wishes and get you to kingslanding and win his brother��s approval. How difficult could you be?

The journey took hours but caraxes felt the adrenaline running through Daemon and felt the same letting out shrill cries. Free in the skies away from kingslanding approaching the gloomy climate of the Vale, Daemon could see the Eyrie. You would be there. His curiosity to see you drove him mad. Caraxes circled the stronghold of the Arryn’s as Caraxes let out excited whistles waiting for Daemon to order him to unleash fire on the castle.

Daemon had other plans, fire was the last thing he wanted in this situation. His dragon resting on the bridge destroying a little of it as its weight pressed on the brick.

Elys Arryn the lord of the Vale walked out of the Eyrie wondering what the Targaryens could possibly want now.

“My prince, what brings you here with your mighty dragon?” He asked attempting to smile and seem friendly to the obviously large dragon and the rogue prince before him.

“No true Targaryen would pass on a chance to ride their dragon” he said caraxes standing anticipating his next command.

“I am here on order of the king” he said in a bored manner. Arryn men, he hated them.

“And what does he require ?” Lord Arryn asked impatiently clearly confused by the sudden appearance of a prince.

“That is for me and lady Arryn to discuss. You know, your half sister” he said smirking

“He has demanded for my sister?” The Arryn lord asked. He didn’t trust Daemon especially not with you.

“Yes he has, now bring the lady Arryn out. I wish to see her” Daemon said his fingers brushing the pommel of his sword Dark Sister. He would be ready to cut down any lord if he was denied. If the king was denied.

You walked out in the bridge of the eyrie. Making your way through the crowded lords. Everyone eying you, what business did the king have with you? Or was it the prince Daemon playing one of his pranks and attempting to sway another woman. It was known that Daemon was to be betrothed to a lady in the Vale, was it you? Prince Daemon disliked by the high folk of the vale. The words of your house being ‘as high as honour’. Daemon had no honour, no modesty and was indulgent in all he pleased. The rogue prince of the seven kingdoms known for deflowering young women.

You approached him, you wore a light blue gown the colour of your house. You were a proud Arryn. A year elder to your sister Aemma, you were NOT fond of king Viserys you hadn’t forgotten the anger you felt when the king had chosen your younger sister as his breeding livestock. The young girl having experienced miscarriages that had weakened the live in her. But viserys relented, he wanted a male heir. It should have been you, you were the older sister why was it you who should have been chosen not your little sister. You should have protected her. She was so young— the guilt ate you up from the inside. You were just a year older but yet you would happily sacrifice yourself in her stead. Viserys loved your sisters silver hair and that was the reason as to why she was chosen. You didn’t know whether to think your dark hair a boon or a bane.

A white veil over the back of your dark hair with a headband embroidered with beautiful pearls. The cuffs of your gowns had little designs of golden coloured birds. You were a sight to behold.

Daemon felt his mind go blank the moment he saw you. How could his brother have passed on you? Perhaps his brother regretted his impulsive choice.

“My lady, I have heard tales of your beauty but none of them do you any justice” daemon said truthfully, you stood with your back straight almost contemplating what to say.

“My prince, is it true that the king has requested for my presence?” You asked plainly. What does Viserys want now?

“It’s more of a command my lady” his eyes lingering on your body taking all of you in. “You look absolutely beautiful” he said complimenting you again. Unlike other women you didn’t blush nor grow embarrassed. Your mind filled with rage over the fact that viserys had the nerve to send for you like a dog.

“And why is it he commands for me?” You asked suspiciously

“The king does not require a reason but I shall tell you the truth the queen has given birth” he said waiting for you to ask him more questions

“And the babe is healthy?” You asked “is it a boy?”

“A healthy baby girl” daemon confirmed “they are thinking through names”

“That’s wonderful news” your sister’s pregnancies would not end with a daughter you knew, viserys would still long for a male heir as demanded by the council and his people. But you were happy that a babe survived the trials and was born healthy.

“The queen is weak, the queen wishes to see you in case she does not make it” daemon explained seeing his stubborn you would be if he kept you in the dark.

“And I suppose you’ve come to take me on dragon?” You asked.

“Smart one aren’t you?” He smirked looking at caraxes who screeched loudly. “You have never ridden a dragon have you?” He asked extending his hand for you to take. You looked to your half brother nodding and telling him you would be back sooner or later. As much as Elys would have liked to keep you safe in the eyrie he could not go against the king’s or queen’s orders.

“What a pity a Targaryen never experiencing what it is to be a dragon rider”

“Well you must remember that I am half Arryn because of my father’s blood” you said accepting his gloved hand.

“But yet you share the blood of the old king and the good queen just as I do” he said in a persuading almost seductive tone. His hand holding yours pressing it to caraxes scales so he would get comfortable with your presence. You patted the beast lightly. Daemon tutted holding your hand firmer onto the dragon’s scales. His hand was bigger than yours but still fit it perfectly. Daemon must have felt it as well.

“Can you climb my dragon or do you need assistance?” he asked mischievously as you stood beside him looking at his dragon Caraxes

you looked at the red beast before you. “yes I am quite capable of climbing, thankyou” you retorted. How the hell does one ride a dragon? Caraxes was smaller in size as compared to other dragons but yet you felt as though you were scaling a hill. Like hell you were going to ask Daemon for help. Your feet slipping off Caraxes. Suddenly you felt strong hands on your thighs pushing you up his hand squeezed the fat of your thigh slipping to brush against your ass as he climbed behind you setting you in the front of him. He had a smug smile on his face as he held you infront of him his hand wrapping around your waist. “You are taking quite the liberty in touching me”

“Vile accusations” he smirked his face close to yours to gorge your reaction. You quickly turned your face away at how close he was you could feel his breath on your lips and it was inappropriate, an unwed lady travelling in such close proximity to a man such as Daemon?

“But I would have to hold you like this when we take flight…unless you wish to fall off?” He said smirking his eyes boring into yours. “With your consent of course”

“Just take me to the Queen, my sister” you said cutting him off. You weren’t going to trust Daemon or his intentions. Caraxes lifted of off the bridge of eyrie as he swept the clouds with his wingspan.

Daemon’s mind was filled with ways to annoy you and get your attention “why are you unwed?” He asked pretending to be genuine but he just couldn’t hide the smirk.

“Why are you unwed?” You repeated the question directed to him.

“I’m sure you’ve heard I’m betrothed to the bronze bitch” he scowled thinking of the brown haired woman who donned armour of house Royce.

“Bronze bitch?” You asked you anger aroused so very quickly “you speak so crudely of a beautiful woman?”

“Beauty? A sheep would be more fuckable” he said chuckling at his own comment. Would it be okay to throw him off his own dragon? You thought.

“But sadly you lack a few things the lady Rhea does not” you returned his smirk.

“There is nothing desirable that I lack” he laughed

“Oh— but you do” your smirk growing “you lack character”

“Character is not required for a prince like me” he retorted his smirk faltering just slightly, the prince trying to not take offense to your insult

“Yes but you are a mere second prince, the spare” you said looking straight at the sun behind the misty clouds.

“A second prince of the seven kingdoms and the heir to the crown” heir? You looked to him

“I wasn’t aware you were named heir” you said feigning surprise.

“I wasn’t” daemon frowned “but sooner or later, the Queen cannot give my brother a son. You should treat me with more respect for if I become king..”

“You really think Viserys is going to name you his heir instead?” You laughed at his idiocy “he’s going to keep trying and trying until finally a boy is born from Aemma” your fingers tightening around the reins.

“Aemma has had years to provide viserys an heir if she cannot I suppose he’ll have to find another cunt to sink his cock in” he spoke in anger, you turned your face around looking at him bewildered by his statement. You were going to smack him across the face once you reached kings landing.

“What if I tell Viserys of this?” You said, he would obviously be extremely upset. He would probably banish daemon and hurry the wedding preparations for daemon’s marriage to Rhea. That would mean daemon would be in the Vale.

Daemon grabbed a hold of your face “if you do that I cannot promise you that I will not exact revenge” he said all sense of friendliness lost.

“What could a second son with no prospects do to me? You would do well to marry into the Royce family. Perhaps you should even take her name..” you chuckled. Daemon was seething with anger his hold over you grew tighter almost as though he was trying to hurt you.

“If I wasn’t knighted I would—” he started

“You have no honour you might as well do what you must.” You said. You heard him cuss you out in soft mutters trying to control his anger. The ride back was too long. Daemon no longer wished to talk to you. Amidst the silence he suddenly said

“Lots of words from you, Queen who could have been” he smirked. He didn’t know you had no attraction or desire to the iron throne unlike himself.

“Lots of words from you, Daemon Royce” you retorted quickly. Daemon rested his head on your shoulder as you put your hand on his face to push him off but he relented stubbornly placing his chin deep in the crevice of your shoulder bone. “Call me Daemon Royce and I promise you. I will make you wish you never met me” he said trying to make you believe he that his threats were very real.

“I cannot believe we both are of same age” you grumbled “you are so immature it is no wonder God made you the second born” you said annoying hun even further. He threw some more insults at you which you threw insults back. The entire journey was a pain in the ass, the two of you yelling at each other at the top of your lungs. By the time you both had reached kingslanding you were sure you had lost your voice. Daemon’s voice and turned gruff and quiet as well. You attempted to climb off his dragon carefully to which he pushed you off when you were a few feet from the ground.

“You little sh—” you said getting back on your feet praying that no one saw the embarrassing fall and whelp you let out. Your legs had gone numb from the dragon ride but you wouldn’t spend another minute in the annoying prince’s presence. You truly felt for Rhea Royce. You walked out of the dragon pit ignoring everyone in your annoyance. You came for your sister. No one else. Daemon was quick to follow your lead

“Quite impolite as well not only to a prince like me but others as well” he noted “you didn’t wish any lord or lady on your way. Do you even know where you are heading?” He asked pulling the back of your dress to bring you to him your back hitting his chest with a thump sound.

“What in the seven hells are you doing now?” You asked your eyes squinting with irritation.

“Winning my brother’s favour, I brought you here. You see he gave me no order I did this out of my own goodwill. That makes me a good man” why the hell was he trying to convince you he was a good person?

“So the king gave no order— you abducted me!” You yelled punching him in the arm. Hard.

“And now you attacked a prince! Are we equal now?” He said rubbing the spot with his hand.

You ended up ignoring him or you knew you would end up spitting more insults at him. But well, now your anger for the Targaryens is split amongst the two brothers now. Daemon led you to to the room Aemma lay in. And you rushed in attempting to shut the door on his face. His strength overpowering you throwing open the door.

King Viserys looked up at the two of you from where he knelt next to his wife Aemma who was unconscious. Daemon shuffled his feet almost nervously before saying “I’ve brought her for you” King Viserys looked in disbelief between his brother and you. He got up from his bed giving his younger brother a silent hug which spoke a thousand thankyous. You sat on the bed next to Aemma trying to wake your sister gently “Aemma” you called her eyes flickering open before shutting them due to the brigtness of the room. The contrast between the darkness of her sleep and the sunlight spaying on your face and hair.

“Sister? Am I dreaming, Viserys?” she asked weakly.

Your eyes filled with tears at the sight of her so vulnerable. How much you had missed her. You didn’t know whether to hug her weak self so you placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’m here Aem” you said brushing her sweaty clumps of hair with your fingers. Aemma seats herself on the bed to get a better look at you “you look just like father” she smiled “and you an Angel Aem” you smiled weakly trying and failing to hold back your tears. “I did it..I gave birth to a healthy babe. A girl” she said “not what the realm wished for but I am happy nonetheless” she said gently her eyes tearing up at the disappointment Viserys must have felt.

“Fuck the realm” you blurted in the presence on the King, the prince, and the the Queen, your sister “I am proud of you, mother would be proud of you. You did so well” you said pulling her to you as you stroked her silver hair.

“Have you seen the babe?” She asked “No I have not” you responded “You see, I was abducted and brought here by the prince Daemon” you jested trying to lighten your mood. Aemma sent a polite smile to daemon “I hope she didn’t cause you any problems” Aemma laughed asking Daemon. “Oh she did, but that’s a conversation for another time” he smirked. You couldn’t help but chuckle at your sisters remark maybe even Daemon’s.

A handmaiden brought in the baby to Aemma and she gently handed you the tiny babe wrapped in the softest of cloths. Viserys sat beside Aemma kissing the top of her hair. Daemon again stood at the door almost ready to leave. But then he looked at your face in that sunlight. Holding the tiny babe with silver hair in your arms. He saw the way you smiled looking at your sister proudly and then you looked at him and your smile didn’t vanish. It stayed as you held the baby in your arms. “Have you seen her? Have you seen our niece?” You asked Daemon. Your long argument almost instantly forgotten when you had your niece in your arms. This was your family as well, Daemon was your family as well. You didn’t want him to leave for some reason.

Daemon cautiously took a few steps further and then a few more standing a few feet away from the bed looking at the babe. “For heaven’s sake— she won’t bite you. Come closer” you barked. “She won’t, but you look like you would” he said ignoring Viserys’ glare. Aemma couldn’t help but laugh at your bluntness. Daemon scoffed standing right over you and the babe now.

“she looks like you brother” Daemon said and you quickly countered “No, she looks like my sister.”

Before the two of you knew it the both of you were arguing once again once again, and from behind both Aemma and viserys sent each other knowing looks.

Though you weren’t what Daemon had expected you to be he wasn’t disappointed in the least, in his heart he still believed his brother was a fool for passing on you.

#Daemon Targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd imagines #Daemon Targaryen imagines #daemon Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen fanfics #daemon Targaryen x female oc #daemon x oc #Daemon Targaryen fluff #daemon Targaryen imagine #daemon #dark!daemon Targaryen #a song of ice and fire x oc #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire x reader

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anjelicawrites · 6 months

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True love's kiss

Chapter I

Paring: Maleficent!Aemond Targaryen x woodland fairy!reader

Synopsis: during the christening of princess Aurora, Aemond curses her, in classical Sleeping Beauty fashion, unknowingly setting off a chain of events bound to change the course of his life, and yours.

Warnings: none.

A/N: reader is AFAB, they/them pronouns used.

Minors DNI, thanks

Once upon a time, there was a happy kingdom, governed by a wise king and a gentle queen, who had a beautiful daughter, princess Aurora.

Our story begins on the day of her christening, when you meet, and clash, with Aemond Targaryen.

You have heard of him, up in the woodlands where your kind lives and, obviously, expected him to be at the christening of the princess, the king and the queen having invited all the magic folks, as the rules of hospitality bound them to.

They didn’t and you can feel the worry ripple through the assembly, shushed whispers throughout the ceremony, all your combined magics buzzing, the fear slowly decreasing, only to explode when he appears, in a whirlwind of sapphire blue wind, while you all are bestowing the child with their gifts.

You’ve only heard stories, which did him no justice: it isn’t the fairness of his face, enhanced by the scar partially hidden by the eyepatch, or his imposing figure clad in black leather that takes you breath away, it’s the sheer magic power he exudes.

He was supposed to be diminished, as was his dragon, when the sapphire storing part of his magic was lost during the family feud known as the Dance of the Dragons, yet his energy seems capable of filling the room to the brim, drowning the collective one of the supernatural creatures of the assembly. You feel like chocking on it and on the hate you can sense coming from him, his tall body almost absorbing the light from the stained glass windows adorning the Royal Chapel.

“What an awkward situation.” He says, voice deep and gentle. “It seems like everyone has been invited.”

His one eye stares at the assembly and stops on the cradle, the small she-dragon perched on his shoulder.

“I had to come, Your Grace.” He continues with mock in his voice. “To give your lovely daughter my gift.”

“You weren’t invited because you’re not welcome here!” Shouts the king, and you are surprised by his courage, the other humans are shaking in their boots.

“Oh dear.” Aemond says, fake sorrow tinging his words, one elegant hand going to the silver latchings of his long, black coat.

“Please,” the queen, in her terror and panic, raises her hands in prayer. “Don’t be offended.”

The smile on Aemond’s face turns your blood into ice, it’s so cold and cruel, calculating and devoid of any feelings. You know something terrible is about to happen and your mother grabs your wrist to stop you from entering the crossfire.

“But I am not, Your Grace. And to show it to you, I shall bestow my gift on your daughter, regardless.”

His boots thunder on the floor as he heads to the cradle, uselessly the king calls for his guards to protect the child, a burst of magic pushes them against the wall as Aemond’s hand gently moves the heavy brocade covering the crib.

“Indeed,” he says echoing the words of another wizard, “Will princess Aurora grow fair and beautiful, wise and magnanimous, loved and cherished by everyone she will meet. But, on her sixteenth birthday, she will prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and she will die.”

The calm inevitability in his words clashes with the screams of anguish of the queen, who grabs the child in her arms, as if, in doing so, she’ll be able to protect her; the king stays rooted on the spot, like a statue, his face ashen.

“The curse has to be lifted.” You hear someone say. “There must be a way!”

“But there isn’t.” Aemond’s purple eye fixes on the magic folk. “No power on this earth will ever be able to counterfeit it.”

He is so calm, so collected, against the sea of desperation he must feel coming from you all, a smile on his graceful lips. He makes you mad, so mad that you evade the hold of your mother and, before anyone can stop you, you march towards him.

“I have yet to give the princess my gift.” You say, craning your neck to stare into his eye.

“And what that would be? You can’t be so mad to think your fairy magic can lift my curse.” He spats at you, Vhagar on his shoulder, blows small flames in your direction.

“I might be a small woodland fairy.” You walk until you are almost flush against him. “But I can still help.”

Without dropping your gaze from his, you lift your arm in the direction of the queen, who is still clutching the infant against her chest.

“I can’t lift your curse, but I can modify it.” You can feel his magic pocking at yours and elect to ignore it. “The princess will prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, but she will not die. She will fall asleep, instead, and be awoken by her true love’s kiss.”

The joyless laugh that spills from Aemond’s mouth startles you, you were so focused on your own spell, to forget who you were facing.

“True love’s kiss! Then you truly want the child to sleep forever.” His voice is a deep rumble that you can feel in your chest.

“We shall see.” You retort, one hand lifted, ready to fight.

“We shall see indeed.” He says, grabbing it and kissing it, before disappearing again.

You are deaf to the voices around you, if it weren’t from your siblings shielding you, the crowd would have trampled over you in its desperate attempt to flee the Royal Chapel.

It’s much later, when the humans are all gone, but for the royal family, that you seem to be able to go back to yourself and realize the enormity of what you have just done and of what you are about to do.

“I want all the spinning wheels of the kingdom destroyed!” Thunders the king.

“And in the meantime? How will we protect Aurora, if he ever decides to come back?”

The fear in the queen’s voice breaks your heart, for all her gold and blue blood, she’s just a mother, who wants to keep her daughter safe.

“I can hide the princess until her sixteenth birthday.” You hear yourself say.

“What are you thinking?” The shriek from your mother makes you jump.

“Will you truly do that?”

There’s hope in the queen’s eyes that has you to focus on the situation at and, and on your own mother’s fear.

“I will, Your Grace.”

“No, you will not!” Your mother grabs your hand, but you force her to relinquish it.

“I already have a target on my back, as does the child, mother. I will find a place hidden enough to keep her safe, and myself. It is no use to bring his vendetta to our home.”

“But you’ll be all alone!”

The anguish in your mother’s voice! Your kind is known for living in huge families where no one is left the their own devices. You yourself are used to the flurry of voices and activities in the house, to not having a moment to yourself, always enjoying the company of a family member.

“I shall be fine mother.” You try to reassure her, and yourself. “I am fully capable of taking care of myself and of the princess. We will keep each other company and I will not be alone.”

Your mother knows you well, all your extended family does. They can see it in your eyes that you’re not going to back down.

“Let, at least, one of us stay with you.” Begs one of your brothers and you hug him tight.

“No. I can look after myself and, the less people we are, the less noticeable we’re going to be.”

Your family knows you are right, yet they still try to convince you to return home with them and forget about this awful problem. But you will not: you are not that kind of fairy and they know it.

Aemond taglist: @fan-goddess

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen #true loves kiss

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whiteskullofroses · 6 months

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Hi! I saw that you accept request for Baldwin IV. If you do still accept, could you pls write one where y/n and Baldwin would stay up too late talking to each other until one falls asleeps? Thanks 💕

Hi there thank you for the request! And to clarify, you can always request any characters you want❤️ Enjoy!

LATE NIGHT TALK

Baldwin Iv x reader

It was a cold night in Jerusalem. You were walking around the palace gazing up at the stars and thinking about life when all of a sudden, a familiar voice grabbed your attention: "Y/N!" He called out to you from his room. It was all lit up with candles so you could see his shape clearly: "Care to join me?" The young king's voice sounded so energetic, even though it was already midnight. You answered: "With pleasure!" And happily headed out to his quarters.

Once you reached the hallway that led to his room, you noticed that the door was already opened for you but still, you knocked on the wood to make your presence known.

He turned from his desk to look at you. His mask shone from the candles around him and made his blue eyes sparkle.

"Care for a round?" Baldwin gestured towards the chess set and sat down at the table. "Y/n" Sitting down and listening to his words "I've missed you tonight. I rarely see you these days."

You smiled and replied: "Work has been incredibly tiring," taking a sip of some wine a servant poured: "I've hardly found any time for friends."

Baldwin leaned closer to you: "Well now it's the time. Relax."

You started the chess game and asked: "How come weren't you at the banquet last Monday?"

The King moved a pawn and sighed: "I had an unexpected meeting which I couldn't miss."

Nodding, you moved on since you didn't want to trouble him with hard topics so late in the night.

"Have you read any new poetry lately?" Asking him like you always do, you always loved to listen to him talk about the things he was passionate about, one of them being literature.

Whether it be myths from across Europe containing dragons and other mystical beings or poetry that many saw as simple, however from a trained eye's perspective it was true art projected onto paper.

"Yes, I've read this wonder piece from a book from France Preseren called 'Poezije'" Grabbing the book from a nearby chair and flipping through it, Baldwin proclaimed: "Would you like to hear it?"

"I'd love to, Baldwin." You supported your head with your elbow on the table, as the late hours of the night cut into your brains. "Where did you get it from?"

"I believe I got this book as a gift from my sister when she visited Carniola."

Finally, he started reading, his voice soft as ever:

Fresh flowers will spread fragrance far and near,

Like roses when the winter's passed away.

Your eyelids became heavier and heavier with every word he spoke:

And spring displays its marvelous array,

While through the trees white scattered blossoms peer

Your breathing became deeper, with waves of relaxation washing through your body. All of a sudden you felt like you were 10 years old again, when your mother used to read you books to help you fall asleep.

All this time away from your parents and away from your childhood made you forget how soothing it was and how much you enjoyed it.

Baldwin continued reading the poem whilst you were drifting off into peaceful sleep, right there on his 'chess table'.

He hardly noticed you falling asleep right opposite to him as he was focusing on the text he was reading. But when he finished reading the poem and looked up from the book, he realized you slept through half of it.

He chuckled to himself. Baldwin wasn't mad or annoyed with you, rather he felt a sort of fulfillment that he managed to get you to fall asleep.

For a moment he just sat there, staring at you. You didn't know it at the time but he admired you deeply. For your intelligence and your beauty. He found that this was one of the times he could truly silently look at you and not feel bad about it.

Whenever he would catch himself gazing upon you he would get this guilt deep in his chest. He felt as though it was appropriate for him to look at you when the two of you were just colleagues.

So he slowly walked up to you and carefully picked you up. Walking up to his bed and laying you down in the middle, he knew he couldn't sleep there that night, that would be simply too much.

He decided to go and spend the night in the guest room. Just as he was about to leave your side, you woke up and grabbed him by the wrist, gently but enough so he could feel it.

"Baldwin, stay."

THE END.

#baldwin iv #baldwin iv x reader #kingdom of heaven

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al9ayf · 1 year

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ᥫ᭡ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 | trafalgar law x f!reader

✧ chapter 1 :: winged shadow

｡˚ summary: dragon queen reader decides to ally with trafalgar law and monkey d. luffy after the defeat of doflamingo, but you find yourself falling in love with the captain of the heart pirates.

(reader is "loosely" based off khaleesi from got)

law might be a little ooc just a litttleeeeeee

｡˚ word count: 3.4k

throughout all of the summer, the skies were blue—clear, blue skies. always shining, always hot. but today it was grey. so grey that the grass appeared to have no color. nothing had any color. it was all drained. even your face had been drained of all color. trees were drained of their vibrant greens, and birds of different colors all became dark and solemn. it felt empty—as if the earth was dying.

the funeral pyre burned with dragon fire as you stared into it with nothing but sadness in your eyes. you stared into nothingness, straight into that blazing fire. it crackled and spat bits of flame around. it was the only sound you paid attention to. yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to cry. you stood there with your hands intertwined, not moving one bit. this was your mourning. you were to not be disturbed until you made the first move.

after a violent battle between your husband and an enemy, he suffered an almost fatal attack to the heart. but in the final blow, he killed his attacker and later on suffered the consequences of the attacker's hit. and while he was dying you were giving birth. in the end, you lost both your husband and newborn on the same day. all forty thousand of his men stuck by you. you were their sole salvation.

finally, you turned around with tears welling in your eyes and a face that only showed mixed feelings. your trusted advisor and handmaiden, eira, walked up next to you and grabbed one of your hands. she was younger than you, a girl at the age of only eleven. she squeezed it tight which almost caused you to let loose of your tears and fall to the ground. eira noticed your slight change in demeanor and only came up closer to you to try and comfort you. as she comforted you, one of the men from the group came up to you; the commander of the warriors, lexer. you looked up at him, right into his dark eyes. he bent down in front of you on one knee, still looking right into your eyes.

“we will follow you until we no longer walk this earth,” he said in his thick accented voice. “there is no other leader we wish to follow. you belong on the throne, not your brother. you must take it. you are the true queen…”

he bowed his head, and so did every other man and woman that followed. you felt eira let go of your hand, and when you turned your head to look at her, she too was bending the knee to you. everybody was. your white gown blew in the wind (white being the traditional color for funerals in your culture), its cape flying in all different directions as you heard one of your dragons land behind you. it screeched loudly, almost as if it was agreeing with what your army said. you only managed to shut your eyes and allow tears to roll down your cheeks. they were right and you knew it. your brother, the king aenys, was “mad”. he was vile. you knew you were the only person who could take him down. so, you decided to do it. to take the throne and become the queen.

you were only fifteen.

—

four years have passed since that day. after you usurped your brother and executed him by burning him alive, your reign has been one of the best in the history of your family. you conquered even more islands and kingdoms than you could have ever imagined. you were one of the strongest people in the new world since you conquered and controlled a third of it. and your family history with the emperors of the sea only backed you up even more. you have strong allies, strong armies, strong terrains, and dragons. you were not to be fucked with. you were not to be betrayed.

you arrived in sabaody archipelago a few moments ago. they were holding an auction to sell slaves. for a while now, you wanted to stop it. they were to be freed not sold. and finally, you decided to do it. but it was the wrong timing. most, if not all, supernovas were present. they were fighting marines while the celestial dragons walked with their slaves chained behind them. you and your army hid well where nobody could see you. you turned to the commander of your queen’s guard, saxan. lexer stood beside him with his armor and helmet on. dragon wings on the helmet and the sigil of your house banner right in the middle of it. you looked at the army behind them after eyeing what they both were wearing.

“my warriors!” you yelled in your mother tongue, aegrean. “slay the masters, slay the marines, slay every man and woman who hold chains, but harm no child. strike the chains off every slave you see!”

you turned back to look at the two, giving them one last glance before walking away. you were in a remote area of the archipelago where nobody was in due to the chaos. it was perfect for hiding and planning an attack. you walked up to one of your dragons, drago. he was the one you rode ever since you were big enough to even ride a dragon. your two other dragons glaurung and morgul, his brother and sister, were already seeking your attention as they brought their noses up to you. you caressed the sides of it before getting on drago. he ran a few ways before setting off to fly. you grabbed on tight to the saddle and allowed yourself to be calmed by the strong winds.

dragons were faster than humans, so you arrived at the auction house in a matter of minutes. the screeching of your dragons caught the attention of the marines, supernovas, and other folk. when you were close enough to be able to see them right where you wanted them, you let out the word “nār” which meant fire in your mother tongue. drago fired down on them first and then along came the other two. you heard the screaming of everybody, including one of the supernovas especially. when drago flew over them to get to the auction house, you managed to get a closer look at the three. monkey d. luffy, eustass kid, and trafalgar law. the captain of the straw hats was of course the one screaming loudly and excitedly at the sight of dragons raining hellfire onto the marines. you scrunched your nose in annoyance and turned away. you disliked the supernovas.

drago flew over to the auction house and landed on top of it. you were now behind the pirate captains. drago screeched loudly and jumped down onto the ground, breaking the auction house with a whip of its tail. your army came running towards the auction house with their weapons and artillery.

“free the slaves! slay the masters! i shall burn all of this down!” you yelled in aegrean. your dragon screeched even louder as if he was ordering them as well. you looked up at the sky to see the other two dragons continuing to burn the rest of the marines. they would soon leave to burn their ships. there was going to be no means of escape for them. drago turned and looked at the three supernovas in front of him. he growled and yelled as he ran up to them. you watched their faces as drago snarled at them. kid and law seemed a bit freaked out, but luffy only screamed as stars erupted in his eyes.

“she has dragons!” he yelled. “she saved us with them! that is so cool!”

you looked down at him with a blank expression. he was annoying you because he ran around all excited yelling praises about your child. kid smacked him across the head and yelled at him for being annoying. “we didn’t need no saving, she was just getting rid of the remainders for us!”

“it didn’t seem like that!” luffy yelled back.

you turned your head to the third one. law had the faintest smirk spread across his lips as he looked from your dragon up to you. you locked eyes. golden eyes, slightly tanned skin, and dark hair. you admitted to yourself that he was handsome, but he was a pirate, nonetheless. not a warlord of the sea, not an emperor, just a supernova. he was below you. but something about him made you want to know more about him. but you resisted your urges and turned to look away from him.

“your majesty!” yelled saxan. he came up next to you which caught you off guard. you looked at him instead and allowed him to continue speaking.

“all slaves from the auction house have been freed,” he said. “no more warriors are left in there. it is empty—“

“good,” you cut him off and drago quickly turned around to burn it down. and once it was of no more, he ran past the supernovas and took off once again. you looked behind you to see the area one more time. all that was left was the fire. you looked away and continued to fly off into the horizon. there were more slaves to free. you had arrived later than you hoped, so, of course, a few were sold and were now walking with whoever. you needed to find them. you looked around to see anybody, but the streets were empty. there was nobody here. why wasn’t there anybody? you furrowed your eyebrows in distress. it was quiet too, too quiet.

then you heard it.

the sound of something whipping through the air and a bright light. drago cried out in pain as he suddenly started to fall from the sky. you groaned as you tried to keep a hold of him. and as you fell from the sky, you saw a pacifista come from the shadows. your eyes only widened in fear as it kept its hand extended to your child. drago was smart enough though, and amid his pain, he flew to a safer place and landed. you jumped off of him and ran to his side. whatever the pacifista did it didn’t harm him badly. all he needed was time to rest, and he was in too much pain to fly. your poor baby.

tears welled in your eyes as you rubbed your dragon's side, trying to comfort him and calm him down. the sound of his cries pained your ears but you had to stop yourself from crying. he needed your support.

“rest, my child,” you whispered in aegrean. “we will heal you when you can fly again.” but he only cried in pain even more.

that’s when you heard the stomping. you turned around to face the pacifista right as it stopped a few meters in front of you. your breathing became heavier and faster as it raised its hand. but drago whipped his head around and opened its mouth to breathe fire. right before he could though, a blue sphere surrounded you, the pacifista, and drago. next thing you knew the pacifista was cut in two, and it fell over dead. drago started to snarl at whoever was behind the goddamn cyborg.

law walked around it, revealing himself to you. you locked eyes again and he started walking up to you. you straightened your back and walked a couple of feet in front of your dragon. “hold it!” you yelled in the common tongue.

law stopped and stood right when you yelled. you looked him up and down, still breathing heavily from the encounter. “another step and he will turn you to ash,” you said. you turned around to calm drago down, and once he laid his head back down on the ground, you turned back to face the pirate captain.

“i must thank you for saving us,” you said. law walked right up to you and stood only a few inches away at this point. he was tall and had a good build.

“you got the marines off my ass and my crew’s,” he said. “i don’t want to be indebted to somebody, let alone you.”

you looked him up and down, then back into his eyes. “your debt is repaid then, so i don’t know why you’re still standing here.”

“your… dragon,” he pointed his sword at him. you narrowed your eyes at him. “i can help him.”

“you only want to help him so i can be indebted to you this time,” you said, stepping closer to him.

“maybe, maybe not. but a mother’s child is in pain…”

“how am i supposed to trust you?“

“you’re not.”

law moved past you and dropped his sword on the ground. he walked up to the wound with you following behind him. hesitantly, he placed both of his hands by the wound before turning his head to look at you. he saw the worry on your face.

“this won’t hurt him, right?” you asked, your voice almost breaking. law shook his head “no” and you then let him take over. you didn’t know how but assumed it was his devil fruit power, but in seconds drago’s wound started to heal. once law stepped away from him you let out a deep breath.

“thank you,” you said.

“i’m intrigued by dragons,” he said, going to grab his sword. “do not think of this as a debt to be repaid. i’ve always wanted to touch a dragon.”

you smiled, but once he turned around to look at you, you dropped it. you didn’t say anything else as you climbed back onto drago and took off. he screeched, and in return so did his siblings. you left the archipelago with the kindness of law in mind. you wouldn’t forget it.

—

two years have gone by since that ordeal. you forgot about it in all honesty, but sometimes when you are with drago your eyes go over to the small scar that was left behind by that pacifista. you think of the kindness once more and never again. until one day when your hand, eddard, came up to you to tell you that trafalgar law has docked at the port and wanted to meet with you. he was a warlord now and was more feared. what he wanted to speak about, you would never guess. you then think back to drago and wonder if his words were a lie.

you sat on your throne, patiently waiting for him. your eyes darted around the room in boredom. dragon carvings on the wall, dragon statues, large candle holders down the sides of the room, and small steps up to your throne in front of you. the skylight allowed the sun to shine through, but it never reached your feet. eira stood next to you but down the steps some, and so did eddard. a few of your soldiers and warriors were also in the room. you were very much protected.

when the doors to the throne room opened, trafalgar came walking in. by the looks of it, he seemed stronger. you wondered if his personality had changed or not. he stopped, and behind him followed a polar bear with an orange boiler suit. you almost raised an eyebrow but stopped yourself.

“you stand in the presence of queen y/n l/n. conqueror of the new world. queen of the new world. protector of the new world. the first dragon queen…” said eira

he only nodded his head and turned to look at the polar bear. he didn’t say anything. eira looked back at you with concern in her eyes. you gave her a look that she only understood, and decided to introduce him to you since he was uninterested in doing it himself. “this is trafalgar law. captain of the heart pirates. warlord of the sea. his bounty is at four-hundred forty million berries.”

“we’ve met before,” you said with a smile. “i hope the seas weren’t too rough.” you cupped your hands over your lap.

“the seas are never rough when you’re traveling by submarine,” he said. you only nodded.

“then what brings you to my kingdom?”

“an alliance.”

“alliance?” you questioned, raising a brow. “whatever for?”

“dressrosa is one of your kingdoms, is it not? doflamingo took control of it when your brother was still king. we both have a mutual hatred for the man and i think it would be best if we were to be allies in taking him down.”

eddard walked up the steps to get to you. you lingered your gaze from law and then to your hand right when he reached you. he gave his back to the pirate and pursed his lips at you. “your majesty, trafalgar has a long history with doflamingo. it would be best to let him take doflamingo down on his own. a reminder that kaidou—“

you cut him off. “i’m no fool, pirate,” you said, raising your voice. “there is more to this than what meets the eye. what is it that you truly want?”

law smirked. “i could never lie to a queen,” he said, taking a few steps toward you. your warriors moved forward though, causing him to stop. you raised your hand. “it’s alright,” you said in aegrean. they moved back and law walked up the first few steps but didn’t dare come closer to you.

“my main goal is to defeat kaidou,” he said.

you scoffed. “then you may leave this kingdom and my seas. when the time comes, i will fight doflamingo with my army and dragons. i will take back control over my kingdom by myself. but if you wish to get that out of the way for me on your own, then go ahead.”

“you cannot fight doflamingo on your own. you need my help.”

“i do not need the help of a pirate. you’re the one who needs my help,” you glared at him. “i will not betray an emperor of the sea. i don’t want any involvement in this plan.”

“kaidou is no ally of yours,” said law angrily. “an emperor of the sea, yes. but when the time comes, he will not hesitate to betray you and kill you. his only allies are pirates that would love to help him rebel against you.”

“and why do you think so?” you snapped.

“isn’t it obvious? you sit on the throne and control most of the new world. you have three dragons and two of the most powerful armies at your side. you are one of the most powerful people in the new world, and you ask why kaidou wouldn’t take the opportunity to kill you?” he asked. “once you are dead, he will only gain more power by eliminating a threat. he will take your throne.”

eddard moved away from you as you slowly got up from the throne. you were angry. you walked down to him but stayed two or three steps away from him. you wanted that leverage. you wanted to show him that there would never be a time when you would be defeated. you wanted your stance to intimidate him, but it only left you cowering under his piercing eyes.

“when the time comes, you will know when i have made a decision,” you said. he was going to speak up but you continued speaking. “because i will either burn you or burn my ally.”

you took one more step down to get at a leveled height with him. “but if you are wrong, trafalgar, you will be my enemy until you are no longer breathing.”

you eyed him and then turned around to sit back down on your throne. law looked at the window behind you, the gigantic triangular-shaped window, and saw as one of your dragons flew by. he will have you as an ally. and with one more look at you and your people, law turned around and beckoned for his crew mate to follow him out of the throne room, leaving you all alone to think about what he said.

you leaned toward where eddard was standing and called for him. he bent down next to you and leaned his ear close to your mouth. “keep an eye on him. i want updates on whatever he is doing. let me know immediately if what he says is true.”

eddard only nodded before leaving the throne room. and you continued sitting there playing with your old wedding band that now sat on your right ring finger. what would your husband have done? and what would your brother have done?

ch. 2 !

#one piece #one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #trafalgar law #one piece law

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solarkindred · 1 year

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LBD SON!MREADER x RED SON

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Even more gay thoughts about LMK.

————

Y/N blinked as he looked into the crystalline blue visor. He could just barely see the blank white eyes of a possessed Red Son, child to the Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan, a wielder of flame.

An essential piece to Y/N’s defeat.

Too bad Red Son was now among Y/N’s top generals within his army of bone spirits and demons.

His mother had a wide network of contacts, ones she saved specifically for Y/N. The White Lady was a cruel woman, an almost true embodiment of evil. It was why many people feared her.

And her son, even more so. If the Lady Bone Demon was a nigh perfect iteration of evil, than her son was the bane of all things good. Born to a bone spirit and the Black Dragon of the North Sea, Y/N was a truly formidable force, equally as vile and malicious as his mother.

So why? Why was the only son to the White Lady so gentle with his enemy? Y/N traced the ice encased face of Red Son with his own icy hand. He hated how his left arm looked. Flesh stopped at his elbow and from there only bone. His bones where then encased in a thick and enhanced blue ice. It was made by his mother. And he despised it.

Tapping the ice with his sharp finger, the ice mask fell away from Red Son’s face and formed a thick blue collar on his neck. With a jolt Red Son’s once white returned to their original fiery auburn. Alarmed by the closeness of the hybrid Red Son stepped back only to slip on the smooth and slippery ice covered obsidian floor. Y/N caught Red Son by the small of his back, making the the ice wielder appear to be dipping Red Son. Red Son shivered at the feeling of his enemy’s freezing hand on his back, holding him up from a disgraceful fall.

Red Son scrambled to set himself straight on the thin ice, clutching on to Y/N’s arms to balance himself. As much as the red clad demon hates relying on this half dragon, he is by no means used to walking on ice. And besides, this is inly temporary! He’ll let go once he gets his proper footing!

“… Are you alright?” Y/N asked quietly, deep blue eyes boring deep into Red Son’s. Red Son felt exposed under such a stare. “Y–yes. I’m perfectly fine! I don’t need help from one such as you!” he snarled. Y/N blinked before shrugging off Red Son’s hands,”If that is the case then you have no need to cling to me.”

As Red Son was beginning to slide away he clawed at Y/N’s clothing and glued himself to the bone spirit’s arm to stop himself from flailing like a newborn baby.

Once again, realizing how he looked, he pushed away from Y/N only to indeed flail like a newborn and fall face first into the floor. Y/N couldn’t help the snicker that fell from his lips. Hearing the sound, Red Son tried to summon his fire only for it to appear as meek little sparks from his hands. Appalled by the discovery he looked at his hands and then to Y/N, who was looking at him the smallest smirk. That made Red Son even more mad,”WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!” he demanded. Y/N tapped his own neck, the exact spot where the ice collar was on Red Son,”Nothing much. Just a simple seal to block the use of your flames until I call upon them.”

That pissed off Red Son,”WHAT?!? HOW DARE YOU!! YOU VILE CREATURE, ONCE I GET MYSELF FREE FROM THIS PATHETIC COLLAR I WILL BURN YOU ALIVE!” he shrieked, hair glowing vibrantly but not bursting into flame. Y/N chuckled, walking gracefully across the ice (Red Son wondered quietly how Y/N managed to walk on this ice) and used his clawed hand to make Red Son look at him,”I’d like to see you try. But, alas, it is not you who has control over your body…” Y/N snapped his other, fully flesh, hand, the collar surged from his neck and making the ice visor again, allowing the half dragon full control of Red Son again,”… It is I.”

Letting go of Red Son’s now limp head, he silently commanded for his “Bluespark General” to rise and stand next to him. The possessed demon followed the order, standing at full attention and walking steadily across the ice to stand beside the grandiose spiky throne, the ice of which it is made of glimmered tauntingly at Y/N. He hated that throne. But his feet hurt and the over the top throne was only form of comfortable seating.

And so, within the tall imposing and frozen-over volcano, sat Y/N son to Lady Bone Demon and Xuanlong the Black Dragon of the North Sea. Accompanied by the only child to the Demon Bull King and Princess Iron Fan, Red Son. Who knows, perhaps fate might turn out differently than what everyone expects?

————

By that I mean Red Son and Y/N kiss. And learn to be open and more human.

“A FROZEN FLAME FOR A CROOKED HEART”

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rosesandalfazemas · 4 months

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Your 351 Port drawing has huge "step on me daddy" energy. Like I've literally never felt that before. But Oh My Word.

OMG 🙈 ✨

Well I'm glad you like it!! It was part of the spirit! Hope to do him more these days and I do hope Hima's version too!

#hetalia #aph portugal #hws portugal #rosas headcanons #Rosas says #I want to do EngPort #gangstalia #mafiatalia #hetalia gangsta #Mad King x Blue Dragon #He has the dragon on the back #Yes it is the earthquake lake #Maybe do it later

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duckyhowls · 1 year

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Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Baratheon(Lannister) OC - 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 (P2)

DuckPanda Original - PART 1 Daenerys Targaryen x Lannister!OC (Mercia Baratheon)

SUMMARY: The young queen, Mercia Baratheon, is the last living heir to King Robert after all three of her siblings die horrible deaths. As the Seven Kingdoms are on the brink of collapse, Mercia does all she can to hold it all together - though struggles arrive when the Long Night draws near, and The Dragon Queen comes for her throne. But perhaps there is a compromise they can arrange?

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Mercia stroked the soft neck of her loyal lioness, Potami, who sat committedly at her legs as the Queen rested upon the Iron Throne.

Once again, the young queen was holding court with at least a hundred guards rowed on either side of the room, something that Mercia did just to ease her mother's paranoia. For all of Mercia's siblings had been killed, two out of three were assassinated – so she didn't blame her mother for becoming desperate to have a ridiculous number of guards positioned to protect her last remaining child.

Near Mercia's lioness stood The Mountain, only two paces left of the throne with Maester Qyburn. On Mercia's right was her uncle and her mother, staring down stoically at all of the lords that Mercia had summoned to Kings Landing to speak with.

"If the last Targaryen takes the Iron Throne, she'll destroy the realm as we know it," Mercia spoke, not taking her eyes away from her lioness whose piercing, blue gaze scanned the lords below. "Some of you are bannermen of House Tyrell, but House Tyrell is in open rebellion against the crown. With their help, the Dragon Queen has ferried an army of Dothraki to our shores. Unsullied soldiers who will destroy your castles and your holdfasts for their queen without a second thought. Her armies will burn your villages to the ground, rape and enslave your women and butcher your children."

Mercia lifted her green gaze to the many lords standing before her, all of them listening intently, hanging on to every single word that came out of her lips. "This is how Olenna Tyrell rewards centuries of service and loyalty?"

Her mother then spoke up, stone-faced. "You all remember the Mad King," she called out. "Do you remember the horrors he inflicted upon his people? His daughter is nothing less."

Mercia glanced at her mother for a moment. She hated it whenever her mother sounded so sure. Mercia, despite being the Dragon Queen's enemy, knew from the accounts of spies that Daenerys was nothing like the Mad King. From all that Mercia has witnessed through reports, Daenerys Targaryen was an anti-slavery monarch whose only goals are to free the people of the world and take back her ancestral throne. That, in itself, was different, but not mad in the slightest. Nonetheless, they had to convince the lords to join their forces with the crown. For the sake of Mercia and her family’s lives at least.

"In Essos, her brutality is already legendary." The words tasted bitter in Mercia's mouth, as she forced herself to twist these stories to make the Targaryen Queen sound like a mad tyrant. "She has crucified hundreds of noblemen in Slaver's Bay. When she grew bored of that, she fed everyone that opposed her to her dragons. It is my sworn duty before the faith to protect the people, and I will, but I need your help, my Lords."

"We must stand together," Cersei interjected once again, sounding confident and determined to convince these men to side with them. "All of us. If we hope to stop her."

The lords whispered amongst themselves for a moment before Lord Tarly stepped forward, stoic and tall as he addressed the young queen. "Your Grace, forgive me but she has three full-grown dragons. The same as Aegon when he conquered the Seven Kingdoms. How do you propose to stop them? With your lions?" Some men in the room laughed.

Mercia's hand that was stroking Potami's fur went still, and her eyes met the old Lord's. Then, she turned her head to Maester Qyburn and nodded to him.

The thin, frail man looked over at the lord, blank-faced as usual. "We are currently at work on a solution, my Lord."

Mercia stood then, clasping her hands together and giving the lords a small smile. "Please, discuss this together. Take your time, we have all day. For now, I must insist that I get off this damned, uncomfortable chair. I will call for the court again in a few hours."

Turning to her lion, she lightly tapped her hand on her thigh once. "Come, Potami."

The lords all watched the young Queen leave the throne room with the huge tawny lioness loyally trotting at her heels.

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"I am Eddard Stark," said the man that had been forced to kneel before the enraged common people of Kings Landing. "Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King."

The man glanced towards his right, where, nearby, his eldest daughter, the Lady Sansa Stark, nodded to him in encouragement. On her left was the newly titled queen regent, Cersei Lannister, her golden hair long and ever so beautiful. She was smiling proudly at her eldest son, the newly crowned King of Westeros, Joffrey Baratheon, who stood near Eddard Stark, smirking satisfyingly at the discord before him.

Mercia watched with a frown from Sansa Stark's right as the man, her late father’s closest friend, who had been in the dungeons for days, was now being publicly humiliated. Mercia had never felt this ashamed of her brother as she did now, watching Joffrey seem so pleased at this poor man's suffering. Despite being a traitor to the crown, Mercia only had heard such kind things about Eddard Stark, that he was the most honourable and one of the most prominent lords in the country. And with every spoken word they have exchanged, even if there wasn’t much to be said, he always treated her with kindness and the upmost respect. This lord did not deserve this shame.

Looking away, down to the ground now, Eddard Stark continued. "I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of the Gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold, I plotted to murder his son... and seize the throne for myself."

What? Mercia whipped her head to look at her mother, Cersei, who turned to look at her with a small smile, though the young girl could see the harsh warning behind the older one's green gaze. ‘Do not say a word’.

Meanwhile, the crowd had erupted in an outroar, one peasant in the sea of people even throwing a small stone at Lord Stark's head, causing the man to gasp in pain as blood seeped through the wound and drip from his brow. Beside Mercia, Sansa gasped and grasped the princess’ hand. Mercia turned her head away from the sight, squeezing Sansa’s hand back.

"L-let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, by the grace of all the Gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Through every word, Eddard Stark's face contorted, as if he were in pain of speaking falsehoods. Mercia knew of the letter and will her father had left behind, asking his friend to rule until Joffrey came of age.

The crowd murmured amongst themselves angrily, but Maester Pycelle stepped forward. "As in sin, this man has confessed to his crimes in sight of Gods and men. The Gods are just, but beloved Baelor taught us they can also be merciful." Maester Pycelle then turned to Joffrey and bowed his head. "What is to be done with this traitor, Your Grace?" he asked, spitting the words as if the man accused was some worthless demon.

The crowd jeered and called out angrily, but Joffrey raised his hand with a pleased smile, as if all this chaos excited him. Mercia knew that it did.

The crowd went silent, and Joffrey spoke, "My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch. Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile," he continued, looking to his betrothed, the Lady Sansa. "And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."

The Lady Sansa smiled softly at the King and Mercia frowned. She knew her brother better than to be someone of mercy.

She was right when he announced his next words, and Eddard Stark's head was put to the sword and placed on a spike on the city walls for months.

Mercia never forgot the Lady Sansa's screams that dreadful day.

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Part 3 Coming Soon!

#daenerys x reader #part 2 #joffrey baratheon #sansa stark #cersei lannister #ned stark #game of thrones #dany x reader #fem x fem #queen #lannister #baratheon #targaryen #dragons #kings landing #maester pycelle #the mountain #khaleesi

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ludwig-holy-blade · 1 year

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It Must Be You, Or No One.

Plot: You were a child born of Old Valyrian blood and blood of the First Men, life was never meant to be easy.

Daemon Targaryen & Rhea Royce!Son x Rhaenyra Targaryen:

Your Birth: Yours was not an easy birth. In the darkness of the night your mother, lady Rhea Royce, walked to the Maester's tower to give birth. Rather than aid her in this trial your father, Prince Daemon Targaryen, simply took to the skies on Caraxes and proceeded to remain there for the duration of your birth. It took the entire evening and into the next for you to come into this world, your mother demanded to have the window open so she could curse her husband. When dawn turned to dusk your mothers cries were replaced with your own. Your father returned not long after, a dragon egg in hand. When you were placed in his arms but rather than embrace as most fathers would Daemon Targaryen inspected you. He could find neither purple or blue in your eyes and your head hadn’t even a sliver of silver. Affronted he passed you to the midwife and left for Kings Landing that night. Dragon egg in hand. When you began to cry she attempted to pass you back your mother but alas Rhea refused and turned to rest asking you be taken elsewhere. Your grandfather, Yorbert Royce, Lord of Runestone carried you off whispering tales of old gods and heroes past as he did.

Childhood: Growing up neither of your parents were truly interested in you. Daemon spent the majority of his time in King's Landing only returning on your name-days with some expensive, extravagant gift from a far off place. Practice swords made of dragonbone, Qohoric knives, Lyseni silk clothing and the like. In the end however he would leave long before the day was over. Your mother concerned herself mostly with her companions and court favorites, riding out in hunting parties or out to engage in combat with the Mountain Clans. This left you alone mostly though it didn’t make you sullen so much as angry. The only attention you could muster from your mother was when you would pick fights with other children, some Corbray child or Waynewood heir. She would praise you ever so slightly if you’d won and scold you if you lost. When you were six your grandfather told you. "If your going to fight you might as well do it right." He showed you Lamentation, House Royce's Valyrian steel long sword and you wanted it. You set out with a new goal from there. You would be the greatest warrior to ever come out of Westeros much less the Eyrie. In time you’d set your eyes upon Dark Sister as well.

Your training was purposefully intense. Four hours of swordsmanship everyday, beginning at daybreak. Then time for food and lessons before another three hours devoted to mounted combat and finishing out more swordsmanship long into early hours of the night. You spurned socialization with other devoting yourself wholly to study of both blade and battle. Yes you also studied in preparation to one day rule Runestone but that was not your passion. Your passion was such that by the tender age of twelve not a single squire in Runestone could hold their own against you. Such was your skill that you trained against two at a time. It was in your three-and-tenth year when you were put to the test.

In celebration of your birth you were invited to hunt with your grandfather. For two days and a night you spent time in the woods with your father and a small contingent of Household guard. You drank wine and laughed freely. One of your happiest memories was watching your grandfather trip backwards into a river, nearly drown under the weight of his armor. It was in the evening when the mountain clans attacked. They overwhelmed the guards forcing you and your grandfather to flee for home. Somewhere in the madness your grandfather took an arrow and as you passed through the gates of Runestone he collapsed. In the chaos of the yelling and the screaming and the men carrying your grandfather away nobody noticed you taking Lamentation, a bow and a quiver bursting with arrows. In the dark of the night, you followed their trail back to their camp. It was small, they were celebrating. When you fell on them they didn’t expect it. You circled with your horse volleying arrows into their legs, dropping them where they stood. From there you collected fifteen heads from their living bodies and returned to the seat of your house bloodied with Lamentation on your hip.

King’s Landing: When news made it's way to King's Landing of what happened Viserys was incensed. With Daemon all but out of consideration for the throne you were Viserys's unspoken but clearly favored heir. He had made it clear that until he was certain her couldn’t produce another child, a male heir, then you would take the position as Viserys's heir. Apparently Daemon had failed to inform you during his last visit, your one-and-tenth name day. Worried for your safety he decided to demand your mother send you to King’s Landing for your protection as well as to begin proper education should you be chosen as his heir.

It was a bright and sunny day when you left home. Your mother waited at Runestones gates with you for your father to finally arrive. It was a long quiet wait with a mother in the throes of grief and about to be forced to speak to the husband she hated. She hadn’t said a word. When you heard the beating of Caraxes's wings was the moment Rhea finally spoke you. She unveiled Lamentation and passed it to you with a single command. "Show them boy, show them all who you are, remind them that the blood of the first men more than matches that of Old Valyria." Caraxes's shook the earth when he landed and Daemon Targaryen, a stranger with a familiar face who you called father, dismounted the dragon. You took up Lamentation, marched to your father and mounted the blood wyrm without of a word. You arrived in King's Landing that evening, the walk through the streets up towards the Red Keep was as silent as the flight. The entire time not a word was shared between you and your father. You had expected a silent entrance to the Red Keep to your surprise when the doors opened there was a celebration. Queen Aemma Arryn greeted you with an embrace followed by your cousin the Princess Rhaenyra. King Viserys greeted you warmly but the final embrace was your father, Daemon Targaryen took you into his arms and spoke for the first time that day. He said to you. "Welcome home son."

The Song of Ice and Fire: In the days following your arrival you spent a great deal of time with your uncle Viserys. He was different than you expected, at Runestone men were typically stoic, indomitable and soberingly serious but Viserys was surprisingly gentle. A man with a good soft heart, who was quick to laugh when he was happy, prone to tears when sad but he wasn’t weak he simply bore his emotions outward. In short he was a good man, you liked him, he reminded you of grandfather. He kept you close which you found mildly odd but threw it up to him being curious about his next possible heir. He found you quite funny as well, at only three-and-ten you were serious, dutiful, honor focused and quick to anger. You met any perceived slight to your house or family physically, especially if those insults involved your mother. Many a young man at court had made the mistake of referring to your mother by her new moniker "The Bronze Bitch" in your presence had found themselves lacking teeth. The few young ladies who’d disparaged your mother usually left your presence weeping after being bombarded with insults and cruel jabs.

Viserys would in time trust you with the secret of House Targaryen. You would be summoned in the dead of night by Harold Westerling, Lord Commander of the King's Guard. Taken to the King's chambers you were met by both Queen Aemma and King Viserys, there he explained everything about Aegon's prophecy and asked you what you thought about Dragons. You called them weapons to be feared and he approved. He wouldn’t call you heir yet, he and Aemma wanted to try once more for a boy child but should worst come to worst Viserys told you. "It must be you, or no one."

To be continued

#hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd headcanon #house of the dragon #house royce #house targaryen #daemon targeryan #viserys targaryen

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middleearthpixie · 1 month

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Something in the Night ~ Chapter Twenty

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory.

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it.

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.2k

Tag List: @night-ace @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @asgardianhobbit98 @evenstaredits

@heilith @glassgulls @msjava1972 @dianakc @quiall321

@frosticenow @ruthoakenshield @jotink78 @guardianofrivendell @medusas-hairband

@myselfandfantasy @sazzlep @notlostgnome @knittastically @xxbyimm

@fizzyxcustard @i-did-not-mean-to @mrsdurin @legolasbadass @lathalea

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Nina couldn't remember the last time it hurt to breathe, and she was ever so thankful when the healer at Erebor made the pain stop. The tube was only slightly more comfortable, but at least she could breathe.

The first two days she was in the infirmary were a blur, as she slept more often than she was awake. But from what she recalled, the healer’s name was Narnerra and she was a dwarf with blonde hair and blue eyes and an easy manner. She didn't seem at all concerned with having a daughter of Man in her infirmary, and neither did her partner, Óin. They treated Nina with courtesy and kindness and Narnerra especially reminded her of her mother, which brought tears to Nina’s eyes her first night there.

The most surprising part of the entire ordeal was Thorin. He’d been to see her several times and there was no sense of anger about him any longer. He made no mention of what happened at Mirkwood, no mention of the bounty, no mention of any of it, which confused her to a certain extent.

But she tried not to dwell on it, and instead concentrated on healing, so she could go back to the flat in Dale, as Sigrid had to be worried about her, and Harald had no idea what had happened, only that she’d stopped coming to work. She only hoped she still had a job when she returned.

Narnerra, however, was not about to let her leave until she was satisfied Nina wasn’t about to drop dead. And that meant remaining in the infirmary until further notice, despite the fact that Nina was so impatient to leave.

On her third day, Nina was relieved to have the blasted uncomfortable tube removed from her side. “I was going mad with that, you know.”

Narnerra smiled as she bandaged the small incision she’d finished sewing. “I know, it’s not the most comfortable thing in the world. But, it’s better than not being able to breathe.”

“That I will agree with. So,” Nina tugged her tunic back down, “does this mean I might be able to return home today?”

Narnerra shook her head. “Not quite yet, I’m afraid. I want to keep an eye out for infection. Another day or so should be time enough.”

Biting back an impatient sigh, Nina offered up a long look. “I really do need to go. It feels as if an eternity has passed since I last saw the sun.”

“Another day won’t hurt.”

“Narnerra.”

“It won’t. But, if you are so impatient to see sunlight, why not go and sit in the courtyard for a bit?”

“A courtyard? You mean to tell me there’s an actual courtyard here?”

“Yes. Come and I will show you.”

Nina slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was still achy, from the battle, from the wound, from the treatment for it, but as she got to her feet, it eased a little. Then it eased more with each step as Narnerra led her out of the private chambers and through the infirmary’s main room.

Several dwarves were there, and she felt their stares as she passed them by. Narnerra led her down the narrow corridor to the door at the end, which opened into a sun-splashed courtyard shaded in one corner by towering oak trees.

“You won’t try to run off now, will you?”

Nina slowly shook her head. “No. I won’t. I give you my word.”

“Very well. Enjoy the sun.”

Nina smiled, pulling away from the healer to step out into the middle of the courtyard. In the distance, a tower of black and gray mottled stone rose toward the sky, but that was the only other structure around her.

The sun wrapped warm arms about her and she lifted her face to it, letting her eyes close as the gentle breeze wafted through her hair. For the first time since Smaug destroyed Esgaroth, she felt at complete peace.

With that, she moved to the wall, sinking onto the warm stone. As she sat back against a stone pillar, she thought she could actually remain right there and be perfectly happy about it.

Thorin stepped out into the courtyard. “There you are.”

“You sound as if you’ve been hunting for me. Where else would I be?”

“Fair question.” He crossed over to where she sat. “How do you feel this morning?”

“Better. Narnerra took out the infernal tube, so now it’s only a bit sore instead of very sore.” She shaded her eyes with one had to look up at him. “And how do you feel?”

“I’m fine. I told you, I had not a scratch on me, thanks to you.”

“I apologize. My memory of that night and the first days here isn’t so clear.”

“Worry not. It seems I owe you my life yet again. I had no idea I was being followed.”

“You owe me nothing,” she said after a short silence, lowering her hand to fold it with her other hand in her lap. “I owe you. I can never make up for what I’d done. What I tried to do.”

With a soft groan, Thorin settled beside her. “No, you don’t. I’ll admit, I was furious, as you know of course, but…”

“But you are no longer?” She turned to him. “Why? By all rights, you should hate me until the day you die. Or until the day I do.”

“That was what I thought at first, but since then, I’ve had plenty of time to think and in truth? You should hate me as well. You have even greater cause to do so. I am responsible for the deaths of your family members, for the loss of everything that you held dear. And when I thought of it that way, I realized, I could not fault you for trying to collect the Defiler’s bounty.”

She could only stare up at him, as if seeing him for the first time. He looked far more serious than she’d ever seen—which was saying something—but it was more than that. As his pale blue eyes met hers, her heart gave a leap. “Thorin?”

“So, why don’t you? Hate me, I mean. I cost you everything. All you did was try to avenge that.”

“I did hate you. I hated you for a very long time and that was why I thought to try to collect Azog’s bounty. I thought it would—that it—” she shook her head—“I don't know what I thought it would do, but I thought it would make it, I don't know, hurt less, perhaps?”

The wind stirred again, riffling through her hair, sending his fluttering as well. She managed a slight smile. “But, in the end, it wouldn’t have. It still hurts. It will always hurt. Killing you wouldn’t have changed that, nor would it have brought them back. And besides,” her smile grew easier to show, “I’ve grow fond of you.”

“Fond of me.” A hint of amusement crept into his voice and the corners of his lips turned upwards.

“All right, perhaps a bit more than fond,” she admitted. “Either way, I couldn’t do it. I just… I couldn’t. But, at the same time, I think I—”

His hand came to rest atop hers. “You think what?”

“I think I might have led the orcs to you. I—I went to see Tarog, Azog’s heir apparent, to try to claim half the bounty up front.” Heat crept into her cheeks, swirled through her entire body as she met his gaze again. He said nothing, his expression remained neutral, but she felt so very guilty for everything that happened up to that point.

Still, she went on, “It was arrogant of me, and foolish and he let me know he shared that sentiment. He laughed me out of his camp and that was that. I thought nothing of it, but now, I think he most likely set that orc pack after me, thinking I would lead them to you.”

“You’ve much to learn in being a bounty hunter.”

He said it softly, but with a smile, and it was so unexpected that she couldn't help but laugh, only to clap her hand over her mouth as she stared up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You said nothing wrong. It’s true.”

“I know, but,” she lowered her hand, “I have no desire to be a bounty hunter any longer. I’m not very good at it, you know.”

His eyes softened.”Is that so?”

“It is, yes.”

“Then what would you like to be?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

The hand that had been resting against hers came up to curve against her cheek. As he leaned in, her heart sped up, and when he nuzzled her, her eyes closed of their own. His touch was so gentle and yet, it shot through her like a lightning bolt.

She turned toward him, her lips seeking his, his whispered, “Nina…” making her heart beat faster still.

“There you are! I’ve been going mad searching for you.”

Thorin jumped back at the unexpected female voice and Nina swallowed hard at the dark-haired dwarrowdam in the doorway. It was the same woman she’d seen with him at the tavern and although she smiled, Nina saw the definite coolness in her dark eyes. “Oh, well, good afternoon,” she said, her voice warm and almost syrupy sweet. “I don't believe we’ve met.”

Nina almost smiled at the fact that the woman did not remember her from only a few nights past, but then thought better of it. “No,” she replied, “I don't believe we have.”

“You might introduce us, Thorin,” the woman told him pointedly.

Thorin rose and turned toward her. “Elisin, this is Nina Carren. Nina, this is Elisin of Ered Luin.”

“A pleasure,” Elisin said.

“Likewise.”

Looking up at Thorin, Elisin said, “I thought we were going to have luncheon together?”

“Ah, yes, I apologize. I just came to check on Miss Carren. She came to my aid on the road from Dale the other evening.”

“She is the one?”

“I am, yes.” Nina replied, also rising. “And if you will both excuse me, I think I will go and lie down a bit. My incision is beginning to ache.”

She forced a smile as she looked over at Elisin. “It was lovely meeting you.”

The smile she received in return was just as frosty. “Likewise.”

Nina brushed by Elisin and as she reached for the door handle, she’d swear she could feel the dwarrowdam’s eyes burning into her back. What was more? She could almost feel the daggers in the woman’s stare.

“You traveled with her all the way from Rivendell?”

Thorin nodded, turning back to Elisin as the door swung shut. “We crossed paths on the road leading to it, when she came to our aid.”

“Your aid? A lone woman?”

He nodded, not at all inclined to give more details than was absolutely necessary. “She was quite impressive, really. So, when she offered to accompany us back, Dwalin and I saw no reason to turn her offer down.”

“No, why would you?” Elisin’s voice remained light but he did not miss the darker undertones. “Why do I feel as if I’ve seen her before?”

Before he could answer, she waved off her own question. “Oh, never mind. It hardly matters as I assume she will be leaving before long. I’m actually quite surprised Narnerra did not put up a fuss over having her here.”

He was as well, although he assumed it was because he was the one who brought Nina to Erebor’s gates, to its infirmary, and no one in their right mind was going to question the king about it. He almost smiled at the memory of how Grelber’s eyes went wide at the sight of him, streaked in Nina’s blood, ordering the gates of Erebor be opened at once.

“She is a healer and looks beyond a body’s origins. In the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, I’m told we had elves, Men, and dwarves in the infirmary and all received the same standard of care.”

“Of course they did. I expect no less from her or Óin,” Elisin replied, tucking her arm through his. “I certainly didn't mean to imply otherwise.”

He nodded. “Of course not. So, you said you were looking for me?”

“Oh, right. I was. I thought we might go—”

“Thorin?” Balin appeared in the courtyard doorway. “We’ve a bit of a problem in Esgaroth and Bard has asked we meet to discuss it?”

“A problem?” Thorin pulled away from Elisin. “What sort of problem?”

“The missive did not say.”

“Very well.” Thorin let out a slow sigh as he turned back to Elisin. “I do need to tend to this, I’m afraid. Can what you wished to ask me wait for a bit?”

Elisin didn't look at all happy even as she nodded. “Of course it can. Go. A king’s work is never done.”

“We will talk later, when I return.” He started toward Balin.

“Yes, but Thorin—”

“Later. I promise.”

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here?#Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

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ecto-stone · 2 years

Text

Friend From the Other Side AU?? or FFOS!AU for short

Is created originally as a One shot comic “ Biology Lesson” Base on the Idea of What if Vlad is a Teen and a Ghost that turn half Human ,the total opposite from Danny Human to Ghost.

Latter grow into a full AU as it some how gain a lots of attention.And as a result of it rapid unplanned growth it share alots of it lore with it brother AU My Blood. So thing like

-Hivemind Demons Spectra, Unworld Dimension, what is Elsewhereness,The Dark Dragon Family Drama, Evil Observants, ect ... ect ..Advance Rework of DP original power system is expected.

Main Protag

Danny (Daniel) James Fenton Age: 14 (when turn Halfa) , 15 (when AU story started) Height: 167 cm Personality: Shy and Quiet, stoic a bit of a Loner, but Quite Bold as Phantom

Core Element: Ice Soul Element: Water-Air Alias: Phantom, Inviso Bill, The White Haired One (by the Yeti), Ghost Boy. Backstory After the Portal didn’t activate. Mr and Mrs Fenton cut the power to the portal and go back to check the blue print and the calculation to see what could possibly be wrong. Mean while Danny and his friend who is over for a Sleep over ,coming down to the basement for some nice mad science theme photo shoot. Each of them coming down through the portal ladder to take a pic, Sam, Tucker, But when it Danny turn he jump down mid ladder to a loud thunk to look cool.

But then the portal Suddenly glow Bright, sound of electric hissing and buzzing through air, turn out Synth Ecto Plasm is a great Energy storage substant. There was a big Flash, and young Danny stuck in the portal hole unable to escape in time suffer the full blash.

Time of the accident Amity Park, Fenton House hold, 2:25 AM, 30/8/20xx Danny fall into a 4 month coma afterward, result in his social life get ruin. As his accident get on the new and while the fenton parent blame Sam for the Idea, Sam parent threatened to sue the Fenton for threatening their children life by letting them come into a Dangerous lab unspervised.

Result in Sam is Ban from ever coming close to the Fenton again. While the Foley stay quiet and avoid the issue entirely. After woken up from the coma, Danny start developing Ghost Power. And starting his work as a Ghost Hunter as he found out the portal open caused the entire town to suffer from a horrible ghost infestation.

Phantom first sighting is on May 5

CO-Protagonist

Vladimir Judy Plasmius/Fenton/Masters. Age: 13 (in ghost year when turn halfa), 14 (when AU started) Height: 159 cm Personality: Sassy,Mischevious and hyper, with a hint of abandonment issue

Core Element: Fire --evo-->Electric Soul Element: Earth --evo--> Metal Alias: Little Wisconsin Ghost, Plasmius, Fated Dark One (by the Observant council) Backstory After the great ghost and human war that ended back in the 20s with a truce thank to Agent W (Will Walker). The Portal and the GIW agency is dissolve. Until recently.

Time of the accident Wisconsin, GIW Omega Base, 2:25 AM, 30/8/20xx Portal Status: Destroyed Casualty: 143 Capture subject: P1-A5-M1115 Power rating: Extremely Dangerous (X) Tranfer to containment Base Delta 5 on Dec 12 Current Status: Escape (self contain) Recent Sighting: Dairy King Castle, May7 Amity park, July 13.

How they meet: Behind a Wisconsin Denny as Danny is on a Family visiting trip. As Danny encounter a rouge ghost and assume Vlad to be the rouge ghost Only to get his Ass toss like a Salad by this Feral looking Ghost that just eat trash straight from a dumster. To which Danny later offer a burger as a peace treaty and a deal to help capture the rouge ghost. Vlad later followed Danny back to Amity Park to play role as an annoyance, before actually teaming up to aid in ghost hunting to get more Snack from Danny per deal.

What the story about?

It’s about the forming friendship of two unded boi from two different world.

and their Adventure in Both Realm.

#Friend from the other side AU ??#this prob left you with more question then awnswer

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shanxpennywise · 4 months

Text

My Favourite Villains Part 1 - 7 Art Dump (Old Art.)

Villains~

Pennywise (1990)

Pennywise (2017)

Slappy (Goosebumps)

Dr Kamikazi (Robotboy)

Chucky (Child's Play)

Fats (Magic)

Billy (Dead Silence)

N-Gin (Crash Bandicoot)

Hypno (Creepypasta)

King Dice (Cuphead)

Baldi (Baldi's Basics in Education and Learning.)

Zander (Dinosaur King)

Gideon (Gravity Falls)

Sideshow Bob (The Simpsons)

Penguin (The Batman: Animated Series)

Dr Doofenshmirtz (Phineas and Ferb)

Mad Mod (Teen Titans)

Defoe (Huntik: Seekers and Secrets)

Little Ogre (Soul Eater)

Dr Phineus Phibes (Shaggy and Scooby Doo Get a Clue)

Dr Calico (Bolt)

Purple Guy (Five Nights At Freddy's)

Mandark (Dexter's Laboratory)

Evil Rick (Rick and Morty)

Mad Hatter (Batman: Animated Series)

The Major (Hellsing Ultimate)

Danzo (Naruto Shippuden)

Vector (Despicable Me)

Archibald Snatcher (The Boxtrolls)

Frollo (Hunchback of Notredame)

Cedric (Sofia the First)

King Candy (Wreck it Ralph)

Gallaxhar (Monsters VS Aliens)

Jack Spicer (Xaolin Showdown)

Jeffery Hawk (Dead by Daylight)

Akainu (One Piece)

Dr.Maniac (Goosebumps.)

Unwanted House Guest (Creepypasta/Meme.)

Jareth the Goblin King (Labyrinth.)

Dr Hannibal Lecter (Silence of the Lambs.)

Syndrome (The Incredibles.)

Dr Eggman (Sonic the Hedgehog.)

Maxie (Pokemon.)

Captain (Armando) Salazzar (Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man Tells No Tales.)

The Look-See (Crypt TV's The Look-See.)

Kureo Mado (Tokyo Ghoul.)

Drei (Hiiro No Kakera.)

W.D. Gaster (Undertale.)

Freddy Krueger (Nightmare on Elm Street.)

Drago Bludvist (How to Train Your Dragon.)

Claude Faustus (Black Butler.)

Stefano Valentini (Evil Within 2.)

John Bacchus (Future Diary.)

Kisame Hoshigaki (Naruto Shippuden.)

Mayuri Kurotsuchi (Bleach.)

Hisoka (Hunter x Hunter.)

Tighten (Megamind.)

2nd Dimension Dr Heinz Doofenshmirtz (Phineas and Ferb: The Movie.)

Dr.Octopus (Spiderman 2.)

Squilliam (Spongebob Squarepants.)

Mr.Chuckle Teeth (The X-Files.)

Laughing Jack (Creepypasta.)

Weevil Underwood (YU-GI-OH!)

Dr.Herman Carter (Dead By Daylight.)

Babadook (The Babadook.)

The Child Catcher (Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.)

Colonel Muska (Studio Ghibli's Laputa Castle.)

Ghetsis (Pokemon.)

The Crooked Man (The Conjuring 2.)

Crocodile (One Piece.)

Danny Dickens (Angels Of Death.)

Kabuto (Naruto Shippuden.)

Yami Marik (YU-GI-OH!)

Byakuran Katekyo (Hitman Reborn.)

Jason The Toymaker (Creepypasta.)

Slenderman (Slenderman: The Movie.)

Igor Neuhaus (Blue Exorcist.)

Captain Kuro (One Piece.)

Guzma (Pokemon.)

Mr.Wood (Goosebumps.)

Professor Venomous (OK K.O. Let's Be Heroes.)

Lyle Tiberius Rourke (Atlantis.)

Faba (Pokemon.)

Petrel (Pokemon.)

Cyrus (Pokemon.)

Lysandre (Pokemon.)

Arlo (Pokemon.)

Evil Dr Phibes (Shaggy and Scooby Doo Get a Clue.)

Papillon (Buso Renkin.)

The Joker (Batman: Animated Series.)

Mr X (Resident Evil.)

Foolscap (Dinosaur King.)

Giovanni (Pokemon.)

Tamatoa (Moana.)

The Toymaker (Harmony & Horror.)

Jean-Louise Bonaparte (Yu-Gi-Oh! GX.)

Benson (Toy Story 4.)

Ed (Dinosaur King.)

Mr Burns (The Simpsons.)

Victor (Boruto.)

Beppi The Clown (Cuphead.)

Scud (Yu-Gi-Oh! The Movie: Pyramid Of Light.)

Sordward (Pokemon SWSH.)

Sheildbert (Pokemon SWSH.)

Sakutaro Morishige (Corpse Party.)

Mr Hook (MAR.)

Malvolio (Twelfth Night Manga.)

Captain Hook (Peter Pan.)

John Ratcliffe (Pocahontas.)

Fagin (BBC's Oliver Twist.)

Jack Randall (Outlander.)

Waluigi (Mario.)

The Toad (Flushed Away.)

Gnauss Wisden (NiNoKuni.)

Orochimaru (Naruto.)

Braz D. Blood (Blood Lad.)

Douman Ashiya (Tokyo Ravens.)

Shidou Dairenji (Tokyo Ravens.)

Dr. Yung (Pokemon: The Mastermind Of The Mirage Pokemon.)

Mr Big (Michael Jackson's Moonwalker.)

Grings Kodai (Pokemon: Zoroark: Master Of Illusions.)

Dick Dastardly (Scooby Doo Movie.)

Greed (Fullmetal Alchemist.)

Hidan (Naruto Shippuden.)

Mandrake (Earwig And The Witch.)

Murder The Clown (Goosebumps.)

Kai Chisaki (My Hero Academia.)

The Grabber (The Black Phone.)

The Gold Watcher (Dark Deception.)

Miroku Yukihiko (Get Backers.)

Sartorius Kumar (Yu-Gi-Oh! GX.)

Schneizel El Britannia (Code Geass.)

Chairman Rose (Pokemon SWSH.)

Koichi Shidou (Highschool Of The Dead.)

The Riddler (Assault On Arkham.)

Sugou Nobuyuki (Sword Art Online.)

The Handsome Young Man (A Tale Dark & Grimm.)

The Pied Piper (Shrek 4.)

Aizen Sosuke (Bleach.)

Demiurge (Overlord.)

I plan on drawing more of my favourite villains at some point.

#ShanxPennywise #Traditional Art #Lineart #Old Art #Monochrome #Ink Drawing #Drawing Practice #Fanart #Crossover #Cartoon #Anime Manga #Favourite Villains #Horror #Horror Fan

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emilykaldwen · 2 months

Text

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

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

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

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

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AO3 Link

Warnings: Sexual shaming, physical abuse from a parental figure

CHAPTER NINE - LEAVE YOU IN PIECES

Reality is a slap in the face, and the River Lords finally arrive to King's Landing.

Mid-morning in the Red Keep meant that the gallery Aegon found himself in was illuminated with bright morning sun. It was three stories with floor to ceiling windows on the north side and smaller windows that could not be opened on the south, letting in natural light that would filter through them the entire day. It was his mother’s pride and joy, and he recalled the hours she’d thrown herself into its decoration and design when he was small and her smiles more frequent, her touch more caring. This was where she eagerly brought visiting nobles and dignitaries; this gallery was where his mother shone as Alicent Hightower, a girl with dreams that he watched fade from her eyes until piety and desperation and anger took hold of her.

His mother told him that she came to the sept to feel close to her own mother. Aegon came to the gallery to feel close to his. He was trying not to think about that too much as he watched Abrogail Strong pause in front of the intricate carving of the ship that the Targaryens brought to Dragonstone.

His gaze was fixated upon the spray of freckles along Abby’s bared shoulders. More importantly, it was that her shoulders were bare at all that was drawing his attention. The samite gown she wore was of the palest blue, the top edged with a broad band of silver. He’d watched her painstakingly embroider all the little decoration on it in front of the fireplace in the evenings. In the sunlight streaming through the windows, he could see the golden threads in the silver banding that also encircled her upper arms glimmer and reveal the hidden golden dragons sewn within. She said something but Aegon paid no mind to it on his approach, too focused watching the way her red curls glowed molten down past her pale shoulders and how the freckles dotting them were like cinnamon sugar on the sweet breads she’d eaten earlier.

It had been two days since he crept into her bed. Two days since they had the chance to be truly alone and he was going mad with it. Her throat was bare and never had he thought he’d want to drape a woman in jewels, but the idea of a necklace wound around her throat, mayhaps with rubies, appealed to him. A symbol that declared she was his and his alone.

Abby’s fingers, so dainty, so strong when they dove into his hair and gripped him like a lifeline, reached up to tuck her loose hair behind her ear and the bruise, deep and dark red, was revealed just there in the softness below her ear and along her jaw.

He closed the short distance between them, his arm snaking around her waist, hand splayed across the smooth curve of her belly to pull her against his chest. Aegon had been letting her set the pace, but here beneath the shaft of sunlight, the treasure she presented was too much for him. He pressed his face against the top of her head where she fit perfectly beneath his chin (if only just, for height eluded him and found his brother instead). He inhaled the scent of her hair, the orange and lemon of the bergamot oil she used for her curls.

“Your Grace,” she whispered, and he sighed, fingers flexing against her stomach, fabric bunching slightly beneath his touch, forcing himself to be still, to not beg for more.

To not take more.

“Your Grace, we shouldn’t,” she tried again, but this time, Abby’s voice shook with the little giggles he adored and he shut his eyes when she reached up to delve those fingers into his hair and hold him close. It was his turn to shudder at the feel of her nails lightly scratching his scalp, as if he were her cat laying across her lap. Aegon felt the heat rush through his veins, from the top of his head down to his toes that curled within his boots.

“I thought you were dragging me in here for the same purpose you had last night after dinner,” he countered. The memory of her hands grabbing him and hauling him behind the tapestry on the way toward Helaena’s room the night before made him giddy and ache. His rabbit had been possessed and he’d been a hungry dragon happily accosted by her. In the fortnight since they had first kissed, she was still clumsy and unsure, but her eagerness had delighted and ignited him. It was with that heady kiss, and the feeling of how perfectly her pert bottom fit his hands beneath her simple frock that had fed his dreams that night and left him craving, as always, for more.

Abby giggled again and he tilted his head back only enough to allow her to turn in his hold. She kissed his nose, and then his cheek. Peppering her way along the curve of bone to the soft skin behind his ear where his jaw met, she suckled and nipped with the softest sound that went straight to his cock. Aegon’s eyes fell almost shut and he brought his other hand up to cup the back of her head to keep her close. Her own fingers remained in his hair with their infernal tugging, drawing soft groans and his own wanton and needy whimper.

‘Touch me, touch me for here I hurt,’ he thought. ‘Touch me and make it all go away until it’s only you.’

“Do you like that?” she whispered against his ear, and it struck him how genuinely curious she was, how guileless the intent was in her explorations. It was intoxicating in a way he couldn’t describe and Aegon’s arm tightened around her waist, his fingers diving into her hair. Her arm had come up around his own waist to mimic him and he found it adorable how she took her cues from him. What he did, she did, and he rewarded her studious nature with a nip to her ear.

Her fingers tugged on his hair and he felt her teeth nip along his jaw. His cock twitched and he angled his hips back so she wouldn’t feel it, not wanting to frighten her. “I asked if you liked that.”

Abby’s bold teasing drew a high pitched laugh of his own. “Are you demanding answers from your prince, my Lady? What liberties you take.” From his view of her throat and the succulent curve of her shoulder, he watched the blush bloom like the malvales flowers in his mother’s solar. She shook against him with her giggles and Aegon felt like he was soaring to be the one to pull such joyous sounds from her with his japes. It was heady, like the most exotic of wines he’d been given that left him floating, but this? This flamed him instead of making him feel numb. This had his heart racing and his body tingling and Aegon laughed with her. He laughed in the way he hadn’t for so long, free from the anxiety and the fear, from the nervous notes that plagued the sound.

He met her eyes and felt like he was freefalling from Sunfyre’s back to drown in the rivers. They were so endlessly, beautifully blue and crinkled from how brightly she smiled. Her blush meant it was Aegon’s turn to reach up and cup her face in his hand and pepper kisses from the top of her forehead down the delicate line of her nose to the sweet, heart shape of her mouth. There were too many kisses to count; little needy kisses like he could capture the taste of her and hold it inside. They were both laughing, breathless and needy. Aegon ached with it, feeling the desire stir in his belly. Abby pressed against him and his breath caught, kisses pausing as there was no hiding what she was doing to him.

Abby stilled against him and Aegon felt more than heard the soft sound low in her throat. The gentle vibration of her mouth where she rested it against his. The taste of cinnamon sugar and sweet cream had already been devoured, leaving whatever taste of her that hid beneath for Aegon to glut on.

He didn’t move to press further against her no matter how his body begged to rut against her like a damned kennel dog, but his mouth continued to brush against hers, mouth catching along her lower lip, teeth nibbling along the fullness of her pout. “Abs,” he murmured. “Ñuha hunītsos.” She answered with the tentative touch of her own tongue against his as if she hadn’t eagerly returned such affection before. Aegon brushed his thumbs along the curve of her cheeks and felt the heat of her blush beneath his touch. Abby pressed closer into him and his breath caught at the pressure of pressing against her belly. He didn’t care about the layers of fabric between them, it felt just as good as if they were both bare as babes.

Seven hells, he wanted to taste her again. Just thinking about it had him salivating and Aegon’s hands moved further to cup her head properly when the striking sound of cane hitting the flagstone floor echoed through the gallery.

“Lady Strong!” came the horrified shout and Abby gasped, and they sprang apart - or would have, had Aegon’s hands not been caught in her hair and her ruby curls caught on the ring he wore. She yelped in pain and Aegon cursed low under his breath as the Septa strode towards them, her cane echoing off the floor with each strike.

“Hold on,” he consoled, helping her turn her head so he could work on getting her hair free. “Septa Lyserra,” he greeted nonchalantly, the smile he forced came out as a grimace. The fierce look on the woman’s face was enough to sap any desire from him. She had been a fixture for years, the Septa of his sister and Abby, who guarded the girls like a hound. Heleana struggled more beneath the woman’s gaze, but overall did not seem too bothered by it. Abby, as always, simply said that the Septa was strict, but well meaning. Aegon thought her suffocating, more austere and stringent than even his own mother. The woman before them was barely older than the queen herself, and so Aegon couldn’t fathom why she needed a cane since she seemed to have moved quickly across the gallery.

“Your Grace,” the woman demurred with a curtsy before she wrapped a slim hand about Abby’s bicep. “I apologize for the interruption, but the lady is late for her lessons.”

“Apologies, Septa,” Abby quickly cut in, and Aegon knew the warning glance from her when he saw it. Carefully, Aegon was working the curl out of his ring, and Abby let out a familiar pained sound as the hair tore, little strands of it still stuck in the gold. Her fingers tugged at his. “Here, just get it off your hand, I’ll fix it and give it back,” she said, breathless and flushed, already being tugged away from him by the persistent bitch who’d interrupted them. Aegon wanted to snarl at the Septa, demanding she leave, but Abby was letting herself be pulled away from him and mayhaps it was for the best. The intrusion had nearly killed the arousal he was feeling and watching her walk away from him, gazing back with her large blue eyes and kiss swollen mouth, it was everything to keep him from going after her, ensnaring her back in his arms.

So instead, he gave her a little wave before pulling his fingers through his hair in frustration of what to do with himself now. He supposed he should go and see himself to the training yard. He was reluctant to admit that Cole had been right, and that the physical exertion has been a good distractor - perhaps that was one of the not so honorable reasons Aemond spent so much time studying the blade. It wasn’t as terrible as he had feared, either. In just a few weeks, his body had remembered the moves he’d used to hone so well, reminding himself that he did have some natural ability that Aemond was once madly jealous of. The prospect of participating in the tournament was an enticing one. For once, he thought to prove himself worthy of praise, to show that he was good enough.

To see Abby fuss over any perceived injury, and swoon over his skill like he’d seen maidens do towards his uncle, Gwayne.

A soft, sharp cry, familiar to him, reached his ears and Aegon’s footsteps quickened. “Abs?” he called out, hurrying out into the hall, wondering what was the matter.

But the hall was empty, his rabbit nowhere to be found. Aegon frowned, turning in a circle to see what he may have missed, but it was only servants and pages making their way to wherever they needed to go. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, and he could feel Sunfyre responding through their bond, concern thrumming through his chest. “All seems well,” he murmured, to himself and to his bonded brother in the dragonpit. Sunfyre settled but the uncertain feeling remained.

“How is Lord Tully settling in, Lysa?” Alicent asked, her focus on the parchments in front of her. The menus had been finalized for the welcoming feast that night and now she was going through everything else that demanded her focus; orders for fabric and carriages, menus for Aegon’s nameday feast and the following celebrations, a missive to the High Septon for the wedding, among numerous other things that Lysa Fossoway was incomparable in helping her handle. Her other ladies had already been sent on errands and she was grateful for the quiet in her solar. A painful pulse had started behind her eyes and it was barely mid-morning.

Lysa was in the process of sprinkling the pounce powder on the last missive and did not pause in her work. Her apple green damask dress glimmered with golden thread, the gown low cut across her shoulders. “He is well, Your Grace. The Grand Maester visited him upon his arrival to ensure he had an easy rest and as of this morning, he is hale and hearty.” She paused, cocking her head. Her light blonde hair was caught in cauls on either side of her head, the nets a thick weave of flat golden lace and the fillet that wound around her head was gold and green. It was an older look. Princess Rhaenyra had made bare heads popular in court, but Lysa preferred her cauls to hide the graying of her blonde hair.

Alicent reached up to brush away a loose auburn curl, her long hair still braided loosely as she had no one to entertain that morning. It was vanity to let her hair flow free and uncovered, but it was a vanity she clung to, her hair one of the things about her that remained untouched and untainted.

Her mother had the same thick deep auburn curls that she recalled sitting on a little plush stool when she was small, watching Cybell Reyne’s maid gently brush and curl it.

“Your Grace, are you well?”

“Hm?” Alicent blinked and realized she had grown lost in thought as Lysa had been speaking with her. “What was it you said?”

Lysa pretended not to notice her flight of fancy and Alicent was grateful for it. “Lord Elmo is breaking fast with the Lord Hand this morning and the Ladies Baratheon are settling in well. Princess Helaena has taken quite a shine to young Floris and Lady Cassandra seems to have made her own spot within the court.” A thoughtful purse of her mouth, then, “I am concerned that she does not have true interest in the princess’ company.”

“Lady Cassandra would be an unsuitable companion.” Unfortunate, but not unexpected. A sigh. She would ideally keep the maiden here rather than send her to Harrenhal. Surely with enough time, the elder girl may creep into Aemond’s affection, or at the very least some willingness at being presented with someone who was not his sister. “Has Helaena shown any preference to any other ladies-”

“Your Grace!”

Septa Lyserra was prone to fits of indignation in the way only a believer who cleaved close to the Faith could be. It often took her by surprise that the woman was not much older than herself and yet seemed so ancient in her ways. Her own Septa had not been so stringent, teaching her songs and painting. Sometimes she wondered if she should have sent Lyserra back for one who embraced the arts and crafts the way many other septas did.

“I swear upon the memory of my mother, Daemon never touched me.”

‘But you lay with Ser Criston instead,’ Alicent thought as the long simmering heat curled low in her belly. Her attention turned to the red faced woman and confusion overtook her when she saw Abrogail being dragged in behind her.

There was no helping it, Alicent supposed. Better to be too strict when it came to her children, than too lax.

“What on earth is going on here, Lyserra? Abrogail? Child, what is it?” There was no hiding the confusion but she would not rise to meet the Septa’s conniption fit. The girl’s wrist was clutched in the septa’s tight hand, her eyes downcast and it was not often she had seen her lower lip quiver.

Things had been interesting over the past few weeks since she sat with the child in front of her to make clear what was expected of her. Sweet, meek thing that Abrogail was, there had been a sense of pride in seeing her lift her gaze and speak her thoughts even though Alicent thought they were foolish and misplaced. She was young, and she would learn, just as Alicent had over the last decade, to carve her way and find her voice. It was sweet and endearing the way she cleaved to Aegon, and truth be told, Alicent hoped that the child’s view of her son would come to fruition.

However, Alicent had lived through such betrayals and treacheries that Abrogail Strong had yet to encounter, and to hold onto hope in that way without question was foolish, childish, and naive.

It was stupid and dangerous.

Her heart would only be broken in the end, and if Alicent could save her from it, the way she herself was not saved, then all the better.

“Your Grace, I must apologize for bringing you such upsetting news. I found Lady Strong in a compromising position alone with Prince Aegon.” The last of the statement was said in a hushed, offended way that had Alicent’s stomach curl with unease. Lady Fossoway beside her made a soft sound and out of the corner of her eyes, she could see the other woman work to hold a laugh back. Had it been any other sort of situation, Alicent may have expressed such laughter.

This was Aegon.

This was the future king.

Everything hinged on this.

“That shall be all, Lady Fossoway. I will send for you should I require more of your valuable assistance today. Do check on the Baratheon girls after those items are addressed,” she said with clear dismissal. The following conversation did not need such an audience. In a flurry of deep green silk, Lady Fossoway made for her exit, leaving Alicent alone with the Septa and her soon to be good-daughter.

Alicent let the silence in the wake of the closing door lengthen and she turned to slowly gather the rest of the papers on her desk. It was something that her own father did. The anxiety of it had her tearing at her nails, and she recalled how Gwayne could never stand it, blurting out whatever it was that needed to be said to make the silence stop. She noted that Abrogail did none of this. No, the girl stood still as a statue, eyes downcast, wrist still grasped by her Septa.

“And what compromising position were they found in?” Alicent finally asked, focused on putting away the inks and sealing wax.

“They were in a passionate embrace,” the septa said, disdain and offense dripping from each word. Passionate embrace, you say? Alicent mouthed to herself while her face was turned away. The dramatics of the Septa were something she disliked, almost as much as the news that was being delivered. “They were alone, and I have no idea how far they have gone, your Grace. The insolent girl will not say.”

A soft gasp had Alicent look at the blushing maiden before her. The girl’s eyes had raised, the blue of them large with pain and her own silent indignation.

“Your Grace,” Abrogail said, trying to tug her captured wrist from the other woman’s grasp. “My honor is intact and I was only kissing my betrothed. Tis harmless.” Her voice shook as she tried to find her words and the foolishness of her statement only underscored poor Abrogail’s naivete.

“Is that what Aegon told you?” Alicent asked, voice flat, and stared long and hard at the child until she stopped struggling and closed her mouth. “You told me you know how he is and I warned you of his hedonistic behavior. Yet you brushed me off, and after reassuring me that you were well aware of his nature, I have to hear about the pair of you caught alone?” Abrogail was silent, teeth gnawing on her lower lip and Alicent exhaled. “Septa Lyserra, you are dismissed. I shall handle this.” The woman dropped the child’s hand, curtsying deeply, and excused herself from the room as well, no doubt to go and cleanse herself in front of the Mother in the small Sept.

The moment dragged once more and Alicent watched her, a mouse beneath a cat’s paw. Abrogail’s hands were folded across her waist, eyes averted, and she caught the glint of gold in one of her hands - Aegon’s ring, her thumb running over it.

“You are a foolish, wanton girl, and I am ashamed of the insult you have dealt me this day, Abrogail,” Alicent finally said with all the quiet cutting she knew those words would deliver. “Do you understand how hard I fought against mine own father, your uncle, to give you time to grow up and not be dragged to the marriage bed before your time? A gift that I myself was denied and I would have for you and Helaena. Now I must hear of this! You, who I know have been taught better than to engage in such behavior. I trusted you to behave yourself as is expected, but it seems that I have been incredibly lax in your etiquette, or too lenient with your excursions dragon riding. You assured me they were chaste and harmless.”

“Your Grace,” Abrogail’s voice was small in the quiet of the room, thick with emotion, and the girl crossed towards her as if to throw herself at her lap, but stopped short, remembering herself. “My Queen, I can promise you that Aegon has done nothing more than kiss me. He has not compromised my virtue, he has not - I’ve never…”

Alicent rose then, closing the distance and taking Abrogail’s chin in her firm hand. A soft sound escaped her, but she did not try to pull away. “Were you aware he’d gotten a child on one of my maids barely a moon ago?”

Blue eyes widened, cheeks flushing a deeper red, and she minutely shook her head, Alicent’s grasp not giving her leeway. She hated to break this news to her, but the girl was living in a fairy tale.

“He did. I gave the girl moon tea and money for her to go back home to her family and find a new position, since she was clearly incapable of refuting my son’s advances. Very much like you seem incapable of refuting him-”

“Your Grace, it’s not like-”

“So you’re saying you are seducing him?” Abrogail had no answer for that, and all Alicent could think of was the image of Rhaenyra casting a web, ensnaring poor Ser Criston and his tender, stalwart heart. Capturing poor Harwin Strong, who was far too loyal for his own good. A net taught to her by her Targaryen blood, and the same blood that flowed through her son.

Forcing Abrogail back by the grip on her chin, Alicent shoved her toward the low couch and smoothed her hands on her skirt before leaning down to look into her eyes. “Let me disabuse you of your fantasies, child. You are Aegon’s bride because I believe that you can fix what is broken and infected inside of him. To show him how he should conduct himself so he is ready for what the future holds.”

She drew back in surprise when Abrogail shook her head in the negative. “Your Grace, we’re betrothed, we’re meant to spend the rest of our lives together. Should we not get along? Should we not love and care for each other?”

The slap was sudden, before Alicent could even think.

“I will not have you walk into that Sept with a swollen belly, all because you lack conviction and understanding, Abrogail! You are not his bride so you may ruck your skirts for him without moral hesitation. If you throw yourself around as such, who is to say you are not doing such a thing with someone else. Aegon’s heirs must be without question, so you must be without question.”

Unlike Rhaenyra, swearing on the memory of her beloved mother in the godswood.

Unlike the brood of pug-nosed boys with their dark curls and smiles.

Abrogail’s curls. Abrogail’s smile.

Lyone’s curls. Lyonel’s smile.

Celeste Reyne’s eyes stared back from Abrogail’s face, the river blue of them wet and shining with tears. She watched the girl before her blink, the drops streaking down across the vibrant mottling of her cheek, shaking hands clutching her skirts.

“You needn’t be so harsh with the children,” the memory of the soft voice came, so like Alicent’s own mother it made her chest ache. Celeste’s face, pale and drawn, and still so softly smiling while she wasted away, pressing kisses to Aemond’s cheek while he sat on her lap. “We love them as we wish to have been loved.”

Alicent’s palm tingled and she curled her fist and clasped it against her waist, as if physically holding herself would keep her from reaching and shaking the foolish child before her until her teeth rattled in her skull and sense came in.

“Do you understand me, Lady Abrogail?” Alicent’s voice was not her own. Bile rose in her throat while she watched the trembling thing before her. Her father stood, watching her the same, doing nothing when she said that the king had touched her.

All that was missing was the bloody nails.

The Queen watched in satisfaction, in a detached sense of something raw and aching, a scream stuck in her chest, as she watched Abrogail curtsy low until she was almost kneeling on the rug at her feet. ‘Good,’ Alicent thought, her scream still clawing its way up her throat.

“Yes, my Queen. I pray for your clemency in your goodness and love.”

‘Good.’ Alicent couldn’t breathe. Good that she was learning. Good that Abrogail would come to understand the way she had, with lessons that would not be as harsh as the ones she had to go through.

It was a kindness that she was doing all she could to save this child the way none had saved her.

Aegon’s muscles ached in a comfortable sort of way as he headed down the back staircase towards the Queen’s Ballroom. The apartments above it were currently taken up by the Tully party, so Aegon avoided the gallery, not wanting to be pulled into some conversation about politics. No, he had one focus and that was to find his maiden fair and press a kiss to her heart shaped mouth and escort her in, to show off how beautiful she looked on his arm. To show that maybe she was right, and they liked each other, so this wasn’t a terrible thing. Mayhaps he wasn’t going to fuck it all up.

He tugged on the cuffs of his doublet, his left side black, his right in red with the opposite colored sleeves. His mother had tried to force him into something green as always, but Aegon had tossed that at his brother and went about his way. Let her favorite boy dress in the color she clung to, not he, who she could barely stand to look at since the fight in the brothel. It didn’t matter. Not now, maybe not anymore when Abby looked at him.

Where was she?

“Your Grace, you look lost.”

Aegon turned to see Cassandra Baratheon gliding towards him, her smoky voice echoing against the stone walls. Behind her were two of her ladies, comely and quiet with downcast eyes and furtive glances. The Lady Baratheon was encased in a cloud of gold that nearly shimmered in the rays of evening light and torch glow that illuminated the hall. Her hair was loose, a light golden veil held in place in the way that only women seemed to know how to do.

His eyes immediately took in her low neckline, the delicate gold chain that adorned her. It would be rude not to look at such a display when it was offered so willingly. Even more when she curtsied low before him, a coy smile playing along the lush red of her mouth.

“And now you’ve found me,” Aegon smirked, touching a finger beneath her chin to tilt her face back and withdrew it just as quickly in a bid for her to rise. She was tall, as tall as Helaena, but still his eyes lingered more about the lovely expanse of her chest than her actual face. “I believe that puts me in your debt, my Lady.”

Cassandra tilted her head, teeth bright and sharp in her smile that stirred the familiar, eager ache in his belly. “You give the debt so willingly, my Prince. Are you sure that’s wise?”

Aegon leaned in, close enough to smell the perfume on her skin. A scent of spice, warm like incense, but not cloying. “There are worse debts to be in than that of a beautiful woman, Lady Cassandra,” he told her, voice low with only the tease of a promise. She didn’t seem like the type to be offended by such a thing, and Cassandra did not let him down, even if she delicately pressed her hand to her chest.

“My Prince is too kind with such flattery.” Aegon preened, pulling back and fully enjoying the attention. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had the attentions of beautiful women, and it was always good to allay any of his anxieties before one of his mother’s feasts, when expectations were at hand, and the watchful eye to make sure he wasn’t imbibing any of the wine forbidden to him. Perhaps the lady before him would help in such matters.

“I speak only the truth, my Lady. It’s Cassandra, is it not? Recently arrived from Storm’s End.” A test to see how casual and relaxed she was and again, the woman did not disappoint.

“Yes, that is correct. Her Grace, the Queen, invited myself and my sister to attend to Princess Helaena. Although, I suppose it shall be I who does, as Floris is still so young.” She lifted the hand from her chest to gesture vaguely. “It will be nice to spend time at court, experience new things. I do hope that you might be able to find the time to impart some of your own favorite things to do.”

Aegon’s smirk widened at the implication in those words, and the flash in her dark eyes showed that she very much meant it. There was no shyness in her words or her manner. Cassandra Baratheon was a woman who knew what she wanted.

“Mayhaps that would be the case, my Lady, or perhaps you’ll come with us to Harrenhal and we can be strangers together.” As much as he enjoyed the lady already, he did not think she would get along particularly well with his sister, who had the little Floris trailing after her like a baby duck. That was far more to Helaena’s liking. His Abby got along swimmingly with everyone.

Cassandra’s brow furrowed in confusion and she opened her mouth to speak before his gaze caught on the figure down the hall. He exhaled softly, shifting away from Cassandra with a vague dismissal.

Aegon’s eyes fixed upon Abby and the way the light had turned her red curls molten, even beneath her own soft white veil that was held in place with a delicately wrought silver circlet dotted with pearls. Her dress was elaborate, the twilight blue silk brocade decorated in red and green opened in front to reveal the silver gown beneath. The same twilight blue made up her sleeves, the fabric of the silver gown puffed through the slashes. Her neckline was far more demure, yet no less enticing to him. How beautiful she looked in the colors of her house.

How beautiful she would look in the colors of his.

Yes, he’d had to get her something to decorate the delicate throat, but Aegon wouldn’t deny he enjoyed the unimpeded view. His mouth watered, reminded of the taste of her by sight alone. The sounds she so sweetly made drifted through his memory like a song.

Abby’s eyes were averted, but her lady, that northern wench, Wylla, who had become her guard dog, was watching with steely gray eyes and a pursed mouth. Aegon spared her only an annoyed glance before fixing his attention on the vision before him.

His Maiden still would not rest her gaze upon, and she curtsied with her eyes hidden from him. “Your Grace.”

There was no coy playfulness, no sweet smile, no shy gaze up at him with the bluest eyes beneath her dark lashes. There was soft propriety and a downcast gaze. Not unfamiliar, but jarring given how she’d greeted him that morning. Hells, how she’d greeted him the past several days. Perhaps it was their audience? He leaned down slightly, hands properly folded behind him like a good boy when he wanted nothing more than to snake his hands around her waist, to dive into her hair, to…

A frown slashed across his mouth, and Aegon felt a curl of unease in his stomach. Abby and her courtesies were always sweet and amusing, even when turned on him but this felt strange.

“We have time, if you like, to continue where we left off this morning,” he offered, lilac eyes searching her soft features, the way she resolutely wouldn’t look at him. “What is it?”

“It would be inappropriate, Your Grace, to be found engaging in such things,” came the reply, soft as before, but there was something sharp beneath the words, like the flash of teeth. The shutting of a door.

“Inappropriate.” He drew the word out in a low voice, and while the curl of unease began working its way up his chest, his eyes narrowed. “So you’re telling me that you’re worried about being inappropriate now?” Silence filled the moment, and Aegon lifted a hand to reach beneath her chin but Abby jerked her head back and moved away from him in a whisper of fabric and flushed embarrassment.

“Please.” This time her voice was a little louder, her gaze shifting up and while she looked at him, Abby didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, they danced around to somewhere over his shoulder, to the tapestry of the Riverlands on the wall, to anywhere but him. “I know you hold little concern for your reputation, but not all of us have such luxury.” Stronger. He liked the strength in her voice, but he detested it when turned on him in such a way.

“Please?” Aegon repeated and drew back himself. The curl of unease wound through his ribs like a pair of stays, tugging and tightening. “Please?” he repeated and how dare she throw that at him after their night. A third time, as she whispered in his arms, he blinked at her, quieter now. “Please.”

Three times to make a wish. Three times to make it matter.

Abrogail wouldn’t look at him. “I am a lady, and a member of the Queen’s household. I may be your betrothed, my Prince, but I must lead us by example if you find yourself incapable of containing your desires.”

A rushing sound filled Aegon’s ears. A familiar roaring as the tendrils amidst his ribs tightened and squeezed. His face went hot and cold, then hot again. When he opened his mouth, no sound came out. Nothing. All he could hear in his head was his mother’s voice, Abrogail’s voice.

I didn’t ask for you. She didn’t ask for the lecherous, depraved monster he’d become. No longer the sweet boy his mother loved, that his mother soundly replaced with each increasingly perfect child that came after him. Would Abrogail replace him as well?

“You… I…” Words stuttered from him but he couldn’t string any together that made the slightest bit of sense. Aegon let out a sharp bite of laughter and even that was strangled. The woman before him had robbed him of speech, of sound, of everything. All that was left in his chest was a hollow feeling that not even Sunfyre’s presence could ease.

He lifted his hand to touch his own cheek, wondering if she’d slapped him without him noticing.

The sounds of her cries, her gasps of his name in the quiet of the night when the world had pinpointed to the feel of her against him haunted him, clawing at his compressed insides while she looked anywhere but him. The firelight had shone in her glossy eyes, her mouth rounded with pleasure. Now they were shadowed and dull, mouth pressed into a fine line so very much like his own mother’s disapproval.

Aegon’s fingers reached past his cheek and into his hair as if that was the motion he’d intended to complete. He wanted to tear at his hair and claw at his own face like he could rip the rot of him out and drop it at her feet so she could be satisfied with him once more.

Footsteps sounded in the hall behind him and Abrogail’s eyes focused, a slight smile breaking across her features. “Uncle Simon!” She called in greeting and Aegon’s hand gripped her bicep when she made to skirt around him. The bruises had healed, that much he knew. “Aegon,” she whispered, turning finally to look at him.

They had an audience now. She’d have to put on her pretty manners and not make a scene. Aegon said nothing and it was his turn to not look at her but instead at some unfathomable point in the middle distance.

The moment grew heavy, awkward. Abrogail shifted against him and Aegon thought he should let her go, he should say something. He should shake her until her teeth rattled and her wits fell back into place. Shake her until she admitted that this was a terrible jape and she meant none of it.

He could dive his hand into her sunset curls and yank her back and drag her to his bed like a war prize and make her take back everything she said. Give her a reason to think him monstrous, or a reason he wasn’t. ‘No’, he immediately thought, recoiling at himself for what the angry, poisonous thing inside him wanted to rage into. He didn’t want her to look at him like she was now, or worse, how his mother looked at him, but he was left confused and strangely afraid, unable to tell what was running through her head.

He could not reconcile the woman before him with her avoidance and snapping words to the one who smiled and giggled, who sighed and reached for him as readily as he did her. “Talk to me,” he commanded, voice low for her alone.

“Is everything alright?”

The man’s voice was unfamiliar, and not old, the way Ser Simon Strong’s was. This one was deep and calm, coated in courtesy and the edge of a blade.

Aegon finally turned his head to look over his shoulder at the company that had arrived. There was his lady’s uncle, a tall man grown plump as a bloated fruit with age, but the strength still lingered in his sturdy form. There was a strange pang of familiarity in the man’s face that made Aegon prickle and for a mad moment, he thought it was the ghost of Lyonel Strong coming from Harrenhal to strike him down for touching his little girl.

The man who spoke had Aegon instinctively sweeping his gaze over him. Younger by far than Ser Simon, the man had broad shoulders and an angular face softened by the light brown curls that shone gold in the evening sunlight. He was tall, taller than his companion, his two toned doublet, half-black and half-silver with golden buckles accentuated the narrowing of his figure. From the cut of his shoulders and his arms, he was clearly no slouch when it came to weapons.

Aegon’s tongue touched his lower lip, teeth biting in thought as he took this man in. His fingers released Abrogail’s arm and he took a step back. She immediately hurried past and into her uncle’s embrace. “Everything is fine. I’m so glad to see you,” she said, and Aegon swore he heard Wylla hiss at him like a cat beneath her breath when she went to join them.

“Uncle, this is his Grace, Prince Aegon Targaryen.” Ever polite, to hide whatever distaste she suddenly held for him. He approached slowly, the gathered group all bowing in deference, and Aegon breathed slowly through his nose to allay the panic that was settling in, that was threatening to send him running.

He watched the man with the golden hair alight his gaze on Abrogail. “Ser Edmund Vance, Your Grace, of Wayfarer’s Rest.” A bow to him as protocol dictated and his eyes focused on the way he took Abby’s hand, so small and delicate, into his larger one, to press a kiss to it. “Many speak of your gentle beauty, my lady, but even such flowery descriptions could never do you justice.”

Edmund Vance. Ser Edmund Vance.

“Edmund Vance, the heir to House Vance, recently lost his wife. A good man, and part of the Riverlands although a small seat,” his grandfather had said, waving the scroll in hand.

Amidst the cold and crushing pull inside Aegon’s chest, a flaring sensation began. Hot and molten in that warm, safe spot that Sunfyre lived within him; his dragon in place of his heart.

Aegon focused on the golden shine of Edmund Vance’s curls, the shy look on Abrogail’s face, the way she looked at him.

“Condolences are in order, I’ve heard.” Aegon did not give his mouth order to move, had just been utterly speechless in the face of Abrogail’s uncharacteristic harshness.. Edmund’s brow furrowed and Aegon continued on, feeling the spark of annoyance that he had to look up to meet the man’s gaze. Aegon was as tall as his father, even as the king grew stooped with his infirmity, but Edmund held a frustrating few inches on him. “For the passing of your dear lady wife.”

Aegon smiled as the golden man shifted, his face flashing with ill disguised discomfort. ‘Good,’ he thought. ‘Know your place, know that your words mean nothing in the face of your loss, not to her.’ Flushed with ruining the man’s attempts at flirting with his lady, Aegon thought to move back in, to grab her and drag her against his side. To bite his fingers into her until tears pricked her eyes, so she would know the pain she had caused him, and for her to understand that she was his.

For her to tell him why she was speaking so cruelly to him. To tell him what he had done since she’d been pulled from his embrace that morning, to have her reject his touch when she had cuddled into his warmth like the little rabbit she was.

“Your kindness is much appreciated, Your Grace,” came the stiff, soft reply, and then his eyes were on Abrogail again. “I would offer to escort you into the feast, but I think our Ser Simon has the privilege of such a vision on his arm.”

Laughter rolled from Ser Simon and he took his niece’s arm, pulling her away.

Edmund looked at Aegon. Aegon smiled back. Sunfyre growled deep in his chest and Aegon swore it vibrated through his words. “Welcome to King’s Landing, Ser Edmund. I do hope you enjoy your time here.”

Dismissing the man, Aegon continued into the hall. The Queen’s Ballroom was the smallest of the halls of the Keep. Nothing like the Great Hall, and half as big as the Small Hall in their Grandfather’s tower. It was an intimate setting: two long trestle tables took up most of the room without it feeling crowded with the wide aisle between them leading up to the dias where the head table sat. The walls of the room were carved in dark ironwood imported from the north, carved with dragons winding and twisting around carvings of trees. The room was filled with light so bright it could have been out in the gardens. Each wall sconce was covered in beaten silver to reflect the light about and the draperies along the south wall were pulled to the side and the windows thrown open to the terrace that opened up to the gardens below.

His mother stood above it all, a beacon at the high table, and his fear caused his steps to falter. She looked so young next to the ancient Lord Tully seated beside her. The green of her gown shone emerald in the light and he could make out the embroidery that made it seem like she had scales of her own. Her hair was in a low bun at the nape of her neck and the silver tiara she wore rested gently in her hair. Rubies the size of his thumb were fitted along the delicately wrought crown, each one lined with little sparkling emeralds. Fire of the Dragon. Fire of the Hightower.

‘Of Castamere,’ Aegon thought, noticing the lion broach on his mother’s bodice. Rubies for house Targaryen, rubies and silver for House Reyne. The house of the grandmother Aegon had never met. Was it always the loss of a mother and a wife that turned people cruel and cold? The loss of grandmother turning his grandfather into the cruel man he was, Mother into the fearful creature with her lion claws, his own sire too caught in the memory of the woman he’d ordered to die for the promise of a son. Would losing Abrogail do the same to him?

Fuck him, he hadn’t had a proper drink in weeks, and the wheel of his thoughts that he worked so desperately to avoid was threatening to derail him before he could even reach the dias and present himself to his mother’s hidden ridicule. What’s worse, was how he’d actually looked forward to it had Abrogail been on his arm rather than her uncle’s.

Better than being touched by that Vance prick, who had entered behind him but steered clear. Good.

A hand slipped along his right arm and Aegon startled. Helaena hummed and gave him a slight smile. Her silver hair hung freely down her back with a braid wrapped around her head like a crown and woven with a strand of rubies and chips of dark dragonglass. She wore no veil, her dress the same twilight blue as Abrogail’s, although low cut across her shoulders and dipped across her chest. Black embroidery crept along her bodice in the shapes of dragon flame. A simple gold and sapphire necklace hung about her throat, and her lavender eyes were curious and searching his face.

“Do you think I look pretty as well?” She teased him softly and Aegon rolled his eyes.

“You look nice,” he said softly, their heads leaning towards each other while they walked towards the dias. “Mother will have a fit. Who have you dressed up for?” He might have asked if she dressed for Aemond, but after the display in the garden the prior day, Aegon thought that would not be the wisest question. They may not have discussed it, but it hadn’t escaped Aegon’s notice that while Aemond was the one who discussed future marriage with Helaena, how their love was so insufferably true, Helaena’s feelings on the matter were noticeably absent. Little more than agreeable hums and nods and changes of the subject.

“For myself. Some people think their breasts are worth showing off and need to learn their place.” Arching an eyebrow, Aegon followed his sister’s gaze to where Cassandra Baratheon was speaking with some other lord, those breasts of hers drawing his gaze once more. He snorted and Helaena pushed his arm good naturedly. “I’m right, you know. What is a doe to a dragon? No need to give her delusions of grandeur more than she already has.”

“Thought about this a lot this week, have you?”

“Of course. I do not like how she speaks to little Floris, nor Abby.” Helaena paused and squeezed his arm. “You both look terribly upset again. Not that I don’t enjoy making Mother’s face look like she’s sucking on lemons walking in with you, but what’s happened?”

Aegon found himself grateful that Helaena didn’t immediately blame him and the fondness for his sister came back. The sharp edges to his expression softened and he glanced at Helaena and her patient look. Something crossed his face with the softening, because her patient countenance furrowed with concern. He gripped her arm. “Not. Now.”

“You’re angry.”

“You think?”

Mother’s face when she looked upon them did, indeed as Helaena predicted, appear as if she sucked a lemon. Her large, dark eyes darted around the room in the clear search for his betrothed and he gave a short bow, his sister curtsying. “Lord Grover, my two eldest. Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena.”

Grover Tully was an ancient man. His shoulders were stooped beneath the thick, deep velvet of his surcoat, his jowls saggy from a face that was once robust. Pale skin sallow and jaundiced glowed even more yellow beneath the warm candlelight of the hall, but did little to disguise the multitude of liver spots. His hair was thin and wispy against his head, but his watery blue eyes were sharp and bright, intelligent and cataloging even as his body wasted away. Aegon was struck by how his father, who Aegon only now noticed seated on his mother’s left, looked as ancient as a man in his eighth decade.

“Helaena, you look lovely,” their father smiled, his gaze flitting, and Aegon barely held back his snort that he could call their sister by the correct name.

“Thank you, yo- father,” Helaena demurred in a quiet voice.

“They say you ride the great Dreamfyre, Princess,” Lord Tully rasped with a wistful smile. “I had the honor of seeing the Queen of the East, dear Princess Rhaena, may the Seven keep her, fly her about the God’s Eye when I was a wee lad. A sight that still strikes me. So blue as to melt into the twilight sky.” The watery blue eyes shifted towards Aegon now, deceptively sharp and alert. “I hear news that the sun will now bring the dawn.”

“My Lord,” Aegon said, voice stilted, but the courtesies that had been hammered into him kept him from looking the fool. ‘Abby would know what to say,’ he thought, but the boiling hurt rolling through his veins kept him from looking for her and acknowledging the bell of her laughter coming from behind him. “I hope the sight of such a thing will bring you the same fond memory.” A careful confirmation. There would be no official announcement until his nameday feast, but the natural conversation and gossip of the news would rip through the ballroom by the end of the night. The servants were already talking, and he’d overheard the whisper of it when sneaking through the Keep to his nightly pursuits.

The minstrels in the gallery above the hall struck up traditional music of the Riverlands between the popular songs that accompanied the feasts within the Keep. Lord Grover and his grandson sat at the high table with his parents and grandfather. At one of the tables, Wylla sat with her brother, Harrion. The man was tall with dark brown hair compared to the raven wing’s of his sister and a long, stern looking face that broke brightly when he laughed and smiled with Lord Bracken. Abrogail had mentioned he would be marrying the lord’s daughter on his return north.

The meal began in a blur. Aegon barely remembered swiping his bread through the beef potage, nor the spiced fennel and greens, hardly recalling the details of which horse was best for the joust and whether one should wear a heavy plate or lighter mail. He lost himself in the camaraderie that didn’t truly matter, licking juice from his thumb and taking hefty gulps from his goblet like a starving man. There was no drying out on this feast night, not when his mother sought to impress, and Aegon was grateful to finally have his Arbor red coursing through his veins to chase away the heat of his hurt and anger. He was eager to fill up the gaping maw inside of his chest that threatened to break through the tightness. The numbness began to settle in, familiar even though it was not as comforting as it once was.

Cassandra Baratheon had taken the seat beside him, having tried to speak to him, but he resolutely ignored her in favor of diving into the roast boar slathered in plum sauce and the succulent apple chutney. Finally, finally, Aegon began to feel settled with food and wine in his belly. He burped and called for a fresh decanter of Dornish and something stronger for the fine Riverlanders around him, sending up an approving shout amongst them. Let his mother be displeased, he was only doing what he was supposed to. When he turned, his eyes went across the table to the other.

Abrogail was seated with Helaena shining on her left, and on her right, Edmund Vance, who was receiving the full brunt of her bright smile and the earnest way she would lean over as to be heard over the music and merriment surrounding them. He stared at her, a roil curling in his belly as Vance piled her plate for her of the delicately poached salmon and honeyed bread. As if sensing him, her gaze flicked over to his. She should have smiled, tapping her fingers against her chin or goblet. Hells, he should have done it, and her face paled, lovely little mouth pursed. Instead, Aegon glared before turning his attention to far more pleasing things. Let her see that he was not so whipped that her words would have him still beg after her.

“And what lovely thing have I done to be rewarded by you choosing me to sit beside?” Aegon grinned at the Baratheon, resolutely grinning at her eyes than what was revealed by the cut of her gown.

“Your Grace honors me with his flattery, for in turn I do not know what I have done to earn it,” Cassandra said over the rim of her goblet.

“How could I pass up spending what promises to be quite the boring feast when I have someone like you to entertain me?” He raised his eyebrows at her and reached to top up her goblet and his own, resting his elbow on the table. Cassandra hummed and clinked her goblet against his before they swallowed. “Are you normally so preening? I swore I detected a rather enticing scent of confidence earlier.”

Confidence. Surety. Cassandra Baratheon knew who she was and it wasn’t a facsimile of his mother. It wasn’t The Maiden come down meant to judge him and find him wanting with a kiss and a slash of her hidden claws.

Abrogail’s laughter echoed through the hall again and Aegon’s fingers tightened around his cup. Another swig, another refill. It was watered down, but it didn't matter. Aegon could hold his wine well and it simply gave him an excuse to drink. “Tell me, Lady Cassandra, if I have to worry about some young buck coming to steal you away should I ask you to dance?”

“Oh, I do not think anyone would dare cut in should I be in your arms, Your Grace, but…” However the sentence didn't register as he watched Edmund Vance lift his hand to brush a curl from her shoulder. Aegon’s knee slammed against the table as he swept his legs over the bench, hoisting Cassandra up to join others who had gone to the center of the room to dance. Not an infernal Riverlands dance he didn’t know. Something more fucking civilized. Something he knew like the feel of his hand on his cock. He caught the brief flicker of confusion on the woman’s face that smoothed out as the dance began and he preened beneath the attention. He wasn’t drunk, having eaten too much for it to have hit yet, but he was loose enough that it was easy to slide into the steps, to twirl the woman gowned in gold. His favorite color.

They were betrothed and there wasn’t a bit of gold on Abrogail and she always had something golden on her.

Until now.

“Your grace shames me, Lady Cassandra,” Aegon complimented, spinning her back into him as they moved across the parquet floor. “I’ve never had a more agile partner.”

She chuckled low, the heat of her body emanating from their closeness, and Aegon’s hand slid a little lower on her waist than what was appropriate, but it would just be another line on his list of sins that his mother collected. “Have you had many partners, my prince?”

His cheeks were warm from the drink and exertion and the grin he gave Cassandra was slightly feral and full of mischief. “None as high born and beautiful as you,” he answered honestly even while his ribs tightened and the words tasted like ash on his tongue.

“Let me be the only one you touch this way. Aegon? If you want to have me, let it only be me.”

Cassandra Baratheon was the daughter of a Lord Paramount, with Targaryen blood in her veins, niece to Princess Rhaenys. She was more than comely; she was an entrancing woman with hair like a storm and delicately flushed from drink and dancing. The body that her gown clung to was positively sinful. Curves in every place that was ripe for the grasping and he was looking forward to seeing how -

As the pair spun, their partners changed, and while Cassandra flew into Aemond’s grasp, his eye glaring coldly at him over Cassandra’s shoulder, Abrogail’s hands slid into his.

The blood drained from Aegon’s face while his feet continued to move. This dance he knew by heart. This dance they both knew, having practiced it together countless times. She smelled of roses, not like a Tyrell, but something richer, darker, deeper and more primal.

Sunfyre half-grumbled and half-purred in the gaping hole inside of his chest at the feel of her, the sight of her in his arms while they spun through the next dance. Her blue eyes were fixed on his chin, which was better than her full avoidance. A soft gasp escaped her when Aegon’s hold on her waist and hand tightened painfully.

“Your mother thought we should have a turn and sent Aemond,” she explained softly. Aegon scoffed.

“So by the Queen’s command, you dance with me and not of your own volition.” His voice was almost pleasant and jovial as they spun, the music an irritating hum.

The feel of her dainty foot meeting his shin was not a mistake and it pulled a half-manic peal of laughter from him. He caught the look his mother sent from the high table and rolled his eyes. “What do you and my dear queenly mother expect from me anyway? That being betrothed to her little pet will turn me as angelic as baby Daeron?” He lowered his head to her ear and his breath caught. He heard her own soft gasp and instinctively, Aegon pulled her closer. Inappropriately perhaps, if half the hall didn’t already know they were engaged by now. “I’m an awful disappointment. You know that.”

“I know a lot about you, Aegon,” Abrogail said softly with a sour edge to her voice that he found amusing. “I know that you’re better than this. And with Lady Cassandra no less-”

“You know I’m better than this?” Aegon stepped back and held onto her hand, spinning her about so that the skirt of her gown flared, her fiery hair shining under all the glow. The candlelight caught in the little jewels of her circlet, the blue of her eyes warm as she came back into his arms and for a moment, Aegon forgot he was angry when her soft hand curled against his chest. “So my drinking and my whoring and my tavern fights - none of those are me? They’re just the worst part of myself? And here I thought you were the Maiden herself, but I doubt she moans as wantonly as you do. Such lovely sounds you make, or do you deny them now as you deny me?”

They spun apart once more and Aegon ignored the stricken expression that flashed across her doll-like face as his own chest ached with the feeling. He thought she had accepted even these terrible parts of him that shamed his mother and drew her to rage. She never scolded him or chastised him for his dalliances and escapades. When the brawl that had spilled into the streets of Flea Bottom that had nearly gotten him killed before the Gold Cloaks rushed, she had simply tended to his wounds, a simple “What happened?” in her soft voice. Out of everyone, Abrogail was the one who never expected more from him.

Clearly, Aegon had been wrong.

Another twirl, a distracted wink at Cassandra as they passed, and Abrogail was back in his arms, a brittle smile plastered on her face.

“You think I'm the Maiden?” She asked as if there’d been no pause in the conversation. “Not simply me?”

Aegon didn’t understand and he reached down to grasp her waist, lifting and spinning her in time with the music, clapping and moving around one another. “You are her. Were her-”

“Until you touched me,” she said softly, bitingly, her eyes dark and shining.

“Until you acted like I was the one begging, not you,” he snapped.

“You came into my chamber.”

“You said please.”

Another twirl, another spin and Aegon was rougher than he meant to, jerking her back into his chest as the music stopped. Her face was tilted up, eyes red and shining with unshed tears and a furious twist to her mouth, such an angry expression on her face. “And you held me through the night,” she hissed and then the fury melted away to hold that brittle smile once more, her curtsy low and flawless. When she rose, Abrogail drifted closer to him and he could see the tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. He welcomed the bite of pain when she came to cup the back of his neck, her nails digging into his skin. “How filthy are your hands, mo realta geal, that you believe that their very touch has ruined me. That you have ruined me?”

As Aegon turned away he found Elmo Tully watching him and raised his goblet with a slight incline of his head.

“Lord Grover has also written of his interest in you for his grandson,” his grandfather told Abrogail as they sat trapped in that office. “He would take good care of you, and your children would have every opportunity.”

Abby stayed as long as she could at the feast. She laughed with her Uncle Simon, with Lords Bracken and Blackwood both and their sons. Wylla’s eldest brother, Harrion, was kind, teasing her and Wylla both for his sister’s new position. Her bruised and beaten heart ached even further upon seeing the love and care between the Karstark siblings, and felt herself tearing up when she realised that Harwin wouldn’t have been there if he was still alive.

He’d be at Dragonstone, with the Princess. Or perhaps after the tragic death of her first husband, Princess Rhaenyra might have married him. Maybe it would have made things better. Maybe then, things wouldn’t be so bad.

The room felt too stifling and too loud. It felt too big and too small. The scent of sweat and wine and melting beeswax and hair pomade and perfume was making her head spin. Wylla was laughing at something Harrion had said but it sounded distant. Helaena had already gone and Abby couldn’t remember when she’d left.

Wylla’s arm slid around her waist and Abby mechanically moved through the motions of good nights and evening well wishes before the elder girl steered her out of the hall. “Not my room,” Abby rasped and her voice sounded distant and thick, choked in her throat. “C-can we go to Helaena’s, please?”

“As if you need to ask,” Wylla scoffed lightly, and the arm around her tucked in further. “Walk with us to the Princess’ chambers?” she asked her brother. “If I run into that peacock, I won’t restrain myself.”

“And they’re going to send you to Harrenhal with him. Will you be locked up for tossing him from a tower then?” Harrion’s deep voice teased softly and Abby felt his hand, warm and heavy, on her shoulder and the familiarity of it tore a soft sound from her throat. She wanted Harwin. She wanted her brother like air. A gentle squeeze and Abby let herself be guided down the hall, her fingers clinging to her skirt and Wylla was forced to guide her because she could not raise her eyes, so focused on the decorated stone before her.

“Abby?” Wylla asked softly against her ear. “Abby? Did Aegon say something else to you?”

Yes, she wanted to say, but she shook her head. He never saw me, he doesn’t see me. Did he ever see me?

“It’s been a long night,” she said instead, feeling the siblings exchange glances over her head but too tired to say anything for it. The walk was filled with tales of rides through the forests of the Karhold, of fox hunts and wolves in the tree. Of young Rickon chasing after Torrhen to learn archery, of Harrion’s impending nuptials to his southern bride. “Thank you for your company, Lord Harrion,” Abby said politely when they reached the hall to Helaena’s rooms. In the torch light, he looked nothing like Harwin, and yet every bit about him was Harwin.

‘Him and the queen are nearly the same age, aren’t they?’ Abby realised. There were a great many years between Wylla and her eldest brother, and she always forgot how young the queen was. How young her brother had been when he was lost.

“Do you understand how hard I fought against mine own father, your uncle, to give you time to grow up and not be dragged to the marriage bed before your time? A gift that I myself was denied and I would have for you and Helaena.”

A soft smile broke across the severe lines of Harrion Karstark’s face and he pressed a fond kiss to the top of Wylla’s head, and brushed a familiar hand over her own hair. It was paternal, affectionate in the familial way, not familiar that made her ache, that made her want to throw herself into his arms to sob as she would with Harwin when she was small and then the doors to Helaena’s room opened and Wylla ushered her inside.

“Whatever is the matter?” Helaena asked, already dressed in her nightgown, The fire was a warm and welcoming blaze in the grate. Wylla made a soft hissing sound at the maid putting away Helaena’s gown from earlier, sending her from the room. Abby gulped down the lump in her throat, and gaped at Helaena like a fool. Her vision had gone hot and blurry, her mouth trembling. She shook as if she was cold, but her cheeks were flaming and she couldn’t breathe through her nose. “Abby!” Helaena was alarmed now and she felt her sister’s hands on her arms and a great, wet hiccup tore from Abby’s throat.

“I-I was cruel to him,” she gasped, clutching at Helaena’s sleeves. “I was cruel and I-I shouldn’t have been, but yo-your mother was furious with me a-and…” Gods help her, Abby could barely breathe as the words came rushing out over heaving hiccups. She felt Wylla’s hands at the back of her gown undoing the spiral lacing while Helaena’s fingers tugged at the laces of her sleeves.

She’d lashed out and was ashamed of it, but then, “He was flirting with that bitch, and dared to be angry w-with me about Ser Edmund and… and I miss my brother.” Abby sobbed, hysterics settled in, and she was a doll in the hands of her friends as they got her out of her gown. Helaena reached for the soft blanket from the settee to wrap around her. It wasn’t the same, it wasn’t what she wanted, but Abby realised she didn’t know what she wanted. So unused to being like this, Abby felt adrift like a leaf in the fountain and no adorable little frog to perch on her and make her laugh.

“Abby,” Helaena whispered and led her to the great bed, Wylla coming to help her up. She felt utterly useless with herself. All she could do was sob like a broken pail streaming water everywhere. Useless and silly and utterly shattered inside.

“I want them back,” Abby wailed, and pressed her face into Helaena’s chest. The comfort she so often gave to others, she sought for herself without even asking.

How selfish and unbecoming.

Her fingers clawed into Helaena’s gown like she could find proper purchase until she finally got her arms around the princess’ waist. She tried to speak again and apologise and explain herself more clearly but words were wind, and all Abby could do was cry and beg for someone to get her papa, her athair, as she called him, and her brother.

It should not be her. It should not be her entertaining the river lords and brokering peace, a pawn, a spy. It should be Harwin taking the seat at Harrenhal, Princess Rhaenyra and their boys at his side.

It should be her athair sitting at the high table next to King Viserys, not the cold, stoic judgement of her Uncle Otto and his cruel words.

The world made sense when they were alive. The world was a safe, warm place, even after the loss of her mother.

‘I want Aegon,’ came the traitorous thought. ‘I want Aegon the way he was before he turned so cruel so quickly. I want the boy he used to be, not the man he is becoming. I want the Aegon who kissed me by the lake.’

Helaena was calling for the maids to draw a bath while Wylla held her this time. She thought of the Sept and weeks of silence, of barely eating, of the frantic and terrible fear that fire would consume them all. She thought of Aegon coming to sit with her as she cuddled Theraxis in her arms. How he wiped her tears and in awkward starts, he had managed to coax a tearful smile from her when recounting the tale of nearly decapitating a training dummy on his own, and how Harwin had taught him how to properly swing. When he showed off for Cole later, he’d been impressed.

Where had her Aegon disappeared to? Gone so far away, and how foolish it was of her to believe that the way he hid himself would not eventually come to bite her.

“Were my dear brother here, he’d bloody well geld him and give me his balls on a platter for treating me so,” Abby said scathingly before she could even think. Wylla looked startled at the violent admission that escaped her before bursting into peals of shaking laughter.

“Where did that come from?” she half accused, half demanded breathlessly, and between her sobs, Abby choked out her own laughter. Helaena joined in the mirth with a shake of her head and began dabbing at her tears with a tender touch normally reserved for her most delicate of creatures. The handkerchief was soft, adorned with little blue and gold beetles.

“I don’t know,” she said as the maids came in with the copper tub lined with linen and buckets of steaming water. Another maid brough the delicate wooden box of bath oils and salts.

Abby let Helaena and Wylla poke and prod through the vials and jars, picking out sweet and calming scents to pour into the water. They only asked her minimal questions, if she favoured something sweet or floral but little else and Abby was grateful for the reprieve. It was a rather novel feeling to let her decisions stop. She didn’t have to think or plan or organise. Helaena and Wylla handled it rather easily, wrapping her long hair up with Helaena’s carved dragon pins and guiding her into the tub. The water seeped into the cold that constantly permeated her bones and her thoughts drifted to the feel of Aegon’s arms around her as they had been in her bed. The warmth of him too had chased away the persistent cold.

She sighed, letting herself sink into the water, and let their voices wash over her.

[Chapter Ten]

#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen x oc #hotd #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house strong #aegon x abby

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