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maidragoste · 6 months

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Forgive me

Harwin Strong x Velaryon!Reader (unrequited love), Alicent Hightower x Velaryon!Reader, Larys Strong x Velaryon!Reader

Part 5 of this

Part 6

Serie Masterlist

Larys does not appear in this chapter but we have Alicent 😋

btw, there was going to be a little scene with Daemon but I felt like it didn't add to this chapter but if you want I can upload it separately

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Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

"Get out," you demanded the moment you saw Rhaenyra with Jacaerys in her arms entering your chambers. You noticed how her smile seemed to tremble at your cold tone but you didn't care. If she didn't care about your feelings when she fucked your husband then you had no reason to care about hers.

You had to admit that Rhaenyra had been cautious enough to come when you were alone. If your mother had been with you you were sure that she would not have held her tongue and would have told the princess everything she thought of her. You could even see your mother dragging her by her hair to get her out of your chambers. A small smile appeared on your lips as you imagined the scene, that would be something to talk about in court. Although you would never let your mother lose her temper so much, she couldn't get on the king's bad side.

"Jacaerys wanted to meet his cousins," Rhaenyra said as if she hadn't heard you and sat down next to you. You moved as much as you could, wanting to make your displeasure clear. You couldn't go far since next to you was the basket where Aethan was sleeping there.

Of course, she was going to use her son as her excuse to see you. It wasn't the first time she had done it. Now that she knew that she had seen that you cared about Jacaerys—if it were up to you she would never have found out but one night the prince couldn't sleep no matter what Rhaenyra, Harwin, and Laenor did so your brother had the wonderful idea to take Jace with you, you managed to make him sleep by singing him the same song that you sang to him in the nursery before the perplexed gaze of your husband and the princess—I thought that through him he could get close to you again. But she was wrong.

"Jacaerys couldn't have told you that," you said, feeling Alyn begin to stir in your arms. A small part of you wished that he would start crying so the princess would leave but you knew that if he cried then Aethan would wake up and he would start crying too. You sighed and began to coo to your son, trying to ignore Rhaenyra's glare.

"But it's obvious that he's in a bad mood because he hasn't seen you in days," said the princess.

"Fine. He can stay, now you can go" you said, starting to think that you would have to call one of the maids to help you. You didn't like the idea but there was no way you could handle two newborns and a baby less than a year old alone.

"Y/n" Rhaenyra said your name with pure pain.

"What?" you said pointedly. You hated that she was doing this. You wanted to be calm with your children and she came to interrupt your little peace. No matter how many times you made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with her, the princess wouldn't stop insisting. And now she wanted to make you feel bad for her when you weren't the one who ruined everything between the two of you.

"Forgive me. Please, I just want everything to go back to the way it was before," Rhaenyra begged, if you hadn't had your son in your arms she would have taken your hands and kissed them like the two of you used to do when you were young whenever one of you had said or done something that had hurt the other.

"Rhaenyra, that will never happen," you said, starting to feel pain in your head.

"I miss you" You closed your eyes as you heard the princess's voice falter. “I love you,” you couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath. You decided to focus on your anger and ignore any other emotions you felt.

"You say that and you still fucked my husband," you said, opening your eyes and looking at her furiously.

"I handled the situation badly," she admitted, hugging Jace, trying not to break down in front of you. "I'm really sorry," she apologized again, feeling her heartache at your attitude. "I know I was wrong but I need you. I can't stand you hating me."

You'd like to say you weren't affected by hearing the desperation in Rhaenyra's voice but you'd be lying. You hated her. And you hate yourself for stopping her from affecting you. A part of you feared that deep inside you were still the young woman who loved the princess and lived to see her happy. You forced yourself to remember the whispers of the court at Jacaerys's hair color to erase any trace of pity you felt for the princess. She alone had caused this. She couldn't expect that with a simple apology, you would forget everything she did.

“You'll have to live with that for the rest of your life, Rhaenyra,” you said that because it was the truth, you weren't going to ever forgive her, but you also said it because you wanted to hurt her, you hoped she felt at least a part of the pain that she and Harwin gave you. “You had to think about it before betraying me”

“You betrayed me first!”

Rhaenyra's scream caused the three babies to start crying. If Jacaerys had not been in the princess's arms, you would have thrown the object closest to your reach at her. Who the hell did she think she was to come uninvited to your chambers and yell at you? Not only that, but she accused you of betraying her. You couldn't believe her audacity. It hadn't even been thirty minutes since she apologized to you and now she was yelling at you.

If the babies' cries weren't drilling into your head, perhaps you would have asked her to explain what the supposed betrayal you had committed was, but right now you just wanted her away so you could calm the twins down.

“Get out” you ordered and for once Rhaenyra listened to you. Of course, she had to leave slamming the door, making your children's cries even worse.

“I don't like them,” Aegon announced, looking with obvious disgust at Aethan, who was in your arms, and Alyn, who was being cooed by Alicent.

Perhaps another woman would have been offended or bothered by the little prince's comment but you couldn't help but laugh at the pout of his lips and his little wrinkled nose.

“Aegon!” Alicent instantly reprimanded him, making the boy even more upset.

“It's okay, my queen,” you reassured her with a smile. “Do you want to tell me why you don't like them?” you asked in a soft voice and settled better in your seat so you could hold Aethan well with one hand and thus be able to caress him with your other hand Aegon's hair.

The boy felt a little better at your sweet caresses. “Because of them you can't spend time with me and Sunfyre anymore,” he grumbled.

Since you gave birth to the twins you didn't go to the Dragon's Pit with Aegon. Now it was the dragon guardians who taught him how to care for and bond with Sunfyre. He didn't like that. Aegon wanted you to be next to him, he wanted to see your proud smile every time he pronounced a word in Valyrian correctly, he wanted you to take him to fly with you over Nightwing like you used to do every time he finished his lessons.

The worst thing was that every time Aegon wanted to spend time with you there was always someone else with you and there were the babies. You couldn't play with him or pay attention to him for long because one of the twins would always start crying or someone would turn their attention to the twins. Aegon didn't understand what people saw as interesting about the twins, they were just annoying babies who didn't know how to do anything but cry. Aegon just wanted to have his time alone with you again.

“Oh, my little prince, I miss spending time with you too” You kissed his cheek several times until Aegon began to laugh.

Alicent watched them both with a smile. It always warmed her heart every time she saw how you cared about her children and how loving you were towards them. She was sure that you cared more about her children than Viserys did. She knew you loved her children like they were your own. She could see it every time your face lit up when the children came running to hug you. She could see it in how you listened intently to Aegon and Helaena's ramblings. She could see it every time she found you in the nursery singing to Aemond and Daeron. She felt grateful for all those moments. She was grateful that there was someone who genuinely cared about her children.

“I promise you that once I recover I will go with you to the Dragon’s Pit.”

"But just the two of us! No annoying babies!" Aegon said, looking at you "seriously" as he pointed at you. You laughed again, the little prince's attitude made you tender.

“Aegon, you shouldn't talk about them like that. They are your family,” Alicent reminded him sternly, making you stop laughing and making the boy have a pout on his lips again.

Sometimes you felt that Alicent took everything too seriously and forgot that Aegon was just a child. It was obvious that he was just jealous that he couldn't spend time with you and it was the first time you'd heard him complain. You didn't like seeing Aegon being reprimanded just for acting his age. A child his age should be free to say what he thinks, he should spend more time playing instead of being pressured to attend lessons just because they thought it would impress his father. You didn't like it nor did you want to take away authority from Alicent's upbringing but sometimes you couldn't help but intervene because you didn't like how they pressured Aegon.

“You can say that they are annoying or anything you want, Aegon,” you said poking his nose with your finger making him smile a little “As long as we are alone” you quickly clarified before the queen's gaze “Besides I am sure that once they grow up and you can play with them you will like them”

Before the prince could answer you, the maester appeared to take the boy away since he had to start his lessons. You managed to convince Aegon to leave after you promised him that he could visit you again once he finished his lessons and that you would be waiting for him with his favorite sweets.

“How are you feeling?” Alicent asked once they were alone. She had been furious when one of her handmaidens informed her that Rhaenyra had come to see you. She had also noticed the dark circles under your eyes. She knew that the twins weren't letting you sleep much, she more than anything wanted to be able to help you but she was the queen and people would notice if she came to your chambers in the middle of the night.

“I'm tired but now that I've seen you and Aegon I'm happy” you admitted, resting your head on her shoulder and you closed your eyes, missing the blush on the queen's cheeks and the sweet smile that appeared on her face at your words.

You smiled as you felt Alicent's lips on your forehead. Not feeling satisfied, you stopped leaning on her shoulder so you could steal a kiss from her. You felt your chest warm at the familiarity of the sweetness of her lips.

Any discomfort that Rhaenyra caused you was forgotten with Alicent's kisses.

Again another night of crying. You didn't know how many minutes ago Aethan and Alyn were crying. You tried to feed them but none of them wanted to take your breast, you had already changed them but they still kept crying.

You rocked Alyn in your arms and with your foot from time to time, you lightly pushed the crib where Aethan was, hoping that the movement would tire him out. All this while you sing to them, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. You feel worthless for not being able to make your babies stop crying. It shouldn't be difficult to put them to sleep if you are their mother.

You jumped when you heard the door open. Your body tenses as you see your husband enter. Harwin had not come to your chambers since the birth of the twins. He never made a complaint or a reproach to you about your relationship with Larys, he stayed by your side and presented your children as a proud father before the court but he no longer went to your chambers. And you were okay with that because you didn't want him to keep insisting that you forgive him.

“What do you want?” you asked pointedly, not bothering to hide your annoyance at his sudden presence, hoping that would make him leave.

You were surprised to see that Harwin didn't seem affected by your tone like usual. You noticed the determination in his eyes and wondered what the hell had happened. Was he coming to argue with you because of how you spoke to Rhaenyra? If he dared to come in the middle of the night while your children were crying just to defend his lover you would kick his ass and let your mother scare him with Meleys.

“I heard the twins crying.”

“I'm sorry that my children don't let you sleep,” you interrupted him with obvious sarcasm. Trying not to think that if Harwin could hear them cry, so should other people. You didn't want to think about how tomorrow the court would talk about your inability as a mother.

“I came to help you” You were surprised by his words.

“Why?” you asked clearly defensively. Although you two knew that you really wanted to ask him, why would you help me with them when you are not their father?

“Because I care about you,” he said but you both knew he really wanted to tell you because I love you. You told yourself that you felt nothing as you saw the obvious love in Harwin's eyes. “You haven't slept well in days. I heard them cry for days and I know you, I know that every time you can't calm them down you are insulting yourself. "I can see right now how frustrated you are because you can't also pick up Aethan and comfort him as you would like."

The lump in your throat grew bigger. You hated that he knew you so well. But you weren't surprised after all he is your husband. Of course, he knew how you thought and how your mind worked. He had seen you in your most vulnerable states.

He had been so good to you but he had to ruin it all.

“Can I pick him up?”

It was silly but you really appreciated that he had asked instead of directly taking your baby in his arms. You nodded, not trusting your voice not to come out shaky.

You frowned as you watched Harwin take off his nightshirt.

“Jace calms down when he feels my skin,” Harwin was quick to clarify and get Aethan out of her crib before you decided to kick him out for thinking she was trying to seduce you. He felt you watching him intently as he placed the baby's small body against her chest. Of course, his crying didn't stop instantly but he seemed to calm down a little.

Your husband started singing the same song you were singing a few minutes ago. His Valyrian was rusty compared to yours. Once you are sure that your voice is not going to betray you, you accompany him in singing. You don't stop rocking Alyn as you watch Harwin pace around the room carefully holding your son. You relaxed as you saw that Aethan didn't look uncomfortable and how as the song continued he became calmer and calmer. It doesn't take long for Alyn to calm down when he sees that you are no longer upset.

Your eyes meet Harwin's and the two of you smile at each other. And Harwin can't help but think that this is where he belongs.

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tinfairies · 1 year

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OOOO! Can we get Aegon, Aemond and Daemon reacting to another man during a tourney asking for their wife’s favor and praising her beauty?

Aegon's pissed, he'd grip his goblet of wine and place a hand on his wifes shoulder. Opting to speak for her. "Yes my wife is very beautiful. You should see how she glows in my bed."

The poor man getting embarrassed by the prince's forwardness. He dips his head and continues on his way.

Aemond tries to keep his cool. He knows his wife, and that she'd never cheat. He still feels jealous though, wishing he had entered the tourney just so he could knock this poor man into the dirt. Aemond opens his mouth to speak "You better not lose with my wife's favor. No man has ever dishonered her and I won't let that start now."

He keeps a tight grip on his wifes thigh for the rest of the event.

Daemon can't help but laugh when the young squire asks for his wifes favor. He couldn't be mad, it took balls to approach the viewing box. Daemon looks at his wife with amusement as she throws her wreath of roses down to the young man. He admires how she's kinder than him to have even given the boy a second glance.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 27 days

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1968 [Chapter 1: Ares, God Of War]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.7k

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Let’s begin with a definition.

Disaster is a noun derived from Ancient Greek: dus, a prefix meaning “bad,” and aster, or “star.” In the time when humans worshipped Zeus and Hera, Hephaestus and Aphrodite, it was believed that tragedies resulted from the inauspicious positioning of celestial bodies: a volcano erupts because of Jupiter, a returning comet brings with it a flood. There is a certain helplessness inherent in this mythology. There is predestined suffering that lies in wait until all the jewels of the sky have malignantly aligned.

Have you ever met someone who made you ache to change the stars?

~~~~~~~~~~

Gunshots explode through the lobby of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, Florida; you feel the wind of the bullets as they clip by, fragmented metallic rage. Aemond is on the marble floor, blood pouring down his face, blood all over the white shirt beneath his navy blue suit jacket when you rip it open, tearing a button loose. He’s reaching for you through the jostling and the screams, leaving crimson handprints on your mint green dress. And you think: He just won the Florida primary. He’s not supposed to die. He’s supposed to be the president.

“What happened?” Aemond murmurs, his right eye dazed and only half-open; the left has vanished beneath a cloudburst of gore. Perhaps ten yards away, people have caught the assailant and pinned him against one of the vast Venetian windows until the police arrive. They’re roaring at him in red-faced fury, their closed fists strike his ribs and his cheekbones, their knuckles paint him scarlet and indigo.

“You’re alright, you’re alright.” You brace both palms over the maroon stain spreading rapidly across Aemond’s chest and press down as hard as you can. Your fingers are drenched in seconds, warm fading life. He’s bleeding to death. You shriek through the turmoil: “Criston?!”

“Is he okay?” Aemond asks faintly. He means the baby; you’re six months pregnant with his first child, his greatest treasure, his Atlantis, his Holy Grail. Aemond has already decided that it’s a boy. Sometimes you fear what will happen if he’s wrong.

“Yes, honey, the baby’s fine, don’t worry. Criston!”

Aegon is here instead, sweating out rum and ruin like he always is, hair too long, veins full of pills, colliding with you and pawing at his dying brother with untrustworthy hands. “Aemond?!”

You shove Aegon away, splattering him with blood. “Get back, he needs air!”

“Where’s he shot?! Let me see—”

“I told you to get back!”

“Goddammit, you don’t own him! He’s mine too!”

Criston has fought his way through the maelstrom and is dragging Aegon away by the collar of his frayed olive green army jacket, stolen from Daeron when he visited home after basic training, a uniform of embittered revolution worn by a man who’s never fought for anything. “Aegon, make sure someone’s called for an ambulance, then meet the paramedics at the door and help them find us.”

“But—”

“Go!” Criston roars, and Aegon scrambles to his feet and is lost within the crowd. You can hear Otto bellowing at journalists and hotel employees to make space for the fallen senator; there are flashes of cameras and prayers shouted aloud. Above your head are crystal chandeliers and a vaulted ceiling hand-painted by 75 Italian artists in the 1920s; swimming in your skull are visions of Jackie Kennedy in the pink suit filthy with her husband’s brains. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, May 28th. Upstairs in their oceanfront Imperial Suites, nannies will be shaking awake the absent adults of the Targaryen dynasty, who retired with the children before Aemond made his victory speech in the hotel ballroom: Alicent, Helaena, Fosco, Mimi.

Criston’s hands—larger, stronger—replace yours over the gushing wound in Aemond’s chest. What did the bullet hit? His lung, his heart? He’s not speaking anymore, his right eye is closed. His bloodied hands rest open and empty on the floor. “Criston, he’s dying,” you sob.

“No he’s not. We’re not going to let him.”

“What’s the closest hospital?”

“Good Samaritan is just across the bridge on the mainland.” It’s Criston’s job to know these things, though he had been thinking of you when he plotted his meticulous notes in his day planner: in case you eat a bad cheeseburger, or trip on the stairs, or catch the flu and start burning up with fever. Aemond worries about the baby. Aegon has five children, Helaena has three, and Aemond will feel that he has been robbed of something if he does not swiftly procure a family of his own. He needs you on the campaign trail, but still, he worries.

Across the lobby, the police have arrived to arrest the aspiring assassin. He puts up a fight when they try to handcuff him and earns a nightstick to the gut, an elbow to the nose. He is choking on his own blood. Perhaps he is drowning in it. Good, you think.

“Don’t kill him!” Otto booms at the officers. “I want him alive for trial! I want him to ride the lighting up in Raiford, you keep that son of a bitch alive!”

“Aemond?” You thread your fingers through his soaked hair. What happened to his left eye? Is it somewhere underneath all that carnage, or is it gone? “Please wake up. Please stay with me. We need you. The baby and I need you.”

“He’s going to live,” Criston promises, both hands still clamped over the bullet wound to slow the hemorrhaging.

“Aemond, please…” How can he be the president with only one eye?

An old woman in a yellow striped skirt suit is lumbering close with a homemade prayer rope clenched in her fist. “A komboskini for the senator!” For his last rites. For his soul.

“He doesn’t need it!” Criston says. “He’s not dying! No one is dying tonight!”

Still, you take the komboskini from the lady, each of the 100 knots a prayer unspoken. She is a devotee of Aemond, and you must show her gratitude. “Efcharistó, aderfí. O Theós na se evlogeí.” They are some of the few Greek words you’ve mastered; you’ve used them often since Aemond announced that he was running for president. Thank you, sister. God bless you.

The paramedics arrive, splitting the crowd like a laceration, white uniforms and a stretcher to ferry Aemond away. People are wailing, cursing, swearing vengeance. Aegon has returned and is peering down at Aemond with those large, glassy, muddled eyes, afraid to ask. “Is he…is he still…?”

“He has a pulse,” Criston replies. He helps the paramedics drag Aemond onto the stretcher and strap him to it. Your husband’s shirt is now drenched in red like garnet, like cinnabar, like the poppies that commemorate the boys butchered in World War I, like the wasted blood being spilled in Vietnam, men reduced to memory. “Good Samaritan?” Criston confirms with the paramedics.

“Yes sir,” the most senior one agrees. And then to you, with great deference, with compassion that transcends what somebody can harbor for strangers: “Ma’am, there’s a place for you if you want it.”

“I do,” you say, tear-streaked face, hands bathed in blood. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The ambulance is idling outside the main entranceway of the hotel. Criston grasps your hand to steady you as you step up into the back, and you take a seat on the red leather bench beside the stretcher. The paramedics are placing IVs, holding an oxygen mask to Aemond’s face, muttering urgently into their radio, abbreviations and code words you can’t understand, a secret language of organic calamities. High above the stars are crystalline and radiant in a clear sky. In your own chest—unshredded by metal, unpierced by rage—your intact heart is pounding.

The lead paramedic turns to you again and says: “We can fit one more person.”

It’s your decision. You are the senator’s wife; you were supposed to be the next first lady of the United States. You look through the ambulance’s open doors. Aegon stares back expectantly, his hair falling in his face, his arms thrown wide, petulant, combative, useless, drunk. “Criston.”

“Bitch!” Aegon hisses at you as Criston climbs into the vehicle. The doors slam shut, the engine rumbles, the siren squeals as the ambulance races westbound on Breakers Row towards County Road, which connects with Flagler Memorial Bridge and the mainland.

Through the rear window you watch Aegon as he stands in the white-gold hotel luminescence, becoming smaller and smaller until he vanishes, and all you can see are streetlights, and all you can smell is blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

Every story needs its cast of characters. Here are the major players in the summer of 1968.

President Lyndon Baines Johnson is in the White House watching the clocks tick towards November 5th, when his successor will be ordained. He has chosen not to seek reelection. Since his ascension upon Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, Johnson’s domestic focus has been unprecedented civil rights legislation and his War On Poverty, yet what has infected the media like blood poisoning is the war in Vietnam. On the television are napalm bombs incinerating Vietnamese peasants, caskets draped with American flags, riots being beaten down by police, college students torching draft cards and chanting “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” Now the president is sick in body, in spirit, in heart, and this is not a metaphor: he suffered a near-fatal cardiac arrest in 1955 and another shortly after John F. Kennedy was murdered in Dallas, Texas. He will die almost exactly four years after leaving office. Had he sought another term, he would have been unlikely to survive it. The public eye is something like a snake bite; it sinks its fangs in and you hope the venom burns clean before it can curse you with clots or hemorrhages or paralysis, before it can drown you in the dark waters of infamy.

In the void left by President Johnson’s surrender, four factions have emerged within the Democratic Party. The old guard—the same labor unions, congressmen, and local political machines who have steered the platform since the days of Franklin D. Roosvelt’s New Deal—has flocked to current Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Humphrey is competent yet uninspiring, a mid-fifties Midwesterner who flinches at the unpolished fury of antiwar protests and sedately lectures Black Power activists on the dangers of “reverse racism.” He is not a threat. He is a sheep in sheep’s clothing, and this is the time for wolves.

Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota is unapologetically opposed to the Vietnam War, a moral crusader, a reluctant warrior, a man who wears his lack of taste for the presidency like a badge of honor. He feels compelled to run, but he does not crave it. He thinks this makes him a saint; but Joan of Arc was burned at the stake and Saint Lawrence was roasted alive. Like Halloween candy plunked into a child’s neon orange plastic pumpkin, McCarthy has collected his own coalition, college students and posh urbanites who believe themselves to be the future of the Democratic Party. In 2016, people will conjure McCarthy’s ghost when drawing comparisons to a controversial left-wing senator from Vermont named Bernie Sanders.

If McCarthy is the future and Humphrey is the past, then former governor of Alabama George Wallace is downright archaic. He is the candidate of choice for Southern white supremacists, averse to Republicans since Lincoln and still reverent of Depression-era New Deal programs that kept them from starving to death. Wallace is best known for his promise of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” and pledges to end the chaos that has besieged America through strict law and order. Provided he loses the Democratic primary, Wallace plans to run in the general election as an Independent, hoping to peel away enough support from the major party candidates to force the House of Representatives to declare the winner and then leverage his votes to negotiate an end to federal desegregation efforts in the South. His devoted wife Lurleen just died of uterine cancer, a diagnosis which Wallace kept hidden from her for years; doctors are in the habit of informing husbands of their wives’ ailments and giving them carte blanche control over the treatment plan, which unfortunately in Lurleen’s case was nothing. She was 41 years old.

In his short-lived castle of red corridors like the marrow rivers of bones, President Johnson hides from the hippies who jeer and spit; Humphrey frowns at them, McCarthy tries to appease them, Wallace says the only four-letter words they don’t know are “w-o-r-k” and “s-o-a-p.” But Aemond climbs down from podiums to meet them like old friends. He is young, only 36. He has a brother serving in the swamps of Vietnam. He is focused, determined, insatiable; he devours every scrap of news that is printed about him and writes his speeches by hand. As the self-admitted runt of the Targaryen family, Aemond knows what it is like to be underestimated. He wants a better America, and he wants to be the president, and he wants these things in equal, relentless measure, each fueling the other until these ambitions become inseparable. He has grown up hearing slurs against Greeks and consequently has no tolerance for discrimination, which he contends is antithetical to the American Dream. He attends civil rights marches in labyrinthian cities, antiwar protests on college campuses, union meetings in coal mining towns of West Virginia and Kentucky and Wyoming, music festivals crowded with long unwashed hair and braless women, fundraisers flush with the deep pockets of the Northeastern elite. Aemond’s coalition grows each day, bleeding away strength from his rivals like a Medieval surgeon. Their flesh turns cold and anemic, while Aemond’s heart pumps scalding torrents of blood.

If Aemond wins the Democratic primary at the convention in August, his opponent will almost certainly be the Republican frontrunner Richard Nixon of California. Nixon wants the White House just as badly, and he’s much smarter than he looks. He was Eisenhower’s vice president for eight years in the 1950s and lost to the ill-fated John F. Kennedy in 1960 by a whisker; some say he did not lose at all, but instead was cheated out of 100,000 votes by Kennedy’s mafia connections in Chicago. But with the Democrats divided and their incumbent president floundering, Nixon’s timing has never been better. He was once a poor boy with two dead brothers who earned a scholarship to Duke Law. Now he will become whoever he needs to be to win the presidency of the United States.

1968 is the year of wolves. The fangs are sharp, and the bellies ache with hunger.

~~~~~~~~~~

A local deli has opened early and sent sandwiches to Good Samaritan Medical Center for the family and friends of the senator from New Jersey: ham and Swiss, cucumber and cream cheese, tuna salad, egg salad, pimento cheese, BLTs, Cubans. The lobby is filling up with bouquets of flowers and handwritten notes. You pace and count the knots of the komboskini over and over again as you wait; Aemond has been in surgery for hours. The nurses periodically bring you Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, scalding watered-down sweetness to distract you from the fact that some surgeon is currently rooting around inside your husband’s ribcage.

Alicent—a convert to the Greek Orthodox faith just as you are, though far more zealous, far more sincere if you dared to admit it—is pleading for God to save her son as she clasps her own prayer rope. Helaena is seated beside her, eerily calm. Helaena’s husband Fosco is wandering around boredly and inflicting small talk upon the nurses, ogling out the third-story windows, playing with his red Duncan yo-yo. Otto is making a series of calls using one of the phones at the nurses’ station. Criston is there too, leaning over the countertop and speaking with Otto in low conspiratorial whispers.

Aegon is sitting alone and glaring at you. He takes a rattling bottle of pills—prescriptions that doctors are too afraid not to write for him when he asks—out of a pocket on the front of his green army jacket, spotted like a leopard with your bloody handprints. He opens the amber-colored, cylindrical container and pours two, no, three tiny white tablets into his palm. He tosses them into his mouth and washes them down with a swallow of his own mediocre hot chocolate, still glaring. You ignore him.

“How could this have happened?” Mimi says again from where she’s slumped in her chair. Aegon’s wife has a Snow White sort of beauty, but with a perpetual ruddiness in her nose and cheeks from the gin she sips constantly. You suppose it would make anyone a drunk, being married to a man like that. Her maiden name was Marina Marceline Leroux, but everyone has always called her Mimi, even the press on the rare occasions when she makes an appearance. Her children—Orion, Spiro, Violeta, Thaddeus, and little Cosmo, only five years old—are all back at the Breakers Hotel with the nannies, the same as Helaena’s. Mimi blubbers to nobody in particular: “How…? Who…? Who would want to hurt Aemond…?”

Someone needs to sober her up. You fetch a BLT off the platter of sandwiches and offer it to her. “Here. Eat.”

“I’m not hungry. Who on earth could be hungry at a time like this? I’m absolutely nauseated, I’ll never want food again—”

“Mimi, eat the sandwich.”

“Fine, fine,” she slurs morosely, then takes an unenthusiastic bite. She listens to you, all the women do. They listen to you, and you listen to Aemond, and the circle is closed and complete.

Criston is walking over now. You turn to him, needing good news, bad news, any news. “It was a Wallace supporter,” Criston says. From his seat, Aegon is watching Criston with his slow drugged gaze, listening intently. “Some bell pepper farmer from up by Jacksonville.”

“He’s been taken to the local jail for holding?” you ask, and then add: “Alive?”

“Yeah, and he already has a record. Assault and battery. His brother-in-law is apparently a Grand Dragon in the Klan.”

“What the hell is a Grand Dragon?”

“Well, it’s higher than a Goblin, but not as illustrious as an Imperial Wizard, does that answer your question?”

“Perfectly.” You smile at Criston, a pained, wry smile. He returns it and places a palm over your belly. You are still wearing the mint green dress Aemond picked out for you this morning, before he won the Florida primary, before he was shot twice by the disciple of a political adversary and laid at death’s doorstep. You are still covered in your husband’s blood.

“You’re feeling alright?” Then Criston smirks, knowing how ridiculous he must sound. “You know. All things considered.”

“We’re both fine. The baby’s moving around, I can feel it.”

“You can feel him, you mean,” Criston teases, knowing Aemond’s preoccupation with his unborn son; but you can’t bring yourself to appreciate the joke.

Aegon says to you suddenly: “How the fuck did you let this happen?”

“What?” you answer, stunned.

Aegon stands and approaches, lurching, raging. “You always have to be right beside him, in the photographs, in the headlines, in the soundbites, but you let some psychopath run up and shoot him? Twice?!”

“I thought he just wanted to shake Aemond’s hand, or maybe get a quote for an article—”

“You didn’t notice the gun?!”

“Aegon, sit down,” Criston orders.

“It happened in seconds,” you say. “You think you would have done better? You and your Valium, and your Librium, and your Percodan? You think your reaction time would have been so superior to mine?”

“Please,” Alicent moans, mopping tears from her pink cheeks with a handkerchief. “Please, don’t fight, not now…”

“We are all friends here,” Fosco adds in his thick Italian accent, yo-yoing by a window.

“You want to be the first lady so bad but you can’t handle it!” Aegon shouts, his voice echoing through the lobby. “You’re not some prodigy, you don’t have all the answers, you’re just a girl who stitched yourself to Aemond and then you let him get shot, he’s being operated on right now, maybe he’s even dying, and you still act like you’re so fucking perfect—”

“You’re mad because you know that everybody here is thinking the same thing,” you tell Aegon, cold and cruel. “That if someone had to get killed tonight it should have been you.”

Aegon’s mouth drops open; he stares at you with that slippery, opaque, stoned woundedness, pathetic, infuriating, illogically childish. Everyone else pretends they haven’t heard you. Alicent sniffles into her handkerchief. Fosco begins humming I Want To Hold Your Hand. Mimi chews sluggishly on her BLT. From the nurses’ station, Otto says, holding the phone to his chest: “It’s George Wallace. He’s calling for Aemond’s wife.” Then he waits to see if you’ll agree to take it.

Of course you will. You have to. You are acting in your husband’s stead. You go to the nurses’ station and grab the handset when Otto passes it to you. “This is Mrs. Targaryen.”

“Ma’am, I just wanted to offer you my sincerest condolences.” He has a pronounced drawl, born and raised in what he has praised as the Great Anglo-Saxon Southland. You animal, you think. You braindead bigot. “I do hope the senator makes a hasty recovery. I sure would like to beat him at the ballot box, but I have no stomach for anarchy. An act like this is repugnant to me, as it should be to any red-blooded American.”

“It was one of yours, do you know that?” you say, dripping venom. “One of your hateful ghouls.”

“I have no such knowledge. But if the shooter does turn out to be a supporter of my campaign, I disavow him utterly. He deserves a nice long sit in Old Sparky and then to meet his maker.”

“You inspire men to commit violence, and then you renounce them when they spill blood. I’m still wearing my husband’s. It’s on my hands, it’s on my dress, and I will not absolve you of blame. You are a gardener of discord. You grow it like roses or wheat. You tend to it until it blooms.” Otto is studying you, bushy eyebrows raised. “If you’d truly like to repent, perhaps dropping out of the Democratic primary would be a good start. And then you could find something useful to do, like drowning yourself.”

From whatever office he’s currently lounging comfortably in, his shoes kicked up on the desk, Wallace chuckles. “Aemond is very fortunate to have as ardent a defender as you, my dear.”

“Yes, a devoted wife is such a treasure. It’s a shame you killed yours.”

“Ma’am, once again, I just wanted to express how terribly sorry I am for your family’s hardship. I would never wish for an incident like this—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be emboldening white supremacists then!” You slam the phone as you hang up.

Otto looks at you. He says: “Did it go well?”

The heavy double doors leading to the operating theater swing open, and a surgeon steps through them, still drying his hands with a dark blue towel. He has changed his scrubs and washed his skin, but you notice a spot he missed: a fleck of half-dried blood up by his temple. That’s Aemond, you think. That’s a piece of him.

Everyone rushes to gather around the doctor, even Mimi; she lists like a ship taking on water as she walks, gnawing at all that remains of her BLT, just a sliver of white toast crust.

“The senator is alive,” the doctor says, and Alicent cries out in relief. Criston rests a palm on her shoulder. “But we could not save the eye.”

“He’s half-blind?” you ask. There’s never been a half-blind president. There’s never been a Greek one either. And the only reason this is stuck in your mind is because you know it will consume Aemond’s.

The doctor nods. “We had to remove it. The bullet that struck Senator Targaryen in the head, fortunately, was more of a graze. It ricocheted off his skull and didn’t cause any trauma to the brain, but his eye was…” He hesitates, trying to find a more polite word than shredded, macerated, pulverized. “Destroyed.”

“You stopped the bleeding?” Aegon says, astonished. “He’s okay? He’s really okay?”

“The second bullet pierced the thoracic cavity and was lodged less than an inch from his heart. He was very lucky. We repaired the damage to the best of our ability, and I am optimistic that the senator will make a full recovery. He’s resting comfortably now, but he should be awake soon.”

“Oh, thank God,” Alicent says, glistening dark eyes raised to heaven. The salient points gathered, Fosco wanders off again, his yo-yo dangling from its string.

Otto asks: “When can he resume campaigning?”

The doctor is caught off-guard; it takes him a moment to answer. “That will depend on the senator’s stamina as he regains his strength. If he chooses to stay in the race at all.”

Otto scoffs. “Of course he’ll stay in. This is what he lives for. You really can’t give me a ballpark figure?”

The doctor is determinately impassive. “I would estimate a month or two before he can withstand the rigors of the campaign trail again.”

“California is June 4th,” Otto recalls, counting off dates on his fingers. “Illinois is the 11th, New York is the 18th…”

“Look, there are people outside!” Fosco announces excitedly as he peers through one of the windows. “Hello! Hello everybody!”

“Fosco, you idiot, stop waving,” Otto snaps. “Go sit down.”

“But they are cheering.”

“Not for you.”

Fosco, somewhat deflated, grabs an egg salad sandwich off the platter and plops into a chair to eat it. He’s dressed in a green plaid sport coat and tight white trousers, very chic, very European. You’ve never been able to imagine Fosco and Helaena being passionately romantic with each other. They’re both a bit too doll-like for that, closer to Barbie and Ken than flesh and blood, blank stares and vague ambitions.

“Someone should talk to them,” Alicent says softly. She means the crowd that is forming in front of the hospital: journalists, cops, local politicians, mutilated veterans, college kids, farmers, fishermen, women and children, the future and the past. Everyone turns to look at you.

“I’ll do it,” you volunteer. You will, you must. Aemond could have chosen a hundred similarly suited women to be his wife, but he chose you, and when he did your vows became a blood oath.

Criston accompanies you downstairs to where the crowd has gathered just outside the front entrance of Good Samaritan Medical Center. The night air is warm and humid, the stars bright. You had thought of so many things to tell these people as you’d stood in the elevator as it descended, but now your mind is empty, fearful. There are photographers with blinding camera flashes and apostles waiting with famished eyes. From the depths of injustice and poverty and war, they have come to pay their respects to the man they believe is destined to save not just themselves but their world. What should I say? What would Aemond want me to say?

“I am very pleased to share with you all that Senator Targaryen is out of surgery and regaining his strength.”

There are cheers and applause and prayers; you are still clutching the komboskini that the old woman gave you in the lobby of the Breakers Hotel. You see more prayer ropes in this flock, and rosaries too, Bibles and dog tags, copies of The Autobiography of Malcolm X and Joanne Didion’s Slouching Towards Bethlehem.

“We would like to thank you for your heartfelt support. Aemond and I are so very grateful, and he is looking forward to being back on the campaign trail soon.”

More clapping and whistling, and then the crowd waits. You aren’t sure what they want to hear as you stand in the glow of the hospital luminance; your hands are trembling wildly, so you clasp them together as you hold the komboskini. Criston glances over at you, concerned. You settle on the truth.

“The man who tried to kill my husband tonight is a supporter of former Alabama governor George Wallace and an avowed white supremacist. Any ideology that advocates for violence and prejudice is a threat to our bodies, our nation, and our souls. We will not surrender to it, not even when our lives are in jeopardy. We will not concede that hope for a better world is lost. We will press ever onward with the knowledge that God is on our side, and that the future of this country is worth fighting for.”

You are bathed in flashbulb lightning; your ears ring with the thunder of the applause. You are shaking hands now, nodding, beaming, Criston following you like a shadow as you move through the congregation. You stop to listen to a middle-aged woman in a floral dress who wants to give you marriage advice: never get bossy, don’t become selfish, remember that you are his safe harbor in the storms of life. It is your job to gift her your momentary veneration. You have beauty, but she has wisdom; or at least, that is the bargain that has been struck, that is the presumption everyone agrees upon. She must have some advantage over you, otherwise the decades she has spent in service of her parents and husband and children have been wasted, she has carved away pieces of herself to feed hungry mouths until she vanished like the doomed nymph Echo. In return, she tries not to envy you too much, not to dismiss you as foolish or frivolous or lustful. Sometimes you think that women are filled with such vicious, relentless self-loathing that it feels good to direct it at someone else for a while, to pick apart another body, to tally up the deficits of her spirit.

“Aemond is so lucky to have you,” the woman says. You can barely hear her over the roar of the crowd.

And you smile as you dutifully reply: “I think it’s the other way around.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There is a television mounted on the wall in Aemond’s room. The news coverage, the volume turned way down low, oscillates between his own near-assassination and the stalled peace talks in Paris. Representatives of the United States and North Vietnam cannot agree, and so each day more body bags are flown home to return the bones of the nation’s sons and fathers to Missouri, Alabama, Idaho, Maine, Wisconsin, Maryland, Arizona, California, New Jersey, everywhere else. Someone has to end it. Aemond will end it.

“I dreamed I won Florida,” your husband mumbles, and that’s how you know he’s awake, here in a hospital bed and wearing IVs like strings of Christmas lights around a pine tree.

“You did,” you tell him, gently smoothing back his hair from his forehead. His left eye—where his left eye used to be—is bandaged; his words are soft and labored. “Humphrey was second. Wallace got third. But you won. And you’re going to be okay.”

“McCarthy?”

“It seems you’re devouring his coalition.”

Aemond’s lips slowly curl into a grin, triumphant. “It is God’s will.” And this is what he always says. It is God’s will that he survives, it is God’s will that he wins the presidency, it is God’s will that you give him sons.

“Yes,” you agree, lifting his right hand to kiss his knuckles. Then you press the komboskini you’re still carrying into his weak grasp. It means more to Aemond than it does to you. “Yes it is.”

Aemond sinks into unconsciousness again, morphine and dreams that blur with reality. There will be pain soon, and plenty of it, but he is free from that impending truth for now. You rise from your chair to tell the rest of the family that Aemond is beginning to wake up. Alicent and Criston will want to speak with him.

When you open the door, Aegon is standing there: an eavesdropper, a trespasser. He glares at you with his large wet ocean-blue eyes, hazy with pills, glinting with resentment. Reluctantly, you step aside to let him in. Aegon wobbles as he passes you and has to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself, scrabbling like a trapped animal.

“You’re a disaster,” you say, caustic like acid, biting, repulsed.

Aegon whirls and jabs his index finger against your chest, bloodstained mint green wool bouclé by Chanel. “You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you.”

You feel something hitting you like a bullet, cracking ribs, piercing lungs, tearing muscles and ligaments. Your lips have parted, but you can’t fathom words. Aegon has said many things to you—bitter things, belittling things, things in mixed company, things when you’re alone—but never this. For the first time since you met him two years ago, he has won one of your sparring matches. He has the upper hand. He has wounded you.

Aegon can see this, certainly. But he doesn’t seem pleased with himself. He looks a little shellshocked, like he can’t quite believe he said the words, like maybe if given the chance again he wouldn’t take it. But the moment is over now, and you can’t get time back, it is a thread that unspools until every inch is gone, spent, tangled in a thousand webs.

Aegon staggers into the hospital room. You flee from it. Out in the lobby the phone at the nurses’ station is ringing again. They’ll all be calling now to give their requisite sympathies. Humphrey counsels prudence, McCarthy prays for peace, LBJ offers the empathy of someone who has felt the cold gaze of Death in his own doorway, Nixon praises Aemond’s resilience and quotes the ancient philosopher Seneca: “There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.”

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the-djarin-clan · 6 days

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2022 / 2024

Tom is aging like whiskey... delicious. 🥃😋

#tom glynn carney #king aegon #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #prince aegon #king aegon targaryen #king aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #hotd aegon #hotd #house hightower #house of targaryen #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen x reader #team green

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saltywritings · 5 months

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Bend The Knee | Aegon ii Targaryen x Reader

Summary: You have been called upon at court to bend the knee to the newly crowned king, however, a surprising turn takes place when you bend the knee.

Warnings: Smut, Minors do not interact, male oral receiving, oral as a demand, adult content, slight female receiving.

A palpable undercurrent of terror unfurled its tendrils within you as you ventured through the hallowed halls of the red keep. The subtle cadence of your heels created a delicate patter, resonating against the stoic stone floors, each step echoing the rhythmic pulse of your heart, which had quickened its tempo within the confines of your chest. The ominous ambiance of the surroundings enveloped you, casting shadows that danced in eerie tandem with the disquiet settling in the air. The very essence of the fortress seemed to be imbued with an unspoken tension, as if secrets whispered among the walls, and the weight of history bore down upon you, amplifying the sense of foreboding that clung to the atmosphere like a shroud.

How could one not succumb to an overwhelming sense of terror while traversing the path leading to the throne room? The ominous summons from the king, directed specifically at you, added a layer of apprehension that hung heavy in the air. This unsettling journey unfolded in the aftermath of the harrowing executions, where both your brother and father met their demise for adamantly refusing to yield before the might of Aegon Targaryen.

The weight of grief and defiance still lingered, casting a somber shadow over your steps. The very air seemed charged with a palpable tension, the echoes of the recent tragedy reverberating through the corridors. Each footfall echoed with a haunting resonance, a morose rhythm that mirrored the throbbing ache in your heart. The throne room loomed ahead, its imposing doors a portal to an uncertain fate.

As you approached, the memories of your fallen kin and their unwavering loyalty to their principles pressed upon your consciousness. The foreboding atmosphere intensified, a testament to the gravity of the situation. The iron grip of fear tightened its hold, fueled not only by the formidable presence of Aegon Targaryen but also by the specter of the irrevocable losses suffered in the name of steadfast allegiance.

As the grand doors swung open, revealing the regal spectacle of the throne room, your gaze fixed upon the newly crowned king. Adorning his head was a formidable black crown, adorned with a radiant ruby at its center, a symbol of authority that seemed to cast a profound weight upon his brow. His dark, penetrating eyes met yours as he beckoned you forward with a commanding yet composed presence.

"Lady Y/N, come closer," he declared, his voice unwavering and devoid of menace. The resonance of his command held a magnetic power, drawing you toward him. The air in the throne room seemed to pulse with a peculiar intensity, as if the very fabric of destiny hung in the balance.

Complying with the regal summons, you gracefully approached the throne, your steps measured and deliberate. Standing before him, the gravity of the moment became palpable. The ruby at the heart of his crown gleamed like a beacon, a testament to the authority he now wielded. The silence that enveloped the room spoke volumes, punctuating the significance of your presence in Aegon's gaze.

"I ask of you what I have asked of all my subjects. Prove yourself loyal." Aegon notified you, his voice hung with authority with each word that echoed through the throne room. You stood before him; despite the loyalty that your father and brother had put their life on the line for you were not willing to die. they made their choice and you could be nothing but proud based on the honor they were willing to die for. therefore, you made your own choice.

You sunk down to your knee and looked to the ground as you pledged yourself loyal to his crown. However, a great confusion managed to overcome you as you heard a small laughter come from the king.

"Both knees, lady y/n." Aegon spoke with a certain chuckle to your tone. A great confusion engulfed your senses by his sudden amusement. Still, you complied wanting to ensure that you made it out of this room with your life. You now rested before him with both your knees flat on the ground.

"Come closer," he urged as you gave a small slide on the ground. Remaining on your knees he let out a groan in anticipation. "Come here," he let out an eager demand grabbing onto you by your waist and sliding you so close to him that your knees were touching the iron throne. You were between his legs, looking up at him with pitiful eyes as he smiled. It was only now that you had noticed the growing erection in Aegon's pants and the sudden blush that covered your cheeks.

"Open my pants and use your mouth to show me how loyal you are to your king." Aegon demanded of you, sitting back as he looked to you waiting for you to make a move.

"B-but your grace . . . "you attempted to struggle. "I am a maiden I do not know how to do such a thing." you suggest your voice stuttering in tear unable to look up to meet his eyes.

Aegon let out a sigh as he took your hands. "It is not hard to do. I will show you," he insisted grabbing onto your hands and pulling them to his pants.

He helped you open the button holding them together and brought your hand to the inside of his pants. His cock felt soft against your hand and was throbbing from the very contact you offered. Aegon guided your hand to pull it out and your eyes widened at the sight of his cock before your face. Aegon could not help but to smile at the way your eyes looked to bewildered at the sight of him.

"Now open that sweet mouth of yours," Aegon demanded, you complied without hesitation. You knew what was to happen next and you worried any lack of performance would result in the end of your life and therefore.

With your mouth open wide he grabbed you by the roots of your hair and sank you onto his cock. It was a strange feeling, to have one in your mouth. It tasted slightly salty and you could not help but notice the vein that was pulsing against your tongue as he sunk you onto him. He let out a loud groan of pleasure begun to sink back into the throne.

With this gloved leather hands rooted into your hair he looked at you with his cold eyes, biting on his lip as he begun to force your head up and down on his cock. You complied with the action, however, begun to gad the further he forced your head down. It was perhaps for a moment you attempted to wiggle off a bit to ease from the gagging but Aegon only took efforts to force you down further.

"Hush, Hush. Relax sweet thing that's part of it." He insisted to you as he continued to force your head up and down on his cock until he had balls deep, forcing your lips to swallow his entire length.

"Fuck- Fuck, you're so beautiful when you're swallowing my cock like that." Aegon let out in a groan, still listening to the wet sounds your mouth made as it engulfed his cock. His boots sliding across the floor as he attempted to hold out. But there had been something too good about the feeling of your mouth around him.

Aegon soon pulled you off his cock, watching as the spit that trailed from your mouth and down your chin connected to his cock. Aegon stood before you, his hand in your hair still as he forced you to look up at him. "Fuck, yes-" he let out in a moan again as his cold eyes remained on yours.

Aegon kept you looking up at him as he began to release. The only thing you could do was look up helplessly at your king as he begun to release his seed across your face, watching as it dripped down your cheeks and onto the fine lace of your dress. "You look so beautiful with my cum ruining your innocent face." He said with a smile. "Good little loyal subject," he took a second to praise you while he stuffed his cum covered cock back into his pants.

"Rise," He remanded and you complied standing to your feet, his cum covering your face, you dared not move. However, you were met with sudden shock when Aegon went to his knees, the king before you on your knees was certainly not what you were expecting and he lifted up your dress. Aegon was now before your clothes womanhood and he soon pressed his face against it, taking in a deep breath as his other hand held your back steady. You let out a small yelp and could not help the involuntary struggle.

"Hold still- you are still proving yourself." Aegon reminded you and you attempted to so, looking as his nose pressed into your cunt and he took deep breaths in. He let out a hum of approval as he pulled his face away and begun to pull your underwear down just far enough to expose yourself to him. Aegon did not hesitate, his tongue managed to do a swipe across the inside of your cunt and he soon let out another hum.

"Gods, you little whore. You fucking loved that. You're dripping wet, like a ripe peach." Aegon said, with his hands holding onto your waist his tongue went in again. it licked and sucked and while you found pleasure in it that was not his intention. No, Aegon was trying to suck out every drop he could. However, after a few moments he pulled away, pulling down your dress but leaving your underwear exposed.

"You are expected at my chambers at nightfall. I believe I know a few others ways to test your loyalty."

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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

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❝I never asked you to, you bumbling oaf.❞

[ Between advices and jealous-fraught fights, nestles your heart in red satin and ivory touch. Or, your marriage so far with the firstborn son of the King. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,901 ] | Aegon Targaryen II x Wife!Reader

contains— fluff & smutty - nsfw: oral (f receiving), p & v sex, creampie, breeding kink(?), - soft shit if aegon got to at least have a bit more agency lmao - jealousy - sorta angsty in the beginning but eh - your house is unnamed but you're a bad bitch - no use of y/n - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— it wasn't going to be a full smut, but aegon happened so here we are. comment, reblog & like at will, mwa!

Fraught might be a marriage arranged— cost and effect, weighed by titles and expectations of such matches made, emotion of either future spouse the least they weigh when they make their decisions — but you had grown to adore your husband.

You had been warned, of course. Gossip and small-minded chatter followed the firstborn son of the King. That despite the regality of Targaryen roots and colouring, he was a whoremonger, an addled-drunk, a monstrous caveat shrouded in dark green silk and iron.

You were called a victim, a damsel in distress meant to be saved before you had even met him. And yet not a single one of them batted an eye, much less offered a hand to rescue you from such turmoil. More than prepared to send you off. Others, of course, wishing for a prince to be married to their house, spit their scorn and irony.

The day you met him was a hot day. The sun basked the Crownlands with an almost venomous hatred, and it did not help your anticipation. Nor the long and arduous travel that turned the carriage into a hotbox meant to cook.

Your rear had ached in pain, almost as painful as your pinched cheeks that your grandmother had twisted unto your skin before you got out to meet the Queen, the Hand, and your betrothed, reminding you that a Princess Consort must always look her best, must appeal to her husband at all times "but must not be whorish! And sit straight, by the Seven, girl! Remember to exit gracefully! Like a swan, not a duck! Yes, there is a difference! Scamper your sarcasm!"— your gown was heavy, cinched tight and thick in beautiful fabric and small pearls and sapphires.

You had smiled prettily, bowed perfectly, and when you finally faced your betrothed, he was barely able to stand, pale as a sheet, and suffering from his cups the night before, sweat weeping on his brow.

It had sent a strike down your spine, irritation and anger spinning beneath pearly teeth. You bite down any word before they escape, forcing you to a perfect posture and a sharpened edge to your smile.

Aegon Targaryen, Second of his Name, had taken a step back, almost subconsciously, as fear flashed in his darling blue eyes.

Your good brother, having found out of this first interaction, had not stopped teasing your husband for the next few moons. Your good sister, you were told much later, had hummed wistfully, fingers dancing between rings as if she knew much more than anyone else, a small smile playing on the corners of her lips.

The memory makes you laugh now, warming your cold fingers against your first winter storm in Kings Landing. Snow torrents in whirlwinds and spikes, filling the Godswood in flurries and icicles.

Your Lady In Waiting, Emma Redwyne with her pretty Tully red hair and curled lashes that you had always found envy in, bows in greeting. You don't acknowledge her, which you recognise as nothing but pettiness, but you can't bring yourself to stop. You continue to stare forward, hand outstretched in the flurry of snow, when she awkwardly speaks.

"The prince is in your bedchambers, my princess."

You hum in acknowledgement, but no more. She shifts.

"He says he will not leave lest it is you who tells him so."

You turn to her, churlish in your expression of irritation and she winces, tucking her chin once more in false reverence before you sigh. The Lady Redwyne had been a friend once, an acquaintance really. Your grandmother had warned you that though you should have a good relationship with your ladies, it was best to keep them at an arm's length.

"Vipers and greed make stock in the centrefold of power, my dearest," she murmured, gnarled hands twinning your hair, a colour close to her own when she had been your age. You had been told you looked just like her, a gem in her era, her hand sought after by lords and princes alike before your grandsire made a weighty proposal to her house. "No matter what friendship you can build, all of it is but fat clouds and sandcastles. Pretty as they are, easily destructible by the next gust of wind."

"But they would be my ladies." The idea that the women closest to you should be kept with a good eye brought a weight to your chest. Trust is a hard thing to grasp in this place, you were fast learning.

You grandmother tutted, her hands cupping your chin, tilting upward until the same eyes met. One aged and knowing, another young and soon will understand the weight of life. Of the coat she bore with her husband's house in front of the Sept.

"Just watch and see, my sweet. Your future husband is a prince. They will try their damnedest. But you should not lose, for you are his wedded consort."

Now, your eyes linger on the cut of Lady Redwyne's gown. Far too revealing for the coldest touch of the year. The rogue in her cheeks, in her lips. There is a new necklace nestled on her bosom, no doubt an insistent gift from her father.

You wonder if your husband had stirred at the sight of her full visage. That if you had not been upset with him as it it, and have not abandoned your marriage quarters for three moons now, his fingers would have danced across her pale collarbones, fingering the dropped ruby at the centre of her throat. Pressing a light kiss on the gem.

The fornicated memory brings nausea and anger, but you are not new to your role, much less the greed of others, even those closest to you, so you strangled it with will.

If Aegon had dared to mock you anew while you were both in cold waters, he has been too aware now of your anger and what it means for him.

You look back at the peek of red leaves still attached to the tree, almost a stubborn refusal to move with the order of the gods, and you smile despite yourself.

"... My princess?"

Your annoyance spikes.

"And if I tell you to tell him that I will sleep in another chamber, mayhaps upturn a chamber meant for guests, will he then rot forever in my bedchamber?" You turn to her, eyebrow arched. "Will he not be accosted for leaving his duties undone? Must I treat him as a babe throwing a tantrum? Soothe him?" You step toward her. She flinches, a bird wanting to take flight but knows better than to move without her mistress' orders. "Or have you already tried so, to soothe the prince, and have been told to scram, to fetch me, for you are not his wife?"

Her eyes flutter, chest heaving. "My Princess, please—"

"Enough," you say primly, gathering your skirts. "Come to my chambers before dinner but no earlier. The only reason I haven't sent you back to the Reach is by grace and no more."

"My princess." She bows again and you don't miss the clenched jaw as you leave in a flutter of your bloodred gown and arched chin.

You have only just turned a corner when you hear a voice, soft and silky, familiar for many moons now.

"That was harsh of you, good sister."

You pause and spin, letting out a small laugh at the appearance of your good brother. Tall and princely in visage, he inclines his head in greeting while you bow.

"You are mistaken, my prince."

"Hm?"

You smirk. "That was kindness on my part."

He hums, fighting off a smile. Or what you think is a smile. Prince Aemond is still a mystery to you, but he is polite and you find yourself in good ease with your good brother. Unlike your husband, he wears his duty like armour and wield it like a sword. More than once, you are made to imagine what it would be like to have been married to him instead of your husband, and you blanche at the thought.

Though there is complications and evergreen misunderstanding with your husband at most turns, you cannot find yourself happy to the idea of being married to the One-Eyed Prince. There is nothing to say of his scarred appearance— as it does nothing but exemplify his gifted wielding of the sword, but being so honour and duty bound as you, it would be a cool, crisp marriage wheeled on routine and silent understandings.

A monotonous life might be a mercy to most, a dream to some even, but it brings hives to your skin at the mere idea.

Silent dinners and polite conversations are one thing. A marriage built on everything but... it would unsettle and madden your soul.

He offers his arm. "May I escort you to your chambers and my sad sack of a brother?"

You temper your giggle, taking his elbow. "I would be delighted."

Quiet pinches both of your measured footsteps, but you revel in its serenity. Maegor's Holdfast is stone and steel in the winters, fewer bodies lingering in corridors and corners to stave off into rooms with heat, but the rest that do are about, bow at your persons.

"I see you are adjusting well," he finally says. You turn, eyebrow arched. "As a princess consort of the realm."

"Was I so unprepared in my earlier moons?"

"In a way. Helaena says you are still comely and kind, despite being married to my brother."

"I am satisfied in my marriage, Prince Aemond," you say, unable to stop your raised hackles and need to defend your husband. "My duty to the realm is not strained in the least, and I... care for him."

He gives you a long look but you refuse his stare. He hums again, and whatever topic is breached is dropped. The quiet follows up until the doors of your chambers where he stops.

"Thank you for escorting me, my prince. I know your duties occupy your time."

"A duty of mine is to ensure my good sister is in safe hands." He gives a beckoning bow, notching an eyebrow at the door. "And I wish you ever happiness with your marriage to my brother, the Seven knows your duty is harder than mine."

Before you can retort, he is gone, and you are left with a sigh before you push through.

Though a prince, there is nothing princely of Aegon's sprawl on your bed. His gold, silver spun hair like a halo akimbo his face. Warmth emanates from the fire while he plays with his fingers atop his stomach.

"I thought you will ignore me once more, my wife," he speaks to the air, face still straight to the ceiling.

As you close the doors, a nod to your sworn shield, your straightened shoulders hunch as you relax. An unladylike snort breaking through the quiet. You don't see it, but Aegon smiles at the sound, a pang hitting his chest at the sound of comfort that he misses so.

"These are my chambers, husband," you say. "Unless you are meaning to kick me out of the Keep in total, I think my appearance in my own is not a totally shocking thought."

You sit beside him but do not lay down, giving him a good look as he stares up at you with a vacant expression. He is sober, in a way that there is a glassy sheen to his mullish blue eyes the colour of lightning and thunderstorms. His pallour is pale and his clothes are rumpled, but there is no near stench of wine or woman.

In fact he smells like Aegon on his good days; dragon and grime at the edges, soot and wind.

"I have not been to the Silk Street since we have been married," he says as if reading your thoughts. "I have not, and will refuse, to stray from our marital chambers." He gives you a poke. Like a child. "Unlike you."

You know he is telling the truth. He made the vow to you on your marriage bed, hands intertwined, fresh purple blooms appearing on your throat as he bore crescent shaped moons on his back.

You had to wear high-necked collars for two weeks. In the summers. It was impossibly awful, but the memory of your first night is one you cherish. What you go back to when tempers flare and sadness beckons in corners.

He had spent that first night worshipping you, ensuring you are more than sated before he had taken his own pleasure.

"But women who want you need not be whores to tempt you to their beds," you finish softly, unable to stop yourself as you take one of his hands to your lap, spinning the silver ring he keeps on his last finger.

"My wife, dearest to my heart." Your eyes flutter close at the endearments. It was a running joke to both of you, a joke that evolved with sincerity and... well, you hoped was love.

"I had tea with your grandmother, wife."

You looked up from your lunch, lips thinning at the joke and excitement nestled in giggles he was holding back. "Oh no. I knew I should have sent her back home the minute our vows were over."

He laughed then, taking the unoccupied seat across from you as he pressed his lips to your head. It made your heart flutter, even more so as he plucked a berry from your tart and offered it to your lips. He looked with insistence so you ate it. He pressed a thumb to your bottom lip before pressing a soft kiss to his own lips. You tried not to furiously blush.

"What has she told you?"

"Many a topic." He laughed again at your groan. Aegon had found himself enamoured with you as days past. Learning how you act less primly and more comfortable in his presence had brought him a good sense of happiness. Something he thought he lost forever. And he found, the happier he made you, the stronger the happiness in himself grew. It was an addicting feeling.

"But the prime idea were endearments."

"Endearments?"

"That a husband and wife with a pretty marriage such as ours, as we are royals, must show hope and perpetual peace for the people."

You frowned. "And... endearments give perpetual peace to the people how?"

"A show of the stability of our marriage. Of fondness. So now, I shall call you my dearly beloved heart."

You made a strange, strangling sound that had your husband giggling in surprise. "Pardon me, my prince. I—"

"Your precious honey bee."

"... Excuse me?"

"Babycakes?"

"Are you ill?"

"The darling of your eye, then."

You blinked. "Pardon?"

"What you call me," he teased.

"I refuse."

"You refuse?"

"Yes." You fought your own smile. "You are not the darling of my eye, and calling you thus, will make me a liar."

The pinched expression of jealousy made you bite your lip. "And who is, pray tell, the darling of your eye?"

"My grandmother."

You pressed your lips together. Aegon blinked in shocked. Then the both of you burst out in hard laughters, holding your chests and stomachs.

"We shall find an endearment for your beloved husband then," he announced after he had gasped for breath, dabbing the tears collected from his eyes. His smile enchanted you, wide and beautiful, upturned with a gaze as if he was beheld by the most darling of creatures. The urge to skip over him, drape yourself on his lap, and kiss him silly was an urge you pushed down.

"The... babe to my wondrous bosom?"

"Aegon!"

"So in counsel? That is not a definite no."

"My love?" he calls now, bringing your shared hands to his lips. "Lay down with me."

Before you can retort, he pulls you down to him until your warmth is shared, burning in a single flame. A sigh leaves your mouth, and the sound urges him to pull you impossibly closer.

"Women may find themselves in our bed, but unless they are you, they are nothing," he says after a minute. You tense up and he rubs your back. "I have made a vow."

"I will not hate you if you do. Anger is sordid, but I know my role. I know that is common practice for husbands, and as Princess Consort—"

He pulls you to him, your chest pressed against his as he held your face in his hands. His eyes are sad but his gaze is firm. "Your role as my wife does not mean you stay silent in your anger. Fight me. Make as much ruckus as you want. Tell Sunfyre to burn me to a crisp. You know as much High Valyiran as I at this point."

You laugh, forehead falling on his chest as you feel the burn in your eyes as tears escaped you. "I am no dragonrider."

A laughter rumbles his chest. "Could have fooled me," he teased.

"What?"

When you look up, he is smirking. "You've ridden me before."

"Aegon!"

He noses your jaw, kissing the edge of your chin. "The lemon of your tart, you mean."

"No, I do not." A sigh leaves you as his kisses turn into suckles, his hands holding you steady, rubbing circles against your skin.

"I think... I am fully forgiven now? For you have slept far away from me—" You yelp as he bites your ear, "— for too long a time. And for spending more time with my brother than you have of me in a while. Truly unfair punishment."

"He has only escorted me."

He flips you both, unlacing the front of your bodice with adept fingers while he leaves a trail of bites at every exposed skin. "While I wait by your chambers like a lovesick fool?"

"I never asked you too, you bumbling oaf."

He huffs a laugh, ripping down the front of your dress as you shriek, eyes meeting your own with a dark glint, before his hot mouth envelops your pert nipple. You keen.

"I am still a-angry with you," you sigh, running your fingers through his silver locks. When your body adjusts, seeking to pleasure the warmth between your thighs, he moves lower as if he can read your mind, read your wants, and when you make a roll of your hips right against his tenting manhood, his groan vibrates against your breast to your ribcages.

"I understand." He leans back on his hunches, smile sweet, before he shuffles around and underneath your dress, past your small clothes, and takes a slow swipe of his finger against your warm, wet folds. Your hips buck, a gasp leaving your throat, and he breathlessly laughs.

"Your beloved honey bee would like to taste the nectar between your thighs that you have so graciously held against me for so long."

You groan, suppressing a shiver as he holds your thighs steady with his own laughter. "The urge to kick you is strong, my husband. Enough to risk the Lord Hand's ire. And your mother's."

He groans, stilling in the midst of pushing your skirts up, he pops his head back toward you. "Please, owner my beating heart. The fire to my dragon. The lemon cake to my tea—

"— that one is your least creative one so far —"

"— Let us not speak of my mother, gods forbid, my grandsire, while I am between your legs. For the good of the realm."

"The good of the realm?" You scoff. Then yelp as he bites your thigh, soothing it with a lap of his tongue.

"Yes, my sweet, the good of the realm." He pops back to you, hair askew, eyes devilish, as he grins. "It is common knowledge that heirs are for the good of the realm. And I cannot bring you pleasure if you keep mentioning people I'd rather not imagine while doing so. And your pleasure, from what your grandmother had told me from our many afternoon teas, my sweetest, golden love, is important for my heirs."

Your giggles turn breathless when he disappears beneath your skirts once more. "I surrender then... apple of my tarts."

The sound of his giggles underneath your skirts soon grow muted against the sound of your pleasure. The thing about Aegon, is that pleasure is meant to be savoured. So as he slowly tears through your own clothes while he makes you reach your peak once, twice, thrice— your skin drenched in sweat, rose blush bloomed your face and neck, arms weakened and thighs unable to hold steady — you turn to your husband, the haze of your orgasm clouding any rational thought as you beheld him, still fully clothed with your juices on his face, a proud smirk twisted on his lips.

"Are you okay, beloved?" He rests a hand on your face and you nuzzle against him. "Shall I call for a bath now?"

"Later," you pronounce breathlessly. "If you do not find yourself inside me in the next second, I shall curse you for evermore."

He laughs, giving you a languid kiss before he steps back and strips.

He does not make a show of it, as harried and hard for you (no catching of his pleasure against the bed could ever compare to thrusting inside of you), and you watch his weeping cock with an unbashed hunger of your own, as he pumps it a few times, eyes staring at your visage as you widen your legs, holding your thighs to give him a sweet view.

He groans. "What Silken Street whore could be compared to my wife so willing? What lady would be enough?"

"I swear to the Seven, if you do not end your blasted soliloquy—"

His laughter rings, body covering your own before he slides in your warm, wet cunny. Blasphemy spills his tongue as a softened sigh leaves you. Though he is not lengthy, his girth stretches, thrilling the nerves up to your throat. The ease is given by your wetness, but he is slow, making sure you felt every ridge and vein until you cry softly at your abused pearl rubbing against his body.

"I will not last," he half spits, jaw clenched. "I will have to- I'm sorry but—"

"Do it," you whisper, locking your ankles on his ass as much strength as your legs can allow. "Pound me into the matress."

"Fuck," is the last thing he says before he follows your orders, each hit against your cervix building your own peak. "Pretty wife, darling pearl, the sexiest— fucking—" spills and spits between groans and cries, chasing his high brings your own.

"A-aeg, I—"

He kisses your mouth, effectively shutting you up as he slides a hand between your sweaty bodies, finding your pearl and circling hard. As soon as you're cumming to the high heavens, tightening and twitching, a garbled scream out of your throat— he slams once, twice, as his own high entangles your own, a punctuated moan breaking out of his throat.

His seed spurts, floods, before his cock turns flaccid inside you, and you feel warm and full underneath him.

He presses his forehead against your collarbone. "Maybe we should fight more oft, nectar of my obsession."

"Sure," you say. "I will spend more time with Aemond then."

He punctures a groan as you giggle.

#aegon ii fanfiction #aegon ii fluff #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you #hotd fluff #hotd fanfiction #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#aegon targaryen ii fluff #aegon targaryen ii

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thesunfyre4446 · 2 months

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aLicEnT's ChiLdReN hAtE rHaEnyRa bEcAuse oF oTtO aNd AliCeNt"

ummm aside from the fact that rhaenyra herself has expressed nothing but distain and dislike towards them, and her being the only child their father seems to love (that one is actually not her fault. but still, it hurts to see your dad only loves one child & the other children are bound to become resentful)

maybe the fact that she offered to have aemond tortured after her son cut his eye out didn't exactly help?

#anti rhaenyra targaryen #anti viserys i targaryen #viserys hate club #team feminism but let's blame everything on alicent #leave my girl alone #alicent hightower #alicent my love #pro alicent hightower #hotd #house of the dragon #aegon targaryen ii #aemond targaryen #helaena targaryen

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blakeswritingimagines · 2 months

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This Love

Summary: Lovesick! Aegon and his pregnant partner fight and make up.

Word count: 3.6k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Aegon pursued his lips before clicking his tongue as he brought his wine closer to his lips taking a long sip, listening to your angry rambling which had become common with how far along in the pregnancy you were at least that's what he was told but simply nodded along having learned if he said otherwise you apparently grew annoyed that he didn't share the same thoughts and feelings as you even though you were the only one that was pregnant "Yes darling your right I'm sure." "You don't care at all. You never do." You said, tears welling as you spoke. "What was our conversation earlier, exactly? All you can think about are your precious whores, aren't you? You'd kill me in an instant if it would give you an extra." You moved closer to Aegon. Your eyes were bloodshot, but you continued on. "Well, go on- kill me. I'm nothing to you, Aegon. I am nothing to you. I'm just a womb for your children."

Aegon stood and watched as you neared closer slowly but surely to him before he gently wrapped his arms around your swollen body and held you close as he quietly shushed you, letting out a sigh knowing he couldn't find anything right to say to you when your emotions ran higher like most days since you had become pregnant but softly spoke in your ear "I care about you as much as I do Sunfrye, you know that nor have I ever said you care about your something else more, it's difficult saying anything to you right now because no matter what I'm wrong and I'm simply trying not to annoy you further. But if it's such a big deal then I'll speak to whoever is bothering you and deal with it." Rolling your eyes at his words "Don't lie to me, Aegon. I can see it in your eyes, the way you look at me with indifference. You are disgusted by me, Aegon!" You broke from his embrace and took several shaky steps backward. "I am nothing to you! To anyone! I am just a worthless womb, aren't I?" You shouted with a sob.

Aegon felt his stomach turn as he watched you and felt awful that he couldn't help you any better than he could, slowly walking closer to you as he slowly held his hands out but didn't touch you as he shook his head and spoke with certainty "I'm not disgusted by you dear, nor are you just a womb to anyone I promise, I've been letting you help rule everything by my side granted I've taken over but it's just because your pregnant and once the babe is here you'll come back and help me won't you? We'll take care of our babe and our people together." "You're just trying to placate me. You'll discard me once the child is delivered, won't you? You'll discard me once I'm no longer useful to you, won't you? Admit it! You'll discard me and you'll find some new pregnant wench to fill my spot!" You shouted with an unhinged ferocity.

Aegon sighed as he listened to you shout at him which was starting to become normal to him but gripped your jaw in his hand still trying to be as gentle as he could but forced you to make eye contact with him as he spoke no longer in the mood to hear your thoughts about what you figured he might do once the babe was born "Knock it off right now, I married you and I am having a babe with you I have no plans or desires to find someone else you are it for me and I promise whoever has been filling your head with such things will be answering to me and begging for their life if they do this again" Knowing people in court and the servants around the castle gossiped heavily, especially about himself. "Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar!" You tightly closed your eyes and began to repeat over and over, your voice growing louder with each passing word. "Don't lie to me, Aegon! I know the way you truly feel! You'll trade me in like a horse, won't you? You'll trade me in for a younger girl; one with less stretch marks and a tighter womb! Admit it!"

Aegon listened to you insult him by calling him a liar but simply leaned closer as he let his hands trail up and down your swollen body squeezing every once in a while, loving how much more plump you had become since being pregnant but learned the hard way not to say it that way to you but grinned to himself as he spoke and looked into your dark brown eyes with his violet ones "You are still young and just as gorgeous as when we were met, and I love your stretch marks and tracing them when you let me" Leaning closer as he whispered "and your still tight yourself I've noticed when we have sex." "Stop trying to placate me." You spat at Aegon, slapping his hand away. "You've probably already found some other wench, I'm sure. I mean, when I'm not around all the time you must be so tempted to cheat. To find yourself a new woman. You are not faithful to me, Aegon! I know it! I need only look at your eyes to see the lust bubbling beneath the surface!"

Aegon pulled his hands away but rested them beside you still as he nodded his head along to your words as he pretended to think about it before looking at you once more and smiling to himself remembering what he did when you weren't around to help him when he got excited and horny but raised a brow at you as he playfully tilted his head "Or and do hear me out on this, I simply get want you when the lust is too much I adore having you all to myself and when your not around i've learned how to deal with it myself since nobody could ever compare to you" Knowing he only ever really looked at you whenever even when you walked into the room or even during court as he was the king, he couldn't easily take his eyes off of you and often had to deal with his younger brother Aemond tell him how lovesick he looked for you since meeting you. You laughed humorlessly before walking towards a nearby divan and plopping down on it. "I am supposed to believe that, then? You expect me to believe that your lust can be satisfied by your own hands? How stupid do you think I am?"

Aegon watched you closely before walking closer to you and even doing the unthinkable that no king ever really did for anyone and kneeled down beside you instead of sitting next to you since you had made it clear you didn't want his touch right now and chuckled "I never said it satisfied me but what am I to do when you're not around or do not want sex? when we first married you had asked me to not hurt you and I'm doing everything I can not to even now a year later... but I do not know what else to do to help you understand that." Scoffing lightly before you spoke. "So, then what do you do to satisfy your urges? Do you use your hands, like a normal man does?" You asked, sarcastically. "Or do you find another woman? It wouldn't surprise me, to be honest. You were quite the womanizer before our betrothal. Which one is it, Aegon? I wish to know." You said before you turned your head to face him and looked directly into Aegon's eyes.

Aegon clasped his hands together as he looked up at you before rolling his eyes then sighed before licking his lips as he looked into your eyes and slowly nodded his head as he spoke honestly "I have thought about going back to the streets of Slik but I haven't you can even ask... I do it myself especially since during most of this pregnancy you don't want to be touched unless you want it and we've only had sex when you wanted it" Knowing how much he used and slept around with women and the servant girls since he had kids before you two got together but had been doing his best to stop for you even with as much as you slapped it back in his face. "How am I supposed to trust you, Aegon? Do you think I'm so stupid? You could cheat right now and I wouldn't be able to do anything to stop you. You have all the power. You know how I feel about your past. What if one of them became pregnant? What if you sired a bastard with some random woman? Admit it! Even if you did father a bastard, you wouldn't tell me. You'd cover it up! You'd lie to me, wouldn't you!" He demanded.

Aegon listened to you and had heard enough even from his own family when he agreed to marry you when his older sister your mother Rhaenyra offered a marriage between you both, gently placing his hand on your swollen stomach simply wishing he could make everything better but finally looked away only looking at your stomach now as he quietly spoke feeling more broken then he had ever felt in his life before "your right I know you are but I'm trying there are days that are harder but I still push through and try for you, for our babe, I refuse to let anyone speak about you or your brothers as if your bastards anymore, and I still let you rule beside me even knowing people would've had a problem with it, I don't know what else to do to please you..." "You expect me to believe that?" You couldn't help but sneer. "Just saying that you won't cheat doesn't mean you won't cheat! You are lying, Aegon; I would not be surprised if you have cheated already. You are only telling me what you think I want to hear, aren't you? What if I did want to get out? You know I can't do that. You are the one with all the power, Aegon! You can do anything you want and I will have to deal with it."

Aegon simply ignored you trying to accuse him of cheating still and leaned forward as he gently kissed your large bump before looking up at you as he tried to hide his broken feelings that felt like it could've killed him and spoke quietly "Just say the word that you want out and I'll figure it out... I promise", Slowly standing and started to make his way out of the room to give you more space instead of keeping up with the fight that had lasted hours by now since he didn't know how else he should comfort you or calm your worries that seemed heavier than ever that he would cheat since you became pregnant. "Don't leave!" You shout as Aegon begins to walk away. "I'm trying to have a conversation with you, Aegon! You would leave the moment things got difficult, wouldn't you? It's just another sign that you're no better than all the other men! Come back here! I am not done with you yet! You cannot ignore this, Aegon!" You stood and stalked Aegon, hearing your heart pound in your ears in fury.

Aegon stopped in his tracks and slightly turned to face you before he shrugged at your words feeling like he was at a loss "What else shall I do? you ignore my claim of never cheating on you, that I must not actually love you, everything I try to talk out you don't believe me anyway even when I try to make things easier for you, for us you blissfully ignore...I know what I was like before you but I am trying to change and you refuse to see it. I don't sleep around, I don't drink, and I have taken care of anyone who thought it was a good idea to say you and your brothers are bastards. I even stopped my brother from killing yours." Walking closer to you as his resolve started to break since he was tired of fighting the same things day in and day out while still fighting with his own family. "What else can I do?" You stared up at the King directly in his eyes with an expression that was equal parts fury and sorrow. "Swear to me that you have not been unfaithful to me since our wedding night. Swear it to me now, Aegon. I refuse to believe you until I hear you swear to this," you demanded.

Aegon sighed as he heard your words and had been doing such since these fights started but slowly opened his violet eyes and looked into your misty ones letting the silence hang in the air for what felt like forever but slowly and quietly starting to talk tired as ever "I swear it to you, on whatever you want I have not laid with another that wasn't you." Pulling his arm out of your hold knowing he would swear it on his father, the iron throne, his kids, his dragon, anything you could think of that he was being truthful even about some days being harder than some. You stared intently into Aegon's eyes as you waited to hear him speak the oath. "Swear it to me on your crown. Swear it to me on your honor that you have remained faithful to me. Swear it to me by whatever is most holy to you." Aegon sighed as he looked at you but listened to you speak, before nodding his head at everything you listed before stopping to think what was most holy to him since he didn't care about his own father who had passed or the gods had never seemed to help him when he most needed it. But looked off as he thought about what was most holy to him before he quietly spoke and looked into your eyes as he gave an answer not even you would have seen coming about what he thought was the most holy thing in his life "I swear it on our marriage."

You stared at Aegon for a long moment. "You swear it on our marriage," you repeated slowly. "Do you know what that means? I want you to tell me exactly what that means. I want to hear it from you, Aegon. Tell me what swearing it on our marriage means to you." Aegon leaned in close to you as he took a deep breath knowing it was an improper and most likely taboo that he let you mainly be in charge between you both, but enjoyed it normally since he had to be in charge as king, looking into your eyes as he gently took your hand in his own before he started talking "It means I have never cheated and will never be as stupid to cheat on such a beautiful soul regardless what you or anyone thinks, it means you are the only person in the world for me even right now as we fight that I want in my bed at the end of the day, that I want children with and to rule beside me...it means that you and our marriage are the holiest things in this world to me I don't care about anyone else even the fucking gods as long as I have you beside me and in my arms. I will deal with anyone who makes you think otherwise or you think could even turn my head".

You listened intently to Aegon's admission of loyalty. "I believe you," you said plainly, after a long silence. "You are right. I'm sorry. You have been a loyal husband, and I'm sorry that I doubt your fidelity. I'm sorry that I accuse you of infidelity. You don't deserve that, Aegon. I have behaved shamefully towards you. I can see that now." Aegon still made no move to touch or hold you as he still thought you might not want him too but slowly started to smile before he shook his head and spoke with a deep rasp to his voice "No you were right I slept around and used women however I pleased before it's fair of you to think I can't give up my ways," slowly moving his hand up only to cup your face as he leaned in closer letting his warm breath hit your pink lips. "I know it's hard to believe even with people still talking about it to the day but I do mean it that I've been changing just for you, I only want your stretch marks and all...and your tight womb." You paused for a moment, as Aegon's last comment made you realize he might not have used the most tasteful wording. "Are you serious?" He asked, with amusement in his voice. "You really mean to tell me you have been changing your ways, Aegon. You have truly given up your old lifestyle, just for me? Are you being honest, then? Truly honest? Are you trying to tell me that you really love me above all others?"

Aegon listened to you before letting go of you and slowly kneeled before you as he looked up at you knowing a king should never bend at the knee for anyone or anything but made it a point to show you how honest he was being as he nodded his head and slowly started to smile as the fight was calming down "yes I'm being honest and I have truly been trying...just for you, I know I've slept around and used people before nor was I very kind to you when we met, and I might still make mistakes but I am trying I promise." You watched Aegon as he knelt before you, and you could not help but laugh in amusement. "You kneel before me like a lowly knight," you said teasingly, trying to hide the swelling feeling around your heart at Aegon's display of devotion. "I suppose I must get used to my place as Queen then if you truly are as devoted to me as you say you are." You said, in a slightly teasing manner. "I forgive you for our misunderstandings, my husband. You really do love me, don't you?" Aegon chuckled but nodded his head in understanding but would've done it over and over again if he had to, placing his hands on your thighs as he kept looking up at you before he nodded his head again feeling relief set in his bones that you seemed to be understanding, even as tough as it was for him to not want to use women like he was used to he would always keep you in mind if he even ever had to speak to other women. "That I do darling, you could ask for whatever your heart desired and I would give to you, especially if it helped you feel better that I would not cheat on you." Tilting your head to the side as you looked at him.

"Anything I desire, Aegon?" You looked at your husband with amusement in your eyes and a small smile on your lips. "What happens if I were to demand something ridiculous from you. Something that you absolutely cannot give me. And when I say this, I mean something truly ridiculous - can you think of something so absurd that it makes you laugh at the thought of it?" Aegon nodded his head knowing all he wanted was for his life to calm down and no longer have to fight with every single person especially you, chuckling again before resting his head against your swollen stomach still kneeling before you but had a small smile on his face knowing you would push this as far as you could, but slightly nodded his head again as he spoke knowing he would take care of anyone who made you rethink your life with him or made you jealous. "I would still do my best to make it happen, name your price...anything at all." You thought for a moment before your smile widened into a grin as you spoke once more. "What if I ordered you to abdicate the throne in my favor?" You said with a giggle not believing he would do it. "What if I told you to give up your crown, simply because I asked you to? Would you do it, Aegon? Would you step down from the Iron Throne just for me?"

"I am sure. You may ask for anything your heart desires. I will make it so." Aegon's eyes are intense with an overwhelming anticipation. Aegon's brows raise and his eyes are fixed on you with an unreadable expression. "… Well, I… I…" He laughs nervously, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck. "Um, I… I would, yes." The nervous laughter grows as his pale cheeks flush red. "Truly? Would you, Aegon?" You asked, your eyes widening as you spoke. "Would you really step down as King for me?… Because I was just joking, really." You laughed playfully at Aegon's face turning red, before you moved to kneel alongside Aegon on the floor. "I never wanted you to give up your crown, Aegon," you said quietly, in a serious tone. His nervous laughter continues and he looks away, trying to collect his thoughts. After a moment his face slowly relaxes and he looks back at you. "…I did not expect this. I…" He's silent and uncertain, as all thoughts and feelings fly all over the place inside his head. "But I have a lot of love for you." His face turns toward Jacaerys and he gives a soft expression. "More than you may know."

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