#also the way they pull out aegon as if it's from the womb

[hellshee]

there’s absolutely no parallel in house of the dragon more insane than this:

#hellshee.txt #alicent hightower #aegon ii targaryen #kinda altered my brain chemistry ngl #also the way they pull out aegon as if it's from the womb #lmao my brain goes brrrrrrrrrr

[bucknastysbabe]

Covetousness - Aegon II x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Chubby!Aegon, King!Aegon, breastfeeding kink, pregnancy kink, slight body worship, edging, handies, pnv!sex, jealous sullen little brat Aegon, stuffing, creampie, breeding kink, he loves some milk, breast fixation

A/N: I was invaded by a dark spirit again and made this also I don’t beta excuse any fuckups

Tag list: @lovelykhaleesiii @ilikeitbetterangsty @fairysluna

Aegon was being sulky and mopey today, jealous of the lords in court obviously staring at your milk-swollen teats, unable to be hidden in any dress.

In typical fashion Aegon had a fit, ordered that the court session was over and threatened to have eyeballs cut out. Huffing and puffing down the halls of Maegor’s Holdfast he ranted, “They think because I’m scarred, fat, a simpleton the leeches can have my rose.”

You sighed, patting his pudgy hand, “Sweetheart, you’re perfect as is. Whose child is in my womb, hm?”

“Mine,” he muttered.

The rest of the walk was blackened by his ugly mood. Once sat down in your chambers Aegon poured himself a liberal amount of wine and angrily munched on sweet rolls. You sat in the chair across from him, hand across your belly. Gently you tried again, “My king, why must you hate yourself so? You’re amazing, going to be a good papa to the babe.”

His eyes softened up some at that. But his unthinking pouty mouth had to run. Aegon snapped, purple eyes flashing, “Best go find a Lannister or Arryn. Fat and inept just like that dead bastard Viserys.”

Your mouth downturned. The Targaryen had matched your pregnancy down to the mood swings, cravings, weight gain. Although he wasn’t svelte to begin with. Never the matter, he needed a firm hand. You stared at him blankly, idly caressing your stomach.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Am I disgusting you?”

You canted your head towards the huge bed and hummed, “Honey, go get on the bed and undress will you? Please?”

As foul of a temper he was in, the blonde was wrapped around your little finger. He sighed and blew smoke but did so, lounging out for you to ogle. You smiled and ambled over, turning for him to help you undress.

The fool liked you to wear low cut dresses, milk swollen tits spilling out. But then get mad when people looked. Aegon’s mind could be an enigma. But it was more likely the lack of forethought, prick overtaking common sense. Something to stare at while on his lofty seat atop the iron throne.

You moaned in relief when your teats were freed from the constrictive garment, Aegon’s hands grasping at your softened waist. He mumured, “C’mere let me, I know they hurt.” You turned and let your doting husband help your out-of-balance frame onto his wide thighs.

He made to suckle at a stretched nipple but you pushed the beast back with a resounding, “No.” His brows furrowed as Aegon squawked, “Why not? They look full up. I’m hungry.” Tutting at the blonde you pulled a cord from one of the curtains surrounding the bed. Aegon whinged and rolled his eyes, remaining pliant.

You tried to reach around him but both of your bellies were in the way. One soft with indulgence, the other hard with child. Eventually you made Aegon turn himself to the side so you could tie his wrists up. Poor thing was beet red now, grumbling under his breath.

Sighing in contentment you stroked a full cheek, simpering, “Do I always have to force it into your thick skull Aeg? I love you, only you.” His eyes shone, his eagerness for affection peaking splendidly. Aegon rasped, “Will you show me? I’m not quite sure?”

Cheeky bastard.

Awkwardly leaning to the side you felt around the side table for the scented oil. Aegon’s stiff prick nudged at the bottom of your rounded stomach. Violet eyes flickered up, the king treading lightly, “My rose, wh-what is the plan here?” You shrugged and coated your hand in the lavender oil, gripping his turgid cock. Aegon gasped out, back arching, shoving his generous gut into you. The softness made you squirm, grow wetter.

You jerked him in smooth slides, lids heavy and focused on only him. Aegon was panting already, thick thighs trembling around your own. “Can’t you see how much I desire you Aegon? How wet and needy I am for you?” He groaned in agony, eyes fluttering. You continued in a sultry purr, “Every morning I see how you’ve bred me good and get so, ah, aroused. Can barely reach anymore. Have to rut on a pillow like a maiden.”

Aegon babbled, “Gods, sweetheart, you’re killing me!”

He strained against the bonds, panting shamelessly. You giggled at the copious spend leaking from his cock, making the glide so thick and lurid. Aegon whined, “Let me have a taste,

oh gods, gonna cum already!” You shook your head no, slowing your fist to a frustrating halt.

“You can drink if you make it two more times Hm? Two times for mentioning Lannister and Arryn like I want anyone but you. They can look all they want, but they’ll never have my cunt or my womb, my sweet milk you greedy thing.” Aegon’s belly trembled, even his softened chest peaking from arousal.

“I’ll do it, yes, my r-rose! M’so sorry I was being an ass! Can I touch you atleast?“

“One more and you can touch.”

Thus began the the second round of your fist fucking Aegon silly. You cooed, “So gorgeous my king, such a good ruler, look at you.” He groaned deeply, nose scrunching up. “My strong husband, a king should fit his throne like you do, need a healthy appetite to run the realm. No matter you’ve gotten soft.” Aegon pled, “F-fffuck love, oh you’ve got to stop, I’m so close!”

“Do you think your belly is bigger than mine?”

“Oh stop stop stop, I’ll ruin it, shit!”

You grinned and caressed his cheek with your clean hand, pinching the soft flesh. Another awkward session of maneuvering was endured to get Aeg’s wrists free. Before he could grab your waiting flesh, you hummed, “Touching only, make it through you get my tits.” He whined impatiently, “Yes, yes!”

He instantly groped and felt up your belly and tits, pretty eyes rolling up. He panted over the rhythmic ‘Schlick schlick Schlick’ of your fist, “Oh my gods- love- you’re so gorgeous, can’t believe I did this to you, fucking goddess.” Your own eyes fluttered at that, suddenly needing to sit on your lovers cock.

Aegon was sweating and beginning to shake again, growling, “You’re right- hah- all mine to fuck and breed as I please.” You moaned, “Smith’s balls, yes, want to be full of you all the time, only you!” Your lover gripped your moving hand, stopping it, eyes pleading.

“Oh fuck it.”

His calloused hands helped you lift up onto his purpling cock, slick and engorged. In a hoarse cry you gripped at his sturdy shoulders, moving the best you could. This wasn’t going to be a long, nor acrobatic affair. “Go on, have a taste, drink it up my love.” Aegon took to your left teat greedily, coaxing that sweet milk out.

His pudgy hands massaged at your sore tits, making you whine and squirm on his lip, so oversensitive from the pregnancy. The blonde moaned around desperate gulps, rutting into your cunt, building a strange friction setting your spine alight.

He drank and drank until your tit wasn’t fit to burst, wiping the droplet of milk from your mouth. Aegon rasped, “Goddamn ambrosia, fuck.” He dove back to your other nipple, giving the same grasping manner. You could feel his belly swelling with the liquid, pushing you back some. Your nimble fingers slid down to your swollen bud, circling roughly, hoarse groans escaping your lips, chanting his name in a litany.

Aegon gasped around your tit, breathing against the flesh, breathing while he kept rutting. The king managed, “Gonna cum, keep touching that sweet cunt darling, I’m about to burst.” His lips sealed back, violet eyes rolling back in ecstasy.

All the stimulation, Aegon’s greedy groping and suckling, his thick cock nudging your sweet spot sent you over the edge with a wail, inner walls clamping down. Your husbands hands dug into your hips, shouting as you drug his orgasm out by surprise. Milk coated his full lips and chin, the royal carrying on grunting as he pumped your womb full.

Then he finished off the rest of your milk, leaning back with a satisfied belch, goddamn pig. You were still seated on his cock, worn out from the strenuous activities. Aegon’s belly was swollen and full, him looking quite dozy. He held your hands as you clambered off of him, laying on his side, pregnant belly flush to his softness.

He pet at your hair, murmuring, “By the gods, I do apologize. I get all in my head, think you’ll find someone less of a buffoon.” He smiled at you, but his eyes shone with fear. Rubbing at the sparse hair on his chest you replied, “No, you’re a buffoon for thinking you’re a buffoon. Obviously I’m quite invested in my handsome king. Though I do wonder how you’re going to share with the babe.”

You snickered at the pouty look on his lips, Aegon muttering about your ‘mean joke’. You gingerly rubbed his belly and hummed, “Don’t worry, I’ll save some for you, just get it while you can yeah?”

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #hotd smut #pregnant reader #chubby!aegon ii

[thebadboyfanclub]

After You Little Pet (Aegon x Reader)

I think this has got to be one of my favourite ones that I have written, if anyone has a “semi evil seductress” imagine in their heads do not hesitate to send it my way, also I would advice “god is a woman” with this

“A beautiful healthy princess”

The wet nurse declared as she passed the babe to Rhaenyra who was already shedding tears of joy at the sight of her small child.

“(Y/n) Targaryen, you are destined for great things”

-

(Y/n) was often called, “the realms gift”, she was blessed with the Targaryen genes yet her characteristics were more sharp than usual, her nose resembled the one that princess Alyssa was known for and her eyes were dark blue like the winter ocean, of course the princess was spoiled since she came out the womb, she was the future of the Targaryen line. (Y/n) was her mothers daughter, her pride and courageous spirit meant that she aspired to be the best at everything and anything she could get her hands on, the unquenchable thirst for knowledge was strong.

(Y/n) was the only child of Rhaenyra that was a result of her beddings with her lord husbands Laenor, her existence strengthened her mothers claim for her sons parentage being legitimate. It kept the greens astray for some time since (y/n) was Rhaenyras heir it meant that there was no accusations of “bastard blood”.

However the family was aware that if the greens searched for an accusation to hold against them they could easily find it, first of all was the claim of Jacaerys being the heir of driftmark.

“What if I were to wed Aegon?”

“(Y/n) it is not time to jest”

“That is why I am not”

“Aegon would never wed someone from our family, his mother has poisoned his mind since a toddler”

“Who said anything about force?”

-

Aegon was one of the easiest targets, years of studying people and the obsession with strategy benefited her tremendously, what also helped her was that Aegon was rather handsome, his pouty lips and mischievous gaze intrigued her.

She had Aegons attention the second she waltzed in for dinner wearing a rather “scandalous” choice of clothing and chose to take a seat next to her uncle Aegon, when (y/n) sat down Aegon was hit with her intoxicating scent of caramel, the alluring smell combined with her the exposed skin was enough to set his crotch on fire as he shuffled in his seat to save himself from the embarrassment.

She talked his ear off all night along with allowing her hand to rest on his and even caressing his bicep when she gawked at him and threw a few compliments at him that Aegons fragile ego desperately needed to feed on, she was a delight and he had not seen anything yet.

Aegon was getting ready to sneak out his room and find a whore that somewhat resembled (y/n) with the lights off when he opened the door and was met with (y/n), the lady gasped at the “sudden swig on the door” and stared at Aegon with a guilty look written all over her face remaining silent for a minute.

“I-I got lost”

“Outside my doorstep?”

“I… thought it was my chamber”

“Interesting choice on nightwear princess (y/n), are you sure you were not looking for someone?”

(Y/n) knew exactly where she was she had spend most of her childhood running inside the castle but what good will that do if she admitted that? No, Aegon had to feel like he was the one corrupting her. (Y/n)s face turned red at the accusation as her eyes focused on the ground, in the meantime she clasped her hands together in front of her at a nervous manner.

“T-that is all my servants packed”

“Oh for Gods sake”

(Y/n) yelped at how Aegon grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her inside his chamber, she didn’t know he had it in him. Aegon pressed (y/n)s back against the wall as he collided his body with hers, the thin material of her nightgown did not protect her from the predatory eyes her uncle held as he scanned her, his breath hitting her face as it turned heavy from lust.

“Don’t be coy, you went out looking for something, what do you need little pet?”

He whispered in her ear seductively, (y/n) bit her lip to seem conflicted, if she was honest Aegon was arousing her, the sense of his hands slowly roamed her body earned him a hushed moan from the princess as he was waiting for her to give him what he desires

“I shouldn’t have come here”

“But you did little pet”

“Don’t call me that”

“Why? Does it excite you?”

“Y-yes”

Her stutter showed him her squeamishness, her morals fighting inside her mind as her body craved one thing while her head was telling her something else, it made Aegon think he is in control.

“Such pretty lips you have I wonder if the others match”

“I do not understand”

“Of course you don’t but do not fret, I will show you”

Aegon planted a kiss on her lips so intense that (y/n) was taken a back for a moment, he lifted her nightgown to brush his fingertips against her naked flesh and wrap one of her legs around him for easier access, (y/n) moaned at the feeling of his crotch grinding on hers, a foolish little boy that allowed her to so easily wrap strings around his limps, he was her puppet.

Once he pulled her undergarments and held his member in his hand (y/n) shoved him away with all her might, her hands covered her exposed breasts as she tried to catch her breath.

“No, no this is not right”

“Come on little pet”

“No I will not be able to wed Cregan if I… no”

And with that little slip up of absolutely fabricated information she put on her undergarment and rushed out of his chamber. Aegon stood dumbfounded, she was to wed Cregan Stark? No, that could not be she would have to move to the north, he would lose her forever.

The next morrow queen Alicent summoned Rhaenyra and her daughter, (y/n) sat next to her mother while she quickly took a few glances over at Aegon, blushing every time she did so. When queen Alicent announced (y/n)s betrothal to Aegon the young girl looked up at the prince with eyes full of joy, she bit her bottom lip to “hide her grin” before her eyes went back to staring at the floor.

“It would be an honour your grace”

She had mumbled in a humble manner. Everything went according to her and Rhaenyras plan, the event was one for the history books as Aegon was seen smiling at his radiant bride before they quickly disappeared from their own feast, Aegon could not wait any longer.

They had stayed in bed for a full week, learning each others bodies morrow, evening and night, Aegon was infatuated by his wife, such a “innocent” creature she was to him as she whimpered, she played her part better than anyone.

The act of a maiden gone mad was the best idea she ever had, allowing him to “corrupt” her while escorting her to the unbefitting road of silk, (y/n) had hid behind Aegon while entering, to coy to even peep at the whores, Aegon felt on top of the world as he bend her over behind taverns with a hand over her mouth to cover her moans.

A while later (y/n) assumed authority, making Aegon believe he was tasting the fruits of his hard labour, riding him while he held on to her dragon grey ghost up in the sky, spreading her legs while sitting at the stoned balcony, fucking at the stable, if Aegon could fulfil his fantasies and urges with his wife there was no need to for pleasure house.

“This sight will never get old”

“I hope so, we have the rest of our lives for me to ride you”

(Y/n) purred in her husbands ear, her hips moving in the motion of the ocean leaving Aegon a moaning mess

“Princess!”

“What?! What is it that cannot wait?!”

“My apologies princess for interrupting but it is urgent”

(Y/n) was with her exposed back against the door that the intruder had barged in from and put a halt in the coupling of Aegon and (y/n). Aegon chuckled at her frustration, Aegon did not care if his own father walked in during the act the only reason he stopped is because she has stopped.

(Y/n) huffed out a breath in between her hands gathering the white sheet to somewhat wrap it around herself leaving her husband bare, Aegon once again did not notice nor fussed about him being nude, he just sat up with his hair being a mess to follow (y/n) with his eyes as she walked to the servant girl whom passed a small piece of paper to (y/n), the princess carefully opened it to unravel the reason behind this abrupt end of their bedding.

“Thank you Talya, for your troubles”

She whispered to the woman before she passed a pouch of dragon coins to the girl that scurried away. As the servant girl disappeared Aegon expected to have his wife back on his bed, on the contrary the princess moved around the room to dress herself with her flying armour causing, aegon drew his bottom lip between his teeth as his clearly upset wife muttered to herself

“Would you like to share with your husband what has gotten into you? Well except me of course-“

“Your father is dead”

“What?”

“We must go, now”

Queen Alicent might have lord Larry’s, (y/n) had majority of the servants on her side, “you could learn anything if you can pay the price” her mother always said, (y/n) was known for her generosity in exchange of reports about what has been said around every corner of the castle.

The unfortunate news of the kings death first reached (y/n)s ears before it reached the queen, (y/n) was no fool her grandsires death was inevitable, she had made peace with losing her beloved Viserys who had protected her mother with his last breath, she would be damned if she let his hard work spoil over the begrudged hightowers, she wouldn’t go down without a fight

“Go where?”

“Dragon stone, if we fly we will be there before dawn my mother will grand us asylum”

“We cannot leave, what are you on about?”

“Aegon think about this, if we stay your mother will demand for you to be crowned king, a concept she has openly discussed with you since you could talk, we are not safe here anymore”

“You’ve planned this, haven’t you?”

It was the first time that Aegon saw through (y/n)s goals, (y/n) grew quiet for a couple of moments as Aegon scanned his wives face with his eyebrows furrowed, was she betraying him? What was her scheme? Is she trying to protect him.

“I love you Aegon and I want us to be happy, we cannot prevail here under your mothers and your grandfathers cloak as they parade around the castle like they own it, I am leaving, will you follow me?”

(y/n) had spoken the truth, she had grown to love Aegon, although his obsession with wine was something she despised Aegon was a good match that kept her youthful and she relished the flame that burned for one another, she also did not wish for a war to begin within the Targaryen family, it would be the beginning of the end for their bloodline as hundreds of lives would be lost, she did not want that blood in her hands.

Aegon had managed to shock her when he jumped out of their bed and squeezed (y/n) in a hug, Aegon always scoffed at the talk of being king, his father never wished for that and he had never seen himself being able to carry such responsibility, to be the face of the realm.

“I would follow you to ends of the world”

“Aegon I was hoping we could discuss this at a different time under better circumstances but… I do not want our child to come into our world in the midst of a war”

(Y/n)s words left Aegon speechless, (y/n) had never told him that ever since the wedding she had made sure to get her moontea served to her every morning, it was the reason she woke up before him, if they were to have kids it would be when (y/n) felt ready not when the small council asked for it.

One part of her withheld that information as a surprise, his nameday was approaching so she had thought what better gift than their first love child, the other part of her would rather skin herself alive than allow the greens to take her mothers birthright, with that announcement (y/n) had ensured nothing would stand in her mothers way.

Grey ghost and sunfyre were always saddled, the coupled had grown a habit of flying at odd hours of the night, searching for new places to visit and secluded areas they could lay naked and moan without fear.

“Gods be good, please tell you are not jesting”

“Aegon, we must go, now!”

“Lead the way princess”

(y/n) and Aegon ran with their hands intertwined down to the dragon pit,(y/n) prayed internally that they make it up in the sky before Alicent sends guards after them, naturally the knight sworn to (y/n) followed them close by to protect the princess, he had been chosen by Rhaenyra herself so they could be certain that when the time comes he would risk his life if it meant (y/n) made it to Dragonstone safely.

When they could finally see their dragons both of them puffed out a breath from the ease at their nerves this brought, (y/n) took only one step towards her dragon before Aegon pulled his princess by the waist to give one last kiss in her lips, he never wished to rule or be called a king.

“My precious wife, I must admit this is a thrill I never expected to experience”

“What running from your mother so she won’t get the chance to slaughter my family?”

“Precisely, it was about time someone else got to witness her cruelty besides me”

(Y/n) laughed at the slight jab Aegon landed on his mother, (y/n) had expected Aegon to go through some type of sadness when Viserys passed, she had left out the part that Aegon and Viserys were never close, the king was engulfed by grief that none of Alicents children could mend.

Aegon was never the smartest one still he was sharp enough to recognise that his wife belonged on the throne, he was perfectly content with being the king consort, besides having a crown on your head only means the world is on your shoulders and Aegon planned to be her safe haven, the shoulders (y/n) could lean on or put her legs on depending on how she craved to be assisted by him.

“As much as I would love for you to ride sunfyre while I ride you we do not have the time for that”

“correct me if I am wrong, we have yet to cross dragon stone out of the map”

“Such an eager little thing”

She joked before she ran away for his reach to go to her dragon at the same time Aegon mirrored her steps with Sunfyre, they gave each other one nod in unison before they commanded their dragons to fly, the thrill of that lift off from the ground would never burn out, to see the castle from a higher angle compels them to feel untouchable, mayhaps that is why the small folk say the Targaryens are closer to Gods than to men, it was their dragons that were gracious enough to let them get a sense of the clouds.

“Come along dear Aegon, it is time to go home”

“Your wish is my command, after you little pet

Requests are open!

#aegon ii x oc #aegon ii imagines #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon fanfic #aegon imagine #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen #aegon ii imagine #aegon ii fanfic #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon x oc #aegon x y/n #aegon targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #hotd aegon #prince aegon #aegon the second #yandere aegon targaryen

[writingsofwesteros]

The lords and ladies in the court after Daemon and the gold cloaks essentially take over are… conflicted

First they’d be hearing things in the night. Then they’d see it. Daemon brazenly taking his niece as if he doesn’t care who sees. He parades a Princess of the realm around as if she’s a whore he bought. And her womb swells with his bastard. The scandal of it all. What would the Queen think?

And suddenly they’re seeing the gold cloaks act strangely towards the Queen. One smacked her arse as she passed even! What kind of court is Daemon running? But when one pushes her against the wall to kiss her with his tongue in her mouth, and she melts into it, it becomes clear.

The Targaryens are an odd house but the nobles realize under the leadership of Daemon it only gets worse. When Rhaenyra arrives, half of them expect it straightened out. The other half know better. And soon they’re hearing reports of noises from Aegon’s chambers. And when they finally see the princess, she only walks with Aegon. And shakily. Often with him squeezing her arse or breasts as people walk by.

So when Rhaenyra’s daughter arrives, they know what’s to come. And no one is surprised when she too is “busy” for a time, before emerging only accompanying prince Aemond.

As time passes it all becomes more clear. Daemon had often taken audiences while receiving pleasure from his niece. Many lords saw. And sometimes the ladies would catch them also. Mostly because if anyone ever walked in, Daemon didn’t stop.

Aegon is another one. But he doesn’t exude cleverness and pride the way Daemon does. When Daemon fucks his niece in front of others, it’s the act of a king taking whatever he wants.

But when Aegon is taking Rhaenyra against a wall, or has her on her knees, fucking her throat when he’s bored during a feast or anything he’s made to attend, it shows as a lecherous prince. Aegon knows this. And frankly he likes being that much more than he ever liked the idea of king. He gets off on it. And Rhaenyra is a proud woman. He sees how her face burns when she’s caught. And he delights in exposing her for that reason.

Aemond though…. He frightens the court in a way as another Daemon. With the sheer determination and intense desire he has for his niece. His entire life spent controlling himself. And a lifetime of pent up stress being taken out on one girl’s body. It’s a miracle she can walk.

When she does, he often keeps her close. Resting a hand on her hip. Or sitting her on his lap. When she’s especially tired she rests her head on his shoulder and nuzzles close to him. Which he takes pride in.

In a way most nobles have grown to be grateful that the hatchet at court is buried. But others are horrified. The keep has become a glorified whorehouse!

They are ruled by Maegor reborn. And he’s turned a princess of the realm into a whore for him. Dressing her in prostitute’s clothes, while she nurses his bastard from her breast like a common woman.

And the daughter of Rhaenyra may very well soon be in the same position, if Rhaenyra herself doesn’t follow!

Some of the nobles are scandalized. But they’re quickly chastised by the others not to turn away what blessing they DO have. Targaryens are strange. But this strangeness has pulled the kingdom from the brink of civil war.

Of course some nobles are still unsure…. Prince Jacerys will no doubt come looking eventually for his mother and sister, and he may not take kindly to what he finds. And there’s still the matter of Otto Hightower

ALL OF THIS! I love the different descriptions of the differences between Aegon and Daemon. Aegon so fulfilling the image people have of him with pride thank you very much.

Prince Jacerys will no doubt come looking eventually for his mother and sister, and he may not take kindly to what he finds he might be difficult to control..he already dislikes Daemon on the best of days..

#gold cloaks of lust

[sheconquers]

SEASON ONE // EPISODES 6-10

S1. E6. A Golden Crown

The thought crosses Daenerys’ mind that perhaps the dragon eggs are not simply stone. She studies it closely, remembering that fire cannot harm a dragon, that even she thrives in heat. Out of curiosity, she places one of the eggs on a brazier… but nothing happens. It is a disappointment, but when she pulls her hands away from the heated egg, unharmed, the thought continues to linger that perhaps there is a way to hatch them.

Soon, she is summoned by the dosh khaleen, the wives of khals slain in battle who run the city. Before them, she eats a stallions heart as they read omens. She struggles at first to keep the organ down, but, to the relief of both her and her husband, she manages to compose herself. As she finishes the heart, the crones declare that her son will be “The Stallion That Mounts The World”, the khal of khals, the ruler who will unite the Dothraki into a single horde to overrun all of the lands according to Dothraki legend. Daenerys then announces that her son shall be named Rhaego, after her brother Rhaegar who was slain by Robert Baratheon. She is then lifted by Drogo who carries her about the room as the Dothraki chant their son’s name.

Infuriated and drunk, Viserys arrives at a feast to celebrate the Khal and Khaleesi to demand that Drogo pay him for giving him Daenerys. He draws his sword to threaten Daenerys and her unborn child, believing that since the Dothraki cannot draw blood in their sacred city that he cannot be harmed. Drogo promises that he will give Viserys a golden crown “that men will tremble to behold”. Daenerys makes no move to argue or disagree, knowing that this has always been how things must happen, this is how the story has always been written.

She watches as Viserys’ pleasure quickly slips to pain as Qotho grabs him and breaks his arm before kicking him to the floor. She watches in silence as as her husband melts a belt of golden medallions into a pot and her brother begs for mercy, begs for her to stop what is about to happen. She watches as her brother is blessed with a golden crown that encases his head and burns his scalp. She sneers as he dies, collapsing on the ground, stating that he was no true dragon.

For fire cannot harm a dragon.

S1. E7. You Win or You Die & S1. E8 The Pointy End

It begins to occur to Daenerys that, perhaps, her son should sit upon the Iron Throne. She begins to plant the seed in Khal Drogo’s head that an invasion of the Seven Kingdoms would benefit the Dothraki. However, Drogo does not wish to cross the Narrow Sea and that a man does not need an “iron chair”. He only needs a horse. Daenerys realizes that the conversation is fruitless and continuing it would be pointless, so she tucks the desire away for a better time.

Instead, she travels to the marketplace with Jorah and her handmaidens. She takes the opportunity to ask Jorah to help her convince her husband to invade the Seven Kingdoms because the throne is hers by birthright. In response, she is reminded that Aegon the Conqueror was only able to take six of the Kingdoms because he had dragons who were able to fight alongside him.

When Jorah separates from her and her handmaidens, the group wanders into a wineseller who is seemingly eager to impress the Khaleesi with a particular vintage. However, as she has been convinced to drink the wine, Jorah intervenes. It is quickly discovered that the wine is poisoned and that this was an assassination attempt. Jorah explains to her that that Robert Baratheon will never stop trying to kill her.

Once back at the tent, Drogo quickly arrives. He glares at the wineseller but immediately goes to Daenerys to be sure she’s unharmed. As a thanks to Jorah, he offers him any horse of his choosing before becoming enraged and shouting that his army will cross the “poison water” to take the Iron Throne for his son as punishment for their assassination attempt on his Khaleesi.

The next morning, the khalasar leaves Vaes Dothrak… the wine seller tied naked to the saddle of the Khaleesi’s horse, forced to walk until he collapse from exhaustion to be dragged to his death.

Khal Drogo wastes no time in making good on his promise to Daenerys. Almost immediately he begins the march of conquest towards the Narrow Sea. In order to afford the coming war, the Dothraki must raid villages and take people to sell into slavery to allow them the money they need to hire ships for their assault on Westeros. Despite this being explained to Daenerys, she is distraught at the aftermath of the raid on a village in Lhazar. She sees the Dothraki killing the villagers, raping their women, and she orders it to stop. The Dothraki grow angry, but Daenerys quickly claims all of the women she sees to protect them. Angry, the warriors make their complaints known to Khal Drogo. However, Drogo is amused by his Khaleesi’s boldness and allows her to keep her slaves, much to the frustration of the Dothraki.

Drogo is challenged by an offended warrior, Mago. He takes a wound to the chest in the midst of the fight but quickly kills Mago, silencing the complaints. Daenerys sees the wound he has received and insists that it be treated as she is concerned that it will become infected and fester. She allows a healer, Mirri Maz Duur, whom she rescued, to treat the wound despite Drogo’s bloodriders proclaiming her a maegi… a witch. Unbeknownst to Daenerys… this is the beginning of the end.

S1. E9. Baelor & S1. E10 Fire and Blood

Despite the help Daenerys has sought from Mirri, Drogo’s wound begins to fester. He keeps marching forward despite growing weaker and weaker while his Khaleesi watches on, concerned. Eventually, he is unable to remain upright on his horse and he falls to the ground. Daenerys understands how dangerous this makes the situation as a Khal who cannot ride, cannot rule. To buy Drogo time, she orders his bloodriders to make camp and claim that the command came from the Khal. She then orders that Mirri be brought to her.

Drogo is brought to his tent with Daenerys and Jorah arrives soon after, warning her that the khalasar is learning of Drogo’s fall. Distraught, Daenerys begs for Jorah’s help, begs him to help her save her husband. When there is none but the two of them, Jorah removes the covering of Drogo’s wound to reveal a deeply festered and rotted patch of flesh, leading him to declare that Drogo is as good as dead. He immediately urges Daenerys to flee, that the power struggle that will follow Drogo’s death will likely end in the winner killing Rhaego. Daenerys, however, refuses to leave Drogo’s side. Instead, she sends Jorah to fetch his armor to be sure he is prepared if something happens.

Once Jorah has left, she asks Mirri to save Drogo using blood magic. The witch warns her that death may be cleaner and that only death may pay for life. Though, once Daenerys is reassured that her life is not the one needed, she agrees to the ritual. Once the ritual begins, Daenerys is instructed to be sure that no one enters the tent during the ritual. As she leaves, a battle breaks out amongst the bloodriders and Daenerys’ Khas. Rhaego begins to kick and Daenerys falls to the ground as she goes into labor. The birthing women of the khalasar refuse to treat her until someone in the crowd suggests Mirri. Concerned for Daenerys, Jorah lifts her and carries her to the tent while she is too weak to protest.

Days later, she wakes with one of her dragon eggs in her arms. Something she had requested during one of her few waking moments between fever dreams. Jorah is there, having not left her side, and reveals to her that Rhaego was born dead and deformed, covered in scales. He also explains that most of the khalasar has gone, moved on, and left them behind. However, Drogo is alive.

She demands to see him. She is taken to a cliff where she finds Drogo in a catatonic state. When questioned about when he will become himself, she is told “When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.” In this moment, Daenerys realizes that the death of her son and husband is her fault as she is the one who invited Mirri into their Khalasar and asked her to treat him.

Miri is arrested and Drogo is taken to Daenerys’ tent. She spends the evening bathing him, speaking to him, and attempting to seduce him. But nothing works and she understands that he is no longer there, that though he breathes, Khal Drogo is gone. She kisses him one last time and, crying, smothers him with a pillow because she knows this is not the life he would want.

Daenerys and those who have remained with her build a funeral pyre for Drogo. She speaks to those left and tells them that they are welcome to leave if they would like but that those who stay, she will lead to a glorious future. She frees the slaves in her presence and asks that they stay among her as equals. Though some walk away, this does not deter her. She commands that Rakharo place her dragon eggs on the pyre and has Miri Maz Duur bound to a pillar in the midst of the pyre.

Concerned, Jorah approaches her, believing that she intends to take her own life. He begs her to reconsider this choice, tells her that they can take the eggs, sell them, and travel far away, proclaiming “I won’t watch you burn”. Daenerys grows quiet for a moment before softly responding “Is that what you fear?”. A kiss is placed to his cheek as the pyre is set aflame. Calmly, Daenerys turns and walks into the flames, quickly appearing to be consumed by them.

Come dawn, Jorah is the first to approach what is left of the pyre. Instead of her charred corpse, he finds Daenerys sitting among the embers with three newly-hatched dragons crawling over her. She is covered in ash, her clothes have been burnt away, but she is completely unarmed. At the sight, Jorah and the remaining Dothraki drop to kneel and swear their allegiance to Daenerys.

The Mother of Dragons is born.

#☾ *･ﾟ: * META ↳ ĸιnd people are ғorged ιn ғιre and darĸneѕѕ and ιмplodιng ѕтarѕ #rape // #pregnancy //

[katlyn1948]

Prompt reply:

@endlessreign asked: Dany tells Jon she is pregnant before they kiss, and he chooses her instead of killing her.

Well here ya go! I hope you enjoy! 

Dany sees the Iron Throne for the first time in her life. The stories her brother had told her was nothing compared to the real thing. For so long she had dreamt of one day sitting upon the throne, ruling all of the seven kingdoms. Now her dream was coming true.

 She walks slowly up the steps, inching her way to the throne. Her hand is outstretched, reaching to just touch the metal that was forged hundreds of years ago. Slowly her hand grasps the handle and it surprises her that it’s cold to the touch. Yet, beneath the cold iron of the forged swords she can feel the power that it possesses; the heat of the dragon flame that had created this work of art.

 She smiles, for she hears footsteps fall behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know it was her love of her life coming to claim the throne with her.

 “When I was a girl my brother told me it was made with 1000 swords from Aegon’s fallen enemies.” Dany turns to face Jon. Her eyes wide with wonder.

 “What do 1000 swords look like In the mind of a little girl who can’t count to 20?” She asks, not fully expecting an answer.

“I imagined a mountain of swords too high to climb. So many fallen enemies, you could only see the soles of Aegon’s feet.”

 Jon’s face turns cold, his eyes filled with sorrow. “I saw them executing Lannister prisoners in the street.”

 The anger was beginning to engulf the man. “They said they were acting on your orders.

 “It was necessary.” She says calmly, although her face hints sadness.

 Jon was still visibly upset. His eyes were racing with emotion. How could she think this devastation was necessary?

 “Necessary!?” He pauses, shaking in head in disbelief. “Have you been down there? Have you seen? Children, little children, burned!”

 Dany’s eyebrows raise is surprise, she hadn’t expected this reaction. She tries to keep a calm face, trying to make Jon understand why she did she did it.

 “I tried to make peace with Cersei. She used their innocence as a weapon against me. She thought it would cripple me.”

 “And Tyrion?” He asked her.

 Dany walks closer to Jon. Her face faltered, showing the hurt for her Lord Hand.

 “He conspired behind my back with my enemies.” She stopped, giving him a questioning look. “How have you treated people who’ve done the same to you, even when it broke your heart?”

 “Forgive him.” Jon looks down, pleading for the man’s life.

 Dany takes a shaky breath, “I can’t.”

 “You can. You can forgive all of them, make them see they made a mistake. Make them understand.” Jon pleads again.

 Dany takes a moment. Jon can see her face and it seems that she was trying to contemplate her decisions. Everything that she’d had been through had influenced her decision on King’s Landing; on trying to break the wheel. But had it been right?

 “Please, Dany.” Jon pleaded once more.

 Dany looks up at Jon. His face is full of sadness and confusion. There standing in front of her was man beginning to break. And she was breaking him.

 She walks to him, placing a soft hand on his chest. “We can’t hide behind small mercies. The world we need won’t be built by men loyal to the world we have.”

 “The world we need is a world of mercy. It has to be. Without it we are no better than the Cersei’s or Ramsey’s of this world.” Jon was trying to make her understand. He wanted her to see that she was becoming the very thing she was trying to prevent.

 Dany’s eyes went wide at the subtle accusations. She hadn’t thought about what she was becoming. She had been merciful, once upon a time ago. But now she was no better than the woman she crushed beneath the Red Keep.

 “You’re right. The world needs mercy and I know it’s not easy to see something that’s never been before. A good world.” Dany looks longing into his eyes. She wants to tell him that everything will be alright, that everything will be better.

 “How do you know?” He asks her. “How do you know it’ll be good?”

 She gives him a small smile, “Because I know what is good. And so do you.”

 Jon sucks in a sharp breath, his head shaking in disagreement. “I don’t.”

 Dany pulls him close, “You do. You do. You’ve always known.”

 “What about everyone else? He was testing her; pleading with her to see that she made a mistake. “All the other people who think they know what’s good.”

 Dany could see the hurt in his eyes. She wanted to give him they answer that she knew he wanted, but she couldn’t, because she had not only herself to think of and protect, but also the unborn babe growing in her womb.

 “They don’t get to choose.” Jon caresses Dany’s face and he squeezes his eyes shut. He can fell the dagger in his other hand. He didn’t want to do it, but he had to.

 Dany pulls Jon’s hand from her face and places it on the small swell between her hips. “Be with me. Be with us.”  

 Jon’s eyes shoot open. He looks down to see his hand on her stomach. The dagger in his hand became heavy. This woman that had caused so much destruction was carrying his child. A child that he helped create. He could no longer do what Tyrion had asked him to do. He could no longer kill the love of his life while she was with their babe.

 “Build the new world with me. This is our reason.” She said as she grasped his hand that was still on her abdomen. “It has been from the beginning, since you were a little boy with a bastard’s name and I was a little girl who couldn’t count to 20. We do it together, as just rulers. As husband and wife. We break the wheel together, so that our unborn babe will now justice.”

 Jon stared at Dany with loving eyes. At that instant, all that she had done no longer mattered. He now understood what she was doing. Everything she had done was to protect their child. He sheathed the dagger just as swiftly and quietly as he did when he was ready to plunge it into her heart.

 Jon grabbed Dany’s face and looked at her with more love than he could possible imagine. “You are my queen, my love, my partner. Now, always, and forever. We will do what we have to so that our child can grow up in a world that will not oppress it.”

 Dany lets out a small sob and Jon captures her lips. He kisses her with all the passion he could muster, never wanting to let her go. The two stayed in the throne room, never letting the other go.

#jonerys #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #fix it #writing prompt #give me prompts #got #jon does not kill dany #got s8

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

princess alysanne of house targaryen

the miracle princess, the light of the realm

the eldest child of queen daenerys and king aegon VI 

the waves have come

ao3

the twilight is falling, lamps will soon go on and where did summer go i will never know summer used to last endlessly children all in white, running down the sand to me playing hide and seek kisses on the cheek

Upon birth, they called her The Light of The Realm, The Miracle Princess. It is told, that when her father carried her in his arms down the grand steps of the Red Keep to show her to highborn and common folk alike, the clouds parted, the sky itself opened and sunlight came streaming down to touch her soft baby hair, bleaching them into the lightest shade of gold.

It is told that she is blessed by Seven themselves, that her path is meant to be paved with greatness suppressing even that of her ancestors.

But these are just stories.

*

On the morning of her wedding day, she wakes up before dawn and lays awake in her bed for hours, watching as the sun slowly, almost lazily, rises above the horizon.

Light sparkles on the waters of Blackwater Bay and all of the ships in the harbor emerge from the shadows, with their flags of all the colors of the rainbow;  all of the noble houses and all of the cities and all of the kingdoms that maesters can name.

Except not all, because the scene could not be more foreign to her eyes.

There are no silver direwolves of Starks, nor golden stags of Baratheons.

And instead of a three-headed scarlet dragon curled around a white wolf – the sigil of her House, her sigil, the one she used to wear on her clothes and jewelry (the broth on her furs, the embroidery on her night clothes, the banner hanging behind her back) – there is only an one-headed, brown dragon on a dark background, entwined with a golden griffin.

Weeping or cursing would probably ease the knot of her insides a little and she wants to weep so badly, but she cannot even cry anymore. Her tears must have long formed a river and fallen down the sea, for her eyes remain dry and her insides are burning from a fire she doesn’t know how to put down.

Her maids come in not long after sunrise to get her ready; they flock around her like hummingbirds, nervously chatting about what a beautiful day it is and how beautiful her dress is and how beautiful she is. Their hands are shaking and their cheeks are pale. They are avoiding her gaze altogether, refusing to look her in the eyes.  All - but her cousin Cat, with her beautiful golden-red hair down in a Northern manner and face painted with steel defiance.

She is not tweeting, is not twitching, is not trembling.

This one’s not broken yet, she thinks, feeling a sudden surge of warmth blooming in her chest, and gently squeezes Cat’s hand as she helps her do the laces on the front of the dress.

As they adorn her hair with white roses, she wonders where Lyanna is.  Is she still across the Narrow Sea with Gill? There are only two paths for her sweet sister now, both depending on the answer to this question. If so, they will keep each other safe. If not, she’s lost. Lyanna is many things, but she always had much more honor in her heart than wit in her pretty dark head. She would want to come back, even if it means nothing, just another dead Targaryen or just another broodmare to sell off to a traitor. But Argella’s smart. She knows there is nothing left for them in Westeros.

Lya, mother and father are dead. – she thinks hard, as hard as she can. Maybe she can send her thoughts to Volantis somehow, someday. – Benjen is dead. The dragons are dead. Ghost is dead. And I am dead also. Don’t come back, save yourself. Save Argella, her name is gone, her House is gone.

She closes her eyes and she sees it, sees as vividly as if she truly was there to witness Aegon’s second brutal strike on Seven Kingdoms;  Storm’s End turned into another Harenhall, her aunt, uncle and cousins burned alive by the monstrous brown dragon; turned into living torches, screaming in agony, their skin peeling off and their meat falling from their charred bones.  She has seen people die this way before; she knows how it smells.  Her youngest cousin was just a babe.

House Baratheon, gone once more.

All she can do is hope that they didn’t suffer for too long. The beast fell from the sky like a giant cloud, in the middle of the night, so maybe they didn’t even register what was going on before the Stranger took them. What an irony, for her aunt and uncle, the fighters blessed by the Warrior himself, to go into the darkness like that.

A familiar shriek pierces the air as they rouge her cheeks and for a moment or two she thinks she is going to faint. Swatting handmaidens away, she comes closer to the window to look at the courtyard outside – and her blood boils instantly in her veins.  Her knuckles turn white as she grabs onto the frames and leans outside, as far as she can.

Quicksilver is right below her tower and wailing sadly, neck stretched out towards her, her amber eyes flickering. Her very soul aches at her sight. What has become of her magnificent dragon? Chained to the ground like a goat, her silvery scales matted by dried up blood and soot, her wings pierced through so that she wouldn’t be able to fly – her,  this creature made for soaring through the clouds. She looks pitiful.

The dragon shrieks again, tremble running through her body and her tail swishing. She keeps her eyes fixed on her and she suddenly realizes she’s half-hanging from the window. Wind plays with her hair.

She could jump, if she wanted to.

She could jump and spare herself all the pain and suffering that she feels.

Maybe that would be the ultimate punishment for the man that butchered her entire family; to deny him her hand, her cunt, her womb. She thinks she would look beautiful falling down from the tower, with white roses in her hair and her golden wedding gown flying around her. She would look like a stray sunray, or a falling star. People would talk about her suicide for ages to come.

And she would be the end of House Targaryen, the end of her family line, the end of her parents dreams of a better world.  Would doom Seven Kingdoms for decades of tyranny and suffering.

This is not how she was brought up.

She is The Miracle Princess, The Light of The Realm, Princess Alysanne of House Targaryen, the eldest child of Queen Daenerys and King Aegon VI. The Heir to the Iron Throne.  She knows her duty well.

She glances on the Quicksilver once again, looks her into the eyes. They blink in unison, the girl and the dragon. We must endure it, my sweet.

With a deep breath, she turns away and goes back to her now-silent maids, lets them finish her make-up and swaddle her in lace and burgundy.  Cat kisses her cheek before they leave the chambers and she kisses her back.

And with her head held high, she descends the grand steps of The Red Keep; alone this time, on a way to marry the man that stole her birthright.

The clouds have gathered and there is no sun.

*

Her maiden clock sweeps the floor behind her and, in the drowning silence, she can almost hear that sound ermine fur makes against the stone.

There are more people gathered in the Dragonpit that she has ever seen in her life and she is sure that there are even more outside on the street; rich and poor, crammed and desperate to steal even a glance of the wedding of their Princess to the foreign invader.  And yet, seemingly no one utters a word. She can hear the breeze formed by their collective intake of breath as she enters the  Pit, but no cheers, no loud gasps, nothing.

She glances at the stands. People have solemn faces. Women have tears on their cheeks.

The price we pay for peace is grand indeed, their eyes say, the eyes of remaining Lords and Ladies of Westeros, watching as she sells herself off without a word. For the Dance of Dragons would ruin the prosperity they already got used to. For the War of Five Kings and The Long Night defiled the kingdom enough for this silent vow of non-aggression to take root.

The Last War, that’s how people titled the war between her parents and Queen Cersei. And oh, they turned out right, cause when so-called Prince Aegon fell upon the Summerhall on a dragon bigger than Hill of Rhaenys and feed the ground with the blood of Targaryens once again and then burned Storm’s End to the ashes, no banners marched against him.

None – but the Starks.

With each step, she recalls a name and with a name, she recalls a face, and with a face, she recalls all the love that they have given her through the years.

Arya. Gendry. Eddard. Durran. Beric. Nymeria.

Sansa. Robert. Jaime.

Brienne.

Her mother. Her father. Benjen. Drogon. Rheagal. Dusk. Ghost.

All dead.

Joanna. Cat.

Enslaved.

Argella. Lyanna.

Lost.

Somewhere in the distance, Quicksilver wails.

The man who calls himself her cousin stands in front of the High Septon, clad in browns and golds of his banners. His dark eyes watch her hungrily, as she nears closer and closer. When he reaches out a hand to her, she takes it, lets him pull her up on the podium, lets him drink her in. Her breasts, her face, her lips.

Stone, that’s what my skin is. Solid stone.

She realizes, with a flash of recognition, that she’s standing in the exact same spot where Rheagar used to lay, her wing covering three beautiful eggs, shining brighter than the brightest jewels in her mother’s collection.

She was six at that time, six and enchanted.

“Pick the one that sings to you” mother whispered into her ear and she did. The egg that she brought to her bedchambers that day was silver speckled with gold, warm to the touch.  Within a fortnight,  her dragon hatched, tiny and perfect.

She feels nothing, nothing at all.

When she was a child, she used to have terrible night terrors that no sleeping potion could keep away and no maester could cure. So her mother has taken  to staying up all night with her, singing her lullabies in foreign languages and stroking her hair to soothe her; in the morning, they would wear the same shade of purple underneath their eyes as in their irises.

Her mother seemed so distant at times, like a goddess or a marble statue. The myth came alive. But this is when Alysanne loved her most, in those quiet, strange hours in between dusk and dawn. This is how she remembers her best; when she was stripped out of titles and honorifics and crowns. In a simple nightgown, with her hair down and smelling like lavender and lemons, her mother was the most beautiful woman that has ever lived and that was ever gonna live.

That was all she has ever wanted, to be exactly like her.

Her lips move, forming words, but she cannot even hear her own voice.  

“Be good, Alys.” Her father told her, when he was leaving to Summerhall for the last time, when she saw her parents for the last time. It was a lovely spring morning, bathed in dew and smelling like fresh starts. They were standing near the stables and he held his hands in hers, that’s what she remembers. “We’re leaving it all for you to handle. I know it’s a lot. But everything will be fine, I promise. “

He kissed her forehead then, lightly and smiled at her.

“You are so good. Never forget that, my sweet.”

She watched as they rode away, tiara heavy on her head.

Aegon’s lips are dry and cold on hers. It barely feels like kissing a man; more like kissing a sword or a dagger, like swearing fealty. He reaches for the crown – definitely new, as she has never seen it before, this circle of gold and moonstones – and places it gently on her head.

She keeps her eyes fixed on the left, where Dragonbinder rests on velvet cushions; it’s dark gleam calls to her. What would happen if she, the true Targaryen, was to blow it?

Dusk was a playful dragon, with a somehow mischevious glint in his eyes, matching the one in his brother’s.  It was a colorful stain on the blue sky, pinkish-red dot twisting in acrobatic figures that would make her mother gasp and press her hand to her heart in fear.

Benjen would just laugh, landing on the ground with grace and patting his dragon’s side like it was a horse.  She has never seen him afraid, as long as he lived. He had so much fire within him that she was sometimes almost jealous of it, but now she’s just grateful. Maybe if she was a bigger dragon she would find another way than this, but she would probably just die trying.

Because Benjen would not go down without fighting.

“Long live the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” the herald announces and the crowd followed suit, obliging the unspoken command.  But there are no cheers, as the Usurper leads her down the stairs and out of the Dragon Pit. Only silence on the streets, only the wall of people with their mouths shut closed. Even Aegon’s loyal men stay quiet and for that, she starts to wonder how she looks like, what kind of expression is painted on her face.

From up high, she can see it in the distance.

With its scales of the color of the mud, it stands out against the lush greenery outside Kings Landing’s walls. It’s so enormous her mind can hardly register its full size, makes her head spin. She wonders briefly if it is how big Balerion The Black Dread got before it died. But Sheepstealer is no Balerion. He is a wild dragon still, bound to Aegon by the power of Horn alone. He does not respond to his master’s feeling, doesn’t share his pain. Doesn’t even raise his head up, deep in his slumber.

A being so old and ancient, asleep for so long until the scream of the Horn woke it up.

Maybe he wants for it all to end too.

She would love to hate this dragon but she cannot. A dragon’s not a slave, but the bond you have transcends our understanding. It wants what you want, loves who you love and hates who you hate. Its nature is fire and blood, and you cannot change it even if you wanted. The only thing you can change is yourself.

Three dragons of House Targaryen against one ancient beast that remembers the times of her namesake and that has spent last century or so sleeping in the mountains below Dragonstone. Sheepsteeler’s eyes were as big as Dusk, for gods sake. The odds were decided before they even had a chance to dance.

Alysanne has learned how to be a Queen in the summertime of peace; how to bring happiness and prosperity to her people, how to keep lands flourishing, Lords and Ladies appeased, and common folk warm and full. She is good at that, she is good, she is good, like the Silver Queen Daenerys I before her, like the Good Queen Alysanne even before.  People love her.

Summerhall was a gift of her father to her mother, for their tenth anniversary. A small, elegant castle with red oak doors and lemon trees planted around it. Impossible to defend, really.

But it was so liberating for them to be there, to leave the crowns and titles in King’s Landing and do nothing but bathe in the lake and lounge in the sun all day, sing songs and talk all night. Her aunt and uncle would often come from Storm’s End and she, her siblings and cousins would run on the lush hills; dressed in white and carefree.  

Summerhall was her parents' small kisses, exchanged when they thought nobody was looking. Was her brother's laughter and her cousins’ freckled faces. Summerhall was happiness that no one could ever take ever from her.

“We are going to build a new world.” Her husband whispers in her ear after the bedding, laying next to her and playing with locks of her golden hair. Her blood dries on her tights. “I will be your Jaehaerys and you will be my Alysanne, my Queen.”

He kisses her neck. She closes her eyes.

“My good girl”, her father said, kissing her temple tenderly, just before she rode Quicksilver for the first time.

“Family, duty, hour”, Cat said, clutching her hands and wiping away her tears, two lost girls locked in the same cell.

“We’ll see each other soon, sweet sister,” Lyanna said in the harbor, holding Argella Baratheon’s hand and beaming. “And we will have so much to catch up on.”

“You have a name after the greatest queen in the Westeros’ history.” Her mother said late at night, amongst quite whispers of burning candles. “And I am sure you will prove to be worthy of it, my daughter, my miracle.”

“To rule is to serve.” Her parents said, with their bloodshot-eyes and tired voices, with their trembling hands and post-war terrors still plaguing their minds. The greatest people she has ever met.

*

It is said that the sky itself opened after the wedding of King Aegon VII and Queen Alysanne and wept with rain for the poor princess and her fate.  It is said that it rained and rained and rained for so long and so hard that Queen’s dragon, unable to fly, drowned chained in the all the water.

But these are just stories.

#asoiaf #got #got au #asoiaf au #got fanfiction #asoiaf fanfiction #jonerys #jonerys fanfiction #jonerys au

[joannalannister]

hi, fisrt i would like to say that i love your blog, its very informative and your metas are excellent. i was recently reading some of cersei's chapters and she constantly references wanting to be jaime and hating being a woman, or how much better she would be at being tywin's son than her brothers, and it got me wondering, do you think its possible that cersei is trans? or is it just that she sees herself as "tywin with teats" and resents the gendered limitations of being a woman?

I personally don’t interpret Cersei as transgender, but I know that other people do and I think that’s also a valid interpretation. 

When I say “valid interpretation” I mean “this interpretation does not explicitly contradict the text as it is written.” For example, saying Jon Snow has blue eyes directly contradicts what GRRM wrote and such a statement isn’t valid. 

The way I was trained in literary analysis / criticism was to treat the text as my Bible, and to give paramount importance to whatever is actually written in the text. (tbh this might be why it’s so difficult for me and feels so disrespectful when I condemn certain aspects of ASOIAF … almost as if it’s sacrilegious.) “Text-as-Bible” is why I’m usually throwing large chunks of text at people whenever I’m interrogating a text, and from that I identify themes and narrative structure and all that jazz.

However, people often look at the same chunk of text and interpret it in many different ways. Interpretations of stories are ultimately very personal, and a single story can have many valid interpretations. For example, some readers interpret the character Jay Gatsby as a white-passing black man, while other readers don’t; I think both interpretations are cool, and both add to the cornucopia of meta-textual commentary surrounding The Great Gatsby. 

Bringing it back to ASOIAF, when I read Cersei’s chapters, I never interpreted Cersei’s dissatisfaction and anger and unhappiness as being directed at her own body / at herself. In my opinion, she seemed rather disparaging of the male body, hurling criticisms likes stones from a trebuchet about how ~men think with their cocks~ and therefore aren’t as dangerous as she. 

“Perhaps I’m dangerous too. You, on the other hand, are as big a fool as every other man. That worm between your legs does half your thinking.”

She thinks men are fools. This didn’t come across to me as someone who wanted to be a man. It came across as a woman who wanted to be taken as seriously as men, and to be seen as just as dangerous, imo. (Even fandom dismisses Cersei as unintelligent, which I don’t think is the case.)

Cersei seems to take pleasure in her sex:

Cersei found herself remembering all the times that Jaime had knelt where she was kneeling now, planting kisses on the inside of her thighs, making her wet. His kisses were always warm. The razor was ice-cold. When the deed was done she was as naked and vulnerable as a woman could be. 

To me, it seems that Cersei equates womanhood with vulnerability, and it’s vulnerability that Lannisters hate and try to guard themselves against. (see also: Tyrion’s ”wear it like armor,” Jaime’s caustic comments as cutting as his sword, Tywin’s entire existence, and the ancestral Lannister stronghold as a giant invincible rock - there’s a big anti-vulnerability theme here.) So I don’t think it’s being a woman that Cersei hates, it’s her position in society as a woman, assumed to be weak, vulnerable, undervalued, unintelligent, non-threatening etc. 

Also, I think Cersei takes great pleasure in having Jaime’s babies, in being a mother to them, and nursing them at her breast:

It is beautiful, she thought, as beautiful as Joffrey, when they laid him in my arms. No man had ever made her feel as good as she had felt when he took her nipple in his mouth to nurse.

That didn’t suggest to me that Cersei was angry/resentful/uncomfortable in her body.  

Even as a child, when Cersei dressed as a boy, it was because of how she was treated so differently, not because she expressed a desire to be a boy:

Though he was ten years her junior, he wanted her; Cersei could see it in the way he looked at her. Men had been looking at her that way since her breasts began to bud. Because I was so beautiful, they said, but Jaime was beautiful as well, and they never looked at him that way. When she was small she would sometimes don her brother’s clothing as a lark. She was always startled by how differently men treated her when they thought that she was Jaime. Even Lord Tywin himself …

She resents the way that grown men sexualized her pre-teen* body (and everything that went with that), but it doesn’t seem to me like she was upset with her body in and of itself? And she was “always startled” that everyone treated her differently even tho she and Jaime were the same, identical, “alike as two peas in a pod … well, except between the legs.”

 (This clothes switching probably would have been before she was even a teenager, because Jaime was then sent to Crakehall to be fostered.)

So to me, Cersei’s issues are external, derived from how society views her and treats her and dismisses her, rather than internal issues of self identity. Like, for me, Cersei has a very firm, very strong idea of self - she knows who she is, or at least she knows who she thinks she is. (Cersei would do very well in GRRM’s short story, “The Glass Flower”. tbh, now that I think about it, the narrator of the Glass Flower might be a precursor to Cersei; I have to give this more thought hmm.) 

But yeah, I think Cersei’s problems are with society, and how a misogynistic society treats her unfairly as a woman.

Like, think about the FeastDance, how AFFC and ADWD were originally supposed to be one volume, and how GRRM bookends Cersei’s narrative:

Cersei I, AFFC (first Cersei chapter):

She dreamt she sat the Iron Throne, high above them all.

The courtiers were brightly colored mice below. Great lords and proud ladies knelt before her. Bold young knights laid their swords at her feet and pleaded for her favors, and the queen smiled down at them. Until the dwarf appeared as if from nowhere, pointing at her and howling with laughter. The lords and ladies began to chuckle too, hiding their smiles behind their hands. Only then did the queen realize she was naked.

Horrified, she tried to cover herself with her hands. The barbs and blades of the Iron Throne bit into her flesh as she crouched to hide her shame. Blood ran red down her legs, as steel teeth gnawed at her buttocks. When she tried to stand, her foot slipped through a gap in the twisted metal. The more she struggled the more the throne engulfed her, tearing chunks of flesh from her breasts and belly, slicing at her arms and legs until they were slick and red, glistening.

vs 

Cersei II, ADWD (last Cersei chapter)

When the deed was done she was as naked and vulnerable as a woman could be. 

a smear of grease and blood down her thigh.

Halfway down Visenya’s Hill the queen fell for the first time, when her foot slipped in something that might have been nightsoil. When Septa Unella pulled her up, her knee was scraped and bloody. A ragged laugh rippled through the crowd

Her heel came down on something sharp, a stone or piece of broken crockery. Cersei cried out in pain.

They were at the foot of Aegon’s High Hill, the castle above them. [high above them all, where Cersei is at the end of ADWD]

Cersei’s AFFC dream comes true at the end of ADWD. 

In the dream, it’s not that she dreams of being a man, it’s that she dreams of power, of strength (Tywin’s kind of strength), of respect. We talk about a lot of irreconcilable desires w/r/t the FeastDance, but I’ve never seen anybody talk about Cersei’s irreconcilable desires, namely to hold Tywin’s kind of power and to be a woman. 

Look at the AFFC dream again. Look at it. Look at the blood running down her legs (strongly associated with womanhood in Westeros - see Sansa’s pov). Look at how the throne attacks Cersei’s breasts, butt, and her stomach/womb. “the more she struggled the more the throne engulfed her” - the more a woman fights gender norms in Westeros, the more she is beaten down, berated, shamed, engulfed by societal expectations. Her foot slips on the throne – maybe this sounds fake deep but it’s a metaphor for the uneasy path Cersei must walk, trying to balance her womanhood with her desire to rule, something that Westeros will not permit her to do. 

So that’s why I personally interpreted Cersei’s story as a woman who resents the gendered limitations of Westeros. 

Also, on a different note, Cersei is such a violent, abusive murderer. There are many harmful, negative stereotypes about transgender people being violent or abusive or w/e, and these stereotypes are totally wrong, and I have no desire to perpetuate these negative stereotypes in any way, so that’s another reason why I personally don’t feel comfortable labeling Cersei as trans. 

However, as I said in the beginning, I think opposing interpretations are also valid! It might be better to get the perspective of someone who is transgender to answer this question. I would love to hear other interpretations! 

Whatever you interpret her as, Cersei is at the crux of a very interesting discussion of sex and gender and gender identity in ASOIAF.

There are some posts on @asoiafuniversity about Cersei being trans that might be of interest to you:

Discussion of Cersei, Brienne, and genderqueerness

Further discussion

“Musings on Cersei”

Discussions outside of tumblr:

(Reddit) “Is Cersei trans?”

(Westeros.org) “Absence of transgender characters?”

(Westeros.org) “Sympathy for the devil? Cersei and gender”

#gabsarc #replies #lgbt in westeros #lannister thoughts #affc #adwd #cersei meta #cersei lannister #high above them all #Thank you for the kind words! #trans #transgender

[rhegar]

You guys know I love Rhaegar (and as the great Gordon Ramsay once said, sue me) but I also acknowledge fully how much he fucked up. Very recently, in fact only after a conversation I had with @scullylikesscience about him, I conjured up an almost-perfect plan with which he could have conceived The Prince that Was Promised with Lyanna, without 95% of the shitty repercussions that ensued after what he actually did + she wouldn’t be underage, and it would be completely consensual without a shadow of doubt. Of course it’s not fully moral but then again neither was what he did... this one costs less lives anyways. (Tw:Rape, dubious consent, cheating)

(Disclaimer: please note that this entire post is written with the assumption that Rhaegar felt that conceiving such a child is an absolute necessity. If you want to argue that Rhaegar was stupid to believe so and why prophecy is bullshit, this post isn’t for you. This post was written with the intention to conjure up a better way to fulfill the prophecy, no more, no less. I’m not going to enter any arguments about why Rhaegar wanted to fulfill said prophecy to begin with. I’m not saying that it’s okay how much Rhaegar was dead-set on conceiving a child who would allegedly save the world, I’m saying that he could have come up with a better plan to do so. I also, as previously stated, don’t think this plan is 100% moral, and I do think some of the things Rhaegar has to do to fulfill it are shitty, but it’s still more moral and has way less collateral than what he did in canon)

1. Lyanna is set to marry Robert Baratheon. Good. Let it happen. 

2. Wait until the marriage is done, consummated and all. Lyanna would probably be about 17/18 by now. Maybe even older (depends on when they planned to get married)

3. You’re the crown prince of Westeros and you have a shitton of strings between your fingers. Wait a year or so post-marriage, Pull a couple. Stage a perfect accident where Robert passes away very tragically while hunting (if Cersei did it, so can you)

4. Now Stannis becomes Lord of the Stormlands if Lyanna doesn’t give birth to a boy. If she does, all the better. That ensures that she stays in the Stormlands where she’s pretty close to Dragonstone. That makes meeting up easier.

6. If Lyanna was still carrying Robert’s baby, wait until she gives birth to it. Pregnant or not, wait until Lyanna is at least a couple years older than she was when she married Robert. She’s figured out her plans for life. Now start writing her letters. Try to get her sexually attracted to you, but keep her informed. Tell her about your motives and your desire to have a third child while Elia can’t (but don’t be a douche about Elia in the letters. Not only is that wrong, it’s likely to turn Lyanna all the way off) and assure her that if she does consent to having a child with you, you guarantee her protection and the protection of said child.

7. Lyanna is now likely around 19/20. Understand, she’s likely to be just trying to get over the death of her husband, or even have a purely sexual attraction. That’s good. There’s a small chance that she actually likes you; she hasn’t met you very many times. Try to eliminate that chance, otherwise she’s going to be heartbroken eventually. Whatever the case, she’s now older and more capable of understanding her feelings and making decisions. Arrange a super-secret romantic getaway. Do the deed.  

8. Lyanna gets pregnant if she chooses to. Wherever she is, she is going to be dishonored but not physically harmed. She’s still the daughter of a lord and the widow of a lord (and maybe even the mother of one), she has good healthcare to carry the pregnancy and birth to terms, there are maesters waiting on her, she’s a lot less likely to die of complications than she was in a remote tower in the middle of the desert without healthcare to speak of, not to mention she’s now older and stronger. Now she is there to raise your baby, and also most likely to keep the identity of the father a secret to protect him/her from the wrath of the other Targaryens. Even if genetics give them some uncanny Targaryen features, she will try her best to hide them like JonCon did with Young Griff. Stay on good terms with Lyanna because 1. She’s the mother of your baby 2. Whether we like it or not, she still is a woman who went against a very sexist society and could use some compassion and the protection of someone powerful 3. She’s a human being who deserves respect. Don’t be a jerk. 4. If she has real feelings for you, be gracious. 

9. Congratulations! Now you have the child who is the son/daughter of Ice and Fire. And the bonus is, very few people died in the process (only Robert but he was an asshole anyways)

Let’s start with the cons of this plan, and the arguments that make those cons more tolerable than what happened in canon.

1. Lyanna is still used for her body and taken advantage of. I totally understand that. However, if it seems inevitable for her to be used for her womb by Rhaegar, at least her consent is now informed (except for Rhaegar killing her husband... no one should know about that shit for obvious reasons) and she is of age. Not to mention the circumstances are now not rape-y (she isn’t in a remote place surrounded by Rhaegar’s sword-wielding bffs and imprisoned... she’s now free to go, informed, and, like I previously mentioned, of age) She’s more capable both physically and mentally. She’s likely to live safely and happily with her child.

2. Elia still gets cheated on. Again, if it was inevitable that Rhaegar *must* have a child with Lyanna, at least in this case, Elia was not publicly humiliated as the affair would remain a secret, and her safety and the safety of her children would not be compromised whatsoever. 

3. Robert gets killed. Well this is the ASOIAF universe still, and just because this is a plan with way less collateral doesn’t mean it’s going to be collateral-free. 

4. I don’t believe Lyanna would seek a crown for her child, but if this child turns out to be a boy and she chooses to tell this child eventually who his father is, they might seek it for themselves, causing a civil war. This is controllable by ensuring that Lyanna feels that her child is safe and happy enough without knowing that his father is a king. She’s not going to feel the need to tell him if he is happy enough as is, and telling him may bring a lot of risk. If the child is a girl, telling her would be useless because not many would support her claim to the throne. 

5. Aerys lives. Fuck Aerys. Something must be done about him and his burning fetish, but this post is not about that. 

Pros:

1. Lyanna lives. Elia lives. Aegon and Rhaenys live. Westeros gets a king who has legitimate children with his queen wife and way less risk of civil war. Generally a wiser and better king than Robert. Daenerys and Viserys also live a safe and happy life.

2. Brandon and Rickard live.`Arthur and the rest of the Kingsguard live. A shitton of men who died in Robert’s Rebellion live. The realm is relatively stable and strong with a powerful Targaryen dynasty, and prepared for the upcoming winter and ice-zombie apocalypse. 

Let me now rant for the record that I think if I, a 22-year-old blogger from the 21st century with an average IQ can come up with this plan, Rhaegar definitely should have been able to, but for some reason or the other, he fucked up royally (no pun intended)

Now this opens some other discussions: would the dragons, a likely turning factor in the War for the Dawn 2.0, still exist in this scenario? Would Lyanna’s child still go to the wall if it’s a boy? Would the child not being at the wall affect their impact in the WftD 2.0 as the supposed PTWP? Only god knows.

There’s also the argument that this plan isn’t fail-proof, as it relies completely on Lyanna’s consent and if she doesn’t consent, it was all for nothing. Well I’d rather the child’s conception is dubious but surely to come through full consent, than it being insured but coming through dubious consent (AKA, possible rape)

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #pre-asoiaf #rhaegar targaryen

[readbookywooks]

Daenerys

Her brother held the gown up for her inspection. "This is beauty. Touch it. Go on. Caress the fabric."

Dany touched it. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through her fingers like water. She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She pulled her hand away. "Is it really mine?"

"A gift from the Magister Illyrio," Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high mood tonight. "The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised. Tonight you must look like a princess."

A princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never really known. "Why does he give us so much?" she asked. "What does he want from us?" For nigh on half a year, they had lived in the magister's house, eating his food, pampered by his servants. Dany was thirteen, old enough to know that such gifts seldom come without their price, here in the free city of Pentos.

"Illyrio is no fool," Viserys said. He was a gaunt young man with nervous hands and a feverish look in his pale lilac eyes. "The magister knows that I will not forget my friends when I come into my throne."

Dany said nothing. Magister Illyrio was a dealer in spices, gemstones, dragonbone, and other, less savory things. He had friends in all of the Nine Free Cities, it was said, and even beyond, in Vaes Dothrak and the fabled lands beside the JadeSea. It was also said that he'd never had a friend he wouldn't cheerfully sell for the right price. Dany listened to the talk in the streets, and she heard these things, but she knew better than to question her brother when he wove his webs of dream. His anger was a terrible thing when roused. Viserys called it "waking the dragon."

Her brother hung the gown beside the door. "Illyrio will send the slaves to bathe you. Be sure you wash off the stink of the stables. Khal Drogo has a thousand horses, tonight he looks for a different sort of mount." He studied her critically. "You still slouch. Straighten yourself" He pushed back her shoulders with his hands. "Let them see that you have a woman's shape now." His fingers brushed lightly over her budding breasts and tightened on a nipple. "You will not fail me tonight. If you do, it will go hard for you. You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?" His fingers twisted her, the pinch cruelly hard through the rough fabric of her tunic. "Do you?" he repeated.

"No," Dany said meekly.

Her brother smiled. "Good." He touched her hair, almost with affection. "When they write the history of my reign, sweet sister, they will say that it began tonight."

When he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo's manse.

Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahli, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the SunsetKingdoms. Her brother had a simpler name. "Our land," he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. "Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers."

And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this land her brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were just words to her. Viserys had been a boy of eight when they fled King's Landing to escape the advancing armies of the Usurper, but Daenerys had been only a quickening in their mother's womb.

Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories. The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship's black sails. Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved. The sack of King's Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper's dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar's heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father's throat with a golden sword.

She had been born on Dragonstone nine moons after their flight, while a raging summer storm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. They said that storm was terrible. The Targaryen fleet was smashed while it lay at anchor, and huge stone blocks were ripped from the parapets and sent hurtling into the wild waters of the narrow sea. Her mother had died birthing her, and for that her brother Viserys had never forgiven her.

She did not remember Dragonstone either. They had run again, just before the Usurper's brother set sail with his new-built fleet. By then only Dragonstone itself, the ancient seat of their House, had remained of the Seven Kingdoms that had once been theirs. It would not remain for long. The garrison had been prepared to sell them to the Usurper, but one night Ser Willem Darry and four loyal men had broken into the nursery and stolen them both, along with her wet nurse, and set sail under cover of darkness for the safety of the Braavosian coast.

She remembered Ser Willem dimly, a great grey bear of a man, half-blind, roaring and bellowing orders from his sickbed. The servants had lived in terror of him, but he had always been kind to Dany. He called her "Little Princess" and sometimes "My Lady," and his hands were soft as old leather. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of sickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever.

They had wandered since then, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and on to Qohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place. Her brother would not allow it. The Usurper's hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one.

At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother's crown had gone. In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called her brother "the beggar king." Dany did not want to know what they called her.

"We will have it all back someday, sweet sister," he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. "The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King's Landing, the Iron Throne and the SevenKingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back." Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

There came a soft knock on her door. "Come," Dany said, turning away from the window. Illyrio's servants entered, bowed, and set about their business. They were slaves, a gift from one of the magister's many Dothraki friends. There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves. The old woman, small and grey as a mouse, never said a word, but the girl made up for it. She was Illyrio's favorite, a fair-haired, blue-eyed wench of sixteen who chattered constantly as she worked.

They filled her bath with hot water brought up from the kitchen and scented it with fragrant oils. The girl pulled the rough cotton tunic over Dany's head and helped her into the tub. The water was scalding hot, but Daenerys did not flinch or cry out. She liked the heat. It made her feel clean. Besides, her brother had often told her that it was never too hot for a Targaryen. "Ours is the house of the dragon," he would say. "The fire is in our blood."

The old woman washed her long, silver-pale hair and gently combed out the snags, all in silence. The girl scrubbed her back and her feet and told her how lucky she was. "Drogo is so rich that even his slaves wear golden collars. A hundred thousand men ride in his khalasar, and his palace in Vaes Dothrak has two hundred rooms and doors of solid silver." There was more like that, so much more, what a handsome man the khal was, so tall and fierce, fearless in battle, the best rider ever to mount a horse, a demon archer. Daenerys said nothing. She had always assumed that she would wed Viserys when she came of age. For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet now Viserys schemed to sell her to a stranger, a barbarian.

When she was clean, the slaves helped her from the water and toweled her dry. The girl brushed her hair until it shone like molten silver, while the old woman anointed her with the spiceflower perfume of the Dothraki plains, a dab on each wrist, behind her ears, on the tips of her breasts, and one last one, cool on her lips, down there between her legs. They dressed her in the wisps that Magister Illyrio had sent up, and then the gown, a deep plum silk to bring out the violet in her eyes. The girl slid the gilded sandals onto her feet, while the old woman fixed the tiara in her hair, and slid golden bracelets crusted with amethysts around her wrists. Last of all came the collar, a heavy golden torc emblazoned with ancient Valyrian glyphs.

"Now you look all a princess," the girl said breathlessly when they were done. Dany glanced at her image in the silvered looking glass that Illyrio had so thoughtfully provided. A princess, she thought, but she remembered what the girl had said, how Khal Drogo was so rich even his slaves wore golden collars. She felt a sudden chill, and gooseflesh pimpled her bare arms.

Her brother was waiting in the cool of the entry hall, seated on the edge of the pool, his hand trailing in the water. He rose when she appeared and looked her over critically. "Stand there," he told her. "Turn around. Yes. Good. You look . . . "

"Regal," Magister Illyrio said, stepping through an archway. He moved with surprising delicacy for such a massive man. Beneath loose garments of flame-colored silk, rolls of fat jiggled as he walked. Gemstones glittered on every finger, and his man had oiled his forked yellow beard until it shone like real gold. "May the Lord of Light shower you with blessings on this most fortunate day, Princess Daenerys," the magister said as he took her hand. He bowed his head, showing a thin glimpse of crooked yellow teeth through the gold of his beard. "She is a vision, Your Grace, a vision," he told her brother. "Drogo will be enraptured."

"She's too skinny," Viserys said. His hair, the same silver-blond as hers, had been pulled back tightly behind his head and fastened with a dragonbone brooch. It was a severe look that emphasized the hard, gaunt lines of his face. He rested his hand on the hilt of the sword that Illyrio had lent him, and said, "Are you sure that Khal Drogo likes his women this young?"

"She has had her blood. She is old enough for the khal," Illyrio told him, not for the first time. "Look at her. That silver-gold hair, those purple eyes . . . she is the blood of old Valyria, no doubt, no doubt . . . and highborn, daughter of the old king, sister to the new, she cannot fail to entrance our Drogo." When he released her hand, Daenerys found herself trembling.

"I suppose," her brother said doubtfully. "The savages have queer tastes. Boys, horses, sheep . . . "

"Best not suggest this to Khal Drogo," Illyrio said.

Anger flashed in her brother's lilac eyes. "Do you take me for a fool?"

The magister bowed slightly. "I take you for a king. Kings lack the caution of common men. My apologies if I have given offense." He turned away and clapped his hands for his bearers.

The streets of Pentos were pitch-dark when they set out in Illyrio's elaborately carved palanquin. Two servants went ahead to light their way, carrying ornate oil lanterns with panes of pale blue glass, while a dozen strong men hoisted the poles to their shoulders. It was warm and close inside behind the curtains. Dany could smell the stench of Illyrio's pallid flesh through his heavy perfumes.

Her brother, sprawled out on his pillows beside her, never noticed. His mind was away across the narrow sea. "We won't need his whole khalasar," Viserys said. His fingers toyed with the hilt of his borrowed blade, though Dany knew he had never used a sword in earnest. "Ten thousand, that would be enough, I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers. The realm will rise for its rightful king. Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the Usurper than I do. The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children. And the smallfolk will be with us. They cry out for their king." He looked at Illyrio anxiously. "They do, don't they?"

"They are your people, and they love you well," Magister Illyrio said amiably. "In holdfasts all across the realm, men lift secret toasts to your health while women sew dragon banners and hide them against the day of your return from across the water." He gave a massive shrug. "Or so my agents tell me."

Dany had no agents, no way of knowing what anyone was doing or thinking across the narrow sea, but she mistrusted Illyrio's sweet words as she mistrusted everything about Illyrio. Her brother was nodding eagerly, however. "I shall kill the Usurper myself," he promised, who had never killed anyone, "as he killed my brother Rhaegar. And Lannister too, the Kingslayer, for what he did to my father."

"That would be most fitting," Magister Illyrio said. Dany saw the smallest hint of a smile playing around his full lips, but her brother did not notice. Nodding, he pushed back a curtain and stared off into the night, and Dany knew he was fighting the Battle of the Trident once again.

The nine-towered manse of Khal Drogo sat beside the waters of the bay, its high brick walls overgrown with pale ivy. It had been given to the khal by the magisters of Pentos, Illyrio told them. The Free Cities were always generous with the horselords. "It is not that we fear these barbarians," Illyrio would explain with a smile. "The Lord of Light would hold our city walls against a million Dothraki, or so the red priests promise . . . yet why take chances, when their friendship comes so cheap?"

Their palanquin was stopped at the gate, the curtains pulled roughly back by one of the house guards. He had the copper skin and dark almond eyes of a Dothraki, but his face was hairless and he wore the spiked bronze cap of the Unsullied. He looked them over coldly. Magister Illyrio growled something to him in the rough Dothraki tongue; the guardsman replied in the same voice and waved them through the gates.

Dany noticed that her brother's hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his borrowed sword. He looked almost as frightened as she felt. "Insolent eunuch," Viserys muttered as the palanquin lurched up toward the manse.

Magister Illyrio's words were honey. "Many important men will be at the feast tonight. Such men have enemies. The khal must protect his guests, yourself chief among them, Your Grace. No doubt the Usurper would pay well for your head."

"Oh, yes," Viserys said darkly. "He has tried, Illyrio, I promise you that. His hired knives follow us everywhere. I am the last dragon, and he will not sleep easy while I live."

The palanquin slowed and stopped. The curtains were thrown back, and a slave offered a hand to help Daenerys out. His collar, she noted, was ordinary bronze. Her brother followed, one hand still clenched hard around his sword hilt. It took two strong men to get Magister Illyrio back on his feet.

Inside the manse, the air was heavy with the scent of spices, pinchfire and sweet lemon and cinnamon. They were escorted across the entry hall, where a mosaic of colored glass depicted the Doom of Valyria. Oil burned in black iron lanterns all along the walls. Beneath an arch of twining stone leaves, a eunuch sang their coming. "Viserys of the House Targaryen, the Third of his Name," he called in a high, sweet voice, "King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the SevenKingdoms and Protector of the Realm. His sister, Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone. His honorable host, Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of the Free City of Pentos."

They stepped past the eunuch into a pillared courtyard overgrown in pale ivy. Moonlight painted the leaves in shades of bone and silver as the guests drifted among them. Many were Dothraki horselords, big men with red-brown skin, their drooping mustachios bound in metal rings, their black hair oiled and braided and hung with bells. Yet among them moved bravos and sellswords from Pentos and Myr and Tyrosh, a red priest even fatter than Illyrio, hairy men from the Port of Ibben, and lords from the Summer Isles with skin as black as ebony. Daenerys looked at them all in wonder . . . and realized, with a sudden start of fear, that she was the only woman there.

Illyrio whispered to them. "Those three are Drogo's bloodriders, there," he said. "By the pillar is Khal Moro, with his son Rhogoro. The man with the green beard is brother to the Archon of Tyrosh, and the man behind him is Ser Jorah Mormont."

The last name caught Daenerys. "A knight?"

"No less." Illyrio smiled through his beard. "Anointed with the seven oils by the High Septon himself."

"What is he doing here?" she blurted.

"The Usurper wanted his head," Illyrio told them. "Some trifling affront. He sold some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver instead of giving them to the Night's Watch. Absurd law. A man should be able to do as he likes with his own chattel."

"I shall wish to speak with Ser Jorah before the night is done," her brother said. Dany found herself looking at the knight curiously. He was an older man, past forty and balding, but still strong and fit. Instead of silks and cottons, he wore wool and leather. His tunic was a dark green, embroidered with the likeness of a black bear standing on two legs.

She was still looking at this strange man from the homeland she had never known when Magister Illyrio placed a moist hand on her bare shoulder. "Over there, sweet princess," he whispered, "there is the khal himself."

Dany wanted to run and hide, but her brother was looking at her, and if she displeased him she knew she would wake the dragon. Anxiously, she turned and looked at the man Viserys hoped would ask to wed her before the night was done.

The slave girl had not been far wrong, she thought. Khal Drogo was a head taller than the tallest man in the room, yet somehow light on his feet, as graceful as the panther in Illyrio's menagerie. He was younger than she'd thought, no more than thirty. His skin was the color of polished copper, his thick mustachios bound with gold and bronze rings.

"I must go and make my submissions," Magister Illyrio said. "Wait here. I shall bring him to you."

Her brother took her by the arm as Illyrio waddled over to the khal, his fingers squeezing so hard that they hurt. "Do you see his braid, sweet sister?"

Drogo's braid was black as midnight and heavy with scented oil, hung with tiny bells that rang softly as he moved. It swung well past his belt, below even his buttocks, the end of it brushing against the back of his thighs.

"You see how long it is?" Viserys said. "When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braids in disgrace, so the world will know their shame. Khal Drogo has never lost a fight. He is Aegon the Dragonlord come again, and you will be his queen."

Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. "I don't want to be his queen," she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. "Please, please, Viserys, I don't want to, I want to go home."

"Home?" He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. "How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!" He drew her into the shadows, out of sight, his fingers digging into her skin. "How are we to go home?" he repeated, meaning King's Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost.

Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio's estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him. His fingers dug hard into her arm, demanding an answer. "I don't know . . . "she said at last, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes.

"I do," he said sharply. "We go home with an army, sweet sister. With Khal Drogo's army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will." He smiled at her. "I'd let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him. Now dry your eyes. Illyrio is bringing him over, and he will not see you crying."

Dany turned and saw that it was true. Magister Illyrio, all smiles and bows, was escorting Khal Drogo over to where they stood. She brushed away unfallen tears with the back of her hand.

"Smile," Viserys whispered nervously, his hand failing to the hilt of his sword. "And stand up straight. Let him see that you have breasts. Gods know, you have little enough as is."

Daenerys smiled, and stood up straight.

#GameofThrones