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tamayakii · 9 months

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Mare's Milk & Cider

warnings: drinking(reader has no specific age), story takes place in "second of his name" during Aegon's II celebrations, canon events basically. pairings: Otto Hightower x reader(can be seen as platonic/romantic), hotd x reader notes: thank you Aaliah, @genshinluvr, she helped me out with the ending!!! Let me know if you'd like to be in a tag list for this fic :) this fic is also paired up with this drawing i made!

“Then it lies with you, to make him see it.” Hobert advised, stepping closer to his younger brother, “Lord Hand” It did not go under Otto’s nose of what his brother was suggesting, reminding him of his own title.

His eyes never leave Hoberts as he considers his brothers' words, “and speaking of growing,” Otto follows Hoberts's moving gaze to the Princess, Angel of The Red Keep, adorned in a headdress with a long silk veil, dragons and stars embroidered in. Face decorated in Velaryon pearls, neck and fingers embellished with the finest green rubies, jades and agate the Hightowers could find.

“The fine lady y/n has grown to be a wondrous young woman, hasn’t she?” Hobert eyes do not hold simple admiration for a young girl grown, they hold more, and they contain something that Otto wants to snuff out with his bare hands.

“She is betrothed?” Hobert asks, looking back at his brother. “A fine woman like that cannot go un-married for long. With her and Rhaenrya combined, I can imagine the king's chambers are filled with betrothal letters.” Otto looks back at the Princess, watching as she plays with her new baby brother, covering her face and pulling her hands away quickly.

“A fine mother she will make as well, Aegon loves her.” The comment almost makes Otto snap, the thought of anyone being her husband or the father to her children makes a fire burst inside him. One Otto cannot explain reasonably, so he stifles it.

“She.. is not betrothed, Brother, I don’t think the King has any interest in marrying her off,” Otto answers, his lips tightening when his brother looks at him with a smirk. A near-knowing one that always made Otto furious since childhood.

“The king, or you?” Hobert quips, smirk widening when Otto’s face scrunches, nostrils flaring and wrinkles deepening. Hobert pats his shoulder as he begins to walk away, satisfied to get under his brother's skin.

No. Lady y/n shall not betrothed. Otto thinks, especially not to the likes of his brother. He watches as she laughs, throwing her head back and hand over her heart. Nothing, nothing could compare to her.

She steps away as the Lannister boy steps in, talking about the stepstones. She treats herself to the glorious spread on the table, picking out ham and grapes, plate barely complete- Otto steps in.

“Please, My Lady, have more” He helps fill her plate, and she shakes her head,

“You’re so sweet, Ser Otto, but i don’t think i can handle it. I am trying to watch my waist.” She responds, in a honey-sweet voice, one that cradles his entire being but her words make him roll his eyes.

“Treat yourself, My lady, we do not wish you to starve on such a good day. Now go ahead; eat before the long journey” Soon Viserys is at her side, like a dragon protecting its kin. All it takes is one look to make Otto step away,

“Come eat.” The king demands, “Fortify yourselves for the journey.” Otto watches her, keeping by her father’s side; Like a lamb to its mother. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at him--

☾

The trip to Kingswood is long and cold. Hand intertwined with Rhaenrya’s as you arrive, the loud crowd applauding for the king and new prince’s arrival but Rhaenrya makes no move to depart from the carriage.

“Rhaenrya?” Whispering as you scooch closer to the princess, “They await to see you” Still unmoving, all she does is blink. “Come.” standing up and pulling her along, “We will go together.” You step out of the carriage, with the princess alongside you.

“The Realms Delight herself; Princess Rhaenrya of Dragonstone! Accompanied by Princess y/n, Angel of The Red Keep!!” You squeeze her hand, looking at her. She looks at you with a somber smile, squeezing your hand back.

The roar of the crowd could blow you back, it will never not be jarring to be reminded of your station. A Princess. Not by blood but by word, and who would tell the king no? Who would dare say to King Viserys that his second daughter, whom his own late lady wife believed she had birthed her, cannot be a princess?

The celebrations are grand, the finest cakes and delights, the meat freshly hunted and prepared before your eyes. At your father's request, you stayed by his side, forcing you to leave Rhaenrya.

The glorious tent is filled with laughter and talk, and the smell of wine and cake fills your nose. Looking over to where the pregnant Queen Alicent sits, you realize she has been staring at you. You offer her a smile and she too offers one back.

Settling back into your chair, crossing your hands on your lap as you look above. Looking into the tiny details of the royal tent, the golden threads woven with black.

“Tired, my dragonling?” Viserys looks at you, reaching his free hand to yours- the other holding a goblet of wine. You reach over and hold his hand, As soon as he questions you, a yawn tries to force its way to your throat.

“The ride was tiring and too long for my tastes but--” you look to your father with a reassuring smile, “I shall be okay, After some food and rest, I'll be okay” he smiles back at you before taking another drink from his goblet.

Soon enough you’re offered your own goblet, filled with mare’s milk and honey. Time passes by slowly, you blink once and your father isn’t by your side anymore, It seems no one has noticed you dozed off. You promise yourself you won’t fall asleep but as you close your eyes and your goblet tips in your weak hand; the promise is broken.

“Is that all I am to you? A prize to be proffer about to the great houses?” Rhaenrya's voice makes you jump out of your short slumber, eyes wide like a deer as you begin to process the situation. As Viserys steps towards Rhaenrya, you push yourself out of your seat, setting your goblet down on the table beside you.

“You’re of age, Rhaenrya,” he points out, “and Jason Lannister is an excellent match,” he adds on. Oh. Oh no. Stepping towards the pair they seem not to notice you, there was no smooth way to stop this bickering. The two argue every day at least ever since Queen Aemma passed and especially since Viserys took Alicent to wife.

“He’s arrogant and self-serious” Rhaenrya argued, You wring your hands together anxiously. Watching the two fight as a bystander was like watching two lions fight, watching them as their family felt like two dragons fighting overhead. All that would follow would be the destruction of varying amounts that was left for you to pick up and fix, being both of their shoulders to lean on.

“Well, I thought you might have that in common” Even Lord Lyonel could feel the suffocating air around the two, taking a third step back. Sending you an apologetic look, the face Rhaenrya has is indescribable. Perhaps she wanted to scream at him, or even shocked that he would say such a thing, or maybe she had been at a loss for words.

Otto stalks closer from the sidelines, watching closely. This catches your eye, you try to breathe; knowing he is here comforts you. For nearly three years now, he has been your aid, your comfort and your closest friend- even despite the large age gap. You realize the tent has now fallen silent, and everyone listening in.

You quickly step to Otto’s side, seeking his silent comfort. You wish you could fix everything, and make everyone happy; even if it left your hands raw and bloody. If you could give your own heart for it; then you’d do it.

“Even I do not exist above tradition and duty, Rhaenrya!!” You cover your ears quickly, eyes wide with fear. Turning your body away from them, you began to feel violently aware of everyone's eyes on your family, some on you but mainly on the spectacle; The King and The Heir fighting on Aegon’s second name day.

When Viserys turns to Otto what he sees makes his flesh burn; You. So very close to Otto but turned away from him- Your father. It makes his blood boil, you should seek comfort from him. Not Ser Otto. You are his daughter. Not Otto’s.

Viserys soon leaves after the news of the white hart, but Otto stays, just for a moment. His gloved hand sitting on your shoulder, a reassuring hold. Your breath is shaky and your chest tight but you still manage to look at him through your eyelashes,

“Breathe, Princess.” He insists, and he maneuvers you towards your seat. Hand traversing to your lower back, “Sit and have some milk.” He gently puts your goblet back in your hand as you seat yourself. Feeble hands grip the handle, eyes drawn to the floor.

Otto tries to find the right words, he has never been a man of comfort. His hand hovers over your dropped head, unbeknownst to you. He sighs and takes his leave, passing his goblet to a maiden.

The day gets longer, Rhaenrya has run off with Criston following behind her. You knew it was against your set rules but you sank into your cups, after whispering to the help to fill your cups with cider but to not tell anyone else.

Your eyelids get heavy again, head tipping back. You love your family, you do. They took you in as a child, they gave you everything even despite the tight rules provided, sometimes… sometimes you wish that you took to a dragon and flew. Flew somewhere, to old Valryia or maybe to the free cities.

Then you’d be free.. but never truly free. Your love ties you down to your loved ones but that is the consequence of loving hard. Looking down into your cup, you swirl your drink. Taking a deep breath you look back to Alicent, she is already looking at you.

You wonder how long she has been staring at you and you tilt your head, she gestures for you to sit next to her. Another sigh leaves your mouth, slowly pushing yourself up.

“oh! princess, here allow me to help!” a maiden comes to your side, you wave her off as you give her the empty goblet. You keep your steps slow so as to not wobble, to others; you looked like you were gliding.

“My Queen.” you address as you sit beside her, Alicent quickly holds your hand closest to her. You are surrounded by the lady wives of many different men along with Larys Strong, the son of Lyonel Strong, the brother of Harwin “Breakbones” Strong.

“This is Viserys’s other daughter, Princess y/n” Remembering to keep your eyes open, you look around with a smile. “Dear y/n, how’s your day? you seem awfully tired.” Alicent asks with concern, one hand on her belly and other on your hand as she leans closer.

“I’m quite fine.” you mumble back, fighting your heavy lids as you nod. “The day is long… but soon we shall dine and turn in for the night.”

The conversations bore you, useless politics, rumors, marriages of lower houses. You wave over another servant with a sigh, already they know what you want. They deliver it, you try to hide the contents from Alicent but she notices.

“Cider?” She whispers tightly, holding the wrist that holds your goblet. Your nose flexes, “You know you cannot handle that.” She states, “a maiden your age shouldn’t even be holding a cup of cider.”

The rest of the ladies converse, and you are unbeknownst to another set of eyes on you. “Please. I will be fine.” you whisper, patting her hand and prying her tiny fingers off.

You take another big swig of your cider, almost finishing it all in one go. Looking over to Larys who has nearly burned holes into your head, nodding at him as a greeting.

“La-Larys.” you slur and he smiles at you, and you return it with a half one. The sudden need for fresh air sits in your lungs, eating you like a snake does a vole. Chugging your drink before shoving it in between the cushions of the seat, you stand up.

“I’m.. gonna go get some fresh air.” You announced, trying to make your way out of the once lovely group of women who now seem like a horde of gossiping vultures.

“Oh!” Lady Redwyne pops, “I heard that the hunters found a fat hog, they should be smoking it just now!”

The thought of watching them gut a pig to smoke makes your stomach turn, “thanks.. Lady Redwyne” You hurry out of the tent, the sun shining upon your skin. The pungent smell of burning meat and spices hits you, quickly turning away and scurrying to the back of the tent- where it was closer to the forest edge.

“ugh…. fuck.” You groan, kicking the dirt below you, the cider sticks to your insides like jam to bread. You ache to be in the comforts of the red keep, painting, or perhaps riding on horseback. You ache for a lot of things. Ache for the motherly hands of Aemma, to feel the embrace of someone you refuse to let yourself say. Perhaps you ache for the unmade.

You stand there, for minutes. Just staring into the bushes and trees, the arrival of the hunting party brings you back. Smoothing down the white lace on your dress, gulping down the fresh forest air; you return to the celebrations.

“Princess?” a feeble voice calls out, you look around and are surprised to see Larys.

“O-oh! Larys.. Larys, you surprised me.” You turn to the man hunched over his walking cane, leaning onto it. “How have you enjoyed my brother's second name day?” you ask, almost swallowing your tongue.

“it has been fine.. not that i can enjoy the most of it.” He moves his twisted foot, something that has dubbed him “The clubfoot” among gossipers. “But to be honest, i think i prefer talking with the maidens.” he adds, “they are far more gentler”

You nod along, eyes flickering over to the hunting party. Dogs held right by handlers, horses snorting and throwing their heads back as their riders dismount.

“But you..” he continues on “seem to be left to your own,” You still and wrong your hands together. Adjusting your stance as you feel yourself leaning, telling yourself to keep yourself together.

“Yes.. but it’s okay, I don't… don’t mind.” You reassure,

“I’m sure the cups of cider helped.” he smirks, knowing, your face flushed. How did he know? noticing your red face he chuckles,

“not to worry, Princess. I shall not tell anyone.” His eyes never leave yours, following your finicky gaze. It makes you uncomfortable, like a child being examined.

“I suppose it’s not-“

“You shall not tell anyone, what?”

you almost jump out of your skin, you turn so quickly that your head may have spun all around. Otto stands tall, chin up. Almost looking down upon Larys,

“Ser Otto” Larys addresses, if Larys was scared, he made no effort to show it. Your heart beats against your chest, “She was telling me a story; about Aegon.” You try to catch up to where Larys was, but he seemed to be a whole book ahead.

“ye… yes!” you stammer over words, “i uh, guess you could say i spoiled him despite Alicent request.” Otto's hard eyes soften when they land on you, it was a siren's song to your intoxicated state.

“The princess should be with the king.” Otto says, he offers you his arm and you reach for it.

“I was keeping the Princess company as she enjoyed the fresh air.” Larys explains, “She felt a bit queasy. I guess the mares' milk may have gone bad.” Otto looks down at your averted gaze, examining your state. Shuffling in your stance, flickering eyelids and subtle swaying.

“I see, I will look into that.” Otto puts his hand over yours, a grip to keep you near- not to comfort. “Come on, Princess.” He tries to walk you back, you step on your own foot as he does so.

“I think the princess would like to enjoy the fresh air longer.” Larys turns slowly, looking dead in Otto's eyes.

“The king has requested her presence” Otto's grip tightens, his nostrils flare. “but you can enjoy the air if you wish. I’m sure you won’t be bothered” Larys watches Otto lead you off into the tent, eyes never leaving you.

Entering the red tent filled with dozens of folk and your father right ahead, your sister is nowhere to be seen. You want to go home, you want to lie in your warm bed with Rhaenrya and wake up to braid each other's hair.

Soon you’re back in your chair, holding Viserys’ hand and Otto to your left. You stare off, taking a deep breath.

You would always be in the jaws of someone bigger, the dragons or the hounds. You’d bare your neck like a lamb, and hope for the dark delicate love.

Entwined in other people’s fate, all you can hope is that the fates bring you peace.

#HOTD x reader #yandere house of the dragon x reader #yandere hotd x reader #yandre house of the dragon #yandere hord #otto hightower x reader #yandere #Viserys Targaryen x reader #rhaenrya targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x reader #Larys Strong x reader #yandere Larys Strong #Yandere Otto Hightower #Yandere viserys targaryen #yandere rhaenrya targaryen

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arabellasleopardcoat · 10 months

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MAD (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Caught in the crossfire of your familiy's ploys, you never expected to catch the eye of the enemy.

Warnings: Mature language.

A/N: Did you know there are nine meanings for mad in the dictionary? Credits to Wikipedia for the one in the banner. As always, this is already written, broken up for easier reading and editing.

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“I don’t understand.” Your father lifts the letter to the light, as if he is about to uncover some secret in the parchment. His expression is absolutely puzzled. “Are they really trying to sell an insult as a compliment?”

“That’s Otto Hightower for you.” Your grandfather answers. You stop kicking your legs from your place near the fireplace, suddenly interested. Unsure what Otto Hightower has to do with you, you try listening closely. No one has told you yet why you have been summoned, but you would love to know. “But the order comes bearing his brother’s seal. We cannot refuse him.”

“We can’t? It’s worded as a question.”

“A question with King’s Viserys’s seal? Oh, don’t be naive.” Your grandfather scoffs.

Sensing an argument, you decide to tune it out. Like most families, yours can go at it for hours. You kick a bit more, then get up to look through the window. You wish you could be outside, soaking up the sun. The day is too pretty to miss on, and The Reach is always so nice during the spring.

They are still bickering, and taking no notice of your change in position when something catches your ear.

“The girl has to go to court.”

A trip to the capital. You at court? But why? You are a lady from a minor house, and not even an important one. Your family can’t raise many men, nor do they have countless funds. Your greatest ambition in life has been to marry into another family from The Reach and not having to leave your family behind.

“To teach Princess Helaena about bees?” Your father glares at your grandfather. “They aren’t even trying to disguise it, father.”

Teaching a royal girl about bees? It was strange, for sure. You had heard about Princess Helaena’s oddities, but you doubted they extended to wanting to learn how to produce her own honey. You doubted her family would approve, either.

From your limited knowledge of mothers, they disliked daughters crawling in the mud or chasing bugs. They thought it was not ladylike. You had no doubts Queen Alicent was the same.

Chasing of bees aside, you have been nothing but a dutiful daughter. All your life you have kept up to date with your studies and readings, assisted the Sept weekly and learned the finest arts. Thanks to it, you know enough of the world to recognize your lack of importance. Princesses don’t befriend unimportant farm girls, much less ask to have them as their companions. They befriend girls of similar status, girls who will inherit extensive lands and riches.

You are neither. You will get, of course, when your Lord Father dies, a small plot of land for yourself. Not exactly the Red Keep or Winterfell, but not a hut either. The family business is profitable, as always. Producing honey for the Seven Kingdoms means you are not living in poverty. But its nowhere near the level of these people.

So what could they want with you? There is only one possible answer. A political move. One worth befriending someone so unimportant. And what better than silencing your grandfather? You know his opposition to your Liege Lord’s brother has been making waves. His constant backing of Princess Rhaenyra has angered Ser Otto. The fact that the proposal, signed by King Viserys, also wears the seal of Lord Hightower means you can’t say no.

“It’s a show of strength. I have no doubt he could order her to marry one of his family members if he wanted to. He is warning me.” The confirmation of your suspicions makes you feel strangely empty. Your grandfather sounds scared, which is not a common occurrence. Despite his old age, the man is still a menace. A bright politician, and an even more fearsome Lord.

“And are you going to listen, grandfather?” Your pulse beats loudly in your ears. You don’t want to leave your home. Never had you thought it would be like, this, you thought you had time. And whatever these people want to do to you, it can’t be good.

You are scared. House Targaryen is nasty, and you doubt you will find any sort of solace in the ladies at court. You are soon to become an upjumped noble. A girl, who with gods knows what trickery, has ensnared a Princess to do her bidding and secured herself one of the most prestigious positions in the realm.

You will be entering a nest of vipers in less than a week. Any mistake might mean the ruin of your grandfather and yours. You should be scared. Yet, fear is not the only thing in your mind. White, hot, blinding rage builds up in your throat and fills you with the urge to scream.

“My dear girl, I have no choice.”

“I don’t understand why I have to court her.” Aemond leans in, placing both of his hands on the table. He can already hear the smug comment Aegon is about to make. “House Beesbury brings nothing to the table. They are not prestigious, nor are they rich, and they are already sworn to us.”

It makes no sense. When you are a Prince, you marry to secure alliances. You don’t marry your vassals, not when they are already loyal to you.

“And haven’t you thought you deserve her, brother? With that stick up your ass and…”

Why is Aegon even here? Aemond does not mind his presence, but more his lack of gravitas. He seems to have a chronic inability to take anything seriously. It’s not that that bothers him, really. Too often, Aemond has found himself hiding a smile at his brother’s antics. But this is really not the time.

In his eyes, nothing is more serious than getting married. Even if he can’t understand yet why this girl in particular.

There must be some reason he is not seeing. You might be pretty, or his grandsire and mother might think you are a good match. You will be inheriting lands, which is always nice. It means having a place to retire to when life in court gets too stifling. But many other ladies will, too. So why does his grandsire insist on you?

“Aegon!” His mother pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. Then, towards Aemond. “Do not listen to your brother. That is certainly not the reason. Your grandsire…”

“It’s not that I oppose the match, mother. Or that I refuse to court her.” Aemond does not want her or his grandsire to get the wrong impression. He intends to fulfill his duty. If he has to marry the girl, he marries her, no matter his opinion. “I’m just puzzled about the reasoning.”

“I think this will be a valuable lesson for you both.” His grandsire takes out a list of names and a quill. “That’s why we called Aegon in here, too.”

“Are we really going to talk politics? How dull.” Aegon complains, but no one pays attention to him.

“This is an account of the Small Council voting tendencies in the last month.” His grandsire explains, now in full lecture mode. The parchment, now that Aemond is paying more attention to it, doesn’t have only a list of names, but a tally. “As you can see, the backing of my proposals changes, but there is one constant. Can you tell what it is?”

Aemond grabs the parchment and takes a look. It takes him a while, but he notices a pattern. At first, he doesn’t dare mention it. He is not sure of having the right answer and hates being wrong about it.

Some people say that mistakes aid learning. To Aemond, mistakes are painful, and often embarrassing. It’s why he puts the parchment down in front of Aegon and stays quiet, despite knowing he is right.

A few minutes pass. Aegon stares at the parchment. He squints at it, but since he is most probably drunk, he can’t make sense of it.

His grandsire clears his throat.

“Lord Beesbury never backs you.” Aemond finally says. Now, he understands why you. To control your family. “How can that be? House Hightower is his overlord.”

“Perhaps at The Reach, he can’t refuse a Hightower. But as the Master of Coin, he can always excuse himself on a lack of funds.”

“So the man is a cunt. And you reward him by having his granddaughter marry Aemond?” Aegon frowns, showing he is more invested in the explanation than he appears to be. Aemond will never understand why he feels the need to downplay his intelligence. “I’m lost, I think.”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, if you will.” Otto circles Beesbury’s name on the list. “He could give us a lot of trouble, not only here, but at Oldtown. It will neutralize him.” Of course. House Hightower would look weak, if they can't get a handle on the Beesburys. But marriage? Is that the solution?

“How?” Aemond frowns. He can understand keeping a close eye on the man, but it feels like much more of a reward than neutralizing him. All their other vassals might think it weakness. Act out, and your daughter will marry up. If it were up to Aemond, he would just kick him out of the Small Council and be done with it. He doesn’t believe in people’s good nature, after all. “By keeping him happy for a while? Gratefulness never lasts, grandsire.”

“No.” His mother speaks for the first time. Her lips are tense, as if tasting a particularly sour drink. It’s clear Alicent doesn’t agree and finds the whole matter distasteful. If Aemond were a woman, he might, too. But he, thanks to the Seven, was spared from that weakness of character. “By giving us a permanent hostage.”

“And teaching him a lesson.” Otto adds, giving him a pointed look. His brown eyes meet Aemond’s, as if silently conveying a message. No more words are needed then. Aemond understands what he is trying to say without having to speak the words aloud. He has grown used to sparing his mother’s sensibilities. She would be horrified and disappointed, if she knew exactly what they were planning.

It’s expected he leads you into some sort of scandal. Something that would mean your ruin, perhaps taking your maidenhead in a chamber close enough for others to hear. Or perhaps, that he times a servant to enter just right. Even leaving you with child before wedlock.

Lord Beesbury doesn’t know, and probably won’t know until it’s too late, that Aemond intends to marry you. The scandal alone will be enough to frighten him into compliance. And once you are ruined enough, Aemond will sweep in to save your reputation, cementing Beesbury’s loyalties. The man will not dare refuse them, after it.

Still, his mother’s words rattle him. He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse, that she thinks that’s what’s about to happen. But her experiences with marriage have not been the best, either.

“Hostage? Mother, surely you know I would never treat her unkindly.” He means it. Marriage vows instruct on the most sacred duty. A man must protect his wife, not hurt her. The Seven Pointed Star says that he will have a duty to discipline her, of course, but for her own good. Never Aemond would raise a hand to his wife in cruelty.

He might be willing to ruin your reputation, but he draws the line at hurting you. It’s just not who he is. Aemond has heard enough tales of knighthood to know that’s simply not how an honorable man behaves.

Honorable men weren’t supposed to trick young maidens, either. But that was fine. He would marry you after it, so it didn’t count. It was just taking what was his a little earlier.

“We know, Aemond. But her grandfather does not.” Alicent leans in, to squeeze his hand. It’s that when the doubt assaults him. What if he does ruin you and your family still refuses to hand you to him? What if Lord Beesbury thinks Aemond will hurt you and decides to say no to the marriage? In that case, Aemond would be a despicable person. He would ruin your future, your purity, the most sacred thing a maiden has, for nothing.

“And if he refuses?” Because Aemond would not hand his granddaughter to a man like him. And if Lord Beesbury had any sense, he wouldn’t, either.

“She will come here as a companion for Helaena.” His grandsire smiles. Aemond looks at him, trying to show him he is still not reassured. Otto’s smile widens. Instead of a casual announcement, the words he says next are exclusively for Aemond. “My brother will force his hand if he has to.”

Aemond grins back. It’s not that he would have to just send you to court. If your grandfather doesn’t consent to the marriage later on, he will find himself having to fulfill an impossible condition or perhaps threatened to lose all he has. You will marry Aemond, even if your overlord has to order you to.

It must be done carefully. One of the rules of being a great house is never humiliating their vassals, or abusing them. Asking a man to hand over his granddaughter would be in bad taste, of course. It has to be avoided if possible. So it will be up to Aemond to see that the little lamb delivers herself for the slaughter. He has to tangle you enough that no one suspects the Hightowers’s involvement.

“When does she get here?”

How hard can it be, really? Aegon certainly is more than capable of getting women in his bed, after all. If he can do it, why couldn't Aemond? He has seen enough Lords court Ladies, has read all the books on courtly love and even some romances his mother likes. He has also seen how women swoon around Cole. And you are a farm girl. Easy to impress. Besides, half the women of the realm dream of marrying a Prince.

Aemond will plan accordingly and sweep you off your feet. He can do it. He just needs time.

“If everything goes according to plan.” Which it would because it was his grandfather who had made it. “In a fortnight.”

The dismay must have shown on his face because Aegon snickers.

“Think of the bright side, Aemond. Your little bee has to have the sweetest cunt in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Aegon!”

“What, don't they claim to be descended from Ellyn Ever Sweet?”

You needed to be coaxed out of your sulk. Nothing excited you, after hearing the terrible news. Not even getting two new dresses made, and some aprons.

Well. Perhaps the new dresses. Your father had allowed you to order them in your favorite colors, in a rare respite from the black and yellow from your house. Still, you were angry. You didn’t want to leave the safety of Honeyholt.

“You should think of it as an adventure.” Your father had advised you, on your last night before departing. “Not many girls get to see Westeros before the day they are sent off to marry. And you get to see King’s Landing, too.”

Fuming as you were, you didn’t think it was valuable advice. Your father was, more often than not, a fool. Or so your mother said.

But as the carriage slowly started to leave behind the roads you knew, you discovered there was more to see in The Reach than just Oldtown. Your anger slowly started to fade, replaced by wonder and newly discovered freedom. Your grandfather, travelling with you, had never been the type to keep a close eye on you.

Lord Beesbury had grandchildren for one reason, and one reason only. To spoil them rotten. Unlike your mother, he didn’t believe in chastising you for your behavior or getting you to behave in a ladylike manner. He just wanted you to be happy.

That fact was what made you listen to him when he decided to try to teach you how to survive in court.

“It's no use being angry, little bee.” Your grandfather had said, as you gazed through the window in anger. “We need to think of ways of turning this to our favor.”

And so, the two of you had come up with three rules of behavior. One, never being alone with any man who was not part of your family. Two, never being alone with any Targaryen. And three, being on your most charming behavior. This was a good opportunity to show your beauty and grace to other houses, and perhaps get a better marriage. One that benefited your house and kept you out of the Hightower’s clutches. Now that was an objective you could get behind.

King’s Landing was not what you expected. You had thought the capital would be something like Oldtown, or other cities of The Reach. Carefully planned, either be in a Cyvasse board design or concentric circles. But to get to the center of the city, you had to go through dirty roads, slums and strange settlements.

It was clear the growth of the city had not had any thought behind it. The population was not educated, either, because you had seen some emptying their chamber pots on the streets. The stench alone spoke of a place that didn’t know the wonders of aqueducts.

And all was so gray. So dull. There was hardly any vegetation. Were it not for the fact the city had a port, you would have wondered where they got all their food.

Your grandfather aids your descent from the carriage, a hand firmly on yours to make sure you don’t trip. It would be a disgrace if you were to fall here. The path looks like it has not been cleaned during its whole existence. You do your best to smile and not show how unimpressed you are.

It’s then when you get your first look at Otto Hightower. He stands tall and proud at the gates of the Red Keep, as if he owned the place. Perhaps he thinks he does. You have heard that he disagrees with the succession order King Viserys has set.

He must feel King, already, thinking it will be Prince Aegon who will inherit the throne. The disloyalty and the greed of the man truly know no bounds. He would rather betray the King he has sworn to serve and place a drunk on the throne than have a Queen.

Otto Hightower is serious and slender, marked apart by the brooch he wears. Behind him, in a shock of silver hair, stand three more people.

The only woman, sweet faced, has to be Princess Helaena. It’s easy to recognize her, from your grandfather’s briefing. The two of you have decided her to be the most innocuous. According to your grandfather, there is not a single mean bone in her body. Besides, you doubt she is in any plot. Her family mocks her for not being all there, you doubt they would include her.

Next to her, judging by the lecherous expression and lack of eye patch, stands her brother husband. Prince Aegon is the one you have to watch out for, your grandfather has warned you. He has a taste for young maidens. You don’t get the appeal. He looks like a deviant cherub.

On Princess Helaena’s other side, stands Prince Aemond. Tall, serious and easily recognizable by the injury to his face, he looms above his siblings like a bat. While Helaena and Aegon are dressed lightly, in clothes appropriate for the climate, Aemond is dressed head to toe in black leather. You aren’t sure about him. If anyone out of the three of them is trusted with Otto’s secrets, it is him. But you doubt he could do much to you beyond insult you. He doesn’t seem interested in women, in tourneys or in drinking. In fact, he doesn’t seem interested in anything.

You school your face into a polite mask, as your grandfather is greeted by the Lord Hand himself.

“Lord Lyman Beesbury. I trust the journey was pleasant?” Otto sounds anything but interested in the answer.

“Delightful.” Your grandfather deadpans. “This is my granddaughter.”

“Little Lady Beesbury.” Otto nodded.

“My Lord.” You dropped into a small, but practiced curtsy. Not too low because he was not a royal, but low enough to acknowledge him as someone who was part of the family of your overlord.

His eyes examined you, coldly. From your loud yellow travel cloak to your sturdy black shoes. You pushed your shoulders back, giving him a smile. Ser Otto didn’t seem too impressed by it.

After a beat of silence, he turned towards your grandfather again.

“I have some matters I wish to discuss with you. There have been some concerns raised about…”

Despite being prepared for the possibility of being separated, you hadn’t expected it this soon. You hadn’t even stepped inside the Red Keep, for the Seven’s sake. Your grandfather gives you a reassuring glance.

“I was hoping I could help my granddaughter settle in.” He argues, keeping an eye on the Lord Hand.

The man laughs. It’s not a nice sound, or a joyful one. In fact, it sounds threatening.

“Oh, nonsense. Aemond?”

“Yes, grandfather?” The Prince steps forward, at the same time your grandfather places an encouraging hand on your back.

You step back despite yourself. Up close, he is much more intimidating. He is tall, and sports a menacing look. Your grandfather urges you forward, and Prince Aemond’s lips twitch. He is definitely enjoying your fear.

“You and your sister should help the lady settle in.” Ser Otto smiles. It’s clear who holds the reins here, once more. He has outmaneuvered you two in less than a minute. You squeeze your grandfather’s hand, trying to show him that you intend to be careful.

Ser Otto was a smart man. But you were sure he was not all seeing. You would find a way. This was a small fluke. You had been caught off guard in a disorienting moment. It wouldn’t happen again.

Prince Aemond, on the other hand, was terrifying. But he lacked his grandfather’s experience, he was untested. It would be his downfall, you were sure of it.

The Lord Hand threw an arm over your grandfather’s shoulder and led him away. The gesture made even Prince Aegon raise his eyebrows. Did they think you two were dumb? Because they were laying it a bit thick.

“Come, Lord Beesbury. We should let the youngsters get to…” His voice faded in the distance, as you stood there, feeling as lost as you looked.

Prince Aegon looked you over. Princess Helaena waved. And Prince Aemond, ever helpful, appeared at your elbow.

“Allow me.” He said, offering you his arm.

You looked around. Prince Aegon was on the edge of laughter, it seemed because he was making strange sounds. Princess Helaena seemed oblivious. Prince Aemond was still looming over you.

It was a long walk to the Hall. You would certainly encounter guards, servants and even the odd noble. Not only would it give the wrong impression, that you were here for him and not his sister, but it would be awkward. But rejecting him would be, too.

Not knowing of a better way to get out of it, you decided to play dumb. You took off your travel cloak and placed it on his extended arm.

“Thank you.” And with a bright smile, you took Princess Helaena’s arm.

Prince Aegon gave a poorly disguised snicker. Prince Aemond stared at the bright yellow cloak on his arm, coolly. It made for a great statement, considering he was in all black.

“Of course, my Lady.” But it came out strangled. Good. The sooner he realized you were not easy prey, the better.

“It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Princess Helaena.” As you spoke, you noticed she looked very tense. She had not looked like that before you touched her. You decided to let go of her arm.

The Princess brightened immediately.

“Likewise, Lady Beesbury. When grandsire told me he was getting me a teacher, I never thought you were this young.” Her voice was soft and light. Kind. You wanted desperately to befriend her. You were starting to get the feeling that here, kindness was a scarce thing.

“Is it a bad thing?”

“Oh, not at all.” Helaena answered, lightly tugging at your sleeve. You beamed.

Behind you, Prince Aemond and Aegon trailed dutifully. None of them seemed keen on conversing with you, but Helaena hadn’t left you an opening, either. There was something about her demeanor that seemed off to you. The Princess was very aloof, but not impolite. It was as if she wasn’t intending to dismiss you. Like she was uncomfortable with social niceties. As if she was awkward, like you.

It made you like her more.

“Why do you like insects?” You tried, figuring it was a safe topic. One of the Princes made a derisive sound. You ignored him, choosing to pay all your attention to Helaena.

“Oh, they are a fascinating bunch. They remain even when we do not.” Helaena had a dreamy tone. Again, someone snorted. This time you turned to glare and found yourself staring down Prince Aegon.

You keep your eyes on him as you replied.

“That’s true. They will probably inherit the earth when we are gone.”

Helaena nodded. Oblivious to what was quickly turning into a stare down between you and her husband, she kept talking passionately.

“And I have spent a lot of time watching ants, too. They build small societies. They even carry their dead back home. Surely, that speaks of a superior level of intelligence.”

Prince Aegon looked about to make some sort of joke. Prince Aemond grabbed his wrists, stopping him. He made eye contact with you, mouth quirking up in interest.

It was not good. Not good at all. Your stomach turned. Was he going to humiliate you? Perhaps make a joke at your expense?

His lips twitched. You braced yourself for having to mumble some polite recognition and playing dumb again.

“Hm.” Prince Aemond gave a court tilt of his head.

You blinked. What a strange interaction. You cleared your throat and turned towards Princess Helaena once more.

“Bees do something similar. Do you wish to hear more?"

The Princess nodded. You started your explanation then, still rattled by the siblings' behavior. Whatever your presence had been required for, you were certain it was not going to be boring.

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gulnarsultan · 1 year

Note

Ok, I saw that your request is open, but I decided to make sure (since my request is quite specific). I wanted to make a request to the only link between the blacks and the greens (I know Viserys occupies this spot, but in this case, it will be two people) Rhaenyra's daughter, perhaps Luke's twin. The greens adore her, she has created an incredible bond with Alicent (incredible as it may seem) she is like a mother figure, and both have become very attached to each other, and not only them, both sides of the story love her (so it would be a request yandere!black and green). As I said, she would be the strong link between them, when it comes to her, EVERYONE sits at a table without fights and violence in order to talk about her well-being.

Perhaps, at a party (or dinner, where everyone is present, black and green — if you can place Laennor...) and the reader is pestered by a man, he is flirting valiantly with her and even though she is denying all his advances , he doesn't stop. The family has very different reactions.

I'm sorry for the long request, if you could answer me so I know if you'll answer it, or if I was too rude filling you with information... Thank you so much for reading this far, honey 💗

Thanks for being so kind. I hope you will like it. Please feel free to write more requests.

Maybe you are Rhaenyra's firstborn. You are the twin brother or sister of Jaec or Luke. It doesn't matter to Rhaneyra. You are his favorite child. Maybe it's because you're your mother's only daughter, maybe because of the mother-daughter relationship she lost early in her life, or because she needed a sister/girlfriend who wouldn't betray her. You are a true Targaryen in all your qualities. Your wavy silver hair, pale skin, and violet eyes. You are special not only to your mother, but to everyone in the black team. Your brothers Rhaenys, Harwin, Corlys, Laena, Laennor, your grandfather Viserys, Daemon, Baela, Rhaena all have obsessive tendencies towards you. Keeping you safe and happy is their first priority. However, you are not only the apple of the eye of the black team, but also of the green team. Otto always saw you as his grandson. Alicentin sees you as her child, even if she never had the opportunity to say it out loud. Alicent is causing her children to develop obsessive tendencies towards you. And it supports these trends, causing them to worsen further. You may be the only reason why both sides agree. In fact, Laennor, Criston, Harwin and Daemon think they are your fathers. Each in his own opinion thinks that you are the only man worthy of being your father. Neither side will allow anyone to flirt with you or be your girlfriend. It pampers you to the fullest on both sides.

"Scenario "

A banquet was held at the Red Fort. Kids on both sides were fighting for your attention. You find the opportunity to get away from everyone for a few minutes. A Lord is approaching you.

"Hello Princess."

"Hello my lord."

"It's an honor to meet you."

"Thanks."

"I want to be friend with you."

"Thanks. But that's not possible."

"Why not? Besides, you're of marriageable age."

"Watch your tongue. Talking about such a subject is beyond your limits."

"Your mother didn't discipline you properly. Your husband will domesticate you."

In an instant, the Lord had collapsed before your eyes. Your mother and Alicent drew you in. The lord was immediately dragged into the dungeons. Your mother and Alicent were comforting you. There may be enemies on both sides, but when it comes to you, they even agree to fight together.

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themotherofhorses · 2 years

Text

- last of her house no more: prologue

Series Summary: She was born to Daenerys Stormborn and Khal Drogo on the Dothraki Sea, the youngest of their dragon brood. Known as the Seven Kingdom’s Delight, she trains with swords and arakhs, studies philosophy and history, and takes immense pride in the woman she is becoming.

But her life is forever changed when she comes face-to-face with her long-deceased Green ancestors, including the man the maesters refer to as the one-eyed kinslayer. Now, this princess faces a future not even her mother could foresee in her dreams

pairing: aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader

chapter warnings: none. aegon and otto, maybe.

main masterlist | series masterlist | series playlist

Prologue:

Greens

The Red Priestess was an unexpected sight for the family.

Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, had recently been crowned King by the High Septon within the dragonpit, followed by his queen consort Helaena, only several hours back. Spirits were still high, and the Greens hailed this small victory through cups of fresh wine, a feast, and dancing. They toasted to the health and reign of the new king and the memory of the old. And although they knew that the Princess Rhaenys would bring her word of the crowning to Dragonstone, all thoughts of the war and retaliation would wait till dawning.

Something doesn’t feel right. . . . Alicent Hightower thought to herself, her stomach in a roil. She was nursing a cup of honeyed wine while eating in silence, listening to her family’s bustling talk and the jests they threw about amongst each other.

“Are you happy, dear daughter?” came the voice of Otto Hightower. Alicent’s lips curled into a tight smile as she turned to her father, who placed a heavy hand atop her shoulder with a smile of his own. “Aegon is King now, as the gods’ will always meant. Helaena, his Queen. And through Aemond and his betrothal, House Baratheon will remain strong allies. Have no worry- things are now how they should be.”

As they should be. . .

In all truth, it did not feel that way, but she simply nodded. “Yes, father,” she murmured before excusing herself from the dinner table, needing to clear her mind. She caught Helaena’s attention as she left, but the young girl soon lost interest and glanced back to her plate.

The realm is going to rise in madness.

Alicent recalled the Princess Rhaenys before the coronation. You are wiser than I believe you to be, Alicent Hightower. She did not feel any wiser nor better about her earlier decisions. “Aegon is King,” she told herself as she made her way through the dimmed corridor, empty of the servant folk. “He is King, as Viserys wanted. . . As the gods permitted. . .”

And it was Alicent Hightower, Queen Dowager, that came across a Red Priestess standing alone in the Keep’s Great Hall, a silent and still statue shrouded in an elegant blood-red gown that pooled around her feet. Around her slim neck was a thick necklace with a large, blackened jewel that rested across her collarbone. The queen sucked in a deep breath at the sight. Both her late husband and father spoke of the Red Priests and Priestess, the sacred clergy in the faith of the R’hllor. The Lord of Light. Their presence was both rare and only for a reason.

The hall remained quiet, with both women just staring at each other. Then the Priestess unclasped her hands apart. “You were awarded a fine victory today, Alicent Hightower,” she spoke in the common tongue, “How might you feel?”

The queen did not know what to say to that. “Good,” Alicent answered, unsure. She could feel her heart quickening within her breast, and her father calling out for her outside the room, asking where she had gone. “You are a Red Priestess,” she then said, swallowing thickly, “-mind my tongue, for I have never had the pleasure of meeting one before; I have been told you appear for reasons only you know of. . . Dare I ask why you grace my family with your presence, especially on a night like this?”

The Red Priestess took a short step towards her. “I am as old as the waves of the sea, and the midnight stars you gaze upon in the sky.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled, pale eyes sparkling. “I have lived so many lives. . . seen many things. I witnessed the reign of Aegon the Dragon and that of his successors- both good and bad, kind and evil. . . And from your borne children shall come new kings. . . but you seem to know that already.”

“Do I?” Alicent prompted, her tone weak and soft.

She simply strode closer to the queen, who hid her trembling hands behind her back. The Priestess’s accent was thick and strange, unlike any voice she had ever heard before. “You would sacrifice everything you have to ensure the lineage is of your blood. It is an admirable thing until it isn’t.”

ALICENT! Otto Hightower shouted from outside. But Alicent could not answer his calls. She could also hear her sons asking for her as well, their footsteps growing louder, closer. Had she been gone for that long? It felt like it had only been several minutes. . .

Do not come, she wanted to scream. Please. . ! Stay over there. . .

“Admirable, one might say. Or perhaps even foolish. I cannot help but wonder what might happen if you were granted a chance to see the future,” the Priestess paused shortly, her lips quirking, “Do you believe in it, the future? Many men do not, but alas, did they not say the same about the dragons?” Alicent opened her mouth, but the words fell stuck in her words. Suddenly she felt as if she was back in Rhaenys Targaryen’s bedchamber.

Alicent!

Mother?

Soon the hall’s massive doors slammed open. “WHAT IS GOING ON?” Otto yelled, entering the throne room. He was followed by his three grandchildren, two of whom were clutching longswords and daggers in their hands. “Alicent, my daughter, I have been calling for you to rejoin us-” his voice fell as he soon took notice of the Priestess standing but a few feet away, his hand dropping to the hilt of his own sword. He then turned to his two grandsons, bidding them to sheath their own.

“What has happened?” Otto caught her arm. “Are you troubled?”

Alicent shook her head, draping a hand over his. “No, father,” she told him gently, “but we have a guest.”

“Yes, I can see that. Red Priestess,” Otto nodded through a slight bow. “With that do we owe this honor? Are you here to bless the new king, perhaps?” he asked.

The Priestess shifted her shoulders towards the newcomers, breathing deeply. “I’ve come to spread the word.” Along the stone hall walls, the draperies swayed back and forth in a wash of ebony and crimson silk.

“The word?”

“Yes. A new king has been crowned today, it seems. . . and because of that, the future shall pay the price.”

Her eyes met Alicent’s and Otto’s, who stared her way in sheer disbelief. “The world is the way it because of Dragons. Dragons are gifts from the Lord of Light, sent to purify the non-believers and sinners. And the Lord of Light fashioned the Targaryens to control such. This world has known only the Targaryens. The smallfolk and the high lords, they have all bowed to the Targaryens and their dragons. To the fire made flesh. . .” she paused, frowning, a tiny crease appearing between her eyes, “-what would happen if there were no more to submit to?”

“Dragons?”

“No. Targaryens.”

The Priestess eyed the Hand and the Queen Dowager first, then drifted her sharp gaze to the newly crowned King, and his Queen Consort, and their future Kinslayer brother. Three of them, Targaryen blooded. Silver crowns and soft violet eyes. Dragon riders. Highborn and beautiful.

All will be dead soon, a pity. Their deaths will speak poetry to the lives they lived. Her features grew sympathetic, and her tone softened with kindness and mercy when she said, “While I come to spread the word, I am here to show it to you as well. Your family is doomed, and this is your one chance to save it.”

Targaryens

Her queen mother, above many things, is a dreamer.

The young princess cherished hearing stories belonging to the long days before her birth on the Dothraki Sea. According to the maesters, who already began writing the histories down in their scrolls and books, Daenerys Stormborn, in her early months of being a Khaleesi, dreamt of dragons every night in her tent. All her dreams played out the same- that if she braved the fire, her eggs would hatch. Such sounded nonsensical, of course, until it finally happened beneath the black midnight sky.

Her mother did say the Targaryens possessed the strange ability to do things normal men could not.

Sometimes, in the later morning hours, she would join her mother underneath the shade of their lemon trees and ask if she had dreamt any new dreams. Daenys Targaryen saw the doom of Old Valyria in her sleep, and the ill-fated Helaena prophesied her kid brother, Aemond One-Eye, losing his eye in the claiming of his mount, Vhagar. History remembered all of them; she often wondered if her mother would continue to foresee the future like them, and if she did, would anything change in their house’s fate.

Alas, to her dismay, nothing has changed. Her beloved mother has dreams, but none of the kind she pines to hear.

As of right now, she is her mother’s sole heir to the throne, the proclaimed future queen of the realm, born to Daenerys Stormborn and her Khal Drogo. The youngest in their dragon brood. Her shoulders ache a terrible lot, bruised and swore from the heavy burden she carries, knowing the dragon dynasty perishes with her death. But she refuses to sink beneath it.

Like her ancestor, the Black Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, she is this Seven Kingdoms' Delight. She trains with Valyrian-steel blades and arakhs, studies her history and philosophy, and flies across the bright-blue seas on the backs of the largest dragons in the world.

If her history is to include the fall of her House Targaryen- the true and goldenblood dragonlords of Old Valyria, she vows to make it the greatest royal reign the maesters shall ever record.

notes: yeah yeah, this is short but listen, I promise I'll feed ya plenty. this is the calm before the storm (at least this storm won't include granny vhagar committing more war crimes).

tag list: @dothrckis @dudfahsn @xcharlottemikaelsonx @animusxy @nsainmoonchild @rosaryos @xceafh @winxschester @trshngyn @aemcndtargaryen @hightidelowmood

(if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, please let me know. reposts and comments are greatly appreciated <3)

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #house targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemond the kinslayer #aemond one eye #daenerys targeryan #mother of dragons #game of thrones #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

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goth-iqqa · 1 year

Text

BLAME THE ROSES

Chapter One- Words of a Broken Fool

18+ MDI

Life can only be paid with death. After the demise of Princess Allysanne, a cursed couple brings forth a new life across the Narrow Sea, unbeknownst to the war approaching.

Daemon × Fem!reader, Aegon II × reader

Warnings: angst, cheating, smut, neglect, violence, death/gore. mentions of suicide. kidnappina. dub con, non con, (Targ)incest, pregnancy, miscarriage.

Thank you for your support 😫💕 (comment if u wish to be added)

@myrcxlla @alisonbecker @hightowerwife @winxschester

YEARS AFORE THE BIRTH of the Saddened Queen, the lore extended further than the books of vines and kings told. The fool, Mushroom, tethered with the laughter of court, said it started way before Prince Daemon sowed the love of the Manmo Princess, before all the bodies fell and the wings of a dragon took forth a flight across the Narrow Sea. He said it began amidst a rumble of the crown and a greedy offer from the lions of Casterly Rock.

“Betroth them, Your Grace.”

King Viserys did not expect the words to taunt his hazy mind. Laughter had tumbled in the tent, a facade to veil the shouts of a docile princess who wished not to marry, but the sweet taste of grapes blessed his lips and the offers for a wildling’s hand did not make haste. He was trapped, among the men who lusted after a white stag and the women who whispered of the Stepstones. The least a king could do was to drown away, expecting the fire to burn outside and the ashes of a lost dream to fly with the wind.

“What?”

“Prince Aegon and Rhaenyra.”

His eyes searched for the boy he sired. Behind the silken curtain of wild skins, Aegon whined and writhed in the arms of his maids. He reached for the girl across the small square, stuffing her mouth, round and full, of lemon tarts and raw honey treats she was not kind to share. Alysanne, daughter from her father’s loin, was the bare mimic of the beauty Queen Aemma had been, before the butchering came and the curses hallowed a corpse. She looked up at the King, eyes wide with mischief, and she smiled at him.

Viserys returned it, waving the girl’s attention back to the souring brother. “The boy just turned two,” he said. “Otto, he is a child.”

The Lord Hand nodded. “Yes. But it would cease the endless proposals for Rhaenyra’s hand. Only then, they will move on to Alysanne. The Lord of Casterly Rock sounded open to a marriage with a princess. If Rhaenyra and Aegon are betrothed, he will settle for princess Alysanne—“

A peal of laughter broke from the King. “Princess Alysanne will remain untouched by offers from a man whose ego is greater than his head.” His chest rose and the goblet of wine touched his lips again. “I came here to unwind,” with a loud gulp he turned back to the man who spoke. “Not to be suffocated by all this politi-king!”

“Of course. Let us speak no more of it.”

Otto Hightower stood from the stolen chair and parted, shamefully, away from the King.

When the last bit of his cup dried, and his belly could hold no more, King Viserys raised to the quiet tent and watched the flickering light of endless logs. He, stolen from sober sanity, had not felt the tug to his leg and the eyes of his youngest daughter, Alysanne, that watched him from below the shadows. The calls of servants for their small princess went unheard, filched away by the cackling flames of the fire that burned the skin of his cheeks red and raw.

“Is Rhaenyra to return soon, father?”

The princess of just nine name days, as Mushroom would include, was well-spoken for a girl her age. It was no surprise her tongue ran fluently when only the proper knowledge, provided by maesters and scholars from the Citadel, was given to the princess who acted with wildness like her sister’s. “My tent is dark, and she promised to sing to me. She promised, but she isn’t here.”

Viserys did not waste his breath on a foolish explanation, he did not know where his daughter hid nor did he care to know after the mockery that left her lips and silenced the entire court. Instead, he kneeled before his daughter and his warm hands caressed the cold of her cheeks. “She will sing to you. Rhaenyra always keeps the promises she makes to you, does she not?”

A smile spread on his face. Not a genuine one, but one enough to satisfy the hesitant ache in the flicker of Alysanne’s eyes. “Head to bed, now. I am sure Rhaenyra will return before you are tucked in.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Gods were cruel, Mushroom explained. Their eyes, twisted and vile, had dotted on the most innocent soul who wandered the halls of the palace and pleaded giggles and jokes from a mere fool. For the moment the fire died, and the King vanished into a deep slumber, the light of one tent remained.

The death of Princess Alysanne was no mistake. Not when the blood pooled at the bottom of the hill, and strands of hair and milky flesh caught on the spikes meant for the white stag Otto so proudly chanted for. It was a tragedy, truly, the guards began the puzzle of the unknown, and their theories, hazy with sleep, mocked the cries of King Viserys all at once.

It was said the youngest princess wandered into the line of twisted trees, calling out for her sister, brimming with tears, as she stared into the deep, green abyss of weeping winds. When her sworn shield saw her, Alysanne was lurked further away by the claws of darkness.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

Alysanne had tripped in the mangled roots and rolled down the drop-off that sliced through the terrain. In the shadows and fog, the girl dove into a pit of sharp branches—a deadly trap meant to ensnare another life.

"I deserve the highest punishment; I failed my only duty. Princess Alysanne is dead because of me."

King Viserys stared at his daughter's body, at least what remained of it. He'd been quiet the entire time, frozen in place, watching as if the last piece of his beloved would fade away with a single blink. It would, eventually, when the fire devoured what was left and her ashes flew away with the scorching wind. Until the chants of Syrax came, and the Silent Sisters took her, he held onto his daughter's hand.

"Husband." his wife, Queen Alicent, said after a while. She'd been sleeping, at least trying to, in her tent when the news of the missing princesses arose. Her father had been the one to deliver the news, the old man of brown hair bursting into her tent despite her ladies’ pleas to not disrupt the pregnant queen's sleep.

His words were drenched with sarcasm, and a mocking song escaped his lips as he wondered about Princess Rhaenyra's whereabouts and if she too whisked the younger princess to her savage adventures. She had shushed him when his tongue twisted to place blame on her friend for causing a rumble of chaos on his grandson's second name day. Then, after he suggested poor Alysanne’s demise, she marched in search of her drunk husband's tent.

"My sweet girl,"

Only fate would have Otto Hightower's words be true. For the moment the eldest Princess returned, bloody and disheveled, and in the company of Ser Criston, without knowledge of her sister, did the noblemen, ladies, and servants begin to search for the second daughter of the crown.

It had been Jason Lannister who found the young princess’s guard. His armor of steel was off and he cradled himself against a tree, crying, or sweating—the Lord couldn't tell. His shirt was off, his once fair skin now rubbed raw with dirt and blood. His nails had been ripped out from climbing back up the hill, he muttered between gasps, "It was my fault." Beside his legs, on the cold mossy ground, laid a disfigured body covered by his linen shirt.

"My innocent girl," Viserys cried when the Lannister twin arrived with the body of his young daughter. He'd wobbled up to him, snatching the girl from his arms and taking her into his own embrace. The King collapsed to his knees, rocking the child, begging, no, ordering, demanding, for her eyes to open at once. They didn't. He blamed the wine from the night before, the septa in charge of her, his own guards, the useless servants—for a moment he thought of blaming Rhaenyra.

Surely, if she'd just agreed to his offer, or at least showed a bit of interest in his choice, they wouldn't have fought. She would have stayed at their side and poor Alysanne would have remained asleep, lulled away by that stupid melody Aemma would hum into her ear.

When his eyes turned to the crown princess, she too kneeled beside him. She hummed that same song with tears brimming in her eyes. Her voice was soft and shaky, probably caught by the knot he felt in his own throat.

She gently caressed the muddy locks of hair, soothing as if the child were to awaken by a sudden pull. "I'm sorry.” He wasn't sure what he apologized for. His eyes met hers, violet and flickering in red pools of water. "I’m sorry.” For your mother, for your sister. For everything.

Rhaenyra remained quiet. The taste of grief was becoming a familiar palette to the princess, she was sure her father savored it on his tongue as well. She hoped he would, at the very least.

"It's time."

When the guards approached to take the child, the King yelled at them, pointed a dagger of pure Valyrian steel, and told them to stay away. He begged for another moment, a mere second to enjoy the touch of his daughter like he’d done before by the cackling of the fire. But the body was beginning to swell and maesters warned him of the morbid process of decay.

"A father should never witness such a thing, Your Grace."

"Don't! Don't you fucking tell me what to do!"

In the bite of it all, it was Rhaenyra who tugged at his arms, soft pleas rolled from her lips till they silenced with a kiss to his temple. He finally gave, then. One of the remaining pieces of his darling Aemma silently slipped from his arms once again. His heart ached.

Viserys didn’t feel the hands of his wife fall on his shoulders, the gentle whisper of comfort that failed to reach his ear. Instead, he was taunted by the promise he did not hold. Rhaenyra had not returned to sing to her. He wondered—no, hoped, her death was peaceful, at once, and not slow and painful. He choked, and for the rest of his days, he would wonder why no marks sowed to her skin, and when the rebirth of a flower bloomed, the King would slowly die. Surly and painful.

He watched as Rhaenyra left, trailing behind the servants who carried her sister into an empty carriage surrounded by ladies and lords of court, and Mushroom, who stood ghastly still.

“She shall have a bed of roses prepared for her burial,” Queen Alicent spoke, for both her husband and the late princess's maid. "Red. They were her favorites."

Though his head rested low, the king nodded. "Red,” he whispered to himself, almost like a chant. "They were her favorites."

When it first happened, years after the demise of an infant princess, a new season bloomed and the streets of King’s Landing were covered in a bright sheen under the pale sun. Clouds were shaped like tufty pillows then, and glided slowly across the sky, until they shattered, pulling apart when the wings of a golden dragon flew past and ringed ribbons of flickering light from its throat into the frail sky above.

It was the morrow of Prince Jacaerys’ tenth name day, and an open invitation traveled to the realm, spreading to every corner of the West like vines sowing through the soil and tugging at the last speck of ice in Winterfell. It was no surprise when ships of every house arrived at the port of Blackwater Rush, bearing gifts and hailing the prince, a future king, while others, in vile whispers, hailed a bastard born of sin.

Before the Saddened Queen, there was the Churlish Princess, wild and poisoned like the waves that separated the mouths of her ancestry home and Dragonstone. In a fleet with unfurled banners of a black jaguar in a yellow field, Y/N Endo stretched across the border of the deck to watch the dragon kiss the ripple of the sea. The golden dragon, saddled with a faceless rider, waved his wings, and light, drizzling rain greeted the skin of her face with strangling coldness and the taste of salt on her lips.

“Beautiful, ghastly beasts they are,”

Her eyes, brown and wide like her father’s, turned to the man who dared stand at her side. “You said they were filthy creatures. That one seems to be made of gold, brother dearest.”

“From afar, yes. Up close, sister, you will tremble to your knees with fear and disgust, alike.”

Syrion Corgel was the bastard of Manmo, sired by an unknown and birthed by the same womb of their blind mother. It was often rumored of the men she entertained at her husband’s wish, they were not true. But her name carried a filthy history. Alanis Endo was said to be a whore like her own mother had been, blind, and sold to the wealthiest. A curse expected to follow like thorns to the next babe born of her blood.

Y/N, however, would not. “I hope to see one up close. Then, maybe, I’d die the death of my choice.”

“Being devoured by flames?” Syrion laughed. “You have been speaking of death since the moment you stepped into this ship, why? What’s grasping your small mind, sister?”

“Father seems to think an offer for my hand will be made tonight. He says Targaryen court is the most thriving for a proposal, even better if I catch the eye of a prince or the mother of one.”

“All your father wants is the crown back to the head it belongs to. It was only your luck to be born an Endo,” he mocked. “If it’s fated, the Queen has borne three princes, and the crown princess has a future king and the future Lord of the Tides.”

A small scoff left her lips. “He already decided my fate. Yet, all I want is a home with a big garden, brother.” She leaned away against the deck, and a wave of long, pale-silver hair cascaded down her sides, waving in the wind, as she continued to watch the golden dragon disappear in the flames of the sun. “I want nothing more.”

While many servants and charladies of the princess spoke different versions of what led the Endos away from their seat in Manmo, the truth only laid in the intentions of a father to wed his daughter to a Targaryen prince. It was no surprise when a smile strewed across the face of Princess Rhaenyra, a gentle and affirming one, when her eyes landed on the ones of the girl promised to her eldest son. Y/N Endo, the heir to the Solstice name, and future leader of Manmo, would join the books of dragons, unaware of the infant stud butchered and crossed from history meant to be reborn in her sake.

“Prince of Manmo, Lord of the Solstice name, Calyx Endo, and his heir, the Princess of Bilge, Y/N Endo.”

Above her gaze, the Iron Throne sat on a raised iron dais with high and narrow steps. King Viserys plumbed himself in its sharp edges and melted handles, and on his lap, with a smile so timidly, Prince Jacaerys waved at the girl he knew only by a vaunted name.

It was said, even before their meeting, his mother did not spare untold details of the great beauty his future queen was. A wife with the blood of Old Valyria, blessed by the gods, their children would bloom just as beautifully and the silent questions of a certain heritage would stop, once and for all. Had their betrothal gone through, and the princess had not ached for the greed, the betrayal of queens would remain a thought to be wither away with the winds of a war.

“I’ve brought you a gift,” Y/N said with a smile. From behind her, her bastard brother carried a golden cradle and presented it to the feet of the young prince. “Jaguars are said to symbolize strength, ferocity, and courage. Black fur is rare among them. Being born on the same moon as you, my prince, it seemed awry not to bring you two together.”

Jacaerys raised the cub in his hands. It screeched, writhing away from the unknown scent before him, biting and clawing at the hands of the prince who gasped and shook nervously.

With a painful poke to her rib by the cane of her father, Y/N stepped forth. Purpling fingers stretched over Jacaerys’ own and she tugged at the black fur of the tiny creature. “He won’t like you for a while,” she said, softly for only him to hear. “He was taken from his mother’s side. Unsureness and fright is the cruelest and most dangerous form of men and animals alike, my prince.”

The Churlish Princess pushed the frail ball into his chest, letting the claws bite at the leather of his shirt instead of the reddening flesh of his hands. She rubbed the tiny cuts, whispering luring heals into his ear. “May the gods always keep you in their good grace.”

From the side of the throne, Rhaenyra raised her goblet in the air and toasted to her son’s name. Her eyes, however, did not leave Y/N Endo, not when the girl bowed and retrieved back to the crowd of chanting guests with a vanished smile. Instead, she nudged Mushroom, and with lips red by the wine, she requested of him a new task.

“Do make the princess laugh. Happy people tend to speak more freely than words laced with wine, do they not? I want to hear her laughter before the sun sets.”

The broken fool could not say no, not to the princess he adored the most. When he wobbled to the youngest, eyes gleaming at the beauty of a girl he once knew, he bowed and the bells sewed to his clothes clattered against one another. “I am Mushroom, princess, this court’s fool.” He bowed again, “It is my pleasure to meet you.”

“Mushroom,” she repeated. “What an odd name.” Her lips twisted to a smile and she extended her hand out.

When the fool did not move and stared at her waiting fingers, confused, she laughed. “I am Y/N. It is common for people who have just met to shake hands, Mushroom.” Y/N explained. She extended her hand out, once again. “You and I have just met. Come on, now.”

For a moment, Mushroom seemed to hesitate before her poised stand. Her hands were much larger than his, every finger, long and cold, decorated by fine rings and jewels that danced to her wrists. She’d been too naive then, the eyes of her father watched them from afar, almost ashamed of the way her words addressed a man lower than a servant. Had he been close, the older man would not hesitate to pinch the bruising skin his daughter held beneath the fabrics of her skirt.

“Mushroom?” Her fingers flexed.

At once, the smaller hand swarmed into her own, bending to palm, and they shook, like friends would have done. For the first time, the broken fool smiled, genuinely, at the girl who fated their end.

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star-girl69 · 1 year

Text

I Loved You Like the Sun

a/n: i’m so mean for this i’m sorry in advance

also apologies bc i suck at writing action scenes

warnings: incest, blood, death, knives, swearing, violence, tell me if i missed anything!!

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Chapter Thirty- Blood & Cheese

—-

Blood and Cheese.

They were odd names, Rhaenyra thought, but Daemon assured her they would get the job done.

It had taken time for news to reach his contacts, more for the response to come and for the plan to be set. It was now six days since Cannibal had returned without her.

He gave them a map of the tunnels, instructed them to find them sometime when they were all together, a dinner, something, and kill them all. Leave the children and Helaena- make it painful for the rest.

She found she couldn’t think about it anymore. Daemon climbed into bed beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist that felt good, normal, but something was sorely missing.

She felt Daemon press a kiss to her bare shoulder, and she fell asleep sobbing for the sixth day in a row.

—-

You watch Aegon wearily as he sulks in the corner- Alicent demanded the family gather, that this is the last moment of peace they will have for a while before the real war will begin.

You know you are the calm in a raging sea, that Daemon and Rhaenyra relied on you for an a calm head, a reprieve, shelter. Without you, you cannot imagine the chaos they will inflict.

Aemond sits stiffly beside Helaena on a chaise, eyes glancing to you every few minutes. Helaena watches the children happily, humming while she does her needlepoint. A beautiful red and black spider. You notice she never knits with green.

Alicent presides over it all, the chair across from yours, smiling happily. She has her family altogether. You are more jealous of her now than you ever have been before.

Her perfect family obviously does not include you, but Helaena insisted you come as well, and this was better than sobbing into your pillow alone, you supposed.

But, you just sighed as Otto took a seat- across from you, next to Alicent- staring thoughtfully off into the distance. A nervous lilac eye on yours, the feeling of annoyance in the air.

You feel powerless in this place. You know that this place should be yours, you should be the one presiding over it all. Rhaenyra is the Queen, and she will make you one as well. Daemon will be King, your children princes and princesses, happy, happy, happy.

With them, you ruled the world.

Your dragons would change the course of the winds for you, make kingdoms rise and fall at your will. A flippant hand in someone’s direction, and soon dragon fire will be blown at them. Burn, burn, burn.

Now, you cry yourself to sleep. Wake alone. Fill your days with the memory of them. The absence of power and safety weighs on your heart.

The people around you, across from you, next to you, want your head on a silver plate. To them, you are a puppet, and the string you hang from is choking you.

Helaena suddenly sets her needlepoint down, murmuring that she is quite thirsty. The only maid in the room leaves to fulfill her request of chamomile tea, and you continue to watch the children.

(They are making their way through the tunnels, pausing to consult the map. They are in the palace now, slowly climbing to the higher floors.)

You and Helaena both gasp when Maelor throws a wooden dragon, almost hitting Jaehaerys on its descent. Maelor is closest to you, so you lean down and place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You should not throw, honey, you may hurt someone.” He looks up at you, and you can tell he has no idea what you’re saying. He looks so much like Viserys, oddly, that you let your hand wisp through his blonde locks. He smiles, turns back to his dragons.

Aegon scoffs from across the room, and you look up.

He meets your eyes, his bottom lip curling in distaste.

(Their path is straight, now. No more stairs to climb. They come to a dead end. Consult the map. Yes, this is the place. The wall creaks open, secret door appearing from cream colored paper.

They watch two handmaidens in front of them. One is carrying a tray, while the other stands in front of her and fixes her dress.

“Down the hall, last door on the right. That is where the royal family is. All you have to do is give Queen Helaena her tea.”

“Oh, praise the Seven.”

“Do not be nervous. This is a great honor to be given on only your second week. There is not room for failure.”

Sad, she will never get to bring that tea. Their throats are cut, and the men in the walls continue their journey.)

Alicent sighs, heavily. “What is the matter, Aegon?”

“Nothing. I just… wonder what gives her any right to discipline my son.”

“It was not like that,” Helaena murmurs, and you can barely hear her. You straighten your spine, fingers detangling from Maelor’s hair.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” You put as much derision into your voice as you dare, and his eyes narrow.

“Let us enjoy this peaceful evening, yes?” Alicent glances around the room, before turning back to the book in her lap. She hums to herself about writing to Daeron, while you and Aegon do not back down. He stares and you stare.

Aegon is a usurper. A traitor. You will not give up, will not let him win.

But to your surprise, he simply scoffs and looks away first. You lean back into your chair, slightly surprised. You did not think him one to back down.

You cannot be in this room anymore. It is when you are about to stand, that the door opens. You take no mind, figuring it to be a handmaiden, fiddling with your dress as you take a deep breath to take your leave.

Helaena screams, Aegon startles, and Aemond grabs his dagger.

When you look up, two men dominate the room. One bars the doors, and you gasp, the other takes a step forward, and tears well in your eyes.

One is pale and quite short, dagger in a bony hand. The other is taller, muscled, tanned skin and stubble on his chin. You can tell they are hardened from a life on Flea Bottom, assassins, former Gold Cloaks perhaps. They scare you to the bone.

Dameon is not here to save you, now. Rhaenyra is not here to hold you, now. Not like last time. You are alone. Alone, alone, alone.

It is Otto who rises slowly, hands out calmly, as the men survey the room. Aegon screams that he is King. Alicent calls for the guards. You can barely make out banging on the door, opposite the rhythmic beat of your heart, dragon wingbeats. You miss Daemon.

“Who are you?” Otto calls.

“A debt must be made,” one of them says, the shorter, paler one.

The room is silent besides for the sounds of crying children and Helaena’s erratic breathing. Alicent has crossed the room to hold her- you want to be holding your children. You want to go home.

Tears fall down your face, down your necklace Helaena had ensured you kept. Made of Valyrian steel. Two initials on the back of it.

You grab at it, clutching it between your nervous fingers.

You admit, you often forget it is even there. It’s comforting weight is always on you, it is as if your body has grown around it. Daemon and Rhaenyra, always with you.

“What fucking debt?” Aegon shouts, tearing through the room and coming face to face with them. “I am the King, and you will be hung as traitors!”

The bigger one sends him a deadly glare.

“You may be King, but you are foolish. Your treason spreads like water throughout the realm.”

“What- what treason?!” Otto sputters, “Who do you work for?!”

“The entire Realm knows you murdered Lady Targaryen, Prince Aemond. They hiss at the sound of your name and call you Kinslayer.”

“No, no, no,” you breathe, and everything falls into place.

“The Queen and her husband have sent us for revenge. The Realm will know the meaning of fire.”

“No!” You scream again, throwing yourself off of the couch and towards them. They cannot kill them, because they have to take you home. You need to go home.Your blood is singing, your heart is twisting.

You stand on shaky legs, holding a hand out.

“I- I am Lady Targaryen. I’m not dead, I’m not. Please,”

“She’s lying,” Aemond hisses. “She is nothing. Discard her.”

“No! No, I am telling the truth!” You grab the bigger man’s wrist, and he stares at you, uncertain. But he also knows that even if there is a modicum of truth to your words, and if he hurts you, he will know the meaning of fire.

You see it in his eyes. Some part of him is cautious, some part of him wants to believe you. To return Lady Targaryen back to her family would make him a hero. Riches shined upon him, women fawning over him, the Queens and King in his debt.

“My necklace!” You gasp, suddenly, hold it out to him, he grabs the end of it, studying it while the smaller man keeps watch, daggers looming. “It- it’s Valyrian steel,” he turns it over, traces the inscription with his finger.

“D and R,” he murmurs, before it clicks in his brain and he pulls you to him. “Cheese! Abandon the fucking mission, we’re gonna be hero’s!” The other man laughs greedily, backing up slowly.

You sob into the man’s shoulder, and he wraps an arm around you to keep you steady. Not quite Daemon, but if you close your eyes, it’s close enough.

Home, home, home, you think, over and over again, repeat your family’s names.

Daemon, Rhaenyra, Jace, Luke, Joffrey, Baela, Rhaena, Aegon, Daenys, and Viserys. Daemon and Rhaenyra. Daemon and Rhaenyra. Cannibal, Cannibal, Cannibal, your Cannibal.

It is sudden when he falls, the other man, Cheese, screaming out “Blood!” before murmuring that he’s sorry and running out. You fall with him, trapped under his arm.

When you get out from under his weight, there is a knife in his back, you pull his head into your lap, sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” you say, over and over, because it was Aemond’s dagger but your doing. You hold him until the light fades from his eyes, and the blood seeps around you, soaking your dress.

When he stops convulsing, when you realize the other man is gone, without you, you raise your bloody hands to your face, shaking, shaking, and scream so loudly you hear the children screech as well.

(You would later find out that Cheese was caught by guards, tackled to the ground. They meant to just restrain him, but he fought back, screaming that he must save the Queen. They killed him, and his blood is on your hands too.)

You scream until you run out of breath, until Helaena, sobbing as well, places a gentle hand on your shoulder. She whispers that she’s sorry. You sob into your bloody hands, stained with your freedom.

—-

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#daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader

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joyfulladywarrior · 11 months

Text

Young Rhaenyra getting revenge au part 3

Rhaenyra can't believe the command her father just gave Otto. When she started talking, she knew that the hand would do his best to have her disinherited in favor of his grandson. Had her father chosen Laena, she could have appealed to the kinship between her and Laena. With Alicent, she knows that no amount of appealing would have worked for her. If Alicent listened to her father and went to a man's room unchaperoned, then she would listen to her father if he wanted her to usurp Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra knows her enemy and knows that he would do anything to take her down. She had decided then to try to take them down with her and if she gets disinherited then at least she spoke her mind for the first time in her life. Instead of getting angry over being compared to Maegor, the king sided with her. Or rather he sided with Otto's nonexistent honor.

"I... I am at loss my king. I do not believe that I can swear an oath to not contest the princess' claim. Should she prove to be unsuitable as prince Daemon then should I not contest her claim? Should I not do my duty as hand and protect the interest of the realm?" Otto replied as soon as he regained his composure.

"And did the interest of the realm tell you to send your daughter to the king?" Rhaenyra replied back.

"I merely sent her to comfort the king in his time of need. I only had the best intentions"

"True. Your best intentions was to send the crown princess' servant to comfort the king instead of a whore from the silk street. I do applaud you for your quick thinking. What would the lords and ladies say should the king be discovered with a whore?" Rhaenyra replied to the hand, knowing she won this round.

"Rhaenyra!" the king exclaimed, scandalized at the prospect of being discovered with a whore as if Alicent isn't a whore, just not from the silk street.

"My apologies father. I just want assurance for my position."

"As is your right dear daughter."

The king directed his attention back to Otto. I can only imagine what he would ask next. The hand has always manipulate the king. Only problem with making a puppet of someone is that others can play with that puppet too.

"Ser Otto, while I applaud your dedication to the crown, my daughter is no Daemon. I had raised my daughter to be a responsible princess. Give us your oath and your assurance that no child of Alicent will replace Rhaenyra in the succession line."

"I can't" Otto whispered.

"What?" the king asked incredulously.

"My king... I can't make the oath"

"And why is that ser Otto? Were you not the one who advocated for Rhaenyra to become my heir?"

"My king, ser Otto does not mean anything by his refusal" Mellos interjected.

"Stay out of this Mellos. I am talking with Otto" the king snarled.

"My king, my daughter will give you a male heir. The realm will not accept a woman on the iron throne even if she was Jaeherys reborn. Naming her an heir was to ensure that Daemon would not end up on the throne. It was always known that you will remarry to get a true heir. I am your hand, your grace. I have to tell you uncomfortable truths and steer you in the right direction"

Silence filled the small council room again. Otto looked resigned. It also looks like he, for the first time, did not honey his words. Ser Westerling looked angry. He previously looked surprised when Alicent had all but admitted that she visited the king. He was not guarding the king in the nights Alicent visited. Sers Lyonel Strong and Lyman Beesbury were shocked. Mellos, who butchered my mother on the orders of my father, looked terrified. Lord Velaryon looks unexpectedly smug. My father looked as if he just saw Otto for the first time. He kept staring at Otto with clear eyes. The king had been unpredictable. I believe that no one knows how he would react to this. On any other day, my father would have excused Otto but his reactions today to the conversation made me and everyone nervous.

"Aemma did not give me a son. What makes you so sure that Alicent will be any different?"

#rhaenyra targaryen #fuck viserys #queen rhaenyra #badass rhaenyra #fuck otto hightower #maester mellos #viserys thinking for the first time #Otto hightower will go down

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lya-dustin · 1 year

Text

Cupid kills with arrows

Chapter 4

Cw: mentions of past child abuse and exploitation

Gif by @lady-crumplebottom

Aemond finds himself awoken by the whispering of the handmaidens tasked with caring for them.

“Her grace needs the sheets.” Talya whispers and gestured to the sleeping maiden he’s disappointed within the first six hours of marriage. “The Council needs proof.”

Of what?

That Aemond was not man enough to take his own wife’s maidenhead?

That the throne may as well go to Jacaerys because Aegon fucked him up so bad that he doesn’t know if he could ever bed Aemma?

“I will speak to my mother about the matter, Talya. Let Princess Aemma sleep in, I ruined her wedding night anyways.” He dismissed her and began to ready himself for the day.

They are supposed to leave for the royal hunting lodge where the newlyweds are expected to do nothing but fuck and enjoy their company away from everyone for an entire moon.

A new thing done especially for them because their mothers need them to have a happy marriage and a child for it to work.

Until last night, Aemond had been all for it. To have his Aemee to himself for an entire moon and make her know she had not made a mistake marrying him.

All that shattered in one moment.

What a fucking mess it had become.

Aemond finds her awake, not bothering to move from the bed as Talya quietly demanded the fucking sheets and left exactly as he had left her.

“What is there to tell the queen? If she want the sheets, she can come get them herself.” Aemma snapped at the handmaiden who had forgotten willfulness is a trait every Targaryen is born with.

It would be humiliating, for her and for him. Her for not enticing her husband enough, he for not being able to fuck his wife.

He can hear it now, gods, he’s never hated Aegon more.

“What do you mean nothing happened?” Alicent asked in a whisper as Talya confirmed what the lack of sounds indicated last night.

“He blamed the wine, your highness.” The handmaiden answered knowing he had lied.

This was not good.

The only reason this marriage was permitted by her father was because it would ensure their blood would be on the throne no matter what happened.

The only way to stop Otto Hightower ---a man who has never known war and yet craves it--- from starting burning Westeros to the ground to put Aegon on Rhaenyra’s Throne.

They needed Aemond to sire sons on Rhaenyra’s impertinent and willful daughter more than they needed to make nice with the Blacks.

They needed to keep this a secret from her father.

Speaking of the Stranger.

“Your son has proven to be just as much as a disappointment as your elder children, daughter. It is bad enough the court knows he is a man-maiden, but even Laenor Velaryon managed to bed his whore of a wife and get her with child.”

Otto Hightower had never truly been a good father, mother had softened him, but when she died and Myles and Gwayne left to Oldtown, Alicent was left alone with him.

When she failed to entice Daemon at the age of four and ten ---who only ever saw her with suspicion after that---into accepting his deal, he struck her for not being good enough.

Never hit her in a place anyone would see, no, he needed her to look her best ---better than Rhaenyra who everyone knew was meant to marry her uncle and secure the succession--- so he could sell her to the highest bidder.

Didn’t matter that man had been her only friend’s father or that she was barely five and ten.

Her friend ---who she loves like a sister--- whom he has been dreaming of killing since Queen Aemma died.

Had he been anyone else , Alicent would have reprimanded him for calling Rhaenyra a whore and accusing Aemond of not being man enough.

But whenever her father is near her, Alicent feels like the girl of five and ten being told to seduce the king in her mother’s dress before the Queen’s ashes had even cooled.

“I am sure he will remedy that before the honeyed moon is over, father.” The queen hoped that would be enough to placate him.

No need to make this a matter for the council.

But he will, just to show he has that power over them.

That he ---a second son who only inherited his wits from his Redwyne mother--- rules Westeros in all but name.

Aemma has been told she is a beauty; she is confident in her beauty and knows men find her desirable.

Up until last night.

Last night Aemond had gone soft ---she had felt his hardness against her thigh--- just as he was about to fuck her.

The only other woman known to suffer such a humiliating wedding night like that was Rhea Royce.

“Where is his highness?” she asks as she is dressed for the day.

“He went to make sure the preparations for your wedding trip are finished.” The handmaiden, a girl from the Reach assigned to her new household by the queen, answered as she tied the ribbon of her Dornish Farthingale.

They were to spend the honey moon at the lodge, end it with a hunt, a tourney and then go on a progress to show Westeros they are married, happy and that their families can coexist peacefully.

Mother and Queen Alicent had only a tourney before the progress, Helaena as well, but they were trying this new thing on Aemma.

A moon to see if they can love each other or learn how to tolerate each other in public.

While Aemma is usually an optimist, she has no hopes of the former happening.

“Will he break fast with me this morning?” Aemma asks hoping he will, but at the same time not wishing to see his stupid pretty face for a few more hours.

“He will not, your highness, he sends his apologies.”

And sure enough, she starts her first day as a married woman feeling utterly alone.

Aemond and Aemma had barely left the gates of the Red Keep when Rhaenyra is called to a meeting about them.

A note is given to her in secret by a page.

Aemond did not consummate his marriage to your daughter due to the wine, my father seeks to blame your Aemma.

-Alicent

It had been ages since Rhaenyra had been sent something from her former friend and had the words in the missive not caused her alarm, she would have kept it instead of tossing it into the fireplace for Aegon’s Stormcloud to burn.

They could not quash all chances for rebellion if Otto Hightower and his supporters had nothing forcing them to back down.

A baby with his blood would make his supporters desert him.

No one wants to be a kinslayer, nor serve one. They know what the Iron Throne does to kinslayers and usurpers.

What had caused Aemond not to perform his duties?

Aemma was lovely, many a servant and guard had been flogged for leering at her and many poets and artists had fought over the chance of immortalizing her in song and painting.

Aemma knew what she needed to know. More than she needed to know given Rhaenyra found her missing copy of a Caution for Young Girls: A Wanton’s Tale ---bookmarked on Coryanne’s adventures with her mummer’s troupe--- under her pillow.

Aemond was not into boys, she had seen him enough as a boy to know that, and Criston would have no doubt told him how the act is done given he had practically raised him.

“I believe you are overreacting, Ser Otto, they are young and have been married for less than two and ten hours.” Rhaenyra dismissed his plans for having the marriage annulled should the ‘issue’ continue.

No doubt the snake of Hightower already had brides lined up for his grandson, Tyshara Lannister and Cassandra Baratheon had been considered as such due to their status as their fathers’ heirs.

If the gods are good, Otto will be proven irrational and a little Targaryen prince will be occupying the empty nursery in Aemma’s new rooms at Court before the children’s first anniversary.

If the gods are great, Otto will fall on all those stairs at the Tower of the Hand and die along with all his schemes before the next turn of the moon.

#aemma velaryon #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #cupid kills with arrows fic #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #ewan mitchell

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juliaswickcrs · 2 years

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SNAKES IN THE GRASS :: CHAPTER UPDATE ↳ a tourney to remember

“I am delighted to be a guest for such a momentous occasion,” Leila’s words dripped like honey from her mouth, although she couldn’t stop herself from smirking as the next thought spilled out of her, “I must confess, it is rather strange to witness such a celebration for the arrival of a son. In truth, I believed Princess Rhaenyra your heir until the Lord Lyonel corrected me otherwise.”

The King stiffened beside her and his smile grew tighter. Ser Otto on the other hand, looked perfectly serene, his deep green eyes examining her in a way that made Leila shift in her seat slightly.

“I am afraid Westeros tradition differs greatly than Dornish ones, my lady,” Ser Otto spoke with a controlled tone, but the casual way he refused to use her title made it clear that he knew what he was doing. Leila’s hands curled into a fist, “In Dorne it may be perfectly usual for a woman to inherit the throne, but in Westeros the tradition of father to son is a beloved one, steeped in generations of history that cannot easily be undone.”

“Of course not, my lord,” Leila replied, ever the courtier, “The Great Council made sure of that.”

FFN // WATTPAD ( COMING SOON )

tag list:@honeyandsunflowers @foxesandmagic @booty-boggins @iron-parkr @jvstjewels @camiemendes @a-song-of-quill-and-feather @arrthurpendragon @villain-connoisseur @starcrossedjedis @drbobbimorse @noratilney @stanshollaand @kingsmakers @elmunson @darth-caillic @mystic-scripture @lizziesxltzmxn @misshiraeth98

#asoiaf oc #ocappreciation #ochub #fyeahhotdocs #fyeahgameofthronesocs #game of thrones oc #criston Cole x oc #oc: leila martell #fic: snakes in the grass #my fics #my ocs #my edits #{oops another update cause I couldn't wait and people are pissing me off}

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therealjammy · 1 year

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Many Happy Returns

AN: I wrote a bit of softness/fluff, because my favourite episodes have left my heart aching and I needed a balm. This takes place in a canon divergent vacuum where the strife between the Hightowers and the Targaryens is steadily healing. Also, the text in italics is meant to represent Rhaenyra speaking High Valyrian.

Happy reading! You can also read this on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44991856/chapters/113208199

Not sure when the next chapter will be up, but hopefully soon xx

----------------

It is a day close to high summer, the warmth of it entirely welcome after the fog and the chilled rain that’d plagued the Stepstones during the latter half of the battle. The sun warms Rhaenyra’s face, glints off Syrax’s scales; her beloved lets loose a short, mighty roar when they are at last free of the clouds’ cloak.

“How like a cat you are, in love with the sun!” Rhaenyra says, but she cannot blame Syrax; neither of them are creatures made for dreary sea-weather, but for the sun and the sky, where fire rises.

King’s Landing is bathed in golden light, a beacon guiding Rhaenyra to the courtyard, where the whole of the small council has gathered awaiting her return. She immediately spies Otto Hightower among the gaggle of black and red, distinct in the colours of his House. And he is, naturally, the first to approach when Rhaenyra’s muddied and bloodstained boots find solid ground.

She pats Syrax’s neck, utters, “Good work, my heart.”

Otto bows. “Princess Rhaenyra,” he says, “you are most welcome back. His Grace—”

“You’ll forgive my interruption, my Lord Hand, but I shall see none but Her Grace first.”

Otto is quick to recover. “Of course, Princess.”

Her journey into the Red Keep is wrought with haste, her heart drumming to the rhythm of Alicent’s name, much as it had done when she was years younger and joy filled her at the mere sight of her companion. Her guard, Ser Erryk, struggles to keep with her pace; by the time she reaches Alicent’s chambers, they are both winded. She orders him to wait, and turns the handle without waiting for Alicent’s guard to do so, or announce her at the door’s opening. Immediately Rhaenyra welcomes the light-filled room, the scents of burning candles and Alicent’s distinct sweet perfume.

The woman in question is seated in the sun, a swaddled babe in her arms, watched over by a handmaiden Rhaenyra has never seen before. Alicent does not stand when she catches sight of Rhaenyra, but still says, “Princess.”

“My Queen,” responds Rhaenyra, restraining impropriety with a mighty effort.

“Leave us, please, Dyana,” says Alicent with gentle command. The girl—for she is young, no older than ten and three, Rhaenyra guesses—curtsies and exits with quiet steps.

No sooner have the doors shut that Rhaenyra closes the gap between her and Alicent in five steps, kneels, and takes Alicent’s face between her hands, kissing her deeply, over and over.

“Was it truly so terrible?” Alicent asks when they part.

“I would take all the violence I could stand than be parted from you.”

Alicent smiles. “Careful with your honeyed words, Princess. Should Prince Daemon find out—”

“He insisted I hasten to you.”

“Did he, indeed? And here I believed there wasn’t an ounce of softness within him.”

Rhaenyra gives her one last kiss, not deigning to tell Alicent her husband’s true words, before pulling back and addressing the babe. “Ought we to be introduced?” Her heart soars on dragon’s wings at Alicent’s soft smile, the blush that colours her cheeks.

“Quietly,” Alicent says. “She loathes to be woken from her naps.”

“I shall be quiet as the night,” Rhaenyra promises, and accepts Alicent’s daughter into her arms. Her little body is warm. Her head is a field of fine, silky white hair, curling in ringlets like her mother’s. Rhaenyra’s heart soars ever higher. “Alicent,” she murmurs, “she’s beautiful.”

“She’s terribly sweet already.”

Rhaenyra hums. “Was it strenuous?”

“She came much quicker than her brothers,” responds Alicent, “but not before…” She trails off, but there is no need to go any further; Rhaenyra knows what ails her.

“How eager you must have been to meet your mother,” she murmurs. “Has she a name?”

“Helaena.”

Rhaenyra repeats it, noting the soft similarity to her own name. “A name fit for a Princess.” She kisses Helaena’s brow. “It is as lovely as your mother’s.”

“What do you say to her?” asks Alicent.

“Nothing untoward, my Queen,” Rhaenyra replies, leaning once again so Alicent can cradle her daughter; “only if I tarry a moment longer your chambers will stink of dragon.”

“Worry not, Princess,” Alicent murmurs, tilting her face to kiss Rhaenyra’s cheek. “I’ve grown quite accustomed to it.”

#writing things #fic stuff #hotd #rhaenyra x alicent #rhaenicent #they deserve to be happy okay #i love me some angst but for some reason with these two i want to give them some happiness also

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mesillusionssousecstasy · 2 years

Text

HOTD 1x06: Quotes

- “Do keep trying, Ser Laenor. Soon or late, you may get one who looks like you.” (Alicent to Laenor)

- “You will have a dragon one day. - He’ll have to close an eye. - I know it.” (Alicent and Haelena to Aemond)

- “I have raised this matter before and you forbade me to speak of it, so I held my tongue. To have one child like that is a mistake, to have three is an insult, to the throne, to you, to House Velaryon and the match you battled so hard to make for her. Not to mention decency itself. - The consequences of an allegation like the one you toy at would be dire.” (Alicent and Visery)

- “Have I lost my sanity, Ser Criston? Do my senses lead me astray? Or is everyone else asleep, dreaming the same woolly dream? She flaunts the privilege of her inheritance without shame. She expects everyone in the Red Keep to deny the truth our eyes can all plainly see. - The Princess Rhaenyra is brazen and relentless. A spider who stings and sucks her prey dry. A spoiled cunt. - I have to believe, that in the end, honor and decency will prevail. We need to hew to that and to each other.” (Alicent and Ser Criston)

- “If Rhaenyra comes into power... your very life could be forfeit. Aemond’s as well. She could move to cut off any challenge to her succession. You are the challenge, Aegon!” (Alicent to Aegon)

- “It’s hardly a fair match. - I know you’ve never seen true battle, ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn’t something anyone should expect. Most men would only have that kind of devotion toward a cousin... or a brother... or a son.” (Ser Harwin and Ser Criston)

- “Yet his Grace the King. It seems, will not accept what his eyes see. This flimsy shield alone stands between you and the headsman. The willful blindness of a father towards his child. I wish my father affected a similar blindness.” (Ser Lyonel Strong to Ser Harwin)

- “You do not desert your post when the storm lashes. The wise sailor flees the storm as it gathers.” (Laenor to Rhaenyra)

- “How sweetly the fox speaks when it’s been cornered by the hounds. - She is sincere. - She is desperate. She feels the earth washing away beneath her feet and now she expects us to ignore her transgressions and for me to marry my only daughter to one of her...plain-featured sons. - The proposal is a good one, my Queen. We’re a family. Let us put aside these childish quarrels. Join hands and be stronger for it. - You may do as you wish, husband...when I am cold in my grave. - Alicent.” (Viserys and Alicent)

- “You have served me faithfully for many years, 10 as Hand. Your advice has been sage, unmarked by self-interest...which stands in contrast to all others. - You speak king words...but there is a shadow over my house and it grows ever darker. I can no longer serve you with integrity. - What is this shadow? - Name it, if it casts such a gloom. - Yes, we must have your reasoning in plain language.” (Viserys, Ser Lyonel and Alicent)

- “I thought as much. His honor’s always been a millstone about his esteemed neck. But the Hand is compromised by the acts of his son. My father cannot give unbiased counsel to the King. - It is now that I most rue the absence of my own father. He wouldn’t hesitate to speak the truth to the King. If Otto Hightower were still Hand.. - You cannot say, my Queen, that your father would be impartial in this matter. - No, but he would be partial to me!” (Alicent and Larys)

- “What of your position? You’ve always said if you were absent from court, she would pour her honey in your father’s ear. - The wise sailor flees the storm as it gathers. Laenor...bring him. We’ll need every sword we can muster.” (Rhaenyra and Laenor).

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd 1x06 #hotd quotes #quotes #hotd thoughts #hotd foreshadowing #rhaenyra targaryen #laenor velaryon #alicent hightower #viserys targaryen #lyonel strong

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emilykaldwen · 2 years

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what's abby's relationship with her family

you ask me such sweet and thoughtful questions and I could kiss you for it. I've had so much happening these past few weeks all I can do is like, reblog people's stuff. hopefully after surgery, my brain can settle lmao.

This is gonna be long, but let's start with some backstory on Abby's creation because it leads into how her relationship with her family developed.

SO when I first created Abby, she lined up canonically with Lyonel's wiki entry, where his two maiden daughters were ladies in waiting for Princess Rhaenyra (Alicent and Rhaenyra shouldn't have been so fucking isolated in the show but here we are). I don't remember who I was talking to - probably @starcrossedjedis and @inmydrcams about what to do with her because I wasn't sure what her story would be (I was really leaning on the 'her marrying Otto Hightower' train because it made political sense and Clair and I had been talking about Alicent's mother being a Reyne and that's how Abby ended up being a Reyne). Then I started RPing Abby because I thought that would be a good way to see if she even worked as a character and find her voice. I was writing a secondary verse with @targaryenprinces where Aegon and Abby grew up together and basically Aegon x Abby is all Tate's fault but we of course regret nothing. (ILU Tate you changed my life and I give you credit on the 33k words of fic I've written and brainrot)

FAMILY DEETS UNDER THE CUT TO SAVE YOUR DASHBOARDS CAUSE IM NICE LIKE THAT

Also I have a crude and incomplete family tree that I'll pop in at the bottom of the post

Abby swung her legs and reached for the jar of honey. Papa caught her eye as he reached for it too, and their hands stilled in the air. He squinted at her and Abby peered back at him, to the jar, and then back at him again. His hand began to move and hers darted out to capture the honey jar before he could get to it. “Huzzah!” She relished the word, although the Queen would sometimes yell at them when they would start chanting. Abby is the first and only child that Lyonel and his third wife, Celeste Reyne had (grrm really loves unnamed dead wives). She's substantially younger than her elder three siblings, and she was born not long before Lyonel became Hand. Her papa can be an intimidating man to many, but as a father, he is undeniably loving and caring, if busy because of his duties. Neither of his daughters were ever treated differently and I think that has a lot to do with Lyonel's history of learning at the Citadel. He understands how important knowledge is and wants his children to be prepared in all ways. Oftentimes, Abby would go to his office and read books outloud to him - histories of the seven kingdoms, law, really anything. She didn't understand all of it, but the point was that her papa always, ALWAYS encouraged her and supported her. Abby is 100% a daddy's girl. He's her beacon of satefy. As a child, she would run to him and he would wrap her in big bear hugs, challenge her, play with her, etc. Towards the end of her mother's life it grew more difficult however and the sudden, violent death of Lyonel and Harwin nearly broke her.

Abby thought it chivalrous how Papa gave Mama the chair at the head of the table. The arms of it allowed several blankets to be piled around her and even though she was only in her robe, she looked very queenly. Celeste Reyne's first marriage produced one son (I haven't fully developed all of that). She was the niece of Cybelle Hightower (nee Reyne) (@inmydrcamscams needs to correct my spelling on that) and it was she who suggested to Lyonel that perhaps him and Celeste would be good for one another (this was during the early years of Lyonel being Master of Laws). Celeste was a very intelligent and very kind woman. She was even tempered, and took things in stride and didn't have a problem rolling with the punches. Abby is very much like her, although she attempts to emulate a far more childlike view and expectation of her mother. Celeste would let people get away with enough, but time and experience had her boundary and push back settings a lot sooner. After Otto was dismissed, he did ask Lyonel if it would be possible for Celeste to come to King's Landing and be there for Alicent, which both Lyonel and Celeste took seriously. Celeste was a pretty tempering influence on Alicent in the early years and vital in helping the young queen through her pregnancies. Abby's earliest memories are of watching her mother and the queen work on tapestries, laugh at their mischief in the gardens, just in general HAPPY times. But not long after baby Daeron was born, Celeste started getting sicker. Papa was sad a lot, the queen was sad (not just for losing an older sister/mother figure, but also post partum) and I think that in the long run, it's Celeste's memory that's had a negative effect on Abby. She was 8 when Celeste died, and the memories of her mother were seeing her wasting away, or supporting people (again, as a child, she had no real concept of her mother as a full person). Due to this, Abby put herself in this role of selfless, charitable, giver. Her mother was reserved due to propriety, but over time Abby took that as doing everything she could to hide her own negative emotions and burying it down, only wanting to be someone supportive and happy. So you know. Complicated. While Lyonel and Harwin's deaths nearly broke Abby, Celeste's long illness and death very clearly shaped Abby as a person.

(let's try this for the 4th goddamn time) “Come on,” Harwin’s voice was no longer quiet. “Up you get.” “I’m not ten, anymore.” “And yet the stairs remain the same.” Abby looked back, familiar with this dance and gave them a nod and hurried down the stairs. “It’s clear!” She waited for a moment until her brothers came into view, Larys on Harwin’s back with a flat expression on his face. There were so many stairs, and Larys' would complain of leg pain trying to navigate them all. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with it, but Larys said that he did not wish others to view him in such a way, since they might undermine his position and capabilities. It didn’t seem fair to Abby that he should have to hurt himself to be seen as whole. She hurried down further and gave an audible tap and they continued on - Abrogail would keep a lookout, and then would let them know if the coast was clear. I'm tired of writing this out in more detail so we'll keep it simple. I definitely feel like Harwin is the epitome of oldest brother energy, but it had been awhile since he got to do that. So once Abby comes around, he gets to channel all the untapped Dad energy he doesn't get to do with the boys into her. Harwin makes the world safer for Abby in a very similar way Lyonel does. If she's not with her Papa, Harwin is giving her shoulder rides, or teaching her how to defend herself, and he promised to teach her how to use a dagger. After his death, it's the hardest with him because Abby doesn't feel like she can *ever* talk about him (for obvious, strong boys reasons). I think she does with Helaena and maybe Aegon sometimes, but only to a certain degree. But it ABSOLUTELY says something that Aegon pisses her off so bad at one point, that she says "Were my dearest brother still here, he'd geld you and give me your balls on a platter". As for Larys? They're not close. Larys doesn't know what to do with kids, and he kinda looks at Abby for much of her life like a puzzle he can't figure out. I believe that once she gets into her teenage years, he does take more of an interest. On the flip side, Abby is unnerved by him. Larys is difficult, if not impossible to read, and she is always unsettled by him. I don't think that ever stops.

“Oh, there’s a raven from your sister, Abrogail. She’ll be coming to help you with wedding preparations.” Mother smiled across the table at her, where she still sat by Helaena. Aemond watched the slight rattle of her fork in hand before she nodded mutely. “Is she still a wretched bitch?” Aegon’s voice was muffled in his cup before he spat it back out with his eyes wide with some perceived betrayal. “This isn’t wine!” Corynna and Larys are about 11 months apart and the pair of them watched their mother drown when they were children. There's no relationship between the girls the way Abby has relationships with the rest of the family. If she'd been a man, Corynna would have been sent to the Citadel. She's intelligent, observant, and a calculating game player. Corynna was married to Erwin Lannister not long after Lyonel became Hand. When Lyonel dies, Cory rolls into town and basically exerts her authority over Abby by just criticizing the poor thing. That's how she exerts her control, her way being Best And Only Way. She knows how valuable Abby is in terms of connections (the same reasons Otto decides Aegon and Abby would be advantageous, although that main motivation is Harrenhal and the Riverlands). Corynna's plan was to take Abby back to Casterly Rock with her, which then set off Aegon's Uncontrollable Abandonment Issues, and, because he's a 13 year old prince with no impulse control or the ability to long term think consequences, he kidnaps Abby on Sunfyre (which is why they're on the outs at the start of the fic).

Thank you so much for this ask! It was so fun! And here's the crude family trees I'm in the process of making:

#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #ship: aegon x abrogail #tumblr made this annoying to type up but it was such a fun exercise!

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themotherofhorses · 1 year

Text

- a dance with ancestors: prologue

summary: Every night, nestled within the silk sheets of her bed, Balenyra Targaryen dreams of the long-gone dragons and the one future she so hopelessly yearns for.

The first dance doomed her noble house through bitter and civil strife, but this second one might be its saving.

pairing: aemond targaryen x ofc!balenyra targaryen

chapter warnings: none.

notes: here is my rework and repost of my "last of her house no more" series, except now it takes place through my sweet girl balenyra's eyes. it will coexist with lohhnm but just differ in the title.

main masterlist

Greens

The Red Priestess was an unexpected sight for the family.

As they should be. . .

The realm is going to rise in madness.

“Do I?” Alicent prompted, her tone weak and soft.

Do not come, she wanted to scream. Please. . ! Stay over there. . .

Alicent!

Mother?

“What has happened?” Otto caught her arm. “Are you troubled?”

Alicent shook her head, draping a hand over his. “No, father,” she told him gently, “but we have a guest.”

“Yes, I can see that. Red Priestess,” Otto nodded through a slight bow. “With that do we owe this honor? Are you here to bless the new king, perhaps?” he asked.

“The word?”

“Yes. A new king has been crowned today, it seems. . . and because of that, the future shall pay the price.”

“Dragons?”

“No. Targaryens.”

Targaryens

Her queen mother, above many things, is a dreamer.

Her mother did say the Targaryens possessed the strange ability to do things normal men could not.

Alas, to her dismay, nothing has changed. Her beloved mother has dreams, but none of the kind she pines to hear.

As of right now, she is her mother’s sole heir to the throne, the proclaimed future queen of the realm. Balenyra Targaryen, first of her name, born to Daenerys Stormborn and her Khal Drogo. The youngest in their dragon brood. Her shoulders ache a terrible lot, bruised and swore from the heavy burden she carries, knowing the dragon dynasty perishes with her death. But she refuses to sink beneath it.

The living maesters claim there are bits and pieces of Rhaenyra Targaryen in her face; perhaps that is why the white stag chose her as well, and why she is this Seven Kingdoms’ Delight. The last Valyrian She-Dragon. In the Keep’s courtyards, she trains with Valyrian-steel swords and spell-forged arakhs; tucked away in one of the little libraries, she studies her history and philosophy, and flies across the bright-blue seas on the backs of the largest dragons in the world.

If her history is to include the fall of her House Targaryen- the true and goldenblood dragonlords of Old Valyria, Balenyra vows to herself to make it the greatest regal reign the maesters shall ever record.

#aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #hotd aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #vic writes 🧸

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youwannaplaygames · 2 years

Note

MARY JANE: Thanks for watching Mayday! Oh, Otto! Are you alright? // PETER: Are your allergies bothering you, Doc? // NORMAN: They are, but he won’t let me take him to a medical doctor. // HUMAN HARRY: …Why? // OTTO: [multiple loud and violent sneezes] // MAYDAY: [clapping and shrieking with laughter] // OTTO: Because I don’t need a doctor. Right, princess? [boops Mayday’s nose] // HUMAN HARRY: Dad, take him to the doctor, come on. // MARY JANE: I’m pretty sure he just shook the apartment with force of his sneezes. // OTTO: [kisses Mayday’s head] You’re the only person on my side, dear.

Norman: Honey, if you feel that strongly about it, why don't we just record your sneezes? Like we did with the snoring?

Otto: No. *sniffles* My little princess is too smart for that. She'll know the difference.

#osborn-octavius family #ask box

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fluffcakeproductions · 2 years

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Could you write an Otto Octavius x reader after he switches bodies with Peter Parker? Perhaps the reader was Peter's girlfriend before Otto took his body? I've never seen anyone writing something like this, let alone about the superior octopus

Of course! I've actually thought about writing this dude for some time. I think you might have meant superior Spiderman, as superior octopus is a whole other character. But if you want me to write about him, I will try to >< I LOVE turning big serious baddies into soft loving bois ❤️❤️❤️ this superior Spiderman is not really stated which version it could be, it could be comic version or raimi movies version, you can picture whichever uwu~

Superior Spider-Man (Otto) X Reader

You were laying on your boyfriend’s lap, as he was rubbing circles on top of your head, calming you down after a bad scare. What happened, was that simply put, instead of webbing up criminals for the police to get like he usually did, he had nearly crushed the man’s skull open, before he had to save you from other gang members who trued to assault you. That spider sense of his was really something.

Well, this actually wasn’t your boyfriend. It was the villainous Doctor Octopus, who you knew had came up with several wicked schemes and has kidnapped you plenty of times. Sure, he always treated you well for some strange reason, but seeing him act more kinder and lovingly to you was always considered abnormal. You knew he might have been only pretending, and maybe in his plan to be better than Peter. Truly evil.

“Dear.” You heard the possessed man say. “What would you like to eat today? I’ll make you anything you want today, I’ll make it up to you.” He said. “I know I shouldn’t be this reckless, but the thought of being better than the boy is…thrilling.” He said. “I don’t know.” You told him. “Do whatever you want, but I wanna stay like this a little longer.” You shifted around, and made his hand gently press on your forehead. “You know, if you wanted to, you could crush my head on the bare ground, and run around and not have to take care of me.” You said to the man. “You don’t have to be so worrisome around me.” He sighed, and picked you up and sat you next to him. “Oh, honey. Don’t say that.” He said before giving your neck a kiss. “I care for you more than you think.” The mad scientist turned hero then stood up to go to the kitchen. You followed him over to the kitchen as you sat on the table, watching him dig around the pantry and the fridge, looking for something to make. “Would you prefer something fancy, homey, or junky?” He said, pulling out frozen steaks. “I don’t know.” You replied. “Hm. Steak and potatoes it is, then.” He said, and he went to go prepare dinner. You felt…odd.

Sure, you loved Peter and he loved you back, but you also had feelings for the doctor as well. He was cruel, sure, but he always was a gentleman around you. You knew that his intentions were tricky to uncover, and his intellectual nature also aided in covering up his intentions. Did he actually love you? Or was all this a ruse? You didn’t know. He treated you less like a hostage and more of an actual partner.

“My princess, your dinner is served.” He said. You looked up from the floor, and you didn’t realize how much time had changed. “Ah. Pete- Otto. Thank you.” You said and he held his hand out for you and guided you down from the table and to your seat. You stared at the man who was eating his own dinner. Sure, he visually looked like Peter, it was him alright, but then again, he was also Otto. You figured it out yourself through research and by his behavior. It was obvious. “Honey, are you alright? You haven’t touched your dinner yet.” He said. “Oh, I don’t know.” You replied. “I just, kinda surprised that the big mean Doctor Octopus is being so kind to me, even after winning, taking Peter’s body.” You said, picking at your food with the fork. “I can’t really understand it all either.” Otto replied. “I had some…rather clam-like feelings for you as well.” He said. “I thought, only by acting out as Peter would probably fool you, but as it Turns out, you found out, darling.”

“Well…I was originally interested in May, to be honest with you. Going after one of Peter’s most close ones felt good, wasn’t it? She was around my type, but then I found out who Peter Parker loved. It was you. Then, those feelings for May, they started dissipating into something else, for you. I could not live with myself treating you like a simple hostage. I had to show you, I meant no harm to you, and treated you like how Peter treated you. He was so kind to you, so I decide to do the same.” He said. “Eventually, those feelings blossomed Into…love.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, a little in disbelief, before he scooted closer to you on the dinner table. “It means, I love you, (Y/n). Honestly and truly.”

You smiled shortly after processing these thoughts. “Sorry, if I sounded…rude to you earlier. I just couldn’t comprehend…” You said bashfully, and he put his arm around you. “It is fine, darling. You really didn’t sound like you hated me too much, you sounded neutral, but not really too trusting. I’m glad that such a kind girl could figure me out so fast.” He said. “You could use those skills to really help me out. Now…” He glanced over at your food. “Go ahead and eat. I don’t want my sweet to starve.”

You did so, and after dinner, it was back to the couch, having nice cuddling sessions again. “Oh, Otto…” You said, and he was laying down, holding you with him. “There, there, sweetie. It’ll be fine.” You smiled. “I’m glad. I hope that you stay like this…and maybe get to become a better person, and don’t pull off anything to extreme, okay?” You said to him, and he smiled down at you, kissing your head. “Don’t worry dear. I promise.”

“Protecting you is my top priority”

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