#moat cailin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months

Text

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 7: Keep Quiet, Nothing Comes As Easy As You]

A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading and loving this fic. 🥰 We are now officially halfway done with WTWICD, can you believe it?! I hope you enjoy Chapter 7. 💜

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, the smallfolk having a bad time everywhere you look, Aemond being a menace, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), discussions of pregnancy/babies, dragons, murder, some new perspectives! 🥰

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

In the Eyrie, Rhaena is praying for one of the three dragon eggs in her keeping to hatch. In the shadowy ruins of Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are bathing in rooms thick with steam, while outside by the lakeshore Baela brings plump goats to Moondancer. In King’s Landing, Rhaenyra’s Master of Coin Bartimos Celtigar is levying heavy taxes on the smallfolk: taxes on wine, taxes on ale, taxes on inn beds and shop goods, even taxes on the bittersweet parody of love purchased in brothels, taxes on every possible distraction from the ceaseless bloodletting that has infected the world like plague. In the North, Cregan Stark is following the Kingsroad towards Moat Cailin and imagining what you will say to him when you are rescued from the clutches of the Usurper: Oh my love, my champion, my savior, my lord. But south in the Reach, Daeron is flying.

Tessarion’s scales are a blue sheen like light on the ocean; the flapping of her wings is a deafening, roaring wind. She is nimble in the air, lethally quick, banking seamlessly when Daeron asks her to turn towards the Hogs Head, an inn from which torrents of men and women run shrieking. They do not run fast enough. Tessarion’s flames are an electrifying cobalt blue like lightning. Flesh melts away, bones are charred black, screams evaporate as lungs are singed, consumed, destroyed. Daeron’s own lungs work perfectly fine; he is cackling, almost loud enough to hear over the wings and inferno of his dragon. After the inn, Tessarion burns the sept, the marketplace, the castle that is the seat of the disloyal House Caswell. There is a stone bridge, after which the town is named, traversing the Mander River. People are fleeing across it. There are children on the bridge, but this does not stop Daeron. Maelor was a child when these traitors ripped him apart with their bare hands. Jaehaerys was a child, and so is Jaehaera, who may be alive in Storm’s End or may be dead but in any case has suffered the decimation of her family, her brothers and her mother and her grandsire. Daeron is burning Bitterbridge for the Greens, yes. But he is also doing it for himself. And in the wake of Tessarion’s fire, Lord Ormund Hightower’s forces pour into the rubble of the town to seize whatever treasures it has left.

In the Riverlands, Aemond and Vhagar are setting fields of wheat ablaze and incinerating cattle, pigs, sheep, forests that can no longer be used by the Blacks and their supporters for timber. In the Citadel, white ravens are being sent out to the great houses of Westeros to proclaim the end of summer. And on Dragonstone, the Beggar King heals.

He spars with guards that Larys found, is tended by maesters that Larys recruited from the turncoat houses of the Crownlands, rules over a microcosm kingdom that Larys built for him. Aegon tires quickly, sleeps often, aches and collapses and bleeds, gets sunburned when he is outside too long on those rare clear days. But he always rises again. “Perpetual Resurrection,” he says, grinning through the pain when you caution him to be patient, to be careful. “I’m not dying. I’m becoming brand new.”

You hunt for softshell crabs together on the rocky shoreline, fill a basket with them, bring them to the cooks to serve the skeleton crew of the castle for supper. You walk through the gardens, a pine-smelling woodland of towering coniferous trees, thorny rose bushes, blood-red cranberries, indelicate creatures that can thrive in the thin, inhospitable earth here. You study the books of the castle library—an impossibly vast, ancient collection, safeguarding texts from Old Valyria—while Aegon swims in the ocean with Sunfyre, laughing and diving as the dragon glides around him in large, lazy circles. Sunfyre can fly, but only a very short distance at a time; he is ungainly when he walks on land with his improperly-healed right wing. But in the water, he and Aegon are both unbroken again. Soon they will be ready for battle. Soon they will have to leave this island, this mist-and-smoke haven, to rejoin the war effort; soon they will have to leave you.

You crave Aegon like some people need wine, rum, gin, gold, power, violence, milk of the poppy. He is ecstasy, he is consolation, he is a spell. He is your home; and any place you’ve ever mistaken for home was only an echo of the truth that you would one day find him. Even on that very first night, as the storm raged outside, you whispered to Aegon when you both woke long before sunrise: “I want you again.”

“You’ll be sore,” he warned, a warm murmur against your forehead. “We can wait. I can wait.” But already his hands were moving, and your thighs were opening, and he followed your body and your words when they told him yes, now, and tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next day too.

You smile when Aegon calls you insatiable, but you know that’s not quite it.

You are acutely aware that nothing lasts forever, not even him, not even you.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are the days getting shorter?” you ask, your bare feet ankle-deep in wet sand. Sunfyre is out in the waves eating dolphins; a slippery-looking grey tail hangs from his snaggletoothed jaw.

“I think you just want the nights to be longer.” Aegon winks up at you. His head is in your lap, his arms linked around your waist. You are weaving his little braid for him. His hair is just above shoulder-length and as choppy as ever. He periodically takes his dagger to it and hacks away haphazardly, determined to never look like Aemond, Daeron, Daemon, his father. He burrows into the softness of your belly and shuts his eyes. “Perhaps winter is coming.”

In more ways than one, you think bleakly, picturing Cregan Stark on the Kingsroad with snow in his long dark hair and dirt on his hands. “We should ask Lord Larys if he’s heard anything.” As the Citadel—and most of the rest of Westeros—believes Dragonstone to be unoccupied, they would not have sent a white raven here. But several times each week Larys receives visitors from Eagle Harbor, and they bring him rumors in exchange for gold coins and promises that when Aegon once again sits the Iron Throne, their faithfulness will be generously rewarded.

Aegon hums agreeably; he is dozing. After a moment he says: “I keep dreaming of her.”

“Who?”

“Helaena,” Aegon says, his voice lethargic and eyes still closed. “She brings me things. Butterflies, crabs, snakes. Things that are reborn. She puts them in my hands or in my bed and won’t take them away when I ask her to. She keeps telling me: Don’t fall, don’t fall.”

You finish Aegon’s braid and comb his unruly hair back with your fingers, soothing him, listening to him. You try not to think of the way Helaena died, crushed and hemorrhaging on golden sandstone. Instead, you picture her living: strange yet gentle, tragic but kind. You see her children as well, white-haired and beautiful and doted on not by their parents but by Alicent and Otto and you…and Aemond. You remember Aemond’s quiet resentment, his simmering and dangerous envy. You recall Aegon’s half-flippant accusation: You’re always developing attachments to things that are mine. Targaryens have wed brothers to sisters since long before the Conquest, but that doesn’t mean they always got the combination quite right. “Aegon, was Aemond…was he in love with Helaena? Did he desire her?”

“No. Not like that. He cared for her, but I don’t believe he had any lust for Helaena. He just thought he would have been a better husband to her than I was. That he would have caused her less misery. That he was more worthy of carrying on the bloodline, of being the children’s father. And he was right, of course.”

“What happened to Helaena is not your fault,” you say. “And neither is what happened to Jaehaerys or Maelor.”

“I’m glad Daeron burned them all,” Aegon says quietly, meaning the people of Bitterbridge, a tale ferried to Larys from one of his numerous, nameless informants.

“I know you are, Aegon.” You can’t bring yourself to agree with him. Does one dead child bring back another? Does each swatch of flesh burned away from a supporter of Rhaenyra replace one that was sheared off the bones of a Green? No, of course not, but the wheel goes around and around and around.

In the sky, another sort of wheel: a sun that burns cool and muted behind a thicket of iron-colored clouds. High above where you and Aegon are entwined on the beach, something crosses in front of the shrouded sun, casting an impossibly large shadow. You gasp; at the sound, Aegon bolts upright onto his palms and knees and follows your gaze. There is a profound, archaic rumbling, something old and intractable like thunder, earthquakes, floodwaters rising.

A dragon, you know immediately. You try frantically to determine whether you recognize its voice. Too large to be Tessarion or Syrax, too deep a roar to be Caraxes. Sheepstealer?? Vermithor?? But no, you have heard this beast before after all, it’s—

“Vhagar!” Aegon shouts, and scrambles to his feet. As the massive swamp-green dragon disappears behind the castle, soaring rather sluggishly, Aegon sprints as fast as he can up the stone steps towards the entranceway. You follow Aegon into Dragonstone and there the visitor meets you both, sailing down a staircase with eerie lightness, his boots hardly making a sound, his long silver hair secured in a single thick braid. Larys arrives as well and stands in the dreary, torchlit chamber, appearing as he always does: face servile and tactfully intrigued, hands laced together overtop the handle of his cane, back stooped as if to make himself smaller, less threatening, more invisible.

“I got to thinking you might be here,” Aemond tells Aegon. He sounds pleasantly surprised. “You look better.” Then he notices you. “Oh. Perhaps that accounts for some of it.”

“Where’s Criston?” Aegon asks. Meanderingly, so it is sufficiently subtle, he takes several steps until he has placed himself between you and Aemond.

“Somewhere near Saltpans.”

“You left him?” Aegon is incredulous, furious.

“Temporarily,” Aemond says. “It is not the first time. Between battles Vhagar and I raze the farms and villages of the Riverlands. Criston and his men are more than capable of fending for themselves. I’ll be back in a day.”

“You’re supposed to stay with Criston,” Aegon insists, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a child who might have difficulty understanding. “You promised that you would. The war is on the battlefield, not on goddamn farms.”

“And what feeds Rhaenyra’s forces? Is it not grain and cattle? And so if I destroy their food supply—while our own soldiers are still receiving regular shipments from the Westerlands and the Reach—am I not inflicting catastrophic damage to the Blacks?”

“You’re burning…civilian property?” you say to Aemond. “You’re killing women and children and old people? You’re laying waste their homesteads?”

“It’s total war.” Aemond stares at you defiantly; there is no suggestion of self-doubt in his face. “It is a well-documented strategy employed across continents and centuries. We kill soldiers on the battlefield. We endanger their families back home. Many men will desert to return to their imperiled wives and children. Others will starve. All are broken. All are rendered ineffectual to our enemy’s cause. And thus we will triumph.”

You and Aegon gape at him, not knowing what to say, not knowing what is right or wrong in a world where children are slaughtered and grown men murder with impunity. When will this war be over? How can we end it? Will any of our souls survive the choices we’ve made with our backs to the wall?

“My prince, you chose an excellent time to pay us a visit,” Larys offers diplomatically. “I have just received news that may be of interest to you. And you can bring it back to Sir Criston and his men when you return to the Riverlands tomorrow.”

“What news?” Aegon asks.

“Wait,” Aemond says; and he smiles, dark and hungry like a wolf, like a dragon. “I want to see the place where my ancestors made their war plans. I want to sit in Rhaenyra’s chair.”

On the top floor of the Stone Drum, the main keep of Dragonstone that booms and growls during storms, servants light the candles beneath the Painted Table and bring wine, ale, bread, cheese, honeycomb, jam, candied walnuts, red cherries and violet grapes. The map of Westeros, older than the Conquest, is striped with snakes of fiery luminance like lava. Aegon twists the gold dragon ring on his finger, its jade eyes sparkling. You gave it back to him the day after you arrived on Dragonstone; he says that when he wins the war, he will have a matching piece made for you, but with a crab in place of a dragon.

Larys cautions before he begins: “I cannot tell you the perfect truth. I can only tell you what I’ve heard from the whispers that make their way to me.”

“And what have you heard?” Aemond says. Aegon glances petulantly at him, as if debating whether to remind his brother that a prince regent is not quite a king.

“The Dragonseeds known as Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White—and with them, Vermithor and Silverwing—have officially declared for the Greens.”

“Yes!” Aegon beams and raises his wine cup. He refuses milk of the poppy, even on his worst days; he does not want to be senseless, he does not want to leave you unprotected. But he drinks red wine often and grows ill if he is without it for long. Aemond is laughing victoriously. The brothers are momentarily united.

“There was a battle at Tumbleton in the Reach,” Larys continues. “Lord Ormund Hightower was slain by Roddy the Ruin who, allegedly, managed the feat after one of his arms was severed clean from his body. These Northmen are formidable beasts, to be sure.”

Aegon looks at you, a fleeting, fearful look.

“The people of Tumbleton believed the battle to be over, but then Vermithor and Silverwing joined Tessarion in torching the city. All the Blacks’ commanders were killed, along with most of their soldiers. And the city was sacked. There are reports of looting and…well, all manner of indecencies being committed against the civilians of Tumbleton, mostly women and children. Even septas and silent sisters.”

Now an awkward silence settles over the Painted Table. Ruin, heartbreak, agony, death; but somebody else’s. It could have been yours instead. Perhaps tomorrow it will be. Perhaps there is no end to suffering, only a reallocation of it to people who you do not know, do not love. Perhaps the debt can never be satisfied but only passed to another.

Larys goes on: “The people of King’s Landing are petrified that the Greens and their dragons will descend upon them and subject the capital to the same atrocities that Tumbleton experienced. Rhaenyra had to order the gold cloaks to seal the city gates to keep her supposedly loyal subjects inside.”

“The smallfolk’s support for her continues to weaken?” Aemond says.

“It does more than weaken. Many people there detest her. Bartimos Celtigar has imposed heavy taxes upon the city. The smallfolk fear that Daemon has abandoned Rhaenyra, and therefore that they cannot expect protection from Caraxes and Sheepstealer. And…” Larys peers around the Painted Table apologetically.

“…And?” Aegon presses.

“Rhaenyra’s youngest son…Viserys…” Larys sighs, an anemic, perfunctory breed of sympathy. “He is dead. Of illness, it seems. The luckless lad.”

“He was always sickly,” you say, remembering his unwaveringly watery eyes and dripping nose. And you almost say Poor Rhaenyra, but then you remember how the Blacks celebrated Maelor’s death with cheers and rare, bloody boar meat.

“Yes,” Larys concurs. “That is what the people believe, that he perished due to natural causes.”

Aemond is watching the Master of Whisperers closely. “What does Rhaenyra think caused it?”

“She suspects poison,” Larys tells him. “She is convinced of poison, I should say. She raved and she threatened and she spewed accusations. She executed a dozen people, none of whom could be connected to the death of the boy with any certainty. The smallfolk feel she has gone mad. And there is one more crime the people have branded her with.” Larys turns to you.

Your heard pounds wildly, hot blood thuds in your ears. “Has something happened to Everett—?”

“Not him. The Celtigars themselves are safe from her wrath. Bartimos is too near to the throne, and Rhaenyra trusts him. But the servant girl—Autumn, you called her—she went into labor a month early and was delivered of a boy.” Now Larys’ eyes flick to Aegon, whose face goes pale and panicked. “A boy with blue eyes and silver hair.”

Aemond rocks back in his chair and shakes his head.

“Oh,” Aegon moans. “Oh.” He clutches his chest with one hand and looks to you. He says weakly: “I’m so sorry, Angel. It didn’t mean anything. The child…it…it will never really be mine—”

“It won’t be anyone’s,” Larys says. “Rhaenyra had him run through with a sword.”

“What?!” Aemond exclaims. “A baby? An infant? In her own castle, in the Red Keep?”

You are horrified. “Did Autumn witness this?”

“I’m not certain, my lady,” Larys replies. “What I have heard is that Rhaenyra proclaimed it vengeance for agents of the Greens murdering her youngest son. She declared all bastards of the Usurper to be enemies of the realm and thus sentenced to death. She has offered rewards for anyone who brings a white-haired child to her for execution. And the smallfolk are absolutely, viciously appalled by her. The Street of Silk in particular is rife with people plotting the so-called queen’s downfall. She is surrounded by enemies. And she has only two male heirs left.”

“Two more than Aegon,” Aemond mutters.

“Is Autumn alright?” you ask Larys. “Did Rhaenyra harm her?”

“Your brother Everett attempted to advocate for Autumn and the child. He was ignored; your father and eldest brother were vehemently in support of the murder. Shortly after the baby was killed, Autumn disappeared from King’s Landing. I’m sure Everett facilitated this escape. No one knows her present whereabouts.”

“She’s just gone? No signs whatsoever?”

“Nobody ever knows anything.” Aemond waves at Aegon. “They think he’s in Dorne.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon whispers, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Rhaenyra is destroying herself,” you say. “She is doing the work for us. If you try to take King’s Landing with dragonfire raining down on Green supporters who are effectively held captive, there will be ill-will against you in the capital that will last for generations. But if they overthrow Rhaenyra on their own, you can reclaim the city bloodlessly.”

Larys taps his fingers meditatively against the Painted Table. “I do wonder if Daemon would intervene to support her. His present motivations are…somewhat nebulous. To Blacks and Greens alike. But he controls their most powerful assets.”

“You haven’t crossed paths with Caraxes and Sheepstealer in Riverlands, I assume?” Aegon asks Aemond.

“No. We are locked in a dance of sorts. I’m not certain that Vhagar can win against two dragons of that size; they must know that it is almost certain that at least one of them would be killed in the struggle even if they defeated me. This Nettles girl’s dragon riding skills are unclear. Perhaps Daemon is training her, perhaps he is now sufficiently attached that he does not want her in combat. So we avoid each other. But when the girl is gone—when Daemon tires of her, or when Rhaenyra sends assassins to murder her, or when she is removed from the board by some other means—I will meet Daemon in battle and end him.”

“Your priority is protecting Criston,” Aegon orders; but there is trepidation in his large, ocean-blue eyes, there is defenseless worry there. “Wherever Criston goes, you go with him. I’ll be ready to fight again soon. I’ll be able to help you.”

“Daemon is mine. I want to face him alone.”

“I am the king!” Aegon thunders, and you can see the strength leaving him like birds taking flight from cold, bare winter trees. “You will not behave recklessly. You will not abandon Criston. We are winning in the Reach, and we are winning in King’s Landing without even being there, and we will win in the Riverlands too if you don’t sabotage us with your relentless fucking pride.”

You and Larys study Aemond. He examines the flame-colored light of the Painted Table, tracing the etchings of rivers and mountains with his fingertips. “Fine,” he concedes, very quietly.

“And one more thing,” Aegon tells his brother.

With great reluctance, Aemond meets his gaze. “Yes?”

“If you have the opportunity to burn Cregan Stark, take it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When Aegon collapses into the bed you share, you curl up against his scarred chest, listen to his heartbeat, breathe in heat and rose oil and the salt of the ocean. He does not ask you what is wrong. He does not speak of Autumn or her child, his child, no matter how indifferent or remorseful he might have been. He holds you knowing that there is nothing he can say to make the world whole again. He can only rest until he is well enough to fly into battle, where he might be further maimed or taken captive or murdered. And what then? What was this all for?

“Somewhere there are people just living,” you marvel. “They’re reading books, they’re having supper, they’re getting married, they’re tending to their crops and their animals. And none of them are thinking about war or massacres or dragonfire.”

“Yes,” Aegon says simply, pulling you in closer, one palm pressed to the small of your back and the other brushing your hair away from your face so he can kiss you, soft and slow. “But they’re not us.”

When Aegon is on the edge of sleep, you tell him that you love him, as you do each day. He has not heard it enough in his life; you are trying to remedy that now. And as always, Aegon does not say it back. Instead, he murmurs something in High Valyrian that you cannot understand. Now you commit it to memory, repeating it silently to yourself again and again until Aegon is sleeping deeply and you can rise from the bed without disturbing him. You go to your writing desk and scribble it down on a small piece of parchment: the way this word sounds in the letters of the Common Tongue. You have no way to translate it. There are books written in High Valyrian in the castle library, but you do not know the alphabet of the language, and you have yet to find a text that can teach it to you. When you ask Aegon for lessons, he demurs and says that he doesn’t know High Valyrian well enough to teach you. You think he just wants a way to say things you won’t be able to comprehend. You squirrel the parchment away in the pocket of your gown and slip out of the bedchamber you share with Aegon.

It is far too early for your mind to stop racing, only sunset. You wander down halls of shifting shadows and iron dragons, fantastically high ceilings and narrow slits of windows. Questions fill your skull like rushing blood in the chambers of a heart: Where is Autumn? Is she alright? Is she safe? Is Everett, is Jaehaera, is Alicent? Are Criston and Daeron? Are any of us?

When you cross through the doorway and onto a balcony that overlooks the ocean, Aemond is to your left. He is nursing a cup of wine and leaning over the stone wall that separates you from a long, treacherous fall onto black rocks that jut out of the sea like the hilts of daggers from a corpse’s back. You whirl away from him and towards the craggy staircase that leads down to the beach.

“Now you’re going to pretend you didn’t see me?” Aemond calls out.

You halt mid-step, consider it, then return to him. “You’re just so undistinguished in appearance. So easy to miss.”

He gives you one of his enigmatic, teasing smirks. His hair blows in the breeze that tastes like salt and sulfur and mist. He wears a dark, lush green. Then he peers avoidantly down into his wine. “I…I don’t think I ever adequately apologized for what transpired regarding the brothel. The Pink Pearl.”

“You didn’t.”

“It is a place…” Aemond pauses. He chooses his words cautiously, like handling something that could easily break, a glass goblet, an egg, a butterfly in an open palm. “It is a place that I associate with great unpleasantness. I made assumptions about where your loyalties lied. I felt that you had hurt me, that you had caused me to suffer. And I wanted you to suffer in return.”

“It was a horrific thing to do,” you say pitilessly. “It was cruel. It was evil.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that now. That’s why I’m apologizing.”

“Then do it properly.”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says. It takes some effort. “I was wrong.”

“You were.”

“And I’m glad Aegon was able to haul himself out of bed to rescue you. It’s not often that he gets to be the noble brother, the gallant one.”

“It happens more often than you’d think.”

Aemond raises his eyebrow. Beneath his eyepatch, you know, is a winter-cold sapphire in a bed of mangled flesh, a treasure steeped in corruption. “How long have you been here?”

“Two months.” No, more than that. “Two and a half, or thereabouts.”

“And I assume there has been no shortage of…horizontal activities with my brother.”

“Not exclusively horizontal,” you snap, to make him regret being so forward, to make him uncomfortable. “We are more inventive than that.”

It works; Aemond flushes a gory mottled pink. Still he manages: “And you have not yet conceived?”

You glare at him, ice and fire at once. “No.”

“Why do you think that is?”

You shrug, exasperated, dismissive. “Aegon has been through so much physical trauma, perhaps he is no longer capable of having children. Perhaps I never was. Perhaps it will happen in a month or six months or a year. Perhaps it is not meant for us. Only the gods know.”

“You aren’t at all concerned?”

In truth, no; you are so consumed by whether Aegon will survive the war with any vestige of humanity intact that anything beyond this seems hopelessly distant, a constellation, a shadow on the moon, the silvery gleam of a comet. “It’s not something I spend much time thinking about.”

“It should be,” Aemond insists. “If the Greens expect men to go to war for us, for women to give up their husbands and sons to us, we should have a stable succession to offer them in return. Jaehaerys and Maelor are gone. Jaehaera is a girl and cannot inherit even if she is alive and well in Storm’s End. Aegon needs an heir.”

“Aren’t you next in line for the throne, Aemond?” you say cuttingly. “And isn’t that the role you believe yourself best suited for? Being king? Proving how worthy you were all along?”

He is uneasy, perhaps ashamed, evading your eyes. “Regrettably, I cannot begin trying for my own sons until the war is over and I marry Borros Baratheon’s daughter, as I pledged to in return for his support for our side. Daeron will not be able to marry for several years. In the meantime, there is this…disquieting lack of certainty. To complicate matters, Aegon has bastards in King’s Landing, I’m sure. The red-haired girl was far from the first whore to lie with him. If he does not have a trueborn son, claimants will appear to challenge mine or Daeron’s for the throne.”

You search yourself—unspoken longing and ancient cobwebbed fears—for any desire for a child of your own. You cannot find it. You are fond of children, you find fulfillment in caring for them, but the need to carry and deliver one yourself? It is not something you can remember ever yearning for. It always felt like yet another way in which your body would be used to further some man’s legacy, to give him pleasure at your expense. “Can you tell me what this means?” you ask, handing Aemond the folded piece of parchment that you’d tucked into the pocket of your gown. He takes it with one long, lithe hand. “I’ve probably spelled it wrong. I’ve never seen it written, only heard it spoken aloud.”

Aemond opens the parchment. His river-blue eye narrows; thoughtful creases appear in his brow. “Aegon has said this? To you?”

“More than once.”

“What prompted it?”

“Does your translation depend upon the context?”

“Hm.” Aemond skates his thumbprint over the dried black ink. Then he looks at you. “It means: To your misfortune.”

The alarm must show on your face.

“Not like a threat,” Aemond clarifies. “It is a common expression. It suggests that someone has entrusted something of value to the undeserving. It implies naivety. Unwise benevolence. But it is certainly not malicious. It is usually said fondly, like a backhanded compliment.” He returns the parchment to you. You rip it over and over again until it is only scraps that vanish in the wind, Aegon’s voice speaking to you: I ruin causes. I ruin people.

“Why did you kill Luke?” you ask Aemond, not accusingly but with hushed, weary wonder. “There was very little strategic advantage in it. There was great peril as a result. Rhaenyra will never surrender, never negotiate. You will forever be known as a kinslayer. You could have taken him captive. You could have humiliated him, you could have shown the world how weak he was. Why did you have to kill him?”

Aemond says nothing for a long time. He stares out over the ocean where the sun is setting, dolphin fins cut in swift arcs through the surf, Sunfyre dozes on wet sand, the sky glows dream-lavender and blood orange. He sips his wine and contemplates things that are mysteries to you. Aemond keeps his thoughts like untrustworthy animals: in cages, in darkness, turning fierce and feral, snapping jaws and rattling chains. At last he says: “They’re all dead anyway. They were from the moment Aegon was born and my father refused to name him the heir. It’s all of them or all of us. You think there is any scenario in which Aegon reigns as king while Rhaenyra’s children survive? No, no. Someone will always be willing to fight and die for them. Just like Green loyalists would have been willing to fight for Jaehaerys and Maelor.” Something shifts in his face like the breaking of a wave, and for a second you can glimpse the deep well of dark, helpless misery inside him, filling up drop by drop since he was a boy. Then Aemond is steely again. “Luke had to die. So did Jace and Rhaenys and that eternally sniffling toddler Viserys. And all the other Blacks will follow. Unless you care to see Aegon’s blood spilled. And mine, and Daeron’s.”

“No,” you say softly, an agonized little whisper that understands, that surrenders. “No, that cannot happen.”

Aemond takes another swallow of his wine and drums his fingertips restlessly against the cup. “Any heir our side puts forth must have undisputed parentage and Valyrian features. Aegon’s wife is dead. He can marry you. You are a Celtigar, you share our blood, you carry the memories of silver hair and rare magic in the marrow of your bones. These attributes are dormant in you, yet could be passed on to a child. A son of yours could secure the succession and one day inherit the Iron Throne. But the father has to be a Targaryen.”

You turn to Aemond, perplexed and wary. His wording is strange. “Well, it has to be Aegon.”

Aemond is impatient, irritated. You have not been keeping up. He says, his eye on the darkening horizon: “There are other Targaryens.”

You stare at him. You don’t understand, you don’t understand, and then suddenly you do. “What?”

This is not the reaction Aemond had hoped for. He gulps down the last of his wine, leaves the cup on the stone wall, storms down the staircase to reunite with Vhagar and resume burning the noncombatants of the Riverlands to ash.

~~~~~~~~~~

He finds her at the shore of the Gods Eye, rippling blue like a vast mirror. The Isle of Faces—forbidden, undiscoverable—is a faint mirage in the distance. Moondancer is circling overhead. Baela is perched on a large rock by the water’s edge and fishing; she is intrigued by tales of the strange creatures that dwell here, the hungry currents, the way this corner of the world has only a translucent, threadbare veil between our world and the realm of spirits, ghosts, demons. She has always been curious and bold by nature. She has always been his most beloved child.

“You found your way out of Nettles’ bed,” Baela pitches, a jest but not a judgment. She is already developing an appetite of her own that renders monogamy woefully lacking. She mourns Jace, but not the woman she would have had to pretend to be for him. “I’m shocked.”

Daemon smirks, tilting his head to the side like a wolf does as it’s listening. “You know how sheets have a way of getting tangled. Around ankles, around wrists…sometimes it is difficult to free oneself.”

“You were fighting hard, I’m sure.”

“Yes, all morning.”

Baela chuckles, reels in her fishing line, recasts it. She cares deeply for Rhaenyra and is loyal to her still, but Baela shares her father’s pathological aversion to weakness. She feels that Rhaenyra has driven Daemon away with her moodiness, her melancholy, her unmooring from the fearless, ardent woman she once was. Daemon says that being with Nettles is like being with a young Rhaenyra again. It would not be just to condemn him for seeking out what Rhaenyra took from him and has no intention of returning.

Daemon says: “I want you to go to Dragonstone.”

Baela is aghast, betrayed. “You are getting rid of me?”

“I am entrusting you with a vital enterprise.”

Now she is intrigued. Now she is considering it.

“Moondancer is too small to fight Vhagar, Tessarion, Vermithor, or Silverwing,” Daemon says. “If Caraxes and Sheepstealer meet Vhagar in battle, you cannot go with us. Nor should we leave you here unprotected. And I know you have been impatient for an opportunity to play a more…consequential role in the war.”

“I long to be useful,” Baela agrees. “More than anything.”

“Go to Dragonstone,” Daemon says. “It is vacant, it is safe. But it must remain under the Blacks’ control. Patrol it and ensure the Greens do not try to take the island and find riders for Grey Ghost or the Cannibal. Rhaenyra will return to Dragonstone if she is ever forced out of King’s Landing. I have tasked you with making it ready for her.”

“And I have permission to execute any traitors who might appear there?”

“Yes. You may swing the sword yourself. Or feed them to Moondancer, whichever you prefer.”

Baela smiles, a slow, toothy grin that spreads across her face like plague, like fire. “When can I leave?”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader

303 notes · View notes

visenyaism · 20 days

Note

What do you think Ned would have done with Jon if he was a girl? Is there a northern silent sisters I don’t think he’d marry her off

well “religious orders” and “what women do in their free time” are two of grrm’s biggest worldbuilding blind spots but just like how jon was not going to stay in the household forever i imagine that would be true of girl jon as well. because there’s no old gods all-female religious order i guess either he marries her to a steward or low-ranking noble and has them stay in winterfell or sends her to a household as secluded as possible like greywater watch or the mountain clans. or moat cailin like he was thinking with canon jonsnow.

#asoiaf #and praying those kids are not blonde. with neds luck it skips a generation

137 notes · View notes

vivacissimx · 2 months

Text

Theon's choice not to visit Alannys was not a choice

Cannot believe it took this long for me to get around to this meta—also, feel free to read my whole spiel about Theon's father figures in Ned, Balon, and Roose here, because it does inform my view.

OK, Alannys Harlaw hours.

The conception of Theon's motivations in the situation where he does not go to see his mother when he returns to the Islands is a bit harsh on Theon. It ignores that Theon has not been avoiding Alannys all these years: he has been kept from her. Theon's access to her has always been controlled by the NedBalons in his life.

I want to get into the idea that this is not happenstance. That Theon's father figures control his access to his mother, which is not even a novel concept in ASOIAF. Jon Snow, who is Theon's foil, also has access to his mother restricted by—woah! Ned Stark as well!! (And both Jon and Theon are expected to be grateful for this too.)

Theon's homecoming to Pyke does not result in him rushing triumphant as the prodigal son into his loving mother's arms because in fact Alannys is not even on Pyke (though Theon thought she would be). Nope, it's Theon's suspicious, resentful, and yes "homophobic" uncle as well as father who Theon meets. From here it is just assumed that Theon has perfect access to Alannys, and that him not hopskipping over to Harlaw is purely his preference. (Are you catching on to the idea that I disagree with this, yet?)

Getting into Theon as a character & how he acts under suspicious/mistrustful eyes:

As a boy, he had lived in fear of Stark's stern face and great dark sword. His wife was, if anything, even more distant and suspicious. [ACOK, Theon I]

“What I am about to tell you must not leave this room,” she told them. “I want your oaths on that. If even part of what I suspect is true, Ned and my girls have ridden into deadly danger, and a word in the wrong ears could mean their lives.” “Lord Eddard is a second father to me,” said Theon Greyjoy. “I do so swear.” [AGOT, Catelyn III]

Ned turned back to his wife. “Once you are home, send word to Helman Tallhart and Galbart Glover under my seal. They are to raise a hundred bowmen each and fortify Moat Cailin. Two hundred determined archers can hold the Neck against an army. Instruct Lord Manderly that he is to strengthen and repair all his defenses at WhiteHarbor, and see that they are well manned. And from this day on, I want a careful watch kept over Theon Greyjoy. If there is war, we shall have sore need of his father’s fleet.” [AGOT, Eddard IV]

Theon knows he is not trusted in Winterfell. Catelyn including Theon in this circle of ooh secrets is mostly due to the fact that Robb physically brought him & also because she knows that Theon does not really even have the ability to betray her on this front. He definitely knows that. Ned does not have a paternal relationship with Theon & does not perceive himself as Theon's father any more than Theon believes he is Ned's son (in the manner that Robb or Bran or even Jon is), so why does Theon lie here?

HE IS OVERPERFORMING HIS COMMITMENT TO THE PATRIARCH FIGURE IN WHOSE HANDS HIS LIFE/FUTURE LIES.

Theon predicates his vow to Catelyn with an affirmation of his willingness to do service to Ned, and in fact that's what his access to her relies on. That's probably why he makes such a production of incessantly flirting with her too; because of how it implies he is in Ned and later Robb's good graces! Of course AGOT Theon is also just a flirt for the purposes of producing his masculinity in general. But does anyone really disagree? Moving on.

The door was grey wood studded with iron, and Theon found it barred from the inside. He hammered on it with a fist, and cursed when a splinter snagged the fabric of his glove. The wood was damp and moldy, the iron studs rusted. After a moment the door was opened from within by a guard in a black iron breastplate and pothelm. "You are the son?" "Out of my way, or you'll learn who I am." [ACOK, Theon I]

(Even the damn door is in on it LOL)

Theon knelt. He had a purpose here, and might need Aeron's help to achieve it. A crown was worth a little mud and horseshit on his breeches, he supposed.

He was playing the part of a dutiful young prince for the moment, while he waited for Lord Balon to reveal the fullness of his plans. [ACOK, Theon II]

"My father gave me the command here, Uncle." "And sent me to counsel you." And to watch me. Theon dare not push matters too far with his uncle. The command was his, yes, but his men had a faith in the Drowned God that they did not have in him, and they were terrified of Aeron Damphair. [ACOK, Theon III]

THEON IS PERFORMING FOR BALON. His father doesn't approve of him and Theon is playing the part. He is making every overture and concession to obedience, or piety, that is asked of him. Balon, Aeron, Asha, even Victarion make sure he knows when he's failing—whether it's with an express disapproval or just a knowing laugh. Theon notes all of this because due to how he was raised he's extremely perceptive of how those with power over him regard him.

And Balon does not criticize Theon for not visiting Alannys.

"Will I find my sister and my lady mother at Pyke?" "You will not. [ACOK, Theon I]

Harlaw is only a day’s sail, and surely Lady Greyjoy yearns for a last sight of her son.” “Would that I could. I am kept too busy here. My father relies on me, now that I am returned. Come peace, perhaps...” [ACOK, Theon II]

Theon visiting his mother is not reliant on his own self-motivation, but on whether or not Balon grants him access to her. This is not to say Balon expressly forbade it or that there would have been any direct consequences if Theon had gone over... but it's about goodwill, not permission! What else changes between Theon asking about Alannys when he returns to Pyke and when he explicitly tells Asha that he can't go see her because Balon, because war? Simple: he needs to prove himself to his father as loyal and strong first. To make it explicit, Ned & Robb allowed Theon access to Catelyn in the same manner that Balon refuses (or, at the least, disapproves of) Theon's access to Alannys. Theon is sensitive to this disapproval and does not push the matter.

The only person who pushes Theon to go to Alannys is Asha. Asha obviously has Balon's trust, though, and it could be said she takes it for granted. Asha's level of understanding of Theon is complex; she recognizes him but she doesn't know him. When she says this:

You are blood of my blood, Theon, whatever else you may be. For the sake of the mother who bore us both, return to Deepwood Motte with me. [ACOK, Theon V]

it's actually wild how much is packed in here. For the sake of the mother who bore us both: Theon doesn't yet have the right to Alannys or even know how she'd receive him, given his other receptions on Pyke. Return to Deepwood Motte: the castle Theon believes he should have been tasked with taking above Asha, a concrete proof of his father's mistrust in him, which amongst other reasons spurs on his taking on Winterfell to begin with.

Personally I think Theon as a symbol of Balon's failed rebellion does make him, in Balon's eyes, also a symbol of his failed marriage. Theon does not confirm Baelon's masculinity as a son should, as Asha does. He is a reminder of the ways in which Balon lacks.

I also believe that Theon ~misses his mother, FWIW. He thinks back to his childhood sleeping in the Sea Tower while on his way to Pyke which is a mommy-coded memory; he expects to sleep in his old chambers again when he returns to Pyke—both that and his expectation of seeing Alannys are swiftly disabused. He will not be slipping into his old roles, Theon learns through the reunion with Balon which is violent in more ways than one. It's interesting because Theon actually expects to have to prove himself to his father (which is why he comes armed with a plan for taking Casterly Rock) but he doesn't expect to be punished for having been held hostage all these years.

If we are indulging in symbolism, though:

Above the Sea Tower snapped his father's banner. The Myraham was too far off for Theon to see more than the cloth itself, but he knew the device it bore: the golden kraken of House Greyjoy, arms writhing and reaching against a black field. The banner streamed from an iron mast, shivering and twisting as the wind gusted, like a bird struggling to take flight. And here at least the direwolf of Stark did not fly above, casting its shadow down upon the Greyjoy kraken. [ACOK, Theon I]

The Sea Tower where Theon's childhood memories & hopes for return to his family lie is dominated by his father's banner. At least it's Balon Greyjoy and not Ned Stark, Theon tells himself. Yet the result is the paralleled, mirrored, as Balon and Ned often are with Theon: under Ned's control Theon can't see Alannys because he is Balon Greyjoy's son, while under Balon's control Theon is discouraged from seeing Alannys because he isn't son enough. Perhaps Theon does prioritize the goodwill of his patriarch because he views it as an essential ingredient to his survival and success... but he's also absolutely aware of the role the wife/mother/lady/queen plays in the whole arena too. As power, as leverage. It's pretty plain when you consider that he tells Barbrey she could claim leadership over the North if she so desired. He took such pleasure in being relatively intimate with Catelyn as well.

So, he knows. Yet they're still all held above his head like a little treat. Delicious.

#theon greyjoy #alannys harlaw #ned stark #balon greyjoy #asha greyjoy #aeron greyjoy #text #meta #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #gender in asoiaf

84 notes · View notes

owlsinathens · 5 months

Text

The head bounced off a thick root and rolled. It came up near Greyjoy’s feet. Theon was a lean, dark youth of nineteen who found everything amusing. He laughed, put his boot on the head, and kicked it away.

“Ass,” Jon muttered, low enough so Greyjoy did not hear.

AGOT, Bran I

Moat Cailin has fallen, Reek realized then, only no one has seen fit to tell them. He rubbed his mouth to hide his broken teeth, and said, “I need to speak with your commander.” “Kenning?” The guard seemed confused. “He don’t have much to say these days. He’s dying. Might be he’s dead. I haven’t seen him since … I don’t remember when …” “Where is he? Take me to him.” “Who will keep the door, then?” “Him.” Reek gave the corpse a kick. That made the man laugh. “Aye. Why not? Come with me, then.”

ADWD, Reek II

Two kicks, two different audiences, two very different reactions. Both intended to seem careless and flippant, the first earning him contempt, the second a laugh.

And yet both of those kicks seem like a part of a character he puts on:

Theon Greyjoy, ward of Lord Stark, the self-fulfilling prophecy, catering to the bias against him.

And then Reek, playing the Prince of the Iron Islands and invoking Theon Greyjoy the ward.

That boy has spent every moment of his life, from the time he was taken away from his home, on stage. Always watched, always trying to fulfil expectations. He definitely knows how to please his audience.

#theon greyjoy #asoiaf #asoiaf reread #valyrianscrolls #a song of ice and fire #agot #adwd #quotes

80 notes · View notes

optimizche · 1 year

Text

Missing (Part 10) [Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Jacaerys Velaryon]

Warnings: ANGST. Fluff. Pininggggg.

It didn't come as a surprise that you began to loathe traveling on horseback just as much as Aemond did. True to his promise to you, the two of you were making your way back to Winterfell from near Moat Cailin, moving forward along the Kingsroad.

Wondering how you managed to endure this journey just a few days prior had you questioning the silver haired Prince if he still had some of the sleeping draught left with him. Perhaps he could give you a drop of it to ease the queasiness in your belly.

Wrapped up in almost identical cloaks with their hoods pulled over your heads, you sat in front of Aemond on the horse's saddle. It was a source of comfort, his arm secured firmly around your waist, holding you against him while he gripped the reins with his other hand.

"Oh Gods, here it comes again," you whined, urging him to stop the horse from moving.

Hurrying to reach a thicket of bushes by the roadside, you retched, emptying the contents of your stomach until you were certain there was nothing left.

"There, there," Aemond coaxed you, a hand running up and down your back his other hand keeping your hair away from your face.

"I don't know what is wrong with me," you moaned, weakly accepting a few sips of water he offered you to rinse your mouth.

"You need to drink some, too. The loss of body water will worsen your state," he said, pressing the mouth of his waterskin to your lips. Managing to take a few slow sips, you wiped your mouth on your sleeve, rising to your feet from your hunched posture. Only to be hit by a wave of intense dizziness.

Quick from his swordfighting reflexes, Aemond caught you before you collapsed on the ground. "That's it," he said, lifting you up into his arms. "We need to find an inn where you can rest."

"But we-"

"I don't think you can take any further travel atleast for the day. You've been sick thrice since we began our journey. Rest is what you need right now," he spoke in a tone that indicated that he'd not entertain any further protests from you.

Once you had settled into your room in a small roadside inn, Aemond tucked you into bed, fretting over what you could manage to eat and keep down.

"I'm not letting you fall asleep on an empty stomach. I'm going to ask the innkeeper if she can make us some leek soup and bread," he said.

"Aemond, I don't think I'll be able to eat any bread," you replied weakly.

"I'm getting some regardless, please just try eating a few morsels of it if you're feeling better, okay?"

"Okay," you agreed, struck by how caring he was being. Perhaps he was feeling guilty for abducting you, leading to you falling ill. "Could you please send for some water as well?"

"Of course," he smiled, leaving the room at once.

As you watched him walk away, you realized that he still remembered that leek soup had been a favourite meal of yours since your days in King's Landing. An inexplicable twinge coursed through your heart at the memories of your life before going missing.

It hurt, every time you imagined how different your life would have been. Now that Aemond was well and truly returning you to Winterfell, hoping to reach the castle on the morrow, the prospect of leaving him stung bitterly.

Of course, there was still some resentment remaining on your side and his as a result of the actions both of you had taken. But above all, this man was once a boy who had held your heart. He had been your everything. The reason you woke up with a smile and learnt to dream and love. That would never change.

He would always be your first love…

Sitting on the floor beside him, after having finished with your dinner, the two of you gazed at the fire burning in the hearth.

"Well, I am mighty proud of you managing to drink a cupful of the leek soup," Aemond eventually broke the silence, his tone jesting.

"Shut up," you returned, nudging him with a roll of your eyes, a smile on your face nevertheless. "When did you become so caring, Aemond Targaryen?"

He looked at you, mockingly affronted. "What do you mean? I was always caring! Atleast when you were involved."

"But you never fetched me food," came your reply.

"I think I became soft when taking care of Helaena during her pregnancy," he said, instantly feeling guilty at the way your beautiful face fell. He placed a hand on yours. "I'm saying all the wrong things, aren't I?"

"No," you murmured, a distant look in your eyes as you looked at him and through him at once. You brushed a hand across your belly. "Do you think I could be…? The nausea and…"

…and you hadn't had your moon's blood this month although it wasn't uncommon for you to be a few days late here and there.

Beside you, Aemond stiffened, his own heart turning into lead, the vision of your belly swollen with the child of his nephew both saddening and angering him. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Well," he swallowed the sudden, painful lump in his throat. "If that is what is the cause of your illness then you have nothing to worry about. You will be a wonderful mother."

"You think so?" you breathed, beaming, feeling excited at the likelihood of carrying a child and simultaneously relieved by his reassurance.

"Of course," Aemond smiled fondly at the twinkle in your eyes, his jealousy of Jacaerys forgotten in wake of the radiance on your face. To him, you looked like starlight. "Although I must confess my envy of the father of the child-"

You slapped his arm, laughing. "Let the pregnancy be confirmed atleast."

"Well, if it is true, you must write to me with the happy news," he said, giving your arm a squeeze.

"Well, nothing is established yet," you waved lightly. "But, seriously, though, what are you going to do after escorting me to Winterfell?"

"Perhaps I will travel on horseback to take a ship to the Free Cities. There's nothing left for me in Westeros now," he sighed. "You will be happy and safe with your Prince. I may detest his bloodline but I am certain that Jacaerys will make sure to look after you. My drunken fool of a brother will never let me see my mother or my sister or my children. I will lose my head if I even think of going back to King's Landing."

"What will you do in the Free Cities?" came your query.

"Since becoming a sellsword is out of question, given my distinct appearance, I think I will become a farmer," he said and you snorted in the most unladylike manner.

"I cannot imagine that. Prince Aemond Targaryen, the second son of King Viserys The Peaceful, having the blood of Aegon The Conqueror, spending his remaining days as a farmer?" you asked in disbelief. Having such a mundane life was not what you had imagined for him.

"Perhaps I will finally find some peace," he spoke in a wistful voice.

A long moment of silence passed.

"Will you? Truly find peace?" you asked, the words simple but significant in their gravity.

"No."

"Neither will I," you conceded, feeling his intent gaze upon your face. "Although we must do what is right. I must return to the Blacks."

The confession made you feel vulnerable before him, his one blue eye intently observing you. This feeling of vulnerability was welcome, not something that were afraid of. Aemond had always made you feel safe, listened to you with no judgement, given your childhood self the support you sought.

"I wish I had stayed at Driftmark," you whispered suddenly, voice barely audible. "I would have fought for your eye just as fiercely as your mother did."

"I wish you had stayed at Driftmark," he echoed. "I wish you had stayed long enough to hear the entirety of my conversation with Aegon."

Your blood suddenly ran cold. "What do you mean?"

Aemond's lips turned into a sad smile. "Aegon said 'You marry her then' when I reminded him that Helaena is our sister. Then I said…"

"…I would have performed my duty, if Mother had only betrothed us," you completed the sentence, the pain of the words still freshly etched in your heart.

"Did you hear what I said to him after that?" he asked, his voice turning low.

Palms clammy at your sides, you clenched your fists, shaking your head. "I didn't. I ran away…"

"I said to Aegon, 'Being a second son, I wouldn't forget my duty, but I'd always choose love.'"

Eyes flying to his face, you silently assessed him, trying to find even the slightest hint of deception.

"Love?" you asked, voice tremulous.

"Love, ñuha dōna rūklon," he affirmed.

"Don't lie to me about this. Don't play with me so callously, Aemond," you said, shaking your head to keep the sudden tears from pooling in your eyes. "I can't take it-"

"Helaena was my duty. But you were my love. You were my peace, my happiness."

"No, Aemond-" you made a move to back away from him but his arm shot out, capturing your wrist.

"No, don't run. Not again. You ran away from the Red Keep's weirwood tree that night and you ran away from the cave near Storm's End that day. I need you to hear the truth," he spoke, desperation in his tone. "You always were my first choice, dōna rūklon. You were the one I loved and wanted to spend the rest of my life loving. Without giving me a chance to explain myself, you ran away-"

"But that night when you claimed Vhagar-"

"My arrogance and want for power clouded my mind. I was a child. I never thought I'd lose you. It was my mistake, taking your love for granted," he said, pulling you towards him.

"Aemond," you exhaled, heart racing.

He smiled knowingly. "You still don't believe me."

Your didn't respond, still stunned.

"Let me kiss you," he said. "Please."

"But-"

"Just one kiss, ñuha dōna rūklon. If I am to lose you forever on the morrow, let me kiss you just one last time," he insisted.

Swallowing, your eyes slowly fell to his lips before meeting his eye and you gave a small nod.

Drawing you into his arms, he met your mouth with his own in a passion so unrestrained, it made you shudder. His ardour took your breath away, his fingers undoing your hair until it fell freely down your back.

The softness of his lips was insistent against yours, mouths parting in unison until his tongue found yours. Moaning, your hands went to his shoulders, travelling up into his silvery mane. Warmth returned to you, flooding overwhelmingly into your heart, thawing it. He nibbled into your lower lip before running his tongue over it to soothe the sting and you felt yourself melting away…

With a sigh, you broke away to take a breath you had forgotten you needed, only to return to him once more.

"I love you, ñuha dōna rūklon," he murmured between kisses and you felt like you were floating on a cloud, his silken hair slipping through your fingers, the familiar spiced musk of him filling you with such comfort. "I love you so much…"

"A-Aemond…" you moaned, allowing him to kiss along the curve of your neck, his arms encasing you more protectively. "We should stop…"

He snarled, his breath like dragonfire against your jaw before he found your lips again. "Please," he begged between kisses. "Stay with me. I need you. I will spend the rest of my days becoming the man you wanted me to be. I-"

"Aemond," you sighed, resignation in your voice while you pressed your forehead against his shoulder. "I must return to Winterfell. The realm is in the midst of a war. I cannot abandon the one true Queen."

Just speaking the words had a sobering effect and you reluctantly let go of each other.

Hurt was apparent on his face, his smile utterly heartbroken. Like he was trying to be brave for himself. And for you. "I suppose you are right. You have your Prince to return to."

Despite the fact that it was you who was insistent upon returning to Queen And Jacaerys, Aemond's despair stung at your heart. It was almost like he was surrendering.

Giving up.

"I will write to you. Everyday," you tried to console him, your words sounding hollow to your own ears. "We will stay in touch, Aemond."

Hearing this, he smiled even more mournfully.

"You have my word, ñuha dōna rūklon. I will always be with you, if it is only through my words, because I cannot watch as you become my nephew's wife and the mother of his children," he said, placing a hand on your belly.

"Jacaerys hasn't asked-"

"He will ask you, when you are reunited. Mark my words," Aemond said. "I've seen the way he looks at you. And as much as I loathe him, I know that he is no fool. He will not let the one he loves slip away the way I did."

You opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted you, clearly wanting no further consolation, knowing it wouldn't heal his shattered heart.

"Will you do me a favour?" he asked eventually.

You nodded.

"I shall give you a letter on the morrow, when we reach Winterfell," he said, his tone one of utmost seriousness. "Read it only after you are within the walls of the castle."

"Okay."

"Promise me. Only after you are within the walls of the castle. You owe our relationship this courtesy," his echo of one of the last words you had spoken to him at Driftmark that night made you agree.

"I promise."

"Good," he said, running his fingertips across your cheekbone. "Now get some rest. We shall depart at first light."

The weight of the letter felt like a million bushels in the pocket of your cloak as you slowly made your way to Winterfell.

Having given you one last, teary eyed kiss, Aemond had climbed back upon his horse, departing swiftly, leaving you to make your way to the Stark stronghold on your feet.

It was you who had insisted that he left you a healthy distance away from the castle, knowing full well that Jacaerys would have asked Cregan Stark to deploy his forces to search for you.

You did not want Aemond to be caught for abducting you. He would be imprisoned or executed for certain.

Before you even made it to the outer walls of the castle, you could hear Jacaerys' voice calling your name.

He came running towards you, pulling you into his arms before you even had a chance to breathe.

"Thank the Gods, you are safe, my darling," he said, relief palpable in his voice. It was only when you pulled away from the embrace that you noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping.

When you mentioned as much, he laughed.

"Here you are, returning from being abducted and you're worrying about my health?" he asked incredulously. "Come, you must be so tired."

He led you to your chambers in the Winterfell castle, ensuring that you were warm and safe, asking the servants to serve you breakfast, before departing to call the Maester. And to inform Cregan Stark that you had returned.

You ignored the array of hot bread, crisped bacon, boiled eggs, porridge, fruit and steaming tea that you were served, choosing the moment of privacy to pull the letter Aemond had given you out of your cloak.

As soon as you opened the piece of parchment, you realized that it wasn't a letter Aemond had written.

It was a letter written to him.

By Helaena.

Sweet brother,

Do not spend a moment worrying for me or the children. We are all safe and well. Ever since Aegon has returned from Winterfell, he has been rather kind with regards to Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, even though he is indifferent towards me.

I do not hope for his forgiveness, nor do I expect it.

It was my mistake, seeking comfort with you outside the boundaries of my marriage. I know that by giving birth to your children, I've put you in a rather difficult position, not just with your brother, but also with your best friend.

It was wrong of me to encourage you to become closer to me, just as you were reeling with the blow of having lost her. I see that now, how desperately you love her. How you always have. It was written across your face whenever she was around or was even mentioned.

Despite what I have done to her, after birthing the twins, she was kind enough to kneel before my husband to ask for mercy for the children. Her magnanimity has deeply moved me.

Please, find her and do not let her go again. You both need each other, even after all that you've done to each other.

All my love,

Helaena.

A tear fell from your eye, staining the parchment with the immense pain you felt. It felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs.

That fool, you thought. This is why he had asked you to wait until you were within the castle before reading the letter, because he knew that you'd want to find him but by the time he'd be gone far away-

"My Lady," came the voice of the Grandmaester of Winterfell, bringing your raging thoughts to a sudden halt. "You wished to see me."

"Yes, Maester," you said, hurrying to the elderly man standing before you. "I need you to examine me, I wish to know if I am carrying a child."

You sat in an armchair, listlessly nibbling on a berry, waiting for Jacaerys to arrive.

"My darling," he said, sitting down on the chair before you. "The maester told me that you are doing well."

"I've healed from the injuries I sustained after escaping from the Lyseni sellsword who had abducted me," you lied, trying to be as convincing with your story as possible, while simultaneously despising yourself for deceiving Jacaerys. "My moon's blood has been a bit late, though, and I wanted to know if I am with child. Your child."

The expectation in Jace's eyes broke your heart, even as he reached out to clutch your hands in his. "Are you…? he asked eagerly.

You shook your head in response. "No. My illness was a reaction to the sleeping draught the sellsword had given me before trying to take me to King's Landing to give me to the Greens for a ransom."

Jacaerys looked crestfallen at hearing that you weren't pregnant. But he recovered quickly, his enthusiasm returning.

"I wrote to Mother, informing her that you've returned to me safely," he said. "The days you were went missing, I spent consumed by the torment of losing you."

Your heart sank, suddenly thinking of Aemond, knowing how he had suffered when you had disappeared from Driftmark.

"I wrote to her earlier, asking for her permission and I'm delighted to say that she said yes," Jacaerys said joyfully, his brown eyes glowing with warmth. "Of course if you are in agreement as well…"

"With what?" you asked, confused.

"I asked Mother to allow me to ask for your hand in marriage," he said, getting down on bended knee before you, your hands still in his. "I love you so much, I couldn't stand the thought of living my life without you."

You gaped, heart pounding as you thought of Aemond's prediction.

"My darling," Jacaerys Velaryon spoke. "Will you marry me?"

Author's note: What do we think, fam? ⭐

Part 11

381 notes · View notes

racefortheironthrone · 4 months

Note

Doing a CBC archive binge, and in ACOK Bran II you mention the possibility of the Wild Hares being brought to Winterfell under the command of Ser Rodrik; I was wondering how you think their presence at Winterfell during the Ironborn Invasion may have affected events in ACOK (and beyond, if you think the butterfly would flap its wings that strongly).

Well, "one man on a wall was worth ten beneath it" and Theon's attack on Winterfell was badly undermanned to begin with...

If Theon's attempt to seize Winterfell fails, everything changes:

Winterfell acts as the rallying point for the North against the Ironborn invasion. The Northern forces that gathered to besiege Theon instead retake Torrhen's Square and Deepwood Motte, and put Moat Cailin under siege from the north.

Ramsay Snow rots in the Winterfell dungeons instead of leading House Bolton's treason in the North. Roose's plans to overthrow House Stark are going to be substantially weakened at the very least.

With Winterfell relieved and the North pushing back the Ironborn on its own, Robb Stark does not need to go back home via the Twins and will likely stay and fight in the Riverlands. Without the false news of his brothers' death, Robb probably doesn't marry Jeyne Westerling. House Frey will still try to betray him, but without a pretext or a perfect opportunity like the Red Wedding.

Catelyn Stark does not free Jaime Lannister.

Very much a "but for the want of a nail" scenario.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #war of the five kings

25 notes · View notes

asherbakugou · 4 months

Text

Twenty and five years ago, Princess Rhaenyra was removed from the line of succession after King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower learned of her marriage, or marriages. Under the guiding flame of the Fourteen and the Branches of the Godwood, Rhaenyra had taken three husbands: Lord Rickon Stark of the North, Ser Laenor Velaryon, Heir to Driftmark, and Prince Daemon Targaryen, her Uncle.

It was Ser Otto, Lord Hand, who encouraged the King to remove her because of her unlawful wedding.

Having learned of her impending removal as Heiress, Rhaenyra created a contract with the help of Lyonel Strong, the Master of Law.

The First Clause.

Dragonstone, her ancestral home, and the Stepstones, Prince Daemons second gift for winning the war, were hers and her husbands alone and would be passed down through her line alone.

The Second Clause.

Anything belonging to the late Queen Aemma would be given to Princess Rhaenyra to be passed down through her line alone. This included all of her possessions, jewelry, dresses, and her crowns.

The Third Clause.

Anything of Valyrian Ancestry, whether living or not, belonged to Rhaenyra to pass down as she pleased.

The Fourth Clause.

The Dragons woud be removed from the Dragonpit and guided to the Dragonmont. If any Targaryen henceforth wished to claim a dragon they would have to gain permission from Princess Rhaenyra and her husbands.

As a gift for Aegons second nameday Rhaenyra left him and her younger sister, Halaena eggs.

The Fifth Clause.

Daemons Gold Cloaks would be allowed to follow to protect Dragonstone as they had Kings Landing.

The contract was shown to King Viserys privately, so none of his counsel was able to refute it. He agreed, signing the contract in blood before copies were sent out to each kingdom and member of the Counsel.

The morning after King Viserys signed the contract his entire family left. The Velaryons returned to Driftmark, and Rhaenyra and her husbands to Dragonstone where no word was heard for twenty and five years.

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

Within the first year of living on Dragonstone, the Volcano erupted and gave them nearly double the land they had before. The Island became renowed for its Rock Salt, Fine Salt, Dragonglass, Glass, and Pearls all of which were abundant.

Created on the Northeastern side of the island, after a second smaller eruption added several miles, was a smaller keep built specifically for Rhaenyras line to inherit. The Keep, known as the Narrows Watchtower, had docks below for the Fleet of the Fourteen which would eventually be given to Prince Rhaenor Velaryon and his betrothed Princess Aemma Targaryen.

As Rhaenyra and Daemon knew what it felt like to be pushed aside they made sure their children knew that family was the most important thing, that nothing could break the bond of blood. They also made sure each child would inherit something so anger and jealosy would not fester.

Each child was given an egg within the cradle, and eventually taught the same lessons so they were given the same opportunities. Princess Rhaenyra was also going to make sure none of her children felt pressured to marry and let them have a say in their betrothals.

Prince Baelon Targaryen ll, Heir to Dragonstone.

Prince Aemon Targaryen ll, Heir to the Stepstones.

Prince Cregan Stark, Heir to the North.

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Heir to Crackclaw point.

Prince Lucerys Velaryon, Heir to Driftmark.

Princess Khalysi Targaryen, Heiress to Dragonstone.

Prince Jon Stark, Heir to Moat Cailin.

Princess Arya Stark, Heiress to Moat Cailin.

Prince Corryn Velaryon, Heir to the Sea Serpents Fleet.

Prince Rhaenor Velaryon, Heir to the Fleet of the Fourteen Flames.

Prince Benjen Stark, Heir to Greywater Watch.

Princess Saerys Targaryen, Heiress to Greywater Watch.

Princess Alyssa Targaryen, Heiress to Rainwood Isles.

Princess Aemma Targaryen, Heiress to the Narrows Watchtower.

Princess Visenya Targaryen ll, Heiress to the Vale.

Princess Rhaena Targaryen lll, Heiress to the Isles of Skagos and Skane.

Prince Baelon was betrothed to Princess Khalysi and Prince Lucerys at a young age due to their closeness. They were wedded after Khalysi's tenth and sixth Nameday, marking her as a grown woman.

Prince Aemon was betrothed to Princess Nehemia of Martell after it became obvious they liked each other during peace talks in Dorne. They were married after Princess Nehemias tenth and sixth Nameday, marking her as a grown woman.

Prince Cregan Stark was betrothed to Alyssane Blackwood after he saw her using a bow against the Wildlings. They married soon after the battle as Alyssane was already ten and seven.

Prince Jacaerys was married to Alinor Celtigar, which gave him Crackclaw Point.

Prince Jon and Princess Arya were married on their tenth and sixth nameday.

Prince Corryn was betrothed to Princess Alyssa because of their similar behaviors and wild hearts.

Prince Rhaenor and Princess Aemma were betrothed due to their own similarities and their friendship.

Prince Benjen and Princess Saerys were betrothed because they near begged to be, having fallen for each other at a young age.

Princess Visenya and Princess Rhaena were left unbetrothed, because Lady Jeyne was given permission to find their matches because their territories were gifts from the Vale.

With no information being given to Kings Landing, King Viserys, Queen Alicent, and Ser Otto had no idea of the 'army' of children Rhaenyra had. Nor of the amount of hatched dragons, and claimed dragons.

13 cradle hatched dragons, 3 claimed, with a dragonseed claiming Sheepstealer and becoming Princess Visenya's Sworn Maiden.

With three adult dragons, if not four or five when Rhaenys and Laena visited with Rhaenys and Vhagar.

Dragonstone was a fortress, with an army to protect her.

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #lucerys velaryon #arrax #dragonstone #jacaerys velaryon #daemon targeryan #laenor velaryon #original character #rickon stark #cregan stark #viserys ii targaryen #alicent hightower #aegon ii targaryen #halaena targaryen #otto hightower #lyonel strong

41 notes · View notes

misguidedasgardian · 1 year

Text

The White Dragon (28)

28. Crossroads

MASTERLIST

Summary: Days could make a big difference

Pairings: main Harwin Strong x Fem!Targaryen reader

Warnings: Crestan shows up so A LOT of cursing, medieval and A song of ice and Fire AU customs, injury, burns, dragon fire, death, violence, armies, war and all that comes with it. Daemon slander, sorry guys.

Might miss some warnings but you know what this is about :)

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 4.2k

Notes: we have a small time jump, in the last chapter, following Rhaegar, two weeks went by. I know is weird to read a story about an insert reader with no reader HAHA but we will be back soon!

The Lannister army had crossed, unseen, the Riverlands.

From Casterly Rock they marched south-east through the River Road and towards Riverrrun, unknown to them, Prince Daemon was there only a day ago, but he didn’t leave any men there, so, taken by surprise, Riverrun was taken almost too easily by half of the Lannister Army as they were making their own preparations to march…

Thanks to Joanna Lannister, Lady of Riverrun, the casualties were to a minimum, and even if Jason Lannister, his brother, took his husband as a prisoner, she surrendered the Tully forces to his brother, everything to avoid bloodshed, the life of her men, family and people where the most important thing at the moment.

So the Lannisters took control of Riverrun, and with that, and from there, thanks to scouts, and the maester of Riverrun’s sigil and ravens, they could easily pinpoint the location of the Winter Wolves, that were coming south from Moat Cailin and towards the Twins

So half of the Lannister army (the rest was with their navy), and the Tully forces turned, they marched North through all those small towns, and got to the Twins before the wolves, to gather the Frey forces as well, two armies, their former River Lords, The Freys were easily swayed to arm their men against the Northerner army

And together, the three forces crossed the River north, and awaited for the Winter Wolves. Hidden behind the treeline.

When they saw them marching south, they caught him between the river and them hidden in the woods. It could have been a slaughter of the older men's army, taking a big toll on the Stark Army taking out their most seasoned men.

It was an assured victory

But… The Tullys, as commanded by their Lady Joanna Tully (former Lannister), turned their backs on the army, taking out their spears and pushing the Lannisters against the wolves, and they trapped them instead, covering their escape route. The battle had already begun, so the Lannisters were already caught against the Winter Wolves.

And Joanna and her husband had intentionally failed to notify the Lannisters about the very much grown dragon that was accompanying the northerner army, and the dragon had not been flying with the army, so the scouts hadn't seen it.

So the Lannisters and Freys were caught on plainfield, not protected by the trees, and between the Wolves and the Tullys. And from over the treeline, they saw in horror the golden and cream beast that breathed fire all over them

Meanwhile… Rhaegar atop of Karnax had to reign in it, not to burn the entire forest near the Twins.

As the Winter Wolves fought the Lannisters, and were winning, he attacked the rear part of the army, to make sure his fire didn’t burn the Northerners.

He felt like an almighty god, with the power of fire at his disposal, everything under him, everything he wanted to burn, it burned under Karnax’s golden flames. It felt so powerful, but with that, he also felt scared, terribly scared, the smell of burned flesh reached his nostrils and the sounds of their screams filled his ears, and that filled him with the need to throw up.

The Freys soon surrendered, seeing the Tully army turning had already diminished their desire to fight alongside the Lannisters, so as soon as karnax breathed fire above them, they dropped their weapons and waited in the sidelines. And it didn’t take long for the Winter Wolves to slaughter the Lannister Army.

They captured a few captains, and a second grade Lannister uncle who was leading the attack, and by sunset, the battle was over and won. The first victory for the blacks.

Rhaegar’s legs almost gave up when he landed on the ground again. Lord Roderick came close to him, see the boy was pale as a ghost

“Are you alright boy?”, he asked, grabbing by the shoulders, Rhaegar barely nodded, but he had his heart pounding so hard he could barely hear him, “you are shaking like a leaf in autumn”, he laughed

Rhaegar fall to his knees in front of the Lord of Barrowton, he felt dizzy, adrenalin abandoning his body

“You saved our asses boy!”, the men said, as the rest of the Lords of the Winter wolves surrounded the both their leader, Rhaegar and Karnax, “we might be dead if it wasn’t for you and your dragon”

“That boy needs some ale!”, laughed one, “and a woman to comfort him”

“No!”, he managed to say, “I’m betrothed!”, he said then. gaining laughs of approval from all those close to them, “but I want that Ale!”, he laughed

The Twins were now for the blacks.

Rhaegar handed them the only Targaryen sigil he had on him at the moment, his own, The white dragon over the tricolor bolts on a black field, and that is the sigil that hanged by one of the Twins’s towers as a sign of their allegiance

And at night, they camped outside on the southside, as they were already accustomed to, by the fire, and under the stars, sharing tales of the fresh battle. These were seasoned men, ready for the Stranger, or their old god, to take them, so they shared their own stories between laughs.

“I’ve never flown into battle like that before”, Rhaegar admitted, “before this I only contested in one tournament, and the Knight from the vale knocked off my horse and on my ass”, he admitted, making all the men laugh

“Well boy, you did great”, said Roderick. “A Strong Dragon”

“Thanks Lord Roderick”, he said, “I really want to be a knight”

“Do ya’ now?”, he asked, amused, “Hey Manderly!”, Lord Roderick called, “come ‘ere”, Robin Manderly was the old uncle of the Lord of White Harbor, “you follow the Seven, right?”, he asked as the men showed up in the midst of night

“That’s right”, he said

“You are a knight”, he nodded, “Well, the boy wants to be a knight, Knight him already would ya’?

“I’ll be honored”, he muttered. So Rhaegar kneeled on the ground, by the fire, and the tall lord, with long and white beard and long gray hairs, took out his sword

“Rhaegar of House Targaryen and Strong, do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your king, to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?”, he asked, placing the blade on his shoulder

“Yes I do”, he answered firmly, so he changed to his right shoulder

“So now arise, as a Knight of the seven Kingdoms”, he said solemnly. And Rhaegar stood, with a big smile on his face, as all those Lords and men from the North cheered for him.

Back in Riverrun, Lady Joanna Lannister and Tully sipped her cup of wine from Lannisport as she watched The Tully forces return home, unharmed and complete. And no sign of the Lannister army, just as planned

“What has happened?”, asked Jason, her brother, entering the room, he didn’t march alongside their men, instead preferring to stay in the comforts of Riverrun. Through the doors of the Hall entered the army captains, who grabbed Jason as the few Lannister soldiers who had remained, screamed loudly as they were being killed by the tully soldiers, and could be heard from outside the walls, “Traitor!”, he called his own sister, “how could you do this?”

“I’m a Tully now”, she answered simply, “and you are a traitor to the crown”, she said firmly. Not feeling not even a little of remorse, “you come here, threaten my husband, my children, my family”

“We are your family!”, he said. And she shook her head.

“What shall we do now, My Lady?”, asked the commander

“Release my husband and the rest of the prisoners”, she commanded, and a soldier ran to fulfill her command. She walked towards Jason

“Family protects you and guards you, you betrayed me all those years ago, marrying me to that man, and you did nothing to protect me from him, even though you knew”, her husband was released and walked through the doors, alongside their two boys, one of six and ten, and the other of four and ten.

“Take him to the cells”, Lord Tully commanded as he walked through the room to embrace his wife. Joanna hugged his husband and children. “You did amazing sweet wife”, he whispered against her golden hair, “my golden lioness”

“The Tully forces had return home whole”, she answered, “the Lannister forces were slaughtered at the Twins”

“You have secured the Riverlands”, sentenced his husband.

2 weeks ago

According to Crestan, he had been dragged from one part of this forsaken land to another… What is seemed to be a simple mission of sneaking prince Daemon to King’s Panting or whatever the fuck the name was, it was postponed bitterly, instead the prince had asked him to go up a river, it was barely deep enough to hold his ship… and then that river turned into three huge rivers called “The trident”

His men were getting restless, since they had to row… And Crestan had a lot of trouble explaining that they were most likely not going to be paid for their efforts, instead the only rewards will be their lives, and not be burned.

Apparently Daemon wanted to reach Riverrrun, and he couldn’t do it by Dragon, but a colorful pirate ship would be less conspicuous. What the actual fuck

Riverrun was an interesting castle to see, he had to admit, built over the river, it was certainly a sight. He wouldn’t mind being named lord of a castle, he thought.

While Daemon negotiated with the Tullys, he waited patiently in his boat, that weird as fuck looking dragon would fly over them, with his strange, dolphin like roar.

Apparently the negotiations had been fruitful, he had no idea Daemon had used him, and the fact he so easily crept up the river finally convinced them. The Tully forces were going to leave for Harrenhal soon. Even though Lord Tully had expressed his concern, the location of the Lannister army was yet to be revealed, they were the Green’s greatest ally, of course they were arming themselves… Where were they?

So Daemon promised that the northern army was going to come down soon, with them, a dragon. And Harrenhal has also a dragon, both of them could come in to help.

If they only knew the Lannister Army attacked barely a day after they left.

So finally, they went downriver again, and soon, Crestan thought he would be relieved, but a week had already gone by… if you were not dead after the attack, you were now probably really gone…

But the mission you gave him was also in King’s Landing, if Crestan couldn’t save you, he would save your daughter, just like you had asked him to.

So they sailed down river again, and then they took another four days to turn around to finally pass by Dragonstone and reach King’s Landing

Even though a war was about to break out, Crestan had no trouble making port at the Black Water. He could already smell the disgusting city, and why the bay held that name. He thought it was a wretched city.

Daemon hid himself in a cradle, and Crestad had two of his men to download it towards the city streets towards a house he had previously agreed on.

He was a clever man, Crestan thought, but in this kind of city you could never be too careful, you could always get caught. Too many eyes.

Crestan wanted to clean his hands of whatever this was, but Daemon knew he was a very skilled sword, so he forced him to escort him into the city, if he, the Rogue Prince, took out his Valyrian steel sword in the middle of the street everyone was going to hear about it. So he needed protection since he was going to the darkest parts of town.

They walked in silence, Crestan didn’t really want to give him a reason to keep him around, so against all his instincts he just kept quiet and moved through the streets as two hooded figures.

He had never been to King’s Landing, but what he thought of it was that it smelled like piss and shit, and these dragon lords were extremely obsessed with themselves, black banners with a three headed green dragon were everywhere in sight, everywhere he looked. His eyesight made him look towards the biggest building he had ever seen, and he truly had seen many

“That is the dragonpit”, said Daemon, “where Targaryens keep their dragons”, he said, amused. Crestan kept looking at the most dangerous building in all of Westeros, a stable for dragons. He wondered how many winged beasts were there, and if any or all of them were as big as Vhaelar. And then of course he remembered you.

Where the fuck where you?

He followed Daemon to the darkest parts of the city, he knew because the smell got worse, the streets were narrower and uglier.

And they arrived to a two story building, with big dark green doors, when the door opened, Crestan wanted to kill the Rogue Prince

“A fucking whore house?”, he asked, “you brought me all the way here to fuck some whores?”

“Quiet”, he warned, as they both entered

The woman who welcomed them led them through a dark hallway towards the back of the building and down some stairs. He met with a strange looking woman that was waiting for them, clearly not from Westeros, if anything, she looked like she came from the strange lands of Lys. He had traveled around most parts of Essos, so he knew.

“The Rogue Prince Daemon”, she purred, she wore a white dress, and fixed her black hair up in her head. “And you are…?”, she asked looking right at him

“A friend”, said Daemon, “a friend from Essos”

“Don’t mind me miss”, he said with a charming smile, he didn’t really, really, he didn’t care what they could possibly discuss, so Daemon caught on to that and took what she offered him and then walked over to the next room, leaving him there. Alone.

So he pretended to get comfortable in one of the chairs that were displayed around the room, almost yawning, uninterested, but as soon as they closed the doors, he stood up, walking towards the double doors silently.

“...What we discussed” he heard

“I have exactly the right men for the job”, she slithered with that strange accent, “it requires a special kind of men, bloodthirsty, that the only value they know is the one for gold…and a lot of coin”

“I just want the job done”, he whispered, Crestan could barely hear him

“Killing a child… a prince…”, she said back, “is nasty”

“That one-eyed cunt killed my niece, so I’m going to take his nephew”, he answered

“He is just a child”, she said then

“I didn’t know a common whore cared for what happened in the Red Keep”

“You’ll find out that I’m not common”, she said back, “do you want the service from these men or not?”, he heard the rustling of coin, a big bag full of them

“They will go into the Red Keep, and kill prince Jaehaerys”, he commanded, “the boy of 6”

Crestan couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“They will be violent, and vile”, she warned

“Even better”, he responded, “I want it to happen in front of their mother, extra coin if it is in front of that cunt Alicent, I want that family destroyed from within”

he went back and plunged himself back on the chair, making sure he looked very comfortable, and closed his eyes pretending he didn’t hear a thing.

Daemon came back with a pleased smile, and Crestan, despite the gruesome deaths the silver haired prince had threatened him with, this is the first time he actually felt scared when he saw him.

What kind of sick fuck orders the death of a child?

Yes he was a pirate, he had stole shit, killed some fuckers, but an innocent child?

Yes you were attacked and probably killed, but that wasn’t that child’s fault? Why doesn’t Daemon go after the motherfucker with the big dragon?

You are going to have to wait a little longer. The gods or whomever the fuck was up there have him here for a fucking reason.

Fuck this shit.

As they were being led out of that crap establishment, in his mind he planned the perfect distraction, he needed to get himself away from him, miss him with an excuse.

He might be a thief, he might be a liar, some would say a real cunt, and a little bit of a coward, but he wasn’t a sick fuck

The odds were in his favor, as they walked down towards a big street, they faced a crowd of people, going for the Sept for a mass or something, and they got caught in it.

He heard Daemon calling for his name as he let himself get dragged by the group of religious followers, he didn’t answer, instead, he led this people led him away from him, it had been so fucking easy it was almost laughable.

Daemon thought he was going back towards his boat, it wasn’t that difficult to find the harbor. So he started walking. But Crestan did exactly the opposite, as he started walking towards the Castle, or what he guessed was the The third biggest building? that wasn’t the dragon stable or the big ass temple? that had to be the one. big, Red, Red Weep or something? yeah he’s got this, he thought, as he adjusted his cape and walked down the filthy streets.

Two weeks had passed since the accident, and Aegon had survived the wound and the painful recovery, the outer layers of skin of his right arm, face and torso had melted off of him, and right now a new one was making his way in his flesh

He insisted on being moved to the throne room every day, servants carried him in the same chair they carried his own father through his last days, placing him in the first step leading towards the Iron Throne, and front here, he would receive lords and ladies, and would try to rule his faux Kingdom

Queen Alicent could barely stand to look at him, Aegon soon realized this and started to push her away from the war council, spurred by her continued abuse towards him since his childhood, her slaps and her angry looks. So he expelled her from the council. His right hand was Criston Cole now, the only one who matched his anger and wanted to see the black’s heads roll.

And his other council members were hiding things from him, he knew it, if there was any good news from the Lannister army Tyland wouldn’t shut up about it, but nothing had been said and it’s been two weeks since they left Casterly Rock.

Something bad had happened and they were hiding it from him.

Besides Borros had scouted the whole of Shipwreck bay, looking for the corpse of the princess or her fucking dragon, and nothing had showed up, that cunt, you, could still be fucking alive, maybe hiding in dragonstone or somewhere else, ready to fuck them up.

Their most important army hasn't even left Old Town yet, tangled in impossible paperwork and bureaucracy, just thinking about it made his head spin and ache.

Enemies were everywhere, some in plain sight, and other hidden, he couldn’t even leave the Keep, in case a rogue city watch soldier would come up against him.

There was no one who could trust.

Not even his brother.

So he called him in, to meet him in the throne room, he needed

“The Baratheon army will be here in a week”, he said, swallowing his pain with wine, “Borros is coming with a daughter of his choosing, that you will marry”

“I thought Daeron was the one”

“That idiot cunt hasn't even left Oldtown yet”, he spit, “he doesn’t even know how to command an army”

You don’t either, he thought bitterly

“I’m not marrying any of his daughters brother, that wasn’t the deal”, he said

“Oh yes, this shit again”, he snapped, “Aemma this, Aema that, she is fucking useless, her family doesn’t give two shits about her, you all said that as long as we had her they wouldn’t attack but guess what, they have, that little bitch is useless”

“Don’t speak to her like that”, he said

“If you are not going to marry one of the Baratheon cunts then you will do this for me…the royal army is ready, you will fly with them and take Harrenhal”, he commanded

“Brother, you know who might be there”, he said slowly, “our nephews…”

“Those fucking traitors”, he said dismissively, “kill those little cunts”

“Aegon…”

“Is your grace, to you”, he said, pointing his burnt finger at him. Aegon blamed Aemond for his disfiguration, for his burns, it was his fault. If he had gone instead of him, one of the Strongest dragons on the black side would be dead, and he would be whole. “You’ll do as your King commands”

“You’ll send me to kill our nephews?”, he asked. Aegon grabbed the arms of his chair enraged

“You have done shit for this war”, he said, “but complain”

“Send me everywhere else”, he begged

“Storm’s End then”, he said, “Daeron is being summoned, but that cunt Borros needs a reminder of his alliance”

“Very well, brother, I will go to Storm’s End, lead the Baratheon army here”, at least he bought his nephews more time, as he figured out what to do

But one thing was clear, his brother was losing his mind.

Aemond knew about what happened in the Twins, he knew they were losing the war, alongside half of the Lannister army. He knew more things that his brother did, and yet… he still didn’t know how to stop this war.

So without further discussion, he left the hall in search of his dragon. But deep in his gut, he knew he should have left King’s Landing

“Aegon is now disfigured, and injured”, spoke Rhaenyra, way more excited than she should be, “The North is about to Reach Harrenhal, but we don’t have news from the Tullys, even if we have their support”

“The Tullys, Rhaegar Strong, his dragon, and a part of the Northerner army has destroyed seven thousand Lannister infantry”, reported one of his lords, “securing the Riverlands and destroying the lannister force in half”

“My nephew came through”, she whispered, at his side, Jace clenched his fist, he too wanted to prove his worth on the battlefield, riding into battle at Vermax’s back, “Where is the other half of their army?”, asked Rhaenyra

“They hadn't left the Westerlands”, said another, “if they do by sea, Dorne will sink their ships as they intent to make the pass”, Lord Corlys said, if they do by land, they will cross the Riverlands, a place we hold, with two dragons in Harrenhal it will be easy to erase the other half

“But is much easier for them to meet with the army from Oldtown”, she said, “and pressure Highgarden for the Kingdom’s food

“They are all going to meet in Harrenhal, reports from the capital had said that they are gathering the royal army”

“What about the Baratheons?”

“No word from Storm’s End, they sided with the greens, and without a proper master of whisperers, we cannot gather intelligence from the Stormlands”

“Even without the Baratheons… we are winning”, Rhaenya whispered, almost excited

“Not quite yet your grace, the greens have the treasury, my friends over the narrow sea had told me they paid handsomely for the triarchy fleet, to act as mercenaries, we expect them to attack right from Pentos, and that leaves us in the very first line”

“How about your fleet Lord Corlys?”

“Ready to defend us”, he said proudly

“So we should expect a naval battle”, said Jacaerys, “I’m ready to defend us”, he said firmly, Rhaenyra caressed the back of his head with a soft smile.

“You will”, she promised.

Rhaenys had left Dragonstone, alongside Luke, and Rhaena to protect Driftmark, and also prepare the fleet. Rhaenyra felt a certain uneasiness in her belly, she hadn't received word from Daemon lately, everything had been terribly quiet, like the calm before the storm. But she shook those feelings away. they were winning

Thanks to you they were winning

Aegon was crippled, Vhagar hasn’t been seen since Aemond had killed you, and their fleet paled in comparison to Lord Corlys… the northerner army had wiped half the Lannister and remained intact, thanks to your son…

Her children were safe

Everything was looking up.

More notes: this chapter came out a little strange… i tried to write what was happening in different places at the same time, it didn’t go quite right but… I kinda like writing about battles and war plans and schemes! haha GO JOANNA YOU LIONESS GOLDEN TROUT I LOVE YOUUU, her sigil is a Merlion BTW just made that up! I’m on fireeee. Sorry for the rant it’s just the joanna thing came so unexpectedly and I ended up loving it… if I’m aloud to because I’m feeling happy and ingenious, but also a lit self-centered right now

taglist! @tearsarcane @integra1127 @aestmilky @thanyatargaryen @tythaitie @lostinworldofdarkness @voodoogoul @wildmindedbeauty32 @lil-pudd @alicattx @electric-bloo @astaaan-lol @stargaryenx @kaitieskidmore1 @bregarc @lilpnd @jcpenneyyy @janelei @fexibau @ladyoakenshield157 @danielle-leah1997 @lady-ragnvindr @cecilyjmorgenstern @omgsuperstarg @bugheadskid @batprincess1013 @her-fandom-sanctum @holb32 @blue1006 @stargaryenx @grippleback-galaxy @mikariell95 @genesisliveson @mendes-bae @caspianobsessed @notmundane3000ne3000 @kamisunshine @just-someone11

#misguidedhotd #harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #house targeryen #hbo house of the dragon #house of the dragon #house targaryen #targaryen!oc #targaryen!reader #ser harwin strong #harwin strong x targaryen reader

173 notes · View notes