#royce king ii

[therealvinelle]

How do you think Rosalie killed Royce

In a bloodless way that would have been slow and painful. Breaking his neck or giving a heavy tap to the skull would have been too quick and clean, I think, considering the way she tells the story - she wanted him to suffer for as long as possible, and that means no easy ending. He was certainly tortured, I imagine by the end he wasn't in much of a condition.

(For the record - while Carlisle canonically advised her on how to go about this, I don't believe he would have helped her. Which means hallucinogenic drugs or other medical substances that might have made Royce's experience more nightmareish wouldn't have been procured.)

My two suggestions are she either poisoned him, so he could experience the terror of consuming something he knew would kill him and then feel its effects take hold (hemlock comes to mind, it's a common flower and he'd be fully aware), or she inflicted enough blunt force trauma to make him die from internal bleeding. Or a combination, poison him so he can despair and then the beating.

#violence mention #murder mention #royce king ii #rosalie hale #twilight #twilight renaissance #twilight headcanons #twilight meta

[jessicanjpa]

mine

(An excerpt from the final chapter of 1933. I rewrote this last year to match up with the new canon in Midnight Sun. Edward, Carlisle, and Esme have just figured out that Rosalie has gone to take her revenge and are rushing to find her. Edward POV)

We needn't have hurried. Royce and his parents were having a peaceful evening at home, as it turned out. There wasn't a trace of Rosalie's scent, rain notwithstanding.

"We should check the four other homes," Carlisle said.

"Three," I corrected. "One of them—John—was from out of town. He's been staying with Percy, or at least he was before."

"Percy, then."

Percy's family lived on the other side of town. We had to make a wide detour around the city limits to avoid being seen; we were surely a sight now that we were completely waterlogged, Esme especially. But we found exactly what we'd found at Royce's house: a family spending a quiet evening at home with their out-of-town guest. Percy's parents were thinking how tiresome John was, but they were remembering their promise to keep an eye on him while his parents were in Europe. A rumbling growl sounded in my chest when I saw John's suntanned face in Percy's line of vision. I couldn't be sure from Rosalie's fragmented memories, but I'd gotten the distinct impression that he had been the ringleader that night. Royce was too much of a coward to—

"Nothing," Carlisle said, returning from a quick circuit around the property. "Let's move on."

Same thing at Jerry's house. No trace of Rosalie's scent, everyone alive, no trace of terror in anyone's thoughts.

Lionel's house was out in the suburbs. Esme gasped with relief when we crossed Rosalie's scent trail a couple of miles out. It was faint because of the rain, but it was fresh. When we got close, we slowed down so we could move silently. Rosalie's thoughts were coming in loud and clear now. She was in Lionel's back yard, crouched behind a rhododendron.

"She's there, all right," I reported. I listened a bit more as we ran. "She's planning to kill him tonight. She's waiting for his parents to go to bed."

"Thank God," Carlisle sighed. "Thank God we got here in time."

Something odd was going on in Esme's mind, but I didn't have time to try and figure it out. We burst out of the treeline and surrounded Rosalie, who leaped back in surprise. For just a second she crouched down and bared her teeth, but then she stood back up. She was even more bedraggled than we were, but all three of us were enormously relieved to see her orange-gold eyes.

"You scared me to death," she hissed.

"You scared us to death," I said in a harsh whisper, glancing back at the house to make sure the humans weren't paying attention. "We thought you had been taken, or hurt, or… we thought you were dead! How could you just leave like that?"

"Because I knew you would try to stop me," she said. "That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"Did you hear a word I just said?" I was really getting angry now. "We've been out looking in the rain for two days! Carlisle was… Esme has been… do you have any idea what you've put this family through?!"

"That's enough, Edward," Esme said. She was about to cry. "Rosalie, we're just so relieved you're… oh, my Rose!" She zipped over and caught Rosalie in a crushing hug.

That finally had an effect. After a moment's panic that we might be trying to restrain her, Rosalie relaxed and wrapped her arms around Esme, too. "I'm sorry," she admitted. "I'm sorry I made you worry. I didn't exactly plan this. I wasn't even sure I was going to go through with it. But when Carlisle and Edward went to the hospital, and it was just you and me, and then the rain… Well, it just worked out like this."

"Come with us," Carlisle said. "Please, Rosalie. Let this end here."

"It'll be over soon," Rosalie said firmly. A massive crack of thunder sounded overhead to punctuate her resolve. Carlisle reached out a hand toward her shoulder, but she jerked away.

"It won't work," Esme told her. "Their deaths won't bring you peace."

"That isn't what you said a few weeks ago," Rosalie said. "When Edward told you he had killed your human husband, you were glad. You were so relieved, don't you remember?"

Esme and I shared a guilty look, horrified at our role in bringing Rosalie to this moment. I'd thought she was farther away when Esme and I had had that conversation. I'd been so focused on Esme, but I still should have made sure…

"It's true that I was relieved," Esme said, looking uncomfortable. "I'd always wondered if Charles might be hurting someone else. I'd even had this silly worry that I might run into him again someday. And you're right, Rosalie, the knowledge that he's gone does bring me some comfort… I won't deny it even makes me glad. But that comfort will never be enough to justify what Edward did."

She looked up at me anxiously. You understand, don't you? I nodded for her to continue. "It's not worth it," she said to Rosalie. "No matter how much I benefitted from his death, or how much he deserved it, it's not worth seeing someone I love become a murderer. It's not worth the terrible guilt Edward suffered. We care about you, Rosalie, not—"

"This isn't murder," Rosalie said coldly. "It's justice. Do you think they're ever going to be arrested and tried for what they did? Do you think they'll never do something like that again to some other woman? Because I don't." She turned on Carlisle. "In fact, you made sure they would get away with it, didn't you? You took my body away from the crime scene and then you staged my idiotic 'accidental' death without even bothering to ask me first!"

Carlisle opened his mouth and shut it again. "I'm very sorry I did it that way, Rosalie. I had to do something so the police would stop looking… but you're right, I should have spoken with you first. Of course I should have. But this isn't the way either, killing them in cold blood. Don't you see you'd carry that with you forever?"

"It's better than carrying them forever," she said hotly. "I can't leave them alive, Carlisle. I won't. And you, of all people, have no right to stand in my way."

Carlisle's mind worked quickly, forming and discarding plans. Rosalie was practically buzzing with energy and anger; this would become physical any second now. We've got to get her away from this house, he thought frantically.

"Why?"

It took him a second to realize I had spoken. "What is it, Edward?"

"Why should we stop her?" I said. Esme gave me an uncertain smile and I pushed on. "She's right. These men aren't ever going to pay for what they did, and they're going to do it again someday. Rosalie has the right to avenge herself. It's not at all like what I did while I was away."

Carlisle frowned. "But—"

"And you've been plotting murder yourself," I said recklessly. "Just this week. We all have. I heard the very words in your mind just last night—our kind craves vengeance sometimes. We need it. If we were so ready to avenge Rosalie when we thought she was lost, why are we protecting these men now? They're not ours to destroy or to save. They're hers."

"I agree," Esme said. She gently laid a hand on Carlisle's arm. "It's not what I want for her either. And… maybe it isn't the right thing to do. But she has the right to do it." She took a deep breath. "She needs it."

Rosalie took a step back, surprised. "Thank you," she told Esme. "I didn't think you'd understand but… of course you do." And Edward… I don't know what to say. Thank you.

Carlisle hesitated, still looking down into Esme's eyes. Her expression carried an unusual confidence—a strength that was simply waiting for him to do the right thing. She didn't have to say the words; for all the times he'd pestered me to read her mind, he knew exactly what she was saying now. Esme hardly ever insisted—truly insisted—on anything, but this was going to be an exception.

"It's too dangerous," he protested. "Rosalie, you've demonstrated incredible self-control for one so young, but this… it's going to be a massacre. When you lose control, you'll kill their families too. And you'll put us all in danger. Surely you don't want that?"

"I won't lose control," Rosalie said. "I'm not going to drink their blood. I'll never want anyone's blood less than I want theirs."

"Of course not," Esme agreed.

"Then… you can't expose yourself to their blood," Carlisle said uncomfortably. "You won't be able to resist otherwise. There are… other ways."

The next few minutes were peculiar, to say the least. To think that we'd ever be lurking in someone's backyard as a family, calmly discussing the most bloodless, most discreet ways to murder someone, that Carlisle would be the one giving that advice… it was completely unreal. He absolutely insisted that she knock each of her victims out first—for the sake of mercy, but also for safety's sake. The discussion nearly erupted into an argument again when he also tried to insist that he stay with her the whole time, a condition Rosalie refused to accept.

"They're my responsibility," she said sharply. "Not yours. And not anyone else's," she added, looking at Esme and me. "I don't want anyone following me or standing a mile away listening"—this one was directed at me—"and I don't need anyone to! I will not lose control, and I'm going to be careful about other humans too."

Carlisle drew in a sharp breath, ready to argue about the word responsibility, but he decided against it. "Very well," he said at last. "But if you do run into any trouble, come get us immediately."

"I promise," she said. She gave all three of us a look of profound gratitude. It felt like she was saying goodbye.

"Rosalie… you'll come back?" I asked softly.

She nodded. "I'll see you in a few days."

"Days?" Carlisle said. "You can finish this in two hours. Why drag it out?"

Rosalie smoothed down the wrinkles in her dress and stood tall. "Because I want Royce to know I'm coming."

-----------

#Rosalie #Tale of Years Teasers #Carlisle/Esme #Edward #1933 stuff #Fanfiction #Royce King II #Revenge

[mejcinta]

If you had the chance to change something about the dance of the dragons (TV show or book), what would it be? For example, how a character dies, which team a house is on,or an entire character personally. How would you change it to make the story better, in your opinion?♥️🖤💙💚

House Velaryon would be split 50/50, with Vaemond's family joining the Greens in hopes of restoring Driftmark to people with trueborn Velaryon heirs.

The Vale would be split as well, and Jeyne Arryn would have to bargain with the Royces of Runestone (Rhea's people) to support Rhaenyra. Actually I'd make it that clashes break out in the Vale. Despite of the arrival of Joffrey and little Aegon's dragons, Rhaena would try to quell the Royces doubts with diplomatic talks, giving her more to do, and introducing her to her first husband Corywn Corbray in the process.

Instead of having Garmund Hightower sent away to be squire I'd have him remain in Oldtown, participating in politics as the Dance takes a toll on his father Ormund and his brothers. I'd actually do an Oldtown subplot in the show showing us the politically adept man that Rhaena marries in the future, quelling tensions at a time of instability and House Targaryen's dwindling power.

Helaena would participate more in government just as she was hinted to do in the books. I'd show why she was Beloved of Smallfolk and have her fly Dreamfyre more often, as well as make her more active in her relationships with her family members. She and Aegon would have a marriage of constant trials, she would give advice to her brothers and be a companion to Alicent constantly, accompanying her in the halls and encouraging her often when she's down. I feel like her bond with Alicent was underrepresented in the show.

I would highlight Aegon's night life, show his understanding of the outside world from which his family is sheltered behind the walls of the Keep. This would be good build up for when his Dragonstone arc is portrayed. We need to understand how he easily seduced the population of Dragonstone into turning against Rhaenyra.

I'd expand Alys' arc by building a connection between her and Larys. This would make her relationship with Aemond complex and would get you questioning her motives and loyalty. In the end she chooses Aemond out of sincerity, while Larys focuses on Aegon as his more malleable chess piece.

Alicent and Criston would have a romantic entanglement, but only after Viserys' death and Helaena becomes the new queen. This would make his death on his way back to her more tragic and darken Alicent's heart towards Rhaenyra.

Daeron would be present for Jaehaerys' funeral. Aegon would summon him as King, despite of Alicent's concerns that he's better off protected in Oldtown. After Aemond becomes Regent he sends Daeron to tackle the rising rebellions in the Reach against Aegon.

Vaemond's family strike an uneasy alliance with Alyn and Corlys after the war. In return Vaemond's son demands his daughter Daenaera be given to Aegon iii as wife. Rhaena oversees this sensitive negotiations and manages to strike a deal in the end.

Aemond would refuse to leave Harrenhal when Criston asks him to, because Alys was pregnant (he doesn't tell Criston this) and he fears for her safety should his family learn of her. At this time, Borros could still be looking to betroth Aemond to his daughter Floris as a strict condition for him to add to the Greens army. Aemond perceives this, and declines to go immediately to retake King's Landing. He wants to plan first before making a jump (the Alys bewitching him to abandon his family thing is too juvenile for me).

#hotd wishlist #dance of dragons wishlist #house velaryon #vaemond velaryon #dreamer queen #helaena targaryen #mama alicent #alicole #king aegon ii #alysmond #larys strong #house strong #daenaera velaryon #rhaena of pentos #jeyne arryn #rhea royce #garmund hightower #rhaena × garmund #borros baratheon #floris baratheon

[witchofvalyria]

"Then Viserys of House Targaryen closed his eyes and went to sleep. He never woke. He was 52, and had reigned over most of Westeros for 26 years. Then the storm broke, and the dragons danced."

#king viserys targaryen #viserys i targaryen #viserys targaryen #viserys ii #rhaenyra #laenor #daemon #targaryen #criston #dance of the dragons #house of the dragon #targaryensource #house of dragons #queen rhaenyra #rhaneyra targaryen #leanor velaryon #olivia cooke #rhea royce #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon hbo #house of the dragon spoilers #daemon targeryan #aemond one eye #alicent #aegon ii #laena #viserys i

[howdoesagrapewrites]

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬

Plot: Imagine being the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen, and having a very devoted family.

Cw: fem!reader, cisgender female reader (I'm sorry mascs and nbs, I'll make something for you later) incest/targcest implied for later, platonic and romantic yanderes, yandere EVERYONE x reader, here's a list of every character that will be featured (not all of them are romantic):Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, Rhea Royce, Alicent Hightower, Otto Hightower, Viserys I Targaryen, Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Haelena Targaryen, Daeron Targaryen, Lucerys Velaryon, Jacaerys Velaryon, Laena Velaryon, Laenor Velaryon

Notes: I go by a very strange mix of the series and the books, I haven't seen the series in a while so the timeline will most likely be a mess. I'd like this to be a series but I've been incredibly busy. Extra: at first I thought about making reader Mysaria's daughter, but this is a self insert, so it's best that you look however you like, leaving the mother anonymous. The only physical reference I'll make will be reader's silver hair

>After Rhaenyra was declared the heir of the iron throne, Daemon, insulted, flew away with his mistress, the white worm, who he would conceive a child with, even asking for a dragon egg for the prince or princess to come

>However, Viserys demanded him to go back to his home and wife, he sent Mysaria off to lys, where the stress of a storm in the trip back made her lose the baby

>Daemon never fully forgave his brother, and this left him less than eager to have another child anytime soon

>So imagine his surprise, when 7 years later, there's a rumour spreading in flea bottom like wildfire, about a girl carrying Daemon's bastard

>Many women had claimed to carry a royal child before, thinking this could give them any sort of prize, so Daemon didn't think much of it at first, but when he heard her name, he recognized her as one of his previous "favorites" who disappeared without a trace months ago

>She was said to have taken residence in Essos, and Daemon went on dragonback to find her. She was from the free cities, five years older than Daemon, and a heart as cold as a northern winter, or so they said. She was not expecting Daemon, running away to have the child in peace

>"They said I was too far along when I found out, moon tea would've only harmed me. Besides, it was lucrative in its own way" said the woman. Daemon did little to suppress the disgust on his face when thinking about her being defiled by other men while carrying his dragonseed babe

>She wanted no part in the baby's life, and Daemon, in his particular fashion, informed her he'd take the youngling as soon as it's out of her, may even pay her a few coins to make sure she won't do much as think about keeping it

>A few months passed, and he returned to king's landing with a babe in arms. Demanding an egg in honor of the birth of princess Y/N Targaryen

>This egg would later hatch into the dragon Dagahrion, the princess' bound dragon

>The court was a hot mess, according to Otto, he wouldn't be surprised if the young creature lost its left ear because of all the gossip and ill-speaking of her, just like her father. This was a scandal, considering he was still married to Rhea Royce, who he gravely dishonored time and time again, Daemon was always shameless, but this was crossing a limit, even for him, to call his bastard a princess while refusing to lay with his own rightful wife, disgraceful

>Daemon tried to use you as yet another attempt to get his brother to annul his marriage to "the bronze bitch", but even when he failed, he did everything in his power to legitimize his daughter

>Despite everyone on the council telling Viserys how foolish it'd be to do it, making enemies out of the Royce house, further insulting Rhea, and putting a whoreborn on the line of succession (no matter how far from the throne), all it took was a little yawn and the bright twinkle of your eyes to make him melt, he is fully committed to his role of uncle, even as a doting grandfather, considering his father passed long before her birth

>Viserys sent Daemon back to the Vale, saying he should do his best to give lady Rhea an heir, to make up for the slip and avoid causing the Targaryen house any more trouble. Viserys, for totally not selfish reasons wanted to keep the princess in KL, saying Rhea should not be made to raise his bastard

>Daemon said he'd rather be exiled again than to leave his daughter in Hightower hands to go try to fuck his wife. Viserys was greatly offended by the implication that the Hightowers truly ruled and schemed while he reigned

>To his outmost displeasure, he finally had to let his niece go to the Vale with her father

>Rhea loved you as soon as she set eyes on you, completely separating you from your father's actions, and seeing you as a pure angel in this horrible situation

>But it was so difficult with Daemon around, she just wanted to whisk you away and love you, she'd pray to the mother to be able to breastfeed you, crying when she heard you wail in frustration of your hunger, since it took several wet nurses to get you to drink milk

>But Daemon was always around to remind her you were not hers, that he considered her lowly, not worthy of you. He'd correct you when you learning to speak, and dared to refer to her as "mama"

>It was said the ground of the vale would shake upon them yelling when fighting over you

>But this joy to Rhea was short lived, as Daemon sent you to KL when he had to fight in the war of the stepstones, saying the "nest of vipers" was more deserving of you than she was. When you were three, your step mother had an accident while hawking, many said Daemon orderded for her to be poisoned when she was bed bound, others said the distress of your parting made her lose skill

>It was Viserys greatest pleasure when you were left at his care, his adorable baby niece was now an infant, and somehow you were even more charming, being able to speak, sing and walk

>To no one's surprise, Viserys' reaction was not generalized, with many not being keen on having a bastard running around the castle playing with the princes, by that point, Aegon was 8, Haelena was 7, Aemond was 5, and Daeron was 1, and almost all of them could see people treated you differently

>Rhaenyra was welcoming, baby Lucerys had just been born, and she was delighted to have a girl to spoil, it only helped that Jacaerys loved you as well, and would often fight his uncles for the chance to be with you

>Alicent in particular was not pleased with your presence, thinking you were an uncomfortable conversation to have with her children, especially resentful of the fact her youngest son would be attached at the hip with you

>To Otto, you were an annoyance, a living proof of Daemon's pure disregard for the norms, however, he could rest at night knowing you were ninth in the line of succession, and a girl, who would someday marry a son of a minor house and be too busy bearing children to present a claim to the iron throne

>Even though the Hightowers were tougher than the king, they did eventually succumb to your spell, and became just as enamoured with you as everyone else, in their minds, you were almost a product of spontaneous generation, completely ignoring your shameful father and prostitute mother

>Your arrival also caused the birth of Lucerys (who was again, born with a striking resemblance of Harwin Strong, just like his older brother) to be less gossiped about, after all, your case was much more interesting

>Some people in court starting referring to you as "The princess of flea bottom", this title costed quite a few tongues around the castle, ordered by Viserys, happily approved by Otto

>The Hightower hand was careful not to show too much affection to you, as it was improper and he knew how zealous was Viserys when it came to you

>Aegon was "already too old to be playing" in his words, and kept his distance from you, you reminded him to much of his sticky handed little brothers

>But as if you knew, you chased him around and praised him for his knightly demeanor (in your eyes) and how he's just like the heroes in Viserys' stories. It was not a long time before Aegon now appointed himself as your guard, watching like a hawk over his brothers and nephews when he thought they were being too rough on you

>Haelena loves you from the start, sees you as a little doll, she loves showing you her bugs, you're the only one who listens to her attentively

>Jacaerys and Daeron are only a year old, but always search for you, you think they're cute, something that spikes jealousy on Aemond, he wants you to think of him as someone worthy of admiration, like you see his older brother, he'd even accept being cute in your eyes, but he has none of those traits to appeal to you. You love him and love playing with him nonetheless, but he thinks he needs something else to win your favor

>The Velaryons dote on you too, with Laenor married to Rhaenyra and once your father marries Laena that same year, they are maybe too eager to become part of your family, and regard you as theirs

>Especially Laena, who Daemon allows (unlike with Rhea) to pamper and care for you, but still corrects you when it comes to remembering your origins, Laena may love you, but she's not your mother

>Maybe Daemon does this as a way to imagine you're only his, he doesn't care for the woman who abandoned such a precious treasure, she has been wiped away from your life and memory, you're only familiar with your father, you only belong to him

>You have his silver hair, you have his name, no matter who your mother was, you are his true valyrian heir, his dragonseed

>Unfortunately, Daemon is not the only one whose eyes light up when thinking of owning you

#yandere hotd #yandere targaryens #yandere aemond targaryen #yandere daemon targaryen #yandere rhaenyra targaryen #yandere Jacaerys Velaryon #yandere aegon targaryen #Yandere Aegon II #aegon ii x reader #yandere Haelena Targaryen #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

A collection of all my writing. ♡

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x OC

Series Masterlist (ONGOING) (18+)

Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, Lady of Runestone, was not born of love. Nor passion. Nor even a sense of duty. She was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge. But even a child born of such darkness can find her way to the light. With her mother dead, and father flown across the Narrow Sea with a new wife, the girl is taken in by her Aunt, the Queen Alicent Hightower, to be raised among the little family she has left. There, she finds her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. The two spend long nights in the palace library together, studying the histories of both Old Valyria and the First Men, seeking to understand who they are and where they fit in the world. But finding that place proves more difficult than in the fairy tales they read. The seeds of disaster were laid long before they were born, and as tensions in the family rise, it seems as though their places may begin to diverge. Will they let themselves be pulled apart as the dragons dance?

Warnings: Mentions of rape, m/f smut, violence

Studious (ONGOING) (18+) Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Moodboard by @sapphirehearteyes

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI

Your marriage to the One-Eyed Prince is not as romantic as you hoped. The wedding night is beyond awkward and confusing, and afterward, your husband seems more than content to ignore you. But you keep finding yourself drawn to him, and the strange way he makes you feel. And though you don't know it, he is drawn to you as well.

Warnings: SMUT, p in v sex, masturbation (m and f) bad sex (these kids have no idea what they're doing), Aegon saying Aegon things, all the awkwardness in the world

What is Broken (WIP) Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Sister-wife!Reader

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, maybe smut in the future

Inconceivable (WIP) Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Part I - Part II

Westeros has been at peace for nearly a year, and a wedding has been planned to celebrate the anniversary. King Jacaerys will marry his aunt, the only surviving child of the Greens, and unite both Targaryen bloodlines at last. It is a fairy tale ending, but this is no ordinary fairy tale...

Warnings: Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles... Angst, grief, forced marriage, more to be added

My Fair Lady's Maid (WIP) (18+) Prince Aemond Targaryen x Lady's Maid!Reader

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

Frustrated with his grandsire's tedious and thorough process of choosing him a "suitable" bride, Aemond makes a declaration that a lady's maid could be indistinguishable from a true noblewoman so long as she was sufficiently dressed and educated in embroidery, conversation, and the like. Otto takes this as a challenge, and gives Aemond four months to turn one of Helaena's lady's maids into a noblewoman.

Warnings: Smut

The Girl at the Table (WIP) (18+) Michael Gavey x Reader

Michael has a plan for Oxford: complete his degree at the top of the class, avoid the wealthy, spoiled pricks that make up the majority of the student body, and stay focused. The plan begins well, until a girl begins sitting at his study table.

Warnings: Smut, math

Monsters in the Garden (ONGOING) (DDDNE) (18+) Ettore x Reader

Part I - Part II - Part III

No one comes to your garden but you, not even Dr. Dibs. So what is the most dangerous man on the ship doing leaning against your doorway and watching you work?

Warnings: SMUT; hand job; kissing; blood; mentions of rape, murder, and violence; female genital mutilation; vague mentions of corpse mutilation

Storge, Philia, Eros, and Agape (WIP) Osferth x Reader

Series Masterlist

When he arrives in Coccham to join with Lord Uhtred Ragnarsson's band of righteous warrior, Osferth does not get the greeting he expected. Uhtred himself is very clear that he has only accepted the young monk to irritate his father, and the few warriors he is introduced to delight in picking fun at him. Still, it is better than the monastery, the Lady of the estate is kind to him, and the servant girl who leads him to his new chambers is... something entirely new to Osferth. Something that, perhaps, will help him understand what the Bible means when it speaks of love.

Note: This is a series of inter-connected oneshots that can be read together or on their own.

That Pointy-Eared Blond Bastard (WIP) (18+) Half-Vulcan!Aemond x Human(?)Reader

Graduation - Away Team - Red Alert - Holodeck - Pon Farr

You are Aemond's greatest rival at Starfleet Academy. Or you would be, if he cared enough to have rivals. Vulcans don't care that much. But Aemond is only half Vulcan. And you... you bring out something decidedly non-Vulcan in him.

A Companion (WIP) Otto Hightower x Young Widow!Reader

Series Masterlist

At the suggestion of Princess Rhaenyra, King Viserys Targaryen had commanded that his Hand, Otto Hightower, find a new bride. Preferably at the King's own wedding to Otto's daughter Alicent. While the Princess intended the suggestion as a form of revenge for Otto's machinations which led to the royal engagement, he intends to make the best of it. While he has always known that his late wife, Madelyn, is the great love of his life, he welcomes the idea of finding a tolerable companion. What he doesn't expect is you, a lady widowed far too young, who begins to spark feelings within him he thought long extinguished.

#fanfic #fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond fluff #aemond imagine #aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond x you #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond targaryen #ettore #ettore high life #ewan mitchell #studious #the silver dragon #monsters in the garden #a companion #What is broken #12 days of smuff

[garagesesh]

wintering

② looking at the feeling of an empty room

gif: alicenthightowerdaily ↸

pairing(s): aegon ii targaryen & (f!)reader

summary: silence is a weapon and patience is a virtue. or otherwise known as aegon doesn’t know how to express feelings.

warning(s): typical aegon being a lil shit, swearing, blood, sexual content

a/n: !!!this story will not be told in chronological order!!! If you're wondering why you're now in kings landing. this story is not written as a reader insert but as an OC on my ao3 if you find that format more enjoyable, it's linked below! please be kind, I'm trying to get back into writing after a long sabbatical. I would love to hear your thoughts. Enjoy!

␛ to masterlist | ⎗ wintering masterlist

go to previous chapter ⎗ | go to next chapter ⎘

⌘ you can find this on my ao3 account!

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The stables smelled of horse shit. It was overwhelming, nauseating, but dragon shit smells worse.

Hanging the tack in the stall, giving your horse a brush and an apple you had taken from the kitchens, a reward for the hard, long ride along the bay on an unusual damp day in King’s Landing.

With your hair soaked and clothes drenched, you slung off your bow and quiver as you entered back into the Red Keep. Running down the stairs, looking for something to warm you up. The kitchens smelled divine, as you waltz through, serving yourself a bowl of whatever soup they had simmering in the hearth.

"My Lady." The cooks bowed their heads, annoyed by your presence in their bustling galley, preparing meals and displays for lunch and later, dinner for the many that lived within these walls.

After finishing the last drop of what you know now as potato and leek soup, you caught a whiff of yourself. Disgusted by your own stench, it was decidedly time for your bath.

"My Lady." Ser Marbrand, found you on the stairs to your chambers. Giving him the afternoon off from his duties, something you weren't supposed to be doing at all of course but you didn't need him following you while on horseback.

"Ser Marband." You smiled at the bald knight. "Are you well rested?"

"Yes, my Lady." He laughed, his armor clinked together as he descended the stairs just a few steps below you.

"I'm sorry I smell."

"That's quite alright, my Lady." You couldn't hold back your laughter, amused by the knight's honesty and lack of beating around the bush with pleasantries.

The invitation waited for you in your chambers. The sigil of the golden dragon, Aegon’s personal seal, was melted in a mere perfect circle, that you knew his unsteady, uncaring hands could not produce.

The Queen, no doubt.

Tearing the wax off the paper and unraveling the message, you had your answer.

The swirling cursive and vocabulary used was not of his own. His was chicken scratch, like that of an illiterate or drunk.

You couldn’t blame the Queen for trying.

To try and have you at least come to respect each other. Build an understanding between the two of you before you stood in front of the Seven and spoke promises of devotion, of love for the rest of your lives.

That fate was only a few moons away.

If a dinner schemed by the Queen could build some inkling of respect, then you couldn't argue with the prospect, though you had no hope that it would achieve anything.

In the past three years of your tenure at the Red Keep, Aegon and you had done nothing but argue, constantly at each other's throats. Words fired at each other that were meant to kill, only amplified by his seemingly constant inebriation.

Other times you teetered on thoughts of actually killing him and running away back home to the North, where you’d be welcomed a hero by your brothers.

You're sure he's thought of permanently washing his hands of you as well. The Targaryen’s were not above killing their partners, it was well known that Daemon had done exactly that to poor Rhea Royce.

You're reminded of the single time he had brought you on Sunfyre. Another one of Alicent's schemes to get you to bond.

It was no secret within the walls of the Red Keep that the green Queen was not above discipling her own children.

You had before heard Alicent scold Aegon behind closed doors. Whether it be for his excessive drinking, whoring, or about you yourself.

This invitation was most likely a result of a discussion between the mother and son.

Sighing, you folded the paper in half, dropping it on the desk. Frustrated and tired of it.

"Jeyne!" You removed your gloves and unlatched the silver dragon's head belt, draping it across the chair. The black and gold riding coat fell to the floor in a puddle of muddy fabric. It had rained during your ride, cementing mud on all parts of you.

Furs, browns, greys, blues were swapped for blacks, reds, greens, golds. No longer permitted to wear anything of Northern symbolism by the court.

The young maid came into the room, her head bowed, hands clasped in her apron. "Yes, my Lady?"

"Draw me a bath, please." Untwisting the braid in your hair, you smiled at the petite girl. “The lavender soaps tonight, Jeyne.”

You entered the milky steaming tub, dunking your head under the lavender swirls of water. Letting the warmth soothe you before dinner.

You wondered what Aegon had gotten up to this day, genuinely curious if the man had actually gotten up before high noon. Did he stumble in from Silk street early? Or did he ride Sunfyre? You doubt it, not seeing other dragons in the sky other than the behemoth that was Vhagar.

Falling asleep in the tub, you dreamt of home.

It wasn't until the sun had gone down when one of the maids had beckoned you for dinner. Being led to Aegon's solar, you waited alone for him. The minutes ticked by, a half a candle burned before the door leading from his chamber had ricocheted off the adjacent wall, announcing the Prince's arrival.

“Aegon.” You smiled, standing from your seat to curtsy. “Thank you for inviting me to dine with you.”

“I didn’t.” His chair screeched as it dragged across the stone floor. Unceremoniously, dropping himself into it. His head lolled back against the backing, his indigo eyes closing.

“I didn’t think so.” You mumbled, sinking back into the leather seat.

This was going to be a long evening.

“How was your day?” Trying to muster some sort of energy in the room. “I haven’t seen you the majority of this week.”

“I was busy.” Ever so curt.

“Okay.”

He reached for his cup, settling back into his chair and after a pregnant pause, his mouth moved again in a low grumble. “My day was fine.”

“Anything of interest?”

He cleared his throat, sitting upright in his seat. “Nothing really.”

You popped a grape in your mouth, tasting the sweet juice on your tongue. “I’m sure there’s something.”

He reached for the fruit as well. Examining the small plump fruit in between his index and his thumb. “I went to some mummers show."

“Oh?” Maybe you will get somewhere tonight. “Are you interested in music? Theater perhaps?"

“Music." He was surprising you, with his willingness to talk to you with something other than spite and bitterness. "Good music.”

“Like?”

Aegon, however was uncomfortable, he hadn’t been asked these sorts of things before, none by you either. He couldn’t categorize which music he liked versus what he didn’t and he certainly didn’t know how to convey that to you.

So instead he got angry.

“I don’t fucking know.” He sneered.

Here you went again. Repressing the urge to snap back, raise your voice an octave where he had was proving harder than you'd admit. “It was only a question.”

“Well stop with the idiotic interrogations then."

"It wasn't an idiotic question."

"Most of the shit that you spew out of that mouth is idiotic." He swallowed more wine, but he wasn't finished. "I dream of not marrying a barbaric idiot like you!"

"For Gods sake, Aegon!" Jaw clenching, your fingernails pierced the insides of your palm. "I get it! You don't want to marry me and I don't want to marry you either, but we are stuck, Aegon!"

You were absolutely exhausted of this argument.

An argument that was never ending. For the past three years you have done nothing but speak of anything else. You, not wanting to marry him and he not wanting to marry you. Back and forth, a wheel that kept spinning.

"We are two ends to a prophecy that your father believes us able to fulfill. Means to an end for him!"

“You mean a cunt to whelp my children.”

Your mouth opened with equally venomous words dripping on your tongue but instead took a deep breath, choosing to lay down your weapons instead.

You’ve had your fair share of words with each other over the years, but this by far hurt the most. He was cruel, you knew, but you didn’t know that he could be that cowardly.

He could have his whores. His bastards. His crates of wine and liquor. Hell, he could drink, whore, and feast himself to an early grave if he really wanted, you didn’t care.

But you stayed unmoving in your chair, unwavering in your eye contact with him. Challenging him with your silence, bringing a new battle strategy to your battlefield.

Aegon was a statue in his own chair, limbs laying inert. His hand frozen around the stem of his goblet, choking it as he waited for you to bite back with words.

You would not give him the satisfaction this time. This is what you refused the rest of your life to be.

A drunken coward that insulted to make you a fool.

Grabbing your cup, and pouring the rest of the arbor red down your throat in one swallow. Feeling the trickle of the alcohol down into your esophagus, patiently waiting for the buzz to come to your already clouded mind.

“Willa, another.” You held the cup out for the plump maid to fill, this time taking only a sip before turning back to your boar.

Aegon watched you, his frame still bent over in his seat in anticipation, observing your every move. On edge, waiting for you to reach out with your wolf claws and slash him to pieces.

But you continued to eat your meal, savoring the boar and the potatoes. The carrots were excellent, you had determined. Fish, shellfish, pheasant and grouse were laid on the table, making sure to sample each. You finished another cup, ordering a third. Dessert was your favorite, lemon cakes, pudding, fruit. You exclaimed her absolute appreciation for the meal.A fourth cup of wine was poured into the cup, but you made sure to savor this last one.

Admittedly you were slightly drunk.

Aegon had eaten nothing, drank nothing, said nothing.

Just stared through all the courses.

“Thank you for inviting me, Aegon. I hope you’ve enjoyed the same.” She yawned, stretching your sore arms above your head. “I’ve had a long day.”

You took your time rising out of the chair. Taking meticulous care to wipe your stained lips of the red wine. You undid the braid in your hair, smiled at the Prince one last time and then exited through the waiting open door.

With the slam of the door, he glanced away from the empty seat to the floor.

The servants began to clear the table of the now cold food. He reached for the bottle of wine before the servant who was barely of age could take it away. Glowering at the boy who dared looked him in the eyes.

“Get out.” He ordered the servants, their mere presence stoking the fire within him.

They muttered apologies, working rapidly at the mess. Trying to get out of his way. He rolled his eyes, they stung with annoyance, rage. Fires now ablaze in his violet eyes.

How dare you?

How dare you.

His chair wailed across the stone tiles and onto the ground terrifying the servants. Aegon swiped his arm, silverware, platters, fruit clattered to the floor in his anger, his hand cut on a knife. Fire spewed. “I said get out! All of you!”

His hand pounded against the table smearing it with thick crimson liquid that oozed out of his palm in slow heavy drops.

He grabbed the bottle of wine from the floor. Opening it and forwent the cup itself, drinking the entirety of the contents directly into his mouth. The wine, usually a sedative for him, did nothing. It only made him angrier, he was livid heaving over the table in rapid breaths.

“Fuck!”

He threw the empty bottle on the floor. The green glass splintering off into a million little pieces at his feet, glistening in the candlelight like bloody snowflakes. Like the leaves on the Weirwood trees.

The door into his private chambers slammed closed, the wrought iron door handle banging on the wood.

Anger, confusion, foolishness, desire wrapped up his entire being.

His hands tore off his doublet, half hard, and lungs still desperate for air. He felt like he was being choked, fingers clawing at his own neck. Blood, his blood, smearing upon his throat. Half naked and stumbling in the dark, his knee found the bed frame, pain shooting in all directions of his leg.

“Fuck!” Fuck you, you were slowly killing him inside and spending the last three years trying to ignore you, disgust you, rebuff you had felt like it had just come crashing down upon him in some sort of silent retribution for his attempts.

His world became dim and hazy, half-conscious from the alcohol and blood. Suddenly, figures stepped into the moonlight that poured onto his balcony. A white dress, a woman looking out into the bay.

“Prince Aegon?” Ser Arryk, with his sword drawn and panic in his eyes, came upon Aegon half-naked on his bed in a bloody pool. His unattended and forgotten hand was still spewing from the glass and staining his silk sheets with maroon.

“Are you alright?” His voice boomed with worry, “Prince Aegon!”

Aegon’s eyes met Ser Arryks, “Get a Maester, you fuck.”

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␛ to masterlist | ⎗ wintering masterlist

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⌘ you can find this on my ao3 account!

✦ looking for more asoiaf stories? check out my begging for rain series! ✦

#aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #fanfic #wintering #this isnt the best im sorry lol #aegon ii targaryen

[vinnianlovesdinosaurs]

House of the Dragon Hot Take #6

I think it's time to voice my opinions on a few things that include both teams because I feel like in most of these posts I'm just blatantly staying neutral so here we go 😮‍💨

Joffrey Lonmouth and Vaemond Velaryon getting murdered - Both terrible injustices and a blatant display of ignorance from Daemon and Criston Cole. Neither should be celebrated or seen as "cool."

Daemon and Rhaenyra - Not a good ship at all I'm sorry. To be honest I don't think any ship involving Daemon is a good one because he's abusive, neglectful, selfish, and a pedophile.

Rhaenyra and Alicents victim-hood - Should not be compared in any way shape or form. They are both victims in their own right and they BOTH deserve better.

Blood and Cheese - I know most Team Green AND Team Black stans agree with me on this one because it was absolutely unforgivable. Daemon had an innocent child beheaded. Let's not ignore that a rape threat was used against a little girl and a distressed mother.

THE Driftmark incident - Both parties were in the wrong in their own ways here. Aemond didn't deserve to lose his eye, Lucerys didn't deserve practically having a death threat made towards him by full grown adults and his uncle who knew better than him, Rhaenyra didn't deserve to have her arm sliced open, Aegon didn't deserve to have the blame placed on him and he especially didn't deserve to be hit for it, and Alicent didn't deserve to be cast aside like that and ignored.

Laena's Funeral (Pre- Aemond becoming One-eyed) - Honestly justice for my precious girl Laena because WTF even was that mess of a funeral? Her uncle was spewing vitriol at literal children during the ceremony, her husband laughed and was practically eye-fucking his niece, and then Daemon and Rhaenyra end up fucking like three hours later?? 😭

Viserys I Targaryen - I hate this man. He was a shit father to all of his children. He was a shit husband to both of his wives. He was a shit king. He was a shit friend. He was a shit brother. A PEDOPHILE JUST LIKE HIS MF BROTHER !! AND HE'S A RAPIST !! #Viserys should have died sooner

Aegon II, Aemond, Helaena, Daeron, Rhaena, Baela, Aegon III, Viserys II, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey - Honestly, I sympathize with every single one of these children. They were all raised in terrible environments with immature people all around them. Most of them were practically abused.

Harwin Strong - Justice for my man. He loved Rhaenyra, Larys, Lyonel, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey with all his heart.

Laenor Velaryon - JUSTICE FOR MY MAN!!! He was ridiculed, bullied, and blatantly used almost every day of his life for who he was. His lover was murdered right in front of him, his selfish ass father refused to accept him, and he had jokes made about his sexuality while he was grieving his dead sister that he didn't get to see for 10 years.

Rhaenyra and Criston Cole - The whole fucking situation grossed me out tbh. I understand Rhaenyra was under the influence and confused from what just happened to her but she practically coerced Criston.

Aemma Arryn and Rhea Royce - Justice for my wives ASAP!! Aemma was used as a breeding mule and Rhea was murdered by her weirdo fucking husband.

The Iron Throne - In my true opinion, I do agree that Rhaenyra was the rightful heir, but in truth neither her or Aegon were good rulers in their own ways. AT ALL.

#house of the dragon #my own little series fr #I'm just a hater me thinks #rhaenyra targaryen #anti viserys targaryen #anti daemon targaryen #Alicent hightower #laena velaryon #Harwin strong #lyonel strong #larys strong #ew asoiaf men #aemma arryn #Rhea royce #free my girlfriends from this struggle #the iron throne #ser crispy cole #team women #team bad bitches #team haters

[witchthewriter]

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒

ESTP

Slytherin

Chaotic Neutral/Evil

Knight of Swords

Aries Sun, Scorpio Moon, Gemini Rising  

Son of Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa Targaryen, as well as the younger brother to King Viserys I. Daemon was known as a hot-headed, ambitious and passionate man. A true Targaryen; he took pride in his House and what it represented. 

  In his youth he called himself ‘Prince of the City’ as he dwelled in Flea Bottom habitually, but the citizen’s titled him Lord Flea Bottom instead. He became associated with a prostitute called Mysaria, who had a lot of ambition as well. 

   However, he was known throughout the realm as ‘The Rogue Prince’ due to his inability to take orders and do as told. 

 Early on in Daemon’s life, he claimed the shunned dragon Caraxes, whose former rider was Aemon Targaryen, Daemon’s uncle. When he was knighted at sixteen, he was given the ancestoral sword Dark Sister, by his grandfather King Jaehaerys I. 

  His first marriage was to Rhea Royce, the Lady of Runestone, who had ruled House Royce. They had no children together, nor consummated their marriage and it was said that Daemon thought...ill of his first wife. 

 Daemon’s second marriage was to Lady Laena Velaryon, with whom he had two children; Baela and Rhaena Targaryen. They resided in Pentos for some time, until Laena went into labor and ultimately died. Choosing to go out as a true dragonrider, she commanded her dragon, the largest and oldest in all of Westeros to kill her by fire. 

  During Laena’s funeral, her dragon, Vhagar, was claimed by Aemond Targaryen. That same night, Daemon and Rhaenyra’s children fought with Aemond because of this, and he lost an eye. 

  Daemon’s third marriage was to his niece, Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne. Together they had two sons; Aegon III, Viserys II and a stillborn daughter named Visenya. 

 He backed Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne against her half-brother Aegon II. 

#witch the writer's moodboards #house of the dragon character profiles #character profiles #characters #hotd #hotd characters #hotd character profiles #witch the writer #daemon targaryen #the rogue prince #lord flea bottom #the prince of the city #house targaryen #baelon targaryen #alyssa targaryen #caraxes #character dictionary #character directory #house of the dragon character profile #house of the dragon dictionary #house of the dragon moodboard #daemon #daemon targaryen moodboard #daemon moodboard

[esther-dot]

Does Sansa realize that the men she's attracted to look like her father?

At the moment, I think no? So far her crushes seem to be at least partially motivated by how she romanticizes the guys:

Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold. She treasured every chance to spend time with him, few as they were. (AGOT, Sansa I) Her father's decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, she'd been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan's stories come to life. Ser Gregor was the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes. And then Father had refused him! It had upset her more than she could tell. She had said as much to Septa Mordane as they descended the stairs from the gallery, but the septa had only told her it was not her place to question her lord father's decisions. (AGOT, Sansa III)

The pattern of "just like a prince should be! just like a true hero should look!" is an important part of her infatuation. Although Joffrey is considered handsome, it sounds like she is far more genuinely attracted to Loras:

She could not hate Joffrey tonight. He was too beautiful to hate. He wore a deep blue doublet studded with a double row of golden lion's heads, and around his brow a slim coronet made of gold and sapphires. His hair was as bright as the metal.(AGOT, Sansa II) Wed to Ser Loras, oh . . . Sansa's breath caught in her throat. She remembered Ser Loras in his sparkling sapphire armor, tossing her a rose. Ser Loras in white silk, so pure, innocent, beautiful. The dimples at the corner of his mouth when he smiled. The sweetness of his laugh, the warmth of his hand. She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick brown curls and drown in his deep brown eyes. A flush crept up her neck. (ASOS, Sansa I)

The rose is still there, but the rest of the paragraph, especially her physical reaction to the idea of touching Loras, that seems more real. Still, appearance (universally recognized as very attractive) and personality-wise, I don't think either really gives Ned. They each occupy a fantasy role for her too, so I’d imagine they’re very distant from her father in her mind.

But then we have this:

She had always imagined the Night's Watch to be men like Uncle Benjen. In the songs, they were called the black knights of the Wall. (AGOT, Sansa III) "Bronze Yohn knows me," she reminded him. "He was a guest at Winterfell when his son rode north to take the black." She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. "And that was not the only time. Lord Royce saw . . . he saw Sansa Stark again at King's Landing, during the Hand's tourney." (AFFC, Alayne I) Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth, eighteen, grey-eyed, and graceful and slender as a knife. (AGOT, Prologue)

Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast. (AGOT, Bran I) Ned saw Jon Snow's face in front of him, so like a younger version of his own (AGOT, Eddard IX)

(I think the first person I saw place those Waymar and Jon quotes together was @julibf in this post.)

Waymar is described the same way as Jon, and Jon looks like a young Ned, but a) Sansa didn't know Ned when he was a teenager so I’m not sure that the slender/graceful thing would hit, and b) Waymar's personality sounds nothing like Ned. SO, I'm still not sure anything would click there for her. Especially as, we also have the romantic aura of black knight around him, and again, Ned was probably terribly far from that in baby Sansa's eyes!

Jon however is not only described elsewhere as having the Stark look (in addition to Ned's own opinion on the matter), he also has the same...presentation. He has an unreadable face/hides his emotions, we're told it's the Tully looking kids who smile easily with the inference that Jon and Arya do not. I think knowing Jon gives a foundation for him as a real person that as much as well, everything about him post rez / upon their reunion will call out to Sansa’s romantic notions, will keep their dynamic in reality rather than the song realm. They will bond so their relationship won’t be primarily taking place in Sansa’s head, but personally, yeah, I do think at some point she will look into his Stark eyes and something will click. 👀

It's not gonna be super ick because again, Sansa only knows her dad as an adult and your face can change quite a bit as you age, and Jon has more of the wolf blood than Ned did, so he isn’t actually a redux of Ned. Ultimately, the idea may be more familiarity, family, safety than realizing how much Jon looks like Ned, but I definitely think that resemblance will register for her in some way.

And while we're at it, Sansa looks like Cat. 😐 We don't joke about the Freudian aspect for nothing!

#jonsa #dot chat #< for filtering

[15-lizards]

I love your genderbent series, what would characters in the dance of the dragons be like genderbent? Eg. Rhaenyra, Daemon, Velaryon brothers (Jacerys, Lucerys, Joffrey) the Green siblings (Aegon II, Helaena etc) the DoTD would probably never happen if Rhaenyra was a man, but I’m still interested in this AU.

Honestly you can still flip it to make the dance happen, it would just be that male Alicent would try to push fem Aegon over male Rhae by convincing fem Viserys that there should be another queen instead of a king, so that female succession is strengthened after the shenanigans of the Great Council

Queen Visenya, who was named so by a slim margin during the Great Council, instead of her cousin Rhaeon, and set the precedent of firstborn succession, no matter the gender. Had only one child, her son and heir Rhaenar, before her husband Aemon died. Took a liking to the young son of her Hand, Alren Hightower, who was then forced to marry the much older queen. To everyone’s surprise, Visenya then had four more children despite her advancing age. Alren, wanting to secure his children’s futures, tried to convince Visenya of naming their eldest daughter Aegora as heir, to strengthen the idea that a daughter can succeed. He was close to Rhaenar in their youth, but the years drove them apart and made him paranoid that his children would not be safe if Rhaenar succeeded his mother.

Rhaenar, who had been groomed for the throne ever since he was born, is of course still The Realms Delight. Confident and proud but a bit indulgent at times, there are some rumors surrounding the mysterious circumstances of his daughters’ births, mainly the fact that every time his lady wife Laenara is said to be pregnant, she disappears to Dragonstone for the duration, and Rhaenar’s sworn shield, Harla Strong, always accompanies her. For his second wife, he wastes no time in choosing Daemona, the Princess of Flea Bottom. Visenya’s wild and reckless younger sister, she enjoyed starting conflicts and ending them (with her sword of course). And she always got what she wanted. Not even her queenly sister could stop her, and once Daemona’s Royce husband dies mysteriously, she goes right back to chasing her spoiled little nephew.

And ofc Alren’s darling mentally ill children: Aegora, Haelen, and Aemona. Usurper Queen Aegora who didn’t even want to be here, much less be on the throne. Lazy and indulgent with no desire to rule, she was more than happy to let Rhaenar have the throne, until her father put her there instead. However, she doesn’t give it up, letting her father convince her that Rhaenar will kill her, given the chance. Haelen, Aegora’s poor sad husband whose mind constantly seems to be elsewhere. He’s a strange boy, preferring to read the works of mystics instead of riding his dragon, but he’s still a sweet boy who loves his children dearly. And then Aemona (just pretend Anya has an eyepatch) my favorite insane second son-daughter. Sharper and more ambitious than her siblings, her father’s favorite child and constantly seeking his approval. Leads most of the war effort herself.

And then of course Crown Princess Jaecera, Lucera, and Johanna. Big sister Jaecera already trying to model herself in a queenly fashion, but has quite a bit of both her mother and fathers temper and headstrong tendencies. Always means the best though. Literally so eager to go to war just to avenge her little sister. Daddy’s girl Lucera just the sweetest and kindest baby ever except that one time she jumped Aemona with a rock when they were younger. Refuses to let an insult against her family slide so hard that she walks into Storms End knowing Vhagars old ass is there. And then Johanna whose kinda Rickon coded to me (aka she doesn’t do much)

#asoiaf #like I feel like this could still work #just switch around a couple of dynamics

[meraxesmoon]

Masterlist ☆

the pink heart signifies smut!

┍━━━━━━━ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗━━━━━━━┑

HOTD/GOT

▪︎ rhaenyra hcs

▪︎ alicent hcs

▪︎platonic! rhaenyra with her cole! daughter

▪︎ platonic! daemon with his royce! daughter

▪︎ platonic! daenerys with her daughter

▪︎ platonic! team black when their darling is loyal to aemond

▪︎ darling is pregnant with aemond's baby while married to jacaerys

▪︎ daemon and rhaenyra stealing away aemond's wife

▪︎ daemyra with a fem! darling

▪︎ daemyra with an innocent and rebellious darling

▪︎ team green husbands

▪︎ aemond being obsessed with his maid

▪︎ daemyra with a very flirty darling

▪︎ aemond's wife believes he is being unfaithful

▪︎ bad cop, good cop with daemyra

▪︎ helagon simping over the same darling

▪︎ daemyra babytrapping their darling

▪︎ daemyra with a poor! darling

▪︎ daemyra being obsessed with alicent's maid

▪︎ aemond's darling thinks that he's using her for sex

▪︎ daemyra with a very emotionally sensitive darling

▪︎ aemond with a commoner! darling

▪︎ rhaenyra and helaena with the same obsession

▪︎ platonic! daemyra with daemon's bastard daughter

▪︎ daemyra with their witch! darling

▪︎ daemyra and alicole pining after the same darling

▪︎ mom! rhaenyra not wanting to marry her baby off to aegon

▪︎ daemon's bastard daughter claiming balerion

▪︎ aegon being whipped for his wife ♡

▪︎ simp aegon!!!

▪︎ more simp aegon details

▪︎ cuddling bottom! aegon ♡

▪︎ subby aegon smut ♡

▪︎ daemyra with their crybaby! darling

▪︎ simp! aegon dealing with his wife's depressive episodes

▪︎ mysaria and rhea with their targaryen! daughter

▪︎ platonic team black and green with a hypersexual darling

▪︎ alicent with her witch! darling

▪︎ poly daemyra hcs

▪︎ aegon ii naming his eldest daughter as heir

▪︎ ramsay bolten hcs

▪︎ platonic! aemond with his bestie

▪︎ bastard! darling not warming up to daemyra

▪︎ daemon the homewrecker

▪︎ romantic! aemond and platonic! alicent being creeps (drabble)

▪︎ thinking about first-time mom nyra <3

▪︎ daemyra being rejected by their darling

▪︎ poly! rhaegon

▪︎ that one time balerion almost burnt dragonstone to a crisp (drabble)

▪︎ bastard! darling claiming balerion (drabble)

▪︎ platonic! father aemond drabble

▪︎ daemon's bastard claiming the cannibal

▪︎ more of daemon's bastard and balerion

▪︎ daenerys adopting viserys' bastard child

▪︎ grumpy grandpa balerion hcs

▪︎ rhaenyra falling in love with daemon's royce! daughter

▪︎ platonic! rhaenyra doting on bastard! darling

▪︎ rhaena and her targtower darling

▪︎ modern! aemond, aegon, and helaena

▪︎ platonic! jace and luke with a sister-like! darling

▪︎ laenor's biological daughter fighting in the war on meraxes

GENSHIN IMPACT/HONKAI STAR RAIL

▪︎ sumeru hcs

▪︎ gepard!!!

▪︎ domestic lyney

JUJUTSU KAISEN

▪︎ toji drabble

▪︎ yuta drabble (ft. gojo)

▪︎ naoya pining after gojo's bestie

▪︎ subby naoya smut ♡

▪︎ mimiko having a crush

MY HERO ACADEMIA

▪︎ touya hcs

TOKYO REVENGERS

▪︎ platonic! sanzu with his daughter

▪︎ sanzu's daughter dealing with his addiction issues

▪︎ platonic! sanzu taking a teen with mommy issues under his wing

▪︎ thinking about kisaki...

VIKINGS

▪︎ ivar brainrot

▪︎ platonic! ivar and his daughter

▪︎ platonic! ragnar with a daughter who is popular among kings

▪︎ how daughter of ragnar! darling is treated by her brothers

▪︎ thinking about aslaug and her only daughter!!!

MISC.

▪︎ yandere android oc

▪︎ some supernatural ideas

▪︎ the last kingdom ideas

▪︎ athelstan hcs (tlk)

▪︎ edward seducing his wife's favorite servant (tlk)

▪︎ draco hcs (hp)

▪︎ michael gavey smut ♡ (saltburn)

[goodqueenaly]

What kind of rights - if any - would a divorced noblewoman have in Westeros? In the case where a husband wants to set aside an infertile wife who hasn't done anything wrong personally, would the ex-husband be required to make sure she was provided for or that her honour isn't damaged, or would she just instantly stop being his responsibility? Likewise, is there anything requiring the woman's birth family to take her in again, other than worrying about optics?

A couple things.

Number one, we have no idea of the extent to which divorce - as a separate concept from annulment - exists in Westeros. When commenting on the issue, GRRM merely said that "divorce simply isn’t common”, but did not elaborate. Is divorce a legal remedy for Westerosi married persons, and if so, by what means can married persons seek divorce? (Let’s not even get into the question of whether these rules apply equally to followers of the Faith versus followers of the old gods versus followers of the Drowned God.) Therefore, it is completely impossible to say whether a Westerosi man could even divorce (again, specifically divorce) his wife, much less what would happen to either party in such a scenario.

Number two, even if we just focus on annulment (which definitely does exist in Westeros), we have almost no idea on what grounds Westerosi married persons can seek such a remedy. The only confirmed reason why a Westerosi annulment can be granted is non-consummation, though given the example of Tyrion and Tysha (whose marriage was definitely consummated) it’s very probable that there are other grounds which can secure a legitimate annulment - we just don't know them all. Therefore, we have no idea whether “a husband [who] wants to set aside an infertile wife who hasn't done anything wrong personally” could even do so, much less what would happen to either party even if such an annulment could be granted. (Again, I’m not even going to begin to touch on how the various faiths of Westeros might differ on this point.)

Number three, we have virtually (more on that in a moment) no examples of a successfully obtained Westerosi annulment where the parties were both aristocrats and went on to live (separate) aristocratic lives. (I don’t count the historical example of King Garland II Gardener, given that we have no idea how he legally justified “putting his own wives aside to marry Lord Lymond’s [i.e. Lymond Hightower’s] daughter” nor what happened to these (unfortunately typically nameless) ladies afterward.) Tywin very pointedly, very specifically did not give one iota of a shit what happened to Tysha after he arranged for that marriage to be annulled (and for Tysha herself to be gang-raped). If Aegon V had any conception for what he planned to do for (or with) Jenny of Oldstones after he had the marriage between her and Prince Duncan annulled, we don’t know yet what those plans might have been. Moreover, Viserys I shut down the idea of annulling Prince Daemon’s marriage to Rhea Royce, while Jaehaerys I and Alysanne vocally resisted Rogar Baratheon’s attempt to annul their marriage in 49 AC, so there is not much to glean from these examples on what might have happened to the brides involve. 

Now, we may learn much more about how the Faith and greater Westerosi society treats formerly married persons in TWOW and in Fire and Blood Volume 2. With Lancel having taken the vows of a Warrior’s Son, Amerei is no longer Lady Lannister. Jaime just barely touched upon this point in AFFC - leaving Amerei at Darry “weeping softly at the dissolution of her marriage whilst letting Lyle Crakehall console her” - though his troubled observation of “the hard looks on the faces of her kin as they stood about the yard” may suggest that the Freys will have more to say in the future on how they (and indeed the rest of the world) think of Amerei now that she is no longer Lancel’s bride. Littlefinger, of course, plans on marrying Sansa to Harry Hardyng, and I think will cite the (well-known) fact that Sansa’s marriage to Tyrion was never consummated to have the local religious authorities of the Vale declare Sansa to be as she was prior to the Tyrion marriage - that is, a highborn maiden fit to be wed to Harry. Too, on a historical level, Baelor the Blessed famously had his marriage to Daena dissolved - and while Baelor himself thereafter imprisoned Daena (as well as her sisters) for the rest of his life, we don’t yet know how the rest of Baelor’s court saw Daena after the news of the dissolution.

#asoiaf meta #laws and customs #marriage in asoiaf

[witchofvalyria]

Aegon iii and Viserys ii reuniting is the happiest moment in fire and blood for me!!😭😭

Arr by @/chillyravenart on twt

#house of dragons #house of the dragon #targaryensource #rhaneyra targaryen #queen rhaenyra #daemon targaryen #emma darcy #matt smith #aegon iii targaryen #king viserys targaryen #viserys ii #olivia cooke #rhea royce #leanor velaryon

[simplegenius042]

WIP Wednesday & OC Interview(s)

Tagged by @nightbloodbix & @josephslittledeputy and @g0dspeeed

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @shallow-gravy @strangefable @strafethesesinners @corvosattano @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @minilev @ladyoriza @josephseedismyfather @trashcatsnark @chazz-anova @snake-in-the-garden @cassietrn @softtidesworld @wrathfulrook @onehornedbeast @voidika @henbased @vampireninjabunnies-blog @florbelles @direwombat @derelictheretic @deputyash @dephellseed @deputy-morgan-malone @skoll-sun-eater @fourlittleseedlings @afarcryfrommymain @titiagls @megraen @starsandskies @la-grosse-patate @cloudofbutterflies92 @thewanderer-000 and @i-am-the-balancing-point + anyone else who wants to join. Here's my taglist if you want to continue being tagged or not.

Got a WIP for The Thorned Crown of Iron Thrones and three OC interviews for The UnTitledverse, Far Cry The Silver Chronicles and A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore. You can find these under the cut.

WIP for my House of the Dragon fic, The Thorned Crown of Iron Thrones, a fic set in my Life, Despair & Monsters series, following the tragic dynasty of the Targaryens as shown in House of the Dragon... but taking all of that and making the situation 1,000 times worse. This fic stars the original cast PLUS my original characters; Corvus Targaryen, adopted son of Viserys I and Aemma, good with the blade, though socially awkward fellow who only sets out to be a knight or if he gets his way, a maester (or alchemist, either one), and trying to keep the peace between the Blacks and the Greens, with Caecilia "Cecil" Targaryen Royce, daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce (after an aggressive and drunk consummation filled with scratches and bruises from both sides), who like her mother, absolutely despises her father (though this is not reciprocated by him), is out to help her cousin Rhaenyra keep her claim to block Otto's plans and spite her father, and lastly a down-on-her-luck ex-assassin woman who currently calls herself "Okkotsu", who through means unknown, becomes the paternal figure Aegon II Targaryen never realised he wanted, better than Viserys ever will be. There's also Sir Enigma Malvolio (Director of the Ruins of the Midnight Rise), Yan-Kain (second-in-command of Aggravor's Chapter of the Occult), and the Court King (main antagonist and pissed off people have forgotten about him). Note that this WIP is still under heavy construction, and things may or may not change. Below is a snippet of Rhaenyra convincing Corvus to join in on a fun time at a tourney... on a day where everything goes wrong:

Corvus eyed his sister with a reluctant frown, dimmed violet eyes looking into a vibrant purple. His hand remained anchored to the darkwood table, the vials and tubes and bags full of liquids and substances ready to be used as ingredients to sate the curiosity of a student of alchemy.

He gave glance to Rhaenyra's companion, hoping Alicent could save him from the young dragon rider's expectant gaze. However, the Hand's daughter stared back with polite brown eyes and a slim smile that refuted his silent plea to be saved, leaving him to make a futile attempt at fending for himself against his younger sister of all people, which he knew would conclude into an inevitable failure.

"Surely... surely you could do without my presence at the tourney?" Corvus spoke up, voice soft and uncertain, "I'm no fan of such events. I wouldn't want to bring down the mood. Perhaps... it would be best I remain here, where mother is? The maesters could require an extra pair of hands should she go into labor."

Rhaenyra seemed to think his words over, but her face hardened, determined. She grabbed hold of his arm, grip firm but slack, eyes widening as the candle light reflected off them, unfairly sparkling the purple rings. Lips formed into a soft smile, as she pleaded at him with her gaze.

"Please."

The older dark-haired boy's resolve wavered as his pale skin involuntarily flushing at the contact. He tried to avoid Rhaenyra's wide smile, her eyes and swore upon the Old and New Gods that he tried to ignore the gentleness plea of her voice. But his younger sister knew all the ways to get him to comply to her demands, and just as a dutiful if awkward older brother would, he'd follow her anywhere, just as Father and Mother tasked him with.

And once Baelon is born, I may even be able to convince them to allow me to become his personal guard, should I continue to knighthood that is.

Looking to Alicent once more, searching for her opinion, Rhaenyra's companion merely gave a small shrug and encouraging smile. Exhaling out a light sigh, he looked down to his white-haired sister and gave his response.

"Okay."

The word was simple, but it granted him an opportunity to see a triumphant grin from his little sister, her excitement genuine. Even when the years had been hard to swallow, especially with Mother's condition, he was glad his sister still hadn't lost her fiery spirit.

"C'mon now! We must bid goodbye to mother and join father at Keep's gates. We shouldn't keep him waiting," Rhaenyra exclaimed, pulling Corvus along behind her back towards the spiral staircase, as Alicent joined them with the shake of her head.

Both Rhaenyra's brother and companion briefly glanced at one another, incredulous gazes connecting as they are both, yet again, pulled along by Rhaenyra.

Corvus was nervous at the prospect of the vast eyes of Lords that would be watching their every move at the tourney. It made his stomach coil at the though of that much attention, with his sister's popularity and his own unpopularity.

Alicent must have noticed this, and stated aloud, "I think it will be quite a good day out. The skies are clear, and the sun warm. The tourney should be able to go on uninterrupted."

Rhaenyra piped up, adding, "I'd even say it will be fun. So no need for such gloom, dear brother."

Corvus simply nodded in reply, shoving away his nerves at they reached the top of the spiral. A visit to mother wouldn't be so bad, he thought.

And three OC interviews below:

Far Cry The Silver Chronicles (featuring in Silva's Hope and Ain't It A Joy?)

Name: Alexander Khaos

Nickname: Alexander doesn't like to use nicknames.

Gender: Male

Star Sign: Cancer

Moral Alignment/Personality: Lawful Neutral.

Height: Either 5'10 or 5'11

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Nationality/Ethnicity: British (with Asian descent)

Fave Fruit: Dragon fruit

Fave Season: Winter

Fave Flower: Peony

Fave Scent: Fresh morning air, burning wood.

Coffee, tea or HC: Black Coffee.

Average Hours of Sleep: 8 hours

Dog or Cat Person: Dog.

Dream Trip: Finland.

Favorite Fictional Character/Real Person: He'd say Jacob Seed, but it's actually Stan Lee.

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: None.

RANDOM FACT: Alexander picked up a Southern accent... it's still unknown why he chose to do this exactly.

The UnTitledverse Name: Joaquin Cobalt

Nickname: Jackie.

Gender: Trans-Male

Star Sign: Leo

Moral Alignment/Personality: Neutral Good.

Height: Either 5'4 or 5'5.

Sexual Orientation: Ace.

Nationality/Ethnicity: Australian.

Fave Fruit: Oranges

Fave Season: Autumn

Fave Flower: Lily of the Valley

Fave Scent: Library books or Old Musuems

Coffee, tea or HC: Went from coffee to tea.

Average Hours of Sleep: 8 to 9 hours.

Dog or Cat Person: If he had to choose, a cat person, but he leans towards reptiles like turtles.

Dream Trip: America (and then he changes it to Germany).

Favorite Fictional Character/Real Person: Stephen King.

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: Three.

RANDOM FACT: Joaquin's name is pronounced "jack-a-win" because that's how a young Lisa insisted it was pronounced when she first saw the name. And well... it just stuck.

A Radioactive Calamity of Love, Bombs & Gore

Name: Arcane Urias

Nickname: None.

Gender: Male

Star Sign: N/A

Moral Alignment/Personality: Either Neutral Evil or Chaotic Evil.

Height: 7'6

Sexual Orientation: N/A (due to being a Displacement (name for entities manifested from unnamed Dimensions), he has no known concept of sexuality. He does (and continues to try to) conceive offspring with anyone capable of getting pregnant only to use as powerful pawns for his evil deeds).

Nationality/Ethnicity: N/A (though he can take the human shape of anyone not just his main form)

Fave Fruit: Hates fruit.

Fave Season: Summer.

Fave Flower: A dead one.

Fave Scent: Ash.

Coffee, tea or HC: None.

Average Hours of Sleep: He will rest/meditate for an hour or two, only to conserve energy.

Dog or Cat Person: Bobbit Worm.

Dream Trip: He wouldn't mind Antarctica.

Favorite Fictional Character/Real Person: N/A

Number of Blankets They Sleep With: N/A

RANDOM FACT: There’s only been three individuals Urias has cared for in his entire existence; his brother Mathias “Mason” Talos, his student (a Lich named) Aggravor and lastly his hyper-fixation, Discord (aka the Mad God/Kin of Carnage). Urias has no love for his children (Ortega “Ore” Brantley and Marissa “Ress” Bishop) due to them having the “human element”.

#wip wednesday #oc interview #life despair & monsters #wip: the thorned crown of iron thrones #house of the dragon #oc: corvus targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #far cry the silver chronicles #far cry 5 #we happy few #oc: alexander khaos #the untitledverse #oc: joaquin cobalt #series: a radioactive calamity of love bombs & gore #fallout #oc: arcane urias

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (42/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 18,112 (OOPS, but not really)

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: In the Vale, Arianwyn receives a wedding present from Ser Gerold and has a candid discussion with her Godsmother. At Storm's End, Aemond goes on a tumultuous hunt with Borros Baratheon. Both are met with unpleasant interruptions to their missions.

Warnings: none, other than Baratheon/frat-boy shenanigans

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch @crazymusicgirl104

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

Three Days, Part II

On the 24th day in the ninth month, 136 years after Aegon’s conquest…

Arianwyn sat by the window of her rooms with the periwinkle scrap of silk still gripped in her hand, absentmindedly running her thumb over some of the Runes – those for wisdom and peace – while she drank her morning tea. Though she supposed ‘mid-morning tea’ was the more accurate term. When she woke, the sun had already been well into its journey across the sky.

Brynna would be horrified that she had slept so late, especially as a guest.

But perhaps the maid would be lenient, given how it had been her host who had kept her up with wine and a never-ceasing demand for stories. Arianwyn had not wanted to ask after the time before bed, and she would not inquire about it today either. If she genuinely did not know, she would not have to lie if Brynna asked about it – should she ever find out.

The apartments Arianwyn had been given were so large that she doubted they were actually intended for use as guest quarters, but she would not complain. From the window in the bedchamber, she could look over the garden where Emrys was staying. He had roused along with her and trilled sleepily when she came to the window to greet him.

Not wanting him to be confined for so long in the small courtyard, she had sent him into the mountains to explore. He had been all too excited to obey. The stress and terror of the last night were quickly forgotten. For in the daylight, the mountains offered him the novelty and excitement he had so long been denied on Dragonstone.

The window in the sitting room offered a view of the mountains themselves. Arianwyn drank her tea while watching Emrys weaving between the peaks, sending the snowcaps tumbling down, and flying through the mist from the waterfall just below the castle.

Alyssa’s Tears, it was called. After the mythical woman who had not shed a single tear when her entire family was slaughtered. As punishment for her heartlessness, the gods refused her peace in death until her tears fell upon the Vale and wet the ground in which her family was buried. The waterfall was supposedly fed by the tears she cried in whatever restless afterlife she was doomed to. But the water spilled from so high that it turned to mist long before it reached the valley floor and never truly touched the ground below.

The story was one of the many without a happy ending in Arianwyn’s little brown book of fairy tales from the First Men, and one of the few on which she and Aemond agreed: it was far too sad.

Bringing the silk to her face so she could once more breathe in her husband’s scent, Arianwyn let her mind wander to what he may be doing. He was nearly a thousand miles away, the furthest apart they had ever been.

Did he feel that distance as she did – as if it were a rope tied around her waist, growing tighter with every breath? Did he keep turning to his right expecting to find her there, as she kept looking up to her left? Had he dreamed of her that night, as she had dreamed of him?

Aemond had no doubt already been awake for hours – he had always risen early. Had he already secured Lord Borros’ support? At this very moment, were he and Vhagar on their way home?

The thought of him sitting alone in their rooms waiting for her brought a pang of guilt to Arianwyn’s chest.

Though perhaps that pain was only hunger. She had yet to break her fast, after all. The maid that dressed her had brought a tray of tea but no food. And though she had been awake for nearly an hour now, no one had come to fetch her.

She was about to give into her aching stomach and dig through one of her saddlebags for some dried meat when a knock sounded at her door.

“Come in,” she called, hastily shoving her bag beneath the table to hide what she had been about to do. But there was no need. It was Ser Gerold, along with two footmen bearing trays laden with all manner of food.

He smiled when he saw her, his arms immediately spreading to pull her into another tight embrace.

Arianwyn would never get tired of his hugs – so different from Aemond’s, yet just as wonderful. While Gerold was nearly the same height as her husband, he was so much softer. He had never been thin, even when he was a practicing, muscled knight of the Vale.

No, he was the very image of the Bronze Kings she had seen in paintings and tapestries – tall and barrel-chested. She would never understand how the Andals had not immediately turned back across the Narrow Sea when they beheld King Yorwyck VI, purported to be the largest man to ever wear the Runic Crown.

All she knew or cared about was that the Royce physique was perfect for giving the best hugs in all the world.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, brushing a tangled curl behind her ear. “Or did you miss your husband’s presence too dearly?”

Arianwyn laughed and surreptitiously snagged the periwinkle silk from the table and slipped it into her pocket. “It took me a while to fall asleep,” she admitted, “but I slept well after I did.”

“Good,” he said. Then, he patted her head once and moved to hold out her chair for her to sit. “I apologize for how late I am, but I am afraid I slept too long myself.”

“How do you know I slept too long?” she asked as he pushed her chair closer to the table. “I could have been waiting here for hours, starving.”

Gerold only gave her an incredulous look as he took the seat across from her – the only other seat set for the meal. “Because I know you, and I knew your mother. She savored her sleep as well. You are the only people I have ever known who can sleep as soundly and as long as a bear.”

She made a disgruntled noise as she poured herself a new cup of tea. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do that while sharing a bed with Aemond. He not only stays up hours past when all normal people go to bed, but acts as though he is in an eternal race with the sun to see who can rise first.”

“You could always sleep in your own quarters,” he suggested half-heartedly as he began to fill his plate with food. “Most wives do, after all.”

“Do I have to?” she asked as she set down the teapot, avoiding meeting her cousin’s eyes. “I mean… will it be expected of me?”

Lifting the silver lid off a tray of cold honeyed ham, Gerold grimaced as he considered his answer. “It will be seen as unusual, perhaps, if you choose to go on sharing chambers. But there is nothing wrong with it. Most couples simply are not as fortunate as the pair of you to actually want to spend time with their spouse.”

He smiled proudly as he began loading his plate, his gaze momentarily drawn to the window by the shadow of Emrys flying past.

“Lady Jeyne isn’t joining us?” Arianwyn asked, not wanting to put anything on her own plate for fear of offending her host, despite her stomach growling.

Gerold only shook his head as he dropped a fourth slice of ham onto his plate. “Not this morning. I told Jeyne I wanted at least some time with you, alone. If she was here, I would scarcely have the chance to talk!”

He laughed heartily as he scooped buttered eggs on top of his ham. “So, I get you for this meal. Afterward, she will claim you for a tour of the castle or some other thing, and you will have your luncheon together.”

“What about the petition?”

He finished his plate with three thick slices of rye bread slathered with an obscene amount of butter. “That will be later, after the rest of the court finishes our business for the day.”

“But – ”

“Yes, I know you are in a hurry to return to Aemond,” he assuaged her. “But autumn is here, and no one knows how soon winter will follow, which means we will soon depart the Eyrie. We have our own business to finish before then, which takes precedence, I’m afraid.”

Arianwyn shrank into her chair and half-heartedly looked over the food she had yet to add to her plate. The hunger gnawing at her was replaced by a sense of disappointed dread.

“Don’t worry,” Gerold said, leaning across the table to fill her plate for her, “At least, by speaking at the end of the session, the court will be more likely to give you a swift answer?”

“The court?” she asked, looking up from the mountain of porridge now on her plate. “Not just Jeyne?”

He sighed and frowned, forgetting that she knew only the ways of the King’s court, not that of the Vale. At least, with winter approaching, he would have ample time to teach her their ways before she was called to the Eyrie as the representative of Runestone.

“Jeyne makes the final decision,” he explained, “but she carefully considers the opinion of every member of her court before she makes it. She is not a Queen. She is… do you know what her title is?”

Arianwyn sighed, not particularly in the mood for a lesson. “Jeyne Arryn, Lady of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East,” she answered before taking a sharp bite of her bread.

“Very good,” he said flatly, neither fazed nor amused by her tone. “She is not our Queen, but our Warden. She guides us. She does not rule us, at least not in the way you know. So, yes. It will be the entire court you must convince.”

“Will they listen to me? Or…” she pushed the small pieces of ham that Gerold had cut for her, as if she were still a child, around her plate. “You told me that rumors about me – about Aemond – have made their way here. Does the court believe them?”

He let his fork fall to the table as he thought about how to answer, the silence of the room echoing through Arianwyn’s mind. If those who had known Aemond when he was a sweet young boy could now believe Daemon’s outrageous lies, what hope was there in those who knew only his reputation believing in his innocence?

“No house which has provided a knight for your guard believes them,” he said carefully, giving her time to count how many allies that gave her. Only six, among the thirty-two houses – excluding Arryn and Royce – that would be present in the Throne Room. “The Lords Grafton, Hersy, and Hunter were with us in King’s Landing when we petitioned for your release. They saw how devoted he was to you then. Lord Hunter, in fact, commissioned a copy of your translations for his library. For years, he has asked that I send you his many questions along with my letters.”

That brought a small smile to her face, but it did not last. Not when she had to convince an entire court that Aegon was fit for the throne. She was not entirely certain of it herself. But like she had told Rhaenys, she was certain that Rhaenyra – and, by extension, Daemon – was even less fit.

“What about the others?” she asked, taking another slow sip of tea.

Gerold sighed. “They have their suspicions and their… hesitancies. But it is still only rumors, my dear.”

“It is because of those rumors that I am here,” she explained, “and alone. Otto Hightower thought that my coming here on Emrys, and showing that I am not a prisoner, would help dispel the worst of what is being said.”

Gerold nodded as he set down his tea. “A wise strategy. Though, I think I have something that may be even more effective.”

Arianwyn watched him curiously as he stood, briefly remembering that he had mentioned a present the night before. He had not brought anything with him beside the servants and the food they carried.

But then he drew his sword from his belt, resting the flat of the blade in his palm as he looked over the whirling patterns in the Valyrian Steel. One had to look very closely to see the Runes etched into its fuller. Those on the crossguard and pommel were much easier to read.

Lamentation.

The ancestral sword of their house, dating from just after the Andals had claimed victory over the Vale, and House Royce and House Arryn had been joined in marriage to end the years of conflict between them. The Arryns had commissioned the blade from a traveling Valyrian smith to be part of the bride price. The bride herself had not been a warrior, so the sword was instead wielded by her brother and passed down throughout the millennia.

Though Rhea had been a warrior, it had passed over her to Gerold after Lord Yorbert died.

And now he held it out to Arianwyn.

“I…” she stammered, unsure what to say. She was the Lady of Runestone, but certainly no warrior. The gesture was sweet, but unnecessary, and more than a little confusing.

Gerold lowered himself to a knee, his face tightening as his old muscles strained. “This blade has been wielded by our family for thousands of years, passing from father to son. Its rightful place is in the hands of the ruler of Runestone and the head of our house, whether that be its Lady or its Lord.”

He held his hands, and the sword, out further toward her. “That is you now, Aria. You and Aemond. So, I hereby relinquish my claim to Lamentation and present it to you. So that you may bestow it upon your husband, our new Lord of Runestone.”

Tears pricked her eyes as she wrapped a hand around the cool metal of its hilt, then the other. Though Valyrian steel was light, it was still far too large for her to lift with one hand. Even with both arms, she strained to hold it upright.

She had seen it so many times on Gerold’s hip but had never looked at it closely.

As a sign of respect to the long history of House Royce, the blade had been made in the style of the First Men. The crossguard and pommel were both made from the bone white heartwood of a Weirwood tree – a gesture of goodwill to the newly converted Royces. Thin bands of bronze emblazoned with “We Remember” in Runes held the ends of the leather-wrapped grip in place. The base of the pommel, too, was made of bronze and engraved with the full Runic words of their house:

The past is set in stone and cast in bronze. We remember.

It curved away from the blade, opposite the crossguard, forming the base on which five petals of Weirwood rested. Each rounded piece was bordered by more bronze, and each sigil and Rune carved into the wood was filled with hammered bronze wire.

A perfect embodiment of House Royce. Of their connection to the Old Gods and the Runes.

Or, it would have been had the blade, too, been made of bronze and not Valyrian steel.

And if not for the seven-pointed star at the base of the pommel, also filled with bronze. A reminder that the Andals had won. That the Runic Crown was stolen – some said it had been melted down to make this very sword –  and the Old Gods displaced by the Seven.

Although in the centuries and millennia that passed, the Royces had become devoted to the new gods, none more heartily than Arianwyn. She did not see that symbol as a mark of conquest, but a comforting presence, and one she was quite glad of.

For that reason, and for the Valyrian blood in her veins, perhaps the sword fit into her small hands more perfectly than any of her ancestors before her.

But when she raised the sword again, her arms quavered and buckled, and the blade tip clanged against the marble floor as her strength failed. If it hadn’t been Valyrian Steel, the point may very well have snapped.

Any faint ideas she had about her wielding the sword, rather than Aemond, disappeared after that.

Arianwyn carefully handed the sword back to Gerold, who slid it back into the hilt he had detached from his belt and set it gently on the table. She tried not to blush at dropping the most valuable possession her House had ever owned, but her cheeks burned despite herself.

“Aemond will be so honored,” she said to her cousin. “I just wish you could give it to him yourself.”

Gerold laughed. “I could wait until the two of you finally get to Runestone. It would be a wonderful centerpiece to the grand feast I plan to hold for you.”

“You may want to send a raven to Queen Alicent,” she mused with a sly smile. “She also has plans for a feast. The two of you may need to conspire on a single event, so Aemond does not have to endure too much socialization.”

-

Aemond was sure that Borros had ordered he be given the worst horse in all the Seven Kingdoms.

Its fucking name was ‘Barrel,’ gods be good.

Barrel was the ugliest shade of grey-beige Aemond had ever seen. Beyond the nauseating color, his hair was patchy and scraggly, giving the appearance of an overgrown, malformed mule rather than a horse. And overgrown, he certainly was. At the shoulder, he was taller than Aemond, and his chest was as wide as two barrels – obviously his namesake.

It was also the most temperamental beast Aemond had ever met. Compared to Barrel, even Vhagar seemed as docile as a newborn kitten. Every command was a battle, and each one put him further and further behind the rest of the hunting party, making him lose valuable time he needed to sway Borros to Aegon’s cause.

By the time he once again caught up to the Lord of Storm’s End, his fingers bore the marks of Barrel’s misshapen teeth even from beneath his gloves. However, Aemond got several sturdy kicks and thumps in – though he doubted the massive horse had felt any of them.

Worse than the snickers he heard as he maneuvered Barrel clumsily through the party was that nearly every man already had at least one squirrel, rabbit, or even a game bird of some kind strapped to his saddle.

Borros had two rabbits and a small pheasant.

Aemond had nothing.

“I thought surely you’d have caught something by now,” Borros snickered as he looked over the Prince’s saddle. “You’ve disappeared into the woods alone often enough. Out of practice?”

The urge to draw his dagger and show Borros how skilled he was nearly overwhelmed Aemond. Aegon needs him, he reminded himself. We need allies to protect ourselves. Protect Arianwyn.

So, he took a deep breath and forced out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m afraid we have not hunted in many years. It did not seem right when my father could not join us. He was quite the avid hunter.”

“Yes, I remember,” Borros said as he turned away to focus on the path ahead. “I was a young man when my father took me to the Kingswood for the hunt in honor of your brother’s second nameday. It was quite the event.”

“So I have heard,” Aemond muttered.

Borros glanced at him again, a cruel grin flashing across his lips. “I was never invited to a similar event in your honor, or your younger brother’s. Why is that?”

Aemond knew the answer. And he hated it.

A hunt that grand had only been given once more after that. Not for Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, or Daeron. Viserys never found them worthy of such a celebration. No, the only other hunt of that scale was in honor of Rhaenyra when she birthed the first of her bastards.

It was always Rhaenyra.

But not now. Not anymore.

Viserys was gone. So too, was the Crown’s blindness to her sins – her unworthiness.

That was why Aemond was here.

“I believe it was my mother’s decision,” he lied smoothly. “She was quite disturbed by the sight of my eldest sister covered in boar’s blood and decided she would prefer more civilized celebrations for her own children.”

Borros didn’t even try to hide the roll of his eyes. “Yes, tourneys are quite civilized.”

“They are at least structured,” Aemond snapped, startling Barrel and forcing him to stop and soothe the stupid beast before catching up to Borros and taking on a more diplomatic tone. “I think we can agree that most knights are less savage than the average boar.”

At that, or perhaps at Barrel’s antics, Borros laughed. “‘Most,’ perhaps. Not all.” He looked back at one of his men and raised a brow. “We have heard rumor that the new King has his own… savage proclivities.”

Aemond bit his lip and tried to make himself look like Aegon’s nightly activities didn’t disgust him. “My brother is a man of strong desires. I dare say there are worse vices, wouldn’t you?”

“Like an overindulgence in wine, perhaps?” one of Borros’ men called out.

Turning around to try and identify the man that said it only upset Barrel even more. And, of course, the party did not stop to wait for him. So it was several minutes and three sharp bites later that Aemond caught up to his host once more.

“I hope any rumors you may have heard will not color your assessment of my brother too harshly,” he began, his voice more pleading than he had intended. “Aegon has his faults. I cannot deny that. But no King has ever been perfect, not even Jaehaerys. My brother will be a good King. He only needs the chance to prove himself.”

Borros’ face was impassive. “Most Kings prove themselves well before they take the throne, boy, during their time as heir. Your brother was only the heir for mere moments before King Viserys died, I am told. What was he doing in those moments, I wonder?”

A low chuckle rumbled through the hunting party, among the squires and servants, and even Barrel seemed to be enjoying himself for once. Aemond made a note to talk to Larys Strong when he returned to seek out any prying eyes in the Keep. There had to be many if word of Aegon’s habits had spread so far. Even if it was the truth, people could not be allowed to speak of their King in that way.  

But for now…

“I will not deny that he was in the arms of a woman,” he conceded. Though it was only his best guess – he had not asked Ser Arryk for much detail. But if Borros already knew Aegon’s habits, convincing him of the falsehood should not be hard.

The Baratheon chuckled. “I assume it was not his wife?”

If any of these men said a word against Helaena… Aemond shook his head. “I’m afraid not. It was one of his favorites – the daughter of a Pentosi trader, I believe. I do not know her name.” The lies came so easily. It unsettled him. “But I assure you, she is not misused.”

“She is… well compensated, then?” another of the men behind them asked with a barely stifled laugh. Each of them was vulgar and shameless. They would get on well with Aegon, actually.

Aemond once more swallowed his disgust, and his surprise that he was feeling so defensive of a fictional paramour. “She is not a whore. She is not paid. But Aegon does… spoil her. Gifts her jewels, silk, and other luxuries. It is in a man’s nature to want to provide for the woman he loves, is it not?”

“That it is,” Borros agreed, reaching over to clap Aemond’s shoulder, again startling Barrel. “Why else would my wife wear jewels as large as her tits!”

He led the party in another bout of rude, raucous laughter. Aemond thought he could vomit. He played his sour look off as further frustration with his mount.

When he finally stopped laughing at his own crudeness, Borros again turned to Aemond. “I suppose it is not what we usually expect of our heirs, but it at least proves he is a man.” Then, he scoffed, “Why your father waited so long to name him heir, I don’t understand.”

“I’m told being so close to death brings clarity of mind,” Aemond mused, though he did not entirely understand his father’s change of heart himself. Perhaps it was a final gift of apology to his wife, granting their son his birthright at last.

Pushing Aegon – and all of them – aside for so long deeply wounded his mother. But she never allowed it show. No, she let it strengthen her resolve.

As long as Aemond could remember, Alicent had often fulfilled the role of the heir in Rhaenyra’s place. Whenever his sister could not bring herself to care about her duties or was too busy holding her own private court in her tower with Harwin Strong as her consort, or later with Daemon on Dragonstone.

Many of the nobles who had flocked around her like a gaggle of simpering geese were the same who now whispered about him when they thought he could not hear – and sometimes when they knew he could. The battle lines between Green and Black were drawn well before Viserys’ death.

Borros considered him carefully. “And in this clarity… did he reveal anything to you?”

Aemond felt that same pestering shame in his chest as he did when his father begged peace for his family that night at dinner – the last time he had seen the King. A peace Aemond himself had shattered. He swallowed and pursed his lips, focusing on keeping his voice even and confident. “I confess I did not visit my father on his deathbed.”

“Given how long he was on his deathbed,” Borros half-laughed, “I find that hard to believe.”

The rest of the party laughed with him, and Aemond conceded a smile as he amended his statement, “I did not visit him in his final days.”

Or months. Or years…

For the first time, all of Borros’ men were silent. For the first time, their presence did not grate on Aemond.

One of them – one of the bastards – cleared his throat before speaking. “I did not visit my father, either. Even when he asked for me, specifically.”

Aemond turned to him slowly, ready to say something cruel, but the words escaped him. He was loathe to admit he empathized with a bastard, but the look on the man’s face was familiar. It was a look he had seen on Aegon’s face and felt on his own: that of a man who had never had his father’s love.

But this man – this bastard – had been summoned by his father in those precious final moments.

Aemond had not.

What was he, a trueborn son who was loved less than a bastard? What did you call a son whose father cared too little to even hate him? Was there even a word for something so wretched?

A sharp pain ran through his scar, and he hissed as he sucked in a breath and ducked his head.

“I’m sorry, my Prince,” the man whispered, bowing his head slightly.

Aemond did not reply. He hated the man for what he had. And though he was grateful for the sympathy, it did nothing to soothe his pain.

He needed to get this damn thing done so he could return home. Put that vulgar trophy room, these men and their depraved senses of humor, and the way they looked at him like one of the predators lining their floor – like he was to be both feared and hunted – behind him.

“My brother has sent me to…” he began.

Borros reared his horse, the sudden movement causing Barrel to nearly throw Aemond, and turned to him with a hard face. “Later, my Prince. There is a clearing just ahead where we will stop for a meal.”

He flicked his eyes to Aemond’s saddle. “Since you have not caught anything, I will give you one of my rabbits.”

As Aemond’s scar flared once more, Vhagar let out a grumbling roar in the distance.

-

Gerold and Arianwyn spent the remainder of their meal strategizing about what she could say to sway the Valish court. But when the tea had gone cold, and Lady Jeyne arrived to claim her time with her godsdaughter, they had made little progress.

Aegon’s character was well known, and many of the Lords of the Vale were more pious than anyone outside of Oldtown. So, convincing them that he was suited for leadership would be no easy feat. And while Rhaenyra’s own sins may have brought them to equal footing, the oaths the Houses had sworn to her more than twenty years ago gave her back the advantage.

Arianwyn had suggested revealing Daemon’s true nature to the court, but Gerold cautioned her against it. Rhea had refused to do so while she was still alive, fearing the devastation his wrath could bring. And since he had already threatened to kill Arianwyn, and nearly made good on that promise, Gerold did not want to provoke him further.

So, they were left with emphasizing that the King had changed his mind, reiterating the laws that demanded Aegon inherit, singing what praises she could of her good brother, and criticizing Rhaenyra as much as possible without also drawing any judgmental eyes toward Aegon.

Neither of them was very confident in the plan actually working.

But when Jeyne swept into the room, she brought an air of optimism that neither could resist. She flitted about the room as she sang Emrys’ praises, having watched him for most of the morning. And her playful jabs at Gerold for still eating like he trained daily sent all three of them laughing.

As she guided her godsdaughter through the Eyrie, she was much less voracious in her appetite to hear every detail about Arianwyn’s life than she had been the night before. Rather, she let the girl tell the stories at her own pace and let her lead the conversation. She even answered questions about her own life as a ruling Lady, the history of the Vale, and her experiences – though they were few – with sheep.

Arianwyn had never heard anyone laugh so loud as when she told her godsmother about the flock of sheep Aemond had procured for them. She was still laughing when they came to stand before a marble statue in the center of the gardens.

Though it was much less grand than the statues Arianwyn had seen in King’s Landing, it was breathtakingly beautiful. Carved entirely from white marble, like the rest of the Eyrie. And like the castle itself, it was carved with remarkable skill. It depicted a woman in a near-shapeless dress, the hood of her cloak drawn, and her hands held out in beseeching prayer as she wept.

Alyssa Arryn, the same mythical woman who gave her name to the waterfall next to the castle.

“I know her story is a sad one,” Arianwyn murmured as she examined the heartbreaking devastation the sculptor had captured in the statue’s face. “A warning that we should not hold back our tears, but…”

Jeyne said nothing, allowing her time to gather her thoughts. It was a rare and much-appreciated courtesy.

“But recently, I cannot help but wish I could be more like her, if just a little bit,” Arianwyn finally said. “The Seven know I have shed more than my share of tears in my lifetime.”

It was a truth she would only reveal to those she trusted most. Aemond, Gerold, maybe Alicent or Helaena. And though she had known her godsmother less than a day, she had a preternatural sense that she could also be trusted.

“Oh, my darling,” Jeyne sighed as she pulled the girl into an embrace so tight as to make up for all the time they spent apart. “I am so sorry for all you have suffered. I cannot help but feel I have failed you. That I should have prevented it somehow.”

Arianwyn shook her head as she pulled away and offered a shy smile. “You did not fail me, I promise. If you had intervened in any of it, I would not be who I am today.” Though her voice was thick with emotion, each word rang true in her heart. “I like who I am, and despite all I have been through, I would not want to be anyone else.”

Like Alyssa Arryn, Arianwyn did not shed a tear.

“Your grandfather, Lord Yorbert, was my regent in my minority. I would not be the woman I am today without him.” Lady Jeyne mused as she guided them to sit on a low stone bench facing the statue.

Arianwyn nodded. “Yes, I know. I am told he was wise and fair. And that he cared for you dearly.”

“As I did for him,” a dreamy look came over Jeyne’s face. “He was as much my father as Rhea’s.”

“I was only three when my father and brothers were killed,” she continued. “My memories of them are scarce and faint, but I miss them every day. But… I also like the woman I have become. If given the choice, I do not know whether I would change anything either. Perhaps that makes me a cruel, vain woman, but it is how I feel nevertheless.”

Arianwyn nodded, all the agreement she could muster.

After long minutes where neither woman said anything, the only sound the roaring of the mountain wind and the occasional joyful roar from Emrys, Jeyne finally spoke.

“I wanted to remain entirely neutral before your petition today,” she said, staring into the eyes of the statue. “But I cannot help but be curious as to why you are here.”

Arianwyn straightened against the cold marble of the bench. She had nearly forgotten her mission in the peace of the garden. “Did the Hand not tell you in his letter?”

“He did,” Jeyne answered. “Or at least, he hinted at it. I know why he sent someone here. I know what he wants from me.”

She looked at Arianwyn then, staring deeply into her silver eyes. For the first time, she did not look at her godsdaughter with awe and love, but with suspicion and apprehension. “What I don’t know – what I don’t understand – is why you came. Why you agreed to it.”

Arianwyn was taken aback by the almost accusatory tone. “I am a Royce. I am of the Vale, and I am your – ”

“That is why you were sent,” Jeyne clarified. “To try and counter my blood ties to Rhaenyra. But it does not explain why you decided to come and make this petition.”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Surely, as the Lady of Runestone, you can sympathize with Rhaenyra’s plight?”

Oh.

Arianwyn had not considered how her petitioning for a son to inherit over his older sister would wound Jeyne – the only woman to rule one of the Great Houses, one of the Seven Kingdoms. There had been three rebellions to try and depose her in favor of some distant male relative. Thankfully, she had survived them all. But Aegon taking the Iron Throne would surely dredge up unsavory memories.

“Rhaenyra being a woman has nothing to do with it,” Arianwyn looked down at the scenery around them as she spoke, afraid that she would lose her nerve if she had to face Lady Jeyne’s cool, assessing gaze. “Viserys named Aegon his heir.”

“On his deathbed,” Jeyne added. “With only the Queen present to hear this momentous change of heart.”

Arianwyn faced Jeyne again, trying not to look too angry at the accusation. “I trust Alicent with my life. She is not lying.”

“If you trust her, then I do as well,” Jeyne said. “But you cannot deny the circumstances are suspicious, and many will be hesitant to believe her.” She waited until the girl nodded to continue. “None more than Rhaenyra. Would you not be doubtful yourself, were you in the same position?

“I suppose I would be.”

“And can you not see the injustice in the reported words of a confused, dying man overriding more than twenty years of insistence in Rhaenyra’s position?” Jeyne asked. “Were she a man, surely the matter would be thoroughly contested.”

“You may be right, but I cannot determine my allegiance only by my sex.”

“Why not?”

Arianwyn cleared her throat, taken aback by Jeyne’s intensity, and continued. “According to the precedent set by the Great Council, Aegon was the rightful heir from the moment he was born, no matter what Viserys declared.”

Jeyne raised an arched brow. “And you agree with this precedent?”

“No!” Arianwyn answered quickly, for fear of offending her godsmother further than she suspected she already had. “But the vote was twenty to one. The men of Westeros may be content to let someone’s women like me or my mother rule a small house, but – ”

“Runestone is no small House,” Jeyne cut in – not the interruption Arianwyn expected. “I apologize. Please go on.”

“Thank you. I… Your own inheritance was controversial,” Arianwyn continued. “It was only the ancient laws of the Vale and the support of Queen Alysanne that secured your position. If you had inherited after the Great Council, I don’t know you would have inherited at all.”

Jeyne looked away sadly, the crumpled look on her face breaking Arianwyn’s heart.

“I do not say this to be cruel,” she insisted, taking her godsmother’s hand. “I just… am trying to be realistic. If the ruling of the Great Council is to be overturned, it cannot be for someone who would only reinforce the worst fears of the men who think women are incapable of ruling. They would ensure women could never rule again.”

“You doubt Rhaenyra would be a good Queen?” Jeyne asked, her eyes narrowing in curiosity.

Arianwyn’s mouth fell open as her mind scrambled to cobble together how she could answer without revealing everything about Daemon.

“Before you answer,” Jeyne warned, her dark eyes hard as stone. “Consider that I am not looking for court gossip or the resentful comments of a stepdaughter spurned. I am asking for the objective assessment of a fellow ruler.”

Silence hung over them as Arianwyn considered her words.

“Grand Maester Orwyle once told us that a wise King is good, but a great King surrounds himself with advisors wiser than himself,” she said, finally. She felt somewhat ridiculous, quoting her tutor in such a serious conversation, but her mind kept returning to his lessons.

“Your grandfather told me the same,” Jeyne added with a sly smile before gesturing for the girl to continue.

“I will admit that Rhaenyra is wise,” Arianwyn said. “And reasonably fair. But her choice of advisors is… questionable at best.”

“To whom, specifically, do you refer?”

Arianwyn considered her answer, thinking back to all the people she had seen flock to Rhaenyra’s private court in King’s Landing and Dragonstone. “Lord Corlys Velaryon is the most ambitious man I know – to a dangerous fault. He abandoned his seat on the Small Council to pursue personal glory, and yet Rhaenyra has kept him close to her. Lord Celtigar does not approve of anything she does, yet he clings to her like a leech because he cannot resist the power she grants him. The Lords Bar Emmon and Massey are nothing more than toadies afraid to say a word against her.”

She took a deep breath and looked to the skies. While the men she had listed thus far were unlikeable, they were nothing that would endanger the realm. Not like…

“The one who troubles me the most is my father,” she blurted out, her lip trembling in fear of a man hundreds of miles away.

Jeyne’s face was as hard as granite. “Daemon?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Something sparked in Jeyne’s dark eyes. “Why do you say that?”

Arianwyn wet her lips, which had become quite dry thanks to the cold mountain air or, more likely, her own nervousness. “Daemon has a brilliant mind for strategy and warfare. But he is equally masterful at using brute force and unnecessary cruelty to achieve his goals, which in themselves are often… less than honorable.”

There was a subtle twitch in Jeyne’s eyes, and her nostrils flared. “Is Rhaenyra aware of the circumstances of your birth?”

It seemed even the wind went silent.

For a moment, Arianwyn convinced herself that Jeyne only referred to Daemon’s absence during Rhea’s pregnancy and after her death in the birthing bed.

But then she recognized the glinting in those dark eyes – the primal, righteous rage.

“My lady, I was not aware that you knew,” she whispered.

Jeyne pressed her lips together. “Rhea was my best friend. And a Lady of the Vale. I went to Runestone the moment I heard what happened. I heard it from her own lips and swore to protect the secret. I have cursed myself every day since for taking that oath.”

“I…” Arianwyn stammered. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Give me an answer,” Jeyne commanded with the voice of a Great Lady, of the Warden of the Vale. “Does Rhaenyra know?”

Arianwyn remembered how her stepmother had looked at her only a week ago in the garden on Dragonstone. The pity and disgust in her eyes as she called what Daemon had done ‘regrettable.’ Her fear of what her husband was capable of. Fear that was apparently not enough to overcome her own desires – for the throne or for him, Arianwyn did not care. They were equally despicable.

“She does.”

Jeyne looked away, though she squeezed Arianwyn’s hand.

The Lady of the Vale spent many long minutes deep in thought, her eyes fixed on a window in the far wall of the garden.

What lay behind that window, Arianwyn did not know. She could not recall the tour she was given that morning, nor really care what lay behind the glass. All she could think about was what Jeyne would say next, what her answer to Aegon’s plea would be.

She had started to lose hope that she would get that answer when Jeyne finally spoke again.

“Tell them.”

“Tell who? Tell what?”

Jeyne turned back and cupped her godsdaughter’s chin in her hand. “Tell my court your story – your mother’s story. Tell them what Daemon did. There is no better proof that he and his wife would be worse than Maegor.”

Arianwyn shook her head slightly. “My mother did not want that. She did not want to risk his wrath.”

“Fuck his wrath!” Jeyne spat, her dark eyes blazing. “Show him yours.”

The words, and the ferocity with which they were spoken, fanned the flames of the cold fire within Arianwyn. She savored the chill that spread through her veins with every beat of her heart, letting it wash away any trace of fear she felt about what Daemon could do in retribution.

There was no need to fear for the safety of Runestone any longer. Not when it had two dragonriders to protect it – its Lady and its Lord.

And with Viserys gone, Daemon would not be able to escape punishment. Arianwyn was sure that when King Aegon learned what he had done, every army in the Seven Kingdoms would be called upon to bring him to justice.

Or rather, every army that was loyal to Aegon. However many that may be.

It was up to Arianwyn to deliver him the armies of the Vale.

“If I did tell them,” she said cautiously, “would they believe me? Would they declare for Aegon as the rightful King?”

“Tell them,” Jeyne insisted once more, the words affirmation enough.

Arianwyn smiled and nodded.

Today, the world would learn who Daemon Targaryen really was.

-

As Aemond expected, the midday meal in the cramped clearing consisted of under-seasoned, overcooked game meat and more crude conversation. Unfortunately, many of Borros’ men continued to act as though it was their sole mission to get the Prince to join them in their immoral musings – he was swiftly running out of excuses to not divulge the details of his marriage bed.

Just as scarce was his continuing resolve to not ram his fist into their sneering faces whenever they referred to Arianwyn.

Every time he could not reply to them without causing insult, he ignored them and tried to steer Borros toward his actual purpose in coming to the Stormlands. Every time, he was brushed aside.

‘Later’ was apparently the Baratheon’s favorite word.

And, of course, fucking Barrel seemed to delight in his rider’s every frustration.

The horse behaved perfectly well until the precise moment Aemond’s nerves were tested. Then, he did any number of infuriating things – rearing unexpectedly, pulling harshly to one side, or most commonly, just refusing to fucking move.

Aemond was beginning to think Barrel was not a horse at all, but some kind of demon.

He shouted as much when, after another not-so-subtle allusion to Arianwyn’s breasts, Barrel reared and bolted off the path and into the forest, making sure as many branches as possible hit his rider along the way.

The moment they came to a stop, Aemond leapt off the beast and stomped through the underbrush, unable to bear the creature’s presence for a single moment longer.

“You stupid, horrid, worthless godsdamned animal!” he roared, tearing sticks and leaves from his hair and straightening his eyepatch. Thank the gods it hadn’t come off; he did not want to imagine what Borros’ men would have said about what lay beneath.

Barrel whinnied and stared the Prince down with a challenge in his evil black eyes.

Yes, this was undoubtedly a demon.

Aemond drew his dagger, as his sword and bow were strapped to his saddle – the saddle still empty of any quarry. “I will fight you no longer,” he hissed, “I will simply send you back to the deepest of the Seven Hells where you belong.”

“And walk out of the forest on your own two feet?” Borros’ mocking voice echoed through the trees as he approached on his own, markedly well-behaved horse. “I dare say that is unbefitting behavior for a Prince of the Realm, though not nearly as much as murdering your host’s favorite horse.”

There was no self-control left in Aemond to try and hide his shock and disdain, nor the wave of relief that the Lord had left the rest of his entourage behind. With a huff, he sheathed his dagger.

“Please accept my apologies,” he said through gritted teeth. “I should not have lost my temper. If you give me a moment to collect myself, I will rejoin the party shorty.”

“No,” Borros sighed as he dismounted his steed and tied its reins loosely around the branch of a hazel tree. “You will not.”

Aemond’s scar was burning from both the branches that had whipped at his face and his rising anger. His nostrils flared as he looked at his host with undisguised contempt.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” he grumbled. “I meant no offense. I only – ”

“You have business with me,” Borros said, still unmannered and unfazed by the Prince’s fury. “Speak it now. Then, should you wish it, I will lend you my own horse to return you to your dragon. You can be back in your wife’s bed by nightfall.”

Even if he left this very moment, Aemond doubted Arianwyn would be waiting for him at the Red Keep when he returned. No, she would likely linger in the Vale with her cousin and godsmother until the three days were up.

But still, the offer was enticing. A night alone in his own rooms was more than preferable to spending even another hour here.

With one last look of pure loathing at Barrel, Aemond turned to face Lord Borros.

Though he could no longer hide the scorn swirling in his eye, he at least held himself as a properly mannered Prince, with his arms crossed behind him and his head held high. Even though he had just been seen threatening a fucking horse – albeit one he was still sure was somehow demonic – he maintained what dignity he could.

“The King has sent me to obtain your oath of allegiance,” he stated plainly, for pretense was no longer necessary. “In exchange, he offers a marriage pact between one of your daughters and my young brother, Prince Daeron. I have also been given some leave to promise the Crown’s support in other matters, within reason, should you feel the union insufficient.”

Borros smirked. “The bonds between our houses have always been strong. Pray tell, what has prompted such an overly generous offer now? Is my loyalty in doubt?”

“Of course not,” Aemond answered, far too quickly and harshly for a true diplomat. He sighed, regathering his composure. Away from the hunting party, their leering stares and boorish comments, he relaxed slightly – though the mere presence of Barrel still set him on edge. “King Aegon is eager to build his ties to the Great Houses, as he did not have the opportunity to do so in his short time as heir.”

“Pretty lies,” Borros hummed. “Perhaps you are more skilled a politician than I first assumed.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched. “My Lord, I remind you that I am a Prince of the Realm.”

“And you have come here to beg at my feet,” Borros spat back. “Because the mighty Prince and the profligate King fear that their bitch sister and her rogue husband will steal the crown, and you need my armies to put her down.”

“Watch yourself, Borros,” Aemond growled. “You tread dangerously close to treason.”

“Treason against whom? The King? Or the Queen?”

Aemond clenched his fists and slowly stepped forward, his right hand hovering near his dagger again. To his credit, Borros did not shy away.

“Treason against the true heir to the Iron Throne,” he answered, his words echoing those of his grandsire at the coronation. “Which by right of law and by my father’s dying wish is my brother. If Rhaenyra lays claim to the crown, she does so as a pretender and a usurper.”

“She will say the same of Aegon.”

“Then she will be wrong. And if she tries to fight us, she will be dead. As will anyone else who fights with her.”

Borros raised his brows, but his eyes were hard. “Are you threatening me, my Prince?”

Aemond scowled as the muscles in his cheek continued to spasm and ache. Perhaps if the scar didn’t cause him so much pain every time his temper rose even an inch, he could have handled this more diplomatically –like a Prince should.

But gods, it hurt.

He took a deep breath in, not smelling the dampness and decay of the autumn forest, but smoke and cold air – Arianwyn’s scent. A figment of his imagination, for she was nearly a thousand miles away. But still, it brought him comfort. Relief, if only for a moment.

The thought of her cleared his head enough for him to drop his hand from the hilt of the dagger and unclench his fists.

She would not have gotten so angry at Borros and his men. Yes, their jokes and lewd comments would have made her blush, but she would have played along. Perhaps she would even have enjoyed it. After all, she had grown quite fond of teasing him, even in the presence of others.

No, Arianwyn would have handled this with far more grace than he had. She would have Borros and his men wrapped around her precious little finger, ready to sail on Dragonstone the moment she asked it of them.

Seven Hells, even Barrel would have been smitten with her.

How someone so wonderful loved him, Aemond still did not understand. Would never understand.

All he could do was thank the gods that she did, and do everything he could to protect her.

Do this.

Because it wasn’t just Aegon who needed the allegiance of the Stormlands. Arianwyn needed it too.

If Rhaenyra gathered a sufficient army to truly fight Aegon for the throne, she would not only attack Aegon. She would come for everyone who posed a challenge to her claim.

Aegon. Helaena. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Maelor. Daeron. And Aemond.

And if they did not bow to her, she would eliminate the threat.

Even if they did capitulate, Daemon might kill them anyways.

He had married Arianwyn to keep her out of danger. But now, being his wife was precisely what put her life at risk.

His sleep had been plagued by nightmares of what Daemon would do if he found them.

Arianwyn tortured in front of him. Or her being forced to watch as he was tortured. Or killed. What Daemon would subject her to when Aemond was gone. Horrible, awful things that he would not allow his mind to return to.

The only way to prevent it was to give his brother an army that would dissuade Daemon – and Rhaenyra – from raising a challenge for the throne. Or that would ensure they had no hope of success if they did.

That army would require the might of the Stormlands. And that would require Borros. 

Aemond looked at the wry grin on the Stormlord’s face, and something clicked into place.

Borros had already acknowledged Aegon as the King the day before. He had no son, but had yet to recognize one of his daughters as his heir. He had welcomed Aemond into his home rather than turning him away.

“I am not threatening you,” Aemond said, realization and embarrassment sweeping over him. “Because you are not a threat to my brother. And you have no intention of becoming one.”

The smugness with which Borros smiled was almost enough to make Aemond take out his dagger again.  

“You made your decision before I arrived, didn’t you?” Aemond asked. “As soon as you received my grandsire’s letter.”

“Not entirely,” Borros shrugged, walking past Aemond to Barrel. The demon horse did not so much as flinch as he reached up to stroke his crooked snout. He was an entirely different beast now that he was with his true master. “If Rhaenyra herself had come here, I may have considered her. But she is not here. You are.”

“What about Rhaenys, your kin? Your House supported her at the Great Council. What is different now?” Aemond could not believe he was asking such questions. He had already gotten what he wanted – he should stay silent and leave in peace. Yet he could not restrain his curiosity.

Borros scoffed at that. “Aye, Princess Rhaenys is kin to me and mine. Some great-aunt I never knew was married to her father, but the both of them are dead, and Rhaenyra… she’s not Rhaenys, is she? Your sister is not a Baratheon. Perhaps she had a ferocity to entice me once, but she is tame now.”

The Lord’s face grew hard, his voice steely. “She has taken me and my house for granted. Never once while she was heir did she beg our support or offer hers. She has done nothing to earn my loyalty.”

“I understand,” Aemond whispered. Indeed, perhaps no one in the entire realm understood what it was like to be taken for granted more than he did.

The sin of the father had become the sin of the daughter, and it would be that very sin that damned her.

But there was yet one more thing he did not understand.

Aemond gestured to Barrel. “What was the point of him? Of taking me on this hunt and antagonizing me?”

When Borros clapped his shoulder again, it did not stir annoyance or rage within Aemond. He still did not like it, finding the gesture brutish, but he was willing to endure it.

“Negotiation tactic,” he explained while unloading Aemond’s weapons from Barrel’s saddle and tossing them on the forest floor between them. “I wanted you so sick of me that you would give me whatever I wanted in exchange for my allegiance so you could leave. Although I admit, I did not anticipate you threatening to kill my poor Barrel. That forced me to give up the ruse before I really wanted to, but I am still relatively pleased with the outcome.”

Aemond took his things and began swapping them for the supplies on Borros’ horse, which had been quietly gnawing on the leaves of a low branch, and did not move to kick or bite him at all. When he handed Borros his sword and quarry, he flicked his good eye back to Barrel.

“Is that really your favorite horse?” he asked.

“Yes,” Borros replied without hesitation. “He amuses me.”

As he mounted his new steed, Aemond smiled at the Lord and laughed. Not nearly as honestly as he did with Arianwyn, but still. He laughed.

“Now,” Borros said as he mounted the demonic beast – which Aemond could swear was smiling at him, “which of my daughters would your brother like?”

-

Arianwyn’s legs were about to give out, aching from what felt like hours of simply standing in the High Hall while Jeyne and the other Lords of the Vale conducted their business. She tried to pay attention, hoping to glean some lesson in leadership from the proceedings.

But she could not focus on the tedious negotiations about whose lands would have the honor of stocking the larder at the Gates of the Moon for Lady Arryn while she resided there for the winter. Not when her mind kept drifting back to what she planned to say to the court the moment they were finished.

Crop reports and petty border squabbles were simply not enough of a distraction.

For a while, she had occupied herself with admiring the hall's beauty – the blue-veined marble of the walls, the lovely slender pillars, the Weirwood thrones, and the various artwork scattered throughout the room.

After that, she stared at the Moon Door. When the court business became particularly tiresome, she imagined running through it and calling for Emrys to catch her before she hit the valley floor below. With how high the castle was, he would have ample time to reach her. Then they could soar through the waterfall together.

But she could not do that. For many reasons.

For one, it was a truly idiotic thing to do. Second, Aemond would surely die of shock if he ever found out she even had the thought. Most of all, because she had to stay and make her case.

She had to reveal what Daemon had done. His crimes would prove that whether Viserys had named Aegon his heir or not, Rhaenyra could not be Queen.

Because Rhaenyra knew precisely what her husband was. That he had maimed, and murdered, and raped to get what he wanted. And he would do it all again. Happily.

She knew he was a monster.

And she loved him anyway. She married him and bore him children. She proudly called him her consort and would happily give him a crown – give him power.

That could not happen.

So, she stayed put, standing next to Gerold with her hand folded prettily in front of her. She pretended to look interested in the dispute between Lord Corbray and Lord Belmore about one of them building a dam that would negatively affect the other – she had long forgotten which was which, as the debate had devolved into personal insults.

And she was not the only one exhausted by the argument.

In the middle of Lord Belmore dredging up some minor conflict from several hundred years ago, Jeyne slammed her hand on the arm of her throne, the sound echoing throughout the marble chamber.

“I will quite literally go mad if I have to listen to this story again, Holbert,” she groaned, exasperation evident on her face.

The Lord looked as though he may argue for a moment, but then Jeyne raised her hand to silence him, and he obeyed. Though he did mutter something under his breath.

“You are both supposedly intelligent men. Squabbling so publicly is shameful and, quite frankly, beneath you,” she scolded. Both men were her senior, yet they both looked down at their feet like children reprimanded for playing in the mud by their mother.

Arianwyn was amused by the sight. It reminded her of when Alicent would scold her and Aemond when they were caught in the library past curfew. Honestly, it was hard to believe the Queen ever punished them when their misdeeds were so tame compared to Aegon’s.

Oh gods, Aegon. King Aegon.

Her traitorous mind had taken a happy memory and turned it into an unwelcome reminder of why she was here. Another blow to her growing impatience.

If she didn’t get to speak soon, she might simply shout her piece for everyone to hear just to get it over with.

“It is a pointless debate,” Jeyne said, slumping over with her head in her hands. “Nothing can be constructed until after winter has passed, so you will have ample time to sort this out between yourselves. You are not to bring this matter before me again until a compromise has been reached.”

Lord Belmore looked like he had won a victory, whereas Lord Corbray acted as though the words had literally wounded him. But neither said anything more. Instead, they slunk to opposite sides of the hall.

Arianwyn sighed and waited for Jeyne to call some other Lord to discuss harvests, livestock, or –

“Lady Arianwyn of Runestone, on behalf of Aegon Targaryen.”

Her heart stopped in her chest, then resumed beating as though she had been running for hours. She frantically looked toward Gerold for some kind of support.

He only gave her a not entirely confident smile, laid a hand on her back, and pushed gently to the center of the room.

“I…” she began.

Then the entire room fell silent as the light disappeared, the sun itself blotted out by a great shadow circling the tower.

Men and women shrieked and cowered in fear while others ran to the windows to get a closer look, and a few even fell to their knees in prayer. Guards ran to each entrance, swords drawn. Ten knights immediately surrounded Jeyne, others gathering around each Lord present.

Ser Gerold himself drew his weapon and strode protectively to Arianwyn.

But she did not cower. She did not shriek. And she did not pray.

Arianwyn stood tall, her spine rigid with anger as she watched the shadow descend to the garden.

She recognized those green scales, those flashes of orange, and that shrill, juvenile roar. She understood Emrys’ warning growl that echoed off the marble as recognition settled upon them both.

“Seven fucking hells,” she whispered, not caring when Gerold looked down on her in surprise – he had never heard her talk so crudely. Usually, she did not care to use such coarse language. But in this case, she felt it more than justified.

For only moments later, escorted by eight Arryn guards, Jacaerys Velaryon strode through the doors and into the High Hall.

His brown eyes immediately locked onto Arianwyn, and he gave a short bow. “My dear sister,” he crooned. “What a wonderful surprise to find you here.”

-

By the time they rejoined the hunting party, Borros had convinced Aemond to not return immediately to King’s Landing and the promise of his wife’s embrace. Not because either man particularly wanted to continue socializing, for they were reluctant acquaintances at best, but because there were specifics about the marriage pact and alliance between their houses that needed to be discussed.

Foremost among these was the matter of which daughter Daeron would wed.

As Borros had four daughters– the four storms, they were called – and all were of marrying age, Aemond found himself spoiled for choice. The Stormlanders spent the rest of the hunt singing each girl’s praises, only stopping when they entered the dining hall, where each young Lady sat at the table, awaiting the judgment of the Prince.

Aemond asked each about her interests and desires, carefully calculated questions to help him determine the best match for his brother. He had felt the joy a loving wife could bring, and while Daeron did not share the luxury of marrying for love, he should be given the best chance of finding it.

There was the eldest, Cassandra. She had beauty, though it was severe and marred by her near-constant sneer. Her intellect was impressive, but she seemed to have no desire to use it. While perhaps the most traditional match, Borros himself steered Aemond away from selecting her. For past her carefully crafted elegance lay a deadly ambition. She would never be happy as the wife of a third son, even if that son were a Prince.

The second, Maris, was the least beautiful of the sisters. But she was the cleverest of them all. Rumors of her desire to study in Oldtown had once spread throughout the realm, prompting Arianwyn to entertain the prospect herself. But, of course, both their hopes were swiftly crushed. Women were hardly allowed entrance to the Citadel, much less leave to join the Order of Maesters. Perhaps it was that rejection that had made Maris so bitter of her lot in life, her tongue dangerously sharp. She would need a man with a wit to match her. And though Daeron was intelligent, he was far too gentle to be suited for a woman like Maris.

Ellyn was next. She was pretty, but not remarkably so. Smart, but no more than average. She dabbled in art and embroidery, not excelling at either. Her singing voice was fair, as was her skill with the harp, but she was far from prodigious. Any man would be perfectly pleased to have her for his wife, but Aemond doubted she would ever be their first choice.

Floris, however, would be many men’s first choice. She possessed the beauty that inspired men to create art, start wars, and defy the gods themselves for a chance at her hand. But to Aemond, she held no more allure than any of the paintings in the Red Keep’s gallery.

Only Arianwyn could compel him to such lengths. And she did.

The longer Aemond conversed with Floris, the more he realized that her beauty had become a crutch. She held no grand ambitions like Cassandra, was nowhere near as clever as Maris, nor as accomplished as Ellyn. But though the questions she asked Aemond regarding the history of his house were simple – the kind he would expect from a young child who had yet to start their lessons with their Septa, not a woman grown – he was charmed by her curiosity.

Unlike her sisters, nothing she said to him was intended to woo him into choosing her. She truly wanted to know about the house that may one day become her own. It mattered to her whether Vhagar was comfortable out in the rain, if the temporary shelter the servants had built for her was adequate. Her praise for Aemond’s performance during the hunt – he had brought back a brace of seven rabbits and a buck, his skill miraculously returned once he was atop a proper horse – was genuine.

She was kind. Simple, perhaps, but kind.

And so it was decided.

The youngest son of King Viserys would marry the youngest daughter of Lord Borros Baratheon. Not the most traditional match, but Aemond was confident in it.

Cassandra and Ellyn were gracious in offering their congratulations to their sister. Maris, less so.

She scoffed whenever Floris asked about her new betrothed, downing her wine with as much skill and ardor as Aegon. When the subject of the dowry came up, she took to making snide comments under her breath.

Neither Lord nor Lady Baratheon scolded her. Though Cassandra did kick her under the table after a particularly nasty jibe, if Aemond was correctly interpreting their shuffling in their seats.

Not wanting to upset his host, Aemond said nothing of it and continued his negotiation. “Apartments will be furnished at the Red Keep, though we suspect Daeron would prefer to remain in Oldtown for the time being. As such, representatives of my mother’s family in the Reach have begun inquiries into procuring a suitable estate within the city.”

“I would live in Oldtown, not King’s Landing?” Floris asked, her blue eyes wide.

Maris rolled her eyes and muttered into her goblet, “That is what he just said, you stupid girl.”

Aemond frowned but did not acknowledge her. He knew from experience with his own tormentors and detractors that to do so would give her exactly what she wanted – his attention.

So, he turned to Floris and offered a small smile. “Should you wish it, I am sure Daeron would like to have you near to him. But the Red Keep will also be available to you if that is what you would prefer.”

Floris smiled back at him. “I don’t know what I would prefer. I have never been to a city before.”

“I think you would like Oldtown, my darling,” Lady Elenda said, her first contribution to the conversation in some time. “It is quite beautiful and full of art and culture. And the climate of the Reach would agree with you. You have always been summer’s child.”

“Could we get married there, then?” she asked of her father. “It is already autumn, and I should like flowers at my wedding. Real flowers, not ones grown in a hot house.”

Borros chuckled. “I think that depends on when you get married, dear. There is much to be decided before – ”

Vhagar’s roaring cut him off.

It was not the low grumbling she had done when she sensed her rider being tormented by Barrel, but a sharp roar of warning.

Something was coming.

Aemond immediately stood from his chair, hand grazing over the hilt of his sword as he scanned the exits to the room.

Borros was deathly still, though his eyes were wide. Elenda and Ellyn had grasped hands across the table, mother leading daughter in prayer. Cassandra was doing her best to not look afraid while Floris bore her fear plainly. Maris only stared up at Aemond, her lips slightly parted and brow furrowed as she assessed his reaction.

“My Prince?” she asked, the title coming out like a taunt. “Is something wrong?”

He glanced briefly at her before turning his eyes back to the window above them, searching amongst the dark, roiling clouds that had not yet loosed their rain for the shadow he knew would soon be approaching.

“I believe it may be,” he answered. “Another dragon is here.”

-

After a long moment, wherein Arianwyn felt every ounce of safety and happiness she had felt in this place disappear, Jace finally tore his eyes from hers and stepped around her towards the Weirwood throne.

“Lady Jeyne,” he said, bowing to the stern woman upon the throne. “I am Jacaerys Velaryon, the newly crowned Prince of Dragonstone and heir to my mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen – your dear cousin.”

Arianwyn clenched her fists at her sides and muttered a slew of curses under her breath. It was only Gerold’s firm hand on her arm that stopped her from leaping at Jace with her teeth bared.

“My mother has sent me here to personally bring you news of her accession,” Jace continued, entirely oblivious to the girl raging behind him. “As well as to ensure your support for her as your Queen and that you will defend her throne against the Usurper, Aegon Targaryen, should she call upon your aid.”

He wore a smug, pleased smile as he looked at Arianwyn over his shoulder. The same nauseating look he had whenever he said something he thought to be particularly witty, and she could not reply to him for fear of reprisal from Daemon.

Digging her nails into her palms, she clenched her teeth so hard she thought they would shatter. This couldn’t be happening.

The Vale was hers. By right of birth and blood.

How dare he try to claim it from her?

How dare he ruin this?

But Gerold held her back, whispering into her ear as the court – including Jeyne – began to glance suspiciously between the Prince and the Princess. “Calm yourself, Aria,” he commanded. “If you lose your temper now, you will lose your credibility with the court.”

“Lord Belmore turned as red as a beet and called Lord Corbray a ‘selfish cunt’ in this very room only minutes ago,” she hissed. “Did he lose credibility?”

Gerold grimaced. “You know it is not the same thing. Not for you.”

She could scream, but she understood the logic in his words. As a woman – a girl, really – even a small outburst from her would be interpreted more harshly than any tantrum a man could throw. Besides, her only credibility with these men came from the Royce blood within her veins.

And perhaps the large dragon she rode that now rested in the garden.

With a slight nod, she began to take slow, careful breaths to calm her racing heart.

“Good,” he said, loosening your grip on her. “Now greet your stepbrother – kindly. Tell him you are happy to see him and laugh that his dragon gave you a fright.”

Arianwyn took one more deep breath before she pressed her hand to her chest and plastered a wide, false smile on her face.

“Jace!” she exclaimed, channeling her anger into breathy laughs that she hoped conveyed surprise and delight. “I had not expected to see you so soon after you left King’s Landing, but it is a most welcome surprise. Though I admit, Vermax gave me quite the fright with how he circled the tower so menacingly!”

She laughed again to try and banish the hint of malice that had slipped into her words. But her disdain was evident in her cold silver eyes.

“And while I commend you for the eloquent delivery of what I have no doubt was a carefully rehearsed speech,” she said, the taunt only caught by Jace and Gerold, “I am afraid you have interrupted my own address to the court.”

Jace looked at her with uncertainty. He obviously couldn’t decide whether he should respond to her teasing – if he could find the words to. But his curiosity won out over his offense.

“My apologies, sister,” he said, only because he knew how much it bothered her when he used that word. “What, pray tell, are you speaking to the court about?”

She gave him the sweetest false smile he had ever seen and feigned bashfulness. “I am here to announce my marriage to my fellow Valeman, of course. And to introduce myself as the Lady of Runestone, now that the title is mine to claim.”

His jaw clenched, and Arianwyn straightened her back as she stepped toward the center of the room once more, commanding the attention of all gathered.

“And is Prince Aemond here?” Jace asked just before she opened her mouth to speak. He made a show of looking around the room for his uncle, then turned back to her. “I did not see Vhagar on my flight here, but I know how… protective he is of you. Surely, he would not allow you to make such a long journey on your own – and unsupervised?”

Whispers ran through the crowd. Wonderings about whether the One-Eyed Prince was hiding somewhere within the Eyrie, ready to strike. Expressions of pity for the poor Lady of Runestone, now forced to be the pet wife of such a cruel man.

Each word was like a blade in Arianwyn’s heart – no doubt precisely what Jace intended.

Perhaps he was cleverer than she gave him credit for. Either that, or he just enjoyed taunting her.

The literal bastard.

Arianwyn acted as though she didn’t hear the horrible things being said by the Lords of the Vale, and instead pretended to be shy as she fought against her pious sense of modesty. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

“Aemond and I were both hesitant to be so far apart only days after we were wed,” she admitted, making sure to blush and look away when she caught Jeyne’s eye. The perfect picture of a new bride. “And since Emrys and I have been confined to Dragonstone these past six years, he was concerned about our safety in making this journey alone. Especially since he was sent to Storm’s End.”

“I’m sure he’s grateful for the cold rain,” a Lord’s son in the crowd whispered, not as quietly as he surely meant to, and was quickly walloped by his father for his crudeness.

“But do not worry cousin,” Arianwyn said to Jace, even going so far as to set a comforting hand on his arm. “I have clearly arrived safely, thank in no small part to my husband. He spent more than an hour reviewing the maps with me and helped pack my saddlebags the morning of our departure. Why he even spoke to Emrys just before I took flight to give him words of encouragement.”

Jace scowled, his frown intensifying when she called him ‘cousin.’ But he did not respond.

Satisfied that she had once more forced him into flustered silence, Arianwyn released his arm and addressed the rest of the room.

“But while I am thrilled that I finally have the opportunity to meet all of you, and to be able to personally bring you the news of my marriage, I am also here on behalf of my good brother, King Aegon,” she added, as though it were an afterthought, not the true purpose of her visit.

Arianwyn ignored the widening of Jace’s eyes as she looked up at Jeyne on the Weirwood throne. “He has sent me with his fondest greetings to express his admiration for, and loyalty to, the Vale and its people. Although he was granted so little time as the heir to the throne, he swears that as your King, he will prove himself worthy of the same admiration and loyalty from all of you.”

“Prince Aegon had no time as heir to the throne,” Jace hissed, “because he never was the heir to the throne. My – ”

“Perhaps the news has not reached Dragonstone,” Arianwyn said, her animosity no longer hidden in her voice. “Or Rhaenys may have declined to mention it among the details of all the innocents she killed at the coronation, but Aegon was the heir. By law and by Viserys’ own proclamation, just before the Stranger took him.”

Jace stepped forward until he was nose to nose with her, entirely oblivious to the bewildered look of the crowd. “If you actually believe that…” he snarled, then bit back whatever he was going to say. “I thought you were smarter than that, sister.”

“I am not your fucking sister,” she growled, suddenly wishing she hadn’t left her dagger – or Lamentation – in her chambers.

Jeyne pounded the side of her throne, drawing the attention of the room back to her. She was silent momentarily, her breathing heavy and dark eyes full of rage. Then, she stood.

“That is enough!” she shouted. “Court is ended for the day. Prince Jacaerys, Princess Arianwyn, come with me. Now.”

They stared at each other, unsaid insults crackling between them like fire. Arianwyn was almost taken aback. With his dark eyes blazing like that, Jace looked more like a Targaryen than ever before – even when on dragonback.

After a long moment, they turned and followed Jeyne out of the throne room, Gerold and Jessamyn close behind them. As well as several on-edge guards.

Walking side by side through the halls of the Eyrie, they remained painfully silent, the only sound the howling of the mountain wind and the clanking of the guards’ armor.

As the minutes passed, Arianwyn felt a clawing sense of dread settle in her stomach. Despite Gerold’s warnings, she had lost her temper. Likely her credibility with the court as well.

But the opinion of the court almost didn’t matter. Not when the sight of Jeyne looking at her with such anger and disappointment haunted her every breath and flashed in her vision every time she closed her eyes.

Had she just ruined everything?

No, she reminded herself. It wasn’t her that frightened the court by flying her dragon dangerously close to the tower. She hadn’t interrupted her own petition. And between her and Jace, she had not been the first to antagonize the other.

Why was he so fucking obsessed with calling her ‘sister?’

Gerold coughing pointedly broke her from her thoughts and made her realize that she had been glaring at Jace. She quickly turned away, instead locking her eyes onto the wild dark curtain of Jeyne’s hair as the Lady of the Vale stomped angrily through the halls of her keep.

Arianwyn would have to apologize. She wanted to. And she would. Just… after Jace left.

Jeyne finally stopped before the dining hall and motioned for one of the servants flanking the pale wooden doors without turning to acknowledge any of those who followed her there.

“Set another place,” she informed the man. “Prince Jacaerys has paid us an unexpected visit and will join us for dinner.”

Every curse she ever learned blared in Arianwyn’s head like a dragon’s roar. But she let none of them spill over as she walked into the room and took the seat by Jeyne’s left, nor as Jace took the chair across from her.

Indeed, the entire room was silent until another setting had been assembled on the table in front of Jessamyn, who had been impressively gracious when protocol dictated she surrender her usual seat to the Prince.

But the servants did not move to lay the food on the table, stopped at the door by a gesture from Jeyne.”

“Before we eat,” she said, her voice ringing with barely concealed anger, “I feel I must, unfortunately, set some rules for how this meal will progress.”

Arianwyn tried not to think too much about how Jeyne only looked at her and Jace as she spoke, not Gerold or Jessamyn.

“There will be absolutely no discussion of why either of you is here,” she continued. “That is a matter for the court, not the dinner table. You will each have the chance to make your petitions tomorrow.”

When she noticed Arianwyn’s face fall for a moment, she took her godsdaughter’s hand. “I have sent word that the court will convene in the early morning, my dear. I promise you will be home before the three days are up.”

Jace raised an eyebrow as he sulked but remained silent.

“Our conversation will be pleasant and civil,” Jeyne instructed. “If either of you begins to act otherwise, I will not hesitate to call an end to this gathering and confine you to your quarters until the morning. Is this understood?”

The Prince and Princess both muttered their agreement, prompting Jeyne to signal for the servants to bring the food.

It was only after several minutes of awkward eating, wherein no one looked anywhere but at their own plates, that Jessamyn finally spoke.

She set down her fork and smiled at Arianwyn. “Gerold told me that you hope to return to Runestone before winter makes travel too difficult. Do you know exactly when you will be there? I – and Jeyne, I am sure – would love to be among your first visitors.”

“Brynna was planning to depart as soon as my people arrived back from Dragonstone,” Arianwyn explained. If she ignored Jace, perhaps she could fall into the same comfort she had the night before. “Aemond and I would fly there only after she sent word that everything was up to her standards.”

“Which could take half a year or more,” Gerold grumbled.

Arianwyn laughed, but the sound died when she noticed that Jace was laughing as well.

He also fell silent, staring at her expectantly with a wry grin.

“What?” she asked, her brow furrowed in anger and annoyance.

Jace had the gall to laugh again as he speared a piece of meat on his fork. “Nothing, I just…” he licked his lips. “I am not used to you actually talking at meals.”

She snarled back at him, wishing she could spear him with her fork. “I had nothing to say on Dragonstone. No one to really talk to.”

His smile faded into a sneer, his thick brow forming a hard line over his dark eyes. “You talked to me. Quite often, as I recall. Just never at dinner.”

A smirk passed over her lips as she remembered how often she had snapped back at him in those smooth stone halls, often leaving him gaping as his simple mind struggled to find a witty reply. More often than not, she had left him behind by the time he finally formed words.

But at dinners…

She could not respond to his taunts at dinner. Not with Daemon present. Not when she did not know what he would do if she did. Whatever momentary shame she felt for her childish fear vanished when she remembered what her father had done the first time she had risen to Jace’s baiting.

Beneath her nearly faded bruises, she could still feel Daemon’s fingers closing around her throat.

Arianwyn raised her chin, allowing Jace to see the greenish-yellow remnants of her father’s failed attempt on her life before she replied. “And you never wondered why that was?”

As his gaze flickered to her neck, she could swear she saw a flicker of regret. But it passed quickly, replaced by annoyance and anger.

“How is your new husband?” he asked before chewing on his meat like it had personally offended him.

“Prince Aemond is utterly perfect,” she answered with a wide, saccharine smile and a voice dripping with adoration. “He is every maiden’s dream. Kind. Gentle. And oh, so loving.”

She dropped her voice suggestively on the last word, recalling Jace’s anger when Aemond was accused of raping her. How he had raised his sword to defend her virtue. How he had called her his ‘sister.’

Biting her lip as she let herself remember the feeling of her husband’s glorious tongue on every inch of her skin, she did not try and hide the deep blush that crept over her cheeks. She wanted Jace to see how much she enjoyed being Aemond’s wife – how willing she was to share his bed.

And it worked brilliantly. Jace’s face flushed with anger, the redness spreading to his ears as he blazed with rage. Then, once again, he simply sat there steaming as his mind fumbled to come up with a response.

They were both so engrossed in their private battle of words that neither noticed Jeyne and Gerold staring wide-eyed at each other as they silently debated whether or not this counted against her earlier warning. Jessamyn kept her eyes locked on her plate, resolved to stay out of whatever odd Targaryen family drama this was.

The slight pursing of Jeyne’s lips was as good as a command, and Gerold set down his fork and steepled his hands as he cleared his throat to draw attention. “Yes,” he said. “We are overjoyed to welcome Prince Aemond into our family and our house. He will be a wonderful consort for our dear Arianwyn. Why, just today, I even ga – ”

Jace’s disbelieving laughter cut off the knight’s plea. He leaned back in his chair, his food entirely forgotten. “Aemond as a consort? He’ll go mad within a week.”

“He’s quite excited, actually!” Jessamyn cut in. Her bright green eyes were wide, desperate to steer the conversation towards something lighter – friendlier. “Prince Aemond just took on a flock of thirty-two sheep in King’s Landing. I assume he will bring them to Runestone with you, yes?”

Unfortunately for Arianwyn, Jace survived choking on his wine when he heard that news.

“Aemond got you sheep?” he asked incredulously, not bothering to conceal his gleeful grin. “That is by far the strangest wedding present I’ve ever heard of. And not at all what I’d expect of my grim uncle.”

Gerold slammed his hand on the table, ignoring the look of ire he received from Jeyne. “The sheep were no wedding present, my Prince,” he growled. “Their shepherd was killed at the Dragonpit and had no relatives to take them on. Aemond acted out of compassion and a desire to help his wife feel closer to the Vale – her homeland.”

“How noble of him,” Jessamyn mused, still trying to play the peacemaker.

Jace ignored her, looking only at Arianwyn. A hard glint had appeared in his eyes at the mention of the Dragonpit. Had Rhaenys told them the truth of what happened there – how many people she had killed?

“Is Vhagar going to be his sheepdog?” he asked mockingly, chuckling at his own joke. No one else laughed with him. “Will he carry a crook?”

“My Prince,” Jeyne warned.

But Jace had already completely slipped back into his dinnertime habit of baiting Arianwyn.

“The ‘one-eyed shepherd’ sounds like one of those silly little stories you’re so fond of,” he remarked. “Perhaps even more than the “One-Eyed Prince.”

Arianwyn shot up from her chair so quickly that the table shook. Every person in the room, servants included, froze.

The scene was familiar. Hauntingly so.

A meal that was little more than a futile attempt at peace. Ruined by a Strong bastard goading a trueborn Targaryen and igniting their fiery anger.

Jace’s taunting was as infuriating to Arianwyn as Luke’s laughter was to Aemond.

Yet only one of them would be blamed.

And it wouldn’t be Jace.

Aemond’s outburst had led to Daemon’s attempt to murder Arianwyn. To their hurried wedding. To Daemon’s assault on Brynna. To those vile accusations he hurled against Aemond that seemed to have already taken root throughout the realm.

What would be said about Arianwyn if she lost her temper here?

She took a deep, rasping breath and turned away from the table. Slowly, she pushed her chair back in and straightened her dress. At last, she faced Jeyne.

“Forgive me, godsmother,” she said. “I am afraid I have lost my appetite. With your permission, I should like to retire for the evening. I need a good rest before my flight back to King’s Landing tomorrow.”

Jeyne’s dark eyes were filled with both relief and pride. “Of course, my darling. I will have a maid wake you in time for court.”

“Thank you,” Arianwyn whispered. She nodded once to Jeyne. Then Gerold. Then Jessamyn. And without acknowledging Jace, she left the dining hall.

Tomorrow, she would make her case to the Valish court. And whether they accepted or rejected her petition, she reminded herself that while she would sleep alone this night, she would spend the next in her husband’s arms.

-

As he followed the procession into the Round Hall, the throne room of Storm’s End, Aemond was exceedingly glad he had kept his sword and dagger on him during dinner. The servant who alerted them that a dragon had indeed landed had not offered any detail about which dragon it was, not even the most basic description.

“Is it Daeron, my Prince?” Floris asked him. While the rest of her sisters had gone to stand at the side of their father’s throne, she was still next to him. She assumed that, as she was officially betrothed to his brother, her loyalty was now to him.

He gave her a reassuring smile, knowing he had chosen wisely. Daeron would be quite charmed by her. And he was sure Helaena and Arianwyn would take to her as well.

“I do not believe so, Lady,” he answered. “He remains in Oldtown, where he will stay until he is summoned to the capital to meet you on your arrival.”

She smiled and blushed slightly. “Then who is it?”

“I do not know,” Aemond sighed, biting the inside of his cheek as he considered the question.

It could be Meleys carrying Rhaenys to the keep of her cousin after leaving Dragonstone. Would she come seeking shelter from the coming conflict, or to sway Borros to Rhaenyra’s cause?

Or it could be Caraxes and Daemon coming to vie for the loyalty of the Stormlands himself. Aemond almost wished it to be true. Seeing the look on Daemon’s face when he learned that his new son-by-law had beaten him again may feel even better than killing him.

Though it was nigh on impossible, Aemond even considered that it could be Emrys bringing Arianwyn to him. Perhaps she had already won the Vale and was so desperate to see him again that she came here instead of returning to King’s Landing.

It was none of them.

Floris looked over his shoulder, a look of confusion on her face. “It is just a boy.”

Though his blind side faced the door, Aemond knew instantly who it was.

It was worse than Daemon, yet somehow almost better than Arianwyn.

As he turned away from Floris, ignoring her still questioning gaze, he saw the boy.

Lucerys Velaryon.

Aemond’s heart began to beat hard and slow, as it had been conditioned to do when he entered battle. To keep him calm and level-headed. To let him last until the fighting was done. To ensure he did not make any foolish mistakes.

That whelp had the gall to come here alone?

Aemond almost laughed, especially when Luke’s eyes – the muddy brown eyes of a bastard, not a true Valyrian – met his, and the boy looked afraid.

The face that was once twisted with rage and splattered with blood, that had not long ago laughed at his expense, was now slack with fear.

It was one of the most gratifying things Aemond had ever seen. He could not help the slight curling of his lips at the sight.

Still, a twinge of pain struck deep in his skull when the bastard was announced as “Prince.”

Surely the realm could now do away with that ridiculous pretense. No one was left to defend the bastards’ legitimacy – save their whore mother.

Lucerys was as much a Prince as that pig he had once led into the Dragonpit was a dragon.

At least the Baratheon page only referred to Rhaenyra as ‘Princess.’

The allegiance of Storm’s End was firm, then. If even the servants knew that they bowed not to a Queen, but a King.

With another clash of thunder, Lucerys looked away from his uncle and back to the Lord of the Stormlands. His voice was small and pitiful as he began his plea. “Lord Borros, I have brought you a message from my mother – the Queen.”

Aemond did not look to Borros. He did not want to miss the look on Lucerys’ face when he realized he would be returning to his usurper mother empty-handed.

“Yet only a day ago, I received an envoy from the King,” Borros said.

There was no hint of the man who, only the day before, had greeted Aemond so informally in his trophy room. Who drank and laughed with his men. Who adored a horse that was more demon than animal.

There was only the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, a man with lightning in his eyes and thunder in his blood.

“Which is it?” Borros asked. Lucerys looked again to Aemond, the lapse in attention not helping the Baratheon’s swiftly souring mood. “King? Or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.”

Borros laughed, the lonely sound echoing throughout the chamber.

Had he not known better, the taunt may have grated at Aemond. But he knew the allegiance of Storm’s End was secure. And for the first time, he almost shared Borros’ sense of humor.

Lucerys retrieved a scroll from within his cape, handing it to one of the four guards flanking him. And as the guard walked forward, he turned back to his uncle.

Aemond’s heart jumped slightly, its pace quickening out of his control, and he looked down at his feet.

He told himself it was merely an amused reaction to the futility of Lucery’s tactic. That it was laughable that the boy was too afraid to relay the message himself and instead relied upon the words of the mother, like a child fearful of standing up to his own bully.

It certainly was not because Aemond feared what may be written in that message. That perhaps whatever leverage his half-sister and Rhaenys had over Borros may negate everything he had done for his brother this past day. That all his efforts were for naught.

Aemond turned his eye back to his nephew, telling himself over and over that he was not afraid.

Not anymore.

He couldn’t be.

He wouldn’t be.

The guard gave the note to Borros, who immediately called for the Maester. An advisor – a man who had not been on the hunt – ran to fetch one.

Lucerys looked back to Aemond and set his hand on his sword.

Aemond’s heart truly began to race then, his mind running away with it.

Run, it told him. Get away before he can hurt you again. Before he takes the other eye. Before he hurts her.

The steps of the approaching Maester sounded as far away as King’s Landing. As far from him as Arianwyn.

But Arianwyn was not here, he had to remind himself. Every instinct screamed that she was just behind him, struggling to breathe as she writhed helplessly in the sand. Lucerys could not hurt her. Just as he could not hurt Aemond.

He was still just a boy.

Aemond was a man.

A warrior strong enough to defeat the greatest knights in the realm. The rider of the largest dragon in the world – a dragon who sat just outside the castle. A true Prince, not a bastard pretending to be what he was not. What he could never be.

The sapphire in his eye felt like it had caught fire.  

“‘Remind’ me of my father’ oath….” Borros’ ire-filled voice snapped him back to reality. “King Aegon at least came with an offer. My swords and banners for a marriage pact.”

Fear sparked in Lucerys’ eyes as he balked at the rage now facing him.

Had he expected it to be that simple? That Storm’s End would be handed to him as easily as everything else?

A fool.

His mother was not here to lie for him. Daemon was not here to murder anyone who would oppose him.

He was helpless – just as Aemond had been when he was blinded by the sand Jacaerys had thrown, allowing Lucerys to strike with that stolen blade.

It was almost justice.

“If I do as your mother bids,” Borros growled, “which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?”

“My Lord,” Lucerys mewled. “I am not free to marry. I am already betrothed.” He glanced again at Aemond and the Baratheon girl standing next to him.

Yet another thing that had been so effortlessly given to him. A trueborn Valyrian bride. A daughter of Daemon – Arianwyn’s dear sister.

When he married Rhaena, would anyone accuse him of raping her?

Of course not. Lucerys was the noble son of Princess Rhaenyra. The gentle young heir to Driftmark could never do anything so vile.

How easily the world had forgotten the blood he had already shed. Aemond’s blood.

“So, you come with empty hands,” Borros grumbled. “Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, my Lord,” he replied, with the same look of anger and defiance he wore when his face was spattered with Aemond’s blood.

Any satisfaction he may have felt at the boy being so soundly dismissed vanished when he beheld that expression. Aemond looked down at the stone floor and forced himself to breathe as a roiling wave of pain washed over him, his nostrils flaring and his lips pulling into a flat line to bite back a scream.

Then Lucerys turned to leave. To run back to his mother and Daemon, who would assure him he had done nothing wrong. Perhaps they would even raze the Stormlands for the insult of denying their sweet, perfect little bastard Prince.

Aemond could not allow it.

This was not justice.

The bastard had stolen his eye and faced no consequence.

It could not be the same now.

There was a new King.

There would be justice.

There would be punishment.

For taking Aemond’s eye, and for his current treason.

“Wait!” he called before he could think better of it. Not that he could if he wanted to.

His mind had abandoned him. It was not logic or any form of rational thinking that had him raising his eye again to Lucerys, the boy frozen in terror as he waited for his uncle’s next words. Instead, his every action was now dictated by the six years of fiery rage that burned in his heart.

“My Lord Strong,” Aemond drawled.

There was no one there who would contradict him. No one there to protect the boy’s fragile feelings.

Good.

Aemond cocked his head, the motion reminiscent of a dragon assessing its prey, and prowled forward. “Did you really think you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

He felt the weight of his dagger and sword like limbs itching for use. The sapphire still blazed, as though it would project white-hot fire if Aemond only lifted the patch covering it.

Lucerys stepped back toward him. “I will not fight you,” he declared. “I came as a messenger, not a warrior.

A messenger – an errand boy. A lowly role well suited for a bastard. Especially one whose blade sat so uncomfortably on his hip.

“A fight would be little challenge,” Aemond mused, his head once more twitching to the right as every nerve in his face seared.

No, he did not want a fight.

A fight was fair. A fight had rules. A fight implied an even match between opponents.

That was not what he was given in that tunnel so many years ago. It was not what he would give Lucerys now.

He wanted justice.

There was a pulse of something around his sapphire. Not pain, but a calling. A plea.

“No,” Aemond proclaimed, his arm raising as he closed his fingers around the leather of his eyepatch and tore it away. “I want you to put out your eye.”

The cool air on the ruined skin was nearly as soothing as Arianwyn’s touch, so much so that he did not care that every person in the room blanched and shied away from the sight of him – even kind Floris.

He knew all too well the horror of the scar that marred his face, of his missing eye. The sick fascination of the jewel that now lay in its place– its beauty entirely at odds with the viciousness of what surrounded it.

“I want you to put out your eye,” he demanded. “As payment for mine.”

Even the storm quieted.

Aemond brushed aside his coat and retrieved his dagger, his fingers grazing the marks Arianwyn had left on the hilt.

“One will serve,” he said plainly, before tossing the dagger to the floor between him and his prey. The sound of it clattering on the stones was sharper than any crack of thunder.

“I would not blind you,” he crooned with the cloying magnanimity of a power-drunk Septon.

It was a mercy, he thought, to only make him pay this long-standing debt as punishment for his treason. When it would be well within his right to take the boy’s head.

But he would be benevolent and only take his eye. The price Alicent had demanded and been denied on Driftmark.

Aemond smiled and hummed, his expression almost bashful. “Plan to make a gift of it to my mother,” he explained. “Or perhaps Arianwyn, as a wedding present.”

For she had been as distraught as Alicent. More so, even. It was Arianwyn who had pressed her hands to the fresh wound to staunch the bleeding. He so vividly remembered what she looked like in the throne room at Driftmark, nearly every inch of her stained with blood. Even then, red had not suited her.

He had not yet given her a ring, but he could give her this.

Lucerys looked up from the dagger, looking so like his father – Harwin Strong always had an air of righteousness , however false, about him.

“No,” the bastard said.

Pain radiated from Aemond’s eye to every inch of his body.

“Then you are craven as well as traitor,” he hissed.

The aching from the sapphire was now thrumming at the same pace as his heart.

“Not here!” Borros barked, suddenly aware that there was a dragon in his castle.

But Aemond was already moving.

“Give me your eye!” he bellowed as he surged forward, a beast advancing on its prey. His fingers wrapped around his dagger, so numbed by his rage that he could not feel Arianwyn’s mark in the leather or the gold. “Or I will take it, bastard!”

Lucerys drew his sword, holding it with little skill, as though it was the first time.

“Not in my hall!” Borros shouted as he finally rose from his throne.

It was not the Lord’s plea that stopped Aemond mere strides from Lucerys, his blade held level with the boy’s eyes. Instead, it was a tugging feeling in Aemond’s skull, as though the sapphire itself was pulling him back, reining him in like a rope around his waist.

“The boy came as an envoy,” Borros begged – not commanded. For though he bore the distant blood of House Targaryen in his veins, it was diluted by time and bastardy. He could not hope to control a dragon. “I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Take the boy back to his dragon. Now!”

Aemond did not lower his blade, but he moved no further. An indomitable cold had spread through his veins and frozen him in place. He could only watch as the pitiful boy clumsily sheathed his blade and ran from the hall.

But the fire in his heart, in his very soul, continued to grow. As Lucerys disappeared from sight, it burned bright and hot enough to melt the ice holding him back. He spun his dagger twice in his hand, flexing the tightened muscles as warmth slowly returned to him, and turned back to Borros.

For the first time, the Baratheon looked at Aemond with fear. As did his wife, daughters, and all his men. If he ever returned, he was sure they would never make a joke at his expense again.

“I thank you for your hospitality,” he said, not a trace of the diplomatic Prince left to be seen. “But I shall take my leave now.”

He said nothing more as he stalked out of the castle, not bothering to retrieve any of his belongings that remained in the guest chambers. All the cries, pleas, and orders for him to stop faded among the sounds of the storm that raged around him.

Thunder boomed, lightning cracked, rain poured – and Vhagar roared.

She knew exactly what had happened. And what needed to happen next.

By the time Aemond reached her side, already thoroughly drenched, she was practically purring with excitement.

“Issa jēda naejot arghugon, Vhagar!” he called to her over the din of the storm as he mounted the saddle and hastily strapped himself into place. “Konīr iksis iā nādrēsy naejot ūndegon, se iā gēlȳn naejot sagon addemmagon.” It is time to hunt. There is a bastard to catch, and a debt to be paid.

Next Chapter

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