#valyrian purple my beloved

[arcielee]

At last, when all of the world is asleep

Summary: A Dornish princess is the siren call to break the vows of the Kingsguard. Paring: Ser Erryk Cargyll x Dornish!Reader Word Count: 2015 Warnings: AFAB reader, plotting sexual situations, alcohol consumption, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, finger licking good. Author’s Note: Thank you to my beloved beta reader @sylasthegrim 💜 I appreciate you and your edits, always. Banner by @saradika Title comes from Hozier's lyrics De Selby Part 1 (are we surprised by this?) and the plot comes from this ask: "I want a beautiful princess to corrupt and completely ruin him and make him break his oath." Enjoy! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1

The shudder was gratifying, trilling your spine with how his beard tickled the column of your neck, his lips both soft and warm, and the welcomed contrast of his teeth to taste. Your fingers grabbed to pull him closer to the cradle of your hips, burying your face in the nap of his neck and your mouth suckling on his pulsepoint with enough pressure to bruise; you felt him shiver, his voice strangled, husky, when he called out your name. 

To that, you pulled back, abrupt, catching his gaze and your hand coming up to wag a finger. “Good ser,” you tsked, your lips curling upwards, “do not forget who I am.” 

His eyes were glassy, the blue-gray storm that was slowly being swallowed by black. “Forgive me, princess,” he was quick to correct, watching for your response. 

You gave another smirk, your arms reaching to wrap around his neck to pull him back into your embrace, his welcomed musk of blade oil against the perspiration of his skin. “Gentle ser,” you almost purred before capturing his mouth again. 

He was not Valyrian, not the dragon you sought, but the knight was handsome still. And besides, you were sorely out of practice after the imposed propriety of Northern Westerosi customs and the role of a grieving widow. 

When your father had first mentioned the prospect of marrying into the Velaryon House, the Valyrian blood called to you, a curiosity if your babes would be born with silver heads or the crystalline hues of amethysts eyes, and you were quick to accept the proposal. You packed away your dresses and left Sunspear, boarding the ship to travel the Narrow Sea and bring you to your betrothed. 

The marriage had been disappointingly short-lived; your husband was everything you had imagined, handsome, tall, his silver hair knotted back and his clever purple eyes bright, watching you every movement with care, with desire. The consummation had a passion that carried over until dawn, but only after he was gone did your cycle follow to show it did not bear fruit.

“Do not fret, princess,” Princess Rhaenys offered comfort, “you will have plenty of try-agains when they return.”

But she had spoken too soon and you received word that his life was claimed in the Stepstones, though the real tragedy that followed came from the widow garb you were now expected to don. The seamstresses were quick to fit you with the heavy, itchy fabric that covered your skin and robbed you of what little sunlight spilled through to the gray island that you were caged in a figurative sense. 

While your family by marriage grieved the life lost, you mourned your freedom, you mourned the sun you had left behind in Dorne, of the air on your skin that would show in your garments that were now packed away. 

Hope came as a raven, sent by the king and queen of the Seven Realms, extending their sympathies and offering the opportunity to leave the gray slab of land in the middle of Blackwater Bay, with an invitation to the capital so that you could serve Princess Helaena as company. You accepted with the same breath as you finished the words out loud, your claimant that your father’s intention wished you to be an envoy for Dorne, when really your sights were set on a Targaryen prince, your Valyrian bloodlust. 

King’s Landing was bright, bustling with life; you were escorted from the docks inside to the Red Keep where you would meet with the royal family, astutely aware how every set of eyes followed your steps; you gave a wistful sigh, certain of the attention if you could be rid of the widow gowns. 

Gratefully, the queen was considerate of the temperature change in comparison to Driftmark, and the seamstress was sent to recede the fabric in your neckline and sleeves. It still was far from the comfort of your own dresses, but considerably better after half a year of bereavement. It was a taste of freedom, and you dared to add subtle touches of make up, nothing exorbitant, just a touch of tinted beeswax to gloss your lips, a smear of kohl to frame your eyes.

Dorne was a nation that always embraced its sexuality, a sharp contrast to the pious King’s Landing that was laden with symbols of the Seven. You were determined to remarry–two Targaryen princes unwed, two possible dragons to claim–but to catch a dragon, you had to lay an enticing trap, but you wondered if you were rusty with the enforced bereavement having you feeling like a maiden once again. 

So your attention turned to the piety of the Kingsguard that shadowed royalty’s every step. There were those whose gazes lingered well outside what would be deemed appropriate, the blatant, heady lust that enveloped the color of their irises and the bold reds that tainted their features–to which you scoffed. 

A challenge was what you craved, and then you spotted him; his copper tones in duo, though the twins could be distinguished by how they held themselves, as well the fact that Ser Arryk served as Prince Aegon’s shadow. 

Your eyes trained to the other, Ser Erryk Cargyll, the flutter of your lashes when he looked in your direction, the demure dip of your face to coyly cover a smile meant for him to see. 

He did not fracture with your attention, but you–Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken–would not be dissuaded. It was a tantalizing game, something you swore to be playing solo until you spotted it; the tension held in his features by the shackles of his oath, a tick in his jaw or the flit of his smoky blue eyes in your proximity. 

You chose a night to drink, indulging in the imported Dornish wines, a singsong request to be escorted to your rooms that the queen was happy to oblige. 

“Ser Erryk, would you please help the princess to her quarters?”

And now you were at the edge of your bed like you were seated on the throne, watching the Kingsguard that was kneeled so prettily between your thighs spread. He is beautiful, you mused, looking over the warm tones that touched his features, clashing with the copper coloring of his hair. 

He looked up at you, now bare from the waist up, his eyes wide, watchful, waiting for your command, your very breath of direction so that he may obey you; he was an incitant sight, from the cobalt ash coloring of his eyes, wet and wanting, to the flush of pink on his kiss-swollen lips. 

“Please,” his voice was thick. 

You could not help your smile, and asked with your slow drawl. “Please, what?”

“Please, princess,” he began again, his head tilted further to show the length of his neck, and how it bobbed when he swallowed. “Allow me to taste you.” 

You indulged him, enjoying the vibration of his groan with his intimate kiss between your thighs made your own skin ripple with gooseflesh, along with the soft tickle of his beard. But he was a man starved, lapping without purpose until your fingers combed through his hair and pulled him back to meet with your smokey gaze.  

Ser Erryk watched rapt as you lifted your hand, holding two fingers up; you could see the lustful pools of black claiming the coloring of his eyes, the bloom of rust of his beard around his mouth, the glisten of your arousal that shone on him. 

You brought your fingers to press to his bottom of his mouth and he obediently wrapped his lips around; you giggled from his eagerness, from the tickle of his tongue on the pads of your fingers. The spittle broke and added to the rust when you pulled back, his eyes following as your pressed between your folds, watching you bring pleasure to yourself, showing him just how you needed to be touched. 

A pitiful whimper spilled from the Kingsguard before you allowed him to feast again, and he returned with vigor, with purpose. Your wanton moans echoed against the cobblestone. “Princess,” he breathed against your wet cunt, “you must stay quiet.” 

This was impossible to do; your time as a widow left you touch starved and your body was trembling, overly sensitive to his every deliberate touch–how he flourished with the bit of direction shown, and now, oh the gods, the pleasure curled something beautiful at the base of your spine, something sparking with familiarity from what felt like a lifetime ago. 

Then you felt the pressure of his fingers, the careful add of one and the another, and they pushed within you, searching until you saw colors dancing in front of your eyes; Ser Erryk was pleased, focused, pulling you towards the precipice and it washed over you; your skin rose, your nipples pebbled, the cry-out from your lips and clenching response as your pleasure rippled over you with a vengeance, with its reclaim. 

You laid there for a moment, the blood rising to your skin, your chest rising and falling with your breaths, a drunk smile on your lips. 

The knight was now fully bare and was careful to move on top of you, the pale alabaster of his skin and its marking from his service was so warm to the touch. His palms were large, calloused and gentle to peel off your chemise over your head, the tickle of his kisses that worshiped every bit of your skin now showed, glowing with the attention from his mouth.  

“Ser Erryk,” you gasped as he shifted between your thighs, “please.”

He obeyed, flushed, fumbling, his hand dipping between to trail your silken folds, to map your entrance and reached to line himself. He showed consideration with the slow motion of his hips, another gasp from your lips as he filled and stretched your velvet walls; Ser Erryk moved as if you were glass and you wrapped your leg around his slender waist, pulling him flush against you, wishing to be shattered beneath him.

It was all the encouragement needed and he rutted against you, his hot mouth biting into the nap of your neck to muffle his guttural groans. Your mewls were lilted with laughter, the crest of pleasure that rolled over with each of his thrusts; your hand dipped between to tip you over the edge once again. 

The knight could not withstand the sinful clench and he pulled back, a desperate clutch to allow the pearly ropes of his spend against your stomach, his staggered breath as he watched your own fingers coax through your completion. There was a heady look between the two of you before he pushed back to rest on his heels, and you pressed to your elbows, bringing your fingers to your lips and cleaning them, your eyes never leaving his. 

Ser Erryk blushed, pulling away and allowing you to admire his form, the lewd, intrusive thought, the sword in his hand and the sword between, as he moved towards your washbin and returned with a damp cloth; your eyes never left what swayed between his thighs with his each step. He was bashful, handing you the cloth while avoiding your direct gaze as you cleaned yourself, starting to dress himself.

You pushed from the bed, unabashed with your bare skin, sultry steps towards him to assist him with donning his armor plates to his lithe figure beneath his gambeson. When you finished, you could see his hesitation perched on his tongue and cannot help but toy further with the knight. 

“Good ser,” you tone low to match your steps, and your weight shifted to accentuate your every curve, “can I trust you to always escort me to my quarters when needed?” 

His jaw steeled beneath the reds of his beard at your implication, his tick returning as the shackles tightened again. It was a pregnant pause before his eyes met with yours, and you half-expected to see the beautiful blues, but were pleased to see his darkened gaze.

“Whatever you wish of me,” and his low timbre thrilled you. “Princess.”

arcielee's masterlist

#ser erryk x you #ser erryk x reader #ser erryk cargyll #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd smutty smut

[darkestspring]

Bronze and Silver

a/n: upon popular request i’ve decided to make an expanded second part to my rhea x daemon daughter little blurb which you can find HERE! I was so excited to write the first part so i loved writing this so much.

words: a little over 2k words

It had come from a drunken night between Lady Rhea Royce and her husband (as much as it made her nearly vomit to say that word) Daemon Targaryen. One single night of drunken stupor and only weeks later was it comfirmed that Lady Royce was pregnant.

The maester had gently suggested contacting her husband which she had scoffed at, this baby is hers. Nothing of his, why should she inform her ever so absent and estranged husband.

As she placed her hand on her stomach, a rare smile came over her face. Her baby. Her blood, her child.

At first the pregnancy wasn’t easy, she cursed out everyone who irritated her and her child’s craving for fruit never left, she was amazed by it.

The birth was difficult, the pain overbearing as she screamed her way through it with the help of the maesters.

After nine hours, her child was here. The placed her blood in her arms and she was amazed by her daughter. White hair and bright purple eyes but she had the shape of her nose and the same face as her mother.

Rhea trailed her finger down he daughter’s little nose, in something akin to awe as she cradled her daughter.

“My lady, what name have to thought of. The king gifted you a book of Valyrian names a long time ago. Shall I fetch it?” The servant asked, as the maesters tended to the Lady and her newborn child.

Rhea had scoffed, irritation flashing through her. “This child is a Royce, my blood. Their name shall be fitting of it,”

“Diana.” She declared, looking to the maester. “My daughter shall be Diana Royce, after the goddess of the moon, the hunt and protector of women. My little huntress.” She cooed the last part as her daughter made little sound, her purple eyes staring up at her mother with interest.

Years later, those same purple eyes fill with tears as she clung to her cousin’s clothes. “No, mama can’t be gone! How could such an injustice be served!”

How could Gerold comfort a child who had just lost their mother to the father they never even knew? His little cousin of six.

At the age of six, Diana was talented with a bow and arrow, taking after her mother, the mother she loved that was now dead.

After the funeral processions, Gerold headed to King’s Landing to attend the wedding of Princess Rhaenyra (they had all agreed to keep her existence a secret from her absent father) and Diana snuck into Dragonstone.

She would claim a dragon and take her revenge. She would avenge her mother, who had done nothing but what was expected of her. Let her father learn that there are always consequences for the actions he takes.

As Gerold Royce accuses Daemon Targaryen of Lady Rhea Royce’s murder, Lady Diana Royce-Targaryen sneaks into dragonstone and claims the monstrous Cannibal as her own.

She returns home with a bonded dragon and victory on her tongue as she orders them to bring three goats for her beloved boy.

She’s thirteen when she gets the news that her father’s wife is dead, and then her cousin’s husband is dead, and then her cousin and father marry. She laughs the loudest when she hears what they’re saying about her father. She’s always known he was a murderer, and now others know it too.

She’s fifteen when the call to court comes, they have discovered her existence and wish to see the truth with their own eyes.

“Prepare my things.” She ordered the servants as she sets the letter down. “Back a light back and run me a both. I wish to wear my black riding clothes.”

“Yes, my Lady.” The servants rushed off to get started as smile started to tug at the lips of Lady Diana Royce.

“Oh, this is too funny!” Diana laughs as she leans back into her chair, her purple eyes filled with amusement. “This is getting so much more interesting!”

As she dressed in blackened thick riding leathers, she climbs onto Cannibal’s black. She pets his neck gently with a smile. “It’s gonna be a long ride, boy.” She looks forward to all of it. “Soves!”

The dragon keepers are terrified when she lands, its been years since they’ve seen the cannibal. “He won’t be in the dragon pit.” She reassures them before turning to her dragon. “Soves, Cannibal!”

Cannibal lets out a roar that shakes the foundations around them as he leaps into the sky and disappears from view.

“My Lady.” The knight before her bows and she nods, clasping her hands in front of her. “I will guide you to see the Queen and Lord Hand, your uncle is too busy to entertain today.”

Sick, they mean. Diana knows everything, as any good Lady would when they plot the downfall of their own father.

Diana smiles, tilting her head and her white hair tilts her. She doesn’y say anything as she walks ahead.

“Lady Diana Royce-Targaryen!” The guard at the door announced and with her head high, Diana walked forth. Her eye caught white hair and she turned to look as a boy around her age, with an eyepatch over one eye looking at her with intrigue.

She turned her face back around and stopped in front of her supposed aunt and the hand.

“I welcome you to King’s Landing, Lady Royce.” Alicent greeted the girl, a strained smile filling her face. She had no idea that Daemon had actually had a daughter with his first wife, it was news to her father as well.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Diana bowed her head to her as she stood still. “I admit, I fear I do not understand why I have been summoned away from my home, The Vale.”

“We were not aware of your existence. None of us were. Not even the king.” Otto stares at the girl of fifteen in front of him as her eyebrows furrow and her eyes narrow. “One might be curious as to why.”

“It was never deemed necessarily. My mother, may the gods protect her departed soul, never deemed it necessary to inform anyone outside of the vale, including my... father.” The word tasted like acid in her mouth and her mask dropped for a second, allowing Alicent and Otto to see her disgust and resentment.

“After her sudden death, we decided to keep this knowledge limited to the Vale. I am a Royce after all.”

Sick satisfaction settled in Otto as he was clued in to the fact that Daemon didn’t know this child existed. This child that they could influence and that they could take under their wing. “Yes, but we know now and you are of marrying age.”

“Yes, and I am also the Lady of the Vale, rider of the monstrous Cannibal. I am many things. I want many things.” Diana spoke, her kind act dropping as she stared at the both of them with irritation.

Aemond was stunned at the words, The Cannibal? No one could tame him because he ate humans and dragons alike but his cousin had? He wanted to talk more to her. His mother and grandfather had told him of the possibility of a betrothal.

“If you wish for me to marry your second son, say so. I tire of games. I want my father’s head. I don’t care about anyone else.” Diana declared, trying to keep a hold on her irritation.

“Lady Diana!” Alicent tried to reprimand her, even if she did feel bad for the girl. She hadn’t had a female figure to look after since she was six.

Otto found amusement in this girl, she knew what she wanted and didn’t hold back. A good asset indeed. “The king has agreed to a betrothal between the lady Diana and Prince Aemond.”

At his name, Aemond stepped forward until he was right next to Diana and she didn’t move an inch.

Diana stared for a minute with her hard gaze before nodding. “The Vale accepts this proposal. As you are all aware, when I come of age, I will rule the Vale as its Lady, that means that Prince Aemond will become the Lord of the Vale alongside me, any children we have will be our successor.”

“We are aware of that.” Alicent nodded, sending a soft look at Aemond who was surprised but also not against the agreement.

“My betrothed.” Aemond held out his hand and Diana finally turned to him, he was struck by the vibrancy in her eyes as she placed her hand in his.

“My betrothed.” She said in return, nodding to the queen and hand as Aemond guided her away.

As he guided her down to the dragon pit, Cannibal landed nearby, startling Aemond and making a smile appear on Diana’s face. “I’m sure you’ll introduce me to Vhagar later but if Cannibal approves of you, I’ll honor our agreement.”

Aemond’s eye darkened as he looked at her. She would honor it anyways, their betrothal was already set. He was already impressed by her. As a dragon, he was known to be possessive over what he considered his.

Cannibal growled as he approached his rider and the other targaryen. His toxic green eye glared into Aemond as Diana walked closer, her hand petting his jaw with soft strokes. “Oh, my best boy.” She whispered before peering over at Aemond. “Come here.”

He, without hesitation, walked over and she grabbed his hand. “Gently.” She warned him and placed his hand where hers had been, moving it back and forth gently. “That’s it.”

Cannibal ceased his growling and instead started making soft purring sound as his eyes slowly blinked.

Diana laughed, a sound that made Aemond’s attention drift to her, unable to look away. “He likes you.” She smiled at him. “That settles it, we’ll be uniting our houses, my prince.”

Two years went by quickly, faster than she would had liked. Diana, who had moved herself to King’s Landing to begin her courting period with Aemond, had grown much closer to him. Their first kiss shared in the dragon pit not even a year ago. She had left to take care of a matter in the Vale.

“I’ll be back in time for the audience.” She had told Aemond as they walked together, arms linked. “Don’t miss me too much, my love.”

“I always miss you, my dragon.” Aemond’s eye had glittered with fondness as he reached down to kiss her. His world have filled with so much brightness when you had entered it.

Everything had been normal, no one had breathed a word of your existence to the blacks. Not even blabbermouth Aegon.

The audience was just starting, everyone but Aemond was inside, He was waiting by the doors for his betrothed to return.

Diana rushes in, her white hair trailing behind her and Aemond’s eye trails down to her black and gold dress. “You’re almost late, my love.” He teased, a smile on his lips.

“Hush you! Let;s go.”

“Wait.” Aemond stops you with a frown on his lips now. “Your father is here, we didn’t know he was coming with my sister. We took extra care to not mention you to him but, do you still want to this?”

A vindictive glint entered her eyes as she linked her arms with Aemond’s. “I do, you’ll never let me fall.” She said confidently as Aemond nodded towards the guard.

“Lady Diana Royce-Targaryen, first of her name. The Lady of the Vale.” The guard announced as the door opened. “As well as her betrothed, Prince Aemond Targaryen, first of his name. Future Lord of the Vale.”

Many sets of eyes peered at him, some relieved. Some shocked.

Daemon peered at his newly announced daughter as she entered with the one-eyed prince. She was all him. White hair, purple eyes just like his. But she also had some of that Bronze Bitch in her.

Anger grew in him as well as fear and apprehension. How could he not have been told. She looks not much older than Prince Aemond and Prince Jacaerys.

Diana felt eyes on her and she walked forwards with Aemond, taking her place next to Helaena as she kissed the princesses cheek. “Good afternoon, sister.”

Helaena had smiled at her, relieved before glancing forward and turning away with distress. “He is watching.”

Diana looked up from her place and her purple eyes connected with identical ones across from the room.

She smiled at him, wiggling her fingers at him tauntingly.

I win.

#yandere house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #yandere aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #house of the dragon x reader #very subtle yandere vibes!!!!

[dreamcatcher2113]

The Dragon Dance

Summary: What if Rhaenyra had another child? What if Rhaenyra had a daughter with white hair and purple eyes? What if she was betrothed to Aemond as an alliance with Greens? 

You are the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, unlike your brothers you have white hair and purple eyes. You are the twin sister of Jacaerys. You were close with Aemond when you were kids, you two attached to the hip. Ten years later after your family left to Dragonstone, your family reunites with the Greens. You see a familiar face, Aemond Targaryen. Even though it's been years since you last saw him, let's just say you are not the same little girl you were once before. 

Warnings: The reader and Jacaerys are aged up, they would be eighteen. Uncle/niece insect. 18+ smut(eventually). Language. Mentions of assault(mainly from Aegon). Violence. And possible other warnings that I can’t think of. There is a happy ending.

Part 07

Masterlist

You're training dress, but in black

___________________________________________

The Dragon Dance Part 08:

After the family meeting, you and your brothers decide to change into your training outfits. It’s been a while since you three have trained. Jace and Luce prefer to have you train them and teach them. To them you are a better teacher(besides Daemon of course). Jace and Luce know that out of the three you are the better swordsman. After the three of you changed, you went to the training grounds. No surprise you see Aemond training with Ser Criston. You couldn’t help but to smile a little at your betrothed. One of things you admired about Aemond, is that he is hard worker.

“Is that a drool I see my dear twin sister?” Jace asked you in a teasing tone, in Old Valyrian.

You rolled your eyes, and punched Jace in the arm. “Careful my brother, I won’t go easy on you during our training.” 

“Since when have you ever gone easy on us?” Luce asked.

You chuckled and ruffled Luce’s hair. “Not my fault you two are clumsy.” You teased.

Luce and Jace started to play fight with you. You guys stopped for a moment and saw Aemond walking towards you three.

“Nephews, and my betrothed, what are you doing here at the training grounds?” Aemond asked, standing next to you.

“Y/N is here to train us uncle.” Luce answered.

“We prefer training with her anyways, she’s the best of the best.” Jace added. 

You laughed a bit, “you flutter me brother, I wouldn’t call myself the best though.”

“I don’t know beloved, I think you beat every knight here with your talent.” Aemond complimented, giving you a smirk.

“Thank you my Prince.” You thanked him, with a smile. You two stared at each other for a bit, not breaking contact.

“Oh great, now they’re giving each other loving eyes.” Luce gagged.

You turn to Luce, giving him a look. “Careful little brother, I might make you do laps.”

Luce raised his hand in a surrender, knowing you will actually make him do that. Luce and Jace know you don’t go easy on them, and they learn that the hard way. They learned very quickly not to get on your bad side. 

“Excuse me! Lady Y/N, what are you doing here in the training grounds?!?” You hear Ser Criston yell.

You roll your eyes, and swear in Old Valyrian under your breath. Did he not learn the last time he questioned you with a sword? Sometimes you wonder if some knights take so many blows in the head, they actually lose their brain particles. 

You turn behind you and see Ser Criston walking towards the four of you. “Well I’m here to train Ser Criston. Isn’t that what training grounds are for?” You asked him mockly, you hear Aemond, Jace and Luce chuckle lightly.

“A lady shouldn’t be in the training grounds.” Ser Criston said. You’re getting really annoyed with him. Did he really forget that you disarmed Aemond flawlessly? 

“We asked her to train us Ser Criston.” Luce intervenes, knowing you or Aemond might do something.

“Oh? And why can’t you ask me or any of the fine knights?” Ser Criston asked.

You unkownily grabbed Aemond’s hand, holding it. You always did that when you needed some sort of comfort. Aemond noticed you grabbed his hand, without hesitating he grabbed your hand back. Ever since you two were little, you were always holding hands. Aemond knew it helped you in some way, and he wanted to give you the help you needed from him. No matter what it was.

“Because our sister can beat every single one of you with no trouble.” Jace came to your defense, you smile a little. Knowing that your brothers will come to your defense no matter what.

“Ser Criston. Y/N proved the other day that she is well trained with a sword. Why are you still questioning my betrothed?” Aemond asked, giving Ser Criston a dark look. 

“I’m not questioning, young Prince, I’m just saying-” Ser Criston tried to reason with Aemond.

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.” Aemond warned, having a feeling where this was going.

“If you still doubt me, Ser Criston. Then why don’t you fight me instead?” You challenged him, getting really annoyed that he has his head far up his ass.

“My lady I don’t think-” Ser Criston tried to say.

“Come Ser Criston, since you doubt my abilities. Might as well put my skills to the test.” You interrupted him, and started to walk to the middle of the training grounds.

Your brothers and Aemond looked at each other, and all thought the same thing. This isn’t going to end well for Ser Criston. Aemond may have only fought you once, but he can tell you were just holding back. He can tell you a very skilled fighter, and with that one fight alone. He knew that if you weren’t holding back, you would have beaten him easily. Jace and Luce grew up with you, they trained with you. They know your full potential, they know you with any weapon is a death sentence. 

You pick up the sword with ease, and you start to twil it and play with it. “Shall we begin Ser Criston?” You asked.

Ser Criston started to charge at you, typical. You dodge his attack, he tried to attack again and dodged again. He kept attacking you and you kept dodging, you finally started using your sword. It was like you knew each move he was going to make, you were flawlessly beating him. The fight starts to continue, while Jace, Luce and Aemond just watch in amusement and stay out of the way.

“There are you lads. What have I missed?” They hear Aegon behind them.

“Watching our sister kicking Ser Criston ass.” Luce said bluntly, his eyes still focused on you and Ser Criston.

“Luce. Language.” Jace warned.

“But she is.” Luce said.

“Damn, Aemond who knew betrothed would be-”

“If I were you brother, I would keep your mouth shut.” Aemond warned Aegon. Aemond, Jace and Luce glaring at him. Giving him a silent warning to hold his tongue or one of them will cut it for him. Getting the message, Aegon kept his comments to himself.

Finally getting over with this fight, you make Ser Criston lose his balance and he fell to the ground. Before he could get up, you stop him by putting your foot on his chest, slamming your sword to the ground next to his head. 

You kneeled down to face him. “You should know by now to never underestimate your opponent Ser Criston. Next time you question me again, I will not go easy on you.” You warned, as you walked away from him and walked to your brothers, Aemond, and sadly Aegon.

“Well that ended quickly.” Jace said.

You shrugged. “Wasn’t really much of a fight with him.”

“I’m surprised you went easy on him Y/N.’ Luce added.

Aegon’s eyes widened when Luce said that. “Wait.” Aegon said, confused. “That was you going easy on him?” He asked.

You nodded your head yes. Aegon started to question everything he thought he knew about you. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.” Aegon muttered.

Once again you reached for Aemond’s hand, needing something to ground you. Aemond noticed again, and took your hand with no second thought. “Are you alright my beloved?” Aemond asked in Old Valyrian, knowing you don’t want other people hearing your conversation. 

You sighed. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“Try to ignore him, my love. He is not worth it.” Aemond replied, rubbing his thumb across your fingers.

“Why is he such an ass?” Luce asked.

“Lucerys! Language.” You warned.

“Because he couldn’t man up and take rejection from our mother, and now he takes it out on us like the little bitch he is.” Jace answered.

“Jacaerys!” You warn your twin.

“Am I wrong? He treats you with little to no respect because you look similar to mother.” Jace said.

You use your open hand to rub Jace’s shoulder, silently telling him that you will be alright. This isn’t the first time someone underestimated you because you are a woman, and it wouldn’t be the last. You appreciate your brothers support though, it means a lot to you.

Aemond notices the slight sadness in your eyes. He lightly grabs your chin so you can face him, “If anyone dares to question you, or show you little to no respect. They will answer to me.” 

You smiled. “Thank you my love, but that won’t be necessary.”

“It matters to me.” Aemond responded.

Before you could say anything, one of the servants came up to all of you. “I’m sorry to interrupt young princes and princess. But the queen needs to speak to all of you.”

“About what exactly?” Aemond asked, quirking his eyebrow.

“I’m afraid I come bearing bad news. The king is dead.” The servant answered. “The queen wants all of you in the family room.”

All of you were a little shocked with the news. You had your hand, covering your mouth. The king is dead. Your grandfather is dead. Not a second later after the news, all of you start to run to the family room.

_________________________________________

Taglist: @rosaryos @whitejuliana1204 @jeyramarie @darylandbethfanforever9 @erylilly

#the dragon dance #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon imagine #aemond fic #hotd imagine #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #targaryen reader #velaryon reader #reader insert #reader #aemond fanfic

[gtgbabie0]

✧The gentleness of your love✧

{you give Helaena a gift}

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The gardens of the red keep are the only place in kings landing where you feel at somewhat peace, where you’re not weighed down by politics, it’s the only place where you and Helaena can love freely without the prying eyes of the court.

You watch in admiration as the Princess Helaena scans the pages of her encyclopedia, how her face lights up when she turns to a page about her favorite little critter or how she smiles gently as she reads new information, you couldn't help the slight stutter of your loved filled heart as you took in her beauty, the way her hair framed her pretty face, how her skin glows beneath the afternoon sun and the gold that was woven through her blue dress brought out the color of her eyes, you sigh lovingly, how can someone be so perfect?

"Good afternoon Princess Helaena" you tease bowing at her as she chuckles at you softly, rolling her eyes at your silly antics.

You were highborn yourself, and your house has supported house Targaryen for generations you had grown up in the red keep as a result of this and you often found yourself thanking the gods, old and new, for granting you with such luck because without it you would have never met your lovely Helaena.

"Good afternoon my butterfly" she smiles gently as you take a seat next to her on the blanket she had neatly placed down over the lush grass, the princess leans into your side placing a quick shy kiss on your cheek before quickly busing herself with her book.

“No need to be shy now Helaena” you giggle tucking a stray piece of her soft blond hair behind her ear as your thumb gently grazes her pink cheeks, “No one is around” you whisper as she leans into your touch.

Helaena doesn’t mind it, your gentleness has always brought her much comfort, so she finds herself filled with want and desire when your lips finally find hers, so much so that she pulls you closer, she doesn’t want to let go, ever.

However the kiss comes to a soft end, the both of you smiling widely with pure joy, “Before I forget— I had a jeweler make this, for you” you softly whisper suddenly feeling awfully bashful as pull the small velvet bag you kept hidden beneath the many layers of your dress.

“You didn’t have to” she giggles as you insist, urging her to open the small purple bag, you watch as her nimble fingers pull the string open how she ever so carefully takes out the Valyrian steel necklace, gasping softly at the butterfly that adorns the chain and the beautiful blue Larimar gemstone that sits within the wings of the insect.

You smile as she gently caresses the charm between her thumb and forefinger, “It’s beautiful— thank you dearly” she whispers as you shuffle closer to her, telling her how happy it made you happy to see her smile, “Would you?” She asks handing you the necklace.

“I would be glad to my dear love” you take the butterfly necklace from her warm hands as you move to sit behind her, gently moving her hair to one side of her shoulder bed draping the Valyrian steel around her neck gently, your fingers grazing against her skin ever so slightly as goosebumps raided her skin, closing the clasp you sit in front of Haleana, and suddenly your breath catches in your throat.

The way the steel shines in the afternoon sun, how the blue of gemstone in the shape of a butterfly glows against her collar bones bringing the beautiful color of her eyes out, she’s so ethereal it makes you completely breathless, you can’t help but feel a little flustered at the sight of your beloved Haleana.

“You are simply breathtaking my lovely” you gush kissing her pink cheeks, her hands coming to cup your face.

“As are you my butterfly” she smiles giddily at you before enclosing her lips on yours, bringing you into a sweet heavenly kiss.

She lays down on the blanket, her head resting against your lap as she hands you the book she was reading, “Read to me?” She asks with a hopeful look in her eyes.

“As you wish Princess,” you say taking the book from her and reading about all types of facts about different insects, here in the gardens of the red keep everything is perfect, no bother with politics just your love for each other.

If the people of the faith looked down on your and Helaena’s love then why did the gods make it so sweet?

The gardens of the red keep are the only place in kings landing where you feel at somewhat peace, where you’re not weighed down by politics, it’s the only place where you and Helaena can love freely without the prying eyes of the court.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

☾⋆AN/ I’m currently reading fire and blood and it’s a lot.

Anyway I think Helaena is so interesting I hope they explain more of her character next season because she’s amazing!! Hope you enjoy~~ <3

#helaena targaryen #princess helaena #princess helaena targaryen #helaena targaryen x reader #helaena x reader #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #helaena the dreamer #helaena x you #hotd headcanon #hotd x you #hotd helaena #wlw x reader

[izfrogzy]

The Sea's Fury: Chapter 2

A/N; Here's chapter 2 sorry for the jumps for here and there it is basically backstory I wanted to give some childhood memories here so I hope its alright a bit short if I made any mistakes sorry.

Not canon/ASOIAF AU/HotD AU

Warnings: None

Chapter 2—The Storm Child 

Few years later….

A girl stood by the sea as the waves crash upon the shore, she wore blue dress with silver lining and her skin showed her heritage as well as the Valyrian hair that flowed with the wind, she looked to the sky as a screech is heard above and she sees a dark scaled young dragon flying overhead, it was the size of a large horse, and his wingspan was large for its age, its wings had bluish purple hue, as he circled the girl and he lands nearby and the girl looked at the beast unafraid, nearby was her mother who stood watching her daughter, Rhaenys encouraged her beloved daughter to let her dragon roam freely to encourage the natural growth and heighten its natural instinct as a dragon, and so her daughter has been working for a few years now to gain a unique bond with her hatchling. 

“That’s good Maela….be sure to maintain Seastorm’s eye contact….remember the words I taught you.” She lectured as she stood idle, the young girl nodded and held her hand out, “Dohaerās Seastorm.” She said and the Dragon rumbles to her and she looked at him nervously “Maela remember show him no fear.” Rhaenys told her Daughter and Maela glanced at her mother and nodded and swallowed her fear “Dohaerās seastorm.” She said as she is handed a raw flank of steak by the Dragonmasters and she held it up and Seastorm looks more interested now and he crawls closer to the young girl “Rāpirī.” She said and the Dragon stops and looked at her, he had eyes as blue as the sky on a stormy day, and she gulps and he lifted his head and sniffed her and she smiled “Umbās Seastorm….” she said putting up her hand halting him as he was begging for his treat in his dragon way, Rhaenys smiled and she tossed the steak at him and he catches it and Maela giggled and clapped as he ate it in one bite “Gevi Seastorm Gevi!” She cheered and he makes a purrish sound and snorts before spreading his wings and taking off into the sky and I giggled watching him fly off and Rhaenys approached “You did well Jelmāzma riñnykeā.” She said with a smile, Storm Child, That was what Maela was to Rhaenys her little Storm Child, Maela smiled and hugged her momma, and Rhaenys smiled “Come we are late….Your sister has been waiting for our visit…aren't you excited to see your new nieces?” she asked and Maela nodded happily and they walked along the shoreline and headed back to High Tide Castle.

Soon they would arrive in Pentos, where Laena had just delivered twins, Baela and Laena, Laena sees her Mother and her baby sister come through the doors and Laena smiled and is seen feeding both her daughters at the breast, and Rhaenys smiled approaching holding Maela’s hand, “Momma I want to see the babies.” She begged and Laena giggled and Rhaenys smiled at her Eldest Daughter “May she?” she asked and Laena nodded “She may.” She said and Rhaenys lets go of Maela’s hands and Maela comes over and coos at the little twin girls, and she giggled “They’re so cute.” she said and Laena smiled “They remind me of you when you were born.” she said and Maela giggled “How goes your dragon training?” She asked smiling and Maela giggled “I fed him today…..and he listened to my commands.” She said proudly and Laena smiled “I'm glad.” She said and Maela “I know you shall become a great dragonrider.” She said and Maela smiled “Not as good as you Sissi.” She said bashfully and Laena smiled “You shall I know it.” She said and Maela smiled and gently patted the twin Baela’s little head covered in the small tuffs of white hair. “Careful Maela.” said Rhaenys and Laena speaks “It is alright….” she assured and looked at Maela who was ever so gentle with the little ones in Laena’s arms.

Afterwards, Rhaenys and Laena spent time together as Rhaenys bonds with her Grand daughters, Maela would wonder around and such, she stopped when she spied her sisters husband, he stood by a fireplace contemplating, she watched from the cracked door and she wonders in, “Cousin Daemon.” She peeps happily and he turns he has a cold look but it melts seeing the young girl “well Princess of the Sea.” he said and she giggled “I saw the babies ... .they sleep now.” She said and he smiled, “That is good.” He said and she fiddled with her hands “They're so cute.” she said and he chuckled and takes a seat and she comes over “Hmmm you seem not happy.” she said in her innocent way and he looked at her “There is nothing young one, come….” He said and stood up offering his hand and she takes it and he led her away “Where do we go?” she asked, “To get presents for your nieces.” He said and she frowned “Eggs.” He said with a smirk and she gasped “Mama wouldn't like it.” She said and he smirked “She would understand…..come Princess.” He said and she went along with him.

They stepped into the cave ruins. He held a torch and he glanced at her as he had her bundled up in a nice warm cloak and he smirked “Come on.” He said and he went in and she followed along closely, Maela and Daemon walked along and she gulps, but then they stopped and there laid the giantess herself, Vhagar, Maela mouth dropped, “This would be her last batch.” He told Maela and she watched him approach a incubating nest with a clutch of eggs and Maela held the torch as Vhagar slept she watched the giant beast as he grabs the eggs carefully “She’s so big.” She said in a whisper and he chuckled “I remember Seeing Balerion….She’s small in comparison to that beast.” he said smugly as he approached handing her an egg and she gasped looking at it and then at him and he pat her head and took the torch from her and they walked out of the cave, “I heard he was half the size of Kings landing.” she said and he smiled “He was large.” He said “The King rode him last, correct?” she asked and he nodded and they headed back to the castle.

Once back inside the castle, Rhaenys seemed to have been worried of her when she saw her young girl with Daemon she stormed over and gave him a glare about to bit his head off, but Maela speaks up, “Mama we got eggs for the babies.” she said smiling innocently and Rhaenys sighs and gives Daemon a glare and puts on a smile taking the egg Maela holds. “That is nice dear…come it is late you ought to be in bed.” She hands the egg to Daemon and she frowns “But Momma.” she whined and Rhaenys picked her up “Lets go no arguments.” She scolded and Maela sighs and waved goodnight to Daemon as she’s carried away by Rhaenys. Clearly Rhaenys was upset with Daemon for some reason but Maela didn't know why.

Maela gets settled down in the bed and Rhaenys gets in bed with her and Maela giggles and snuggled up to her mommy, and Rhaenys sighs and pat her daughters head, “Va moriot sagon issa jelmāzma riñnykeā. Issa dōna riñnykeā.” (Always be my storm child, my sweet child.) Rhaenys whispered and Maela nods and snuggled up to her “Kessa Muñnykeā.” (Yes Mother.) she whispered and they both went to sleep.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #asoiaf #corlys velaryon #ewan mitchell #game of thrones #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon valaryon #rhaenys velaryon #laena velaryon #daemon targaryen #vhagar #house of the dragon oc #asoiaf au #house of the dragon au #Valeryon oc

[unusual-raccoon]

cut me to ribbons | by Unusual_Raccoon (Lucerys II x Aerys II)

for @halibalism - hope you enjoy 🤍

Warnings: Canon Compliant, Minor Aerys II Targaryen/Rhaella Targaryen (Wife of Aerys II), Cousin Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Dubious Consent, Painful Sex, Anal Sex, No Lube, Blood as Lube, Pining, Be Careful What You Wish For, Possibly Unrequited Love, Biting, Scratching, Vaginal Fingering, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Intersex Velaryons, Velaryon Traditions, Targaryen Madness, Sexual Dysfunction, Sadism, Valyrian Culture & Customs (A Song of Ice and Fire), Marital Rape, Abuse

Summary: Lucerys II Velaryon, Master of Ships and Lord of Driftmark, makes a deal with his beloved cousin, the Mad King, after making a discovery about the queen.

WC: 4K+ Ao3 Link

Lucerys is not sure if he had seen them before, turned a blind eye as many no doubt had. But it is unavoidable now, standing in the doorway of his cousin’s chambers.

A purpling bruise upon her cheek, poorly hidden beneath a fine film of heavily applied powder.

There is another upon the delicate curve of her neck. They are bite marks, he realizes belatedly with a shiver; a mere stamp of ownership left by another.

Nausea roils in his gut. His grip tightening around the carved wooden dragon young Viserys had abandoned in the hall. A delicately whittled wing whines like it may snap.

“Cousin?” He calls gently, mindful of the way the queen, Rhaella, jumps - the mournful violet of her downturned eyes blink shamefully at him.

“Are you well?” He asks, it is a stupid question, to which she offers a timid, watery smile.

“Yes, yes, of course-“ her veneer of calm is but a gossamer thing. He sees through it without trying. He notes the tiny pearls of unshed tears that gather in her mournful violet eyes - dark as a bruise.

The culprit is not difficult to discern, as he knows, there is only one man able to inflict such horrors on the queen of seven kingdoms without reproach…

He presses the child’s toy into her small, trembling hands, steadies her with a few fingers curved about her elbow. Her chin shakes and he mourns. He mourns for the stranger he sees before him. His cousin is eight years his senior, he and Rhaella had never been alarmingly close in their youth, no, Lucerys had always been enamored with Aerys, her elder brother - he grits his teeth to stem the tide of fondness that threatens to sweep away the horror of the present.

“I will speak with him.”

Rhaella’s head jumps up. A tear splits down her powered cheek. She shakes her head. A white-gold curl bounces against her temple.

“Oh, you needn’t trouble yourself, Lucerys-“

“Rhaella,” he said firmly, unperturbed. His thumb worried in circles along the intricate brocade of her sleeve upon her elbow.

She feels fragile beneath his touch, though they are of a similar, unassuming stature.

“I will speak with him.”

“Your Grace- forgive me,” a nursemaid gawps in the doorway; a touch scandalized with a man in the queen’s chambers, in such an…intimate position. Little Viserys stands by his nursemaid’s side.

“My lord,” she greets Lucerys with a deferential bow of her covered head. A faint hue lingers upon the girl’s cheeks.

“Your Grace, would you like us to return at a later time?”

“I was just leaving,” Lucerys replies brusquely. He pauses in the doorway to ruffle Viserys’ hair, as he used to with Monford. The boy emits a sound between a laugh and shriek, bolting to hide behind his mother’s skirts with a grin.

And despite himself, it brings a short lived smile to Lucerys’ lips.

He straightens himself in the walk through the keep’s long corridors, back held straight and shoulders squared, sword swinging at his side, arms clasped behind his back.

He finds the Lord Commander of the kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower, posted before the king’s chambers.

“Lord Admiral,” the knight greets with a bow of his head.

“Lord Commander,” Lucerys replies in turn, catching the leer of dark eyes that study him intently.

“I require an audience with the king,” he adds.

The tall knight nods.

“Your Master of Ships, your Grace.” Ser Hightower calls in a deep voice.

There is muffled conversation that drips through the scant gap in the doorway. His king is not alone.

A ragged voice bids him entry.

Where Aerys is typically fussed over by young maesters under Pycelle that endlessly apply salves to wounds left by his throne, he is instead locked in grumbling conversation with his Hand: Tywin Lannister.

“Lord Tywin.” Lucerys begins, his curls pale and buoyant as seafoam bob into his vision with a bow for the king, “Your Grace.”

“Lucerys,” the king says, sounding for all ears, utterly exasperated with his foremost advisor.

“I was hoping I might have a word with you, your Grace.”

The king waves a beckoning hand, with long, sharp nails. Tywin’s perceptive green-gold eyes watch him too keenly.

Lucerys’ gaze flits pointedly between the king and his Hand.

“…privately, your Grace.”

His cousin’s violet eyes narrow in a predatory fashion, before he shoos Lord Tywin from his chambers with a dismissive wave.

“The man vies for my throne.” The king snits with a curl of his nose when they are alone. He blows a sigh and turns his attention to Lucerys. Pointed nails clicking against the wooden arm of his chair in a quickening tempo.

“Cousin,” he drawls, “what is it you wish to speak of?”

Lucerys does not falter when he answers.

“Rhaella.”

His cousin barks out a laugh, yet his vexation shines clearly through his eyes and the trembling turn of his dry lips.

“What about her?” 

“Is my wife, my queen, of some concern to you, cousin?”

“Aerys,” Lucerys says with a wince.

“Have you fallen for her, Lucerys? Has she tried to seduce you, my poor wife? Hm, shall I have the faith chastise her for her adulterous behavior, the slattern! Speak now, so we might rectify the issue-“

“Aerys, enough! You know as well as I that Rhaella would never act against you.”

Nor would I, he thinks, but bites his tongue in that regard.

Most men have enough sense to tread lightly around their king, their mad king. At twenty and six, a lord for thirteen of those years, and a Master of Ships and Lord Admiral for 10 - Lucerys is not most. For as much as he loves his cousin - too much at times - he refuses to fear him even as fire flashes in Aerys’ crazed eyes. For if Aerys is fire, he is the sea.

“She is my cousin, just as you are - my blood, and it pains me to see her suffering so.”

Aerys’ lip lifts in a shaking sneer. His rage boils to the surface. He rises from his seat, robes hanging shapeless around his body, gaunt in ways he had not been in his youth; gallant and beautiful. He bears long ragged nails and lank white-gold hair and an unkempt beard. His teeth are chipped and nose crooked, lasting memories of the treason at Duskendale. He hardly resembles the man Lucerys had admired as a boy; the man he loved…the man he still loves.

“If you are so concerned for the treatment of my dear wife, perhaps you should like to take her place…to spare her my affections.”

Lucerys recoils instantly. His face flushes warm at the mere mention. The mockery stings, but he refuses to be shaken by it, nor the traitorous heat that builds in his belly - it is a silly, burgeoning thing.

“You…flatter me, your grace.” He says with painstaking poise.

“It is not my intention to flatter you, boy.”

Boy, Lucerys thinks, jaw tense. Aerys would always be 10 years his senior, older, wiser - to him, Lucerys would always be a boy, a frivolous little creature only fit for entertaining him…and warming his bed, so it seemed. If it meant sparing Rhaella his indecency…

“And if I were to agree, your grace? To be there to…cool your fire in the queen’s place…you would leave her be?”

Heat flashes in the king’s violet eyes.

His blood crawls through him with a chill. Lucerys wets his lips with his tongue.

“If you were to agree, I would have you here and now, to ensure you are an…adequate replacement.”

Lucerys lets out a soft laugh, “I am a Velaryon, cousin, we possess far too much pride to be simply adequate,” he lowers his voice, “and it is well known that I’ve always been your favorite cousin.”

The call of their blood was too potent to ignore.

Aerys flashes an irate smile, “Steffon’s my favorite cousin,” he says pointedly in a way that is meant to wound, Lucerys only offers a coy crinkle of his nose, “Strip.”

He obeys.

He removes his sword belt slowly, before placing it aside. He plucks rings from his fingers, the largest a gift from his wife, beset with a smooth chunk of glassy green Serpentine.

His Manderly woman. He kisses the stone once before moving onto his waistcoat. He feels the king’s eyes upon him. Wrathful.

“Faster.” Aerys demands, seated once more in his chair. His pointed nails click against the arm of his chair in a gathering tempo. Faster. Faster. He pictures whorls of ballroom dancers as he unfastens the diagonal line of buttons upon his heavily embroidered waistcoat, with countless beads of aquamarine and silver.

He shrugs the garment away to be abandoned with the likes of his sword and jewels.

His linen tunic is a lightweight article, barely there, with fanciful ruffs at the wrists. It is cast aside easily.

He pauses at his trousers. He toes off the supple leather of his boots. Colorful silk knee socks adorned with spirals of teal thread are removed and folded carefully. His breeches are rather utilitarian and he does away with them unapologetically.

He is bare, save for his smallclothes. And a single teardrop pearl earring that hangs from his right ear. His symbol of office as Lord of the Tides… The Sea Snake’s Boon. Passed from lord to heir.

He rolls the small bit of bequeathed jewelry carefully between two fingers; more invaluable to House Velaryon than its amassed wealth. To remove it now…

He forces his smalls down his willowy legs instead.

Aerys’ expression darkens, the violet of his eyes lurid. He stands from his seat swiftly. 

Since Duskendale Aerys had never quite seemed as tall as Lucerys had recalled from childhood, yet in that moment, garbed in heavy bespoke robes, he is all Lucerys remembers and more.

Aerys shrugs away his robes, revealing pale, damaged skin. He is but a litany of half-healed wounds, cuts and sores from his throne. He is thin, too thin.

His arms shake as his crown is set aside, as though the weight of it is too much to bear.

“Get on the bed.” His cousin commands. The enormity of what he is subjecting himself dawns upon him, stripped bare. He feels the urge to weep, whether out of anguish nor joy, he cannot tell. Guilt is upon him instantly, and the burn of sickness lingers in his throat at the prospect of feeling joy for the very act that caused Rhaella such harm.

He loves his cousin, too much, at times.

He does as his king commands.

Lucerys lowers himself upon the duvet.

The large featherbed dips subtly beneath the addition of Aerys’ weight. 

Lucerys steels himself for whatever may come. He shivers as long, pointed nails trace up his flank. Skin tightening with a wave of gooseflesh. How long had he dreamt of being in his cousin’s bed…of being at his mercy.

Fingers idle over his nape, a fist wrenches a handful of white curls back, and his head with it. He chokes on a sound of shock. Battling the urge to fight back.

Heat trickles down his spine - blood, he realizes. Nicked by one of many long nails.

First blood, he thinks, head pressed unceremoniously into a mound of pillows.

His own breath sticks warm to his cheeks, soaking into the linens.

He huffs a soft sound into the goosedown. Insignificant. A hand gropes at the curve of his rear, mortification stings hot on his cheeks. The touch moves, unabashed.

His thighs are urged apart. Long hair tickles his back.

A hand presses tentatively, each caress drawing forth a sharp inhale at the prickle of pointed talons across bare flesh.

A knuckle brushes along his taint, pausing at the delicate folds of flesh, nestled away beneath his stones. There it was, the magic of House Velaryon. They were not born to ride dragons, no, they were born to mate…to breed…like their sigil. Every man of their lineage bore the same curiosity the king toyed with now. A quim.

In the eyes of the Westerosi, it made them more alien than their dragon-riding kin. Men capable of fathering sons and birthing them.

A nail grazes the tender flesh and Lucerys gasps. Hands clutching fistfuls of fine linens.

He hears his cousin laugh, it is a cruel thing.

A hand wrenches his head back once more, his spine aches, cool air stings the damp sweat upon his cheeks. A talon bearing a pearl of his own nectar, translucent and damning, is held for him to see through hazy eyes.

Lucerys is returned into the burrow of pillows once more; shamed.

Two hands knead at his rear.

Appraising.

A single palm retreats and he hears the friction of skin on skin.

He licks his teeth, mouth dry. He awaits the sting of a rough entry, but finds none. His toes tingle, vaguely numb.

He only hears the slap of skin on skin, the harsh pumps of a curled fist growing more and more frantic. He tilts his head slightly, white-gold fringe curling against the sweat on his forehead.

“Aer-”

His face is pressed into the pillows with a snarl. Air struggles to filter through the fabric.

Hands grope at him, angry in their ardor, pointed nails drawing welts upon his flesh.

He bites his tongue to smother a hiss.

His spine stiffens at the blunt press of a soft member between his legs.

The moments float by, both ephemeral and eternal in the smothered darkness of the pillows.

There is a drowsy almost pleasant sensation to be found with the weight of a warm body atop his.

Whatever veil of complacency formed, is torn away with a violent shock of pain that bursts over his bare shoulder. Chipped teeth dig into his skin. Blood bubbles up beneath unbroken flesh, throbbing.

A grunt is exhaled into the linens. Sweat erupts over his skin like he’s taken ill.

A warm mouth bites him again and again. Long white-gold hair tickles his shoulders.

He is trembling, back littered with bites, by the time Aerys is hard. The thick head of his cousin’s cock presses between his thighs, excited in the face of his pain; the size of it gives him pause.

A strangled sound wells in his throat as Aerys’ cock rubs against the damp seam of Lucerys’ quim. His toes curl.

The muscles in his back ache, pockmarked with blossoming bruises.

Aerys’ hands knead at his rear, spreading the flesh apart. Lucerys inhales, awaiting the first press of his manhood with a drooling slit.

The crimson tip of the king’s cock lingers against the soft flesh of his quim, indolent.

Long fingers and pointed nails scratch raised welts across his buttocks. The skin burns hot.

He feels Aerys’ weight shift slightly, the mattress sinking in new places where he moves. It sways beneath him like the sea.

A hand squeezes his plush rear. The tip of Aerys’ cock twitches.

Lucerys breathes in once more.

The mattress shifts and he is certain it will come. The fattened head slips forward and higher - abruptly the wrong hole is breached. He muffles his agony over a mouthful of pillows. His legs tremble violently.

The tip of Aerys’ cock is forced into his rear, the tight rim screams with red-hot pain. Lucerys claws at the bedding, feral.

The wet smell of iron coats the air, nausea burns in his throat.

Aerys’ hisses above him, clawed hands cling to his hips as he is made to accept more.

He is dizzy. Sweating. Bleeding.

He struggles to breathe, fists clutching weakly at the duvet.

The first thrust, the first true thrust, tears him open like a fisherman’s spear.

He hears his cousin growl, grip tightening upon Lucerys’ hips as he eases back, the broken flesh stinging.

He is fucked open, torn open, pointed nails slash wounds upon his hips and lower back.

His cousin’s thrusts are violent and his breathing harsh. He glides inside, eased by blood, like any king, destined to leave a mark where no man had been before.

The slick clap of their bodies builds into a quickening tempo. Faster. Faster.

Lucerys hiccups, desensitized to the pain, wriggling against the bedding as something worse sweeps over him.

Prickling, needle-like pleasure. Unbearable pleasure that builds in his ruined hole, down to his neglected one. Nectar and blood moisten his thighs.

His cock pulses, pinned stiff and uncomfortable against the bedding.

Aerys’ hips meet the curve of his buttocks loudly, wet skin on skin. He moans and tears prickle in his eyes.

When pain lances through him, it is a relief. A brief bubble of oxygen for a drowning man. He is violating me, Lucerys thinks, the salt of unshed tears remind him of the sea, oh, but it is him.

Aerys’ teeth sink into his shoulder, nails dyed crimson dig into his hip. His cock is large, too large as it plunges in deep. His puffy, abused rim clinging to it.

Warm, rapid breath rattles the small bit of jewelry that remains upon his person. A single teardrop pearl earring.

His cousin’s breath grows labored, monstrous.

Every harsh rock of his hips buries him further; Lucerys feels some shape of Aerys behind his ribs, battering away.

Aerys’ cock stabs in jarringly hard, bloody and pulsing and thick. His cousin shudders suddenly, stones tensing hot and full against Lucerys’ dripping, empty quim.

He reaches his peak with a ragged sound, roaring like long dead dragons while he empties his sac. Lucerys stills, motionless, hole fluttering as seed oozes from him. Dripping molten, tinged with blood, it scalds the backs of pale thighs.

He drinks in sips of air that squeeze in through the fabric of the duvet, lightheaded and terribly aroused.

His cock twitches once against his abdomen. And shame stings in his eyes.

He mewls a pathetic sound as the absence of his cousin’s cock brings with it a raw wave of sensation. Dewy, sex-scented air abrades his gaping hole, clenching around nothingness.

Aerys does nothing for a time, simply lingering wet skin to wet skin. He wipes his cock against the back of Lucerys’ thigh.

The featherbed shifts beneath him like the sea and he sways with the waves. He lifts his head slowly, cautious. Aerys sits amidst blood-stained bedding, rust-red manhood spent against his thigh.

When Lucerys looks upon him, eyes watering from the light, he doesn’t  see an aged king, haunted and gaunt, with lank strands of white-gold hair adhering to the sweat upon his face and neck in a lattice, like a spider’s web. Instead, he sees his cousin as he once was. Beautiful and noble, a lover of masked balls and music; the man that had made small council meetings an agony for Lucerys at six and ten, at any age in truth, the man he had chased about the tiltyard with a wooden sword as a child.

Lucerys swallows, throat aching.

“Will that be all, your grace?” He asks, beneath himself, like a servant might.

His cousin’s violet eyes blink, once, twice - Lucerys is certain one of said blinks was vertical. He licks his lips, finds frayed skin and dried blood.

“Yes.” 

He struggles to climb from the bed, weak-kneed and dizzy.

Lucerys nods. Teardrop pearl bouncing.

He staggers to his feets, anticipating mockery, yet Aerys says nothing. Does nothing.

Lucerys redresses, his socks and smalls, trousers and tunic, waistcoat and jewelry. He struggles briefly with his boots, but takes some measure of pride in being able to see the task through himself; fucked open like a gored animal.

His sword he saves for last. He runs a reverent finger over the ivory sculpted horse head pommel, with slivers of aquamarine for the eyes.

He binds the leather of his sword belt around his narrow waist with practiced hands. He straightens the heavy Serpentine ring upon his finger.

Though it had never been removed, he pinches briefly at the Sea Snake’s Boon that dangles from his right ear. It gives him resolve.

His cousin’s eyes linger upon him, unwavering.

He lowers his head in a brief show of deference and a softly muttered, ‘your grace’.

Lucerys steps into the halls of the Red Keep once more, as though nothing had happened.

“Lord Admiral,” A deep voice intones, and Lucerys nearly flinches. Ser Gerold Hightower stands guard beside the king’s chambers just as he had earlier. Dark eyes studying him intently.

“Lord Commander,” Lucerys replies as he walks through the hall with a stuttering gait.

He arrives to his own chambers, body aching and sore; mangled beneath the finery of his clothes.

He calls for a servant to have a bath drawn.

When the clawfoot tub is prepared, a handmaid dithers about in his shadow.

“My lord, did you require any assistance?”

“No- no, thank you. That will be all.”

He strips out of his clothing effortlessly, he feels rather practiced in doing so now, he thinks with a small snort.

He sinks into the water with a hiss, feeling lye sting countless open wounds. He winces, body recoiling as water and soap aggravate his abused rear.

Eventually, the pain becomes distant enough. He sinks into the bath, head hanging back against the lip of the clawfoot tub. The warmth of the water leaches the ache from his bones. He breathes out a sigh through his nose. He breathes in and smells lye soap and iron and semen.

He shifts in the narrow tub, thighs pressed together with a wince.

Heat stirs in him. His abused rim flutters and he shivers at the sensation of seed oozing from him. He sucks in a gasp, torn lower lip pulled between his teeth. He tells himself it’s only natural to seek pleasure where pain had been given.

His fingers brush the ruined flesh and flee instantly, the pain too bright.

He exhales, limbs loose. Desperate to replace Aerys’ pain with pleasure. A finger toys at his slit. His own hands feel foreign with blunt, well-kept nails.

Lucerys sighs in the warm waters, eyes closed, throat tight as he eases a finger into his quim.

He curls the digit gently, obligingly. Pleasure throbs warm to his toes. His back arches with a breathy sound.

A second finger joins the first, the angle making his shoulder ache. He arches in the tub, cold air on wet skin. His nipples stiffen as he thrashes, exposing more bits of flesh to icy scrutiny.

The rhythm of his fingers is insistent, hips bouncing, water frothing over the tub’s edge.

He worries a stiff nipple between his fingers, cunt clenching.

“Oh, fuck-” Lucerys sighs, brow furrowed, he slings a leg over the edge of the tub, wanton, unabashed.

He tugs on his nipple, the flesh tingles hot and cold from the abuse. Diligent fingers work in his core, curling and stroking silken insides.

His peak builds quickly, approaching like the tide. He gasps, willowy body pulling taut as a bowstring as his release ripples through him. He comes hard, soaking his own fingers.

“-Aerys!” He cries in time with his climax.

He slumps into the water, cheeks damp, spent and shuddering.

His head aches.

The remainder of his bath is carried out with a shamed sort of efficiency.

He adds a touch of sweet sleep to a goblet of strongwine and finishes the lot before climbing beneath his duvet.

___

Within the week there is yet another charred corpse in the throne room. Aerys had charged another, fire was his executioner. Innocent or guilty mattered not to their king.

The stench of smoke remains in his lungs, blackened upon his tongue, as he pores over a shipping manifest in his chambers.

Rhaella has paid visits of late, teary-eyed and fretting over him; so very grateful. Her bruises are beginning to fade, no longer caked beneath powder.

He rubs at his eyes, blinking at poorly drawn up inventory catalogs.

He starts at a brisk knock at the door.

“Enter,” he calls, parchment set aside. He neatens the wild fringe of white-gold curls with a pass of his fingers.

“Lord Admiral,” the familiar voice of Ser Gerold Hightower greets, a touch regretful if the slight turn of his mouth is any evidence.

“Lord Commander,” Lucerys replies, hesitant.

“The king has requested your presence.”

The king who had violated him. The king who had humiliated him. The king whom he loved, and would always love until he was laid to rest in the sea.

Lucerys ducks his head to hide his smile.

More than adequate, so it seems.

#my writing #lucerys ii velaryon #aerys ii targaryen #aerys ii x lucerys ii #lucaerys ii #asoiaf

[sarcasticsweetlara]

The Gods of the Sea

Warning: Childbirth, Velaryon lore, birth dragon-like deformity, death.

It had never been supposed to be that way.

Laena was glad she had been able to give birth to her son, they had had to bring a weird tool that cut Laena's lower skin to make more space for the baby, she knew many women survived that procedure unlike the infamous cutting of the mother's wombs; once the maester shakily placed the baby in her arms Laena frowned, the baby had literally the appearance of a dragon. It couldn't be, what had happened? One maester gave her milk of the poppy as he healed her, and the other was doing everything he could to examine the baby but as soon as an hour passed her baby boy that she had planned to name Aellisar, passed.

She had dreamed so many times about a boy with a dragon diving into the sea and that he could have been a great warrior and that he would be like her father alongside befriending many of the sea creatures.

It was not weird, after all, her mother had told Laena that everytime a woman carried a baby with the energy of the Merling King they would dream about the future of their children.

It was thanks to the first Velaela Velaryon, who had been a dreamer, but as she liked to better say it, a seahorse dreamer, someone who could see visions regarding their loved ones in any time, and that they could do magic with any kind of liquids. Velaela had been a student of magic and a Valyrian priestess, and as Laena was her descendant it hurt her to know the future she had dreamed would now remain just a dream.

Three days after she was in her bed a fever came for Laena engulfing her for a whole week in which a mermaid goddess was now in her dreams.

The mermaid goddess was with a boy who had honey blonde hair and clear blue eyes, and black skin, which made Laena know this was her son; they both were swimming in an oddly purple colored sea.

"The time runs, but your boy's energy is everlasting and it has passed to your girls, they will accomplish his destiny." Said the mermaid.

Laena felt dizzy and had many hallucinations and could not digest anything she ate; Laena swore she could hear chants of mermaids as well as the slurring of the god Caraxes, as well as her beloved Vhagar calling for her. She felt exhausted and was tired of hearing the septas pray for her.

Laena just wanted to feel the winds hit her face as she was atop Vhagar; with all her remaining strength she managed to get up and evade the septas as she set her path to reach Vhagar and as she was nearly there she saw a Valyrian woman in front of her, she had pale skin, silver-gold hair and pastel purple eyes, then she remembered that in both King's Landing and Driftmark there were portraits of the Queen Alyssa Velaryon -her great grandmother on Jocelyn Baratheon's side and great great grandmother on Aemon Targaryen the Pale Prince's side-.

Alyssa was the first Velaryon queen of Westeros and had Corlys' ambition come to be true, Laena would have been the second Velaryon queen of the realm.

"It's time you come home my brave seahorse." Alyssa gave Laena her hand and as she cried she managed to mutter back.

"Will my family be fine?"

"That is something the gods will choose."

Sighing tiredly, Laena took the hand of her great grandmother and felt how the sea was taking over her, she still breathed but it was like her body was now foam and salt instead of flesh and bones.

#house velaryon #the old the true the brave #the velaryons #laena velaryon #house targaryen #house of the dragon #a world of ice and fire #a song of ice and fire #westeros #salt courses through velaryon blood #queen alyssa velaryon #alyssa velaryon #baela targaryen #rhaena of pentos #valyrianladies #valyrianscrolls #seahorse dreams are the velaryon equivalent of dragon dreams but more efficient and stable #Velaela velaryon I (oc) #rhaena targaryen (daughter of daemon and laena) #rhaena the last dragonrider #rhaena the dragon twin

[captainswanapproved]

An Indecent Proposal- Chapter 9

A03,Prologue, Chapter 1,Chapter 2,Chapter 3, Chapter 4,Chapter 5,Chapter 6,Interlude,Chapter 7, Chapter 8

Daemon x Rhaenyra Multichapter AU:

Daemon leaves Rhaenyra at her wedding feast. Rhaenyra marries Laenor. After a year of trying to do their duty and produce an heir, Rhaenyra writes to Daemon.

She needs a true Targaryen heir.

It only needs to be an arrangement of business, she says. And it would result in Daemon’s child one day taking the Iron Throne.

Daemon accepts the proposal and returns to court.

Only, ventures like these are never simple. As much as they would wish to, Daemon and Rhaenyra cannot let go of the past, or the feelings they once had for each other.

“The queen would like to see the children, Princess. In her chambers. Immediately.”

Little Jacaerys cried, as if to declare the sentiment ridiculous. Alyssa only nuzzled further into her mother’s bosom and cooed, unbothered by such a request.

It was a challenge, Rhaenyra knew. One that she would rise to with aplomb. She was a dragon, and she would not be bested by her stepmother.

“Help me dress,” Rhaenyra said to one of the maids.

Another maid took Alyssa from her.

“She cannot be serious,” Laena said. “I will go to your father. He will put a stop to this.”

“No,” Rhaenyra said. “You will hold Alyssa and join me in meeting the queen. I trust you with her, Laena.”

And with that, Rhaenyra dressed, picking up her beloved son from his cradle after she was finished.

Once Rhaenyra entered the hall, she found Daemon, Laenor, and her father emerging from the solar. Rhaenyra’s heart clenched at the sight of Daemon, still the most handsome man she knew even when dirty and worn from a long night of travel.

“Rhaenyra, what are you doing out of bed? You should be resting.” Viserys said.

“I should, Father, but your wife has demanded to meet my children.” At this, Rhaenyra glanced at Daemon, pleased when she saw his fingers curl around the hilt of Dark Sister so hard his knuckles turned white. Alicent was fortunate that Rhaenyra would keep her uncle from doing the same to her throat.

“That is preposterous. She should come to your chambers,” Laenor said.

Daemon did not speak, but Rhaenyra could see that he was seething by the way he furrowed his brow, curled his lip, and clenched his sword.

“Unfortunately, she cannot,” Viserys said. “She has been confined to bed. The queen is with child herself, about five moons along. We have been keeping it secret as she has not been handling the pregnancy as well as she did for our first three children.”

Rhaenyra might have laughed if not for her father’s presence. It served Alicent right to be confined to her chambers. Court would be more tolerable without her constant presence.

“We should all go together,” Laena proposed, ever the peacemaker. “Prince Daemon, come meet your niece, Princess Alyssa.”

Daemon’s eyes met Rhaenyra’s for the briefest moment, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. Her father, of course, was free to react as he chose. “You named her for your grandmother?”

“I hope my daughter can live up to her great-grandmother,” Rhaenyra said solemnly.

“I am certain she will,” Viserys said.

Daemon moved to stand beside Laena, offering his arm. A rare smile crossed his face at the sight of the little baby girl. “She is as beautiful as her mother,” Daemon said.

“Thank you, Uncle. Your words are touching.” Rhaenyra was stunned. Daemon was never so overt in his dealings with her in public.

Viserys, however, heartily agreed before offering his arm to his daughter. “And what is the boy’s name?”

“Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra said.

“A fine Valyrian name, fit for the future king. He has his father’s nose,” Viserys declared looking from Laenor to the child.

Laenor was in possession of the pale hair and purple eyes that had been so common in Old Valyria. Rhaenyra smiled. Her father believed the child to be Laenor’s. Hopefully the rest of the court would think the same.

The group made their way through the Red Keep, stopping occasionally so that lords and ladies could offer their blessings to the proud parents. Many declared that the children very much resembled Ser Laenor, and with each proclamation, Rhaenyra saw Daemon’s face become more closed off. In that moment, Rhaenyra desperately wished that Daemon could claim Alyssa and Jacaerys has his own.

When they arrived at the Queen’s chambers, Ser Arryk Cargyll allowed them entry after offering his own words of congratulations.

Alicent sat in her elegant four poster bed, the hangings drawn aside, and propped up against a mountain of pillows.

“Rhaenyra, you should be resting!” Alicent said, her voice tinged with false concern.

“If you believed I would allow my children out of my sight only an hour after they were born, you were seriously mistaken,” Rhaenyra said, her voice cold.

“Now, my dear, surely this could have waited,” Viserys said, keeping Alicent from responding in kind.”

“It could not have, Your Grace. I was eager to meet the Velaryon children. I had begun to think Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor would not be blessed with offspring. Bring them to me, so that I may look at them.”

Rhaenyra and Laena brought the children to Alicent’s bedside.

“Curious,” Alicent said. “I do not see much of Ser Laenor. Perhaps they will resemble their father more as they grow.”

Rhaenyra could not be certain, but she swore that Alicent’s eyes moved to Daemon, who was displaying a passable look of detached composure.

“Nonsense. Princess Alyssa and Prince Jacaerys have the true Valyrian looks, just as both their mother and father. You have seen them, my dear. I believe we should allow Ser Laenor and Prince Daemon to escort Rhaenyra and Lady Laena back to Rhaenyra’s chambers.”

Alicent’s expression was sour. “Very well. Do take care to rest, Rhaenyra. Delivering twins is such a hardship. You must not overexert yourself.”

Rhaenyra resisted the urge to give her stepmother disdainful look. Instead, she held Jacaerys close to her chest and said, “I shall try, my queen. And might I congratulate you on your own pregnancy. Perhaps this time you will give birth to a child worthy of a dragon.”

Before Alicent could protest, Rhaenyra swept from the room, leaving Laena, Laenor, and Daemon to follow in her wake.

Daemon caught her first, taking her arm even as she swayed, her face pained.

“Rhaenyra,” Daemon said. His mouth formed silent words that he did not utter. He offered his arm and she took it and braced herself against him. Jacaerys was tucked carefully in her other arm, sleeping peacefully.

“Rhaenyra,” Laenor called, “was it terribly painful?”

“Did you not hear the screams all through the night, dear husband?” Rhaenyra asked. She was fond of Laenor, truly she was, but sometimes he was truly tactless.

“I took a lance to the shoulder once. It was the most painful sensation I have ever experienced.”

“My deepest condolences,” Rhaenyra ground out.

“Brother, perhaps you would like to tend to your daughter,” Laena said, handing him the small girl.

Laenor grinned and fell back into step with Laena. Rhaenyra shot her a grateful look.

“Your husband is a fool,” Daemon said in whispered High Valyrian.

“Fortunately my lover is not. I am glad you are safely returned, Daemon. What do you think of the children?”

“They are beautiful and true Targaryens,” Daemon said. He stroked Jacaerys’s cheek with one long finger. “Are you well?”

“Well enough. Come to my chambers tonight, at our usual time, Daemon, and you may properly dote upon the new prince and princess.”

The foursome reached Rhaenyra’s chamber. Rhaenyra turned to Laenor and Daemon. I would prefer the company of Lady Laena. Uncle, perhaps you would care to celebrate with my husband this eve and raise a toast to the newest members of the royal family in Fleabottom.

The people of King’s Landing should know that she had given birth to two true Targaryens, and that Queen Alicent was confined to her bed and carrying her fourth child, who was highly unlikely to ever claim a dragon. Daemon would ensure that the smallfolk circulated the news throughout the city.

Daemon nodded. “As you wish, Princess.”

Rhaenyra wished that Daemon would kiss her cheek in farewell, but he could not do so in front of the Kingsguard.

Instead, she received a kiss from Laenor. “Rest easy, Rhaenyra. Send for me should you have need of anything.”

***

“My Prince, how nice it is to see you, and you have brought someone new. How delightful.” Mysaria leaned into him. “Might I occupy your evening myself? I shall find the best company for your friend.”

Daemon pushed her away. The idea of touching another woman after nearly a year of sharing Rhaenyra’s bed was abhorrent. “That will not be necessary. As for Ser Laenor, his tastes lie elsewhere.”

Mysaria looked at Laenor for a moment, silently assessing him. “We have young boys as well, Ser, if that is what you prefer. You need not fear the secrets of your pleasure escaping these walls.”

Again, Daemon stopped him from answering. “We came here for another purpose, Mysaria. Everyone in the establishment shall have a cup of Arbor Gold to raise in honor of the Princess Rhaenyra and her newborn twins.”

“Very well, my Prince,” Mysaria said, going to her serving girls and delivering instructions.

Daemon and Laenor took a table near the center of the room. “The woman seems overly fond of you.”

Daemon’s voice was low and in Valyrian. “Are you questioning my loyalty to Rhaenyra?”

Laenor shook his head. “Just making an observation. I do not know the particulars of your arrangement. I do not believe Rhaenyra would fault you for finding pleasure elsewhere. The circumstances are peculiar.”

“I need no one else,”Daemon said, his voice a near snarl.“We are here to endear the prince and princess to the people.”

“Right. Forgive me for doubting you. You have given Rhaenyra what I could not, and for that I am grateful. I only wish I could do more for you both.”

“You could leave Westeros,” Daemon said. “With your lover. You could begin a new life and leave Rhaenyra and the children for me to care for.”

Laenor swallowed. “The people of Westeros would need to think me dead to accept Rhaenyra taking a second husband. I would have to lie to everyone, my sister and parents included. I do not think I can do that. Not unless Rhaenyra decided that is what she wants. Maybe not even then.”

“You are too honorable for your own good, Ser Laenor,” Daemon said grudgingly.“But I suppose I cannot fault your devotion to your family. It is the thing we have most in common.”

“I will consider the matter, Daemon. I know that Rhaenyra, Alyssa, and Jacaerys would be safe with you,” Laenor said.

Soon after, Arbor Gold was distributed to the entire brothel, patrons and whores alike. Daemon stood on the table and spoke in a loud, ringing voice. “The Princess Rhaenyra has given birth to twins, and she wishes to share her joy by filling your cups.”

Everyone on the establishment cheered.

Daemon raised his own goblet. “To Princess Alyssa Velaryon and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. They are or true Valyrian heritage and will ride dragons!”

There were more cheers as the people drained their cups.

“Queen Alicent Hightower is incapable of giving birth to true dragons, even now, she is confined to bed with her fourth half breed. The dragon keepers have denied her children eggs and hatchlings. Whereas Princess Alyssa and Prince Jacaerys will sleep with dragon eggs in cradle in the noble tradition of House Targaryen.”

The crowd cheered again and Daemon knew he had made the message clear. He drained his cup and stepped down from the table. “Come, Ser Laenor. We will go to the dragon pit and secure eggs for the twins.”

Laenor rose and followed Daemon. Both were unaware that they were being closely observed. After they left the establishment, a hooded figure followed after them.

***

“Prince Daemon, to what do we owe the late hour of this visit?”

“We have come to select eggs for Princess Rhaenyra’s children. We are in need of two.”

The dragon keeper looked to Laenor. “I offer you my congratulations, Ser Laenor. Would you like to choose from Syrax’s latest clutch? I am afraid Seasmoke has no offerings.”

“We will take Syrax’s eggs,” Laenor confirmed. “I will choose for the Prince Jacaerys and Prince Daemon will choose for Princess Alyssa.”

The dragon keeper bowed and they waited as he retrieved the eggs from their secret hiding place.

Syrax had laid a trio of eggs. One was silver swirled with streaks of midnight blue, a second was scarlet with flecks of black, the third was a pure and brilliant gold.

Laenor selected the blue and silver egg for Prince Jacaerys, while Daemon selected the scarlet egg for Princess Alyssa. The third, Daemon ordered to be kept safe and locked away. Now that the Green Bitch was expecting to spawn again, Daemon was sure that someone would try to claim the egg in her name.

Daemon and Laenor returned to the Red Keep by carriage, with the warmers sitting securely beside them.

“Your children will be dragon riders,” Laenor said.

The phrasing was not lost on Daemon. “In public, they are yours, and you will treat them as they deserve.”

“Of course, Daemon. I could do nothing less.”

“Be certain that you keep your word, or leaving Westeros may not be a choice.”

Laenor accepted the threat with grace. Daemon grudgingly and silently owned that Laenor did not deserve a cold blooded murder. He was more than an obstacle in Daemon’s path to Rhaenyra. Against all odds, he had become something of a friend.

***

Rhaenyra held Alyssa in one arm and Jacaerys in the other. Both were sleeping soundly. The wet nurse had just left, and Rhaenyra kept glancing at the tapestry expecting Daemon to appear.

When he did, Rhaenyra sighed with relief. “You are late,” Rhaenyra said.

“With good reason,” Daemon said. He produced two dragon eggs from his cloak. “Ser Laenor and I had to stop at the dragon pit. Our children should have their dragon eggs for their first night.”

Rhaenyra was touched by the gesture, and watched as he placed a silver egg in one cradle and a scarlet egg in the other.

“The scarlet is for Alyssa, our true Targaryen princess. The silver is for Jacaerys, our noble little princeling,” Daemon explained.

“And who would you like to greet first,” Rhaenyra asked.

“Alyssa,” Daemon said.

Rhaenyra handed the baby to him. A smile crossed his face as he took the sleeping infant and held her close. He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “She is beautiful. She will make a fine Princess of Dragonstone when you take your throne.”

Rhaenyra frowned.

“What is it?” Daemon asked.

“I believe Jacaerys should be the heir. The lords of Westeros will more likely accept me as Queen if they know that I will be followed by a male heir.”

Daemon nearly laughed. “Fuck the lords of Westeros. Naming Alyssa the heir would set a stronger precedent for the future.”

Rhaenyra sighed. “We can debate the merits of each in time. I am sure the matter will be broached often by the Small Council. In any case, I have yet to take the throne. All I want now is to raise two strong, capable leaders.”

Daemon set Alyssa beside the scarlet egg. “You are right, of course. We have many years, for you will have a long and glorious reign.”

Rhaenyra smiled and handed Jacaerys to Daemon. “The court believes our ruse judging by the greetings we received today.”

“Except for the Hightower Bitch,” Daemon said. “But she would say anything to discredit you.”

“Alicent will always try to spread poison, but any child I give birth to is legitimate, for I am the future queen. The line of succession goes through me, not my husband. Still, I am grateful that our children bear the looks of true Targaryens. They will bring honor to our house and legacy.”

Daemon nodded in agreement as he placed Jacaerys in the cradle.

“I am proud of you, my little dragon. You were remarkable today.”

“I wish you could have been beside me,” Rhaenyra said. “I had not realized how difficult it would be to be without you when we began our arrangement.”

Daemon took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. It made her heart race and enflamed her ardor. But she had just given birth. They could not make love. “Do you still consider what is between us to be a mere business arrangement?” Daemon asked when he pulled away.

Rhaenyra shook her head. “I do not and I was foolish to believe it ever could be.”

Daemon kissed her again and she melted into his embrace. The wall she had tried to build between them had crumbled to nothing but dust. Her heart was his, and she knew that his heart was equally hers.

#daemon x rhaenyra #daemyra #hotd #hotd an indecent proposal #yay for fluff! #my writing

[euphorial-docx]

Oh I absolutely want to hear about Valyrian history with the Black’s!!!! (Also trans Reggie my beloved 🥰💖🥰💖)

ask and you shall receive

i take a lot from targaryen history, so a lot of it is the same just replaced with black family members.

anyways, it starts in 114BC (before conquest) when phoebe black had a prophetic dream that saw the doom of valyria. this prompted her family to flee to dragonstone outside of kings landing. they were the only dragon-riding valyrian family to survive the destruction of old valyria, thus the only people able to tame dragons or even carry on the reproduction of dragons.

and then blah blah blah the black family easily got control of westeros thanks to their dragon power… except for dorne, governed by the potters, who actually managed to kill a dragon and its rider with a weapon called a scorpion; dorne remains an independent country by the time the fic takes place, but they do have a healthy enough relationship with the seven kingdoms and are involved politically.

when the blacks took control of the now seven (used to be eight, but dorne is badass, so it’s seven) kingdoms, they integrated their customs into the kingdom. and in my version of valyria, homophobia and transphobia and sexism didn’t exist, which is how i explain westeros no longer having those belief systems any longer. although remnants of the past homophobic/transphobic/sexist culture still linger (mostly in terminology such as “man at arms” or “men” as a term for “people” in general and those type of things.) the blacks did however give up the polyamorous culture that valyria used to have to assimilate a little better into westeros, so polyamory and the concept of concubines are still looked down upon unfortunately. i needed to keep that so the central conflict makes sense :/

the blacks weren’t the only valyria family to escape the doom of valyria: the meadowes family also did. while they are not dragon riders, they have old valyrian blood and are a naval powerhouse. despite being from valyria, they are not blood related to the blacks and the blacks have made no alliances with them through marriage yet, preferring to prioritize dragon-rider blood (aka incest because this is still based off game of thrones, and the black family were interbred canonically anyways so i really didn’t have to change much with their family tree.)

as for valyrians, i changed the famous characteristics from game of thrones. in game of thrones, they’re known for their white-blond hair and purple eyes. in my fic, they’re known for their silver eyes and dark hair. the black family specifically are known for the dark hair and silver eyes, but also for pale skin. but not all valyrians were pale, because the meadowes are dark skinned and still valyrian— but they do have the silver eyes like the black family does.

anyways x2, in 97AC (after conquest), regulus is born. he is also born with dragon dreams, aka prophecies, although he doesn’t really believe in it. he writes them off as weird dreams.

and finally, for the black family’s Aesthetics: they are formally called the House of Black. They live in kings landing, the crownlands of the highland region of westeros.

their motto is “va moriot vok” which means “always pure” in high valyrian.

titles of black family rulers are dragonlord, lord of dragonstone, lord of the seven kingdoms, protector of the realm.

the head of their house, at the beginning of the fic, is orion black. walburga black acts as queen regent because of his poor health.

their religion is the faith of the seven. their family converted to appeal more to the westerosi people upon taking control of their government.

their commodities are dragons (of course), skilled workers (smiths, weavers, tailors, cobblers, tanners, bakers, fishermen, alchemy, etc), lumber, commerce, fish, crabs, agriculture (barley, wheat, oats, rye, cherries, potatoes, apples, beets, etc), sheep and wool, and hunting

their sigil is a green three-headed dragon on a black field.

they speak the common tongue of westeros, but around family they often speak high valyrian. i will include translations within the text.

yeah so that’s all that i can think of right now? i’m sure i’ll add more Lore the more i write for the fic <3

[agentrouka-blog]

What do you think the wall will fall out? Do you think it would be horn of joramun?

I don’t know. I don’t really care..? My main concern with the Ice Threat is that the point of it will be extremely different from the show. The solution will not be battle or killing. It will be negotiation. And it doesn’t really matter where it takes place or if/when/why the Wall falls, exactly. The Wall is only a bandaid.

The original Long Night was unrelated to any direct cause we know of. It happened after the Pact on the Gods Eye and before the Andal Invasion that saw the South ravaged for the weirdwoods and Children of the Forest. What caused it?

But we know that the rise of the dragonlords in Old Valyria was definitely tied to slavery and dark magic. Dany uses the wrongest means possible (war, conquest, queenship) to recover something personal she longs for: a home. And she haggles with bloodmagic over Drogo’s death and loses big time, and then turns it around into trading lives for something monstrous: her dragons. That’s her magic sword. 

Then she haggles again for the Unsullied, a trick trade. One dragon for an army of human quasi-zombies. She “frees” them, but has only one purpose for them: dracarys dracarys, dracarys. 

It’s not an accident that the White Walkers and the wights bear some anviliously parallels to the Unsullied. 

The Other said something in a language that Will did not know; his voice was like the cracking of ice on a winter lake, and the words were mocking.  (AGOT, Prologue)

It mirrors:

"Tell the Westerosi whore to lower her eyes," the slaver Kraznys mo Nakloz complained to the slave girl who spoke for him. "I deal in meat, not metal. The bronze is not for sale. Tell her to look at the soldiers. Even the dim purple eyes of a sunset savage can see how magnificent my creatures are, surely."

Kraznys's High Valyrian was twisted and thickened by the characteristic growl of Ghis, and flavored here and there with words of slaver argot. Dany understood him well enough, but she smiled and looked blankly at the slave girl, as if wondering what he might have said. (ASOS, Daenerys II)

The Others take Craster’s boys, the slavers take young boys. There are significant sons.

"The boy's brothers," said the old woman on the left. "Craster's sons. The white cold's rising out there, crow. I can feel it in my bones. These poor old bones don't lie. They'll be here soon, the sons." (ASOS, Samwell II)

It mirrors:

Dany knew she would take more than a hundred, if she took any at all. "Remind your Good Master of who I am. Remind him that I am Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, trueborn queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. My blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and of old Valyria before him."

Yet her words did not move the plump perfumed slaver, even when rendered in his own ugly tongue. "Old Ghis ruled an empire when the Valyrians were still fucking sheep," he growled at the poor little scribe, "and we are the sons of the harpy." (ASOS, Daenerys II)

The Starks only came into prominence after the Long Night, involved in building the Wall and Winterfell, the latter of which is now in ruins like Old Valyria. Clearly, they mirror the dragonlords in some way, just like Jon mirrors Dany in many ways. Maybe they were the good guys, or maybe they did what Dany did: create an imperfect solution, play a trick, some kind of stalemate that made them expect a return of the Others, made the Wall necessary in the first place.

I think the source of the Others might be someone’s personal wrath, like Dany’s. Because there’s Cersei “re-creating” the Faith Militant, there is Stannis aiming the red god at his enemies, and there is Lady Stoneheart aiming the remnants of the Brotherhood without Banners at those who wronged her.

"The harpy is a craven thing," Daario Naharis said when he saw it. "She has a woman's heart and a chicken's legs. Small wonder her sons hide behind their walls." (ASOS, Daenerys V)

A woman’s heart, her sons behind Walls, and they kill you in the dark if you venture past.

The Sons of the Harpy did their butchery by night, and over each kill they left their mark. (ADWD, Daenerys I)

Butchering by night. Like the wights. Like the nightfires. Like Lady Stoneheart’s “trials”. The importance of memory connects them.

To the boy she said, "Treasure that tokar, for it saved your life. You are only a boy, so we will forget what happened here. You should do the same." But as he left the boy looked back over his shoulder, and when she saw his eyes Dany thought, The Harpy has another Son. (ADWD, Daenerys I)

And..

"She don't speak," said the big man in the yellow cloak. "You bloody bastards cut her throat too deep for that. But she remembers." 

(ASOS, Epilogue)

And...

The Nightfort had figured in some of Old Nan's scariest stories. It was here that Night's King had reigned, before his name was wiped from the memory of man. (ASOS, Bran IV)

But not the memory of women, judging by Old Nan.

He never was. He was a Stark, the brother of the man who brought him down." She always pinched Bran on the nose then, he would never forget it. "He was a Stark of Winterfell, and who can say? Mayhaps his name was Brandon. Mayhaps he slept in this very bed in this very room."

(ASOS, Bran IV)

Brandon Stark, name of names. Beloved son.

Reluctantly, she let go of them in her heart. But not Bran. Never Bran. "Yes," she said, "but please, Ned, for the love you bear me, let Bran remain here at Winterfell. He is only seven." (AGOT, Catelyn II)

Never letting go of Bran. Now waging vengeful war for Robb. 

But the solution is not killing.

She was the blood of the dragon. She could kill the Sons of the Harpy, and the sons of the sons, and the sons of the sons of the sons. But a dragon could not feed a hungry child nor help a dying woman's pain. And who would ever dare to love a dragon? (ADWD, Daenerys II)

Killing the sons of the sons of the sons is not going to do anything. They rise and rise again.

Dany haggled for the Unsullied. She traded for them. A dragon. For all of them. But she never fixed what was wrong, she just turned them around to kill for her and the slaves became the slavers. They are making new Unsullied of the sons of the slavers. Just like the Others have been making new wights, and are marching south again.

Maybe an undead dragon will destroy the Wall like on the show. (metaphor for Jon?) Or maybe they will end up choosing to blow the Horn of Joramun to make the actual solution possible. “If I look back, I am lost” is the wrong path, so they will need to recover the lost Memory of the Long Night, and fix things.

Whatever Brandon Stark will do, it will involve negotiation, haggling and - if the problem is to be truly fixed, an honorable trade. If he trades a dragon, then Jon is that dragon. But if he trades “the only cow he owns”, it might be something else. Maybe his magical ability, his warging, his “wings”. The way Drogon is Dany’s wings. Because Bran is mourning, too. Bran traded his dreams for great powers, too.

"A knight is what you want. A warg is what you are. You can't change that, Bran, you can't deny it or push it away. You are the winged wolf, but you will never fly." Jojen got up and walked to the window. "Unless you open your eye." He put two fingers together and poked Bran in the forehead, hard. (ACOK, Bran V)

He wanted to be a knight. He loved to climb.

"You will never walk again, Bran," the pale lips promised, "but you will fly." ADWD, Bran II)

But he will fly. The bird mentor says so. But bird mentors are bad news. Littlefinger. Ygritte (egret). Griff. They all want to force their dreams on you, they all will ask you to sacrifice the innocent.

"You will never walk again," the three-eyed crow had promised, "but you will fly." (ADWD, Bran III)

But may he shouldn’t fly. Maybe he should not warg. The animals fight it. The people fight it more. It’s an invasion, an assault. It is only ever a shared experience with their bonded wolves. Perhaps wargs are rightfully viewed with suspicion?

Maybe when he accepts his loss, like Cat will have to, like Dany should have done… something will be worked out. The magic will whither away, the seasons will return to normal. The Stark will be “like other men”. They will need no Wall. Maybe they will need no “Stark in Winterfell”. A castle rebuilt from Snow. And a king in the South.

#asoiaf #brandon stark #daenerys targaryen #the long night #the Others #the Night's King #Old Nan #haggling for harmony #magic is on the way out #warging is assault #the Wall #the Unsullied #asks #my posts #asoiaf speculation

[hopelesslygazingthestars]

When Elia was a child her mother told her that the women in her family were known for being touched by the Gods. It started with Nymeria, the warrior-princess, who the other kingdoms later called witch, for her dizzy spells and prophetic dreams which drove her to commandeer ten thousand Rhoynar ships to the shores of Westeros and unite the small, warring factions of Dorne under the banner of House Martell.

Sometimes, the visions skipped generations, but their familial gift persevered through the generations bestowing a somewhat cursed inheritance upon the daughters of Nymeria’s descendants. Elia would never be so well regarded as a true conduit of the Gods like Nymeria, but she had the gift of prophetic dreams which allowed her to interpret the will of the Gods and the fate of herself and those around her.

It was not a present that was always there as it had a mind of its own; choosing when, where and, most of all, who was the subject of her dreams. Elia praised it in the past when her visions of purple stars led her to Starfall, led her to Ashara Dayne. Even though her head ached for many moons prior, her heart found a joy she could not explain when she met a young Ashara. Other times, she cursed the nature of her gift for the unbearable silence that came when her father died suddenly with no explainable cause.  

Thus, on the eve before the Dornish Party would leave for the Lannisport Tourney, to celebrate the birth of Prince Viserys, when Elia again dreamt of Prince Rhaegar she was certain to take it as a sign.

Rhaegar visited her fantasies as he had the year past; haunting Valyrian eyes drawing her in as he walked on water with his arms outstretched, wordlessly calling her to make a choice. Although, this time, while one hand was outstretched with a fist of dripping crimson rubies; in the other, the Prince held onto the hand of a young boy. The boy, who was no older than five, had hair so dark it resembled her own, Rhaegar’s pale skin and the darkest indigo eyes they appeared near black; and in small chubby fingers lay a crown of winter roses. Although the pair did not speak, nor did they smile, Elia was filled up with a love she could not explain.

In the end, she accepted the offerings, rubies and roses, and took the extended hands. She could not see where they led her, only that she too walked on water, and when she awoke, her skin tingled with the feeling of fate.

The fact that her dreams led her twice to the man that would one day be known as the King of the Seven Kingdoms could be nothing less than a gift, no matter the outcome or the pain it would cause her in the end.

Staring down at her bed companion, Ashara’s warning circled about her mind; the foretelling of the Prince’s infectious sorrow that would drown whoever dared to get close. Yet, with the ghost sensation of that boy’s hand in her own, and the image of Valyrian eyes boring into her own, she could not force away the visions which seemed fateful. Her heart ached for the child in her dreams she was certain was her son. Children were Elia’s greatest want. She yearned for nothing more than the experience of motherhood, had wanted it since her own mother gave her domain over the Water Gardens protecting children; noble and smallfolk alike, ensuring childhoods filled with love and joy.

Therefore, Elia left a sleeping Ashara and headed to the Princess’ solar and explained her dreams to her mother. Afterward, she watched a fire return anew in the Princess Furiosa she had not seen since long before her father’s death.

In the years past, Elia saw and felt the disappointment in her mother’s aging dark eyes, in that she had not yet found a worthy match for her only daughter. She was her mother’s most beloved child. Furiosa often spoke of the painful years in which she tried for more children after Doran. Two sons were lost before Elia came along, and she too nearly died. A tiny thing, born blue and waited a long few minutes before she gave the wailing cries of life. For the struggle Furiosa experienced bringing Elia to life, she had sworn her a future worthy of the pain. Elia was Dorne’s prized sun.

“You are fated to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” Furiosa concluded.

Uncertainty swirled about the pit of her stomach. She remembered her reception in Kings Landing the year previous, there was little love for Dorne or their royalty.  

“How can you be so certain of my dreams, mother?”

Furiosa shifted a little on her enormous bed bringing Elia closer in their embrace.

“You are the blood of Nymeria. You are touched by the Gods.” She stated as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“How can that be true when the Gods saw it fit to bless me a sickly princess?”

Elia’s malady was something she fought every single day. She exhausted herself trying to keep up with those around her, and despite all the potions, poisons and infusions, no treatment ever worked so well as to keep her permanently healthy. Inevitably, she always fell to crippling exhaustion that would see her off her feet for weeks at a time. How could she possibly be destined to be the Queen?

Furiosa turned sharply to face her. Their eyes met, and Elia saw certainty reflected in the dark orbs that mirrored her own.

“When you were born, so small, so frail, I thought it was my duty to love you more than any of my children. I thought your infirmity a weakness… I was wrong.”

Elia aspired to be a woman as formidable as her mother. She grew up watching the mere mention of her name earn respect or instil fear into the hearts of many a man. Furiosa was named appropriately, for she was truly the mistress of rage, and even if Dorne was not loved in Westeros, none would ever cross her for fear of the Princess.

“Your infirmity has given you a strength even your brothers do not possess. Doran is your father’s son, patient and thoughtful, and Oberyn is my rage, but Elia – you are the best of us all. The Gods have come to you and shown you the future. It is your duty to see Dorne rise.”

Although the confession was the greatest thing her mother ever told her, Elia could not help but feel the weight of Dorne placed upon her shoulders.

Furiosa was headed towards the afterlife. For the past few years, she had been preparing her children for her end, but none knew how she wished her legacy to carry on. Now, she passed the fate of Dorne into Elia’s delicate hands and they trembled from it.

“What would you have me do?” Elia wondered.

“Lannisport shall be where you show your sun-fire. I shall deal with the King’s Hand, I have waited many years to enact my retribution…”

The Martells still sported deeply injured pride over discussions of marriage with Tywin Lannister from seemingly an age ago. When the Princess first ventured out of Sunspear to find matches worthy of her children, their destination had been Casterly Rock, owing to plans made by the ladies-in-waiting of Queen Rhaella. Despite Lady Joanna Lannister’s death after giving birth to Tyrion the Imp, the Princess expected Tywin to agree to the betrothals. They discussed marriages between Tywin's children, Jaime and Cersei, to Elia and Oberyn. To the ruling family of Dorne’s dismay, Tywin scoffed at their offer, proudly claiming that Cersei was meant for the Targaryen prince, and the only match he deemed worthy was sickly Elia to the Imp babe.

“… You shall dance to Rhaegar’s songs, charm the King and his advisors with your intellect, care for the Queen and little Viserys as if you were already her good-daughter…”

Furiosa conceived a plan so easily that Elia wondered how long she waited for this moment.

“… It is in your hands to win over the Prince and the hearts of the Westerosi, for it will be your child – the one that sits on the throne – that will give power to Dorne, such that none will ever again look down upon us.”

Elia had the tools to conduct every task her mother instructed her toward. The many long conversations regarding the histories of the realm, her domain over the Water Gardens, her mission to the Scorched Rock; and the constant encouragement of dancing and merriment; it seemed her education had been intended for a Queen

“A queen is not the king’s property. You shall be equal in your marriage even if not in the realm. If Rhaegar is anything like his mother, he will recognise that. It will be your duty to stand at his side and guide him to usher in a new age and make the realm a better place. While I do not expect it to be easy, I know you have the strength to endure. You are my daughter and the strength of Nymeria is in you, Dorne is in you, and you will remain unbowed, unbent, unbroken.” Furiosa described earnestly, as if she knew what was lying in wait for her.

Growing up, Furiosa often sat Elia and the other maidens down and spoken of marriage; what it was to be a dutiful wife; the sacrifices, the pain, the joy. This time, Furiosa taught Elia what it was to be a Queen.

“Will you accept the path the Gods have laid out for you?”

Elia gave pause and contemplated the meaning and implications of their conversation. Despite the unease which crept down her spine, Elia relented. For it was the will of the Gods and as devout as she was, she would accept for the love of the Seven.

“Yes mother, I shall follow the Gods to the end.” Elia vowed.

The two remained there a while as the low bustling of Sunspear waking begun. Eventually her mother spoke again, as if she heard the incessant thought that ran around Elia’s mind.  

“What of Ashara?”

Furiosa regarded her with a sad smile, like she understood exactly what she was feeling.

“Ashara…” Elia began.

Since their falling out at the Warriors day celebrations, Elia and Ashara came to a wordless agreement to push all discussions of boys and marriage away. Ashara seemingly matured overnight, and whilst the flirting continued, the string of whirlwind romances stopped.

“…remains devoted as always. She does not see reason to not be at my side forever. Seven and ten now, and she still does not dream of the things normal maids do. She would happily dance with me and poke fun until the end of our days.”

“She makes you happy because she is not afraid to treat you as Elia.” She stated.

The smile that had been pulling at her cheeks faded when she wondered how this particular pairing might affect their relationship. A marriage would certainly change things between the friends but one to the crown prince might fracture them in ways they could not predict.

“I had not expected change to come so soon for us…this will be hard for her.” Elia revealed.

‘This will be hard for me.’ A lingering thought of stolen kisses, hammering hearts and dreams of forever were pushed to the back of Elia’s mind where she kept all impossible ideas locked away, even from herself.

Her mother stoked her hair gently with her soft wrinkled hands.

“The Water Gardens would have you believe you could be girls forever.”

Furiosa loved Ashara like her own, and of those that ever questioned their closeness, her mother had never been one of them.

“Long ago, when your father pointed out the connection between you two, I worried for you. Yet, as the years have gone by, I have come to see that Ashara is good for you. I have witnessed the way she is with you, she will always be loyal to you, and for that I can’t help but feel it was always meant to be. I would not see you broken apart, though I might suggest you keep it from her until all is done, such that you might have the last of your girlhood together.”

Despite the guilt which settled in her bones, Elia knew her mother was right. Therefore, for all the love she had for her dearest Ashara – that, and some unknown fear in disappointing the violet-eyed beauty – she remained quiet about her prophetic visions and the Princess’ schemes.

When the tourney of Lannisport commenced, competitions for sport and plays for power ensued. As the newly knighted silver Prince won the events of the days, proving himself a true Targaryen heir; Elia won the competitions of the night, proving herself a formidable player in the game of thrones.

During the feasts, ladies squawked and simpered, lords boasted and brawled; threats of war broke out at least three times before each was forgotten in hearty flagons of gifted Dornish wine, and unfailingly, all eyes drifted at some point during the festivities from the taciturn King Aerys who sat upon his vaulted throne, to the irate Tywin Lannister to his right, and finally, to the plotting Dornish ruling Princess on his left. It was only a little satisfying for Furiosa that she would slight Tywin as collateral in their plans.

When Elia found herself repeatedly seated beside the silver Prince, much to the Lannister’s dismay, she understood it to be her mother’s work. She followed Furiosa’s lead and helped conspire for a match she deemed fateful. She danced to all of the Prince’s rhythms, cried at his solemn tunes; she impressed the King with her sweet wit, charmed his lords with her knowledge; and although the Queen and Prince Viserys were absent, she attentively and publicly cared for her niece, Princess Arianne and young Allyria Dayne.

Whilst the Great Houses fell for Elia’s act, Ashara did not. Except, if she knew exactly what was up, she did not confront nor question it, she simply mused quietly from the side-lines and accepted Arthur’s victorious crown of white lilies as Queen of Love and Beauty, and Elia’s performance.

At the beginning of the tourney, attendees whispered that the tourney had been meant as no celebration for the King’s son at all, but the announcement of a betrothal between Rhaegar and Cersei, securing Tywin Lannister the throne for generations. However, by the end of the competitions, the discontent between the King and his Hand were revealed for all to see; for there would be no betrothal for the lioness cub and dragon, and nor would there be a celebratory feast. Dorne won the competitions of the day, and the games of the night.

#elia x ashara #elia martell #ashara dayne #princess of dorne #nymeria #femslash #fanfic #asoiaf fic #dorne #lannisport #House martell #house dayne #allyria dayne

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

The Silent Queen (Aegon I Targaryen x Targaryen! Reader)

Anon: Could you do a Aegon I x reader, where she is the youngest Targaryen and his third and beloved wife, being also the most calm and rational of the siblings, the only one besides Aegon able to mount Balerion (but she also has her own Dragon), and she give him two children, twins?

Admin: I will try my best to get most of these things right and what you wanted! I might change that instead of her being able to ride Balerion (because only a dragon can have one dragon rider and will not let any others ride them until their rider’s death) I will say that Balerion prefers her more out of the other two sisters, and would allow her to be close or to feed. But thank you for the request!

You knew since you were young that family mattered, that they mattered more than coin or power. Family was your strength; a strength that tied you all together. 

You knew that you and your older siblings, your flesh and blood, were set for destiny since the moment you all took your first breathes into this bleak small world, but as you grew, you realised this world was much bigger.

You grew up your entire life on the small island of Dragonstone, the youngest daughter to Lord Aerion Targaryen and Valaena Velaryon; the youngest child who was born in the harshest winter, leaving you frail and smaller.

Although small and premature, you survived, with the fires within burning brighter and hotter than a thousand suns and hotter than dragon fire. You were deemed to be a survivor. Like those before you, your parents laid a dragon egg at the end of your crib: a golden flamed egg that shone like fiery coppers.

Similar to the fire within in yourself, the egg hatched, releasing the music of dragons into the air.

You had your siblings there surrounding you in your childhood. At least a year younger than your second sister Rhaenys, you had the best relationship with her and your brother Aegon. 

Rhaenys was the most beautiful and impulsive, and you were always jealous of her looks even from youth and eyes she got the lustful eyes of many lords and their songs. You always prayed every night that you would grow to become a full woman with looks as desirable as Rhaenys. To you, you just seemed so… plain.

You and your siblings were all different in many ways, especially compared against you. Unlike Visenya who enjoyed fighting beside Aegon in training and Rhaenys enjoying music and dancing (and as much as she enjoyed flying with Meraxes, she spent the most time on her dragon compared to you three), you were more book smart: relaxed to a candle and book at night, reading on your knowledge and history of the continent close to you that you eventually learnt was called Westeros. There was no doubt you were called by those the more quieter of the bunch.

Visenya, your first sister and oldest, was the most stern, and frightened you most, and you always spent going back to Aegon for help when she was being mean. Rhaenys was the one who you spent with and enjoyed playing with.

’She’s too skinny and weak. The runt of the Targaryens.’ Visenya said one day, watching with cold eyes glaring your way. ‘She won’t always have you running to help.’

‘She’s my sister.’ Aegon always stood up for you, no matter the reason. ‘And I won’t stand to watch those of my blood torment her.’

That day forward, you looked up to your brother even more, promising him and yourself that no matter what, you would make it up to him.

Rhaenys was kinder: a teaser but she was never as mean to you as Visenya was. She was the one who always dared you to dragon races all around Dragonstone with your dragon Daelyx. He was a shimmery golden-fiery orange dragon with wings an orange-red that blinded those on the ground due to them catching the sun.

No matter how many times you raced, she always won.

When you were with Aegon, you always spent time telling him of what you learnt in your books, reading to him by the fires in the evenings with him listening intently. 

You knew that when he was of age, he was to marry Visenya for duty, and deep down, there was a spark of jealously that raged in you. You loved Aegon, sadly more than a brother.

You were only one-and-ten when your father arranged a marriage proposal to your mother’s nieces’ son, a Valeryon that was a few years younger than you and with no interest to him at all. 

You protested and complained, much to your dismay, but it seemed you were to be married to one of your closest relatives. When your father had died, Aegon came to rule the island of Dragonstone, and after first being married to Visenya, he shocked those by also marrying Rhaenys.

This shocked you even more: how dare Aegon marry both your older sisters but not you? What was wrong with you to not let him marry you? You were still young, but now, thanks to your luck, you begun to mature into a much more beautiful woman like Rhaenys.

Your hair was long just like your sisters: silver-blonde which you wore down curled with two singular braids tied together in the back. Your eyes were large and lavender; lighter in colour compared to the more common darker Valyrian purple eyes. You grew to be tall, fair and slender: around the same height as Rhaenys.

You caught the eyes of many men by the time you were nine-and-ten years old, bringing many men of your banners and those of the closest Valyrian roots were wanting your hand in marriage. But sadly to them, you still had eyes for one.

When Aegon was setting his eyes beyond taking over Westeros, you were there to be by his side mainly, telling him of the history of the seven separate kingdoms and who ruled them. You became soon someone he asked for advice from, more so then his warrior sister Visenya.

When Rhaenys noticed how close you were trying to get to with Aegon, she simply joked, smiling with a knowing look, but said nothing. You knew deep down she knew your plan.

If he was to become the King to all seven kingdoms, it meant that your sister would be queens, and you, would become a simple princess to Dragonstone or the ruins of someone’s lands. You were not destined to be some lady’s lord; to raise sons wouldn’t carry the blood of the dragon.

No, you were going to be the Queen, ruling beside your sisters and your King, and you were going to be Aegon’s wife.

When things begun to dwell and your hopes of marrying Aegon begun to fall with the months passing, you were surprised with the news from your brother when he announced to those close to him of your marriage. 

To yours and everyone else’s surprise (save for Rhaenys), you were to marry Aegon after his conquest of Westeros had succeeded and he was King.

You couldn’t of been happier, and although it was not uncommon in Valyrian traditions for polygamy, you still pulled away your older brother to the side, questioning the decision.

He simply smiled. “If I am to be King, why can’t I make all my sisters my Queens?”

And so, the Conquest for Westeros went underway, and you were stationed with planning and strategizing with those like Orys and naval ships from House Valeryon. 

Your golden flame dragon Daelyx was smaller than Meraxes but was quick in flight and spat out flames as bright as his wings. Flames so hot it could set alit an entire formation, horses and men combined.

You were found in the courtyard before your brother Aegon was set on course to Harrenhal to meet the Kraken King Harren the Black. Aegon found you situated feeding all four dragons, something he found most odd was that his own Black Dread, Balerion, allowed you to feed and stroke him.

He had a peculiar closeness to you, one that he didn’t have with their other sisters. 

’He always seems to like you best.’ He startled you as you held your hand over Balerion’s  snout hot under your touch. Dragons were fire made flesh like you and your family your father told you once.

’He always growled at Vis, huffed at Rhaenys, but did none of those with you.’ He walked over to both of you, stroking his dragon’s snout in thought.

’He seems to prefer me best, it seems.’ You smiled up to him, ‘They are smarter than to those of other men believe.’

He looked to you, a generous laugh came from him. ‘That is very true.’

You faced him properly, Balerion’s wings stretching in wait of his next flight. ‘Be careful brother, we may have won some of this land, but Harrenhal is mere indestructible.’

‘Not against dragon’s flame.’ He countered. ‘Travel safely when you go to take Storm’s End. Please little sister, you know I couldn’t bare to lose one of you.’

You hugged him tightly as he hugged you back, promises made between you two in promise of both of your returns. ‘Make sure Balerion gets some time to spread his wings, before you send him into chaos.’

‘The same with Daelyx. And make sure Orys doesn’t do anything reckless. You know how fierce he can be when it comes to war.’

The nights were perilous and long, but you managed to bind the bleeding wounds of Westeros into six kingdoms instead of the seven. Dorne was stubborn and tougher than the Targaryens believed they would be, but nonetheless, Aegon became King, and in his celebration, erected a large fort named after him.

A week after, Aegon was declared as King; First of His Name. You remember how becoming and handsome he looked, wearing a crown of seven rubies in his crown. He looked more like a God than man. And following his coronation, your wedding was held.

You were in a shimmery red dress with deep dark red rubies that matched his in his crown encrusted in your bodice: your dress one of the finest with such fine details, your hair long and flowing with your own crown put on your head.

A Queen I have become. You smiled as the High Septon and hall of men lords and ladies clapped. Long may we reign. It wasn’t long before the smallfolk gathering in the city begun giving you the nickname The Quiet or The Beloved Queen.

Whilst there were many rebellions and conquests underway during the early reign of Aegon, you were sure to try and give him many heirs. Strong sons for if Rhaenys or Visenya couldn’t.

Rhaenys had given birth to his first son, Aenys in 7 AC: a small fragile thing, but an heir. You were happy for your dear sister, and held the boy like he was your own. 

You tried and tried with Aegon until finally you fell pregnant and the realm rejoiced, and you gave birth on Dragonstone in 9 AC to twins; a healthy boy and girl of silver-blond hair, lilac eyes and plumped fair skin.

You named the children accordingly to Valyrian traditions: the boy was called Daemion after your grandsire who died before you were born, but heard gallant tales of in your youth. The girl was called Daenella or as Aegon and you had come up with the creative nickname ‘Nellie’.

You thought you couldn’t be any happier, until your happiness slapped you back in the face when what happened a year later, pushed you into a state of despair.

Rhaenys was killed when Meraxes was shot out from the sky with a bolt to the eye thanks to the Dornish. That was when you believed the dragon within you had awoken, the same with your remaining siblings as you reigned fire below on their castles and lands.

Mourning took you and Aegon to the worst, you especially more, seen more in black than any other colour for the rest of your life. Your beloved sister, plucked from your eyes, leaving you with the eldest you hated even more.

As Daemion and Nellie grew, you forced them to spend as little time with their aunt, making sure they were with you or Aegon but never alone or away from guards to watch over them. They were also with Aenys a lot, playing and spending time together when you were busy to do so.

They had called you the Quiet Queen; the Beloved, but never the Queen who mourned.

------ A bit of an abrupt ending, but I’ve been trying to work on this for ages. This isn’t my best work, so I do apologise. 

#aegon i targaryen #aegon i x reader #reader targaryen #reader is a targaryen #theconquestofwesteros #rhaenys targaryen #visenya targaryen #balerion the black dread #queen of the seven kingdoms #fire and blood #house targaryen

[darkestspring]

Aemond twin is such a soft girl always comforting him after being bullied but then news of her engagement to Jace comes and Aemond's absolutely furious those basterds took his eye and now want his beloved sister.

I imagine he'll be so mad he'd take her away and marry her secretly and breed her.

oh, aemond would be absolutely livid. they took his eye and now they will take his beloved twin. He won't stand for that.

He'll dismiss her guards for the night, entering her room and locking the door behind him.

"Aemond?" Her soft voice question, looking at him with her soft purple eyes. "Are you okay?"

"No. They took my eye and now they're taking you from me." His anger was vivid and your eyes fluttered as you frowned sadly.

"That is the way of the world, we never get to keep what we wish. Father will always prefer Rhaenyra." You tried to comfort him as he lone purple eye stared at you.

Aemond couldn't stand this anymore. You were his, his twin, his beloved. He roughly grasped your hips as he hissed faintly. "I won't let them take you from me. I will stop this."

"Aemond?"

"Marry me instead." He insisted.

"We can't-"

"We can. I'll marry you anyway, we can find a septa to marry us or marry in the valyrian tradition, I don't care!" He gritted his teeth. "We have always belonged to each other, I won't let our whore sister and her bastards ruin that."

#aemonds twin reader #aemond targaryen x reader

[dreamcatcher2113]

The Dragon Dance

Summary: What if Rhaenyra had another child? What if Rhaenyra had a daughter with white hair and purple eyes? What if she was betrothed to Aemond as an alliance with Greens? 

You are the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, unlike your brothers you have white hair and purple eyes. You are the twin sister of Jacaerys. You were close with Aemond when you were kids, you two attached to the hip. Ten years later after your family left to Dragonstone, your family reunites with the Greens. You see a familiar face, Aemond Targaryen. Even though it's been years since you last saw him, let's just say you are not the same little girl you were once before. 

Warnings: The reader and Jacaerys are aged up, they would be eighteen. Uncle/niece insect. 18+ smut(eventually). Language. Mentions of assault(mainly from Aegon). Violence. And possible other warnings that I can’t think of. There is a happy ending.

Part 09

Masterlist

______________________________________

The Dragon Dance Part 10:

You and Aemond start to walk around the gardens, linking arms together. When you used to live in King’s Landing, the gardens were always your favorite place. It was beautiful and peaceful, you always loved being surrounded by nature. It brought peace of mind, and helped clear your mind(besides sword fighting). 

“I’m sorry my beloved. After all the events that have happened, we haven’t got some time alone.” Aemond apologized in Old Valyrian. 

“You don’t need to apologize my love. It was hard for the both of us to be alone together.” You reassured him.

“Is there any way I can make it up to you?” He asked, turning to you.

You giggled a little, giving him a smile. “Being here with me is enough for me, my Prince.”

Aemond gave his signature smirk. He can’t help but to feel proud when you call him “my prince”. Something about it just gives him some type of pride in his heart. “I love it when you call me that. My Prince, it feels like you are mine.”

You stopped and looked at Aemond confused. “I am yours, Aemond. I’ve always been yours.”

Aemond put both of his hands on both of your cheeks, pulling closer to you. “I will give you the prettiest jewels and jewelry in all of the Seven Kingdoms, for you to be by my side.”

You smile at him, holding yours hands with his. “I don’t need all of that. All I need is you.”

“How did I get so lucky to have you as my betrothed?” Aemond asked, kissing your forehead. Dropping his hands, and intertwining your fingers with his.

“I should be asking that. Considering I’m a-.” You didn’t finish your sentence, looking down at the ground. You know what you are, yes the gods may have blessed you with white hair and purple eyes. It was also cursed as well, you hear all the rumors and gossip. Over the years you learned to let it go. Now that you are betrothed to Aemond, you are afraid of what people would say about him once you two are married. 

“Do not think of yourself so little my Spitfire. You are a Targaryn and the keeper to my heart.” Aemond trying to reassure you, letting go of your hands and putting his arms around your waist. 

“Who knew Aemond Targaryn would be a romantic.” You teased, having your hands on his chest.

“Only for you my love. I’m serious though, what brought this up?” He asked.

You paused for a moment, biting your lower lip and debating if you should tell Aemond your inner thoughts. You didn’t want to burden him with your insecurities, but you also can’t lie to him as well.

“Please tell me Fireflower. I want to ease your thoughts.” Aemond switched back to Old Valyrian.

“I’m scared, Aemond.” You answered honestly. 

Aemond quirked his eyebrow. “Scared of what my love?”

“I’m scared of what others would say about you once you marry me.” You admitted to him.

“Y/N.” 

“I’m not calling off the betrothed. I want to marry you. I’m just scared that once you are married to me, you’ll be married to a bastard.” You continued.

Aemond pulls you into a tight hug, holding you close to him. He put one hand around your waist and the other on your head. “I don’t give a damn about what others would say about me.”

“But Aemond-”

“No buts my love. I want you, no one else. I already told you that I have loved you before I knew what love was.” Aemond pulled away a little so he could face you, holding your chin with his fingers. “I don’t think you are a bastard, I think you are Targaryen.”

You quirk your eyebrow a bit, “You think my brothers are bastards.”

Aemond gives a look, he's not going to hear the end of this from you. “I let a grudge darken my heart, my love. I’m going to keep hearing this aren’t I?”

You giggled and nodded your head yes. “Yes.”

Aemond sighs dramatically. “I’m trying to comfort you woman, not have you tease me endlessly.”

You laughed a little more, showing more of your smile. “It’s working my Prince, I promise.”

Aemond smiled a bit. At least he was able to make you smile. Ever since he was a young boy, he always found a way to make you smile. He was addicted to it, he couldn’t help it. He would pick your favorite flowers from the gardens, get your favorite snack, read to you, teach you the Valyrian language, and so on so further; just so he can see you smile. It was one of the many things why Aemond fell for you. To him, your smile can light up the darkest room.

“There’s that smile I love so much.” Aemond complimented. You give him a look and playfully smack his chest, but still laughing.

“I really want to kiss you my beloved.” He added, still holding your chin.

“What’s stopping you?" You asked.

He leaned closer to you, putting his lips against yours. The kiss felt soft and sweet, and Aemond wanted more. He licked the bottom of your lips, asking for an entrance and you gladly gave it to him. Both of your tongues danced with each other, it wasn’t rough or sloppy. It was light and fluttery. Aemond always wanted to know how you taste, you taste so sweet to him; he can’t get enough of it.  You couldn’t get enough of Aemond either. You wanted all of him, and you know he wants you. With one of his arms around your waist, he pulls you closer without breaking the kiss, while the other hand lightly grabs the back of your head. While you had both of your arms around his neck, wanting him closer to you.

The both of you pulled apart for air, Aemond puts his forehead against yours. “God, I wanted to do that for so long.”

You giggle a bit. “Well nothing is stopping you now. You have me Aemond, I’m all yours. You can kiss me all you want.”

“I’m about to do it again.” Aemond smirked, leaning closer to kiss you again.

“Prince Aemond! Are you here?!? Your mother and the queen said you would be here in the gar-. Did I interrupt something?” You and Aemond hear Ser Criston.

Both of you pull away from each other, and Aemond grunts in annoyance. “What do you want, Ser Cristion?” Aemond asked, annoyed with the knight.

“You were late for training, and I thought I should come get you. Now I realized that was a mistake.” Ser Criston.

Aemond sighed in annoyance. “I’ll be right there. Give us some privacy will you?”

“Of course Prince Aemond.” Ser Criston bowed and started to leave the gardens.

The two of you were alone again. “Well my love, it seems I have to go. I’m sorry that this was cut short.” Aemond apologized, pulling away from you even though he doesn’t want to.

You give him a reassuring smile. “That’s alright my Prince. I’m just glad we were able to spend some time together.”

Aemond smiled back, not wanting to leave you. “I shall take my leave my dear. I’ll see you tonight at dinner.” Aemond said his goodbye with a quick peck on the lips, and started to make his way out from the gardens. You watched him walk away, and smiled. You made your way out of the gardens to meet up with Helaena, Baela and Rhaena. It’s been a while since it’s been just you three girls, and you needed some girl time. You make your way to Helaena’s chambers with a smile on your face.

________________________________________

Taglist: @jeyramarie @rosaryos @whitejuliana1204 @darylandbethfanforever9 @erylilly @schniiipsel @angel6776 @mingiholic @buttercupstrand

#the dragon dance #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon imagine #aemond fic #aemond fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #targaryen reader #velaryon reader #reader #reader insert

[somethinglacking]

Game of Thrones Has Gotten Kinda Horrible

As a die-hard Game of Thrones Fan: The show had gone to shit after season 6.

Meaning only season 7-8 have been absolutely unfaithful to the source material. They feel rushed, the only have 6-7 episodes each. Longer episodes are not the same as having more episodes Every episode follows a pretty compact portion of the story and characters It feels better paced and easier to follow You have one or two major events per episode, so as not to get overwhelmed or lost.

Sure it’s always entertaining to watch the show. It’s fine to enjoy it as it is.

I have some real issues with seasons 7-8 as a whole, and we are only 3 episodes into the 8th and final season.

It shouldn’t be the final season. THEY SHOULDN’T BE RUSHING AND FORCING THE FINALE LIKE THIS. Truthfully they had enough characters and unfinished character arcs for at least 10 seasons each with 10 one hour episodes. Everything is moving at an ungodly pace it’s hard to keep up at times. We went from a television show that was somewhat slow paced, it gave us time to breathe but never allowed us to get bored. Every other conflict was not fixed in a single night. (Looking at you, Night King)

Also, PLOT ARMOR IS APPARENTLY A THING NOW? You know that thing, where a character is beloved, and liked, and has a purpose so they can’t be killed off. Plot Armor that Game of Thrones was famous for when Eddard Stark lost his head, The Red Wedding, The Purple Wedding, The wildlings, Let’s not forget Jon fucking Snow himself who died.

Imagine this

Game Of Thrones Seasons 7-8 are like a gift The box is pretty, wrapped in shiny sparkly paper, some ribbon, and bow. Super nice to look at Yet, when you open the gift, excited to see what’s in the box. It’s a bag of flaming shit within the heart of your gift.

Would you still be happy is had a pretty presentation to it, or would you be mad someone had cleverly got your hopes up about this very beautiful present, and you just received literal shit in exchange?

It’s cool to look at, it’s pretty and well polished. But, It’s lacking depth. Sure the Dragons are very cool D&D, They cost a lot huh? You know who is also cool, and more important to Jon then Daenerys and her very cool dragons. Ghost. Where is Jon and Ghost? They started the journey together?

(Just a mention on how Jon is finally told about his parentage, and whose lines he actually belongs too, and how we have no time, nor does Jon get any time to process what and who he is and wants to be.)

The Night King (White Walkers) is presented in both the books and the television show to be one of the main driving forces in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire. There are too many prophecies, legends, and history to just ignore here. The Night King is not a villain that should have been taken out so easy. (I mean easy as in, he waits to give Arya and opening, but more on that later) In the books, the Night King (or at least the White Walkers) are always kind if looming, so menacing with an unknown purpose.

In the show the built him up the same. Only they failed to explain him Why did Craster give his baby sons to him? Why is he back now? Why does he turn his back on the children of the forest? What is his ultimate goal? WHY DOES HE WANT TO ERASE HISTORY? Why is Bran the most dangerous thing for him? Is this Night King, in fact, the same as the First Night King that brought the eternal Long Night (THAT WASN’T JUST A SINGULAR NIGHT, BUT AN ACTUAL APOCALYPSE THAT NEARLY WIPED OUT MAN KIN) Has this Night King met the original hero of man Azor Ahai, and was he slain by the legendary weapon Lightbringer? If the Night King is back now, does that mean Rhaegar Targaryen actually managed to complete the prophecy? Was Rhaegar the Prince that was promised, was Lyanna Nissa Nissa, and is Jon Lightbringer?

Now coming full circle back to the Arya shock.

No

Nope

No

I love Arya, and I believe they picked the perfect person for her when they cast Maisie. She is not Azor Ahai She is not Lightbringer The Catspaw claw is not Lightbringer Lightbringer was probably Valyrian steel, but it was probably an even more magic blade then the catspaw, Unless the catspaw was the original Lightbringer and that’s why Samwell saw it in a book at the citadel…. That would be so dumb. So, So dumb. Plus Arya doesn’t have the elements to be Azor Ahai. She’s not Ice and Fire. Other then it being a shocker, and looking cool. Arya shouldn’t have been the one to take down the Night King. The communities are already driving home that they could sense a blood drop, but not her. Also, why wouldn’t they swarm Bran?

Since the Night King was just gonna stroll up anyway, and Bran already knew Arya would ninja out of nowhere, why does Bran pat Theon on the ass and send him charging into an UNNECESSARY death.

Since the first book/episodes we hear whispers about a prince that was promised. We heard history, songs, legends, and etc. None of them as mentioned as the Azor Ahai prophecy. Melisandre’s entire character arc and the story is based around this one prophecy. There is even an entire religion about it.

Melisandre even stated that the LORD OF LIGHT brings people back to life with the purpose of stopping the LONG NIGHT. Why was Jon brought back to life if he is not Azor Ahai? Why would the Lord of Light bring Jon back if he wasn’t a key component in stopping the Night King? Jon’s important, and it obvious he isn’t important in the fact he has a better claim to the throne than Daenerys just for drama and to rattle her. Jon was not brought back to be THE KING Jon was brought back to defeat the NIGHT KING and the LONG NIGHT. I thank you all for coming to my Ted Talk. Next Week I’ll touch on why Daenerys and Jon are a garbage couple. 

#jon snow #arya stark #deanerys targaryen #Game of thrones #A song of ice and fire #The long night #Night King #Bran Stark #Theon Greyjoy #Lyanna Stark #rhaegar targaryen #aegon targaryen #ghost #Personal Thoughts #But the show forgot the core vaule of of the books

[damoviemaestro]

The Movie Maestro's TV Reviews: Game of Thrones, Season 4

Created and Run by David Benioff and D.B. Weiss

Based on A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin

Starring Peter Dinklage, Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, Lena Headey, Emilia Clarke, Iain Glen, Aiden Gillen, Kit Harrington, Sophie Turner, Maisie Williams, Allie Alfen, Isaac Hempstead-Wright, Jack Gleeson, Natalie Dormer, Rory McCann, John Bradley, Charles Dance, Stephen Dillane, Carice van Houten, Rose Leslie, Jerome Flynn

Well, I got my giants.

GoT continues to hit it out of the park, indeed, out of the whole city, with Season 4, an interesting year of television as far as GoT is concerned. While S1 was very much defined at its core by a murder mystery plot with mounting drama, and S2 and S3 by their barreling paces (more or less--I'm looking at you, S2), S4 starts with a hell of a bang and then tapers off, giving us a similar plot structure to S1 before blowing our faces off with the Battle of Castle Black.

But first things first: the Purple Wedding. While the Red Wedding is still the more shocking and out-of-left-field development, the Purple Wedding delivers on it's own terms. After all, what other show could kill off its most-loathed character in a way that all but dooms one of it's most beloved? 

With Joffrey out of the way, Tywin is free to rule the realm thru the naive Tommen--and finally rid himself of Tyrion with a courtroom plot that lets Peter Dinklage fly with all the rage he can muster.

In Tyrion's corner is a new character, Prince Oberyn Martell, a representative of the Dornishmen we've heard so much about since Tyrion had Cersei's daughter shipped off to them. Oberyn, played by Pedro Pascal, is a delicious character to behold, bisexual and full of vitality...and rage.

In Meereen, Daenerys resolves to stay put and rule, concerned that the slaves she has freed in her conquest will be chained again once she leaves for Westeros. This brings her into the first serious conflicts she has had in her arc, against the loyal Ser Jorah, whose initial treachery she finally discovers, and against her dragons, who have now grown to become dangerous wild animals. To see the Breaker of Chains forced into chaining the only children she will ever have, it hits hard.

The remaining Starks continue to cling to whatever life they have: while Sansa finally finds some resourcefulness of her own while in the company of the scheming Littlefinger (who is revealed to have orchestrated the War of the Five Kings to his own benefit), Jon Snow takes his first steps to command at the wall in the penultimate episode, and the finest action hour the series has yet had. Seriously, "The Watchers on the Wall" is currently my favorite episode. So stuffed with exquisite violence, gritty fantasy, and fine performances, S4E9 will easily occupy a spot in my top 5 episodes once I'm finished with the whole series.

My favorite arc, though, is definitely Arya's. The first episode of S4 begins with Tywin melting down Ned Stark's prized Valyrian steel, Ice, and it ends with Arya retrieving her prized sword, Needle, and enacting her first instance of vengeance. This nice bit of visual poetry sets up her best year yet, placing her squarely alongside the Hound, another man on her kill list, as she becomes the new instrument of justice in a world without the just.

#the movie maestro #tv reviews #game of thrones #fantasy #david beioff #d.b. weiss #george r. r. martin #peter dinklage #nikolaj coster waldau #lena headey #emilia clarke #iain glen #aiden gillen #kit harrington #sophie turner #maisie williams #alfie allen #isaac hempstead wright #jack gleeson #natalie dormer #rory mccann #john bradley #charles dance #stephen dillane #carice van houten #rose leslie #jerome flynn #dragons #winter #middle ages